ã€ŠHeaded by a Snakeã€‹


 Chapter 1 Prologue

    ?The biting chill of the starlit night dulled Barza''s senses. He couldn''t shake the foreboding feeling of being watched-- being followed.

    "We shouldn''t be doing this," Barza mumbled under his breath. Hispanions wouldn''t listen to his gripes and worries. He had joined the group a fortnight prior and had yet to earn enough respect necessary to have a voice among them. Even still, he hoped at least one of them would listen to reason. He found himselfining again... which was against his better judgment.

    "That guy said he was a noble! And we kn--"

    Before he could finish, a sudden shove forced him back. Unable to keep his bnce, he mmed his elbow awkwardly and painfully against a brick wall.

    "Shut up, Barza. A coward isn''t fit to lead."

    Half a dozen men moved in the shadows past him-- each of them ring in varying levels of malice.

    "It was your bleeding idea to mess with him in the first ce, idiot."

    "Idiot."

    "Coward."

    The rear man, Kevand, prodded Barza along, "Stick to the n, Recruit. It ain''t the first time we''ve robbed a noble. In fact, Baron Tavor encourages it."

    The others grunted in agreement, only leaving Barza to swallow his words in silence. He had a bad feeling that he couldn''t shake. He didn''t want to cross the golden-eyed noble. Nor his giant, axe-wielding bodyguard.

    But the noble had gold. Lots of it. He and a few others had glimpsed at the youth''s bulging wallet when he paid for his meal.

    For the Shadowdark Wolves, it was enough coin to riskcapturing, robbing, and maybe even ransoming the youth. Barza took a deep breath to calm himself. Having a share of stolen coin would save him from worrying whether or not he''d have a ce to sleep-- at least for a few weeks.

    The unmistakable twang of a crossbow echoed through the night alleyways, sending the Wolves into a panic. The men began to sweep their bullseyenterns around them in an uncoordinated crisscross.

    "Ambush!" "Check behind us!" "Where is he?!"

    Denman was the unlucky man who took the first position in the line of thugs. He turned back... his bottom lip quivered and his mouth hung open in shock. There was a crossbow bolt in his chest, stuck right in his heart. He hadn''t instantly died, like in the stories... but death''s sweet embrace woulde for him soon.

    And he would die for nothing.

    In a sudden jerk of movement, the golden eyes of a predator emerged from the darkness. A hand snatched out, gripping Denman''s face.

    "Denman!" "What the hell are you doing, kid!!" The men shouted.

    Barza took a step back. "It''s.. It''s him."

    He knew what was happening, but he wanted to deny it, to repress the twisted gut-feeling of danger. Barza became a religious man, hastily praying silently to any god that could hear him.

    He could have begged. He could have pleaded for the Wolves to listen. He could have used his fists to convince them. He could have drawn his de against the men he worked with, men directly under the employ of the Baron.

    A man was dead and Barza keenly felt the guilt in that he could have prevented it.

    Tycon smiled the same gentle smile he''d showed them in the inn. Barza wanted to close his eyes and convince himself that nothing was amiss. He wanted to be back under the eating hall''s chandelier, warm, safe-- when everything was fine.

    The sound Denman''s head cracking against a nearby brick wall, shook Barza from his reverie... and he returned to his waking nightmare. With two swift movements of Tycon''s short sword, blood spilled from open holes in the side of Denman''s neck and in the pit of his arm.

    "No!" Cutter shouted. He could scream, but he couldn''t have changed Denman''s fate. The golden-eyed youth swiftly and smoothly whipped his arm down, his expression unchanging. Cutter stood still, blinking like a fool.

    "Oy. Cutter..." Kevand gulped, "Don''t just stand there."

    Kevand was the only man able to speak. Barza wanted to scream. He wanted to run. But he could only watch as Cutter''s dagger nged upon the cobblestones... and his hands tightly gripped at his neck... and blood seeped unforgivingly through his dirty fingers.

    Tycon took three steps to the right, allowing Denman''s body to slump against the brick wall and down onto the dirt. Tycon pat Cutter''s shoulder, like he was greeting a long-time friend. Then he ran his sword along the back of the man''s knees, dropping him to the ground without ceremony.

    Two drops of bright red blood stained the youth''s smiling face.

    Barza paled, "Two¡­ Two men¡­ Dead."

    "W¡­ Wh-..." Lean gripped his sword tight, his hand trembling, "We¡­"

    Tycon grabbed Lean''s cor and pulled him close,"OUT WITH IT, BOY!"

    The cold-blooded murderer screamed in Lean''s face at the top of his lungs.

    Barza and the remaining Wolves found themselves stepping back. A young, beardless youth, barely past his teens and nearly half their size was grabbing a grown man and treating him with nothing but disrespect.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Rookies... the lot of you," The noble muttered. "Just this little amount of blood and you turn into mewling whelps. Dogs willing to use violence to herd sheep shouldn''t be surprised to chance upon a wolf."

    "We''re¡­ We''re backed by Baron Ta--"

    "--Shut up."

    Lean wasn''t able to finish his sentence, as a stream of smooth, crimson red began spilling from his mouth. With a shove stronger than the boy''s physique suggested, Lean fell backward, and Barza threw himself out of the way. There was a gaping wound in Lean''s gut.

    Tycon casually whipped his sword in a sideward stroke, painting the wall a grisly curve of blood. He spoke calmly, a gentle teacher admonishing his students.

    "A bted lesson, gentleman: Referencing your backers..."

    With an unkind kick, Tycon flipped Denman''s body face-up. The dead man''s face was contorted into an open-eyed scream of horror at his own death.

    "...is a tactic used best *prior* to conflict-resolution."

    The noble crouched down beside Denman, twisting and wrenching at the stuck crossbow bolt embedded in his chest. With the sound of tearing meat, a weak but noticeable fountain of blood spurted from the fatal wound.

    "For one, if I cared-- it''s far toote. I have been attacked. And I have responded in... self-defense." The noble shrugged his shoulders in an insincere apology.

    "But-- that''s-- But you--" Kevand began to argue back.

    Barza had always known him as the most level-headed veteran in the team. Hearing the uncertainty in his voice instilled Barza with a new feeling of dread.

    "For a second point, which no one ever remembers, mind you-- No one cares! I can have you killed in your beds at night. I can kill you in a daytime alleyway, with only the rats to witness. I can kill every single one of you to save the hassle. Or if any of you whelplings run off, I can t out deny ever seeing any of you."

    Tycon bent over to grab the end of Cutter''s cloak, using it to wipe his blooded de clean.

    "It''s a noble''s word against yours. Look at you shameful lot. No tabards, no uniforms, armor that''s passed down at best and stolen at worst. No one gives a shite about any of you peasants. And no one in this city''s going to have the balls to keep me, a noble, arrested in one ce on unproven charges."

    Barza''s mind raced. He couldn''t feel anything but fear. None of the others could have imagined anyplications to arise from this situation... and everything that was happening was one unwee surprise after another.

    "And third--"

    Tycon''s face crumpled into a look of revulsion as he firmly pointed at Barza with his sword.

    "Mister Barza! What!? By the gods, man, WHAT?! ARE YOU DOING?!?"

    Hot tears ran down Barza''s cheeks as he looked to where Tycon''s sword pointed. Revealed in thentern light, he had pissed the front of his trousers.

    Barza bowed his head in shame, "I''m¡­ I''m sorry, Sir Tycondrius."

    "You''re¡­ What? You''re SORRY? Why-- Augh. Have some self-respect."

    Tycon turned to re at Kez, one of the three remaining men. "Third!"

    Kez stared back, staring into glowing golden eyes with elliptical pupils. He wasn''t staring at the eyes of another man. He was staring at the eyes of a monster.

    Kez began to choke, clutching at his chest, unable to breathe. The man copsed, gargling blood.

    "S-spellcaster¡­" Barza copsed to his knees. It was over.

    Kevand dropped hisntern, gripping both hands around his sword,"Spellcaster! I''ll cut you down before you have enough time to cast another spell!"

    With a promise of victory, Kevand, thest man standing, lunged forward.

    "Spellcaster?" Tycon chuckled. "I suppose. Struggle to thest."

    Barza hadn''t realized when he shut his eyes. But his ears did not hear the sound of a de cutting flesh. Instead, he heard the dull thud and rattling ngs of a longsword forced from a man''s grip. Summoning his courage, Barza slowly lifted his head. Opening his eyes, he saw a vision of Death.

    Death was a long white snake, its writhing mass thicker than a dozen men, illuminated by the glowing moon and the dancing embers of dropped brokennterns. Kevand struggled. Kevand screamed. But soon, the screaming stopped, reced by the soft arrhythmic song of bones being disced in its casing of blood and meat.

    Barza spoke softly, "Th-third¡­ What was¡­ the¡­"

    The head of the snake remained unmoving, staring deep into Barza''s soul with its speckled golden eyes. And with the noble''s voice, emanating from the white snake, it spoke.

    "Predators needn''t listen to prey."

 Chapter 2 Familiar Mystery

    ?[Before the events of the Prologue.]

    The sensation of falling caused the young man to jerk awake.

    The fall was swift and sudden. The resulting crash was loud and painful.

    He pushed himself off the wooden floor, trying to take in his surroundings... and trying not to gag at the reek of moldy straw and poorly treated inn-room wood.

    "Why¡­ in the seven hells does my head feel like it''s been struck with a hammer?" The man growled.

    He curled his body and clutched at his head, his knees and feet against the floor. With furious focus, he concentrated-- willing the walls to slow their incessant spinning.

    As if his entire body were trying to rally against him, his gut began to rumble and bile began to rise to his throat.

    The man had awoken, void of any useful memories. Erratic scraps of knowledge shed into his mind, fleeting and nonsensical.

    1. His memories informed him that he was better than... most everyone else.

    2. He was a very... angry individual.

    And 3. he''d remembered a deep, deep loathing of vomiting.

    Arrogance. Anger. Hates vomiting. How shallow.

    Using all of his willpower, he forced the acrid bile back down. An ufortable film of sweat covered his face and formed a thin, disgustingyer underneath his clothes. He squirmed around on the filthy inn room floor, trying to adjust his body into afortable position, praying desperately for the pain to go away.

    Minutes passed in silence.

    Gradually, the man''s mind began to clear.

    He briefly considered trying to find out *why* he was in the situation he was in... but what use would that be? Only the future mattered. More important was... who was he? And what was he doing?

    Thinking upon it, an actually-useful piece of information came to mind.

    4. He had a System, a cheat-like database of information, also capable of automating functions.

    In his mind, he thought a specific phrase:

    ? System, open status. ?

    A transparent window appeared in the eye of the man''s mind, a massive column of highly-detailed blocks of text and numbers, the script garbled and useless. He felt his headache returning, trying to make sense of it.

    ? Nevermind... System, close status. System inquiry: What''s my name? ?

    The transparent window closed and a friendly, somewhat-neutral voice spoke in his mind.

    [System response: The host''s name is Tycondrius.]

    It sounded familiar. That was somewhat of a relief.

    Tycon sat up against his moldy, straw-filled bed and he began to review his situation and examine his surroundings.

    He had fallen off of a bed in an inn room. His forehead was beginning to swell, but the injury was of no concern.

    His eyes had quickly adjusted to the darkness-- suspiciously quickly. The room was bright if the sun were out, though gentle starlight spilled through the window from a dark blue evening sky.

    Tycon forced himself to stand, feeling every ache of his muscles and each creak of his bones. Was he sick? Was it an aftereffect of strenuous physical activity?

    He walked to the window to observe the outside. He was on a second-story of a building, his window overlooking a quaint town lit blue by starlight and a full, glowing moon. Cobblestone roads were lit by candle-filledmp-posts.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A few dozen people still walked the streets. He spotted a few mercenary-looking men walking casually, lightly armored, armed with sword and bow.

    Armor and cold weapons seemed normal to carry in this ce...

    He frowned and tapped his fingers on the wooden windowsill impatiently. Though he excelled with the setting he was in, he felt like he couldn''t yet rx.

    Noise emanating from the ground floor was mixed withughter, yelling, and the garbled speech of dozens of speakers.

    Tycon had no desire to surround himself with people-- he felt vulnerable, as a confused, weakened amnesiac. However, the delightful smell of sweet, burning wood and cooking meat forced him to reconsider. He licked his lips and could swear that he could taste his next bloody meal.

    He preferred his meat cooked to medium-rare. And from a non-sentient.

    Tycon squinted his eyes in deep thought. Was it normal to specify non-sentience in one''s preferred meal?

    He sat down on the ufortable bed and looked at his hands, rough and callused. He had five fingers and skin, the color of flesh... Wait, the color of flesh? Peculiar.

    He plucked out a hair from his head. It was green. He hoped that was normal.

    He felt his face. His nose wasn''t too big. He didn''t have any tusks. He didn''t have any facial hair, either. Tycon didn''t find anything partic-- Ow.

    His cuspids were sharp and had drawn blood when his finger had pressed onto it.

    Near panic, Tycon checked his pulse. He had a pulse. He wasn''t a vampire. That could have been problematic.

    After examining himself, Tycon stood and explored the room.

    He found a small bag of silver and gold coins. Because he was in a private room instead of amon one, he reasoned that he could well-afford it with the coin he owned.

    He found a light suit of banded armor in his size. There was a pack filled with adventuring gear, rope and bandages, and the like...

    He drew a sword from its sheath, finding it scratched and nicked, though well-oiled and maintained. The shoddy sword-sheath and the boring hilt made it look cheap.

    Tycon grimaced as another bit of information came to mind.

    5. He was cheap.

    He looked over to a second pile of gear, which he''d separated from the more standard-fare adventuring gear.

    A hand-crossbow, easily hidden. A scroll tube containing a letter, closed with an ornate wax seal. A cloak with a peaked hood, good for hiding one''s face, (if unnecessarily stylish.) Three vials containing what he was fairly certain was injury poison. A sturdy whip with sharp, wicked-looking metal pieces at its end. A dagger, designed to be hidden in a boot.

    Tycon unsheathed the boot dagger, finding a waxy substance was smeared upon it-- likely the same substance as were in the vials.

    He could be a very cautious individual. It was also usible that he was not a very good person.

    He carefully resheathed the dagger, neatly packing his gear away into what he assumed was *his* traveling pack. As if by instinct, he knew how to pack-- which items needed to be at which level of the pack and how to conserve space.

    With practiced hands, he buckled on his armor, wore his sword at on his waist, and donned the peaked cloak and hood over it all.

    ...He regretted not doing that earlier, as the warmth from the armor and cloak made the evening chill far more bearable.

    He walked to the table, the only decoration in the cheap inn room, and poured water into a washbowl. Once he''d washed his hands, he''d congratte his findings with a meal.

    A peculiar glimmer of gold caught Tycon''s attention. With a feeling of unease, he allowed the waters to still as he stared at his reflection.

    "Seven bleeding hells, I''m not human."

 Chapter 3 Defending Her Honor

    ?Tycondrius stared at his dim, golden-eyed reflection in the water.

    It wouldn''t have been troublesome if his pupils were merely uniquely colored.The entire sclera of his eyes were a mottled and cracked yellowish gold and his pupils were ck elliptical slits.

    Tycon groaned in annoyance-- he had the eyes of a nocturnal predator, hence the excellent night vision. He also induced that the shape of his pupils also improved his horizontal peripheral vision.

    Was he... some kind of humanoid snake... Or a reptile...? Tycon''s initial shock had worn off and had been reced with annoyance.

    ? System, inquiry: What is... my species? ?

    [System response: Host''s species is medusa.]

    Hm. So this is a world where the medusa and gorgon species are different-- that wasn''t terribly surprising.

    Tycon took a deep breath in through his nostrils and exhaled into an irritated sigh. Every creature he had seen thus far had been human. Him being... not would greatly hinder his ability to move about freely.

    ? System, inquiry: Is there a way to make my eyes look human? ?

    [System response: Medusae are capable of repressing their supernatural ocr abilities so as to not affect allies and their young. Medusa society refers to this as "dimming."]

    Tycon grumbled in frustration as he stared into the washbowl, trying to learn how to manipte the muscles in his eyes.

    ¡­

    Ignoring the protests of his empty belly, Tycon only emerged from his room a half-bellter. By then, he was thoroughly confident in dimming his vision and just as confident that he could eat an entire grilled haunch of a moderately-sized non-sentient.

    Upon exiting his room, he strolled downstairs and through a loud cacophony of people, all patrons of the dining hall. A colorful bard fiddled a festive tune while she danced on a stage, armored men argued over a deck of cards, and a short-haired waitress skillfully dodged a pair of running children, while bncing a tray of frothy mugs.

    Everyone in the dining hall was human. Of course, they would be. Learning to dim his vision was not time spent wasted.

    Tycon observed that smaller weapons, like swords and daggers, were openly worn by the armored men and women. Heavier weapons: crossbows, halberds, and a needlesslyrge greataxe, were checked in by the inn''s entrance, locked in a keyed metal cage.

    He scoffed inwardly at the unwieldy greataxe. The monstrosity likely belonged to a skilless braggart. It was highly unlikely that the weapon''s owner was both strong andrge enough to put it to good use.

    Mentally filing away the sights, sounds, and smells, he returned his attention to the quest he held of utmost importance: To fill his mouth and belly with delicious sustenance.

    As he maneuvered his way through the tables, he noticed a number of unfriendly gazes upon him-- his vision and senses remained excellent, even though his eyes were dimmed.

    ? System, inquiry: What is the highest power level in the dining hall? ?

    [System response: The highest power level in the dining hall is a Level 15--]

    ? System, change setting: Use the Metallic Ranking system. ?

    [Understood. The highest power level in the dining hall is Bronze.]

    Tycon didn''t care to learn the System''splicated measurements, so he changed its settings to match what he knew. Bronze was a rtively brittle metal, still more than capable of killing a man. Iron was stronger than that, more reliable. It seemed self-exnatory.

    With the highest power level being only Bronze, Tycon returned the hostile stares, grinning fearlessly. If there was any danger to be had in the dining hall, it would be from him.

    The many pairs of staring eyes turned away, averting their eyes when caught.

    Even humans must obey the rule of the strong, The powerful rule without contest and the weak avert their eyes in shame.

    Upon finding an empty table seat, an attentive waitress arrived at Tycon''s side almost immediately. "Hello, my name is Sorina, and I''ll be your wench today!"

    A what? No, he must have misheard.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The young human woman was of marriageable age, with neat short, brown hair.She might have been pretty. Tycon didn''t particrly care.

    He ordered a meat dish and two ales. Sorina cheerfully memorized his order and hurried off to the kitchens... though her departure prompted trouble to visit his table.

    A dark-haired young man, the bridge of his nose marred by a scar stepped up onto the bench opposite Tycon, then nted a boot upon the table, leaning forward on his knee. Three light-armored, nasty-looking thugs backed him from behind. They probably thought they looked intimidating.

    With a scowl, the man raised his voice, "You messin'' with my girl, boy?"

    Tycon sighed in annoyance. Perhaps the fool standing on his table thought he was defending Miss Sorina''s honor? Was it because Tycon was incredibly handsome? He hoped it was not because he looked easy to coerce. That would be inconvenient.

    Tycon pursed his lips, observing the few ruffians with pity.They did not look very strong.

    "Your name?" Tycon asked with a sigh.

    The mercenary paused momentarily. Had he forgotten? What kind of idiot forgets their name?"The name''s Barza!! Of the Shadowdark Wolves! Remember my name, viinous sc-"

    Tycon held up a single finger, interrupting Barza''s passionate speech. "Very well, Mister Barza." He confidently gazed into the man''s eyes, "No. I was not, in fact, ''messing'' with Miss Sorina."

    "Well... It LOOKED LIKE Y--"

    "If you wish to challenge me to a duel, do so now, Mister Barza," Tycon offered with a hint of impatience.

    "OU¡­ YOU-- Wait, what?"

    The ruffian furrowed his eyes in disbelief. Tycon''s proposition had clearly caught him unaware. The arrogant res of hispanions turned from confident to confused. They nced at each other, unsure of how to proceed.

    Humans don''t expect conflict. It''s a strange hypocrisy.

    Tycon spoke clearly and with measured words, hoping he could make even the most foolish of their number understand, "Mister Barza, I haven''t had a decent meal in what feels like several suns. Please forgive me, as I''m in a very, very poor mood."

    Neither Barza nor his men would meet Tycon''s gaze. Were they even listening?

    Tycon sucked in air through his teeth, exceedingly annoyed. He had strongly considered gutting the man on the spot-- he was certain he could maim and kill the lot of them. But he worried that the resulting hassle would result in a denial of his promised meal.

    "Now, unless you have business with someone far above your station or are willing to die without aplete corpse, I suggest you..." Tycon bared his teeth, his voice carrying a tinge of threat, "--Find a different table."

    Barza, the cowardly looking man audibly gulped. Hisckeypanions looked around the dining hall-- perhaps for other open tables.

    Worthless trash.

    Tycon just wanted a decent meal. No, he WOULD have one, even if he had to murder four men in a dining hall entirely filled with armed adventurers.

    He gnashed his teeth, insulted by the amount of disrespect he''d received.

    Conflict was troublesome-- but not something to be feared. Underneath the table, Tycon quietly released the catch on his sword.A single strike was all he needed to kill each of them. After all, his opponents were merely human.

    But before Tycon could draw his de... the shadow of a giant that fell upon the table.

    The biggest man in the dining hall had approached from behind Barza and his threepanions, three heads taller than any of them. Barza and his goons looked like children inparison.

    "Hey, Boss! Finally up?" The red-headed giant spoke with a booming voice, waving casually.

    With a jovial smile, the giant sat at the table, the bench loudly creaking beneath his weight. With a meaty finger, he pushed Barza''s boot off of the table.

 Chapter 4 Glass Of Water

    ?Tycon examined the giant fellow sharing his table. His muscles wereically oversized and the skin not covered by leather armor was covered in healed w-marks and cuts. His face and smile were broad and his head was covered in a mane of bright red hair.

    He looked trustworthy... if a bit dim.

    ? System, inquiry: Who the hells is this? ?

    [System response: Dragan Ashlord.]

    ...Apparently, he wouldn''t get anything worthwhile unless he asked properly. How frustrating.

    ? System, search: Information on this Dragan fellow. ?

    [Dragan Ashlord. Dominant Bloodline: Giant. Reputation: Trusted. ss:...]

    ? --That will do. System, disy known names. And disy aggression level as the disyed name''s color. ?

    [Setting changeplete.]

    "Bosssss!" The broad-faced giant grinned widely at Tycon, "Did you order yet? I could really use an ale!"

    Tycon nced upwards to see a transparent green ''Dragan'' appear above his head.

    A transparent green name appeared over Barza''s, while his associates had "??????" tags, colored in orange.

    Tycon did a double-take on Barza''s color. The bright green signified that it was incredibly unlikely for Barza to attack him.

    Dragan followed Tycon''s gaze and seemed to gain an understanding of the situation. Dragan spoke in a low voice, far more threatening, managing to simultaneously sound yful... but cruel, "BoSssSS! Are these guys botttherrring yoOOoouuU??"

    Barza and his men visibly paled. One had his hand on his sword hilt, which ttered in its sheath from a shaking hand. A fight between Dragan and the four fools would be as one-sided as a wolf against three roons and a pigeon.

    Tycon was inwardly pleased. This Dragan gentleman seemed to be useful to keep around.

    ...

    Barza''spanions all turned to him for an answer. Barza cursed his own luck, searching frantically for an excuse.

    "N-n-n-no, sir! We were just¡­ was just talk''n! Talking! Ain''t that right, sir!" Barza stuttered. He begged with his eyes, hoping that the young boss would show leniency.

    The noble took a deep breath and sighed in response. Barza felt his heart drop and ssh into the deep pit of his stomach. He nced back at hispanions, their faces revealing that they''d reached the same conclusion: Offending the green-haired youth was a mistake.

    The young master''s annoyed expression smoothly transitioned into a friendly smile, granting Barza and his men a slight bit of hope. But Barza felt an inexplicable, growing sense of danger.

    "Mister Dragan! No, how embarrassing that you''ve the wrong idea! In fact, Mister Barza had *just* offered to pay for our meals."

    Barza''s heart and soul shook, "Y-yes, that''s right, Sir Dragan. We were just talking to Sir.. uh¡­"

    "Baron, actually. Baron Tycondrius," the noble responded with confidence.

    Barza''s psyche was struck with a shock, much more traumatizing than the others. He had offended a noble. He quickly nced around to see who''d noticed--

    Everyone. Everyone had noticed. Every pair of eyes in the dining hall stared at him with either pity or amusement.

    Barza had approached his mark because he looked young, his clothing wasn''t especially opulent-- even his sword looked cheap! But the man spoke so arrogantly that he couldn''t be anything but a noble...

    "Mister Barza. On my honor... I cannot ept your kindness in paying for my meal," Tycon ced his hand on Barza''s shoulder. Barza''s heart soared. This was the forgiveness of a kind-hearted nobleman! It was like in the stories...

    Tears pooled at the corner of his eyes. Barza was not a wealthy man. In order to afford to sleep with a roof over his head, he needed toplete dozens of low-level missions from the Adventurer''s Guild each week-- his wages from being in the Shadowdark Wolves were not nearly enough.

    Every day, his hands and knees would be scraped raw from collecting berries. He couldn''t afford soap, so his armor stank of old sweat and goblin blood. One moon prior, he was ordered to lead the Wolves against a Dire Skunk --receiving a nasty cut on the bridge of his nose for his troubles and the avoidance of his peers for longer.

    He wished dearly for a chance to work for a kind, wealthy, and (most-of-all) generous noble like Sir Tycondrius.

    ...

    The bubbly young waitress, Sorina, returned, cing down two hefty mugs of ale in front of Dragan and Tycon. "Two mugs of ale, Sir Baron. And your main dish is being grilled now."

    Tycon nodded politely to the girl, then turned to Barza, "Mister Barza, I must admit, I have been touched by your sincerity. I shall allow you to pay the meal of my associate, Mister Dragan."

    Dragan grabbed one of the mugs of ale, "Ayyyyy! You''re a great guy, Barzaaaa!" In a few scant seconds, the big man heartily drained the mug.

    He turned to Sorina, "Prettydy! I want ten of what the Boss is having!"

    Sorina nced at the size of the Titanblood before deciding that asking for confirmation was unnecessary, "Of course, Sir. And some more ale?"

    "Oh, definitely! Thank you, Booze Angel!!"

    Barza slumped down into the seat next to Dragan. The other Shadowdark Wolves silently withdrew.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Avoiding conflict, even at the cost of abandoning one of their own? Did that make them cowards? Or was it because they were human?

    Sorina cheerfully tilted her head, "And for you, Mister Barza?"

    Barza stared at the wood of the table, "I''ll¡­ I''ll have some water, please."

    Tycon noticed with slight amusement that the miserable fellow failed to spot the tinge of blush that had appeared on Sorina''s cheeks.

    ¡­

    Tycon finished his meal, quite content. Barza had excused himself after emptying his wallet in paying for Dragan''s meal.

    Much of the dinner noise had died down, allowing Tycon to have a reasonable conversation with his new source of information.

    "Mister Dragan." "Yea, Boss?"

    "Where are we?" "A town."

    "Very well... What''s the name of the town?" "I dunno. Townsville?"

    "I... highly doubt that." "Yeah, I doubt it, too."

    "What is our current quest?" "I dunno. You usually tell us that."

    "Us? ...Who else are we traveling with?" "Oh, you know¡­ Uh¡­ Tarquin. Lulu¡­ Wolfbanger."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Are those three different people or one very long, stupid, name?"

    "Three short, stupid names." Dragan raised his eyebrows, "Boss? Are¡­ are you okay?"

    "I''m fine, thanks¡­" Tycon waved the question off.

    Tycon gathered far less information than he had hoped for. As he was called ''Boss'', he likely held a leadership position. And from the adventurer-heavy inn, he was logically a leader of a mercenary guild or adventuringpany.

    He called over the Booze Angel, Sorina, and tipped her a gold piece.

    The girl blushed and twirled her hair, "Oh, Sir Baron. I-- I don''t know if Barza would--"

    ? "Hey, prettydy," Dragan sat the girl on hisp and she blushed even more deeply. Tycon considered stopping that behavior, but seeing that Sorina didn''t look ufortable, he decided to allow it.

    "Miss Sorina, I''ve a few questions I hope you can shed some light upon."

    "Oh! Yes, Sir. Of course!"

    "What''s this town known for?"

    "The town of Nice is mostly known for its trade hub. Since an Adventurer''s Guild was set up two epochs ago, merchant caravans have been always able to hire cheap guards amongst the various adventurers, guided or solo."

    In a hushed voice, Sorina added, "The local noble is a baron named Tavor. He''s not popr."

    Her response was clear, concise, and practiced. Tycon approved. He wasn''t going to tip her more than that gold piece, though.

    Tycon held out a rolled-up scroll, stamped with an ornate stamped wax seal, "Does this look familiar?"

    Sorina crinkled her nose, looking up at the inn room''s chandelier in thought, "Oh! I remember. That''s the royal seal. I saw it in a teacher''s textbook, once."

    "Oho, Boss." Dragan chimed in, "The prettydy''s, pretty smart."

    "Last question," Tycon interrupted. "Miss Sorina, have you seen any of my otherpanions?"

    "Oh, yes, um¡­ The Weretouched and the kind-looking boy with blue hair. They haven''te back since they left the inn this morning. Oh, and your mount is still in the stables!"

    Three. That matched Dragan''s numbers.

    Tycon sighed in reluctance. The girl was attentive and her responses were notcking in any way. He looked over to Dragan, who appeared just as impressed-- it did not seem very difficult to impress Dragan.

    Tycon''s face remained expressionless as he ced a second gold coin on the table. A job well done must be rewarded. Still, Tycon felt his heart bleed with the loss of his coin, "Thank you, Miss Sorina. Direct me to the stables and that second coin is yours."

    Sorina stood energetically and granted Tycon a polite curtsy, "It''s over that way, Sir!"

    "Want me toe along, Boss?" Dragan asked, smirking and cing his arms behind his head.

    "You can stay."

    "Great," Dragan poked Sorina''s cheek, "Can I get another order of the meat and potatoes?"

 Chapter 5 A Bloody Mess

    ?[After the events of the Prologue.]

    The Shadowdark Wolves had tried to assault Tycon in a dark alleyway.

    Thest of them attacked with blind fervor.

    If a man can find a single hint of familiarity, he can rationalize. With rationality, he gleans hope. And with hope, no matter how small... the humans can struggle marvelously against their fates.

    It was admirable.

    Tycon had killed all of them, save Barza and his final survivingpanion.

    ? He had transformed into a massive white snake and was crushing the life out of... not-Barza. Even after the screaming stopped, Tycon continued his hold until several more pops and cracks resounded in the darkness.

    He wanted to ensure the human was dead.

    Tycon had tested the extent of his abilities admirably. He felt no guilt. These humans were honorless bastards who would abandon their kin at the first sign of trouble.

    With the assistance provided by his System, he was easily able to track his pursuers. Even from a distance, his attackers were clearly tagged in his vision with bright red tags.

    Barza was also clearly tagged with the green brand of cowardice.

    ? System, inquiry: How long does a snake of my size take to digest its prey? ?

    [System response: The digestion process takes from several days to several weeks depending on the size of the prey and the temperature of the habitat. Colder habitats slow the Host''s metabolism.]

    Tycon was relieved he had eaten prior.

    He quickly unraveled himself around the corpse. Barza emitted a high-pitched shriek at his sudden movement.

    "As you can see, Mister Barza," Tycon spoke matter-of-factly, his snakey head equal to the man''s eyes, "I am a snake."

    "Aha, haha ha. Yes." Barzaughed awkwardly.

    The human sat upon the alleyway floor, dimly lit bynterns dropped by his fallenpanions, their lifeless shadows flickering on the walls. It was cold. The man hadn''t even eaten. And he had soiled himself. Tycon could smell it. Undoubtedly, the fellow could feel it.

    Tycon didn''t dare flick his tongue. He was afraid of the taste of the man''s fear.

    Barza opened his mouth to speak. "Ah--"

    No words came out.

    Perhaps the man was in a state of shock? It was a normal response to witnessing several consecutive murders.

    Tycon coiled himself into a curious S-shape, pondering his next course of action. He decided to lighten the mood with a joke.

    "I was nning on killing you."

    Barza promptly fainted, his cheek wetly pping against the ground... in a pool of his own filth.

    Tycon carefully reanalyzed the situation.

    6. I am not good at making jokes.

    ¡­

    It took Tycon several moments and a couple of failed attempts to reassume his human form. Afterward, he dragged the corpses and the unconscious Barza to the stable Sorina had directed him to. He needed the bodies out of sight.

    Blood would spark rumors. Bodies were more difficult to exin.

    His stable was the farthest one away and only housed one creature, a horse.

    Tycon was pleasantly surprised. He was worried he''d meet another creature with a fantastical bloodline, much like himself and Dragan.

    Tycon patted the horse on the side of its head. The horse, somewhatzily, jerked its head in response and shied away.

    "(Ah, it''s the snake! Go away, Snake.)"

    Tilting his head in curiosity, Tycon replied with narrowed eyes.

    "(You''re a horse. You arerger than I am. What''s the issue?)"

    The horse pondered this for a moment, before deciding the logic was sound. He moved back towards Tycon, who resumed his petting.

    Tycon inwardly sighed,menting over the fact that thus far, two out of two of hispanions were fools. He refilled the horse''s feed bag and seated himself on a nearby stool to brood.

    He nced over at the five corpses and one coward and sighed again.

    During his murder spree, Tycon had activated a skill when he''d undimmed his eyes, and he wished to learn more of it.

    ? System, disy effects of Vexing Gaze ?

    [Vexing Gaze: Ocr ability. Target takes damage from an illusory poison, affecting both target''s mind and body. If sessful, target bes distracted and may go into anaphctic shock.]

    Tycon breathed in a sharp breath of air through his teeth. The Skill he used had taken the life of an adult human male with rtive ease.

    He was again, d that he''d practiced dimming his vision. An idental activation of Vexing Gaze would be problematic.

    ? System, inquiry: Why can I speak to horses? ?

    [System response: The Host understands horses and horses can understand him.]

    ...Tycon decided not to further that line of questioning.

    ? System, inquiry: What are the limits of my transformation ability? ?

    [System response: The Host can transform into a Large form, a Small form, a Human form, and a Hybrid form.]

    A Hybrid form? What?<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? System, am I¡­? System inquiry: Am I¡­ contagious? ?

    [Negative.]

    ? Just checking. Thank you, System. ?

    Tycon looked back at the pile of bodies, "Now I''ve got to figure out what to do with these..."

    "(Why don''t you just eat them?)" The horse calmly suggested, nonchntly enjoying his meal of oats.

    Tycon rolled his eyes as a silent response.

    ¡­

    Barza had a nightmare.

    ck, vertical pupils. The eye-whites pale yellow and spotted. A predator''s eyes stared at its prey. Kevand begged for forgiveness, blood gushing through clenched teeth and down his chin.

    He was next.

    Dozens of white-scaled tendrils wrapped around Barza''s wrists and ankles and began to mercilessly crush his bones. He screamed desperately for help. He cried for his friends-- dead. He cried for his mercenarypanions-- dead and dying. He cried for Baron Tavor-- his sinisterugh echoing in his psyche,ughing breathlessly in his face at this futile struggle against pain and death.

    He cried for his gods. They remained silent.

    He cried for Sorina, the tavern girl he''d fallen for at first sight... He was too shy to talk to her, outside of the rare times he could afford a proper meal.

    He... wished he had the courage, back then-- even once.

    And so, Barza cried. He cried for himself. He cried for his future-- not that he had any left. He cried because he was weak... he was helpless.

    And he cried himself awake.

    "Mister Barza."

    Hearing Tycon''s voice, Barza''s eyes shot open and he began to scream. He had awoken staring at Denman''s corpse, into wide, bloodshot eyes, slightly rolled back in death. Barza was lying amongst a heap made from the corpses of his dead coworkers.

    "Mister Barza, do shut up. You''re embarrassing yourself." Tycon chided, a perfect example of calm amidst chaos.

    Half-buried, panicked and clumsy, Barza struggled. He pushed the corpses away, stood, took two steps, then keeled over and vomited all over the stable ground.

    Barza slowly lifted his head, supporting himself with his elbows and forearms, vomit on his beard and some in his hair. The noble sat on a stable stool but looked no less intimidating for it. It was this noble whose eyes turned to a snake''s-- no, who was a snake.

    The sheer ridiculousness of the concept did nothing to diminish his feeling of horror. It was the man in front of him that would determine if he would live or die. Barza felt his gut rumble once more, but there was nothing left in his stomach to release.

    The noble, Sir Tycondrius, looked up towards the ceiling before pursing his lips, "Mister Barza, I advise you to look alive."

    Tears pooled at the corners of Barza''s eyes as he cursed the sickness of the man. Did he want him to stand and struggle against death for his enjoyment? Did he want to extinguish thest bit of hope he had? What had he done to deserve this?

    ...Will he ever get to talk to Sorina again?

    The hot tears streamed down Barza''s face. But in his blurred vision, he saw Tycon''s expression.

    It wasn''t a look of disappointment. It wasn''t a look of curiosity... or anger... or fear. The noble wore a look of uncertainty. And the youth''s gaze was directed¡­ up.

    Barza had recognized that he was in a building-- inside a stable with Tycon... and a single horse. But as he looked up, he saw the cold, infinite ckness of sky and the alien-colored glow of unfamiliar stars. Half-caught in the ceiling were a dozen spectral arms, thin and wasted, grasping and spasming erratically.

    All the blood had drained from Barza''s face as he scrambled towards Tycon''s bloody boots and tightly grasped his leg.

    "Wh-wh-what''s going on, Sir Tycondrius?!"

    Looking up to see Tycon''s face, Barza found himself mere ilms away from a different one.

    An angelic-looking boy, pale-faced, with sky blue hair and a sullen look, stared deeply into his eyes with azy smile.

    When... the hells... had this person arrived?

    "Who''s this boss?" The angel said in a soft whisper of a voice, "Is he an enemy?"

    Tycon responded annoyedly with amand that brooked no argument, "Stand down, Mister Wroe."

    "Aye, Boss." The young man stood up straight andfortably saluted an open hand to his chest.

    "This is Mister Barza," Tycon introduced, "And he will be helping with..."

    Tycon spun a finger, pointing at the pile of Barza''s formerpanions, "...this."

    Wroe tilted his head. Barza could have sworn that it rotated further than a human''s was supposed to, like... like an owl''s...

    "But Boss, I¡­ can handle¡­ that." Wroe whispered-- his voice crescendoing to a high-pitched screech. The spectral hands... they fell. Dozens... hundreds of ghostly, infinitely-long arms fell like tied rope falling from a bridge.

    They grasped at the fallen.

    And the fallen jerked awake.

    Silently, they screamed. Silently, they begged, nk eyes staring at Barza, cursing him for remaining alive. Barza had seen magic before... but not of this level... and not this... evil. He felt the dark curses from his formerpanions creepy coldly, scratching deep into the surface of his soul.

    His formerpanions were pulled up into the darkness, out of sight...

    Louder than a catapult''s crash, the sound of bones crunched. Blood streamed down the walls of the stables, like spilled buckets of rotted paint. Bone scraps and viscera fell to the stable floor.

    Thousands of voices screamed in pain. And then...

    All was silent.

    ",

 Chapter 6 Special Ability

    ?Barza had fainted.

    Again.

    Tycon raised a palm upward, incredulous, "Mister Wroe, you''ve made a bloody mess."

    The Daeva shrugged as if the sequence of events were natural. They were not.

    "I''ll get the mop, then?"

    The golden-eyed youth nodded, pursing his lips, "Yes, please do."

    The angelic-faced boy was a bit taller than Tycon. A sturdy metal breastte guarded his chest, and adventurer''s leathers covered the other vital parts. Wroe also wore a straight de on his side, its hilt shiny and ornate.

    ...Much nicer than Tycon''s own.

    Most impressive about the fellow was his aptitude atwielding the bucket and mop.

    Wroe swept his fair blue hair aside and worked the blooded stone floor with an almost-glowing smile.

    Tycon did not consider himself a good judge of attractiveness. However, he held a deep suspicion that this boy was, in fact, prettier than he was.

    The System saw fit to disy the boy''s name, transparent, above his head: Tarquin Wroe. Its color was green, denoting he was an ally. Whether it was from Wroe''s subservient demeanor or from the fact that the gentleman called him ''Boss'', Tycon feltfortable ordering him around.

    This was all in consideration of the fact that at Wroe''smand, dozens of ghostly spectral hands would emerge from a ceiling to crunch on human flesh.

    Tycon somehow doubted that that was the strangest thing he''d ever seen.

    "Mister Wroe, have you found any new information?" Tycon prayed that this party member would be more informative than Dragan or the horse.

    "Yes, I have, Boss. The local power around town is a Baron of House Tavor. He lives in a manor at the town''s outskirts."

    "Common knowledge, thus far. I pray you have more," Tycon didn''t actually know that information, but he prodded Wroe on.

    The angelughed at Tycon''s annoyance, still mopping systematically, "Lots of bad stuff. Extortion. ckmail. Child abduction."

    "Lots of guards?"

    "Yep."

    "Is he wealthy?"

    "Yep."

    Tycon hesitated, "Would it be... Hm, how do I phrase this... Do you think the group would be, uh... averse? To killing the Baron and say... Everyone inside the manor?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Hmmmm" Wroe rested on the mop handle, "I''d rather not kill *everyone.* But I doubt that anyone else in Guild Invictus would have a problem with it."

    Tycon nodded in thought. It seemed that he led a group of psychopaths.

    ...He decided that he would as he pleased without thinking too much on it. He looked away from Wroe, at Barza''s snoring and unconscious form.

    Wroe followed Tycon''s gaze and gasped with a realization, "What are we going to do about that Barza-guy, Boss? Can we trust him?"

    Tycon shrugged as he took a damp cloth to his bloodied boots, "I''m sure he''s fine. I have a trick-- a special ability, if you will. If I stare at someone for long enough, I''ll eventually get the answer I want."

    ¡­

    Near half-a-bell had passed before Barza woke up, smelling of vomit and... a stable.

    "Where¡­ where am I?" he focused his vision, recognizing the distinct golden eyes that haunted his nightmares.

    "Ah, so you''ve awoken, Mister Barza."

    Tycon passed Barza a sk of water and indicated that he sit up and drink.

    "Sir Tycondrius. I¡­ Apologize."

    Tycon merely smiled silently in response. An ice-cold shiver ran down the length of Barza''s spine. The taller man with the blue hair, Mister Wroe, stood nearby with a cruel smirk on his lips.

    Barza desperately wanted to dismiss the entire evening as a fleeting dream. Blood was no longer sttered on the walls. Strange ghost-hands no longer dangled from the ceiling. But... he still reeked of urine. The taste of vomit was still fresh in his mouth. He could tell that blood was mopped up from the hard floor and a bit of straw had been scattered where he remembered hispanions had been piled up.

    But the worst evidence he could not deny was the neatly collected pile of swords, daggers, and other effects from Denman, Kevand, and the other Wolves.

    Barza bowed deeply in front of Tycon, "I... I vow never to let tonight''s events leave my lips."

    As a response, Tycon continued smiling, only raising an eyebrow. The pressure from the silence was oppressive enough to make Barza''s chest feel tight. His heart pounded painfully and he struggled to breathe. The cold evening chill had transformed into an impossibly frozen wastnd of regret.

    Barza fell to his knees with a painful bang and pressed his head to the freshly-mopped, pine-scented stone. He gulped in vomit-vored fear as he fumbled to find the words, "I... Barza Keith... would serve the lord Baron, if he would... have me."

    Barza looked up fearfully, to see the noble''s reaction. Tycon nodded lightly, lifting Barza''s mood sky-high. This was his chance to never be poor again! "I don''t even have to be paid much, my lord, I can just--"

    Tycon''s eyes narrowed into a threatening re. Barza''s heart fell into the deepest depths of his stomach and the corners of his eyes stung with the threat of tears. He was going to cry in front of his new employer.

    "I''ll even work without pay, my lord! I don''t need it!"

    A cunning smile had returned to Tycon''s face, "Very well. Wee to Guild Invictus, Mister Barza."

    Wroe turned away, trying to suppress hisughter.

 Chapter 7 She Means Business

    ?Tycon warmed his hands with the y mug. The tavern girl, Sorina, had filled it with a warm ckberry wine.

    "So the sign outside of the inn¡­ is a squirrel?" Tycon mused, "--with two oversized testicles."

    Dragan, the giant-blooded man with ming red hair, drained another gon of ale. With a refreshed ''ahh,'' he mmed it on the table, making a satisfying plonk sound, "Well, Wolfbanger said it was a chipmunk."

    "A chipmunk then."

    "This ce''s name is clearly ''The Big Ball Chipmunk Inn,''" Dragan nodded sagely.

    Tycon squinted his eyes in response. Dragan was far too proud of himself for his theories... but the logic was sound. Big Ball Chipmunk Inn.

    It waste in the evening, so everyone had left the dining hall, save for Tycon, Dragan, Wroe, and Sorina. Barza had excused himself, exhausted after the day''s events. As the man couldn''t afford his own inn room, Tycon had bid him sleep in his-- with the caveat that he cleaned himself prior. Tycon doubted the man would be able to sleep after recent events but the man deserved some alone time to process it all.

    Dragan had exined that he and Sorina had been getting along fairly well, conversing about life, recent events, and the dubious name of the inn. The chipmunk sign was the inn name''s only indicator.

    Tycon hadn''t initially assumed Dragan to be a good conversationalist. but apparently that was incorrect. He refocused his attention on his wine, licking his lips to enjoy an improved sense of smell and taste from the subtle action.

    Sweet bark, tree sap, and a hint... of citrus? The taste was lovely.

    Suddenly, Wroe''s eyes lit up as if he had an epiphany. He tossed his light blue hair up and back out of his eyes and revealed a full, white-toothed smile. The male Daeva was annoyingly beautiful.

    Tycon happened to nce over at Sorina, who was clearly staring. Wine was dripping down her open mouth, dribbling down her chin.

    "By the gods, Sorina, have some self-respect," Tycon said, snatching one of the girl''s cleaning rags and dabbing it against her chin.

    Wroe''s smile fell upon Sorina''s enraptured face. His deep, ocean blue eyes, full of innocence and the vigor of youth, filled Sorina''s stomach with the feeling of tiny swirling fish. Tycon, either through his improved senses or powerful imagination, could hear the poor girl''s heart rate quicken, threatening to pound through her chest.

    "The Nutty Squirrel," Wroe proimed. He nodded to himself as if he had ascended far above the troubles of mortal men.

    "Chipmunk," Dragan corrected.

    Tycon cleared his throat to gather the group''s attention, "Let''s put aside discussing the inn name and of squirrels with testicr cancer."

    Dragan opened his mouth to argue, but Tycon cut him off, "Chipmunk. My apologies."

    "...He said it was a chipmunk, Boss," Dragan muttered.

    "Onto other topics. Dragan--"

    "Yeah, Boss?"

    "When I asked you who else was in our party, you said Tarquin, Lulu, and¡­ Uh. What was it¡­ Wolfbanger?"

    Wroe quietly slurped his tea, a decidedly non-angelic way of drinking, "Mm. By the way Boss, I appreciate you finally calling me Wroe."

    "I figured it would be confusing, because people call me Tycon," He quickly made an excuse.

    Dragan spoke simply, "But we call you Boss."

    Tycon ignored Dragan''sment, "Where is Lulu?"

    Sorina spoke up, flustered for whatever reason, "Lulu? She... She went into the forest."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, sensing her unease, "And what''s wrong with the... forest?"

    The tavern girl grimaced, "Sir Tycon, they say a demon lives in the forest."

    Tycon leaned back in thought, readjusting his seating on the table bench.

    "Mister Dragan. Mister Wroe. Should I be worried?"

    The two gentlemen looked at each other before looking to Tycon, "Nah." "I doubt it."

    "Well, there you have it, Miss Sorina. I''m sure Miss Lulu won''t be troubled."

    The girl ced a hand over her heart, breathing a sigh of relief, "Mm. Alright."

    "And then I''ve met the horse." Tycon continued, "So that makes four, including myself. With Barza, Guild Invictus is at a solid five members."

    Dragan tilted his head, "Boss, what about Wolfbanger?"

    "I... don''t know. What about him?"

    "Aren''t we counting him as part of the team?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I thought the horse was Wolfbanger."

    "No, Boss..." Wroe interjected, tilting his head, "That''s Horse."

    "Does Horse look like he bangs wolves?" Dragan met Tycon''s gaze with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

    Feeling an inordinate amount of pressure from Dragan''s gaze, Tycon felt a great need to avert his eyes.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...Then a greater issue came to mind, "Mister Dragan, are you telling me that we call this person... Wolfbanger... because he ''bangs'' wolves?"

    "Boss?" Wroe''s voice took on a worried tone.

    "Not now, Mister Wroe." Tycon interrupted. A worrisome new mystery had presented himself.

    The young barmaid raised her hand as if she were in a ssroom lesson, "Can I join your group?"

    "What?" Tycon furrowed his eyebrows in surprise at the woman''s forwardness. "Why?"

    "Well, Mister Barza''s in your group." Sorina nodded.

    Tycon''s mouth twitched, "Have you... any skill at fighting? Miss Sorina?"

    "I pped a manst week for putting a hand on my butt," she dered proudly.

    "How do you fare under pressure?"

    "Sometimes, I have to work in the kitchen and the head chef yells at me the entire time."

    "Do you have any special skills that would make you useful in a mercenary guild?"

    "Well, Sir Tycon," Sorina blushed and twiddled her fingers, "I can read and write."

    Both Dragan and Wroe ''ohhhh''ed in awe, as if seeing the young woman in a new light. "Boss, she can read. Let''s keep her!" "A woman as skilled as she is beautiful!"

    Tycon was momentarily stunned speechless but managed to maintain hisposure. He hadn''t realized that basic literacy was auded ability...

    Still, he had yet to be convinced.

    "Miss Sorina, understand that I am the one in charge of Guild Invictus... The conditions we travel, the dangers of--

    Tycon stopped, realizing the young woman was practically glowing with confidence.

    He raised an eyebrow in amusement, "There''s something you haven''t told me."

    Sorina smirked, scoffing defiantly, "Sir Tycon... I must inform you that I have... A Business Degree!"

    Silence reigned in the dining hall. Dragan''s broad, chiseled face turned solemn as he nodded to Tycon. Wroe held in a breath and his eyes glowed from blue to a heavenly gold as if he had glimpsed upon greatness.

    Tycon nodded in awed eptance, "It would be my greatest pleasure to wee you to Guild Invictus, Miss Sorina."

    "Thank you very much, Sir Tycon. I look forward to working with you all."

    Tycon reintroduced Dragan and Wroe to Sorina, and the four shook hands. Tycon reassured Sorina that he''d formally introduce her to Horse, Lulu, and¡­ Wolfbanger, when appropriate.

    The evening wound down and Sorina agreed to let the manager know in the morning that she''d be submitting a letter of resignation in order to seek a life of adventure and glory. The three gentlemen bid her a good night and watched her leave the table.

    "A nice girl," Dragan smiled as he drained hisst gon of ale.

    "Agreed," Tycon mused. He drained thest of his wine.

    "Boss?" Wroe gently prodded.

    "Oh, Mister Wroe." Tycon smiled with chagrin, "I interrupted you earlier. For that, I apologize."

    "Oh, no, it''s cool, Boss. I was just worried about something."

    Wroe looked to Tycon and Dragan, as if looking for something,"Where''s Bucket?"

    Tycon looked from Wroe to Dragan, seeing frowns of worry and confusion set into their faces.

    He narrowed his eyes at Dragan, "Who is Bucket and why do I care?"

    Dragan frowned, "Old Boss'' kid? You told Quay you''d take care of him when you got guild leadership?"

    He pointed hastily to Wroe, "And I thought he was WITH YOU!"

    Wroe raised his hands in shock, looking to Tycon, "Boss, I thought he was with Dragan!"

    ? System¡­ Inquiry¡­ What age is Bucket? ?

    [System response: Bucket is approximately 9 years of age.]

    Dragan pointed angrily, "You lost Bucket!"

    Wroe pointed back, "You were the one who lost Bucket!"

    Tycon stood up from the table, mming his palms down, "WE collectively lost Bucket. Now get off your arses. We''re going to find him, NOW!!"

 Chapter 8 Found Him, Boss

    ?Nevil didn''t want any trouble. His main job as a militia guard was breaking up fights (with strong words) and holding a halberd (very menacingly). Anything he wasn''t sure he could handle, he''d report to either Guard Captain Varen or the town''s Adventurer''s Guild.

    He liked being a militia guard. He earned consistent pay on the first and fifteenth. With that, he could afford poultry and fresh vegetables.

    His younger sister was getting married in a few weeks, so he was drinking less and saving money where he could. Weddings were expensive, after all. One of his coworkers offered him one of his night shifts to help. Old man Varen approved it after being informed of Nevil''s financial situation. He was a good superior.

    Nevil looked forward to a quiet evening, enjoying thepany of his menacing halberd, his trustyntern, the stars above, and the noisy crickets in the grass.

    A young green-haired man ran out from behind a building as if his life depended on it. Skidding to a halt, the youth made a rapid 90-degree turn and began running towards him.

    Nevil readjusted the buckle on his guard helmet and cleared his throat. The running youth was a mild threat to his worry-free evening... as it was his duty to confront the suspicious young individual-- or at the very least, have him stop running in the streets.

    However, soon appearing behind the youth was a pale, blue-haired boy who easily closed the distance. They ran side by side, though the pale boy''s movement resembled more of a magical glide than a run.

    Nevil rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

    When he looked once more, he''d found that a giant of a man ran with leaping strides behind the two of them. The red-headed behemoth wore a terrifying grin on his face, runningfortably while carrying a far-toorge greataxe on his shoulders.

    Nevil decided he wanted nothing to do with whatever in the seven hells was going on.

    He ced hisntern on the street and promptly power-walked into an alleyway, out of sight. He held his breath in worry... watching the peculiar trio run past. He listened carefully for their fading footsteps, only breathing a sigh of relief when they''d been well out of earshot.

    Adventurers. Cold sweat covered the whole of Nevil''s back. It wasmon knowledge in Nice that the more unique that adventurers appeared in dress and action, the more inherently dangerous they were. By that measure, any interaction with those three would have been more trouble than it was worth.

    "Still, though¡­ I wonder what they wanted¡­" Nevil spoke his worries aloud to a brick and mortar wall.

    ...Then wall rippled... like... something falling into a pond.

    Nevil looked curiously on, as the bricks began to crack and crumble, revealing an inky ckness underneath. From the darkness, a white ooze-like visage of a dark-haired woman emerged, her pale skin, glossy as if made of wax. Bright red blood began to stream from her eyeless sockets, soaking into her unkempt ck hair.

    Nevil stared at his hands in the starlight and found that they too, were covered with blood.

    Slick in his hands, stinking of iron... it couldn''t have been anything else but blood.

    He opened his mouth to scream, but found his throat had been closed tight.

    And then he heard its voice.

    Its voice spoke before him, behind him, with his own tongue, with that of the dead, and innguages that the living no longer knew.

    "(WHaERRrreeee iSss tHaa ChhHiiiiIIIiiiiiLLLLDDDD?!?!)"

    ¡­

    Blood-curdling screams rang out sporadically in the evening town.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I found him, Boss." Wroe happily dered, gently gliding alongside Tycon, "I had to ask a few people, but I have a pretty good idea of where to find Bucket."

    Tycon was clearly out of breath, no match for Wroe''s or Dragan''s constitution. He responded to the best of his ability using half-words and grunts, "Mhm. Ya. Yeah?"

    The trio slowed down to a stop as Tycon struggled to catch his breath. Wroe continued, nonplussed, "A young child was seen earlier today being taken to the Baron''s manor. Probably Bucket."

    Dragan seemed to choke on air, cing his hands on his hips and bursting into unapologeticughter, "The pedo guy? Bucket got captured by the PEDO GUY?!" He wiped tears out of his eyes, before continuing, "Haha! Yeaaaah. We have to save him, haha. That''s-- that''s terrible."

    With what little energy Tycon had, he used it to re daggers at Dragan, "If the Baron molests Bucket, I''m going to have you do the same to the Baron."

    "Whaaat?!" Dragan looked both hurt and unwilling, "But Boss?!"

    "Consider it motivation. Go back to the inn and get Barza-- and make sure he is armed with a decent weapon!"

    "Alright, I''m on it," Dragan ced a hand over his chest. "Should I get the girl, too?"

    "If you want. I''m going ahead to scout the manor."

    "But Bossssss, you''re gonna get to kill all the bad guys!" Dragan the Difficult feigned indignance.

    Wroe smiled a smile too wide, "He''s right, Boss. You can''t have all the *fun.*"

    Tycon stood up, sweating, breathing hard, and generally miserable, "First, I wish it known that I hate both of you."

    Wroe offered a weak smile, "Yeahhhh... you''ve told us."

    "We knew that, Boss," Dragan shrugged.

    "And second, I don''t n on killing anyone. The Baron should have trained and armored troops." Tycon''s voice dripped with annoyance, "Now. Go."

    He watched the two respectively glide and bounce away as he finally was able to catch his breath. ording to Sorina andpany, the Baron wasn''t well-liked in the town. If his business practices were poor, the Adventurer''s Guild or whoever was in charge would likely look the other way if a conflict were to arise.

    If Guild Invictus avoided ughtering Baron Tavor''s forces,any upper echelons would look upon his actions more favorably. Tycon was unsure if he could defeat the mass of armored guards bloodlessly, but he had no doubt that with hispanions, Dragan and Wroe, the process would be more than usible.

    Tycon took in another deep breath of air.

    ? System, directions: Baron Tavor''s manor. ?

    [Calcting route.]

    A transparent, simplified map of the area disyed in front of Tycon. Empty night. The manor was the near-opposite direction of where he had been running.

    Tycon moved his legs, adopting a steady jog, as he headed towards the noble''s manor.

 Chapter 9 Kidnapping Khloe

    ?Baron Zindo Tavor''s manor was suitably opulent. Foreign rugs and tabards warmed the walkways and halls. Oversized paintings were expensively illuminated by magical ever-burning torches. Servants operated in a pretentious, orthodox, some would say archaic style. When the Baron came around, servants were expected to bow, walk quickly to a corner, and face away.

    Servants. Furniture. Tools. Like any object, its greatest joy shoulde from being used by its owner.

    Tycon thought it an asinine orthodoxy.

    Very few servants walked the halls, with respect to the time in the evening. Only a single servant remained hard at work, a young female frantically scrubbed the floor in a lounge. The task would take far less time if the brush she was given hadn''t been broken. Her uniform was quite new, and her face, even judging at a distance, was far too fresh.

    All that together made her a perfect target for the repugnant scum of a lech that was Zindo Tavor.

    "I''m sorry, Sir. I''m sorry. I''m so sorry," The young maid''s voice had a light, squeaky tone, like a mouse or mewling fox-pup.

    She had encountered the Baron at a disadvantaged time. Perhaps, she had moved too slowly to adhere to the rules of the household. Or she could have moved too slowly in hiding herself. Even a single servant or guard was around would have provided a measure of protection.

    She had none.

    "Hahaha. Don''t move, little girl. I have to wee you to the household," Zindo licked his lips.

    The Baron was an older man, a bit overweight from either age or from decadence. He wore a scummy mustache on his face, too thin to be any means of impressive. His greasy hair was either a poor style choice or an unfortunate medical condition. He may have been attractive some years ago, but the unwee lust in his voice and his unshy hands made him naught but the worst example of corrupt nobility.

    "No, Sir, please don''t," the girl bowed her head, petrified in fear.

    An expensive ceramic vase happened to be within throwing distance of the two. Stained on it was a magnificent array of Rokugani warriors and wingless lizards or tentacle beasts-- Tycon didn''t look closely.

    With a little help, the vase tipped over, crashing upon the expensive treated-wood floor, shattering into thousands of pieces, and alerting the entire west wing of the manor.

    The young woman "Eep!"ed out of the room in a clumsy run, not caring about the state of her disheveled clothing. The greasy Baron eyed the broken vase, cursing under his breath. Within minutes, three lightly armored knights and a sharp-eyed, but armorless woman made their way into the room. The Baron waved the knights away in an angry huff, leaving him and the woman alone.

    Tall. Proud. Dark-haired and defiant. The woman had a split nose, amon injury from hand-to-hand brawls, and a clear scar across her face, leaving her with an eerie but exotic ss eye. The strict look on her face did not mark her as an ''easy'' woman.

    "The vase, Lord Tavor¡­" The woman had a soft, subservient voice.

    "An unstable, cheap disy, mercenary. Nevermind that," the fat man waved flippantly.

    "Intruders?" She frowned.

    "How ridiculous!" The Baron frically waved away the notion, "Intruders? Are you an idiot, Seldin?"

    The woman narrowed her eyes. Tycon had the feeling that if she held a weapon, she''d have gutted her employer.

    The Baron screamed his dissatisfaction, "We''re not in the middle of the woods or some goblin-camp! You''re not an adventurer anymore, you one-eyed wench. Just do as you''re told and don''t bother me with the frivolities."

    The woman lightly bowed and spoke through gritted teeth, "I understand, Lord."

    Pleased, the Baron approached her and reached out his hand. The woman red. Tycon, in his hiding spot, involuntarily shivered. Even at the distance, the woman''s re had sent an icy chill down his serpentine spine.

    Tycon made a mental note to remember her name. Seldin. Strong. Former adventurer, too.

    ? System, inquiry: Seldin''s rank. ?

    [System response: Seldin is Iron-Rank.]

    Tycon was d the Baroncked the prudence to search for an intruder. If he was found, he did not want to risk fighting the Seldin woman alone.

    Seldin looked up from her bow, her functional eye peeking through her hair, a dark crimson in the ever-burning torchlight. Her voice was deeper, near a growl, "Is there anything else, Lord?"

    The Baron had smoothly retracted his hands, cing them behind his back, as if she hadn''t just red a hundred daggers at him. "Ah, yes. The matter of... the boy?"

    "In the dungeons." The woman grimaced in revulsion, "Will the Lord be... partaking, tonight?"

    Tycon found it ominous, the way the woman used the word ''partaking.''

    The Baron waved dismissively, as he turned to walk away, "Perhapster. I have a strongly worded letter or two I must write to the Council. And the matter cannot wait!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Very well, my Lord."

    Seldin resumed her bow as the Baron ''hmph''ed and withdrew. Afterward, she righted her posture and held her lower back, sighing.

    Walking to the vase, she began to pick up therge shards, piling them to a corner.

    She whispered to herself, "It''s all for the pay, Korr. Do as you''re told. It''s all for the pay..."

    Tycon, in his snake-form, slithered frantically away in the shadows. Seldin''s speech began to devolve into mumbles and cursing. Had she cut herself on the sharp fragmented edges?

    Only after slithering away for several minutes into an empty room''s open door, did he begin to rx.

    First, Tycon transformed from tiny-sized-snake back to regr-sized-human.

    Being a snake was beginning to feel far toofortable. He decided to spend most of his time in human form. He doubted the prejudices of the Realm would allow him an easy life as a literal snake.

    Second, he locked the door from the inside. He was the only person inside the room and he wished for it to stay that way.

    Third, he checked his gear.

    During his transformations, he''s found that his immediate effects would be magically stored. Post-transformation nudity would greatly reduce the versatility of his transformation.

    It seemed that Bucket was safe at the moment.

    Still, he was left with the problem of an Iron-Rank female and however-many additional guards...

    Tycon pulled a chair from a desk and sat down.

    He deliberated for a time... He could work to sabotage the Baron''s forces... but it would perhaps be wiser to meet with his party. Anyroad, Dragan seemed to be the overly violent type and Wroe seemed the type to summon a babbling nightmare creature that couldn''t differentiate between humanoids.

    As he was about to stand, Tycon examined the ''desk'' he was sitting beside. He noted the discerning look on his own face, staring at the sizeable and expensive mirror atop it.

    A vanity table?

    Tycon observed his surroundings, noting a stuffed plush doll, a number of ''cute'' minimalistic y sculptures, and several one-handed weapons-- the most unassuming of which radiated mana. On a mannequin rested a slim set of metal half-te armor, held together by dozens of leather straps.

    Tycon''s voice took a tone of amusement, "Lady Seldin''s room? How lucky~"

    On the opposite side of the room, Tycon''s eye caught a dainty triangle, hanging out of an intimate clothes drawer.

    It was a brief moment that Tycon considered the matter.

    No. No, that wasn''t in his best interests.

    Tycon shook his head of any inappropriate thoughts as he took out his boot dagger.

    The Iron-Rank Seldin was an enemy.

    With swift and practiced hands, Tycon cut a small incision on every single leather strap on Miss Seldin''s fantastic half-te armor. Without recing the straps, the armor would be effectively useless.

    ''Why shouldn''t I? A professional fighter used to wielding heavy armor would be far less threatening without it.''

    With a resolute and deserving heart, he ced Seldin''s fantastic magical sword on his waist.

    ''Why shouldn''t I? A professional fighter with a magical de would be a danger to me and mypanions.''

    Tycon hesitated before the final robbery. Eventually, he relented, taking Seldin''s huggable, stuffed cat plush.

    ''Why shouldn''t I? A professional fighter¡­ Shouldn''t have these cute things.''

 Chapter 10 The Hide-In-The-Bush Plan

    ?Barza didn''t have time to clean his and hispanions'' effects, so he left them still mottled with blood. He strapped two swords to his upper back, one on his waist. A wicked curved de rested horizontally on his lower back and a hatchet was strapped to his right upper thigh. A quiver of a half-dozen javelins on his left side ensured that he had a response to enemy archers. He wore a smart pair of gauntlets with thick, metal armguards, as well asprehensive, riveted leather armor,plete with two tall metal pauldrons that effectively guarded his shoulders and the sides of his neck.

    While they walked, Barza was even able to quench his thirst by way of the conveniently ced water canteen, strapped to the belt on his rear right side.

    He thought he looked rather intimidating, stained in still-drying blood and armed for war. At the very least, he figured he looked like a professional-- a veritable dealer of death, prepared for any situation. He felt far more confident than only a few bells prior, when he was fainting and soiling himself.

    "Hey, Gear-Queer," Dragan''s usatory voice woke Barza from his introspection.

    "Ahem." Barza adjusted his gear, "My name is uh... Barza¡­ Um, Mister Dragan."

    "Ah, right. My bad."

    Barza couldn''t afford to be rude to the mountain of a man. The manughed at his blood-covered equipment. The thickness of the man''s fingers, alone, could tear apart his--

    "Hey, Gear-Queer."

    "...Yes, Mister Dragan?"

    "Got any tobo, man?"

    Calling to mind some painful memories, Barza involuntarily shivered. He imed all the possessions of his formerpanions: weapons, tools, and a few silver pieces. The most unique item he imed was a small hinged metal box full of dried, shredded tobo.

    Barza fumbled through some pouches on a bandolier across his chest before handing the small box to Dragan.

    "Ah, thanks, man. I''ll get you back tomorrow."

    "No, that''s fine. I don''t¡­ do that, Mister Dragan."

    "You sure, bud? Well, oOOokay!"

    Barza shut his eyes as he, Dragan, and Wroe jogged towards the Baron''s manor. He certainly hoped that Dragan''s ''tomorrow'' woulde. He had enough of the present and wanted the night to be over. He invoked a silent prayer for his fallenrades. He wasn''t treated well by them, but he hoped they were at peace, wherever they were.

    Opening his eyes, Barza nearly leapt off the road. The wide and hauntingly blue eyes of Tarquin Wroe were staring at him.

    "Mister Wroe. You startled me," Barza tried tough politely. It sounded pathetic.

    Dragan was a monstrosity of a man, 3 yalms tall, covered in rippling muscles, and wielding a greataxerge enough to fell a giant. Barza was intimidated by him. Anyone would be intimidated by him.

    Tarquin Wroe... Barza was absolutely terrified of Tarquin Wroe. The man spoke strangely and he moved with a weird, inhuman elegance.

    "They''re suffering, you know," Tarquin Wroe''s soft voice froze Barza''s blood. He gulped in fear, trying to calm his heart.

    "H-huh? Who¡­ Who is suffering, Mister Wroe?"

    Wroe closed his eyes, smiling as if happily reminiscing of days past, "I can hear them. They grind their teeth. They w at their eyes. They bang their heads upon yet unblooded stone."

    As they jogged and talked, Wroe''s face didn''t change. Barza pursed his lips as he realized... that other than when Mister Wroe shut his eyes when he smiled, he''d never seen him blink.

    Barza very much did not want to have this conversation, not with the topic, and not with the strange man...

    But... he needed to know... even if the knowledge was not meant for humans to hear, "Mister Wroe¡­ What¡­ What do they say?"

    Wroe motioned him closer. Barza gulped as he leaned in to hear. He feared that the whisper of words would contain secrets he wouldn''t forget for a lifetime...

    "They cry out¡­ Gear-Queer."

    ¡­

    "The manor is not entertaining visitors, sir. Please return in the morning."

    Lit by a roaring fire of a brazier, a single guardswoman stood in front of the Tavor manor gates. Beside her was a bell that she could ring to sound the rm.

    "Oh, I was here to seek entrance to the manor, but I''ve changed my mind," With a smooth motion, the tall and slightly effeminate Tarquin Wroe took hold of the woman''s gloved hand.

    "S-s-s-s-sir. P-p-please. I''m¡­ I''m on duty," the guardswoman turned away. She did not retract her hand.

    "Of course. But isn''t it boring out here, by yourself? My name is Tarquin. What''s yours?"

    ...

    With a hop and a step, Dragan quietly cleared the top of the 8-fulm wall. The beast of a man didn''t even use his arms. The soundlessness of the massive warrior in leathers and carrying an impossibly heavy axe instilled both confidence and a healthy dosage of terror in Barza''s heart. Barza reached up to grab Dragan''s outstretched hand, scaling the wall with ease.

    The pair crept through the well-maintained manor garden, flitting from shadow to shadow, before finally settling behind a bush within dashing distance of the main entrance. With worry in his heart, Barza gripped either hand on two of his sword hilts.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Baron Tavor employs dozens of guards," He whispered to Dragan. "If the three or four of us fight well, we''d have a good fighting chance at defeating each individual group as they arrive."

    Barza''s heart pounded. He''d never snuck into a noble''s house before. If he were caught, he''d be killed. Failing that, he''d rot in a dungeon for the rest of his life.

    "We have to be careful, though... There''s an invincible armored-warrior named Seldin who works for the Baron... She was famous in the adventurer''s guild before her--"

    "Hey, Gear-Queer," Dragan interrupted him.

    Barza cleared his throat, "Ahem. Y-yes, Mister Dragan?"

    "What would you do if you were alone in a woman''s room--"

    "Wh-why would I be alone in a woman''s room?" Barza''s tone of whisper went up an octave. He couldn''t believe the absurdity of Dragan''s questioning in such a tense situation.

    "Shut up, I''m not done yet-- what if you were in a woman''s room¡­ And you saw her underwear. What would you do?"

    "I-- what? What, why?"

    Dragan raised his palms up, "But what would you do, though?"

    Barza grew quiet. Momentster, he turned away, hoping the darkness would hide his reddening face, "I wouldn''t... do anything."

    "Haaah?" Dragan waggled a meaty finger, "Youuu thoooought of something. What was it?"

    "I, err¡­ No. I didn''t."

    "What waaaasss iiiiiiiiitttt? Don''t liiiiiiie," Dragan taunted in a sing-song voice. Hearing his voice taking on a higher pitch made Barza ufortable.

    "It wouldn''t be pleasant," Wroe whispered sternly.

    Barza sped his mouth before he could yelp in surprise. He copsed onto his side in shock. Where did Wroee from? Did he just emerge from the darkness? Wasn''t he still talking to the guardswoman?

    Wroe had appeared between Dragan and Barza in a crouch, "Seeing the woman''s delicate undergarments sloppily spilling out of her wardrobe, I would ce them neatly back into the drawer¡­ But upon closing it, the attractive woman would have returned to the room with impable timing to witness it."

    Dragan nodded in seriousness, "Yeah. Knowing your luck, that''d definitely happen."

    "What''s worse is my first reaction would be to yell, ''It''s not what it looks like.''" Wroe looked up at the moon, wistfully.

    "Riiight. And yelling that only makes you look more guilty," Dragan agreed.

    "And even if I stayed silent and looked confused, the woman would just grow angrier and angrier."

    "Yeah, you''d be dead," Dragan concluded.

    "Right, no chance," Wroe agreed.

    "Is there someone over there?" A guard''s voice called out.

    Barza began to sweat, ''Oh, crap. Oh, crap. It''s happening.''

    Wroe looked over to him and back to Dragan. "I''ll go."

    "Is it a dude or a chick?" Dragan asked.

    "A guy, unfortunately. What''s the n?"

    "The Hide-in-the-Bush n," The giant replied without hesitation.

    Wroe frowned, "You know, Boss is going to throw a fit."

    "Yeah, whatever. Boss isn''t here. AND it''s a good n! I don''t know why Boss doesn''t like it."

    "Alright, see you in a bit,"Wroe stood up out of the bush to quickly intercept the guard, "Oh, excuse me! I''m a bit lost!"

    Barza righted himself into a crouch, quietly drawing two of his des. His heart rate and breathing quickened, adrenaline beginning to take hold of him.

    He turned to Dragan and nodded, "I think I''m ready."

    "But what would you do, though?"

 Chapter 11 The Lone Shadowdark

    ?Wroe was a skilled and brave sword fighter, as Barza had hoped. But as the first guard cried out, another came. And soon after, came another.

    Barza nervously looked to the big man crouched behind a bush, beside him, "Mister Dragan¡­ Should we¡­?"

    The massive brute scoffed and shook his head, "Pff. Nah! He''ll be fine!"

    How could he find this situation funny?

    "But Mister Dragan--"

    "Look, man," Dragan pointed all the fingers of his hand at Barza repeatedly, to emphasize, "We gotta stick. to. the n."

    Barza looked over their protective bush, uncertain if it was really wise to listen to Dragan.

    Tarquin Wroe stood tall, an eerily imposing image. Shining metal breastte and pauldrons. Unfailing smile and flowing, silky smooth hair. He was the perfect portrait of a legendary hero.

    But as Wroe fought the guards, Barza could see the man''s movements begin to slow and his breaths be morebored. Wroe had even sustained a bruise on his left cheek and the leathers on his arms and legs had taken a couple of superficial cuts.

    Through the opened door of the manor, Barza heard the tter of leather and te-- yet another squad would be arriving to further outnumber Wroe. Barza regripped his two swords as Dragan rolled his eyes.

    "You aren''t gonna stick to the n, dude?"

    "Mister Wroe needs help. And if you won''t do it, I will."

    "Well, alright, bud." The big man shrugged, "Just don''t be surprised when Boss rips you a new one."

    Barza furrowed his brow and looked away in deep thought. He was fairly certain Mister Wroe said that Boss-- err... Sir Tycon didn''t like the hide-in-the-bush n.

    He shook the useless thoughts away, "Doesn''t matter. I''m going."

    Barza leapt to the side, allowing his shoulder to smoothly transition him into abat roll. Righting himself, he sent a quick upward sh to deflect a guardsman''s warspear before she could strike at Tarquin''s blind spot. With a turn, he used the momentum to strike another guard''s longsword, the resounding ng sending the weapon flying across the yard, several fulms away.

    He stood beside Wroe, whose face had somehow taken on a more-amused smirk. Faced with Wroe''s soul-piercing blue eyes, however, Barza couldn''t help but look away.

    "I h-hope you don''t mind me joining you, Mister Wroe."

    Wroe held his sword, pointed strictly upwards, to his smiling face, a knight''s militaristic dueling pose.

    "Not at all, Mister Barza. I was beginning to fear I''d be the only hero tonight."

    Barza looked to Wroe in awe. His spirit was roused and the fear that had gripped his heart was reced by pride.

    But seeing his dashing and androgynous figure¡­ it felt like swirling fish were swimming circles in his stomach.

    ''...W-wait, am I falling in love? No way! I''m only into short-haired girl-next-door type girls! Ones named Sorina!''

    "Here theye again, Mister Barza!" Wroe warned.

    The pair fought valiantly against the guards for a few exchanges, the energized Barza swinging his des with zealous ferocity.

    This was it. Barza was working for Guild Invictus now. He''d protect his new life with his own two hands.

    "Back off!" Barza roared, swinging his des in a cross-cutting arc. A few guards jumped back to dodge, but his target took two deep gashes on his leather-armored chest.

    "You cut me, Barza, you BASTARD!" the wounded guard yelled.

    Barza hesitated and retreated a step back, "I uh¡­ Sorry, John."

    "Watch it," Wroe calmly suggested.

    Barza lifted his des reflexively in a cross-pattern block, receiving a heavy blow from a halberd. His body was drenched in sweat from fighting, and he felt his stiff muscles struggle and strain to push the weapon away. A swift kick to the gut from the halberdier ended Barza''s struggle, forcing him back. Acting out of reflex, he was able to roll backward and back on his feet.

    Guard Captain Varen spun his halberd in a smooth flourish, as disappointment set into the lines on his aged face. His ck-and-white pepper beard and mustache framed a deep frown.

    Varenpointed to his guards, "You two, get medical supplies. You, the blonde girl, get Miss Seldin."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The three guards stood and responded in a series of salutes and ''Yes, Captain''s. As a credit to their formal training, they ran off, not daring to look back.

    "And you, Barza¡­" Varen shook his head, "Are the Shadowdark Wolves rebelling against House Tavor?"

    A nearby bush snorted with barely-containedughter, but Barza quickly answered to avoid suspicion.

    "Guard Captain Varen¡­ The Shadowdark Wolves are no more¡­"

    Barza wiped the blood from his mouth. Varen''s kick and the fight reset made him realize that he was injured. Furthermore, his two swords were damaged in the sh. He tossed the two of them away, drawing another de and his hatchet.

    Slowly and deliberately, Barza held his weapons forward in abat pose, "Now it is only I... The Lone Shadowdark."

    The nearby bush shook with thunderousughter, followed by a single man''s apuse, and an ''ohhh, man.''

    Varen, Barza, and the guards looked over to the bush behind Wroe. The tall blue-haired boy shrugged and smiled with his eyes closed, opting not to add to his heroic speech.

    Varen cleared his throat to continue, stroking his neatly trimmed beard.

    "Even so, Barza, why don''t you stand down?" The older man reasoned, "You know that you''re no match for Seldin."

    Barza shook his head, "I can''t... Captain Varen, a young boy''s gone missing."

    Varen''s face darkened, "Those are just rumors, Barza. There is no proof that Baron Tavor participates in such vile--"

    "Just rumors, Captain? The rumors keeping! And people keep going missing! And you and I both know that no one''s mounted an investigation. Even the Adventurer''s Guild hasn''t been able to intervene!" Barza yelled back.

    It didn''t make sense. He''d worked with Guard Captain Varen before and he was an honest, fair man.

    "That''s because there''s no evidence!" Varen eximed. The volume in his response trailed helplessly.

    Wroe stepped forward, his sword sheathed, and his hands folded. "If I may, gentlemen..."

    Varen and Barza nced at each other, before again turning to the tall,nky boy.

    With a gentle smile, the boy''s eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, "There is a dark mist surrounding the manor. There are equally dark forces at y, perhaps the kind that requires a blood sacrifice?"

    With a look of worry, Varen shifted ufortably, "That''s a heavy usation, young man."

    "My eyes see the truth that most would prefer nevere to light," Wroe replied simply.

    "But still, it is an issue that should be submitted to the Adventurer''s Guild..." Varen bared his teeth in a grimace, "They can request for a Schr or Priest to verify, then an investigation can beunched."

    Wroe gave a disinterested shrug, not bothering to verbalize a response.

    "There''s no time! A life is at stake!" Barza yelled. He had to make the Guard Captain see reason.

    Guard Captain Varen pursed his lips, "So I suppose there''s no chance that the two of you would relinquish your weapons ande quietly?"

    Barza stretched his arms, again resuming hisbat stance, "Sorry, Captain. I won''t be following your orders, anymore."

    Varen nodded slowly... He turned to his guards and raised his voice, "The Shadowdark Wolves have turned traitor to House Tavor. Your orders are to detain them until Seldin arrives."

    Turning to Barza, Varen assumed an offensive stance, ready to bring the oppressive weight of his halberd down again upon the young man.

    "I had hoped to be civil, on ount of you being friends with my niece. ''Tis a shame, Barza!"

    "That''s not my name, old man," Barza grit his teeth. With a yell, he leaped into the crowd of guards,unching a flurry of steel, fueled by recklessness, fear, and adrenaline.

    "My name... is... the LONE. SHADOWDARK!!!"

    ",

 Chapter 12 Tyconâ€™s Kindness

    ?Tycondrius opened the second-story window with human hands and peeked his head out.

    There was attice for climbing-nts. It looked nice, but was a security vulnerability.

    With his sneaky-snake transformation ability, Tycon slithered sessfully down to the courtyard. He continued through the grass and brush, towards the sound of noise.

    A score of guards remained standing. Near twice their number were defeated,ying about, groaning or tending to their injuries.

    Tycon''s snakey head bobbed up and down in a nod.

    Perhaps they wouldn''t need his help. He slithered to behind a nearby rock to watch.

    ...The longer he watched, the more he grew disappointed.

    Barza couldn''t strike a single guard. He could receive their strikes just fine.

    Wroe was a remarkable swordsman... but... why was he using a sword? Tycon thought that thing was just for decoration.

    He was a caster. He had to have been a caster. Maybe he was just... showing off?

    ...And where... where in the seven. hells. was that big-boned buffoon, Dragan?

    Tycon reassumed his human form and picked up a guardsman''s sword that had fallen nearby.

    "I''d better do something before all my friends die..."

    ...

    Barza threw his weight into his swing with a curved sword, sessfully forcing one of his attackers back. With the emergence of Guard Captain Varen, the sleepy guards seemed to have remembered how to fight, effectively covering each other''s weaknesses-- attacking at intervals. Barza couldn''t find any opportunities tond a decisive blow.

    Wroe flourished his longsword, "Just another day in Invictus."

    Barza steeled himself. If Wroe still had the energy and confidence to joke in a life-or-death situation, it was too early for him to lose hope, "So this happens all the time, Mister Wroe?"

    "Too often, I think, Mister Shadowdark."

    A quick sword sh from Barza managed to unbnce an attacker, "Just Lone, lea--"

    Another guard thrust ance forward, forcing Barza to retract and parry, "--LEAVE the Shadowdark out, please."

    "Mister Lonely? A rather strange choice of name, but very well."

    Captain Varen spun his halberd above his head. "This next strike will end you, Lone Shadowdark!"

    Barza readied his curved de against the attack, a sh of worry in his eyes, ''I''m not so sure I can take this¡­''

    Barza spotted something in his peripheral vision, and he crouched, rolling to the side.

    A sword had been thrown and violently and urately spun through the air, forcing Guard Captain Varen to deflect it.

    "Who goes there?" The Guard Captain yelled out.

    His response came through the darkness, as the keen whistle of a whip wrapped around Varen''s back foot. The whip retracted, causing the old Guard Captain to lose his footing and fall onto his back, smashing the back of his head on the hard ground.

    "AAAHAAAA!!!" A loud rumble shook the ground, as Dragan jumped out from behind the bush. Bounding forward, he leapt up and above Wroe and Barza,nding near Guard Captain Varen.

    "No deaths, Mister Dragan!" Tycon shouted.

    "You got it, Boss!"

    Dragan, the giant of the man, pointed the bottom of his greataxe''s haft down at the Guard Captain''s helmeted head. With a masculine grunt, he smashed it downward.

    The strike sounded a clear and loud CRONK of something breaking.

    The helmet cracked. The ground beneath the old man''s head cracked. Barza was almost certain that Captain Varen''s skull had cracked, along with it.

    Every single standing guard took a step back, fearing the worst.

    "Captain, no!!" "Th-they killed the Captain!" "Oh no, Captain Varen!"

    Barza looked down at the Captain with guilt in his eyes. Wroe rolled his eyes at Dragan, shrugging his shoulders in an exaggerated manner.

    Dragan waved a free hand angrily, "No, no! I used the blunt end-- not the sharp end!"

    ...

    Tycon dropped his whip and walked forward, his hand covering his mouth in shock. He hoped... that older fellow was tougher than he looked.

    Clearing his throat, Tycon raised his voice, "Baron Tavor has been implicated in crimes against another the Noble House, the House of Charm."

    Tycon scowled, "My house."

    He scanned the area, the armored guardsmen, and he saw only fear, "You willply with--"

    One guard stepped forward, his fear making him foolish, "You killed Guard Captain Varen!"

    Tycon calmly closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes at the offender. The young man who stepped forward also realized that hispanions had subconsciously distanced themselves from him-- they stared, silently judging.

    The guards feared nobles. The boy did not know his ce.

    He looked around nervously, releasing an audible gulp. None of his peers would meet his gaze.

    Tycon clenched his teeth to show his displeasure, "I strongly dislike being interrupted, young man."

    "Mister Barza," Tycon waved a hand, "Strike that man down."

    Barza readied his de, trying his best to shrug off his fatigue and to hide the amount of damage his battered, beaten body had already taken.

    "You mean Lone Shadowdark? Are you BLIND?! What can he do in his condition?" The young guardsman scoffed.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. At first, he wanted nothing to do with the boy. But he found his actions uneptable. It would weigh upon his consciousness if he allowed the guardsman to continue.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Barza attacked, mustering a sound battlecry, but the young guardsman stepped away, expertly maneuvering his sword to deflect and dodge Barza''s telegraphed swings. Growing impatient, Barza attacked with single-minded fervor. But in a one-on-one duel... and with his poor fighting condition... and against an energized, younger opponent, Barza was at a great disadvantage.

    Tycon decided to provide some verbal encouragement.

    "Mister Barza," Tyconmanded in a low voice. "You will do as I say."

    Barza turned, granting Tycon a face full of shame.

    [Commander''s Strike activated.]

    Tycon smirked as he heard the System''s voice in his mind confirm the usage of another of his Skills.

    ...

    Barza turned to the young guardsman, adopting an expression of simultaneous anger and helplessness, but then... he was filled with a surprising surge of vigor.

    Strength returned to his arms. His eyes regained focus.

    Courage filled his heart. The scream of a crazed madman filled his lungs.

    He swung his de.

    Barza''s de shattered into a half-dozen pieces, but the boyish guard lost hold of his own weapon. Undeterred, Barza tackled the younger man to the ground and struck his face with his hands. Dozens of fists rained down, bruising the guardsman''s face.

    "Yeah, GET ''EM!" Dragan cheered.

    "Oho! That''s the spirit," Wroeughed.

    Barza, gasped for air, utterly spent. With the young guardsman defenseless and unmoving, Barza raised his hands in victory. The crowd looked to each other, unsure of what to do.

    "Mister Barza," Displeasure was still apparent in Tycon''s voice, "I have not given you my permission to stop."

    Barza furrowed his brows in confusion, and he turned his head to look at Tycon. Guard Captain Varen was beaten. His opponent was beaten. None of Tavor''s guards were still attacking. They had won?

    He looked down at the young guardsman''s swollen face. Barza saw his lips move.

    "M-mercy," the boy begged in a barely audible whisper.

    "Mis.ter. Bar.za," Tycon stood over the both of them.

    Barza closed his eyes for a moment before solidifying his resolve... "I''m sorry."

    And so Barza pulled back his arm... and he continued to beat the boy.

    His hands were covered by the boy''s blood, spilling from his nose and from the swollen cuts on his face. His fists stung, having been split open on the boy''s cheeks. Barza punched the boy, ignoring his own fatigue the best he could.

    He inscribed every detail of this scene in his heart. This was what happened when speaking out against Baron Tycon.

    Every strike broke the boy''s arrogance... showed him his weakness... showed him his inability. But every strike showed his loyalty to Guild Invictus.

    Barza''s fists began to slow with his fatigue.

    Tycon''s hushed voice continued to urge him, "Hammer down. Use the bottom of your fists. Utilize gravity to damage your opponent."

    Barza nodded, as hemitted Tycon''s lesson to memory. The beatings continued.

    None of the guards wish to deal with either the sword prowess of Tarquin Wroe or the greataxe-wielding Dragan. None were brave or foolish enough to attack a noble. They could only swallow their anger as they watched and waited.

    "You don''t stop when you are tired, Mister Barza," Tycon said leisurely, "You stop when I am tired."

    Barza hammered down at the boy''s bloodied, swollen, and wholly unrecognizable face. His gut churned as he saw the boy''s missing teeth stuck in the dirt. Near copsing and struggling to catch his breath, Barza half-turned to beg, "Please, Sir Tycon¡­ I can''t--"

    With a surprising swiftness, Tycon was kneeling down, mere ilms away from his face.

    "Mister BARZA. You are a WEAPON." The noble growled furiously through clenched teeth, "You do not THINK. You only ACT."

    Barza felt fear. How could he be so foolish to question a noble?! He tried to lift his arms... But they wouldn''t move.

    "Sir¡­ My arms¡­ They won''t--"

    "If your hands cannot move, use your elbows or your knees. Your entire body is a weapon, Mister Barza, and I will have it used as such."

    Barza could only grit his teeth as heid sideways on the young guardsman. Straightening a leg back, he shot it forward, striking his knee against the boy''s side. The fallen youth groaned as a new pain wracked his body.

    "Again... Again..." Tycon''s voice drilled without emotion..."Again."

    The crowd watched in grim silence. When Barza again slowed and could barely move, Tycon began to micromanage his movements.

    "Straighten the leg. Strike. Opposite knee. I SAID! OPPOSITE! KNEE! Good. Now, strike!"

    Only once Tycon was certain the guardsman was unconscious from pain and broken bones, did he pat Barza on the back, "Rest."

    "Th-thank you, Sir," Barza sobbed. He couldn''t even lift his bloody hands to wipe his tears.

    "You''re speaking an awful lot for a man I thought was too tired to move."

    Barza quickly shut his mouth and avoided Tycon''s gaze.

    Tycon stood to face the crowd, once more.

    "You willply with House Charm''s investigations. As the highest rank among you has been bested and no nobility stands among you to contest me... I am not asking you, I ammanding you!

    "And if ANY of you is FOOL enough to question my orders as both a noble and man of honor--"

    Tycon stomped a cruel boot down. It struck the defenseless, fallen guardsman''s ugly, misshapen face.

    "Then I will not be AS KIND as I have recently demonstrated."

 Chapter 13 Bucket

    ?Tycon led Guard Captain Varen and two other guardsmen through the manor and eventually to a lifted portcullis.

    "This..." Varen stared in shock, his mouth agape, "They told me the iron gate was sealed! The chain it''s connected to-- it''s obviously broken!"

    Tycon looked towards the open gate so Varen wouldn''t see him rolling his eyes, "And you believed that, Mister Varen? Trust your subordinates, but verify. You can clearly see that the visible chain is wholly unrted to the door mechanism."

    Tycon had only realized the fact after bypassing the portcullis in his snake form. The Guard Captain didn''t need to know that.

    Varen averted his gaze in shame "P-perhaps I had been too eager to deny such unsavory rumors, Sir."

    Some time earlier, Tycon had resuscitated the old Guard Captain. Thetter had awoken with a splitting headache and had to be gently recapitted of the situation. Tycon was fairly certain the old man had irrecoverable brain damage. If the effects did not surface soon, they''d advance quickly, in respect to the man''s advanced age.

    That would be a problem for Future-Varen. Present-Varen remained useful, still.

    Tycon had assigned Wroe to help in treating the wounded. His androgynous likeability and charm would do much to appease the simple-minded guards into epting Tycon''s hostile takeover. He sent Dragan to recover Baron Tavor. As long as Tavor came back alive, Tycon didn''t particrly mind the condition of the target.

    The group of four had finallye across the dungeon cells and the subsequent stench of dposing flesh.

    "By the gods, the smell..." Varen retched.

    Tycon nced into the cells and began to coldly summarize. "Yes, the rotting corpses within are of children, mostly between ages 7 to 11, with the oldest being the young girl in the second-to-farthest cell on the left."

    "This is monstrous¡­" "We''ve been working for this--this viin?" The guards were unable to hide their disgust, spitting upon the stone dungeon tile and sharing their ''I should have known''s.

    Had Tycon not opted to use his own manpower to capture the Baron, he was certain the guards would have led a mob of angry townsfolk to burn the man alive on a stake. Though Tycon found the prospective thought of torches and pitchforks amusing, the royalty of the Kingdom wouldn''t be nearly as amused. After all, an organized collective of citizens rising up to brutally murder a nobleman would be a cause for concern among the higher echelons of nobility, irrespective of the circumstances.

    Hm. Tycon knew of the Kingdom''s royalty, but he didn''t know about anyone''s history in Guild Invictus. Peculiar.

    Tycon stopped in front of one of the old-wooded cell doors. With a strong rear kick, the door flew open, revealing a young, dirty-blonde boy, no more than 10 years of age, hanging by his wrists from manacles.

    The guards rushed in, while Tycon walked steadily into the room, ring at the young boy. Bucket shivered in fear, tears running down the cheeks of his dirt-covered face.

    "Look how scared he is!" "It''s quite alright, young man, we''ll get you out of here."

    Tycon didn''t take his eyes off of Bucket, "Mister Varen, order your men to find the keys and release this boy. He is my charge."

    Bucket shivered with the way Tycon phrased his statements. He knew he had f*cked up.

    ¡­

    Baron Tavor had been taken away and was to be held by the Adventurer''s Guild until further ruling could be delivered. Tycon was confident he wouldn''t have a good ending, due to the number and the quality of witnesses, not to mention how everyone seemed to fear Tycon''s noble backing.

    Tycon hadmandeered the Tavor Manor and dismissed the guards for the evening, ensuring them that he''d handle the financial takeover of the estate in the morning. Relieved that they''d keep their jobs, they left withoutint, promising to return on the morrow.

    Tycon did not inform them of their impending pay cuts.

    A mere group of four attacked the manor and captured their Baron. If the situation were normal, Tycon would have them all fired.

    Tycon rxed on a chair in the cozy fire-warmed living area of the manor. Paintings of past generations adorned the walls, looking down solemnly at the unwee golden-eyed intruder. There were plenty of tables and seating. It was quite nice.

    Bucket sat on a chair opposite of him, wrapped in a nket and holding a still-steaming bowl of porridge. The boy''s ears were slightly pointed, hinting at his non-human heritage.

    "Bucket," Tycon spoke sternly, "Have you eaten?"

    The boy stared into the soup bowl, "N-no, Sir."

    "I advise you to eat. It will recover some of your fatigue from today and will grant you strength for our activities tomorrow."

    The boy continued staring into his soup bowl for a time.

    "I''m¡­ not hungry," he finally mumbled.

    It was obvious to Tycon that the boy was at his limits of fatigue and hunger. Still, Tycon sat patiently, watching. The boy was dreaming if he thought he could win a waiting game against him.

    "I''m not hungry, Sir," Bucket said, looking up and speaking with a bit more volume.

    Tycon smiled in response, "Whether you eat or not, we will talk, afterward."

    Under Tycon''s unmoving gaze, the boy sumbed to his advice. He picked up the wooden soup spoon and began to eat. Quickly and voraciously, he finished the child-sized portion of porridge and ced the bowl politely on the table.

    "...Thank you for the meal," Bucket said in a quiet voice.

    Tycon nodded in approval.

    "Y-you¡­" Bucket began. Tears began to form at the corners of his eyes, "You guys left me."

    Tiny streams of tears silently ran down the boy''s face. Tycon remained unmoved.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You were taken."

    "B-by an adult!"

    "Bucket," Tycon''s voice remained cold and impassive.

    "Y-yes?" the child sniffed.

    "Did you fight?"

    "What?" Bucket was stunned. "No, she was an--"

    "An adult, yes. So you didn''t fight."

    "N-no, but--"

    "Bucket, I just need answers for now." Tycon gently chided. "After my inquiries, you will be given a chance for a rebuttal."

    "Y¡­ yes, Sir."

    "Did you fight?"

    "No, Sir, I couldn''t."

    "Did you yell for help?"

    "Y-yes, Sir. No one c--"

    "Did you struggle against your kidnapper?"

    "Yes, Sir, I--"

    "Did you kick?"

    "...No, Sir."

    "Did you bite?"

    "...N-no, Sir. I didn''t."

    Tycon steepled his fingers and leaned forward in his high-back chair.

    "Young man, anyone in Guild Invictus can be captured by the enemy. You were taken. You did not fight back or struggle to the best of your ability. It sounds like you had resigned to your fate and just... waited for someone to save you."

    "N-no, b-but I¡­ I--"

    Tycon''s voice took on a darker tone, interrupting Bucket''s mewling sobs, "That is not how we operate, young man..."

    The boy continued to sob quietly, but Tycon continued on... "As soon as we leave town, you will begin a new training regimen."

    The boy looked up, his puffy, teary-eyed face and sandy-brown hair looking miserable in the living room torchlight, "Are-- are you finally going to teach me how to fight?"

    Tycon resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "It is not a reward, young man. You will need basic skills if you are to One: defend yourself and Two: Participate in the defense of the Guild¡­"

    Tycon stood up and leaned over the table to entuate his final point, "This incident will not be repeated, do you understand me?"

    Bucket wiped his eyes with his filthy coat sleeve, trying to hold his excitement. "Yes, Sir!"

    "Now, do you have any issues or questions?"

    "No, Sir!" Bucket responded heartily.

    Tycon reached his hand over to pat the boy on the head-- but decided against it. Instead, he pointed to one of the room doors. "You can sleep in that room over there... but before that, I''d like you to fetch Mister Wroe."

    "Y-yes, Sir! I''m going!"

    The boy seemed a bit... single-minded. Concerning his age, that was permissible. Then with how quickly his mood changed from wallowing in self-pity to enthusiasm, Tycon expected that the boy''s oing training would yield good results.

    The boy pushed himself forward in the chair in order to allow his feet to touch the ground. Then he rushed off in a disy of youthful exuberance.

    Tycon hoped he''d keep that energy.

    He would need it to survive theing suns.

 Chapter 14 Shut Up And Follow Me

    ?"You wanted to see me, Boss?" Tarquin entered the living area.

    Tycon had wrapped himself warmly in a nket in front of the firece, slowly sipping on a heated cup of wine. After Bucket''s departure, he had discovered a prominent wine rack in the corner of the room.

    As Tycon hadmandeered the entire estate, Tavor''s vintage wine collection was also his.

    Delicious.

    Tycon examined the Daeva. Wroe was half-a-head taller than he was. His light-blue hair was a few ilms longer, where Tycon kept his short enough to not need excessive styling. He wore leather armor, reinforced by metal shoulders and a chestguard. Unlike Tycon''s dark, peaked hood, Wroe had a white hood. That and the white clothing underneath his armor matched well with his somewhat-obvious angelic bloodline.

    Tycon nced down at Wroe''s side, frowning with disdain at seeing his longsword.

    "Indeed. I wanted to discuss something with you, old friend."

    As frustrated as Tycon was at the whole situation, he couldn''t help but feel a deep kinship with both Wroe and Dragan. He hadn''t many memories of them, but he wasn''t too worried. More memories woulde and he could always inquire about whatever was missing.

    Tycon poured a second cup of wine for hispanion. Wroe smilingly epted it, taking a seat for himself.

    "Should we get a third cup for Dragan?" Wroe asked.

    "Nah. We''ll start ahead of him. I believe we both know how much that man drinks," Tycon chuckled.

    The pair clinked together their cups in a friendly toast, draining them in smooth, practiced pulls.

    Tycon took the wine bottle and again, filled the cups with the sweet red.

    "Well, what''s up, Boss?" Wroe inquired.

    Tycon gently swirled the wine in his smooth, wooden cup, letting his gaze wander about the room, "I wished to inquire about your swordy tonight."

    Wroe ced his wine cup on the table beside him and smiled sheepishly, "Oh? You saw that, huh? It''s the¡­ Zarovich-style de forms, I learned it when I was in--"

    "No, no," Tycon held a palm up, interrupting him, "I mean to say¡­ Why didn''t you fight at range?"

    "What? Because... I don''t have a ranged weapon. Well, I earned an Expert badge with a crossbow, but..."

    "No, wait, hold on," Tycon drained his wine cup, trying to think. His concern was steadily rising.

    "What is it, Boss?"

    Tycon decided to be clear, "Magic, Mister Wroe. Why didn''t you use magic?"

    Wroeughed derisively, "Haha. I don''t know any magic, Boss. That''s silly."

    Tycon''s eyes set into a confused re, "What the... but the... Arms? And when the ceiling ate the corpses?"

    "Oh, yeah, that was kinda weird, huh?"

    "And gathering information about Bucket''s whereabouts? All those screams we heard around that time?"

    "I just... kinda hear voices, sometimes?"

    Tycon was standing and yelling at Wroe, "And I was told you IDENTIFIED the DARK MAGIC surrounding the MANOR?!"

    It was all he could do to not begin strangling the man. Wroe felt his Boss''s rising anger and stood up, trying to calm Tycon down.

    "Boss, I just-- kinda, sorta felt it! Do-Don''t be mad!"

    "I''M FURIOUS!"

    "Boss! Boss!" Wroe put his open palms forward, "Can we just all caaaalllm--"

    ? SYSTEM! Inquiry! What ss is Tarquin Wroe? ?

    [System response: Tarquin Wroe, Bronze-Rank Duelist]

    ? System, inquiry! Just to be absolutely, perfectly clear, does the Duelist ss have any magical capabilities? ?

    [Negative.]

    Tycon''s eyes widened in surprise at the System''s answer. He began to gnash his teeth, trying desperately to rein in his anger.

    "Shut up! SHUT UP! Shut the hells up, Tarquin Wroe, and follow me!"

    ¡­

    Tycon kicked open the door. Inside was Barza, snoring like an innocent child, yet somehow also like an ugly, roaring beast, trying to attract an equally ugly mate.

    ? System, inquiry: What ss is Barza Keith? ?

    [System response: Barza Keith, Bronze-Rank Ruffian]

    "Pah, as bad as I thought," Tycon cursed aloud.

    Ruffian sounded like a lower-tier version of Rogue. With Barza''s fighting style, a more upront and domineering ss would be more beneficial to him. He''d be trained along with Bucket.

    Tycon mmed the door shut.

    ¡­

    Tycon kicked open the door. Bucket was startled awake, "Dad?"

    "Nope, Quay''s still missing. Might be dead. It''s just me. Every day you live, you learn of pain and suffering."

    "O-oh, okay," the boy pouted.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Wroe frowned and in a hushed tone he whispered, "Oh,e on, Boss, really?"

    "I don''t care, Mister Wroe."

    Tycon stared at the half-elf boy in the bed, who had quickly nodded back to sleep.

    ? System inquiry: What ss is Bucket? ?

    [System response: Bucket, Unranked Novice]

    "Well, at least that''s good news."

    "Boss, what''s this all about?" Wroe prodded.

    The Novice ss was an excellent one. Bucket would be able to learn skills from any ss-- though thepletion rate would be lower. Even better was that the Novice was a transitioning ss ensuring that when he did ss-change, he would attain a standard-tier, and possibly a high-tier ss.

    Because his main ss hadn''t yet beendetermined, Guild Invictus could cultivate his abilities to match his talent¡­ Unlike a certain Duelist.

    Tycon again red at Wroe as he quietly closed the door.

    ¡­

    Tycon kicked open the door.

    A woman with a scar over one eye looked up with puffy, tearful eyes. Her room looked as if a whirlwind had gone through it, a tablemp illuminating all sorts of clothing and personal effects strewn haphazardly onto the floor.

    Was Seldin¡­ looking for something? The guards seemed unable to summon her to rebuff their attack on the estate.

    "Sorry," Tycon apologized, "Wrong room."

    The armorless Seldin, in her long white shirt and ck skirt, didn''t bother to stand, nor hide her sniveling.

    "Wh-who are you guys?" Seldin asked in a quavering voice.

    Tycon nced over to Seldin''s armor. It was still in one piece. The woman hadn''t even tried donning it.

    Could this woman have been tearing apart her room for the past two bells?

    Tycon shook his head and spoke in rapid-fire, "Good-evening,-I''m-Baron-Tycondrius,-s''nice-to-meet-you. The estate is under new management. I''d-like-you-to-continue-working-for-me.-We''ll-discuss-terms-of-your-continued-employment in the¡­ uh, morning? Wear-business-casual-for-the-interview.-Good-night."

    ? System inquiry: What ss is Seldin? ?

    Tycon politely, but firmly shut the door and began to dash away.

    "Boss? Wh-why are we running?" Wroe asked while hurrying after him.

    [System response: Seldin, Iron-Rank Berserk Knight]

    Tycon only ran faster.

    ¡­

    Tycon kicked open the door.

    Barza continued to snore, sounding like a wood saw slowly and violently torturing a tree. An ugly tree.

    Tycon took a stuffed doll out of his side-pack and ced it amongst Barza''s belongings.

    Wroe watched in curiosity, "Huh. Okay."

    Tycon shut the door.

    ...

    Tycon kicked open the door.

    "Heyyyyyyyy!" Dragan smiled, drinking from an open bottle of wine. Over a score of bottlesid on the floor, opened and unopened-- more open than not.

    The Titanblood and four guards sat in a circle, in various states of undress, seated around a deck of cards. One of the drunken female guards looked upzily, blinking her eyes in disbelief.

    "Huh? Isn''t that the Sir?"

    The other, slightly more sober guards looked up in a bit of mild panic. One whispered, "Sh-should we report?"

    Tycon stared for a moment before he dropped his head with a sigh... "No, nevermind."

    Tycon mmed the door shut...

    ? System inquiry: What ss is Dragan Ashlord? ?

    [System response: Dragan Ashlord, Iron-Rank Swordmage]

    "...Wait, what?" Tycon raised his hands and asked aloud in confusion.

    "They looked like they were ying a form of strip poker, Boss? Did you want to ask to jo--"

    "What? No. No! Seven hells, man, no! Just¡­ Juste with me. I''m going to fix you."

    "Fix me? Well... Alright, Boss," Wroe hurried forward to walk beside Tycon, "Where to, next?"

    Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Where else? To the dungeons."

 Chapter 15 Using The Torture Equipment

    ?Splotches of crimson stained the tile at the center of the ritual room. Skulls of man, beast, and beast-man were piled up artfully around the room in strategic positions. Eighty-eight dusk red candles, standing upon skulls and candbras added well to the room''s ominous atmosphere. At the room''s center, a sacrificial altar glowed eerily, illuminating a fouryered magic circle carved into the stone. Sigils, glyphs, and additional magic circles were drawn on the floor tiles in a thick chalky substance as an addedyer of arcane protection.

    Baron Zindo Tavor''s superbly decorated ritual room was damning evidence in support of the man''s incarceration. A fresh corpse had even been recently removed from the stone table, perhaps but a few bells prior. Flies buzzedzily about a pool of blood that had yet to be cleaned at the table''s edge. Not everyone was as skilled with cleaning as Invictus Guild''s Tarquin Wroe.

    Tycon crossed his arms and leaned back against the door frame, a deep frustration still set into his face and brow.

    "Here we are, Mister Wroe."

    Wroe looked around at the room''s decor in wonder and awe.

    "Very well, Sir Tycon. Shall I get the mop and bucket?"

    "While tempting, Mister Wroe, no. Instead, I''d like you to¡­"

    Tycon stopped mid-sentence.

    ...How does one attain a Warlock pact, anyroad? He silently consulted his System but was unable to get a meaningful answer.

    Tycon stuck out his chest, feigning confidence, "Well, Mister Wroe. I''d like you to, uh... stay here for a time."

    Wroe tilted his head, smiling helplessly, "Boss¡­ what am I supposed to be doing?"

    Tycon had no idea. He decided to be mysterious and hope for the best. It would solidify his status as ''always having a n'' and ''always expecting the best from his guild members.'' Tycon tried to hide any signs of uncertainty on his face by assuming a ''more annoyed than usual'' expression.

    "I believe you''ll understand, and... soon. It should just... click." Tycon snapped his fingers to make a point, "--like that."

    Wroe nodded steadily,"So... I''ll just get it? Like--"

    He snapped his fingers.

    The sound of the snap echoed a dozen times, growing deeper and deeper in octave, before rapidly multiplying. The dungeon room''s eighty-eight candles lit simultaneously, burning dim, grey and purple mes. Streams of wispy ink, dripped like water from the stone ceilings, burning colder than ice when exposed to the skin. Whispers from tens of speakers speaking a dozennguages filled Tycon''s mind. More distressing still was that most of thenguages, he could recognize, but he could not at all identify from whence he did.

    "Like¡­ that¡­?" Wroe finished his sentence.

    Tycon promptly turned on a heel, took two steps forward, and silently shut the double doors behind him-- the voices had stopped immediately.

    He barred the doors from the outside, for good measure.

    That they could bar from outside the ritual room was an umonly well thought out safety precaution.

    Tycon then spent another 10 minutes pushing heavy torture equipment from a nearby room to barricade the door.

    "I didn''t think I''d be able to make use of these things, so soon. How fortunate."

    ¡­

    A maid knocked on the door when morning came. Tycon had slept well-- too well, in fact. Opening the door, a young woman in the Kingdom''s orthodox maid attire bowed deeply at the waist. Her light-brown hair was worn in two long pigtails that reached the floor as she bowed low.

    "Good morning, my lord. Will you be having breakfast in the hall or in your room, today?"

    Tycon peeked outside the door, seeing a wheeled food cart that had been brought from the kitchens. Tycon nced behind him, noting the high sun in the windows.

    "What time is it?" Tycon frowned.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "11:00, my lord," the maid replied, not lifting her head and keeping to her strict bow.

    Tycon rolled his eyes. He ced a finger on the woman''s chin and gently lifted her face so their eyes met. Tycon noticed the teenage girl''s eyes drifted a bit too long on Tycon''s chest. His nightgown was unbuttoned.

    "Youngdy, I am not like your previous employer. I would have you meet my eyes, as one human being to another."

    The girl''s face took on a deep red blush, righting her posture, but still averting her gaze,"Y-yes, my lord."

    Tycon breathed in and let out a deep sigh. Though it was a hassle to do the right thing, it was better than being annoyed by the currently epted behaviors.

    "Name?" Tycon demanded.

    "C-collette, lord."

    "A rather odd name¡­ Coca-Colette, is it?" Tycon smirked.

    "No, my lord, it''s--"

    The blushing girl looked up in surprise, her gaze meeting his. She stared into the young noble''s deep golden eyes and lost her words. Tycon granted the young woman a pleased, if amused, smile.

    "Very good, Miss Collette. I''m d you could follow my instructions."

    "Of course, my lord¡­" the young girl returned a shy smile.

    A few other (mostly female) servants had heard the exchange and began to not-so-stealthily sneak peeks at their new, very-handsome, young lord.

    Tycon noticed, of course, and decided to raise his voice to make a point.

    "Baron Zindo Tavor is a boorish and crude imitation of a proper noble and has served to be a poor precedent. It is his fault, and not yours, that the servants of this estate show such poor promise. As young men and women working as servants for House Charm, you will learn cooking, housework, as well as finance and etiquette. I want all of you to learn well, in order to follow your dreams-- to be a sought-after housewife if you wish, or to be a self-sufficient gentleman ordy, otherwise."

    The announcement sent the servants into an uproar.

    "The new noble isn''t a gross, ugly pervert!" "I hated bowing to that raunchy sleazebag, Zindo." --Some of the idle conversations were passably interesting.

    "I-I¡­ I need to learn how to cook and do housework, so I can marry my boyfriend!" --Collette, herself, had an admirable goal.

    "M-maybe I can be Lord Tycon''s wife!" "...Lord Tycon''s too pretty of a man to be interested in girls, maybe I have a chance!" --Tycon decided to fire those people if he could ever match their voices to their names.

    "Is Lord Tycon abandoning us?" "I''ve been serving House Tavor for 22 years!"

    Tycon raised a hand to quiet the gathered crowd, "These are my best wishes,dies and gentlemen. Of course, House Charm will always ept honorable individuals willing to serve. Whether you choose to serve for four years or forty, I wish for you all to learn, to work, to serve-- to better yourselves, for your own future."

    Tycon received a round of apuse, to which he smiled and waved politely.

    As the crowd dispersed, Tycon stopped the youngdy he made an example out of, "Miss Collette?"

    The twin-tailed Collette gasped in surprise, "Y-yes, what is it, my lord?"

    Tycon let out a good-natured sigh and gave a defeated smile. He motioned towards the food cart, still in front of his room.

    "May I ask what''s for breakfast?"

 Chapter 16 Go Back

    ?Tycon stood rigidly in the central hall of the manor, ring at the ostentatious wood and ivory grandfather clock.

    Dong. Dong. Dong. The clock rung several times in sonorous brass ngs, signifying the midday bell.

    He turned to face the crowd. In the right formation were servants, including housekeepers, botanists, stablehands, and half of the kitchen staff. In the center formation, the guards had formed strict and neat lines, a credit to Guard Captain Varen, who stood at their front. In the left formation was¡­ Sorina, a former tavern wench; Dragan, a massive drunkard, still nursing a hangover; Bucket, a literal child; and Seldin Korr, a mercenary previously employed by Baron Tavor.

    Tycon reintroduced himself, promised everyone continued pay and job security, and introduced a few somehow surprising rule changes. Notably, he explicitly forbade physical or verbal hazing, sexual harassment or assault, ckmail, as well as anything illegal. Offenders were to be tried and punished by either himself or the local Adventurer''s Guild, who could act as a neutral party.

    ...All of the staff wore expressions of surprise at Tycon''s attempt to guarantee basic human rights.The mumbles in the crowd seemed generally positive, so he decided not to worry about it.

    Tycon dismissed the servants and guards to resume their duties, ordering Captain Varen, Seldin Korr, and the members of Guild Invictus to stay behind.

    Gathering the five of them, Tycon looked them over.

    Guard Captain Varen hadbed his beard and wore a faded military coat. The old man was still wide in shoulders and stood rigidly, despite his age. Thankfully, he had also yet to show signs of severe brain damage.

    Seldin Korr wore business-casual: a long-sleeved crimson shirt and a light yellow cloth tied in an elegant pattern beneath her cor. She wore her dark-red hair up in abat-ready bun and wore small, subtle pearl earrings. Her efforts were apparent in applying makeup, as her eyes were far less dark and puffy as when Tycon had seen her during the previous evening.

    Bucket wore his shoes on the correct feet and wore his long-sleeve shirt the correct way.

    Dragan, the big drunk bastard, was missing a shoe and-- when concerning his shirt, his left arm was through the same hole as his neck.

    "Bucket," Tycon blinked several times at Dragan before shaking his head, "Go get Mister Wroe."

    "Yes, Sir!" Bucket replied before running off.

    "Dragan," Tycon pursed his lips, looking up at therger man.

    "Y-yeah, Boss-- *hic*"

    "...Where are the others?"

    "Well¡­" Dragan held his broad forehead, blinking overmuch at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows, "Horse said he''d bete. Haven''t seen Tarquin or Barza. Lulu and Wolfbanger are missing."

    "...Alright. Any ideas where Lulu and Wolfbanger are?"

    "N-nah, Boss," Dragan began to look worryingly and increasingly sick, "M-maybe Horse knows?"

    "Alright, you big lug, Sod off. We''ll talkter. I''ll ask Wroe when hees around."

    Dragan didn''t argue. The double doors of the manor opened, and as Dragan stumbled out, an arrogant, if handsome chestnut-brown horse strode in.

    Captain Varen shared a surprised look with Seldin Korr, "Miss Seldin¡­ Is that a horse?"

    The professional mercenary struggled to keep her surprise hidden, "...Y-yes, it appears to be so."

    The horse clopped within a stride of Tycon, before shaking its dark mane as a show of arrogance.

    "(I''m here, Snake.)"

    Tycon ced both of his hands on his waist.

    "(Why are youte, Horse?)"

    Tycon didn''t mince words with Horse.

    "(Because I don''t care about your rules, Snake,)" Horse looked down and sneered defiantly at Tycon.

    Tycon shook his head, "(I believe I''m the one who ensures you get paid... or... fed, at least.)"

    Horse bucked up in shock, neighing, "(OhhHhh, NoOoo! I''ve made a mistake!)"

    Tycon red at Horse, "(Now what do you have to say?)"

    Horse knelt down the best it could, cing his head low to the ground, "(Please forgive me, Snake.)"

    Seldin couldn''t help but lean over to Sorina, "Is Sir Tycon talking to the horse? And is this normal?"

    "At this point, Miss Seldin..." The brte pursed her lips, "--I''m too afraid to ask."

    Tycon patted the horse on the side of its neck.

    "I forgive you, Horse. Now go back and eat your fill. We''ll go out in a few days."

    The horse neighed in response, "(Thank you, Snake.)" Then he turned around and clopped out the front doors, closing them politely, afterward.

    Varen, Sorina, and Seldin watched the scene y out in its entirety.

    Varen gave Sorina a deep, heartfelt smile, "Little Sorina, the Baron is amazing, isn''t he? Are you two close?"

    Sorina averted her gaze and smiled, "No, Uncle Varen. We only met the other day."

    Varen gave a polite bow to Seldin, who was examining them both closely, "Ah, Miss Seldin. This is my brother''s daughter, Sorina. She''s your junior, now, so please treat her well."

    "Please treat me well, Senior," Sorina gave a bow.

    Seldin nced disdainfully at the younger woman and coldly clicked her tongue before turning away.

    After a moment of awkwardness, Varen patted Sorina''s shoulder, "Miss Seldin has a rough exterior, but she is professional at her work. As a matter of fact, she''s something of a local legend at the Adventurer''s Guild."

    Sorina looked more disappointed than angry, "I understand, Uncle."

    ¡­

    While the three were talking, Bucket had returned.

    "He wasn''t in his room, Sir."

    "How odd." Tycon pondered, "Wait-- don''t tell me..."

    Tarquin Wroe stumbled through a side door. ck ink spilled from his eyes, wide open, pupils shrunken and shaking. A preternatural grin stered his face, and the corners of his mouth were cracked and bleeding. His cloak and armor were gone. The man wore no tunic or shoes, just torn, ragged trousers. Ovepping carvings of borate sigils adorned his chest in blood-- depictions of hands and eyes, more hands, and more eyes.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "She... she carves them... line... line by line..."

    Tycon moved immediately, "Bucket, wait here."

    "Um. Okay."

    Tycon shoved Wroe back into the hall he had emerged from.

    "Mister Wroe, what did you see?" Tycon asked calmly.

    "T-tycon.. She--- she... She was so beautiful..."

    Wroe''s sobs grew louder, ck ink streaming down his face and hands. As the ink fell upon the floor, the drops fanned out like spiderwebs.

    "Yeah, so?" Tycon badgered, "Did you make a pact?"

    "She reached out her hands... her long... white... PaaALe HAaaAAANDDSSS¡­"

    Wroe''s voice began to change, gaining an intimidating twin echo. He no longer stood up, floating several ilms above the floor. Outside, clouds blotted out the sun, and lightning and thunder shook the manor. Wroe raised his arms to praise whatever entity held him.

    "BEHOLDER OF MY HEART AND MIND... in YouR MaNYY BEAUTEOUS HANDS AND EYES!"

    A hundred hands spilled from the shadows, from the ceiling, from the cracks in the floors, bleeding from the ss windows-- and they embraced him. Eyes were birthed from the dried paint, from the wood of the doors, made of bleeding flesh and trying to focus their vision on something just out of vision.

    The door behind Tycon opened and Captain Varen stuck his head out.

    "Sir Tycon, is everything alr-- arr..ahh.... Wha... whaaa--?"

    Captain Varen lost his words as he saw the floating nightmare. Blood began to drip from the old man''s nose as he stared, his mouth agape at the screaming cultist.

    "THE FORGER OF BLADES OF STARLIGHT! OF BLACK MOONS OF ETERNAL UNREST! I EXALT THEE! MY GODDESS OF THE WELL!"

    Lightning struck in the outside courtyard. Several razor-sharp, 6-fulm-tall, ivory-colored swords burst from the dirt, standing upright.

    Tycon nced outside, pursing his lips, "Never seen that before."

    "Nothing to worry about, Captain." Tycon ced a finger on Captain Varen''s forehead and gently pushed him back behind the door, closing it firmly once his head was cleared.

    Tycon turned back to the floating Wroe.

    "THE THOUSAND DREAMS ARE BUT FORFEIT!!! THE ONE DEVOURER BUT SATED!!!" Wroe sobbed in great wails, "THE TWELVE AND THIRTEEN FLAMES BUT COLD HUSKS OF--"

    Tycon held out an open palm to Wroe, questioningly, "But... did you make a pact?"

    Wroe uncovered his face, revealing empty eye sockets, thick ck globs of ink, achingly churning out slow, falling smoke.

    "DON''T YOU SEE, BROTHER??!" Wroe cried. "ALL BEND TO HER!! MY QUEEEEEN!! I COULD NOT--"

    "Go back," Tycon said simply.

    The nightmarish-faced Wroe opened his mouth in confusion, "Huh?"

    Tycon tightly grabbed ahold of Wroe''s ankle. Putting all of his weight into it, he pulled Wroe down and mmed him into the tile floor with an abrupt crack. Almost instantaneously, the clouds withdrew, and with them, the shadows. The ck ink that stained the floor receded, rushing back into Wroe''s open mouth.

    Tycon leaned to the side to look at Wroe-- the back of his head had sunk a few ilms into the cracked tile.

    "You... you good, Wroe?"

    No response.

    "Wroe?"

    "Y-yeah. I''m good, Boss."

    "You... uh... need me to--"

    "No, I''m fine, Boss."

    Tycon nced out of a nearby window. The gigantic sword statues outside the manor remained.

    How peculiar...

    "Your ah¡­ chest? Are you bleeding?"

    "Nah¡­ Wait-- Yep. Yeah. I''m bleeding."

    "Where are you¡­ going after this?"

    "Dungeon."

    "Well, I like your spirit. But go ahead and have a maid clean out your wounds with soap and water and get bandaged up before you go back."

    "A-alright, Boss... Hey, uh... Boss?"

    "Yes, Mister Wroe?"

    "Can I just... wait here for... just a few minutes?"

    "Yes, that will be fine. I need that pact made by close-of-business, today, please."

    "...Can do, Boss."

    The fallen Wroe lifted one of his forearms, raising a thumb from a closed fist.

    Tycon re-entered the great hall, shutting the door behind him, ignoring the nearby, fainted Guard Captain Varen. Bucket and the two women looked to him with concern.

    "Nothing to worry about," Tycon smiled. "Now, where were we?"

 Chapter 17 The Strength Of A Business Degree

    ?When Tycon re-entered the room, Seldin Korr stood up rigidly, though a worried gaze drifted to the fallen and unconscious Guard Captain Varen.

    Sorina''s concern was more apparent. "Is Uncle Varen going to be okay?" She asked.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. So those two were rted? He supposed that could make things easier... if that useless Captain Varen wouldn''t so brazenly sleep on the job.

    ...But he did have brain damage... and Tycon felt slightly guilty about it. He decided not to punish the old man.

    "A momentary distraction, Miss Sorina. Your ''Uncle Varen'' is made of sterner stuff, after all, he''s an Iron--"

    ? System, inquiry: What rank is that Varen fellow? ?

    [System response: Varen, Bronze-Rank Warrior]

    "--uh... an Iron-willed veteran. He''ll be fine."

    Probably.

    Sorina wrung her hands and puffed her cheeks in response. Seldin narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

    "Dozens of spiders and millipedes with faces were crawling out of his mouth," she said coolly, though Tycon noticed her voice quavered with the word ''millipedes.''

    "...Rare delicacies from the westernnds." Tycon said without hesitation. "They''re an acquired taste."

    The two women nced at each other dubiously.

    Seeing their skepticism, Tycon offered, "Would you like to try?"

    The two of them paled in an instant.

    "N-no, thank you, Sir," Sorina fidgeted.

    Seldin Korr narrowed her eyes,"Not a chance, my lord."

    Bucket, who listened patiently and wentrgely forgotten, raised his hand, "Can I try?"

    "No, Bucket. Dear gods, no. (Maybe when you''re older.) I''ve a task for you," Tycon tossed him a small pouch of silver, "Go out and make sure Dragan''s okay. Then take him to town and help Barza with resupply."

    Bucket missed the catch, but hurriedly picked up the pouch and fallen coins. "Okay, Sir!" he yelled as he rushed out the door.

    What a clumsy child-- but he was eager to do perform.

    Tycon turned his attention to Seldin and Sorina, "Let''s have a seat. I have something to discuss, with the both of you."

    ...

    A silver-haired maid served tea and ornate, miniature cakes. Tycon nced above her head and gave a professional smile.

    "Thank you, Miss Pascale. I appreciate your expertise on the sponge cakes and how ours are different from the traditional Alizeaun ''fraisier.'' I can clearly discern your love for the craft."

    The maid nced up, clearly surprised, "Y-you know my name, lord?"

    Tyconughed politely, "Yes. You introduced yourself this morning. How could I possibly forget?"

    Whenever Tycon learned a person''s name, the System conveniently ced it onto a floating, transparent disy above their head. It was quite possibly the System''s most convenient feature.

    "May I ask why you''re working here?" Tycon asked.

    "Oh! My lord... I''ve always wanted to be a baker, since a trip to Merylsward when I was about 10."

    "Have you learned much, since being here?"

    "Well, Sir... Sometimes I get chased away from the kitchens when I eavesdrop with the other apprentices."

    "Nonsense, Miss Pascale. Inform Patissier Noel that on my order, you are to learn with the other apprentices. I pray you will not disappoint, youngdy."

    "Oh, of course, my lord-- I mean, I would never, my lord."

    The maid blushed and averted her gaze (which Tycon thought was happening far too frequently) and hurriedly excused herself.

    Sorina ate her dessert quickly, enjoying every bite. The Kingdom''s pastries were easily the best in the continent, after all. Seldin carefully watched Tycon''s interactions as she tried her best to leave her slice of cake alone. Unfortunately for her, Tycon noticed she would sneak quick, subtle nces down at the strawberry-topped, strawberry-filled dessert.

    The young Seldin Korr didn''t seem too honest with herself.

    And so, Tycon stretched out the polite conversation with Sorina until Seldin''s willpower finally failed her. She consumed her dessert swiftly and without mercy, leaving her tiny te clean and spotless.

    "I will be assigning--" Tycon nced above the girl''s head, "Lady Sorina Capulet as financial officer and the chief executive of the estate. Miss Capulet, you will only be subordinate to me."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "S-sir Tycon," Sorina lost her usual perkiness and began to stutter, "I h-have a boyfriend."

    Tycon rolled his eyes back so hard, he leaned back in his chair.

    "Seven hells, I''m not trying to bed you, woman. Have some self-respect!"

    "Oh... O... kay."

    Seldin twisted her lips to the side, "Who''s your boyfriend?"

    Sorina gazed dreamily out of a nearby window, "Y-you don''t know him, Miss Seldin. He lives far away... in the future."

    Tycon continued, "On the morrow, Guild Invictus will be leaving towards the Mosswood Wilds to train near the base of the Icehorn Mountains for a season. Before winter, I n to head to the northern port of Caractere."

    Seldin nodded, "The Mosswood is a dangerous ce... I lost my eye there." She brushed her bangs to the side, revealing the scar on her face and her ss eye.

    Tycon nodded, making a mental note of it.

    "What will you be doing over there?" Sorina asked.

    "That''s ssified information, for now, youngdy. I haven''t even instructed Guild Invictus'' main body," Tycon assured her.

    The scroll he had, closed with the royal seal, had detailed the quest... but due to its contents, he would keep it as need-to-know information.

    "Miss Korr, I''ll have you stay here with Sorina as her guard."

    Seldin widened her eyes in surprise before she looked down at her empty te, disappointed.

    "I understand, my lord. A broken woman like me has no ce in the field."

    Sorina began ring at Tycon.

    ...Did she really say that? Really? Tycon screamed in his mind. And why was the Capulet ring at him? Those two didn''t even know each other before today.

    "Miss Korr, you''re a very attractive woman, you''re obviously very health-conscious, and you''re still of marriageable age. If you like, I can easily find you a dozen bachelors that would literally fight to the death in seeking your hand."

    Tycon''s rapid-fire reassurance seemed to lift Seldin''s mood, "I need you here because I respect your achievements, I trust in your abilities as a guard, andstly, as you''re a woman of intelligence, you''re the only one I would trust to guide andplement Sorina''s strengths. Now, will you ept this assignment, Miss Korr?"

    Seldin Korr nodded shyly in acquiescence. Tycon thought he could hear her heartbeat begin to race, but he desperately hoped he was wrong.

    "Now wait a second, Sir Tycon," Sorina stood up. "What if I don''t want to manage the estate-- I want to go adventuring with you!"

    Tycon began to cry internally. He nced to the door, wishing he had resuscitated Varen instead of leaving him to collect dust in the main hall. Maybe the old man could talk some sense into the girl.

    Tycon nodded, looking down, "Very well, Miss Capulet. Before I can ept you on our expedition, I''d like to ask you a few questions:"

    "Hard work and DETERMINATION!"

    Tycon frowned, "That... wasn''t an answer to any of my questions, Miss Capulet."

    The girl sat down obediently, "Oh, go ahead, Sir Tycon. I''m ready."

    Tycon took a deep breath and steepled his fingers, facing the young woman.

    ? System, inquiry: What is Sorina Capulet''s ss? ?

    [System response: Sorina Capulet, Bronze-Rank Calctor.]

    That was... an incredibly rare ss. It had a slow growth-rate, but if Sorina ever ranked up to Gold, she could join the mainbat team for some niche strategies.

    Tycon nodded, sizing up the young woman, For now, she''d be more effective operating logistics than in the field. If Guild Invictus doesn''t have to worry about finances in the long-term, they''d be able to expand with fewer issues.

    "Miss Capulet," Tycon began, "thest mission wepleted for the Adventurer''s Guild gave us 800 silver--"

    Seldin''s eyes widened in surprise for a moment. Clearly, she was surprised by the abilities of Guild Invictus.

    "--How do you propose we budget our expenses?"

    Sorina thought for a moment before responding, "Well, there''s zero-based budgeting, then there''s value-proposition, which is simr, and then there''s incremental budgeting, which takes the previous period as baseline for what we can spend on. So with zero-based--"

    Tycon raised a hand to stop her, "Th-that''s good, Miss Capulet."

    He began to sweat, facing the pressure of a Bronze-Rank Calctor... With only the rumors to go on, he had grossly underestimated the ss'' domineering nature...

    Tycon gulped, his throat parched. He was uncertain he wanted to continue. The fire in Sorina''s eyes daunted him more than any beast he could imagine facing. He picked up his ceramic teacup and sipped his tea, deliberately stalling for time.

 Chapter 18 Not The Same Little Girl

    ?It was Tycon''s obligation.

    He needed to test the girl-- to understand where her strengths lied.

    Steeling his willpower, Tycon removed two thick ledgers from his bag and ced them onto the table. Tycon''s golden eyes shed a spark, meeting the ardent green-eyed gaze of the determined Sorina Capulet.

    The womanughed coldly, seizing upon Tycon''s show of weakness. Her voice dripped with arrogance, "What are these, little lordling?"

    "These, Miss Capulet¡­ are Zindo Tavor''s ounts from the past two fiscal periods."

    Tycon pushed them gently forward. The young woman snatched them from the table impatiently and began thumbing through the pages, "Hm. Amateur work. But I can deal with at least this."

    Tycon steeled his courage and mmed his hands on the table, "The ounts! How would you present them?"

    The woman merely raised an eyebrow at Tycon''s violent demand. Slowly, she leaned back, crossing one long leg seductively over the other. Raising her delicate hand, she revealed three fingers.

    "Three parts, Sir Tycon...

    "The Bnce Sheet: Guild Invictus'' assets and liabilities. The Ie Statement: Our revenue and expenses. And The Coin Flow Statement: The revenue and expenses from operation, investment, and financing. These three financial reports together at the very minimum will give clear financial understanding of the Guild."

    Tycon recoiled in shock at Sorina''s clear and concise answer, "This-- this¡­"

    Seldin Korr blinked several times, ncing back and forth at the two, "Excuse me. What''s¡­ what''s going on?"

    Tycon and Sorina looked over, realizing they had overdramatized their interview. The two calmly retook their seats, sitting normally.

    "Your answers were very good, Miss Capulet."

    "Thank you, Sir Tycon."

    "Now, Miss Capulet, you are aware that we are traveling to the Icehorn Mountains."

    "That''s right, Sir."

    "What would you pack in an adventuring kit? Both I and Miss Korr will be judging your answer."

    Seldin nodded, crossing her arms and waiting silently. Sorina rested her head on her tiny fist, thinking seriously.

    After some deliberation, her tiny voice squeaked, "Um... extra undergarments?"

    Tycon shared an incredulous look with Seldin.

    "A book? A... walking stick?" Sorina added.

    After about a dozen answers, Tycon raised his hand for the Calctor to stop. Each answer suggested a vacation trip to a trade city rather than a dangerous trek into unexplored wilds. Seldin had already closed her eyes, distancing herself from the world.

    "Miss Capulet," Tycon massaged the bridge of his nose.

    "Yes, Sir?" Sorina perked up, her fists clenched together in front of her chest.

    "I have found the difference between your financial expertise and substandard adventuring knowledge to be... tragic, at best."

    Sorina''s face fell, "A-aww¡­ But¡­ what does Miss Seldin think?"

    Seldin opened her one good eye, "Don''t talk to me right now."

    "O... oh."

    Tycon sighed, "Miss Capulet, really. Is it your wish to go out and adventure or would you rather stay in Nice and earn fat sacks of coin?"

    Sorina plopped her chin on the table, rolling her head cutely left and right, "It''s so difficult to make money, though... we''ll need capital, connections... I don''t even know where House Charm--"

    Tycon plopped a third book onto the table, "Baron''s journal. Inside is thebination-code to his safe. Contained within is a list of his business contacts and the deeds to quite possibly all his properties."

    Sorina gripped the journal to her chest, "When will you be leaving, Sir?"

    Tycon nced down at the table-- he hadn''t seen when she had taken the book.

    ...His perceptive abilities were very good. He was literally a snake. How could... what?

    Guard Captain Varen kicked the door open.

    "Now wait JUST A MOMENT! MY LITTLE NIECE CAN''T HANDLE THE RESPONSERBILLERTY!!"

    Seldin looked over to Tycon. Tycon whispered, "Brain damage" under his breath. Seldin nodded, pouting sadly.

    Varen began to shout, tears formed shamelessly upon his cheeks, "I''ve watched you grow up, you''re still just a little girl! Tell the Baron you''re not ready!"

    "Fufufufu," the young womanughed as she arrogantly mmed a small white rectangle on the table, leaving a finger pointed down upon it. "Oh, Uncle Varen¡­ I''m not the same little girl I was all those years ago. You have no idea what you''ve done..."

    "You''re bluffing, girl! Just--" Finally, Guard Captain Varen felt that something was wrong. He began to sweat, breathing heavily. His knees began to buckle from the pressure, "W-wait, what''s this? What''s happening?!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Uncle Varen," Sorina''s taunting voice crescendoed to a fierce, domineering shout. She flipped the white card on the table, "You''ve ACTIVATED MY BUSINESS CARD!"

    ...

    Tycon had taken Seldin by the hand and led her out of the room. He closed the doors behind them as he breathed a sigh of relief.

    The Calctor ss was terrifying, almost as terrifying as--

    Tycon nced over to Seldin Korr, the Berserk Knight. She was absentmindedly staring at her fingers.

    "Is everything alright, Miss Korr?" Tycon asked.

    The woman continued to stare in a daze.

    Tycon shrugged. He still had more paperwork to deal with, examining servant and renewing servant contracts, and dealing with Zindo''s ounts. He chose to escape before he became embroiled with something else troublesome.

    ...

    The humans knocked loudly at the door to Tycon''s room.

    He grumbled to himself as he left the warmth andfort of his bed. It was the middle of the night, and just because someone else couldn''t sleep, didn''t mean that he should be bothered.

    "Baron Tycondrius? Are you awake?" Asked a muffled voice from behind the wooden barrier.

    Tycon opened the door, seeing over a dozen people huddled in the hallway holding candles, including Bucket, Collette, and Pascale. The representative they had elected to knock on the door was... an especially-terrified Barza.

    "By the gods, Barza Keith, what do you want?"

    "C-can''t you hear it, Sir?"

    Tycon stared nkly at the man, pursing his lips. An anguished wail resonated throughout the manor.

    The servants, mostly female, huddled together, some of them yelping in surprise-- Tycon and Bucket winced at the harsh noise.

    "The ghosts of everyone the Baron had killed!" "No, it''s the Tavor ancestors-- they''ve grown angry!" the crowd murmured.

    Bucket was trying his best to look brave. He held Barza''s hand and patted his arm, "It''s okay, Mister Barza. Ghosts aren''t real."

    Some of the more cowardly servants began to calm down, hearing the boy''s bravery. Tycon decided not to correct him.

    With a deep sigh, he said, "Fine, fine. Go back to your rooms, all of you¡­ I know how to deal with the issue."

    The crowd breathed sighs of relief. "Oh, I knew Sir Tycon would have a solution." "Oh, he''s so dreamy." "I''m not actually afraid of ghosts, I just wanted to see Sir Tycon in his nightgown."

    Tycon judiciously buttoned up the front of his top.

    The servants began to disperse, and even though Barza wanted to leave, Bucket had resolutely held onto his hand.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is there something else, young man?"

    "I... I want to help you, Sir... fight the ghost."

    Tycon nodded in pleasant surprise. It seemed that the boy knew that ghosts were real, but spoke aloud to ay the servants'' fears. The boy was more clever than he''d initially estimated.

    "That''s very noble of you, young man. However, I am confident in... negotiating with your ghost. I will call upon you if necessary."

    The boy tried to reply but failed to stifle a yawn. "Okay, Sir Tycon."

    "Mister Barza."

    "Y-yes, Boss?"

    Tycon crossed his arms and stared in annoyance. He was fully awake and unhappy about it, "Why didn''t you offer to assist me?"

    "I uh.. Err... I figured you had it, Sir Tycon? Boss? ...My lord?"

    Tycon closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

    "Go." Tycon waved them away, "Tuck the boy into bed."

    "Ah¡­ Alright, Boss. You can count on--"

    "Juuuusst go," Tycon urged firmly.

    Barza rushed off, carrying Bucket in a princess-carry. Tycon looked down the dark western hallway. With the stars shining through the windows, his eyes saw the hallways as clear as in the day.

    And so, with a reluctant heart, he began to walk towards the source of the noise: Seldin Korr''s bedroom.

 Chapter 19 The Escalation Approach

    ?Tycon decided not to kick open the door.

    ''I''m not scared. I mean, why should I be?'' He thought.

    The green-haired youth struggled to take each step forward, as if he were wading through physical dread. Slowly and carefully, Tycon opened the door to Seldin Korr''s room and peeked inside. Dimly lit by the starlight spilling through a window, the youngdy sat alone on the floor of her room amongst strewn clothes, nkets, and adventuring gear. The dark-haired woman had been crying-- and was still crying, her anguished wail ghastly enough to spawn ghost stories.

    Tycon decided to try the ''Esction'' approach.

    Tycon tried knocking.

    The crying continued, the woman unaware.

    He opened the door a bit more. "Excuse me, I couldn''t help but--"

    Nothing.

    He stood inside the room and admired the woman''s handiwork. She had torn apart her footlocker, the drawers of two wardrobe dressers, and flipped her mattress. Tworger packs of adventuring gear and several smaller sacks had been emptied and sorted through. A small pile of bricks had been collected in a corner, having been pulled from the walls without the aid of tools.

    One half of the room was neatly organized, various items stacked and ordered.

    One half of the room was neatly organized, its various contents stacked and strictly ordered. The remaining half was a chaotic mess and included a woman curled in on herself, sobbing miserably into a pillow.

    Tycon exited the room, gently closing the door. He took a deep breath and rxed his shoulders.

    Then he kicked open the door.

    "Wh-wha?"

    The abrupt sound of the door bursting open startled the woman, and she sat up in an instant. She clutched her pillow closer, straining her eye in the darkness to see, "Wh-who''s there?"

    The distressed young woman looked up innocently with puffy red eyes, tears sparkling at their corners. Her dark eyeliner ran horrendously and stained her pillow grey and purple.

    Tycon''s anger immediately abated, seeing the pathetic sight. He felt a pain in his chest, a feeling of pity in his heart. He imagined the feeling was much like seeing a whining puppy.

    Tycon knelt beside the woman and took her hand. He examined its roughness, its calluses; it was a hand familiar with the grip of a de, with pulling bricks from wall, or strangling an adult of average size and strength to death. It was the same hand he held in escaping the pressure that was the Calctor, earlier in the sun.

    Tycon''s golden gaze pierced into Seldin Korr''s soul.

    "Who hurt you?" Tycon whispered harshly. A shade of anger he could not exin had affected his voice.

    [Vexing Gaze conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? System, do not activate. Thank you. ?

    Seldin''s eyes widened in realization, managing a surprised whisper, "Lord Tycondrius..."

    She weakly tried to pull her hand back, but Tycon held on.

    The woman looked away, futilely wiping at her eyes messily with her opposite sleeve. "Sir Tycon... This... this isn''t appropriate."

    Tycon looked down at her held hand. With her strength and her Berserk Knight ss, she could easily free herself from his grip, had she wished. He took this as a good sign.

    "Tell me..." Tycon urged.

    The woman refused to meet Tycon''s eyes.

    Tycon sighed in his mind. He could only continue.

    "You work for me, now. Your problems are my problems." Tycon adopted a solemn look, cool and professional.

    "It''s... It''s okay, Lord Tycon..." She half-mumbled. She ced a short-nailed finger on a stone tile and began to draw circles.

    Tycon raged in his heart. The woman was an Iron-Rank Berserk Knight. With that rank and ssbination, she could easily tear heavy wooden doors off their hinges, wrench a man''s arm out of its socket, or bench-press Horse.

    All that and she chose to sit on the floor-- preferring to wallow in sadness.

    Tycon took his free hand and gently lifted her chin to meet his gaze. Tycon tried to channel his inner Tarquin Wroe. He wished he could remember the foolish drivel that came out of his mouth when he spoke to the opposite gender.

    "Hey. Talk to me."

    The damned Wroe made it look so easy. Had he been alone, he would have pulled out his hair and banged his head against a wall. He''d been thinking for what felt like ages and all he''d managed was 4 words.

    The woman pulled away.

    Tycon''s heart sunk. Had he failed? Had this mission all been for naught? Had he been woken up for nothing? He was asleep! He could have had a full night''s rest in afortable bed! He had sacrificed SO MUCH!

    Seldin Korr''s good eye peeked out amidst her bangs and she nodded lightly.

    Tycon felt warmth and contentedness in his heart.

    This was the first step. He had to remain vignt for the next. Dealing with a woman was not a task he could handle carelessly.

    Tycon knelt down, trying to find afortable spot to sit.

    In a panicked tizzy, Seldin rushed over to one of her piles of junk. She produced a pillow, dyed and shaped like a lettuce leaf, and presented it to Tycon. The springy pillow provided exemryfort and support, as he sat and crossed his legs.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Now, would you please tell me what''s bothering you, Miss Korr?"

    Seldin Korr mumbled a response, hiding her entire face behind her pillow.

    "S-sorry, what was that?" Tycon leaned forward with eyes full of hopeful confusion.

    "...Change it."

    Tycon was thoroughly confused, "I''m sorry? Change what, Miss Korr?"

    "No more ''Miss''..." she mumbled into her pillow.

    Tycon sucked air through his teeth, "No honorific? So you''re ufortable with me calling you ''Miss''?"

    Korr nodded her head rapidly like a chipmunk.

    "I''ll just call you Korr, then."

    Korr puffed her cheeks in disagreement.

    Tycon smirked, "That''s all you''re getting, for now, youngdy. And what will you call me?"

    Korr''s eyes brightened at the prospect, with a curious smile, she whispered, "Leader?"

    "Call me as you like... Seldin."

    The bleary-makeup girl beamed at the mention of her name.

    "Now, Miss-- err, no... Seldin, now will you tell me the issue?"

    Tycon sat on his lettuce pillow and waited patiently. Minutes passed as he watched the girl switch between staring curiously and opening her mouth to talk. Her eyes again began to moisten, when she decided to finally speak.

    "L-leader... someone took Khloe."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. This story could be moreplicated than he''d initially thought, "Who is Khloe?"

    "You can''tugh..." She whispered indignantly.

    Tycon looked up from his pondering. Korr was staring at him with serious, bloodshot, and deep crimson eyes. He felt a cold chill down his snakey spine that he surmised had to have been a Berserk Knight ability.

    "I... promise I won''tugh."

    "Khloe is... my stuffed cat doll."

    Tycon shut his eyes and nodded as if he understood. Deep inside, he was struck with a deeply set, bone-chilling truth.

    Seven hells and eleven heavens... It was the doll.

    "...And of what significance is this... doll?" Tycon asked, knowing he would regret hearing the answer.

    The quiet and usually reticent Seldin Korr became animated. In a zany adventure of repeating herself, providing too much information for minutiae, and having to backtrack to provide information she had forgotten, Tycon eventually formed a tentative gist of the story:

    1. Khloe was a childhood friend.

    2. Khloe shared her food with child-Seldin.

    3. Khloe had cancer and had less than two arms and two legs (the number fluctuated throughout the story.) Wild animals attacked them. They were robbed by bandits. Khloe got pneumonia.

    4. A promise was involved.

    The woman didn''t actually say that Khloe had died. Tycon refused to risk Seldin''s mood by asking. He listened to her tale patiently, carefully observing the girl''s mood, which eventually normalized.

    As she finished, she paused for a moment.

    "Leader¡­ Have you heard rumors of¡­ a ghost?"

    Tycon lost his bnce and nearly fell, "Whaaaat¡­? What''s this about a ghost?"

    "Colette came by earlier¡­ The servants were saying there''s a ghost in the manor¡­"

    Tycon crossed his arms, cing a concerned fist over his mouth. ''The ghost is you, woman,'' he thought. But Tycon gained a stroke of inspiration.

    "Korr¡­ I might be able to track down your¡­ Khloe."

    She turned to Tycon with sparkling, expectant eyes, "Leader, can you?"

    Tycon nodded gravely.

    "Are we going to the dungeons to defeat the ghost so you can use the remnants of its malevolent spirit to travel to the spirit ne so we can release Khloe from her ectosmic prison?"

    Tycon was stunned momentarily. He had just heard the stupidest conclusion anyone''s ever made in his presence.

    He nodded. "I''m d we''re on the same page. Let''s move."

 Chapter 20 Sorinaâ€™s Night Visit

    ?The two trekked down into the dungeons, their way lit by a bedroom oilmp. (It was for Korr''sfort. He could see, just fine.)

    The pair reached the entrance of the ritual room and balked at the disorder. It was littered with debris, shards of wood, scraps of metal, all from broken and shattered torture equipment.

    "This is horrible," Korr gripped Tycon''s hand tighter... "A vengeful spirit lurks here."

    He averted his gaze so the woman wouldn''t catch him rolling his eyes.

    The mess was from when Wroe had to make a deal with an otherworldlyand utilize inhuman strength to break out of the barricades Tycon had set for him.

    Hmm.

    In order to lead this woman to her doll, Tycon had to pretend to focus to track a ghost that didn''t exist.

    "Look, Leader! The ghost does exist!" Korr yelled, pointing excitedly.

    Tycon slowly turned his head, his jaw hanging slightly open, "Ehhh?"

    The slightly transparent shade of a tortured victim crawled on the floor towards them. Wisps of dark smoke hazily drifted from its spectral form, as its too-long limbs-- twisted and broken, dragged its body forward.

    Tycon stood in front of Korr, his back straight. He cursed hisck of preparation. The pair of adventurers had neglected to bring any weapons, much less any tools effective against ghosts-- no spirit powders or holy water or spell wands or blessed beads.

    His mind spun its gears as fast as it could, his head growing hot, trying to find an effective n. He''d be able to use Vexing Gaze-- even though that would give himself away as a non-human. He was willing to take the risk of trusting Korr, as long as they could survive this. He''d have her withdraw first, with him following behind.... If Wroe sessfully made his Warlock pact, his magic would be--

    "GIVE ME BACK KHLOE!!" Korr gave off a shrill battle cry as she rushed forward.

    The walls shook with her rage as the woman grabbed the specter by its neck, and began to punch its ghostly face.

    Tycon watched the woman strike the ghost nearly a dozen times before his brain finally registered the situation. "Oh."

    "STUPID! GHOST! GIVE! BACK! MY! KHLOE! GIVE! HER! BACK!!! GIIIIIVVE!! HEEEERRRR! BAAAAACK!!!"

    The ghost looked somewhat familiar-- Tycon tried to recall where exactly he''d seen it.The lounge with the portraits? One of the Tavor ancestors, then... It had no mouth and it tried to scream. As it took more and more damage from Korr''s attacks, it could only suffer in silence.

    Seeing that she wouldn''t be finished anytime soon, Tycon ced Korr''s lettuce pillow on the dungeon stone and sat down, waiting patiently.

    ¡­

    After Korr defeated the ghostly ''kidnapper'', Tycon informed her he had sensed Khloe''s location. To lend further credibility to his charade, he extinguished the oilmp and led Korr back to the main hall using his night vision. Wandering in a zigzag pattern, he finally stopped in front of one of the doors.

    "I sense... something here," Tycon said mysteriously.

    "Oh, no, Leader... This is Mister Keith''s room," Korr shook Tycon''s arm.

    "Wh-what? Barza''s room!" Tycon spoke with forced surprise as he widened his eyes-- all while checking Korr''s reaction.

    "Oh, no! What do we do?" Korr had believed the act in its entirety. Tycon inwardly rejoiced.

    Tycon took hold of Korr''s arms, "The kidnapping ghost may have possessed Mister Barza. We must tread carefully, Korr..."

    "I''ll... I''ll fight the ghost, Leader," she spoke shyly, but she was confident of her fighting abilities.

    Tycon pursed his lips, wishing that this woman could provide a solution that was not bone-breaking violence, "No, Korr. The mission is to secure Khloe''s safety."

    Korr''s eyeliner stained eyes widened in shock, then she lowered her head in shame, "You''re right, Leader..."

    "I''m always right. Never question me again."

    Tycon quietly opened the door. Barza was asleep, his loud snoring was like an elephant-sized devil-bear gargling rocks and dirt.

    "It''s horrible, Leader. Mister Keith is fighting for control over his body from a terrible existence," Korr said anxiously.

    Tycon furrowed his brows. The woman had somehow managed to urately but horrifyingly describe the man''s snoring, "Y-yes. But have faith, Korr. The men and women of Invictus will not fall so easily to evil. Now quickly, we must search for Khloe while the ghost is upied."

    Frantically, Korr scanned the room, soon spotting Khloe among Barza''s belongings. Sneaking hurriedly, she grabbed the doll and embraced it in tearful sess.

    But the snoring stopped. The room fell into an unsettling calm as Barza''s snoring inexplicably calmed to the level of deep, wheezing breaths.

    Korr ced Khloe into Tycon''s hands but did not exit the room.

    Tycon tucked the plush cat doll beneath an arm, "Korr... We''ve seeded... We must away. Why do you hesitate?"

    Korr shook her head, "I can''t leave him like this, Leader."

    Tycon grit his teeth and pulled a breath of air, his eyes wide. His voice took on a hint of panic, rising in pitch, "And why not?"

    Korr gave a gentle smile, "I''m part of Guild Invictus now..."

    What did that have to do with... anything?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Korr took a step backward-- a step towards Barza''s sleeping form, "The ghost has fully possessed Mister Keith. He has failed."

    Tycon put a hand forward, trying to find the words to stop her, "No, Korr... It''s toote."

    The woman raised her hand, forming a fist, and she stared at it in contemtion, "I''m not good with words, Leader. And with just my strength, I haven''t been able to save anyone-- even the people I truly cared about."

    She blinked the tears out of her eyes, averting her gaze, "I... worked for years... for a man I didn''t respect... because after Leader died... I mean, after my previous Leader died... I didn''t think anyone in this world had use for me any longer."

    She looked up with a pained smile, enchanting sparkles forming at the corners of her eyes, "But now... right now... I can save someone with my fists."

    "You don''t have to do this," Tycon pleaded. "Korr... Please."

    The woman shut her eyes and shook her head, tears falling down her face. "Regardless of the danger I face, Leader... I''m going to punch Mister Keith in the face until the ghost is destroyed."

    Sweat poured down Tycon''s face...

    ''I''m sorry, Barza,'' He cried in his heart.

    Tycon half-turned away from Korr with a regretful expression... "Do what you must."

    ¡­

    Tycon shut the door behind him, sighing wistfully. ''I tried, Barza. Truly, my friend. I tried.''

    "Oh, Sir Tycon--"

    "Huh?" Tycon nced up in surprise.

    A slim woman in her nightgown walked the halls. If Tycon hadn''t recently seen a ghost''s spectral form only recently, he would have thought that Sorina Capulet was an ethereal spirit, herself.

    "Oh, Miss Capulet. You''re..."

    Sorina crossed her arms, shivering in the cold. Tycon could clearly see darkce undergarments underneath her sheer nightgown, her efforts clear towards looking seductive. Tycon nced over his shoulder at the door behind him, inducing a conclusion. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

    Invictus was about to go into the field. The Capulet-girl was trying to meet with her lover. It''s a shame that the situation is... wrong.

    "Um... Sir Tycon... Why are you standing in front of Mister Barza''s room?"

    Tycon sighed. This wouldn''t end well, "Go back, youngdy. You''ll catch cold."

    Sorina wrung her hands, then began tapping her two forefingers together, "I-I can wait, Sir Tycon. I have something I needed to discuss with Mister Barza..."

    Sorina approached the door without fear as Tycon sighed in regretful eptance.

    Once close enough, Sorina halted her steps, her eyes wide in shock.

    Muffled through the door, she heard the sounds of bone striking flesh. The bed creaked under the weighty strikes of an Iron-ranked Berserk Knight falling upon Barza''s unarmored face. Barza cried, likely sniveling snot and tears as he screamed.

    "Stop, Miss Se--arrgh! Please! It hurts! It hurts!"

    "Endure it, Barza! You''ll feel better after the release!"

    Sorina''s paled as white as paper, as all the blood drained from her face. Tears began to form at her eyes and her mouth began to quiver. "Sir Tycon... Mister Barza is... with another woman?"

    "I give you my word that he will regret it," Tycon frowned, shaking his head. "I... I tried to protect you, Miss Capulet."

    The young woman sniffled and bowed deeply in respect. "I... I know, Sir... I know... thank you, Sir."

    Tycon raised a hand and... awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. Pat pat, "There, there."

    "Th-thank you, Sir... I... I need to go." Sorina turned and ran off, back towards her room.

    Tycon gave a sigh of relief. Korr''s screaming Berserk Knight voice wasn''t recognizable at all-- and less so, muffled by the heavy wooden door. Sorina didn''t need to know that it was Korr who was in the room, giving Barza the pounding he''d never forget.

    Several... painful minutester, Seldin Korremerged from the room, her fists dripping with a thickyer of blood.

    "It is done, Leader. The ghost has released its hold on Mister Barza."

    Detached professionalism had returned to Korr''s voice. Tycon was pleased.

    "Get some rest. I''ll have you help packing our supplies in the morning."

    "Yes, Leader."

    Raising a bloody palm to her chest, Korr gave a salute... as well as a hint of a smile.

 Chapter 21 Mosswood Training

    ?Tycon drew the sword from its sheath and held it up to the sun. It was a simple de, unassuming-- no spikes or serrations or nonsensical de widenings. A single S was carved in the metal near its hilt. And it felt a ponze heavier than a longsword should-- or least that''s what Tycon felt.

    "Six¡­ seven¡­ Eh¡­ Hey, Boss! What''s after seven?!" Dragan yelled from a distance. Next to him, a shirtless Bucket was hanging from a tree branch four yalms up. A fall from that distance could seriously injure the boy, though Dragan showed no sign of worry. If anything, Tycon was more worried about Dragan''s confusion at the horrifying prospect of arithmetic.

    "M-mister Dragan! Eight! Eight is after seven!"

    "Oh! Right. You''re at seven pull-ups. Do one more and that''ll be eight."

    "B-but Mister Dragan!"

    "Huh. Did you say something, Bucket? Because I thought I heard you say six."

    Bucket let out a panicked yelp before continuing his struggle in silence, finishing another set of pull-ups. It had been three weeks since they left Nice, three weeks since they left Sorina Capulet in charge of the Tavor estate, and three weeks since hellish training began for Barza Keith and the young Bucket.

    Tycon ced the sword back in its sheath. He had appropriated the magic longsword from Seldin Korr when they were still enemies and thus had felt no obligation to return it. Of the things she''d lost, she was far more concerned for her fat cat-doll, Khloe, than any missing sword. It was likely that she had no idea of its properties... Anyroad, with her ss, she would perform better with a heavy two-handed weapon than a single longsword. Tycon was doing her a favor.

    ? System, identify. ?

    [Shatterspike. Second-Circle Magical Longsword. Deals increased damage to weapons and objects. Soul bind possible. Soul bind? Y/N?]

    ? Negative. ?

    Tycon ced the sword with the rest of the dried rations and adventuring supplies. The sword would prove useful someday, though Tycon preferred his lighter short sword and the ded whip he carried. He had finished checking everything-- recalcting the amount of time Invictus could spend in the Mosswood Wilds before needing to resupply, reaffirming the quality of everyone''s weapons and armors, counting ammunition.

    It was boring but necessary work.

    Tycon breathed in the cool winter air. He needed to ensure the training was effective. He told Sorina they''d be at Port City Caractere by winter. What he didn''t tell her is that the scroll he had in his bag was a magical contract for a quest to bepleted in Merylsward, a major city between Nice and Caractere. As Sorina had previously spotted the scroll and the royal seal, she hadn''t asked any questions about it, since. Tycon would share the quest''s details to hispanions once they were closer, but for now, it was kept on a need-to-know-basis.

    Tycon checked his pocket watch-- one of the few frivolities he purchased in Nice. It was time.

    Tycon picked up a short spear from the pile. Its wooden haft was heavy, solid. Its de was reinforced with metal and its pommel had a wicked spike at its end. Though Invictus would train the boy in all manners of weaponry and skills, Tycon decided that he would focus primarily on the spear to make up for his reach and height disadvantage.

    "Dragan! Time!"

    "You got it, Boss!"

    Dragan grabbed Bucket''s waist and ced him onto the ground.

    Tycon took both hands and put his strength into spinning the spear at the boy. Running towards the spear, the boy snatched it out of the air-- a feat he probably wouldn''t have imagined himself doing three weeks prior. "Thank you, Sir Tycon!"

    The boy could catch a spear but not a pouch of coin. Ridiculous.

    Dragan ced a heavy log onto Bucket''s back. Tycon and he had nailed a beast''s hide to it, so the boy could carry it around without fear of splinters.

    "M... mister Dragan?"

    "Yeeeap?"

    "Is this¡­ a lighter log than--?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Draganughed as he scratched his head, ruffling his fiery red hair in the process.

    "You got me, Bucket! Ahaha!"

    "Sir Tycon will be mad if you keep losing the log, Mister Dragan..." the boy scolded.

    "Ahhh, it''ll be fine. I''ll tell him we chucked it at Barza," Dragan assured him.

    "So I''ll do onep around the full course?" Bucket asked.

    Tycon was walking over to the two, "Shortp, Bucket. Head to the waterfall and bring Mister Wroe back to camp. Dragan and I will fetch Mister Barza. The faster you go, the sooner we can prepare lunch."

    "Yes, Sir!"

    The shirtless boy with pointed ears ran off, bounding over rocks and brush. Dragan and Tycon watched in silence until the boy was out of earshot. Dragan''s arms were crossed and he looked uncertain.

    "The boy''s gotten used to the second log. Should we get a heavier one?"

    Tycon shook his head, "That''s good for now. The log''s twice as heavy as my armor, much less than what he''ll be wearing. We''ll either need to introduce obstacles or make him increase his speed if we want to increase his efficiency¡­"

    "Agility training, then."

    "Agility training. Let''s go recover Barza."

    ...

    Bucket leaped over the brush, ran past a tree, and tilted his body to adjust for the log''s weight and his running direction. He had quickly learned to identify bushes he did not want to jump over, bushes with thorns or spines or itchy leaves--

    Ergh. Boss Tycon always insisted on cleaning scratches out with soap and water-- heined about it, but Boss just yelled and told him if he didn''t, the wound would get red and leak yellow pus and he''d get sick.

    Bucket smacked a nearby tree with his spear, making a hollow sound. It was one of the Striking Trees in his full route. When he struck the hollow trees, Boss Tycon would know where he was. He told him it was ''so you could stay honest,'' but Bucket didn''t quite understand what that meant.

    Mister Dragan said that no one would mourn him if he died, but he know his dad would be sad. He told him so.

    Bucket remembered that when he said that, everyone became very quiet-- as if he had said something that he wasn''t supposed to. He was about to apologize, but then they started to throw hard fruit at him.

    All of Mister Dragan''s throws were really fast. Boss Tycon''s throws would hit him the most-- they''de when he wasn''t expecting it, like right-behind one of Mister Dragan''s fruits or bouncing a fruit off of a tree to hit him in the face. And Mister Wroe''s throws... He didn''t know why the fruits Mister Wroe threw all seemed to look at him. And sometimes they followed his movement?

    After Tycon discovered the magical hard fruit, he beat Wroe with a switch he got from a tree. Then he gave Bucket permission to use his spear to block and deflect Wroe''s throws.

    Bucket missed his dad. It had almost reached his nameday again, since he''d been gone... But he was definitely out there, training as hard as he was.

    ...He wondered how his dad would throw fruit.

    Bucket dashed towards the mossy rock near the waterfall, using the momentum to slide forward and up a natural rocky ramp. He kept grip of his spear, and pushed his log away as he slid off of the cliff. Heughed, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness... and soon, he and his log crashed into the small pond, sshing water all around.

    Bucket swam towards the log to grab it, then surfaced towardsnd. Emerging slowly, Bucket scanned his surroundings, searching for Tarquin Wroe.

 Chapter 22 Devilbeast

    ?A nearby bush had rustled without provocation.

    Movement!

    Bucket pointed his spear towards the bush.

    "I found you, Mister Wroe! Come out! It''s break time!"

    A confused boar piglet emerged from the bush. Seeing the spear, it oinked out in panic.

    "(What have I done? I''m so sorry!)"

    Bucket lowered his weapon in apology.

    "I''m sorry, Mister Pig. I was looking for my friend, Mister--"

    SPLASH!

    Unfortunately for Bucket, a ball of water struck him on the side of the head and knocked him off bnce. In his moment caught unaware, he dropped the log. Bucket yelled out in frustration, looking all around him.

    "Baw! You made me drop it, Mister Wroe! Where are you?!"

    "Over here."

    Hearing the voice, Bucket looked up. Tarquin Wroe was lying in a hammock hanging from a thick tree branch. The tall blue-haired adult waved one hand while concentrating on a small, ck rectangr stone in his other hand. He called it an Agan Tomestone.

    It had games on it that Bucket liked to y sometimes.

    But if Mister Wroe was above him... It meant that he didn''t see him drop the log. It was a chance! Bucket picked up the log.

    A slimy tentacled monster emerged from the water, five times Bucket''s size.

    Bucket dropped the log. Mister Wroe was above him. He wasn''t the one that threw the waterball.

    The thing crawled ontond, eight slick and gooey-looking armsshing out at him. While Bucket was trying to think of a way to fight it, one of its arms wrapped tightly around his leg; it felt like sharp nails were pressing against his skin. Yelling out, Bucket shed at the tentacle with his spear.

    A sh, a stab, and a cut managed to free him from the devilish creature''s grasp. He had to get away. He ran two steps and jumped, using his spear to vault him to higher ground. Using his new vantage point, he scanned the area. The 8-armed creature was huge, purplish and spotted, and was very intent on pursuing him. Bucket''s eyes wandered as he also found a Summoning Circle scrawled into the sand, closer to where Mister Wroe was.

    "Mister Wroe! You SUMMONED A MONSTER!!"

    Wroe rocked the hammockzily, still staring at the Agan Tomestone,"Eh. It''s probably fine."

    "What''s probably fine, Mister Wroe?! It looks really mad!!"Bucket jumped forward, rolling away and breaking out into a run. He had to make distance between him and the devilbeast so he coulde up with a n.

    SPLASH!

    The back of Bucket''s head was struck with another waterball. Bucket growled in frustration, sucking up the pain, as he started to run in a zigzag pattern. More waterballs smashed into the nearby trees, breaking branches and terrifying the local wildlife.

    Soon Bucket was running forward alongside panicked deer, rabbits, and a very terrified, very confused piglet. Behind them, the devilbeast''s massive crawling tentacles, trampled the forest undergrowth and cracked apart the trees in its way.

    Bucket and his woond friends began to run faster. Bucket grabbed a low branch, swinging up onto a tree, abandoning his forest-dwelling runningpanions.

    "Leave them alone! It''s me you want!"

    The devilbeast''s arms raced forward towards Bucket, decimating the branches and vines in its way. Bucket breathed in deep, before letting out the strongest, scariest warcry he could, shing and stabbing at the creature''s arms. With a grunt, Bucket rotated his entire body into a spear sh, cutting off a big chunk of tentacle.

    "GRAAAARRRWRRGHHHH!!"

    "Take that, monster!" Bucket dered arrogantly.

    Another four tentacles rocketed towards him. He abandoned the tree, a lot less arrogant than a few seconds earlier,"Sorry! I''m-sorry! I''m-sorry!"

    The creature had arms with painful grips-- so it could definitely climb, too. There were so many arms that he''d be at a disadvantage if he were to stand and fight it.

    He needed an advantage.

    Bucketnded on the ground, painfully, rolling with the momentum. He gasped as he thought of an idea-- at the same time ducking to dodge another waterball. Excited by the thought, Bucket sprinted back zig-zaggedly towards the water.

    ...

    Wroe was concentrating on his Tomestone. In it contained a veritable wealth of knowledge: forbidden lore, rituals with varying difficulties ofplexity, but most importantly, de techniques-- the mysterious and rare mana-activated techniques moremonly known as Skills.

    Much of it came naturally to him. He was naturally curious about the darker sides of the world, so he retained the knowledge he gleaned from the Tomestone much like a dry sponge to water.

    He didn''t have to meditate to try to focus his mana. He simply prayed. He willed his love for his goddess and her pale, gently guiding hand guided the mana through his body-- or whatever ck ink entropy she willed through him. The pain, too, was a form of worship.

    He no longer had to exercise. He devoted his body towards praise of her name. Every drip of sweat from his brow, every rushing droplet of blood, the mass of flesh he called his body heaved and strained-- its whole existence was hers.

    His mind changed, knowing too much, but capable of learning of the cosmos, of the rise and fall of entire civilizations, of the names of gods long dead, and the whispers of their inevitable return.

    His very physique changed. He had promised her his heart. And where it once beat-- he doubted that part of him could still be called human.

    He was a tool for her glorious will, to serve and worship throughout time evesting.

    He was in love.

    Wroe looked away from his Tomestone, ncing down to see a pair of trees copse as his summoned creature chased after the boy. He shrugged.

    "S''probably fine."<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    Bucket remembered seeing a big tree leaning towards the water''s edge. After witnessing the devilbeast''s capacity for destruction, he hatched a n to lead the creature there and trick it into smooshing itself.

    As he ran, he picked up smooth rocks near the water''s edge, throwing them when he could.

    "Follow me, you big stupid!"

    "GRAOHHHHHHH!"

    Dashing away from the monster''s roar, Bucket reached the base of the tree. It was huge, and its weight would definitely pin the devilbeast in ce if his n worked. Bucket took his ce in front of it-- he didn''t have to wait long.

    The devilbeast was barreling through the brush and sand, furious from the rocks and the taunts. Bucket finally got a good look at it. Its body was a grey-purplish blob with bumps all along its skin. Its head was swollen with fluid and its dark pupils were an evil-looking wiggly shape. Its long tentacles were as thick as Bucket''s waist, with their tips as thick as his arms.

    "Come at me, I''m not scared of you!"

    Bucket was a little scared. But he figured his dad wouldn''t be scared at all. Boss would say something like, ''it''s fine to be scared, as long as you win," but he didn''t want the monster to know he was scared.

    He hoped that was okay.

    Massive tentacles whipped down at him, each with enough force to smash him into pulp. He sidestepped a tentacle, dashed forward and stabbed at the creature''s main body. The spear point sank into the creature''s soft, springy flesh, a stinking viscous fluid spurting out. The beast''s tentacles had damaged the tree''s exposed roots and made it creak forward, threatening to fall. Bucket needed to move quickly-- one more hit and the tree would fall and crush him along with the monster.

    The creature roared loudly in pain, forcing Bucket to hold onto his ears. One of its tentaclestched onto one of his arms. Bucket yelped, it hurt soooo much, but he refused to drop his spear. If he dropped his spear, he would lose.

    He reached for the knife on his back and began to hack away at the grey-purple meat. Recoiling in sudden pain, the devilbeast released him.

    "Yes, here''s my chance!"

    As he charged forward, one more angry tentacleshed out at Bucket. He ducked and slid, watching it smash into the tree''s base. The massive tree began to fall.

    Tentacles lunged forward, entrapping both of Bucket''s legs and his spear arm.

    "No! No!! Let go of me! I don''t wanna die too!"

    Bucket began to panic. His eyes grew hot and his heart began to beat crazily inside of his chest. He kicked and struggled, even as the tilted tree roared and cracked from its own weight. If he couldn''t escape, he''d die. And if he died, he''d fail.

    And if he failed, he''d never see his dad again.

    He couldn''t give up. But as he thought of his dad, he found words, buried deep in his mind-- words that didn''t make sense to him, but words that he somehow knew he needed. He yelled them as loud as he could.

    "MAGNUM¡­ BREAAAAK!!"

    Heat burned through his arms and legs. It felt like his heart was on fire. He opened his eyes and fire actually was all around him, a zing sh of red and gold.

    "GRAHHHHHZZRRZZZAAAAAAAHH," The devilbeast''s tentacles that were grabbing him sizzled as it screamed in pain.

    Bucket swung his dagger again, and three swift cutster, he rolled out of the way of the groaning and crashing tree. Sand and stones flew up as the creature was crushed underneath. It squirmed and struggled, but the gross liquid just continued to bleed out, the creature must have been pierced through, more than it was pinned. Its arms tried to grip on the massive tree and it tried to push it off.

    Bucket stabbed it in its eye. Its what Boss Tycon would do.

    ''Take away all their hopes and dreams,'' he''d say.

    He drove the spear as deep into the creature''s body as he could, then he ran off-- his trusty log was nearby. He grabbed it and used it to hammer his spear deeper into the creature''s eye. Several momentster, the creature stopped moving. It started to be see-through, crumbling away into fat clumps of magic dust.

    Bucket breathed a sigh of relief as he tossed the fluid-covered log onto the sand. He sat down on hisfy leather-covered log and drank some water. He wasn''t incredibly sure what happened, but thanks to that Magnum Break thing he did, he was barely able to get away from the tentacle monster in time.

    A heavy ssh kersplunked into the water behind him, so Bucket swiveled around on his seat to look. Wroe rose up out of the water''s surface, water dripping down his blue hair and naked, muscr chest. Eventually, he stood magically upon the water.

    "Hoho, you''ve done a little bit better, this time."

    "Yeah, but I still dropped the log¡­ I lost."

    Bucket groaned, looking dejected.

    "Not quite. Boss said you get half-points for holding onto your weapon. And you get bonus points for surviving against the monster."

    "But I beat the monster!"

    Wroe snickered.

    "The summoned monster was on a time limit and the time ran out just now. Wherever it is, it should have turned entirely into mana dust by now."

    "Oh, okay," Bucket nodded. He had seen the creature start turning into magic dust after he killed it. It made sense.

    "You just have to wait to see if Mister Barza can pass his test," Wroe warned.

    Bucket shot up, grinning wildly.

    "That''s right! Mister Barza will be able to pass, for sure! Let''s go back so we can eat, Mister Wroe!"

    Wroe returned the grin and in a puff of watery smoke, he disappeared and reappeared beside Bucket, cing the boy''s log back onto the shirtless boy''s shoulders

    "Shall we have a friendly race, Bucket?"

    "You''re on, Mister Wroe!"

 Chapter 23 Barza Of The Twin Blades

    ?Three weeks prior, Tycon had ordered Barza Keith to shave.

    Without his lustrous and majestic facial hair, the cold winds prated his face all the more keenly. A merciless gale blew cuttingly against the rocky cliff face, not enough to threaten his life, but easily enough to make him question the wisdom of joining Invictus. He willed himself to move, to keep moving, to keep the blood flowing in his hands and fingers...

    When he was first introduced to the cliff, it seemed easy with its plentiful rocky footholds.

    He did not ount for the cold. Or the fact that his only protection from it was a simple linen tunic.

    He did not ount for the fact that he was wasn''t allowed a safety rope¡­ or climbing gear¡­ or even gloves, only relying on using his bare hands to climb.

    He did not consider that on the first sun of training, his hands would bleed upon the sharp rocks. Nor did he realize that sometimes, the rocks would break. And that if he fell, he would break his body upon the jagged stones below. Death would not offer a soft cushion, but instead, a cruel mangling of his bones and the cracking of his skull, allowing the beasts and scavengers to prey upon his delicious insides.

    And when he reached the top¡­ For some reason, there would always be someone waiting. By then, his hands would hurt. His endurance and willpower would be drained to near nonexistent. But they''d offer no congrattions, no words of encouragement. Instead, they''d throw a sword at his feet and tell him to pick it up.

    Tarquin Wroe would attack with tricky movements and feints. Sometimes what he said was confusing, but he was always smiling, always good-natured. His swordy was skillful and he knew how to use strength at the right moments. But sometimes, the man would disappear-- moving too fast or somehow disrupting his vision or¡­ perhaps a dark sort of magic. Adapting to Wroe''s supernatural attacks was difficult for Barza, but he was confident that he''d learn with practice. Barza didn''t mind fighting Mister Wroe.

    Mister Dragan moved much faster than his size would suggest. His voice offered friendship, but his words were full of poison, cruel and nonsensical insults, strings of curse words in foreign tongues. Dragan''s words, Barza learned to ignore-- they were whetstones that he used to sharpen his focus to a deadly edge. The giant man''s sword movements were oppressive, strong, sweeping. Barza had to focus to meet or fully dodge the heavy strikes-- counterattacking was a dream. Both of Barza''s arms would ache from Dragan''s heavy sword, and when he was caught off bnce, he''d fall and tumble, scraping his skin. Barza hated to admit it, but he learned more from Dragan''s sword than Wroe''s.

    Barza had finally reached the top of the cliff face. Searching for victory, he threw a callused hand up to grasp at its edge... but instead of sharp stone, he felt a hand grasping his wrist. Confused, he grabbed hold, and was subsequently lifted up by a green-haired youth.

    "Sir Tycon¡­"

    "You''re on time."

    Tycon pulled Barza onto secure, t ground before handing him a waterskin.

    "Oh, thank you."

    "Nn," Tycon only grunted in response.

    Barza drank small sips of water, recovering slowly. He noted that Tycon also had sweat running down his brow. Nearby, the red-headed half-giant Dragan waved a pair of sheathed swords. The two had eschewed armor, instead adopting lighter clothing, easier to sweat in. It appeared to Barza that the two ran over. Boss Tycon''s endurance was lower than Dragan and Tarquin''s, and Barza took a tiny bit of relief that the Mosswood Wilds training was for everyone, not just him and Bucket.

    "You know what happens next, right?" Tycon''s asked in a stern voice.

    He was always a harsh teacher. But he was logical, sensible. Barza couldn''t help but give the entirety of his attention to the noble''s words. Barza nced at the weapons-- Tycon and Dragan both carried their personals, a thinde and a greataxe that was heavier than it made sense to be. And Dragan carried two familiar sheathed swords.

    Barza smirked at with confidence, "Yeah. I''ve been thinking for some two hours about how to get back at this bastard."

    Barza was excited. He had realized that even though Dragan''s offense was difficult to handle, his urate swings were primarily fast, low risk attacks that made it easier for him to defend. In light of the man''s size and bulk, he was a defensive fighter. Barza decided to risk a more offensive strategy, risking injury in order to force Dragan into a harder defense. He''d be able to control the duel instead of being forced to match Dragan''s pace.

    Barza raised an arm up, palm open towards the big man. Dragan grinned like a feral beast, unsheathed a sword, and spun it at breakneck speed towards Barza.<novelnext></novelnext>

    PAH.

    Barza caught the sword by its leather grip, spinning and flourishing the de in front of Tycon. It was pretty bad-ass,"Boss, with your permission, I''ll show you the results of my training."

    Tycon did not respond, only granting him a suspicious nce, before his eyes flicked again towards Dragan.

    Towards Dragan?

    Out of the corner of his eye, Barza saw something else hurtling towards him. Half-turning his body, he realized a second sword was spinning towards him at a curve. Focusing his concentration, Barza reached towards the second sword.

    PAH.

    Barza caught the sword firmly with his offhand. Holding both swords was aforting feeling. His attack strings were far safer when he could continually attack. He would get tired faster swinging two des, but his endurance had improved tremendously with his training regimen.

    But it felt odd to him. Barza looked to Dragan with confusion. Was Dragan going to use his greataxe? Barza couldn''t use the same risky strategy he''d thought of earlier against a heavier de. Even a ncing blow from Dragan''s heavy greataxe would have severe effects on his stamina and fighting ability.

    In the distance, Dragan crossed his arms, his shite-eating grin never leaving his face. Barza felt his heart shake.

    Something was wrong. He could feel it. But his mind couldn''t calcte the possibilities fast enough.

    A great force battered his body, throwing him forward and onto the hard ground. Sharp pain, like being stabbed with a blunt knife, radiated from a spot on his lower back, paralyzing him as cold shock spread through his entire body. In moments, the shock localized to his left side-- but even the blood flowing through his veins felt painful.

    In a panic, Barza ignored the pain and scrambled away, desperately resisting the urge to scream or vomit or defecate himself in the extremities of his agony. Tycon had struck him with the pommel of his sheathed sword. Without so much as a smile, the young noble slowly drew the de and began walking towards.

    As fear and realization began to grip at Barza, he heard Dragan''s unforgivingugh from only a few yalms away,"Ahhhahaha! Whoops! You''d better get up, my dude."

    "By the gods! Grk¡­" Barza rubbed his back where he was struck, "This-- wasn''t part-- of the deal! Dragan?! Why is Boss--"

    Dragan gave an exaggerated shrug,"Maybe he wanted to see the results of your training?"

    Tycon was walking forward, the tip of his sword drawing a line on the ground. For a moment, Barza forgot the pain. He forgot his thirst, his hunger, his regrets, and even his unrequited love for Sorina. Everything in Barza''s mind and body screamed for him to get away... to run as fast as he could from this ce and never return.

    He knew only fear.

    All of Barza''s instincts pleaded for survival. All of his senses were honed to the sharpest edge of human limits. And so, even as Tycon spoke the barest of whispers, every syble was a resounding crash in his eardrums.

    "Iron Dragon Rend"

 Chapter 24 Iron Dragon Rend

    ?Barza stared at the destruction. The earth had been rent in two where he had stood only seconds prior. Dust and sand swirled in the air and a light rain of pebbles peppered Barza''s face from the attack''s aftermath.

    "Th-there''s no way I can survive fighting Boss!"

    Shocked, Barza stood up, his swords at the ready. He red at the voice''s owner, Dragan, who was crouching atop a nearby boulder. Dragan grinned sheepishly, like a guilty thief finally caught, "Oh,e on, man. That was preeeetty funny!"

    "I nearly died!"

    Dragan pointed a meaty, mocking finger while revealing his insufferable smile,"But''cha didn''t!"

    A figure rushed through the dust clouds, and Barza''s body reacted before he figured out what was going on. Crossing his des defensively, he blocked a powerful downward sh. Seeing Tycon''s serious face, Barza finally cracked a smile. He could take Tarquin Wroe''s sneak attacks and he could somewhat handle Dragan''s heavy and precise blows. Barza felt as long as he could dodge the Boss'' abilities, he''d pass.

    Maybe Boss was being nice? Maybe he wasn''t actually trying to kill him?

    Not a second passed by when Barza realized something was wrong. He nced down and to the side, realizing instantaneously that Tycon hadnded a sharp mid-air kick to his left side-- the same side he''d attacked earlier.

    It hurt. It hurt a lot. Barza wanted to curl up on the ground and shut his eyes, but... he might literally die if he did that. Looking up again, Tycon had lifted up the sword again to strike him down. Barza lifted up a sword to block, his opposite sword guarding his vulnerable side.

    Barza saw white, and then the brightness of the blue sky. He had been punched in the face. He fell to the ground.

    "Gah! Hahaha! Hahaha! Oh, man!"Dragan''sughter pounded in Barza''s ears as he lied on the ground. He was defeated. And soundly. Barza deeply felt the sense of loss-- of having improved so much, but not enough. He grew arrogant. That was why he lost.

    "Haaah. Oh man! Barza! Dude, get up! You''re gonna die!" Dragan yelled.

    Barza swung a sword up-- relying on pure instinct, deflecting a downward stab aimed at his chest. Quickly, he rolled backwards and got to his feet. Barza''s legs shook and his heart was pumping out of his chest. His side ached dully, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins had refused him the full sensation of the otherwise crippling pain.

    "What¡­ What was that¡­" Barza gasped. That attack was aimed at his heart.

    "No sssafety rope, Mister Barza," Tycon muttered.

    "Sir?"

    Tycon''s voice was a low growl, like a predator warning his prey. Barza was confused. What did him not having safety ropes for climbing have to do with the duel.

    Tycon held his sword with his right hand, and rolled his left wrist to stretch it, before switching it back, "I''m trying to kill you, Mister Barza. Do try to survive."

    Barza blocked three quick shes. Cold sweat poured down his face and back, as he realized afterwards that two of the shes would have sliced open his throat. Barza leapt back to dodge a sidewards kick, effectively resetting the fight. His hands trembled, but he gripped his swords harder, willing the blood to rush back to his fingers. He couldn''t lose either of his swords in this fight. Barza nced up to ready himself for the next assault--

    Not there. Barza looked left. Dragan pointed. Barza quickly turned and was greeted by a clump of dirt thrown into his face.

    The noble, Tycon, had picked up dirt and thrown it into his face. This wasn''t a duel. This was bullying.

    Rubbing the dirt from his eyes with his wrist, Barza suffered a kick to the gut and a sword pommel to the top of his head. He fell to the ground, vomiting water, tearing up from the pain and the debris in his eyes. A swift kick to the ribs turned him over.

    "M-mercy, Sir Tycon," He begged.

    "Get the hells up."

    Barza coughed blood and leftover vomit. The pain had resurfaced and he was holding on desperately to consciousness,"I-I can''t¡­"

    "You know the boy would get up," Tycon mocked.

    "I''m¡­ not as strong as the boy."

    Barza''s pleading was met by silence. He imagined Tycon and Dragan standing over him, meeting each other''s gaze in disappointed silence. Barza felt a hand grip his face. It lifted him up. Mercilessly, the back of his head was mmed down against the hard ground.

    Then twice.

    Three times.

    Barza finally gained a surge of strength, shoving Tycon back and rolling to the side. He stood half-way up and he rolled by instinct. Feeling that he wasn''t far enough, he stood again and threw himself forward in another roll.

    "Boss, is he¡­ is he Fat-Rolling away?"

    Tycon shrugged in response, "It''s a legitimate strategy."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Barza, still dazed, managed to keep one sword. He pointed it towards Tycon, his knees buckling. Tycon tossed the dropped sword to Dragan, and the two slowly walked over to nk Barza.

    "Hey, Barza, what''s wrooooong?! Gonna PISS YOURSELF again?!" Dragan taunted.

    "Sh-shut up, motherf*cker! Not this again!" Barza shut his eyes and keeled over, taken over by a coughing fit. Everything hurt.

    "Haha! Idiot!" Dragan shrugged.

    Barza grit his teeth and attacked Tycon. If he went down, he''d go down fighting. Tycon smirked, deflecting and dodging the single sword with expertise. Tycon leapt backwards, allowing Dragan to smash a heavy boot into the broad side of Barza''s back. Dropping his guard, Tycon stepped forward. Kick to the thigh, kick to the side, kick to the face, which turned Barza''s head violently. He tried to force his vision forward, to his attacker, but he was toote to react to Tycon''s sword sh.

    An upwards diagonal sh cut across Barza''s chest, a mist of blood spraying everywhere.

    Barza fell to his knees in disbelief, staring at the pink mist of his life essence in the air. Tycon had cut him.

    Tycon shed his sword to the side to shake off the blood before he sheathed his sword and crossed his arms,"Giving up, Mister Barza?"

    All of the strength had left Barza''s body. He tried to lift his sword but couldn''t. He slumped slowly to the ground and stared at Tycon''s boots, feeling his body quickly growing cold as hot blood spilled out from his chest.

    Tycon crouched forward to meet his gaze,"You know¡­ Miss Capulet tried to visit you one evening."

    "Sorina? She¡­ She wouldn''t. What¡­ what did you do¡­"

    A spark of confusion and anger lit up in Barza''s eyes as he struggled to get up. No harm woulde to Sorina-- not if he could help it.

    Tycon smirked, "Simple, of course. I sent her away. She had no business dealing with a weakling like you."

    "Wh-why would you do that?"Barza could feel all of his willpower float away. With nothing left to hold him, he crashed back down into the dirt.

    Tycon stared at the fallen Barza in silence.

    Dragan somersaulted off of a tall rock, and with the assistance of gravity, smashed his elbow into Barza Keith''s beaten and battered sr plexus. Barza felt himself groan, but felt no pain. He watched the two men through a clouded gaze, as if he was an outsider, watching on.

    Dragan stood up and took his ce beside Tycon, wiping off the stter of blood on his elbow. with his opposite hand The two stared at Barza''s unmoving form in silence.

    Tycon turned to the Titanblood,"Mister Dragan¡­ I believe Mister Barza was finished before the elbow drop."

    Dragan sucked in air through his teeth,"Yeah. Hm... But besides that-- you know, Boss, that''s not how you mess with someone."

    "What do you mean?"

    "I mean, he kinda gave up after what you said about making that girl go away."

    "What? But that''s what I did. I told him the truth."

    "I mean, you could have said that you sent her to MY room." Dragan grinned, "That would have riled him up!"

    "Your room? Seven hells, why would I send the girl to YOUR room?"

    "That''s not important. Hey."

    Dragan''s voice took on a shade of worry. He prodded Barza with his boot, who only groaned unintelligently in response,"Barza. Heyyyy. Hey, wake up, man. You gotta stay with us. You can''t close your eyes like that."

    Barza took ast, longing nce at his friends. The big man, Dragan, was shaking him. His boss had beaten him, cut him, and only continued to re at him with disappointment. It was a shame about Sorina. It was a shame that he couldn''t live up to Tycon''s expectations. He closed his eyes and hoped for peace-- death''s soft cushion.

    "Is this the best you can do?"

    Thest thing Tycon said echoed in his mind.

    Barza had been beaten. His body lied, bleeding and broken.

    But besides all that, Barza desperately wanted to live.

 Chapter 25 Skill

    ?"Is this the best you can do?"

    [Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Make it so. ?

    [Activating.]

    Tycon unstoppered a full waterskin and without hesitation, began pouring water on Barza''s open wound. The water would wash out anyrge debris from the dirt and rocks in the air. Within moments, Tycon''s Inspirational Surge had begun healing Barza''s grievous injury, the blood scabbing over, then forming a barely visible scar. It was because of this that Tycon was so willing to attack without holding back.

    "He did pretty shite, Boss."

    Dragan crossed his arms, looking over Barza''s unconscious form. To show his frustration, Dragan went as far as to give the downed man a light kick. Tycon took a deep breath before kneeling down to clean the blood of his sword on the remnants of Barza''s shed and tattered shirt.

    "Not necessarily, Mister Dragan. I thought I saw something."

    "You mean smelled something? Because I''m pretty sure he--"

    "No, besides that¡­ When I mentioned Miss Capulet to him, I saw a shine in his eyes."

    "So? So he''s crushing on a smart chick? What''s that have to do with--"

    "I think Mister Barza almost activated a Skill."

    Dragan''s eyes widened and he pulled his head back in shock. Shaking his head, he groaned.

    "Nooooo! Whaaat? There''s no way, Boss. Not at this guy''s Rank. Bah! And he has a low-tier ss."

    Tycon ignored him and proceeded to physically check Barza''s condition. Since it was the first time he had remembered using it, he was uncertain to the efficacy of his healing Skill. After finding nothing else amiss, he directed a thought to the System.

    ? System, inquiry: The unconscious fool''s ss? ?

    [System response: Barza Keith, Bronze-Rank Warrior.]

    It appeared that the training was able to change the young man''s ss. He''s now the Warrior ss, low-tier, but better than his previous one... Any of the sses that stem from Warrior would suit him. But the skill he thought he saw...

    Tycon turned to Dragan, "But what if it''s possible?"

    His seriousness caught Dragan off guard. He scratched his head in thought, "Yeah. Then he might be worth something, after all."

    ¡­

    "Y''know, that was really somethin'', Boss."

    The pair walk-jogged back to the campsite. Dragan was holding his greataxe in his right hand and steadying the snoring Barza on his back with his left.

    "What was something? The fact that I''m not left-handed?"

    "That skill you used? The uh... Dragon-something? I''ve never seen you use it before."

    "...What kind of skills do I usually use?"

    "Ah, I dunno, Boss? Usually, you just yell at us to do things?"

    "Well, don''t expect it much anymore. It took an unreasonable amount of mana for its effect."

    Dragan shrugged, "You mean you have a low Completion Rate on it? If you raised your Skillprehension, it would reduce its stamina... err, mana consumption while increasing its effect and damage."

    Tycon hopped over a tree stump and shed at a group of vines in the way. Dragan leaped up and over, using the crook beneath his greataxe de to swing from a branch. Tycon spoke to finish Dragan''s thought.

    "--which is why Tarquin Wroe makes a better Warlock than he does a Fighter. And why I specialize in Command Skills and not Weapon Skills."

    "Exactly, Boss!"

    Tycon huffed, watching his step and zigzagging through the brush.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Mister Dragan, you''re quite astute at times and an absolute donkey at others. Did you know that?"

    Draganughed in response as if it had been his n all along. The pair slowed to a halt, arriving at the camp.

    "Hey, Boss. Watch this."

    Dragan rotated his body and tossed Barza up into the air. The man spun impressively, but still managed to fall gracelessly onto his face. He sprung awake, his face covered in dirt and leaves,"Wha-- What?! Where am I?"

    "Heyyyy. We''re back at camp. Thought you died, man!" Draganughed.

    Barza touched himself with his hands, clumsily grabbing at all of his body parts. It looked quite lewd.

    Tycon muttered in annoyance, "The man should be checking for his sword¡­"

    "We should beat him with it," Dragan suggested gleefully.

    Tycon ced the surplus swords with the rest of the supplies and provided food to his two sentries, Horse and Jeremy. Invictus had purchased the second horse, Jeremy, at the cheapest avable price.

    "Corporal Horse. Private Jeremy. Report."

    "(A squirrel tried to approach the camp. And a deer. The camp is safe,)" Corporal Horse proudly reported.

    "(Holy shite, a talking horse!)" As useless as Horse''s observations were, Jeremy''s were even moreso.

    "Very good, you two. Keep up the good work," Tycon groaned.

    ¡­

    Barza and Bucket were eating from their provided rations. Hard tack. Fruit preserves. Crushed peanut butter in a ceramic jar. Bucket had made himself a small peanut butter and preserves sandwich. He sat upon a familiar, leather-covered log, swinging his legs happily while eating. Barza idly munched on a strip of dried meat, brooding grimly in thought. Looking over to the carefree boy, Barza couldn''t help but ask,"Bucket? What are those markings on your arms?"

    "Got grabbed by tentacles." The boy responded between bites, "It really hurt."

    Barza wanted to ask if he''d heard correctly, but he was afraid that he had. He chose to ignore it with great prejudice, else he''d feel the need to ask more questions,"Hey, Bucket... Did you pass?"

    Bucket tilted his waterskin up to drink big glugs of water. Then he stuck a finger into his mouth to unstick the PB&J.

    "I dropped the log. But I kept my spear! So Mister Wroe gave me an 8 out of 10."

    Barza shuddered involuntarily. Tycon had exined the point system to him prior. There were three scores: Good, Needs Work, and Absolute Failure. Bucket had probably received a Good. If they both did poorly, the both of them would be given a punishment mission-- cutting firewood while swords and weights were strapped to their backs, provoking a Devil-Bear and leading it into an ambush. Barza was almost certain that if there was a dragon in the forest, Tycon would demand the two of them steal from its treasure hoard.

    "Did *you* pass, Mister Barza?" The boy asked innocently.

    "I¡­ I don''t think so," He admitted.

    "Oh,e on! What happened? Did you drop your weapon?"

    Shock flooded Barza''s senses and his side began to ache again. Cold sweat flooded down his back as he remembered the sensation of fear. Tycondrius had tried to kill him in cold blood. He could have sworn that he took a sword sh to the chest, that he was bleeding out and his flesh was turning cold. But when he had awoken, he''d only found a superficial cut on his chest-- signs of blood, but not enough to prove such a grievous wound. His shirt, a sure sign of evidence, had been removed while he was unconscious. Mister Dragan had told him it was ruined in the fight.

    "Bucket¡­ I think¡­ I died."

    Bucket''s eyes grew as wide as a Devil-Bear''s. Slowly, as if not to surprise him, the boy ced a hand on his spear.

    "Are you a zombie?"

    But before Bucket could forcibly ensure Barza was dead, Tycon, Dragan, and Wroe approached. Tycon was positioned between the other two and took a half step forward.

    "The three of us have discussed your performances."

    Barza and Bucket stood up, at attention. Bucket had been drilled to hold his spear to the side, pointed straight up, his opposite little arm as straight down as possible. Barza stood ramrod straight, sweating in nervousness-- he wished he had the simple reassurance of steel in hand.

    "Mister Barza, prepare your armor and gear." Tycon ordered, "You, alone, will be assigned a punishment mission."

 Chapter 26 The Price Of Failure

    ?"That''s not fair, Sir!"Bucket stood up, yelling indignantly.

    "The decision has been made." Tycon responded coolly. "Sit. Down."

    "But, Sir!?"

    Tycon sighed and rubbed his be.

    "Listen well, young man. The three of us are your superiors concerning Rank, Time-in-Service, Age, and above all, actual Combat Ability. If you have issue, you write a clear and concise FORMAL rebuttal."

    Wroe shrugged, "If you fail, you get punished."

    Dragan chimed in, "Yeah! Shut up, Bucket!"

    Tycon red at the two. They looked away.

    Horse neighed, "(Yeah, shut up, newbie!)"

    Tycon red at the horse. Horse focused his attention elsewhere.

    Bucket thought for a moment,"Can I ask why?"

    Dragan groaned loudly. He was tapping his foot impatiently, obviously annoyed. Bucket began to subconsciously shrink, curling up his body in response to Dragan''s growing frustration,"Bucket, I thought I told you to shut up! You don''t question orders, especially from a noble! You just--"

    Tycon raised an open palm, interrupting the Titanblood,"No, Mister Dragan. This is fine."

    Dragan crossed his arms, emitting a low, feral growl like a beast. Bucket''s shoulders trembled slightly as he looked up towards the adults. The young boy was not immune to fear, after all. Barza looked equally troubled, unsure of whether or not he should speak up for himself.

    He spoke to Bucket keeping his voice calm and measured,"Young man, there is a time and ce for questions. Usually, sensitive questions are asked in private, as to not question the integrity of those who pass judgment...

    "Mister Dragan was trained in a harsher environment. The general speaks. The troops listen.

    "Understand that he is not wrong. It is possible that I will ask you to act on mymand on trust alone-- Pray to your gods that that time neveres."

    Barza looked on, guilt and worry apparent in his eyes. Bucket looked as if he was about to cry. He gripped his small fists in resolution and looked up with moist eyes,"But I trust Sir Tycon!! I trust all of you guys!"

    Tycon closed his eyes, feeling a surge of pride. He was almost certain that Wroe and Dragan were touched, as well.

    However...he did not feel deserving of the boy''s sincerity. The boy was a weapon. He would be sharpened with the whetstones that were training and suffering. And when Tycon was finished, the boy would be strong-- of that, he had no choice in the matter. But afterwards, would he still be the same boy? Tycon was uncertain.

    "Invictus is a small group of elites, not a thousand spears moving as one," Tycon continued. "As such, I need you to think, to analyze, to react to situations with intelligence and cunning. We are training you as best we can. At the very minimum, you need the strength of a Bronze-Ranker."

    Tycon noticed that Barza''s face turned gloomier at the thought. The man had a confidence issue. While he was a Bronze-Rank, himself, the only other he couldpare himself to was Guard Captain Varen, who he soundly lost against in one-on-onebat.

    As Barza was now, he had the increased strength and endurance to soundly defeat the brain-addled Veteran Captain... not that Tycon particrly cared to tell him that.

    "Your weaknesses will be strengthened. Your strengths will be fine-tuned. And when you are finally not a burden..." Tycon smirked. "--you will learn to work as a team... with which we shall contend with challenges above our rank...

    "That stated, you may ask about our criteria." He offered. "We have nothing to hide."

    Barza stood up, having regained his confidence,"Sir Tycon. Boss?"

    Tycon raised a palm, motioning for Barza to speak.

    "Why did you--"Barza opened his mouth to speak, but no more words came out. He stared at his boots, deep in thought. And with a confused but helpless look, he slowly sat back down,"Never¡­ mind."

    ? Tycon sighed and crossed his arms,"Mister Barza, your biggest weakness is experience. You know how to swing a de by instinct, but not had a militarized regimen of endurance orbat training-- that is, you cannot handle drawn out, physically-taxingbat. Over several training sessions, we''ve pushed your physical and mental endurance to your limit. And once you used every bit of strength, lost everyst onze of willpower, we demanded more. And in that precarious state, we forced you to fight against nigh impossible odds.

    "Mister Dragan is thrice your size-- he''s less of a man than a wild, charging beast, or perhaps a two-tonze boulder falling off a cliff. You don''t fight that kind of man, you avoid him at all costs.

    "Mister Wroe is a spellcaster-- a wielder of chaos and entropy. By his words and will, he can twist and in some cases even defy the Laws of this world. You don''t fight that. You hide in your bedsheets and pray for the nightmare to end.

    "And me¡­"

    "Well, you''ll never defeat me." Tycon gave an apologetic shrug, "Anyroad, I''m certain that you know that every fight thus far, you''ve risked severe injury and an unclean death.

    "If you didn''t have the talent... If your instinct didn''t force you to stand and fight¡­"Tycon had walked up to seated Barza.

    The clean-shaven man had paled from Tycon''s words.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, mulling over his words, "Ultimately, you''ve survived thus far. You do have the potential, Mister Barza."

    He patted the young man''s shoulder, "Today, you gave up at thest moment. This is training, Mister Barza. You''re not allowed to die during training or otherwise. When the world falls apart around us, the training takes over.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "And when that timees, even if Death herselfes to im you, riding her pale, winged horse--"

    Tycon''s voice dropped low... ominous, "I need you. to be. Immortal... Do you understand me?"

    A single tear dropped down Barza''s face as his heart visibly surged with pride, "Y-yes, Sir."

    Tycon leaned forward to whisper words only Barza could hear,"Have some self-respect."

    "Yes... Sir," the young man sniffed.

    Tycon turned and walked away, as Barza wiped his face.

    "Bucket, does that answer your question on why Mister Barza failed?"

    "Yes, sir!" Bucket answered brightly, "We''re not allowed to die!"

    "Not without my permission, correct,"Tycon nodded, pleased by the boy''s response. "Did you have any other questions?"

    Bucket stood up and saluted a palm to his chest,"Y-yes, Sir!"

    "Well? Go ahead."

    "Yes, Sir! Why do I have to carry the log?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Helps your speed and bnce. Makes your core stronger."

    "Oh. Um-- And the spear?"

    "Well, if you lose your weapon, it''s harder to attack and defend yourself, right?"

    "Right."

    "And if Mister Barza or Mister Dragan is in trouble, you can save them, right?" Tycon smirked.

    Bucket nodded excitedly.

    "Well, there you have it, young man." Tycon nodded.

    The boy''s questions were simple. It cost him nothing to answer. And Tycon was reassured that the boy was cognizant of the purpose of his training, as well as the expectations ced upon him.

    Tycon again faced Barza, who appeared to have a new face of determination. All the previous fatigue and disappointment seemed to have disappeared. Tycon was pleased that his words of encouragement had the appropriate effect, "Are you ready to receive your mission, Mister Barza?"

    "Yes, Boss. I won''t let you down."

    Tycon was about to continue, when he noticed that Bucket had politely raised his hand. Tycon nced to his left and right, at Wroe and Dragan, who gave their own nods of approval. The boy had somehow met all of the trio''s high expectations. Moreso, the boy was growing mindful of not interrupting.

    "S-sir?" The boy asked.

    "You''ve another question, Bucket?"

    "Can I¡­ go with Mister Barza?"

    Tycon slowly raised en eyebrow in surprise. Dragan was jarred out of his neutral stance and spoke up in his too-loud voice,"Hold on a minute, Bucket. Are you trying to tell us that¡­ even though don''t have to do the Punishment-- you can just hang out with the rest of us, you WILLINGLY want to go with this Gear-Queer loooooooserrrrr?"

    Bucket looked down at the dirt and poked at the ground with his toe,"I mean-- if Mister Barza''s in trouble, I can use my spear to save him, right?"

    Dragan raised his hands in disbelief, "Unbelievable!"

    Barza opened his eyes wide and looked to Bucket. The boy smiled radiantly, while Barza looked miserable, his lips quivering with emotion.

    Wroe had stepped forward, wearing his own angelic smile, "This is what it means to be in a guild, Mister Barza."

    Barza puckered his lips with blurred eyes, trying his best not to cry.

    Tycon crossed his arms and smirked,"Bucket! Permission granted. The two of you, take a break from training and prepare your gear. Tomorrow, you''ll be hunting and tracking, as I have on good word that there''s a Gann den in one or two malms distance, north. If you''re sessful, we''ll all be able to eat fresh meat for a sun or two."

    Dragan and Bucket cheered, "Meat!" Barza clenched his fist in front of him resolutely. Even Wroe was smiling andughing at the prospect.

    Bucket began yelling amongst the cheers,"Mister Barza! We got this! This should be easier than fighting an 8-armed Devilbeast!"

    Tycon nced to Bucket, uncertain of what he had just heard. He looked at Wroe with a furrowed brow,"Mister Wroe, an 8-armed what-now?"

 Chapter 27 Hidden Sect

    ?After Barza and Bucket were dismissed, they left towards Wroe''s waterfall to rx. Tycon told them they also had to use the soap, else he''d cut their rations. Tycon gathered Wroe and Dragan for a¡­ chat. The group had arranged a circle of smooth boulders to sit on, around the previous evening''s campfire.

    "Mister Tarquin Wroe."

    "...Yes, Boss?" Wroe was a bit distracted. He was absentmindedly staring at a thick, ck rectangr card-- a gift he received as a result of his Pact.

    "I''d like to respectfully inquire about what the young boy meant by an 8-armed Devilbeast... and why I shouldn''t beat you with a stick for child endangerment."

    Wroe shrugged. "It was fine. He''s okay, isn''t he?"

    Tycon grabbed the ck rectangle and tossed it into the forest.

    "Wroe, don''t be rude." Tycon chided.

    "Okay, I might have deserved that," The Daeva frowned.

    Dragan looked over to the grass, "I''m surprised you''re so calm. That thing looked kinda expensive."

    Wroe shrugged, "It returns back to my bag even if I leave it behind."

    "It does *what*?" Tycon furrowed his brows,

    ? System, inquiry: What was that ck box? ?

    [System response: Agan Tomestone. Upon touch, the user can ess recorded knowledge. Warning. 4th-Circle Curse detected.]

    Dragan had stood up and was looking to jog towards where Tycon had thrown the thing.

    "Don''t touch that thing," Tycon warned.

    "Uh.., oOooOkay, Boss. Is it, uh¡­ Cursed?" He asked.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "It''s Wroe."

    "Ahhh. So¡­ How cursed?"

    "It''s Wroe."

    Dragan obediently returned to his seat.

    Tycon again addressed Wroe,"8-legged devilbeast. Bucket fought one?"

    "I named him Squirtle."

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Stupid name. Rename it. Summoned or incidental?"

    Wroe refused to meet Tycon''s eyes, "Well, Boss¡­"

    Dragan picked his ear with a finger, "I don''t think a First-Circle Summon Monster spell can summon a devilbeast."

    Tycon sighed, "Well, first off, congrattions for being able to cast a ritual at Second-Circle."

    "Yeah, good job," Dragan grinned.

    "Thanks," The Daeva smiled.

    "But from what I understand, you left a 9-year-old boy to contend with a Second-Circle summon-- a match for a half-dozen Bronze-Rankers."

    "He was fine!" Wroe insisted.

    Tycon ced his face in both palms in exasperation, "Didn''t the former leader trust us with the kid''s safety?"

    Dragan and Wroe exchanged nces, before responding.

    "Actually, Boss, he only entrusted you."

    "Yeah, Boss. You''re the only trustworthy person in the guild."

    Tycon gazed into distance. The sky was a beautiful blue, the trees peaceful. The chill made him long for the indoors, by a fire-- perhaps with some warmed mulberry wine.

    Snapping out of his reverie, he snapped at hispanions,"Well, fine. Dragan, how did you train the boy?"

    The Titanblood chuckled, "Haha... Get this. I threw him off a cliff into a waterhole until he got over his fear of swimming."

    "Fear of swimming?" Tycon pursed his lips. "Did you mean to say ''fear of heights?''"

    "Oh, yeah. He got rid of that, too."

    Wroe tilted his head, "Boss, how did you train him?"

    Draganughed, "Yeah, Boss. It can''t have been any worse than ours."

    Tycon felt insulted for a brief moment, widening his eyes, before shaking his head and smiling in confidence,"Bah, what do you two know? I had the boy''s safety in mind the whole time. I taught the boy to dodge telegraphed attacks."

    Dragan scratched his head, "And how did you do that?"

    "I used the halberd." Tycon chuckled, "We have one. It was appropriate."

    Draganughed. Tyconughed to match hisrge friend.

    Wroeughed a little less, "So you attacked him with just the wooden part?"

    Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Don''t be ridiculous, Mister Wroe. That''s not how you use a halberd."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Hahaha... Yeah, hrious," Dragan wheezed. "How''s our supplies look, Boss?"

    Tycon nced back at the two horses and the small cart of supplies,"Rations are good for all of us. We''re going through medical ointment quickly, but there''s plenty of that-- though we''re using bandages faster than I was expecting."

    Dragan ced his massive head on his fist, "I suggested we wait and look for Wolfbanger. If he were here, he could have gathered some medical herbs on the side."

    "Time is more important. We''re here to raise the strength of Bucket and Barza, before we reach Merylsward," Tycon shook his head. "Anyroad, from what you''ve told me, this Wolfbanger''s character isn''t the best."

    Dragan granted a sheepish grin, "Meh, yeah. We''d have someone who can lead us through the woods, though. And maybe tell us what''s not poisonous around here."

    Tycon opened his arms, palms up in a shrug, "We have supplies. It''s only an issue if the forest locals decide to set up an ambush. And we haven''t seen traces of other sentients anywhere."

    Wroe was sitting down on a rock, intently looking at his recovered ck Tomestone, "It''ll probably be fine."

    Dragan groaned, pretending to copse on the floor in a heap,"Why ya gotta say that, maaaan? Nothing good ever happens when you say thaaat."

    Tycon stretched his arms and yawned, before leaning over, stretching his legs,"I''ll follow the two in secret tomorrow, regardless of whether you two want toe or not. Nowe on. It''s time for the three of *us* to get some training in."

    Dragan and Wroe nodded as they prepared.

    ...

    A young, silver-haired girl, barely over ten years of age, ran the length of the tree branch. With the movement, leaves fell from the trees, in a dazzling array of yellows and oranges, matching the girl''s robes.

    She willed her mana to form a brief step in the air, making a two-step jump andnding on another tree.

    POK POK! POK! Three arrows zoomed past her, striking an adjacent tree trunk.

    "Wh-whoa!"

    "I got''cha!"Taree swung down, one hand grabbing the branch she stood on. She grabbed the back of her brother''s armor at his nape and swung him forward.

    The young blonde boy, barely a teenager, narrowly avoided falling off the tree branch, rolling acrobatically to his feet,"Tha-tha-thanks, Coach!"

    "Keep running, Tamaki! There''s an entire team after us!"Taree ran on a branch above, while her older brother leaped up, swinging himself over a stable branch.

    "There''ll be an entire team minus three after I''m done with ''em!" Tamaki promised.

    With swift and practiced hands, the boy drew his bow and three arrows. In an instant, he identified three attackers-- three adults in dark clothing who wanted their lives.

    DNK DNK DNK! Three rapid-fire plucks of the bow sent the sharpened arrows propelling towards the assassins.

    Just as fast, the three scattered, the arrows striking tree trunks and the forest floor, below.

    Tamaki increased his pace to catch up with his sister.

    "Coach!" He yelled, "I didn''t get ''em!"

    Taree tried to think on the fly. She and her brother would run out of endurance soon. But they were no match in a fight against so many...

    She grit her teeth in anger. That Hisato was the trash of the Ivory Judge sect. She had tried to leave the sect in secret, to seek help from the Outer World in the city of Aviard. But the information was leaked and the two of them had been chased all this way.

    "Where are you going, Little Taree?" A voice rang out in the shadows, the foliage of the trees providing too much darkness, too many ces to hide.

    Tamaki saw something! A target! In less than a blink''s time, he had shot his bow, piercing a single fallen leaf to a tree.

    He had missed.

    Tamaki''s eyes widened as felt his neck grabbed by a hand. CRACK! The youth was mmed against a tree trunk, causing him to lose his breath. A myriad of yellow leaves fell all around them. The younger Tamaki was being choked by a considerably older dark-haired teenager. Fearlessly, Hisato was starkly different from the others-- white-robed instead of dark, and fearlessly disdaining the use of a mask.

    "Yoshio, it was YOU!" Taree yelled. "I can''t believe you joined forces with a piece of trash like Hisato!"

    "C-c-coach!" Tamaki struggled, still in Yoshio''s grip. "Who are all these names?!"

    Yoshio eyed the younger boy in curiosity. It was just the distraction that Taree needed.

    She ran up the tree and delivered a swift kick to dark-clothed Yoshio''s side, forcing him to release her brother.

    "You bitch!" He yelled.

    Tamaki rubbed his throat while coughing, "Coach!"

    The girl grabbed her brother''s and pulled him along, "It doesn''t matter who they are, Tommy! We have to run!"

    Yoshio pulled himself back onto a branch, rubbing his arm in pain. "Tch. That hurts. What level have you trained your Stone Fist to?"

    He turned to the group of shadowy figures, "What are you all waiting for?! After them!!"

    Tamaki held his bow tightly, running the tree branches alongside his silver-haired sister,"Coach, they''re gonna catch up! What do we do?!"

    The girlughed, her heart beating out of her chest in nervousness. She alwaysughed when she was in trouble, a trait that always got her into trouble with her seniors and the elders. She couldn''t help but keep giggling, seeing her brother''s pained expression. "I know a Gannir near here. Follow me!"

    "Wait, a Gann?" Tommy yelled back, "I''d need at least a *hundred* arrows to take down one of those!"

    The girl cursed beneath her breath. Her options were limited and were quickly running out. If they fought, they''d get captured or killed. They couldn''t get to Aviard if they couldn''t lose their attackers.

    And if she lost hope... No, she couldn''t lose hope!

    She could only hope that she could use the Gannas a distraction.

 Chapter 28 Such A Good Strategy

    ?Barza and Bucket had been tracking the Gann for half a sun. To that end, Bucket insisted on following a terrified looking piglet. Barza suggested eating it, but Bucket kept a strong opinion that the creature was their best guide to the Gann den.

    Barza worried that besides him, everyone in Invictus could talk to animals.

    He didn''t want such a stupid skill. He figured it would be inconvenient-- like what if they started asking him for money? But still... Barza couldn''t help but feel a little bit envious.

    Bucket was pretty nice about it. He tranted most-everything the animals said, so Barza wouldn''t feel left out.

    "It''s really, really, maaaaad!" Bucket was screaming, his shrill voice almost hoarse.

    "I can tell that much!!" Barza yelled back.

    The two of them had lured the very angry Gann out of its den, so they could fight it in an open area. It was arge, bristly boar with greenish fur and an orange mane so bright it hurt his eyes. Even on its four cloven-hoof legs, it stood taller than Barza, and it looked even bigger with its curved tusks, longer than swords.

    However... the strength behind its goring attacks was... surprisingly weak.

    Dragan hit harder. Dragan hit a lot harder.

    Barza nged together the ts of his swords above his head,"Come here, you stupid pig! I''ll give you something to be mad about!"

    The Gann tried to lunge forward, but Barza was ready for it. With his swords in a cross above his head, he swiped down with both, striking both of the boar''s tusks. The Gann stopped its charge like it had struck a wall, shaking its head, dazed.

    The distraction was enough. Bucket slid underneath the boar''s belly, shing his sharp spear at its soft underside. The monster squealed in pain, stomping and trampling beneath it, but Bucket had already escaped and scrambled up a nearby tree.

    ...The kid was... really skillful.

    It was Barza''s first time seeing the boy inbat. They had done dozens of other things together-- shopping, chopping wood, ten-thousand squats, running away from a Devil-Bear¡­ and he''d thought of him like a younger brother.

    He was always impressed by the boy''s optimism and sincerity. But only recently had he realized that the boy was... really good at fighting. They could be rivals!

    Anyroad, with the way they were being trained together, it was natural that Boss Tycon and the others constantlypared their progress.

    It motivated him.

    "Your enemy is me!"Barza brandished his des, attacking with renewed fervor and fury.

    The Gann began to panic, facing the barrage of steel. It staggered backward, suffering painful cuts on itsrge snout. Backed in a corner-- enraged, it whipped its head and tusks forward-- the strength and speed, easily able to gore a grown man to death.

    Barza stepped to the side, easily dodging the obvious attack. Cocking his rear leg back, he swung it forward, smashing it into the side of the boar''s head. And with both of his swords, he swung the opposite direction, cutting two deep, satisfying shes across the boar''s face.

    Stepping back to reset his position, Barza admired his handiwork. The solid kick felt good.

    The giant Gann again squealed in panic, its eyes huge. It began to thrash its massive behind, back and forth. Barza''s jaw dropped when he saw Bucket, panicking behind it, his spear jammed bloody and deep into the Gann''s exposed anus.

    ¡­

    Dragan gave a whistle of approval, "Boss, would you look at that. He got him in the butt. We taught him that, right?"

    "I don''t remember teaching him that," Tycon frowned.

    The two Invictus veterans had stealthily followed the two trainees, watching the fight from the branches of a tall tree.

    Draganughed unabashedly, "It''s suuuch a good strategy, though. Eyes. Butthole. Even a man''s di--"

    "Tactic, Mister Dragan," Tycon corrected him with an annoyed voice. He was trying to focus on the battle below. "Tactics for an engagement, strategy for operations."

    "Nuts." Dragan chuckled, "Oh, but did you see the kick, though?"

    "The kick..." Tycon twisted his lips. "More of a taunt than an effective strike against a creature of that size. 1 out of 5. It''s not an exhibition or a diatorial match-- ''style'' is useless in the field."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Dragan grinned widely, the grown man''s voice lilting up and down-- trying to be... cute, perhaps, "Boosssss! You didn''t notice?"

    Tycon frowned, finally taking his eyes off of the Gann, "What is it? Is it your Name-day?"

    "It is. Can I have a present?"

    "I can arrange for you to be on watch-- all of tonight."

    "Ha ha ha!" Draganughed forcedly, averting his gaze, "F*ck."

    Dragan admitted verbal defeat. He was not Tycon''s opponent in that regard.

    "Anyroad, have I missed something, Mister Dragan?" Tycon inquired.

    "Oh, yeah, Boss. The kick!" Dragan immediately recovered his spirits, "It was kinda like the kickbo you used on him."

    Ty shook his head, "I don''t recall."

    "You kicked him like ten times before you shed open his chest."

    "...I vaguely recall."

    "And then you whipped out your thing and you pissed on him!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I don''t recall."

    "Then maybe he pissed himself!" Dragan grinned wide.

    Tycon let out a deep sigh, "What is your point, Mister Dragan?"

    "I''m trying to say that maybe the training''s working?"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Of course the training''s working, but the effects will be apparent in weeks, and not mere hours."

    "Hey, man. You were the one that said Gear-Queer had potential." Dragan took on a different tone of voice, but the stupid smirk at the corner of his lips made it obvious that he was only feigning his indignance, "I''m just tryin'' to say that maybe he''s worth something, after all!"

    Tycon took another deep breath and sighed. He forced a polite smile as he turned to face the massive brute sitting on the tree branch beside him,"You''re right, Mister Dragan. I apologize and he is developing well. In fact, I was worried that I had pushed the young man too far-- that he''d be afraid of anything with kicks or swords, after that."

    "Wanna bet 20 silver he''ll piss himself?"

    Tycon gave an incredulous re. "What? No. The man can barely keep hold of his weapons, much less his dder."

    Dragan gave a long, whistle, "That''s cold-blooded, even from you, Boss."

    "I never imed to be warm-blooded," Tycon rolled his eyes, focusing again on the fight... He raised an eyebrow, "Oho, I had forgotten about that."

    "Aha. That''s not like you, Boss." Dragan chuckled, watching on, "Usually, you know everything about the baddies."

    The pair watched from above, as the injured boar''s muscles began to ripple and twist underneath its green fur. Its orange mane began to glow with mana, growing thick and wild. It reared back and stood on its two growing hind legs and let out a great, rumbling squeal of power.

    The Gann was transforming into its second and final form.

    Tycon had no idea about the creature''s abilities. A sun prior, he rified with the System that the hoof tracks belonged to a Gann, but he had forgotten to check the System''s description of it. He made a mental note to be more mindful.

    "Weeeelllll!!" Dragan took his greataxe off of his back, "Now that it''s transformed, it''s shrugged off some of its damage. Shall we step in, Boss?"

    "Hm." Tycon waved the Titanblood down, "Our trainees are yet uninjured. Let us continue to observe."

 Chapter 29 Team Play

    ?The Gann crashed through the forest''s green and yellow-leaf trees, peppering thendscape with sword-sized splinters, wooden debris, and now-homeless, tree-dwelling animals. The Gann raised one of its three-fingered hands above its head, charging mana into a swirling sphere of roiling mes. The perpetually falling golden leaves around it incinerated instantly from its oppressive heat.

    Dragan and Tycon watched from above, as Bucket hurled rocks, Barza hurled insults, and the giant boar creature hurled human-sized fireballs.

    "Y''know, Boss." Dragan mused, "If either of those two get injured, they might... not live."

    Dragan was lying back on the tree branch, crushing single walnuts in one hand.

    Tycon stood up lightly, not wanting to add undue stress to the branch supporting both of their weights,"I''ll move if it bes an issue."

    "It''s probably fi--"

    Tycon moved out of instinct, immediately grabbing the speaker''s neck and pinning him against the tree trunk.

    Before Tycon could draw his sword and end him rightly, he ascertained that he had, in fact, oppressively grabbed and was choking Tarquin Wroe... an ally. Tycon took a deep, annoyed breath and released the Daeva.

    "--it''s probably fine," Wroe managed to cough out.

    Tycon was not amused, "Seven hells, Mister Wroe. Must you appear from the shadows like that?"

    Since when could that blue-haired bastard materialize out of the darkness?

    The angel-blooded fellow grinned, his eyes aglow-- mysterious and imposing... as if he wasn''t being strangled only seconds prior,"Allow me, Boss. I''ll make certain that--"

    "Not necessary, Mister Wroe,"Tycon firmly and abruptly rejected Wroe''s offer.

    The Daeva was stunned into silence for a brief moment, "Oh,e on, Boss! I just mastered a new spell!"

    As if to entuate his point, Wroe drew his sword and rendered a clean military salute.

    Tycon identified it as a salute used by the warriors of the Sleeping Country, far to the east of the Kingdom they were in. Interesting. He grabbed the Daeva''s sword and flung it away, out of their tree. Itnded dozens of yalms away in a dense growth of bushes.

    "M..my sword," Wroe''s lips quivered.

    "Why are you even still using that?" Tycon red. "You''re a spellcaster now."

    The Daeva pouted... "It was a gift."

    Tycon rolled his eyes once more at Wroe''s piteous voice and expression, "I''ll help you find itter. But no, don''t step in right now. I''ll go. My abilities are far less eye-catching than yours."

    Wroe twisted his lips, "What about Dragan?"

    "Dragan''s busy ying with his nuts," Tycon exined simply.

    Dragan looked up, "Hey Boss, don''t knock it. This is kinda hard."

    Tycon frowned, "Phrasing, Mister Dragan."

    "I think he did it on purpose," Wroe remarked.

    "For now, Mister Wroe, Mister Dragan... you two stay out of sight," Tycon gave them ast reminder as he began to descend the tree, branch by branch.

    ¡­

    Sweat poured down Bucket''s face, matting his sandy brown hair to his forehead. mes raged from behind the boulder he and Barza hid behind. Barza was hyperventting, his eyes full of panic. Magical mes were bursting violently against the opposite side of their boulder.

    Bucket had to yell to be heard,"Mister Barza!! I think I''ve got a n!!"

    Barza knelt down, facing the boy, his eyes full of hope. The boy was a genius and Barza wanted to hold onto every word he said.

    "I''ll be the decoy!" Bucket shouted, "Then when I have its attention, you cut its head off!"

    Barza couldn''t believe his ears.

    "That''s a stupid n!!" He yelled back.

    Bucket pointed at one of Barza''s weapons,"Give me a sword!!"

    Barza responded by gripping his swords tighter, half-turning his body to guard them,"No!! You''ll get killed, Bucket!!"

    "Give me a sword! I''ll protect you, Mister Barza!!"

    Barza grit his teeth, shutting his eyes. He tried to think, but with the explosions and the Gann''s roars, fear dictated his every thought.

    Barza peeked beyond the boulder''s side. The Gann was growing more and more fatigued. They''d have to act, soon. And he wasn''t about to let a 9-year old boy be the monster''s only target.<novelnext></novelnext>

    No... Barza would be the decoy,"Listen up, Bucket!"

    Bucket sat down to listen patiently, the boy''s pointed ears twitching slightly.

    It was Barza''s chance to be a hero and to firmly root the boy''s respect in him as the elder brother. "You may be smaller and faster than me, but-- but I''m definitely stronger! That--"

    Barza opened his mouth, thinking carefully. Bucket''s speed and size made him the superior decoy. He realized it might be better to entrust the boy with decoy work. Why did he have to open his dumb mouth?

    "Why do you want a sword??" Barza asked.

    "The Gann''s armor is too thick for my spear! I can cut it if you let me borrow a sword!"

    Barza passed him a sword as he finished a n in his head,"I''ll go out to distract it, Bucket. You rush out, see if you can cut below its ankles to make it fall."

    "You can count on me, Mister Barza!"

    Barza tried to smile, his knees shook with fear from what he was about to do, but he had to show the boy his confidence,"Just call me Lone. Lone Shadowdark."

    Bucket grinned, "Got it, Lone!"

    ¡­

    A 6-yalm long whitescaled snake hid in the shade of afortable shrub behind Barza... where he was able to watchthe young, beardless, Barza Keith bicker with a 9-year-old childThe two were... discussing their next tactic against the Gann, which Tycon decided was fine.

    Barza ran out from behind their boulder like a fool, attracting the Gann''s attention. Bucket waited a few moments, before rushing in the opposite direction, sword in one hand and spear in the other. Tycon slithered forward to get a better view. Within moments, the Gann roared in pain and crashed down onto both of its knees. Whatever Bucket did seemed to work well.

    Barza hesitated, staring at the ugly, tusked greenskined 3-yalm tall bipedal boar on its knees. He brandished his swords and began to shout...

    "I AM THE LONE SHADOWDARK!! THOU HAST SLAUGHTERED THE INNOCENTS AND BY MINE BLADES I SHALL SMITE--"

    Tycon mentally deducted a point from Barza''s score, no longer paying attention to the human''s drivel.

    The Gann wasn''t just kneeling, waiting for death. It was desperately charging a me Sphere within its maw.

    ...Tycon briefly considered allowing the two to fail.

    There was a sh of movement in the trees above. It was Bucket...

    What was that boy doing?

    With a suicidal drop, the boy had leapt off of a high tree branch and plunged downward, stabbing the Gann deep in its right eye. The boy hung on desperately in front of the boar''s face-- but if it were to release the fireball in its mouth, the boy would be obliterated into ash.

    Brave. The boy put on an excellent performance. They''d done well for most of the hunt. And Barza could use some more self-confidence, so Tycon decided to help out, focusing his gaze at the Gann''s remaining eye.

    [Vexing Gaze conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Activate. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    [Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus.]

    Blood spilled from the Gann''s mouth as mes wisped from its nostrils. The pain that gripped its insides was superior to the sharp metal rod in its eye. The attack had been interrupted.

    "Loooonnnne!!" Bucket yelled something. Lone? What did that mean? Drawing the bloodied sword from the Gann''s eye, the boy threw it hard to Barza.

    Snake-Tycon nodded in understanding. Proper team y rated a better score.

    Barza caught the sword in mid-air.

    "DEVOURING BLAAAAAAAAADE!! EXECUTIONNNNNN!!!!!"Barza shed his swords in an X, severing the Gann''s head cleanly.

    Bucket''s eyes sparkled at what he thought was a marvelous disy of skill and power.

    Tycon plunged his snakey head in the dirt. The attack Barza used had nomana fluctuations whatsoever. It wasn''t a skill. He was just yelling whatever he felt like.

    Tycon unburied his head, wishing nothing more than to grab Barza and resubmit him to training. But he stopped and hid again in the shrubbery.

    A young female about Bucket''s height had appeared in front of Barza. Her shoulder-length hair was silver and she wore an orange-dyed robe-- an archaic form of dress, especially in the Kingdom, where even the most modest citizens valued style and fashion.

    "Felling a Gann with one hit¡­" The girl''s jaw had dropped, Are you¡­ the Chosen One¡­?"

    Tycon had a bad feeling about this.

 Chapter 30 Barza, The Chosen One

    ?Who was that little girl? Chosen one? Oh. This was a perfect chance for Barza to look cool.

    He patted his chest with pride, "I am indeed the Cho--"

    Bucket used his spear to vault over the fallen Gann,nding beside Barza and the little girl.

    "Hi! We''re from Invictus," Bucket grinned.

    He adjusted his recovered log on his shoulders with his offhand and offered Barza with a friendly smile, "Hey, Lone! Good job!"

    Barza smiled helplessly. He lost his chance to look cool, but it was a team effort, anyroad, "Y-yeah. You too, Bucket."

    Bucket examined the little girl with great interest. "Who''re you? What guild are you from?"

    The little girl clenched her tiny fists, "Oh, hi! My name is Taree-- me and my brother are from the Ivory Judge sect, and we--"

    A fourth personnded on the ground, creating a swirl of dancing golden leaves. It was a young blonde boy, kneeling on both knees, both arms upwards as he held onto a longbow. The youth''s age was somewhere between Barza''s and Bucket''s... and though he was as tall as Barza, he looked... kinda weak?

    "Hold on there, Mister!" The kneeling boy pointed, "I''ll need a moment to discuss some things with my sis! --Nice to meet''cha by the way."

    "Hi," Barza waved.

    "Are you okay?" Bucket bit his upper lip.

    Taree helped her brother get off his knees and the two of them moved off to discuss something in private.

    Barza pulled Bucket aside,"Okay, listen up, little brother. This is my chance. I''ve always wanted to be the Chosen One, okay?"

    Bucket looked up, his eyes wide with confusion, "Chosen for what? Every time I get ''chosen'' by Boss Tycon, I have to clean something or feed the horses. Jeremy''s alright, but Horse keeps asking if I have any cocaine."

    "It''s not that kind of Chosen. It''s the Chosen in stories, where we can save a hidden kingdom and we''ll get a whole bunch of treasure and pretty women."

    Bucket looked past Barza, to the orange-robed girl and her brother.

    "Aren''t you a little old for her? ...And I thought that short-haired girl was your girlfriend?"

    "Sorina? No." Barza gnashed his teeth, "Argh! No! Boss has ruined my chances with her!"

    Bucket pursed his lips, "Then was Miss Seldin your girlfriend?"

    Barza''s face paled and he felt his knees threatening to copse. He had thought his first night visit by a beautiful woman would be a dream to remember for the rest of his life. It was a nightmare of pain and suffering. He didn''t remember much of it, besides Seldin''s terrible strength and her unforgiving fists.

    Barza shivered as he dispelled those thoughts, "ANYROAD, don''t mess this up for me... And let me do the talking, okay?"

    "Um, alright, Lone," Bucket shrugged.

    The young boy looked back to Taree and her brother in the distance. Barza sensed Bucket''s worry, and he couldn''t help but feel a tinge of guilt for acting so selfishly. Bucket''s been nothing but helpful and he couldn''t have defeated the Gann so easily on his own,"Hey, Bucket. I''ll make it up to you."

    "Nah," Bucket grinned, "I''ll do it because we''re bro''s for life."

    As the two bumped fists, Barza''s heart surged with pride, "Yeah. Bro''s for life."

    ¡­

    Taree crossed her arms, annoyed. "Okay, Tommy. What''s the big idea?"

    Tamaki showed his sister his open palms, trying to keep her calm, "Okay, Coach. Hear me out!"

    Taree smiled, her eyelid twitching, "Make it quick. We''re still being chased by Yoshio and his mooks."

    "Okay, just hear me out!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You said that already," Taree red.

    "What if¡­ we ask the Chosen One... to help us?"

    "I was already gonna do that."

    "Okay." Tamaki crossed his arms, "--but what were ya gonna offer?"

    Taree opened her mouth to answer, but found that she hadn''t thought that far,"But¡­ He''s the Chosen One? The Chosen One just¡­ helps, right?"

    ? Tamaki gave a wide grin, "Ah, see? Now you''re ready to hear me out."

    Her brother had a point. The younger girl nodded in excitement, waiting for her brother to continue. "Okay, what''s the n?"

    "What if we¡­ offer your hand in marriage?"

    The girl stood up straight, her excitement gone. "That''s a dumb idea. I hate it."

    "WAIT! Now hold on!"

    "Let''s just go turn ourselves in, to Yoshio," She groaned.

    Taree turned to begin walking. Tamaki grabbed her wrist and struggled with all his might to keep his sister from leaving.

    "Dear brother, you''re trying awfully hard to get rid of your lovely younger sister," Taree said, her voice and expression, t and emotionless.

    "Coach! No! Wait!" Tamaki begged, "Maybe I was a little hasty!"

    Taree dragged her brother a couple of yalms before stopping. Kimura Taree was the Ivory Judge sect''s most outstanding martial artist in her generation. She had recently attained mastery of the Stone Fist, reaching First-Circle by Outer World standards. While she was only eleven, she could defeat everyone twice her age in contests of strength, with the exception of Muto Hisato.

    "We''ll ask for the Chosen One''s help." Taree frowned, "But even if we don''t get it, the Ivory Judge sect did not raise two cowards!"

    Tamaki swallowed his disappointment with a gulp,"A-alright, Coach. But let me try. You know I''m a little better at this talking thing than you are."

    "Okay, fine. But if you try to sell me to the Chosen One, you''re out," Taree crossed her arms and hmph''ed.

    "Don''t worry, Coach. I got it."

    ...

    "Sir, we found the girl."One of the warriors in dark clothing reported to a handsome teenager in dark hair.

    Yoshio sneered, sweeping the dark hair out of his eyes.

    He clenched his fist in anger as he thought of that girl... Kimura Taree..."How dare that bitch flee and hide like a RAT! What cowardice! She won''t even face her destiny like a MAN!"

    Yoshio punched a nearby tree in anger, leaving a fist-sized crack in the ancient wood,"I''ve been by that girl''s side for years... YEARS! And not once has she acknowledged my attempts to woo her. I''ll make her pay before returning her broken body to Young Master Hisato."

    The older warrior shifted his weight uneasily. Even though he was a few years older than the man he was reporting to, Yoshio was cruel and physically powerful, second in talent only to Taree. It didn''t matter what he thought ofhunting down the greatest talent in the Ivory Judge sect. Hisato has had given Yoshio full reign to use the Muto family''s forces, so they would hunt the Kimura girl to their dying breaths.

    "Why are you still here?" Yoshio red at the older man.

    "Sir, there''s been aplication."

    Yoshio narrowed his eyes and growled, "What?"

    "The Kimura siblings have made contact with Outsiders."

    Yoshio swept a hand, ring his robe aggressively, "Che! So the Kimura family had this hidden trump card! No matter. We are of the Muto family! If the Kimura family''s coin can entreat the assistance of Outsiders, we will purchase their loyalty at double the cost!"

 Chapter 31 Saving A Sect

    ?The blonde, blue-eyed archer and the rough, dark-haired warrior met each other''s gaze, their faces mere ilms away from each other.

    "So you''re the Chosen One, huh?"

    "Thou Art Correct. The Chosen One Is Me."

    Barza Keith had sheathed his two des, hanging them behind his body in an X. He crossed his arms, striking a handsome pose as his shortened dark hair waved in the chilly wind.

    The blonde archer, Tamaki, was naturally handsome, with sparkling, innocent eyes and fair skin. Their heights were simr and though Tamaki was far younger than Barza, his pre-teenage body imed much less muscle mass than the veteran mercenary.

    Hisnky appearance, however, did not detract from the passion in his voice as he fawned over Barza,"The Ivory Judge sect has foretold legends of your arrival... How only you can save us from total annihtion. How may we address you, O'' Chosen One."

    "Thou Hast the Right Of It. Mine Name is Lone, Lone Shadowdark."

    "Lone Shadowdark¡­ A great and mighty warrior name¡­ Lend us your strength, O'' Chosen One!!! We can offer you riches beyond your wildest dreams! Recognition from the 4 great families! Large-breasted women as your many concubines! Ancient treasures from--"

    Taree watched the Chosen One and Tamaki from the side, standing next to the sandy-haired boy. He was really interesting... his name was... Bucket? and his ears were slightly... pointy. Taree wanted to touch them, but she figured that would be rude.

    And he held a spear and a slight smile. Suddenly, he covered his mouth with his other hand and started to giggle.

    Taree looked to him in wonder. Tommy told her that he''d deal with the Chosen One but he didn''t say she couldn''t talk to hispanion. The boy was younger than her, for sure... but he looked pretty strong-- especially with the way he jumped over the Gann by vaulting with his spear.

    Taree kept her hands innocently behind her back and she leaned her whole body to meet the seated boy''s eyes. "What''s so funny?"

    The boy gave a bright, unapologetic smile, "That''s my brother! He doesn''t usually talk like that-- but Lone''s a great guy!"

    Taree tapped her delicate cheek with a finger, "Oh, okay. I thought all Outer Worlders talked like that?"

    "Maybe? I wouldn''t really know," Bucket shrugged.

    The boy suddenly raised his eyebrows as if remembering something. He fumbled through his satchel before revealing a cloth wrapper, offering up its contents. Taree stared at the unwrapped piece of dried meat with sparkles in her eyes.

    Taree and her brother had been running for hours. She was tired. Her entire body, but especially her legs, were sore and her feet ached and hurt. She wanted to cry at Yoshio''s betrayal, at how desperate her mission was, at the declining state of her sect. But more than feeling sad and helpless, she was angry. She wanted to beat Yoshio to a pulp, break his bones. She wanted tomit the unforgivable crime of destroying his dantian, rendering him incapable of cultivating, and returning him to his family as an ordinary mortal.

    Getting the help of the Chosen One and hispanion was the first step she needed to take. She gleefully epted the boy''s gift.

    "Thank you," Taree smiled. Her mom always told her to be thankful of honest gifts, and the boy seemed more honest than any cultivator than she''d ever met.

    The boy blinked in embarrassment with reddening cheeks. Then he smiled so wide that his eyes closed,"Wow! Your smile is beautiful."

    "Thanks! My name is Kimura Taree-- oh, but you can just call me Taree."

    "Oh, okay. My name is Pale. Nice to meet you, Taree."

    Pale? Not Bucket? Okay.

    Pale. Lone. Taree thought their names were mysterious. If she could recruit them both, she and Tamaki had a chance to survive,"Warrior Pale, are you¡­ from a prestigious family?"

    "Um, I guess so? My dad is the greatest solo diator on the western continent."

    Taree nodded in her heart, excited. Son of the greatest warrior on the continent sounded impressive, indeed.

    "Is he your backer? I mean... Did your family teach you the Way of the Spear?"

    Pale shook his head with wistful eyes,"My family? I didn''t really have anyone except my dad."

    Taree gripped her robe with her tiny fists. She had spoken too quickly. Her family gave her everything she needed, from pills and healing balms to teachers and training. She should have known that someone outside of a martial sect could only grow strong if... they lived a hard life, and were forced to be strong or perish.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Oh, I''m so sorry. I didn''t mean to-"

    "It''s okay." Pale gave her a warm smile, "My dad wille back when he finishes his quest. I have Lone, my brother. And I have the rest of Guild Invictus. They''re the ones who taught me how to use a spear. Oh! And Boss Tycon said I''ll be more useful once I can learn at least one Offensive Skill and one Movement Skill."

    The girl''s heart thumped in her chest when she understood Pale''s implications. The Guild Invictus that Pale was talking about was like a Sect. And it wasn''t a lowly sect if it could distribute techniques to even its youngest students. If she could request for aid from his guild, she might do more than save herself and her brother-- she could save her family and all of the Ivory Judge sect.

    Taree stood up and bowed as deeply and low as she could.

    Pale shot up in embarrassment and surprise, "Taree?"

    "Warrior Pale! I''m begging you! Please, help me save my sect! Guild Invictus is our only hope!"

    ¡­

    Barza had been so excited to be the Chosen One. Thest time he remembered being chosen was in a P.E. ss as a child. And he was chosenst.

    The archer, Tamaki, was promising far too many rewards as the Chosen One. It was so overwhelming that Barza was beginning to get cold feet. Out of professional curiosity, he asked about the legends concerning his title. That''s when the troubling signs began to show.

    The Chosen One from Tamaki''s legends was able to move great beings with a word or even a wave of his palm. His eyes could delve deep into the soul of any man, causing great fear and horror, or even the sense of indescribable awe and deep, unquestioning devotion. The Chosen One could even talk to great and mighty beasts,manding them as he saw fit to either protect or destroy.

    Barza could definitely, absolutely not talk to animals.

    He couldn''t do any of the other things, either, but the talking-to-animals ability was something he couldn''t even fake. Animals hated him. Cats hissed at him. Dogs growled at him without reason. Horses looked at him with arrogance and contempt. Even the little piglet that guided him and Bucket to the Gannir shook its behind with disdain at him.

    And all that talk of saving an entire sect sounded like far too much responsibility for just him.

    He strongly considered it. It would get him away from Boss Tycon-- no, all of Guild Invictus'' crazy training, which broke his heart as much as it did his body. He could get away from Dragan''s cruel mockery and from Wroe''s emptypliments that only made him more disappointed in himself. And trying to perform to Boss Tycon''s expectations was absolutely impossible-- the man never smiled! And his golden eyes were like that of a predator''s! He had nightmares of the man turning into a literal snake and devouring him whole!

    And all he had to do was save a sect hidden in the mountains from an entire Muto family bent on the sect''s destruction.

    Both ns of action had pros and cons.

    As Barza''s thoughts drifted, Tamaki was still talking.

    "--and after y''all get married, I can retire at the ripe old age of 30. I''ve got this fishin'' hole, half a malm away from the old house. Now the catfish aren''t nothin'' to write home about, but--"

    The sharp twang of a longbow split through the air, cutting Tamaki''s hopeful dreaming short.

    Barza gripped the hilts of his swords, quickly scanning the area for the arrow''s target. But as if to answer his question, blood spilled from Tamaki''s mouth and he copsed forward, an arrow stuck in his back.

    "Hey! Hey!! What''s wrong?!" Barza dropped all pretenses of his flowery speech, as he held the blonde kid in his arms. Spotting the arrow on the boy''s back, he reflexively reached to pull it out.

    "Lone, don''t!!" Bucket rushed to his side, spear at the ready. "Boss said if you take out the arrow, you''ll open the wound and he''ll start bleeding!"

    Barza nodded and ced the boy down as gently as he could. Taree stood beside Bucket in abat stance, weaponless, but still exuding a sense of danger as sharp as a sword or spear.

    "Tamaki, hold on! Warrior Pale! Chosen One! Yoshio''s men are strong, be on guard!"

    Barza unsheathed his swords... Wait, pail? She meant Bucket, right?

    A white-robed figure on a tree branch tossed a longbow aside. With a leap, he descended to the forest floor, his fist pointed downward. The forest floor cracked and rumbled with the weight of the strike, sending rocks flying. The handsome dark-haired man stood and cracked his gloved knuckles, imposingly.

    "O'' Great Expert. It seems the traitorous Kimura girl and her brother are trying to deceive you. Might I offer you the truth?"

 Chapter 32 Surrounded By Ninjas

    ?The white-robed challenger wore a long, ck ponytail and ck leather gloves covered in numerous razor-sharp des. He arrogantly ced both hands behind his back, approaching without fear.

    "Who Art That Guy?" Barza looked to Taree for an answer.

    The little girl spat on the ground, shattering Barza''s perception of her. From the way Tamaki talked, he''d thought that Taree was their family''s princess and would act prim, proper-- or at the least, would act less like a thug than he did.

    "His name''s Yoshio. He''s an absolute loser who''s raised the Stone Body technique to its peak level. ''Cuz he''s a little b*tch!"

    Barza struggled to respond in a nonchnt manner. "Oh. Most Well. This Yoshio Hast Nothing On The Chosen One''s Greatness."

    "What''s the Stone Body technique?" Pale asked, his eyes rapidly scanned the treetops. Yoshio wasn''t their only opponent.

    "Yoshio''s body is like a suit of armor." Taree exined, "And if your strength isn''t high enough, arrows and swords are useless against him."

    Barza had never heard of such a ridiculous defensive skill. And all he''s done in his offtime was go to the pub and listen to stories about adventurers. He made a decision in his heart; he needed to find the earliest possible opportunity to reject his mantle of Chosen One.

    ¡­

    Tycon had slithered back up the massive, gnarled tree to where his friends were waiting.

    ? System, Cancel Snake-Form. ?

    [Snake-Form Cancelled. Returning to Human-Form.]

    With the System''s wee assistance, Tycon had created a mental shortcut to changing forms, designating his Human form as his base. With the System override, any effect or spell that would revert him uncontrobly into a handsome, majestic snake, would be rendered useless.

    ...Anyroad, it was much faster to use a mentalmand than to try to will various body parts to shrink, disappear, transform, or whatever.

    Tycon lightly tossed Wroe''s sword back to him.

    Wroe caught the de by the hilt, "Thanks, Boss."

    "I may have been at fault," Tycon shrugged. "Don''t mention it."

    Dragan was below the branch, casually doing pull-ups as if falling a couple of hundred fulms wasn''t an issue, "Boss, I didn''t know you could turn into a snake."

    Wroe nodded, "Your Snake Form is beautiful."

    Tycon didn''t even spare the spellcaster a nce, "Mister Wroe, I''d prefer you to keep your phnderous affectations *outside* the guild."

    The blue-haired half-angel, Tarquin Wroe, smiled sheepishly, "Haha. Sorry, Boss."

    "Gentlemen, what have I missed?"

    Wroe offered the first thought, "The two beat the Gann. It looked like it was about to use a Fire st, but it hesitated..."

    "Good eye, Mister Wroe. I used an interrupting Skill."

    "Ah, that makes sense, then! Boss, can I use the next Skill?" Wroe grinned. With a blink, his blue eyes turned pitch ck.

    "No, Mister Wroe. Anything else?"

    Dragan heaved himself atop the branch with one arm, seating himself between Wroe and Tycon. Within the span of a few moments, the Titanblood had crossed a considerable distance underneath the tree limb. The man''s climbing skill, even using just his arm strength, wasmendable.

    "Mister Dragan," Tycon acknowledged.

    "Boooosssss! We were thinking¡­"

    "A shame."

    "Barza should get a nickname. Like how we call you ''Boss''. And we call Bucket ''Bucket''."

    Tycon kept a steady demeanor, though inwardly, he was stunned by the information, "Is Bucket not his actual name, then?"

    "I dunno. It doesn''t sound like a real name."

    Tycon turned his head to Wroe.

    Wroe shrugged,"We''ve been calling him Bucket for so long, does it really matter?"

    "I think we should call him Queer," Dragan proudly suggested. "I mean Barza, not Bucket."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Wroe frowned at the suggestion, "Won''t that make Guild Invictus sound homophobic?"

    "Woooow! WOOOOOW, TARQUIN!! Thaaaaat was pretty freakin'' homophobic!"

    Tycon pursed his lips. It was a low-stakes argument without much thought put into it. He would just ignore it and hope for the best,"Suggestion denied. But he can im a name if he so wishes¡­ When he rates, anyroad."

    Dragan chuckled, "It''ll take a while for Gear-Queer to rate."

    Tycon shrugged as he kneeled down to examine the battlefield once more,"Our opinions differ. You call him a coward. I think he approaches high-risk situations with an appropriate level of caution."

    "Ha ha? Um, Boss, I uh¡­ We never called him a coward. That was you?"

    Tycon cleared his throat, ignoring him. "Take a look. New challenger. White robe. A Martialist?"

    Dragan looked down, "Looks stronger than the rest. Looks like he shot that archer guy. And there''s bad guys in the trees around us, too. Ninjas, maybe."

    Tycon examined the transparent red ???''s floating above several masked assassin-types wearing dark clothing.

    ? System, change disy setting: change the unknown variables to approximate sses. ?

    [Setting changeplete.]

    In Tycon''s vision, the transparent red ???''s were quickly rewritten as ''Hidden Scout''s. The white-robed youth below was marked as ''Arrogant Ruffian.''

    ...There was that stupid Ruffian ss again.

    ? System, inquiry: Power level of the gentleman in white? ?

    [System response: Yoshio, Bronze-Rank Martialist]

    The ''Arrogant Ruffian'' title changed handily to ''Yoshio''. How convenient.

    Tycon turned to Dragan, "I see eleven scouts in dark clothing in the trees... Why hasn''t anyone spotted us yet?"

    Wroe raised his hand, "I''m maintaining a Shadow Veil on us. I''ll keep us hidden unless we''re attacked or have to move."

    Tycon nodded, "I hadn''t noticed. Well done."

    Even Dragan was impressed, "Pretty cool skill, Bub."

    "Thanks guys," Wroe epted thepliment with a tilt of the head and an angelic smile. Tycon considered the small action reflective of a high level of trust and camaraderie between the three.

    Tycon pointed down. "Wroe and I will clean up the guys in the trees, while you, Dra--"

    Dragan held out a hand, "Hold on, Boss."

    Tycon retracted his pointing finger. "You rarely interrupt me during nning, Mister Dragan. Have I missed something?"

    "Yeah, man. I wanted to help during the Gann fight, but we had to do it all stealthy-like."

    "An impressively imbecile way to paraphrase," Tycon twisted his lips, "--but yes. Your point?"

    Dragan shrugged, "I think the two can handle this on their own."

    Tycon took the thought into consideration..."Mister Wroe, your opinion."

    Wroe nodded, "I can maintain the Shadow Veil as long as we don''t move."

    Dragan smirked, "But it''s your call, Boss. I wouldn''t mind cuttin'' up some ninjas."

    Tycon crossed his arms. "We''ll observe, only to move if necessary."

    Tycon again took a knee to observe the battlefield and the green names only he saw.

    Barza Keith. Bucket. Kimura Taree. Kimura Tamaki.

    ''Show us your strength and conviction. Show us the pride of Invictus.''

 Chapter 33 No One Has To Die Today

    ?"Shut up, Yoshio! Before I punch you so hard, you''ll have to brush your teeth through YOUR ASS!" Taree screamed so loud, her face turned red.

    Pale couldn''t help but giggle, witnessing the girl''s boldness. She was honest and much less boring than any other girl he''d met before. And she was pretty and smelled nice, too.

    The white-robed Yoshio cleared his throat, covering his mouth with a ck-gloved hand. He shot Taree a single re, before turning to face Barza, "Great Expert, I am Yoshio of the Muto Family. Kimura Taree and her brother are traitors to our Ivory Judge sect. I humbly request the Great Expert''s assistance in apprehending them."

    Barza couldn''t help but be suspicious. "Taree, is this true?"

    Taree looked hurt, crossing her arms and turning away, "Hmph! Obviously not, Lone. He''s the bad guy!"

    Barza and Pale looked over to the sharp-eyed, dark-haired Martialist.

    "He does kinda look like a bad guy," Barza conceded.

    "His eyes are the same squinty shape as Boss Tycon''s?" Pale said hesitantly.

    "That doesn''t make it better, little brother," Barza admitted quietly.

    Barza spoke out to respond to Yoshio, his voice raised in confidence, "Thou! Telleth Us Why Thou Hast Shooth¡­ The blonde... Guy."

    Yoshio nodded, "Kimura Tamaki is a dangerous archer, capable of striking a falling leaf from 100 yalms away."

    Taree squatted into a crouch, mumbling.

    Pale leaned over her, "Taree? Is that true?"

    "It is." She clenched her eyes shut, sniffling, "But it''s totally wrong! But if I tell the truth, you guys will think my little brother is a loser. Ahhhhh..."

    Yoshio smirked and pressed his advantage, "Great Expert, I beseech you. The Kimura family is a dying n, void of influence, and destitute in coin! With the Muto family''s wealth and power, we can easily offer you greater riches-- more powerful treasures. Would you consider working for us, instead?"

    Pale clenched the leather grips on his spear, "Lone, these guys are definitely bad guys."

    Barza steeled his expression and made an executive decision. Anything that had to do with gaining treasures was worth consideration, "I think we should hear this guy out."

    Taree waved her arms in a huff, "I''ll fight them all myself if I have to!"

    Barza scoffed at the little girl''s insistence before taking a moment to realize what she said. "Hold on. ''Them all''? What do you mean by ''them all''?"

    Pale gestured upwards, "Lone, there''s at least eleven hidden in the trees."

    A chill ran down Barza''s spine as he began to panic. He turned to Taree and loudly whispered, "You didn''t tell me about any of this!"

    Taree shrugged as if it wasn''t her problem, "Hmph. You were talking to my brother the entire time."

    Yoshio interrupted, "Great Expert? Might I ask how much the Kimura Family has hired you for? I''m certain that I can at least double, if not triple its value."

    Barza cleared his throat, but Pale stopped him.

    "Lone, do you really have to make a deal with the bad guy?"

    "Come on, man." Barza urged, "It doesn''t hurt to at least ask about it."

    Money could change Barza''s life. He was almost certain that Tycon viewed him as a resource instead of a real person. If he could offer Boss Tycon coin worth two or three elite mercenaries, Barza might be able to buy his freedom back.

    "Well, alright, then," Pale hesitated, "Can you at least stop with that weird way of talking?"

    "I can''t do that either, man. I have to sound mysterious... Like a Chosen One," Barza insisted.

    "But Taree already knows what you really sound like," Pale argued.

    Barza nced at Taree, who averted her gaze but still nodded.

    "Fine," Barza sighed.

    "You there, Yoshio. This Great Expert has not yet been promised mary award-ments. This is the first time that This Great Expert is visiting thesends."

    Yoshio''s eyes seemed to sparkle with cunning, "Ohhhh? Great Expert, so you mean to say the Kimura Family hasn''t sought out your services prior?"

    Barza blinked, "Wait, what?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Yoshio''s voice took on a dark, mocking tone,"How very interesting! All this time, I was concerned that the Kimura family had contracted a group of mercenaries to aid them. A thousand men-- perhaps even a few hundred outsiders might have been enough to threaten our ns."

    The white-robed bad-guy grinned, "But it turns out that for all the talent belonging to little b*tch Taree, the most she can whore up is a PAIR OF STRAYS!"

    Barza looked to Pale, "This is my fault, isn''t it?"

    "Um. Maybe?" Pale grinned apologetically.

    Taree interrupted, her face red with anger, "It''s definitely your fault."

    "Troops, to me!!!" Yoshio shouted. "Even if the Expert can fell a Gann, we outnumber them four to one!"

    ¡­

    Tycon was chewing absentmindedly on meat jerky, intently observing the developments below.

    "Hey. Hey. Boss. Hey, Boss," Dragan prodded.

    "I''m not sharing if that''s what you wanted to ask, Mister Dragan."

    Tycon kept a majority of the meats that he dried. It was quite tasty, so it was a poprmodity for wagering and to shamelessly beg for amongst the small group.

    "Ah, no, not that, Boss... What would you do if you were Bucket?"

    Tycon shook his head as if the answer was obvious, "I only see one course of action. You two, what would you do?"

    Draganughed and pped his hands together. He obviously wanted to share his opinion,"Well, OBVIOUSLY, Bucket''s looking around-- he sees all the ninjas. I''d charge forward and take out the first cunt that falls! BAM. Right in the chest! BAM! Whack on the side of the head towards the biggest group. Charge and hit another one! That''s a double-kill. Three more for the penta-kill!"

    Tycon nodded, no change in his expression, "Mister Wroe?"

    Wroe ced his offhand on his chin in thought, with his other hand forward with purplish-colored mana swirling around it, "Using a spear, I''d volunteer to grab the attention of the man in white, while also keeping my distance. I could even use sweeping attacks to create distance and to wear down the ninjas. We''d strike down each of the ninjas through teamwork, one by one-- ah, and coordinating with Barza and the girl is important for that."

    He smirked, licking his lips, "Or for a more risky strategy, focusing our attacks on their leader would put their team into disarray."

    Tycon frowned, his golden eyes glowing from within the Shadow Veil, "Unfortunately, it won''t be that easy. You two, be ready to move."

    Dragan and Tarquin''s expressions grew serious.

    "You got it, Boss-man." "Aye aye, Boss."

    ¡­

    Lone stepped forward, a cold wind blowing through his hair as golden leaves continued to dance all around them. He took a deep breath, taking in hints of the warm Galetus berries and of the freshly disturbed dirt.

    Taree knew he was readying his heart to fight on the side of the Ivory Judge Sect. He was the Chosen One... he had to be.

    She looked at Lone''s strong, broad back and struggled to find her words. Yoshio and his goons were too dangerous to fight alone. But hope burned fiercely in her heart. She wanted so badly to be able to ce her trust in the Chosen One. She wanted to stop running. She wanted to fight to protect her family, her sect, and bringing back the Chosen One would do just that.

    Lone thrust one powerful arm forward, making Yoshio visibly flinch. A second powerful arm was thrust forward, making a cross. Yoshio held his arm out, stopping the ninjas from moving forward. Taree grew enamored by Lone''s powerful biceps, strength surging through all of his bulging muscles.

    "No one has to die today," He dered.

    ...

    Yoshio gulped in apprehension. Each of the ninjas under his charge slowly began reaching for their weapons. They didn''t dare underestimate the Great Expert before them. Lone stared down Yoshio, giving off the impression of a storied hero standing before a mere man.

    Had he made a mistake? Did he offend someone that shouldn''t have been offended?

    No... That was ridiculous!With the Muto family''s help, Yoshio had finally surpassed Kimura Taree and trained his Stone Body to Major Completion! No matter what techniques the Great Expert wielded, his body would be impervious to it!

    "You..." The Outsider''s voice was a low growl, his wrists crossed in front of him.

    Yoshio stepped towards the Great Expert, one gloved palm forward in a defensive stance. "I hear your words, Great Expert."

    "I''m the Chosen One you want. I surrender."

    "You... What?"

 Chapter 34 For The Purpose Of This Exercise

    ?Taree was incredibly confused. More than that, she felt betrayed. The man who she thought was the Chosen One was surrendering without a fight?

    He used such noble and domineering words, ''No one has to die today,'' as if with a wave of his hand, he''d swat aside Yoshio and his goons into meat-paste against the mountainside.

    Taree had really wanted to see the storied Meat-to-Paste Technique.

    He even put his wrists together in a strange, almost ritualistic disy, as if he was confident of his actions-- as if he''d practiced the movements hundreds and thousands of times in the past.

    Taree really wanted to see the storied Turtle Beam or even the Hadou Fist.

    No. Taree shook her head. It must have been some trick. The Chosen One could handle himself-- he must have some ulterior motive. Even a coward would run away before surrendering so thoroughly!

    Pale was holding a thick log, half his size, bncing that, his metal spear, and Tamaki, the unconscious archer.

    "Meet you back at base, Lone!" He yelled.

    Then Pale started running.

    Taree was caught by surprise-- he ran quite fast, and his short running legs looked funny carrying all the extra and unbnced weight. Tamaki looked especially pitiful with how his long legs dangled over the short boy''s shoulders and an arrow still sticking out of his back.

    "Taree! Gotta keep up!" Pale yelled.

    "Oh!" Taree yelped, dashing away and creating a cloud of dirt. A group of four ninjas converged on her location with swords drawn-- moments toote. She had sprinted away with Pale''s warning, her leg strength leaving a deep divot in the dirt.

    ¡­

    "A, Boss! Bucket didn''t even try!" Dragan shouted indignantly.

    Tycon didn''t respond to Dragan''s moaning. He found Bucket''s actions perfectly eptable.

    It was the situation with Barza that left him clueless. Surrendering to the enemy without a fight? Was he a genius for the distraction? What kind of n was running through the man''s head? And if this was all his n, how would he guarantee his own safety?

    The risk that Barza was taking was so grossly perilous that Tycon refused to believe it was so simple. And it was only further hazardous, realizing that the enemy would also refuse to believe it.

    But unpredictability shatters the status quo. With the enemy unbnced, Barza couldnd a fatal strike at a revealed vulnerability.

    Brave or foolish?

    Tycon sincerely hoped he''d be pleasantly surprised.

    ¡­

    Barza Keith stared nkly with a turned head after how quickly Pale had deserted him. He slowly turned his head to look back at Yoshio.

    He knew he had f*cked up.

    "Chosen One!" Taree yelled from a distance.

    A new thought had quickly solidified in Barza''s mind and alerted every sense of his being. He needed to run. He needed to run as fast as or faster than Pale. Or Taree. Or maybe he''d beg Pale to drop the blonde kid, in order to slow the enemy.

    Though his energy was drained after the Gann fight, hearing the young girl''s voice spurred him to action. He yelled out powerfully, blood coursing through his leg muscles and courage filling his heart.

    "I''ming!"

    Pain surged through his body.

    During Barza''spse in concentration, Yoshio had closed the gap, sinking a solid knee strike into his abdomen. Yoshio''s hands never left behind his back, nor did the sadistic sneer leave his face.

    The white-robed youth hopped up with a spin, and a second kick sent Barza skidding along the ground until he smashed through a rotting log.

    Yoshionded expertly on the toes of his left foot before pointing at his subordinates with his chin, "You, you, and you,e with me after the girl. The rest of you, take care of the outsider!"

    ¡­

    Dragan continued toin, "Boss, did you see? He just ran!"

    Tycon raised a hand to stop him, "Mister Dragan, your capability to react quickly and urately duringbat is admirable and I daresay one of your best traits."

    "Oh! Thanks, Boss--"

    "--But your n is reckless. Bucket would be outnumbered, entrapped, and without support. At Bucket''s level ofbat, he is able to effectively resist the attacks of two Bronze-Rankbatants, at best... and only for a finite amount of exchanges."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Dragan gnashed his teeth and averted his eyes but didn''t argue. Tycon felt that Dragan had been Iron-Rank for so long, he''d likely forgotten what it was like to be weak. A normal mercenary would despair at bing surrounded. Dragan, however, would revel in that there''d be so many enemies to murder.

    "Mister Wroe, I approve of both the coordination method and, if the opportunity arises, attacking and ying the team leader. However, the teamwork is unreliable. On the field, there is an unfortunate casualty and a young girl whose ability cannot be easily gauged. That considered, with the number of attackers the situation is rather dismal."

    Wroe nodded slowly in understanding, "So the tactical withdrawal?"

    "Or a quick withdrawal as Bucket has chosen. Full points to the boy." Tycon stated calmly as if the boy wasn''t in a life-threatening situation below them.

    "Well, where are they going?" Wroe asked.

    "They need something-- anything, a chokepoint, an ambush, coordinated hit-and-runs¡­"Tycon opened his arms, motioning to the two of them, "Or perhaps reinforcements? Mister Wroe."

    Wroe''s blue eyes glowed like sparkling gems underneath his white hood. "You have need of my services, Boss?"

    "Must you?" Tycon groaned, "You''re not impressing anyone. It''s just Dragan and me up here."

    "What? Am I doing something?"

    "...Disregard." Tycon rolled his eyes, "Mister Wroe, go assist Bucket."

    Wroe leaned backward, his head resting on his interwoven fingers, still ringly suspended in the air. "Huh? He looks like he''s got it, though."

    "The boy was being chased by--" Tycon sighed. He didn''t know why he bothered exining, sometimes, "Just¡­ just go."

    Wroe stood up, taking care to keep his bnce on the tree branch. "Aye, Boss. I''ll be goi--"

    "Wait." Tycon raised a hand, his head down, deep in thought. "Are you¡­ Seven hells, I still can''t believe I''m asking this, but are you capable of assisting the whelpling without revealing your presence?"

    "Oh, sure," Wroe responded a bit too quickly for Tycon''sfort. "He''ll never know what hit him."

    As Wroe was about to turn, Tycon quickly stopped him, "Hold!!"

    "''Sup, Boss?"

    "For the purpose of this exercise, you may not directly attack Bucket."

    "Got it."

    "W-wait..." Tycon held up his hand, stopping Wroe again... "For the purpose of this exercise, you may not summon creatures incapable of distinguishing Bucket from an enemy."

    Thestmand seemed to stun Wroe. He lowered his hood and scratched at his blue hair in thought. "Oh. Um. I''ll think of something?"

    "And Mister Wroe, do watch your step."

    "Don''t worry, Boss, it''s probably fiiiiiiiiiii--" Wroe slipped off the tree branch, falling-- screaming the whole way.

    Tycon didn''t bother looking down. "Mister Dragan, the Veil will soon be... Ugh. What is it?"

    Dragan was trying to stifle hisughter, "That guy''s only been messing with magic for like a week, right? I wonder if he knows that a Short-Teleport Spell usually brings the momentum from the beginning of the cast and carries it past itspletion."

    Tycon shook his head, "That''s his problem, not ours."

    Dragan returned his grin, "What''s the n, Boss?"

    "Mister Dragan, do make certain Mister Barza isn''t killed. Discreetly, if possible. With violence and great prejudice, if you must."

    "Caaaan I do both?"

    "Have it known that I admire your creative mind, my friend." Tycon nodded, "Do as you will."

    "Ahaha!" The big man chortled, hefting his dark-metal greataxe onto his shoulder. "What''ll you be doing, Boss?"

    Tycon took a deep sigh, looking off into the distance after Bucket and his whelplingpanions. "I''ll be ensuring our spellcaster doesn''t identally kill the boy."

    "Ehhh. He''s f*cked, Boss. Can''t we just get a new kid?"

    "Sod off, Dragan."

 Chapter 35 Responsibility

    ?"Give me my brother! Warrior Pale! Warrior Paaaale!"

    The silver-haired girl yelled after Pale, trying to get his attention. Every minute, every step, they felt the pressure of the ck-cloth, sword-wielding assassins chasing after them. And behind them, an even stronger existence followed.

    Pale nced to check on Taree''s condition. Her short silver hair was a mess and sweat covered her face and exposed neck. Her breathing was erratic and she ran awkwardly, wincing in pain every few steps.

    "How long have you and your brother been running?" He yelled.

    The pair dropped down a small dune, crashing into a soft pile of golden leaves. The two separated briefly, weaving through gigantic, gnarled tree roots. When they emerged from the root maze, Pale brazenly ran forward with his head entirely turned to her.

    Taree was stunned by his radiant grin, stuttering her words, "I-if I tell you, will you give me my brother back?"

    "Maybe?" Pale didn''t say yes. He didn''t want to lie to her.

    She kept up easily, which really surprised him. He''d always thought girls were weaker than guys, and that people like Sorina and Miss Seldin were special to be so strong. It had taken him months and months of hard training to be able to run while carrying both a person and a log and a weapon for long periods of time. Even though Taree''s brother was surprisingly light, he didn''t want to trust her with additional weight. Anyroad, Pale really wanted to show off in front of her.

    "Tamaki and I been running from Yoshio for like-- six bells?"

    Paleughed, "Haha, yeah!? No way!"

    Taree fumed, her silvery hair ring up with her indignation, "No way, what?!"

    "You can barely run. I don''t wanna leave you behind," Pale exined. It was mean, but there was no way she''d be able to keep up if she was carrying her brother.

    "YOU-- How dare you! Argh! Okay, fine! Give me something to carry, then! Anything!"

    Pale mentally groaned. So the girl had an annoying side to her, too. "No! Just focus on running!"

    "Why... Why are you carrying that log?"

    Pale tried to recall why he was carrying the log. It was a recement for his armor when he was doing strength and agility training without it... But he was wearing armor. Pale had taken the log along during the Gann hunt without thinking about it. And he couldn''t leave it behind, here, because he would have to use it tomorrow.

    "I guess... it''s my responsibility?" Pale said, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.

    "You don''t sound super sure of that."

    Pale decided to focus on dodging obstacles in the golden-leafed forest.

    "Whoops!" Pale slid sideways with his forward momentum, beforeying Tamaki face-down (arrow-up) on a crispy pile of leaves.

    "Why are you stopping?" Taree slowed down to match Pale. She put her hands on her head while trying to catch her breath.

    Without answering, Pale stepped past her towards where they were running from.

    KLING-KLING. KLING!

    Pale waved his spear around in front of him, praying that his spear could move as fast as his eyesight.

    ...

    Taree didn''t realize what had happened until she looked at a nearby tree and saw a metal dart embedded into it-- a hidden weapon. Her heart sank as she realized the ninjas had caught up to them. Then she screamed.

    "Taree? What''s wrong?" Pale hurried to her side.

    "H-how did you learn to do that?" She asked. Even she wasn''t able to follow the speed of thrown hidden weapons.

    Pale grinned sheepishly, "Everyone from Guild Invictus calls it... Fruit Ninja training."

    Taree was shocked, hearing about Pale''s ninja training. It was a serious taboo if Outsiders were practicing one of the Hidden Sects'' secretive ninja techniques. But that wasn''t the biggest problem. The biggest problem was that they had stopped running!

    As if reading her mind, Pale gave Taree an apologetic smile.

    Taree''s anger cooled slightly. She would have preferred to have ast stand against Yoshio''s ninjas with the Chosen One. Pale was a powerful expert, but she could tell with absolute certainty that Lone was twice-- No! Three times as--<novelnext></novelnext>

    Pale threw his log!! How could he just toss away his responsibility like that?? Taree stared at it as it flew past her head-- It looked like it weighed as much as she did!

    CRRRNK!!

    Taree''s jaw dropped. With the deep clunk sound the log made, it was definitely heavier than she was!

    She looked to where Pale had thrown it-- PALE THREW IT AT TAMAKI!?

    A million emotions flooded her brain. Warrior Pale had killed her poor brother! Was it because his useless half-corpse was slowing them down? She needed to get her explosive, bloody revenge!

    ''Oh, Tamaki!'' she cried in her heart. ''You were my favorite brother-- you were my only brother. But if there''s one way your poor, stupid, pathetic soul can beid to rest, it''s by your beautiful sister iming bloody vengeance in thy name! Amen.''

    A dozen ''thnks'' resounded throughout the clearing.

    Taree slowly opened her eyes to find that she and Pale were safe, behind a boulder. Faster than she could think, Pale had grabbed her and kept one hand on her head to make sure she wasn''t at risk of being hit. She looked over to where her brother was-- a series of hidden-weapons had be embedded in Pale''s log, effectively saving her brother from bing a porcupine.

    Taree looked to Pale with a serious face, "You don''t know how close to death you just got."

    Pale tilted his head, confused, "Huh? But I just--"

    Taree pped his hand away from her head-- the same hand that he used to make sure she wouldn''t get shot in the face by flying scraps of metal.

    His hand was warm.

    A man''s loud yell reverberated throughout the forest. Yoshio''s troops immediately withdrew, running back towards the voice.

    Pale and Taree stood up and gazed at the ninjas'' fleeing backs.

    "That was... Yoshio''s voice just now, wasn''t it?" Pale tilted his head, "Was he attacked?"

    Taree shrugged, "Meh, that guy''s a loser, anyway. Come on! Let''s get my brother to safety."

    ...

    "Yeah, okay. Let''s go." Pale nodded.

    He was d that the ninjas had withdrawn. He could defend himself decently well from the ninjas'' thrown weapons but that was his limit. He couldn''t easily defend Taree or Tamaki at the same time. He began walking back but didn''t hear Taree''s footsteps following him. With a face full of worry, he turned back. "Taree?"

    The silver-haired girl''s face was pale and her body shook all over as she pointed. "W-w-w-warrior Pale! DON''T MOVE!"

    "Eh? What''s wrong?" Pale was very careful not to move. Whatever it was that was making Taree panic spooked him too.

    Taree''s eyes were growing hot and she started huping.

    "Th-there''s a knife in y-your back."

    Pale''s back felt numb and hot, and a bit prickly. Boss Tycon had exined to him prior that adrenaline would make him numb from the pain for a while, especially on broad areas of his body, like on the back or on the thighs. When Taree told him, feeling began to return, and he felt some of the blood drip down.

    Pale turned his head to look at her out of the corner of his eyes, "Psh. Are you crying? Wow. Have some self-respect."

    Taree''s eyes began to water as she stared at his back,"There''s... there''s so many... in your back..."

    Her voice began to crack as she fell to her knees, "There''s... there''s so much blood..."

    Pale smirked. What was she talking about. Then he made the mistake of looking down. Uh oh... The blood pooling below him-- was that his?

    "W-why... Why did you save me?" Taree mumbled.

    Pale was starting to feel a bit dizzy, but he smiled in an attempt to calm the girl down. There was nothing to worry about. He was in control. He had to stay calm in front of anyone he met, so they wouldn''t panic.

    "I guess... because it''s my responsibility."

 Chapter 36 Please Tell Me

    ?Pale was desperately trying to stay awake. Taree was in a panic. Taree was in a daze. He was afraid she''d run off and fight Yoshio by herself if he didn''t keep talking to her to keep her calm. She had finally managed to drag both him and her brother to the entrance of a cave, but her orange sleeves had wiped her blurry eyes raw in the process.

    He wanted to sleep so badly.

    "You''d better not close your eyes, stupid! I''ll hate you forever if you do!" The girl screamed.

    But his stupid new friend wouldn''t let him.

    It was fine, though.

    "Taree..."

    "No! No, no, no no no no. You can''t talk. Just stay quiet. Help ising soon."

    "...In my bag... There''s... a ss."

    Through sniffles and snot, the miserable little girl began digging into Pale''s supply bag. She stopped for a moment upon finding the empty jerky cloth that Pale had offered her earlier. She began to wail loudly, dumping out the bag''s contents. She picked up a thin, stoppered ss vial full of a suspicious red liquid.

    "Pale. Pale." Taree grabbed both of Pale''s hands, cing the vial in it. "I got the ss. I got it. What do I do?"

    "It''s... healing...." He struggled to find the words in his daze, "I need... to drink..."

    ...

    Taree struggled to understand what the boy was trying to say, with the blood loss, he had lost all of his strength. She quickly unstoppered the bottle and put it up to Pale''s mouth... but even as weak as Pale was, he reached out a hand to hold hers, stopping her.

    Taree had grown up on stories of fantastical alchemy pills able to heal any wound. She was sure that whatever was in the red vial was a priceless treasure to the Outsiders. The boy was from a prestigious family, the Invictus Sect! Of course, they''d have miraculous treasures capable of this and more.

    "Pale, what is it? I just-- I just have to pour this into your mouth, right? It''s like a healing pill, right? You''ll be okay, right?"

    Pale weakly shook his head, "Half... your brother."

    Taree felt her pupils shrink and her stomach churn with shame.

    "HOW CAN YOU THINK OF OTHERS WHEN YOU''RE LIKE THIS?!" Taree shouted.

    "I''m... fine." Pale smiled weakly.

    "Idiot!!" Taree yelled, streams of grossness running down her cute face. "Y-y-y-you don''t know if the pill will work all the way if you don''t take the whole thing. Besides, my brother''s wound isn''t critical! Yours is!"

    "H...him first," Pale insisted.

    Taree clenched her fist. But she couldn''t hit him to make him understand. Putting on a resolute face, she narrowed her eyes, willing the tears to stop.

    She poured the open vial''s contents into her own mouth. Grabbing the younger boy''s face with both hands, she pressed her lips to his, closing her eyes reflexively. She held him, even going as far as swirling her tongue to ensure he had swallowed everything. Withdrawing her lips, a thin strand of saliva remained briefly visible, linking their tongues.

    "Um... Taree," Pale grinned.

    Taree''s face was as bright and as deeply colored as her robe, and it felt like she had rubbed pepper oil all around her face and neck and even near her shoulders, "Wh-whahaha-haaaaat?"

    "I need you to take out the things in my back... Or else it won''t heal right..."

    Taree blinked, trying to process what he said. She was thinking of way too many unnecessary things with her heart beating so fast.

    "O... oh." Taree muttered. She couldn''t manage any higher forms of speech. Kneeling down again by Pale''s side, she began pulling the bloody metal darts out of Pale''s armor.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    The red healing potion staunched the bleeding. After washing out his wounds with a waterskin, Pale put his armor back on and immediately suggested they continue to flee, only to be met by more of Taree''s crying, the iling of her fists, and the gnashing of teeth.

    Taree wanted to rest for a short while, waiting for Tamaki to wake up. Pale thought it too dangerous-- his gut feeling told him that the cave was dangerous, and even though less than a half-bell had passed, he was worried about Lone.

    Taree wanted to explore the cave. Pale wanted to run. So theypromised...

    The silver-haired girl led the way, while he followed close behind. The cave was pitch ck and began to spiral downwards, but Taree had a magical stone that illuminated their way with a pure white light.

    "It''s called an Ivory Stone. It''s a badge that proves you''re one of the Inner Sect members of my Ivory Judge sect..."

    Pale held it in his hands. It was a sturdy triangle that fitfortably into his palm and radiated off aforting warmth.

    "Um. Are you sure it''s okay to give this to me?"

    "I''m just... I''m just letting you hold it. I''m not giving this to you! It''s-not-like-we''re-gonna-get-married-or-anything!!" Taree exined herself quickly, mashing up her words.

    She turned away and continued to walk. Even though Pale held the light-stone, the dim light was enough for Taree to watch her step. Pale followed obediently.

    "It''s like a scale from a snake? A really big snake," He asked.

    "Hmph!" Taree crossed her arms. "That shows what you know! The Guardian Beast of my Ivory Judge sect is a DRAGON!"

    "Huh? A dragon? I thought dragons didn''t exist."

    "Well, now you do! I''ve even seen one!" Taree turned away, pouting.

    "What? Really?" Pale smiled back the best he could. She was so proud of her dragon that he didn''t have the heart to tell her she was wrong.

    Dragons don''t exist. Not anymore. Boss Tycon was very adamant about that.

    He didn''t think that Boss Tycon and Taree would get along if they met. The Boss was always (mostly) polite when talking and when people were respectful. Pale was slightly worried because though Taree wasn''t rude, she didn''t seem very respectful at all.

    "EEEE!!"

    Pale winced at the strangest girl-scream he''d ever heard. Taree had stopped, but she was clenching her fists and shivering-- dangerous.

    "Taree? What in the seven... hecks are you yelling about?" He asked the girl in front of him.

    "PALE!! Quit ying around! Let go of my leg!"

    A chill ran down Pale''s spine. In his left hand, he held the Ivory Stone above them, to light Taree''s way. In his right was his spear, which he was taught to never let go of as long as he was in the field.

    "Pale! Pale, answer me!"Taree''s angry demands had changed into pleading. She must have realized that there was no way that Pale was grabbing her.

    He slowly lowered the thin radiant scale, illuminating the rocky floor.

    "...Taree, listen to me. I need you to calm down."

    "Pale! Pale..." Taree didn''t dare turn around. "Please... please tell me you''re the one grabbing my leg."

 Chapter 37 Four Hearts Beat

    ?''Six pale fingers around her ankle, // Twisted white strands for each finger.

    They whispered as they watched. //A single eye, hidden within, seeing all.

    They hungered for flesh. //They thirsted for innocence.

    Ah, to drink of her blood. Lovingly. Explicitly.

    See how she squirms. //See how she rejects.

    "Cry out, Child of Heaven. No Angel can hear you in this ce."

    Pale ignored the sound of his own voice, whispering words he did not will.

    "Pale... Please tell me what''s going on. You''re scaring me." Taree''s voice quivered as she spoke. She stared ahead into the darkness, petrified in fear.

    "Just don''t move. It''ll be okay. I''ll get it off you."

    "G-get what-- O-okay?" Taree grew quiet, strangely obedient. "Please hurry."

    Pale knelt down, cing the Ivory Stone in his mouth to see. A humanoid arm made of dozens of twisted off-white tendrils had ensnared Taree''s ankle, so tightly she was starting to bruise. The tendrils grew straight out of a ttened rock-- it didn''t look like it was possible. He pried at the cold fingers but they were as immovable as tree roots.

    A loud crack shook their cave tunnel, like a hammer that had fallen upon a heavy stone. A web of cracks bleeding a harsh, white light spread from below the girl''s foot. Acting quickly, Pale shoved his spear-de into the alien hand and it bled a warm, transparent-gold sap.

    "Pale! Do something! It hurts!" Taree whined in pain.

    Pale hesitated... if he stabbed again, the grasping tendrils would tighten their grip.

    Before he could decide, the ground gave way. Not content with sinking the pair into the earth, the ground instead, shattered like ss, sending them tumbling through an endless white.

    The feeling of weightlessness overcame Pale''s senses. Six white, smooth-stoned walls surrounded them, illuminated by an unseen source as they fell into the abyss. Red cracks disrupted the smooth, eerily white walls, carved like violent strikes of lightning and pulsating with a ck-to-scarlet glow.

    The falling had stopped at the cost of Pale nearly dislocating his entire shoulder. He looked up to see that Taree had grabbed onto one of the protruding red roots and also onto his wrist.

    "Taree? Taree! Are you okay!?" Pale yelled, his voice echoing and distorting in the tunnel.

    The girl stared at nothing, her pupils dted and unfocused, as she began to babble.

    "Four hearts beat DESPERATELY for the body!" She screamed. "Flesh remaining! With rotting soul! The Child? The Ancient. The Missing? The Dead... Praise--"

    "Taree! Let go of the branch!" Pale yelled. He grit his teeth in frustration-- the girl was mumbling incoherently... just like when he was whispering to himself, before.

    He slung his spear over his shoulder and he began to climb up Taree.

    "''Ow! Pale!! Pale??" Pale''s touch snapped her out of her daze, "What the heck?! That hurts! Wh-WHERE are you touching?!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Let go!" Pale yelled again.

    "Wait, what? No!"

    "Taree, you need to trust me." Pale steeled his voice, "Let go of the branch!"

    Taree shook her head wildly, grabbing onto the crimson lifeline with both of her hands,"I can''t! I need to go back! My brother''s still at the entrance! I have to make sure he''s okay!"

    Pale climbed up the lithe girl, hooking his arm over her shoulder to keep steady. Reaching up, he began prying her fingers off of the branch, one by one.

    "Why are you doing this Pale?! Pale, stop! We need to climb! We need to go back!"

    Pale shook his head as he pried her right hand off, holding hers tightly in his. The girl stared at their intertwined fingers with wide eyes and warmed cheeks.

    "We have to keep moving until the voices stop," Pale insisted.

    "Pale... No! I don''t want to fall! I need to--" Taree shut her eyes... "I need to KNOW! WHY does the Child grow old?! WHY does the Ancient yearn to be free? Why does the--"

    Pale reached up to unhook thest vestige''s of Taree''s grip, and with that, they fell.

    Not a second had passed when the opposite white wall opened up, brilliant white blinding their eyes. Waxy, half-melted flesh upon bony fingers-- a gigantic hand,rger than the two of them together, reached out of the opening. As they fell, the pale hand and arm shot forward, bloodying itself on the red roots the two had barely escaped.

    ...

    Pale never let go of her hand.

    Taree was so scared, she had run out of tears. As they fell, she embraced Pale, burying her face in his warm chest. She didn''t want to see anything anymore. She didn''t want to hear anything anymore. She wanted to hear Pale''s one heartbeat, not four.

    The voices in her head softened to whispers. The sensation of falling grew distant. She curled her body up within Pale''s armes as he carried her. He was running, bobbing her up and down as he traversed uneven terrain-- it was so hard for her to sleep like that. She just wanted to lie on his chest and sleep until it was all over. She wanted to punch him until he stopped running. He needed to rest. But he wouldn''t listen to her pleading. She wriggled angrily in his arms to show her dissatisfaction... but not enough to disrupt his gait.

    ...

    Pale walked amidst a forest of crystalline trees, their branches clear like refined ss, and their trunks ancient like thick mountain ice. He walked upon anywhere there wasn''t water, ten hundred trees and ten thousand pools before him, his spear slung on his back, and a sleeping brat held in his arms.

    He couldn''t see through the reflective water, gentlypping against the dirt and sand. Each a perfect mirror, the pools reflected a green and salmon-pink sky.

    Time blurred in this ce. Countless bells passed as he walked, watching the waters rise and fall. Binary suns cut across the strange sky, watching their world in silence.

    He found a spot to ce the sleeping Taree, at the base of a crystal tree upon a gently sloping crook. He ran his hand along its bark, smooth andfortable, thenid her down gently against it.

    "Come out," Pale called out. He unslung his spear and spun it with a flourish.

    Within two spears'' distance, a dark shadow dropped down from a tree,nding as softly as the ring of a bell. Pale''s opponent drew their sword, its metallic ring sending soft ripples across all the mirrors in their small world.

 Chapter 38 Why Must We Fight?

    ?Pale recognized the dark-haired boy as one of the ninjas under Yoshio''smand. The ninja pulled down the cloth covering his face, revealing himself as a boy around the same age.

    "How did you know where I was?" The boy pointed his sword. It sounded like his pride was hurt.

    "Sorry about that," Paleughed with embarrassment. "I didn''t actually know where you were, I just kinda guessed someone was there?"

    The ninja narrowed his eyes in a re. Silence reigned in the forest. Even though this was the first human contact Pale had in quite possibly weeks, they both remained wary of each other.

    "Truce?" Pale broke the silence.

    The boy lightly shook his head, "No."

    "Let''s share information," Pale insisted.

    The boy hesitated, carefully observing Pale. Steadily, the boy stood straight and reluctantly sheathed his sword, "Yeah. Let''s..."

    Pale stood up as well, rxing his spear, "Do you... know what this ce is?"

    "All I know is this ce reeks of magic-- Our sect would call it a Forbidden Land..." The boy twisted his lips, "Have youe across anyone else?"

    Pale shook his head, frowning, "I haven''t."

    Eyeing the boy up and down, Pale continued, "What... happened to you?"

    Pale''s armor wasn''t in the best condition. But still, the ck-haired boy''s dark leathers had been marked by dozens of cuts and shes-- like he''d been attacked by beasts.

    "We... we went back for Warrior Yoshio when he called for aid... There were... spiders made of white stone... blue crystals on their bellies. And they were the size of wolves... They could leap through the air disappear like ghosts... and there were smaller spiders too, the size of a fist. Webs, too..."

    The boy stared into the sky''s reflection in the water, clearly traumatized by his experiences. He shook his head, "How did you get here?"

    "Entered a cave, got pulled down into a hole with white walls, and ran on a road of stars until I broke through one of the pools on the ground." Pale shrugged. "You?"

    The boy shrugged, "Kinda different, but kinda the same-- fell through one of the puddles."

    The boy grew quiet for a moment, then suddenly, his entire body shivered.

    "Are you okay?" Pale asked.

    "Che. The cold got to me just for a second, Outsider. Was that your question?"

    For every few suns that rose and fell, Pale noticed the temperature growing colder and colder. The temperature didn''t bother Pale as much as it worried him about the potential future.

    "I guess. Was that yours?" Pale shot back.

    The boy puckered his lips, before betraying a short snicker. Pale couldn''t help but giggle. Seconds passed before the two tacitly agreed to stop. Theugh echoed too eerily. It didn''t feel safe in this ce, not at all.

    "What''s your name?" Pale asked. The hostility between them had lightened, if only slightly.

    "Eh?" The boy frowned, crossing his arms." It''s rude to ask for someone''s name before giving your own."

    Oh. Oops. That made sense,"I apologize. My name is Pale."

    "You really didn''t know?" The boy tilted his head, "Well, alright. My name is Muto Baketsu."

    "Wait, so Muto is your family name, right?" Pale asked. He remembered the Muto was the name of the family that Yoshio kept saying he was part of, "Why is your family name first? Doesn''t it go second?"

    "What? No, the family name goes first," Baketsu insisted.

    "Oh, that''s weird-- That''s not how I learned it."

    Baketsu hesitated... "Maybe it''s different for Outsiders?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Yeah. Probably..." Pale frowned, his expression growing serious. "What does your family have against Taree?

    Baketsu sucked in air through his teeth, "It''s kindaplicated..."

    Pale pursed his lips and opened his arms, pointing at thend of crystal trees, pink skies, and puddles everywhere, "I''m not in a hurry, are you?"

    "Well, alright." Baketsu sighed, "The Ivory Judge sect is suffering a cmity, the--"

    "What''s a cmity?"

    "Uh, it''s a big problem. I don''t know what it is exactly, but the Kimura family is trying to save the sect."

    "But that doesn''t sound that bad," Pale furrowed his eyebrows.

    "--Hey, stop interrupting!"

    "Oops, sorry." Pale sat himself down obediently, spear in hisp,menting the loss of his log. He nced back to check on Taree, still peacefully asleep on her tree.

    Baketsu sat opposite of him, his sword ced on the ground at his side, "The problem is that the Kimura family is trying to save the sect by breaking tradition to do so. They want to bring in Outsiders to solve an internal problem."

    Pale nodded solemnly, trying his best not to interrupt.

    Baketsu continued,"Now, the Muto family wants to stop them from going against tradition, saying that it will lead to the sect''s downfall."

    He frowned, analyzing Pale, "See, involving Outsiders has a lot of potential problems. They might be able to help us, but we risk spies spreading information about us. Other sects or maybe even enemies we haven''t made yet might want to steal our treasures, forcibly learn our knowledge, or might even try to enve our people."

    Pale paused a moment to ensure Baketsu was finished, "So... Why do *you* need to kill Taree?"

    "I have to because that''s what the Muto family ordered me to do," He frowned, unwilling to argue. "How about you, Warrior Pale? Can''t you back down? You don''t really have anything to do with this."

    "I... I can''t give her up," Pale admitted. "I believe in her... So we''ll have to fight."

    Baketsu groaned, clutching his head in annoyance, "Augh, this is so stupid! Why do we have to fight?!"

    Pale calmly leaned back, his gaze meeting Baketsu''s, "I think we have to fight because I need to show you that I believe in Taree. And... I want to see how much you believe in your family."

    Baketsu leaned forward, "But will that change your opinion?"

    Pale shook his head, "No, I don''t think so."

    "Then what''s the point of winning?!"

    Pale slowly got to his feet, "I don''t think winning matters... but it''s important that you see how hard I can fight. And I think it''s important that I see how hard you can fight."

    Baketsu stood up, snatching up his sword and meeting Pale''s gaze... Then he looked downwards in thought, "Yeah... we''re both fighting for what we believe in."

    Pale took a step forward and offered his hand, "I can''t lose."

    Baketsu walked forward and grasped Pale''s wrist, "Neither can I."

    Simultaneously, the two turned and walked a few steps before turning back.

    Pale readied his spear, pointing it forward. "Ready!"

    Baketsu drew his sword, tossing aside the sheath. Performing a light bow, he yelled, "Warrior Pale! Allow me to reintroduce myself: I am Muto Baketsu of the Ivory Judge Sect and by my de, I will defeat the enemies of House Muto."

    Pale nodded, "I am Invictus Pale of Guild Invictus and by my spear, I will allow no harm toe to Kimura Taree."

 Chapter 39 Fist Of Shadow

    ?Baketsu was confident. Pale used a spear, a beginner weapon. No matter how fast it was, it was predictable, unlike the versatile sword.

    "Before we begin, Warrior Pale, I gotta warn you. I''veprehended the Stone Body art to Middle Completion. It means you have no chance at winning."

    Pale smirked. Arrogant. Baketsu grinned back. He looked forward to teaching him a lesson.

    Baketsu blinked. He immediately regretted that decision. In that moment, the spearman had crossed the distance between them.

    Baketsu felt Pale''s spear smashing into the side of his head, dazing him, then the spear haft cracked onto his ankle. Unbnced, he began to fall sideways, but Pale''s rising spear haft struck his sr plexus, sending him stumbling backward instead.

    Clutching his chest in pain, Baketsu gasped for air.

    His... Stone Body art... It didn''t nullify Pale''s attacks?!

    He forced a grin to hide the pain, "Why didn''t you tell me you had some skill, Outsider?"

    Pale pursed his lips, resting his spear behind his head on his shoulders, "Because I don''t underestimate my opponents. Maybe it''s different in a sect?"

    This guy...

    Baketsu yelled as he rushed forward. He needed to control the fight, to get the spearman to fight at his pace. Pale lifted up his metal spear, blocking a sparking sword sh. But Baketsu followed with a clean kick to the abdomen and a sh across his chest armor.

    Baketsu decided to raise the stakes, "Fist of Shadow."

    Pale''s eyes widened in shock at seeing thick, vibrant purple smoke churning around Baketsu''s fist. Baketsu smirked. The smoke was a feint! He halted the ki in his fist and swiped his de low from the opposite side. But even still, Pale managed to deflect it with his spear.

    This guy... what kind of ridiculous reflexes does he have?

    Baketsu focused ki in his legs, leaping up and hooking onto a tree branch with his arm. Below, Pale swept his spear but found no target. Pale looked left, he looked right--

    Baketsu dropped, lifting his sword up high and shing it downward-- But Pale set his spear above him, horizontally.

    Blocked AGAIN!? What kind of training has this guy done?! He had even hid his presence with that attack!

    "Baketsu!? Why was that attack so much stronger?" Paleined.

    "Because you''re getting weaker!" Baketsu retorted with annoyance.

    "No,e on. Really?" He insisted.

    "Tch. Used my legs to jump off a tree."

    "Nice!" Pale nodded, thrusting his spear out.

    Baketsu dodged and grabbed Pale by the arm, kneeing him in the side and elbowing him in the face. Only then, did he feel better, "Thanks."

    Pale yelled, trying to punch with his offhand, but Baketsu saw it as a chance. With Pale''s arm grabbed and his center of weight shifted, Baketsu repositioned his body for a shoulder throw.

    Bam!

    Pale hit the hard ground. Baketsu reached for his concealed weapons, hoping to finish off his stunned opponent.

    Pale rolled as if his life depended on it-- making Baketsu miss every single dart he threw.

    Ugh, this is a nightmare! Baketsu cursed his impatience... If he had aimed properly, he would have won.

    While Pale got to his feet, Baketsu drew hisst concealed weapon.

    He waved it mockingly. Thest three he had were smeared with a waxy poison, the one he held, included. He just needed a single cut to gain a tremendous advantage.

    He threw it at Pale''s stupid face.

    With another ng, Pale''s spear deflected it,unching it up to fall harmlessly into the distance.

    "Okay, that''s just not fair," Baketsu grimaced.

    He looked over to where the dart fell, then back to his opponent, "Neat trick. Can you do it again?"

    Pale pointed his spear, ready. "I''m ready for as many as you''ve got."

    Baketsu averted his gaze, "Well, I was just asking because I''m totally out."

    "Oh." Pale grinned, "Then to answer your question: Yeah, I can."

    The spearman used his spear to vault up, jumping and mming his spear down.

    Predictable! Aha! Baketsu stepped to the side to dodge, but then he saw the opposite end of the spear smash into his face. And he didn''t see it, but he felt the metal rod smash into the side of his ribs.

    ...Not so predictable.

    In a panic, Baketsu flipped sideways, managing to dodge Pale sweeping his spear low.

    Uponnding, Baketsu rushed forward-- he was out of tricks and flourishing attacks. He started attacking using the Ivory Judge sect''s basic de techniques. Faster! Stronger! The fight was taking too much of his stamina and he needed to end it soon!<novelnext></novelnext>

    Pale blocked the sword attacks far too easily, "How''d you do that flip?"

    Baketsu rolled his eyes, "Practice, I guess?"

    ng. ng. ng. Three sword shes had set a rhythm, which Baketsu fully intended to break, "Fist of Shadow!"

    It was perfect. Baketsu''s purply smoking fist found its way past Pale''s spear, smashing into the guy''s chest and sending him stumbling back and into a kneel.

    It was a chance Baketsu couldn''t pass up. He leaped forward to finish it, "Fist of SHADOW!"

    Trying to smash his fist into Pale, he missed, striking the ground, causing an explosion of rocks and debris. It was fine, though. Baketsu rushed through the dust cloud where he assumed Pale would be...

    He guessed correctly.

    A connected high kick to Pale''s chin had the spearman staring at the sky and opened him up to a sh from Baketsu''s de. As fast as the spearman was, Baketsu managed a superficial cut against Pale''s armored abdomen and scored two deep, bloody gashes on his forearms.

    He was quite proud of himself.

    Then, somehow,Pale''s spear haft pushed him against a tree, knocking the wind out of him. Pale stood grounded, his stance wide, rotating his entire body and smashing the spear into Baketsu''s stomach. He coughed painfully, a crimson glop of blood marring Pale''s cheeks.

    Baketsu pped the spear away. He had taken too much damage from that attack... Tch. He could feel he was only a half-step away from unconsciousness.

    "I won''t go down so easily!" He shouted, hoping he sounded more confident than he actually was.

    Baketsu rushed forward, swiping his sword high, shing to the side, leaping up and mming his de down. The bastard blocked every attack! But against Baketsu''s continuous attacks, he could only get pushed back.

    The kid was a monster. His spear was too strong. His reflexes rivaled those of a Sect Elder. If he and Taree were to work together, they might even be able to beat Yoshio!

    Baketsu swung his sword, but Pale had already stepped back. He was wide open. Baketsu shut his eyes and time moved slowly as he waited for death. The butt of the spear smashed into his throat, copsing Baketsu to the ground painfully. He couldn''t breathe, but he could cough, tears forming at the corners of his eyes and his face turning red. He kicked out and rolled from side to side, praying for the pain to go away.

    Pale prodded Baketsu on the side with his boot, "Huh. I thought that would be enough to kill you."

    Baketsu red up at him, wishing that looks could kill.

    ...

    "Why didn''t you kill me, stupid Outsider?"

    Muto Baketsu had applied a bitter-smelling unguent to the cuts to staunch the bleeding and was tightly bandaging his arms.

    "I dunno. Did you want me to?"

    "Che. I guess not." He patted Pale''s shoulder, "Alright, finished."

    "Your medicine stinks," Paleined.

    "And I''ve never had a girlfriend," Baketsu responded indignantly. He was annoyed at failing such an important mission. And all because of the Kimura young mistress! "You can wash off the medicine after a day or two."

    Pale looked down, frowning.

    "Eh? What''s wrong, Outsider?" Baketsu asked.

    Pale looked up with concern in his eyes. "So I''ll be fine after a day... But what''re you gonna do about getting a girlfriend?"

    Baketsu groaned, "Shut up before I fight you seriously. You think you''re so--"

    The sound of ss shattering and falling reverberated throughout the crystal forest, interrupting their conversation.

    Baketsu stood up hurriedly, his eyes full of panic, "No, no! Not again!"

    Pale stood, as well, his spear ready. The ground began to shake and the pools of water began to warp and twist as if writhing in pain.

    Baketsu grasped both of Pale''s shoulders, "Listen to me. Take the girl and hide. Don''t try to fight the creature that''sing out."

    Pale nodded, confused, "Okay, but what do you mean?"

    "It''s not a fight, anymore. It''s up to the fates to decide if we live or die. I''ll go that way-- you go the opposite!"

    A roarprised of dozens of voices shook their world. The dying bleating of a goat being ughtered. A frantic man hiding in fear while praying for death. An angel casting its judgment upon an entire race. A mother crying for her stillborn child.

    Pale ced Taree over his shoulders, "Baketsu,e with us. We have a better chance together."

    Baketsu shook his head violently, "No, Warrior Pale. You''ll understand soon. Now GO!"

    He turned to leave, but Pale called out again,

    "Warrior Baketsu!!" The spearman stood with his chest forward, "I spared your life. You owe me."

    Baketsu hesitated and turned his head back, "Then I''ll owe you in the next life."

    The dark-haired boy pulled up the cloth to cover his face and dashed away. From behind him, he heard Pale turn with the Kimura-girl secure on his shoulders, running with all his might.

 Chapter 40 Annis

    ?Pale''s entire back was drenched in sweat and his legs were throbbing in pain from sprinting. He had run faster than he had thought possible, for farther than he could have imagined. He pressed his back against one crystal tree in a forest of a thousand and he prayed desperately that it was good enough.

    He needed to breathe, to get air to his lungs. Tears fell silently from his eyes as he struggled to calm his body, to make zero noise. He couldn''t unclench his fists, and his nails had begun to draw blood from his palms.

    Taree stirred awake, "Wh-what''s happening, Pale?"

    Operating purely by instinct, Pale pressed his bloodied palm against the girl''s mouth. Taree saw Pale''s panicked look, the desperation in his gaze, and she nodded obediently.

    A mournful wail of many-voices filled the sky, shaking the earth, rippling the ten thousand mirrors among the ten hundred trees. Theugh of a murderer killing his wife. A farmer''sment at his fields ame. The wolf''s low growl as the pack surrounds its prey. The pleasured moan of a rapist sampling his first.

    It was evil.

    Taree covered her ears with her hands and buried her face in Pale''s chest. If she was feeling anything like he was feeling, she wanted to take a needle and pierce her eardrums. She wanted to jump into a mirror and fill her lungs so she would stop breathing. She wanted to cry and sleep and cry and never wake up. She wanted to curse the gods. She wanted to beg forgiveness from anyone who could hear.

    Pale held the back of her silver hair and softly rocked the girl back and forth. Tears fell silently, hot down his own cheeks.

    "I''m sorry, I''m so sorry..." She cried, muffled into his chest.

    "Everything will be alright," Pale lied, his voice a hushed whisper.

    His eyes were swollen, bloodshot, and dry from the cold. But he remained vignt. Taree''s voice had broken him from his panic. Fear still gripped his heart, making him question his every action. But he could keep watch with his eyes. He could embrace Taree with his arms. He could lie to her and to himself with his voice.

    Pale stared off in the distance through the distorted crystalline trees. He stared upon the visage of that which hunted them.

    ...

    She stood among the towering trees, over thrice the size of a man. Her flesh, sick and grey, popped and bubbled with disease. ck thorns and flowers grew lovingly on her skin. Withered briars curled around her waist, skulls of man and beast proudly interweaved and on disy. She wore only a filthy mask, oily patches of ck-green hair oozing from her scalp and from between her thighs. Her mask of smooth, cracked bone scanned the horizon as she limped with uneven, too-long legs.

    She reached down a webbed hand, wrinkled and gnarled and smashed through a mirror. A man screamed as she grasped him by the waist. She tore apart his clothes, stripping him naked with the long, ck talons on her hands. She cut into his flesh. She ced his legs in her mouth and with her points teeth, tore the meat apart. Slowly. While he struggled. While he screamed. While his dying voice alone filled the silence.

    Gone was the faithful dog, whining to be fed. Gone was the old man, struggling to breathe. Gone was the child, begging for its murdered mother to awaken.

    And soon... gone was the sound of screaming from the man of the Muto family.

    She reached down once more, shattering another mirror, and the process began anew.

    She smashed a man to paste upon the ground.

    She tore a woman apart, piece by piece, and shook out her insides into her mouth of iron nails.

    How many had died? How many had returned only to again suffer their fates?

    And then... she was gone.

    The earth didn''t shake. No man or woman cried out.

    She had left as she had arrived.

    Without warning.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Without mercy.

    Pale didn''t know how much time had passed, bells or suns or moons. His tears had dried... as well as the blood on his palms. Taree had fallen asleep in his embrace, so heid her gently down and tenderly wiped away her tears. Still deeply asleep, she grasped his hand.

    "I have to go somewhere... But I''ll be back. I promise." Pale whispered, not wanting to wake her.

    Taree loosened her grip, letting Pale free, and a sleeping smile appearing on her face.

    Pale stood up and walked out from behind the tree. Seeing no signs of the creature, he headed to where he needed to go.

    ...

    The dark-haired boyid in a pit-- it was ugly, covered in ckened mold, and bereft of the mirror water that once filled it. Nothing remained below the middle of his torso, save stretched and torn ps of flesh. Dozens of translucent white butterflies with wingsrger than either of Pale''s hands swarmed on the guts and viscera that still remained.

    "I can feel... Them eating me... Warrior... Pale," Baketsu groaned, his voice a pathetic whisper.

    Pale raised his spear in one hand. He pierced one of the winged creatures with its de. Blood sttered where it died, a brilliant shade of blue-green. He raised it again. And again, it fell.

    By the time Pale was finished killing the butterflies, his trousers had been stained by dozens of shades of colorful blood, mixed together as a disgusting, dingy brown.

    "I spared your life," Pale whispered reverently, meeting Baketsu''s gaze.

    Baketsu weakly grabbed the end of Pale''s spear, cutting his hand upon its dull de.

    "Take it now," he begged, putting thest of his strength into his voice. "Please!"

    ...

    "DON''T CLOSE YOUR EYES!" Pale screamed, jolting awake, throwing off his bed covers.

    Tycon didn''t bother turning in his seat to face the boy. "And why in the seven hells not?" He asked, before returning his attention to the letter on his desk. Pale stared at Tycon''s back, seated at a desk, writing with a tall quill pen.

    Pale looked around and breathed a sigh of relief. Had this all been a nightmare? He was in one of the servant''s rooms at the Tavor manor. He must have fallen asleep on one of the beds. He felt he had been sleeping for so long, but it was still dark outside the windows, and he was still so very tired.

    Pale cleared his voice shyly. "S-sir Tycon? Are you--"

    "Awake?" Tycon mmed his elbows upon the desktop and dropped his head into his palms, "Yes. This is an absolute nightmare... but it will be over soon. Everything ends, after all."

    "Everything ends..." Pale muttered. As tired as he was, he concentrated on moving. He willed himself to stay awake.

    He put every ounce of his willpower towards listening to his own advice.

    All of his instincts screamed.

    ''Don''t close your eyes.''

 Chapter 41 Whirling Rend

    ?Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, thought that he was getting used to the feeling of weightlessness. But gravity''s cruelty again took hold of him and he collided with the hard forest floor, his entire body radiating with the shock.

    Sound returned to his world-- a deluge ofughter. Jeers. Mockery.

    "OH!! Ohohoho!! You broke the Outsider!"

    Roars and excited screams crescendoed from the crowd, warriors of the Muto family d in dark leathers and ck cloth masking their faces. Theyughed at him. They cheered on the big man who had just executed a powerful throw. They took turns, kicking his side and stomping on his body.

    "Hurr hurr hurr. Come on, Outsider! We aren''t done with you."

    "Hahaha! Look at him squirm!"

    "Squeal, Outsider! Squeeeeaaaalllll like a pig!!

    Barza dragged himself onto his elbows and knees, coughing and dry heaving after thest strike. Eight men of the Muto family had surrounded him and were taking turns beating him. He had lost his swords, but he still had his fists.

    They were prideful fists. He''d never lost in a bare-knuckle fight before, not in roughhousing on the streets as a child, not as a teenage sellsword. His fame as a boxer was acknowledged anywhere on the east side of the Kingdom. But those same fists fell powerless against the hardened bodies of the Ivory Judge sect.

    And in return, they struck his body. They even grappled him and threw him onto the cold hard ground. Their grappling techniques of Yoshio''s men were even stronger than their boxing-- Barza''s fighting spirit was cracked and broken... but it only filled him with rage at his inability.

    Errrgh... Barza pounded the leaf-covered ground in frustration. What could he do when he was this outnumbered... this outmatched!?

    It all fell on him! He needed to take care of these mooks and get back to Pale, his sworn brother! He needed to defeat Yoshio, the evil viin of the Muto family! He needed to go back to the Iva-- to the... to the sect and deliver them from their Cmity!

    How could he be held up by this group of unnamed trash? He was the Chosen One! He was the hero in their legends and prophecies and tales of valor! How dare they beat the crap out of him in the middle of nowhere?!

    Ooooh.... Sheesh. A cold sweat assaulted his back, reminding him of the worst nightmare. Boss Tycon was a terrifying existence. If Tycon found out he lost... He''d probably be subjected to more training. Worse training.

    He had to do this... He had it in him. He couldn''t lose here. He couldn''t embarrass the Guild.

    "A sword..." Barza coughed. He just needed a sword.

    Laughter surrounded him once more, ringing in his ears.

    "What''s that?" "Psh, the Outsider wants a sword." "We''re your enemies, IDIOT! Why the hell would we give you a sword?!"

    They allughed again. Barza grit his teeth. If he wasn''t hurt, he''d--

    Barza stared at the ground-- at the pool of saliva he''d coughed out.

    It wasn''t blood.

    It was odd. For the past several weeks, every waking sun... he''d been coughing and even pissing blood from hisbat training injuries. His body would be in a constant state of broken or sore. Every single moment of training was filled with literal blood, dripping pools of sweat, and a reservoir of tears that he wasn''t allowed to cry.

    But now that he was in a life or death battle... it didn''t hurt.

    It ached. It frustrated him. It made him angry.

    "Hahah! You broke him! Let me just KICKSTART him!" One of the ninjasughed, approaching.

    Barza took the impact of the kick, grabbing the man''s leg.

    "Eh? It looks like an insect is on my shoe. Looks like I''ll have to--"

    Barza pulled the ninja''s sword from its sheath and stood, drawing it in a line across the man''s throat. A mist of blood sprayed into the air as Barza spun the de in a flourish. Barza turned towards the crowd, bathed in a rain of blood.

    "I can do this," He muttered. "I... can do this!"

    A ninja approached from Barza''s left,nding a solid blow to the side of his face.

    It hurt.

    It really hurt.

    But it wasn''t enough to stop him. Barza stabbed the woman in the stomach, pulling the de out to the side, spilling her intestines onto his boots.

    Barza took the corpse''s sword, ring at the biggest ninja, "Hey, you big bastard... didn''t you know? I''m the Chosen One."

    The big manughed, but after Barza''s grisly disy, no oneughed along with him. The big man pulled down his ck mask and scowled in anger, thick veins bulging on his neck and forehead.

    "Ridiculous! You--" The man began to yell, but looked down at the two dead men and hesitated. "You''re just an Outsider... What can you possibly know about being the Chosen One?"

    The other ninjas were less convinced, "The Chosen One? Like in the stories?" "They say he''s capable of all of the sect''s hidden techniques!" "No way, I didn''t sign up for this!" "I heard he can talk to animals!" "H-he''s just one guy!"

    Barza lowered his center of gravity and closed his eyes. Smooth, yet fast. With power, but with grace. His des were a windmill of death and ughter. He opened his eyes, wide, taking in the breadth of his foes. He swung his swords with viciousness and speed, spinning his body with great power and great responsibility. "WHIIIIRLWIIINNNND ATTTAAAAACK!!!"

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    The nearby bush erupted in raucousughter. Dragan choked on his own saliva, coughing like an invalid,ughing and gasping for breath. Tears had collected at the corners of his eyes.

    "Ohhhh, wooooow. WhiirRLLwIiNnD aTTtaaAAack,"'' he groaned, snorting through his nose.

    "He just-- haha! He just spun in a circle like he was working at a whorehouse!"

    Dragan peeked again through the bush he was hiding behind.

    "Bwahaha!" He cackled, holding his palm to his face. "It WORKED! HOW?! How is it working?!?"

    He looked up again, but fell onto his back inughter, "BY THE GODS, HE KILLED ONE!! WHAAAAAT?!? GAHAHAHA!"

    ...

    Barza swallowed. He had spun so hard he vomited a little in his mouth. But the Chosen One doesn''t vomit onto his clothes. The Chosen One has self-respect.

    His ultimate move had taken care of the biggest ninja-- probably the leader. And he saw no less than three cuts on the remaining ninjas. Leaderless, the ninjas would probably run away in fear. He was doing pretty well.

    "Use the ck eggs!" The ninjas began shouting. "Right!" "I brought 20 of them!" "Yeah, we should have used them from the beginning."

    The remaining ninjas began reaching into their pouches, each removing several ck-painted eggs.

    Barza opened his guard, his swords pointed outward, "What''s a ck egg?"

    "Light him up!" One of the ninjasmanded.

    "No, wait!" Barza shouted, "Don''t light him up! Don''t--"

    Barza suffered a barrage of thrown weapons-- the painted eggshells struck him urately, sshing him with the concoction of muck inside each of them. The corrosive liquid burnt through his clothing and his skin hurt and itched, feeling unbearably cold yet swelteringly hot. Some of it got onto his face and eyes-- sharp, irritating bits and granules, far worse than sand.

    "Oh, crap! Oh! What are these?! Oh! OHH WHYYY! WHYYYYYYY?!! WRRRRYYYYYYYYYY!!!!"

    "Don''t stop throwing, we''ve almost got ''em!" "Pick up the eggs from the casualties, too!" "I''m sorry, Chosen One!!"

    "QUIT THROWING THOSE THINGS!!" Barza cried.

    ...

    Dragan continued to snicker, watching Barza sob while dancing under the onught of ninja weapons.

    "Ah, hah...?" He took a deep breath, "Now when should I help...?"

    Dragan sat cross-legged, watching patiently. He leaned forward, hopeful to see something interesting.

    Barza finally had enough. The Gear-Queer yelled with all of his might and... threw his sword.

    It wasn''t aimed at any one particr ninja-- he was trying to rub whatever liquid gunk was in his eyes, but it only made him scream in pain louder.

    It was just as well. Dragan held his hand out toward the spinning sword, his eyes aglow with mana.

    "Whirling Rend," He activated a Skill.

    The de curved sharply to the side, shing the throat of a nearby ninja. Dragan swiped his hand sideways, having the sword stab into another. With a turn of his hand, he decapitated one and gutted another.

    Hm.

    Dragan hopped out of the bush and dashed to one of the ninja''s bodies. He drew the woman''s sword and tossed it at thest remaining ninja.

    SHHWWSSH!

    The sword didn''t stick but managed to deliver a fatal neck wound, their blood spraying fantastically upward as they fell to their knees and died.

    Dragan shrugged. It was good enough.

    Dragan looked over to Barza. He was angrily spinning a single sword while crying tears of ck fluid and quite possibly blood.

    "Come at me! I''m the CHOSEN ONE! Your attacks mean NOTHING TO ME."

    He was blindly yelling at nearly the opposite direction of Dragan...

    Dragan shook his head and picked up a pack of the ck eggs from another fallen ninja. He sloshed around the liquid inside of one before grinning in amusement.

    ''Well, if you really want, I guess I don''t mind'' Dragan thought as he threw the first egg.

 Chapter 42 To Be Human

    ?Pale wiggled backward to sit up in his bed. His sheets were soaked with sweat and he wiped off his forehead with his pajama blouse sleeve, "I... I think I had a nightmare, Sir Tycon."

    "Go on," Tycon replied, his back still turned. He continued incessantly scratching quill to paper at his writing desk.

    "Something was... wrong... with Taree, Sir... And... and I told her to keep her eyes open... because I thought if she closed them, she''d die."

    ...Did Boss Tycon know Taree? Pale couldn''t remember. His mind was clouded. He wanted to go back to sleep... He couldn''t make sense of why, but something in the back of his mind told him that he shouldn''t.

    Pale shivered from a sudden chill and reached again for his nkets. A small furnace in a lonely corner dimly illuminated the room but provided not nearly enough heat.

    "Tsss!" Tycon scoffed. "Young man, that is absolutely false. Sleep slows a number of human functions while simultaneously increasing its potential for self-recovery. Sickness, a concussion, an injured limb... allowing an ill or injured patient to sleep isrgely beneficial to convalescence."

    "Oh... alright."

    Pale looked around the room, especially at the three other beds beside his. The white sheets covered the upants, including their heads and faces. They lied eerily still, not making a sound.

    "Sir... may I ask a question?"

    "One moment, young man..."

    Pale waited patiently, the rhythmic scratching of the quill and asional dip into the inkwell proving a weefort. Pale waited for what felt like well over a full bell before the furious writing slowed and Boss Tycon allowed himself a contented sigh.

    "Thank you for waiting, young man. I''m rather pleased that you''ve learned to practice your patience."

    "Thank you, Sir." Pale couldn''t help but smile weakly as he stared at the bumps his wiggling feet made in the nket.

    "Your question, Bucket?"

    "Sir..."

    Tycon sighed in annoyance, scratching his pen in a long loop. "Out with it, young man. Hesitation does not suit a leader."

    Pale bit his upper lip and summoned his courage, "Sir... are you Human?"

    The movement of Tycon''s quill stopped abruptly.

    "Young man..." Tycon''s voice dropped in octave, "Why would you ask that?"

    "Well, Sir..." Pale gripped the top of his nket with both of his hands and stared at Tycon''s back. "I''m not quite sure you have a face."

    Tycon stood up, his wooden chair loudly scraping the floor. Turning around, a bone-white mask covered his face, allowing his golden eyes to glow through its slits.

    "Very good, young man. Always question, if not aloud, then in your mind... Can you do better? Can you reduce the risk? Is there an obvious w? ...These are the questions you... as a leader... must ask."

    Pale nodded. He shifted his legs, kneeling in the bed. He didn''t know when or how, but his spear had returned to his right hand, returning him a spark of bravery.

    "Now, young man, is there anything else before we continue?" Tycon asked, ever professional. "I''m certain you understand... for you to go on your way, I must show you what is underneath this mask."

    "No, Sir... no questions... But..."

    The mask-wearing Tycon tilted its head, "Yes?"

    Pale stood up on the bed, spear at the ready, "Sir, thank you for teaching me."

    Tycon nodded in approval, "Young man, remain vignt. The lesson has yet to finish."

    And so, Tycon removed his mask.

    ...

    She stood, draped in a white dress. // ck hair spilled from the mask.

    It dripped and smelled of stale water. //ck bile spilled from her lungs.

    She stood, taller than the ceiling. //The ceiling was gone, as if it had never been.

    And where it would, the stars shone.

    The stars were dying.

    Glossy white tendrils dropped down from the darkness, pale hands attached to long arms made of cold wax. They lifted the nkets off of the corpses.

    A woman screamed soundlessly... but she was already dead. She dropped off of the bed with a sopping thump and tore her nails upon the floorboards, trying to crawl away. The hands grabbed at her body, tearing off flesh in clumps like a loaf of bread.

    A man screamed soundlessly... but he was already dead. He raised his boneless arms, desperately screaming prayers to gods that refused to hear. The hands grabbed at his skin, which stretched and tore. Like hooks, their fingers pierced his flesh.

    The child stared soundlessly. He wanted onest moment... but he was already dead. His body writhed and shook, thrashing sharply from side to side while the hands split his torso from his legs, bathing the room in a steady stream of blood.

    The goddess stood. // In ¡ùHER¡ù left hand, ¡ùSHE¡ù holds a sword.

    Moonlight makes its de. // In ¡ùHER¡ù right hand, ¡ùSHE¡ùholds a girl.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ¡ùHER¡ù eyes are shut tight.

    ¡ùSHE¡ùsings a song so she cannot hear.

    She cries.

    Pale screamed for her to awaken.

    ¡ùSHE¡ùsings a song so she cannot hear.

    ...

    Tycon nced over his shoulder, seeing Tarquin Wroe approach.

    "Mister Wroe," he nodded.

    "Boss," Wroe gave a salute, cing a palm against his chest.

    Tycon pointed at a clearing 20 fulms away, free of trees, leaves, or nts, where three children had collected.

    Bucket was standing in abat stance, his dted pupils unfocused. A young silver-haired girl was sitting in a crouch, holding her knees, singing a song and... crying. The blonde kid was face-down in a pile of leaves with an arrow stuck in his back. Tycon would have been more concerned if not for the fact that he was snoring loudly and peacefully. Most curious in the group was Bucket''s hide-covered log that had somehow... grown a collection of knives.

    "This... I suppose this was your doing, Mister Wroe?" Tycon asked, unamused.

    Wroe offered a guilty smile, "Can I say no?"

    "Go back!" Tycon yelled, startling the blue-haired Daeva.

    "Okay, okay!" Wroe retreated to a healthy distance. "Boss, where am I going back to?"

    "Just-- scout the area or something!" Tycon scowled, "Or go up into the branches and wait!"

    Wroe escaped handily as Tycon turned to deal with the situation. He picked up a hard fruit, fallen from a nearby tree. It would cause a handy lump if it struck Bucket''s head... and hopefully free him from whatever mind-effects he was under. Tycon tossed it with a moderate amount of strength.

    KSST!

    Bucket''s spear shed through the thrown fruit. But the boy''s eyes didn''t change-- he was still dominated by the mind-effect.

    "Seven hells... What kind of reflexes does this boy have...?" Tycon asked aloud.

    Tycon picked up a second hard fruit, "Okay, different target. Eh... The girl."

    He cleared his throat, "As I throw this fruit at this young woman, with speed capable of dealing moderate-to-high physical harm, I cite the Equal Opportunity use of Guild Invictus: I, the contractor, shall not discriminate against employees or clients based on gender, species, religion, culture, national origin, or age."

    Tycon threw the fruit, "Hah!"

    KSST!

    Bucket''s spear reflexively shed through it.

    "Seven hells... Really?," Tycon groaned. "Bucket, if *anything* is thrown at me from here on out and you fail to protect me, I''m going to shoot you. In the back. With a crossbow."

    Tycon thought he saw Bucket visibly shiver but ignored it as an anomaly.

    He picked up another fruit, "The dumb-looking blonde kid, then! He''s probably babbling about something lewd."

    Tycon grew quiet to listen to the tall boy''s mumbling... "Now... lemme tell ya... ''bout noodlin'' fer catfish."

    The boy was talking about fishing for catfish. Tycon ced the hard fruit back onto the ground.

    "Fish are delicious," Tycon nodded in approval.

    Tycon crossed his arms in thought. He needed to break the spell that was clouding the children''s minds. He could have used more violent methods, but deemed it... inefficient.

    ? System, change setting: Set default skill search to minimum 90% Completion Rate. ?

    [Setting changeplete.]

    ? System, search with conditions: List:Skills. Target:Ally OR Allies. Type:Support. ?

    [System response: 6 results. Commander''s Strike; Desire Trigger; Jumping Knee Counter; Inspirational Surge; Lulu Defense Formation; Lulu Offense Formation.]

    Tycon scanned the list. His instincts were telling him that Desire Trigger was what he needed. But he was curious as to how Jumping Knee Counter was a support skill... He was also curious as to who the missing Invictus Member, Lulu, was and why she rated not one, but two differentbat formations.

    ? System, disy effects of Desire Trigger. ?

    [Desire Trigger: Support ability. Targeted ally ispelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target''s ability to resist detrimental effects.]

    Perfect.

 Chapter 43 Tarees Trust

    ?"Dad! Don''t go!" Pale yelled.

    Pale found himself standing in a cold forest of gold leaves and wild green moss. His hand was outstretched to no one. He wiped a tear that had slid down his cheek and sighed. He was no longer in that awful ce. He silently thanked both Boss Tycon and his father, in his heart.

    They had saved him.

    He took a deep breath, taking in the cool forest air, the herbaceous scents, and appreciating the crispy, golden leaves. The nightmare was over.

    Swiftly and without warning, Pale was struck in the side, tumbling to the ground. He held tightly onto his spear, but he was unable to escape or roll away. A bundle of orange robes and short silver hair had tackled him. Taree buried her face into his stomach and immediately began bawling her eyes out.

    "It''s you! Why did it have to be you who saved me!? I wanted the Chosen One! Why is it you?!" The girl was sobbing nonsensically.

    Pale gently stroked her head, reassuring her. "It''s okay. I''m here."

    As she looked up with her watery-eyed, snot-nosed face, he wiped a tear with his thumb and whispered, "Don''t cry."

    "I''m... I''m older than you." The girl sniffed, "You have to respect me!"

    Pale smiled silently in return. He continued stroking Taree''s head, observing his surroundings. On himself-- his armor was undamaged-- well the front of it, anyroad... and his forearms didn''t need bandaging. His back didn''t itch or sting. He turned to a snoring individual lying nearby. Tamaki was face-down (arrow-up), snoring peacefully. Beside Tamaki was his battle-buddy, his log. It was still covered in darts, giving it a wild and epic look.

    Darts... Pale looked around-- there was no sign of the cave they entered. But for some reason, deep in his heart, he knew Baketsu had died. He, Taree, and her brother had survived the nightmare. Baketsu and the other Muto warriors did not. Pale felt a deep sense of regret about their painful ends. He stared at his hand-- feeling like only moments prior, he had clenched his fists so hard his palms bled.

    "Taree," Pale said. "Let''s bandage your brother''s injuries."

    She wiped her eyes with her bright orange sleeves and nodded, "Mm!"

    ...

    Wroe and Tycon sat on a branch high above the forest floor. Wroe was again, maintaining a Shadow Veil with his concentration.

    "Boss?"

    "What is it?"

    "Haven''t we been hiding long enough?"

    Tycon rubbed the back of his neck, "I suppose... the lesson has yet to finish, Mister Wroe."

    Wroe tilted his head, rotating a bit too much, "Pretty nice thing you did, Boss, using a Healing Skill like you did."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "If the boy survived whatever spell you cast, he deserves a heal."

    "And the potion?"

    "Any Invictus member should always have at least one potion on him."

    Tycon averted his gaze. By sneaking a second potion into Bucket''s pack, he was effectively giving it to the Archer. The boy was the helpful-type and wouldn''t hesitate to offer his own rations to or spend his own hard-earned coin on someone else. Admittedly, it was a good personality to have in an adventuringpany. He''d never be short of friends, as long as he associated with people who would return his favors.

    It appeared to be a calctedly selfless reason, removing a casualty, and increasing thebat power of Bucket''s team. It wasn''t. Tycon liked the blonde kid.

    Fortunately, Wroe shrugged it off.

    Tycon breathed a sigh of relief,"Anyroad, Mister Wroe... I thought I''d told you not to cast any spells on Bucket."

    "Oh, I didn''t, Boss." Wroe smiled innocently.

    Tycon red in response, waiting for more information.

    "I didn''t! I had no idea they''d get caught between worlds!"

    Tycon red harder, his face a mix of shock and rage.

    Wroe raised one of his palms, trying to calm Tycon down, "Boss! It was just Thnis?!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon''s pupils shook and he clenched a fist in rage. Anger surged from within him at the mention of the spell.

    ? System! Inquiry! What is Thnis and why am I so angry?! ?

    [System response: Thnis is the ne of Fae, existing as an "Echo" of the Prime Material ne.]

    "You brought them to THE FAE WYLD?! You imbecile, featherbrained BUFFOON!!" Tycon was seething.

    Tycon didn''t remember much of names and rtionships, but he kept memories of creatures and ces. He knew of the Fae Wyld... Nothing there could be trusted, not the nts, not the elves, or pixies, or hags. Strange Laws governed the reality and the people therein. It was a world of madness and danger, rampant murder and cannibalism,wless savagery and ethereal beauty.

    A single name crossed his mind, connected to the Fae Wyld. Who they were, he did not know. It made him physically shudder in fear. It made him tremble in anger that Wroe''s foolishness could have provoked ¡ùHER¡ù.

    "Boss! Boss?" Wroe was smiling, but sweat dripped from his brow, "They were fine, though? Boss?? I''m... I''m maintaining the Shadow Veil? Please don''t hit me."

    Tycon raised both hands as if to strangle Wroe. But as his anger peaked, his emotions suddenly deted. He dropped his head, took a slow, deep breath, and gave a long, exaggerated sigh.

    He clenched his teeth, "Maintain the veil... Mister Wroe."

    Tycon kicked a leg over to straddle the branch andid back against the tree trunk to rest, "And from hereon, no opening convenient portals to dangerous realms on a whim."

    "A-aww," Wroe looked disappointed.

    "You brought this upon yourself," Tycon replied angrily, his eyes shut.

    ...

    Taree was incensed. She had thoroughly searched Pale''s bag before they had entered the nightmare, or so she thought... but when Pale checked again for more bandages, he found a second red vial.

    Pale told her not to worry about it, but she was feeling more and more useless as the day was going on. She was the genius of the Ivory Judge sect! She was determined to show Pale a face of power and might! Or reliability as someone who was older than him! ...Anything was better than the crying face she kept showing him.

    They woke up Tamaki, bandaged him, and had him drink the Outsider healing tonic. Introductions were short and simple, but her big brother kept asking Pale weird questions like ''So, what do you think of my sister?'' and ''So, are ya single?'' Besides that, Tamaki had managed to keep his bow slung over his shoulder and in one piece. Even though heined of a sore shoulder, he was as battle-ready as he could be.

    "But Mister Pale, why are we goin'' back?" Tamaki asked, scratching his blonde hair. "Aren''t we still bein'' chased?"

    Taree hadpletely forgotten. Her brother waspletely right. She looked over to the sandy-haired boy.

    Pale smiled and Taree and gave Tamaki a hopeful look, "Three of the four people chasing us are... gone. Let''s meet up with Lone, in case he needs our help... He''ll be doing the same for us."

    Taree felt strange about her situation. She was originally worried about having the Chosen Onee to their sect, but after Pale had been the one to pull her out of the Nightmare, she couldn''t look at him straight without fluttering butterflies swirling around in her stomach.

    "Aaaaah!" Taree yelled. BAM! Taree threw out a frustrated punch! She didn''t know what to think, anymore!

    Tamaki keeled over, holding his stomach, "Coach! It hurts!"

    Pale was stunned, kneeling down to help Tamaki up, "H-hey! Hang in there, Tamaki!"

    Taree''s face paled, "Oh no! Big brother!"

    "Coach, everything... Everythin''s goin'' dark." Tamaki muttered.

    With a rattling sigh, the blonde archer fell unconscious once more... Paleid him down with tender care, a tree root beneath his head as a pillow.

    He turned to Taree with a serious face, "It happened so fast... I didn''t see our attacker... and I never felt their presence. Taree... Stay behind me, so I can protect you from Yoshio."

    Taree hid her fists behind her back, feeling guilty, but secretly thrilled in her heart.

    "O-okay," she blushed as a me burned within her soul. "I''m not afraid! When I see that Yoshio, I''m gonna punch him so hard, he explodes!"

    "Is that so?" Yoshio asked as he stumbled out of the undergrowth.

 Chapter 44 Bestie Crystal

    ?Yoshio, the arrogant, dark-haired, young Warrior of the Muto family, had changed drastically sincest Pale saw him.

    He had somehow lost his white robes, and his naked chest was covered in dark bruises, strange scratch marks, and even a strange blue discoloration on his shoulder. His eyes were sunken, his face pale, as if he hadn''t eaten for bells and hadn''t slept for even longer. Most striking was his hair: it had been long, dark, and tied in a ponytail, but now was stark white and had fallen off in patches.

    Pale stepped forward, blocking Yoshio''s view of Taree, "You''ll pay for what you did to Tamaki."

    Yoshio shot back an angry re, slightly confused at the usation.

    Taree couldn''t help but look back at her fallen brother with a guilty conscience. She stepped forward, standing side by side with Pale. "No. I want to fight, too. This loser''s been annoying me since forever ago!"

    Yoshio angrily put a ck gauntlet to his chest, "What?! Annoying you?! I''ve been trying to be your boyfriend for like two years!"

    Taree frowned, "Um. Eww?"

    "We''ve ALWAYS trained together! For bells and bells! For suns and moons!?" Yoshio shouted.

    "Um. Yeah." Taree grimaced, "Because we''re in the same ss. I trained with everyone. I even trained with my brother!"

    "SLUT!!" Yoshio was livid, "And what about the high-rank Spirit Stone I gave you?! And when I asked if we could be together forever?!"

    "Oh! The Bestie Crystal!" Taree beamed, "I loved the Bestie Crystal!!"

    Pale pursed his lips as he saw a man''s heart break in real-time. The look of pain and depression on Yoshio''s face made him feel sorry for him...

    "Should... should I leave?" He asked.

    Taree grabbed onto Pale''s arm, "Don''t listen to this loser, Warrior Pale!"

    Yoshio growled, finding a target he could take his anger out on, "You! WARRIOR Pale?! If it weren''t for YOU, I wouldn''t have... They wouldn''t..."

    Yoshio began shivering, tears of blood streaming down his eyes, his pupils shook as if he was remembering something... something horrible.

    Pale shook Taree''s arm off and started to approach, "Hey... are you okay?"

    "Shut up! Get away from me!" Yoshio snapped.

    Yoshio began to yell, pulling a green-inked paper talisman from his pouch, "I''ll get rid of you, soon enough! But I''ll be bringing the girl back to the sect WITH ME!"

    He threw the talisman and it sparked violently with mana, speeding towards Pale as its target.

    Pale tightened the grip on his spear. He wasn''t sure if he could deflect it, but he''d have to try.

    BAM!

    Caught off guard, Pale was knocked aside. Taree had swiftly kicked him away before he could react.

    Pale controlled his tumbling, rolling to his feet. He couldn''t follow Taree''s movement... She was so fast!

    He rushed back to her... but the vibrant, orange-robed Taree was entirely encased in a prison of solid green crystal.

    "How do you like that!?" Yoshio taunted. "The Talisman''s ink is made from Starmetal powder. The prison it makes it impossible to break by strength alone! Only the Muto family can dispel it! DESPAIR, OUTSIDER! Prepare to DIE! Hopeless and ALONE!!"

    Pale stared into the crystal. She was sealed with herst expression, frozen onto her face and her eyes gazed into his, full of confidence.

    He turned to Yoshio, "No, Taree did this because she knows I can win against you."

    ...

    Yoshio gawked with an open mouth, enraged. "What? That girl is the princess of the Kimura family! The most gifted Martialist in her generation! That girl trusts NO ONE but HERSELF!"

    Yoshio suddenly keeled forward as was struck in the stomach. Looking down, he found that Pale had smashed his spearpoint into his stomach-- shattering its de against Yoshio''s Stone Body skin.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Yoshio grabbed the spear, "You fool! I have mastered the Stone--"

    Not caring to listen, Pale spun in a circle and kicked the end of his spear, driving the deless metal rod again into Yoshio''s stomach. Receiving the powerful impact, Yoshio couldn''t help but spit and cough blood onto the forest floor. He received an internal injury so easily?

    Yoshio''s heart sunk. His... beloved Stone Body art... was useless against him?

    "She trusts me," Pale dered, snatching back his spear from Yoshio''s grasp.

    ...

    Yoshio was continually battered and bruised by the Outsider, Pale. He was like an unending waterfall, attacking urately, never losing speed, never losing control. Yoshio would punch and kick or block the neverending torrent of attacks, but the Outsider would find a way. Each strike at his arms and legs chipped away at his stamina. Every time he was struck in the head, his dizziness wouldst longer.

    Blocking the metal rod''s strikes quickly began to ake. Soon, moving his muscles started to hurt. And then, pain wracked his body as Yoshio gasped for breath. As he reached the end of his endurance, he couldn''t remember what it was like to live in a world free of suffering.

    He could no longer look into Pale''s eyes. The Outsider''s intent was singr. To defeat him. To crush him. To turn his bones to powder, caught between the hard rocks and his metal staff.

    Yoshio cursed inwardly... What kind of power had he offended?

    ...

    "WHIRLWIIINND ATTTAAAAACK!!"

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, leaped out of a bush. Spinning in a 720-degree circle, he smashed a sword into the back of Yoshio''s neck.

    Yoshio crumpled to the ground like a sack of rocks.

    "Eh?" Lone looked down at Yoshio, then at his unbloodied sword. "Howe I didn''t cut him?"

    Pale nearly copsed, holding himself up with his spear, "Lone... you came."

    Lone rushed over, grabbing Pale and gently lowering him to the ground. Pale had overexerted himself, his heart was pounding like the hooves at a horse race. "Pale! Pale, what happened?!"

    "I won." Pale gasped deeply for breath, but he was smiling. "You?"

    Lone grinned, his eyes still a mess of ck ink (and probably blood), "Yeah! Of course, I did. I''m the Chosen One."

    "I just need... to rest... a bit," Pale said, beginning to close his eyes.

    "No! Pale! Don''t close your eyes!"

    Pale frowned, his eyes shut hard, "No, sleep is good for healing. Boss said so."

    ...Lone couldn''t argue with the words of Boss. He shrugged, then ced Pale and... the unconscious Tamaki next to the green crystal prison containing Taree.

    Wait, green crystal prison?

    "Huh? That''s weird."

    Lone decided to ignore it.

    He walked over to Yoshio, the bastard responsible for all of the ninjas. He was bruised and had cuts all over and his hair had turned white. Also weird. Lone raised his single sword, pointed downward at Yoshio''s neck. Even if Yoshio had trained that weird Stone Body art, a fully powered stab with all of his weight on an unconscious person should do the trick.

    "HALT, OUTSIDER!"

    An unexpected shout surprised Lone, nearly causing him to drop his sword. Swiveling around, he found the voice''s owner. It was a man with slicked-back ck hair gliding down from a tree branch, his green robes fluttering in the wind.

    The man put his chin up arrogantly, "Stay away from him, trash."

 Chapter 45 Sword Saint

    ?Who in the seven hells was this arrogant prick? How dare he glide down gracefully like some sort of green dress-wearing pigeon.

    "Trash?!" Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdarkughed, "Aha haha! Don''t you know who I am?!"

    He flourished his sword, stomping on the fallen Yoshio''s stomach, "I''m the Chosen One! The one from your stories and legends!"

    Lone pointed his de, "Capable of great feats of strength! Able to use all of the forgotten skills of your Anxiety Jump Snek!"

    He again pointed his de down, poised to pierce it through Yoshio''s neck, "Now, unless you know who I am and are willing to PISS me off, I suggest you--"

    Out of the corner of his eye, Lone saw the man holding a small piece of paper in his fingers.

    Weird. Lone didn''t like weird things. Every time he trained with Wroe, something weird would happen. Sometimes, he''d lose entire periods of memory-- or gain new ones, like when he''d suddenly remembered that he had a cat when he was eight that walked on the ceiling. And there was that one time when his shadow went missing, though it returned right before sundown.

    A strange piece of paper that had writing on it and glowed ominously? That was weird.

    The talisman burnt up in the man''s hands.

    Lone felt an incredible force strike him, sending his body crashing against a wizened tree... which cracked from the sudden force and copsed... onto him. A rain of golden leaves mocked him as he coughed up blood.

    Lone grimaced in pain. He knew it had been too easy. Something HAD to go wrong. And this guy had tricked him with how WEAK he looked!

    "I am Muto Hisato," the man coldly stated.

    He walked forward arrogantly, hands hidden in his sleeves, "Yoshio is my dear friend... We lost our virginities together in Aviard. For daring to harm him, I will--"

    "Wait, wait, hold on." Lone escaped the remains of the copsed tree. He thrust his palms forward with an usatory look on his face, "You two lost your virginities... together?"

    Hisato''s stony expression remained unchanged, "Yes."

    "Like... to each other?"

    Finally, Hisato''s eye twitched in anger, "No. We visited a brothel..."

    Hisato red... "For daring to harm my--"

    "What? Were you like in the same room?"

    "Yes?"

    Lone frowned, "There was... a girl involved, right?"

    Another paper talisman appeared in Hisato''s hands, "Die, Outsider."

    ...

    Lone dashed behind a sturdy tree, resulting in a loud explosion and splintering of wood from a talisman''s effects. He had hoped that Hisato would run out of his paper-things. He did not. He had many paper-things. He clenched his sword in his hand. He needed to get into close range. Then Hisato wouldn''t be able to use the paper-things so easily! Lone could do this! He was the Chosen One!

    He leaped to the side and sprinted towards Hisato! Calmly, the green-robed man held up a hand, freezing Lone in ce with magic. Gahhh! Lone''s sword mere ilms away from striking his target!

    With a st of energy, Lone flew backward, smashing him into a sapling and tumbling through the thorny undergrowth.

    ...

    Lone had grabbed Pale''s spear-- or what he thought was his spear. The spearhead was gone, but the metal rod and its leathery handgrips had remained. This would be the weapon he''d used to close the distance! He needed to get into close range! Then he could make that Hisato''s expression change to one of shock and pain at his inevitable defeat!

    He leaped to the side and sprinted! Calmly, the green-robed man held up a hand, but Lone rolled to the side. He spun and swung the metal rod at Hisato''s back! --but just as his swing was ilms away from reaching its target, he was sted upward by an unseen force, smashing him into several branches of a tree. He fell, but his fall was somewhat cushioned by green forest undergrowth... thorny... green forest undergrowth.

    ...

    Lone leaped to the side and sprinted towards the strange green crystal imprisoning Taree! That must be the source of his powers! Lone smashed his sword against it, which broke the de nearly in half!

    Lone looked at Hisato. Hisato looked at Lone.

    Lone looked down in shame.

    Hisato raised a hand,unching Lone back into the woods.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    Lone began throwing hard fruit at Hisato. None of them hit.

    ...

    Lone hid behind a sturdy tree, terrified by the loud, repeated magical explosions and shrapnel of wood from Hisato''s talismans.

    Tears ran hot down his face, "OH, COME ON! Let''s just fight!!"

    Surprisingly, the explosions stopped. Lone carefully peeked his head out from his hiding spot.

    Hisato had stopped throwing talismans and was standing in the clearing, crossing his arms and ring impatiently. Lone stepped out confidently, pointing his half-broken sword at Hisato.

    "So you''ve finally decided to face me, coward." Lone grinned.

    Even though he was at thest vestiges of his stamina, surely Hisato was too. It would be dangerous against a caster... and Lone''s weapon was more of a dagger than a sword, but he was certain he would have an advantage in closebat.

    "You are a worthy adversary and resilient," Hisato dered. "I challenge you to a duel of des, warrior. May I have your name?"

    A duel of des! Lone''s heart soared! "My name?! My name is Lone Shadowdark! The Chosen One!" He proimed, with pride. He pointed his broken sword menacingly at Hisato. "Remember it in your heart as the Warrior who defeated you!"

    "Hmph. Indeed." The expressionless man said. From his sleeves he pulled out a long, masterfully crafted two-handed saber. Weighted rings hung from the back of its single de.

    Lone suddenly felt like a joke. Hisato took a stance that looked like he knew what he was doing. A saber, modified for weight was not something used by a newbie swordsman. Lone''s confidence had taken a fatal hit and he found it difficult to swallow the lump of anxiety in his throat. "I''d like a different challenge, please, Sir Hisato."

    "Muto Hisato, Sword Saint of the Ivory Judge sect," The man coolly stated.

    Hisato disappeared from Lone''s sight.

    Lone raised his broken sword up, somehow managing to redirect the force of the ringed saber. His body shook from its weight, his insides rumbling with physical strain and a healthy dose of fear. The saber struck the ground and the earth to split apart in an impressive disy of power.

    Lone punched Hisato in the face with a big swing, staggering the man. Lone was simultaneously thrilled and terrified. His fists were effective! He had a chance! He just had to not get hit! A direct blow-- even a ncing blow from that ringed saber could cleave him in two!

    Rushing forward with impatience, Lone leaped up into the air and delivered a fast, downward punch at Hisato''s face. Lowering his body, he smashed a fist into the man''s stomach, and finally he drove the remainder of his sword into his side, above his ribs and below the shoulder!

    "GRAAAAH HAHAAAA!!" Lone yelled in violence and victory! Relief filling his heart!

    And as Hisato melted into shadowy mist, Lone felt his heart shatter into a thousand pieces.

    W-whhy? He.... he thought he''d wonnnn...

    The real Hisato stood behind him. Lone desperately turned to face him, but Hisato swung his sword. The de bit harshly into Lone''s side, striking a tree trunk. If it hadn''t, the heavy de would have cut into Lone''s spine. Barza grabbed onto the sword, not letting Hisato push it any further. Lone had a single thought remaining: Life was pain.

    "Give up, Warrior Lone." Hisatomanded, "You''ve lost."

    Lone was staring into Hisato''s ugly face, but his vision was beginning to darken and blur. A thin line of blood ran down Hisato''s mouth-- the death of the shadow doppelganger must have injured him somehow.

    A new thought had surfaced in Lone''s mind. And it was hrious.

    Lone began snickering, crescendoing intougher-- a madman''s violentughter, intermixed with blood-ridden dying coughs, sttering dark blood onto Hisato''s green robe, "IDIOT! You''ve fallen into my trap..."

    The green-robed Hisato narrowed his eyes... "You have sustained a fatal wound."

    "Fatal wound?? Hah!" Lone chuckled. He wished he didn''t. It kinda hurt.

    "...I can''t die, idiot." He smirked arrogantly, "I''m immortal."

    "Warrior Lone," Hisato said coolly. "There is no legend that states that the Chosen One is immortal."

    Lone grinned, blood covering his teeth, insanity in his eyes, "I haven''t been given permission."

    Hisato granted Lone a displeased grimace.

    Lone screamed, blood sttering onto Hisato''s face, "You''re. Just. TRAINING!"

 Chapter 46 Permission

    ?Barza Keith''s blood-filled scream startled Hisato, forcing him to step away, wiping his eyes. With all of his willpower, Barza pulled the sword out of his body, violently shaking it to unstick it from the wood. Blood poured down his side like an overflowing pot, but he didn''t care.

    "I! AM! IMMORTAL!!!" With a frenzied roar, Barza shed the heavy de at Hisato. A wide crimson line opened on his chest, bloodily staining the man''s green robes.

    Hisato regained his bnce and red angrily.

    CHNK! The sound of a crossbow resounded throughout the forest as Hisato retreated backward. "Who dares?!"

    Tycon emerged from the shadows as he approached the ruined man lying in a pool of his own blood.

    Barza looked up with tearful eyes at the green-haired youth. "Sir Tycon..."

    It was over. He did well. He would finally be praised. "May I have... your permission... to..."

    Barza''s consciousness was fading fast. He struggled to voice his final wish. He had only made it this far thanks to Tycon''s training. He desperately yearned for the cold-hearted man''s approval, to be granted permission to die. Only then would he be able to find peace in the afterlife.

    Tycon red down, his face contorted in disgust, "Permission denied."

    Tears flowed unceasingly down Barza''s eyes as he sobbed in pain. He had failed.

    Tycon shook his head, groaning, "Is this the best you can do?"

    [Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Activate. I''m feeling generous. ?

    [Activating.]

    Tycon unstopped his waterskin and began pouring its contents onto Barza''s open wounds, washing out blood and wooden debris.

    Barza sobbed in pain. "Whyyyy?"

    "Hygiene. Lowers risk of infection. I don''t know why you''re asking. This should not be new to you."

    Tycon observed Barza''s grievous wounds as they began to heal. With the wet blood washing away, the flesh visibly regenerated and the deep cut began to knit... He''d remain stable, but he wouldn''t bebat-ready for a few suns.

    "Who are you?! Answer me??" the green-robed man demanded. Tycon looked above the man''s head to see the transparent name, Hisato.

    Tycon sighed, searching for an answer, "I suppose... I''m a guardian of sorts. And these idiots are under my charge-- Oh, not the one in the crystal, though."

    Hisato nodded in understanding, "I have no quarrel with you, Expert."

    Tycon nodded, "Indeed. And neither I, with you." He picked up the ringed saber. Hm. Heavy. He tossed it back to the other fellow, who caught it with ease.

    Hisato gave a polite bow, his eyes remaining forward. "Regarding harming your man, I ask for the chance to exin."

    "That won''t be necessary. I do not intend to interfere. I am merely here to collect my men... And I''ll be taking the blonde kid, too."

    Why shouldn''t he?

    The young green-robed gentleman shifted his weight, obviously ufortable. He stared at Tycon like he was an anomaly... and referred to him as ''Expert.''

    What was he surprised by? That Tycon was far better at stealth than his goons? Or that he could heal a fatal wound without so much as an incantation, a focus, or magical gestures? Or the fact that his man, Lone, had requested permission to die?

    Tycon allowed amusement to reign in his heart, though didn''t allow it to show on his face. The fool must have been quite intimidated.

    "That is... very well." Hisato frowned, "House Muto only requires the girl."

    Tycon recovered Bucket''s broken spear and walked over to him, lying unconscious against the crystal, "And who gave you permission to rest?"

    [Inspirational Surge con--]

    ? Activaaate... ?

    [Activating.]

    Bucket stirred awake, catching the rod that Tycon tossed to him. "S-sir Tycon?"

    "Wake up, Bucket. We''re leaving."

    The boy shot up, ready. Tycon had already begun walking away. Bucket looked mournfully at the crystal, before calling back, "Sir!"

    Tycon stopped walking and waited. After a moment, he half-turned in annoyance, "Out with it, young man. Hesitation does not suit a leader."

    Bucket grinned like a fool. "Sir Tycon! Can you break open Taree''s prison?"

    Tycon turned to face the boy, "The girl?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Hisato spoke loudly from a distance, "Great Expert, it''s not possible, the crystal prison can only be dispelled by a formation guarded by the--"

    Tycon didn''t care to listen to the fellow''s exnations. It would be faster to ask his System.

    ? System, inquiry: About how hard is that green crystal? ?

    [System response: The crystalline substance is simr in hardness to mithril.]

    Tycon drew the sword on his back.

    [Shatterspike. Second-Circle Magical Longsword. Deals increased damage to weapons and objects.]

    Tycon stabbed into the crystal with ease, shattering the crystal prison, its shards dissipating into mana dust and blowing away. The normally expressionless Hisato dropped his jaw and stared in shock.

    The foolish-looking girl stared nkly at Bucket. "Warrior Pale? Why are you-- what''s going on?"

    Bucket turned to Tycon, his eyes full of confidence. "Sir Tycon! I want the guild to ept a contract!"

    Tycon felt an oing headache, "What is your intention, boy?"

    Bucket took hold of Taree''s hand, sending her into a furious blush. "Kimura Taree... My name is Pale, son of Quay, the greatest diator in the western continent, WARRIOR of Guild Invictus!!"

    Despite her redness, Taree managed to respond, "Invictus Pale! I, Kimura Taree, wish to contract Guild Invictus to House Kimura, to bepensated fairly and adequately."

    Bucket nodded, "Your enemies are mine."

    "A-and yours, mine."

    Tycon inwardly groaned

    What''s with this pink atmosphere? Was this a mercenary contract or a marriage?''

    "Sir Tycon," Bucket had approached Tycon, looking up.

    Tycon frowned, "Out with it, boy."

    Bucket gave a salute, his palm to his chest, "Will you support me as you supported my father?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, returning the salute.

    "You''ve denied me the opportunity to choose." He pointed, "That''s Hisato, right there. And you''ve just dered war on him."

    Bucket bowed, tears starting to form, "My father said you were the most honorable man in Invictus."

    Tycon lowered his voice, so only the boy could hear, "I won''t embarrass you in front of presentpany. But I *will* get you back for this, boy. Do you understand me?"

    Bucket grinned, wiping his tears, "Yes, Sir!"

    "No! Great Expert! What is the meaning of this?!" Hisato screamed in panicked rage.

    Tycon sat on Bucket''s log-- huh. It was morefortable than he assumed, "This young warrior and youngdy seem to be at odds with you. I intend to sit here and watch them... Do you have a problem with that?"

    "Great Expert!" Hisato still couldn''t believe what was going on, "You would take orders from a CHILD?!"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Child or not, the boy is part of our Guild Invictus. The contract is sound."

    Hisato pointed angrily, wincing in pain and gripping at his chest wound, "I will pay you! My whole family will buy you! The Muto family has ten times the amount of coin and resources as the Kimura family!"

    Tycon took a deep, disappointed breath, "I, too, would have preferred working with you, Mister Hisato. You seem to be a rational gentleman. But per the Adventurer''s Guild rules, Guilds cannot break an established contract outside of extraordinary circumstances."

    ? System, inquiry: Is what I said the truth? It sounded like it made sense. Not that it matters since this gentleman doesn''t seem familiar with how we operate. ?

    [Affirmative.]

    "This is MADNESS!" Hisato eximed, raising his ringed saber in abat stance.

    "No, this is business," Tycon replied without hesitation.

    Bucket smiled brilliantly at Taree, "You ready? We''ll attack him together!"

    Taree nodded excitedly, her short silver hair bobbing, "Yeah! Let''s kick his ass!"

    Tycon frowned.

    What a rude little girl.

 Chapter 47 Consecutive Attacks

    ?Kimura Taree smashed her tiny palm into Hisato''s chest, blood spraying everywhere from his already-open chest wound.

    "Dragon''s Tail!" She swept her leg viciously, taking Hisato''s footing from beneath him.

    Tycon appraised the girl''s every action. She was fast, but her strikes were mediocre-- theycked bite, killing potential.

    "Consecutive Stone Punches!" She rained down blows upon the fallen man.

    Tycon raised his eyebrows in silence. He''d give her a slight increase in score for viciousness.

    Hisato faded into shadow, reappearing nearby holding a green talisman. Bucket dropped down from a tree, forcing Hisato to turn and block the metal rod with his ringed saber. Bucket was able to use the block''s force to flip backward,nding solidly and sweeping his metal staff sideways and striking Hisato''s already weakened knee.

    The man yelped in pain and swung his de, but Bucket blocked it with his staff close to his body. As the boy was quite light he stumbled backward, eventually sliding in the dirt, his momentum only stopping near Tycon.

    Tycon red at the boy. Bucket grinned back as if nothing was wrong. This child was ridiculous-- he was performing far better than during training. Tycon nced at the girl again, Taree of House Kimura. It seemed the girl motivated the boy. A rivalry, perhaps?

    "Sir Tycon?" Bucket smiled innocently.

    "What is it, young man?" Tycon pursed his lips, "I''m still very cross with you."

    "But Sir? I''ve already epted my punishment?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes into yellow, glowing squints. The boy had been assigned punishment as atonement. Mistakes are to be remembered but forgiven. It was one of Tycon''s lessons to him.

    Well yed.

    "Very well. Speak your mind, young friend."

    "Could you lend me your sword?" The boy grinned shamelessly.

    Tycon''s annoyance turned to amusement as he traded Bucket the magical sword for the metal staff, "It''s called the Shatterspike."

    Bucket nodded a quick, "Thanks, Boss!" and dashed back to the fight, dragging the much-toorge longsword, Shatterspike, across the ground.

    Tycon''s eyebrow twitched at the boy''sck of care. It seemed he had perhaps been too quick to trade.

    Hisato screamed, his face a mess of bruises, "You whore! Hold still and DIE!"

    Taree was flipping left and right, masterfully disying her speed and agility in dodging Hisato''s magic, exploding talismans.

    "ck Talisman of the Abyss!" Hisato screamed, blood gurgling in his throat.

    He drew a talisman and dipped it in the blood on his chest. Throwing it, the mana in the talisman went berserk, sparking dark energies as a crackling roar reverberating throughout the forest.

    The girl was leaping forward in mid-air, unable to dodge.

    She performed a series of rapid hand seals, "Discipline!!"

    With her incantation, the dark, crackling talisman fell to the ground, inert. Tycon inwardly apuded the girl''s quick thinking.

    Taree managed to reach Hisato, but she was immediately rebuffed by a swing of his ringed saber.

    "Taree!" Bucket yelled, rushing up to her.

    He held the Shatterspike low with both hands, the tip touching the mossy ground. Tacitly, the girl hopped onto the de t and Bucket tossed her up, into the air, and over Hisato.

    Hisato raised his sword high, ready to crash down upon the young boy, "Outsider! I won''t let you die with an intact corpse! I''ll cut you into thirty-three pieces and feed you to the beasts!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. That was... awfully specific.

    Hisato mmed his oppressive ringed de down with all of his might, but Bucket was simultaneously swinging the Shatterspike upward. Hisatopleted his swing... but the man''s hope was extinguished seeing the majority of his dend a couple of yalms away, stabbing harmlessly into the dirt. The de capable of shattering Taree''s crystal prison could just as easily break Hisato''s sword.

    Taree grabbed the back of Hisato''s head from behind and drove her knee mercilessly into its base, "Risiiiiiing STORM!!"

    The resulting crack from the man''s head sounded like a peal of thunder had shattered it.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. Would the girl take Bucket''s victory? "Bucket, don''t just stand there."

    He snapped his fingers.

    [Commander''s Strike activated.]<novelnext></novelnext>

    Bucket had positioned his sword at the furthest he could rotate. Powerful mana thrumming from his small form, the boy swung the t of the de precisely towards Hisato''s temple, "Craaaashing THUNDERR!!"

    [Commander''s Strike has evolved into Crashing Thunder.]

    Another crack resounded throughout the clearing as the t side of the Shatterspike smashed against the side of Hisato''s head. The crack was even louder than with Taree''s strike and had sent the golden leaves near them to fly away outwardly in a burst.

    Tycon stood up in awe, sensing the mana fluctuations from Bucket as much stronger than the mana he''d provided,"What was that? What in the seven hells was that?!"

    [Crashing Thunder added to Skill list.]

    Tycon sucked in air through his teeth, knowing that Hisato had definitely suffered brain damage from the two consecutive head injuries.

    Hisato''s eyes rolled back, his knees struck the ground, hard, and then he copsed to his side, unconscious.

    "Yes!" Bucket rejoiced, "We did it!"

    The orange-robed girl, Taree, crossed her arms, "What do you mean ''we''? I was the one who took him out!"

    Bucket was thoroughly shocked, "What? Didn''t you see that hit? I hurt him more!"

    The girl was incensed, "Whatever! I hit him first!"

    Tycon sat down and allowed his mind to drift as he ignored the bickering of children.

    ? System, disy effects of Crashing Thunder, if you would... ?

    [Crashing Thunder. Support ability. Bucket ispelled to make an instantaneous bludgeoning strike against an enemy with increased uracy. Deals heavy damage and additional sonic damage. A modification of Commander''s Strike, only usable by Bucket.]

    ...What a ridiculous child. Tycon wondered if the boy was a prodigy, or if the boy''s Elven bloodline has prompted the change... The only way he''d be more surprised is if the boy had learned a Skill on his own.

    He observed the battlefield: Barza Keith, unconscious but stable; Blonde kid, Kimura Tamaki, unconscious; Muto Hisato, double traumatic brain injury; Yoshio...

    Tycon observed the white-haired youth. His System had disyed his aggression level with a transparent red tag: unapologetically hostile. How troublesome. The man had dragged himself to sit up against a tree, where he wasughing quietly to himself like a madman.

    The two children had approached him, and Taree had ced her hands on her hips, "What''s so funny, Yoshio?"

    The man with pale features and sunken eyes onlyughed harder, "You''ll pay! You''ll all pay! House Muto didn''t just send Master Hisato, after all! Haha! Hahahaha!"

    Tycon didn''t care for the fellow''s viinous spiel. Going behind the children''s backs, he began to loot the green-robed Young Master Hisato''s unconscious form.

    He found a magic ring. That was nice... But there seemed to be nothing else of value, save a few paper talismans.

    ? System, identify: I hope this is a spatial ring. ?

    Tycon recalled that Martialists liked those.

    [Ring of Holding: Opens into a nondimensional space of 10 cubic yalms and up to 250 ponze.]

    Convenient.

    ? System, inquiry: Does the Ring have any security measures? ?

    [System response: The Ring of Holding supports the following security features: Mana recognition, voice recognition, and verbal response. The ring is currently attuned to Muto Hisato. The ring''s security features must be reset in order to soul bind. Reset security? Y/N?]

    ? Most excellent. System, inquiry: Will I lose my items if I reset the ring''s security features? ?

    [System response: Affirmative. Contained items will be forcibly ejected upon resetting the ring''s security.]

    The inconvenience that brought him... was so infinitesimal that it baffled him. He''d wait until he was away from prying eyes before he dealt with that...

    ? Thank you, System. ?

    Bucket had returned, his face carrying a look of worry. Tycon covertly slipped his precious new ring right into his pocket. Wasn''t it odd, now? And yet, why not? Why shouldn''t he keep it?

    "Sir, we should leave," Bucket said, returning the Shatterspike, hilt first.

    Tycon took the sword and returned Bucket''s metal staff, "Of course. I''d very much like to travel to the Gann den so we can roast a decent meal."

    Bucket fidgeted anxiously, "Sir, there''s a problem. Mister Yoshio''s told us that some of House Muto''s sect elders have been sent to guard Master Hisato."

 Chapter 48 Two Old Ghosts

    ?Tycon looked down at the mediocre young, silver-haired Martialist, Kimura Taree. Her orange robes would have been impressive, had they not been savaged by thorns and whatever sword-damage her pursuers dealt. He prayed his interrogation would be fruitful, as they often did not.

    "Youngdy, I''d like a word with you, if convenient," Tycon requested.

    Taree tilted her head. The gesture could be considered cute.

    "Bumfuzzle!" She eximed.

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "I''m sorry, what?"

    Taree smiled, "You wanted a word! I gave you one!"

    Tycon gasped, suddenly troubled. He had been too harsh... "Oh, no. Oh, dear. I''m so very sorry..."

    He gently patted the young girl''s head, softening his voice, "You''re an idiot. I''d like to talk to someone else, please."

    Taree puffed up her cheeks and pped Tycon''s hand away, "Whad''ya want?!"

    Tycon frowned and rubbed his hand-- it stung, "Tell me more about House Muto''s elders."

    The girl stared up with wide, clueless eyes... then immediately ran off to wake the blonde boy.

    Tycon red at Bucket, but the boy began reassuring him, "Don''t worry, Sir! She''s not... always? Rude?"

    "Was that a statement or a question?" Tycon crossed his arms, discontent. The recently awakened blonde boy, Kimura Tamaki, was pushed in front of him... assumedly in order to better answer his inquiries.

    With a light sigh, Tycon smiled, "You''ve brought me someone else. You have my thanks, youngdy."

    Taree stuck out her tongue, making a childish, rude face at Tycon. He red once more at Bucket.

    Bucket stepped up to exin, "Miss Taree, Mister Tamaki, this is Sir Tycon. He''s something like... my Boss."

    "Oh," Tamaki gave a polite bow. "It''s a pleasure to meet''cha, Sir Tycon!"

    Tycon nodded his head in return, "Please, Guild Invictus is now contracted by House Kimura. We do not know your customs, but we invite you to treat us as you would any other loyal allies."

    ...

    Taree was shocked. She nudged Pale, "Warrior Pale, what do you mean this guy''s your Boss?!"

    The sandy-haired boy bared his teeth, unsure how to exin, "Um. Me and Lone are technically trainees. And Boss Tycon is the one in charge."

    Taree copsed onto her hands and knees in despair. In order to get closer to Warrior Pale, she had to get in the good graces of Sir Tycon. He thought she was an idiot! And she had pped his hand and made faces at him! His first impression of her could barely have been worse!

    "Oh, boy," Tamaki was excited. "That means I''m talkin'' to the Head Honcho."

    ...

    The blonde boy didn''t lower his voice, but Tycon didn''t mind. He liked the sound of Head Honcho.

    "Warrior Tamaki," Tycon asked, "Would you tell me of the Elders that Warrior Yoshio mentioned?"

    Tamaki shook his head, grimly, "Oh, boy, let me tell ya. There''s a bunch of elders, and they''re all pretty strong for a bunch of old guys. But two of ''em, more ''an anything are the best o'' the best... They call ''em Old Ghosts, ''cuz they''re so old, nobody knows how old they are!"

    Tycon rested upon Bucket''s leather-bound knife-log to listen. Bucket looked like he wanted to say something, but didn''t.

    Tamaki continued, "Now, Old Ghost Bakura, he''s a master of formations and dark curses! Enemies of House Muto would jus'' get sick and die! Or they''d turn impotent overnight! And they''d say it was all due to Old Ghost Bakura''s meddlin''!

    "Old Ghost Tetsudo, though, now he''s a mean old geezer. He disappeared after the Ivory Judge sect exiled him a huuuundred years ago, but he came back after his sentence was up-- He was known for being extra-ordinarily cruel inbat, able to crush a man''s bones into powder just by swingin'' his club!"

    Tycon nodded, "Thank you, Warrior Tamaki... My next question is... why do the two of you seem unconcerned?"

    Tamaki smiled, "Well, that''s the thing. The Old Ghosts don''t move for just about anybody. As long as that''s that, we''ve got nothin'' to--"

    Laughter erupted from behind them, and the group turned to see the battered,ughing form of Yoshio. "You fools!? Both Old Ghosts Bakura AND Tetsudo areing for your lives! They were notified as soon as Young Master Hisato left the sect! Don''t you see?!? You will all DIE! Painfully! Without whole corpses! The two Old Ghosts of House Muto will make CERTAIN OF IT!"

    Tycon nced over to the blonde young man, "Warrior Tamaki, can we kill that one?"

    Tamaki turned to Taree, "Whad''ya think, Coach?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Taree stood up in a sh and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in her tattered robes. Suddenly nervous, her voice dropped to a lower pitch, but she stumbled around her words, awkwardly, "Warrior Tycon, I feel that-- that Young Master Hisato is... too important to kill-- Oh! He''s the son of Elder Chudo-- but--"

    Tycon knelt down to pat the poor, stupid girl''s head, "It''s alright, little one. I understand."

    The silver-haired girl puffed up her cheeks indignantly.

    Tamaki raised an open palm, "Warrior Tycon, we should get goin''. We wouldn''t wanna be caught by those Old Ghosts."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Oh, it''s unfortunate, Warrior Tamaki. With the way you described those Old Ghosts-- we can''t leave."

    Without wasting words to exin, Tycon yelled out, "Mister Wroe! Mister Dragan!!"

    The two Kimura kids looked confused until Bucket exined that Sir Tycon was calling for theirpanions.

    Tarquin Wroe was the first to arrive, stepping out of the shadows like a young, ethereal spirit. He saluted with a palm to his chest, "Boss."

    Tycon returned the salute, "Mister Wroe. I sent you to look for any potential threats. Have you found any?"

    The tall, blue-haired man tilted his head, a bit too much, "Oho? I did find one. He wished to see Her glory. I showed him the barest of Her shadow."

    "Old guy?" Tycon asked.

    "Old guy," Wroe confirmed.

    "Anything left of the body?"

    Wroe nodded, smilingly, "Bits and pieces. Here and there."

    Hm. That effectively meant ''no.''

    "Mister Dragan!" Tycon shouted.

    As if to answer, a severed forearm fell from a tree,nding beside Yoshio. The white-haired boy screamed, scrambling away from it. Then a severed hand beaned Yoshio in the head.

    Bucket swung his metal staff, deflecting... what appeared to be a man''s... severed genitalia.

    Dragan, the red-headed half-giant leaped down from the treetops,nding powerfully onto one of Yoshio''s legs, making the boy emit a shrill, bloodcurdling scream. The impact was easily enough to turn the white-haired boy''s bones into powder.

    Dragan looked down and feigned surprise, "Oh no, your leg! My bad!"

    He looked around in shock. Smiling in embarrassment, he ced a severed leg (that he somehow conveniently had) into Yoshio''s arms, tapping him lightly on the cheek, "Here, man, have another one. The other guy doesn''t need it anymore."

    Dragan began walking back to Tycon andpany, ignoring Yoshio''s anguished moans of agony, all whileughing loudly at his ownedy. He rendered an informal salute to Tycon.

    Tycon returned the salute, "Report, if you would, Mister Dragan."

    "Ehh, some old guy attacked me," The Titanblood shrugged.

    "And the results, Mister Dragan?"

    "He kept talking about crushing my bones to dust, so I cut off all his limbs," Dragan hefted his ck-metal greataxe for emphasis.

    "Ironic."

    "I know, right?"

    "Very good. Well done, Mister Wroe. Mister Dragan. Young Bucket has gained us a contract for a wealthy family and all of our enemies have been soundly defeated. For today''s victory, I propose we consume some of our alcohol rations."

    Wroe, Dragan, and even Bucket cheered in excitement.

    ...

    Tamaki grinned and elbowed his sister, "Pretty good deal we got, eh, Coach?"

    Taree was still in shock that the two trump cards of the Muto family had been taken care of so easily. Could... All of the Ivory Judge sect''s problems be solved by Guild Invictus?

 Chapter 49 That Smile

    ?Wroe was sent to retrieve the supply cart and horses and to meet up at the Gann den.

    Mister Dragan volunteered to wake up Barza, who had done so by throwing a strange, ck, egg-shaped device at him. Tycon used a green talisman on Hisato, entrapping him within a heavy green solid-crystal prison, which Dragan carried on his back.

    Yoshio was tied in rope and Bucket was ordered to drag the man to the Gann den. Tycon was quite pleased with his impromptu, if unnecessarily cruel, training idea. The boy needed to do more agility training. Under Tycon''s sharpened gaze, Bucket had no choice and could only agree.

    Tycon suggested that Barza alternate turns with Bucket. The young swordsman, however, moaned in pain and cried the entire way to the Gann den.

    Tycon allowed it. The young man had been critically injured during the fight with Hisato and could do with some rest... Though the crying and rubbing of the eyes was... an abnormal coping mechanism, Tycon epted that some people dealt with stress differently than others.

    ...

    Anxiety filled Taree''s heart. She had been through so much in just a single sun. She wanted to cry, toin, to tell Pale and everyone else the worries that had been guing her Kimura family, but Warrior Tycon had refused to talk about serious issues until after dinner.

    In order to keep her sanity, she excused herself and practiced her Martialist punching routine in a clearing near the camp, cutting through the air with her ki-infused kicks and punches.

    Tamaki had walked away from the camp, himself, and approached her with a wary look on his face, "Hey, Coach. Can I talk to ya for a sec?"

    Taree breathed deeply, catching her breath, "What''s up, big brother?"

    "There''s... somethin'' off about that Tycon," Tamaki said hesitantly. "He seems like an alright fe. But I''m not sure if I trust him."

    Taree frowned. She didn''t know what to think. Sir Tycon was Warrior Pale''s and the Chosen One''s superior. He couldmand the giant man-beast that was Dragan, and the strangely handsome blue-haired boy, Wroe. But most of all, everyone in Guild Invictus seemed to trust him implicitly.

    Tycon had agreed with Pale''s idea of being contracted to help House Kimura, without issue. Even if the Outsiders had ulterior motives, Guild Invictus was the best chance that the Ivory Judge sect had in surviving their cmity.

    And regardless of whether or not she could trust Tycon or Guild Invictus, she clearly witnessed the absolute respect that Warrior Pale gave when he spoke to Tycon. She refused to believe that such a pure-hearted person could trust someone of lesser character.

    She shook her head, "I''m not sure about Sir Tycon... But I think we have to put our faith in Pale and Guild Invictus if we want to save our sect."

    Tamaki crossed his arms obstinately, "There''s somethin'' about his eyes, Coach! They''re ye, like a snake''s! He''s real polite, and all-- but I can''t trust him, no, sir!"

    ...

    Tamaki stuffed his face with the roasted Gann meat, covered in vorful herbs, charred beautifully, and bursting with vor.

    "Warrior Tycon," Tamaki said, tears at the corner of his eyes, "I trust you with my life!"

    While he was slicing and serving the meat, Tycon had exined the butchering and cooking process. The deliciousness of the meal made it seem like magic was involved, but hearing all of the steps and delicate care that Tycon involved in the cooking process made Taree''s head spin.

    Tycon smirked, "Warrior Tamaki, the highest praise for a cook is not given with words, but by finishing their te."

    Everyone around the fire cheered, toasting wooden cups together and cheering on Tamaki as the blonde boy rapidly consumed roasted meat, stewed root vegetables, and fruit preservatives.

    Taree stared with a straight face at her brother''s unforeseen but inevitable betrayal. He looked at Tycon like all of Guild Invictus did. Even the Chosen One was drunk and getting his wooden cup refilled by the giant man, Dragan. They allughed together, talking about nonsense.

    She curled her body up, wrapping her arms around her legs as she stared at the fire. She felt anxious about the future. And she felt alone.

    She turned to the sound of Pale cing his knife-log beside her. Taking a seat, the boy offered her a cup.

    "Oh, n-no. I''m not allowed to drink that," Taree blushed and turned away, looking directly opposite of Pale.

    "I asked Sir Tycon to pour it. It''s mixed, so it''s probably fine. Come on," Pale urged gently.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon again. Taree was growing tired of hearing his name.

    Taree nced over to the main group, trying to find her brother for an excuse. She watched as Tycon leaped into the air and drop-kicked the blue-haired Wroe while her brother cheered them on.

    Tamaki wouldn''t be able to help her now.

    Hesitantly, Taree epted the drink, but was surprised at the heat radiating from the cup, "It''s warm?"

    "Try it!" Pale smiled.

    Taree blushed furiously.

    ''It''s that smile,'' she thought. ''That darned smile...''

    She sipped the drink lightly... tasting mellow sweetness, fruit vors, and even a bit of spice. A gentle warmth spread throughout her body, not unpleasant, coursing through her chest, arms, and even tingling her fingers. It was the most wondrous drink she''d ever tried.

    "Huh? What''s wrong, Taree? You''re turning red?" Pale asked worriedly.

    Taree sipped the drink that Sir Tycon made and that Warrior Pale gave her... and she shifted her body away, so the fire wouldn''t show how much she was blushing, "Y-yeah, it must be the wine."

    ...

    The morning sun shined on Taree''s face, rudely awakening her. She red at the shining light, breaking through a canopy of trees and branches. She snuggled into her warm nket, wanting only a few moments more of calm, or contentedness. She smelled the soft, gentle scent of it. Pale.

    She shot awake, throwing off the nket. Pale must have ced it on her after she''d fallen asleep the previous night. Her face was burning so hot, she was afraid her eyes would melt.

    Did she smell like him? She wanted to smell like this forever! ...But that would be gross. But she would do anything for a hot bath... What was she supposed to do?

    ...After a short while, she stepped outside of the Gann cave and jogged towards the sound of yelling and the cracking of rocks.

    ...

    "Dodge," Tyconmanded.

    The green-haired guild leader swept the halberd at the boy''s legs. The boy with pointed ears hopped back, lifting his front leg to dodge a swing that should have been capable of breaking or severing his leg.

    "Yah!!" Pale stabbed his metal rod forward with speed and precision. Taree''s eyes widened as she saw Tycon deftly slip his head between Pale''s pokes. One of Pale''s strikes managed to strike Tycon in the abdomen.

    Tycon winced and slightly curled his body but spun the heavy halberd at Pale''s head, "Dodge!"

    Pale tilted his head and lowered his stance to dodge the swing, but in doing so, his eyes caught sight of Taree and he turned his head.

    "DODGE!" Tycon yelled as he smashed the halberd downward in a vertical smash. Distracted, Pale raised his metal rod, catching the halberd.

    Taree breathed a sigh of relief-- she would feel terrible if she distracted her friend and got him hurt.

    Tycon smashed the bottom of his halberd against the underside Pale''s staff. The staff flew up into the air as Tycon drove the base of his weapon''s haft into Pale''s gut. Pale copsed onto the ground, just as Tycon began bringing down his halberd de onto the boy''s head.

    Why were they fighting?! She had to stop them! Pale was going to be killed! Taree began running, fear gripping her heart! --But she wouldn''t make it in time!

 Chapter 50 Pale! I Choose You!

    ?Tycon swung the halberd down with both hands, powerfully plummeting towards the grounded Pale. He buried the de a half-fulm away from Pale''s head, cracking the earth and erupting a cloud of dust and shower of pebbles.

    Tycon leaned over, yelling in Pale''s face, "Why. Didn''t. You. DODGE?!"

    The sandy-haired boy held his stomach and gave a sheepish smile in response, "I finally, finally hit you, Sir!"

    Tycon pursed his lips to the side, hesitating... "Is that what you''re so proud of?"

    He unstuck his halberd from the ground, "Tss... A slight improvement-- Very. Slight."

    Though Tycon''s tone was admonishing, Pale grinned as if it was the best thing he''d ever heard. Taree''s heart thumped in annoyance.

    Pale waved to Taree excitedly. Taree''s heart had healed. She waved back.

    Tycon followed his gaze, ncing at her, "Bucket, think about the lesson today."

    Pale nodded, "It''s better to dodge heavy attacks than to block them, so I won''t get tired as fast."

    Tycon scowled, "Think about it *quietly.*"

    Pale grinned and gave him a salute and a ''yes sir'' before grabbing his staff and running towards Taree. She nced at Pale''s metal staff and felt a pang of guilt. She''d heard he broke his spear in the fight against Yoshio.

    "Warrior Pale... your spear?" Taree asked softly.

    Shemented not being able to help-- but she was trapped by a magical talisman at the time.

    Pale smiled so wide, his eyes squinted, "Sir Tycon didn''t seem to notice, so don''t worry about it!"

    Taree huffed, crossing her arms and looking at the ground. Why did he always talk about Tycon? She was standing right in front of him!

    Pale lowered his body, looking up cutely at Taree to meet her gaze, "Don''t worry, Taree. It''s just a broken weapon. I''m just happy you''re safe."

    Tycon had approached the two, his halberd resting on his shoulder, "You must think I''m quite the fool to not notice a *broken* spear, young man."

    He pushed Pale''s head with his hand, causing Pale to sway his body awkwardly. Pale grinned and stuck out his tongue.

    Taree was stuck between being annoyed at Tycon for his arrogant actions and protective of Pale because he was being bullied.

    Tycon patted her on the head, "Good morning, youngdy."

    "G-good morning," She resisted the urge to p the man''s hand away like she did the other night... not that she found the feeling unpleasant.

    "Miss Taree, I''d like to ask you to fetch your brother to the campsite. Bucket, get everyone else."

    Before Taree could respond with high-level sarcasm, Pale yelled a, "Right away, Sir!" before grabbing her hand and dashing off.

    Taree stewed in silence, staring at Pale''s hand as they ran. That hand was the reason she knew everything would work out, somehow.

    ...

    Breakfast wasprised of strips of crisp, fatty Gann belly; freshly caught river fish, fried in the Gann fat with a little bit of flour and toasted salt; and a handful of fresh berries. Tamaki had been instrumental in the meal''s sess, catching a majority of the fish, and supervising the berry collection.

    However, Taree''s jealousy rose to a new high.

    In her conversations with Guild Invictus'' members, she was referred to as Taree, Miss Taree, and Young Lady (only Tycon called her thatst one.)

    In contrast, her brother was either called Warrior Tamaki (by Pale) or Young Master (by... literally everyone else.)

    It was the first and only time she could ever remember when her older brother was more... popr than she was. She was always faster, better, stronger than anyone else in her generation. Everyone her age wanted to be her friend. Parents would tell their children to be like her. Older folks would praise her with honesty and say that the gods have smiled upon the sect.

    When she surpassed her brother in strength, he was so proud of her-- always bragging about how great his sister was, even when others tried to shame him. Tamaki never cared what they said, that his younger sister was stronger than him, that he was less of a man for it. Tamaki even started calling her Coach, since he learned more easily about cultivation from her than any of the elders.<novelnext></novelnext>

    And what ''Young Master''? She was his sister! She was a Young Master, too!

    She knew she shouldn''t be jealous of her brother; he was nothing but kind to her. But that didn''t mean it didn''t hurt.

    ...The fried catfish was the best she''d ever had in her life, though.

    ...

    After the meal, the group collected, sitting around a circle. Taree was very impressed by the size and massive muscles of the giant red-headed man, Dragan. She hoped that if she kept training, she''d be that big, someday. She remembered that the first time she saw the tall, blue-haired boy, Wroe, she had trouble discerning that he was a boy. He was so pretty!

    The Chosen One was... He came to breakfast, being carried in by Dragan, his face covered in swelling and bruises. But underneath all that, he was pretty hot, too.

    ...If Tycon had a better personality and didn''t have such weird yellow eyes, he''d be passable as a servant.

    She was d to see that Pale-- or Bucket, they called him, had good rtionships with all of them. Perhaps he was the glue that kept them all together!

    The entirety of Guild Invictus was made up of hot guys! Even Horse and Jeremy were very handsome animals!

    When she brought them back to the Ivory Judge sect, she would need to protect Pale from all the female cultivators! With his stunning eyes, his soft, beautiful hair, and high slightly-pointed ears, he was the exotic husband that all of the females in her generation would immediately get their fathers to arrange a marriage for! He was almost at that age, after all!

    Tycon cleared his throat, gathering everyone''s attention, "Miss Taree, now that your pursuers have been defeated, we should send you home."

    Taree looked around in confusion. Why was Warrior Tycon talking directly to her? Normally, he''d discuss ns with her brother before her?

    Though Taree was the most celebrated warrior in her generation, she was a bit uneasy, being stared at so intently by the members of Guild Invictus, "Oh, yes, Warrior Tycon. My brother is an excellent tracker and scout. He would be able to return to the Ivory Judge sect without getting caught and send word to our parents."

    Tycon shared a few concerned gazes with the other boys, before turning again to her, "Your parents must be very worried about you."

    "W-well, yeah. They should be worried about both of us!" Taree yelped. She didn''t like where this conversation was going.

    Tycon rubbed his head in embarrassment, "Youngdy, we''ve decided that based on your status, it would be best to send you back, first. You would be better than your brother in convincing your family of the worth of Guild Invictus."

    "But-- but..." She was being sent away? It was so unfair!

    "From what I understand, your brother is not well-respected in your sect?"

    "That''s not true!" Taree shouted. She looked around in a panic, trying to find someone who could back her words... Someone who could tell the green-haired man he was wrong.

    Pale grabbed onto her hand, frowning. She began to calm down, quietly.

    Tycon nced at the gesture and nodded in understanding, "I ask that you return first. I will assign a guard to apany you. You may choose from--"

    "I CHOOSE PALE!" She shouted, her hands balled up into tiny fists.

    The red-headed giant began snickering, but Taree ignored him.

    Pale somehow looked shocked, looking to Taree and pointing at himself in confusion.

    ''This is your fault that I''m like this!'' she yelled in her mind.

    Tycon stood up, prompting everyone in the circle to stand with him.

    "Very well. Pale, you are to guard the youngdy to the best of your ability."

    Pale rendered a salute, cing a palm to his chest, "I will guard Taree with my life!"

    His words made Taree''s heart thump painfully in her chest.

 Chapter 51 A Weapon

    ?**Content Warning: Explicit Torture**

    Yoshio was in a miserable state. He was beaten and battered by Bucket and Barza. His leg was shattered by Dragan. And then Bucket had dragged him for a half-a-bell through the thorny undergrowth of the Mosswood Wilds.

    His hair was stark white and patches of it were missing. His body was covered in bruises from blunt weapon trauma. His face was swollen and he was missing several teeth. His skin was raw or torn away from being dragged. Also, a strange blue discoloration had covered his entire shoulder and parts of his arm and chest. Had he not practiced his body-hardening art, he would have died a hundred times over.

    Tycon was impressed, but not surprised at the young man''s resilience.

    Dragan whistled, "A tough guy! Too bad about his leg, though."

    Tycon, Dragan, and the Young Master, Kimura Tamaki stood around Yoshio.

    "Young Master?" Tycon asked respectfully, "We''ll keep Young Master Hisato healthy and hale, as you''d advised... but for this one?"

    Tamaki nodded jovially, "Yessiree! It don''t matter none, what happens to him."

    "Want me to happen to him, Boss?" Dragan stepped forward.

    "Let''s see what he has to say," Tycon picked up his halberd and ced it at rest. "Wake him."

    Draganughed. He unstopped his waterskin and poured its contents onto Yoshio''s face, coughing and choking the white-haired boy awake. Immediately, the young man began to scream in spurts, gasping for air in between.

    "--You! ...Who do you think-- you are, Outsiders?!! ...Servants-- to the Kimura family''s WHORE?!! ...How dare you do this to me!"

    A string of rapid cursing, flowed from Yoshio''s mouth while Tycon watched on with an impassive face.

    "Release me this instant, you cowardly PEASANT!! I!! Demand!! To be rel--"

    Tycon swung the halberd de down onto Yoshio''s shoulder, the crack of bone resounding throughout the forest, followed shortly after by Yoshio''s piteous screaming.

    Tycon frowned, unsticking and lifting up the halberd from the man''s fresh wound. He had seeded in cutting into his flesh and fracturing the man''s shoulder.

    Tycon turned back, "Mister Dragan, this isn''t as easy as it looks. Is there some sort of trick to it?"

    Cracking his knuckles, Dragan walked over with a smile, "Lemme show ya."

    ...

    Taree and Bucket had gone ahead to the Ivory Judge sect to report their arrival. Wroe and Barza were in charge of upkeep: washing the tes, feeding the horses, checking the supplies.

    Tycon, Dragan, and Young Master Tamaki were responsible for releasing Young Master Hisato.

    But first, Tycon was being taught how to sever a limb.

    Dragan nodded, "Yeah, man! You''re swinging it all wrong!"

    Dragan and Tycon began to bicker while Yoshio moaned and cried in pain, "Please! Mercy, Young Master!! Merrrrcyyyyy!!"

    Tamaki sat on a tree stump, looking pleased, "Y''hear that, Warrior Tycon, Warrior Dragan? Music to my ears."

    Dragan drove the halberd through Yoshio''s shin, severing the man''s legpletely. Yoshio had screamed himself hoarse, his voice shrill and embarrassing.

    "And that''s how ya do it, Boss!" Dragan eximed.

    Tycon scowled, snatching the halberd back. He corrected his body posture as Dragan instructed. It would be his fourth swing.

    He brought the halberd down, cutting deeply into Yoshio''s bone, further up Yoshio''s leg. The screaming abruptly stopped, the man going into shock. He shivered and shook, frothing at the mouth.

    ? Dragan elbowed the green-haired youth, "See, Boss? You cut much deeper that time!"

    Tycon tried to keep a straight-face to hide his embarrassment, "Tss... I yield to your counsel, Mister Dragan."

    He rubbed a heavy boot against Yoshio''s cheek, "Is that the best you can do?"

    [Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Oh, yes. Please do. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    [Activating.]

    Yoshio''s eyes regained their rity. His wounds began to visibly knit together, stopping the bleeding. His severed leg and arm didn''t re-attach-- Tycon would have done so, if he could.

    "You''re... you''re a demon," Yoshio cried in sobs of pain. "If you have any honor, let me--"

    "Which is it? A demon or a... peasant?" To emphasize, Tycon twisted the halberd, its de stuck halfway through his thighbone.

    Blood spurted out as he further wrenched the hafted de, tearing the young boy''s flesh open. Yoshio''s entire existence was awash in pain. As his vocal cords were also freshly healed, he yelled with even more force and fervor.

    Draganughed, holding his stomach. His eyes were red and he was wiping away tears, "Boss! Boss, haha... you''re such a petty bastard!"

    Tycon shook his head, pulling the halberd out of Yoshio''s unbroken leg with a sharp, bloody tug, "Bloody business, severing limbs, Mister Dragan."

    Dragan shrugged nonchntly, grinning, "Yyyyyeahhhh, it''s not for everyone."

    "Can I give it a go, Warrior Tycon?" Tamaki hopped up, grinning hopefully.

    Tycon nodded, "Of course, Young Master. Allow me just one more try, since I haven''t sessfully severed a limb yet."

    Tamaki nodded, "Oh! By all means, by all means!"

    Tycon began walking back to Yoshio, drawing his longsword, Shatterspike, out of its sheath...

    ...

    "I quite liked that Hisato gentleman."

    Tycon and Guild Invictus had slowed their pace in the afternoon. With Young Master Tamaki''s guidance as a tracker and forward scout, the group was in good spirits, hiking towards the Ivory Judge sect-- with the exception of one man.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, grumbled audibly, "Before we released him, we broke his right leg and right arm."

    Lone was hiking miserably, pale and still nauseous from the morning. His injuries still ached him, a dull neverending pain. Hunger pangs assaulted his stomach and he munched incessantly on nuts and berries that Young Master Tamaki had offered him out of pity. Breakfast was filling, but he had vomited after being forced to participate in the torture of Young Master Hisato.

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Oh,e now, Mister Barza. Broken appendages heal! Humans are resilient creatures, after all."

    A deep shudder overtook Lone''s body as he remembered the sensation in his hands. Tycon had ordered him to break Hisato''s fingers... No tools, no weapons, just brute force.

    What Tycon did... was torture. It was unfair. It was cruel. It was cold and calcted.

    Maximizing Hisato''s mental trauma, destroying his spirit-- Boss Tycon performed it as a systematic process.

    Too clearly, Lone could recall Hisato''s broken look of helplessness.

    He couldn''t understand why Tycon chose him as his direct assistant instead of a veteran like Wroe or the violence-loving freak Dragan. He didn''t want to grow ustomed to... that. He prayed to the gods that he could forget the deprativity he''d witnessed.

    He hated his weaknesses. He hated Tycon for exposing them. He hated Tycon for trying to fix him.

    He was a weapon. He needed to be, in order to function. He needed to survive and to excel.

    He didn''t need to think. He just needed to listen to orders. He just needed to do as he was told.

    He was a weapon. He didn''t need to lie awake at night. He didn''t need to be miserable, afraid of the terror that sleep brought.

    ...Lone gazed over the gold and green horizon with sunken eyes. Invictus still had malms and malms to hike before reaching the sect.

    He felt a hand on his shoulder, shocking him back to reality.

    "One foot in front of the other, Mister Barza," Tycon pointed at his eyes. "And stay sharp."

    Tycon patted him on the back and walked ahead.

    Lone stared at Tycon''s back for a moment before following.

    He ced one foot in front of the other. And again. And again.

 Chapter 52 Rumored Calamity

    ?Tycon had finally collected enough information about his System''s hostility detection.

    Young Master Hisato began with a red tag, the color of outright, open hostility. With a red tag, an enemy would actively seek to harm him physically or socially. Outward and targeted aggression was incredibly rare... He''d only seen red on the Shadowdark Wolves (minus Barza), on the guardsman he had Barza show his ''kindness'' to, and the warriors of the Muto family.

    Once he had shown his abilities, Hisato''s tag changed to yellow, signifying that he would only attack if the situation proved advantageous to him. The Shadowdark Wolves (again, minus Barza) had turned from green to yellow when they''d decided to try ambushing him.

    Tycon wanted to see how much effort it took to turn Hisato''s tag green.

    Spellcasters were terrifying existences to the general popce. A single witch''s curse could ruin a man''s life or tear apart his family. A single corps of mages could equal an entire army with magical shields or magical barrages of me and frost. A single wizard, armed with an armory of scrolls could prove more agile, more urate, and more physically powerful than a Sword Saint.

    Spellcasters had different ways of casting... They used tools, like talismans. They used verbal chants. And most often, they formed series of arcane gestures with their hands.

    And they were nothing without them.

    Tycon began by ordering Barza to break Hisato''s fingers: When he hesitated. When he struggled. When he grewcent.

    The man was beaten. The man was made to count the body parts of hisrade, again and again, (there were 33.) The man was told the sweetest lies and the most painful truths.

    When all of his fingers were broken, Tycon opted to using a skinning knife to sever his fingers.

    It only took two fingers and Mister Barza thoroughly vomiting his morning meal for Hisato''s tag to turn the loveliest bright-green of severe post-traumatic stress disorder.

    ...Tycon was prepared to spend weeks and far more.

    He didn''t remember why he knew torture so intimately. That he did know, slightly worried him.

    And for all his expertise, he keenly understood how useless torture was.

    Mostymen turned to torture for obtaining information. It didn''t work.

    The torturee merely wants the physical pain or the social pressure to be alleviated. The torturee will say whatever they believe will appease their torturer.

    Torture''s true usage was in brainwashing. Pain breaks the defenses of the mind. The mind''s normalcy, its rationale, its functions... everything bes secondary to pain. From there, the mind''s logical pattern recognition seeks to find ways to alleviate it.

    With pain, instinct takes over.

    Tycon cracked his whip, the miniature sonic boom startling his ''propulsion system'' to increase its speed.

    "Have mercy, Sir Tycon!" Barza cried as he pulled on the ropes, dragging the log forward. He was still covered in bandages, but they were all soaked through with sweat.

    "Mister Barza, do look alive. While your junior is out, the log is your responsibility."

    "But Sir! Do you have to sit on it?!"

    "Do you really wish for me to answer that question?" Tycon asked.

    "AaaaaAAAARGHHHH!!" Barza yelled, charging forward.

    Tycon crossed his arms, pleased by the increase in speed.

    ...

    Muto Shun wasn''t part of the main family, but the news had spread quickly and thoroughly. The Kimura brother and sister pair had departed from the sect nearly three suns prior. If the rumors were to be believed, Kimura Taree, the genius girl of the Kimura family had returned one sun prior... and that she had brought a young outsider with her.

    Muto Hisato, the genius of the Muto family and the shining exemr of the entire sect had been ordered by the Muto family to capture her. If he didn''t return soon... with all the resources ced in him and bodyguards sent to support him, the family would lose the greatest investment in its history.

    One of her scouts entered the barracks, "Lady Shun! I have a report!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Shun was seated in the barracks adjacent to the sect gates. She didn''t have the connections, martial ability, or technical skill to be noticed by the main branch.

    Because of her family name, she held the special status of being expected to seed as an honorable sect guardian and be expected to be more forgiving towards her namesake.

    ...She had always been more loyal to the sect than to the Muto family, a decision that destroyed her social standing with her parents and close rtives.

    Shun bid the scout to approach, and theye around her desk to face her.

    "Lady, news on the small party of Outsiders..."

    She furrowed her brows, "You hesitate?"

    "Y-yes," the young scout replied. "It seems they''re being led by Kimura Tamaki."

    "Kimura Tamaki..." The unfortunate boy, overshadowed by his younger sister... Shun ced her fingers below her neck in concern, "You''re certain?"

    The scout nodded, "Yes, Lady... What... what should we do?"

    Shun rapped her fingers upon the wooden desk in thought. She nced at the opposite wall, covered in des and longbows. In a moment, she could call two dozen or more guards to arm themselves. That would be more than enough to deal with any normal group of five.

    But if Kimura Taree was alive... and her brother, Kimura Tamaki was alive... something must have happened to Muto Hisato.

    "Standard procedures. Take names, identify any Spirit Weapons... Do NOT seek trouble with the Outsiders," Shun ordered.

    "But... Lady?"

    She closed her eyes and sighed. There would be repercussions from this... especially from the Muta family. She might even lose her position. At worst, she''d be transferred away.

    "The Outsiders aren''t simple," Shun conceded. "Tell the others. I''ll take full responsibility."

    She had no wish to risk her life or the lives of her subordinates. A rumor was sweeping through the Ivory Judge sect that a Cmity was about to ur. They needed every Cultivator they had tobat whatever threat approached. It wasn''t the time for petty squabbles...

    She closed her eyes and tried not to worry about the future.

    The scout left the barracks as ordered, leaving Shun alone... or so she thought.

    She thought she felt herself slipping... falling.. Up? Her legs had lifted off of her seat and her feet had lost touch of the floor. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw a hand reaching out for her, which she grabbed reflexively.

    "Don''t worry, I got''cha."

    A beautiful fair-featured man, with eyes like a deep river stream, his hair like the eternal sky, was sitting in her chair. He wore white underneath his silvery breastte and... was the only reason she hadn''t fallen up towards the ceiling.

    "Wh-what''s going on?" Shun asked in a panic, trying to make sense of the situation. If she were to fall so many fulms towards the roof, she might hurt herself.

    The man smiled at her, a gentle smile that almost put her heart at ease, "I just wanted to drop by, to see if I could lend a helping hand."

    Shunughed nervously. Was she blushing? She was a few years older than the young man, but she''d never taken a husband.

    The man pulled her up gently, allowing her to grab onto her desk and ce her feet upon the ground... Thankfully she stayed grounded. Even still, she continued to hold his hand in case she "fell" again.

    "Th-thank you."

    "Not a problem. My name is Tarquin. And you are...?"

 Chapter 53 Guardian Beast

    ?Tarquin Wroe jolted awake and tried to sit up. Pots and weapons nged and shifted amongst Invictus'' traveling packs and supplies.

    "Wee back to the world of the living, bud!" The ruby-red haired giant, Dragan, was the first to greet him.

    Wroe hopped out of the supply cart, gliding down gently, "Hey! What''d I miss?"

    Dragan opened his arms in an exaggerated shrug, "Nothin''! Absolutely NOTHIN''! No brigands! No trouble with the guards! Not even angry res, man! These guys are all spooked or somethin! ...I was kinda lookin'' forward to trouble..."

    Upon hearing this, Barza subconsciously shuddered. He had seen the damage that Dragan could do with his greataxe.

    Tycon wryly observed him, "I, for one, am rather d that we could pass the checkpoint without issue."

    Wroeughed, his eyes shut, "We can''t keep a girl waiting, Mister Dragan."

    Dragan, a man well over 8 fulms tall, raised his arms into a stretch and let loose a yawn, "I just like hurting people! Don''t you guys take that away from me!"

    Tycon turned to Wroe, "Have you learned anything?"

    Wroe shook his head, "I sent my shadow to check the building near the gate. It''smon knowledge that that Hisato guy went into the woods, but there''s no information on the prophesied ''Cmity''. Everyone knows about it, but no one knows anything about it?"

    Tycon twisted his lips, "Peculiar... Anything else?"

    Wroe smirked, "Other than that, I think I have an older girlfriend now?"

    Tycon rubbed his cheek, "Dump her immediately. News on the girl?"

    "Roger that, Boss. She does have a cute sister."

    "No, you fool. The other, smaller one."

    "So Boss likes them young? No worries, Shun''s sister is--"

    "Stars and stones, you daft man-whore." Tycon scowled, "I''m talking about Taree!"

    Understanding dawned upon Tarquin Wroe, "Oh, sorry Boss. But I think she likes Bucket, so--"

    "Mister Dragan, you have my permission to kill this man."

    Dragan groaned, "Last time we had a practice bout, I was cleaning purple blood and insect parts off of my gear for three bells. Noooo, thank you!"

    Wroe grinned sheepishly, "ording to what I heard, Taree and Bucket seem to have arrived safely."

    "I wonder if House Kimura spread that information... or if there are agents working against us... In thetter case, perhaps you''ll get to your wish sooner rather thanter, Mister Dragan."

    "Aw! Boss!" Dragan embraced himself and puckered his lips, "So you do care about me!"

    ...

    Tycon knocked on the door to the central room, summoning a familiar patterning of quick footsteps. Tycon looked to Young Master Tamaki and tilted his head in confusion.

    Kimura Taree opened the ornate, circr double-doors. Tycon raised an eyebrow, seeing that the room was bare--

    "Big brother! Warrior Tycon! Come in,e in!" Taree eximed. The little girl had reced her torn robes with a more formal one-- still wearing the bright orange of the Kimura family, but with a reflective, more expensive material.

    He, Tamaki, and the bipedal members of Guild Invictus entered therge room, shutting the door behind them.

    "Don''t you have... servants?" Tycon asked.

    Tamaki opened a dusty chest in the corner of a room and began grabbing cushions-- assumedly for sitting upon the wooden floor, "Oh, don''t you worry about that. The old house also serves as a dojo, so everyone in the family helps out with the cleanin''."

    Tycon nodded. That would be a no. They couldn''t afford servants.

    He nced around the room, mostly devoid of decorations, much unlike Baron Tavor''s manor and their plethora of paintings, scrolls, and various art pieces. (Hopefully, Miss Capulet had sold a majority of them.)

    He especially noted arge, if spartan chair at the back-center of the room, seated upon which was... a pink pig? It was afortable-looking plush, almost half the size of the young Kimura Taree.

    Taree followed his gaze and blushed, "E-eh? What''s that doing there?!"

    The sound of a side-door opening up attracted everyone''s attention. A blonde woman entered carrying a tray of snacks and tea, her blonde hair in a bun. "Oh, I thought the room looked a bit lonely, so I got your favorite doll from your room."

    The gently smiling youngdy could easily pass for Young Master Tamaki''s older sister.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon granted her a polite smile, "You are...?"

    The woman ced the tray upon a short table and gave an elegant bow, "My name is Kagehisa Yumiko, Tamaki and Taree''s mother. On behalf of my husband and my children, wee to House Kimura, friends."

    ...

    The warmth of Yumiko''s wee was almost palpable. She was skilled in both polite conversation and... simultaneously embarrassing her daughter. She provided the most excellent hospitality, serving tea and tiny cakes.

    Dragan loudly proimed the deliciousness of Yumiko''s cakes.

    Tycon enjoyed the fragrant tea that Lady Yumiko poured, particrly pleased with the warmth of the well-made, if inexpensive, ceramic cups.

    Barza told Yumiko a story about his childhood, excited that someone was willing to actually listen to him.

    Wroe tried to flirt with Yumiko.

    Taree used her skill, Rising Storm, on Wroe''s face.

    Bucket was just happy to be there-- with Lady Yumiko especially inquisitive concerning the young man.

    ...

    Taree sat alone. Opposite her, she faced Tycon with Bucket at his side. The other members of Invictus lounged around, at the opposite side of the room, speaking freely with Tamaki and Yumiko.

    "S-so what did you want to discuss, Warrior Tycon?" Taree asked nervously. "Is it about B-b-"

    Bucket?

    Tycon grimaced, "Business, youngdy. The specifics."

    "O-oh, I''m sorry. Usually, my dad takes care of all of this."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Forgive me for asking, but where is your father?"

    Taree lowered her gaze, "Dad entered closed cultivation shortly after Tamaki and I left the sect... ording to Grandpa Kakui, Dad left me in charge as the temporary Family Head."

    Tycon nodded, "Closed cultivation? He''s training himself, then?"

    "Dad said that if he could make a breakthrough, we would have a chance of surviving the Cmity... He said no one should disturb him, or-- or..."

    Tycon raised a palm, interrupting the girl''s speedy descent into despondency, "That will be fine, youngdy."

    Her father going into closed cultivation sounded like an act of desperation. The man''s actions ced his daughter and son in great risk to the family''s enemies, allowing them to be set upon by House Muto.

    ...Tycon would have had a much easier time maneuvering in the Ivory Sect''s society with an older, status-established Kimura patriarch than a rude, hot-headed pre-teen... but no matter.

    Taree sniffled as she stared at the floor. Bucket tried to move, but Tycon stopped him, shaking his head, "Youngdy, tell us what you know about your... Cmity."

    The silver-haired girl nodded slowly, "It''s... it''s about the Guardian Beast of the Ivory Judge sect."

    Tycon nodded for her to continue. He knew that Guardian Beasts were contracted beasts assigned to guard a family.

    A sect was akin to an established guild. Hidden sects were hidden in order to protect centuries of history, tradition, and esoteric skills. A sect''s Guardian Beast contracted from ancient times would be far more impressive than a few-epochs-old familiar of a mage guild.

    "It... The Ancient Beast foretold its own downfall. And it''s so weak it hasn''t appeared this year orst..." Taree frowned, looking like she was about to cry, "With... without the Guardian Beast''s protection, the Ivory Judge sect will be vulnerable to rival sects and outsiders."

    Tycon raised his head in understanding... "So the real reason House Kimura ventured outside the sect to find Outsiders... Was to find a Beastmaster or Schr capable of diagnosing the Beast."

    Taree nodded, but didn''t meet Tycon''s eyes, "It''s just... our Guardian Beast is rare."

    Tycon gave a nomittal shrug, "Of course it is. The older a beast it, the more prized for its meat and materials. Beasts capable of surviving only a hundred years are exotic; hundreds of years, incredibly rare... and those suitable for Guardianship, a statistical anomaly.

    "It''s just that..." Taree hesitated, "It''s... a dragon."

    Tycon found his eyes widened and his heartbeat racing. Bucket had stood up and began screaming at Taree.

    Tycon hadn''t realized when he''d done so, but he''d stood up and his short sword was unsheathed and gripped strongly in his hand.

 Chapter 54 Dragons Donâ€™t Exist

    ?Pale held his metal staff up high as Tycon struck his sword down upon it. His knees buckled under the weight and he dropped down to a knee, cracking the wooden floor beneath him.

    A few suns prior, Taree had seen Pale block Tycon''s heavy halberd. The halberd back then seemed weak, ponderous, and slow... while the dull de in Tycon''s hands...

    Her mind sorted through the legends she knew. She had read about the de of the kindly Sword Saint, who taught patience and precision. Tycon''s was nothing like that. Fear gripped her heart as she remembered a legend that matched his sword... the oppressive, remorseless de of the de Tyrant.

    Pale clenched his teeth and curled his body-- Taree had realized that the boy was expecting a strike to the abdomen, like in their training. In horror, Taree watched as Tycon drew his crossbow and pointed it at Pale''s chest.

    "Whoa! Boss!" A massive red blur of movement smashed into Tycon just as he fired his crossbow. Dragan had grabbed Tycon and was restraining his arms. There was no way he could get out of that!

    "What are you doing?!" Dragan yelled, "Apologize!"

    Taree was shocked when she realized Dragan was not yelling at Tycon. He was yelling at her.

    Taree screamed hysterically, "What?! What did I do??"

    Pale was still staring at the crossbow bolt stuck in the wall behind him. He had been incredibly close to death-- Dragan had saved his life.

    Pale turned to her, weakly smiling in defeat, "Dragons don''t exist."

    Taree''s jaw dropped in shock, "Wh-what? B-but... they... do. I''ve... I''ve seen it!"

    Dragan yelled, "No! Aaaugh!!"

    Tycon had dislocated his own shoulders in order to slip free from Dragan''s impossibly strong grip. Like a snake, he slid down Dragan''s body, and as he slipped forward in a sudden burst of speed. Meanwhile, Dragan had fallen to the ground, holding his ankle.

    Rushing forward, a blue-haired angel stood between Tycon and Taree.

    "Boss! Calm down!" Tarquin Wroe brandished his sword, "Look, it''s me! I know we''re fr--"

    Without warning, Tycon stabbed his sword into the pit of Wroe''s stomach. He wrapped his opposite arm around Wroe''s neck and wrenched the de deeper. With a shrill scream, dark clouds billowed from Wroe''s mouth as millipedes and other ck insects climbed out as if escaping. Tycon threw the Shadow-Wroe. spinning down and cracking his head upon the ground, though he dissipated into mist upon collision. The Actual-Wroe, who had never left where he was sitting, coughed out a mouth of blood and fainted against the wall.

    Taree looked around, desperate for help.

    Tamaki was valiantly protecting Mom in the room''s corner.

    Dragan was kneeling with a pained look, both hands clutching his ankle. Wroe was unconscious.

    Lone was frozen in fear. He was holding a te with cake on it-- the te and cake had fallen to the floor, but his hands remained in the position.

    She looked down to see that Pale was holding onto both of her hands, gripping them tight.

    "Please, Taree. Just say it," he pleaded, seriousness in his eyes.

    "But... But..."

    Kimura Taree had sought Guild Invictus in order to save her sect. How could she possibly say that the sect''s Guardian Beast, the lifeline of the sect, the guarantor of the sect''s prosperity and longevity, didn''t exist?

    She looked deep into Pale''s eyes. She was confused. She was hurt. But she ultimately decided that she couldn''t betray his faith.

    She knelt down on both knees and, without hesitation, mmed her head against the wooden floor with a painful, wooden thud. "I''M SORRY!"

    Upon the back of her neck, she felt the cold, dull steel of Tycon''s sword.

    She shut her eyes hard, trying not to cry, "D-DRAGONS DON''T EXIST!!"

    ...After what felt like forever, the cool metal touching her skin was pulled away and she heard the cool ring of the metal sword sliding back into its scabbard.

    Taree slowly lifted her head, fearful tears running down her face and ruining the makeup her mother had carefully applied.

    Tycon stood with crossed arms, his golden eyes still radiating cold-blooded rage. Taree shuddered, feeling a deep, permeating, inexplicable hatred.

    "Guilds cannot break an established contract outside of extraordinary circumstances," Tycon''s speech was measured and he spoke clearly. "Dealing with a supposed ''dragon'' is one of them."

    Taree gulped.

    "Awaken Mister Wroe. Wrap Mister Dragan''s ankle. Guild Invictus will be casting a vote."

    ...

    The situation was somehow reversed. Tycon sat at the front of the hall with the members of Guild Invictus in front of him. Of the Kimura family, only Taree was invited to remain, their guild''s direct contractee.

    Tycon, green-haired and golden-eyed, got to his feet, standing before his four other voting guild members. Even though he was shorter than Lone, he somehowmanded as much presence as Dragan, who was several heads higher.

    "Unsurprisingly, I vote against. This contract is far more trouble than it is worth. We will find other ways for Pale and Mister Barza to gain strength."

    He red at Dragan, "And I find the motto ''All Risk, No Reward'' a rather injudicious battlecry..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The red-haired giant shrugged but kept quiet.

    Tycon continued, "If we''re to help, we struggle against a possible Dragon-rank threat. If we leave now, none will hear of the fall of this Hidden Sect-- no employer we would care about, anyroad."

    The guilds and the sects lived in different worlds. It was a point that Taree had never thought of before. But what irked Taree wasn''t his honesty-- it was how he treated the fall of her centuries-old sect so impersonally.

    ...

    (For: 0 / Against: 1)

    The giant-blooded man Dragan was rummaging through his ear with his pinky finger,"Yeah, we don''t really know these people."

    The red-headed man was massive! Taree reasoned that he must have had a giant''s bloodline coursing through his veins. He carried an equally huge dark-metal axe on his back with ease.

    "An'' takin'' a look at this ce... It doesn''t look like they''re gonna pay us what we''re worth."

    Tycon nodded in agreement, "Your vote, Mister Dragan?"

    "I''m gonna vote a resounding no. Let''s just head to Merylsward from here."

    ...

    (For: 0 / Against: 2)

    Tarquin Wroe stood quietly, a tall, thin man with androgynous features, soft, touchable blue hair, and the most enchanting ocean blue eyes.

    Tycon lifted a quick palm, "Mister Wroe, before you begin... Mister Dragan, did you have something to say?"

    Dragan looked over and tilted his head, "Huh? Oh, yeah, Boss. Mister Wroe''s doin'' good! I was just thinkin'' that you and I always manage to take the spotlight. Maybe we should give him a chance, huh?"

    Lone nodded in quiet agreement. Boss Tycon and Mister Dragan were the two most dominant personalities in Guild Invictus. Maybe if he and Pale and Mister Wroe had some more say in matters, he wouldn''t be so miserable all the time.

    "My thought''s exactly," Tycon''s hand lowered to grab the whip on his belt.

    Acting out of instinct, Lone immediately leaped to the side of the room, hiding under a table.

    Tyconshed out his ded whip, grabbing hold of Wroe''s neck. "SPOTLIGHT!!" hemanded.

    "Crashing THUNDER!!" Pale shouted, mming his metal staff against the side of Wroe''s head.

    Dragan thrust both of his hands forward, his axe de sticking deep into Wroe''s side, spilling ckened blood onto the floor.

    "stback!" A thunderous explosion shook the room. Wroe staggered to the side, revealing charred, ckened flesh and bone from his exposed ribcage.

    Tycon pulled back the ded whip... inflicting deepcerations all around Wroe''s neck. Finally, the corpse copsed the ground, bloody and lifeless.

    Taree was screaming in terror. Lone was yelling in panic, trying to open the door.

    The door suddenly gave way as Tamaki ran in, "What''s goin'' on? Where''s the fire?!"

    A shadowy rift opened up in the room, roiling with power. Screams became silence. Darkness became truth. And an entirely naked Tarquin Wroe fell and crashed onto Lone,nding face-down, rear pointed upward.

    The rift closed unceremoniously, taking the unnatural darkness with it.

    Tamaki looked at the nude Wroe atop the unconscious Lone. Then he looked at the freshly murdered corpse of clothed-Wroe in the room''s center.

    He looked to everyone''s stunned, yet expectant gazes... "Supper will be ready in ''bout 20 minutes. Hope y''all are hungry. Mama''s makin'' roast turkey with plenty of fixin''s."

    He quietly closed the door with a polite bow.

    Pale ran over to calm down the terrified Taree, "Don''t worry. Spotlight is the n for when Mister Wroe gets possessed."

    Taree was mortified, "Wait, what? Does-- does that happen a lot?"

    Pale looked away, "Well..."

    Taree nced at Dragan who was scowling while frantically scrubbing his axe-de, muttering curses in foreignnguages.

    She looked over to Tycon, who frowned but didn''t answer.

    She looked over to the naked Wroe, still atop Lone.

    Wroe shot up an upraised thumb, not lifting his face from the hard wood.

    "I vote for," he mumbled.

 Chapter 55 The 5th Vote

    ?(For: 1 / Against: 2)

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark stood proudly in front of Tycon. He gave a sharp salute with a hand to his chest, "Boss. I''m here."

    Tycon reared his head back in embarrassment and narrowed his eyes, "Mister Barza... what are you doing? The votes are in order of seniority."

    Lone held his salute, "I''m reporting... Sir?"

    "Sit down, Mister Barza," Tycon said with an annoyed voice.

    "Sir Tycon? ...What?" Lone didn''t realize what he''d done wrong.

    Dragan was chortling in the background, "Ohh! You gonna take that, man??"

    "No respect for Bucket!!" Wroe yelled. He had put on a simple pair of trousers and a tunic to hide his earlier nudity.

    Lone turned around to see Pale, holding his metal rod with a helpless look on his face.

    Tycon sighed, "Mister Barza... Have you... perhaps, forgotten? That young Bucket is your senior?"

    Sweat dripped down Lone''s forehead. He was so used to calling Pale his sworn younger brother that he had forgotten he had less time in Guild Invictus than he did, "But-- I-- I mean..."

    Bucket gave him a sad smile, "It''s-- it''s okay, Lone."

    Lone clenched his teeth, the corners of his eyes stinging. He had hurt Pale''s feelings!

    Wroe and Dragan began to chant, "Push! Push! Push! Push!"

    Lone immediately dropped down to the ground and began doing push-ups, "I''m sooorrrrrrry, Paaaaale!!"

    ...

    (For: 1 / Against: 2)

    "Bucket," Tycon addressed Warrior Pale.

    "Yes, Sir!" Pale stood up and gave the Outsider''s salute, sharply lifting his palm to his chest.

    "You have done well, establishing the contractee''s faith in you and us... and I was looking forward to this mission increasing your and Mister Barza''s strength, to better face the challenges in Merylsward."

    "Thank you, Sir," Pale nodded.

    "This is your mission..." Tycon pursed his lips, "--but do not be blinded by the rewards, for this mission carries great risks. Are you willing to follow through?"

    "Sir? What... What would my father do?"

    Tycon looked to the side, pondering for a moment, "He would ask for my counsel. And I would try to convince him against such risks."

    Pale nodded, but remained hesitant... "N-no, sir. I vote no."

    Tycon''s face was etched with a deep frown, "You''re smart, boy-- likely smarter than your father, as he did keep fools like us around... Forgive me, young man, but if I am to ept your vote, I must first ask you a question."

    "S-sir?"

    "If you vote no... are you absolutely certain you won''t regret it?" Tycon stared, expression unchanging.

    "Sir, I can''t risk everyone by being selfish!" Pale eximed.

    Taree was confused. What was Tycon trying to do?

    Tycon took a deep breath and nodded to himself, "Young man, I see your logic-- and you''re not wrong. I''m certain you''re well aware that we are trying to groom you as a leader, like your father before you... but right now, Invictus'' welfare is my responsibility-- not yours. Regardless of the results of this vote, I have final say."

    Pale nodded, deep in contemtion.

    "For this one time-- just this once, don''t worry about us. I wish to hear your honesty. How do you feel about this mission?" Tycon asked.

    Pale looked up, his face full of determination, "Sir... if I vote no, I think I would regret it for the rest of my life."

    "Hm," Tycon frowned. "Very well. Cast your vote."

    "I, Pale, son of Quay, wish to continue the mission." Pale said with finality.

    ...

    (For: 2 / Against: 2)

    Dragan was doing one-handed push-ups. He casually spoke to Tycon as the green-haired Warrior sat cross-legged, sharpening his de on a whetstone.

    Pale was in a corner, recing Wroe''s bloody chest bandages with fresh ones.

    "Wh-what''s going on?" Taree asked Tycon. She wrung her tiny hands in nervousness.

    Tycon looked back in honest confusion, "Is there something wrong, youngdy?"

    "You guys stopped at four votes?? There''s still a little bit of time before dinner!"

    Dragan began to loudly guffaw, "Gahaha! Look at thest voter, though!!"

    Taree looked over to the Chosen One, who had just finished doing push-ups in a lonely corner on the opposite side of the room. A sizable pool of sweat had collected below beside him.

    Gross.

    Taree puffed her cheeks in frustration, "Warrior Dragan? What is that supposed to mean?"

    Dragan grinned with a savage smile, as if delighting in Taree''s pain and confusion, "Everything''s up to the CHOSEN ONE!! Juuuu~st as your legends predicted! Ahahaha~!"

    Tycon patted the girl on the head, "Unfortunately, youngdy, Mister B-- err... Your ''Chosen One'' will certainly vote against you."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The young girl was indignant, "Y-y-y-you don''t know that!! Dummy!"

    She turned and called to Lone, "Chosen One!!"

    "I''ming!" He jogged over.

    He wore an uncharacteristically clueless smile on his face. "What''s up? Just finished my body-weight workout. Boss Tycon, I''m a weapon. Wanna see these cannons?"

    Taree looked up with bleary eyes.

    Lone looked at the young girl, then to Tycon''s sharp gaze.

    His eyes took on a shade of panic, "Wait, wait, wait-- what''s going on?"

    "Have you. not. been listening??" Tycon asked in stilted speech.

    Lone bowed deeply, "I''m sorry. Please exin it to me again."

    "We''re. Voting." Tycon stressed his words, before sighing deeply.

    "What? Still?" Lone was confused.

    "Well, there you have it,dy and gentlemen-- voting is finished," Tycon nodded and pat Lone on the shoulder.

    "That''s not TRUUUE!!" Taree screamed, stamping her foot down. She carefully controlled her ki, so she wouldn''t damage her dad''s floor.

    Tycon rolled his eyes. He turned Lone by the shoulder to face him, "Chosen One."

    "...Boss, I''m sorry to interrupt, but... can you please not call me that? When you say it, I somehow feel like I don''t deserve it."

    "...Very well, young man. The mission ahead is fraught with danger, specifically that of a Dragon-rank creature. Mister Barza, would you vote to proceed at great physical risk to yourself or we can leave and head east to Merylsward, whereupon you can gamble, eat to excess, and impregnate a whore at your leisure."

    Lone frowned, looking to Taree''s puppy-dog eyes, "I... really want to say no. Thinking about a Dragon-Rank creature scares me... After all, we barely won against Yoshio and Hisato..."

    Draganughed, "Haha! That''s right! Come on, man. There''s no way you''d agree with your level of strength. Getting a whore with your level of charisma, though..."

    Tycon scowled at Dragan but didn''t admonish him.

    Lone gave Tycon a guilt-ridden smile, "I know I''m not that strong... but I believe in trying to save people... If we can save the Anxiety Jump sect... we can make allies that will never forget us."

    Lone returned Tycon''s hard, yellow-eyed gaze, "I... I want to be a hero, Sir Tycon."

    Dragan''sughter stopped. Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    The big man shot Tycon a meaningful nod, to which the golden-eyed youth smiled helplessly.

    "Very well, Mister Barza."

    Taree gasped, her eyes wide, "Warrior Tycon, does this mean--?"

    Tycon smirked, "Guild Invictus will stand by the results of the vote. We will save your Guardian Beast, even if I have to kill it with my bare hands."

    (For: 3 / Against: 2)

    ...

    "Youngdy," Tycon stopped Taree as the group was being called to the dining hall.

    "Yes, Warrior Tycon?"

    "As the terms have changed, Guild Invictus will require additionalpensation. You understand this, yes?"

    "Oh! O-of course..." Taree gulped, "Um. I uh... What- would you? I mean... my family doesn''t have all that much to offer..."

    She was afraid this woulde. House Kimura wasn''t nearly as wealthy as the other factions. Pale''s superior Tycon... He knew this! He was a viin! Anything he''d demand from her, she wouldn''t be able to refuse!

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, gauging her reaction, "I''d like something... more... personal."

    Shock filled Taree''s heart. No! Did Tycon want her body?! But her heart already belonged to another! Or did he desire her mom?! With Dad still in closed cultivation, no one in the family had the strength to protect Mom from Tycon''s lustful ways!

    Oh, no. Ohhhh, nooooo...

    ...Was he after her poor, innocent brother?

    Tycon pointed to the stuffed pig plush sitting on the room''s central chair, "I want that."

    With a reddened face, Taree screamed, "You cannot take away Poogie''s innocence, you DEMON!!"

    Tycon stared nkly at the red-faced girl. She was standing on top of a chair to point at him from slightly above.

    Taree returned to reality, climbing down from the chair with puffed up cheeks. She looked over to her pig plush. "Okay! Fine, then!"

    "Is... something the matter?"

    "N-no! Everything is fine! Dummy!"

    "...Very well. When you can, I''ll also need one of House Kimura''s trusted scouts. I''d like a message and a package delivered to the Outside World."

    "Alright!" Taree unhappily crossed her arms.

    "Very... well.."

    "ALRIGHT!"

 Chapter 56 Parselmouth

    ?Deep in the Mosswood Wilds, in the territory of the Ivory Judge sect, a cave was hidden away. Considered sacred ground, it was protected by ancient, illusory formations, hiding its location from potential enemies and threats. Deep within, slumbered the Guardian Beast of the sect-- a great and powerful dragon... if Taree was to be believed.

    At Tycon''s behest, the two of them traveled alone. The girl begged for Pale to apany them, but Tycon cruelly rejected her wish.

    Pale and Wroe had information to gather.

    Barza and Dragan had... work to do.

    Taree kept a pathetic paperntern as she walked through the cool, humid cave. She had initially tried to keep a brave front but that was quickly and unforgivingly torn away as she flinched at every loud drop of water or and every shrill screech of a bat.

    Even after chiding the silver-haired girl, the girl''s demeanor did not improve.

    Unwilling to expound effort in being angry or disappointed, Tycon decided to wholly ignore the girl. This included the fact that the fool child''s tiny hand had sped tightly onto the material of his cloak as they walked.

    Coming to an end, Tycon puts his hands on his waist, overlooking a vast, undergroundke. A deep bluish-white shadow moved underneath the clear waters and it began to emerge amongst a great roiling of bubbles. A serpentine creature broke the surface, its head,rger than a carriage. Its fish-like scales shimmered a pale blue, perhaps once white. Thick whiskers fell from the serpent''s pointed face, granting it a wizened appearance.

    The cave shook with its roar.

    Taree quickly got to her knees and bowed respectfully. ced on the wet cavernous floor in front of her was a basket of tribute sausages she had brought. "Oh, Guardian Beast! Wee with a tribute!"

    Tycon crossed his arms, looking unimpressed.

    Taree red, "Warrior Tycon! Please! The Guardian Beast must be respected!"

    The great serpent roared once more and the cave trembled, stctites and debris falling and sshing into theke. "(SHOW OBEISANCE, MORTAL, AS THOU GAZETH UPON MY FORM!!)"

    Tycon took a deep breath, sighing and shaking his head.

    ? System, inquiry: Why do I understand this creature''s speech? ?

    [System response: The Host is fluent in Parseltongue, thenguage of serpents and medusae.]

    Tycon tapped his foot impatiently, sshing around a small puddle. "(And what''s so impressive about thy form, you old codger?)"

    The serpent looked stunned, "(WHAT?! DID''ST THOU NOT HEAR ME?!)"

    Tycon began yelling back, "(By the gods, everyone can hear you! How about you lower your voice! I''m RIGHT here!)"

    "(THOU ARE-- err...)" The serpent hesitated, "(The younger generation has be so rude in thest epochs...)"

    "(The older generation has remained arrogant and unyielding since the beginning of time!)" Tycon shot back.

    Tycon scowled. The creature before him was a dragon, but not one as he feared. The creature was a flood dragon, a river serpent. Even though the old fool before him was several hundred years old and weighed several tonze, it was merely a big, toothy river fish.

    "(Why hast thoue, disrespectful whelp?)" The flood dragon narrowed its eyes.

    "(Have we resorted to name-calling, Old Fool? I''m here on behalf of thy sect to help thee!)"

    ...

    Taree almost couldn''t believe her eyes.

    She had seen the Guardian Beast once, several years ago with her father. Her father had a rudimentary understanding of the Guardian Beast''snguage and through that, he was able to discern the Guardian Beast''s prophecy-- of its demise and the decline of their sect. Her father went alone many times afterward, but no matter how many offerings he made, the Guardian Beast had never appeared.

    The Guardian emerged on this sun... But the man she had brought with her refused to bow or kneel to its greatness!

    And just when she was about to rush over and break his knees, they started talking! Yelling back and forth!?

    Warrior Tycon knew no fear.

    And he could speak with dragons.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    The flood dragon spat out an ugly crystal the size of a human fist.

    Tycon picked it up with a frown. It was wet, "(And what the hell is this, Old Fool?)"

    Old Fool looked proud, "(O''er years and years of research, I''ve discovered the way to resolve my condition. Thou must bringeth to me the contents of this crystal!)"

    Tycon read into the crystal''s contents with the System''s help. Every line he read, he grew more and more frustrated, until finally, a thick vein bulged in his forehead.

    "(Thou MUST be joking!!)" Tycon yelled indignantly.

    Old Fool shrank back, looking hurt, "(What dost thou mean? ''Tis a consummate list, most serious in nature.)"

    "Devil''s Thorn? Yohimbe Bark?" Tycon roared, "(FIFTY virgin women under the age of TWENTY-FIVE? How can thou DARE request such things?)"

    Old Fool averted his gaze, "(Is it too much? Has the number and quality of virgins lowered o''er the epochs?)"

    Tycon picked up and threw a head-sized rock at Old Fool''s face, which thetter deftly dodged, "(I''m not wasting my time gathering all this!! If thou were suffering Mana Overload, why didn''t thou sayeth so?!)"

    The giant serpent averted its guilt-ridden gaze.

    Tycon took a deep breath, before continuing his rant, "(And what dost thou mean ''years and years'' of research?! Thou relies on memories granted by thy bloodline!! When was thest time thou''st even left thy cave??!)"

    The flood dragon lowered its body into the water, its head level with Tycon and Taree, "(O'' Little White... thou shouldn''t be so angry for issues so small.)"

    All of the anger drained from Tycon''s body as he ced his face into a palm, "You..."

    "(Little brother~! Thy heart is magnanimous. Please assist this humble Old Fool, so he can fulfill his duty to the White Scale sect.)"

    Taree tugged on Tycon''s cloak, "Warrior Tycon... what... what is wrong with the Guardian Beast?"

    Tycon sat upon a rock, his hands on the back of his head. He nced at the flood dragon before facing Taree, "Old Fool is suffering from what we call Mana Overload... Essentially, there is a blockage of mana within his circuits--"

    "Then he just needs a vessel to release his mana into!" The girl yelled innocently.

    Tycon was caught off-guard by the sharp girl''s enthusiasm. He red at the horny flood dragon, who was nodding like a chicken in agreement. Old Fool wanted fifty virgins? The old bastard could dream. It was nigh impossible for a single female from the Ivory Judge sect to be strong enough to survive Old Fool''s ''release.''

    Tycon refused to suffer fifty lives, mostly because its inefficiency hurt his pride, rather than the morality of it.

    "That''s not going to happen, youngdy," Tycon scowled.

    Taree shook him back and forth, the corners of her eyes sparkling, "How do we save the Guardian Beast, Warrior Tycon??!"

    "First of all, stop that before I toss you into theke."

    Taree stopped obediently.

    Tycon held out a crystal, "It''s all in here-- a task only you can perform, Kimura Family Head."

    Taree took the crystal and cradled it like it was a child, "What must I do?"

    "Within the crystal are formation diagrams and alchemy recipes. You''ll need a team of Formation Masters to craft a sealing and focusing formation. You''ll need Alchemists to concoct a mixture to increase mana-- err... spirit energy output, as your practitioners call it... And, though I''ll need to remove a few listed items, arge number of spirit herbs need to be gathered."

    Old Fool''s face snuck close-behind Tycon, "(And the virgins?)"

    Tycon smacked the flood dragon on the nose, "No! NnnnoO! Once the formation is sealed and the medicine is taken, you will do battle with me and my guild. Then you''ll be able to use your mana FOR COMBAT to your heart''s content!!"

    The flood dragon sank its nose and mouth into the water and snorted bubbles, pouting with its eyes.

 Chapter 57 Good Guy Dragan

    ?Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, sat on a rock in a near-open field. A lonely paperntern provided him with its miserably inadequate me. He tenderly rubbed the rough calluses on both of his hands.

    He was covered in dirt and grime and was taking a much-deserved break.

    A single older man slowly approached, tottering quietly in wooden sandals and carrying his own almost worthless paperntern. He cleared his throat, eyes full of distrust, "Warrior Lone... You told me you had a message from House Muto?"

    The old man of the Kimura household silently observed and silently judged. Most members of the sect viewed Lone and the other Outsiders as curiosities. The man in front of him, however, looked to him with outward and unabashed suspicion.

    Boss Tycon suspected the man of being a spy.

    That someone asrge as Dragan could be so soundless was horrifying. Dragan''s gigantic form emerged from the bushes like a ghost, dwarfing the old man near half his size. In a sh of red, Dragan smashed the de of his axe against the man''s side and rammed him violently into a boulder.

    As the man screamed in pain, Dragan held his axe steady with his right and struck the man over and over again with his meaty left fist. Finally, he unstuck his weapon, dropping the traitor to the ground, and as a mercy, decapitated the convulsing, frothing at the mouth elder with a downward stroke of his weapon.

    Lone slid off of his rock to walk over and inspect Dragan''s handiwork. He''d doubted he''d ever have the strength to savage a man so badly.

    "That should be thest of ''em... for now, anyroad." Dragan looked pleased, covered in dirt, grime, and blood, just as Lone was.

    They were killing people Tycon had identified. Dragan did not question the certainty of Sir Tycon''s list. Lone initially held doubts, but they were dispelled more and more with the ease of luring each suspected traitor.

    He knelt down, examining the older man, his face frozen in shock. Closing the man''s eyes with his fingers, he gave a silent prayer to the gods before beginning to loot the body.

    It was macabre work, but the old man no longer had any use for his possessions.

    "Mister Dragan, this guy''s got a ring, but it''s stuck."

    "I got''cha, bud." Dragan unsheathed a knife from his back and tossed it over. It stuck, de down into the dirt, "Use that."

    Lone shuddered. Guild Invictus was far more terrible than the Shadowdark Wolves or any adventuring team he''d ever associated with. Their unorthodox methods and training were nightmarish. The level of skill that each and every member had shown was beyond frightening.

    He felt as if he were a fish in ake full of leviathans.

    "Eh? What''s wrong, man?" Dragan waved, "Cut it off, pocket it. If you get enough from fencing it, you can buy a new sword once we get to Merylsward."

    Lone snapped out of his reverie. He was in a daze, "Who... who are you guys?"

    Dragan slung his axe over his back and rocked his body back and forth, "Ooooo-wee, what a question, bud..."

    "Listeeeen~ Loooone. I like you, man--" The way Dragan''s tone of voice changed, ran a chill down Lone''s spine.

    "But lemme tell ya, that''s not the kind of question you wanna hear a real answer to in an adventurer''s guild. So I ain''t gonna give you a straight answer, buuuut I can give you the gist of it."

    He pointed a thumb at his own chest, "We''re a bunch of murderers. Bunch of thieves. Power-hungry bastards, all of us. Xenophobes, sometimes... not so much that one in Invictus, but you know what I mean, pal.

    "And all of us are running from something we don''t wanna face."

    "You--," He pointed at Lone, "want something better for yourself."

    "Bucket wants to make his dad proud. Horse is wanted for murder, back in the Free Nation. We''ve all got stories."

    Lone turned away from Dragan''s gaze as he held the severed finger in his hand. The ring slipped off easily, a hard silver color, and he pocketed it, "I''m sorry, Dragan. It won''t happen again."

    Dragan''s face broke into a wide grin, "Hey man, don''t worry about it. My story''s just as bad as anyone''s. In that regard, no one''s really ''better'' than the other. We all fight, eat, and shit together."

    He moved closer, his voice hushed, "Just... don''t step on people''s toes. You saw it. Boss nearly killed the kid-- and he likes the kid... If you cross someone''s bottom line in our profession... when they snap, it''s not pretty."

    Lone''s heart trembled once more, "What do I do, man?"

    "You do as you''re told," Dragan shrugged. "You get stronger. I dunno, man-- we''re all trying to figure out what we''re supposed to do. But I think the bottom line is... don''t die."

    Lone returned a thoughtful smile, "I haven''t been given permission to die."

    Dragan raised his eyebrows, before snorting into augh, "Wow. You''re retarded. But you''re alright by me, Lone Shadowdark."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You''re a pretty good guy, yourself, Dragan."

    The two shared a friendly smile before tacitly returning to work. Dragan began dragging the body to the hole and Lone followed, carrying two shovels.

    ...

    Tycon entered a room deep underneath the Kimura family manor. Several seals had been smattered in an odd pattern by the door, paper talismans with mana-rich ink, made of magical herbs and inscribed by a Formation Master.

    ? System, inquiry: Disy the room''s effects. ?

    [Private Sanctum. Fourth-Circle Abjuration. The barrier prevents magical and corporeal senses, to include hearing, vision, and mana-sense. Teleportation is blocked into and out of the barrier. nar travel is blocked within the barrier.]

    Fourth-Circle... Tycon was impressed. From his memories, he knew that Third Circle was the limit of humans, with anything higher than that requiringplicated and costly rituals. House Kimura must have invested a considerable amount of resources in the room''s creation.

    While helping out in the kitchen, Tycon had asked Kagehisa Yumiko about the Patriarch and the concept of closed cultivation. Interested, Tycon requested a room for private training, simr to the conditions the Patriarch was using. The room needed to block auras, be capable of withstanding damage, and most importantly, its privacy needed to be assured.

    ? System, reset security features of the Ring of Holding. ?

    [Understood. Warning: Items contained in the ring will be forcibly ejected. Please confirm.]

    ? Confirmed. ?

    [Resetting.]

    A flood of items spilled out upon the smooth, stone floor. Simple, but sturdy weapons. Folded, ornate robes. Arge chest, nearly the size of a kitchen-stove... and smelling of dried herbs... and a pile of rocks?

    ? System, detect: Any item radiating an aura OR is unique. ?

    The system identified several personal effects-- an identification badge, hairpins, specific sets of clothes. Tycon separated the disposable effects, like the badge, into a single pile-- to be burnt and destroyed,ter. Anything of value was returned to the ring, to be fenced in Merylsward. Anything inside of the ring couldn''t be detected. And the ring, itself, was cleared of its former attunement to Muto Hisato.

    Tycon was concerned for any attempts of divination or scrying, spells that could track specific, unique items or auras. Even if he didn''t fear House Muto and had no problems posturing in public, he preferred to act privately and with caution on his personal time.

    Tycon picked one of the blue rocks up, sensing a radiation of unrefined mana.

    Mana rocks... or ''spirit stones'' as the cultivators called them. They were useless to him.

    He opened the box of herbs... and with the System''s help, identified everything inside.

    "With this, we have enough herbs for Old Fool''s ritual."

    He picked up a crimson-bodied spear, the metal below its de inscribed with an unfamiliar script. It was the only item the System identified as having an aura.

    ? System, identify. Please and thank you. ?

    [Lifedrinker Spear. First-Circle Magical Spear. Transfers the vitality of defeated enemies to the user. The spear is currently attuned to House Muto. Attunement must be cleared in order to soul bind. Clear attunement? Y/N?]

    ? Ah, yes. System, attune the Lifedrinker Spear to Guild Invictus. ?

    [Understood. Clearing attunement... Attunement cleared. Binding to Guild Invictus...]

    The foreign writing below the spear''s de disappeared... and soon was reced with an embossment of a stylized sun.

    [Attunementplete. Soul bind possible. Soul bind? Y/N?]

    ? No, but thank you. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    [Understood. Death to the enemies of Invictus.]

    "What a useless spear... I suppose I can give it to Bucket." Tycon mused, "At least this one should be harder to break."

 Chapter 58 Ananta

    ?"Here," Tycon tossed the crimson spear to Bucket, who caught it deftly with one hand.

    "Sir?"

    "Magic spear. Drinks blood. Doesn''t restore wounds, though-- just makes you feel better," Tycon summarized the spear''s effects in quick session.

    "Sir?! You''re giving me a magic spear??" Bucket''s eyes gleamed with excitement.

    "It''s a... Lifedrinker spear." Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    Taree, the mediocre Martialist''s eyes glowed to match Bucket''s excitement, hugging the young man and pressing her nonexistent chest to his arm. "Warrior Pale! That''s a Spirit Weapon! Perhaps if you train with it, you''ll even be able to attune to its spirit and learn its name!"

    "It''s called... the Lifedrinker," Tycon frowned.

    Bucket held it up and stared with huge eyes, "The Lifedrinker... Cooool."

    Taree puffed her cheeks, looking like she was about to rudelyin. Thankfully, the appearance of a hurried elderly human in schr''s robes made her pause. Tycon nced above his head to be reminded of the gentleman''s name, ''Elder Kakui.''

    "Young Mistress! Something terrible has happened!"

    Taree ran up to him and looked up with her disproportionatelyrge eyes, "Grandpa Kakui? What''s happened?"

    "The Young Master was out gathering herbs for the ritual..."

    Tycon had seated himself on the table that Pale and Taree were seated on, "By the way, Elder Kakui. I''ve appropriated all the herbs."

    "Well, Warrior Tycon, that''s wonderful news, but... the Young Master has been kidnapped!!"

    Tycon took the tiny fork and sampled a colorful looking cake. That Kagehisa girl, Tamaki''s mother, was a decent cook but was an excellent pastry chef. He didn''t usually like pastries, but her cakes were wonderfully rich and their sweetness...forting.

    Taree was panicking, raring to go. Pale was trying to calm her down. The Elder was also trying to calm her down. Taree began to cry. Pale and the Elder began to panic. Tycon took the opportunity to quickly finish Taree''s slice of cake.

    "Elder Kakui."

    "Y-yes, Warrior Tycon?" The old man was flustered, looking somewhat unused to pandering to children.

    "Where has Young Master Tamaki been taken?"

    "W-we don''t know yet! We''ll send out our best scouts, immediately!"

    Tycon sighed. He waved his hand, silently activating his spatial ring. A box of herbs appeared beside them. "Here are the materials for the ritual. Are your people ready to produce?"

    "Wh-what?! But-- we were expecting-- this amount of materials would take weeks or months to gather!"

    Tycon took a deeper sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose, "Do I have to do everything myself?"

    The old man lowered his head in shame.

    Tycon red, "I asked you a question, old man."

    Elder Kakui jumped to attention before bowing respectfully, "No, my lord! I will send for men at once. We will recover the Young Master, at all costs!!"

    "Don''t bother," Tycon waved in annoyance. "Focus onpleting the variousponents for the ritual."

    "Y-yes!" The elder replied.

    Tycon red, unmoving.

    "Yes, lord!" The old man gulped.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon stood up and waved for Pale to follow. Pale gave Taree a quick apology and hurried after him.

    ...

    Taree and Elder Kakui were left watching their backs.

    Kakui took a handkerchief and wiped the sweat on his brow, "Oh, my. I haven''t been scolded like that since the sect wars, some twenty years ago..."

    Taree frowned. She hated that man. He was so rude and arrogant. But she couldn''t truly be upset... The thought of it annoyed her to no end, "Warrior Tycon is doing as much as we can for us. We can''t let down his trust... I''ll... I''ll go talk to the Alchemists, myself."

    ...

    Tarquin Wroe found out where Young Master Tamaki was being held. It took him 30 minutes. Tycon questioned if (A) Guild Invictus was very proficient, or if (B) House Kimura was grossly ipetent.

    He concluded that it was a little of Column A and all of Column B.

    The western fortress was maintained by House Muto, and it served as an outpost against raiders from either across the Icehorn mountains or from within them. As the Ivory Judge sect hadn''t been attacked in years, the fortress served as a prison for House Muto''s internal affairs.

    Guild Invictus was going to raid it.

    Tycon had assumed hisrge white snake form and slithered alone along the mountainous crags in the darkness. He had two entire bells before Invictus would move without him, so he had to move quickly.

    ...He was uncertain that Dragan and the others would be able to wait even that long.

    He wished he had purchased a second pocket watch, back in Nice... There was no way in the seven hells he would lend the rest of Invictus his own. He would take a crossbow bolt for any of the useless bastards., yes, but he refused to trust any of them with anything nice.

    Tycon slithered up and around a thick petrified tree, wary of a particr creature lying in wait. The System had assigned its transparent name with a might-attack-him yellow tag, and he had no intention of provoking it.

    "(Are you searching for anything in particr?)" Tycon offered towards the creature in the shadows.

    Therger creature slithered out, twice as thick as Tycon around, and far lengthier. Its scales were dark and smoke smoothly emanated from its form, "(Ohh? The male has such excellent vision?)"

    Tycon grew far, far more wary, upon hearing the Shadow Snake''s female voice. Medusa society was matriarchal. And for all the snakes he knew of, including Shadow Snakes, the female was much, muchrger than the males, and their domineering natures reflected their size.

    Tycon was confident that his snake form was a quarter-tonze and over 20 fulms. She was thrice his size. Easily.

    "(Ohhhh, mmmyyyy. You''re the most impressive male I''ve ever seen.... Boy.)"

    Tycon did not like the interest this female had taken. He did not like it at all. "(Please excuse me, Miss. I really have somece I need to be.)"

    With a ludicrous speed that Tycon dearly wished hadn''t belied her size, the female slithered in front of his path, "Oh,e now, I''ve been ssssssoooo bored~"

    "(Please, excuse me, Lady, I...)" Tycon paused, staring nkly. She spoke themon tongue. "Oh. Is that how it is, then?"

    He should have known that something was amiss. Shadow Snakes were jungle-dwellers and did not at all belong in colder mountainous areas of the Kingdom.

    ? System, Cancel Snake-Form. ?

    [Large Snake Form Cancelled. Returning to Human-Form.]

    Tycon took off his dark hood, revealing his youthful face and green hair, skin as ivory as his white scales, "If that''s the case, I''m certain we cane to an arrangement."

    The snake swirled around Tycon, well-away, but close enough to put Tycon on edge.

    "(Ah, Ivory Prince)," The female did not seem surprised, at all. "Sssssstay with me awhile. I do sssssooooo desire the *warm*pany of a man."

 Chapter 59 Endless

    ?Tycon was not interested in keeping such dangerouspany, especially with the female''sscivious body speech and bodynguage implying that she sought coption. He was still working, after all.

    But at the same time, he felt helpless. He''d have to entertain the female, at least for a short while. He couldn''t be rude and put to chance that she''d actively work against him.

    Women are petty creatures, no matter the species.

    He decided to put forth effort towards gaining an advantage from it.

    "My name is Tycondrius. And thedy''s name is?"

    The snake widened her eyes, appearing translucent and white within her shadowy form, "Ohhho, so my guess was correct."

    Tycon shrugged and took a seat upon her back, gently stroking her smoke-covered scales. She trembled under his touch, "Your name."

    Her body curled around Tycon''s shoulders and neck as he stroked the underside of where her throat would be.

    "Dear Prince, this one''s name is Ananta," She flicked her tongue yfully at him.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Ananta? (The Endless?)"

    He could swear she smirked back at him, "''Tis just a name, (Sweet Prince.)"

    "Well then, (Lady Endless). May I convince you to deign upon me (the secrets of thy body?)"

    The woman''s snake body gentlypressed around Tycon''s, "(How very forward of you, Ivory Prince.) And what will I receive for my troubles?"

    ...

    A nude human woman with short, bedraggled ck hair was happily chewing on some dried meat, ignoring the iciness of the evening mountain air, "Wow! Thissssss issss reeeeeeally good!"

    Ananta did not seem to utilize her human form often, judging by her nudity and sloppy appearance. But human teeth were best for consuming Tycon''s prized smoked and cured rations.

    "Your ttery is my greatest achievement," Tycon exaggerated.

    [Shadow Body added to Skill list.]

    Excellent. The woman shared a drop of her mana-filled blood. It was an odd process that Tycon didn''t understand well and it greatly taxed Ananta''s physique and mana... but with his System''s automating assistance, he was able to develop a new Skill.

    ? System, disy effects of Shadow Body ?

    [Shadow Body: Passive ability. Reduces visibility in dim light and darkness.]

    "Whoa. This is worthless."

    This was not excellent. He already used his Snake-form to sneak around unseen. A slight improvement on an ability he had no issues with was no improvement, at all.

    Tycon was displeased. He would have chosen to escape or even fight this ridiculous female, had he known he was wagering his rations for nothing.

    Ananta snuck up from behind Tycon, rubbing her naked human body against the back of his cloak and marking it with her scent. "What''sss wroooo~ng, (Sweet Prince?)"

    "(The secrets of your body) are unimpressive, Ananta."

    She nibbled on his ear and whispered in a sultry voice, "OhhHHhh, (Sweet Prince,) you wound me ssssssoooo with your wordsssss."

    Ananta moved to Tycon''s front, wrapping herself within his cloak and sitting on hisp, her arms resting on his shoulders, "In that case, I''ll provide you even more... (intimate secrets of my body.)"

    Tycon grabbed the girl''s wild hair, enjoying its softness and taking in her lustful scent. He pulled her close into a lengthy kiss, using his tongue to explore hers and feeling her body tremble in anticipation.

    Pulling apart, he ced a finger upon her lips, "And what will that cost me? A~nan~ta?"

    She leaned in closer, running her tongue up and down Tycon''s neck, grinding her naked hips against his loins, "I''ve never mated in my human form. Perhaps you''d like to be my first?"

    Tycon grinned, pulling her waist closer beneath their shared cloak, "I''ll do you one better."

    ...

    [Shadow Body has evolved into Shadow Body, Enhanced.]

    Ananta was happily chewing on some fatty dried meat, "By the gods, this issssssss DELICIOOOOUSSSSSS! This is even BETTER THAN SSSSSSSEXXX!!"

    ...Well, at least she was happy.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Even though he wasn''t forced to make such a calcted risk, Tycon''s heart bled. He had taken a portion of the Gann belly, cured it in brine, smoked and cooked it, to make a wonderful, fragrant, marbled meat intended to be thin-sliced. After bribing Ananta with a full portion, he only had half a portion left.

    He hid it away in a corner of his spatial ring, immune to scent, immune to magical divination. A sun would rise when he would need it for a morale boost. And he promised himself to be far, far away from any dangerous females when he decided to partake.

    He almost regretted not sleeping with Ananta instead of relying on bribery... Though he would have been far more keen on the idea if sexual cannibalism wasn''t somonce amongst their species. Larger females tended to consume their partners, post-coption.

    Some males were into that. Tycon was not.

    ? System, disy effects of Enhanced Shadow Body. ?

    [Shadow Body, Enhanced: Passive ability. Bes invisible in dim light or darkness. Can phase into material with the thickness of 1 ilm.]

    Excellent.

    ? System, Activate Large-Form and Shadow Body.?

    [Large Snake Form Activating. Shadow Body Activating.]

    Tycon decided to hurriedly slither away while the woman was distracted. He couldn''t risk losing any more of his rations.

    He had wasted plenty of time, as it was.

    ...

    The blonde archer, Kimura Tamaki, was carefully tinkering with the lock to his wooden cell door, "Almost got it. Almost..."

    He slipped, breaking the wooden pick. "Aw, fiddlesticks."

    Tamaki was unused to precise finger dexterity. He cursed his clumsy fingers. Frustrated, he took a step back and rammed his shoulder into the door.

    The door moved slightly off of its hinges, "Oooh."

    He mmed his shoulder against the door again. And a third time. Finally, with a solid front kick near the locking mechanism, the wooden door bent and opened outward.

    Tamaki rubbed his sore shoulder, pleased with his work. "Now I gotta get m'' bow. Then I gotta get outta here."

    He moved all quiet-like, peeking around the corners for any enemy troops, "If I know Coach, she''s already sent folks ta rescue me. I''d really rather not inconvenience Tycon and Invictus. They''re good people."

    Peeking into the next room, he observed a bored Muto Martialist, cking off, meditating.

    It was his chance.

    Tamaki ran into the room and grabbed the man by the neck. He was tall for his age, so their heights were simr. Holding the fe up against a wall, Tamaki use the forced and fury in his right fist to bash the guy''s face in. Blood went everywhere as he kept punching, knocking out two teeth and making his hand throb in pain.

    Once he was sure the guard was unconscious, Tamaki let him down and picked up his sword. "This''ll be useful. I sure wish I had my bow, though."

    "We''d rather you''d put that sword down, Warrior Tamaki."

    Tamaki turned to face the voice. It belonged to a woman with a ponytail, wearing dark leather armor and a captain''s sash on her arm. A half-dozen guards stood behind her, lookin'' menacing.

    Tamaki put on the friendliest smile he could manage, "Cap''n! Didn''t see you there."

    The woman crossed her arms, "Put the weapon down, Kimura."

    Tamaki threw the sword, "Take that!"

    Scout Captain Muto Shun caught the sword by the de, "I''ve trained our Stone Body art to basicpletion. Most of us have. I''m really not sure why you thought that was a good idea."

    Tamaki backed himself to a corner, "Stay back! I know martial arts!"

    Shun looked to herpanions. They all beganughing.

    They all knew martial arts.

    "Aw, fiddlesticks," Tamaki cursed.

    With a wave of her hand, Shun''s men surrounded Tamaki and began to beat him.

 Chapter 60 Traveling Merchants

    ?"We shouldn''t be doing this!" Lone pleaded.

    Dragan forged ahead, cradling his dark-metal axe with an expression full of anticipation, "Come on, bud! Don''t be a puss!"

    "Boss Tycon said to wait! And it''s only b--"

    Lone reflexively stopped, subconsciously shrinking his shoulders facing Dragan''s massive frame. The big man had waited for him to catch up.

    The big man grinned jovially, "Come on, man. You didn''t wanna stick to my n before! Come on, it''ll be fiiiiine!"

    "Come on, Lone." Pale pat Lone''s back, "It''ll be fine. I''ll protect you."

    Lone averted his gaze, curling his lips. Inwardly, he was thankful that Pale was on his side. But he had remembered that the boy was half his age.

    Pale began following after Dragan, while Tarquin Wroe caught up on the side, "It''ll probably be fine, Lone."

    The angelic boy''s hair flowed in the wind. It always seemed to do that, for some reason.

    Lone returned a weak smile, "I''m just a bit worried. I always tend to get injured-- with just about everything we do."

    Wroe smiled gently, his eyes shut, "As far as injury is concerned, any Invictus member should always have at least one potion on them."

    Lone furrowed his brows, "Wait, you guys are getting potions?"

    The group stopped.

    Dragan frowned, "Well, yeah? Doesn''t heal everything, but can save you from bleedin'' out. What, did you leave yours back at the house?"

    Lone shook his head, "What? No, I was never given a potion!"

    Wroe tilted his head, rotating his neck in his typical creepy manner, "Boss Tycon issues potions at the beginning of each mission. This isn''t your first mission, though?"

    Wroe, Dragan, and Pale looked to each other.

    "I''ve got mine," Wroe had ced the vial filled with red liquid on his belt, beside his sword.

    Dragan revealed a small triangr vial that hung from his neck, normally kept hidden by his tunic, "Haven''t used mine for a few missions."

    Pale dug into his bag and offered a thin red vial, "Here you go, Lone. I never use mine."

    Wroe hovered over Pale, "BuuUUuckeTTtt... Don''t lie."

    Pale shuddered and retracted his hand... but he reached out again, still offering, "I don''t use mine... a lot."

    Lone closed the boy''s hand and pushed it away, "No, I''ll be fine, Pale. I''ll just be extra careful."

    Pale nodded and put the vial back into his pouch.

    Lone turned to Dragan, "What''s the n? The mountains look pretty difficult to climb, but I brought some rope and climbing gear."

    Dragan smirked, "We charge through the front."

    "Being a mountain fortress, there''s probably a baaaa--" Lone paused briefly, "I BEG your pardon?"

    Dragan lifted his hands up and pointed a finger from either hand sideways, towards the fortress, "We''ll assault the fortress from the front."

    Lone looked up the steep ramp, lit byrge braziers, "But... they''ll see us."

    "Yep!"

    "They have... murder holes they can shoot arrows out of!"

    "Uh huh!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "There are LOCKED DOUBLE DOORS!!"

    "Well, that''s unfair." Wroe interjected, "They might not be."

    "Maybe we can tell them we''re traveling salesmen?" Pale offered hopefully.

    Dragan pumped his greataxe in the air, "Great idea, Bucket! We''ll tell ''em, alright. We''re merchants... of DEATH!"

    Wroe raised his eyebrows, "How about if I call down a Creature of the Stars upon the fortress! Those that look upon its splendor would toss away their worldly wants and sing in praise!"

    "Boss Tycon said not to let you summon anything from the stars..." Pale grimaced.

    Even Lone frowned, "I also don''t agree. I don''t want to be responsible for 200 people crippled by insanity and mind-afflictions."

    Dragan tilted his head and ced his hands on his hips, "Tarquin, Tarquin, Tarquin... would you really beat up a crippled person?"

    Wroe smiled-- a bit too wide, "How much are you paying me?"

    "Nothin''."

    "You drive a hard bargain. I''ll do it," Wroe showed a clenched fist.

    Lone put a palm on Wroe''s fist and gently pushed it down, "Nnnoooo..."

    Dragan threw his head back inughter, "Hahaha! Lone! Bucket! Can you BELIEVE how violent this guy is??"

    Wroe began yelling back, "YOU''RE one to talk!? I get this from YOU!!"

    Dragan looked offended, "Now, now, Mister Wroe. Let''s not name any names."

    Pale tapped his crimson spear to the ground, making a keen ringing noise and stopping the conversation.

    "Let''s just follow Mister Dragan''s n," He said, smiling helplessly.

    ...

    Scout Kiyoshi jogged up the steps to find the Captain. It had only been a few suns since Muto Shun''s transfer, but she was a reasonable leader-- a blessing in the cold, western fortress.

    Someone had locked the armory, which wasn''t an issue-- the door was locked once every two months or so. Someone would have fallen asleep inside or a couple would sneak off, thinking they were clever. The Captain held onto the heavy key.

    As one of the more veteran scouts, Kiyoshi would appeal to the Captain to reduce the offender''s punishment. Incidents arisen from boredom weremon in the Muto western fortress. With nothing to do but train and roll dice, every warrior in the fortress, no matter their age, gender, or role... got a little stupider.

    The fortress was built to be manned by over 100 warriors and was capable of housing 3 or 4 times that amount. In its storied history, the fortress would see thousands of standing warriors and personnel, rotating expeditions into the western reaches as the fortressmander dictated. Over the past several epochs, the number of men and women stationed at the forest was steadily reduced... With their current numbers, Kiyoshi wasn''t sure they could actually fend off any attackers, whether it be from the western forests or the demon-barbarians from the north.

    Kiyoshi''s worry was heightened with the fact that smoke was beginning to billow out from underneath the armory door. Someone might have been burning incense. Or someone may have dropped antern and fallen asleep. They were told time and time again to be careful in the armory. There was a quarter-tonze of explosives in there... cast-iron shells filled with Orkish Sugar, a fragrant, highly explosive ck powder.

    If House Muto used everything in there for demolitions, they could blow a hole in the side of the Icehorn Mountains.

    Kiyoshi opened the door to the nning hall... and found the Scout Captain uncharacteristically asleep, sitting at the central table with her head buried in her arms.

    "Captain, there''s an issue," He walked over.

    The woman remained unmoving. Kiyoshi gulped in nervousness. He''d never had a chance to look upon a sleeping woman before-- not that he was nning on doing anything lewd.

    He could understand the Captain catching a quick nap. Adjusting to the cold, stone and wood fortress, he''d suffered more than one sleepless night and fatigue-ridden sun. He gently shook Captain Shun by the shoulder, "Cap''n."

    He grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted to sit her straight... but something was off. Sweeping back her shoulder-length hair, he found a crossbow bolt stuck in her neck.

    Before he could yell, he felt a hand cover his mouth and hot steel pierce through his back. Straining his neck to look at his attacker, thest thing Kiyoshi saw were golden eyes underneath a dark hood.

 Chapter 61 All Risk, No Reward

    ?Tycon stood atop the fortress walls, well hidden in his snake form. The western fortress was built atop a tall, steep, narrow upward slope. On a clear sun, a few dozen archers, along with some well-ced traps could defend the fortress against several hundred.

    Tycon''s stealthy navigation through the fortress was far easier than the Tavor manor. His Enhanced Shadow Body allowed him to use his belly scales to grip onto the ceiling with a diagonal sidewinding undtion.

    It felt ridiculous, stealthily sidewinding.

    He had seeded in setting fire to the armory, assassinated the highest rank in the fortress, and even found the kidnapped Tamaki alive in his cell. He had even found an escape route that their small group could use to sneak into the fortress.

    All he had to do was slither down the side of the fortress and meet up with Guild Invictus.

    Shadows were moving up the steep hill up to the fortress.

    Tycon shook his head, denying it. No... It couldn''t be his ever-so-patient allies. It was just... a coincidence, perhaps.

    He squinted his snakey eyes to better see. A big shadow. A tall, thin shadow. A particrly small shadow? A shadow wearing far too much gear.

    Tycon''s fears were confirmed. Guild Invictus was quickly approach the front of the fortress.

    No cover. No stealth.... No. n.

    Tycon heard lots of yelling from inside the fortress-- and soon arrows began flying towards his friends.

    ...

    "Swords!" Pale yelled.

    Barza knew better than to argue. He flipped his own des, presenting the hilts towards Pale. The boy tossed his spear up and took Barza''s swords as Barza caught Pale''s spear.

    Pale rushed forward, rapid des shing apart oing arrows while Barza and Wroe rushed behind him. Pale was... really good at stopping things thrown and shot at him.

    "Dragan!! Get behind Pale!!" Barza yelled. An arrow whizzed past his face and shed his cheek open.

    "All risk!!" Dragan broke into a sprint with a hair-raising scream, "NO REWARD!!"

    Wroe tapped Barza on the shoulder, "He''ll be fine... probably."

    ...

    It took Dragan over five minutes of full-speed sprinting to climb the steep hill.

    Tycon''s legs felt sore just watching him. He could do... maybe... one minute?

    30 seconds, for sure.

    Dragan performed a beautiful leap forward, lifting his greataxe behind his back. He nailed his axe into the massive double doors.

    The axe stuck, of course. Unsticking the weapon from the wood, the giant man continued to hammer and chop away at the massive doors. Archers behind the door''s murder-holes continued to fire arrows that would stick in his leather armor or were deflected by his axe de.

    Tycon put away the cast-iron bomb he was prepared to throw. He was quite tempted to kill his ineffective idiot-friend but... his usefulness outweighed his stupiditymore often than it didn''t.

    "Hey! Who the hell are you?!"

    Tycon turned to see that a couple of archers had finally climbed the inner stairs up to the front wall.

    It took them long enough.

    He held his palms open in a show of harmlessness and began to walk towards them, "Gentlemen, I appear to be lost."

    [Vexing Gaze conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Activate. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    ...

    Pale demonstrated his extraordinary and boundless stamina, running up the hill while using Lone''s swords to deflect all the arrows he could. As it neared its end, the Pale, Wroe, and Lone reached the fortress.

    Pale took cover to catch his breath and massage his eyes. Seeing and reacting to so many arrows in the evening, with only the brazier fires to rely on, taxed his concentration to its limits.

    None of the three took any direct arrow hits. Pale was a geniusbatant. And now it was Lone''s and Wroe''s turn.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone took the magical red spear and thrust it through a murder-hole, stabbing a man in the throat. Power surged through him, surprising him and sharpening his senses-- the crimson spear''s magical effect. Using only his peripheral vision, Lone used his bare hands to catch an arrow that had been fired at him. He turned to see his surprised attacker and rushed forward to stab his spear into the man''s screaming teeth. The same sense-sharpening power surged through him, once again.

    ...Lone... really wanted a magic weapon of his own.

    ...

    Wroe poured water from his canteen onto his hands, which misted outward in a rainbow of water vapor. In the same motion, he reached his sword hand forward, he grasped, and he pulled. A wide-ded sword, ethereal white... formed out of mana in the mist. The sword''s design was unapologetically Fae in nature, confusing, aesthetically pleasing. It looked elegant and fragile, but somehow deadly, all at once.

    Tycon thought it looked stupid.

    With each sh of Wroe''s sword, the Daevaunched an eldritch crescent of magic power forward. With unerring uracy, each eldritch st took an archer''s life through the fortress'' small openings.

    Tycon red down from the top of the fortress wall, adjusting his seating upon the small pile of corpses he had arranged for his ownfort. Wroe looked upwards towards him-- the only Invictus member that had noticed him so far.

    Wroe smiled, looking particrly foolish.

    Tycon fired a crossbow bolt at him. Wroe dodged it.

    Tycon read Wroe''s lips as the Daeva yelled back, ''I''m so very foolish, you''re very handsome, Sir Lord Tycon.''

    Wroe went back to killing.

    ...

    Tycon dropped down the front of the fortress wall,nding besides Dragan.

    Mister Dragan didn''t rely on magical attacks, like Mister Wroe. He did not have a spear, like Pale. He didn''t have javelins, like Barza.

    Tycon crossed his arms, watching Dragan... The Titanblood had reached through a murder-hole opening, grabbed an archer by the neck, and was repeatedly pulling-- mming the human''s face against the fortress stones.

    "Mister Dragan."

    "One second, Boss." Dragan continued to pull the poor fool against the stones, the sound like a sack of meat striking a chopping block.

    "...Dragan."

    "If you''re here to yell at me, Boss, the n was a stunning sess!" The red-haired giant insisted.

    Tycon frowned, "Mister Dragan, I''d like to ask you how many archers you''ve incapacitated in that manner."

    Dragan reached forward deeply and with a final pull, a loud crunching sound emanated from beyond the wall. He turned with a grin and a show of bloody fingers, "Three!"

    "And you couldn''t have..."

    There were many things Tycon could have advised... Utilizing stealth. Climbing the walls. Looking for a back door.

    ...Waiting for him to return.

    Seven hells, they had Wroe, they could even have used trickery and deceit.

    They could have pretended to be merchants.

    Tycon waved his thoughts away as he walked off. There was no winning against Dragan at the current point in the battle, "Nevermind."

    Tycon surveyed the outside of the fortress... no further attacks came. He assumed enough guards had died in its defense-- the remainder of them had likely collected and formed secondary defensive line. It would be a simple task to sweep the rest of the fortress, loot it for anything decent, and save Young Master Tamaki.

    Guild Invictus gathered around him. Tycon casually inspected each of them and was d to see no one was injured, though Pale looked very fatigued and Barza had gained a very nasty cut on his cheek-- it would scarter and make him look more of a grizzled veteran than he actually was.

    Dragan jogged up with enthusiasm, "Oh, yeah, Boss! The door''s pretty thick. I think we still gotta climb in."

    Tycon grabbed the sturdy chain that served as a door handle. With a steady pull, the door slowly lurched open.

    "I disabled the locking mechanism a quarter-bell ago," Tycon exhaled a deep sigh.

    The group entered the fortress, each of Invictus smiling apologetically... save Dragan. The red-headed giantughed shamelessly, the entire way.

 Chapter 62 Cry Of Injustice

    ?Kimura Tamaki was beaten lightly but wasrgely unperturbed by his capture. The Young Master had tried to escape and was beaten by martial arts for his troubles. Young Palemiserated with him, bonding over their shared personal experiences.

    Tycon beat the both of them with a stick until they stopped feeling sorry for each other.

    The Muto western fortress was set aze, most of its weapons were destroyed, and all of its defenders turned into corpses. If any survivors did escape, they would be hard-pressed to exin the deaths of several dozen men and women, well-positioned in a secure military structure... especially if they understood fortoress was lost to a mere group of five.

    Guild Invictus returned to the Ivory Judge sect past the midday-bell of the following sun.

    Barza and Dragan had purged the targets Tycon had earlier identified in the Kimura household. Even if more spies remained hidden, they would certainly act with caution, seeing some of their ilk conveniently missing. The disappearances would be more apparent in time, but Tycon was intent on Invictus having left the sect by then.

    As added insurance, Pale and Tarquin Wroe had seeded in gathering information. ckmail material was so very delicious to Tycon.

    As a great, but wee surprise, Kimura Taree had seeded in gathering the requisite ritual scrolls and alchemical mixtures in their absence.

    "So, Warrior Tycon,"Kimura Tamaki, along with his sister and the members of Guild Invictus were gathered around a campfire."Could ya tell me again why I wasn''t allowed ta go back to the house?"

    Tycon sprinkled a handful of coarse salt on the river fish Tamaki had caught. "Kagehisa Yumiko has been informed of your safety. Are there any other issues you would need to address?"

    "Well, I was just curious."

    Taree scooted closer to listen. She seemed curious, as well.

    Tycon twisted his mouth, "Caution. Whether there is or is not a plot against our attempt to cure the Guardian Beast, there is no need to broadcast our efforts."

    "Well, alright, then. I''m just d I''ll be able to help." Tamaki gave a warm smile.

    Tycon sipped from his warmed cup. Yumiko, the Kimura siblings'' mother, had gifted Invictus two jugs of rice wine containing steeped unripened plums.

    "I''ve only brought people I trust," Tycon said quietly to himself...

    ? System, change setting: Aggression ranking, Levels:4. Hostile, Tentative, Non-Hostile and... Trusted. ?

    [Setting changeplete.]

    Tycon mentally changed his System''s tag settings and he watched as the transparent green tags of all of Guild Invictus change from a green color to afortable blue.

    He trusted their character. And he trusted their strength. Anyone that wasn''t at least Bronze-Rank would die a meaningless death if they were to fight against Old Fool at his full strength.

    ? System, inquiry: I wish to know the sses of my immediate allies. ?

    Tycon looked to Dragan first. He couldn''t hate Dragan, as foolish as he often acted. There was a spark of cunning in the man''s eyes that Tycon wouldn''t dare underestimate. As long as they remained allies, however, that cunning was a boon to the guild.

    [System response: Dragan Ashlord, Iron-Rank Swordmage.]

    Tycon couldn''t hate Tarquin Wroe, either. The poor fool was misguided in his love for the beyond. It would certainly lead to a young death. Tycon would use that to his benefit. And payment for his good faith, he silently promised to kill the man with his own hands, if the Daeva were to ever cross a forbidden threshold...

    [Tarquin Wroe, Bronze-Rank Hexde.]

    Pale-- or Bucket, as he was often called, hade a long way. The case was simr with Barza Keith. The fight ahead would be dangerous, but its potential for growth was exponential. Old Fool would be the strongest creature that Invictus would have ever fought, (to memory.)

    [Pale, Bronze-Rank Spear Novice; Barza Keith, Bronze-Rank Warrior.]

    ...The sses of those 2 were incredibly peculiar. Pale''s Spear Novice ss sounded like it would promote into something far better... And Barza''s Warrior was a side-grade from his previous Ruffian ss, but better suited his natural strengths.

    Pale needed more diverse training in order to unlock his potential. Barza needed more training, all-around. Long, harsh suns were ahead of him.

    He was surprised that even Kimura Taree had a blue tag. He had thought the young girl didn''t like him much. She caught his gaze and turned away with a hmph.

    Rude, as always.

    [Kimura Taree, Bronze-Rank Martialist.]

    Tycon raised his wooden cup to the man of the hour, Kimura Tamaki, whose presence had increased their enjoyment of food in the wild by adding delicious fish and non-poisonous berries to their diet.

    [Kimura Tamaki, Bronze-Rank Fisherman.]<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon involuntarily spat out his delicious wine, the worst recent faux pas he had evermitted.

    "What''s wrong, Warrior Tycon? Is the wine mama made too strong?" Tamaki asked.

    "Oh, it''s nothing to worry about, Young Master. I think I may have bit into the sour plum." Tycon shook his head.

    Tamakiughed, "Yeah! It''ll sneak up on ya if yer not careful!"

    Tycon decided he''d have Kimura Tamaki watch when they reached Old Fool''s cave... no, to avoid suspicion, he''d have both Kimura siblings keep watch.

    ...

    Pale bowed politely to the massive serpentine fish, "Hello, Guardian Beast! Please excuse us!"

    Tycon waved his hand, "No need to be overly respectful. Old Fool is a few epochs older than you, but isn''t grand or respectable, at all."

    "(Little White! Must you correct the little one? My feelings are hurt!)" Old Fool, the flood dragon, scrutinized the group of 5 that came to visit him.

    Pale bowed again before running off to observe Wroe. The Hexde was arranging a ritual circle with the use of several previously crafted talismans.

    "(I do look forward to a great battle.)" Old Fool''s voice rumbled excitedly, "(Five of you! You must be great heroes! The blood of titans! The blood of angels! And you, Little White... Ah, and the human must be a great, storied hero! And the elf must be an incredibly powerful being, to have reverted in age to look so young!)"

    Tycon smiled but did not respond.

    Old Fool squinted his eyes, "(Little White... I see you''ve drawn a sealing formation... But... what is that second circle your magician is drawing?)"

    Wroe finished the spell circle and it began to suffuse with a gentle bluish cloud of mana.

    Tycon exined, speaking quickly, "Ley Line Circle. It establishes a focused connection to a targeted ley line, of which your undergroundke, quite obviously, is a natural hub. The focused connection provides a surplus of siphoned mana. The rich mana environment allows the caster to focus eldritch energies with a higher Completion Rating, affording a more efficacious mana-to-spell ratio, faster casting rate, and reduced mental fatigue..."

    Tycon shrugged, "I''m uncertain to any particrs beyond that."

    "It''s like drinking from a punch bowl!" Pale added.

    Tycon nodded, "Very astute, young man."

    "(And... those additional pills and talismans?)" Old Fool asked.

    "Mister Barza is applying the Waterbane enchantment to our weapons. We also have a small collection of pills that will temporarily increase our strength and agility. Miss Kimura Taree has been quite thorough in arranging for the assistance and even House Muto has donated hundreds of spirit herbs towards our cause."

    Therge box of spirit herbs that Tycon had appropriated from Muto Hisato was easily enough to create additional pills if it was for a mere fivebatants. Tycon requested temporary enhancement pills and enchantment talismans, as opposed to life-saving pills and talismans containing damaging spells.

    Old Fool''s voice took on a tone of concern... "(Is that-- that is a siege weapon!)"

    Dragan was positioning a ballista, adjusting it to point at the overgrown river eel. The projectile was designed to break a fortress wall and would inflict a grievous injury, even with Old Fool''s strength.

    "Yes, that is indeed a siege weapon," Tycon nodded, feeling quite proud of Dragan''s suggestion. "I''ve also brought a small collection of explosives."

    Old Fool''s nervousness was palpable, "(When thou mentioned we''d do battle... I was hoping... for... an honorable duel of strength?)"

    Tycon checked his pocket watch, "It''s been about 30 minutes since you''ve swallowed the mana cirction pill, Old Fool. How do you feel?"

    The flood dragon averted his gaze, "(Little White... Please listen to this old fool... Can we... can we talk about this??)"

    Tycon yelled out, "Old Fool''s said he''s ready! Commence the attack!!"

    "BY HER BLADE!!" "VICTORY OR DEATH!" "DEATH TO THE ENEMIES OF GUILD INVICTUS!!" "ALL RISK, NO REWARD!!" --Each of Guild Invictus'' shouts were more worrisome than thest.

    ...The mournful cries of the Guardian Beast''s injustice rang throughout the sect''snds.

    The Ivory Judge sect would enter a new age of strength and prosperity. Their warriors would grow strong under the Guardian Beast''s protection. Their enemies would never dare toy siege to theirnds, lest they offend the ancient creature.

    For generations afterward, the sect flourished, owing thanks to the Chosen One of legend and their band of noble heroes.

 Chapter 63 Victoire

    ?Guard Captain Varen Capulet went out for a stroll, taking a break from his desk job. Ever since Baron Zindo Tavor''s estate was taken over by House Charm, he had far less time wielding a sword versus wielding a pen. His niece, Sorina, had him charged him with overseeing a number of operations, including coordinating with the local Adventurer''s Guild.

    It had been a few moons since then, long enough to form a peaceful habit of his new life. He missed patrolling in armor, but not the long hours and the stink of it. He disliked the feel of a sore writing wrist, but it was better waking each morning muscle-sore, all over.

    It was afortable job, reviewing paperwork, signing each page, talking to the other old adventurers, and most of all, enjoying thepany of his adorable niece on the rare times that she could spare the old man a moment. He was even considering retiring soon... It was growing harder and harder to remember the simplest things, sometimes. But he hoped he could be of help to little Sorina until her growing pains as the Invictus'' financial officer had passed.

    Varen spotted Sorina approaching, out on her morning run. She was wearing a light tunic and shorts, running at a brisk pace.

    Varen waved. It was nice to see the youngdy working so hard.

    "I hate men! They sh''dall die!!" Sorina was chanting a strange cadence.

    Running behind her was the ponytailed mercenary, Korr, keeping Sorina''s pace while wearing a weighted metal training vest.

    "Could you... do something about that song, Sorina?" Varen asked politely as the duo ran past him.

    "All men are scum, Uncle! Not you, though! Love you!" Sorina smiled, trying to catch her breath.

    "KEEP RUNNING, B*TCH!!" Korr yelled, her sword suddenly drawn.

    Sorina kept running. She had been working incredibly hard, hosting merchants and establishing several trade contracts in the few weeks she''s been in power. On top of that, she didn''t neglect her physical training-- though he was fairly certain Seldin Korr''s... encouragement had something to do with that.

    Korr stopped in front of Varen, sheathed her sword, and gave a polite bow.

    "Ah, Miss Seldin-- ah, you preferred Korr, right?" Varen gave a genial smile.

    Korr nodded in response. Varen was already more-or-less used to the woman''s quietude.

    "I see my niece is still training every waking sun. That''s good."

    Korr nodded, her smile somewhat forced. Varen appreciated the effort, even though the poor girl''s smiling face looked... slightly unnatural.

    "What was her regimen again?" Varen scratched his greying head, "Forgive this old man''s forgetfulness."

    Korr gently pat Varen''s arm in an act of care. Varen didn''t quite understand, but he was pleased to be doted upon. In Korr''s naturally soft voice, she murmured, "100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and a 6 malm run."

    Varen nodded with a hum, "Hmm, impressive. How about martial arts? Has she shown any aptitude for weaponry?"

    Korr shook her head, "She shows promise with wands."

    Varen sighed. If that was the case, neither he nor Korr would be able to assist her much. Ah, wands?

    Varen suddenly remembered something, "That''s right. Miss Korr, when you have some time, please drop by the Adventurer''s Guild. I... can''t for the life of me, remember why, though."

    Korr''s eyes looked worried as she nodded. With a small wave, she sprinted full-speed after Sorina. Varen followed her figure as she left.

    "Ah. She drew her sword again." Varen mused, "How nice to watch this generation train so hard."

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Wizardess Victoire nchett greeted Varen and Korr on an open-air balcony on the second level of the guildhall. The head of the Adventurer''s Guild in Nice was an older woman from Varen''s generation, but her skill with makeup (and perhaps a bit of magic) she looked barely older than Korr. Like all magicians in the Kingdom, she valued fashion, and today wore an open wizard''s robe, white trousers, and a colorful blouse.

    She looked less than thrilled at Varen''s arrival.

    "So the Capitaine of ze Garde finally decides to grace me with his presence," Sheined loud enough for adventurers on the first floor to gawk.

    Varen smiled wryly. That wasn''t how he remembered it... "I was just here yesterday, President Victoire?"

    A sugar cube floated magically from a te at the table''s center and plonked against Varen''s forehead. Varen stared down sadly at his tea, where the sugar cube hadnded. He didn''t like sugar in his tea and he had a feeling Victoire knew that.

    "Foolish Capulet, three suns! I asked three suns ago for you!" The woman''s speech devolved into a string of curses in the oldnguage.

    Korr sat patiently as she quietly picked at a dainty slice of cake Victoire had provided. She wore an artful dark polka-dot dress and a beret atop her dark-red hair, a drastic change from the form-fitting armor Varen was used to her wearing.

    She seemed to notice his gaze, "I broke my armor and still need it fixed."

    Varen nodded. Had she told him that before?

    Victoire leaned over the table, "Ahh, Korr, my beautiful fox! It ''as been many years, no? Every year, we still send flowers to Raoul''s grave."

    Seldin Korr nodded with a small smile, "It''s fine, Victoire... I have a new leader now."

    In a magical poof of pink clouds, Victoire reappeared behind Korr''s chair, hugging her and nuzzling her cheek. Varen gulped at the woman''s brazenness. President Victoire had be a Circle Mage as a young teenager and was one of the most dangerous peak Second-Circle magic casters on the east side of the Kingdom.

    Unbothered by the president''s affection, Korr lifted a tiny fork of cake to her mouth.

    "So tell me, tell me. What is he like, ze new Baron? Is he ''andsome? Do you grow LOST in his eyes!? And is he very powerful in ze nighttime, if you know what I mean? Hohoh!"

    Varen narrowed his eyes, "Madam President! Really? Miss Seldin Korr is a professional, not a--"

    The wizardess hissed like a cat, and pressed her ample bosom into the back of Korr''s head in an embrace, "Pah! What do you know, you old geezer!? Korr ze Unbreakable may be a tiger on the battlefield, but she is a petit kitty when ites to love~! Isn''t zat right, my little fox?!?"

    "Yes." Korr gave a simple one-word answer. Varen doubted she was even listening to the conversation.

    Varen coughed, "Well, anyroad... why have you called us here, President Victoire?"

    After Victoire finished her petting session, she rested her chin on Korr''s head. "Ze former-Baron has woken up from hisa. He has had... some very... mmm~ interesting things to say."

    Varen crossed his arms in thought, "Can... Zindo do anything? I mean, legally."

    "Non," she responded. "Ze Kingdom''s inspectors havee and zey have gone. The Council saw fit to strip Zindo of his barony for his crimes. Baron Tycon''s coup of his estate was ratified soon afterward-- perhaps too easily... but zat is none of our business."

    Varen couldn''t make sense of it, "Then what could he possibly do?"

    Victoire stood up with a shrug and a charming wink, "I''m almost certain ze fool will tell you, once we see him. Won''t the two of you apany an old woman to the guild dungeons?"

 Chapter 64 Zindoâ€™s Revenge

    ?What Victoire referred to ominously as the guild dungeons, Varen did not find nearly as dramatic as she''d initially made them out to be. Beneath the guildhall was a wine cer, a small room serving as an armor, and two barred and guarded rooms with the cer stairs being the only exit.

    A severely bandaged Zindo Tavor lied in one of these rooms on a filthy bed.

    "Dear gods, the conditions? Really, man?" Varen questioned the adventurer guarding the cell.

    The guard shrugged, "Listen, Cap''n. No one''s paying enough coin to clean out the man''s bed e''ry time he soils himself. We hired a maid, but we caught her poisoning the dastard''s meals."

    "Every... time, you say?"

    Victoire ordered the man to open the doors, "Monsieur Dragan of Sol Invictus... ''e reported that ze former baron fell down ze stairs. And his insides, zey were... ahhh~ how you say, disturbed. He cannot control his bowels, like~ like a child or a... Guard Capitaine."

    Varen deigned not to respond to the jab. He had never publicly soiled himself... to memory, anyroad, "Hm. I see."

    The trio entered Zindo''s cell, assaulted by his stench. He was difficult to pity, leering with a broken-toothed grin. He had gone from an overweight lecher to a too-thin and sickly one.

    Zindo sneered, "Finallye to beg for me to release you from the Tavor ancestral curse, have you?"

    Varen grit his teeth, "You... what do you mean?"

    The broken manughed, wincing in pain as he chortled, "Let me guess! Inexplicable deaths?! Doors locking and the room''s inhabitants suffering mysterious idents? Haha! It''s a curseid by my ancestors! Only I know the secrets to--"

    "Killed it," Korr interrupted in her light voice.

    Varen looked at her dubiously.

    Victoire held Korr''s face in her hands, "Little fox... how do you mean, when you say... killed ze ghost?"

    Korr clenched her fist proudly, "I beat it with my fists. It won''t possess anyone any longer."

    Zindo paled, "IMPOSSIBLE!!"

    Varen stroked his short pepper beard, "Well... in the few weeks since, we haven''t had any mysterious deaths in the manor."

    Victoire offered, "And my little fox, she speaks wis'' ze utmost honesty."

    Zindo clenched his remaining teeth, "Fine then! You must be here for the ledgers of my supposed misdeeds!"

    "Nope," Korr responded.

    "Damn!! The ledgers were well hidden away in the bookshelves! How infuriating! Then you''re here for the deeds to mypanies!!"

    "Nope."

    "Whaaat?! I can''t believe you''ve decoded the cipher in my hidden ledgers and cracked the code to the safe!! But surely, you''re here about the rumored cache of coin I''ve hidden in the manor!!"

    "Nope."

    "I had the switch underneath my desk CUSTOM MADE by the Tinkerer''s Guild! Damn!!"

    Varen approached Korr''s side.

    "Did you really know about that one?" He whispered.

    She nodded, "Sorina found two."

    Zindo yelled once more, "Then you''re here about the mercenaries my brother''s hired!"

    "No-- oh..." Korr hesitated, "Yes."

    "Hohohoahahaa!!" Zindoughed. "My brother''s sent me a letter saying he''s hired the Staghorn Guild to take care of your little adventuringpany!!"

    Varen noticed that Korr''s expression had gone pale and Victoire looked uneasy. He crossed his arms, "What''s this about the Staghorn Guild?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Victoire frowned, "It is a guild from ze sou''zern part of the Kingdom, near ze Holy Country. Zhey are apany of elite troops made from ''ardened veterans, sharpened in battles all over ze western continent."

    "Duke Tavor..." The Mage seethed, "Zat... ZAT PIG!!!"

    Varen''s worries began to grow, "What do you mean *Duke* Tavor!"

    "Pah! Capitaine, your memory, it gets worse every sun! Zindo''s elder brother, he is a Duke in Merylsward!" Victoire scolded.

    A Duke... this was worse than Varen could have imagined.

    "What can we do..." Varen brooded. "Guild Invictus has less than ten members. They''re at a great disadvantage to fight apany of a hundred or more,"

    Victoire shook her head, "The Invictus leader, he is a cunning nobleman. We cannot give up hope, Capitaine."

    The sound of teeth breaking interrupted the two. They turned to Zindo Tavor, his nose and mouth bloodied, and with his two front teeth missing from his already-crooked grin. Korr held Zindo''s neck in her left hand and her raised right fist was covered in blood.

    "Non, Little Fox, non!!" "Miss Korr, you must restrain yourself!!"

    ...

    After several minutes of Varen unsessfully trying to grapple Korr, Victoire was finally able to calm her down, speaking gently and even resorting to singing a calming luby in the Old Language. The former Baron, however, had lost more teeth and his face was as swollen and misshapen-- though Victoire admitted that Zindo was far worse when he was first transferred to the adventurer guild''s custody. From falling down stairs, she said.

    Korr stood outside the cell, looking in. She had washed her hands and was holding a fat pink plush that somewhat resembled a pig.

    Was that new? Varen didn''t remember such a thing... but his memory didn''t seem so trustworthy, in recent suns.

    It seemed to calm her a bit. But the youngdy was still puffing her cheeks in outward discontent.

    "Hur hur hur..." Zindo was determined to have thest, mockingugh.

    "What else do you have up your sleeve?" Varen asked.

    "I''m d you ath''ed," Zindo spoke, brandishing a new lisp. "My deare''tht brother hath thought to recruit Macthimuth, an Ethyrian diath''r! Your Baron Thycondriuth HATH NO CHANCE! Hue hue hue hue hue!!"

    Korr pressed her face against the cell''s bars with a very loud bang.

    "EEEEE!!!!!" Zindo yelled in shock, falling off of his bed in an attempt to scramble away from the threat of more pain.

    Her eyes seemed to glow a deep red, but Varen reasoned that it was a trick of the torchlight.

    ...

    After Korr''s silent threat, Zindo wisely refused to say any more. The trio left the cer and returned to the main hall.

    Varen turned to the guild president, "Did you understand any of that drivel?"

    "Sacred gods..." The woman cursed, "Zindo, he speaks of... Maximus of Ezyria. He is ''Sanctum Parmrius''... a Shield Warrior of ze Holy Country."

    Korr immediately spun on a heel and began walking towards the exit. Varen called after her, "Miss Korr! Miss Korr, don''t be rash!"

    She turned her head with glowing red eyes, "I''m leaving. Leader must be warned."

    Chills ran down Varen''s spine as she watched her departing form.

    Victoire sighed loudly, "Capitaine, you nipoop. Your Baron Invictus ''as charmed ze Unbreakable. She needs your support, not your cowardice."

    Varen wiped away sweat at his brow, "Well, it''s just that... Sir Tycondrius gave strict orders to keep Korr here."

    "Pah! What do you know!" Victoire threw both of her hands into the air in exasperation, "Korr, she is a woman of action-- NOT a piteous damsel who waits patiently for her husband to return from ze war."

    Varen could only give a helpless look in response and silently pray to the gods for his employer''s safety.

 Chapter 65 The Patriarchs Return

    ?Kimura Daigo, Patriarch of the Kimura family, stepped foot into his own home after weeks of absence.

    The other members of the Kimura family rejoiced at his arrival.

    "The Patriarch has returned!" "Wee back, Patriarch!" "Patriarch!"

    Daigo was pleased. When he''d left, the impending Cmity had hung over the family''s head like an axe ready to fall. Seeing his entire household, full of gloom and hopelessness, he vowed to grow stronger. He needed to do all that he could to rekindle the spark in the Kimura family, to drive them to seek sess, to flourish within the sect.

    He gave passing greetings to his loyal family members and immediately made his way to the central hall. He would shoulder the burdens of his Ivory Judge sect by himself if he had to.

    ...

    "Uncle Kakui," Daigo addressed his Uncle and Chief Advisor. "Summon the Elders."

    Daigo sat imposingly on the central throne. He had changed into the flowing golden robes of the Kimura family, heirloom des worn on his side. He wore his flowing, silvery hair in a high ponytail held by sticks, dashing and wild, like the heroes of legend. He shed a masculine smile at Kagehisa Yumiko, his gorgeous wife, who swooned exaggeratedly with her hands to her heart, "My husband is so manly!"

    Damn straight, he is.

    Elder Kakui gave a light bow of obeisance, "Of course, Patriarch. What shall I tell them?"

    Daigo grinned widely. To answer the elder''s question, he allowed some of his aura to leak through unrestrained.

    Elder Kakui stumbled back a step in surprise, "N-n-nascent Profound Realm?!"

    "That''s right. I''ve been in the Otherworldly Formation for nearly a year and have finally broken through, increasing my speed and strength several-fold."

    "Patriarch! That''s wonderful news!"

    Daigo''s smile hardened and turned grave, "I know I have given our family hope with my return... Where before, it was an impossible task, I now believe I have a 30% chance to seed. But I will need your help, Uncle, along with that of the other elders. We will resolve the Guardian Beast''s condition together..."

    Daigo stood up and clenched his fists, releasing his aura, "For the fate of the sect!!"

    Elder Kakui furrowed his eyebrows with a wry smile, "Patriarch... that."

    Yumiko gave a polite bow, "Dear husband, the Guardian Beast''s issue has already been resolved. For several suns now, the Guardian Beast has made several appearances. The sect''s morale is high and the younger generation is improving their martial arts rapidly."

    Daigo''s smile twitched. The biggest tribtion the sect had suffered in his lifetime had passed and he had no part in its liberation. A slight part of his heart ached that he wasn''t the foretold hero of the Cmity... but ultimately, he decided he was happy as long as his family is safe.

    He released a deep sigh of tension and plopped back down into his seat. He reached out to hold Yumiko''s soft hand, "Thank you, dear wife."

    "Patriarch, shall I still summon the elders?" Kakui offered.

    "Uh... no need," Daigo shook his head. "News of my arrival should have already reached them..."

    Daigo steepled his fingers and crossed his legs, "Instead, I wish to see Shiroma, Akira, and the Mahoutsukai, Seiji Hojo. Now that I''ve had my breakthrough, I''m confident in... dealing with them."

    He''d always known about traitors amongst their ranks. It was just, he hadn''t had the overwhelming strength to call them out on it.

    Kakui looked troubled, "Patriarch... Those three in particr..."

    Daigo raised an eyebrow, "Don''t tell me you''ve been fooled by them, Uncle. It was quite obvious they''ve been working against us for some time now!"

    Kakuiughed nervously.

    Yumiko squeezed Daigo''s hand and smiled gently, "Dear husband, what Elder Kakui may be trying to say is... those three have taken an extended leave of absence and have yet to return."

    "Oh... well. Surely, they grew worried of my return." Daigo nodded slowly in understanding, "How uh... long have they been gone for?"

    "Nearly a week now, dear husband."

    Daigo adjusted himself in his seat... "What a strange coincidence. Very well..."

    That piece of news was stranger still... But though the shadows darken, the light of justice shall eventually prevail. Daigo shelved his worries and moved his thoughts to something more pleasant.

    He smiled at his beautiful wife, "How is... my daughter?"

    "--Our daughter," Yumiko gently corrected.

    "--our daughter." Daigo coughed. "Before the Otherworldly Formation opened, I sent Taree to try to recruit arge or medium mercenarypany in Aviard to assist in defending the family."

    Elder Kakui broke into a radiant smile, "Yes, Patriarch! She has performed admirably! The Outsiders are quite strong. From what I understand, they yed arge part in the Guardian Beast''s convalescence."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Daigo apuded, "Yes! How many mercenaries have joined with our Kimura family? 200? 100? Several dozen battle-hardened elites?"

    "Five men and two horses, dear husband," Yumiko answered.

    Daigo choked on his own saliva, coughing violently. Yumiko firmly massaged her husband''s back.

    Daigo nodded contentedly, wiping tears from his eyes, "It seems... Taree has a good eye for people, then? ...I hope to groom her to be the next leader of the sect..."

    He shut his eyes and thought of the future... "I believe it is near time for our lovely daughter to journey outside of the sect and experience the world."

    Yumiko smiled with closed eyes, "Little Taree has made one of the Outsiders her little boyfriend."

    Daigo felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck his heart, "Wait, WHAAAAAT?! Uncle Kakui, IS THIS TRUE?!?"

    Elder Kakui wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, "That--"

    "Speak to me of this man!!" Daigo demanded, "How old is he?! What sect is he in? Who are his parents?! Is he strong??"

    Kakui bit his upper lip, "He''s... he''s young. Very young. I don''t know his lineage but he does have... peculiar features. And he''s quite strong for his age."

    Daigo stood up from his chair, "I will see to this young man! He must be tested! I wish to challenge him in Mortal Kombat!!"

    Yumiko squeezed her husband''s hand with a bit of force, "Be nice. I have given the boy my blessing."

    A cold deluge of dejection washed over Daigo''s spirits. It was rare when his wife had a strong opinion about something... and when she had her mind set. Hm. No matter how strong Daigo was, he would not risk antagonizing his wife. He had no wish to be on the opposite end of her bow''s deadly precision.

    ...And he had not grown enough in power that he could forego sleep.

    He coughed as he sat back down, "O-okay, then. I... look forward to meeting him."

    Yumiko giggled lightly in amusement.

    Daigo struggled to change the topic, "How is... my-- our son, then?"

    Elder Kakui pursed his lips, "Patriarch... several suns prior, Young Master Tamaki was kidnapped."

    The battle-hardened patriarch stood up with a wicked grin, "Ah, excellent news."

    He was growing frustrated that he hadn''t yet found a problem he could act upon.

    Yumiko red. Oh. His excitement hade out wrong.

    Daigo cleared his throat,"Uncle Kakui, arrange for two squads of warriors and archers to apany Yumiko and I. I''m sure this is the Muto family''s doing, as only they would be so brazen to kidnap my-- err... our one and only son."

    Daigo grinned with a radiant smile, "Come, my love, and bear witness to my de! On my honor, I will save our son before the sun falls!"

    Yumiko had covered her mouth with her hand, stifling augh.

    Daigo gazed helplessly at his beautiful wife, his excitement immediately faded, "Dear wife... Is your foolish husband missing something?"

    "Little Tamaki has already been rescued. I''ll have hime home for dinner."

    Daigo slumped back into his chair.

    He red up to Elder Kakui. His uncle could only smile apologetically.

    Daigo let out a deep sigh, "Dear wife... I''m hungry."

    Kagehisa Yumiko kissed her husband on the cheek, "I''ll have the kitchens prepare a feast for dinner. But you can sate your hunger on some of the smoked meats."

    ...But he was hungry now... Daigo''s stomach threatened to rumble in protest, "Smoked meats? Since when has our family dabbled in smoked meats?"

    "It''s a favorite of the Outsiders and is growing in poprity in the sect."

    Daigo returned a warm smile as he stood to hug his wife.

    "The Outsiders, our saviors?" He mused. Some food was better than none "Then please, my love, indulge me."

    Yumiko returned his embrace, "Wee home, dear."

 Chapter 66 Maximus Of Ezyria

    ?Clemont rubbed his hands together and ced them upon his cheeks. Even in thete winter, the Mosswood Wilds teemed with life, thick moss, curious wildlife, and vibrant gold and green leaves flowing in the chill wind.

    Thankfully, the Wizard had done his research on the area and had packed warmly. He was always quite good at preparation and theory, bing an established Circle Mage and graduating with the highest honors at the magical colleges of Arcanix. His versatility and counsel gained him a reputation among adventuringpanies, ultimately bing the Vice Leader of Guild Staghorn.

    Walking forward with his ornate, darkwood quarterstaff, he approached his superior, "Sir Leserre."

    The older, Heavy Armor Knight turned, his entire set of armor nking noisily with the movements. He lifted up his visor to reveal a healthy face and a luxurious mustache, "Speak with your chest, Clemont! I can barely understand you, speaking out of your nose like that."

    Clemont wryly smiled and red his nostrils, "Right... I wanted to ask you about Mister Vanzano."

    "You mean the Pdin!? Worth every copper, hiring that one! Haha!"

    Clemont adjusted his circr sses, "With respect, Sir Knight, not everybatant from the Holy Country is a Pdin. I believe Mister Vanzano is a diator from the arenas in his territory, a Parmrius, to be exact."

    Leserre returned a nk stare, "But he... crusades for the Eternal me, right?"

    Clemont nodded, "That is a general assumption of anyone from the Holy Country, which I believe to be true in Mister Vanzano''s case."

    "''Deus Vult, Die Heretics!'' am I right?" Leserre chuckled. "We''ve got a name for people like that. We call them Pdins."

    Clemont pursed his lips. There was no arguing with the man.

    Leserre''s strong gloved hand patted Clemont''s back, nearly toppling him, "Oh, don''t be such a fuss, Wizard! What does it matter whether he''s a Pdin or a delicious cheese? The Company''s paid good coin for his assistance."

    Clemont frowned, inwardly thankful for the sturdiness of his quarterstaff, "As with all new hires, I would prefer to.. How can I term this...? Keep my eye on him."

    "Whaaaat? What''s the harm in it? He''s a Pdin! It''s not like he''s a Rogue or an Assassin." Leserre twirled his mustache emphatically.

    "It is not that I suspect him of lying... But you understand that the Kingdom and the Holy Country haven''t always been the best of allies."

    "Well, yes." Leserre looked confused, "But, actually no."

    Clemont nodded, reminding himself to make a point before Leserre grew bored, "Mercenaries from the Holy Country... Pdins, then... They always have a purpose, a cause that they follow. You see, in the Kingdom and in the Free Nation, the cause is almost always coin. But in the Holy Country? Sometimes, it''s as easy as hunting heretics. Just as easily, it''s as abstract as... delivering justice. I do not yet know the cause of Mister Gian Vanzano."

    Leserre ineffectually scratched his metal helmet. A falcon cried above their heads, and the pair nced up and followed its path as it returned to its nearby falconer.

    "Well. how about you ask him, yourself?" Leserre motioned for Clemont to follow.

    Several Staghorns made way for the Knight and Wizard, allowing them to step over the ridge. Clemont heard the yells of the scouts as he came into view of the man.

    "Maximus! Maximus!" The other scouts chanted.

    The Parmrius known as Maximus, actual name Gian Vanzano, was a handsome dark-haired youth. He wore a form-fitting muscle cuirass of brilliant polished silver, revealing an athlete''s sleek and functional biceps, and a stylized battle skirt showing off lithe, well-muscled legs. In Maximus'' left, he carried a golden circr shield emzoned with a ck lightning bolt. In his right, he wielded a simple spear.

    Behind him, the scouts dragged a massive, 3 yalm tall green-furred bipedal monster... and with the way the men cheered, it seemed the man had killed it by himself.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Clemont found the notion ridiculous.

    Even Leserre started to chant, "Maximus! Maximus!! Hohoho!"

    The diator raised his spear up high and spread out two blue gigantic dragon wings on his back. Though there wasn''t a cloud in the sky, lightning struck down at the tip of Maximus'' spear, with the resulting crack of thunder, almost deafening. The dozens of men in the forest clearing only cheered and apuded louder.

    Clemont''s eyes were as wide as dinner tes, "A Gann... I''ve read about them at the Arcanix library... They''re powerful creatures boasting great strength and a transformation ability when injured."

    One of the scouts ran up to report, "That''s not all, Master Wizard! The Pdin felled the Gann in a single blow!"

    A round of cheers resounded from the scout''s deration.

    Maximus, the man of the hour, strode up to Knight Leserre and Clemont. Upon closer observation, small blue reptilian scales were present on the man''s naked shoulders and biceps. That and his conspicuous scaled wings marked him as a imant to a blue-scaled draconic bloodline.

    "Sorry, Knight Leserre." The diator spoke in a gruff voice, "Your guys didn''t get a chance to show off. I didn''t think it''d be so weak. "

    "Not a problem, Pdin! With you here, the mission''s as good as done!!" Knight Leserre began tough heartily, embracing Maximus with unabashed delight.

    Clemont kept his peace, forcing a smile. It was not his ce to question an ally so well-loved by the Company... He just didn''t feelfortable having a man so powerful among their ranks.

    ...

    Twenty archers stood in the tree branches, hidden by the thick canopy of branches, practiced in their silent movements.

    The archer squad leader caught Kagehisa Yumiko''s eye andmunicated through hand motions.

    [Single Target] [Outsider] [Ready to Fire, Waiting on Command]

    Yumiko held a hand out. [Wait]

    She thought she saw something familiar. A group of five Outsiders had only recently saved the Ivory Judge sect. She prioritized benevolence rather than outright hostility. She would observe the lone Outsider for harmful intent before she ordered their life taken.

    After a moment of quiet observation, Yumiko identified that the woman held a very familiar pink pig plush beneath her arm. "Cheerio, I''m going down. You can stay here."

    Squad Leader Chihiro looked back with mouth agape, "M-madam Yumiko, you can''t just--"

    Yumiko tilted her head and smiled warmly. With a light wave, she backflipped off of the sturdy tree branch-- Chihiro wouldn''t be able to stop her.

    Leaping and swinging deftly from branch to branch, Yumiko quickly descended to the forest floor. Her gentlending only allowed the golden leaves on the ground to gently tremble in greeting. She hadnded in front of the Outsider''s horse, causing it to rear back in panic.

    "Hello~ Outsider! Do you know whosends you are trespassing?" Yumiko winked with a smile at the younger woman.

 Chapter 67 Unforgivable Betrayal

    ?Seldin Korr, the Unbreakable, held fast to the horse''s reins, trying to keep him steady. Her mount reared and bucked inint, but she would not be thrown off so easily.

    "Shhh. Mister Hurricane. Calm down," She whispered.

    Mister Hurricane did not calm down.

    A beautiful blonde woman in ck and yellow robes stood in their path, holding a peculiarly shaped longbow, "Um? Miss Outsider?"

    "Hi, I''m fine, thanks," Korr responded, trying to keep her bnce. Her tummy muscles were feeling sore.

    "Miss... did you need assistance?"

    "No, I''m good."Korr hugged the horse''s neck.

    "Mister Hurricane, you are embarrassing me in front ofpany," She whispered.

    Hurricane neighed disobediently and, with Korr unbnced, he was finally able to buck the lithe woman off of her saddle. She stood up and dusted off her leather trousers and long-sleeved shirt, rubbing her sore buttocks in an udylike manner.

    She wasn''t wearing armor because it was still broken. She kept forgetting to put in the order to repair it. Stupid.

    She turned and watched Hurricane gallop off.

    "Be free, Mister Hurricane." She muttered. "If we ever meet again, you will pay for your sudden but inevitable betrayal with your life."

    Her adventuring supplies were still attached to the horse, her rations, her bedroll-- everything but her weapons and her newest huggable plushie.

    Leader had sent it to her via the Courier''s Guild. It was her favorite thing.

    The archer cleared her throat, "Was that... your horse?"

    Korr turned to face her, "Mister Hurricane and I are no longer on speaking terms."

    The archer raised up a dainty hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle, "My name is Yumiko. May I ask for yours?"

    Korr drew a sword, "My name is Korr."

    With a twirl of her hands, the archer deftly nocked an arrow onto her bowstring, but didn''t yet draw back on it, "Usually, trespassers are dealt with harshly and lethally."

    Korr didn''t say anything.

    Yumiko smiled awkwardly, "Um. Miss Outsider?"

    "Yes?"

    "You''re trespassing."

    "Oh...." She was? That was embarrassing. Korr rxed her shoulders and resheathed her sword.

    "Should I go back?" Korr pointed behind her with her thumb.

    The blonde woman smiled gently, the type of smile where her eyes closed when she smiled wide enough, "That depends, Korr. Where are you looking to go?"

    Korr frowned. She didn''t dislike this woman. But she talked a bit much... It reminded Korr of President Victoire back in Nice... "Ivory Judge sect."

    The archer opened one eye, looking somewhat treacherous, "Then you''re headed in the right direction."

    Korr nodded slowly in understanding as she drew her sword once more, "Then I have to get past you..."

    "But before we begin, I''d like to know... why you have..." The smiling archer pointed, "that?"

    ...What was she pointing at. Her sword?

    Korr held her de up, "This is Michael. I got this for 95 silver when we visited Passage. I had to borrow coin from..."

    "Oh, nonono, I''m sorry." The archer replied, a bit troubled. "I meant to ask about... that." She pointed again.

    "Oh. I''m sorry?" Korr resheathed her sword.

    The two stared at each other awkwardly... before Korr slowly drew the handaxe on her thigh, "This is Adele?"

    After another moment of silence, Korr continued, "Adele was Leader''s gift to me for my 20th nameday-- oh, not New Leader, I mean Old Leader--"

    The archer hesitated for a moment before putting her arrow away. "And what''s that?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Korr pouted, slightly confused. But she supposed she could answer the nicedy''s questions... She put Adele back in her sheath before drawing the curved de on her lower back...

    ...

    Kagehisa Chihiro stood by with a twitching eyebrow. She had sent out most of the remaining archers to track the other Outsiders'' movements while her charge, Lady Yumiko, had been fooling around with the Outsider, Korr.

    It had almost been a full bell. Yumiko was braiding the woman''s long, dark red hair while listening to the Outsider tell stories about her weapons.

    "Madam, can we just... shoot her, already?" Chihiro whispered. "The one-eyed Outsider is obviously a viin."

    "Whaaaat? Of course not, little Cheerio. Little Korr is the sweetest thing!" Yumiko happily hummed. "My daughter likes her hair short, so I haven''t been able to braid hair for years."

    "O...kay. How... do we know she''s not, Madam?"

    Yumiko finished braiding Korr''s hair into two long ponytails. The pale yellow ribbons added a charming contrast with the dark red. "Alright, little Korr. Would you tell us about the Poogie you''re holding?"

    Korr reflexively hugged the pink pig plush in her arms, "What would you know about Percival?"

    Yumiko patted the fully grown adult woman on her head, "I knitted Percival myself."

    Korr seemed to rx a bit, "Oh... It was... a gift."

    A tinge of blush colored her cheeks, which immediately caught Yumiko''s attention.

    Yumiko recognized the pig plush as one she had crocheted for her daughter. Warrior Tycon had demanded the cheaply but lovingly made plush as additional payment for the monumental quest of saving the sect-- an action that showed the magnanimity of Guild Invictus. She had wondered what the Warrior had done with it... but it seemed to be part of the package Tycon had sent to the outside world. Seeing it in Korr''s hands, the woman must have had a unique status in the guild.

    Chihiroined to Yumiko in hushed tones, "Madam... I still don''t think we can trust her. She''s clearly a scout for the hundred others! Why would her arrival be so coincidental with theirs, otherwise?"

    Yumiko turned to the braided Korr, "Little Korr, did you bring one-hundred men with you to the Ivory Judge sect?"

    "Nope. Just me and Hurricane. Why?"

    Chihiro fell to the ground, screaming, "Why would you just aaaaaassskkk??!"

    Yumiko faced Korr and put her hands on her cheeks. Korr didn''t particrly react to it, "So you said Percival was a gi~ft?"

    Korr nodded, her cheeks squished in Yumiko''s hands.

    "Then you must know Warrior Ty~con?" Yumiko grinned.

    Suddenly, Yumiko turned to Chihiro, "Cheerio!! Korr''s burning up! This is so adorable!"

    Chihiro looked worriedly at the reddening Korr, "Madam, I think she''s trying to say something."

    Yumiko released the poor twin-braided girl, letting her speak, "Sir Tycon is... my..."

    The two girls leaned forward. Yumiko was invested. Chihiro just liked gossip.

    "...Savior."

    Yumiko ced her hands on her heart, swooning, "Oh, I love it."

    Chihiro crossed her arms, "That''s not where I thought that was going, but okay."

    Yumiko smirked, "Did you want to tell Auntie Yumiko why you''vee, little Korr?"

    Hesitantly, the girl nodded, "I''m here to warn Leader... the Staghorn guild ising for him."

    Understanding dawned in Yumiko''s eyes, "So it seems the other Outsiders in the guild seek to harm Guild Invictus, our benefactor. Cheerio."

    Chihiro bowed lightly, "Madam."

    "Mobilize one-hundred Martialists of our Ivory Judge sect. The other families should be eager topete for the favor of our Kimura family and Guild Invictus. Oh, and make sure Guild Invictus and my husband are informed."

    Chihiro smiled weakly, "Very well, but... cousin, you know my name isn''t Chiirio, it''s... Chihiro, right?"

    Yumiko smiled, her eyes were thin, nearly closed-- but her cheeks didn''t smile along with them, "Did I stutter, darling cousin?"

    A chill ran down Chihiro''s spine. She inwardly cursed for questioning a Master Archer, "N-no, Madam. I''ll be going, then."

 Chapter 68 Rise Up

    ?"Sir Leserre!"

    A shorter Staghorn archer with slightly pointed ears ran to Knight Leserre, golden leaves crisping below his feet.

    "Well? Out with it, Scout. Are we under attack again?" Leserre poked Maximus yfully with a metal elbow, "Perhaps you could show the Staghorns how it''s done, my good man?"

    "Yeah, don''t do that," Maximus replied in a gruff voice.

    The scout stared awkwardly. Clemont interjected to save Knight Leserre from more embarrassment, "Report."

    "Y-yes, Master Wizard. The road is blocked," the scout was trembling, nervous.

    Clemont adjusted his sses and observed the man for a moment, "Is it the enemy? What of their number? ...Do they have armor units or magic casters? What weapons do they have?"

    Clemont tried to prod the scout with leading questions, but the man seemed reluctant to speak, "Well, about that... There''s... just one. And she''s an archer."

    Knight Leserre grabbed the scout and shook him, "Juuuust ONE?! And it''s a SHE?!?!"

    Maximus spoke, his face twisted with displeasure. From the few interactions Clemont had with him, he only seemed to voice his disdain, "There are dangerous women in your Kingdom. Have you heard of The Unbreakable?"

    Clemont crossed his arms. He had no issues with gender equality, but was more interested in countering the mercenary hire, "The Unbreakable''s been retired for years."

    Maximus shut his eyes, crossing his arms to mirror Clemont. The light that streamed through the forest''s gold leaf canopy made the blue scales on the man''s shoulders shine. Quietly, he muttered, "You don''t get to retire in this kind of life..."

    The wizard grimaced. He had no counter for such an ominous statement. Wizards in the Kingdom went from school to contracting with the government or an adventuringpany or a noble house or business. Even older wizards became teachers or researchers, private or independent. There was no such thing as retirement.

    Leserre growled, "The Unbreakable?! Well, that''s a fat chance to nothing out here in the Mosswood Wilds! Come, Staghorns! Let''s have a look at this terrifying woman!"

    ...

    The blonde woman, Kagehisa Yumiko, stood alone.

    She wore exotic ck and yellow robes embroidered with thorns and flowers. In her dainty hands, she wielded a warbow of her family''s design, taller than she was. A heavy quiver hung from her side, its open p revealing dozens of arrows.

    Leserre, Clemont, and the scout strode up to the front of thepany, Knight Leserre''s heavy armor nking announcing their arrival, "A fine woman! Come to pay, has she? We must be careful! The words of women are toxic! Poisonous! Not to be trusted!"

    The scout coughed, averting his gaze, "Sir Leserre, she''s crippled 2 of our men already."

    The Heavy Armor Knight''s face twisted in confusion, "Wait, what? Then why haven''t we attacked her yet? We should be ATTACKING her!!"

    The scout paled, "Sir... I-- we..."

    Clemont ced a hand on the scout''s shoulder, "Take a deep breath. Tell us what you know."

    The scout nced fearfully at the physically imposing Knight, but nodded to the Wizard, "Master Wizard, one of our archers tried to fire a warning shot. But the woman shot off his fingers."

    Clemont''s eyes narrowed, "An expert shot, then. But that''s not impressive enough to strike fear in the hearts of Guild Staghorn."

    The scout frowned, "Corthas said some... uh... choice words to thedy."

    The wizard clicked his tongue. Corthas was a rude individual who often boasted about his sexual escapades and had a penchant for bawdry tales. If anyone in Guild Staghorn were to be reported for sexual harassment or worse, Corthas would be the first Clemont would suspect.

    "What happened to him, then?"

    "Half a dozen arrows in seconds, Master Wizard."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Clemont raised an eyebrow, "Impressive speed. And urate then?"

    The scout visibly shivered, "Precise. Too precise, Master Wizard. Every shot hit Corthas in the jewels. Nary a man dares ta act after that disy."

    Leserre groaned loudly, "Bwhaaaaat? Send the WOMEN then!?"

    A female archer shouted back, "But Sir! F*ck that guy!"

    A wave of murmuring went through thepany. Knight Leserre scowled. Clemont smiled weakly. Having Corthas in thepany had always been an issue for morale, but it seemed the archer took care of the problem for them.

    Clemont tapped his quarterstaff against the ground, in thought, "Nothing will be done unless someone opens a dialogue."

    Knight Leserre waddled to within shouting distance of the archer, "You there! Archer! What purpose do you have attacking Guild Staghorn?!"

    The blonde woman smiled-- a coy and arrogant smile that Clemont was familiar with. He had seen it often, the knowing smirk of a rich and powerful mage woman, whose status and power afforded her the world.

    Clemont felt incredibly uneasy.

    "You are trespassing on thends of the Ivory Judge sect! Turn back, Outsiders!" the woman yelled in a light, but stern voice.

    Leserre chuckled to himself,ughing at a joke only he found amusing, "How about you go back home and wash some dishes, woman! Your threats don''t work here!"

    Leserre turned back to Clemont, grinning. Clemont was making rapid cutting motions along his neck, ''You idiot! It''s okay to insult the enemy, but don''t insult a fifth of thepany along with them!''

    Seeing Clemont''s reaction and the res of every single female warrior and scout in thepany, Knight Leserre coughed in embarrassment, "Anyroad, we can''t just leave,ss. We''re searching for a Dark Guild... An eeeevil guild! ...A Guild Invictus! Have ye--"

    "--Guild Invictus is under the protection of the Ivory Judge sect," the archer dered.

    The Knight and the Archer red at each other in hostility. The woman hadn''t saved an onze of Leserre''s face.

    The woman raised her chin haughtily. She didn''t yell, but her voice was clear, "Turn back, Outsiders. You are not wee here."

    Leserre''s face had turned bright red from anger. He dropped the visor to his full-helmet and roared, "Then I''ve only one choice!! ARCHERS!!"

    Clemont put a palm onto his face. He had lost much of his confidence in the mission. There was far too much coin involved for the mission to be so straightforward.

    Near three dozen men and women nocked arrows into their bows or loaded their crossbows, aiming them at the lone woman.

    The massive armored Knight crossed his arms, his voice dark and echoing in his helmet, "Have ye got anything left ta say, girl?"

    The girl drew an arrow with a flourish and pointed her bow to the sky.

    "Rise up, sons and daughters of the Ivory Judge sect! The sect has raised you, nurtured you, protected you! And now the enemy has arrived at our gates and they seek to harm your friends, your family, your way of life!!"

    Leserre began to babble, "No, wait-- that''s not what I--"

    The woman fired the arrow into the air, emitting a heaven-piercing screech.

    "Death to the enemies of Invictus!!" the woman screamed.

    And enemies and arrows began to rain down from the trees.

 Chapter 69 Worth Every Copper

    ?The sounds of battle hung in the air, the nging of metal, the firing of arrows, men and women yelling. Kagehisa Yumiko walked back to where Seldin Korr was hiding.

    "So where did you say you came from again, my lovely daughter?"

    Korr blinked. Since when had she be Yumiko''s daughter? "Um. I came from Nice."

    Yumiko offered her a triangr item wrapped in leaves. Korr opened it immediately and found a fragrant sweet rice cake. Korr decided she didn''t have any more questions. Nom.

    Yumiko smiled, tilting her head cutely, "Nice?"

    "Nice," Korr confirmed.

    "Nice."

    "Um. Yumiko?" Korr nibbled away at the rice cake, but she still had concerns.

    "Yes, daughter?"

    "Should we... be helping?"

    Yumiko gave Korr a sudden embrace. Korr had kept a tight grasp on the leaf-wrapped rice cake, so she was okay with it. "Aww! You''re so sweet, daughter. But don''t worry, our Ivory Judge sect isn''t so easy to bully."

    ...

    A 6-fulm tall armored tank waded through the battlefield. Clemont was fending off an Ivory Judge swordsman with his staff. With a heavy swing of his arm, the end of Leserre''s il caught the swordsman''s head.

    Clemont exhaled a sigh of relief butmented at the sword marks on his freshly damaged staff, "My thanks, Sir Leserre."

    The Knight walked up to the swordsman in the orange tunic and brought his il down upon the man''s head once more. He turned to Clemont and flipped his visor up to reveal his face, "Seven hells! These buggers are resilient! That one was still moving!"

    Clemont adjusted his circr sses, "Not an isted incident, then?"

    Leserre shook his head, "Our numbers are about even, but it looks like our men are having trouble in one-on-onebat."

    Clemont red at Leserre. Leserre stepped in front of Clemont, blocking some arrows with his armored body, "What?"

    "Since when does Guild Staghorn train to fight in singlebat?" Clemont chastised the bigger man.

    "Ohhhh, riiiight." Leserre turned about and yelled, "Archers!! Take out the ranged threats! The rest of you lot!! Close ranks!! Attack in teams of 3!!"

    The sound of horns red, an unmistakable sound amidst the chaos, and thepany as a whole began to form into its practiced formations.

    "There! How was that, ya grumpy old wizard!" Leserre twirled his sweat and blood covered mustache.

    Clemont rolled his eyes. He was Leserre''s junior by several years. Instead of answering, he rapidly made four gestures with his left hand and channeled mana through his staff, "Just cover me, Emilien."

    A sparking blue sphere of energy swirled at the end of Clemont''s staff-- not to the level of Maximus'' mana, but still dangerous. "Shock Sphere."

    With another gesture, the sphere darted away, colliding with a group of orange-clothed Martialists. Electricity coursed through their bodies and they fell to the ground, frothing at the mouth. Clemont felt some of his confidence return. As resilient as the sect warriors were, his spells remained effective.

    Leserre whistled, "That''s our Wizard! A hundred times better than I could ever do!"

    Clemont sighed, "If you''d applied yourself, you''d be able to cast something moreplicated than a middle-schooler can."

    The knightughed shamelessly as the pair waded back into the melee.

    ...

    The lone Martialistnded in front of Gian Vanzano. Gian and his allies looked up. The man had fallen an impressive distance and hadnded unscathed.

    "Ha! You don''t look so tough, warrior!" The youth, bereft of armor, wearing merely an orange tunic and trousers, bounced yfully in a boxing stance, "Is that a shield? What are you, scared?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Staghorn mercenaries gripped their weapons uneasily. Gian clenched his left hand, his arm covered by a shining metal shield. He spun his spear in a flourish in his main hand while staring impassively in observation of his opponent, "You talk too much..."

    One of Staghorn''s axe warriors stepped up to Gian''s side, "Sir Maximus, shall we surround this one?"

    In a blur of silver armor, Gian had closed the gap between himself and the orange Martialist. With a ng of metal, the Martialist was forced back. Gian stared at his spear in suspicion.

    The axe warrior was confused, "Sir Maximus... did you just..."

    Gian nodded wordlessly and narrowed his eyes as they began to glow an electric blue from his residual mana. The axe warrior gulped and with a hand motion, he and the Staghorn took a defensive step backward.

    The youth rubbed his chest, grinning, "Haha! Was that all, Outsider?! I''ll have you know, I''m the 5th strongest man in the Ivory Sect''s young generation! Tremble in fear and hear my name!! For I am--"

    Gian Vanzano unfolded his draconic blue wings. "Tremble in fear." Raising his wings up to the sky, Gian''s height dwarfed his opponent. The Martialist gawked, his ability to gloat suddenly absent.

    "Hear. MY. Name." In a crackling rush of blue, the dragonborn moved.

    "Tch. What use are wings here?!! Bring it on!!" The Martialist yelled as he prepared to block the attack.

    Gian drew back his spear, his shield forward.

    "Maximus."

    Like a bolt of lightning, he thrust his spear forward, easily piercing through the youth''s chest. The man began to scream in pain. But the screams became halting as magical electricity coursed through the man''s body and the smell of ozone and burnt flesh filled the air.

    Gian bashed the youth off of his spear with his shield before leaping forward again, "Maximus."

    The man''s spear pierced through the youth''s skull and it burst open like a cracked watermelon, showering bits of charred fat.

    A Staghorn archer vomited.

    The axe warrior dry heaved but was able to hold on in front of his juniors, "Treat the Martialists as if they''re wearing armor! Blunt weapons and vulnerable points! We''ve trained for this!"

    "Yes, sir!" they resounded.

    ...

    Knight Leserre smashed his il into a Martialist''s ankles, fracturing the woman''s leg and taking her off of her feet. As he raised his il a second time, he stopped as he noticed a sect swordsman screaming and rushing at him from his blind spot.

    An arrow in the side of the man''s neck stopped his charge. And a brief momentter, a second, further piercing arrow dropped him.

    Leserre nodded as he dropped his il on the fallen woman''s face, "Good, well done! Scout, report!"

    The scout from earlier had returned and nodded to both Knight Leserre and Wizard Clemont, "Heavy casualties, Sir Knight. But Sir Maximus'' magic has wrought more casualties to the enemy forces than they''ve done ours."

    Clemont furrowed his brows, "What? Are you serious?"

    The scout grinned, "''Tis glorious, Master Wizard. Maximus calls down lightning and thunder like he''s a demigod."

    Clemont nodded, "Sacred gods, I''ve heard the Dovahkiin are strong in the ways of magic... but that sounds ridiculous."

    Leserreughed, elbowing the gangly wizard, "Worth every copper, eh?"

    The scout nodded with a smile, "We might win this one yet."

    Clemont allowed himself a smile. Perhaps he was too quick to abandon hope for Guild Staghorn.

    And then he noticed that the scout''s right eye had sprouted an arrow shaft.

 Chapter 70 A Terrifying Woman

    ?Kagehisa Yumiko drew back her warbow and released another arrow. With it, another enemy scout dropped to the ground.

    Korr watched with envy. When she was younger, she was respectable with a bow, being able to pull the heaviest of draws with rtive ease. The elven archer in her old team told her that her back looked like the raw, rippling muscles of a sexy, murdering tigress.

    When she lost her eye, her depth perception was crippled as well. She could only ept her fate and rely on weapons that served her in melee. Seeing her new mother''s skill, though, lit the fires of pride in her heart.

    Korr''s instincts told her that she could trust Yumiko. And the archer told her to stay hidden. Korr thought that it would be very nice if Yumiko and the Ivory Judge sect could rout the enemy without more reinforcements.

    Korr had saved Barza Keith in the past with her fists. If Guild Staghorn dared to hurt new-Mom Yumiko, she would use those same two hands to murder every Staghorn she could.

    ...

    "Hold still, woman!" Knight Leserre smashed his iron il into the ground, rocks and golden leaves spilling into the air.

    Kagehisa Yumiko nimbly leapt away, firing an arrow that failed to pierce the man''s heavy armor.

    "Why do you seek Guild Invictus?" Yumiko spoke sharply, firing another three arrows at the crowd of Staghorn warriors.

    Clemont raised a mana shield around himself and those around him, but an arrow still took a casualty, two yalms away. "Sir Knight, would you please stop toying with the enemy?"

    Leserre swiped his il repeatedly in an 8-pattern, "Seven hells, Wizard, can''t you see I''m TRYING?!"

    Fed up with his inuracy, Leserre threw his il at the jumping woman. He ran forward, a moring mess unsheathing a longsword. Attacking with a downward swipe, Yumiko was finally unable to dodge. She threw a fist forward to block the sword, but the weapon bit an ilm deep into her knucklebones.

    "''Tis none of yer business why we''re tryin'' ta take out Invictus. Buuuut let''s just say there''s a lot of money involved!"

    "You fiend!" Yumiko growled. Sweat dripped down her brow from the pain, and she adjusted her breathing to alleviate it.

    ''I must unseal it... the Kagehisa Forbidden Technique. I''ve already passed it down to my daughter. I can die without regrets...''

    Yumiko thought of her husband, Kimura Daigo. He was the one that forbid her to use the technique, ''Please forgive me, dear husband. Your dear wife can''t heed your words on this sun.''

    With the force and fury of a thousand falling suns, she kicked Knight Leserre in the groin.

    It was a beautifully executed kick, utilizing a natural rotation of her body. Her bones and skin had undergone hardening and training. As an archer, she was not as aplished as a swordsman or boxer, but her shin bone was harder than her fists or feet.

    A crack reverberated throughout the forest, a codpiece broken. Golden leaves fell from their trees. Baby birds wept for their mother to return. A pack wolf howled,menting the loss of one of their own.

    A single tear fell hot, down Clemont''s eye, "Sir Knight... Your sacrifice will not be in vain."

    Raising his hand up, he began to extract a cold, purplish mana from his surroundings, "Chill Strike."

    "C-clemont!" Leserre yelled, the pitch noticeably higher than his usual baritone.

    Feeling a hint of danger, Clemont immediately canceled the spell, the purple mana dissipating in a sh. A thrown weapon bounced harmlessly off his mana shield-- the yellow-robed woman managed to throw it while his concentrationpsed. A line of blood spilled from his mouth from the mana recoil, but it was better than a knife in his throat, "What a terrifying woman."<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    A woman in a white long-sleeved shirt walked out from behind a tree. She wore walking clothes and only carried a sword and a handaxe.

    "Another woman who looks like she doesn''t belong on the battlefield," Clemontmented. He nced to his left and right, noticing none of the others in Guild Staghorn were moving to attack her. The woman in yellow likely elevated their caution.

    What was worrisome was that the dark-haired woman didn''t say anything. With her clothing, she wasn''t part of the sect-- she just looked like a normal merchant girl of the Kingdom. But when her hair swished to the side, she revealed a scar and a ss eye.

    Clemont narrowed his eyes in deep suspicion and his heart palpitated in nervousness, ''Dark hair. One eye. But no armor...? No. Two out of three signs. She couldn''t be who I''m worried about...''

    The girl lifted the handaxe and sent a rapid spinning circle straight at Knight Leserre. With barely enough time to recover from his injury, Leserre lifted his sword arm. The axe head sundered his thick metal arm guard and sank deep into the bone of his forearm, "G-g--g-grAHHHHHHH!!!"

    As Leserre wailed in pain, Yumiko dashed to Korr, embracing her with one arm. The coldness of the yer of men had abruptly transformed into a proud mother''s praise, "Daughter, you came to save me!"

    Korr nodded, pouting.

    Yumiko pinched Korr''s cheek, "Very well, Mama Yumiko will watch you fight, then."

    Korr puffed her cheeks as she looked at Yumiko''s bloodied fist, "Your hand..."

    Yumiko sighed with a gentle smile, "Oh, I''ll be fine, daughter. But you should make the big, bad metal man pay, alright?"

    Korr nodded, "I''ll tear out his spine and beat him to death with his skull~"

    Yumiko pat Korr on the head, nted several kisses on her cheeks and forehead, and dashed off into the trees.

    ...

    Two Staghorns had grasped Knight Leserre by the arms and had dragged him back to rtive safety.

    "Seven bleeding hells, Clemont-- the woman nearly cleaved my arm in two!" Leserre''s helmet had fallen off, revealing a delirious expression and the man''s dark, curled, sweat-matted hair.

    Clemont unstoppered a potion and poured it down Leserre''s throat, "These things are expensive. Don''t throw it up."

    Leserre nodded before pulling out the handaxe on his own. Tears of pain were running down his cheeks, but no one dared to mention it. The blood flow stopped but a single healing potion was not enough, "My arm''s finished, I can feel how weak the bone is."

    "Contact!" A Staghorn swordsman stepped out, swinging his de to defend Leserre and Clemont. For his troubles, the dark-haired woman had stabbed her sword down to the hilt through the Staghorn''s chest and lifted him up into the air above her head. With a brutal rend, she pulled her de through the man''s side-- shing through both his ribs and his leather armor, before dropping the lifeless corpse to the ground.

    In the shower of blood, Leserre clearly viewed the ss eye of the cold-blooded murder in front of him.

    He allowed a single word to grace his lips, "Unbreakable."

 Chapter 71 Sol Invictus

    ?Seldin Korr, the Unbreakable, thrust her sword into the remaining Staghorn''s mouth. She drove her sword into the ground, taking the man down with it. Without hesitation, she stomped on the man''s neck and wrenched the sword out in a violent twist.

    Leserre, now weaponless, turned to Clemont, "Master Wizard! What do we do?!"

    Clemont grit his teeth, his eyes wide in panic, "Don''t worry, I have the perfect spell for this."

    Leserre''s eyes brightened, "Very well! Then we''ll both work together to defeat this vile--"

    "Expeditious Retreat."

    "--wo... what?"

    Clemont knelt down in a runner''s start position. Mana glowed at the tip of his staff, flowed into his body, and he sprinted away in a blur.

    Leserre raised his arms up, palms forward in surrender, "Aha. Madam Korr? Miss Korr? Lady Unbreakable! I am Sir Emilien Leserre, Knight of the Kingdom. I have always greatly admired--"

    The Unbreakable''s eye glowed red, "Soul-Scorching de."

    "EEEE!!!!" Leserre threw himself onto the ground, feeling the reaper''s scythe pass over him. As he looked behind him, ck and rotting sh marks had marred the nearby copse of gold-leafed trees.

    The woman stared at her sword nkly, unmoving. Leserre slowly stood up, his knees trembling, but he gulped and mustered the courage to approach the woman, a head shorter than he was.

    "Um. Mdy?"

    The sword was marred with a web of ck cracks, wisping with smoke. After another moment, the metal crumbled to dust.

    Leserre breathed a sigh of relief, "Now that you''re unarmed, perhaps we can--"

    Remaining wordless, Korr walked over to one of the swordsman''s corpses and grabbed another de.

    Leserre immediately began to panic again, "Wait! Wait wait wait! Why are you doing all this?!"

    Why *was* she doing all this? Korr ced a finger on her chin in thought.

    She was here to save the guy she liked. She felt her cheeks turning hot. She couldn''t tell the Knight that! The Knight''s mustache looked untrustworthy. What if he told Leader? That wouldn''t do.

    Oh, but she came out from hiding because Yumiko was hurt. But what would she say about Yumiko? That she''s her newly adopted mom? That doesn''t work... Is there a legal process for that? Can I even get a new mom? How much coin would that cost?

    ...How many moms can I legally attain? Who do I have to fight to get that right?

    Knight Leserre wanted to ask another question, but Korr, as if sensing the man''s impatience, raised her hand to stop him. Leserre clinked his gloved forefingers together, waiting patiently.

    "Maximus."

    A bolt of lightning streaked down from the clear sky, forcing Seldin Korr to dodge and roll away. Standing up, she faced her attacker with a growl, "The Council cannot stop me!"

    The tall and handsome Maximus of Ezyria had arrived, his golden shield and silver muscle cuirass gleaming in the light, "Wow. Clearly a viin."

    Leserre hurried behind the holy warrior, "Pdin! You came to save me!"

    Maximus nodded serenely, "I came to deliver justice."

    An axe warrior hurriedly approached Leserre''s side, "Sir Knight, our side''s taken heavy casualties, but the enemy has withdrawn thanks to Sir Maximus'' artillery support."

    Leserre nodded, "Good, good. Then we shall rally our forces and attack the woman! Together!"

    Maximus jabbed out an oppressive open palm, "No."

    Leserre and the axe warrior shared a nce, "Sir Maximus?"

    "I will face the Unbreakable alone."

    The axe warrior couldn''t stand for themand, "Sir Maximus! Let us aid you! If it wasn''t for you, half thepany would have been killed!"

    A wave of agreeing murmurs tided through the gathered crowd, nearly 3 dozen Staghorns remained. Over half of their number had be casualties, injured and killed, but their hearts still burned brightly with pride and the promise of victory.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Leserre gulped, his eyes moist, "Sir Maximus, by the honor of Guild Staghorn, I cannot let you go alone."

    Maximus clenched his outstretched palm into a fist. With a growl of power, lightning struck his upraised arm, the ear splitting burst of energy causing the Staghorn warriors to shield their eyes or dive for cover.

    Maximus walked through the stunned and fallen men and women of Guild Staghorn, "Keep your lives. Stay out of my way."

    ...

    Maximus leapt up with unfolded wings, high into the sky, blocking the light spilling from the canopy with his shining form. Shield up, spear pointed downward, he plummeted towards Korr.

    "Maximus!!"

    His entire body sparked with a blur and pale blue streaks of arcing electrical energy.

    Korr grabbed the body of a Staghorn by the legs and swung them horizontally.

    Maximus was forced to block with his shield. The momentum of the blow pushed him far back, but using his wings to adjust and striking his spearhead into the earth, he was able to stop his momentum. Unsticking his spear, Maximus stood tall. He walked counter-clockwise, stretching his neck and his shoulder muscles.

    "Maximus. diator of Ezyria," A low, inhuman and feral growl emanated from Maximus'' throat. He nged his shield with his spear, startling Korr for a moment, "State your name!"

    "Korr..." The woman stopped for a moment, staring off into nothingness. Maximus turned back to look at Leserre, Clemont, and the rest of Staghorn. Leserre made an exaggerated shrug.

    Korr ced her sword fist into her open palm. She had figured something out.

    "Korr, Assistant Chief Financial Officer of Invictus."

    Maximus raised an eyebrow, "Invictus? Guild Sol Invictus?"

    Korr the Unbreakable tilted her head. She looked behind her but realized there was no one else Maximus could be speaking to. She pointed at herself, "You were you asking me? I don''t know...? Why?"

    Maximus responded immediately, paying no mind to the woman''s pause, "Sol Invictus is the name of a well-known Arena Guild where Ie from. The guild''s name is in the Old Language of the Holy Country."

    Korr nodded slowly, as if she understood. But the look on her face indicated otherwise.

    Maximus turned around, facing the Staghorns. He pointed a speartip at Leserre, "You. I was not told we were seeking Sol Invictus."

    Sweat began pouring down Leserre''s neck, "I uh... Well-- that..."

    Clemont stepped forward. He had returned from his rapid withdrawal, "Perhaps they are not the same, diator."

    Maximus faced Korr again, "Tell me. Do you know of Arena Champion Quay?"

    Korr shook her head, clueless.

    "...He was the leader of Sol Invictus." The shield warrior sighed, "Then perhaps the two guilds are not the same."

    "W-were you two lovers?" Korr asked hesitantly.

    Maximus was stunned, "What? No. Why is that the first thing you ask?"

    Korr frowned.

    Maximus put his shield and his spearhand on his hips, "No, really?"

    Korr tapped one of her boots against the ground, "You kinda had that... look in your eye, when you were asking about him."

    Maximus averted his gaze, "I really... respect the guild. That''s all."

    "But it doesn''t matter," Maximus lifted up his spear as it crackled alive with electric energy once more. "You should have known this since you joined a Dark Guild on your own ord..."

    Dark clouds formed overhead. Maximus'' eyes glowed blue with power.

    "By Bolt and me, you will be Purged."

 Chapter 72 When In Doubt

    ?"Maximus!"

    Lightning struck through the canopy of trees, setting a portion of the forest ceiling aze and barely missing Korr. As she leapt away, she collided with a small sapling, breaking it.

    Maximus dashed to her side and thrust a powerful ensorcelled spear at Korr''s center of mass, "Maximus!"

    In an explosion of energy, Korr was sted backward, tumbling through brush and thorn, colliding painfully against a thick tree root. She stood up, her clothes torn, bloody scratches all over. She gripped a sword in her right and a broken sapling, longer than a spear, in her left.

    She regained her bnce and began sprinting forward.

    Maximus formed his hand into a circle and held it in front of his mouth, "Roar of the Sky Dragon!"

    With an ear-shattering boom, a draconic screech shook the forest. A line of electrical energy surged towards Korr, halting her movement and lighting her sapling on fire. She dropped her sword. But she mmed her right fist hard against her chest as if to restart her heart.

    The action stunned Maximus. And in that moment, Korr''s thrown me-wreathed sapling struck Maximus in the chest. The man wasunched backward an entire 3 yalms, before smashing the impromptu javelin apart with his shield.

    Korr picked up her sword. Some of her hair stood tall from the electrical energy in the air, making for a ghostly image. Her functional eye was wide and bloodshot, and she hobbled towards Maximus like she was possessed, "Come on... Let''s fight."

    Maximus crossed his arms, "Korr, the Unbreakable. You are a terrifying existence."

    Korr tilted her head, "Are you ready to fight? Out of spells? Let''s fight. I''ll slice open your stomach and choke you with your guts, you worthless cretin."

    Maximus shook his head and unfurled his wings, his form towering over Korr. And with a gust of wind, he flew up into the air, hovering stably against a backdrop of smoldering leaves.

    Pointing his spear downward at the grounded woman, he began to ready another lightning strike.

    Korr smashed her sword de into a nearby tree, its bark erupting in smoky, shadowy rot, "That''s... that''s not fair!"

    ...

    Tycon stared through the forest canopy and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Dark clouds had too quickly begun to block the afternoon sun.

    "Tss. Doesn''t look good."

    Barza Keith rested his two swords on his shoulders as he walked, "Yeah, I know what''cha mean, Boss. I didn''t bring a jacket."

    Dragan twisted his tree-trunk neck over to look at the two, "Think it''s already started, Boss?"

    Tycon tapped anxiously on the sword hilt on his waist, "Mister Wroe, the dark clouds?"

    Wroe''s blue eyes glowed with an arcane light, "I don''t detect dark magic. But there is a lot of lightning mana up there."

    Dragan rolled his eyes and his entire head with it, "Well, yeah. That''s how thunderclouds work."

    Wroe stared back unflinchingly, "Shocking."

    Tycon checked his pocket watch.

    Barza looked apprehensive, "Boss, should we go look for Pale?"

    Tycon returned an annoyed hmph, "His half-a-bell has yet to finish. Why are you so worried?"

    Barza scratched his head with his thumb, "He is kinda young."

    "I''m certain you were just as capable at Pale''s age, Mister Barza." Tycon responded.

    Dragan sidled up with a peculiar grin, "What were you doing when you were 9, Lone?"

    Barza thought for a moment, "Well... Uh. I think I was probably pissing myself in primary school."

    Dragan began tough, holding his stomach. Tycon rolled his eyes, "I apologize, then. It seems not much has changed since then."

    "It was ONE TIME!!" Barza yelled indignantly.

    "Oi, here ''ees!" Dragan called out. He dropped his axe and bounded a few steps forward.

    Dragan reached his arm out and caught a fast-moving leather-armored bundle. He spun around a few times in a circle to ease the force of impact, eventually releasing a dazed Pale.

    Pale fell to the ground, the golden leaves crisping beneath him.

    Tycon tapped the fallen Pale with his boot, "I don''t know why you insist on doing that, young man."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Wroe smirked, "When can I get next?"

    Tycon turned to Dragan, "If Mister Wroe does the same, don''t catch him."

    Dragan grinned, "I''ll treat him like target practice. Boss'' orders!"

    Pale stood up with a salute, "Sir, reporting as ordered!"

    Tycon nodded, "Report."

    "There''s a big battle ahead! A group of soldiers that are wearing a lot of green and then people from the sect!"

    Tycon sighed, "Numbers, boy. What''s the distance? And what armor are they wearing? I thought I taught you specifically how to report."

    "O-oh. There''s... a lot? I didn''t count."

    "More than 20? More than 50? 100?" Tycon pushed the boy''s head.

    The boy grinned foolishly, "I dunno, Sir! But it was definitely more than 50."

    Tycon sucked in air through his teeth. He wasn''t keen on approaching the battle straight on.

    The boy continued, "They''re less than 10 minutes away. Everyone is armored in leathers... They have crossbows and swords and spears and--"

    Tycon raised a hand to stop him, "Enemy mercenarypany. Armored uniform. Trained with cold weapons and crossbows. Am I right?"

    "Yes, sir! And there was a... deer on their gs?"

    Tycon nodded, crossed his arms, and shut his eyes.

    ? System, search with conditions: List:Guilds. Color:Green. Symbol:Deer. Nation:Alizeau. ?

    [System response: 1 encountered result. Staghorn.]

    ? System, inquiry: Any relevant information concerning Guild Staghorn. ?

    [System response: As of thest update, Guild Staghorn is led by Heavy Armor Knight Emilien Leserre. No other information.]

    ? System, inquiry: When was thisst updated? ?

    [System response: Thest update urred in the adventurer''s guild in Nice.]

    Tycon frowned, deep in thought. As helpful as his System was, it wasn''t omniscient, "Bucket, did you spot any elites?"

    "Yes, sir. There was a Knight in full armor and a il, there''s a guy with blue wings and a shield and spear-- oh, and there was a guy in a big wizard hat!" Pale put his hands over his head to indicate the hat''s ridiculous size.

    Dragan''s eyes brightened immediately, "Boss!! Geek the mage?!"

    Pale nodded, "My dad always said ''when in doubt, geek the mage first!''"

    Wroe pulled his magic sword out of his waterskin, "Let the geekingmence."

    Tycon nodded resolutely, "We geek the mage."

    Barza followed along cluelessly, "Guys! Guys? What does that mean?"

    ...

    Heavy Armor Knight Leserre pulled on Clemont''s robe, "Hey. Wizard. Should we... help Sir Maximus?"

    Clemont gulped ufortably, his mouth dry. The field in front of them consisted only of twobatants, the winged Maximus and a woman in a bloodied shirt flinging boulders and small trees at the former. Maximus was able to easily dodge the telegraphed projectiles and he returned an equally neverending barrage of lightning strikes. The green moss and gold leaf forest had quickly turned into a charred wastnd.

    Clemont rubbed his face, wishing he could wake up from the nightmare. He looked to his left and right. Guild Staghorn still had 3 dozenbat-ready men and women. But with their strengths... "Sir Knight, I believe intervention would beget needless casualties."

    The crowd began to shift as a dark-hooded scout weaved his way through. The scout ced a hand on Clemont''s shoulder, "Master Wizard, I have a suggestion."

    Clemont scrutinized the green-haired youth before him, not remembering his face. Since when had they had a scout with such bright, golden eyes? "Speak your mind, Scout. I pray your suggestion can change the status quo."

 Chapter 73 Geek The Mage

    ?Tycondrius of Charm made his way through a gaggle of some 30 armed men and women. He had stealthily picked up a cloak from a fallen Staghorn and draped it over his armor, relying on the spectacle that was Korr''s fight to go unnoticed.

    The Heavy Armor Knight was wearing a makeshift sling, supporting his sword arm. He silently assessed the mustachioed man''s clumsy size and ck-jawed look as traits belonging to an idiot. The Wizard was the only other person in the group that looked threatening.

    For a reason Tycon could not fathom, Korr had abandoned her post in Nice and was fighting a winged Holy Country warrior who could literally vomit lightning bolts. And by fighting, she was throwing improvised projectiles at the winged man while he returned fire with urate lightning-based spells. However, with all her bruises and charred, torn clothing was, Seldin Korr hadn''t sustained any obvious injuries nor appeared to be running out of stamina.

    Tycon ced a friendly hand on the Wizard''s shoulder. He seemed like an intelligent, respectable gentleman-- an excellent enemy to defeat early on.

    "Speak your mind, Scout." The wizard''s eyes met Tycon''s, "I pray your suggestion can change the status quo."

    [Vexing Gaze conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? How unfortunate. I suppose my suggestion will. Activate. Geek the mage. ?

    [Activating. Geeking the mage.]

    Before the effects could process, Tycon grabbed the wizard by the cor and belt and threw him out of the crowd.

    The Knight began to yell, "What?! What are you DOING, Scout?!?"

    Paying the metal man no need, Tycon drew his razor whipshed out, precisely bleeding the downed wizard''s calves. The thin man shrieked in pain, like he was dying. How uncouth.

    ? Activate Razor Spin. ?

    [Activating. Razor Spin: Razor Whip ability. Target takes additional damage from charge attacks.]

    Tycon firmly raised his voice, "Geek the mage!"

    He ran forward, and delivered a running kick to the Wizard''s stomach. That and the illusory poisoning from Vexing Gaze made the robed figure spit out a glob of blood.

    [Lamb to the ughter conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Activate. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    [Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus.]

    Dragan fell out of the trees first, a red blur with his elbow pointed downward for an unnecessarily reckless elbow drop.

    "Geek the maaaage!" He smashed into the wizard''s chest before clumsily rolling away,ughing maniacally.

    Pale leapt off a nearby tree branch and dove with his crimson spear-haft downward.

    "Geek the mage!" He smashed the spear''s blunt end into the wizard''s abdomen. Hopping off, he spun his spear to hold it like a club and began brutally bludgeoning the downed wizard.

    Wroe appeared out of a magical shadowy sphere, flying downward at a peculiar 200 degree angle, eventually stomping onto the wizard''s face with both heels.

    "I honestly had no idea what you guys meant until just now," the blue-haired angel admitted.

    Barza ran up, having missed his moment, and began stomping on the wizard, "Yeah, take this!!"

    Tycondrius was mildly disappointed, but Barza he inwardly apuded the man''s fighting spirit.

    ...

    The process had taken some 15 seconds.

    Knight Leserre stared dumbfounded, his jaw near unhinged. "Wh-what?"

    Clemont was being brutally beaten by 5 random, screaming adventurers. "P-please! Stop! Oh! Why?!" he begged.

    Tycon, having already done his part in the savage takedown of the wizard, walked over to Korr and the hovering winged warrior. He handed Korr a waterskin.

    She took it, her face red, assumedly from physical exertion, "L-leader''s personal waterskin."

    Tycon squinted his eyes in confusion. Was there a significance to his waterskin he wasn''t aware of?

    She drank from the skin thirstily, before wordlessly dashing off... not towards Maximus, but to the wizard. She too began to kick and stomp the rolling man.

    Tycon turned to the flying man awkwardly, "Hello."

    "Hi," Hended on the ground and lifted his spear as an acknowledgment.

    The man wore a silvery muscle cuirass, a popr armor style in the Holy Country. He folded his blue scaly wings behind him and rolled his shoulders, emphasizing the blue scales on his muscled upper arms. He radiated an aura of confidence, strength, and free-flowing mana. He would have been an intimidating enemy...

    Tycon stared above the man''s head with confusion. The system had already identified him, even though he, himself, didn''t know who he was.

    His name was Maximus.

    And the color of his name was blue, the color of trust.

    ? System, inquiry: Basic information on Maximus, specifically rank, ss, and race/species. ?

    [Gian Vanzano. Alias: Maximus of Ezyria. Dovahkiin Iron-Rank Warmage.]<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? How powerful. System, save settings as default for basic information search. ?

    [Setting changeplete.]

    He had no reason to doubt his System. Tycon put away his whip and offered an arm, "Have we met?"

    Maximus grasped Tycon by the forearm, the customary greeting in the Holy Country. "We have, Lord Tycondrius."

    "Tycon is fine, Mister Vanzano."

    "Then Maximus will be fine, as well. I heard a rumor that Sol Invictus has be a Dark Guild since we''vest met. I would like to hear of circumstances from you or guild leader Quay."

    Tycon nodded, crossing his arms and cing a finger to his lips, "To begin with, Guild Invictus'' actions here are purely benign. However, I was not aware that we had be a Dark Guild."

    Maximus nodded, "Guild leader Quay was always noble and just, so the news hade to me as a surprise. The rumors must be untrue."

    "Hold, Mister Maximus. I do not wish to lead you astray."

    "Mister Dragan!" Tycon called.

    Dragan halted his kicking of the wizard to jog over, "Hey, Boss! Ohhh, heyyy! Maximus!! How ya been, man?"

    The two sped forearms, "Good, you?"

    Tycon interrupted-- "Mister Dragan, I was wondering what atrocities we''vemitted since we''vest met with Maximus."

    "Eh, what? BOSS!! Why the f*ck do you always me me?!" Dragan looked hurt.

    Tycon was nonplussed, "Because it''s usually you."

    "Okay, fair." Dragan ced his hands on his hips, "But to answer your question, Boss, we haven''t done anything grossly illegal since."

    "What? Are you sure? Murders? Arson?" Tycon was having a difficult time believing the giant.

    "Nope."

    "Are we... suspected of anything?"

    "Nope!"

    "Call Bucket over," Tycon ordered.

    "C''mon, Boss! Can''t you believe me?!"

    Tycon red in response. It would be problematic if Guild Invictus had the reputation of being a Dark Guild, a guild reputed for carrying out illegal or immoral missions. And there would be more problems if crusaders from the Holy Country like Warmage Maximus were seeking to collect their bounty.

    "Okay, fair." Dragan shrugged in defeat.

    Dragan tagged out with Pale, who hurried over.

    "Oh, hello, Sir! It''s nice to see you again." Pale exchanged greetings with the much taller Maximus.

    "You are... Quay''s son?"

    "Yes, Sir! Oh, um-- Dad is missing, so Sir Tycon is Sol Invictus'' leader for now!"

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Pale, is the guild wanted for any crimes?"

    "N-no, Sir! Not in the Kingdom! Oh, and not in the Holy Country, either."

    Tycon nodded with furrowed brows, turning to Maximus, "Well, this is a surprise to me, as well."

    Maximus looked confused, "I... don''t know why it should be. The uh... Girl is with you, right?"

    Tycon nced over to Korr. She was on her hands and knees, beating the wizard with a sharp rock she found, "Y-yeah. She''s uh... She''s alright."

    Maximus nodded hesitantly, "She said some kinda... treasonous things."

    Pale ran back to the wizard-kicking group and tagged out with Seldin Korr.

    Korr jogged over. Tycon used his sheathed sword to block her fromnding a fist on Maximus. She puffed up her cheeks and aggrievedly looked to Tycon.

    Tycon stared for a moment, "Why are you here, anyway?"

    Korr ran away.

    The two stared at her departing form. Tycon turned to the Warmage, "I''ll vouch for her. She''s... not a bad person."

    Maximus raised his eyebrows, "I... see."

 Chapter 74 A Sign Of Strength

    ?"Can I join your guild?" Maximus offered.

    Tycon was surprised at the man''s directness, "Well, yes. I don''t see why not. I could certainly use your assistance in Merylsward."

    "Great."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Did you... have any questions?"

    "Nah. Just nice to hang out with people I know."

    Tycon shrugged. It was a strange development.

    Maximus adjusted the straps on his shield, "So, Leader... should I go help with the mage?"

    ...

    Tycon walked over to the Staghorn guild, surprised that they had allowed their wizard to be beaten so thoroughly over the course of minutes. If they were terrified, they were right to be so.

    The wizard was groaning in pain, surrounded by the members of Guild Invictus. Tycon had to yell over them to get them to stop beating the barely-conscious wizard. The man was strangely resilient, but that might have had to do with the fact that Invictus had not used their strongest attacks.

    "You must be Sir Emilien Leserre," Tycon addressed the Heavy Armor Knight.

    "Wh-why yes, and who in the seven hells are you?" the mustachioed man cried out.

    Barza stepped forward, "How dare you! Don''t you know whom''st you are speaking to! Thou art speaketh to the face of Baron Tycondrius!"

    Pale tugged on one of Barza''s weapon straps, his eyes pleading, ''Please stop.''

    Dragan was stifling augh.

    Maximus eyed Tycon, "Baron?"

    Leserre pointed angrily, "Sir Maximus! What is the meaning of this?! These are the enemies of Guild Staghorn! You can''t break an established contract per the adventurer guild''sws!!"

    Maximus shrugged nonchntly, "I can break a contract in the case of extraordinary circumstances. Sol Invictus is a team of honorable and just diators from my homnd."

    Leserre''s angered face had reddened to the shade of a bright red apple.

    Dragan walked forward with the wizard over his shoulder, "Did you guys want your wizard back?"

    A man with an axe answered Dragan, "Yes. Please return the wizard to us... if he''s still alive, anyroad. He''s our chief advisor."

    With a smile, Dragan rolled the Wizard over towards the Staghorns.

    ...

    Clemont was resuscitated with a potion. Too many bones had been broken and he needed intensive healing at a temple-- and a few months of bed rest. He could, however, advise Knight Leserre.

    The remaining sect archers and warriors had consolidated with Guild Invictus, making a wall of enemies that none of the Staghorns wished to fight... with the exception of one man.

    "What I''m saying, Clemont is... we can''t just leave!" Leserre yelled so hard that he winced in pain and cradled his arm.

    Clemont sighed and moved his eyes to look at Leserre. He was unable to move his stiff neck, wrapped in an impromptu cast, "Let me walk you through this, Leserre. Guild Staghorn, that is-- you and me, we cannot beat the Unbreakable woman."

    "Well, yeah, but--"

    "Sir Maximus. He can beat the Unbreakable."

    "Yeah! That''s exactly right! So we--"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "And Sir Maximus has defected to Guild Invictus."

    "Y-yeah. Yeah..." Leserre''s spirit was visibly crushed, his fatigue and age setting in and making him look all the more pathetic, "I mean... That bastard! Who does he think he--"

    "If Maximus could beat the Unbreakable. Logically, Guild Staghorn can''t defeat Maximus. Also, we''re down to less than 30% of our numbers. And both you and I are incredibly handicapped."

    "Yeah, but... Master Wizard..." Leserre looked like he was about to cry, "The contract was issued by a Duke... And he paid half in advance."

    Clemont tried to adjust his broken sses, but the casts on his arms didn''t allow him to. He sighed, "The consequences are irrelevant, Emilien. What we need to be doing is negotiating our surrender."

    "Surrender? Guild Staghorn doesn''t surrender, Wizard!" Leserre was livid.

    "Maybe we can get ahead of the game. Maybe we can convince them if they don''t ept our conditions, they''d have to kill us down to thest of us."

    A female archer captain raised her hand, "Yeah, I''m not okay with that."

    Murmurs ofints went through the remaining Staghorns.

    Clemont raised his voice, "But a conditional surrender, that''s still on the table."

    The Staghorns, with the exception of Knight Leserre, unanimously agreed..

    Thoroughly defeated, but still trying to hold onto his remaining pride, Knight Leserre swaggered over to Baron Tycondrius and Kagehisa Yumiko.

    Arrogantly, he ced his good arm on his hips, "You know... Mercy is a sign of strength."

    ...

    Tycon and Yumiko facilitated Guild Staghorn''s conditional surrender, gaining a small cache of Outsider armor and weaponry.

    Korr tried to avoid Tycon for the walk back until Tycon repeatedly assured her that he wasn''t upset with her. (He was.) Maximus had reported how valiantly she fought single-handedly against the Staghorn forces to dy them until Guild Invictus had arrived. Yumiko was strangely defensive of the one-eyed girl, repeatedly referring to her as her daughter. Tycon found it odd but didn''t question it.

    A fantastic feast was being prepared back at the sect. Sect leader Kimura Daigo, the patriarch of the Kimura family, had returned from closed cultivation. Kagehisa Yumiko stole Seldin Korr away before Tycon could get a chance to talk to her. Young Master Tamaki took Guild Invictus to fit them in traditional formal clothing. Tycon trusted that Tamaki wouldn''t embarrass them.

    Tycon was concerned about how he''d order Korr to return to Nice. With Maximus'' strength and his familiarity with Guild Invictus'' tactics, Korr was unnecessary for their mission in Merylsward. It was far more efficient to have Korr train Sorina Capulet. Calctor was a synergistic ss that could support any teamposition and elevate their threat levels by at least an entire rank-- provided she could increase her rank to Iron.

    The woman was damn stubborn, though. And he couldn''t afford to gain her ire.

    Korr was a terrifying woman with a terrifying ss.

    "Why don''t you take her out, brother?"

    Tycon hooked the blue-haired man''s neck with the crook of his elbow and powered a knee into the man''s abdomen. The Warlock had emerged from the darkness and Tycon attacked out of reflex.

    Tycon pushed Wroe away, "Really, Tarquin Wroe?! You need to stop doing that!"

    Wroe held his stomach, crouched over in pain, "What? Traveling by magical shadows?"

    "No, stop giving me asinine suggestions--" Tycon stopped... "I suppose more the appearing out of the shadows, since your idea was actually useful, for once."

    "G-d to be of service, Boss." Wroe smiled weakly.

    Tycon clenched his fist, his n formted. He would take Seldin Korr out to see the sect as thanks for arriving and somewhat-helping. Then at the end of the sun, he''d politely ask her to return to Nice.

    Surely, nothing would go wrong.

 Chapter 75 Patriarchâ€™s Challenge

    ?Patriarch Kimura Daigo sat in the central courtyard of the Kimura estate. Honored personages and guests had been invited from the various sect families.

    Earlier that sun, a team of 100prised of elites of the younger generation and a few sect elders were dispatched against an Outsider force of 100. ording to his wife, Kagehisa Yumiko, Guild Invictus was instrumental in routing them with only minimal severe casualties. After observing them carouse and converse for a time, Daigo concluded that the youth in their group had the highest status.

    "Uncle Kakui, that is..." Daigo stealthily directed the elder''s attention to the green-haired youth wearing a ck kimono.

    Elder Kakui adjusted his posture pridefully, "Patriarch, that is Master Invictus Tycon. He is the leader of Guild Invictus, wholly responsible for resolving the great Cmity."

    Daigo continued to silently observe, "Is that so...? Tell me more of this youth, Uncle."

    The older man averted his gaze, "He is an honorable leader, far more experienced than his age would suggest. His aura may be foreign, but his des speak of his strength and capability."

    Daigo looked to his side, at his wife''s empty seat. He wanted her opinion, but she was still busy preparing. "Yumiko has advised that I do not antagonize my daughter''s boyfriend... But how much older is this Tycon than my beautiful daughter?! He''s what-- 18? 19? Nearly twice Taree''s age."

    Elder Kakui wiped his brow with a damp handkerchief, "Err.. Patriarch, that--"

    Daigo stood up from his seat, "Aha, I''ve got it! We''ll disguise my challenges as a contest! Then Yumiko won''t be able to scold me! Ahaha! Uncle Kakui, your patriarch is a GENIUS!! "

    Kakui held out a hand, "No, Patriarch. Please wait!"

    "Leader Tycondrius!" Daigo descended the steps of the outdoors tform, approaching Guild Invictus'' table. With every sect member bowing or nodding politely, the man would be a fool to not know who he was.

    "Patriarch," Tycon stood and bowed politely. A young man at his side with a spear did the same. Daigo was pleased with their knowledge of sect tradition.

    Daigo promptly ignored the boy, "What say you to a set of contests as part of the celebration! I''m certain the sect would love to see the capabilities of the men and uh... horses who made this celebration possible."

    Why were there horses being served wine and snacks at their table? Daigo had associated with Outsiders before but was not aware of such a custom.

    Tycon''s first reaction was to look towards Tamaki, another anomalous action that confused Daigo.

    "Ooh, a celebratory contest. Don''t worry, Young Master Tycon. Dad''s got no reason to embarrass ya. You can take it at face value," Tamaki exined with an innocent smile.

    Tycon gave another polite bow, "Very well, Patriarch. Guild Invictus epts your challenges."

    ...

    "Why is it only me?" Tycon asked in annoyance. He held a sturdy bamboo de in either hand.

    He and Patriarch Daigo had moved to a sparring circle for a bout of swordsmanship. Many of the sect members had gathered around to watch, talking excitedly.

    "Master Invictus is sooooo hot." "I wonder if he needs a yin cultivator!" "I want Invictus Dragan to perform next!!" "By the gods, have you seen the boy with a spear?!" "With the silver armor? I dream of him every night!" "The boy? Wait, that''s illegal!" --Tycon deigned to ignore the crowd''s conversations. He mentally reminded himself to never listen to the murmuring of a crowd, ever again.

    Daigo had taken a low crouched sword stance, "I must warn you, Warrior Tycon! For many years, I have practiced the Shiba Defensive Sword!"

    Tycon darted his eyes left to Young Master Tamaki. Was Tycon supposed to know what that was? Was it impressive? Tamaki shed him a giddy smile and an upward thumb of approval.

    "Three moves, Warrior Tycon! If I cannot take 3 moves from you, I''ll admit defeat!" Daigo dered.

    Tycon pointed to himself, "Oh, then I can go first?"

    The patriarchughed, "Ahaha! Of course, young warrior! The challenger always goes first!"

    ''But... you challenged us?'' Tycon thought. His reverence for Yumiko''s mate was quickly declining.

    Tycon began to move counter-clockwise, with the patriarch matching him. Tycon checked to make sure his back was to the crowd and that nothing was behind the patriarch.

    Tycon shed at the ground, "Iron Dragon Rend."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The patriarch reflexively dove out of the way as the ground opened up, rocks and debris flying up and away. Members of the sect covered their ears to block out the loud sounds of the breaking earth.

    The crowd was eerily silent from the ridiculous disy of power... then it erupted into excited yells.

    "Oh, what was thaaaat?!" "What SKILL is that!!" "N-n-nascent Profound Realm!!" "No way, the destructive power was far too great for that!!" "It''s like he''s the Chosen One!!" "Psh. There''s no way he can talk to animals!!"

    Sitting among the fight''s observers, Barza Keith''s face had paled to a ghostly white, "I... I survived that?"

    Pale pat the man''s back to reassure him, "I-it''s okay, Lone. Just don''t piss off Boss."

    Tycon tossed aside one of his swords. It hadpletely disintegrated from the mana he used.

    "Shall... we continue, Patriarch?"

    "N-n-n... NEXT CHALLENGE!!" Daigo dered.

    The crowd erupted into a roar of cheers.

    ...

    Patriarch Daigo had set up two seats and a board game. Pieces with foreign lettering on them were ced on a checkered board. "I have been training in this game for many years! I am unbeatable within the Kimura n!"

    Dragan raised his hand, "Ooh! I know this game!!"

    Tycon shrugged. He walked back and tagged out with Dragan with an urate p of their palms before taking his seat beside Barza.

    Daigo looked aggrieved, "Wait! But..."

    Tycon raised his voice from where he sat, "I forego this challenge, as I am no match for Patriarch Daigo in this contest. I have chosen Mister Dragan as Guild Invictus'' champion."

    Daigo pursed his lips, unable to argue. The youth had declined firmly and respectfully. He eyed the brutish red-maned giant of a man that sat in the tiny seat before him and was scrutinizing the board. Daigo would have to defeat the man, Invictus Dragan, before he could think of another plot to discredit Invictus Tycon.

    Tycon red at Barza, "Is there a reason you''ve got a stupid look on your face, Mister Barza?"

    "Well, Sir... I figured you''d be good at those sorts of games. You''re super strategic."

    Tycon shook his head with a helpless expression, "Is it such a surprise? Board-based tactics are not one of my innate skills."

    "But you could y it a lot and get better?"

    "This is true. Like with any skill, training andbat beget improvement." Tycon smirked, "But since you so altruistically suggest I improve my board-gaming skill, may I suggest you work on your swordsmanship?"

    Barza held his heart as if he were injured, "That kinda hurts, Boss. Right here."

    Tycon softened his expression in mock care, "To solve such an affliction, I propose we add to your training regimen."

    Barza gave a piteous look, holding his stomach, "My stomach''s not feeling so great, Boss. I''ll be back."

    As Barza weaved his way through the crowd, the Patriarch flipped the board, pieces and all. Dragan sat, grinning wildly.

    "NEXT CHALLENGE!!" Daigo yelled.

    The crowd erupted into a roar of cheers.

 Chapter 76 Reclaiming His Honor

    ?Patriarch Kimura Daigo''s heart bled. He had lost two challenges in a row, embarrassing himself in front of his entire sect. Perhaps many would see his actions as giving Guild Invictus face, challenging them in areas of their expertise...

    But Daigo had no idea that Invictus Tycon could sunder the earth with a casual swing of a sword! And he hadn''t an inkling that he''d be so soundly defeated in a board game by Invictus Dragan! What was next? Could the child with the pointed ears beat him in escaping an Illusory Formation?

    Daigo couldn''t risk it. He requested Elder Kakui to retrieve his personal stock: dozens ofrge ceramic jugs of rice wine, expertly brewed by his beautiful wife with a Kagehisa family recipe. They were reserved for special asions, like an important marriage or saving the patriarch''s face.

    "I must warn you," the patriarch dered. "I have NEVER been defeated in drinking!!"

    Tycon made several gestures with his hands and a number of Guild Invictus returned to their seats.

    The boy left-- he was a bit young to drink. The Patriarch liked the boy''s calm demeanor. If his daughter chose the boy instead of the arrogant, green-haired youth, he might be more epting of the pair.

    The two horses walked off. "They''re designated drivers," Tycon exined.

    Two massive men walked up.

    Invictus Maximus was a silent, dark-haired man, easily over 6-fulms tall, parts of his revealed chest and neck covered in blue scales. Invictus Dragan towered over him, over 8-fulms tall, sporting a mane of red hair, massive naked calves revealed by a too-short kimono.

    Daigo began to sweat. He was confident in his drinking ability. But against the two behemoths of Guild Invictus? He might as well challenge his wife to an archery contest.

    The patriarch''s confidence began to recover with the approach of Invictus Tycon. Tycon was the average height of a sect Martialist, a few ilms shorter than Daigo, himself. His build was average, not bulky at all. And the youth didn''t look even 20-years of age.

    Anky-blue haired boy, Invictus Wroe, and a youth with a scar on his nose, Invictus Lone, also stood with him. Even those two looked like they could outdrink their leader.

    All he had to do was defeat the boy.

    Betting it all on this final fight, Patriarch Kimura Daigo would reim his honor.

    ...

    Several roundster, the patriarch was passed out on the table. Maximus was giggling like a maniac. Wroe was rubbing his hands on his cheeks, in a lonely corner of the massive courtyard, facing the wall.

    Tycon had lost track of Barza but assumed he was soiling himself in a dark corner of the Kimura estate.

    Festivities had continued, even with the patriarch''s unfortunate show. Tycon had to ept a few drinks from the other sect families and had to politely rebuff their friendly offers. Unless the sect opened its doors to the Outside world, offering trade and services, working intimately with any other sect family was a waste of time for Tycon.

    As the evening wound down further, Dragan and Tycon had collected with Elder Kakui and were sharing a jug of some of Yumiko''s fruit wine.

    "What were those contests about, Elder?" Tycon asked.

    "Well, Warrior Tycon. It seems that the patriarch was worried that you had designs on his young daughter," Kakui responded, nursing his drink.

    "The silver-haired brat? How ridiculous. As if I would be interested in such a rude girl. I''ve assigned the boy to entertain her."

    Kakui nodded with a hupping smile, "Ah, yes, of course. The Young Mistress has always spoken highly of Young Master Pale."

    "Second question!" Dragan draped his arm over Tycon as he slurred, "Elder Cockatoo! Where''s-- where''s the good drink? The strong stuff!"

    Kakui contemted for a moment, "Well, I can go and--"

    Tycon raised a hand, "Elder, wait a moment. Mister Dragan."

    "Yeah, Boss?"

    "Can you still taste the drink?"

    "Whaaaat? Nah... Nah! It''s like water, Boss!"

    Tycon smiled to Kakui, "Mister Dragan will be fine with the current libations-- Thank you, Elder."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Draganughed, sucking in air with an oddugh-groan, "Cheers! I''ll drink to that, bro!"

    Tycon poured Kakui another drink as the elder nodded in understanding.

    "Elder Kakui... Do you know the whereabouts of Korr and Madam Yumiko?"

    The elder smiled and looked past Tycon. Slowly and suspiciously, Tycon turned his body to face the threat.

    The gorgeous woman had Korr''s dark-red hair. Her hair was styled up, the minimal amount of makeup she used only added to her charm, and an incredibly subtle fragrance about her smelled of sweet, summer flowers. Her fiery orange robe entuated what curves she had and she nervously held a fan she used to hide her face.

    Tycon stood and ced a finger on the woman''s wrist, moving the fan away, so he could gaze upon her face. Korr kept her scarred eye closed but she looked away, unwilling to look straight at him.

    "H-how do I look, Leader?"

    Tycon shut his mouth. He had been gawking, "You look... good."

    Over the woman''s shoulder, he saw the angry re of Kagehisa Yumiko as she drew back her warbow. What. Why?

    "Y-you look GREAT, Korr! Wow! Much cute. Such beautiful!" Tycon babbled until Yumiko lowered her bow.

    Korr revealed a shy smile, "Oh, alright."

    Tycon gave a sigh of relief, "Korr, would you like to go out with me tomorrow?"

    ...

    In the morning, Tycon had Pale escort him and Korr to one of the sect''s training grounds.

    "I''m sorry for kidnapping you, Mister Pale."

    "It''s okay! I won''t be kidnapped next time. I''m really strong now!"

    The two seemed to make amends easily enough.

    Tycon and Korr had much inmon with physical training knowledge, so morning exercise was a must.

    "Bucket."

    "Yes, Sir?" Pale replied.

    "Are you joking with me, you little turd?" Tycon crossed his arms.

    "Sir?" Pale didn''t answer, confused.

    Pale had led them to the most ridiculous obstacle course Tycon had ever seen. There were spinning logs to jump from, bars to hang from, a swimming portion-- the obstacle variety was making Tycon''s head ache.

    "So this is the obstacle course part of the training ground. Let''s move on," Tycon tried to drag Korr away.

    He had used a reasonable amount of strength, but Korr hadn''t budged in the slightest. He looked to her with wary eyes-- she was staring at the course with sparkles in her eye.

    "D-did... you want to do the obstacle course?"

    Korr nodded rapidly like a bird.

    Tycon cursed inwardly. How in the seven hells was he going to not look like a fool in front of Seldin Korr?

 Chapter 77 Hot Springs

    ?"You... You can''t be serious. You really want to do... that?" Tycon pointed.

    A lengthy obstacle course had been constructed in a field,prised of several spinning wooden contraptions, various checks of agility, and a somewhat familiar warped wall.

    "Can we, Leader? ...Unless you don''t want to. Then it''s okay, we can do something else." Korr gazed downward, tapping the points of her forefingers together.

    One of her fingernails was missing. It was likely a result of the battle from the previous sun, where she held off a hundred men by herself to buy time for Guild Invictus.

    Tycon took a deep breath. It was bing more difficult to politely convince the woman against running the course together. Or maybe he could just let her do as she pleased? Tss. But she kept saying the word "we" so she probably intended for this activity to be a coupled event.

    A small cluster of whelplings approached while Tycon was deep in thought. Kimura Taree had gathered a collection of snot-nosed children around her and Pale''s age.

    "Hello, Warrior Tycon! Are you and Warrior Korr going to run the obstacle course too?"

    Tycon red at the group of preteens and young teenagers... along with an excited Pale.

    "Ohh, that''s Warrior Tycon!" "Oh, the savior of our sect!" "Wow, he looks really strong!"

    Korr stepped forward, "We won''t lose to you."

    Tycon''s heart sunk. It appeared again, the "we" that he dreaded. With Korr''s words, he could no longer escape.

    ...

    ? Activate Great Leap. ?

    [Warning: User''s Completion Rating is too low for Skill activation. Concentration will be greatly taxed. Force Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Activate Nimble Climb. ?

    [Warning: User''s Completion Rating is too low for Skill activation. Concentration will be greatly taxed. Force Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Activate... Parkour? ?

    [Skill not found.]

    ? Activate Will to Live. ?

    [Skill not found.]

    Tycon wasn''t sure how he did it, but he managed to survive the obstacle course without begging Korr or Pale for assistance. He was, however, bereft of mana. And his Skill usage had taxed his concentration and stamina to the point that his head pounded reminiscent to an entire squad stomping on a wizard.

    "Wow! The Outsiders are so cool!" "Yeah! The way the green-haired grown-up climbed like he could stick to walls!" Yeah, amazing!"

    He red at the departing children. They weren''t even breathing hard. Tycon was cursing himself for pushing himself past his limits. He had gone to great lengths to impress a group of children that wouldn''t even remember him in half-a-bell, whose greatest achievements were learning not to soil themselves.

    He mentally reminded himself to add that particr course to Barza Keith''s training regimen.

    Pale smiled apologetically and departed with Taree.

    Korr was still excited, "Leader! Let''s do it again!"

    How she still had the energy, Tycon had no idea. "G-go ahead, I have to... uh... Practice my breathing techniques."

    Korr nodded and jogged away with her arms trailing behind her. Tycon copsed back onto the floor. He did not look forward to the rest of his ns.

    ...

    A short time afterward, Guild Invictus, the Kimura siblings, and Elder Kakui had began to hike northeast. Kagehisa Yumiko had suggested he bring Korr to local hot springs and Elder Kakui knew the way.

    Girls liked hot springs.

    The Kimura parents were invited, but Yumiko was intent on taking care of the patriarch, who had apparently been shot by an arrow in a freak ident. Tycon highly doubted that a skilled archer like Yumiko would make such a rookie mistake, but he decided not to delve.

    The trip was rxing, Barza was relieved to have a sun off of training and was trying tomunicate to Horse and Jeremy, ''Chosen One practice,'' he called it. Dragan and Maximus were "hydrating" with a jug of Yumiko''s booze. Elder Kakui was recounting sect ghost stories to an enamored Wroe, while Taree and Pale listened on the side.

    Why were those two walking so close to each other?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Korr told Tycon a few stories-- they all seemed to interconnect but the whole of it was incredibly difficult to follow. He tried his best.

    It was shortly after lunch that the atmosphere turned from cold and chilly to warm and humid, with clouds of mist from the nearby springs pervading the area.

    "So... you don''t really need to get an extra bag." Korr was exining to Barza, "Just put stuff in your bra."

    Dragan examined Barza''s figure, "Hey, Loooone! What kinda bra d''you think fits you, man?"

    Barza gave a troubled smile, "I wouldn''t wear one, though. Do you know how hot wearing a bra is?"

    The traveling group stopped for a moment to stare at Mister Barza. The group erupted inughter, with the exception of Tycon and a politely smiling Elder Kakui. Both Maximus and Dragan hadughed so hard, they were wiping tears from their eyes.

    "I had thought brassieres were only socially eptable for females to wear?" Tycon asked.

    "They are!" Barza replied with a reddened face.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Then why would you admit to having worn one?"

    Theughter was interrupted by Pale, who emerged from the greenery.

    "Boss," Pale approached apprehensively. "You''d bettere see this."

    Tycon excused himself to follow the boy. He wasn''t keen on whatever surprise Pale had found. He was already annoyed about the issues he''d suffered in the morning and the incessant headache from overexerting his concentration wasn''t going away anytime soon.

    "I trust you won''t be wasting my time on frivolities, young man. I am in no mood for jokes."

    Pale stopped and pointed at a heated pond.

    Tycon''s eyes widened. His heart began to race. He gnashed his teeth so hard that Pale shrank his form from worry.

    "Armor! Armor and weapons!" He yelled, "Get everyone over here!! WHY AREN''T YOU MOVING FAST ENOUGH?!?!"

    ...

    Guild Invictus andpany gathered in front of arge east-facing cave mouth.

    Elder Kakui was thoroughly confused, "Young Mistress Taree... What''s going on?"

    Tycondrius had ordered everyone to be armed and armored. He was stomping around, wary and... furious?

    Taree seemed to know what was going on, but she was anxious and visibly trembling. She looked up to Kakui with pitiful tears pooled at the corner of her eyes.

    Kakui shut his mouth, refusing to ask more of her. She was frightened. And he was trying to remain calm and rational, as an elder of the sect. He summoned two sabers from his spatial ring, their familiar weightforting. Whatever crisis were toe, as a Kimura family elder, he would protect the children and his sect benefactors even at the cost of his life.

    "Get the HELL OUT HERE!!" Tycon screamed into the cave.

    Then he began to roar, different tones and pitches, with an intermixed series of guttural clicks-- sounds Kakui wasn''t sure a human should be able to make.

    Slow and measured pounding of stone emanated from deep within the cave. Something heavy. Something with steps that echoed as it walked. Something huge.

    The smell of sulfur became more pronounced, an acrid stench that made Kakui''s eyes water. Whatever wasing, he had no knowledge of it. A great beast? A demon?

    Kakui looked to Tycon with confusion. What could such a young man have identified that required such vignce?

    It reared its head out of the darkness of the cave, a great red, serpentine neck with red horns curved back towards its wings. Its head alone was asrge an ox and the rest of its red, winged body, stood taller and sturdier than a two-story fortress. It reared back its head and roared. The earth shook, the stones erupted in steam, and waters rumbled and sshed.

    "(WHOMST HAS AWAKENED THE ANCIENT ONE?!!)"

    Its words were foreign, deep and unsettling. The magic was ancient and the depths of his human soul could understand it on primitive instinct. The creature before him was an ancient beast... knowing the magics of an ancient, sorcerousnguage...

    "Seven bloody hells, you ugly bastard, WHAT took you so long?" Tycon yelled, defiance in his eyes.

    Elder Kakui knelt to the ground, speechless. Who was this youth to so brazenly taunt an Ancient Red Dragon?

 Chapter 78 Legend Of Korr

    ?The red dragon blinked its eyes and yawned,zily spouting a gout of me.

    "(It has been many years since a mortal has spoken to me so brazenly.)" The dragon sighed, "(I shall forgive thy foolishness... this once.)

    The dragon sleepily unfolded its wings, more than doubling its already-massive size, "(Behold. I am a great and powerful dragon. You''ve found me.)"

    Kakui grabbed Taree''s shoulders, "Young Mistress, what... what shall we do?"

    Taree wiped the tears from her eyes and shook her head, "Wh-what can we do? Grandpa, we have to trust in Warrior Tycon."

    Pale held Taree''s hand and nodded to Kakui. The older man gulped a lump stuck in his throat but remained silent.

    "(I''ve had quite a long flight, and I''m very tired, you see. I''d really prefer you all return in, say... an epoch? 16 of your years should do, for certain.)"

    The dragon yawned again, a wider, uglier, serpentine-neck-flexing yawn. "(So bugger off, will you? Before I change my mind.)"

    "Yeah-- You can''t sleep here, Lizard," Tycon ordered, as if he were offended.

    Barza tugged on Tycon''s cloak. "Boss... Boss, I know you have your thing against... the lizards but... What the heck are you doing?"

    "Not now, Mister Barza," Tycon angrily shoved Barza back to the rest of the group.

    "Oh?" The dragon looked perplexed and responded in themon tongue. "And why in the zes not, mortal??"

    "The cave." Tycon pointed at the ground with emphasis, "It''s. Mine."

    The dragon furrowed its great, scaly brows, "What? Don''t be ridiculous. I was obviously here first. How could this cave be... yours?"

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Simple. I discovered it."

    "You... You can''t just say you discovered something-- well... Fine," The dragon snorted me from its nostrils. "I discovered this cave, first! How about that?"

    Tyconughed, "Hah! Your im is IRRELEVANT!!"

    The red dragon reared its head back, "What? By what... logic could you possibly make that im?"

    Tycon pointed angrily, "I don''t BELIEVE IN YOU!! You don''t EXIST!!"

    Elder Kakui hid his face in his hands. Taree stared with wide eyes, open mouth. Barza began to sob quietly.

    Tamaki, hiding behind a rock, shed a thumbs-up motion of agreement to Tycon.

    The dragon stared nkly. It squinted its eyes. It lowered its head to be level with Tycon, its head alone taller than the green-haired youth, "I. Beg. Your. Pardon?"

    In a sh of movement, Tycon stabbed the dragon in the eye, "INVICTUS!!!! PIN LEEEEFFFT!!!"

    The dragon roared in anger. Taree copsed, her entire body shaking in fear. Tamaki couldn''t hold his bow steady, eventually copsing to a knee behind his rock. Kakui too, had fallen upon both hands and knees in despair. He looked up and spotted Lone, the Chosen One, stunned with his dual des stuck in the earth. Kakui shut his eyes and mmed his fists to the ground beside his fallen sabers. How were they to survive theing onught?

    Wroe appeared out of the mist-- the humid environment perfect for his abilities. He pulled his ethereal de out of the vapor and plunged his de into the dragon''s left w, "PIN LEFT!!"

    Pale had already circled behind the dragon. Bouncing off of a wall for height, he stuck his crimson spear into the dragon''s rear left w, "PIN LEFT!!"

    Tycon roared, "TAREE!! STRIKE RIGHT!!"

    "I-- I can''t move!!" She screamed.

    Tycon turned and scowled, "Idiot!!"

    He pointed a hand awash in mana at her, "Desire Trigger!!"

    Taree''s eyes widened in an instant. Choking back a sob, her legs began to move, and she sprinted towards the dragon''s right side. With a mana-infused leap, her tiny form smashed into the massive creature, toppling it to the ground, bleeding it upon the cave''s stgmites. It roared and writhed in pain, smashing its ws and tail against the cavern stones.

    Dragan leapt through the air, "Enervating sh!!" With a sorcerous sh of darkness, the red-headed behemoth of a man smashed his axe into the dragon''s back, leaving a shadowy wound that bled ck ink.

    Korr had dashed to the dragon''s exposed belly. "Hurricane of Blood!!" shing her stolen Staghorn sword with unparalleled speed over and over again, the dragon''s underbelly scales became a mess of torn scale and crimson flow. Her skill came to a forceful stop, however, as the de broke under her handling.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Maximus was pping his great blue wings, hovering in the air. He pointed his spear forward and was yelling his own name. "Maximus! Maximus! Maximus!" With each call, lightning emerged from the man''s spear and urately struck the dragon''s body, causing it to twitch and convulse with each strike.

    Tycon had approached Lone and backhanded him across his scarred face, "Wake up!"

    "Bwuhh?!" Lone fell onto his back but seemed to regain his senses.

    He scrambled to sit up, sporting a bleeding lip, "I''m g-good, Boss! What do I do?!"

    Tycon roared in anger, "Assist Korr! NOW!!"

    Lone immediately sprinted as Tycon directed.

    The dragon roared again in pain, mes of rage spreading out and ckening the cave ceiling, "(YOU MORTALS DARE!! YOU DAAAAARE!! TO--)"

    Tyconshed out his whip, entrapping one of the dragon''s horns. Tycon flew up acrobatically,nding on the dragon''s face. He stared into the dragon''s unbloodied eye before stabbing his sword into that one too, "DEATH TO THE ENEMIES OF INVICTUS!!"

    [Vexing Gaze activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus.]

    Blood poured from the dragon''s mouth as it choked.

    "Eldritch st!!" "Whirling Rend!!" "Rising Storm!!" "Crashing Thunder!!" --a slew of skills continuously activated, smashing into the helpless dragon''s body.

    Blinded, the lizard began to thrash around, swinging wildly with its ws, wings, and tail.

    Barza grinned, "Stupid dragon, behold!! MY!! SKILL!!"

    His two swords pointed outward, Barza began spinning his body like a top.

    Tycon stayed mounted on the raging drake''s head, holding fast onto one of its horns, "Korr! Do something before the fool gets himself killed!"

    The drake whipped its body around, sending its tail hurtling towards Barza.

    "On it, Leader!!" The woman dashed in front of Barza and side-kicked the mana-less spinning man out of the way.

    ? System, Activate Jumping Knee Counter on Korr!! ?

    [Activating. Jumping Knee Counter. Reaction ability. Targeted ally''s physical defenses are improved against a single attack. Target ispelled to make an instantaneous unarmed strike against an enemy with increased uracy.]

    Leaping forward, Korr''s fist collided against the massive dragon tail, stopping its momentum. With a precise grip, she grabbed with both hands onto the scales of the lizard''s tail and connected a merciless knee into it, causing the lizard to cry and sob in pain andmentation.

    "(WWWWHYYYYYYYY?! WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIIIIIISSS??!)"

    Barza sat back on his behind, dumbfounded, "D-did you just break the dragon''s tail?"

    Not turning to look at the fallen man, Korr held her hand out towards Lone, "WEAPON!!"

    Lone hurriedly stood up and ced one of his des into Korr''s outstretched hand.

    "Brutal de!!" Korr smashed it into the dragon''s belly, inflicting a grievous wound and bathing her in blood, but shattering Lone''s favorite weapon in the process.

    Korr held her hand out again, "WEAPON!!"

    Lone looked on in horror, suffering deep-seated shbacks of the worst night of his life. Unwilling to disobey the woman, he ced his other sword into Korr''s hand.

    "Brutal de!!" the woman used her monstrous strength to break the second weapon. She discarded the hilt and grabbed onto the dragon''s torn skin and with inhuman strength, tore the leather skin apart, blood spilling onto the ground in a flood.

    "WEAPON!!" The woman demanded. She was thoroughly soaked in dragon blood and her eye seemed to glow with fric red mana.

    Lone was too horrified to be aggrieved. He carried the most weapons on his body in Guild Invictus. He could stand to lose one or two. He unsheathed another one of his weapons and handed it to the Berserk Knight.

    "This is OUR CAVE, you stupid LIZARD!!" Tycon had climbed the helpless, dying dragon''s head, and yelled into its aural cavity, "How DARE you question me!!"

 Chapter 79 Koryu Essence

    ?By the time Elder Kakui was able to stand, he watched on as Guild Invictus (and Kimura Taree) shed and pummeled the massive red dragon to a veritable death, even going as far as topletely sever its head from its body.

    Every singlebatant was soaked in blood. The blood stter had gotten so bad that even Kakui and Young Master Tamaki had traces of blood on their clothing. The cool, hard-packed earth had transformed into a mess of hot, soggy mud from the dragon''s spilled life essence.

    Tycon let out a loud and contended sigh and he pped his hands together.

    "Guild Invictus! The integrity of our cave has been protected! Now, who''s ready to soak in the hot springs?"

    Guild Invictus and Tamaki cheered. Taree, covered in blood and dragon offal looked back to Elder Kakui in helplessness. Kakui took a deep sigh and silently apanied the grisly group towards the waters.

    ...

    The hot springs were nice.

    Tycon had plenty of towels and extra clothes in his spatial ring, so everyone was able to rx for a while. It took nearly an entire bell for the party to clean their bodies and scrub their armors free of blood and lizardy viscera.

    It took another half-bell for Guild Invictus to defeat a Fire Slime that Wroe "identally" summoned from another world. Wroe was harshly reprimanded.

    Though, it could have been worse. Tycon recounted a tale about a former Irvhir associate named Zing Lee, who undertook a quest toy a dragon. At the time, the general consensus was that the quest posting had a ring and unfortunate error.  In the past, Zing Lee was most insistent. In the present, Wroe was just as insistent. Wroe was harshly reprimanded.

    Tycon advised Elder Kakui to salvage therge lizard''s leather. It would be supple and naturally resistant to cuts, moreso than normal animal hide, and could be used for high-quality armor.

    After a pleasant afternoon, Tycon and Korr hiked towards Old Fool''s cave, while everyone else returned to the sect.

    Tycon was hoping to secure a drop of blood essence from the aged serpent, hopefully securing a ss-change for Korr from Berserk Knight to Flood Dragon Berserker. It would be the least he could do. Invictus was instrumental, after all, in resolving Old Fool''s mana issues. And they''d even exterminated an arrogant red lizard, a potential threat to his sect.

    ...

    Tycon led Korr by hand through the spacious, humid cavern, their way lit by a paperntern.

    "Hey, Old Fool. It''s (Little White). We''vee to visit."

    With a great roil and toil of bubbles, Old Fool''s big, stupid head emerged from the undergroundke.

    "(LITTLE WHITE!! IT WARMS MY HEART TO--)"

    With a solid smack from Korr''s fist, Old Fool''s azure-white head reared back and sshed into theke, sendingrge waves crashing upon the cavern shore. Tycon had to guard the flimslyntern in order to keep it lit, but the two were otherwise wholly drenched.

    Tycon grimaced at Korr with narrowed eyes. Her white shirt stuck to her skin, revealing her athletic figure and her underclothes. She was likely very pretty. Tycon didn''t particrly care.

    After enough glowering, she finally responded, "Wh-what? It''s a dragon. I punched it."

    "Don''t be silly, girl. Dragons don''t exist. Old Fool is a Koryu, a flood dragon."

    Korr nodded with her mouth open. Did she really understand?

    Old Fool peeked the top of his head out of theke.

    "(Little White, why hath thee arrived?)" The overgrown eel asked in a pained and piteous voice.

    "This is Seldin Korr, and I''m here to--"

    Old Fool''s head surged out of the waters, "(Oho! Is this your mate?!)"

    "Well... Uh... No," Tycon hesitated.

    "(Then thou hast finally brought me a virgin! Is she a virgin?)" the serpent babbled.

    "Will you shut up and let me speak, Old Pervert!!"

    Old Fool retreated back into the water, only revealing his eyes, "(This humble one would prefer the other form of address, Little White.)"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Korr tugged on Tycon''s cloak, "L-leader, what''s he saying? Should I punch him again?"

    "Not yet, Korr."

    Tycon released the tension in his shoulders with a disgusted sigh, "Fine. I would have you grant a boon to this youngdy."

    A white mist enveloped Old Fool''s form, too thick to see through. When the clouds began to clear, a wise old man calmly approached, his hands hidden by his robed sleeves. His deep-set wrinkles painted him as a gentle sage, a stark white ponytail and a long beard that fell down to his waist only added to his mystique.

    "A mere boon, you say? ''Tis a simple matter, my child."

    The old human fool grasped Korr''s hand and ced two fingers upon her wrist, "Thou art fertile, youngdy. My blessing upon thee! Thou hast permission to join with my son, Little White, in an Eternal Bond."

    Tycon sprang up into the air and smashed both of his boots into the old man''s head.

    "NOT WHAT I''M HERE FOR!!" Tycon yelled indignantly.

    "It''s not good to hit your father," Korr frowned with a reddened face.

    Tycon held his palms out, trying to exin. "He''s not my dad!!"

    Old foolid on the floor, holding his cheek, "Little White, when hast thou been so aggrieved with thy father?"

    Tycon drew his sword.

    Old Fool had stood up rigidly, his hands sagaciously behind his back, "Ahem. So, how can this humble one help thee?"

    Tycon resheathed his weapon, "Transformation. And you can speak themon tongue."

    Old Fool gave an embarrassed smile, "This Old Fool must remain mysterious to the White Scale sect."

    "Right. I want a drop of your Life Essence to instill into Korr."

    Old Fool looked troubled, "That..."

    Korr crackled her knuckles, but Tycon motioned for her to wait.

    "What''s the issue, Old Fool? Have we not done enough for your sect?"

    "This Old Fool is still weakened from the Unsealing Ceremony. If I were to grant you my Blood Essence, I would weaken further still, and be unable to protect the sect. I''m sorry, but I must refuse, Little White."

    Tycon crossed his arms. ording to the System, Old Fool trusted Tyconpletely. He had no reason to lie, "Is there no way, then?"

    The old man looked up, remembering something, "The Kimura patriarch has a drop of my blood. How about this Old Fool apany thee to reim it from him?"

    "I''m not in the business of making ipetent losers into useless ones," Tycon grimaced.

    "Perhaps I can interest thee in a treasure?" The elder smiled hopefully.

    Tycon groaned. Sect treasures were valued highly by Martialsts and their subsses but tended to have limited use outside of them.

    A protective treasure or an aesthetically pleasing bracelet, even if Korr could only use a fraction of its potential, it would be a better gift than nothing. Tycon wanted to appease the woman before he ordered her to resume her duties in Nice as Sorina Capulet''s bodyguard.

    ? "Fine. What kind of treasure is it? A talisman? A box of spirit herbs? A ''high ranked'' mana rock?"

    The old man chuckled as he swept his robes and turned towards theke. With a flick of his hands, an ivory-stoned walkway emerged from the depths. Stairs were revealed leading downward, while water streamed down the sides of its nking white walls.

    "Follow me, children," Old Fool smiled as he descended down the watery steps.

 Chapter 80 Black Blade

    ?The vault hidden in the undergroundke held rows and rows of treasures, stacked on shelves 3 high. There were weapon racks, boxes of herbs, cultivation manuals, ornate chests, and various decrepit items disyed in various states of care. And of course, there were neatly arranged piles of "spirit stones", the high-density mana rocks that cultivators enjoyed... to eat?

    Tycon nced back to Old Fool. The flood dragon had adopted a gloating expression but was at least intelligent enough not to say anything...

    "Ohohoho!! Behold, the treasure vault of the White Scale sect! A collection of epochs and centuries of artifacts!!" The old fool cackled.

    Tycon red, but the gesture was lost upon the ignorant creep.

    "Little White!! You may take one treasure! Choose wisely!" Old Fool warned.

    After a cursory inspection, Tycon picked up a weighty two-handed hammer. It was lighter than it looked, but it was still too heavy for him to wield with any proper amount of skill.

    ? This looks promising. System, identify. ?

    [Bloodtree Stump. Second-Circle Magical Warhammer. Greatly increases the user''s strength. Greatly ignores enemy target''s armor and resilience. Soul bind poss--]

    ? --Ah, right. Disable soul-binding prompts for 30 minutes. ?

    [Setting changeplete.]

    "Korr, what do you think of this?"

    Korr was staring intently at one of the treasures. After another prodding, she turned and examined the warhammer. She picked it up easily enough and swung it around, making a worrisome wooshing sound.

    "Don''t like it."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "May I ask... why?"

    "Looks ugly."

    Tycon did not understand the woman''s criticism, but he didn''t care to argue as he took back the weapon and set it aside. His eyes followed Korr''s gaze and found the object of her adoration.

    It was a very fat, white, snake-looking plush.

    ? System... Inquiry... Please tell me that thing''s enchanted. ?

    [Stuffed Plush White Flood Dragon Doll, High Quality. If the user likes snakes or serpents, their enjoyment is greatly increased.]

    ? System, inquiry: Is it... magical? ?

    [Negative.]

    "Korr... Do you... Want... that thing?"

    It was certainly a nice thing. However, Tycon didn''t quite deem it worthwhile as a single pick in a vault literally filled with magical treasure.

    The woman nodded shyly, sweeping her bangs to reveal her good eye, wide, watery, and pleading.

    "Old Fool, I want that," Tycon dered.

    "Ohoho! Certainly, Little White, I-- eh? That?" Even the old eel was surprised.

    Tycon crossed his arms, "I''m taking it. And I''ll take something else, too."

    The old man was taken aback, "Little White! I told you *one* treasure!?!"

    "Why do you even keep something like that, anyway, you weird pervert?!!" Tycon snapped, "Stop being so stingy!"

    "Bah! You can''t take advantage of me! I gave BIRTH to you!!"

    "Like hell you did, you old bastard! We''re not even the same species! You can try that crap on your sect, but not on me!"

    Old Fool turned to Korr, "Little Korr, don''t mind Little White. He''s at a rebellious age."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The woman nodded. She had already embraced the white plush and imed it as her own. Tycon thought it looked more like his snake form than it did Old Fool.

    "Tss. Shut it, you rotten, old, miser," Tycon growled.

    The old man stroked his luxurious white beard, "This humble one prefers the term: venerable."

    "Treat that one as a gift to Korr, then. I''ll choose another item for myself."

    "Hmm," The wrinkled old man took a long moment of consideration, "Very well. This humble one is most magnanimous. Thou art the savior of my White Scale sect, after all."

    "Right, most magnanimous." Tycon waved flippantly as he went back to searching the treasure vault.

    He needed a magical weapon more attractive than the warhammer. Korr''s powerful attacks greatly wore down the durability of her weapons, so he was looking for a weapon enchanted to at least Second-Circle.

    ...And he was not at all interested in a resulting conversation from returning the stolen Shatterspike longsword to her.

    Tycon quickly glossed over a series of weapons, identifying each of them with the System. He wanted something weighty, something vicious-- something that would match Korr''s ss as a high-strength Berserk Knight. Finally, Tycon''s eye caught a pair of axes that seemed to emit a dark and icy aura.

    ? How about these, then? ...System, identify. ?

    [Wraithbite Hackers. Paired Second-Circle Magical Battleaxes. Dealing damage to living creatures restores the user''s health and stamina.]

    Perfect. Korr''s fighting style bordered on reckless, a demeanor that was probably lent from her ss. The paired Hackers would greatly alleviate the risks and ensured her longevity in drawn-outbat.

    Tycon held the axes in his hands. The weapons looked sharp, vicious, and quite intimidating. He brought them over to Korr.

    "Nope," she tly rejected them.

    Tycon wanted to bash his head against the smoothed vault brick, "And why not??"

    Instead of answering, Korr pointed to an unsheathed dark-metal single-edged de about 4 fulms in length, middling between a full de and a longsword. A bastard sword.

    Upon further scrutiny, Tycon frowned. Red infernal script shed on the metal''s surface when Korr''s heldntern light shone upon it at a certain angle.

    ? What a worrisome looking de. System, identify. ?

    [ckde of Shahram. Third-Circle Magical Bastard Sword. Warning. The weapon is inhabited by the infernal spirit of Shahram. The weapon spirit may possess the user.]

    Tycon turned, "Hey, Old Fool. Is that sword over there cursed?"

    "That de... Yes. For over two centu-- bwuuuuh?" Old Fool''s mouth hung open, staring behind Tycon.

    Tycon frowned. He ced his hand on his sword hilt as he slowly turned his body to once again face Korr.

    She was holding the sword in both hands, staring at its upright de only ilms away from her face.

    Tycon sighed and began to exin, "Sword''s cursed, Korr. If you lose in a battle of wills to the weapon spirit, I''ll have to--"

    In a bright sh, a raging me twice Korr''s size erupted in the vault. A creature emerged from the ze, with the torso of a nude, four-armed, red-haired woman and the lower body of a red-scaled serpent. As the summoning fire died down, mes still coated and licked the creature''s scales. The Smander woman towered over Tycon and glowered while crossing her two sets of arms.

    "This is Shahram," Korr introduced. Her own dark red hair had brightened considerably into a fiery orange-red, matching that of her weapon spirit.

    Korr had subdued the sentient weapon spirit in mere seconds. What a terrifying woman.

    "Charmed," Tycon said impassively.

    "Is she single?" the old man inquired.

    Tycon shook his head in defeat, "I''ll be taking the sword as my chosen treasure, Old Fool."

 Chapter 81 Sending Korr Back

    ?Old Fool reassumed his Flood Dragon form to fly Tycon and Korr back to the sect. Korr was silent for most of the return back, but Tycon heard her whisper to her new dragon plush in a strange high-pitched voice, as if the plush was speaker.

    Tycon invited Old Fool over for a meal at the Kimura household, but he politely declined. Tycon reasoned that he probably had a poor reputation in his human form. Old Fool chose silence as his response and tactically withdrew.

    Maximus, Dragan, and Pale requested drake meat for dinner, but Tycon tly rejected them. Without dry aging, the meat would wreak havoc on the poor human stomachs of the Kimura family.

    He strongly considered roasting a single portion for the patriarch, but decided it wasn''t worth the effort.

    Guild Invictus andpany had to subsist on two cauldrons of bear-meat, stewed until tender with wild onions and other root vegetables.

    The patriarch, Kimura Daigo, dered his unending loyalty to Guild Invictus during the meal, tears of sincerity in his eyes, meat juices streaming inelegantly down the corners of his mouth. As pathetic as he acted, he took the opportunity to apologize repetitively to his eldest son for doubting his judgment.

    What a strange family.

    Kagehisa Yumiko and Kimura Tamaki also made sure there were freshly-caught fish, (Tycon requested river eel,) steamed buns, and other dishes. Korr was especially enamored with Yumiko''s baked desserts.

    After the standard-fare dinner, Tycon escorted Korr to one of the gardens on the Kimura estate, a near-full moon and Korr''s paperntern providing thempany.

    Tycon was ready. He had a potion on his belt, his crossbow was loaded with a poisoned bolt, and he kept his sword out of its catch so he could draw it more easily.

    If Korr decided to refuse to return to Nice, he gave himself 2:3 odds that he could fight her to a standstill. Or 1:5 odds if she used the ckde of Shahram. Or 1:10 odds if she had the 4-armed smander woman assist her.

    "Leader," Korr turned, swishing about her orange kimono and sweeping her long, fluffy orange hair.

    Tycon concentrated on calming his heart rate as he drew his de. Its metal song rang crisp and clear, "What is it?"

    "Thank you for today."

    "Uh?" Tycon averted his gaze, rapidly assessing the situation. Was this some sort of trick?

    "I had a good time," she smiled, without an onze of duplicity.

    "Oh." Tycon put his sword away, coughing... "I don''t suppose I could ask you to borate?"

    "It was so fun doing the obstacle course... And the way you yed with the children was so sweet."

    Tycon turned his back to Korr, so she wouldn''t see his face. Tycon barelypleted the course once. The speed and agility of the children embarrassed him. The dull ache in the back of his brain from overexerting his concentration still hadn''tpletely left him.

    Korr continued, "Then how strong you were in the fight against the... the lizard. It felt so good to be part of a team again."

    Tycon covered his mouth with his palm. The lizard took the most damage from Korr, herself. All he''d done was stab the creature in the eyes-- disabling only one of its many urate senses.

    "And the hot springs were really nice. It was like I was in heaven."

    Dragan had tried to convince Pale to sneak over to the springs Taree and Korr were using to bathe. Wroe had tried to convince Tycon not to use the Iron Dragon Rend skill on Dragan''s face. Dragan nakedly ran away to escape Tycon''s wrath, the peeping n handily thwarted.

    "And then you got me this."

    Ah, the sword. Tycon couldn''t get a drop of Flood Dragon essence. Or a brutal warhammer. Or vicious paired axes. But at least the woman got a sword that suited her aesthetics and wouldn''t break so easily.

    Tycon turned back to Korr, "We''ll, I''m happy to be of ser--."

    Korr was holding out the white serpent plush.

    "Vvvvwehh?" Tycon''s jaw hung agape.

    Korr embraced the fat plush, cradling it with a reddening face.

    Tycon began to examine his surroundings. Was this a distraction for a sneak attack? The System disyed the woman as Trusted, but could the System be wrong?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon felt softness against his cheek, and he turned to see Korr''s blushing face, ilms away from his. He observed her mostly symmetrical, youthful facial features and took in the natural scent of her hair. He found the battle-scars on her face more appealing than repulsive, physical signs that she had suffered and grown because of it. It was all very pleasant.

    "Leader," she hugged the plush tighter and refused to meet Tycon''s eyes, "I''ll return to Nice in the morning. I''m sorry for abandoning my duty, guarding Sorina."

    ''Okay, good. You should feel sorry,'' Tycon thought.

    He opened his mouth to speak over the quickening palpitations of his heart, "Ah."

    That was not what he meant to say. Peculiar.

    Korr smiled softly, "Good night, Leader."

    "Y-yeah."

    Tycon watched as the woman departed with cute, hasty steps, hindered by the wrap of her robes.

    When she was out of sight, Tycon nodded. The quest to convince Korr to return to Nice wasplete with every objective met.

    Tycon resolved to eat his remaining Gann belly rations as a celebratory snack.

    ...

    The rest of the evening passed mostly uneventfully. Tycon had found Korr sleeping in his bed, so he had to relocate to one of the empty rooms.

    In the morning, he gathered Guild Invictus for a brief.

    Seldin Korr was to take Corporal Horse and Jeremy back to Nice. Invictus no longer needed a supply cart-- Tycon''s spatial ring was far more efficient.

    "(Corporal Horse, Private Jeremy, you have your orders.)" Tycon pat Horse''s neck. The senior horse, Horse, had been a stalwart travelingpanion.

    Horse stood proud and tall, "(We will protect the female, Snake!)"

    Jeremy neighed and stepped about anxiously, staring at his superior, "(Reporting! Reporting! Sirrrrrrr!! I have discovered a suspicious talking horse!!)"

    Tarquin Wroe was to travel with the party to Merylsward. There, he''d temporarily separate from thepany to travel to Port City Caractere. He would have 1 or 2 weeks of time to charter a ship willing to brave the treacherous journey westward. Wroe was explicitly ordered to avoid contracting the Windwright''s guild, thergest merchant fleet among the 5 Nations. Discretion, in this case, was more important than cost.

    ...Though Tycon insisted that if Wroe went over budget, he''d be paying out of his own pocket.

    Maximus of Ezyria and Kimura Taree joined Guild Invictus asbatants. Kimura Tamaki was signed as a scout and tracker. Their contracts were drafted that morning, thetter two''s contracts being signed by their legal guardians, Kagehisa Yumiko and her less-useful mate.

    Tamaki was being paid more. It was not a gender inequality issue. The highest paid member of Guild Invictus was likely Sorina Capulet; her base pay wasrgely augmented by bonuses based on her business dealings and acquisitions.

    Tamaki was a useful Bronze-Rank Fisherman with moderate skill as a ranger. Taree was useless baggage that Kagehisa Yumiko insistede along.

    ...Tycon privately reminded Tamaki not to reveal his higher pay to his sister. The boy amicably agreed.

    And thus, the group of 8 traveled east towards the Kingdom''s city of Merylsward.

    Tycondrius of House Charm. Dragan Ashlord.

    Tarquin Wroe. Pale, son of Quay.

    Lone Shadowdark. Maximus of Ezyria.

    Kimura Tamaki. And that dumb silver-haired whelp.

    Tycon had gathered a force of elite adventurers and was finally confident inpleting the mission he was assigned.

 Chapter 82 Guild Contest

    ?"Now, ya need a straight stick. A curved stick won''t do ya any good," Tamaki was trying to teach Barza something about nature, speaking in his calming drawl.

    "Can''t I find true north by looking at the moss on the trees?" Barza asked hopefully.

    "Well, y''can. But that only works ''cos moss grows on the side of the trees where there''s sun. An'' spiderwebs are always on the side where the sun don''t shine! The stick an'' shadow method''s a bit more reliable, so listen up," Tamaki patiently exined.

    Tamaki was an excellent pathfinder. Tycon congratted himself for petitioning for the youth''s assistance.

    He was feeling rather proud overall for the work done at the sect, especially at his diplomatic handling of the catastrophe that was Seldin Korr. He was especially proud that he did not die.

    Tycon decided that the guild no longer needed to stop at Aviard, as he had originally intended. He was able to stockpile rations from the Ivory Judge sect and his spatial ring kept food fresh for longer. It alsorgely protected their mundane equipment from the erosion of the elements.

    Guild Invictus'' elite forces had grown. Tycon would be able to liquidate the assets he gained from looting House Muto in Merylsward, a farrger city than Aviard. With that and whatever mary power Sorina Capulet was able to consolidate, the guild would be well on their way to recruiting adventurers, mercenaries, professional soldiers, and other logistics operators.

    What else could he do? Deep in thought, the image of Korr suddenly arose in his mind. How strange. Oh! But there was an idea!

    Wroe sidled up to Tycon-- thankfully, without bursting from the shadows like a fool wandering into a pit trap.

    "What''s on your mind, Boss?" The blue-haired man man tilted his head in curiosity.

    "Eggs," Tycon dered, overly proud.

    "Wh-what kind of eggs? Scrambled? Sunny side up? Fertilized?" Wroe offered, trying to be helpful.

    "Thest kind, actually. I was thinking that we should expand the clutch... err, so to speak. We''ve contracted Maximus and Young Master Tamaki, but Guild Invictus should always be on the lookout for more talent."

    Wroe pointed with his thumb at Maximus, "Boss, I don''t think we''re getting any better than Maximus."

    "I thought I told you to stop flirting within the guild," Tycon red.

    "No fertilizing eggs for me," Barza''s gaze drifted to stare through the forest canopy at the cloudless blue sky, "I have someone I like."

    Tycon thought back to Sorina''s night visit and how much the woman probably hated Barza for something that was neither his, nor Tycon''s fault, "Mister Dragan."

    "Yyyyyyeah, Boss?"

    "Find Mister Barza a mate in Merylsward."

    "Aye aye, Boss!" Dragan gave azy salute and wrapped a heavy arm around Barza''s shoulders.

    "Don''t I get a say in this??" Barza yawped, unable to escape.

    "Soooo what''s in Merylsward, Boss?" Dragan asked.

    "Heretics to be purged by bolt and me," Maximus clenched a sparking fist.

    "A redmp district," Wroe offered generously.

    "I said it first," Maximus averted his gaze.

    "Tss. Right." Tycon raised his voice, "Guild Invictus, bring it in."

    Gathering Guild Invictus around him, he began to exin, "Mister Dragan, I''ve told you and Mister Wroe that we were heading to Merylsward."

    "Uhhhh huh. Yeap!" "Right, but you didn''t tell us why?"

    "That has something to do with a ah..." Tycon struggled to remember what the letter in his pack had said, "--Duke Tavor, if memory serves."

    Barza raised his hand, "Don''t you mean Baron Tavor... Sir Tycon?"

    "Negative. Baron Zindo Tavor attained his wealth and status through his brother, a Duke residing in Merylsward."

    Dragan whistled, "A Duke, huh? Should be more interesting than taking care of a Baron."

    Wroe raised his hand, "What about Wolfbanger and Lulu? Should we be looking for them, too?"

    "No. Stop asking."

    Maximus raised his hand, "What about guild leader Quay?"

    "Also no. Let''s assume he''s dead."

    Pale raised his hand.

    "What is it, Bucket?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Dad''s just missing," Pale frowned.

    "Right. That''s what I said. Missing."

    Pale pouted but put his hand back down.

    Taree raised her hand, "Boss Tycon, what''s a redmp district?"

    Tycon ignored thest question.

    "Anyroad, we''ve a contract to expose the Duke-- shouldn''t be difficult. There should be evidence abound of his corruption."

    Dragan snickered, "Or we could sabotage him."

    "We could challenge him and his men to singlebat." Maximus flexed his blue-scaled arms, electricity sparking from his eyes, "I volunteer as the singlebatant."

    Tycon waved his hand to stop the spection, "We''ll identify a n of action after observing the situation. For now, we''ll get a few suns of training to better facilitate team ys. We''ll split up into two teams..."

    Tycon observed Guild Invictus'' reactions. Everyone in the guild had a healthypetition-craving spirit. Taree and Barza, especially, showed a burning resolve to prove themselves. If the girl performed better, he might consider acknowledging her. As for the dual-wielding warrior... He was conscripted for life without pay, so Tycon didn''t keep high expectations for him. But if he performed well, Tycon would wee the pleasant surprise.

    "I''ll take Pale, and... what was your name, again? Lone?"

    Barza coughed, "The Lone Shadowdark, Sir Tycon."

    Tycon stared nkly at Barza. Odd. If one of Guild Invictus'' members offered something outrageous, it was usually in jest. When Tycon would stare after such a suggestion, the offending member would assure him that the statement was only made in jest.

    Tycon grew worried. He was not gaining the assurance he was hoping for, "You serious?"

    "Boss, he had mentioned he was um... Lonely," Wroe offered politely.

    "H''yeah, Boss, can we get some guild funds for getting Loneid in Merylsward?"

    Tycon sighed, "I''ll set aside some of the funds... But I want a receipt!"

    "You got it, Boss!" Dragan pointed with a wink and clicked his tongue.

    "Mister Dragan''s team will be Tamaki and Maximus."

    Taree stood atop a nearby rock, to elevate her height, "Wait a second!"

    Tycon raised his eyebrows, "What is it, youngdy?"

    "What about me?!?" She demanded.

    Tycon inwardly groaned. It was growing more difficult each passing sun to hide his disdain for the silver-haired brat, "Go with your brother."

    "But you have less people!!" the girl puffed her cheeks.

    When Korr did such a thing, Tycon epted it as a childish quirk that entuated her charm. How did this brat look so irritable when she did it?

    "False. Mister Wroe will be a part of my team until we reach Merylsward."

    The pouting Taree turned to her brother for assistance. Tamaki promptly came to her aid, "Can we hold on for just a minute, Boss Tycon?"

    "Speak your mind, Young Master," Tycon gave a quick upward nod. Unlike his sister, Tamaki operated on logic and reason. It was natural that his suggestions would be exponentially more credible and constructive.

    "How ''bout ya treat it like a friendlypetition. Like if Coach does real good, she can join the team of her choice."

    Tycon chuckled in amusement, "You propose a contest within the guild?"

    "Yeah! That sounds just about right," Tamaki crossed his arms and nodded, congratting his own cleverness.

    Taree grabbed her brother''s arm and jumped up excitedly.

    Tycon looked to the side.

    Dragan Ashlord raised his dark-metal greataxe in both hands over his head, shrouded in mes. Maximus of Ezyria posed with his shield and spear, flexing his muscles while surrounded in an arc of electrical energy. Tarquin Wroe floated, ck ink spilling from his eye sockets, shrouded entirely in a shadowy aura.

    "Yeah, not you guys. The contest will be between Pale, Taree, and uh... Lone."

    The three show-offs copsed in a clumsy heap, like stringed puppets suddenly told that they would no longer get to fight each other.

    Tamaki swung his arm, "Oh, boy. I can''t wait!"

 Chapter 83 Movement Technique

    ?Taree hadn''t slept for 3 suns.

    While Pale and Lone slept, she studied the shadows. While they enjoyed their delicious meals, she became one with the darkness. While they wasted their time bathing in pursuit offort, she cultivated inner strength. And now that the 3rd sun had passed and Guild Invictus was in sight of the city of Merylsward... She still hadn''t mastered a movement technique!!

    She copsed, face-down on a pillow of moss, her fatigue apparent.

    "Tss." Tycon scoffed, "I gave you ample time to sleep, girl. Did I not?"

    With the rapid training schedule, Tycon had scheduled a 4-bell period of sleep, and plenty of rest breaks throughout the sun, reserved for napping or learning nonverbal tactics and other knowledge. Taree spent her free time trying to master a movement technique. Now she was too tired to stay awake, much lessprehend a Skill.

    She felt gentle arms lift her to sit up.

    "Taree, are you okay?" The lovely Pale asked with a genuine smile.

    Taree''s heart pounded and she snuggled her face into Pale''s chest, selfishly taking in his scent.

    "I''m okay now," she mumbled.

    Dragan wound up a throw, rotating his arm in its socket like a spinning toy. Tycon loaded his crossbow. The clunk sound its loading arm made sent a chill down Taree''s spine.

    "Target!" Tycon yelled.

    With a powerful wooshing sound, Dragan threw the hard fruit towards Tycon.

    Pale grinned, "I''ll be right back." Taree''s heart was left aflutter.

    In a blur of vision, Pale blinked out of existence, leaving behind a silvery mist. In the next instant, he had reappeared in front of Tycon, reaching out his right hand and locking his elbow. The series of motions like smooth clockwork, he caught the hard fruit with a loud PAP noise. It was an urate throw and a perfect catch.

    Tycon smacked the back of Pale''s head, causing him to drop the fruit, "Where''s your SPEAR?!"

    Pale looked back at Taree and spotted the crimson Lifedrinker spear, watching it tilt and fall to the ground. When he teleported, he had left it there.

    Pale grinned innocently, "But I protected you!"

    "Which is why I didn''t *shoot* you with my crossbow." Tycon reprimanded, "But you''re still WRONG!!"

    Tycon shoved Pale''s back with his boot and Pale ran happily back towards Taree.

    Taree stood up and handed Pale back his spear. She couldn''t meet his gaze. But it wasn''t the whirling butterflies in her stomach, it was her feelings of inferiority.

    Tycon didn''t berate her like he did Pale and Lone, but over the past several suns she was undeniably and oppressively pressured.

    She grew up the genius of the Ivory Judge sect. She was always afforded pills for her injuries and to help herprehension. She was always celebrated as the fastest, the quickest learning, and the most powerful cultivator in her generation.

    But in Guild Invictus, she was fast but not as fast as Pale. She was strong but not as strong as Lone. She was practiced in all sorts of weapons: swords, spears, archery-- but Tarquin Wroe, Dragan, Maximus, and even Tycon outssed her in skill. And her brother was contracted as a tracker, so she couldn''t evenpare herself to him!

    They trained their endurance and various feats of athleticism for bells on end. And then they were expected to learnplex strategies. She thought Dragan was only good for drinking and being loud, but when he shared his knowledge about the arcane, curses, and various creatures they had encountered, her head swam.

    Not a single sun of training had passed where she hadn''t cried in frustration.

    Pale had reassured her, saying they had spent weeks learning the material and getting limated to the training schedule. But the worst defeat came from a practical ss taught on the first sun.

    Tycon had arranged for himself, Wroe, and Dragan to demonstrate movement techniques. (Maximus was exempt because his movement techniques made use of his wings.)<novelnext></novelnext>

    Dragan had demonstrated the Lava Leap Skill, in which he leapt a great distance without a running start. His instructions on how to collect ki-- oh, the outsiders call it mana? Dragan''s in-depth instructions on how to gather explosive mana in the legs were entirely lost on Taree.

    Tycon demonstrated a Skill called Fleeting Ghost. He ran across the forest floor inplete silence, not even kicking up the leaves. He exined it, but no one else could easily grasp the concept. Taree had only heard of the highest level of n ninja able to perform such a feat so she didn''t even try.

    Wroe was able to summon strange shadowy portals, used in conjunction with a burst of mana, he was able to transform into a silvery mist and reappear a short distance away.

    By the second sun, Pale was able to perform all 3 skills to minorpletion... An absolutely impossible feat for anyone in the Ivory Judge sect. Even more terrifying, after only 3 suns, Pale was able to exhibit Wroe''s Misty Step Skill somewhere in the realm of majorpletion, though not without its ws.

    Taree''s only constion was that Lone wasn''t able toprehend any of the movement techniques either.

    She smiled at Lone with shining teeth. They were both losers TOGETHER.

    "What have you learned in thest 3 suns, Mister Lone?" Tycon asked.

    "Oh, Young Master Tamaki has been teaching me a lot about the woods and stuff."

    Tycon nodded, "I''ve noticed. I''m impressed with your initiative, as pathfinding and its rted studies are often helpful in our line of work as a travelingpany."

    "Does that mean I pass, Sir Tycon?" Lone asked excitedly.

    "Tss. It means you don''t fail." Tycon narrowed his eyes, "But since you are able to exhibit some kind of improvement, in this contest, you are outperforming one other person."

    Taree fell to her knees in despair, her forehead squishing against the mossy ground. TRAITOR!!

    "SIR TYCON!!" she yelled.

    Tycon walked over, "Stand!"

    Taree shot up, her body as rigid as an arrow. Over the past few suns, Tycon''s voice had been drilled so hard into her, that when he spoke a certain way, her body moved before she understood what was going on.

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Have some self-respect, youngdy. Now, speak before I change my mind."

    "I-- I know I''m not as strong or as brave or as skilled as Pale," Taree admitted, her voice quavering and her eyes blurry.

    Tycon opened his mouth to speak, to shut her down, to tell her how useless she was... To point out every insecurity she had, that Tycon knew, but refused to say out loud. Her tiny fists shook and tears ran hot down her cheek.

    Tycon hesitated. He motioned for her to continue.

    "But I-- but I..."

    Tycon ced a hand on her shoulder.

    "Breathe, child. Hesitation does not beget a leader, especially the future leader of the Ivory Judge sect."

    Tycon spoke firmly, without judgment, and without lies... A much different admonishing than Taree had expected.

    "I... I request a duel to prove what I''ve learned."

    "Ohhhh?" Tycon smirked, "So the little Kimura Taree thinks she has learned bravery? Very well. Let''s see what you can do."

 Chapter 84 Monkey Steals Peaches

    ?Tycon cracked his neck left and right and began stretching his back, "Young Lady, this will be thest event in the contest. As I''m sure you are aware, the young Pale has improved the most amongst the 3 of you."

    Taree clenched her tiny fist, "Yes, Boss. I''m aware."

    "And thusly, you have decided to challenge one of Guild Invictus'' members to a duel, in order to show your skills. To prevent a conflict of interest, I will disallow you from choosing your brother for this contest."

    "O-okay, that''s fair," Taree''s n had been seen through by Tycon. She gazed at Tamaki longingly and in response, he shed her a clueless smile and an upward thumb of approval.

    When she looked back, Tycon had ratcheted back his hand-crossbow''s lever, loading a bolt, "I advise you to choose your opponent wisely. I won''t tell you there''s a correct answer..."

    Tycon grinned, "But there are wrong answers."

    Taree grit her teeth as an icy chill ran down her spine. She was so worried, she was sweating. She looked over to Pale for support, who was making an X with his hands while pointing at Tycon.

    Taree''s decided to scrap her second n on challenging Tycon in order to impress him. She nced over at the rest of Guild Invictus.

    Dragan? Nope. He''d crush her.

    Maximus? Nope. He''d zap her into oblivion.

    Wroe? Nope. She saw him die! Even looking at him gave her the creeps.

    Pale? Oh, Pale... Gah! She would be too distracted to fight him!

    "I choose... the Chosen One!!"

    Lone pointed to himself, "You choose me?"

    Tycon chuckled as he unloaded his crossbow. In a sh, he removed two wooden swords from his spatial ring.

    "Don''t hold back," He advised Lone. "Treat her as she''s wearing armor around her whole body-- I''m certain you''ve experienced it before."

    Lone stepped forward, spinning the two weapons in afortable flourish, testing their weight, "Oh, you don''t have to tell me that, Boss."

    Tycon revealed a worried look, "I''m... pretty sure I did."

    "Okay. That''s fair." Lone smiled weakly.

    "Pale!" Tycon called out as he began walking back, "Stop the fight when there''s a clear winner."

    ...

    "WHIRLWIIINND ATTTAAAAACK!!"

    Lone jumped up, spinning in a 720-degree circle. He thrashed his swords about nonsensically, their randomness managing to catch Taree off guard, smashing her nose in for her trouble.

    Taree leapt back and wiped her bloodied nose.

    "Taree''s not doing so great. Should we stop the fight?" Wroe observed with a concerned face.

    Maximus shook his head, "Neither hasnded a decisive blow. It''s still anyone''s match."

    "What''cha think, Boss?" Dragan was paying more attention to doing sit-ups than the fight.

    Tycon was sharpening and oiling some of the extra weapons in storage, "Lone''s controlled the fight, thus far. He''s attacking quickly, but safely-- I see a bit of your sword technique in his defensive assault. Also, therge windows he leaves with his wider attacks have been considerably reduced."

    Dragan snickered, "Yeah. He musta got tired of gettin'' hit."

    "However he''s learned it, he''s improved since Nice," Tycon nodded in approval.

    "What about Taree?" Wroe asked.

    Tycon frowned, "The girl''s scared of something. She won''tmit to her attacks like something''s holding her back. I think she''s realized it."

    Dragan flopped his body around into a stretch, "Realized what, Boss?"

    "That the defensive style of her Stone Body art doesn''t fit her personality. One of the biggest ws of the martialist sects is that they only tend to teach one main style. She may have talent, but her Completion Rate is utter trash."

    Maximus rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "I have spoken to some of the Ivory Judge sect. They begin training from an even younger age. The girl has a few years of formal training."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "No different from in the Holy Country, you humble braggart. Whatever factors, be it the amount of functional training, knowledge, or talent, the end result iscking."

    Maximus smiled but remained silent.

    "If all that''s true, why are we still letting them fight?" Wroe asked, genuinely curious.

    "To see if she can realize something else she''s missing."

    "What would you do, Boss? To win?" Dragan asked.

    "Same as you, Mister Dragan. Break the status quo. If the enemy doesn''t make mistakes, then we must force the enemy to make them. Unbnce. Disorient. Confuse. Intimidate. Feint. If Taree remains passive, she will lose."

    Dragan chortled at Tycon''s judgment while the others watched the fight in silence.

    ...

    Taree grabbed onto the sides of Lone''s head.

    "RIISIIING--"

    Lone grabbed her with his arm and mmed her hard against a tree, disrupting her skill. He reached back and mmed her again before tossing her. She tumbled on the ground and regained her bnce,bat-rolling back to a standing position.

    It was the first time she''d fought such a heavy opponent. With Lone''s muscle and armored weight, each time she grappled him, he''d pull her off with brute force and would take a gravity-assisted m. She had taken 3 thus far and she felt her consciousness threatening to fade.

    Her fight with Lone had been pathetic and cowardly. Scared of losing, she relied on the defensive orthodoxy that her father taught her. She had never lost before, relying on those defensive stances and techniques. But she had never dueled a single opponent that wasn''t scared of her fists.

    She was beginning to grow desperate. She would lose at the rate she was going.

    But there was one thing she hadn''t tried.

    Her mother had passed her a forbidden technique, its origin lost to the ages.

    She was told never to unseal it. As for when she could, her mother told her she''d know in her heart.

    She hated losing. Seeing how fast Pale and Lone grew stronger and how she couldn''t even learn a movement technique pissed her off more than anything in the world.

    She would unseal it.

    If Guild Invictus hated her for it, she''d fight them.

    If the world hated her, she''d fight the world.

    If the heavens themselves cursed her, she''d fight against heaven until her bones turned to dust.

    She screamed in a final burst of power, rushing forward. Lone, seeing her low dash, began sweeping his des down in a vicious cross. The damage would be immense if she were even a millisecond too slow.

    Unsealing the technique, she reached out with eagle-w hands.

    And she tightly gripped Lone''s crotch.

    Lone''s des stopped a hair''s edge away from smashing into Taree''s skull.

    "Choose your fate, Chosen One!!" Taree screamed so hard, her throat hurt.

    "Whoa whoa whoa. Let''s just calm down," Lone dropped his weapons and reached his palms forward slowly.

    Taree readjusted her grip, making Lone squeal, "Hiiiieee!"

    "Do what I want or I squeeze!!" Taree threatened.

    "Don''t squeeze! Don''t squee-hee-hee-heeeeeze!!" Lone begged.

    Tycon called out from amongst the observers, "Pale!"

    With a gentle touch, Pale ced his hand on Taree''s.

    "That''s enough, Taree." He smiled, "You''ve won."

 Chapter 85 Tiny Little Cakes

    ?"So it''s a smiling chicken," Dragan tapped a heavy forefinger onto the dining table.

    Maximus ced his hand on the table and leaned forward, "Right. And it''s eating a worm out of an apple."

    "Happy chicken?" Lone offered.

    "Couldn''t be," Maximus sat back and stroked his chin.

    Guild Invictus had reached Merylsward and were staying at the... inn with a chicken on its sign. Tycon had taken Pale and Taree out, while Dragan''s team were carousing at the inn''s first floor, a dining hall and tavern.

    Dragan scratched his fiery red mane in frustration and downed his gon of ale, "Bah. I wish Tarquin stayed for a bit. He would''ve gotten it."

    "He didn''t even stay to check out the girls," Maximusined.

    Lone and Dragan shot him a look.

    "...Such evils in this world." Holy Warrior Maximus stared back with pride, "When the meek are possessed by sin, it is my solemn duty to exorcise the demon."

    Dragan snickered, "Yeah, man. And you can take ''em to the heavens."

    A pink-haired elven serving girl approached and took afortable seat on Maximus''p, "Oh, Pdin Maximus, I would love to help you exercise the demon."

    He took a grave expression, "That-- I promised my friends that I would apany them in their noble quest."

    The elf fawned, "Oh wo~ Official business?" Her voice dropped in octave, sweet and sultry, "That''s so hot."

    Dragan reached across the table and took Maximus'' half-filled ale gon, "Tell ya what, bud. We''ll finish up here and you can gooOOoo... show your newdy-friend your uh... spear?"

    Maximus stood up, "Mdy, perhaps a... private consultation is in order?"

    The giggling elf followed Maximus back to the privacy of their inn room.

    "F*cking dragonborn," Draganined when they were out of earshot, downing the rest of Maximus'' ale.

    Lone nodded, "Y-yeah."

    Young Master Tamaki returned to the table, "Jolly Pecker!"

    "Wh-what?" Lone looked confused.

    Tamaki sat down, a smug look on his youthful face. "The sign on the inn. It''s a Jolly Pecker!"

    Understanding dawned on Lone''s and Dragan''s faces, "Jolly Pecker~!!"

    "Well!" Dragan stood up and pped his hands together, "Let''s get going, you two."

    "Ooh, are we goin'' to see thedies, Mister Dragan?" Tamaki smiled.

    "Ayep! Boss assigned me a mission! To find Lone a mate."

    "Wait, wait, hold on." Lone held his palms out, "Why was I not informed of this mission?"

    "We decided it while an 11-year-old girl had your balls in a crush-grip," Dragan exined.

    Tamaki followed up, "Yeap. You lost, Chosen One. So ya gotta pay the piper."

    ...

    Tycon held the written letter he''d received at the Courier''s Guild building.

    "Who''s it from, Boss?" Pale asked. He kept his eyes outward, constantly scanning the people in the crowd for potential threats.

    Taree was bouncing around like a pigeon,rgely ignoring her surroundings, "What type of person was that? They were shorter than me but they looked so old!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon turned to Pale, "It''s an update from Sorina Capulet back in Nice. She''s doing well, but she''s requested more funds for investment. We''ll need to find a fence in the lower district."

    Tycon turned to Taree, "That''s a gnome. Don''t stare, it''s rude. Gnome culture values curiosity, so most gnomes will dly answer your questions."

    "And don''t hold up the line by asking a gnome that''s working," Pale added.

    Taree nodded obediently to Pale. Even though the girl was taller than Pale and a few years older, she always acted like the younger between the two... Those two were awful close, though.

    Tycon tucked the letter away, masking his feelings in front of his youngpanions. There was an unwee development in the Merylsward mission. He needed to discuss it with Guild Invictus'' contractor.

    After a short walk, Pale was growing anxious.

    After a short walk through the city streets, Tycon noticed Pale''s fidgeting. He nudged the young spearman, "Whaaaat is it?"

    Pale looked up with hopeful eyes, "Can I have some coin, Sir Tycon? I''d like to take Taree to go buy some snacks."

    Tycon activated his spatial ring and handed him a small pouch of coin, "That''s your month''s pay. Spend it as you like, but don''t forget to save some money for essentials: rope, rations, repair, clothing, SOAP."

    "Yes, sir!" Pale saluted.

    "I''ll be going into that building over there. If we get separated for too long, go back to the inn."

    The two children agreed and ran off. Tycon yelled after them, "You''d best not forget the soap!"

    Tycon watched the two whelplings race away and turn a corner.

    "Tss. Maybe I don''t want eggs, after all," Tycon grumbled as he pulled his dark hood low and entered the nearby building.

    ...

    "--And thisst one is an Eir Choct," Pale introduced, smiling proudly.

    He had brought Taree to a small, but friendly-looking corner shop. Through the window, the smell of fresh baked goods in the style of the Kingdom led his sharp nose straight to it. Taree''s eyes were as wide as dessert tes. She''d grown up with her mother''s delicious baking, but the variety of the Kingdom''s sweetbreads, cookies, chilled desserts as Pale introduced them all, blew her mind.

    "But-- but this looks so expensive! How many spirit stones does this cost?" Taree looked worried.

    "Don''t worry," Pale smiled, "I can probably afford all the bread in this shop!"

    Taree made a squee-like noise as she shook in excitement, "Oh! In that case, I want that and that... and that..."

    The cafe''s other clientele wereprised of older folks and young couples. All of them watched the children''s little date with warmed hearts.

    A well-dressed businessman with deep wrinkles etched into his face smiled at the baker''s daughter, "Heloise! Your mother will scold you if you give those two lovers run of the bakery!"

    Heloise smiled with the tilt of her head, her long light hair styled with a bandana, "Oh, don''t worry, sir, they''re paying customers. The young master might be a nobleman''s son."

    The girl handed the older gentleman a bag packed with fragrant, freshly baked bread rolls as heughed, "Aha! I wish I had the coin when I was younger! Ah, did I tell you how beautiful your mother was when she was younger? You look just like her, Heloise."

    "You tell me this every day, Monsieur," Heloise ced her hand on her mouth, stifling an embarrassedugh, "And Mother is alwaysining about your coquetry at the market!"

    The crowd behind the older man grew eerily silent. Heloise looked over in worry as she felt the goosebumps rising on her arms.

    8 rough-looking men, armed and armored in mismatched uniforms had approached the corner bakery. Reynard''s men hade to cause trouble.

    The older man had quickly excused himself, hurrying away, just like all the other clientele. Only Heloise, the young boy that introduced himself as Pale, and his young girlfriend, Taree, remained.

    She gathered her courage and managed to eke out a tiny voice, "Messieurs! C-can I help you...?"

    One of the men, Armand, turned back to her, "We''re not here for you, Heloise. Mind your business."

    Another of them, an ex-soldier named Marceau, spoke harshly to Pale, "I hear you''ve got coin, boy. How about youe with us for an outing?"

 Chapter 86 Equivalent Exchange

    ?Taree shrank in fear. They had been surrounded and were greatly outnumbered, 2 to 8.

    Pale looked up with a dumbfounded expression like he couldn''t believe what was happening.

    The men began tough.

    "Hey, hey, stop it Marceau. You''ve scared the boy." "Haha. Look how big the girl''s eyes are!! She looks like she''s ''bout to piss herself." "Oyyyy, quit it,ds. Come on, little boy, how about you hand me that spear and youe on with us? We''ll take you two somece fun."

    "M-m-messieurs! Please!" the bakery girl ran up,tching onto Marceau''s arm. "They''re just children!"

    Pale''s eyes gained rity and focus. He ced his hand on Taree''s to stop her from shaking him.

    "I get it!" He said with a wide grin, his eyes slightly closing.

    The thugs looked to each other and back to Pale.

    Marceau shook off the baker girl''s arm, "What do you get, little boy?"

    "You guys are kidnappers!" Pale turned to Taree to exin, "I''ve been kidnapped before. It was a little embarrassing."

    One of the men guffawed, "Gahaha, then you know the deal, kid!"

    "Yep!" Pale thrust his spearde through the man''s chest as easily as a fork through a slice of pie.

    Pulling the spear back twice as fast, he shed through another man''s throat.

    And he stabbed again into another man''s heart.

    He shed a man''s belly open, spilling out his guts.

    ...Within several seconds, Pale had used his Lifedrinker spear to kill all 8 men with lethal shes and stabs.

    "Oh, was that it?" Tareeined. She was covered in blood and a little bit of viscera. She pushed her te of soggy bread away... "I''m not hungry anymore."

    Pale smiled weakly, "Y-yeah. Me neither. Wanna ask for a bag of bread to take back to the inn?"

    "Oh, we can do that?" Taree''s face lit up.

    The baker girl stood and gawked. Blood stter had stained the bottom of her apron.

    "Excuse me, um... Mademoiselle?" Pale waved.

    The woman promptly fainted, falling dramatically to the floor away (thankfully, away from the pooling blood.)

    Taree tilted her head, "Does that mean we don''t have to pay?"

    Pale shook his head, "No. We still have to pay. It''s thew of equivalent exchange."

    ...

    Pale left enough silver coins to cover their bill on the nearby table. As he turned to leave, he spotted Boss Tycon, who was leisurely approaching.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes at the scene of carnage in the little bakery.

    "Empty night!" He cursed. "I leave for half-a-bell and you''ve killed half-a-dozen men and left them to rot!?"

    "Um, am I in trouble?" Pale asked.

    Taree hurried in front of Pale and bowed deeply at the waist, "I''m sorry! This is all my fault, Boss Tycon!"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. He was beginning to find this Taree far more tolerable than the brat from only half a week prior.

    "Stand at ease, Kimura." Tycon sighed, "Pale, Son of Quay."

    Pale saluted, "Yes, sir!"

    "Report."

    "8 kidnappers, sir!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "And I see 8 corpses. Good, so far. Their affiliation?"

    Pale rubbed the back of his head, "Um, I didn''t have time to ask, Sir."

    Tycon shrugged, "I''m assuming you struck as soon as you recognized the threat in order to protect yourself and your charge. You were outnumbered, so you couldn''t afford to prolong the situation. Kimura Taree."

    Taree saluted sharply, "Yes, sir!"

    Tycon hesitated. The crispness of her salute spoke to his soul, "Y-yes. Can you verify everything that young master Pale has said?"

    "Yessir!" She smiled. "Everyone was super weak and Pale wrecked their faaaaaces!"

    There it was. That''s what he was used to. That smile. That stupid smile. Tycon''s fever dream of getting a polite, proper Taree was dashed with the girl saying the word ''faces'' as low in pitch as her vocal cords allowed.

    It was fine, though. Tycon could continue discounting the girl as mediocre garbage in his heart, just as he was used to.

    Tycon clicked his tongue, "Let''s wake up that baker girl. We need to collect some information."

    "Shall I wake her up now, Sir?" Pale offered.

    "Not yet," Tycon pointed to an empty bup sack underneath a table. "Pale, grab that. Taree."

    "Y-yes, Boss?" Taree tilted her head with her forefinger touching her chin.

    A sharpened hacking-de appeared in Tycon''s hand, out of his spatial ring. He spun the de and offered Taree the hilt, which she took gingerly, "Have you ever cut off a man''s head?"

    ...

    "We shouldn''t be doing this," Lone mumbled under his breath. Hispanions wouldn''t listen to his gripes and worries. He had joined Guild Invictus a few moons prior but still had yet to earn enough respect necessary to have literally anyone listen to his reasoning.

    Against his better judgment, words ofint again drifted from his lips, "I mean this ce looks dangerous! What if we get mugged? And besides--"

    Before he could finish, Lone was shoved. He banged his elbow awkwardly against a wall, "Ow! Hey!"

    Draganughed, "Hey, man! You worry too much!"

    Tamaki looked over, "You okay, Chosen One?"

    "Yeah, I''m good."

    Dragan patted Lone on the back, "Didn''t mean to push you so hard, man. My bad."

    "No, I''m fine. I should have been paying attention," Lone tried to return the favor, shoving Dragan with one arm. The action had zero push-effect on the 8-fulm-tall man. Instead, Lone appeared to awkwardly ce his hand on Dragan''s oblique muscles for several seconds.

    "Aaaaaanyroad," Dragan continued, "Thugs don''t screw with other thugs. You''ve got two swords and a bunch of other weapons, dude. No one''s gonna mess with you! Just don''t look like an easy mark and you''ll get left alone."

    "Yeap. As long as you look like a bad sonuvabitch, ain''t no one''ll mess wit''cha," Tamaki added confidently.

    Dragan snickered, "Yeah, you''rein'' with me, blondie."

    "Oh! You got it, Mister Dragan."

    Dragan and Tamaki entered the building while Lone scoped the surroundings. He had started his adventuring career long ago, in a big city like Merylsward. He had worked hard,pleting low-rank missions for the adventurer''s guild, and finally found employment with a real guild, the Shadowdark Wolves.

    A weekter, they were all dead, and he was conscripted into a new guild as an indentured servant.

    He had hoped to live a better life being indebted to a noble. The training was tough. He was pretty sure he''d died at least twice. He had soiled himself many times but was only discovered twice. He thought his boss might actually be a snake, but wasn''t quite sure if it was just a really, weird dream. Hanging out with Mister Wroe, he had a lot of weird, inexplicable dreams.

    He gained a little brother in Pale. And he gained... friends-- people he''d never have imagined he would associate with. A giant. An angel. A dra-- err... a lizardborn. A noble. Two martialists from a hidden sect.

    Lone Shadowdark, birth name Barza Keith, was living a pretty good life.

    He turned to enter the building after his friends but in his carelessness, he shoulder-checked an adventurer who was leaving, "Oh, I''m sorry. I wasn''t paying attention."

    "What the-- SEVEN HELLS, you sodden trash heap! Watch where you''re going. Don''t you know who the BLAZES I am?!" the leather-armored man began to yell. "Do you know who I WORK for?!?!"

 Chapter 87 Little Bird

    ?"Look, man! I said I was sorry!" Lone held his empty palms forward. His bumping into this adventurer was purely idental. They didn''t even know each other.

    "Sorry? SORRY?!?" The leather-armored man was screaming. He mmed his chest with his hand, "I could''ve been HURT! What would you do if I tripped and fell? Huh? HUH??"

    Lone was getting frustrated. He had already apologized. If this man wanted more than an apology, then he was purposely trying to cause trouble.

    Lone gulped and gathered his courage, "I''d probably just walk away."

    The man stared at him with furrowed brows, "You''d what?"

    Lone repeated himself, raising his voice, "I''d probably walk away! Because I don''t FREAKIN'' care!!"

    Shocked for a moment, the man scowled, "Why you--"

    The man flew forward, tumbling several times before smashing into a street-barrel full of refuse. Confused Lone looked to the doorway, seeing Dragan with an outstretched boot, and Tamaki beside him.

    "We got the info. Pretty sure we''ve got the right ce, this time," Tamaki exined.

    Dragan yawned while picking his ear with his pinky. He pointed at the guy he had kicked, who was dazed, struggling to get to his feet, "Who the hell''s that? Friend of yours?"

    Lone shrugged, "Not really."

    "Wanna kick his ass?" Dragan offered.

    "Yeah," Lone admitted. "I think I do."

    ...

    Tycon walked into the ughterhouse with the young Kimura Taree at his side and a weighted bup sack over his shoulder. The walls were lined with mold and wood rot, the floors and surfaces covered in stters of dried blood, "Quaint. I like the decor."

    Taree took a deep breath but nearly gagged. She scowled, "It smells gross, Boss."

    "It''s the sickly-sweet smell of corruption, youngdy. Remember it well."

    "Smells like weak men," the little girl huffed.

    "Be polite, youngdy," Tycon wagged his finger. "We''re here to talk, not to pick a fight."

    "Yes, Boss," Taree obediently fell in behind Tycon, a skip in her step.

    No less than a dozen men walked over to surround the two. They were armed with butcher''s knives, rusted chains, and meat-hooks. No military weapons? Their equipment was a joke.

    "And who in ze seven ''ells are you supposed to be?" A fat, bearded and aproned butcher demanded. The thick ent of the Kingdom''s Old Language rolled off the butcher''s tongue.

    "We''re looking for a-- how you say..." Tycon squinted his eyes to think.

    "Reynard!" Taree offered.

    "Ah, yes. Monsieur Reynard! I don''t suppose you... fine young gentlemen have heard about him?"

    The men looked around to each other before bursting out into raucousughter.

    Tycon smiled calmly, though Taree crossed her short arms in annoyance.

    The butcher''sughter turned to a wicked snarl, "And where did you ''ear of zat name, little boy?!"

    "Oh, dear. Oh, dear... How rude!" Tycon appeared shocked, "Namecalling! In this day and age?"

    "I know, right?" Taree ced her hand over her chest with her mouth in a tiny o.

    Some of the men started to edge forward. A hairy man in a long leather coat leered at Taree withscivious eyes, "How about you give us ze girl and--"

    Tycon snapped his fingers.

    Taree punched the man''s left knee, forcing it to bend inward at a broken angle. As he struck the floor, Taree mmed her left fist into the man''s sr plexus. He stopped moving.

    Tycon snapped again, mana surging through Taree''s lithe body. She smashed a flying kick against another man''s ribs, spinning in mid-air to smash her heel into the man''s temple.

    She springboarded off of the man''s chest to grab the head of a third man.

    "Rising STORM!!" she drove her knee into the man''s jaw. His teeth crunched, some of them flying loose.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Rising STOOOORM!!" she drove her opposite knee into the side of his cheek, breaking his cheekbone and copsing his face.

    Shended and turned around as the man behind her copsed to the floor, convulsing, "Why doesn''t anyone take me seriously?"

    The brutal disy of force made the other thugs hesitate. Tycon directed his golden stare directly at the aproned butcher, smiling joylessly. He decided to use the Old Language, for emphasis, "(I learned of Mister Reynard from a little bird.)"

    The golden-eyed youth undid the drawstring on the bup sack and turned it upside down. The butch and his men watched in disbelief as 8 severed human heads rolled out onto the blooded tile. The boy picked up thest head, "(This beautiful little bird, here. See how he sings.)"

    The surrounding thugs began to mumble in the Old Language-- "(Sacred gods, it''s Marceau.)" "(He was one of our strongest men.)" "(The boy is a monster!)"

    Winding up his arm, Tycon hurled the man''s severed head on the wall, sttering blood on the wall like a rancid tomato. Taree watched the movement with indifference, but everyone else in the room was shocked. Not a single one of the thugs was Bronze-Rank or higher.

    "I politely asked this... ''Marceau'' where I could find Monsieur Reynard."

    Tycon closed the gap between him and the butcher, he grabbed the fat man''s cor and pulled him down, so they could see eye to eye.

    "(Now, will you sing for me, little bird?)"

    A door swung open on the opposite side of therge room, prompting Tycon and the fat man to turn their heads.

    "W-were under attack!" The man screamed. "He-- he''s already taken out a dozen men! We need--"

    Before the man could continue, the side of his head was bashed in by a red pole and he copsed in the doorway. Pale, the 9-year-old boy appeared in the doorway and waved, "Reporting! I haven''t found Reynard, yet!"

    "Very well!" Tycon yelled back, "I''m asking my new friend."

    Tycon looked back to the butcher, "I didn''t catch your name, Monsieur?"

    The fat man gulped, smiling weakly, "My name is Gilebert, (young master.)"

    "Ah, that''s right. A fine name," Tycon released Gilebert''s cor and smoothed the older man''s shirt and apron with his bloody hands.

    "Got it! I''ll keep looking!" Pale yelled. He dragged the unconscious man out of the doorway and mmed the door shut once more.

    Tycon smiled at his new friend, "(Your parents, they were born in the Kingdom, yes)?"

    "(Y-yes, young master.)"

    "(You look like a very smart man. Your parents must be very proud of you, yes?)"

    The older man nodded, sweat dripping from his brow, his knees buckling.

    Taree glowered upon smelling the acrid stench of urine spilling onto the floor down the man''s legs, "Gross, Boss."

    "Anyroad, Monsieur Gilebert. I''d like to make an appointment with Monsieur Reynard. (Will that be a problem?)"

    "(No, milord. I''ll... I''ll let him know.)"

    The doors behind Tycon burst open, and he half-turned in annoyance.

    Dragan stepped in, greataxe over his right shoulder, a bleeding barrel over his left, "Alright, which one of you cheese-sucking pricks is R-- Oh! Hey, Boss!"

    "Too slow, Mister Dragan," Tycon waved.

    "Ohh."

    Dragan looked to his left. He looked to his right. He looked at the dumbfounded thugs that stood around gawking. He looked at the 3 unconscious thugs downed by Taree''s hands. Finally, he looked down at the array of severed heads on the floor, "Ohhhhhh."

    From behind Dragan, Tamaki put away the arrow he nocked and Lone resheathed his swords.

    "Go back," Tycon groaned. Taree waved excitedly at her brother with blood-covered hands.

    Dragan ced the bloody barrel onto the floor, "Well. Boss has got it from here. Let''s head to the whorehouse, boys!"

    The three left the way they came in. Tamaki shut the door because he was raised properly.

    Tycon turned back to his new friend, "Anyway, Monsieur Gilebert. (Where were we?)"

 Chapter 88 Parenting

    ?Sorrowful notes of a violin resonated throughout the study, off the few books Reynard owned, off the torn banners and knickknacks disyed on the walls and shelves. He looked down at his desk. ced upon it was a crystal decanter filled with the best cognac he could afford. The two cups, made from refined ss, were more expensive.

    He stopped ying.

    He couldn''t stop his hands from shaking.

    A young man, too young, quietly entered the door. Following closely was a young, silver-haired girl, not even in her teens. And with a face, pale as a sheet, followed a wide and bearded gentleman. Reynard had recognized him but did not know his name.

    "Monsieur Reynard, I presume. (Please, don''t stop ying because of me,)" The youth said, motioning for him to continue.

    Reynard''s mouth twitched as he stared at his shaking hand holding the violin bow.

    The youth spoke the Old Language wlessly. His skin was white as if he''d neverbored a day in the sun. Wet blood dripped down his leather armor.

    It was as if he were a noble out of a political painting on war. Beautiful. Untouchable. Covered in the blood ofmoners.

    "Pardon me, sir. My hands have lost ze melody," Reynard gently turned, returning his violin and bow to its stand. He could feel the youth''s gaze, heated upon his back.

    "A shame, Monsieur Reynard. Truly a shame," the golden-eyed youth closed his eyes and shook his head.

    He pointed, "(Mister Gilebert, fetch me a chair.)"

    "(Of course, young master. Right away, young master,)" the older man hurried out of the room, leaving the door open. A man had fallen right outside of the door, his eyes were rolled back and wet blood spilled messily from his mouth.

    Reynard gulped.

    He mentally reviewed what nobleman he could have possibly offended. He and his men hadn''t arranged any risky scores in weeks. His mouth twisted in anxiety as he again stared at the two drinking sses on the desk.

    Hesitantly, Reynard spoke, "(May I know how to address you, sir?)"

    He couldn''t refer to the youth as ''young master'', as Gilebert did. He was still the leader of an organization and had to hold onto whatever little pride he could, so he wouldn''t look weak.

    "Tycondrius. Monsieur le Baron."

    Baron Tycondrius did not offer a hand in greeting. Gilebert returned with a bloodied chair, draping a cloth over it and cing it at the desk, and promptly excusing himself afterward.

    "(Smart man. His parents are proud of him. You''d do well to nurture such a talent.)" Tycon sat down without being offered.

    Reynard cleared his throat as he tried to calm his painfully thumping heart, "(May I ask... what business you have with me, sir baron?)"

    The youth smiled but offered no response.

    This meeting was not at all going how Reynard was expecting. The baron had entered hispound without a word of warning and had savagely beaten and crippled his men. He''d even tossed around severed heads. The man feared nothing. And now that he''d entered Reynard''s office... there was no yelling. There were no threats or harsh words. There was only the man''s cold demeanor... and a seething and barely-contained anger hidden behind a smile. Reynard would have almost preferred naked violence.

    Reynard swallowed hard, his mouth an arid wastnd, "(May I ask... How I''ve offended you?")

    Baron Tycondrius smiled wider, revealing his teeth, "(I''m so happy that you''ve asked the question I''ve been waiting for.)"

    Sweat began to drip down Reynard''s forehead, his body hot from fear, "(I''ll punish whoever has offended you, sir baron-- Or their parents, or their children. I can make anyone in this city disappear.)"

    The young girl leaned over the desk to stare at the Reynard''s miserable, sweating and babbling form, "What''s he saying, Boss? Is he begging for his life?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Reynard''s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Was the baron here to kill him? To torture him and make him suffer?

    "Monsieur Reynard, I apologize for troubling you, but I''d like to continue this conversation in themon tongue. I am trying to teach my young associate how to do business."

    Reynard looked to the silver-haired girl with a new fear, "Yes, of course, Monsieur le Baron. There is no trouble, no trouble at all."

    "Leadership, Monsieur Reynard..." The baron crossed his legs, "--is like being a father to many children."

    Reynard did not like where the baron was taking the conversation.

    Tycon continued, "If the father finds their child iscking... What do we do?"

    Reynard bowed his head close to the desk, the pressure overwhelming. He had built his organization with his own hands, on a mountain of fallen men, allies and enemies. With his work still unfinished, he did not want to die. "I... I am so... so, sorry, Monsieur le--"

    "Answer. the question. Reynard," Tycon firmly repeated himself, shocking Reynard into silence.

    "...The child... is punished, Monsieur le Baron."

    "Ve~ry good, Monsieur," Tycon lightly apuded. Slow. Measured ps, "And if we were out walking..."

    Tycon took a deep breath... and spoke steadily, "(You see a parent and their many children. They run in the streets. They steal from the market stalls. They take the gods'' names in vain.)"

    The youth watched Reynard''s eyes forprehension... "(They *cry* because they are scolded by other adults. And the parent does nothing?) What do we do? Who do we me?"

    Reynard stared nkly at the two empty sses on his desk, "It is... the fault of the parent."

    "It is a harsh truth in this world, Monsieur Reynard. The sins of the child can be seen as the failure of the parent. And that, Monsieur, is the issue I havee to address with you, today."

    Tycon uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, "And that is why I cannot, in good faith, merely ask you to reprimand your men."

    Reynard slumped over in his chair. He shook his head with moistened eyes and sat back up to speak, "I''m... sorry, Monsieur. I--"

    Tycon tilted his head and raised his hand to stop the gang boss, "What do we do, Monsieur Reynard? What. Do. We. Do? When a parent cannot properly educate their children?"

    Reynard''s vision blurred and went out of focus as he searched inwardly for an answer that would not get him killed.

    "Young Lady?" The baron looked to the silver-haired girl, "Do you have an answer?"

    The child smiled at Reynard... innocent yet not so... "We break every fucking bone in his body."

    The baron pat the girl on the head, ruffling her short, silvery hair, "Oh, children. So innocent and straightforward. You and I, Monsieur Reynard, we are adults. And we cannot give in so easily to our base desires."

    Reynard''s heart had stopped. Only with the baron''s gentle words, did his basic functions continue, "What... can I do?"

    "Simple, Monsieur. I will teach you." The baron stood, which prompted Reynard to bolt out of his chair, standing rigidly and upright. Slowly, the baron took the ss decanter and poured the dark liquid into the two sses, "I will contract you, provide you with funding. You will adopt a higher standard for yourself and for the men who follow you. They will be loyal to you because you are just, fair, and generous."

    "And they will fear you." The baron lifted a ss, "Because you fear me."

 Chapter 89 House Plants & Leadership

    ?Reynard shook his head. It was difficult for him to believe it. He had offended a baron and he had earned amission for it?

    "But-- why? Monsieur le Baron, why would you risk giving money to a... (to a lowlife scum like me?)"

    Tycon stared at his ss, slowly swirling around his drink, "To be perfectly honest, Monsieur, I was nning on having my young associate beat you within inches of your life."

    The pair nced over to the young girl. She was ying with a broken spinning globe in the corner of the room.

    He scoffed, looking up to gaze yellow soul-searching eyes at Reynard, "I was even going to have someonee in here and shit on your floor-- that''s how angry I was.."

    The baron motioned to the girl, "She may not look like much, but she is a Bronze-Rank Martialist."

    Reynard shivered. The terrifying baron a metal ranker in his employ, and it was a girl not even in her teens. It was no wonder that his men were so easily incapacitated, "Then... why?"

    The baron pointed past him, and his gaze drifted to find his violin, "Your music saved you... Your books in the Old Language on strategy and philosophy. Your collections of art. Your housent."

    He gave off an arrogant smirk, "And even your poison."

    He ced his nose near his ss of cognac, "Even with the strength of your drink, a subtle nutty aroma remains evident... I rmend you invest in a more expensive poison."

    He downed the ss in a swift pull, making a disgusted face.

    Reynard''s jaw dropped, "Monsieur! What are you DOING?!"

    Tycon ced the ss back on the table, "Drinking your cheap swill. Ugh. It''s no wonder you keep poison around if that''s what you drink for pleasure."

    "Can I try some, Boss?" the little girl bounded over.

    "No, youngdy. Both sses are literally poisoned. You''ll die," Tycon exined in a single breath.

    "Oh," the girl took a few seconds to register what Tycon said. She took Reynard''s cup and poured it onto the floor.

    Reynard stared at the spilled drink with his eyes unfocused, "H-how much money, Monsieur?"

    Tycon stated a price. Reynard''s eyes widened once more, his knees buckled, and he steadied himself on his desk.

    "Now," Tycon flicked his wrist, a nk sheet of parchment magically appearing in his hands, "Shall we draft a contract?"

    ...

    Tycondrius invested a great deal of coin after drafting a contract that linked Reynard to Sorina Capulet and House Charm. The coin would go towards getting his men healing services, paying them, and hiring men and women of quality. In theing years, he would be responsible for expanding and taking over any illegal trade in Merylsward. He was given advice for peaceable takeovers and rmended low moneymaking strategies such as debt collection and moving contraband. If Reynard needed financial advice, he would send letters via the Courier''s Guild to Sorina Capulet in Nice or if necessary, Tycon himself.

    Reynard was also given strict orders on what kind of people or persons they absolutely could not touch.

    Still somewhat aggrieved, Tycon ordered Pale to go into Reynard''s room and shit in the man''s housent.

    But the trip wasn''t an entire waste of time.

    "So why did we let him go, Boss?" Taree asked, hopping and grabbing Tycon''s arm.

    Tycon continued to walk. A week prior, he would have shaken the whelpling off of him, but he was growing more partial to her behavior, "Pale. What do you think?"

    Pale was holding Taree''s hand with his left, walking with his spear in the other, "Because Mister Reynard can give us some sort of benefit?"

    "4 out of 5 marks," Tycon congratted, "The man has the potential to earn us, Guild Invictus, connections and coin. And the risk is low."

    "But you gave him so much money, Boss?" Taree''s eyes sparkled.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon clicked his tongue, "Tss. Unfortunately, youngdy, that was not a lot of money in the business world. It was a reasonable investment, concerning what Reynard was working with."

    Taree pouted, "I just don''t understand why we''re helping him?"

    Tycon gave the girl a gentle smile, kneeling down to face her, "Because we all deserve to be better, youngdy. It''s the same reason I push you and Pale as martial practitioners. And why I''m trying to impart upon the two of you the knowledge to lead."

    The silver-haired girl''s gaze fell, pursing her lips and staring down at the paved road, "I don''t think I can lead like you can, Boss."

    Tyconughed and gave a sigh, ruffling Taree''s hair, "Learn from leadership you respect. Learn from leadership you don''t. I only ask you to do the best you can-- for yourself and for those who rely on you... Do you understand, future Sect Master?"

    "Yes, Boss!" Taree blushed and hugged Pale''s arm in response.

    "And do you understand, future Guild Leader?"

    Paleughed, "Yes, Sir!"

    Tycon stood up and stretched, "Now, let''s go get cleaned up for dinner, you two."

    "Yes, Sir!" "Yes, Boss!" the two children shouted.

    ...

    After dinner, Taree shared a slice of pie with Pale as the other patrons of the inn looked in envy. The Jubnt Wormyer had a healthy selection of meals, but the pair were d they had ordered more sweets from Heloise earlier in the sun.

    "So it looks like Sir Tycon likes you better now," Pale smiled.

    "Yeah! I dunno why," Taree was stuffing her face like a small pig. "It sort of changed like a week ago?"

    Pale took a cloth napkin and wiped the corner of her cheek, causing the girl to blush and try to shove him away, "Wh-what are you doing?"

    "Hold still! You have something on your face!" Pale ordered. The girl stopped resisting, but the redness on her cheeks wouldn''t go away so easily. "Sir Tycon doesn''t like rude people. So as soon as you started listening to him instead of arguing or being silly, you started to see his normal personality-- there, I got it."

    Taree''s gaze lingered on the cloth napkin, then at the boy who made butterflies dance in her stomach whenever he was around... "How did you get so brave, Pale?"

    Pale stared up at the ceiling chandelier, "I dunno. Maybe because Dad left. I mean... Dad told me if I really want something-- I have to try to get it. He said not to ask for it, but to ask how to get it."

    Taree tilted her head, "So... what do you want, Pale?" Her heart thumped painfully, waiting to hear his answer.

    "I want my dad toe back," Heughed, smiling widely in embarrassment. "But more than that... I want him to be proud of me when hees back. And for that, I need to be strong-- I need to be an Invictus he can be proud of."

    Taree nodded, deep in thought. It wasn''t the answer she was hoping for, but she couldn''t be mad at Pale''s smile. He was talking about someone he loved... and she couldn''t imagine how torn he was that he was gone.

    "What do you wish for, Taree?" Pale ced his hand on hers.

    As hot as her face grew, Taree didn''t pull her hand away, "I want... I want people to look at me with respect, instead of treating me like a little girl. Like the way they look at Mister Dragan''s big ol'' muscles."

    Pale burst outughing.

    Taree was livid, "What? Why are youughing? Stop! It''s not funny!"

    "You''d have to get bigger for that." Pale snickered, "Like a lot bigger. And a lot more muscled."

    "Well! Fine! Maybe I will! I''ll be even bigger than Mister Dragan!"

 Chapter 90 Snake Proof

    ?"Your coat, Monsieur le Baron," the lightly-armored guard bowed. Tycon eyed the veteran warrior carefully, an older man with facial hair and weapon scars and enough sense to be polite to someone who looked important.

    "Well informed, aren''t we?" He removed his wet cloak and handed it to the guard.

    Tycon swept back his light green hair. It was nice to be recognized, for a change, "And whose man are you?"

    "(Mister Reynard sends his regards)," the stone-faced guard responded in the Old Language.

    Tycon nodded in approval, "Word does travel fast, then."

    He considered tipping the guard with a coin. He didn''t.

    As he walked from the lobby into the courtesan house proper, his senses were assaulted by the lights and strong fragrances. His contractee was discrete but the cost of her discretion was meeting in a high-ss brothel.

    He had no issues with independent, educated, beautiful young people offering theirpany to the bored and wealthy. He did, however, have a strong disdain for the musky scents and the subtle hint of sex that permeated the atmosphere... While traveling in ces that thoroughly offended his senses, he was ustomed to murdering as he pleased.

    The killing tended to offset his difort.

    Tycon provided the name of a room to his guide, a walking advertisement for the brothel''s myriad of provided pleasures. The young boy wore revealing attire of questionable aesthetics and a fake ver''s cor on his neck.

    The meeting room was on the second floor, furthest away andrgely muting the overpowering scents of the rest of the building. As he entered, Tycon was quite pleased to see that the room was dimly lit, perhaps to set a sensual mood, but ultimately better for his predatory night vision.

    "This better be good, sir Baron," a young blonde girl said. Her voice practically dripped with her annoyance.

    The woman wore a royal blue dress and an assortment of golden baubles, also unapologetically royal. She sat at a small table, surrounded by luxurious pillows in the style of the far western kingdoms. An equally luxurious bed was draped in silks at the room''s corner, a constant reminder of the building''s main purpose.

    Tycon scoffed and seated himself on a pillow opposite her, observing the three in front of him. He must have met them prior, as the System revealed their names. Two names were tagged green... but a scowling elven woman was tagged yellow-- a possible hostile.

    ? System, inquiry: Basic information on these three. ?

    [System response: Levi Wolfrider, Bronze-Rank Weretouched Warden; Aur Wyndham, Human, Unknown Rank, Unknown ss; Naedrielle, Iron-Rank Elf Sentinel.]

    Unknown? Whatever Aur was hiding would make this conversation far more interesting.

    Tycon adopted a genial smile, "Don''t be such a nag, Aur. Can''t I drop by just to say hello to my friends?"

    Aur tilted her head, smiling with closed eyes, "Are we really friends, though?"

    The elf stood up, her fist clenched around the hilt of the sword on her waist, "You will address her with respect as ''Princess Aur'', you--"

    With a raise of her hand, Aur silenced her retainer, her face impassive, "Naedrielle. Tycondrius is my guest."

    "--But Princess Aur?" The elf''s face twisted several times, cycling through frustration, bewilderment, and general speechlessness.

    "Aur..." Tycon chided in a sing-song voice, "You haven''t told your ''trusted'' retainers who I am. I''m. Devastated."

    "How. Daaaare. You," the elf''s de was ttering in its scabbard as she held it.

    "Naedrielle, that is enough," Aur red. Naedrille could only release her grip, clenching her trembling fist, instead.

    Tycon nodded, "Mister Levi."

    "O-ohhh, heeey, Boss," The young white-furred gentleman waved, smiling nervously.

    Weretouched. The young Levi looked like a hybrid man and... dog-person. Indeed, the youth would be a Wolfbanger, if he were to mate with another... wolf-person. The nickname didn''t seem so offensive anymore. But knowing Dragan, the nickname''s intent was to be as such.

    Urged by the atmosphere and Tycon''s acknowledgment, Levi cleared his throat, "Naedrielle, what''s your problem with Sir Tycon, anyway?"

    The elf scowled with transparent hatred in her eyes, "This man reeks of deception! He can''t be trusted!"

    She turned to Aur with pleading eyes, "I still can''t believe you agreed to work with him, Princess!"

    Aur looked to Levi, her emotionless face now holding a tinge of concern, "Sir Wolfrider, what do you think?"

    The young dog-wolf-boy scratched his head, "Well, I''m still under contract to Sir Tycon. And Sir Tycon is contracted toplete your quest, Princess... Regardless of trust, no one can break a magical contract."

    Aur looked confused, "You can''t break magical contracts?"

    Her gaze was wary as if she was unsure of the words she had spoken. There was a familiar sense of unfamiliarity in her eyes that Tycon was struggling to ce.<novelnext></novelnext>

    But he could capitalize on her uncertainty.

    Tycon winked at the princess, "Of course not, Aur. The magical power required to break a contract is immense. And the contents of which aren''t worth questing for an artifact in order to break... And besides, don''t you remember the favor I owe you?"

    Naedrielle trembled with anger, "I can tell by the way he smells-- this man is a snake and I can prove it to you, Princess!!"

    Tycon and Levi shared a look of helplessness.

    Aur turned with curious eyes, "And how do you propose you do that, Naedrielle?"

    "Like this," the elf drew her de.

    Tycon crossed his arms. Aur reached out her hand, "Naedrielle!! Wait--"

    The elven Sentinel sliced her rapier through the air, "Dispel Magic!!"

    The magical lights extinguished for a moment, relighting themselves after the elf''s short spell duration.

    "Satisfied?" Tycon let out a sigh, unimpressed.

    "But-- but that''s impossible..." Naedrielle looked at her de in confusion, "I... He... There''s some kind of mour! There must be! My spell must not have worked-- Princess!!"

    Naedrielle turned to Princess Aur and nearly dropped her sword. Levi was staring. Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    Princess Aur''s gorgeous, full blonde hair and crystalline blue eyes, along with her magical makeup and eye shadow had disappeared. Left behind was still a beauty, but her hair had turned ink-ck, her pupils were the darkest brown, and her eye shape even without the eyeliner was slightly nted as if she were from the southern coast.

    "Out," Aur ordered.

    Levi and Naedrielle gawked at their princess as if they didn''t hear her.

    "I said OUT!!" Aur stood up and yelled.

    Hurriedly, Naedrielle and Levi left the room, the door secured behind them. Tycon locked the door as they left and affixed a paper talisman on the door, as an additional measure.

    "And why are you still here, Tycon?" she scowled. "Leave, so I can fix my makeup."

    "Why? I''m not a courtesan hired to pleasure you, Aur. I''m here to discuss business." Tycon reseated himself on a pillow, far more rxed with just the two of them.

    "So now you know my big secret," Aurined. "Laugh it up. Tell your friends."

    "Do my friends know you?" Tycon asked smugly.

    Aur hesitated, "Y-yeah. I mean, probably. I am the princess, after all."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "But you''re only one of many in the Kingdom."

    A trace of panic began to show on the princess''s face, "Oh, right! I forgot!! --Err... I mean to say..."

    Tycon took a deep breath and sighed. He flipped through the fleeting memories in his brain and formed a hypothesis, "Let me guess. Memory problems?"

    The dark-haired Aur hid behind a pillow, "How did you know? Are you reading my mind?"

    Tycon stared nkly, "No~ I''ve had simr issues myself."

    Her eyes widened as she reached across the table and grabbed Tycon''s shoulders, "Wait, what? Really? You too?"

    "Aur, if you''re trying to push me down and have your way with me, I''d really prefer to relocate to the bed."

    As if shocked by lightning magic, the woman threw her hands up, retreating and shrinking away in embarrassment.

    Oh? The princess has shown weakness. He mentally filed away the knowledge for use at ater time-- perhaps sooner rather thanter.

    Tycon took a deep breath and spoke in a gentler tone, "Tell me what you remember, Aur."

    "Why should I trust you when even my retainer doesn''t?" Aur whispered in disbelief.

    Tycon smirked, "Because I''m from another world. Just like you."

 Chapter 91 Otherworlder

    ?The princess had been acting suspiciously...

    The girl acted as if she were unaware ofmon knowledge. Tycon highly doubted that the woman had been living in an underground cave for the past epoch-- her fineries and royal blood would easily attest to that.

    He recalled that he acted in a simr fashion only a few moons prior-- asking roundabout questions to gain basic information and making excuses to ward off suspicion. (Theplications that arose were insubstantial, as it wasn''t so difficult to make Mister Dragan lose interest.)

    Back then, Tycon had awoken in a tavern with only a scant few memories. He knew of the world, its creatures, its magic, and its politics. He knew of his System and how to utilize it. What little memories he had of himself had only to do with his personality, what he liked and didn''t like; and his learned skills, like cooking and knowing which end of a de to direct towards an enemy.

    He''d another set of memories that he hadn''t considered important until meeting Aur: Tycon knew of other worlds. Traveling between worlds was highly frowned upon-- an entire organization called the Gatekeepers hunted down anyone fool enough to forcibly open a rift with extreme prejudice.

    If Tycon''s hypothesis was correct, Aur was an unintentional world traveler, like he was. And if so, a few choice words would win her to his side. Perhaps he might learn something. Perhaps he could sway the girl to his cause. Low risk, high reward.

    "Why should I trust you when even my retainer doesn''t?" Aur mumbled, refusing to meet Tycon''s gaze. She hugged her knees, an obvious sign that she needed to beforted.

    Tycon said the magic words.

    "Because I''m from another world. Just like you."

    Aur froze as stiff as a statue. Tycon could almost hear the cogs in the not-blonde woman''s head creak and groan as she came to understand what he''d said.

    "Prince... Tycondrius," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

    Tycon smirked and gave her a reassuring wink, "Just call me ''Tycon.'' You''re not alone anymore, Aur."

    In a crash of movement, Aur had tackled Tycon, knocking over the small table between them. She buried her face into his chest and immediately began bawling her eyes out.

    "Oh, my god! I''ve been so lost! Why did this have to happen to me?!" The girl was sobbing,ining about useless things.

    Hesitating only briefly, Tycon returned the embrace, gently stroking the girl''s hair. "It''s okay. I''m here."

    As she looked up with a watery-eyed, sniffling face, Tycon wiped a tear with his thumb and whispered, "Don''t cry."

    "I''m... I''m a princess." The girl snorted inelegantly, "You have to respect me!"

    Tycon smiled silently in return. He continued stroking Aur''s head and enjoyed the silence, only interrupted by the princess'' asional snorts and sobs.

    ...

    Tycon wondered about the cost of renting the room. It seemed pricey, but he was sure someone of Aur''s station could afford its extended use.

    It took a long time to coax the snorting princess to stop crying. She had curled up in hisp as Tycon gently stroked her head.

    "Everything is so different than it should be..." Aur muttered. "The eastern states shouldn''t even exist after the Mourning... And the Triumvirate should be in power, not the Council! And Aur should be queen!"

    Like Tycon, the girl had some understanding of the world... but unfortunately, her knowledge and expectations were... wed, at best.

    Tycon popped a grape he''d peeled into the girl''s mouth, "A princess wanting to be queen? Did you reincarnate into a viiness, Aur?"

    Aur spat out a seed at Tycon''s face, which he tilted his head to dodge, "I reincarnated into Aur''s brother''s daughter! And my stats and level are trash! --not that anyone in this stupid world uses levels. How am I supposed to be a viiness if I''m stuck at First-Circle?!"

    Tycon raised his eyebrows. She didn''t refute him calling her a viiness.

    "Gaining your First Circle at your age is an anomaly reserved for the top percentile of the Kingdom''s magicians." Tycon rolled his eyes, "I doubt even a dozen others can im the aplishment."

    "Ughhh," the snort princess groaned, "I know. It''s just, I never thought that I''d be this weak..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "There is a way to expedite the process, Aur," Tycon hid a smile as he reclined back against the bed.

    Aur turned and looked up, mashing her breasts against Tycon''s leg, "Really, Prince?"

    Tycon chuckled softly, "Have you considered a mana transfer?"

    "A mana transfer? But what kind of ritual--" The woman''s pupils dted in realization. Her gaze drifted over to the silk-ridden bed and then back to her and Tycon''s intimidate position. She scrambled backward, away from him, "S-s-s-stay away!!"

    Tycon couldn''t help butugh at the girl''s innocence. It was a wee change, teasing a Circle Mage who was most certainly a Bronze-Rank. Most of the other females Tycon had dealt with were extraordinarily capable of dealing catastrophic physical harm to him.

    And besides that, he found Aur''s over-the-top reactions amusing.

    "As an educated Circle Mage, I''m sure you''re aware that the exchange of mana fluids through coption is exponentially more efficient than--"

    "I know that!!" Aur interrupted.

    "You''ve arranged for a private room. You''ve chased out your retainers." Tycon pointed to the talisman he ced on the door, "And I''ve gone ahead and sealed the room against physical eavesdropping and magical scrying."

    The snorting princess rushed to the door and examined the talisman, "Oh my god, you''ve used a Third-Circle consumable... Aren''t those ridiculously expensive in this world?"

    "Your protection is of utmost import, Princess," Tycon lied. He ced the talisman for his own safety.

    Aur ced her back against the door and looked away. Her face had flushed to a deep, almost-purple against her form-fitting blue dress.

    "Prince Tycon... It''ll be my first time."

    Eh?

    Tycon burst into full-on, unabashedughter.

    "Wh-wh-what?! What''s wrong with being a virgin!!" Aur screeched.

    Tycon wiped his tears, "Oh, shut up. I doubt you can handle me."

    "Bull crap! I have 150 HP!" Aur yelled indignantly.

    What in the seven hells did that mean?

    Tycon raised a palm, trying to calm himself, "I''d like to discuss having raw, unprotected, life-altering sex *after* we discuss business."

    "I... Ah... You..." The red-faced woman stuttered horribly.

    Tycon furrowed his brows. Had he gone too far?

    "Aur, I''ve received news that the situation with Duke Tavor may be more troublesome than I and... the previous you had thought."

    Taking a moment to calm herself a bit, Aur finally sat in front of Tycon, "Have you found a way to harm Duke Tavor''s political power?"

    Tycon nodded, "A majority of the Duke''s poweres from his weapons'' trade. He controls an underground forge beneath one of his holdings here in Merylsward."

    "What? That''s impossible. Tavor doesn''t hold any smitheries in the city. And the smoke from the forges? How can you hide that?"

    "ording to a letter I received this morning, the Duke has a way to ess Fernia, the ne of Fire."

 Chapter 92 Nighttime Diplomacy

    ?**Content Warning: Sexual Activity**

    "He WHAT?! How is that possible??" Aur refused to believe it. nar travel was impossible by human standards, only essible through artifact-level items or by dealing with a greater power.

    Tycon didn''t me her, "I have my suspicions, but Tavor isn''t powerful enough to do this on his own."

    "And why have you sought to discuss this with me instead of just handling it on your own?" Aur scowled.

    Tycon held Aur at the waist, "Because I wanted you to lure me into your bed."

    Aur hesitated, "Be serious, Prince Tycon."

    "Because I require more resources," he poked at her sides, causing her to squeak.

    "I''ll give you two squads of footmen," Aur pped his hands away.

    "Not a chance. The old Aur gave me this contract so it can''t be traced back to you. Give me Guild Trayus. I hear they have a fireteam of Circle Mages."

    "You''re insane, Prince Tycondrius. What else do you want? A dragon?!"

    "Don''t be ridiculous, dragons don''t exist. I want Naedrielle."

    "You *can''t* be serious."

    "She loathes me. I am aware."

    "Anyway, she can''t! She''s on the Council."

    "And she''d have to leave the Council to join Guild Invictus. I am also aware."

    "You''re doing this because she insulted you," the young princess red, scrunching up her face. "I think she doesn''t trust you because she somehow sensed you''re an Otherworlder"

    "I''m doing this because an Iron-Rank Sentinel would greatly improve my chances of sess."

    Aur punched Tycon in the arm.

    Tycon shrugged, "Also, it just so happens that this course of action greatly inconveniences someone I don''t like."

    "Do you really expect me to give Naedrielle to you?"

    "If you want me to seed, you will." Tycon firmly pulled the woman into his embrace, "Besides, we''re friends aren''t we?"

    Aur crossed her arms, rolling her eyes, "I don''t know about your rtionship with the former me, but do you really think I''ll let you do whatever you want?"

    Tycon gazed into her eyes and she shuddered involuntarily, "I''m talking about my rtionship with *you.*"

    "O-oh," Aur pursed her lips and gulped.

    Tycon ced a finger below Aur''s chin, lifting her head up. Though she was shocked, she fluttered her eyes closed in anticipation.

    How amusing.

    Tycon ced his lips on Aur''s, gauging her reaction.

    A nk stare. Eh? Let''s try this again.

    Tycon kissed her again. And again. She began to return his affection, slowly reaching her arms around him. Encouraged, he kissed her deeply, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

    Though it surprised her, she eventually dropped her arms and rxed her shoulders as she began to enjoy the sensation. Tycon slowly ended the kiss and drew back, leaving Aur gasping for breath, desire still apparent in her eyes.

    "Give," Tycon whispered breathily into her ear. He grazed his teeth on her tender neck and allowed his hands to wander her body, physically emphasizing his point.

    Aur nodded, whining lustfully. Her body trembled lightly in his arms. She embraced Tycon and bit his neck, "Mhmm."

    Staring intently into the princess''s eyes, Tycon deliberately slid his hand up her inner thigh. Try as she might to close her legs, the girl''s frame betrayed her with a thigh gap that Tycon took full advantage of. With measured sensuality, Tycon''s fingers ran across the front of the girl''s underwear, zing hot and soaked through.

    "It feels that your body is being more honest than you are, Aur," Tycon mused. "Shall I go further?"

    The princess smiled weakly but said nothing. Her eyes sparkled, but uncertainty still remained.

    Tycon yfully licked her lips, "I won''t go too far, then."

    The spoiled princess surprised Tycon by closing her eyes and responding with a deep, hungering kiss.

    How very amusing.

    Allowing the princess the protection of her sheer undergarments, Tycon utilized his fingers with practiced precision to perform a different kind of diplomacy. Aur''s passionate moans were distinct guarantees of its effectiveness.

    "Give. Me. What. I... Want," he said in a deep voice, softening into a provocative promise. "You won''t regret it."

    ...

    It waste into the night when Tycon re-entered the Happy Chicken inn.

    Dragan immediately greeted him, "Heeyyyyy, Booosssss! Wee back, man?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Empty night," Tycon cursed, but his heart wasn''t in it. "Are you two still drinking?"

    Dragan and Maximus were drunk off of ale, dozens of empty mugs littering their table. Lone was face down on a table, his cheek in a puddle of his own drool.

    Dragan offered a half-drunk mug, which Tycon drained heartily.

    Maximus guzzled down another mug, whispering his name to himself.

    "Yeah, Boss! Where ya been? You''re back awfulte."

    "Night visit with Aur."

    "OooOoh, Adal''s youngest, right? Isn''t she a total bitch?"

    "Yeah. Named the girl after her dead aunt, apparently. And no, she''s changed due to extraordinary circumstances."

    Lone woke up, huping. He reeked of alcohol and vomit, "Wait, are you guys *hic* talking about King Adal?"

    Tycon ignored him and faced Dragan, "Head to the Merylsward adventurer''s guild in the morning. We''re contracting a guild for manpower."

    "Oh yeah, which one?" Dragan narrowed his eyes, quickly sobering.

    "Guild Trayus. They''re a big name here."

    "Pssssh!" Dragan broke out into guffaws ofughter, "And it''s no secret that they work for Adal."

    "Rank and file or specialists?" Maximus crossed his arms.

    "A whole toon plus some Circle Mages. Can I count on you, Commander Maximus?"

    Maximus'' bearing crumbled as he snickered, "Maybe, man. The witches of the Kingdom are kinda weak."

    "Organize a few mock battles to familiarize yourself with their tactics. The contract explicitly states that you''re to be givenmand once you arrive."

    "You got aaaaanything for me, Boss?" Dragan asked, ever hopeful.

    "What would you say if I told you I got Councilor Naedrielle?" Tycon smirked.

    "The Whore General? I''d say you''re full of shite," Dragan eximed.

    "Ah, the Witch General?" Maximus snorted. "Short elf? Thinks she''s the me''s gift to men?"

    "Not a popr woman, is she?" Tycon smirked.

    "She is not," Maximus chuckled. "She''s good, though. Real good."

    Tycon ced a scroll tube on the table, "Here''s a contract I''ve prepared for her. Have her sign it once you meet her at the guildhall."

    "Seven hells." Dragan marveled, "What did you say to Aur to get her to agree?"

    Lone rubbed his eyes drunkenly. He stared, trying to focus, "Are you guys talking about *Princess* Aur?"

    "Noment. I''m taking Pale and Taree to make trouble at the Duke''s estate while your team takes care of the forges. Any questions?"

    "Yeaaaah, man! I really wanna know," Dragan shed an overly wide grin.

    Tycon ignored him, "Any other questions?"

    "Nah, we''re good, Boss," Maximus replied, pumping his fist.

    "I guess not," Dragan relented, straightening his back.

    "What are we talking about?" Lone asked.

    ...

    With only bells before the operation, the morning was more eventful than Tycon had hoped. Young Master Tamaki brought Tycon up to their room, where he found Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, lying in bed, sobbing pitifully.

    Tycon crossed his arms, standing over the fully grown man, "What''s your issue and why should I care?"

    "I wanted a sacred moment" Lone cried. "I wanted it to be special!! Why did the gods punish me?! What did I do to deserve this?"

    "What did you guys dost night?" Tycon asked.

    Tamaki dly exined, "Well, Boss, we went out to court thedies. We all had a purty great  time, but the Chosen One had it best!"

    "You deserve this because you trusted Dragan," Tycon exined tly.

    "It''s not my fault," Dragan defended himself, trying his best to pretend he was insulted.

    Tycon buried his face in his palms, "I don''t care whose fault it was, just tell me what in the seven hells is wrong with him."

    "He''s got crabs, Boss. Sexually contracted crabs." Dragan twisted his mouth, poorly hiding a smile, "And for the record, it was definitely my fault."

 Chapter 93 Robe & Wizard Hat

    ?"Wow, Taree. Boss never buys me things when I ask for it!" Pale was impressed.

    "Yeah, I wasn''t sure before, but after you said that he''s nice to me now, I started noticing it too." Taree poked at pale, grinning widely, "Why? Are you jealous?"

    "Psh, nooo," Paleughed. He couldn''t be mad at her. It felt like only a few days ago she was crying like a baby in his arms. "I''m just d. I''m your senior in Guild Invictus, after all."

    Taree puffed up her cheeks, "I''m older than you, you know."

    The two were eating breakfast at the corner cafe they had visited a couple of days prior. They enjoyed crepes with whipped cream, sweet syrup, and fresh berries.

    All the blood had been cleaned up from when he killed all those people and Tycon had them cut off their heads. The bakery girl seemed a bit wary of him and Taree, but when Tycon started to discuss cooking with her, she seemed to rx.

    If Pale was envious of anything, it was how Boss Tycon, Mister Wroe, and even Mister Dragan could just talk to anyone without being nervous. The only person that he could talk to outside of the guild like that was Taree. And now that she was part of Guild Invictus, she didn''t count.

    Tycon returned just as Pale took a bite out of his crepe, "Just to be clear, I don''t like either of you. This is a reward for not embarrassing me the other day."

    Taree radiated a big smile, "Ehehe, thanks, Boss!"

    Tycon softly flicked the girl''s forehead, "Finish your food before you speak, youngdy."

    Pale smiled, watching the two of them. Taree had subconsciously learned to be obedient to Boss. With Boss not constantly criticizing her rudeness, he became far more forgiving, even if he didn''t realize it, himself.

    The bakerdy came by, carrying arge omelet te. Boss didn''t like breads or desserts. Pale was suspicious that Boss couldn''t eat them at all.

    She ced the meal in front of Tycon, "Monsieur le Baron, your breakfast."

    Tycon split the omelette with a knife, marveling at its golden deliciousness, "Heloise, this looks absolutely wonderful! I can smell the fragrance of the fresh, earthy herbs. Have you considered working for a baron?"

    The woman reddened slightly, "No, Monsieur Tycon, I couldn''t. Monsieur Reynard treats me very well."

    Tycon smirked, "Ah, so you''re Reynard''s. That means you already work for me. Very well. Tell him that I gave the highest ofpliments concerning your cooking and hospitality."

    The two spoke for a bit longer in anguage that Pale didn''t understand, so he turned his attention to talk to Taree. It seemed that all the work the two of them did, beating people up the other day, gave way to a happy ending.

    ...

    After their breakfast, Tycon asked Heloise about shopping to outfit a young wizard-in-training. As magic was ingrained into the Kingdom''s society, basic utilitarian spells were part of the curriculum offered by public education. Thus, unlike in other nations, shops of magical curios and magery augments weremon in the Kingdom''s cities.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Trying her best to be helpful, Heloise detailed the nearby Craft''s Wands. The repair and bargain shop was run mostly by local mage students as part of their studies. She, herself had purchased a used wand from the student-run shop to help her with daily chores-- cleaning and igniting firewood, in particr.

    Ultimately, Heloise suggested that Tycon shop at the Royal Robe, a high-end arcanum shop frequented by wealthy nobles and upper-middle ss. Tycon thanked her for the information and again for the food. Pale and Taree even carried out a paper bag of sweetbreads they had purchased forter consumption.

    Tycon mentally reminded himself to ensure the children were brushing their teeth at regr intervals.

    "So where are we going, Boss?" Taree happily skipped along, going as far as running up a nearby wall and backflipping acrobatically.

    "We''re heading to Craft''s Wands. There, we''ll see if Pale has any aptitude for magic. And you, youngdy, can see the kinds of magic items people outside of your sect use-- mind what you touch, of course."

    Both Pale and the Kimura girl were excited to go. Tycon couldn''t tell them the real reason they were going out... to cure or alleviate the Lone Shadowdark''s unfortunate affliction.

    The day trip to the shop proved a pleasant event. Kimura Taree didn''t touch anything in the shop without asking, so none of the trio incurred any magical curses. (Tycon was very thankful he''d sent Wroe ahead to Caractere.) Tycon had even found a student-made potion of Cure Disease that he bargained down to 30% of the standard market price. He ordered it delivered to the adventurer''s guild, so Lone could be healthy and hale forbat.

    With Pale''splexion and half-elven ears, he could best pass for a magical initiate. The fact that his crimson spear could pass for a magical staff added to his allure. With the help of Taree''s aesthetic sense, Pale was dressed in the finest magician''s effects they could (cheaply) afford.

    In less than a bell, Pale was fully decked out in wizard hat, robe, and a leather wand pouch along with half a dozen wands and rolled-up scrolls.

    After another stop, Tycon eschewed his dark cloak and banded armor for a shining set of mage knight''s breastte,plete with a cloth tabard colored the bright blue of the Kingdom''s g. A silvery full helmet that hid his face and hairpleted his look.

    Taree remarked that it looked boring. That was the point. The concept blew her mind.

    Taree sported a petite ck maid outfit, also in the Kingdom''s style. The outfit was slightly more expensive, as Taree wouldn''t wear anythingcking in movement-functionality and durability. Tycon saved the receipt. 50% of its expense would be stealthily removed from her pay.

    ...

    "Why is there only one of them?" Taree couldn''t help but ask. "It''d be so easy to pick them off one by one, right, Boss?"

    "Manpower issue. There''s a minimum of two on duty, one to patrol, another ready to request reinforcements, if necessary. Larger patrols would be sensible if there were cause for concern."

    Pale ced his offhand on one of the scrolls on his belt, "Can I cast the spell, Boss?"

    Tycon nodded, "If you cast after his back is turned, he won''t have an opportunity to react."

    The half-elven wizard boy smiled radiantly and he walked out from the alleyway into the street.

 Chapter 94 Sponsorship

    ? ?Tycon, dressed in a full helmet and silvery knight regalia, dragged the patrolling guard''s body into the alleyway. Taree in her maid outfit hurried closely behind, carefully carrying the guard''s crossbow. Pale followed more slowly. He repeatedly grasped his right hand, ying with the wisps of magic left behind from his Sleep spell scroll.

    "Why couldn''t we just knock ''em out, Boss?" Taree excitedly punched a blur of fists at the air.

    Tycon sat the unconscious guard up against a wall. With a sh of magic from his spatial ring, he summoned a bundle of rope and some cloth, "Pale."

    Pale nodded, grabbing the rope, "If you try to knock someone out, there might be a lot of noise. And it''s not for sure that they get knocked out for a long time."

    Taree tilted her head, "What if we... hit them *really* hard?"

    Tycon began binding the man''s mouth with cloth, "Humans have an unfortunate weakness that you may not be aware of. Enough blunt force trauma dealt to a vulnerable area may result in an incurable condition called ''death."

    Tycon had trouble hiding his smirk, "Not all people have the hardiness of your sect''s Stone Body art, youngdy."

    Taree humphed, "Humans are pretty weak."

    "Humans... vary in strength." Tycon grit his teeth, trying to exin, "In the normal world, a frighteningly small percentage of people are full-timebatants:w enforcement, military men and women. And a smaller percentage of those are capable monsters."

    Tycon had finished removing the man''s armor and colored tabard, storing the effects in his spatial ring, "Always be wary of your opponents, do you understand me?"

    Taree saluted with her palm to her chest, "Yes, Boss."

    "*That* is why we''re using magic. It''s more reliable than force, trying to infiltrate the Duke''s estate. Youngdy, I pray you''ve been practicing those rope-tying knots-- Hands. Ankles. Pale, ensure the work."

    Taree grinned in embarrassment, but the boy in the wizard hat began to instruct her calmly. Tycon walked out of the alleyway, to watch for signs of trouble.

    ...

    Duke Xander Tavor smashed a mana-charged fist onto his desk, spiderwebbing cracks all over its surface, "That BITCH Aur has embarrassed me for the LAST time!!"

    Nagini crossed his arms, rubbing the smoothness of his snake-scale bracers. The Duke''s anger had nothing to do with him. The several Tavor Guardsmen beside him, however, fidgeted in nervousness at the Duke''s powerful disy.

    "Yet ANOTHER of her sponsored has be a Circle Mage at the University of Arcanix!! How in the ELEVEN heavens and SEVEN HELLS is she able to find talent like it''s festering beneath rotting logs?!" Tavor raged.

    He rubbed his dark greasy hair with his grubby hands in frustration. The bread crumbs in his mustache and beard greatly diminished his majesty, but the others wouldn''t dare offend their employer. With his station as a Duke and his talent as a Second-Circle Mage, an impolite word was as good as a death sentence.

    "There isss another applicant-- a mosssssst promisssing one," Nagini offered.

    "Aha!! I knew it! The gods favor Xander Tavor, after all!!" Tavor''s face twisted into a leering smile, his previous anger nonexistent, "Tell me, Nagini!! Who is it? What are they??"

    Everyone in the room looked to Nagini with expectation. This was how Nagini was able to stay employed to the Duke for so many years. He only delivered good news, taking all credit as his own, "A group of three, Duke: a half-elf not even in his teens, his maid, and his bodyguard."

    The Dukeughed giddily, "Ohohoho! A half-elf! Won~derful, WONDERFUL!! How is she, then? Is she strong??"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Hisss name is Pall Reynard. Perhapsss a lowborne, from the way he isss dresssed. But ssssupremely talented in wizzzardry."

    The Duke stood up, "Very good! Good!"

    Suddenly, the Duke''s face twisted into anger, "The rest of you! TERRIBLE!! USELESS!! Why do I even bother with you lot! OUT!! OUUUUTTTT!!"

    With a hurried nking of light armor and rubbing leather, the guardsmen swiftly left the room.

    The Duke faced Nagini with a wide smile on his broad face, "Nagini! My most loyal retainer! Let us meet our newest ally!"

    ...

    "Why''ve they made us wait for so long?" A maid with short-silver hairined to a knight in full helm and armor. "D''ya think... They know?"

    Pale adjusted his oversized wizard hat. He was trying to concentrate on a book of elementary magic that they purchased for cheap.

    The armored knight pat the girl on the head, "Patience is a virtue, youngdy. We are amodity. They will see to us."

    The helmet that Tycon wore made his voice boom and resonate. His words of reassurance almost sounded ominous. Taree bit her upper lip and nestled herself beside Pale to wait.

    The trio were seated in the lobby area of the manor, every fulm of it covered in paintings, disy cases of trinkets, works of art-- Taree felt her own estate looked poor inparison. When she was in Reynard''s office, she was excited and curious about everything. But being in the den of the enemy, Taree''s stomach spun in nervousness, constantly worrying about figurative crouching tigers and hidden lizards.

    The double-doors connected to the rest of the manor opened and two very different figures entered the room. The first was a tall, dark-skinned man in green snake-scale leathers. He wore a fanged snake''s skull on his head and a curved hacking-de on his waist. The second was a thick, slovenly, bearded man with dark messy hair and an extra-thick stained military coat.

    The noble hobbled forward with a strange gait towards the book-holding Pale, "Hard at work! HARD at WORK!! Hello, hello, young wizard!! I am Duke Tavor! It is a PLEASURE to meet you!!"

    Pale hopped out of his seat, shaking the Duke''s enthusiastic and somehow greasy hand, "Hello, my name is Pall Reynard, and these are--"

    The Duke pumped Pale''s hand up and down, the force nearly lifting the boy off of his feet, "Your most loyal retainers! What a lovely young maid you have!! And--"

    The Duke eyed Tycon. Full armor. Average to below average height. Cheap weapon. His face turned to a sneer of disdain, "--have you met my personal retainer?"

    The snake-helmeted man lightly bowed.

    The Duke ced his hands on his waist, fidgeting arrogantly, "His name is Nagini, a shamanistic warrior from the Eastern States! His armor is made up of trophies from creatures he killed HIMSELF, from his life in the dee~eep jungles!!"

    A low rattling of metal armor broke the calm. Taree ced her hand on Tycon''s arm. Was he upset?

    The Duke tilted his head up, twisting his mustache, "Is there something the matter, soldier?"

    Hushed, measuredughter resonated from Tycon''s helmet, "Ha ha haha. Nagini? Isn''t that a girl''s name?"

 Chapter 95 Dragon Manor

    ?The snake-armored Nagini and the silver knight Tycon stared each other down in the lobby of the Tavor estate.

    "You dare inssssult Nagini, sssssoldier?" The dark-skinned man hissed. He was incensed. His form and demeanor struck fear in the hearts of men. And a weak-looking knight had insulted him?

    The knight stood tall, undeterred. His full helmet hid his expression, but his words dripped with sarcasm, "It''s a fine name. I would use *different* words to insult you."

    Pale stepped forward, "Forgive my retainer, sir Duke. He means no offense-- Can we talk how you''re recruiting wizards? That''s what I''m here for."

    Taree tugged on the silver knight''s tabard, "Patience is a virtue, sir."

    Her words earned the knight''s hard stare... but the armored man crossed his arms and held his peace.

    The Duke shrugged, cated by Pale''s words, "Ah, of course. How RUDE of me! Forgive me, young master Reynard. Hm. I know a Reynard-- you look nothing like him! Ohoho!"

    ...

    The mission was for Pale to obtain the Duke''s sponsorship. Gaining ess to the estate, the trio might be able to uncover a clue about Tavor''s corruption. Failing that, using the sponsorship, they could inquire about the Duke''s business dealings in Merylsward.

    Boss Tycon had insisted that they were to act with absolute discretion and care. This was purely a reconnaissance mission. They were not here to fight or sabotage or destroy or assassinate. Boss was very, very clear on those points.

    As the members of Guild Invictus were led further into the Duke''s estate, Taree could feel Tycon''s crescendoing anger from his subtle movements, even fully shrouded in armor as he was.

    The halls were lined with statues of dragons, each as tall as Mister Dragan. Paintings and scrolls of the fire-breathing beasts were hung on the walls. The carpeted floors were woven with dragons in flight. Tycon''s breathing wasbored with rage as he walked.

    As miserable as Boss Tycon was, Taree kept a grip on his gauntleted hand. Taree felt that if she let go, he''d do something rash.

    They were brought to arge meeting room. The couches were leathered in painted reptilian scale. The tables had their legs carved into subservient dragonkin, holding up the t. A fantastic chandelier suspended a circle of t wooden dragon-shapes, so when lit, shadows of the winged beasts would slowly fly across the walls.

    All throughout the discussion of the sponsorship contract, Tycon was able to remain silent, a feat that neither Pale nor Taree had imagined him able to do. However, the final use in the contract proved to be problematic.

    "Young master Reynard, I hold great value in you." The Duke pounded a cup of sugar tea. Bits of chocte wafers were apparent in his beard, "Admittedly, you are the most talented young wizard I''ve seen in years-- able to utilize Circle scrolls and EVEN having your own movement technique!!"

    Pale nodded politely, "Thank you, sir Duke."

    The Duke raised both of his arms to the ceiling, "And because of this, I must insist on sending my own retainer with you to Arcanix. I am unwilling to allow my future archmage to be threatened by the CUNNING, deeeee~vious dark wizards of Princess Aur Wyndham!! NAGINI!!"

    "I am yoursssss tomand," the snake-helmeted man clenched his gloved fist, the leathers audibly straining.

    "Of course you are, OF COURSE!!" The Dukeughed, "You are now young master Reynard''s sole bodyguard!"

    Taree looked to Tycon, a tinge of panic in her eyes, "But... that doesn''t make any sense! Silver-Knight has been traveling with Master Pall for years! They are the best possible wizard-knightbo!"

    The Duke leaned over, his face a deep scowl, "And who gave YOU permission to speak?? YOU?? Furniture is best ced on DISPLAY!! You can''t possibly offer anything but uneducated drivel!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Pale narrowed his eyes, the 9-year-old boy''s voice steeled as hard as he could, "Sir Duke, I also have to object. Taree is a dear friend of mine. And Silver-Knight is very capable."

    The Dukeughed, loosing deep, stomach-clutching, wheezing guffaws, "Nagini is a warrior that has killed hundreds, nay THOUSANDS of man, woman, child, and snake! He has risen to the top on mountains of corpses! There IS NO GREATER warrior!!"

    The silver-armored knight, sitting quietly throughout the negotiations, sat up, "I''ll beat the gods-damned shite out of him."

    The room became deathly quiet.

    "Empty night, I''ll fight your weak-bodied, walking speech impediment, right here," Tycon''s resonant voice left the Duke frowning and Nagini furious.

    "Watch your ttttttongue, sssssoldier!!!" Nagini yelled, drawing his curved de.

    Tycon stood, his arms crossed, "Master Reynard, requesting permission to break Nagini''s teeth."

    Pale sighed. As immature as Tycon was being, at least he still held a bit of proper decorum to ask for permission from his "master". Pale stood and tapped his crimson staff twice on the floor, "Sir Duke, I request a duel between your warrior and Silver-Knight for the right to represent me."

    The Duke wrinkled his face and mustache in thought before leering with a toothy grin, "Very well, very well!! I suppose it doesn''t matter who apanies you. NAGINI!! Escort Master Reynard and hispanions to the training ground!!"

    "At onessssss, Duke," Nagini saluted with his sword, his muscled biceps still shaking in anger.

    "Will you grow a spine between here and the training ground, you dickless whoreson?" A distinctive resonant voice asked.

    "You have CROSSSSED THE LINE, SSSSOLDIER!!!!" Nagini leapt forward, two-handing his curved de above his head.

    Tycon''s cheap sword in-hand, he deflected the straight-forward sh away from him, cutting apart an expensive couch.

    "MY COUCH!!!" The Duke screeched with his hands atop his greasy hair.

    Instead of taking the opportunity to counter-attack, Tycon hurdled over the severed couch to create some space between them. Enraged, Nagini followed, swinging his de. Tycon reverse-gripped his sword and concentrated on dodging and deflecting Nagini''s blows, the mana-filled shes tearing apart the room''s priceless paintings, exotic works of art, and even damaging the borate weaved rugs.

    "NO! STOP! STOOOOP STOP STOOOOOOPP!! YOU''RE RUINING EVVVVERRYTHINNNNNNG!!" The Duke leaned back in his couch, kicking at the air, wailing and screaming.

    Tycon spun around Nagini, but the snake-warrior shed at his blind spot, pulverizing a painted ivory statue of a climbing silver dragon but trapping the silver-armored knight.

    Pale''s loyal retainer was backed into a corner under arge, very detailed 15-fulm carved wooden statue of a sagacious-looking drake.

    "Noooo!!! Not my DRAGON STATUE!! I just had thatmissioned LAST YEARRRRRR!!" The Duke was sobbing and literally tearing his hair out, "NAGINIIIIIIIIIII!!!"

    Tycon tilted his head and lowered his body to dodge Nagini''s de work. The statue fell apart into 5 roughly-cut pieces.

    Pale, noticing that the Duke was at his wit''s end stood up and yelled, "Silver-Knight, defeat the enemy!"

 Chapter 96 The Dukeâ€™s Sorrow

    ?Tycon danced out of the way of Nagini''s melee range. He had just been ordered to defeat Nagini, but it wasn''t as simple as it appeared.

    "HOLD SSSSSTILL, WEAKLING!!" Nagini charged.

    The enraged snake warrior''s attacks were painfully honest. Conversely, Tycon entirely focused on defense and evasion, remaining undamaged, unlike the Duke''s waiting room. Nagini was strong and fast-- Tycon couldn''t safely engage the dark-skinned warrior without utilizing lethal force.

    He nced over at his surroundings. He specifically avoided being directly responsible for destroying the Duke''s beloved lizard-art. Openly opposing the Duke would affect his short-term ns. Had Nagini not been so short-tempered, Tycon could have only bit his tongue and swallowed his pride for the sake of an unchallenged revenge.

    Deflecting a sword sh, Tyconbat-rolled to the side, near Pale and Taree. He raised his de horizontally, blocking a downward sh, then turned his de to pierce Nagini in the leg. Blood spilled hot onto the dragon carpet as Duke Tavor continued to scream.

    Tycon raised his opposite forearm, just as Nagini''s de bit the metal. Nagini leaned his body weight into his sword, cutting deeper, causing the silver knight to fall to a knee

    "Fool!" Nagini grinned wickedly, "My aaade hassss the POIISSSSSSON of a Kaa Ssssnake!! You will DIE in PAIN and SSSSSSUFFERING!!"

    ? System, inquiry: Am I... poisoned? And when will its effects begin? ?

    [The Host is afflicted with a Bronze-Rank poison. The Host''s natural poison resistance nullifies all its ill effects.]

    ? ...How convenient. Thank you, System. ?

    Tycon reached over to grab Taree''s ankle. She looked down quickly enough to let out a surprised, "Eh?"

    With an unkind swing, Tycon one-handed the little girl, smashing her Stone Body art-strengthened elbow into Nagini''s temple. Nagini copsed to the ground like a sack of severed heads.

    Tycon stood, propping up the dazed little girl. He stood in a room full of broken furniture and debris from thousands of coin worth of art and artifacts.

    Tycon ced his opposite hand over his bleeding forearm wound, "Err... Master Pall, the enemy has been defeated."

    The duke held his bearded face in his trembling hands, sobbing into an entire cheesecake, "Please... Just go. Take the contract and... leave me to my cakes and fried potatoes."

    Snot-nosed from his ugly tears, the Duke blew his nose into a discarded cupcake wrapper. Pale began to walk over tofort the old Duke, but Tycon stopped him with an arm and shook his head.

    The Duke pocketed the used wrapper.

    As quietly as they could, the trio left the Tavor estate.

    ...

    The three opted for ate lunch, seated at a table by some open market stalls.

    "Boss! You were the one who said patience was a virtue!!" Taree was standing on a table bench, scolding her superior. "What''s your problem with that Nagini person, anyroad?!"

    "Tss. I *was* patient... And I find that person''s armor unpleasant." Tycon had lifted his full helm visor just enough to insert sliced bites of cured sausage, "Anyroad, we got the sponsorship, didn''t we? Why are you so upset?"

    The silver-haired maid pointed usingly at her boss, "You used me to hit someone!! And this was after you told me not to hit people in the head because they might DIE!!"

    "But he didn''t, did he?" Tycon closed his visor and steepled his fingers. "Well, missionplete. How about we just enjoy our meal? Have some bread. Humans like bread, don''t they?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Pale chuckled at the new dynamic between Tycon and Taree. With this, Pale was confident that Taree was fully integrated into Guild Invictus. No one was immune to criticism in his family. Even when his dad was around, he would always get teased by Mister Dragan and Boss Tycon.

    As Taree was about to continueining, Pale concentrated mana into his palm, funneling it through his spear as a focus. A freshly baked bread roll levitated off of their table and flew into Taree''s mouth. She sat back down with a humph and began chewing into its buttery, ky deliciousness.

    Pale took a sip of his citrus drink, "Sir Tycon, I was wondering why we took the uniform from that guy in the early morning?"

    Tycon thered fruit preservatives onto another slice of sausage, "Per Sorina Capulet''s research, Duke Tavor makes the most money from weapons deals."

    Taree tilted her head, "Boss! Boss, are we gonna steal some weapons!?"

    Pale held Taree''s hand underneath the table, pleased that the girl hadn''t remained mad at their superior. A little bit of teasing was okay, but it would be trouble if she pushed her luck.

    The full-helmeted Tycon nodded, "Indeed. A sponsored Tavor mage and a tabarded guardsman should have no problems with negotiations. And we have the contract with the Duke''s writing?"

    Taree held up the scroll tube in her hands, "Got it!"

    "We''ll take a break at Mister Reynard''s for me to change and to get some paperwork. We''ve still a full sun ahead of us, little ones. It''s your own fault if you go hungry."

    Pale and Taree nodded. "Yessir." "Yes, Boss."

    ...

    The sun had passed quickly enough. With the help of Reynard''s people, Tycon had moved 4 shops worth of Tavor''s armor and weaponry. Their haul was easily able to fully arm a mid-sized guild... or transform Reynard''s group of misfits into a respectable power.

    Pale looked up at the darkness settling in the skies above Merylsward, "Boss, do we really need to do the 5th shop?"

    Tycon wore the contrasting blue and red tabard armor of Duke Tavor''s guards, a slight more clunky and far more offensive to the eyes than his silvery armor. He wore the same full-helmet but kept it slightly open, so his voice kept its mysterious, echoing quality, "The final shop on the list is the Royal Robe."

    Taree raised her hand, "Oh, I remember! Miss Heloise said that was a... magic shop?"

    "Good memory. They shouldn''t have too much metal goods from the Duke, so it should be a simple task," Tycon ced the hand on the hilt of his new sword as he walked.

    Pale scratched his hair behind one of his long ears, "I mean, now that we''ve done so many, won''t the Duke''s men be on the lookout for us?"

    "Possibly. But once they''re out in full force, our opportunities are lost." Tycon exined, "Anyroad, there''s no reason for the shops to be unhappy. They all have promissory notes that guarantee the Duke will refund them in full."

    "But Boss," Taree had a fit of giggling, "--the Duke''s signature is forged on all our notes."

    Tycon chuckled, "I know, right?"

    The two touched metal gauntlet to fist.

    Pale tried to smile along with hispanions, "I sure hope so, Boss."

    Taree leaned close enough to Pale that he could feel her breath, "It''s probably fine!"

 Chapter 97 The Royal Robe

    ?Vivienne Rocher was writing in the sales at sun''s end when she heard a light knocking at the door of the Royal Robe.

    ''Stars and stones, I should have extinguished the lighting,'' she thought as she moved towards the door. Who could it be this time? She had treated her entitled noble customers with professionalism for the entire sun and it made her exhausted. Young, insistent wizards-in-training iming a modicum of noble blood were unfortunatelymon visitors after-hours. She had little patience for the notion, though she had far more than her father did.

    She opened the door to find a child, a half-elf like herself. Wisps of sandy-blonde hair peeked down his oversized wizard hat, framing the child''srge eyes. In the boy''spany was a simr-aged silver-haired maid, and a full-helmeted knight wearing the colors of Duke Tavor.

    Duke Tavor''s people had unppable nerves. His mages were rude, arrogant, obviously cruel, and always, without a doubt, self-entitled. If the rumors were true, the Duke only sponsored mages simr in personality to himself.

    Less than a week prior, Vivienne took the liberty of reviewing her father''s books concerning the shop''s ounts with the man. What she found tainted her opinion of the Duke and his subordinates growing even worse.

    Vivienne adjusted her thick sses and prepared a firm tone, "I''m sorry, Young Master, the Royal Robe is closed for the evening. Our opening times are--"

    "I''m sorry, Miss Rocher," the boy offered a rolled-up scroll. "We''re here on official business from Sir Duke."

    The shop wizard hesitated. The calm, polite voice of the child was incredibly contrary to what she''d expected. Maybe he was new? Knowing the group was ultimately from Duke Tavor, Vivienne remained wary. She took the scroll and examined it for trickery before opening it...

    "There has been an issue with the Duke''sst shipment," the guard said, his voice low and echoing in his helmet. "We wish to recover what goods we can. We will purchase them back at market price plus any inconvenience."

    Vivienne quickly read over the contract. The boy was a sponsored magician on the very sun, "And the Duke so kindheartedly offered to pull his product before its inferiority damaged his reputation? Forgive me, Sir Knight, for my skepticism."

    The guard lifted up his helmet, revealing a youthful face and strange golden eyes. Vivienne couldn''t see his ears or hair, but she could easily assume the man had an umon bloodline. Her gaze immediately softened. People with rare bloodlines did not often have kind pasts.

    "The Duke would prefer the loss of a bit of coin to rotting in jail, young miss," the knight smiled. He seemed apologetic for his actions, even though he was merely doing his duty.

    The situation sounded serious. "Come inside out of the cold," Vivienne offered.

    "My thanks, Lady Rocher. My name is Pall Reynard," the boy introduced himself as the trio followed her inside. "These are my retainers."

    "Yo," the knight waved. "Tycon."

    "H-hello, Miss. My name is Taree." the young maid curtsied. It was a little unrefined, but Vivienne could feel her sincerity.

    In a few minutes, Vivienne had collected several high-end swords and charms, all boasting at least First-Circle enchantments, "The Duke''s metalworks all sell quite well. They''re very popr even amongst low-level warriors and magicians. What kind of problem did you say they have?"

    "We haven''t been told much, Miss Rocher." The golden-eyed knight swept a hand over the collected items and they disappeared in a sh of magic.

    A magical storage item? Vivienne hadn''t discerned the magic''s source, so it must have been umon. She furrowed her brows in suspicion. These people weren''t ordinary at all.

    The knight produced a note-- a promissory note with Duke Tavor''s unmistakeable handwriting. The terms were very generous and she couldn''t find a hint of deception in the paperwork, so Vivienne signed.

    After Knight Tycon took back a copy, Vivienne gave a deep sigh. "I must be honest, Sir Tycon. As excellent as the Duke''s goods are, I do not n on continuing our business rtionship. Are you aware of the rumors surrounding his reputation?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    The knight gave a troubled look, ncing back at Wizard Pall. Vivienne blushed, realizing her mistake. She had addressed the young knight instead of his master, the younger wizard. She tilted her head forward, inwardly cursing, and her sses fell off.

    Her vision returned as the young knight ced her sses back on her face. He spoke with a teasing smirk, "Wee from far away, so have no news of the city. My young master only earned a sponsorship this morning but... is there something amiss?"

    BANG BANG BANG.

    Vivienne turned towards the door, to the loud, obnoxious knocking.

    "Excuse me, I have to handle--" Vivienne turned to find the trio missing. She still held the promissory note in her hand. And she''d gotten a clear look at all three of their faces. If they were thieves, they were very bad ones.

    Vivienne rolled her eyes and groaned. She hoped the three were real and not just a leftover curse or dyed illusory trap or a ghost. Working in a magic shop was never boring, but often troublesome. She decided to answer the door before worrying further.

    "I''m sorry, sirs. The Royal Robe is closed for the--"

    "Outta the way," a rough-looking man wearing a fanged reptile skull on his head pushed his way through.

    Vivienne grit her teeth as she watched several more men walk in, each wearing the distinctive blue and red tabards of Duke Tavor.

    Vivienne''s serene and slightly curious evening had quickly turned into a terrible one, "Empty night! What do you want, Nagini?"

    "Don''tttt y coy, whore. We''re here for the reagentssssss. Volcanic assssssh, obsssssidian." The skull-helmeted Nagini grabbed an enchanted knife off of a shelf and spun it in his palm, "The Duke demandsssss it!!"

    Vivienne adjusted her sses, trying her best to remain calm. She held an almost instinctual fear of the bone and leather armored warrior and Nagini was being more pushy than usual. For a moment, she wished the golden-eyed knight was still around. She gazed at the other solemn faces of Duke Tavor''s other guardsmen and she knew it was foolish to argue with Nagini''s words.

    "I am Vivienne Rocher, daughter of Councillor Jean-Philippe Rocher. How dare you threaten me in my own shop!" As foolish as her actions were, the Duke had crossed Vivienne''s bottom line and she refused to stand down. Her father would forgive her, as long as she followed her heart.

    Nagini mmed the knife into a wooden pir, "Pathetic. Bitch. Why do you ressssissssttt?"

    Vivienne gulped, "I know what the Duke is doing, Nagini. He''s trying to open a portal-- trying to break the Gatekeepers''ws! He''ll bring ruin upon the city!"

    Some of the guards looked to each other in confusion. Yes! Not all of Duke Tavor''s guards were corrupt. Vivienne held onto a shred of hope in her fellow humans.

    "A sssssshame you know too much." Nagini pointed and drew a quick line across his neck with his gloved thumb, "You there. Sssssstrike her down."

    Vivienne''s heart sunk as she felt a guard grab hold of her neck. Metal on metal rang in her ears as the guard drew his sword and raised it to strike her.

    She shut her eyes tight. Her father would get revenge.

    "Wait!" A familiar voice called out. She opened her eyes to see Knight Tycon, one of the missing guards, among their number, "You can''t kill her."

 Chapter 98 Mind Control

    ?"Wait! You can''t kill her!" Tycon yelled. He stood amongst the enemy, but he wore their uniform.

    "Pale! Pale... What do we do?" Taree whispered as quietly as she could. The pair were crouched down, hiding behind the shop''s low shelves.

    "We get into position," Pale narrowed his eyes and concentrated. "And we wait for a signal..."

    "Okay, I got it." Taree nodded... "I sure hope Boss can save that person."

    Pale quietly nodded, "Me too. Go get closer, Taree, I can attack from here..."

    "And WHY in the SSSSSEVEN HELLLSSSSSS NOT?!?" Nagini shrieked.

    Tycon scratched his head, "Well, the girl has symmetrical features, thick sses, andrge breasts, so I... desire her romantically?"

    One of the guards groaned, "Come on, man. Be serious."

    Another guard piped up, "Yeah! Everyone in Merylsward knows she''s dating another woman"

    Nagini put his face into his palm, "You tessssst my patiee."

    Tycon cleared his throat, "Well, I''ve always supported and respected her decision, so I''ve never been able to profess my *checkerboard* love before."

    A female guard raised her crossbow, "Huzzah! A man of quality!"

    Another guard offered a closed fist, "I know how you feel, man."

    Nagini furrowed his brows beneath his snake helmet, "Checker... board?"

    Pale stood up from his hiding ce, in the middle of activating a scroll, "Checkerboard!!"

    Taree emerged from the shadows as she grabbed the back of a guard''s head and drove her knee into the base of his spine, "Checkerboard!!"

    Nagini pointed at Tycon in recognition, screaming, "It''sssss YOUUUUU!!!"

    Pale''s spellpleted, and the guard holding Vivienne blinked his eyes heavily, before releasing his grip and sumbing to a standing, magically-induced sleep. Quickly, she dove behind a counter for safety.

    The snake-helmed warrior hissed in anger, "Kill him! Kill him! KILL HIMMMM!!!"

    Tycon''s body convulsed, "Help... I''m... being mind-controlled!!"

    The approaching guards hesitated. "Crap! Get the wizard!" "The wizard can cast mind control!" "Geek the mage!"

    Tycon whipped out a crossbow and fired it at a guard, "I''m SORRY! I can''t control myself!!"

    Nagini stomped on the floor, "NNNNOOOO!! I wantttttt that one DEADDDD!"

    One of the guards snapped back, "That''s why we''re dropping the wizard, you stupid snake!"

    The guard struck by Tycon''s crossbow bolt fell to the floor, frothing at the mouth.

    "Crap, Pierre is down!" "Someone disarm that guy!" "You''ll pay for this, Wizard!"

    Pale adjusted his hat so he could see forward and he began to wave a cheap-looking wand, "Firebolt! Firebolt! Firebolt!"

    One of the guards was unlucky enough to be sted away by the magical me, while the others began to take cover.

    ...The boy had terrible aim.

    Nagini took a heated st to the back, "Arrrgh!!"

    ''But at least he hit the leader,'' Tycon thought.

    "I''m sorry!! I''m mind controlllllled!!" Tycon hooked a crouched guard''s neck with his arm and tucked the back of his head underneath his elbow. Using his momentum, he lifted the man up, suplexing him into a hard table. Half of the table cracked, its hard edge finding the man''s ribs as a point of impact.

    Taree leaped up, uppercutting a guard in the chin with solid uracy. Kicking off of his chest, she grabbed another man''s cor, the momentum taking him down, "Consecutive Stone Punches!!"

    Vivienne shot up from behind a counter, wielding a gnarled staff, "You''ll pay for this, Nagini!! Royaaaaal CRASH!!"

    A thunderous explosion of ss and wood debris hammered into the center of the shop, another two of the guards crashing to the floor as if crushed by a tonze of bricks.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Out of the dust and debris, an injured Nagini hurdled over a low shelf towards Tycon, "You!! I will END you, SSSSSOLDIERRR!!"

    "Uh oh," Pale grabbed a wand previously protected by a ss case. He speedily inserted his mana into it, mentally forming a rudimentary understanding of the spell it held inside.

    He used his staff to vault up onto a table and pointed it at Nagini and the remaining guards, "Chain Lightning, (Lesser)!!"

    The boy wasunched backward as a jolt of electricity surged forward.

    The remaining guards twitched and convulsed, falling to the ground. Taree had leapt deftly out of the way and Vivienne had hid behind cover.

    Nagini was hit, but flexed his muscles and continued to step forward. Tycon had taken a knee to the ground,menting Pale''s terrible, horrible, cursed aim.

    "Give up, Nagini!" Vivienne yelled from her hiding spot, "I''ve already sent a Message spell to the City Watch! They''ll be here any minute now!"

    "Then they''ll only find a DEAD MAN!!" Nagini smashed a kick at Tycon''s fallen form, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

    With a savage running kick, the snake warrior struck at Tycon, but he turned his body in order, tanking the hit in the gut, "Errgh."

    "DIE WITHOUT A FULL CORPSSSSE!!" Nagini raised his wicked sword up to the ceiling.

    "Seven hells," Tycon swiped his sword up in an arc.

    Slowly struggling, Tycon stood up and resheathed his sword. He nced at the chaotic state of the Royal Robe, "Tss. n C! Fiddle!"

    Vivienne was distracted, staring at the standing, motionless Nagini.

    Pale took the opportunity to run to Taree. He grabbed her hand and the two escaped through a broken window.

    Tycon took off his helmet, letting it fall to the ground, as his green hair flowed from the outside breeze through the broken windows. He ced his sword and crossbow to the ground and kicked them away before raising both of his hands into the air.

    Vivienne stood up and approached him curiously and cautiously, "Sir Tycon?"

    Blood began to spray in a pink mist from Nagini''s throat as the tall dark-skinned man copsed to his knees and to the floor.

    Tycon smiled in embarrassment at Vivienne, "I surrender?"

    ...

    "Wh-why are we running, Pale?" Taree sprinted alongside her spearman friend. She was d Boss bought her the higher-quality maid outfit. Any of the normal ones would have torn under the stress of her run.

    Pale turned down an alleyway, climbed up a fence, leapt up and kicked a wall to climb onto the roof. Taree followed with ease.

    Pale ced a long ear against the building stone, so Taree held her breath and remained motionless.

    After waiting several moments, he rxed, taking a deep breath.

    "n C is to run. So we ran," Pale shrugged.

    "But... there was still that snake guy?" Taree shook Pale lightly. She was winded, as well, but still worried.

    Pale shook his head, frowning, "Sir Tycon will be fine. He gave the order for n checkerboard-- attack to disable, and not to kill. So he probably had us escape in case he needed to use lethal force."

    Taree pouted, "But do you think he''ll be okay even after you hit him with lightning?"

    Pale copsed, pressing his forehead against the ground. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.

    "Pale? Are... are you okay?" Taree pulled at his robe.

    "Yeah... Y-yeah, I just... had a bad feeling." Pale sat up, trying not to cry.

    "So what happens now?"

    "Well," Pale crossed his legs and held his chin, "Sir Tycon said to find... the fiddle?"

    Taree tilted her head with a smile, "Teehee! I know where to go. Follow me."

 Chapter 99 Arrested!

    ?Vice-Captain Thomas Sergeant of the City Watch workedte into the night. He booked a perpetrator for breaking and entering, vandalism, and even a count of murder. Feeling quite aplished, he took it upon himself to take a half-day off, informing his subordinates of his absence.

    Tycondrius of Charm! Thomas Sergeant recognized the perp''s name almost immediately. He was a small-time guild leader that Duke Tavor wanted dead. Being on the Duke''s payroll, it was a name Thomas had often heard cursed while the Duke consumed an unhealthy amount of breads and biscuits.

    Thomas made certain the kid was thrown into solitary confinement, likely given a bit of beating and starvation. He even left special orders to his good friend, the torturer.

    It was a wee surprise that the Tycondrius kid was so obedient. He''d surrendered and even chose to disarm himself. But because of the whole debacle, making certain the due process was properly expedited, Thomas spent an extra two bells not going home.

    Anyroad, as soon as he got to his apartment building, he climbed the stairs to his room and decided to take a short nap. Afterward, he''d pay a visit to the Duke to let him know his little guild problem had been taken care of.

    ...

    Knock knock.

    Aughhh. Thomas rubbed his bleary eyes, grabbing his pocket watch from his writing desk beside the bed. He had barely slept for half-a-bell and someone was knocking at his door.

    Could it be a beautiful woman seeking to sleep with a man in uniform? Pah. Fat chance. He was nearing 40 after 2 divorces. His gut and hisck of bathing disgusted all his potential partners, save the ones he paid for.

    Had the neighborse to bother him with some new gossip? He didn''t give a kobold''s arse about theirints. He was only a protector of peace when he was in uniform.

    Knock knock knock. The knocks were growing more urgent.

    "Alright, alright! Seven hells, the whole city can hear you, the way you''re pounding," Thomas groggily shuffled to the door, still wearing his smallclothes.

    Opening the door to the second-floor catwalk, he found a half-elf in sses, professional-dressed in a dark coat, holding a briefcase to make himself feel important.

    "And who in the seven hells are you supposed to be?" Thomas growled.

    The man wrinkled his nose at the stench of the Vice-Captain''s breath, "Good morning, Mister Sergeant. My name''s Cyrille Silversand and I''m a solicitor who represents the Royal Robe. I''d like a moment of your time to ask a few questions."

    Thomas squinted his eyes. It was a joke that awyer wanted to speak to him. He was the bleeding Vice-Captain of the Watch, "Sod off. I''m tryin'' to get some sleep."

    Thomas began to shut the door, but he spotted a dazzling sh of blonde hair approaching. To his surprise, the blonde woman walked over, standing beside thewyer.

    "Hello, Thomas Sergeant? My name is Maeva Leserre and I''m from the East Charm Trading Company? I was hoping to talk to you about paying a coin settlement to have my client, Master Tycondrius, released."

    What in the seven hells was happening?

    "That won''t be necessary, Miss Leserre." The solicitor took off his sses, wiping them with a small cloth, "There are legal issues with the holding of Mister Tycondrius." "Oh! That''s wonderful news."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The half-elf and high-heeled blonde spoke amicably in front of Thomas'' doorstep. He shut the door and ced his back against it. There were many things from the previous night that he''d found odd. And the events happening outside his door only added to them. He began to walk back to his bed when a heavy pounding on the door made him turn back.

    The door shook as if it would break. Cautiously, Thomas opened it.

    Thomas pulled the door wide open, scowling. Standing outside of Thomas'' apartment was a group of armored thugs, led by a fat, hairy, ugly beast of a man, Gilebert Boulet.

    With so many armed and heavy thugs at his doorstep, he was surprised that the walkway hadn''t copsed. But he was more surprised at the criminals'' uncharacteristic sense of courage.

    Thomas pointed, ilms from the man''s face, "Gilebert Boulet, I thought I smelled a rat at my doorstep. You think I wouldn''t dare to arrest you here and now?"

    With a meaty fist, Gilebert grabbed Thomas by his undershirt and smashed his balding forehead into Thomas'' nose, "(I will break every bone in your body, you filthy pig.) Do you know? Do you know who you fuck with?"

    Gilebert threw a musclebound punch at Thomas'' chin, sending him crashing backward, tumbling and skinning his unprotected arms and legs on his wooden floor. Thomas'' entire body ached-- he wasn''t young enough to recover so spryly from a fall. Staggering to a knee he yelled, "Assaulting an officer of thew, huh? I''ll have you arrested!"

    Looking up he was surrounded by 6 thugs, but he stood up defiantly, "I''ll have the LOT of you arrested! Thrown into prison! Tortured! Do you know who in the seven hells I am?!"

    Gilebert began tough, his arms crossed, his belly vibrating as he did. Slowly, the other thugs began tough as well, crescendoing intoughter at a terribleedy that began to break down the walls of Thomas'' confidence.

    "(You poor, ignorant pig.)" Gilebert shook his head, sneering in mockery, "You arrested ze Monsieur le Baron. What hopes do you have now?"

    Thomas took a step back. He arrested a Baron? Worse, he sentenced a Baron to be tortured? Was he a pawn, set up to take the fall? No. He had worked for Duke Tavor for years! Thomas refused to believe he would be thrown away so easily.

    "Pah! Who cares if I arrested a noble?!" Thomas yelled, "The Council has been in power for years, now. Being a noble doesn''t mean shite!"

    He was trying his best to make himself believe his own words, "A noble locked up for criminal charges is nothing new! Worst I''ll get is a p on a wrist or a few days off without pay!"

    "By ze gods, what is zismotion!?"

    Thomas and the thugs turned to the door to see the voice''s owner.

    Standing in front of thewyer and the tradeswoman was a gorgeous pink-haired woman with a braided bun, wearing the cloth dress uniform of the City Watch. She was Knight-Captain Dani Lacroix, Thomas'' superior.

    Besides her was a mysterious figure in a dark hood and cloak. Where the light struck, magical lines and runes briefly illuminated brightly against the dark cloth. He was the leader of thergest guild in Merylsward, High Wizard Trayus. The two of them together made an unstoppable team against Metal Rank threats in the city.

    Thomas shrieked in celebration, "Gahahaha! You lowlives are in for it now that the Knight-Captain Lacroix is here!!"

    The pink-haired woman narrowed her eyes, sharing a nce with High Wizard Trayus, "We are here for answers, Vice-Capitaine. And we suggest you are forting."

 Chapter 100 Vice-Captainâ€™s Rage

    ?[A few minutes earlier.]

    High Wizard Trayus was easily the strongest wizard in Merylsward. As an adventurer, he was known for being unppable in the face of danger. As a guild leader, he was known for being strict and overly serious. But as Knight-Captain Dani Lacroix''s uncle, he was an often cute, sometimes cranky, old man who hated going outside.

    "Dani, are we there yet?" The middle-aged wizard squinted his eyes underneath his dark hood. "Perhaps I should invest in those dark lenses. The sun is proving to be quite troublesome."

    Dani shot her uncle an usatory look, "I bought you a pairst year, (Dear Uncle.) And where did zat go?"

    Trayus pulled his hood down, looking away, "A lovely day outside, dear niece. Especially with such lovelypany."

    Dani grinned as the two turned a corner. They were nearly at Vice-Captain Sergeant''s apartment, "So why ze fuss, (Dear Uncle?) What iz so important to lure ze High Wizard out of his cave?"

    She had been pleasantly surprised to see the sun-shy wizard outside the City Guard Headquarters, requesting for her presence. She had a slight hope that her uncle remembered her nameday (nearly two weeks prior), but her hopes were dashed when he urged the need to pay Vice-Captain Sergeant a visit.

    The wizard wrung his hands, "It''s bad, very bad, Dani. Princess Aur has expressed the need to intervene, very strongly."

    The Knight-Captain furrowed her brows in confusion, "Why does it matter what ze youngest princess thinks?"

    Trayus shook his head, "Far too many people will be affected if word gets out, King Adal and High Councilor Highde, especially."

    Dani frowned. That was indeed bad. International incident bad. She mentally pushed her worries away as she climbed the steps of the Vice-Captain''s apartment building.

    "Knight-Captain Lacroix, High Wizard Trayus, good afternoon," a half-elf greeted the knight-and-wizard pair. Beside him was a chesty blonde in fashionable, but conservative clothing.

    Dani swept back a strand of pink hair that escaped her bun, "Sacred gods, Cyrille. I''ve told you a thousand times to just call me Dani outside of ze courtroom. (Lacroix is my father''s name.)"

    The solicitor, Cyrille Silversand adjusted his sses, "I''m here on business, Knight-Captain. Professionalism is a must."

    "Excuse me? Knight-Captain?" the blonde woman spoke up, standing tall.

    Dani raised an eyebrow. Was this woman not Cyrille''s assistant? And what were either of them doing here?

    "A group of armed men just entered Mister Sergeant''s apartment," she smiled helplessly.

    Cursing in the oldnguage, Dani thanked the woman and hurried into the apartment.

    She saw her Vice-Captain on the ground, amidst several well-armed men, empty wine-bottles, and paper trash from market-stalls. Rushing to help him, she managed to catch the tail end of her Vice-Captain''s screams, "--Worst I''ll get is a p on a wrist or a few days off without pay!"

    "By ze gods! What is zismotion?" Dani frowned, no longer as hurried as before.

    The armored adventurers gave way for her and High Wizard Trayus, allowing her to see unhindered. Vice-Captain Thomas Sergeant wasughing maniacally as blood streamed down his nose, wearing nothing but underwear and a sheer undershirt.

    He scowled and began pointing angrily at his surrounding aggressors, "You lowlives are in for it now that the Knight-Captain Lacroix is here!!"

    Dani narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips. She shared a dubious nce with her uncle before answering Sergeant, "We are here for answers, Vice-Capitaine."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Did the issue have to do with these armed men? None of them looked particrly strong, but not even Guild Trayus could afford to gear their lowest echelon with enchanted armor and weapons. She shot a look of apology at the assumedly wealthy men before urging Sergeant once more, "...And we suggest you are forting."

    A heavy man in heavier armor took off his helmet and ced it in front of his chest, "Madame... (Please allow me to exin.)"

    Dani crossed her arms, observing the rough, bearded man. He looked like an uneducated street thug, though his politeness won her his respect. And anyroad, she preferred to converse in the Old Tongue, "(If you would, respected sir.)"

    Therge man smiled shyly, a contrastical, "(One of our... friends, a Baron, was wrongfully imprisoned.)"

    A Baron? That exined Cyrille''s presence... The solicitor representing the Royal Robe also worked for various nobles. She knew that her Vice-Captain sold favors to various nobles, but she didn''t think he would be stupid enough to be embroiled in their asinine political wars.

    Dani inwardly cursed. She shook the fingers of her sword hand as she ced it on her hilt,"(And because of that, you stripped my Vice-Captain and assaulted him in his home?)"

    "Actually, the creep was already like that when we arrived," The blonde woman frowned with obvious disgust, carefully navigating through discarded bottles of booze and giving wide berth to a moldy half-eaten baguette. She had Cyrille had followed them into the small apartment.

    Thomas Sergeant struggled to his feet, pointing at the woman and spattering blood as he yelled, "Captain! She''s with them! I want them arrested! I''ll have them all on THE RACK!!"

    Dani''s sword hand froze and she ced it back onto her hip. She had heard unsavory rumors about one of her lieutenants reinstating usage of the torture rooms. She found the thought of it disconcerting. Was it not a lieutenant and was it her Vice-Captain, instead?

    Sergeant had managed to crawl over to Dani''s boots, groveling at her feet, "Captain, please. I did the right thing. I jailed the noble for murder! There were witnesses!"

    "Objection," Cyrille Silversand wagged a calm finger. "My client, ie. the witness, Vivienne Roucher, has expressly stated that Baron Tycondrius has acted in self-defense."

    Sergeant was aghast, "Captain! The man ughtered a dozen men and women IN PUBLIC!"

    "Objection. There was only one death. And less than ten men and women were hospitalized for minor injuries." Cyrille impassively refuted.

    "Your BARON is on a torture rack AS WE SPEAK! I''ve made sure of it! Don''t cross me, Gilebert!" Sergeant angrily pointed at the polite bearded man, "You can''t stop the DUE PROCESS of thew!!"

    Dani stared with a straight face. Her Vice-Captain just admitted to propagating torture. At this point, she had lost all desire to save him. If he didn''t get himself killed, she''d do everything she could to have the man''s employment terminated by the end of the sun.

    "Objection," Cyrile sighed, adjusting his sses, "Baron Tycondrius has been imprisoned and jailed without even a hearing. It seems Vice-Captain Sergeant had expedited the process... which is the basis of my case today, Knight-Captain Lacroix."

    "Well, you know what, KNIFE-EAR?!?" Sergeant yelled.

    "That''s enough, Mister Sergeant," Dani shook her head.

    "How about you take your sses, fold ''em up, and STICK ''em up your nty-eyed ARSE!!"

    Cyrille looked away, adjusting his sses with a crestfallen look. Dani looked at him in worry. Did Sergeant hurt her old friend''s feelings?

    Seething in anger, Sergeant stood up, holding an empty wine-bottle he''d grabbed on the floor.

    He posed to throw it at Cyrille, "Take this, you nty-eyed FREAK!!"

 Chapter 101 Vice-Captainâ€™s Fall

    ?Gilebert Boulet moved like he was a man 10 years younger. He didn''t feel at allfortable around the City Watch, but he knew an ally from an enemy. So he moved hisrge body to intercept the thrown bottle.

    After Baron Tycondrius attacked their base and almost single-handedly wiped out their men, he won Gilebert''s respect. After being gifted state-of-the-art armor and a handsome battleaxe by Mister Reynard, he thought of the Baron as an angel sent from the heavens.

    Per Reynard''s orders, he and his men all bathed and had their beards and hair trimmed by professionals. Walking through the streets, Gilebert was used to looks of disdain and avoidance. Walking through the city in professional garb, he instead received gazes of awe and admiration from adventurers, city watchmen, and even children.

    From small-time thugs he once thought of as his peers, he received small-minded looks of envy. Gilebert could only straighten his back and stand taller because of it. He was a better man than he was only a week prior.

    He knew the right thing to do in the situation with Vice-Captain Sergeant. He would risk injury and even death to protect the allies of Guild Invictus.

    Gilebert shut his eyes, waiting for the thrown bottle to hit his face. But after a moment, he hadn''t even felt a ssh of old wine.

    Opening his eyes, his jaw dropped seeing the enigmatic High Wizard Trayus without his hood. Two long pointed elven ears flopped past pink hair.

    He held up two fingers, glowing with mana as the thrown wine-bottle, levitating ilms in front of Gilebert''s face, spun and rotated in the air.

    The elven High Wizard''s eyes glowed with mana, "nty-eyed freak... That''s no good, Mister Sergeant."

    ...

    Knight-Captain Dani Lacroix grit her teeth and rolled her eyes. Thomas Sergeant had abused his authority to imprison someone he had no business offending. He had assaulted a civilian and even insulted the most powerful magician in Merylsward. Thomas Sergeant''s head was jammed so far up his arse that she couldn''t pull her Vice-Captain out even if she wanted to.

    Sergeant finally ascertained that things were not going his way, "C-c-c-captain! These thugs! They-they attacked me! Gilebert was the one! That one there!"

    Dani examined Sergeant''s so-called "thugs." Trimmed beards. Neat haircuts. Orderly armor. Then she looked at her undressed Vice-Captain wearing a blood-stained undershirt and living in filth. For a moment, she questioned whether her Vice-Captain was Thomas or the adventurer, Gilebert.

    She rested both hands on her hips, "Mister Gilebert, does Mister Sergeant speak ze truth?"

    The bearded man shuffled his feet in nervousness, "(Perhaps... Mister Sergeant fell down?)"

    In a sh of mana, a wine bottle smashed into Sergeant''s face hard enough to shatter the ss. Sergeant crumpled to the floor, scattering trash everywhere. Trayus nodded, quite pleased with himself, "It appears the Vice-Captain has slipped and fallen."

    "I saw it too!" The blonde woman cheered loudly before being ovee by a fit of giggling.

    The armored adventurers murmured in agreement.

    Even Cyrille looked back, "I hadn''t seen when Mister Sergeant injured himself, but the man does seem prone to self-injury."

    Gilebert''s face grinned in a jolly smile, "How clumsy of Monsieur Sergeant... Would Madame be averse to our helping him go... eh... how you say-- (down the stairs?)"

    Knight-Captain Dani nodded, "That would be wonderful, Monsieur Gilebert. I would request your professional assistance in bringing my former Vice-Capitaine to ze Headquarters."

    ...

    It was a nice day in Merylsward. Thete winter chill was tolerable. The birds sang. Pale had taken Taree out to a restaurant that specialized in dishes from the Holy Country.

    "Hey, hey." Taree was trying to get Pale''s attention as he nibbled at a fried rice-and-cheese ball, "You think they''re almost done? I''m starting to get worried about Uncle Gil."

    Pale washed down a bite with some citrus drink, "I think it''s gonna be okay. Boss thought he was smart enough. That''s why Mister Reynard put him in charge."

    Taree pouted, idly spinning her fork in her pasta, "It''s just that he''s not very strong..."

    Arge crash resounded from across the street, as the wooden shutters of a 2nd-story window burst open, a man in his underpants being thrown out of it. Shortly afterward, a wooden wardrobe dresser flew after him and fell on top of him. Gilebert appeared in the window, red-in-the-face and yelling obscenities in the Old Language.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Pale took another sip of his drink.

    The 11-year-old Taree put a finger on her chin, "What''s he saying?"

    "Probably things we''re not allowed to repeat," the younger boy assured her.

    "Oh, alright."

    The two resumed their meal.

    ...

    Knight-Captain Lacroix followed her uncle down the steps of the apartment building.

    "I really should have known zat would happen," she confided helplessly.

    "Mister Gilebert is an efficient man." High Wizard Trayus had pulled his hood down to shield him from the midday sun, "He would make a fine addition to the City Watch. There will be an opening now with Sergeant''s injury."

    Her uncle spoke with a bit of venom, still clearly unhappy.

    Dani shook her head, "By sundown, I''ll have ze former Vice-Capitaine is rotting in one of ze cells he loves so much. Of all ze times--"

    Her uncle held out a hand to stop her from walking. Dani reflexively reached for her sword, observing her surroundings. The alleyway they walked along was suspiciously empty, outside of the two of them. Not even a bird dared to sing.

    [I wish to know why Thomas Sergeant still breathes.]

    "Who goes there? Come out!" Dani yelled out, drawing her sword.

    "I wish to know if you''ve ever killed anyone with that sword of yours, little girl."

    Dani leaped forward, away from the source of the voice. She turned, adopting a defensive stance, to see a 4-fulm-tall gnome in furs, with hair as green as vines, crossing his arms.

    Dani felt Trayus ce his hand on her sword arm, but she shook him off. The gnome had appeared without warning. If he''d attacked, they''d be dead, and he clearly didn''t appear with the best of intentions, "Who in ze hells do you think you are?!"

    The gnome tilted his head strangely, reminiscent to an owl. His eyes-- all-ck sclera, sending chills down Dani''s spine, "I was given the name Leafstrangle. I wish to know why Dani Lacroix asks for my name when all others beg for mercy?"

    Her uncle stepped forward, cing a hand out in front of her, "Mercy, Master Leafstrangle. The former Vice-Captain has been dealt with. The Baron will be released in less than two bells."

    "I wish to know why he still LiiIiivVvesss?! MaAaastErrr TrayUUUuus?" The gnome''s toothy maw grew wide with its screeching, grating Dani''s senses.

    Finding her voice, Dani pulled her uncle''s arm down. She didn''t need a man to speak for her, "Thomas Sergeant will be tried and prosecuted ording to ze Kingdom''sws. You have my word zat he will be punished to thew''s full extent!"

    The gnome''s face broke into a jagged-toothed, unblinking smile, "How. Dreadfully. Boring."

    With a sudden breeze, the gnome spilled into a pile of leaves, scattering in the wind. Dani looked all around her. Dozens of people were in the alleyway, walking about, washing clothes, yelling at their husbands, and giving her odd looks.

    Dani resheathed her sword, nodding politely.

    "Master Leafstrangle, a Druid from the Free Nation Embassy," her uncle exined.

    "Stars and stones... Awyer representing High Councilor Rocher. A Trading Company... Half a dozen men wis'' enough arms and armor to y a cave troll. Princess Aur, King Adal, and High Councilor Highde?" Dani shivered fromtent fear, "And an emissary from ze Beast Kingdoms? Who is zis Baron Tycondrious?"

 Chapter 102 Attack On Tavor

    ?Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdarkid naked in a copper tub. After several bells of crying and moping, he had finally run out of tears. He spent his time staring listlessly out of the inn''s window, washing his genitals with the same shampoo that hadn''t worked since 3 bells past.

    "Heyyyyy, bud. How ya doin?" Dragan peeked over the naked man.

    Lone turned away, not wanting to face the big man, "I don''t wanna talk to you right now."

    Tamaki shrugged, "You were kinda indirectly responsible fer the Chosen One gettin'' crabs, Mister Dragan."

    "Okay, bub, that''s fair. But hey. Heyyyy. You''re a good guy, you know that?"

    Lone absentmindedly touched the skin on his groin area, wincing in pain. He had rubbed it raw, trying to get the burning and the itching to stop, "What the hells do you want, Dragan?"

    Dragan grinned over the naked man, "You wanna get some ice cream? ''Cuz I bought some ice cream."

    A short male Popoto wearing magician''s garb knocked politely on the door.

    "Mister Jejeka! Come on in, just don''t mind the naked fe in the tub," Tamaki waved him in. Jejeka was the first Popoto he had met, a well-learned, Bronze-Rank Magician with a brimmed cone hat. Like all Popotos, his skin was bronzed, he was barely above 3-fulms-tall, and he had a cute rounded face and a button nose.

    "Guild Invictus! I got a package for a-- uhhh." The Popoto squinted at the package writing to ensure its uracy, "Lone Shadowdark? Isn''t that redundant? Shadows are already dark, aren''t they?"

    The Popoto put his tiny arms on his waist, ncing around the room, "Wait, is this even real or is someone making fun of me again?"

    "Niiiiice!" Dragan eximed, "Check it out, bud! Boss got you a magic cure potion!"

    Dragan grabbed the potion Jejeka was holding out and tossed it to Lone. The potion slipped out of Lone''s hands, falling clumsily into his tub. Sobbing tearlessly, he grabbed it out of the dirty water, unstoppered it, and poured the tonic onto his affected region.

    "We ''bout ready to kick some butt, Mister Jejeka?" Tamaki inquired.

    The tiny Popoto nodded with a cute smile, "Suit up, everyone! Commander Maximus''s given the word!"

    He ced a fire-charged fist into his open hand, "And that word is *Incerination.*"

    ...

    Tamaki fired another arrow at the defending Tavor guardsmen. He and 5 other Trayus archers and wand-casters held a high point, sniping down important targets at the battle below.

    "Aw, fiddlesticks. I moved my thumb," Tamaki twitched.

    Dragan peered into the distance below, a t hand over his brow, "You got one!! Hells yeah, man! Do it again!"

    A few of the others shot Tamaki positive nods and silent hand-signals of encouragement.

    Tamaki drew his bow again, "Oh boy, this is fun. Usually, I''m more worried ''bout hittin'' friendlies than my targets."

    Dragan snorted augh, "The Watch has cordoned off the area. So fire away, man-- Ooh! You got another one!"

    "Really?" Tamaki looked, a dumb smile stered on his face, "I identally closed my eyes when I shot!"

    Lone scratched at his trousers. He, Dragan, and Tamaki enjoyed rtive safety in the rooftops above the battlefield. The enemy was originally estimated to be two toons of Tavor Guardsmen, but there were a number of inclothes mercenaries that didn''t evacuate with the civilians.

    The tonic Lone took had healed the skin he had rubbed raw, but he still itched terribly, "I''m gonna go join the battle."

    "You can jus'' rx, bud," Dragan shrugged. "Guild Trayus'' forces are doin'' fine. And they have Commander Maximus and the Whore General if things get dicey."

    Lone half-turned to Dragan, "I just need something to keep my mind off of things."

    Dragan shrugged, "Go ahead, bud. I''ll cover these guys up here."

    Lone leapt off the building, descending down a gpole. Spinning around the pole twice, he smashed his crotch onto a Tavor guardsman''s face, unsheathing a sword and stabbing it into the man''s neck, coincidentallynding near the Popoto Magician Jejeka.

    "Nice job, Invictus!" Jejeka cheered, bouncing up and down, "I thought I was a sliced Popoto!!"

    Lone smiled weakly, "Y-yeah. No problem." He felt a bit strange that a mage as old as he was had such naturally cute actions.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Ugly descent. Sloppy execution," an elven woman sneered.

    "Councilor Naedrielle?" Jejeka waved his arms in the air in surprise.

    Naedrielle narrowed her eyes at the magician, "I''ve resigned as of this morning. I prefer to be called Wind General."

    She turned her re to Lone, "Follow me to the front, Invictus whelp."

    Lone rendered the woman a silent salute. The fiery itch on his crotch had yet to die downpletely.

    Jejeka pat Lone''s thigh, "I''ming with you!"

    Lone stared nkly at the grinning magician.

    "Why? Well, I''ve always been meaning to try out this new spell where Ibine internalbustion and external dehydration to improve the burning process."

    Lone didn''t know what to say, "Uh?"

    "Basically what I''m saying is if there''s someone out to get you, he''ll have to go through some of my experiments" The grinning Popoto threw up both hands, his thumbs raised.

    "The both of you! Follow me!" Naedrielle shouted.

    ...

    Lone focused his attention on following in Wind General Naedrielle''s wake, quickly finding the reason for her title. Just being near her, Lone felt a gentle breeze flow through his hair. His body felt lighter, and he was able to run with a magical glide.

    Even as she dashed forward, she would whip her rapier out at enemies, each man and woman falling to a single urate sh... The elf''s ruthlessness and precision reminded Lone of Tycon''s.

    The two quickly made it to the front lines, where Naedrielle pointed with her rapier de. 4 monstrous ck and ming creatures stood at the ready alongside dozens of Tavor guardsmen and mercenaries.

    She began shouting orders at the men and women of Guild Trayus, "Melee, prioritize the guards and protect our back lines! Ranged, focus fire my target!!"

    She turned to face Lone. Levitating a few ilms off of the ground, their eyes met at equal height, "Hellhounds. How many can you take out?"

    Lone pursed his lips... "Um. One?"

    "Ughhh," Naedrielle signed in utter contempt. She pointed at the biggest creature. "You can handle that one, then. I''ll take care of the other three."

    In a st of air, she dashed away, a surge of spell casts and arrows following her.

    "Wake up, Lone! The heckhound isin'' right for us!!" Jejeka waved his magical staff wildly in a panic.

    "Seven hells!!" Lone yelled, charging forward through the crowd of guards.

    He slid under a Tavor guardsman''s greataxe sh, then grabbed a different guard by the helmet and hit them in the chin with a rising knee.

    Drawing his des, he blocked two attacksing at him simultaneously from his left and right.

    "Ignition DRIVE!!" Jejeka''s shout came from behind.

    Drilled into Lone''s reflexes, he immediately dropped to the floor, allowing a booming chain of fiery explosions to st his two attackers away.

    Quickly getting to his knees, Lone sprinted forward towards thergest hellhound as it reared its head up to howl at the sky.

    "Mister Double Dark!!!!"

    Lone furrowed his brow and looked back at the Popoto mage. He was waving his staff in the air with wide sweeping motions, trying to get his attention.

    "It''s gonna breathe fire!! You gotta shut him up or he''s gonna kill us all!!!"

 Chapter 103 Lightning & Thunder

    ?"Oh, no you don''t!"

    Lone dropped his swords and he used both arms to push the creature''s lower jaw closed. What Naedrielle called a hellhound was a quadrupedal creature that stood two heads taller than he was, with a head that could easily bite his torso in two. He really didn''t want to call it a hound, as its skin resembled strips of rusted wire pulled taut and from the spaces between, tufts of ming "fur" licked at the air.

    It didn''t have eyeballs but it did have a jaw with metallic teeth. And as it snarled, globs of oily, hot slobber dripped onto Lone''s hair and chest.

    Some of it got into his mouth. He was starting to regret leaving Dragan to distract himself.

    Lone spat out what warm viscous fluid he could, and he turned to his magician ally, "Jejekaaaa!!"

    The Popoto held his stubby arms above his head, "Fulmination BURST!!"

    An explosive sphere appeared, glowing a threatening gold amidst the backdrop of darkening skies. With a deafening POP sound, it burst near the hellhound''s hell-head.

    As it reeled back, Lone reared a fist back and punched the creature with a solid left hook.

    It felt like punching a metal barrel. Lone was fairly certain he''d broken something in his hand.

    As if angered, mes began to burn brighter and hotter, all around the hellhound''s body.

    "Oh, fff-- Get out!! I think it''s gonna explode!!" Lone yelled. He waved his hand in a [Disperse] motion and the Guild Trayus members around them began to scatter for cover... with the exception of the Popoto Magician, Jejeka Banjeka.

    It was then that Lone noticed the drawn magic circle on the floor beneath the mage, the Ley Line Circle. He recognized it from when Wroe had used it during the fight against Old Fool. A bluish cloud of mana was enhancing Jejeka''s magics as he cast spell after spell at the hound.

    Lone screamed, "Jeka, what are you DOING?! RUN!!"

    Keeping a brave face, Jejeka continued to throw his fire spells, "My Mana Ward will save me."

    "Don''t be stupid, STUPID!!" Even though they spent only a short time together, Lone refused to let Jejeka die. Instead of running away, he rushed to the magician and picked him up underneath an arm.

    "Nooooo!! My safe spaaaaaace!!!!!"

    ...

    With a despondent, high-pitched gargle that could have passed for a howl, the 4th and final hellhound fell. Wind General Naedrielle raised her rapier up in victory, standing atop the fallen creature.

    "Glory to Guild Invictus! Glory to Guild Trayus!!" She yelled. A round of cheers erupted from the crowd.

    Lone stumbled out of the smoke, covered in bruises. The skin of his side, arms, and legs was torn from skidding along the ground after beingunched by the hellhound''s explosion.

    He dropped the Popoto held under his arm to the ground as he copsed to his knees, "I thought we were gonna die!!"

    Jejeka struggled to his feet, covered in soot, "I... told you so."

    He had a growing welt on his forehead from being dropped on his face, "My mana ward saved us."

    The members of Guild Trayus surrounded the two of them. --"You guys were awesome!!" "We thought we were done for when it was about to breathe!" "Drinks are on me when we get back, Lone Shadowdark!!" "You saved the Popoto!"

    The nearby building exploded, quaking the earth, and abruptly halting the crowd''s premature victory. An entire wall had been torn down from the explosive effects of a spell.

    The 3-fulm tall Jejeka visibly trembled, hugging his stick, "Is it another enemy??"

    A blue blur flew into the sky, out of the destroyed building. Maximus of Invictusnded in front of Guild Trayus and folded his wings behind him, "East side threats eliminated. No casualties."

    Naedrielle floated down, ring sharpened daggers at the Dovahkiin. The 5-fulm tall woman levitating next to the nearly 7-fulm tall Maximus was almostughable, "Pah. You people from the Holy Country have no sense of delicacy."

    Maximus crossed his bulging, scale-covered arms, "Your buildings are weak, just like your soldiers, Witch General."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Naedrielle scowled, "That''s Wind General, you winged iguana. While your toon was busy staring at their feet in your stupid formations, I''ve secured 4 Metal Rank kills with my Thunder Step, alone."

    Maximus'' wings suddenly spread to their full span, making Naedrielle look even smaller than she was, "COUNNNNNT!!!! OFF!!"

    The toon Maximus was leading began to emerge from the smoke. A man tossed a severed hellhound head to the ground, "ONE!!" Then another, "TWO!!"

    ...In all, six severed heads were thrown to the ground, dripping oily blood.

    After the 6th head was counted, Maximus'' re hadn''t lessened, "A victory attained with coordination and precise, urate fire."

    Maximus tilted up his chin, his eyes sparking with blue electricity, "Thunder may boast, Witch. But the true poweres from the lightning that strikes first."

    "Always intent on being first, Gian Vanzano," Naedrielle puffed one of her bangs out of her eyes.

    "Perhaps one day, you''ll decide toe second, for a change," Without waiting to hear a response, Naedrielle turned around abruptly and began walking into the central building.

    Jejeka waddled up to Maximus and ced his hand on his forearm, "Holy shite, she killed you, dude. Should I call a Healer?"

    ...

    The Duke''s warehouse held hundreds of boxes filled with various metal goods: cookware, belt-buckles by the hundreds, lines of mass-produced swords and shields. Much of it had been damaged, but the members of Guild Trayus were too busy recovering the injured and dead from both sides to admire them.

    "So this is what they were protecting," Naedrielle sheathed her rapier and knelt beside a rectangr iron door, poorly hidden underneath a crate of mining picks.

    Maximus opened a palm, crackling with lightning mana, "Step aside."

    The elf rolled her eyes, "Opening the door with force? Your brain is as stupid as your feet, Gian."

    Dragan ced a hand on Maximus'' shoulder. Taking him aside, he lowered his voice, "The whore is right. The iron door''s hiding something... but it could also be keeping something out."

    Maximus nced back to Naedrielle to ensure their privacy, "And what are you worried about, Brother Dragan?"

    Dragan hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper, "I worry it''s something that specifically iron keeps out."

    "Hey, fes! Anddy! I found somethin'' over here!" Tamaki waved. He directed the group''s attention towards a hidden lever on a nearby wall.

    Lone absentmindedly scratched himself, "Are we... all gonna go down?"

    Dragan broke away from Maximus, "Yep! Guild Trayus first! Line up, guys! Everyone in the hole!"

    Jejeka Banjeka saluted crisply, "How about Guild Trayus take the honors? Invictus can do the work sorting the bodies for the City Watch and filling out the paperwork?"

    Dragan and Maximus looked to each other,ing to a tacit understanding.

    "NOPE! Get the hells out of my way!" Dragan yelled, shoving his way towards the iron door.

    "The glory will belong to Sol Invictus!!" Maximus roared.

    Tamaki pulled the lever and the iron door swung open with a series of creaks, crescendoing into a bang.

    Jejeka smiled with tiny white, pearly teeth as he lifted up a closed fist, "Stay alive down there, Lone."

    "Yeah, I hope to." Lone nodded, tapping his fist to Jejeka''s.

 Chapter 104 Descent

    ?Lone descended down the irondder after Maximus, Dragan, and Wind General Naedrielle.

    Guild Invictus stood atop the highest tform, inside of a hollowed tower, stone stairs spiraling down along the walls. The far-off sounds of hammers and nking from down below echoed dully off the smoothly hewn stone.

    "What is this ce?" Lone looked around in wonder, wiping his brow. The hot air reminded him of the saunas back at the Ivory Judge sect.

    Dragan crossing his arms, "I think it''s a pocket dimension... One on the outskirts of the ne of Fire."

    Naedrielle scowled, "The Duke has opened a portal to the ne of Fire? Does he want to bring the Gatekeepers down upon our city?!"

    Dragan held a hand out, "First off, if you don''t have anything useful to say, shut the hells up."

    Naedrielle''s eyes widened, "You DARE--"

    Dragan grabbed the woman''s sword arm with his left and raised his greataxe in the air with his right. The movement was so fast, Lone didn''t even register it for a moment, "I''m stronger than you, Wind General. And I lead this group. You have a problem with it, you leave, right the hells now."

    The elf narrowed her eyes.

    "I will not ask again," Dragan gripped the woman''s arm harder.

    Naedrielle winced in pain for a half-second, but regained her bearing and nodded.

    Dragan released her and resheathed his axe on his back.

    "Who in the seven hells are you guys?" Naedrielle spat, rubbing her arm.

    "Right now, Naedrielle, we''re just a bunch of Iron-Rank adventurers that want to live to see tomorrow," Dragan shrugged.

    He began walking down the steps. Naedrielle red at Maximus, waiting to see a reaction. Maximus gave none, catching up to Dragan to walk alongside him.

    Lone and Tamaki shrugged to each other and followed along.

    "You haven''t answered my question, Leader Dragan," Naedrielle badgered the giant man.

    Dragan didn''t spare the woman a nce, "I''m not as patient as Boss Tycon, Naedrielle."

    "Is the Duke capable of opening a portal?"

    "He is not. With the way the rift is located, the Duke probably had a cer with a manifest zone. A minor ritualter, he stabilized it, reced the door anddder with iron to withstand the heat, installed a lever so he didn''t have to burn himself on the door-- Frankly, I''m a little surprised I had to exin all that to you."

    Naedrielle opened her mouth to gripe, but thought better of it... "Magical education in the Kingdom doesn''t cover nar travel."

    Maximus furrowed his brows, "You''re an elf, Naedrielle."

    She crossed her arms, "I have approximate knowledge of many topics, Mister Vanzano. Pocket dimensions and rifts to elemental nes are only vaguely familiar to me-- not to mention, illegal to even study."

    "Don''t feel bad, Miss Wind General. I didn''t know ''bout any of that, neither," Tamaki offered a genial smile.

    Dragan turned back holding up his arms, "Shite on a stick!?! WHY ARE YOU HERE?!?"

    Maximus raised an eyebrow, "What''s wrong? Tamaki is a noble archer."

    "I thought I said only Iron-Ranks go into the fire dimension death trap?!" Dragan yelled, holding his head.

    Lone raised his hand, "Mister Dragan, why am I here?"

    "Shut up, Mister Crabs, you don''t count."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone put his hand down and scratched his crotch.

    Tamaki rubbed the back of his head, "You said fer all of Guild Invictus tae down. Plus, I gotta back y''all up, if y''all are headin'' inta danger!"

    Maximus nodded, "Right. How could young master Tamaki bear to watch us brave danger without him?"

    Dragan sighed, "Eh, it''s probably fine."

    Naedrielle pursed her lips, "Why do I get the feeling that it''s not?

    "Leader, do you know what exactly we''re dealing with?" the elf asked. Her tone was probably as polite as she could muster.

    "An associate of ours named Seldin Korr has a confidante in Fernia. After following a bunch of rumors, yadda yadda, she''s concluded that a power called the mebriar Monarch has allied with Duke Tavor," Dragan shook his head.

    Maximus tilted his head up in thought, "mebriar?"

    "Right. Not an inherently fiery thing." Dragan nced over to Naedrielle, "You look like you figured it out, Windy?"

    Naedrielle glowered but did notment on her new nickname, "Yes... The mebriars are an ancient elven n, lost generations ago."

    "Welp, yeah. Boss and I came to the same conclusion. Hence why I thought that the irondder and door up top might be for making sure Faewyld creatures don''t break through to the surface."

    "How''s the iron gonna stop the bad elves?" Tamaki inquired.

    "Windy," Dragan snapped his fingers.

    Naedrielle''s mouth twitched, "It''s an old, old rule, lost to the ages. The most pureblooded fae are born of nature, one with the world. Taking metal and working it-- taking what is natural and bending it to the will of men is anathema to them."

    Tamaki was staring at the walls.

    "Maximus," Dragan waved.

    Maximus ced a strong hand on the youth''s shoulder as they walked, "Iron des cause the most pain to the deep elves. Something in the metal is like a poison to them."

    "Oh, I got''cha," Tamaki nodded, finally understanding.

    Dragan continued before Naedrielle could stab the blonde boy, "Fernia has no interest in invading the material ne. They have their own wars to worry about."

    Naedrielle frowned, "So you''re saying this rogue fae, a mebriar ancestor, is responsible for the Duke''s growth in power? Why? For what reason?"

    Dragan shrugged, "Doesn''t matter. We know the Duke''s motives: money and power. We know the Duke''s offenses: stabilizing a rift to a pocket dimension on the outskirts of the elemental ne of Fire. Next task is sealing this stupid ce, to prevent a possible invasion."

    "And preventing the Gatekeepers from wiping the city off of the Kingdom''s maps," Maximus added.

    "Right," nodded Dragan.

    Naedrielle crossed her arms, "Then WHY, Leader Dragan, are we venturing deep into this foul ce and not just sealing it off?"

    Dragan rolled his eyes and his entire head along with it, "Did you see a spell circle? An artifact? No, you didn''t. There was just a metal door. There is no ''magic'' portal, Windy. This is a stabilized rift that needs to be destabilized. Even if we block the entrance, this ce will still exist."

    Maximus put his hand on Naedrielle''s back, "Shall we attack while the enemy is unaware?"

    Dragan nodded, "We''ll head to the bottom and look for a way."

 Chapter 105 Ancestor

    ?Lone looked back up the walls. Guild Invictus had climbed down 5 flights of stairs and had finally found the source of the incessant nging and hammering. Hundreds of dwarves worked around forges, hammering away with orange-skinned, tree-trunk thick arms, their heads and necks lit in golden me.

    Maximus pointed his spear, to a sealed set of red double-doors, "I don''t like the look of that."

    As salty as Naedrielle had acted during the descent, she managed a chuckle, "You''ve never locked the doors before, why worry now?"

    Maximus was left dumbfounded. It wasn''t the first time. Dragan snorted and pat Maximus on the shoulder.

    "What''re these folks? Fire dwarves?" Tamaki asked. His eyes were filled with wonder and his brow was covered in sweat from the sweltering heat.

    "Azers," Dragan exined. "Think of them like a cross between dwarves and golems with a single function. They''ll work until they can''t."

    Maximus banged his spear against his shield, "Shall we reap their lives, brother Dragan? Surely it''s a better end than being forced to do evil''s bidding"

    "If you waa~AAaant," Dragan sang, nomittally, "But the azers are essentially ves. It doesn''t stop the vemaster from acquiring more."

    "very? Impossible. A true fae wouldn''t desecrate another living creature''s freedom!!" Naedrielle growled, her long ears reddening.

    Lone had just the tools for the job! He took out a hammer and a chisel, "How about we just free them? Break their chains?"

    The elven girl knelt down to examine the ck chains on the azer smiths'' feet, "Sacred gods, there''s so much blood?? How can they work in these conditions?!"

    "Looks like... ck twisted vines? Thorns like daggers and knives," Tamaki squatted down, reaching a hand out to touch.

    Naedrielle caught the boy''s fingers in her soft hand before he got too close, "House mebriar was known for growing iron-colored vines... When pricked by their thorns, it will burn like roiling mes."

    She stood up, gritting her teeth, "I spoke too soon, leader. This can only be the work of the mebriar family."

    Dragan rolled his eyes, "(Azer, who''s in charge here?)"

    The nearby azer cksmith didn''t take his eyes off his craft, "(Sod off, filth. I can smell your efreet-blood.)"

    Dragan''s face remained impassive, "(Mom''s dead. I have her severed head disyed in a box. Who''s in charge?)"

    The cksmith nged his hammer a few more times... "(mebriar Monarch. If there''s nothing else, I''m working.)"

    Maximus grinned, "The Fire Language? That''s a rare one."

    "Had to confirm." Dragan walked off, "I really didn''t want to be right."

    The Wind General opened her mouth to argue, but clenched her teeth and remained silent.

    "Guys! I found somethin'' over here!" Tamaki called out.

    Guild Invictus gathered around a huge spell array on the wall, covered in orange-glowing magical script, severalyers of lines rotating at different speeds.

    Naedrielle levitated up to it, examining the carved runes, "I know these runes. Ancient elven characters. If you just give me--"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Provides heat to the forges. Heat stabilizes the rift," Dragan spun his finger in a circle, signaling the elf to hurry up.

    She floated down, crossing her arms, "It looks like someone''s spent a pretty copper crushing earth crystals to make the mana ink, along with a few other reagents. We''ll be able to track down the Duke''s supplier once we leave this ce."

    Dragan turned to Maximus, "Winged iguana, wanna do the honors?"

    "Shut up, dude." Maximus snorted and shook his head.

    He shed at the array with his circr shield, "Maximus!!" A rending line of lightning zapped the array, the glow zing brilliantly before suddenly dimming.

    The entire tower began to shudder, groaning as if angered.

    "Move! MOVE MOVE MOVE!!" Dragan yelled.

    Maximus spread his wings and flew ahead of Lone and Tamaki. Naedrielle crossed one leg over the other, chanting. Wisps of wind spirits swirled around Guild Invictus, speeding their movements.

    The ground beneath Dragan burst in a gout of me, enveloping the redheaded giant and ruining his hair. Even with the ground quaking and asionally spitting super-heated fire, the azers continued to hammer and smelt their metalware.

    The double doors burst open.

    Dragan yelled to Naedrielle, "Hey, listen, we haven''t been on the best of terms, but I really think we should run."

    Naedrielle scoffed, "Leader I am the Wind General. I have the strongest defense out of anyone on the Council and I can literally fly. I''ll dy the Ancestor and follow shortly."

    Dragan was jogging in ce, "I''m not gonna ask twice, y''know?"

    "Go, Leader. Think of this as an apology for my earlier rudeness." Naedrielle drew her rapier and gave Dragan a wink, "I''m looking forward to traveling with Maximus again."

    With a wave of her hand, Naedrielle pushed Dragan with a burst of air, forcing him to run towards the rest of the guild.

    The creature emerged from the door, at first appearing like a man. It stood as tall as Maximus, towering over Naedrielle. On its face, it wore a ram''s skull with what appeared to be red worms bulging from its eye sockets. Its body was covered in ck vines, each tendril as thick as Naedrielle''s fist and thorns grew at its corners like ridged spines on a beast''s back. At the end of an elongated vine arm, it held a wicked curved de made of sharpened bone that glowed crimson with magic.

    It glided forward as if it hid no legs underneath its tendril robe.

    Naedrielle called out, "mebriar Ancestor! I am Naedrielle, First Warrior of House Whisperwind!"

    She flourished her rapier, "I request to take part in the ceremonial rite of the de Dance!"

    Wind mana began to slowly rotate about her, kicking up dust and me.

    The Monarch raised its left arm, a dozen ck vines extending forward, easily crossing over 20 yalms in an instant and wrapping around Naedrielle''s mouth and neck. Without moving its main body, the vines withdrew, pulling the elf along with it.

    The Monarch held the woman up with one arm, several fulms off of the ground. She had dropped her sword. She kicked. She tried to scream. Blood ran down her neck, chest, and arms, from the burning thorns embedded in her flesh.

    The Monarch lifted its right hand, and the curved de cut into Naedrielle''s side. With a sudden jerk, it tore the weapon out, blood and entrails spilling onto the burning ground. It drops its de and reached into her wound, tearing out her guts with gnarled roots that resembled fingers.

 Chapter 106 Madison

    ?Tamaki fired a barrage of arrows at a green-skinned humanoid,plementing the ck thorns growing from its flesh. Lone spun his dual des in a 720 degree circle, shing the injured nt-creature''s flesh and decapitating it.

    "Thanks, Chosen One!" Tamaki wiped sweat from his brow, "I thought I was a goner!"

    Lone kicked the severed head off of the stairs and it plummeted into the fiery explosions geysering up from the bottom floor, "Not a problem, brother. No man or woman left behind-- like Boss says."

    Dragan bounded up the stairs, an umon look of worry on the big man''s face, "Yeap! Move! Both of you, have to catch up with Maximus, riiiiight NOWWW!!"

    Without a word ofint, the giant, the archer, and the swordsman powered up the stairs to catch up with the winged dovahkiin. The sounds echoing in the tower were deafening: boots to stone, roars of the fires below, and nt-people dying to Maximus'' lightning bolts.

    Lone had to yell to make himself heard, "Dragan! Where''s the Wind General?!"

    "Dead! Reeeaaaallly dead!! Which is why we are RUNNING!!" Dragan ced his hand and the t of his axe on Tamaki''s and Lone''s backs to push them along.

    A crack opened in a nearby wall as a trio of nt-men spilled out of it. Lone deflected a thorn-covered sword and stabbed one in the eye, "What do you MEAN, DEAD??!"

    Dragan shed his heavy axe horizontally, knocking the enemies back, "Axe BURST!!-- It''s exactly as I said, the elf got cut into two by something that''s chasing us, so MOVE YOUR--"

    Lone and Tamaki had run up the stairs to the next tform, leaving Dragan behind.

    Dragan stared up the stairs at their backs, "Yeah. Like that."

    He looked at the crack in the wall. Over a dozen more feral nt men crowded to get through, mbering over each other to bite into the flesh of men. Dragan leaped up powerfully, smashing the corner of the wall with his axe-- blocking the entrance with rock debris, "That''ll slow ''em down, now to get away from the--"

    Vinestched onto his knee, dagger-sharp thorns pricking into his flesh.

    Dragan looked down, "Aw, fff--"

    ...

    Tamaki hurriedly shot past Lone''s head, the arrow pinning to the tower wall. As they ran past, Lone noticed... a tiny creature still wriggling on the arrow.

    Lone ran past it quickly, starting up the next set of stairs, "What the hells was that?"

    "Looked like a big ROACH, Chosen One! Mama taught me ta shoot ''em, whenever I saw one," Tamaki yelled between breaths.

    Lone nced up to where Maximus was fighting, one tform higher. He was surrounded by nt-men, pouring out of anotherrge crack in the wall. With every strike of the dovahkiin''s spear, two or three fell to a chaining bolt of lightning. The nt-men weren''t even metal rankers-- once Lone, Tamaki, and Dragan arrived to provide support, Invictus would be able to break through.

    Lone arrived atop the next set of stairs, stopping abruptly.

    Tamaki collided into Lone''s back, "Chosen One! What''s the big idea, we hafta--"

    A woman with dark eyes stood at the center of the pathway. The only thing that covered her barefoot nakedness was long, curly hair that dropped down to her waist. Past her were the stairs to Maximus'' tform.

    "Nice to see you again, my love," the woman waved a dainty hand. A red millipede, half the size of her arm, licked the tip of her fingers.

    Lone squinted his eyes, weapons out and slowly edging forward towards the woman, "Madison. This is... awkward."

    "It shouldn''t be. I''m not ashamed of my body, Master Lone." Madison sucked on two of her fingers, the millipede crawling onto her face and retreating into her hair.

    "I was a virgin!!" Lone yelled, wiping away a tear with the back of his hand. He didn''t have the time to be cordial.

    "You can''t take it back, Master Lone." Madison swept her hair back, showing off her nudity, "But my legs are open to another reservation if you''re so inclined."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tamaki nocked another arrow into his bow, "We''re kinda in a rush, Miss Madison. Would be a shame ta put ya down, after all ya did for the Chosen One."

    Lone pointed his sword angrily at the naked woman, "BITCH, YOU HAVE CRABS!!"

    The woman waved a slow hand in the air. Hundreds of ck and crimson roaches spilled out from her dark hair and hovered by her head, "Imand far more than just that, Master Lone."

    Tamaki pulled Lone''s shoulder, whispering loudly, "Chosen One, I think the nakeddy has bug powers."

    Madison narrowed her eyes, "Master Tamaki. You''ve killed one of my children."

    "Oh, wow," Tamaki scratched his head. "That was before I knew ya had 50 million of ''em living on yer head."

    Thrusting her hand forward, the roach swarm rocketed towards the two.

    "Millions of young will feed andy eggs on your flesh!!" She screamed.

    ...

    "Ow! Augh! Ahhh! --Grah! Ah!"

    Dragan bounced down the steps. iling about, he tried to smash his weapon against the vine wrapped around his ankle, but he was being pulled too fast.

    Sparks flew as he tried to catch his axe-de into the rock to slow his descent.

    "(GIVE UP. SUFFER. DIE,)" a gravelly voice that crackled like kindling emanated from the Monarch''s ram skull. The ancient magic in its words was powerful enough that Dragan didn''t need to parse through their meanings.

    Dragan righted himself at thest moment, springing up at the fae creature, "Aha! Got''cha!!"

    His two-handed axe bit into the creature''s flesh, cutting into the roots, cleaving the Monarch nearly in twain.

    Dragan pointed, grinning, "I got''cha! You''re dead! Fall over!!"

    The figure stared up at Dragan, red worms bulging in the Monarch''s skull. It lifted its curved ivory de.

    Dragan winced as he caught the de with his forearm, cutting deeply and touching the bone, "Oh,e on!!!"

    The Titanblood sent a powerful forward kick at the stuck axe''s haft, knocking the Monarch back a step. Dragan unstuck the bone de from his arm, "I''ll be taking this, then!"

    He turned to run, easily bounding up the steps. ck spines dug into the flesh of his left hand-- the hand holding the Monarch''s weapon, "Eeeaarghhh!. Are you SERIOUS?!"

    He felt a tingling sensation along his forearm-- likely the burning sensation that the dead woman Naedrielle had warned about. Dragan ignored the pain and bounded up the steps. Having a weapon was worth the annoyance of a few holes in his hand. And at least he wouldn''t drop it easily.

    Dragan ascended another tform, "Why haven''t you two caught up yet?"

    Tamaki was rolling back and forth on the ground, swatting at dozens of fattened insects. Lone was doing a little better, iling around with his two swords as the hundreds of flying, skittering creatures swarmed and bit at his face, neck and the unarmored parts of his body.

    "It''s MADISS-OHHARRGH" Lone tried to yell out, allowing the insects to crawl into his mouth.

    Dragan smiled weakly, patting Lone''s back with the t of his ivory de, "Sorry, bud. I kinda set you up for that one."

 Chapter 107 Daughter

    ?Dragan nced up to see Maximus still fighting a few tforms above. The dovahkiin was still swinging his shield, stabbing his spear, and breathing literally lightning boltsfortably, but the nt-men were gaining in number.

    Madison, the noble taker of Lone''s virginity stood holding her arms out towards Lone and Tamaki.

    "Yes, DIE TRASH!!" She yelled, the inhuman buzz of insects and the clicking of countless teeth audible in her voice. It seemed she was controlling the insect swarm.

    Dragan grinned sheepishly, "Oh. Yeah. That-- Yeah. This is the first time everything''s *actually* my fault and Boss isn''t around to see it."

    "Mister Dragan!" Tamaki yelled with closed teeth, "Please do somethin!!"

    "Egh, alright," Dragan reached out his bloodied right arm, testing to see if his fingers still moved. He made five hand-gestures in rapid session while chanting.

    mes erupted from where Dragan stood, turning the surroundings insects to ash and Dragan into a puff of cinders.

    Nearby, Madison''s head flew from her body and she copsed into a heaving pile of roaches, millipedes, and grubs. Dragan stared confusedly at the bone de in his hand.

    Lone rolled around on the floor vomiting, but the insects began to skitter away from him instead of insisting on crawling on his person.

    Tamaki managed to recover and ran up to Dragan, "Did''ja get ''em?"

    Dragan''s pupils shrank in realization and he hurriedly began stomping down at the bug pile, "Nope! Didn''t get her!"

    Tamaki hopped up and down, stomping with both feet, "Y''know, Mister Dragan, I''m having a terrible time right now."

    Dragan smashed a heavy boot over and over into the mushing bug pile, "Me too, kid. Me too."

    Lone stood up, his body contorted at a strange angle. ck bile was spilling out of his mouth, "Guuhhh-- guyyys?"

    Lone''s voice sounded like something was still lodged in his throat. The pool of insects shot over to underneath Lone and the nude form of Madison began to rise up from it.

    "That huuuurt, Master Dragan," she pouted. The naked woman draped herself over Lone''s back.

    She stuck a long tongue into Lone''s ear, "Won''t you protect me, dear servant?"

    "Guysss? Augh... I-- can''t moolve-- mayy body," Lone choked.

    Madison grabbed Lone''s face with both hands and forced a deep kiss onto him. As she withdrew, Dragan and Tamaki could see a fat crimson roach climbing into Lone''s mouth.

    Dragan shrugged, "Well, he''s dead. Let''s get a move on, Tamaki."

    "The Chosen One''s still alive, Mister Dragan. We gotta--" Tamaki pulled an arrow out of his quiver, but it was chewed on by insects. He pulled on his bowstring and his bow snapped in two.

    Tamaki tossed the broken pieces off the side of the tform, "I''m sorry, Chosen One. We''ll remember you."

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, had a nightmare.

    Dark eyed, tinged with red. Madison''s seductive moans resonated throughout his soul. Her burning itch invaded his senses. The crawling of insects and the cking mandibles filled his mind. He lied in a copper tub, swarming with worms, nibbling at his flesh. His own wails and Dragan''sughter echoed against the cracking tower walls.

    Sorina looked at him with pity, touching his hand, "Wake up, Father."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone coughed, a knot in his throat, the corners of his eyes hot, "Sorina? What do you mean? Why are you here?"

    The girl shook her head, "I''ve taken the form of something you subconsciously wish to protect. I''m... I''m sorry, Father, that I''m not your Sorina."

    Lone shook his head, spilling some of the insects residing in his hair, "What are you? A dream then? A nightmare?"

    Sorina looked on in worry, "I''m... the hivemind of your pubic lice. When you applied the magic potion to your crotch area instead of imbibing it, I gained sentience. I''m currentlymunicating to you telepathically."

    Lone turned away, his insect bath groaning and squishing inint, "I''m tired, Sorina. I''m tired of all of this adventuring... I can''t even get permission to die."

    The hivemind gently shook Lone, "You''re in grave danger, Father. You need to wake up."

    Lone shut his eyes and covered his face, smearing the blood of crisp and dying insects onto his cheeks, "I don''t know what I was thinking, joining this guild. I don''t deserve to be one of them. I don''t deserve to be better. I don''t care anymore. Just leave me alone."

    Lone felt two drops against the outside of his hands. He uncovered his eyes to see Sorina''s crying face.

    "There are so many people that still need you." She grabbed Lone''s hands, "Tamaki and Pale look up to you. You''ve earned the respect of Dragan and Maximus. Even Wroe and Sir Tycon would be amiss if you gave up on yourself. You''ve forged bonds with all of Invictus."

    "Father... You gave birth to me." Her tearful expression wrenched Lone''s heart. She sniffled miserably, choking a sob, "I know you might not care about me, but you are my world-- my everything."

    She pulled at Lone''s hands, "Please, just... just try. I''ll do everything I can to protect you."

    ...

    Lone''s eyes shot open. He was prying Dragan''s mouth open as he was spewing a stream of crawling and writhing insects into his mouth. With inhuman strength, he tossed Dragan to the side and turned to Madison.

    "OhHhh, so you''ve gained the willpower to get it up again, lover boy?" Madison teased, her long tongue licking her painted lips.

    Dragan groaned, his back smashed against a wall. He jammed a bloody finger into his mouth to vomit the contents of his stomach.

    "Hold her off, Lone. I just-- I just need a sec," Dragan coughed, dragging himself to Tamaki''s unconscious form. He unstoppered a potion and poured it into Tamaki''s mouth.

    Lone growled, flexing his arms. His insides were burning and aching, like he was being eaten away. Madison''s power was surging through his body, and he was fighting for control over it.

    "Fuck off, Madison." Lone threw his arm forward, revealing an obscene hand gesture, "You might have taken my virginity but you won''t take my pride!!"

    Madison frowned, crossing her arms over her ample breasts, "Kneel."

    Lone couldn''t control his body as his knees painfully crashed down to the stone tform, "GRAHH!". He struggled against the force, but whatever was inside his body twisted his muscles, wracking him with pain. Forced to give in, the side of his face soon fell hard next to Madison''s feet.

    The dark-haired woman lifted her bare foot and pressed it against Lone''s face. Unable to control his actions, he haltingly stuck his tongue out and began to lick the dirt in between her toes. He could only gaze helplessly up at her shapely legs as Madison caressed the area between her dripping thighs.

    Madison grinned wickedly, "I''ve already imed you, Lone Shadowdark. Give in. Your body is MINE tomand. You WILL give in! You WILL kill your former allies! And then I will draw every fluid from your body to feed my lust and to give birth to our new brood!"

    Lone shut his eyes, resisting Madison with every onze of his being. Itching deep within his loins, he felt a new power-- a power that could help him fight. He reached out his hands,tching onto the edge of the stone tform.

    "I won''t let you make me hurt my friends!!" Lone screamed.

    He pulled himself off of the tform, plummeting to the fiery depths below.

 Chapter 108 Deus Vult

    ?Dragan cut through Maximus'' nt-men with Lone''s two swords, clearing a path for Tamaki to run through, "Go on ahead, Tamaki!!

    "You got it, Mister Dragan!" Tamaki, a credit to his sect, dodged and weaved his way through the nt-men''s attacks, climbing the stairs past.

    "Sword burst!" Dragan yelled. He thrust his sword out and the mana thrust out all about him in sharp points, urately piercing each of his enemies in the chest.

    "Seal the cracks!!" Maximus yelled. He literally spat a bolt of lightning, electrocuting a half-dozen nt-men alongside the walls.

    Dragan leaped up and smashed near the top of one of the wall cracks, shattering one of Lone''s swords. Simultaneously, Maximus tossed his shield at another. The two open paths copsed, sealing them both in debris.

    "Where''s Lone?" Maximus raised a fist to Dragan, and they tapped their knuckles together.

    Dragan averted his eyes, "Saw his girlfriend. Jumped off the steps. Nothin'' we could do."

    Maximus nodded, "That kinda day, huh?"

    "No kidding, got any potions?" Dragan picked up a rock and tossed it to kill a nt-creature sneaking up on Tamaki, "I''m fresh out after tearing some cursed spines out of my hand."

    The dark-haired, blue-winged dovahkiin snorted, "I don''t. One of these nt-people tore up one of my wings with its weird thorn-stick. Where''s your axe?"

    The red-headed giant shrugged, "Elf thing that''s chasing us while this whole ce is exploding. Normal weapons don''t hurt it."

    Maximus nged his spear against his shield, "My faith will pierce a hole in his defenses."

    The giant crossed his thick arms, looking down, "Really, dude?"

    The holy warrior nged his shield again, "The spearde''s made from Tyrion steel-- a silver alloy. Might do better?"

    Dragan started up the steps, "We''re withdrawing, don''t do anything dumb."

    "Wait."

    Stopping, Dragan slowly turned his head back. "Come on, man. Forget about it."

    Maximus grit his teeth, "Is she dead?"

    "...Yeah. Don''t do anything stupid, Maximus."

    The mebriar Monarch approached at a walking pace, slowly ascending the steps as if floating. Spines covered its thick armored body, arms of elongated woven strands of vines dragged on the floor beside it.

    "Go," Maximusmanded.

    Dragan grit his teeth and breathed deeply into his nostrils. No more words needed to be exchanged. He turned to sprint after Tamaki.

    ...

    Lone fell over the side of the tform, watching Madison''s form growing smaller and smaller. With the air rushing past him, he was finally able to gain relief from the sweltering heat inside the tower.

    "I WONNNN''T LET YOUUU!!" Madison shrieked.

    She jumped off the tform after him, summoning a swarm of her insects to power her flight. Why was it so hard for Lone to die when he wanted??

    He had lost his swords when he cked out. But he still had the rest of his gear! Lone began throwing hatchets, a short sword, even his water canteen at Madison-- but all of it was swallowed by the ck mass of her insect swarm.

    [I am with you, Father...]<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone felt the warmth of mana coursing through his veins. Boss Tycon''s mana was quick, direct, filled with the power of rage and cunning decisiveness. His daughter''s mana... was different. It had warmth. It had a soft and stubborn strength. It was silvery bright, filled with innocence and hoping desperately for tomorrow.

    As downtrodden as Lone felt... Trudging each day through the insurmountable pressure, through pain, tears, and loneliness... He could not deny that he was loved.

    "Yeah. Let''s go... Yaeger."

    He named her. She felt his intentions. The link between them forged, she gave it her all.

    [Father...]

    Yaeger channeled her mana through Lone, a silvery glow enveloping his form and freeing himpletely from Madison''s influence. He had control of his body!

    [I''m not afraid any longer! Let''s face Mother together!]

    "Right," Lone nodded, "I won''t let you down!"

    Silvery wings sprouted from Lone''s back, halting his descent. This was mana. Lone felt his fingers, felt his pulsating heart. His senses were heightened, feeling the ebb and flow of the heated air, hearing the sounds of Maximus fighting against the mebriar Monarch.

    Yaeger''s unending mana coursed through his meridians. Lone finally understood why Boss Tycon never acknowledged his usage of Skills. If he could channel Yaeger''s mana into his Whirlwind Attack, he''d be able to defeat anyone in Invictus.

    Lone turned mid-air to face Madison. With his mana-enhanced vision, he saw each individual flying insect in the tens of thousands thatprised Madison''s 6 ck wings.

    Her eyes were full of incredulity and seething hatred, "You... DARE use my children against me?!?"

    Yaeger called out, an ethereal voice heard by Madison and all her children, [I won''t let you hurt Father!!]

    Lone reached out, forming a living, writhing greatswordprised of Yaeger''s silvery mana, "I will protect my friends AND my daughter, Madison!"

    ...

    Maximus deflected the mebriar Monarch''s vine arm with his shield, simultaneously throwing his body out of the way. The vine went on to smash a hole into the wall.

    Maximus narrowed his eyes. He couldn''t get caught by that. He held an advantage at range against the mebriar Monarch, like he did fighting against Seldin Korr a moon prior.

    His mana had been steadily depleted by fighting the Monarch''s nt-men, so he was reluctant to wage a prolonged fight. However, the creature had proved resistant to his lightning attacks.

    He tightened the grip on his spear. It was a great risk to get into the Monarch''s melee range.

    The dark ram-skull figure glided forward like a ghost. Its voice was a powerful, foreign whisper, and Maximus felt as if it spoke behind his neck, "(BURN. RETURN TO DUST.)"

    With a p of his great blue wings, Maximus rose into the air. Pointing his spear downward, he charged most of his mana reserves into his most powerful attack, "Howling Tempest!!"

    Battering winds crashed into the Monarch, invisible walls of force smashing it off of its footing. But just as Maximus was beginning to see hope, vines from where the creature''s legs would be jutted into the stone floor. As it right itself, it waved its vine arms in a cross, nullifying Maximus''s spell, "(I. AM INEVITABLE.)"

    Maximusnded. His spell didn''t work. He lifted his silvery spear-de to examine it. It was a gift from the Archbishop, herself-- emzoned with the symbol of the Silver me. Regardless of whether the silver alloy would affect a fae, its effectiveness as a tool to smite evil was unmatched.

    Beyond the spear, his opponent stood, shrouded by a robe of ck thorny vines. The ram-skulled Monarch spoke, "(THY GOD. CANNOT SAVE THEE. PALADIN.)"

    Maximus pointed his spear forward, lowering his stance to charge, "If I must fall here in order to bring you down, then so be it."

    The creature raised its arms, tilting up its red-eyed mask. Wings like ck branches began to sprout from its back, "(AND WHO. ART. THOU??)"

    Maximus charged forward as a streaking bolt of lightning, his spear aimed at the heart of the enemy, "I am MAXIMUS of Sol Invictus and victory will be MINE!!"

 Chapter 109 Last Stand

    ?Four needle-toothed nt-creatures circled around Kimura Tamaki, ring with red beady eyes and wielding sharp-thorned sticks as swords. Tamaki needed to circumvent them to get to the irondder to freedom.

    "Gods damn it, Tamaki! Just-- just hold on, dude!!" Dragan was still climbing stairs to reach him. Every few steps he had to swing his remaining weapon, Lone''s weathered longsword, stained green by the blood of dozens of feral nt-men.

    Tamaki grinned. He could handle himself. He took the metal quarterstaff off his back, the former spear belonging to Invictus Pale.

    He weighed it in his hands, "Oh, wow. Now that I think of it, the weight of this thing''s kinda like a fishin'' pole."

    Tamaki changed his grip on the staff, simr to how he held his weapon of choice-- it felt just right for a reason he could neither exin or understand.

    ...

    "(WHAT IS. THIS POWER?)" The mebriar Monarch bled a thick, bronze sap from the vines that covered its body. But it was nowhere near enough to y it... the vines were visibly regenerating their cuts.

    Maximus looked haggard, his blood running down his dark hair, ck spines stuck in his armor, "Never fought a dragonborn before? We get stronger the harder we fight!"

    Rushing forward, the winged warmage jammed his spear into the Monarch''s neck, "MAXIMUS!!"

    Lightning mana coursed through the Monarch''s body, as Maximus poured all the free mana he could into his spear. Four red insectoid mandiblesshed forward from underneath the creature''s ram skull,tching onto Maximus''s spear hand.

    The dragonborn grit his teeth, "You''re an ugly motherfucker."

    "(AND THOU. ART A DEAD ONE,)" The monarch dered, its voice a thousand skitters and screams.

    Maximus groaned in pain as he tried to pull his bleeding hand back. The pain was almost unbearable as the Monarch''s mandibles ripped and tore at his flesh, crunching at the bloody bone. His spear-- he needed it badly. If he lost it, all hope would be lost along with it.

    ...

    "Tamaki, I''min'' to save ya-- Don''t you dare d--"

    Dragan finally reached the top tform. But instead of finding the mangled corpse of Kimura Tamaki, he found the blonde boy staring up the irondder, the corpses of 4 nt-men at his feet.

    The red-headed giant jogged over to him. Looking up, the iron door had been sealed. Dragan knew right away that it was useless to climb up and bang on it-- it was made in such a way that sounds were impossible to hear through it.

    Dragan cursed that he lost his axe to the mebriar Monarch. He didn''t have a chance at prying the iron door with his bare hands.

    They were going to die.

    Dragan flexed all of his muscles before rxing them all with a sigh, "Well, this sucks."

    "How''re we gonna escape, Mister Dragan?" Tamaki looked up at Dragan innocently. Had the possibility of death not crossed the boy''s mind?

    "I guess I''ll go down to help Maximus. Just stay here and don''t do ANYTHING. Boss will jam that quarterstaff you''re holding up my anus if I let you die," Dragan began to rapidly descend back down the steps.

    "You got it, Mister Dragan!" Tamaki saluted Dragan''s back as he left.

    Lone smashed into the edge of the tform, his legs dangling off of it. Without hesitation, Tamaki walked over and pulled him up, so he wouldn''t fall back down into the fiery abyss, "I didn''t know you could fly, Chosen One?"

    "Ehehe," Lone managed tough before falling unconscious.

    Only Tamaki remained (conscious) on the topmost tform.

    Tamaki punched one of his fists into his opposite palm, "Looks like it''s up to me to find the lever that opens up the iron gate!"

    ...

    Dragan dropped down to Maximus''s tform, wielding a sword that looked tiny against his massive frame. He kept his weapon pointed forward, taking slow, measured steps towards Maximus of Ezyria and the mebriar Monarch.

    A blue-scaled blood-covered wing full of holesy on the ground between them.

    "What... what the hells are you doing?" Maximus groaned.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The blue-scaled dovahkiin knelt down, facing Dragan, with the mebriar Monarch at his back. The Monarch''s hand had changed from vines to gnarled wooden fingers. The fae creature had one hand ced on Maximus'' shoulder, and the other gripped the base of his remaining left wing.

    Dragan stopped his movement. He had his range.

    "Whirling Rend!!" Dragan tossed his de. With the Monarch upied, the de immediately found its mark, lodging itself into the side of mebriar Monarch''s chest.

    Lone''s steel didn''t even make the creature flinch.

    Dragan''s heart dropped. The creature didn''t have an enchanted armor or a mana-based regeneration ability-- Maximus would have dropped its defenses if that were true. The mebriar Monarch was an ancient existence so powerful that it needed specific enchantments or specially-made cold iron tobat it.

    Guild Invictus had neither.

    "GRAHHHHHHRGHH!!" Maximus screamed in pain as the Monarch tore the scaled wings off of his back. He discarded it like a piece of trash onto the stones.

    "DRAGAAAAN!" Maximus screamed, "Get the HELLS away!! I''m channeling thest of my mana!!"

    "Dude, don''t do this!! Don''t be dumb!!" Dragan yelled back, "Just hold on!"

    Maximus narrowed his eyes, no longer having the energy to shout, "You''ll die."

    Dragan smirked, cracking his knuckles, "My Mana Ward will save me."

    Maximus shook his head, and lowered his shield. Dragan''s heart dropped upon seeing the gaping hole in the dragonborn''s chest, a broken thorn half the size of a sword staunching the blood.

    There was a hole in his chest. Blood was probably streaming down his back. His hand was severed at the wrist like it was torn off.

    Maximus was going to die.

    His spear was nowhere to be found, thest hope that Dragan had atbating the mebriar Monarch.

    But still, Dragan hesitated to leave, "No man left behind, Maximus. Don''t you remember?"

    Maximus saluted with his right stump-of-a-hand to his chest, "Death to the enemies of Guild Invictus."

    Maximus began to glow radiantly with an overwhelming amount of mana. The mebriar Monarch''s rams-skull head tilted in curiosity. The collected mana grew exponentially-- all of his life essence, his scales, flesh, and bone channeled into the spell. Dragan inwardly cursed as he shielded his eyes from the light. Quickly calcting in his head, he began toyer Mana Ward after Mana Ward, praying that he''d be able to survive Maximus'' final stand.

    ...

    Dragan''s vision was bleary. His world spun. He couldn''t hear a damn thing, save the ringing in his ears. He found which way was down, and he set his feet and arms in that direction.

    Stairs. He had to get up the stairs. He scrambled up the stairs to the next flight. The ringing didn''t stop. It would be a real bitch if it didn''t go away.

    Dragan found Lone''s body. Was he dead? Didn''t matter. He picked Lone up over his shoulder. Strange. Why did his right arm hurt so much? Didn''t matter.

    Tamaki was yelling. Dumb kid. But he caught a damn good catfish. What was he saying? He was pointing up?

    Dragan looked up. The iron door was open. Freakin'' sweet. He grabbed hold of the irondder and began to climb. One step. Three steps. Lots ofdder steps.

    Seven hells. The blonde kid. If he didn''t get the blonde kid, Boss would kill him. Dragan looked down. The kid was fiddling with a hidden lever on the wall. So that''s how he got the door open. Smart kid. He felt that sometimes, the boy was smarter than he was.

    ck vines grabbed the boy''s neck, thorns piercing his flesh. Was he screaming? What was he saying? Shit. Boss was gonna kill him. The boy was gone, pulled away by the Monarch to wherever the hell that bastard was.

    Dragan kept climbing. He found the open iron door. He threw Lone up to the surface. Damn, did his arm hurt. He climbed to the top and dragged himself up.

    Guild Trayus surrounded him. Good. They were allies. His consciousness was fading. With a heavy arm, he mmed the iron door shut, "SEAL IT! SEAL IT, GODS DAMN YOU!!"

    Dragan couldn''t hear himself shout. He hoped they heard him. He screamed it a few more times, even though he couldn''t open his eyes. Damn. Boss was going to kill him.

 Chapter 110 Invincible Dragan

    ?A Titanblood emerged from the iron hatch. He was covered in blood, cuts, and char marks and one of his arms was obviously broken. He screamed himself hoarse, begging and pleading.

    High Wizard Trayus immediately cast Arcane Lock on the iron door.

    Trayus pulled down his hood and summoned his lieutenants, "Gather all the Circle Mages and Ritual Casters in 10 minutes-- no, as many as you can in 5. I want ayered Arcane Lock on that door."

    Two of his Circle Mages saluted, "Yes, sir!"

    Jejeka Banjeka, the vertically challenged popoto-skinned, Popoto-sized magician danced in a panic, alternating his bouncing legs, "What do I do? What do I do?"

    Trayus grimaced, "Master Druid."

    A nearby mage wearing antlers on his forehead nodded, "As youmand, High Wizard... Calm Emotions!!"

    A gentle mist of mana washed over the Popoto, calming him down almost immediately... "High Wizard, 5 members of Guild Invictus went down there. 3 of them were Iron-Rank... including Councilor Naedrielle."

    Trayus let out a sigh, "Stars and stones... House Windwhisper will not be pleased. Mage Jejeka, get the Titanblood and hispanion to an infirmary. If their injuries are severe, have the Healers use potions or scrolls."

    The antlered mage coughed, "Our side has taken casualties, as well, High Wizard."

    Trayus shook his head, "Whatever they fought down there was in defense of the city... and likely the Kingdom. If it wasn''t Guild Invictus to face that threat, it would be us. We can spare a few scrolls as thanks and as condolences."

    ...

    "Was it the best you could do?"

    Dragan awoke to a surge of healing mana. He was in a white room that smelled like sterilizing soaps, lying on three beds pushed together. He sighed. The ringing in his ears hadn''t gone away.

    Tycon was sitting patiently in front of him, wearing silver armor and the bright blue tabard of the Kingdom''s soldiers. His familiar frowning face was aforting sight.

    "Hey, Boss," Dragan tried to wave his hand. Then he noticed his arm was molded into a cast, "Oh. Looks like I broke my arm. That''s embarrassing."

    Tycon stared, his golden eyes silently pressuring Dragan to keep speaking. He was tacitly asking for an exnation.

    Dragan averted his gaze, "If I waited for reinforcements, the Duke would have known. If I went with any less, none of us would have made it back."

    Tycon walked to the window and opened the wooden shutters to let more of the daylight in, "Report."

    Dragan grinned sheepishly, "Do I gotta stand, Boss? I''m pretty messed up right now."

    Tycon turned and groaned in annoyance, "No, you red-haired gori. Just tell me what you''ve discovered."

    Dragan shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, "Underneath one of the Duke''s warehouses, we found a manifest zone that led to a pocket dimension connected to the ne of Fire. We disrupted a ritual circle that held is stability, but the mebriar Monarch showed up."

    Dragan hesitated, but Tycon allowed him his brief silence... "Naedrielle died to buy us some time. Maximus exploded his dovahkiin life essence to buy us some time. Tamaki managed to trigger the mechanism allowing us to escape, but he got grabbed right as we were climbing up."

    Silence enveloped the room.

    Finally, Tycon spoke, "I see..."

    "Barza? Is he?"

    "Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, is alive and decently well. He woke up before you and has been bawling and babbling about losing some woman named Yaeger," Tycon exined.

    Dragan shook his head, "Brain damage?"

    "Likely a false memory stemming from a traumatic brain injury," Tycon agreed.

    "To report on my end: The children are fine. I got arrested for a sun. We found purchase records that condemn the Duke to incarceration, along with what you and Guild Trayus discovered the other night."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Oh, that''s good. Bucket''s alive," Dragan remarked.

    Tycon nodded, "Yeah. The little shite-ling Taree, too."

    "Hey, Boss?"

    "Yeah?"

    "Would it be fucked up if I cried?" Dragan asked in a low voice.

    "Yeah, man. Allow me to lock the door..."

    ...

    In the mercenary profession, you don''t think less of another man when he cries. In this line of work, there is always loss. There are always what-if''s. What if Dragan was a little bit stronger? What if the team was different, if Tycon had apanied them, or if they enlisted the help of the Trayus guild leader? What if they moved faster or waited a sunter?

    Ultimately, unless a god came about and used a 9th or higher Circle spell to reverse time, it didn''t matter. No god was so benevolent.

    Maximus was a Pdin. He died like any other mortal.

    Tycon asked Dragan what they usually did when someone in thepany died.

    "Same as in anypany," he said. "We drink."

    And so the green-haired, youthful-looking boy drank with the triple-bedded red-headed giant.

    Pale and Taree knocked on the door. They brought sweetbreads from the baker, Heloise. They had apanied Guild Trayus in seeing that the Duke was arrested. His warehouses were seized, as well as his estate. Everything he owned would be sold off, including all of the "art" he''d collected.

    It was good to know. Tycon was nning on visiting the manor that night. He still had explosives from House Muto in his spatial ring.

    Pale took the news well, keeping a solemn face. The boy was a veteran member of Guild Invictus, and some had died under his father''smand.

    ...Former leader Quay was still missing and Pale yet held onto the hope that he lived. It was just as well. The bastard could still be alive, for all Tycon knew.

    Kimura Taree did not take it well. She wailed. She wanted to fight. Tycon was prepared to have Pale cast another Sleep scroll on her. But even she couldn''t keep her anger when she saw thesting evidence of crying on Dragan''s face.

    Invincible Dragan. Unstoppable Dragan. Always grinning, always smiling Dragan. Impossibly honest. Drunk. Foolish. Violent. Cunning.

    A good man, that Dragan. As well as Maximus, a noble, honest man.

    Taree kept asking Tycon if he was okay. Of course, he was okay.

    She was the one who lost her blood brother. Idiot.

    They had moved Lone to Dragan''s room. Together, the 5 of them talked. They told stories, how they felt, what Maximus wouldugh at, stories of Tamaki growing up, even how a mysterious woman named Yaeger managed to save Lone.

    An entire sun had passed, talking, grieving together. Tycon did not deem the time spent as a waste. It was necessary.

    Pain shared is pain divided. Joy shared is joy multiplied.

    "What happens now?" Taree asked.

    Tycon looked to Dragan, "We do what we must. Mister Dragan?"

    Dragan sighed staring at the ceiling, "We need to report to the Gatekeepers. A faction from the ne of Fire has dered war on us."

 Chapter 111 Awfully Calm

    ?"Good evening, Monsieur le Baron," the lightly-armored veteran guard bowed.

    Tycon chopped his wristbone onto the guard''s jugr vein, dropping him to the ground. The guard woke up in a few seconds, coughing and gasping for air.

    "I am the leader of a guild, shite for brains. You will render me a gods damned salute," Tycon spat as he stepped over the man and into the courtesan house proper.

    A tall, purple-haired half-elven woman approached him, d only in thin golden chains, "Sir knight, may I escort you?"

    "No," Tycon brushed past her. He didn''t care about anyone else. He just needed to see her. "Also, your perfume is cheap and your eyeliner is as uneven as your breasts."

    No other courtesans bothered the silver-armored knight on his way to Princess Aur''s room. Second floor. The room at the end of the hallway. Tycon found the familiar Levi Wolfrider standing guard.

    "Mister Levi."

    "Boss," Levi rendered a salute. "Nice armor."

    Tycon nodded in acknowledgment. He nced back down the hallway. Other clientele were present, so Tycon had to watch his words, "Is our mutual friend inside?"

    The weretouched boy gave a troubled expression, whining softly, "She is, Boss. But she''s meeting with someone."

    "One?"

    "Just one, Boss."

    "Are they sexually attractive?"

    Levi''s ears shot up in curiosity, "I guess so, why?"

    Tycon checked to make sure a poisoned bolt was loaded into his hand-crossbow. He ratcheted the lever back and clicked off the safety.

    Levi stepped aside, "Oh."

    Tycon made sure his crossbow-arm was covered by his cloak before entering the room. It was brighter than he remembered. Upon closing the door, he breathed in-- ugh. The man in the room wore a heavy concentration of perfume oil.

    "Excuse me, sir. Who in the zes are you?" The man had stood up, his face full of indignation. Aur had remained seated, a frustrated look on her face.

    Tycon checked the door again, his talisman from the other sun was still present. Using his System to check it, it was still in effect.

    [Private Sanctum. Fourth-Circle Abjuration. The barrier prevents magical and corporeal senses, to include hearing, vision, and mana-sense...]

    "I''d like to introduce my associate, Baron Tycondrius of Guild Invictus," Aur said coolly. "And this is--"

    "Konstantin Dunzis," the bearded man said.

    He was dressed in noble''s traveling leathers and a handsome cape in the style of the Kingdom. He wore a neatly trimmed mustache and beard, and short, slicked-back pale blonde hair. His features marked him as a man not of the Kingdom-- likely from the Sleeping Country. Tycon couldn''t wait to see him dying on the floor from a poisoned crossbow bolt in a major artery.

    Neither man offered their hand.

    "Sol Invictus. I''ve heard of you," Dunzis started, "It''s so strange for a guild named in thenguage of the Holy Country to traipse around the Kingdom unchecked."

    Tycon remained impassive, "I''m doing a job for the Princess. Is it wise to openly question her man? Or perhaps you didn''te to request for her help and to order her instead?"

    "That is enough, Sir Baron," Aurmanded.

    She narrowed her eyes at Tycon and her lips twitched, "Mister Konstantin."

    The man half-turned, unwilling to turn his back to Tycon, "Princess."

    "You have my promise for support. The details will be discussedter."

    The man gauged her expression before bowing lightly, "Very well. I shall take my leave, then."

    The man walked past Tycon without a second nce and let himself out of the door. No kindness. Base cordiality. No apology for his rudeness. For a merest hint more, Tycon would have shot the man. Tycon locked the door.

    The blonde princess red, "Sir Baron, is your seal still in effect?"

    "It is."

    Aur fell onto the pillows, "What the hell, Prince? What was that all about?"

    Tycon clicked the safety on his crossbow and began to unload it.

    "Dude, what the fuck? Were you really going to shoot that guy?" Aur was covering her mouth with her hand, but her eyes were smiling.

    Really? The girl had nearly witnessed a literal murder... It seemed a bit stupid, after the fact.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon sighed, "Not in a good mood, Aur."

    Tycon flopped into Aur''sp.

    "This is not appropriate," Aur chided.

    "Don''t care," He sat up and brushed his nose on Aur''s neck, "You''re the only person who doesn''t smell in this entire inn."

    Aur giggled, but didn''t stop him, "What are you, a dog, now?"

    "Maybe I''m a snake as Naedrielle said? Or are you hinting that you enjoy Mister Wolfrider''spany?" Tycon gazed into Aur''s eyes.

    "Ugh. No, thanks," Aur shrugged. She brushed her hand through Tycon''s green hair, "What''s wrong, sweet prince?"

    Tycon pressed his shoulder to Aur''s abdomen... and picked her up, pomfing her down upon the bed.

    "Um, Tycon, what are you doing?"

    Tycon began taking off his armor, "I''m tired. Duke''s arrested. I lost nearly half of my guild-- help me with these straps, will you?"

    "Oh, my God, that''s terrible," Aur was shocked, "I heard the report... but..."

    "I''m quite upset-- Ah, thanks," Tycon finally got the rest of his armor off with Aur''s assistance. He slipped off his tunic and trousers.

    "...What are you doing now,?"

    Tycon pulled at the sheet underneath Aur, the force causing her to roll the opposite way. Heid next to her and tossed the sheet over them, "I''m getting ready for bed. What did it seem like I was doing?"

    "And why did you think this was okay?"

    Tycon ced a hand on the side of Aur''s face, staring deep in her eyes. Obediently, the blonde girl fluttered her eyes closed and they shared a kiss. And another, deep and passionate.

    Aur kept silent, staring at Tycon''s lips.

    "Why are you still wearing that?" Tycon asked.

    "My dress? ...Do you want me to--"

    Tycon kissed her again, "No, the hair. Do you like it better being blonde?"

    "I... I dunno." Aur hesitated, "I just... figured Aur was blonde. And she is. So I am."

    Tyconid back on the pillow on his palms, appreciating the feeling of his body sinking into the high-quality mattress, "Unfortunately for you, I''m probably the only person in this world that somewhat understands your plight."

    Aurid her head on Tycon''s chest, "Is that such a bad thing?"

    Tycon sighed, stroking Aur''s blonde hair, "I suppose even a virgin like you, will do."

    Aur puffed her cheeks out, "What the heck''s that supposed to mean?"

    "I''m joking, Aur," Tycon booped her nose with the tip of his finger.

    Sheid on his stomach and blew onto his skin to make an indecent noise, "I know."

    "Au~ra," Tycon sang.

    "Yeah?"

    "You''re awful calm for a virgin literally in bed with a half-naked gentleman."

    In a panic, Aur tried to get up, but Tycon kept a firm hold of the woman''s waist. After a brief struggle, she plopped her face onto his chest. He could tell her face was flush by how warm it was.

    Aur bit her upper lip, "I... I grew up with a brother, I guess."

    "Oh? Did you ever sleep with your brother, then?" Tycon teased.

    "Yes. I mean NO! NOOO! Not like THAT!!" Aur struggled in vain as Tycon kept hold of her.

    Tycon chuckled, "I''m teasing, Aur. And what happened to him?"

    "He died."

 Chapter 112 Mana Transfer Ritual

    ?**Content Warning: Sexual Activity**

    Tycon changed his position in the bed and embraced the smaller Aur with strong, protective arms, "Can you tell me about him?"

    "Y-yeah... It was a few years ago. Or a lot of years ago, actually."

    Aur''s voice was calm, like she''d told the story a dozen times before, "We got news that my brother had an ident overseas. He threw himself onto a grenade, they said. He saved 13 other people."

    Tycon pulled her close and touched his forehead to hers. She smiled, a nostalgic and reminiscent smile, "Mom was pretty devastated. She cried for days. But she had me and Thea to worry about, so she had to go back to work after a week."

    "Some Officer showed up at our door. A Captain or Lieutenant-Captain or something, but he was old and his coat dangled with medals when he walked. He talked about how brave my brother was and that he was sorry and that we should be proud. They named a Chow Hall after him, I guess. Dad poured him a drink."

    "You wanna know what the worst part is?" Aur looked up, her voice starting to quaver.

    Tycon nodded for her to go on.

    "One of our family friends was a guy in his team. He got drunk one night and told everyone that my brother blew his brains out. Like, he couldn''t handle the pressure or whatever and he just ate the bullet. Everything else was a cover-up, the award he got, the medal they mailed to the house. But those 13 people knew.

    "His sister, Jessa told me. I was pretty numb when I heard it. I mean, I wasn''t surprised. My brother always had a self-esteem issue. And we were all pretty surprised he joined the military. I just don''t understand it, you know? How bad could it have been?" Aur curled up in Tycon''s arms.

    "...It''s not easy," Tycon finally said.

    He didn''t understand much of what Aur was saying, but he understood the gist. He and Aur came from very different worlds, not that she needed to know that.

    Tycon spoke, gently stroking Aur''s back, "The worst affliction of military members is the doubt. Why am I still alive when they aren''t? Why do I deserve to live when I''m not as fast, as strong, as smart? And does anyone truly care?"

    "But I cared. Mom and Dad cared. Jessa''s brother Owen cared," Aur argued.

    "I know. And I won''t speak ill of the dead, but it''s important that we always reassure our own that we care."

    Aur pouted in silence, enjoying her back and hair being stroked like a cat.

    "I''m waiting for it, Aur."

    "Waiting for what?"

    "For you to tell me you care about me," Tycon teased.

    Aur hmphed, turning away, "What makes you think I care about you?"

    Tycon kissed her on the forehead, "I''m half-naked in your bed. Your trust and care is implied."

    "How do you know I sleep here, anyway? I could just be keeping youpany because of the big sad."

    Tycon sighed, "You gave yourself away, just now. You basically confirmed that you do sleep here."

    The blonde princess pursed her lips, "What if I didn''t?"

    "Have you not noticed that I have an excellent sense of smell? The entire courtesan house outside of this room is filled with smells that give me a headache," Tycon exined nonchntly. "Which is why I''m here, in your bed-- which smells like the person who sleeps in it, enjoying the scent of your body."

    The reddening princess growled, "That''s-- that''s not fair. Pervert!"

    Tycon pulled her in slowly and deliberately for a deep kiss. He grabbed her hips and pulled her to straddle his waist where she could feel his hardness. As they kissed he began to pull her dress off. Tacitly, she raised her arms to allow him to remove the garment over her head.

    "Prince?"

    Tycon kissed her deeply, allowing his arms to grab and caress whatever he felt like, "Yes, Princess?"

    "What... are we?" Aur asked in an uncharacteristically tiny voice.

    "How difficult," Tycon replied... "We''re allies with amon background that are physically and emotionally attracted to each other."

    Aur frowned. It wasn''t the answer she wanted.

    "Would you prefer being lovers? Are you so intent on that mana transfer ritual?"

    "That..." She averted her gaze, allowing Tycon to admire of the cute side of her face and her gorgeous neckline.

    Tycon pulled her close, kissing and running his teeth along her neck, breathing into her ear, "Would you have me as your lover? To be quite honest, I''m fairly controlling. At the very least, you''d have to cancel all of your ns for tomorrow morning."

    "I... That..." Aur was conflicted. The heavy intimate contact was clouding her judgment.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "It will hurt," Tycon kissed her again. He applied pressure to her lower back, grinding her hips against his.

    "I know," Aur gulped.

    "And when the hurt goes away, you''ll be quite sore," Tycon kissed her, and again, sucking lightly on her tongue.

    "I-it will?" Aur whispered.

    "I can assure you it''ll be quite nice in between," Tycon chuckled, gently matching Aur''s grinding rhythm.

    The princess moaned lightly in response. The girl''s body was certainly honest. It was a weakness, if anything.

    "You might fall in love," Tycon warned, half-teasing, half-serious.

    "I... I might already have," she whispered breathily.

    Tycon leaned towards her ear, lightly nibbling on it, leaving a breathy whisper in her ear, "Even if I''m not human?"

    Aur''s eyes widened in shock, "You''re not? What are you?"

    Tycon deeply kissed Aur, twirling his tongue and ying with hers. He quickened his grinding pace, rubbing her sensitive areas, matching her moans. Aur embraced him, grabbing at his hair, pulling him in for hungry kisses to match his fervor.

    Finally, when they were both somewhat content, their lips parted... with Tycon pecking her on the lips once more. He had to get thatst kiss in.

    She kissed him back. Drat.

    "What are you?" She repeated, her eyes unfocused, clouded by lust.

    Tyconughed, "A snake."

    ...

    A ck-haired, no-makeup princess red at Tycon while he was putting on his tunic and trousers. Her illusory make-up had worn off several bells prior.

    "You''re a beast. What the hell? I''m sore EVERYWHERE!!"

    Tycon offered a shrug, "I told you."

    "I thought you just meant... you know! My legs! And maybe my thing!" Aur raised her voice. She didn''t seem incredibly upset. But she was greatly annoyed.

    "You were rather insistentst night that it felt better when it was sore."

    "Well... Yeah. But that was... Shut up!!" Aur threw something at Tycon. Tycon caught it. Her balled up underwear?

    "Are you giving this to me? Hm." Tycon briefly considered actually taking it.

    No. No, that wasn''t in his best interests.

    "G-give it back!" Aur pouted. She sat up, crossing her arms, barely covering her ample chest.

    "Or perhaps I should go back to bed to have another taste?" Tycon grinned.

    "Whatever, you pervert!" Aur hid underneath her nkets, "What time is it, anyway?"

    Tycon checked his pocket-watch, "It''s about 9. Have somewhere to be?"

    She threw a pillow, which Tycon deftly dodged, "We''ve been doing it for the past 2 hours, why didn''t you tellllll meeeeee!??!"

    "I feel obligated to tell you it was a bit over 3 bells."

    Aur bundled herself up in her nkets, "Ughhhh. I don''t wannnnna goooooo. I''m so sooooooore."

    Her face peeked out of the swaddled nkets, "This is all your fault, Tycon."

    Tycon chuckled as he approached the bed, stripping off his tunic and tossing it aside.

    "N-nnnot again?! You-- you!!" Aur yelled.

 Chapter 113 Strength Of The Wolf

    ?Aur and Tycon spent the previous evening and most of the following sun together.

    With Duke Tavor jailed for his crimes, Guild Invictus hadpleted the mission for Princess Aur. The next order of business was to inform the Gatekeepers of the possible invasion by the ne of Fire. No messengers delivered to the Gatekeepers by either hand or spell... Tycon nned to contract a ship and send Dragan.

    Aur agreed to give Tycon a letter of introduction to Fleet Admiral Chantal, whose fleet was stationed in Port City Caractere. She also offered the assistance of Wolfbanger-- err... Levi Wolfrider.

    Tycon tried to refuse. Aur insisted, perhaps out of sincerity.

    At Aur''s insistence, she picked Tycon''s knowledges. The princess fancied herself an alchemist. She was particrly adamant about obtaining the recipe of a sweet, bubbled drink she missed from her homeworld, a "ck sugar beer." Tycon suggested that the carbonation could be attained via suspension above a beer fermentation vat, but she''d have to figure out the sugary concoction herself.

    The simple princess was ecstatic, showering Tycon with kisses. Tycon found her intimacy eptable. Establishing such a close bond with Princess Aur exceeded his expectations, but the two of them were better off for it.

    Aur obtained a surge of Tycon''s life essence, absorbing the mana like a greedy sponge. With study, if Aur couldn''t reach 2nd-Circle within the moon, she''d have no future as a Magician.

    Tycon got a sheet of paper and a dog.

    Anyroad...

    Guild Invictus set out the following morning, their numbers noticeably reduced:

    Tycondrius of House Charm. Dragan Ashlord.

    Pale, son of Quay. Lone Shadowdark.

    Taree, the silver-haired whelp.

    Oh, and Levi Wolfrider, the Weretouched Warden.

    "Wolfbanger! How ya doin'' man??" After a couple of suns of rest, Dragan had regained his genial nature, though he still retained a cast around his fractured right arm. Even with magical healing, allowing it to rest for a week or two would avoid any healingplications. The 8-fulm-something-tall gentleman carried aughably small dark iron sword on his waist. Having lost his greataxe, he epted the "gift" from Duke Tavor with chagrin.

    "Oh. Hey. Dragan," The young white-furred weretouched boy seemed... less than pleased to share Dragan''spany. The Warden carried a stupid-looking battle-hammer with an oversized head. A greathammer? It looked unbnced. And the boy didn''t have the build to wield such a weapon as Dragan could.

    Tycon was in a good mood, though, so he didn''t feel like arguing.

    ...He knew he still smelled like Aur. And he knew the weretouched dog-wolf-boy was aware of it. That was the most probable reason that Wolfrider ttened his ears whenever Tycon was around and avoided talking to him outside what was necessary. Tycon wished he bought a book on dogs before he left Merylsward, so he could trante the boy''s nonverbal cues...

    As they hiked, Lone approached Tycon for a likely asinine inquiry. He wasn''t able to ask. His mere presence reminded Tycon that... he had been in such a good mood that he forgot that Invictus needed to train.

    The rest of the sun was wonderfully miserable for Taree, Pale, Lone, and sweaty-dog-smell Levi. Dragan was exempt. Tycon worked up a healthy sweat alongside them.

    Invictus couldn''t change their enemies. But Tycon could surround himself with men and women powerful enough to change their destinies with their own hands.

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, had searched for the feeling he was missing for the past couple of suns.

    He still mourned the loss of Yaeger... She had showed Lone what mana felt like, coursing through his body, empowering his muscles, his sword skills, and even his very senses to a level of perfection.

    Before, he thought he could only use so many senses inbat; he could see the enemy and he could hear them. After experiencing Yaeger''s mana, he could feel the airflow around where Madison was going to attack. He could sense Madison''s rage and understand what she was about to say before she said it. The mana de that he wielded felt as if it were another limb-- he could close his eyes and know where it was at all times.

    It felt like he could see the future.

    Yaeger sacrificed thest of her mana, her soul essence. She saved him. He felt like he owed it to her to grow stronger, to regain that feeling of power.

    After a harsh sun of training, he approached Boss tentatively, "Sir Tycon?"

    Tycon shed a smile, brushing some of his green hair out of his eyes, "How can I help you, Mister Shadowdark?"

    Lone narrowed his eyes. Not a trace of annoyance was found on his young leader''s face.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon leaned forward, raising his eyebrows.

    Lone was confused. Boss had been in an uncharacteristically good mood since leaving Meryslward. Maybe it was always like this when a mission waspleted? He decided to juste out and say it.

    "Boss, I want to learn how to use mana."

    Tycon ced a hand on his chin, "Amusing. It''s not something you can rush, Lone. Unless you''re a Circle Mage or a Martialist, a Metal Ranker develops their sense of mana naturally. You may be stronger than Pale right now, but his technique is better than yours-- and even he doesn''t have an offensive mana Skill."

    Lone raised a finger, "But he has Crashing Thunder? And that Misty Step movement Skill."

    "...Perhaps Pale is a bad example," Tycon jut out his lower jaw.

    He pat Lone on the shoulder, "Anyroad, I''m d that you''ve developed enough to realize your iling attacks didn''t have a trace of mana in them. You''ve leveled up. Grats."

    Lone averted his gaze, "Boss... I''ve... I''ve felt it."

    Tycon smirked, raising an amused eyebrow, "Impossible. Your foundations are stillcking. Unless a higher rank mage was literally controlling your body, powering mana through it, you''re--

    "But I have!"

    Tycon chopped Lone in the throat with his hand. Lone doubled over, wheezing for air.

    "--Don''t interrupt, young man. Unless you''ve had someone intimately providing mana, showing you how it flows through your body, then your efforts would be in vain. How about this: we''ll search for an Essence Mage in Caractere, how about that, Lone? Lone? ...Are you alright?"

    Lone finally caught his breath, sweating in pain. "Sir Tycon," he gasped.

    "I had that experience underneath Merylsward. Yaeger showed me how to do it."

    "Ah. Very well. May I ask who Yaeger is, my good man?" Tycon smiled, though his eyebrows were still furrowed with confusion.

    "She was birthed from the lice on my balls because I applied your potion as a tonic instead of drinking it-- and she became a sentient mana beast that saw me as her father figure. We fought her mother, this girl who could control bugs, and the same girl that when I got super drunk Dragan got me into having sex with. But because of Yaeger''s sentience, she was able to fight back, allowing me to regain control of my body," Lone exined.

    Tycon crossed his arms.

    "You know what, now that I''ve said that all out loud, it sounds pretty stupid," Lone rubbed the back of his head.

    "Hold on, hold on. Not the strangest thing I''ve ever heard," Tycon lied.

    "To be honest, your... ''Yaeger''s'' mana control is a bit out of my depth. I would suggest you ask Dragan, but I''d rather he not be participating in strenuous activities right now. Just like how I didn''t make you do anything after you cut up your stomach, back in the Mosswood Wilds."

    "Boss, I almost got cut in half!" Lone eximed.

    Tycon looked up at the darkening sky, "Did you? Hm. Maybe I''m talking about a different injury..."

    "Anyroad, what should I do, Boss?" Lone grimaced.

    "Pale is familiar to Elementary Level magic. I''ll change your training schedules around so you two can work together with mana-training in mind."

    Tycon ced his palms together and in a sh of magic, he held two gorgeous dark-metal hammers, their heads in the likeness of growling wolves. He spun them in a flourish and offered the handles forward.

    Lone touched their handles hesitantly, "Boss?"

    "Dark iron maces. A bit heavy, but I''m confident you can handle them. You can consider these your payment for a sessful mission."

    "Grow stronger, Lone Shadowdark." Tycon grinned, "The strength of the pack is the wolf... and there are no weak pups in Guild Invictus."

 Chapter 114 Needless Slaughter

    ?The following sun, Tycon assigned a new block of training for Taree and Levi in martial weapon versatility. Tycon was the instructor. Levi suffered greatly.

    Dragan opted to watch Levi''s trials and tribtions, leaving Lone and Pale to train by themselves.

    Lone exined his predicament to Pale, "So, I wanna use mana in my attacks-- like I want to use a real Skill."

    Pale nodded in understanding, "Like Sir Tycon''s ''Iron Dragon Rend'' and Mister Wroe''s ''Eldritch st''?"

    "Right, and your ''Crashing Thunder''."

    Pale hiked in a cloth robe instead of a spearman''s leathers. His crimson Lifedrinker spear almost looked like a mage''s staff, so the half-elven boy looked unquestionably wizard-y. Boss Tycon hadn''t corrected the boy yet... so Lone decided not to say anything.

    He''d already unintentionally made Levi''s and Taree''s training into "hard-mode." If he opened his dumb mouth, the training would probably worsen for both himself and Pale.

    Pale stood at rest, hugging his spear with crossed arms, "Well, I can only use Crashing Thunder when Taree''s around. I think Boss called it a Combination Skill?"

    Combination Skill. Lone didn''t think he had any chance of learning that, "How about Wroe''s Movement Skill?"

    Pale disappeared in a silvery mist and appeared in the same spot in abat pose, "You mean that?"

    Lone hopped up in both surprise and excitement, "Yeah!! How do I attack like that?"

    Pale poked Lone with the bottom of his spear, "Hyah?"

    Lone stared nkly.

    Pale shrugged, "I dunno, Lone! Why did Boss tell you to work with me instead of Mister Dragan, anyway?"

    Lone rubbed his hair with both hands in frustration, "I dunno either! I should have known you didn''t have any other offensive Skills!"

    Pale''s face lit up, "Oh, wait!"

    He ran over to a nearby tree. What was he doing?

    A red aura of mes licked the trees around Pale. The boy knelt, smashing the bottom of his spear into the ground, "Magnum BREAK!!"

    In a fiery fwoosh, the bark of the tree was charred like it had been lit on fire. And just as quickly, the scarlet mana dissipated.

    Pale ran back. Lone still had yet to close his mouth from the ridiculous disy of power.

    "So a Skill like that? Ehehe." Pale grinned.

    ...

    ? System, directions: Port City Caractere. ?

    [Calcting route... 10 bells and 48 minutes.]

    Tycon examined the transparent map his System provided. He was trying to decide if he wanted a bed to sleep in and a roof over his head or to save a few coins and camp a few hours outside of Caractere.

    It was nice out. Levi was able to hunt for the decently plentiful wild game, so the trip wasn''t terrible. He keenly felt the loss of Kimura Tamaki, but from what Tycon had heard, the boy died an honorable death.

    "B-b-boss..." The dog-eared boy approached warily.

    Tycon mentally closed his System''s transparent disys before examining the young Warden. White-furred, floppy-eared, and permanently wearing a pitiful expression, the young Mister Levi Wolfrider wrung his hands patiently.

    Slightly troubled, Tycon forced a smile. It still bothered him that the young man was "affectionately" called Wolfbanger by Mister Dragan.

    "Mister Levi, report."

    Levi hesitated before rendering a salute, "There''s a merchant caravan ahead being attacked. Should we... should we go around?"

    "Hmm," Tycon pondered it. "No harm in taking a look. Inform everyone that we''re approaching to observe."

    Levi allowed himself a shy smile, "Are we gonna rob the robbers, Boss?"

    Tycon smirked, "Keep your mind open, pup. If the situation calls for it, we might just rob them all."<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    Tycon crossed his arms. Smoke. Bodies. Destruction. Carnage.

    "Empty night. Are you serious?"

    Over 20 men were looting the merchant caravan. Bodies of men and women littered the floor, mostly nobatants. A painfully small number of clothes-torn women were bound as prisoners.

    "Who the BLAZES are you?" A bandit yelled. He wore tattered salt-stained trousers and was missing a great deal of teeth. They all wore salt-stained clothing.

    Tycon sighed. He didn''t feel like wasting time on fools, "Who''s your boss?"

    "EHH?! YOU WANNA TALK TO DA CAPTAIN?!" The bandit yelled. Or was he a pirate? The pirate yelled.

    Tycon tilted his head up, allowing his voice to project, "Wrong answer. Who wants it?"

    Taree, the silver-haired maid, emerged from a bush, cheerfully raising her hand, "Ooh! Ooh! Me, Boss!!"

    Tycon didn''t bother turning back, "Two strikes. Dealer''s choice. You will be rated."

    "You got it, Boss!" Taree stepped towards the man with her opposite knee lifted up. Like a shot, she delivered a side kick to the man''s knee, snapping the man''s leg in the opposite direction. She pirouetted around with her foot raised above her head and axed it down on the fallen man, breaking his opposite vicle.

    "Five points," Tycon said as he walked off.

    "Yasss!" Taree cheered.

    Pale emerged from a bush and exchanged a high-five with the girl.

    "Alright, try number 2. Which one of you lot is The Captain?" Tycon raised his voice. The disy of violence seemed to have garnered everyone''s attention.

    "That would be me," A smart-looking bearded man walked out, wielding two smoking cylindrical weapons in his hands.

    The dog eared Levi emerged from a bush and slinked to Tycon''s side, "Boss, that guy is wielding pistols. They''re a dangerous weapon, even for us Metal Rankers."

    "I''m vaguely familiar with them. Thank you for the warning, Mister Levi," Tycon nodded.

    "You there, Captain. What''s the meaning of this?" Tycon opened his arms.

    The merchant''s carriages all had a semnce of fire damage. No less than a dozen civilians were dead from sword or projectile wounds. The only ones left rtively untouched were 3 terrified, young humans, (assumedly female.)

    "So you fancy yourself a hero, knight?" the bearded man snarled.

    Tycon had eschewed his dark cloak for the silvery armor he wore in Merylsward. Since Dragan was resting, he volunteered to be the big, shiny Metal Ranker that attracted attention.

    "Quite the opposite. If anything, I''m rather annoyed with the needless carnage."

    "Because if you-- Eh?" The Captain hesitated in confusion.

    The other bandits, approaching holding knives, scimitars, and ropes all halted their advance.

    "You killed all these merchants. Why didn''t you... demand a payment?" Tycon asked seriously.

    The Captain grit his teeth, "So we could rob them for all they were worth!! Ain''t that right, boys?!?"

    The bandits started to cheer-- "Yeah, that''s right!" "Cap''n always treats us the best!" "We''re ruthless bastards!!"

    Tycon raised his palms in disbelief, "You could have charged them a road tax, so they could go on their way, make more money, and on their way back you could tax them again."

    Tycon sighed, "It''s the difference between banditry and murder. Banditry gets a warning posted along the roads. Murder garners the attention of guilds, bounty hunters, and Kingdom knights."

    The bandits put their arms back down.

    One of the bandits looked over, "Cap''n... Is that true?"

 Chapter 115 What They Deserve

    ?Captain Cecil''s ship, the Salty Selkie, was sunk by the Kingdom''s naval forces nearly two weeks prior. He figured robbing people onnd wouldn''t be much different than at sea... but he was beginning to think that was not the case.

    After the Selkie ran aground, near half of the survivors mutinied or deserted almost immediately. The ragtag crew left behind were illiterate, unskilled, or were overall too reliant on Cecil''s wise and capable direction to leave.

    After several suns of dwindling supplies, the crew was losing confidence in his leadership abilities. Raiding a merchant caravan was his best hope in raising the crew''s morale... but with the appearance of the bastard knight, his authority was beginning to crumble.

    His naysayers were a mere Kingdom knight, his two children, and his dog. Cecil was a pirate Captain who had sailed with his pirate crew for months and years! It couldn''t be that difficult to win back their hearts and minds!

    The former ship captain crossed his arms, standing tall and puffing out his chest.

    "Well! They..." He leaned forward emphasize his point, "--looked at me funny... So I shot ''em between the eyes!!"

    He opened his arms and faced his crew, pistols in the air, "NO ONE crosses Cap''n Cecil and lives ta tell the tale!!"

    Some of his men''s morale seemed to return. They didn''t cheer aloud like earlier, but the mumbles sounded generally positive. Anyroad, when Cecil distributed the coin, the men wouldn''t go hungry into theing night. The crew shouldn''t mutiny for at least a couple of suns.

    "No, they didn''t!" The knight inly refuted him.

    "Well, that''s not fair," Cecil argued. "You didn''t see it. You don''t know that."

    "Aaarrrgh," The knight groaned. "That''s what I''m saying. You shoot someone to prove a point! ''Gimme all your goods or you won''t live to see tomorrow, yarr.'' What was the point of killing the *lot* of them?"

    "I uh..." Cecil rubbed his beard with the end of his pistol.

    "And quit that," The knight pped the pistol out of Cecil''s hand. Cecil didn''t even see when the young, green-haired knight had moved adjacent to him.

    "That thing''s dangerous, isn''t it? What if it misfired and sted your jaw off? A rather insipid death, don''t you think?" the knight reprimanded.

    Cecil tried to shove the knight away, "Shut up!"

    The knight swayed his body and made Cecil lose his bnce for a moment. Hoping that his crew wouldn''t notice, Cecil walked a few steps away, "Let me think... We, uh-- we killed them all so they wouldn''t tell anyone!"

    The knight had his arms crossed, tapping a metal finger on his armored bicep, "And then?"

    "And... then no bounties would be posted." Cecil grinned wickedly, regaining his confidence, "Are you daft? Do you really need me to exin it to you?"

    "Am *I* daft? Seven bleeding hells, you ignorant bastard!" The knight yelled, "This was a *merchant caravan.* This caravan had a FLAG. They have trade routes and INSURANCE policies. If a caravan goes missing, everyone finds out."

    Cecil turned to look at a nearby carriage. There was a smoldering g on it, too damaged to identify. He looked to his men, who were looking at him with shameful expressions.

    "Alright!" Tycon gave a wide exaggerated shrug, "You lot. I''m in charge now."

    Cecil was bbergasted, "What? No! What? You can''t just decide that!"

    "Lone."

    A rough-looking man with a scarred nose emerged from the bushes, wielding two very, very heavy looking wolf-hammers.

    Cecil stared nkly, "How many people are you hiding in those bushes?"

    The knight looked back, "You learn how to use those things?"

    The rough man grinned, the terrifying grin of a ruthless torturer. He lifted up his hammers, the eyes of the wolves glowing red as the dark iron wolf-heads burst into me.

    Cecil dropped his remaining pistol, "I surrender."

    One of the bandits stepped forward, "Wot? I been workin'' for the Cap''n for 3 years! I ain''t just gonna ''and the leadership to you!"

    Another stepped forward, "Yeahh! Not wivout a fight!"

    A murmur went through the crowd of bandits, a bitcking in enthusiasm.

    The knight remained impassive, but raised his voice, "Very well, who''s your strongest man?"

    The bandits looked at each other-- "The Cap''n?" "The captain." "Maybe Big Lawrence?"

    Big Lawrence, a big man a bit over 6 fulms tall, took a shallow-step forward. He carried with him an impressive looking, two-handed falchion on his shoulder, "Hi. I''m Big Lawrence. First name, William."

    The knight nodded, "Good morning. My name is Tycon. Mister Lawrence, can you defeat my man over there?"

    William Lawrence looked over to the knight''s man. He had a few ilms advantage in height but the other man had hammers that were literally on fire. Lawrence gave Tycon a humble smile, "No, sir. I don''t think I can."

    Tycon pursed his lips... "Well, thank you for your honesty. You may step back."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Thank you, sir."

    Cecil piped up, "But you guys have a kid!!"

    Knight Tycon nodded, "Fair point. Mister Pale. Miss Taree."

    The young half-elven boy in a wizard hat stepped forward. He chanted something and 3 levitating orbs of roiling me floated around his spear.

    The silver-haired maid girl picked up a rock the size of Lawrence''s fist and smashed it against her forehead. Not a bruise or mark or drop of blood was evident. She crumbled the rock into powder and spilled it upon the dirt. Then she hocked up phlegm and spat on the ground.

    "Any challengers?" Tycon asked.

    None of the bandits stepped forward.

    Pale dispelled his magic, frowning at Taree. They both looked slightly disappointed.

    "Well, that does it." Knight Tycon spun his finger, "Mister Cecil, Gather all your men out here. And be quick about it. I don''t have all sun."

    ...

    Tycon had the bandits head to Merylsward to seek out Reynard. They all decided to keep their crew together, a trait that Tycon found admirable. They were a terribly stupid lot, but there were a few Bronze-Ranks among them, Lawrence and Cecil in particr. Reynard could use the much-neededbat power for his future enterprises.

    "But... what about the women we captured, Sir Baron?" Cecil inquired.

    Dragan, the near 9-fulm tall Titanblood walked out from behind one of the merchant carriages.

    The former-Captain was visibly sweating, staring at Dragan''s height, "Was-- was he in the bushes too?"

    Dragan grimaced, "Hey, Boss. The wagons were carrying mostly cloth goods. All of it''s gone to shite, though."

    Tycon took a deep breath. Suddenly, he grabbed Cecil by the cor, "YOU DON''T DESERVE A GODS-DAMNED THING!!"

    "Alright! Alright! I''m sorry! I was just asking!" Cecil was panicking, showing his palms.

    "Calm down. Don''t piss yourself," Tycon shoved the bearded man. Cecil lost his bnce and fell onto his arse.

    He red at the fallen man, "Get moving. If there''s a militia or adventurer patrol in the next few hours, they might be able to track you down."

    Tycon snatched the man''s pistol belts off of him, "And I''m taking these. Arse."

    "Alright, Boss! That''s fine!" Cecil''s voice had raised an octave.

    Tycon handed him a cheap sword, "Now sod off, Mister Cecil. I hope you aren''t this disappointing after you get a sry."

    Hope bloomed in Cecil''s heart, "Y-yes, Boss!"

    Tycon red... "And get a haircut."

    ...

    Dragan stretched the shoulder of his injured arm, still sealed in a hard cast. Tycon had continued with Guild Invictus towards Port Caractere while the Titanblood traveled with the 3 surviving women.

    "Ayep, ordin'' to Boss, just over that way, there''s a small vige called Underfoot."

    The oldest among them, Henriette sobbed heavy tears, "Thank you, Monsieur Dragan. I thought... I thought my life would be over after my father and mother were killed."

    Dragan patted the woman with a heavy hand, "Yeahhhh, that''s the spirit."

    Odette stared nkly at the ground, while her sister Marie shook her.

    "Odette... Odette,e on! We''re going to live in a new ce with big sis Henriette!"

    The staring girl shook her head, "I hate them... I hate them all. I want to... I want to be a Knight when I grow up. I''ll make people like them pay."

    Dragan nodded a few times, "Yep yeap. It''s a shame."

    He unsheathed his sword and cut cleanly through Odette''s neck. With two quick more shes, he cut down Marie and Henriette.

    Dragan silently shook his head. It was a shame that n Underfoot meant to get rid of the witnesses.

    Channeling a steady stream of fire mana, Dragan started to burn the bodies.

 Chapter 116 Pale & Prestidigitation

    ?It took a few bells for Dragan to catch up to the rest of thepany.

    "Wee back, man," Lone greeted Dragan cordially. Over the past few days, it seemed the pair had grown more rxed.

    "Did you show them to the vige?" Pale asked.

    Dragan grinned, "Come onnnnn, Pale. Have I ever gotten lost before?"

    Taree giggled, "You look like you get lost all the time!"

    Draganughed, "Maybe that onnnne time in the markets. But no, we found our way. I''m sure they''ll be fine."

    Tycon pat Dragan on the arm, "You know, I could have shown them the way."

    Dragan smirked, "I know, but I offered. You know I have a way with thedies."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Tss. Right. Good work, Dragan."

    "Anytime, Boss."

    "I kinda wanted to fight those bandits!" Taree sighed loudly, "Those losers didn''t look all that strong!"

    The silver-haired Martialist loved to fight. Tycon figured she wanted to prove herself. Her brother''s recent death had inspired her to exhaust herself with training, throughout the sun. In the evenings, when the girl had time to herself-- that''s when she went off to cry. The whelp probably thought no one knew.

    "Right. And I really wanted to uh... cast spells." Pale nced back at Tycon but immediately looked away.

    The little shite had talent at casting elementary spells but had ironically horrid aim. Tycon couldn''t understand it. The boy was fine with a bow, better with a javelin. If Tycon wasn''t relying on him to watch over Taree''s mental health, he''d have him go without sleep, relentlessly drilling for spell uracy.

    Tycon pushed Pale''s head and lightly flicked Taree''s forehead. They reacted with bright smiles. Tycon had no idea why they reacted that way every time he did so.

    "Young man, youngdy, one of the benefits to being strong is *not* having to fight," Tycon chided. "They feared your confidence. You are confident because you are strong. When the enemy fears you, it means you''ve already won."

    The children seemed to be excited by the fact. Tycon didn''t mind. Growth was good.

    Lone seemed to fall into deeper thought at the notion...

    Draganughed, "Don''t worry. We''ll probably get into a fight as soon as we get to town!"

    Tycon wanted to argue, but it was better to remain vignt. He decided to segue to another topic, "Pale, how are your magical studies progressing?"

    The young boy in his oversized wizard hat and robe tensed up at Tycon''s question, "Well-- I uh... Um. I learned a new spell?"

    Thest time Tycon and Pale had a discussion about magic, it concerned his haphazard casting back at the Royal Robe. It was not the first time the boy cried during intensive training. And if he got hit by a gods-damned lightning bolt in the back again, it wouldn''t be thest.

    Tycon forced a reassuring smile, "Oh? Did you perfect one of your scrolls, then?"

    The boy still had a healthy variety of elementary and First-Circle spell scrolls. While he couldn''t cast First-Circle spells without aid, and their effects were somewhat limited, his talent could easily ce him in the top percentile of students at any magic academy in the Kingdom.

    "R-right," Pale continued. "I can cast Prestidigitation without a focus now-- oh, specifically cleaning and removing rust and stains. I got a lot better after today''s weapons and armor maintenance."

    Taree hugged Pale''s arm, spinning him around, "That''s soooo cool, Pale!"

    Lone pat Pale on the back, "Nice job, man!"

    Tycon nodded, satisfied. Prestidigitation was one of the most useful Elementary level spells. It was also aplex spell with many facets to master, the spell able to eliminate dust and debris from gear, change the colors of a small item, change smells, vor a canteen of water, and even conceal a small object for a short while-- among other effects. Mastering the spell well-prepared a mage for learning theplexities of higher Circle spells.

    Pale took off his hat, his face blushing underneath his sandy-blonde hair, "Thanks, guys!"

    Dragan was trying his best to stifle augh, "Kkkkkhhhh-- haha..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Mister Dragan?"

    The Titanblood burst out into heavy guffaws, "That means you can clean Lone''s armor next time he pisses himself!!"

    ...

    Port City Caractere.

    The streets were paved with a white stone block, matching the nearby cliffs. The ocean mist stun at the eyes, seagulls flew around with their noisy bleatings, and the muted scent of rotting fish remained pervasive in the air.

    "We have two goals," Tycon dered.

    Guild Invictus naturally gathered around him to listen.

    "First goal: Find an inn. Second goal: I need a shop where they fry fish. I''m in the mood for meaty-steak strips-- not the ky or bony bits."

    Dragan nodded, "Sounds good! And let''s get some ale!"

    Tycon agreed, "Yes, I believe a fruitier or a lighter ale pairs better with fish."

    Taree and Lone both heartily agreed on a meal. Wolfbanger muttered something about going off on his own, but Dragan put his arm around the dog-boy and told him he''d at least have to share one meal with the guild.

    Pale raised his hand, interrupting the merriment.

    Tycon pointed, "Go ahead."

    "Sir Tycon," Pale pursed his lips, "What about... Mister Wroe?"

    The group grew silent as Tycon cleared his throat, "We have... three goals."

    ...

    A sumptuous mealter, Tycon had arranged for two small rooms at an inn for their group of 6.

    The inn''s sign was a squat humanoid figure seated on a rectangr shape. As for the inn''s name, Tycon didn''t dare venture a guess.

    He and Lone inhabited the 3-bed room, while Dragan went out for carousing and probably whoring. Tycon recalled how easily the Titanblood got along with Guard Captain Varen''s men back in Nice. The oversized meathead was fine on his own.

    "I certainly hope that bastard, Tarquin Wroe, hasn''t gotten himself killed."

    Tyconid out his gear, performing cursory maintenance to the whistling of the port city''s sharp evening winds. He lightly oiled the Shatterspike, his enchanted sword. He didn''t use it much because of its heavier weight, but he refused to give it away because of its niche magical properties.

    "Though knowing Wroe, his death wouldn''t be entirely unexpected... Your thoughts on the matter, Lone?"

    Tycon slowly turned to face Lone''s bed. The man was fast asleep, still wearing his armor. His snoring was uncharacteristically gentle.

    ...The disgusting thing didn''t even change out of his sweat-covered afternoon clothes.

    ? Ugh.

    Tycon rolled his shoulders and rxed with a sigh. It had been a hard few suns. He''d scold him in the morning... And he''d make certain all of Invictus took baths before they continued their journey.

    The stomping of leather boots cut through the evening''s wailing winds. A ttering of hastened footsteps stopped in front of the door of their inn room.

    Tycon reached over to grab his crossbow, quickly loading it with practiced hands. Who could be visiting? The time was just past dusk, good but not perfect for more ndestine affairs.

    A heavy blow smashed the door in, knocking it off of its hinges. A tall dark-skinned man entered, wielding a two-handed warhammer, "Time to pay the piper, you little bitch!"

 Chapter 117 Intruders

    ?Tycondrius sat on the inn''s wooden floor, leisurely pointing a crossbow at the intruder. Surrounding him were half a dozen weapons of war, including two loaded pistols within arm''s reach.

    The dark-skinned, hammer-wielding man was a head taller than Tycon and wore a dark cloth mask over his face to hide his identity... The mask was redundant as hisrge frame and bald head were easily identifiable attributes. He wore a dark, unmarked, vaguely-military coat from a guild Tycon did not recognize.

    The man stared nkly at him, then at the broken door, then back at the several men situated in the hallway.

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat, "May I help you, gentlemen?"

    The man slung his warhammer over his shoulder, "I uh... You uh... Wouldn''t happen to be a female ver, would you?"

    Tycon rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I am not a female, nor a ver... nor am I a ver who specializes in female stock."

    A short, young person pushed their way past the hammer man. The cloth mask he wore to hide his face was painted reminiscent of a skull''s jaw, "Not the target, Hammer. We''re withdrawing."

    A boy''s voice. Though somewhat deep, it still hinted of puberty... The boy had short, dark-blue hair, and red eyes... a color as umon as Tycon''s gold.

    Without a word of apology, the team of trespassers quickly withdrew. One of their number propped the broken door to stand. As the door''s hinges were still broken, the door unsurprisingly fell with an annoying thwack.

    Tycon''s eye twitched as he red at Lone, still asleep after the shouts and the BROKEN. DOOR.

    Standing and walking over, Tycon dragged the man out of bed, allowing his stupid face to thump on the inn room floor.

    "Wha-- wuh? Yaeger? Did youe back?" Lone was trying to blink the stars out of his eyes.

    "Nope, she''s still dead. Get up, you fool." Tycon groaned, "Grab your maces. We need to follow some people. Now."

    ...

    The evening''s wind storm howled loud enough that the broken door would not attract undue attention. Eight figures filed into the opulent room wearing military uniforms and dark cloths over their faces.

    "Room''s clear, Little Boss," said the dark-skinned man, gleefully rotating a warhammer in his hands.

    High-Captain Lang Hai pulled down his ck skull cloth, "Hammer... this is the *right* ce this time, yes?"

    Hammer fidgeted, pressing the cool steel of his warhammer against his cheek, "Y-yessir."

    "Very well, Hammer. Good job," Hai nodded, still scanning the room.

    A freckled brte scrambled into the room, wearing a bright red cloth over her mouth. Bounding with energy, she skipped around the shorter Lang Hai.

    "I lockpicked the door, Little Boss!" She dered proudly.

    "No, w. You just... broke it. Just like you did thest one. But good job, nheless."

    Hai crossed his arms and surveyed the room, briefly running his hands over the handles of the two pistols strapped to his chest. He had 10 men and women, 7 with him and 2 guarding the doors. He didn''t know what kind of problems he and his crew would face in the vemistress'' estate, but he had enough force to solve them.

    After several seconds ofprehension, the brte pulled down the red bandana covering her face to disy an overly dramatic look of betrayal, "My name''s not w, it''s Rico!"

    Hai shut his eyes and rubbed his be. He spoke slowly to ensure her understanding, "Rico, we''re using our callsigns today. Your callsign is ''w.''"

    "Oh! And Mister Garret is Hammer! Riiiiiight!" Rico ced a fist in her palm, cheering up immediately. She spun around in joy before again stopping abruptly, "Wait, what''s your callsign, Little Boss?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "It''s¡­ Captain. Just Captain. So stop calling me that." Hai managed to sigh before turning his attention. "Dagger, report."

    A thin,nky man nodded to Lang Hai, "Searched the room. No sign of ''em, Cap''n."

    Hai waved a hand signal, "This estate is Olesya''sst known location. Search for clues."

    "Aye aye, Cap''n," the men chorused.

    Rico perked up, her sandy-brown hair sticking up like pup ears, "What about me, Little Boss?"

    Hai grimaced, "I need you to err... count things. How about you count your fingers and toes, Rico?"

    "Eight!"

    "Incorrect," Hai sighed. "Count them again. And quietly."

    "Okay~" Rico whispered.

    Hammer sidled up to Lang Hai as their men searched, "Why are we being so careful, Boss? We can torch this ce to the ground and be outta here in five minutes."

    Hai shook his head, "It''s not a revenge mission this time, Sergeant. vemistress Olesya has something we need."

    Frowning, Hammer eyed the man near the door holding a small box, "And the chest that Mace has?"

    "Silver, because we need to offer at least token sincerity." Hai''s eyebrows furrowed in disgust, "Believe me, with what I''ve heard about the old hag, I want to bash her ver skull in and burn everything down to ash. But as long as we''re in Chantal''s port, we y by her rules."

    Hammer grinned, "And if she ain''t sellin''?"

    Hai scoffed, "That''s what I brought you finedies for."

    ...

    Li Qiuyu''s patrol around the perimeter of the Couture grounds was uneventful. The weather was beautiful-- until when the early evening sky took an unexpectedly dark turn for the worse, hazardously windy with some salty ocean rain. He hurriedly gathered everything that had been drying outside and busied himself along with the mansion servants.

    Wet bedsheets for the mistress would not do.

    He didn''t notice anything was amiss until when he began to make his way back to his quarters past the main hall. No one used the main hall, there were plenty of other entrances and hallways that the servants used to navigate therge estate. The huge room, cluttered with pretentious art and finery, was only used when Mistress Couture was entertaining guests. It remained under lock and key to cut down on cleaning.

    Its front door was thrown wide open, nearly broken off of its hinges.

    Qiuyu softened his footsteps as he approached. There were voices in the room, still unaware of his presence.

    As he hid himself beside the entrance, he felt the trusty weight of his short sword at his hip. He brushed his fingertips across the familiar, cold metal knives underneath his long white sleeve, hidden weapons that could reap lives from a dozen fulms away.

    He deliberated his options... His usual style of handling things was to cut throats and ask questionster... if any uncut throats remained. Today was different.

    Steeling his courage, Qiuyu stood at the doorway, "Who are you people? What are you doing here?"

 Chapter 118 Slave & Sword

    ?Rico immediately bounded to the lithe, weak-looking, white-haired female in the doorway. Sniffing her all over, Rico grinned before skipping a short distance away. Her uncovered face was covered with a knowing smirk and her stupid-looking cuspid pointed out over her bottom lip.

    High-Captain Lang Hai shook his head. Rico''s true form was nothing like a dog. He was deeply curious as to where the hells she got that behavior from.

    "Rico." Hai stared with red eyes in annoyance. In response, the girl quickly busied herself counting-- people in the room, it looked like. She must have forgotten that she was supposed to count just her fingers and toes... but she was distracted, so Hai epted it as a best-oue.

    The ve girl was dressed like a man in dark trousers and a thick, white, long-sleeved tunic. Her arms were tiny and she wore a ve cor around her neck. The short sword on her side lookedughable with her build. ve-mistress Olesya must be blind to arm a guard like that.

    The other men began tough at the ve in condescension, "Hurr hurr hurr."

    Hai recruited almost exclusively from former pirates, thugs, and sometimes murderers. They had no tact and no sense of delicacy, but they tended to be intimidating. If the girl was terrified, as she very well should be, the questioning would yield better results.

    ...He and his men would still beat her half-to-death, but it was always good to think two steps ahead.

    "GRA HA HA HA!" Hammerughed the loudest, "Come to join the fun, little girl?! Loot and plunder! R*pe and pige! Blood. and. Thunder!"

    Hammer was new. He was still more pirate than not.

    Hai groaned in annoyance, "You''re not a pirate anymore, Hammer. You do those things on your *own* time."

    "Cap''n," Dagger spoke to Hai in a hushed voice, "Requesting permission to silence the witness."

    "Very well," Hai nodded and gave a hand signal. Three men stepped forward into an attacking formation, surrounding the ve girl.

    Hai called out their callsigns.

    "Dagger." "Aye aye, Boss," the gaunt man replied, spinning his daggers.

    "Butcher." "Gur hur hur," the heavy-set man chuckled, brandishing his meat cleaver.

    "Hammer." "I''m gonna skull-fuck you, little giiiirrrl, kehehe," the dark-skinned, muscr man chortled gleefully.

    Gross.

    "Non-lethal force," Hai ordered... "Break her bones. Tear apart her pretty face. Answers wille once there''s enough blood."

    Hammer rushed forward, his two-handed warhammer raised above his head. The girl side-stepped the swing with ease. Tugging loose the concealed de in her sleeve, she buried the dagger into the base of the man''s neck. Grabbing his arm, she used the momentum to swing therger man crashing into a driftwood table and set of chairs.

    Dagger attacked from behind the girl, aiming to sink two short des with reversed grips between the girl''s shoulders. With a flourish of her hands, she held two daggers of her own. urately parrying with her arms in an X, she subsequently stabbed both of her weapons horizontally into Dagger''s ribcage.

    The girl was fast. Was she using a movement technique? Hai was barely able to follow her form as she dashed towards Butcher. The clumsy fool hadn''t even begun spinning his chained hook. The girl lodged four knives down to their hilts along Butcher''s right arm.

    Lang Hai grimaced. He may have underestimated Olesya''s guards.

    The girl had grabbed Butcher''s chain and wrapped it around the fallen Hammer''s neck. The sod was still trying to reach his arms back to grab the dagger embedded in his spine, but the meathead spent too much time lifting weights.

    Hai''s dark-blue hair spilled over as he ced his hands in his palms. This was not going well.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Butcher iled his chain about, smashing Hammer into the various furniture in the posh room and into the ornately wallpapered walls. As a matter of course, Hammer began to pull back on the chain, whipping Butcher into an oil painting and breaking a vase with winged lizards on them. Those were the extra expensive vases.

    As the girl deftly dodged the duo''s crazed, thoughtless attacks, Dagger was somehow struck in the face by Butcher''s heavy chain, bloodily breaking his nose. Thenky man was knocked unconscious onto the ground, arse pointed up.

    The girl remained expressionless. She raised her voice, a bit more confident, "Is that enough blood? Answer my questions."

    Hai put his hands on his waist and groaned in annoyance, "Sea god''s SPEAR! You lot are USELESS!"

    Hammer was on his knees, finally untangled from the chain, "I can still fight, Little Boss!"

    "There''s a knife embedded in your spine," Hai said tly.

    "And once I get it out, I''ll probably be able to move my legs!" Hammer tried to reach for the dagger again. "A li''l help, Cap''n?"

    "You''re. Done. She took down the 3 of you without even breaking a sweat. She''s an Iron Ranker, idiot."

    Hammer snarled in response but quickly averted his eyes. He knew not to question orders... and he wouldn''t make the mistake of questioning twice. He knew as well as Hai did that if the three were human, they would have all been killed.

    Hai stepped up to face the knife-wielding ve.

    She wielded hidden weapons like a master assassin. Her attacks were swift, urate, and lethal, burying dagger des to their hilts, along with a flesh-rending twist. Not a drop of blood stained her white long-sleeved tunic.

    Hai had seen her level before, belonging to a master in his Liang family. He wasn''t impressed, at all! Well, not 100% impressive. Maybe 5% impressed.

    "I acknowledge your skill, little girl. I have business with your vemistress. I''m also looking to purchase a ve from her, a boy from the Li n."

    The girl adopted a confused expression for the briefest of moments but didn''t respond.

    Hai continued, "Do you know him? If he''s been mistreated, it would be a great disservice to me and my n."

    "...You''re mistaken." The girl said with a light voice, "Identify yourselves."

    "It looks like you do know something," Hai growled, deep and low, "Hatchet. Shield."

    Shield unsheathed his sword and stepped forward in a defensive stance, "Blood and thunder."

    Hatchet swiftly crouched beside Shield, ready to leap forward with her two light axes. She winked suggestively at the ve girl, "I could eat you right up!"

    Gross. Hai sincerely hoped Hatchet wasn''t being literal.

    Lang Hai reached for one of the pistols strapped to his chest, "As for our identities... you don''t have the capability to make us answer."

    The girlish, white-haired boy ced a hand on his sword hilt, "You''ve entered the Couture manor without invitation. You will leave... in one piece or several."

 Chapter 119 Looting The Boss

    ?? System, set target destination on that Hammer fellow. He should still be within range. ?

    [Calcting route.]

    Tycon leisurely walked the streets in his dark hood and a set of leather armor. The leathers were the easiest to don in a hurry. Following the System''s directions, he turned the street corners with ease. Lone hurriedly followed, knocking into the asional trash can.

    If it wasn''t for the harsh, howling wind, Tycon was fairly certain they''d have been caught by Lone''s sleep-addled blundering. With the System''s assistance, Tycon could urately keep within a few hundred yalms of the other guild.

    After nearly half-a-bell of time, Tycon and Lone tracked their movements to a cliffside manor overlooking the ocean. ording to the signs that Tycon read, it belonged to one Francesca Couture.

    "What... what are we doing here, Boss?" Lone asked, his teeth chattering in the cold. The former ruffian had forgotten to bring the cloak he usually wore, and instead wore a thin linen nket he had appropriated from the inn.

    Tycon frowned as he peered at the System-provided map that only he could see. Analyzing the blueprints of the house... Hammer and his guild were in some sort of central room.

    He didn''t want to deal with them. He turned his attention to therger rooms, resembling living quarters.

    "We''re here to pay a visit to Lady Couture," Tycon said as he scaled a wall.

    Lone gawked, "B-boss, how did you move so fast?"

    Tycon knelt atop the wall, wordlessly reaching his hand out for Lone to grab. The leather armor he wore made scaling the wall much easier than usual, allowing him to climb simple walls with speed simr to Dragan. He decided not to exin.

    "Hurry up," Tycon urged.

    ...

    ? System, Cancel Snake-Form. ?

    [Small Snake Form Cancelled. Returning to Human-Form.]

    Tycon emerged from Lady Francesca Couture''s closet. The woman was reading a book in her undergarments, sampling peeled grapes and smoking a long pipe. Sweeping back a long strand of purple hair behind her ear, she looked up from her book with drug-zed eyes.

    "Strange. How long have I left you in there?"

    Tycon shrugged casually, "Ah, don''t worry about it, Mistress."

    The two inhabitants of the bedroom were the scantily d vemistress and a naked, well-muscled, male ve tending to a room-heating stove. Though the pair stared in curiosity, Tycon walked to a shuttered window and unlocked it to allow Lone to enter.

    Couture''s eyes widened, gaining a hint of sobriety, "What in the-- who are you?"

    Tycon smiled radiantly, "We''re part of a group that''s robbing your household right now, Mistress."

    The ve began slowly moving towards a sheathed sword, propped on the wall near him. Still smiling, Tycon pointed.

    Lone dashed forward, smashing one of his wolf-headed maces onto the ve''s hands, crushing his bones to powder. With a second swing, a mace struck the man''s abdomen, winding him.

    Tycon snapped his fingers.

    [Commander''s Strike activated.]

    Lone''s body was filled with raging mana. With inhuman speed, he smashed both maces into the ve''s ribcage, breaking his bones. The ve spat thick, dark crimson blood before slinking to the floor, dead or wishing he was.

    Tycon smirked, cing his hand on his chin, "I''ve noticed that none of your nearby ves are Metal Rank..."

    Sucking in air through his teeth, Tycon continued, "Summoning them... probably won''t help you. With all due respect, Mistress, please surrender all items of value."

    The woman sighed, "Then your men are upying Little Yu."

    Lone raised an eyebrow, "Who''s--"

    Tycon red to stop him.

    Lone coughed, "Whosoever that person is, I''m stronger!"

    Tycon smiled cordially, steepling his fingers, "Anyroad, if you have anyrge quality goods-- ah, or in lieu of that, perhaps a ship and crew, we''d very much like to requisition it."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The woman chuckled softly to herself, emptying her long pipe in a small silver box. She stood up, seductively swaying, before grabbing a long, thin curved de and tossing aside its sheath.

    "What makes you think I''ll justy down and give you what I want?" the noblewoman winked.

    The temperature of the room dropped significantly, causing Lone''s teeth to chatter and. He wrapped his nket around himself, once more.

    ? System, basic information. ?

    [System response: Francesca Couture, Bronze-Rank Human Warmage]

    Stepping forward, she cut an icy sh down at Lone, "Blue me de."

    "Counter it," Tyconmanded.

    [Jumping Knee Counter activated.]

    Lone blocked the attack with a cross of his weapons, icy crystals blooming in the air instead of sparks.

    A frenzy of mana filled Lone''s body again as he crossed his maces behind Couture''s neck. He smashed his knee into the woman''s abdomen. Repositioning himself, he mercilessly struck with his opposite knee, driving the woman back.

    With a snarl, the wolf-eyes on his dark iron maces glowed red as the heads burst into mes.

    Tycon rolled his eyes. As impressive as Lone''s ming weapons appeared, the fiery mana extended only to his weapons and not to his attacks. Unless he literally held the burning weapons to an opponent''s skin, the damage it dealt was negligible. Francesca Couture, however, was a capable elemental sword wielder.

    A prolonged fight was not in Tycon''s and Lone''s best interests. He wasn''t here to train Lone. He was here to rob the vemistress and frame that group of rude fellows.

    "Hurry up," Tycon sighed.

    With a nod, Lone began to attack recklessly. Couture focused on her defense, urately blocking the rough warrior''s swings, but Lone''s strength quickly taxed her stamina.

    Tycon snapped his fingers.

    [Commander''s Strike activated.]

    Lone smashed through the woman''s sword, the wolf-head bloodying the woman''s nose. With a side swing, he struck her jaw. The woman smashed her side against a table, spilling papers and books to the ground, as well as breaking her ornate, expensive-looking pipe.

    Tycon snapped his fingers again.

    [Commander''s Strike activated.]

    The woman was trying to reach for her sword, but Lone brutally kicked the woman in the gut, then smashed a hammer into her elbow. The woman groaned loudly in pain, holding her shattered arm. Sweat matted her purple hair and tears ruined her purple eyeliner. With a deeper groan and a nod of her head, she fell unconscious. Or dead.

    Tycon immediately began looting, cing items of value into his spatial ring. He''d sort through the goodster.

    The woman wore an expensive-looking ring with a slight magical enchantment. Tycon took it. Why shouldn''t he?

    There were books on business, making money, and non-fiction studies on various cultures. Tycon took them. They would be a nice gift for Sorina or Reynard.

    A long two-handed sword. Perhaps it would do as an interim weapon for Dragan. Nice.

    Tycon tossed Lone a gilded chamberpot.

    "Very funny, Boss," he rolled his eyes.

    Tycon red, "It''s not for you to use as a piss-pot, you dolt. Fence it and buy yourself a coat or something."

    "...Oh," Lone hung his maces on his belt and tucked the pot under an arm.

    "You can head back now. Remain unseen," Tycon began climbing out the window.

    "What about you, Boss?"

    "I think I''ll watch our new ''friends'' for a bit longer."

 Chapter 120 Faster Than A Speeding Bullet

    ?"Seven boys and one girl!" Rico happily gave her final count.

    High-Captain Lang Hai crossed his arms, "Did you count yourself?"

    "Seven boys and one girl and... and ONE RICO!!" Rico happily gave her final-final count. "Rico is a girl!"

    "You knew he was a boy the *entire* time?" Lang Hai sighed. He wished he left Rico on the ship.

    "Uh huh~! Smelled like a boyyyy~!" she sang happily.

    "Not gonna ask," Hai shook his head.

    "Boss!" Shield interrupted, dashing forward to intercept. In a brief moment, a sh of steel erupted from the white-haired boy''s hand. Sharp ngs of metal rang out, lightning-fast sparks denting the metal block of steel Shield had strapped to his arm.

    Hai furrowed his brows, seeing the dozens of bangs and dents left on his man''s shield. Mana was present in the boy''s speedy, urate sword attacks. The sharpness of the mana with each strike could easily mince their flesh.

    He felt a dull pain in his pistol hand. Lifting it up, a dagger was embedded urately through the meat between his thumb and forefinger. The boy must have thrown it simultaneously with his attack. That hand would be useless for a while.

    Unsticking the dagger, Hai yawned and stared at the boy through the gaping wound, "I dunno why you keep talking about this Couture guy, but whoever they are, I doubt I care."

    Hammer gave a great roar, "No one attacks the Cap''n!"

    The man wholly ignored the fact that the boy had *already* attacked. He looked ridiculous, dragging himself around on the floor with his arms and weapon. With the knife sticking out of his neck, it seemed he was paralyzed from the waist down.

    "No one touches the Cap''n!" Hatchet cried out with her shrill, stupid, nasal voice, "He''s still a virgin, you know!"

    Hai''s mouth twitched. That was tantly uncalled for.

    She dashed forward, swinging her hatchets around like a whirlwind of stupid.

    The white-haired boy easily parried her handaxes with his short sword, concise, controlled, and not the least bit wasteful. Within the momentum of taking a heavy attack, he pivoted on the heel of his left foot and dropped his body weight.

    With a fierce, lightning-fast kick, the boy took out Hatchet''s left ankle, toppling her to the ground. The audible crunch made it apparent that her ankle was broken.

    "Oh, snap! Miss Loretta fell down!" Rico gasped.

    Hai didn''t know why he bothered using codenames.

    ...Whatever.

    Hai transferred his pistol to his left hand, aiming at the boy''s chest, "''Bout time for you to stop being so difficult."

    The loud and unmistakable sound of the fired pistol reverberated throughout the estate. Toote to dodge, the boy whipped his sword out in a desperate attempt to block the bullet.

    Hai furrowed his brows. Who tries to block a bullet?

    The bullet had grazed the edge of his de, puncturing through the boy''s shoulder and exiting the opposite side. Pink mist sprayed into the air and painted Shield''s... shield.

    The white-haired kid dropped to the floor, a small fountain of blood spilling from the wound. His de nged, scratched, and slid dramatically across the floor away from him.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Oh, snap! The nice-smelling boy fell down too!" Rico gasped, with no less surprise in her voice than literally seconds earlier.

    Hai briefly considered shooting Rico with his second pistol, but the price of a single bullet was not worth the possibility of the girl getting even dumber. He''d be more tempted if he had brain-bullets capable of killing her.

    "GAHAHA! " Hammer guffawed as blood vigorously spurted from the knife-wound on his neck. He had recovered some semnce of control of his lower parts again-- crawling on his knees, as well as his hands, towards the fallen boy. "Not so tough are you now, GIRL?!!"

    Hai red, "Hammer, One: It''s a boy.

    "Two: You look stupid.

    "And Three: Shut up."

    Hammer quieted down, scowling. He crawled to the young boy, quietly muttering insults.

    Lang Hai turned to Rico. The girl knew something... but if she realized that he wanted something from her, she''d ask for something stupid like to be fed more than twice a day or to sleep in a bed that actually fit her legs when she stretched.

    High-Captain Lang Hai was responsible for an entire Sea Wolf fleet of (mostly seaworthy) ships. The Sea Wolves had nowhere near the mary power of Fleet Admiral Chantal''s Darktide Fleet or Commander Darro''s Knights-Arcane. The Sea Wolf sect was not a wealthy sect like the Ivory Judge sect or the Glory sect or Frozen Asgard. He had to be frugal!

    Hai gently scratched between Rico''s shoulder des... "Rico? Why exactly would you say the boy smells nice?"

    The dirty-blonde girl began to... purr? Her eyes zed over in thought, not even bothering to get rid of her goofy-looking canine smile, "He kinda smells like you..."

    Rico''s eyes shot wide open as she hopped up, "Cap''n! CAP''N!!"

    What had gotten into this girl? "What is it, Rico?"

    "Are you... BROTHERS?!"

    Hai crossed his arms. "No, Rico. I don''t have any siblings."

    "Is he... IS HE YOUR SON?!"

    "No, Rico-chan! Boss is a virgin!" Broken-ankled Hatchet crawled over to interrupt with her nasal arrogance, "That means he doesn''t have any kids."

    Lang Hai had a bottle of seawater on his person. Every crew member he''d brought to this raid had a high level of the Sea Wolf Body Art, allowing them to regenerate their wounds and broken bones with seawater. He decided that Hatchet would be getting none of it. She could drag herself back to the Elizabeth Dare along with Hammer.

    Rico stared deeply into Hai''s eyes, her face reddening as she actively utilized her brain. Hai decided to count to ten before stopping her. Any longer and he feared steam would literallye out of her ears...

    Rico grinned widely, raising both hands above her head, "Cousin?!"

    Hai shook his head, "No, Rico..."

    ...Hai''s eyes opened wide, "Sea god''s socks!! Hold on--"

    Lang Hai looked over to where the fallen boy was. Hammer had finally finished spewing his insults. Sitting back on his knees and feet, he lifted his warhammer, intending to smash the boy''s bones into paste.

    Without further thought, Hai swiftly kicked the boy''s sword back across the floor towards him.

 Chapter 121 The Boy From The Li Clan

    ?Li Qiuyu, the white-haired guard of Mistress Francesca Couture, tightly gripped his shoulder. His entire existence was reduced to agony, the pain spasming throughout his entire right side. The only other sensation besides the pure agony was the warmth of his blood spilling onto the floor.

    Who were these people? How could they shrug off deadly and life-threatening injuries so easily?

    The dark-skinned man, Hammer, bellowed and raised his weapon up. Qiuyu watched his iing death with open eyes.

    A sword ttered along the floor. The person the thugs referred to as Captain had kicked Qiuyu''s sword to within arm''s reach...

    He didn''t have the spare time to think about it.

    Seizing it quickly with his good hand, Qiuyu rolled forward, narrowly dodging the heavy impact of Hammer''s swing. He grounded his feet. He twisted his body and swung his sword upward. The thin de cut through the flesh of the man''s biceps, stopping at the bones.

    The tendons in the dark-skinned man''s arms were severed. Qiuyu pulled the sword out as quickly as he struck, spilling blood all around.

    "It''s me," he whispered in a small voice.

    Ignoring Hammer''s pain-filled screams, Qiuyu staggered upright, wincing in pain. He took a red cloth tied around his sword and tied it tightly around his shoulder wound.

    Qiuyu wiped the blood off of his face, eyes full of confidence, "I am Li Qiuyu."

    He shed the blood off of his de, painting the floor red, "I serve the mistress of my own volition..."

    He held his de out with his off-hand in a defensive stance, "I don''t need a savior."

    "It''s like a rainbow!" Rico eximed.

    Qiuyu turned behind him, witnessing the cheerful brte running in a circle around the bleeding Hammer. An arc of blood spurted majestically from Hammer''s arm, slicking the floor... Qiuyu thought he was fast, but the girl was on a different level.

    Thnk. Hammer finally fell without grace, smashing his nose and chin against the adjacent wall, his rear pointed at the ceiling. Without her fountain of blood, Rico lost interest. She casually picked up the heavy, long-handled metal hammer with her fingers and transitioned to poking the dying man''s face.

    The slightly taller boy, the Captain, shook his head shamefully, "Hammer, you literally could not have disappointed me any more than you have."

    "Can I have his share of rations?" Rico cunningly inquired.

    The Captain continued, ignoring her, "I''m not looking to save anyone, Little Yu. But your Li family is a branch family of my Lang family... And I''m just trying to take care of my own."

    Captain Lang motioned to his crew, "This is it. The hated. The downtrodden. The oppressed and thecking. I''ve gathered them together to fight against the sea, against the cold steel of men... Against the monsters residing within ourselves."

    Qiuyu narrowed his eyes. The monsters? Finally, Li Qiuyu sheathed his sword. He was willing to listen.

    The dark-blue haired Captain closed his eyes and crossed his arms. A smirk crossed his face, a look of utter arrogance, "We''re cursed, Little Yu. The man on the floor behind you? He won''t die from just that."

    The Captain opened his eyes, revealing inhuman ck sclera, "We''re monsters, cursed to transform into great and terrible scaled creatures from the abyssal depths."

    A chill ran Qiuyu''s spine. He loosed a cursed whisper, "Sea Wolf Hidden Sect..."

    Lang shrugged, breathing a deep, defeated sigh, "We''re just as cursed as you, Little Yu. We heard you''re enved by a crotchety old hag with... unhealthy tastes."

    He flicked the metal ve cor with his fingers, causing a dull *ting* noise. Qiuyu frowned but resisted the urge to cut the man''s arm off. The simrities in Lang''s face and his made him uneasy.

    "Olesya is dead," Qiuyu muttered.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Where did these people get their information? Olesya had been dead for years.

    "--Well, that''s beside the point. Look, Qiuyu, we can help you," Lang offered his hand.

    Li Qiuyu stared down at it. He... almost wanted to take it. He had never known a real family. Mistress Francesca Couture and Olesya before her was all he had after he''d been discarded by the Li n.

    The Captain smiled, "Come with us."

    "I..."

    "You''re cursed by a Gender Transmogrification spell, right?" Lang nodded gravely.

    "...Eh?" Qiuyu frowned.

    Captain Lang continued, "I mean, it''s obvious, looking at you. But Rico said you smell like a boy, so there''s still hope. We''ll head back-- oh, we have a Sea Witch in the crew! She knows a lot about curses! Come on! That''s what you want, right?"

    What... in the world...? These people were absurd.

    "I''m... not cursed by some spell," Qiuyu looked away. "I was born with this face."

    Lang tilted his head, "So, you''re telling me... You''re... not cursed by some sort of sexually deviant Reverse Gender curse?"

    Qiuyu shook his head, his brow quirking slightly.

    Lang wiped some sweat from his brow, "Because this is incredibly embarrassing, but I''m... not 100% in the wrong for assuming, you know."

    Qiuyu red.

    "How about your uh... ''Mistress'' keeping you around for unspeakable sex acts against your will? Because that sounds like it would be a crime on more than one level. You look like you''re 10."

    Qiuyu reached for his sword.

    "Rico is 4!" the snaggletoothed brte proimed with pride.

    Qiuyu looked behind the Captain to Rico with confusion.

    Lang pursed his lips in embarrassment, "She''s actually 3. Rico doesn''t understand the concept of 0, so she started counting her age from 1."

    Qiuyu frowned.

    "You know, it''s a nice night. Windy. Calming. It''s a good night to sleep early, right, cousin?"

    Qiuyu unsheathed his sword with his good hand.

    Captain Lang yawned and stretched. Qiuyu discerned that the boy stealthily pointed with both fingers towards the door his crew had broken down, "If there''s nothing else, weeeee''re just gonna get outta your way."

    Qiuyu watched as the crew of Sea Wolves picked up their fallen and quickly escaped the hall. He looked around at the pools of blood, broken furniture and debris. They stomped in and made an absolute mess out of everything, but Qiuyu was too exasperated to even berate them.

    "Best of luck, then," Qiuyu mustered thest of his energy to depart the young man with those words. He promptly resheathed his sword and hoped he''d never see them again.

 Chapter 122 Leviâ€™s Loyalty

    ?The morning sun came peacefully upon Port City Caractere and for Guild Invictus.

    With Aur''s questpleted, Guild Invictus no longer needed to remain in the Kingdom. Tycon was going to send Dragan to contact the Gatekeepers, and then Invictus would sailor somewhere else-- either the Sleeping Country or the Holy Country.

    Tycon had sent word ahead via the Courier''s Guild to Fleet Admiral Chantal. The response was rtively prompt and the meeting was scheduled a couple of sunster, allowing Invictus some leisure time.

    The young half-elf, Pale, volunteered to collect information and go about the city along with Kimura Taree. Those two were Tycon''s best bet at finding any information about the whereabouts of the still-missing Tarquin Wroe.

    Tycon highly doubted the man had gotten himself killed... not silently, anyroad. The blue-haired angel-blood had a strange penchant for manifesting eldritch and magical effects, causing general chaos wherever he went. Tycon hadn''t yet heard any rumors of the sort.

    Dragan took Lone gallivanting. Tycon expected nothing from them. Hopefully, Lone had learned his lesson and wouldn''t contract a new sexual disease by sun''s end. And hopefully they didn''t find their way into a cell without proper adult supervision.

    Tycon put on his dark-hooded cloak and met up with Mister Levi Wolfrider.

    "So... Mister Levi."

    The dog-wolf boy perked his white, pointed ears up, "Yes, Boss?"

    Tycon desperately wanted to ask him whether he was a dog or a wolf? Tycon somehow knew that it would be rude to ask. It was not an inquiry the System could answer.

    The young weretouched boy seemed... skittish. Tycon didn''t want to damage his reputation with the boy (any more than it already was.) He decided to ask safe, socially eptable questions.

    "What do you do... for fun?" Tycon inquired.

    Levi fidgeted, touching his forefingers together, "Sometimes I... steal from children."

    "Ohhhh." Tycon forced a smile, "I see."

    Is that what people do for fun in the Kingdom? Tycon began to panic internally. He had nothing inmon with this boy.

    Tycon''s mouth twitched, "We''re going... shopping."

    "Boss, should I... bring a sack?" Levi tilted his head, allowing a floppy ear to fall.

    What? Tycon wondered why Levi was ssed as a Warden instead of a Thief.

    "...No. I''d... actually prefer if you kept your hands to yourself while we''re here."

    ...

    Wolfbanger sniffed the air, "Trouble ahead, boss."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "I don''t smell anything. How do you know that?"

    The wolf-dog-boy scritched behind his ears, "I dunno, Boss. I just know, alright?"

    Frowning, Tycon still pulled his sword out of its catch in case he needed to draw it. Simrly, Levi took his greathammer off of his back and heaved its unbnced weight over his shoulder.

    ...Tycon needed to get him a different, more sensible weapon.

    The pair turned the corner. One alley further would get them to the mercantile district. There was a woman in a bright red skirt with her back to a wall, surrounded by 3 rough-looking gentlemen. Long, bright, orange-red hair, she was dressed in a conical witch''s hat and a functional set of leather armor.

    "Come on there, girl. We can show you around the town." "Yeah, you can trust us." "How ''bout we show you to an inn, hurr hurr." --Tycon didn''t hear anything particrly interesting or new from the ruffians.

    ? System, basic information. ?

    [System response: Bronze-Rank Sea Witch...]

    Tycon listened as the System listed off their rankings and sses... Only the woman was a Metal Ranker-- which also meant that Tycon didn''t need to trouble himself.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He approached, fully intent on walking past the group. He really didn''t want to trouble himself in Caractere. The port city was run by Fleet Admiral Chantal, herself. She and her men kept order and held the power ofwful execution. Challenging her was not in Tycon''s best interests.

    Unfortunately, he got a better look at the red-headed woman''s face. She wore a dark cloth over her eyes; the woman was blind. More troubling still, the woman was looking directly at him.

    "Och, I''m sorry, boys." The Sea Witch rested a hand on her hip, her red skirt ring to the side. "It''s been fun tearin'' the tartan, but I''ve gotta get tae. Me knights-in-shining ''avee ta pick me oup."

    What was she ying at? Was Sea Witch not abat ss? Or did she not want to get her hands dirty? ...Anyroad, it looked to be a low-risk project that could render at least some direction on their shopping trip.

    "Um, we don''t know her," Levi whelped.

    Tycon red at the dog-wolf, causing his ears to droop.

    He considered using his status as a baron of the Kingdom... but if Fleet Admiral Chantal heard he was oppressing themonfolk, it might affect her view. Military and nobility tended to sh, especially in the Kingdom, where old families still held high stations. He could call the guard... like a tool. Or he could just be himself.

    "Good morning, gentlemen." Tycon stepped forward, "Kindly fuck the hells off."

    The woman''s jaw dropped, "Ehehe... He''s jooking. Such a kidder, these friends''a mine."

    The ruffians shared a look before they tacitly agreed to draw their cusses and daggers, facing off against Tycon.

    Tycon grinned, "I suppose I can give you until the count of 3 until my guard dog tears your throats out."

    Tycon snapped his fingers.

    [Commander''s Strike failed. Target ally out of range.]

    ...Tycon slowly turned his head, scanning the alley wall behind him. He found junk and trash debris, but no Weretouched boy. Where in the seven hells was Wolfbanger?

    Tycon''s mouth twitched as looked down the alley from whence they came-- that pup of a bitch had run off!!

    Tycon ducked a swing of a thug''s cuss. As he fumbled for his sword, he took a big boot to the chest, crashing him into a wood-rotten crate.

    ''Empty night! That cur!'' Tycon yelled internally. He finally got his sword free from its sheath.

    "Sod it all," Tycon muttered as he un-dimmed his vision. Mottled gold eyes and vertical pupils stared at his attackers.

    [Vexing Gaze activated.]

    One man fell to his knees, scratching at his neck, struggling for air.

    The second man-- ah, it didn''t matter. Tycon swiped his dark iron sword across the tip of the second man''s neck.

    The third man''s face was bright red and he had dropped his cuss in a panic. Tycon urately stabbed that man in the throat.

    Two down, one to-- The first man tackled Tycon, and the two crashed to the ground. Ugh. Tycon felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. He had been stabbed. How annoying.

    Tycon grabbed the end of his sword with his left hand. With both hands, he forced the de forward into the man''s throat. The man died gurgling blood.

    "Yer madder ''an a box of frogs! ''Ave you offed the lot of them?!" The blind Sea Witch yelled, rather unfairly.

    Tycon struggled to his feet. Taking the dagger out of his gut and tossing it aside, he held his hand over the wound. He bowed ostentatiously.

    "I, Tycon, your shining knight, has arrived," Tycon proimed, his words dripping with sarcasm.

    The Sea Witch scoffed with a hand to her mouth, "Well met, Sir Tycon. Nae how ''bout we git lively bafore we git snared rapid by the guard."

 Chapter 123 Sea Wolf Curse

    ?Tycon apanied Sea Witch Eilean through Port City Caractere''s modest mercantile district. Though she was blind, she had no issues walking or even eating urately with a fork and spoon. (They had m chowder and surf and turf at a small portside cafe.)

    Eilean exined that she had limited vision as long as there was sea spray in the air. If she weren''t onnd and on a ship or in the ocean, her senses would be far greater than anyone in her crew.

    The Sea Witch couldn''t read for obvious reasons, so Tycon was able to decipher a few shop signs for her while shopping for special deals. Eilean admitted to being the quartermaster of the Elizabeth Dare, a frigate-ss warship. Her goal of the sun was to memorize the best deals at the shops, and on the morrow, she''d bring coin and crew to purchase the supplies.

    Eilean proved herself knowledgeable about thetest news. She knew the most reputable port-side merchants, provided an ount of the state of politics in the Kingdom''s Navy, and even waxed on about a ghost ship spotted in the Darktide Fleet''s jurisdiction. The Sea Witch found the notion of a haunted wreck romantic.

    As sore as Tycon''s stomach was from being stabbed, he was d for herpany-- she was far better of a conversationalist than Wolfbanger.

    ...Tycon missed Aur. He decided to write her a letter,ter in the evening.

    Eilean spun gracefully with joy, ring her skirt and jingling the bone charms hanging at her waist, "This ''as been grreat, Sir Tycon! I''ve naerly finished replenishin'' our supplies! --I mean, when ah get the crew taee with, anyrood.

    Tycon smiled gently, "It''s been a few bells, Miss Eilean. Shall I apany you back to your crew?"  Even though the woman couldn''t see with her eyes, Tycon surmised that the Sea Witch she was able to keenly sense Tycon''s expressions.

    Eilean bit her bottom lip, "Och! Such a gentleman! Would it kill ye ta invite a bonniess to yer room?"

    Tycon rolled his eyes and scoffed, "Tss. I wouldn''t dream of being so forward, youngdy."

    The witch cackled loudly, holding her stomach, "Sea god''s shite, you charmful bastard! Ye''ve damn near made me wet meself. Anyrood, me crew''s at the pub jus'' past tha'' fishery. ''Ow about ye join us fer a pint?"

    Tycon shrugged. Establishing friendly rtions with a ship captain and their crew sounded like a worthwhile time investment, "I''d love to, Eilean."

    "Speak o'' the devil, ''erees me Captain nae!" Eilean stood on the edge of toes and waved at a rapidly approaching gentleman in a military coat. The dark-blue haired boy with red eyes was full-on-sprinting towards the both of them.

    Oh. Gods damn it. It was him. Tycon grimaced. His afternoon was ruined and his disappointment, immeasurable.

    The boy skidded to a halt in front of the pair.

    Tycon noticed the boy''s coat was dark, clean of stains, and he wore the metal shine of rank insignias. As skeptical as Tycon was, the boy was clearly an Officer in the Kingdom''s Navy.

    Eilean held out both of her arms, "Cap''n! Ahm d ta see you fer once. High-Captain Lang Hai, allow me ta introduce ya to--"

    "Don''t care," Hai cut her off, "Where''s Rico?"

    The woman scowled, cing her hands on her hips, "Nae jist hold on, Cap''n. Yer bein'' a right scunner in front of me guest."

    The boy-Captain nodded at Tycon, "G''afternoon."

    Tycon nodded back reservedly, "Good afternoon."

    The boy didn''t seem to recognize him... Tycon hadn''t even put his hood back up.

    Hai turned back to Eilean, "Well, that was nice, Lieutenant. Now, WHERE IS RICO?!"

    The boy was nearly frothing at the mouth, "We can''t do this! Not here! Not in this port! Not when SHE is watching!! She''ll have. MY. HIDE!!"

    Tycon pursed his lips. The boy''s panic seemed... out of ce.

    "Aw, keeeeep yerr head, Cap''n," The Sea Witch waved a finger, "Y''know, yer wee crush on Capitaine Chantal has y--"

    Lang Hai threw his head back and howled. It was a deep, sonorous song, shaking the nearby windows. The howl was unlike anything Tycon had heard before. It was more like the pained cry of an anguished sea leviathan than a wolf.

    ? System... Bring up the boy''s basic information again... ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    [System response: Lang Hai, Iron-Rank Dread Captain]

    ? Hm. I knew that. System, inquiry: What the hells was that howl? ?

    [System response: Analyzing vocalization... Analysisplete. Vocalization identified as the howl of the Abyssal Sea Wolf.]

    ? System... Inquiry: Why can Lang Hai howl like an Abyssal Sea Wolf? ?

    [System response: Target is afflicted by Abyssal Sea Wolf curse, a form of lycanthropy.]

    Sea Werewolves. Tycon was not at all thrilled by the development. It did, however, exin what Tycon witnessed the previous night. All of Lang Hai''s crew were able to ignore fatal wounds, relying on their lycanthrope healing factor.

    It also exined why Hai was literally frothing at the mouth in a frenzied fear. Lycanthrope curses magnified raw emotions and feral instincts. The pup was losing control.

    Eilean tilted her head up. If she hadn''t been wearing a blindfold, she''d have rolled her eyes, "I''m real sorry fer this, Sir Tycon. I''d tell ye he''s not usually like this, but I''d be lying through m''teeth."

    "Did I hear Little Boss?" A young, freckled brte about Tycon''s height stepped out of the nearby pub.

    Tycon cursed inwardly. It was the Rico that Hai was looking for. She was the one existence that Tycon truly did not want to encounter. The girl was a walking disaster.

    The teenage girl swayed lightly to the side, stinking of rum... And keeping her steady with a decidedly ungentlemanly hand on her behind... was Barza Keith, the Lone gods-damned Shadowdark.

    Rico tilted her head up to Eilean, "Sup?"

    The drunkard downed what looked to be a triple-shot of dark liquor before lifting the upside-down ss towards Lang Hai, "I''ve been-- Hic-- We''ve been good, Cap''n. Just an-- just a drink."

    Lone finally met Tycon''s re. His pupils dted and he stood up straight, "Ahem. Boss."

    "Mind your hands, Mister Lone," Tycon frowned. To emphasize his point he revealed a closed palm, then quickly flicked his hand open.

    Lone bit his upper lip in worry, ncing at his touchypanion. He retracted his grubby hands from Rico and nodded, "Yessir."

    Tycon used the hand signal for possible explosion or life-threatening situation. Thankfully, it looked like Lone understood that quite well.

    The boy-Captain scowled, "Private First ss Rico, we''re leaving."

    Rico tilted her head and grinned widely, her eyes narrowing into squints, "A, we''re just havin'' a li''l bit of fun!"

    She reached over, handily grabbing Lone''s crotch, "Right, big brother?"

    "Boss, help," Lone whispered.

    "If you die before the next pay period, the money goes back to the guild," Tycon whispered back.

    Lang Hai stomped forward and gripped his right hand on Rico''s face. Lifting her as easily as he''d lift a sword, he leapt and smashed the back of her head into the paved white-stone road where she stood. He violently rained down punches and kicks on the drunkard.

    "Cap''n, no!" Eilean yelled, "Stop! You''re--"

    Mounting the fallen Rico, Hai breathed in deep, nearly gagging on the stench of blood, vomit, and alcohol, and he delivered a rib-crunching knee to her side.

    Hai stopped, but only for a moment. "Hurting her? Yes, I know."

 Chapter 124 Prided Ability

    ?Tycondrius quietly observed High-Captain Lang Hai''s physical transformation.

    The boy''s eyes had darkened to a deep ocean ck. His teeth had lengthened into needle-like points. The muscles on his arms and back bulged and his skin began to turn to a rubbery-looking dark blue. His hair began to stand, silvery bone protrusions made his hair resemble fins.

    Hai rotated his body, using the kic force to spin and throw the ck-and-blue faced Rico against a nearby wall. Winding up a punch, he dashed over and struck the blood-covered woman in the chest, breaking in the outer shop wall in a loud, fantastic fashion.

    Tycon grimaced. That was not an Iron-Rank level of strength. The boy, despite his size, was stronger than Dragan.

    Sea Witch Eilean slowly turned to Tycon, her mouth twitching.

    "Does... this happen often?" Tycon inquired.

    "Aye, more ''an you might thaink," she smiled weakly.

    ? Lone stood, petrified, "Boss. I''d like to run away now."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "I am stunned by your disy of chivalry. Permission granted."

    Lone valiantly ducked back into the pub from whence he came.

    Finally, Lang Hai was able to calm himself. His skin and hair returned to their normal colors, and his misshapen muscles reduced in size, reverting back to a normal 14-year-old boy.

    He turned to scoff at Eilean, "Problem''s taken care of Lieutenant! No more drunken disys that Chantal could possibly execute me for!"

    Eilean held her face in her hands, "I was TRYIN'' ta stop ye bafore ye made a mess ''at Capitaine Chantal cannae ignore!"

    Lang Hai lowered his head and raised his shoulders, slowly turning back to what he had done.

    The wall of a cartographer''s shop had been broken through and the dust was clearing, revealing the destruction thaty beyond. A broken table and chairs, countless cracked counters withpasses and measuring devices disyed, and dozens of carefully reproduced maps worth countless silver-- everything was ruined.

    At the center of the devastationid a blood-stained, broken brte with both arms impossibly twisted,  "It¡­ hurts, Boss¡­"

    Eilean ced her hands on her hips, looming over the boy-Captain, "I''ll have ye know that waer in the coumpany of Monsieur le Baron Tycon--"

    Hai crossed his arms, turning up his head, "W-why do I care about a noble?"

    The Sea Witch stomped over and flicked the boy''s forehead with her middle finger. The boy immediately crouched in pain, both hands on his head.

    "Wael ya LET ME FINISH? --The Baron''s been invited by none uvver ''an Grand-Capitaine Chantal, HAERSELF!!"

    Tycon''s mouth twitched. Why the hells was he being dragged into this?

    "Wael?" Eilean scowled at Tycon, "Say sumfin, yererdship!"

    Tycon dropped his shoulders, sighing. He should have escaped when Lone did.

    Reaching into his hooded cloak, Tycon activated his spatial ring and pulled out one of his pistols. Keeping his finger straight and off the trigger, he pointed it forward and unclicked the safety.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Viin," Tycon statedzily, "Cease thy viinry."

    ...

    Lang Hai swore a dozen curses in his mind, scanning the broken wreckage, (while purposefully ignoring the agonized whining of Private First ss Rico.)

    Sweat dripped down his back as he thought of Chantal. The hammer that was the wrath of Grand-Capitaine Chantal De Croix would crush him to red, unrecognizable squishy bits. And then he would be taken out and shot.

    The familiar sound of a pistol safety clicking off, suddenly sharpened Lang Hai''s senses.

    The young green-haired man in a dark cloak was calmly pointing a pistol in his general direction. How dare he! Though Hai looked younger, he was confident he was older than the youth...

    Hai''s senses analyzed his surroundings, enhanced by the most powerful motivator in the realm: fear of a woman.

    Pale pristine skin and neat hair: Definitely nobility. Yellow eyes: possible inhuman blood. Outline of a de beneath his cloak: Combat skills likely. Dark, hooded cloak: Knows how to keep his head down-- probably a tiny bit of intelligence. Pistol: definitely has money, what a prick!

    Worse still, Hai couldn''t smell an onze of fear from the youth-- the Tycon person. The man''s rxed state wasn''t out ofziness, it was out of certainty!

    The beady-yellow-eyed noble cunt was definitely a threat! If Hai didn''t do something immediately, he''d be reported straight to Chantal and his LIFE WOULD BE OVER!

    ...It was prettyte in the sun. Hai considered throwing Rico''s broken body at the noble as a distraction. Then he could run and hide in a garbage heap until it got dark out.

    Tycon sighed, "If you tell me what''s going on, I''ll at least be able to exin it to the Grand-Capitaine."

    Lang Hai''s innocent, fragile heart shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. The noble would rat him out at first opportunity.

    The gods looked upon Lang Hai and judged him to be unworthy of their grace. Deep inside his soul, he wept, forsaken by mercy, loathed by kindness, a stranger to hope.

    He could feel his soul trying to leave his body. He wore his Captain rank upon his coat''s epaulets. He wore the Officer''s cuss on his hip-- so expensive and so flimsy, its only real use was tomit ritual suicide... and best try out of three, at that.

    The formal dress attire of the Beaurte Marines was recognizable throughout the Kingdom. All this was on top of the fact that he had no less than four of his ships in port, fully rigged for raiding, flying Beaurte''s colors arrogantly.

    Hai''s brain operated at maximum capacity. He refused to be executed without a fight!

    Option A: Beg for forgiveness. Throw away all of his pride as an Officer of Marines, much less the High-Captain of the fleet or the Leader of a sect... Rejected! Rico was still alive, and he wasn''t willing to kill her unless absolutely necessary. The entire debacle has been her fault. Hai swore he''d make her hate her life if she managed to survive.

    "Caaaaaptainnn¡­. I wish I were dead," Rico quietly sobbed. Blood flowed from her eyes, ears, and mouth, "I need¡­ I need seawater."

    "Shut up, Rico. I''m thinking," Lang Hai red.

    Option B: Kill everyst Marine, Sailor, and Civilian in the area. Immediately in the area was Rico, a hiding store owner, an old hag, and a nobleman pistoleer. Rejected. Too many variables. At least twenty Marines were in the tavern next door, each of them at least half as hardy as Rico. And one of Chantal''s goons could absolutely not be simple, even if he looked dumber than a sack of starfish.

    Option C. Lang Hai did not want to use Option C. He hated himself for even thinking of an Option C. He sucked in a deep breath to prepare. His life depended on the ability he prided himself upon most: theatre acting.

    "Would you look at that!! In my foolish drunkenness, damage of public property and violence has urred!! But this happens all the time!! Every sun!! Very violence!! Suchmon!! Not worth a reporting!!"

 Chapter 125 Wager

    ?Tycondrius wanted to go back to the inn. He''d get a nice, full te for dinner, write a letter to Aur, and probably go straight to bed. The Courier''s Guild opened early. He wouldn''t have to wait in line.

    Instead, he was outside, cold, slightly-hungry, and being essentially pressured by a Sea Witch he just met to point a pistol at a child.

    A small crowd had gathered-- random passersby and people from the pub who had heard themotion. They bore witness to boy-Captain Hai and the pistol-wielding Tycon.

    Hai wasughing loudly, probably to hide his fear, "HA HA HA HA! HA! HAHA! HA! HAAAAAA!!"

    Tears were running down his face. The boy wasn''t fooling anyone.

    ...Tycon was growing tired of holding up his pistol.

    The noisy mumblings of the crowd caught Tycon''s attention-- "What''s going on?" "It looks like it''s one of the Grand-Capitaine''s enforcers." "What? No way, I''ve never seen an enforcer so handsome!" "Psh. No one has the balls to pretend to be an enforcer in Caractere. Everyone knows Capitaine Chantal would skin him alive."

    Tycon regripped his pistol, his expression serious, "Listen up! How about you offer to pay for the damages and you can... just sod off."

    ...

    High-Captain Lang Hai felt rivers and tributaries of sweat running down his forehead, face, and back. Hai had verifiably nailed his impression of a ck-jawed, screwed in the head, Caractere sailor. It was so perfect, he would even fool himself!

    Hai''s eyes narrowed in realization. Sea god''s pants, how could he be so stupid not to realize it earlier!?

    It wasn''t that the noble bastard Tycon saw through his wless act... Tycon must have specifically sought out Lang Hai to cause trouble for him and his Marines. The shameless cunt even brought a crowd of witnesses!

    ''Alright, Rico. Go Beast Mode and kill-- Aw, coral cock, nevermind,'' Lang Hai silently regretted his epic-worthy, violently brutal, incredibly satisfying thrashing of Rico. He should have just torn off a limb and beat her with it or locked her in the hotbox for a week without food.

    Rico would cry and pee herself if she was denied food for over 6 bells.

    It had happened.

    High Captain Lang Hai of the Beaurte Marines stood tall, dropping the friendly facade and feigned foolishness.

    He would not give in to Chantal''s crony. He would fight against their tyranny, their injustice, and their tant disrespect of a pure, innocent, honest and righteous Marine Officer.

    "You ask me to pay?" Hai chortled, unintentionally sounding hurt.

    Hai walked into the shop, creating some distance between him and Tycon. He leaned forward, resting a forward boot on a raised surface (Rico''s face) and pointed his finger with an upraised palm, "Well, I CAN''T DO THAT!!"

    Tycon nced aside at the crowd and at Lieutenant Eilean before sighing, "Very well, sir. May I ask why y--"

    "BECAUSE I don''t have any money!!" Hai arrogantly dered.

    Tycon didn''t seem impressed, "That''s... not at all something to be proud of."

    Rico''s muffled voice emanated from her broken form, "Cap''n yer on my¡­ my teef. I needs them¡­ ta eat."

    Hai pointed his finger usingly at Tycon, "We get our weaponry imported from Bael Turath, but we only get old, discarded weapons that otherwise they''d sink to the bottom of the sea! Epochs-old gear makes up a majority of our gunnery!

    "We''ve been able to add three ships to the fleetst fiscal year. One of them has a HOLE in the hull because we had a WARLOCK raise it from the depths of the ocean. But it''s not the worst ship we own because AT LEAST it can SAIL!"

    "And do you know how much it costs to rent a port in Beaurte? Have you seen Port Saint Guinefort?  It''s nothing but rocks, rabid sea rats, and corpses that keep washing up on shore! It''s so haunted my garrison Officers have literally started calling themselves Ghostbusters. And they keep humming that stupid theme song! And the Council has the nerve to call it prime real estate! And they refuse to give me a military discount!"

    When Lang Hai''s tears began, they did not stop.

    Tycon frowned and closed his eyes,  "I''m... so very sorry."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Hai perked up, his eyes widening, "YOU ARE?! Err... I mean... You are?"

    The noble smirked derisively, "I''m sorry that you''re an idiot."

    "How about this!" Hai dered, "We have a BET!!"

    Hai couldn''t pay. He couldn''t run-- not easily, anyroad... Not when the eyes and ears of Grand-Capitaine Chantal were everywhere in Caractere.

    But he could bet. Bets and gambles were what built Lang Hai''s life, suffering terrible setbacks and risking more for enormous gains.

    Tycon sighed in awe of Lang Hai''s genius, "Seven hells, really? Is that your best course of action?"

    The crowd erupted into excited mumbles-- "Oh, a bet!" "Hey everyone, there''s a bet going on out here!!" "Make ''em walk the nk!!" "Toss him in the bilge and make him drink it!!" "Even the Grand-Capitaine has to abide by the results of a bet."

    The noble narrowed his stupid-looking, beady, yellow eyes, "State your terms."

    Hai grinned. What an idiot, "Ahaha! If I win, you let all this go. If you win¡­ Well, uh... I''ve got a few weapons I could trade for... if you like... to collect antiques. Every Kingdom-issued weapon wielded by a Beaurte Marine qualifies as an antique!"

    "Try again," Tycon scowled.

    Hai punched a fist into his opposite hand, "Ha! I''ve got a few unwed female Marines and Officers I could introduce you to! Sea god''s suspenders, I can even force Rico to bathe and hand her over to your crew! (If she''s still alive after this, anyroad.)"

    "I can''t see, Little Boss. There''s... there''s *only darkness*..." The broken mess that used to be Rico sobbed pitifully.

    Hai rubbed his boot on the girl''s face, "Shut up, Rico. It''s not even that bad."

    "Is... Your female going to be okay?" the stupid noble asked.

    Hai grit his teeth. He was running out of offers. The noble was insatiable, "I can invite you back to my ship?"

    "And why... pray tell, would I possibly care about that?"

    "The crew caught a half-ton Firescale Swordaxe-Fish maybe a bell prior. It''s pretty great raw, but Eilean knows a good supplier for charcoal."

    Eilean sidled up to Tycon, "Ehhh... Sir Baron. Paerhaps we kine to an arrangement, yanno, wivout tha bloadshed?"

    Hai rejoined inwardly. Yesss. Use your powers of sluttery, Eilean! Make him bend to your sultry, saggy-boobed, 25-year-old body!

    Tycon stepped forward, away from the Sea Witch, "I ept your wager."

    Oh. That works out.

    The elderly cartographer finally managed to unstick himself from underneath some broken debris, "P-please... leave my store!"

    "Shut up, ya old fart." "Silence, old man." Hai and Tyconmanded simultaneously.

    The noble twirled his pistol, "How fast is your reaction time, whelp?"

    Lang Hai seethed in righteous anger, "The Sea Wolf fleet ims the fastest ships in the Kingdom and I am their High-Captain! The Beaurte Marines are the fastest, strongest, and toughest raiders in the Royal Navy and I am their Alpha!"

    Hai snarled, "I am the raging Sea Wolf! Racing faster than a shark to its twitching, bleeding meal! I''ll tear you to twice the bloody shreds, killing you three times as fast!"

    Lang Hai grinned wickedly, feeling his blood boil. His transformation threatened to rece his cool calm with naught but hunger and bloodlust, "Now who the hells do you think you are?"

 Chapter 126 One Shot

    ?Tycondrius had just been called out in front of a crowd. The audience stared with excited eyes, waiting for a response.

    Seven hells, what was the point of Lang Hai''s showboating? He was only calling *more* attention to himself. Was this some sort of trick? Was he being pranked?

    Tycon shrugged. He clicked on the safety of his pistol, cing it underneath his cloak in a chest-mounted holster.

    He presented himself to the crowd and raised his voice, "My name is Tycondrius of Charm. I hold the title of Monsieur le Baron, granted by King Adal and ratified by the Council. I am the guild leader of Guild Sol Invictus, Champions of the diatorial Arena in Ezyria...

    "I have uncovered the crimes against the Kingdom by corrupt Duke Tavor of Merylsward, and seen to his arrest. I am the savior of the Ivory Judge Hidden Sect and their Guardian Beast. And by my own two hands, I''ve reaped the life of a fire-breathing winged lizard."

    "Dinnae ya mean... a dragon?" Eilean tilted her head, seeming to stare through the red cloth that covered her eyes.

    "Don''t be ridiculous, youngdy." Tycon immediately rejected the notion, "Dragons don''t exist."

    "You''re¡­ you''re so cool, Mister," Rico whimpered. Apparently, the girl hadn''t yet bled to death and, more surprising, was still conscious.

    Hai narrowed his eyes, "Private First ss Rico, you have my permission to die."

    "Aye aye, Cap''n," Rico responded with a lilting voice.

    Hai approached Tycon, standing within a sword''s distance, "Sounds like you do have the qualifications to challenge me!"

    Tycon stared nkly, "Yes, and I... probably exceed them."

    Hai began pointing angrily, snapping his teeth with his words, "You fancy yourself a gunner? You think that because you can afford to have a hand cannon, that you''re financially responsible and therefore better than me?!"

    "Yes and yes," Tycon replied tly. Was the boy crying again?

    Eilean unstoppered a sk of clear liquid and poured it on the fallen Rico.

    "It''s seawater," she exined. "This''ull fix the wee ''un right up."

    Tycon''s mouth twitched. He was trying to hide his emotions but was inwardly horrified. His own Inspirational Surge Skill increased Dragan''s healing factor by 5 or 6 times-- his broken arm would be back to normal in a week. Rico had several broken limbs and was bleeding like a leaking bucket. If a single ssh of seawater could enable her to even crawl... Egh. the prospect was daunting.

    "I have your BET for you right here, BOY!" Hai screamed, "Shoot me with that pistol you''re so proud of! I''ll dodge it... or-or I''ll catch it! And then I''ll jam the bullet right into your eye!"

    Tycon averted his gaze, cautiously pulling out his pistol again. The boy''s absolute confidence was making him ufortable. Tycon could scarcely believe anyone could be so certain of themselves. Was this... Was this what it was like when he did it to other people?

    Hai stepped forward, standing even closer, at arm''s distance. He pointed provocatively at his forehead.

    "If you can drop me with your gun, you win. If you can''t, or if you can''t even pull the trigger, you go back to your crew and don''te back until you find wherever you lost your courage.

    "I, High-Captain Lang Hai, of the Beaurte Marines, sanction this contracted duel and absolve Tycondrius of Charm of any negative repercussions from my injury or death!"

    The crowd erupted in ''aahs'' and ''ooh''s, along with a smattering of apuse.

    "Now..." Hai smirked arrogantly, now pointing both fingers at his forehead, "Are you man enough to pull the trigger?"

    Tycon stared at the shorter, younger boy. Was winning the wager so easy? There were certainly loopholes to the bet. The simplest and most obvious was Lang Hai''s Abyssal Sea Wolf curse.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Judging from the performance of his crew at the Couture mansion, each of the Beaurte Marines could easily ignore fatal injuries. As Eilean demonstrated, with the easily essible seawater, the cursed Marines could even regenerate from their injuries at a monstrous rate.

    Tycon surmised that the salty port city air could trigger their healing factor-- it was a theory reinforced by the fact that Rico still lived, having bled profusely for several minutes.

    With all of the boy''s boasting that he was the Abyssal Sea Wolf "Alpha", it was a given fact that his regeneration rate would be as high-- likely higher than that of his subordinates.

    A shot to the chest certainly wouldn''t kill the boy. And he seemed more than confident that he could survive a bullet to the brain.

    ...Tycon saw no negatives to the wager. Regardless of whether he won or lost, he wouldn''t pay a single copper. He also didn''t see any loopholes Hai could easily take advantage of.

    He switched the safety off of his pistol.

    ...

    High-Captain Lang Hai tried to keep his demeanor steady.

    Was Lang Hai faster than a speeding bullet?

    No.

    He might be able to if he were on his ship, surrounded by the ocean and bathed in sea mist. The more seawater he was in contact with, the stronger and faster he was.

    He could take a bullet as well as any Beaurte Marine. The Abyssal Sea Wolf curse would heal any wound, though Hai would probably forget what he had for breakfast at best, or forget how to use a fork and knife for a few suns at worst.

    The noble clicked his safety off, but Hai had figured the kid out, one hundred percent. There was no way he was brave enough to shoot him in the head. This bet was as good as won.

    Tycon ced the barrel of his pistol against Hai''s head.

    Hai even adjusted the barrel with his finger, making certain it was at the exact center of his forehead.

    "Do it," Hai mocked.

    The green-haired noble suddenly smirked.

    Huh...

    In a swift motion, the barrel that was pressed to his forehead fell. The noble aimed down at Hai''s kneecap.

    Ahaha! What a tool! The noble couldn''t bear the thought of killing another person, so he changed his aim to a non-lethal shot! Hai smugly celebrated inwardly. He was confident in taking a chunk of iron in his brain! He could of course--

    Wait, the knee?

    Sea god''s shite-box.

    With a bang, the hot metal feeling seared up and down Hai''s entire leg. He felt his body begin to plummet to the ground, "That''s not fair! Why?! WHY THE KNEE??!?"

 Chapter 127 The Negotiator

    ?A hurricane blur of motion rushed past Tycon, nearly knocking him off of his feet.

    There it was-- the loophole.

    Private First ss Rico executed a running, jumping, triple-spin high kick. Her boot smashed into High-Captain Lang Hai''s face. The boy''s head collided against the wooden wall behind him. The shop gained a few new cracks-- though they didn''t look out of ce with the rest of the shop''s ruined decor.

    The Marine Captain did not fall.

    The sandy-blonde, short-haired Rico stood on one leg with her opposite pinning Hai''s head against the cracked shop wall.

    Her face was still bloody, swollen, and bruised; covered in tears and snot. Her clothes were roughed, torn, and filthy with dirt and wood dust. The are of the girl''s left breast was clearly in view, but Tycon surmised that the uncouth drunkard probably didn''t care.

    The seawater Eilean had poured on her enhanced the creature''s regenerative abilities to a frightening level.

    Hai looked ridiculous. And his position was incredibly demeaning. But Tycon had lost the wager.

    "Cap''n Lang!" Rico yelled, "PFC Rico requests... THREE moons of double rations!!"

    The girl was a clever opportunist. Tycon could respect that. He watched as Hai struggled to stand on his leg, but the bullet shrapnel embedded in his kneecap looked to be more than he could handle.

    "Two¡­ weeks." Hai''s voice was muffled beneath the girl''s boot, "Best I can give you... is two weeks."

    "Cap''n Lang!!" Rico yelled again, with no less enthusiasm.

    "...What is it?"

    "PFC Rico requests TWO moons of double rat''s!!"

    Hai sighed, "I''ll give you ten business suns."

    "DEAL!" Rico yelled, "Negotiation no jutsu!"

    As the crowd began to disperse, Lieutenant Eilean approached the elderly shopkeeper. She ran her fingers over the wax seal of a rolled-up parchment before handing it to him. The old man epted it gingerly, not entirely trusting of the blind Sea Witch.

    Eilean shed a charming smile, "Mister Cartographer, here''s tha insurance policy we took upon anchorin'' in port. Wish we could get by withoot somethin''ek this."

    Tycon''s mouth twitched, "Have you had that this whole time?"

    Eilean smiled back with chagrin, "Tha policy only covers soo much, yererdship."

    The snot-nosed female Marine unceremoniously heaved her High-Captain over her shoulders, "Miss Eilean! I''mma carry Little Boss back to the ship!"

    "Rico, this is in no way necessary," the miserable wet noodle of a boyined.

    Tycon chuckled, "That''s right. If you hit the ground as a result of my bullet, you lose the bet."

    "Little Boss! I need to save you!" Rico insisted, "My 10 business suns of double rat''s are on the line!"

    Hai grit his teeth, ring at Tycon with his blood-red eyes, "Whatever. Do what you want."

    ...

    Tycon apanied the High-Captain, Lieutenant, and PFC a distance away from the pub and cartography shop, well away from onlookers.

    "I ''ad a right loovely sun, yererdship! Mayhaps yae''d like tae ''pany us back to the Elizabeth Dare?"

    Lieutenant Eilean had been walking closer and closer to Tycon, ever since she found out he was a baron. Tycon mulled over the dilemma in his mind. The prospect of grilled Swordaxe-Fish steak sorely tempted him.

    High-Captain Lang Hai, still draped like a wet nket over Rico, let out a low growl, "Stay away from my Lieutenant, kid. She has a dick. And it''s bigger than yours."

    The boy literally growled. Tycon found the concept novel.

    "Och! Mind yer manners, Captain!" Eilean admonished, "If not fer hiserdship, we''d ''vad a hunner yappy dugs clypin tae wan o'' Grand-Capitaine Chantal''s galoots!"

    Tycon had no idea what Eilean was saying.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Yeah, BITCH!! Ehehe." Rico smirked at Tycon. One of her cuspid teeth stuck out, outside her lips.

    Tycon had no idea who Rico was talking to.

    "Rico... Please shut up," Hai muttered.

    Tycon decided to artfully segue into a new topic, "What''s that smell?"

    Hai seemed to dete, looking the most defeated Tycon had seen thus far, "Rico pees herself when she''s hurt, excited, or sad."

    "Or hungry!" Rico added, cheerfully. "I''m trying my best to be human!"

    Which one was it? Tycon shrugged, "Human, huh? We''re all trying our best, youngdy."

    Rico gasped, smiling radiantly. It seemed Tycon''s words had struck a chord.

    "I''m 4!" Rico volunteered.

    "PFC Rico~" Lieutenant Eilean sang, "It''ull be easier fer ye tae carry the Cap''n back if''n ye turn back tae naermal."

    "Oh, right! I was so good at being human that I forgot!" Rico purred.

    Tycon grimaced. Was she, though?

    The girl abruptly halted her movement, staring at the cloudless sky. Her flesh began to warp, bones and cartge crunching together. Her skin began to shimmer in the sun, transforming into a smooth bluish sea scale. Her jaws extended, but her stupid grin and single misaligned tooth remained.

    Rico stood on four bowed legs, her size easily bigger than a horse, and likely weighing at least as much as Dragan.

    "I''m a SEA WOLF!!" Rico barked.

    "I can see that," Tycon patted her on the neck. It seemed appropriate.

    Hai somehow managed to look smug, still lying listlessly on Rico''s back, "The strongest Beaurte Marines can transform into Sea Wolves."

    Eilean interjected, "Rico''s a bit strange innat she''s a Sea Wolf ''at turns intae a girl."

    Hai crossed his arms, "Are ya scared now, ya noble prick?"

    Tycon shook his head. There was no winning against the boy''s obstinance, "Sure. I''m terrified."

    "Raaawr!!" Rico''s tongue hung over her needle-like jaws like a dog''s.

    Rico was not a smart girl, but she was a terrifying existence.

    [Rico, Gold-Rank Cmity Beast]

    Tycon forced a smile, "As much as I''d love to apany you, Lieutenant Eilean, I really must get back to my guild."

    Tycon offered a hand, which Eilean shook. Disappointment was painted on her face, "''At''s a shame, innit?"

    "Stay away from my ship," Hai insisted.

    Eilean held her red skirt and gave a polite curtsy, "Bloud an'' Thunder, yererdship."

    "I love you, Mister!!" Rico yelped.

    Tycon smirked, "Death to the enemies of the Beaurte Marines."

    He turned to walk away. Nothing good woulde of dealing with Lang Hai and his idiot crew.

    The High-Captain''s voice rang out at Tycon''s back, "Fair winds and following seas! Idiot!"

 Chapter 128 The Unfortunate

    ?The ship creaked and groaned a conversation with its single living passenger.

    "Don''t talk to me like that..."

    Tarquin Wroe stood defiantly on the ghost ship''s main deck, reprimanding the central mast.

    "I raised you, and this is how you repay me?"

    Through a series of fortunate-- but mostly unfortunate events where Tarquin very nearly died, he managed to arrange for a ship for Guild Invictus to sail upon.

    The merchant ship he had contracted was transporting a forbidden artifact of the sea god. One aquatic leviathan attackter, the ship was dragged under the waves.

    He washed ashore some timeter, but was picked up by a different merchant''s ship that was returning to Caractere after a long voyage.

    The ship was transporting millions of silver''s worth of trade goods from the Holy Country. One pirate attackter, all of its sailors were killed and the ship was left to drift.

    Wroe was then picked up by the freebooters, who weed him as a temporary addition to the crew. Including the Captain, who dangerously wielded two pistols, the crew seemed to enjoy his poetry.

    One attack by the Royal Navyter, the ship was sunk to the depths.

    ...Wroe wiped his eyes before a tear could fall. What was important was that he had a ship, now! The Unfortunate cut through the choppy waves almost silently, surrounded by cloudy mist and illuminated by moonlight and stars.

    Spirits and skeletons on the ship''s deck moved with rote remembrance of their living duties. Wroe watched as many pantomimed with confused gestures. Ropes for rigging had long ago rotted away, as did any semnce of stairs. Even so, ghostly white sails rose up the mast and skeletons tirelessly climbed to where their memories guided.

    He found it a chore trying to order the undead around. He felt their thoughts, but it was difficult to sort those from the ceaseless groans of lingering emotions or otherworldly pain. This evening, the mutterings of the ship contained anxious rambling and excitement.

    Wroe was left staring at the crack-ridden mast-- the point where he felt the ship''s soul the clearest. He pressed his forehead to the structure with force, creating a muffled thud. Long at the mercy of the ocean''s depths, the wood was soft and stank of sea-rot, covered in dead and dying barnacles and sea-dwelling parasites.

    The endless voices Wroe ceased.

    "We''ve arrived. Port City Caractere."

    Wroe walked to the bow. Waving his hand to the side, the mists split apart, granting him full view of the beautiful nighttime city.

    "Now all I''ve gotta do is find Boss! My luck''s finally turning around!"

    ...

    Lightning struck the ocean waters. Dark rain clouds were closing quickly upon the small city, threatening to rob the light of the moon from the city''s defenders.

    Hundreds ofnterns and braziers illuminated the port. Hundreds more of the Kingdom''s sailors stood, ready with ballistas, anxiously carrying sword and crossbow.

    Capitaine Geroux frowned. It was the middle of the night, but the entire city was set in a panic as soon as the ghost ship was spotted off the coast. With the tension in the air, Geroux couldn''t sleep even if he wanted to.

    A ghost ship was a serious threat, a portent of arger invasion. Most of the young officers and enlisted didn''t experience the horrors of naval warfare against the undead of the Sleeping Country.<novelnext></novelnext>

    But Geroux knew.

    "Grand-Capitaine... There is still time. Shall we send word to the Sea Wolves?"

    A heavy wave crashed against the stone walkway, licking Grand-Capitaine Chantal''s boots and the bottom of her military coat. She red at the Geroux with her one eye, the other hidden behind a riveted eyepatch, "You mean to call upon the ''boy''?"

    She swept back her full, wavy, and unapologetically pink hair with annoyance, "Don''t bother. I can handle this *alone*."

    Geroux felt a cold sweat of worry chill his back. As a young Naval officer, he had seen the undeniable power of her predecessor, Guiume De Croix, crushing entire ships with impunity during battles with the Sleeping Country. If Grand-Capitaine Chantal was even half the woman her adoptive father was, Port City Caractere would see another sunrise. But if she wasn''t...

    Chantal walked to the edge of the docks, impervious to the hurricane winds and the titanic battering of the waves. She raised her arms to the storming skies.

    The sailors held their collective breaths... At least old Geroux knew he did.

    shes of lightning illuminated white waves rumbling, at least 2 malms off the coast. ck, sinewy twists of flesh rose from the depths... slowly, deliberately... until the faceless, toothy maw of the creature nearly touched the clouds. All around it, churling, misshapen tentacles whipped chaotically, each taller than 3 or 4 main masts, and thicker than 10 around.

    As a thick wave began to form, the Sea Mages stepped forward to shield the city.

    Geroux shuddered from a deep, instinctual fear. The woman had done it. She had summoned a leviathan... He had never seen its main body before, and the dozens of red, staring eyes struck horror in him at a primitive level. Guiume had only summoned its tentacles, each of the writhing ck masses easily able to smash several ships in close proximity. The main body, with over a dozen of the ship-destroying appendages, could fend off an entire fleet.

    The leviathan stretched up to the sky, curving its body.

    Light.

    A harsh bluish-white light, not dissimr to moonlight began to form in a sphere in front of its mouth. As a resident of the Kingdom, Geroux knew it well. The leviathan-- an existence impossible to measure by the adventurer guilds'' Metal-Rank standards... was channeling an obscene amount of mana.

    Capitaine Geroux stared helplessly at Grand-Capitaine Chantal with a new fear. The woman wasn''t a single, ship-destroying force. She, alone, was a force equal to the entire Darktide Fleet.

    The leviathan shot the beam of energy at the ghost ship, a white ze of devastating mana, cutting through both the ocean and the night sky. Though Geroux and the sailors were forced to shield their eyes, he knew that Chantal stood and watched to ensure her enemies were annihted.

    It took several moments for the light to dissipate. The earth lightly shook as the leviathan slowly sunk back into the ocean depths, its impossible size being hidden away by the night''s ck waters.

    The ghost ship was nowhere to be seen. With the leviathan''s disappearance, the seas had turned strangely calm and the storm clouds were nowhere in sight. At the very end of the horizon, dawn was beginning to break.

    Port City Caractere had lived to see another sunrise.

    Geroux forced his shaking hands still, his heart still pounding. If only so much of the creature surfaced above the water... how much was hidden?

    The destroyed scout ship was a powerful warning to any potential invaders.

    Grand-Capitaine Chantal was not to be trifled with.

 Chapter 129 Grand-Capitaine

    ?Tycon found himself sitting across from Maximus of Ezyria. They sat on a tatami mat with a low table between them... in the central room of the Kimura estate.

    "...With your skills, you could join any guild in the Kingdom. Why Sol Invictus?"

    Without hesitation, the dovahkiin took the alcohol-filled cup on the table.

    Honesty. Unflinching determination. These were traits that Tycon had admired in the man. And that was besides the fact that the man''s raw magical power exceeded that of every member in Sol Invictus.

    Maximus held the ceramic cup up in a toast, rice wine spilling from its brim, "I know how you operate, Prince. Your guild has produced the greatest champions Ezyria has seen in generations."

    Tycon shook his head, "From what I understand, it is you, Mister Vanzano, who holds the title of Rex diatores, the greatest diator."

    With a smirk, the dovahkiin lifted a blue-scaled arm, and drained his cup in a single pull, "And with me, Sol Invictus is the strongest guild in the history of the Holy Kingdom."

    Tycon drained his own cup. He couldn''t taste it, but he remembered the sweet, nostalgic feeling from drinking Kagehisa Yumiko''s brew... "What is it you''re really looking for, Gian Vanzano?"

    The pdin grinned and ced his fist against his chest, "To live a warrior''s life. And to die a warrior''s death."

    ...

    Tycon awoke in his inn room to a knocking on the door. Dreaming of a dead man made him wake upte. He answered the door to thank the innkeeper for the wake-up call.

    Dragan and Lone had already left, clearly unwilling to apany Tycon to a boring meet-and-greet.

    ...ording to Tycon''s pocket watch, the scheduled meeting with Fleet Admiral Chantal was in only a couple of bells.

    Cursing inwardly in annoyance, Tycon began to change into his silver armor. Clean, professional, with a Kingdom tabard of bright blue. Dark iron sword with an ornamented hilt. Even though he had Aur''s letter of introduction, he wanted to make a good impression.

    ...

    Admiral Chantal''s Darktide Fleet was notorious for recruiting from pirates and privateers, a tradition generations in the making. As such, though her sailors wore a simr military coat, each wore unique weapons, exotic sashes, and colorful bandanas. Strings of superstitious trinkets and charms also seemed popr.

    He had originally found it curious that he wasn''t asked to surrender his weapons upon entering

    As Tycon was being led throughout Chantal''s fort, he noticed no less than 2 Iron-Ranks and several Bronze-Ranks. At any sign of hostility or magical suspicion, Tycon surmised he''d be immediately gutted... or undergo whatever horrible thing pirates were wont to do. Perhaps take a long walk off of a short nk?

    Chantal''s waiting room looked to be the repurposed hull of a ship with the interior stripped... Artful driftwood sculptures. Ornate, heavy-wooded chairs and tables with a selection of hors d''oeuvres. Large gold-ted porthole windows, lining each wall. A massive skeletal shark, hanging above the seating area.

    There were little lights on it. Clever. Chandelier-Shark. Chandrk? Shark-delier?

    ...Did sharks even have bones?

    A painting of the Fleet Admiral stared at guests with judgmental eyes. The woman had a full head of wavy, pink hair that fell down to her shoulders and a symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing face. The sharp tricorne and the stylized eyepatch she wore spoke of her fashionable piracy. The dark oils and jagged cross-hatching used in the painting insinuated grim intimidation, no-nonsense beauty rather than soft, feminine wiles.

    Tycon respected that.

    The double-doors to Chantal''s office burst open as a leather-armored sailor tumbled into the waiting room and onto his back. Blood ran down his nose and mouth as he struggled to his feet and drew his cuss.

    [Pirate Captain, Bronze-Rank Sailor]

    The man spat out a tooth, red in face, "Ye''ll pay fer that, ye gods-damned bitch!"

    The Fleet Admiral walked out of her office with an expression curled in disdain. In her left hand, she held what appeared to be a bent brass candbra.

    [Chantal De Croix, Iron-Rank Beast Contractor]

    Fleet Admiral Chantal De Croix stood slightly over 6 fulms tall, towering over the bleeding pirate and Tycon both. The painting''s artist did not embellish the woman''s features. Like in the painting, the woman wore a military coat, a colorful gold sash, and had clear, unmarred skin. Not disyed in the painting was the woman''s wide birthing hips.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She was probably a very attractive woman, not that Tycon particrly cared.

    Even though the pirate captain was both armed and furious, the brazen woman tossed her improvised weapon away and strode within arm''s length of him, "You do *not* attack ships flying my Darktide g, Monsieur-Capitaine. You *will* return the stolen goods, as well as offer reparations for the casualties."

    No threats. Just orders. Tycon would have liked her more if the System hadn''t colored the transparent name over her head a worrisome yellow.

    The pirate shed his cuss left and right in a flourish, "Ye one-eyed, thrice-damned, greedy whore! The only thing ye''ll get from me is steel!"

    Chantal snatched the pirate by the throat and lifted him nearly two fulms up, clear off of thecquered flooring, "There are worse things to fear than steel."

    Tycon ced a hand on his hilt, "Would you like some assistance, Grand-Capitaine?"

    She spared Tycon a casual nce, "Nah, I''m good."

    The transparent yellow over her head turned to green. Tycon was pleased but kept a professional, neutral expression.

    The nearby table was covered in hard breads, cheeses, fruit preserves, and cured sausages. Chantal choke-mmed the man onto it. With a powerful heave, the woman flipped the man onto his face, then dragged the man across said table, through broken dishes, shattered ss, and burning candles.

    Tycon managed to save a wooden charcuterie board.

    At the end of the table was arge firece, filled with a heap of crackling firewood. Chantal tossed the man in. His burning agony, known to all by his pain-wracked screams, reverberated throughout the room. Within moments, the front doors flew open and half-a-dozen Darktide sailors filed in with swords and pistols drawn.

    Tycon nced to a small corner of the firece. Trying not to make any sudden movement, he walked over, picked up the handle of the burning-hot branding iron and offered it to Chantal.

    She epted it with a vibrant smile, "Thank you, Monsieur."

    "Of course, Grand-Capitaine."

    The man''s flesh sizzled as she branded him. The man began to scream louder.

    The hauntingly sweet smell of cooked meat pervaded the room. Was it faux pas to sample the charcuterie? ...No one seemed to be watching.

    Chantal turned her back on both Tycon and the burning pirate, "Hang this piece of meat from the gallows. Use the meathooks."

    A younger sailor saluted, "At once, Grand-Capitaine? And the crew?"

    "Have them sold to pay their Captain''s debts."

    Tycon swallowed, trying his best to keep his face impassive. Caractere was not beholden to the Kingdom''sws, which forbid very. Instead, Grand-Capitaine Chantal was the solewmaker in the Port City.

    The sailor hesitated, "Grand-Capitaine, the uh... the Council has ouwed very."

    Chantal crossed her arms, the upper buttons on her jacket, threatening to burst, "Sea god''s scales! Take them out and have them shot! ...And get this mess cleaned up!"

    "Y-yes, Grand-Capitaine!" Half of the sailors immediately fled the room, while the others busied themselves with cleaning the broken ss and ceramics.

    Tycon gingerly ced the charcuterie board back down on a table.

    Seeming to spot Tycon''s movement, the tall woman turned and red down at him, "And why are you still here, Monsieur?"

    Tycon tried to slow his heart rate as his mind prepared his speech, each word calcted to not cause any offense, "About that..."

    The transparent name above the woman''s head had reverted to yellow.

 Chapter 130 Enemy Territory

    ?Lieutenant Eilean of the Beaurte Marines swept aside her orange hair and reclined on the luxurious leather couch. She loved the feel of it against her silk dress, adorned by witch-bone and gull-feather charms. She adjusted the dark cloth over her eyes and sighed. It covered the knife scars from an epoch past but was unable to hide her concern.

    "Cap''n..."

    "What?" High-Captain Lang Hai turned, annoyed at the interruption.

    "Are ye *tryin* to run a hole in the deck? Ye''ve been pacin'' fer naerly ten minutes now, Cap''n~"

    "I''m. Thinking," Hai puffed his cheeks like a guilty child.

    Lang Hai had stopped aging when he was about 16... and he was smaller than other boys his age. As capable as he was at fighting and giving out orders, he spoke and acted more freely around his officers.

    The Captain had done an impressive amount of work in looking as handsome as possible. With great inconvenience, he sharply creased his trousers and straightened the dark, formal coat. The insignias on his epaulettes glinted off of the lights, highlighting him as a Marine Officer. His dressed and shined boots clunked against the wooden deck in quick, even rhythm as he walked.

    "Y''know," Eilean offered, "being the Admiral of the Sea Wolf Fleet, ye didn''t hafta surrender yer cuss an'' pistols."

    ...

    "No. No weapons," Hai continued to pace, his back breaking out into a cold sweat.

    He stood on *her* ground. Pirate Queen Chantal De Croix. Fleet Admiral of the Royal Navy. The Grand-Capitaine refused the honor of being called by her father''s name, insisting on being called Chantal.

    The more he thought about it, the more he felt his sanity chip and crumble. He stood at the center of the massive room, easily asrge as a hull in one of his corvette-ss ships. But he almost felt like he was drowning in the endless depths of the abyss.

    He turned suddenly, surprising the Sea Witch, "This is her base... her castle! We''re on enemy ground, Lieutenant!"

    "So izzat wot this is aboot?" Eilean snickered herself into a giggling fit.

    Lang Hai gulped as he remembered meeting her. The woman was a monster, ruthless, savage, a fearsome creature born forbat, immune to sword and w. She struck without mercy. And she would not stop until she tore Hai into itty-bitty pieces.

    "Ye tidied up ta impress a bonniess," said the witch. "Springtime''s finallye fer the great an'' powerful Sea Wolf Cap''n! Och! I''m so prroud!"

    Lang Hai felt a drop in the pit of his stomach.

    Eilean tried to be optimistic, "Jus'' bein in this room ah feel like we''re rich folk! It''s nice tae pretend, innit? Wot''s on yer mind, Cap''n?"

    Lang Hai breathed in deep. The worry, the frustrations, the cold, deep-seated fear that threatened to rend his throbbing heart in twain, he shut them away.

    "I hate this ce.

    "I hate these expensive chairs. I hate this rich, imported ebony wood table.

    "I hate how there''s food set out! And that it smells like barbecued meat!

    "I hate that gigantic, imposing staring portrait that makes Chantal''s breasts look like overripe melons!

    "I hate that she doesn''t limit how many sugar cubes you can put into the tea...

    "I hate the absolutely gigantic shark skeleton hanging on the ceiling, with all the little lights, some sort of great white chandelier!"

    "His name is Charlie," the sea witch chided. "I love him."

    "And. I definitely. Hate. That you, First Lieutenant Eilean. Are enjoying yourself. In enemy. Territory."

    Eilean gasped in feigned shock, "Cap''n! That''s hardly fair! How cannae fully ''preciate the Grand-Capitaine''s fineries if I cannae even see?"

    Hai scowled. When he wasn''t looking, the woman had left thefort of her reclining couch, "You''re lying on a seal-fur rug."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Indeed I am, Cap''n," Eilean purred.

    Lang Hai took a deep breath. He needed to keep his wits about him. He needed to wait patiently until Chantal was done with whomever she was meeting. Then he just had to patiently ask permission to sail in her waters.

    Regardless of her answer, he''d withdraw back to the ships and sail away-- never to return.

    The rage and fear drained out of Lang Hai''s body, reced only with hollow fatigue. He stared at the double doors of Chantal''s office in dread. In that room, Hai wouldn''t even have the luxury of Eilean''s idiocy to calm him.

    At least he left Rico with Eleven. The bastard would probably have preferred a vacation through the seven hells.

    Out of frustration, Lang Hai sat where he stood, trying to ignore the vaguely sexual cat noises his Lieutenant was making.

    And he hated how soft the rug was.

    ...

    [A short time earlier.]

    Beast Contractor. Tycondrius was wary of the Fleet Admiral''s ss. From what he knew, its Skills didn''t lend itself well to physicalbat, but the power of the Contractor varied based on his or hercreature (or creatures.) As an Iron-Rank, she was more than capable of attaining and keeping her position as Fleet Admiral.

    She was far too confident... far too heavy-handed... and far too young for her contract ability to be simple.

    Thankfully, the Fleet Admiral-- err... she preferred the title Grand-Capitaine Chantal, softened considerably upon discovering Tycon''s friendship with Princess Aur. It seemed the two had a rapport and mutually supported the other.

    As strict as Chantal appeared, she spoke freely and amicably to Tycon in the Kingdom''s oldnguage. She asked about Aur. She spoke kindly of the deceased Wind General Naedrielle. She asked if Tycon had run into any trouble in Caractere.

    She also asked if one ''Levi Wolfrider'' had a rtionship with Guild Invictus. The gentleman had been arrested for thievery. Tycon tly denied that he was.

    Wolfrider wasn''t rted to it. He was one of its members.

    It was nice to be human, lying as he liked in order to keep the peace. More powerful persons, particrly those with mana-rich bloodlines did not have the same luxury.

    They discussed their favorite desserts. Tycon was partial to a savory crepe. Chantal confided that she wouldmit murder for ice cream-- chocte, in particr.

    Tycon''s respect for Chantal was solidified. Her clothing was utilitarian--fortable, well-fitting trousers as opposed to something like Eilean''s ruffled skirt. Discussing Caractere''s state of affairs, Tycon discovered Chantal was also a confident and intelligent leader. The woman also eschewed the use of perfume oils, an atypical but wee trait.

    It was unfortunate that the Fleet Admiral couldn''t help him.

    "(I understand your difficulty, Tycon, but the Darktide Fleet can''t afford to spare ships or sailors. A possible incursion from Fernia would be better handled by the Kingdom''s ground forces and I''m sure Aur has already sent word to Commander Darro)," Chantal refused him without mincing her words.

    Tycon sighed, "(Chantal, Is there nothing to be done?)"

    The woman gave a sly smirk, "(The Royal Navy will offer her services.)"

    It was a dangerous smile.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "(I''d rather trust a person than an institution, Captain.)"

    Chantal scoffed, "(Haven''t you heard?) *I* am the Royal Navy, young Baron. I shoulder her grievances and her faults. And I am her terrible wrath."

    The woman offered a hand forward, "(You will have your help. You have my word.)"

    Tycon smiled in relief and took her hand. There was no greater guarantee.

 Chapter 131 Simple Request

    ?Chantal led Tycon out of her office, back into the waiting room.

    "(Mister Baron, allow me to introduce you to the High-Captain and First Lieutenant of the Sea Wolf fleet. As peculiar as they are, the Sea Wolves are one of the most... efficient fleets we have.)"

    Eilean and Lang Hai were lying on the rugs, stretching out like cats.

    The Sea Witch stood up with a gasp, smiling brightly.

    The boy struggled to his feet, but Eilean quickly assisted him up.

    Tycon shouldn''t have been surprised. The young, troublemaking captain and his cunning lieutenant were stationed in Beaurte. Anchoring port in Caractere, they naturally needed to meet with Chantal, their superior officer.

    Eilean wore a more formal red dress that entuated her well-maintained hourss figure. Tycon found the dress,bined with her vivacious orange hair and the gloss of her lipstick, to be aesthetically pleasing. Among her bone charms, she also wore a Mureina Eel skull, which Tycon had gifted her (cheaply,) a few suns prior.

    Hai ced some effort in looking crisp and clean in his full uniform: trousers, coat, and a captain''s t-topped hat. The back of the boy-Captain''s hair stood up, somewhat lessening the dignity of his appearance.

    It seemed that the Sea Wolves were cognizant enough to know that bringing the one known as Rico was not in their best interests. Tycon was briefly thankful that his own guild members weren''t so problematic.

    ...Minus Wolfbanger, who apparently was arrested for stealing.

    Tycon turned to Chantal and forced the best smile he could muster, "(The Sea Wolves. I''ve... heard so much about them.)"

    Chantal nodded, her gaze drifting into the past, "(I''ve known High-Captain Lang Hai for nearly an epoch now. The previous Beaurte Fleet Admiral was... a rival of my father.)"

    ...

    High-Captain Lang Hai stood with his Lieutenant''s help and took off his hat.

    He couldn''t help but stare. Grand-Capitaine Chantal De Croix had flitted in from her office, embodying the grace of a legendary mermaid.

    Realizing his distraction, his gaze hardened, his eyes shing in abyssal ck.

    It was no dream. She was Lang Hai''s nightmare.

    Lieutenant Eilean licked the entirety of her hand.

    "Hold still, Cap''n," she whispered as she mussed his hair. "Cain''t ''ave you all rty in front''ve the loove of yer life."

    Shetried her best to smooth out the hair on the back of Hai''s head.

    "Not... now! Eilean!" Hai struggled out of her grasp before standing rigidly at attention. Waiting. For¡­ Capitaine Chantal to notice him.

    She was conversing with some green-haired knight that Hai didn''t know in the oldnguage of the Kingdom.

    "Oooah, Baron Tycondrius is sooo handsome in armor," Eilean swooned in a hushed voice.

    Ohhhh. THAT GUY! Aha! That noble prick must have used a disguise kit to trick him! But he couldn''t trick Eilean''s superior senses (besides vision, anyroad.) Hai was d he brought his Lieutenant!

    "Grand-Capitaine Lang Hai," Chantal approached with a dreamy smile. "And Lieutenant Eilean. It''s been years."

    "It''s grrreat ta see you, Grand-Capitaine!" Eilean said with her stupid voice.

    This was it. He was standing right next to the nightmare-woman, close enough that she could wring her elegant, glossy-nailed hands around his neck. Afterward, she''d have him shot!

    The devilish woman''s perfume was intoxicating. And there was too much of it! Hai''s head spun and his heart was beating out of his chest. If he were a weaker man, his legs might have given out, but his training prevailed. He could stand at attention for hours as if his spine was a ramrod of steel.

    Chantal pressed a long finger to her luscious lips and smiled to Eilean, "As for your visit... Is the Sea Wolf Capitaine here to finally assassinate me?"

    Hai''s face turned to disgust. It sickened him that Chantal had decided to wear such a seductive outfit. Her Naval trousers, meant for utility, betrayed the shapeliness of her perfect legs, thick and powerful enough to fell sea monsters with lightning-strike kicks. Her unreasonably massive breasts threatened to spill out of her coat and the white, almost-see-through blouse, underneath.

    Chantal was a disaster, a cmity overly capable of dooming men to their doom! But Lang Hai knew better! He would not fall for her charms! Those who tried to win the favor of Grand-Capitaine Chantal were doomed to plummet to the infinite depths of the abyss! Of doom!

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    The 14-year-old boy was suffering some sort of malfunction, staring with his mouth agape. Hai had been... strangely quiet, for a boy who loved the sound of his own voice.

    After a moment of consideration, Tycon decided that he didn''t care. He''d simply enjoy hearing less idiocy in his presence, "What''s this about an assassination?"

    "Och aye! I ''eard the spraff a few moons back, meself!" Eilean was eager to share.

    Tycon focused on what the woman had to say, trying to discern her meaning. If she spoke anothernguage, his System could trante her. She spoke the Common tongue... but there was so much ng and colloquialisms in her diction that Tycon had to heavily rely on context.

    Seldin Korr spoke in circles. Wroe spoke in eldritch riddles and omens. Aur was literally from a different world. Sorina Capulet and thenguage of Business... Tycon didn''t even try understanding her.

    What he managed from the Sea Witch was this: When Lang Hai was about ten, (which was somehow over an epoch ago,) he hatched a foolish n to assassinate Chantal''s predecessor, Admiral Gulliame De Croix, and take over his ship and crew. He did so without stealth or guile, challenging the man in front of sailors and Marines from both the Darktide and Beaurte fleets, his own Admiral; and, at-the-time, First Mate Chantal.

    She beat the boy half-to-death with her bare hands. Eilean described a few of the more fantastical rumors surrounding the event, which Chantal neither denied or confirmed. The Fleet Admiral did chuckle in amusement at a few of them, though.

    She was a terrifying woman.

    "Anyroad, it''s nice to see you, Little Captain," Chantal offered a handshake.

    Shocked out of his daze, the boy stood at an even stricter stance of attention and saluted.

    Tycon pursed his lips. The boy had saluted with such force that he struck his own head with an absurd ''pak'' noise. Other than that, it was the crispest, sharpest salute Tycon had ever seen.

    Lieutenant Eilean slowly lowered the boy''s t-topped captain''s hat back on his head, effectively hiding his cowlick.

    "Grand-Capitaine Lang Hai, reporting to Fleet Admiral Chantal!" Hai bellowed.

    The boy had artificially lowered his voice to an absurd level. Chantal''s mouth twitched as she retracted her hand and crossed her arms.

    "Sea god''s socks, this is pure barry!" Eilean giggled.

    Tycon resisted the urge to hide his face in his hands. Lang Hai was turning redder than a reefw, "Captain Lang, humans need to breathe in order to remain conscious."

    ...

    This was it! This was Lang Hai''s shining moment! All he had to do was demand the right to anchor at Port Caractere and to sail her waters!

    "Grand-Capitaine Chantal De Croix--"

    Great, so far! Now to do the demanding!

    "I, humbly request--"

    No! Wrong! Go back!

    "I, High-Captain Lang Hai of the Beaurte Marines--"

    Yes, insert a cool title to establish dominance! Lang Hai, the Abyssal Sea Wolf! Of the Sea Wolves!

    "--your most loyal servant, humbly requests-- to... to go out."

    Wait, what?

    That stupid noble, Tycon, had grasped his mouth and chin with his hand. Eilean had her hands sped together, shing the most annoying smile in the Kingdom.

    Lang Hai coughed a short, careful cough. He was calm. He quelled the feeling of wanting to vomit. He still held the salute, but his hand was wavering.

    "The ships. The ships to go out. The Marine ships to go out into¡­ Darktide waters... Where we will be doing¡­ ship things. For the Kingdom. Which we both belong to."

 Chapter 132 Freedom Of Choice

    ?Tycon struggled to understand Lang Hai''s true intentions. Was his goal to go on a personal outing with his superior officer? Or was it to gain permission for his ships to sail the waters around Caractere?

    Should he apud the boy-Captain for his brazen courage? ...Or would it be more socially beneficial to retrieve Chantal''s branding iron?

    The Fleet Admiral did not appear to be pleased. Her mouth was twitching and she wore an out-of-ce, artificial smile,, "Captain Lang. My office. *Now.*"

    Abruptly, the woman spun on her heel and walked back into her office.

    Tycon still hadn''t received an answer on just how he would attain a ship. Out of concern for the tense situation, he chose to remain silent. Chantal had already promised her assistance and Tycon would not question her sincerity.

    Considering Tycon''s remaining options... Tarquin Wroe proved unreliable. And finding a merchant''s ship willing to take them on such a treacherous voyage could take weeks or moons. No, he would ce his trust in the Royal Navy.

    High-Captain Lang Hai gave his hat to Sea Witch Eilean. The pitiful way he looked at the blind woman made it look like he was pleading for help.

    Eilean hopped giddily, "Och aye, a ndestine tryst! A tale of two star-crossed lovers! Cap''n! It''s so romantic!"

    He snatched his hat back and thrust it into Tycon''s hands.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, taking hold of the ck-brimmed, white hat. Was this an implied sign of trust? Why were they looking at him?

    "Uh... Ahem." Tycon cleared his throat. He felt obligated to say something polite, "You''ll be fine, young man..."

    ? System, inquiry: Why is this boy''s face turning purple? ?

    [System response: Target''s skin color is a result of the target''s oxygen levels dropping below 80%.]

    What a strange child.

    "May I suggest you take a deep breath," Tycon offered. "I daresay that copsing would appear unprofessional."

    ...

    High-Captain Lang Hai trudged slowly towards the stage of the final battle. Each step was heavy, weighted with regret. He wasn''t ready. And the intoxicating scent of Fleet Admiral Chantal De Croix only catalyzed his anxiety.

    Eilean called after him, "Stop dragging yer feet, Cap''n!"

    ? "I''m not," Hai responded listlessly. He continued to drag his feet on Chantal''s stupidly expensivecquered hardwood floors.

    Entering Chantal''s office, he shut the massive wooden doors behind him. He was such a fool... He had willingly caged himself in with danger, personified.

    Papers were stacked, neatly and sensibly, on various tables and desks-- each of them likely one of Chantal''s super-important Fleet-Admiral-y issues. Coin flowed through Caractere, threatening to spill out of its coffers, much like Chantal''s logic-defying bust out of her coat.

    Hai had to ration sugar. And use secondhand gear. And sail ships with big holes in their hulls. And as far as anything spilling out, Eilean''s belly muffin-topping over her skirt wasn''t worth celebrating, at all.

    Model ships of Captains-past were disyed on shelves covering each wall... Hai could almost hear the whispers of their old ghosts mocking him for having the gall to face the Fleet Admiral... But he had to! He wanted to sail through her jurisdiction. He had to professionally inform her, as a sign of respect.

    As a High-Captain of the Royal Navy, he technically had free reign in any and all waters in the Kingdom... But the thought of offending Chantal... it made his cursed blood run cold.

    It was the scent that troubled Hai the most. Ariavenna''s wicked, noxious perfume covered everything in her office. If it wasn''t a misty poison, Hai reasoned that it must be some kind of malevolent mind-control mana, its purpose to keep rational thinkers from thinking-- rationally.

    Hai pomf''d down onto a luxurious, velvety backless stool, opposite Chantal.

    She reclined back on her desk, striking a seductive pose, "Sea god''s beard, Lang Hai. What the hells was that about?"

    She grabbed the pistol on her desk and casually pointed it at him.

    There it was. He was about to be shot. It was almost refreshing. Hai thought Chantal would rend him into tiny shreds before being taken out and shot.

    Wait, was this good? She was being so serious! Was this the next step to her saying they could go out? Maybe she was going toy down some ground rules-- No! Hai felt his face begin to burn red. He wasn''t mentally ready!

    ...

    Sea Witch Eilean had pressed her ear against the office door, wiggling her behind coquettishly.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon ignored it. He held an empty cup to the door and pressed his ear to its base. If he was to utilize a low skill like eavesdropping, Tycon insisted on doing so with efficiency.

    "I''m a wee bit worried about tha Cap''n," Eilean whispered.

    "Hai can literally regenerate from deadly wounds," Tycon said matter-of-factly... "And I doubt he''d die even if Chantal kills him."

    Eilean whipped around to show Tycon her puffed up cheeks, "Ah mean, ''asides that! Marines and sailors dunnae get along. It''s been ''at way fer generations."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "That makes no sense. You''re part of the same Navy."

    The Sea Witch shrugged, "Just ''ow it is. An'' worse still, the Darktide Fleet''s got a ck hist''ry with recruitin'' from pirates. A lot of ''em ''av seen the wrong side of Marine raids. Yanno we dunnae shoot warning shots?"

    "Weaklings die." Tycon narrowed his eyes, "What''s the big deal?"

    "The prrevious Darktide Admiral died tae strange circumstance. He went off-grrid fer a few moons an'' ended up gettin'' ''imself killed by thest Beaurte Admiral. Dereliction of duty''s wot they said."

    The pieces began to fall together in Tycon''s mind, "And there''s particr importance of the previous Darktide Admiral?"

    Eilean grimaced, "His name was Guilliame De Croix. He was Grand-Capitaine Chantal''s father."

    Tycon nodded slowly in understanding, "I see how that couldplicate things... But tell me, Eilean, why have the Sea Wolvese to Port Caractere? What could be worth provoking the Fleet Admiral, all things considered?"

    She shook her head, "I tried tae convince ''im otherwise, but he wouldn''t have any of it. Raiders ''ave taken men and women from o''er a dozen viges back home... and we''ve followed ''em this faer."

    Tycon still wasn''t convinced, "And your Captain values those vigers?"

    Eilean smiled weakly, "Aye, he does. The Cap''n''ll deny it outright if''n ye ask ''em, but his heart bleeds fer the ves... sons and daughters, all. We all deserve freedom tae choose our masters..."

    ...

    Click. Chantal switched off the safety on her pistol, snapping Lang Hai out of his reverie.

    "The Darktide Fleet and the Beaurte Marines have *never* seen eye-to-eye." Chantal''s voice was deep, sonorous, and womanly, "I do not appreciate being mocked, Capitaine."

    What?! How in the seven hells did Chantal not believe him? It was a simple request! And what did this have to do with the ''Beaurte Marines'' in the past?

    "That''s ridiculous!" Hai stood up and shouted, "I''ve never cared about who came before me. And it doesn''t matter what other Marines approached you before!"

    All those disgusting sycophants, trying to curry for her favor... Their very existence disgusted Lang Hai.

    Chantal raised an eyebrow, "Wait, what?"

    Hai moved towards Chantal, cing his hands on the desk beside her shapely thighs. Her pistol barrel pressed against his chest, ready to pierce his heart, but he didn''t care. He leaned forward, ilms away from the woman''s face.

    "I''m different from them!! I''m-- I''m serious about you!

    "You''re the only one who matters, Chantal!" Hai dered. "And I''m here to tell you how I feel-- that I care about establishing a rtionship between us."

    Chantal''s mouth hung open, her plump lips glistening. Her eyes narrowed, her long eyshes fluttery and beauteous.

    The atmosphere in the room seemed to change.

    Sea god''s socks.

    What was it?

    Hai gulped. Did he say something wrong? Why did he feel a sense of dread?

    ...Was he going to be killed?

 Chapter 133 Abyssal Sea Wolf

    ?High-Captain Lang Hai mentally recounted his words. What did he say? Fleet Admiral Chantal was staring at him like he was a blue reefw... but he still got the sense that she wanted to shoot him.

    Oh.

    Ohhhhhh.

    "WORK!" Lang Hai mmed her desk with both of his hands, his face as red as a normal-colored reefw.

    That''s what he was supposed to be talking about! He began gasping for air as if his chest was being crushed by the watery depths of the abyss. Sweat was pouring out of every surface of his body!

    Where was his heartbeat? Did it stop? Was he dead?

    "A WORKING-- a working rtionship. With you. Grand-Capitaine," Hai proimed, iling his arms.

    Lang Hai stepped back and glued his eyes to the shiny wooden flooring. He poked his two index fingers together, "Y''know, we sail the ships. We beat the bad guys."

    "Doot, doo! Doo!" Hai made little cannon shooting noises. He had retrieved one of Chantal''s model ships disyed on a wall mantle.

    "Crshhh," he voiced a little crashing sound of a second ship getting hit by cannon fire.

    Lang Hai had gotten ahold of a second model ship and was demonstrating, "Oh noes! Sea Wolves have boarded the ship! All us bad guys are gonna die!"

    "Behhhhhhhh," a groaning death-rattle. He pantomimed the second ship sinking beneath the waves.

    This was how Lang Hai had to exin some missions to the Marines and Sailors under hismand. It worked far better than exining normally. And Eilean and Rico always praised him for the sound effects he made.

    Lang Hai was a man of many talents.

    Chantal clicked her pistol safety back into ce and holstered the weapon. Eh? Was Hai not going to be killed? Whew. It took a lot of effort to impress the woman, but Hai was d that he had developed his theatrical skill to such a high rank.

    She snatched back the two ships Hai was holding, "I can''t bloody believe you, Lang Hai. First, you embarrass me in front of my guest and now, you tantly disrespect the ships of previous Grand-Capitaines-- To. My Face?"

    Hai felt very small, his face burning with embarrassment.

    Chantal groaned, grinding her teeth in frustration, "Get back. Go... Just-- sit down."

    Hai plopped back onto the backless chair. He did as he was told. He knew how to take orders. He''d been doing it for years. The only reason he''d reced his predecessor, High-Captain Langqiang, was because he listened to orders and he managed to outlive the old bastard.

    Chantal was livid, her voice deep with indignation, "On the mantles of these walls are the *sacred* ships of privateers and voyagers that have devoted their lives in service of the Kingdom."

    Hai grit his teeth and crossed his arms so he wouldn''tsh out at the Fleet Admiral. He was being scolded like a child. Chantal didn''t shoot him, but with the humiliation he was enduring, he would have rather she did.

    Chantal carefully returned the two model ships back on their mantles, "The Darktide Fleet has a proud history... but we''re all just pirates to you-- aren''t we, Lang?"

    Hai pouted. He didn''t see what the big deal was.

    Stomping over to Hai, she drew her pistol and smashed its handle atop his forehead, "You have no ce besmirching their honor with your fingers."

    "O!" Lang Hai held his head with both hands, stifling a growl. He felt his skin bruise. And he felt the scalding warmth of his Abyssal Wolf blood pulsing to immediately heal the injury.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "If you''re here for a treaty between your people and mine, as Fleet Admiral, I''ll grant it." Chantal red. "But I will *never* forgive you or your precious Marines."

    "No point to a treaty, Chantal," Hai grumbled, his words dripping with annoyance.

    The woman raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms, "Did I give you permission to speak?"

    Lang Hai felt the mana rush into his eyes. His entire body trembled and ached. He was beginning to lose control. He felt the sclera of his eyes turn ck, a blurry haze clouding his vision.

    "As offended as you are that we exist... As long as the Kingdom''s ships sail, men exist to protect them," Hai spoke through clenched teeth. His words were slow and measured, trying and failing to reign in his emotions. "Your own ''sacred'' ship included."

    Chantal scoffed, "We don''t need you. ording to the illustrious history of our Royal Navy--"

    "--The Marines have existed far longer than your sailors. Who did you think protected your ships while they were being built?" Hai felt his bones cracking and growing, his teeth elongating to needles and his skin hardening into smooth scale. His body instinctively forced his transformation when his anger grew and he was quickly forgetting why he cared to stop it in the first ce.

    Hai swiped his hand in a cutting motion, "I do not care for the actions of my predecessors. I do not care to judge between privateering or piracy. Nor do I care whether you''re the most beautiful woman in the Kingdom or across all the realms,bined!!"

    With a feeling like wood screws drilling out of Hai''s back, four thick bubbles on the skin broke, viscous blood drenching his coat. Four long-spined tentacles emerged and fin-like spines erupted from his skull. In his human form, Hai stood a head shorter than Chantal. Completely transformed into a hybrid Abyssal Sea Wolf, Hai glowered down at her, nearly twice the long-legged woman''s height.

    "WE serve the Kingdom. WE are sworn to duty and bound by honor. We are Marines!!" Hai''s voice took on an inhumanly low gargle, that of a monster imitating a man, "Every Sailor in your charge is under OUR protection! MY protection!!"

    Hai looked down at his massive ws, now webbed, thin and knurled, and reached it down towards Grand-Capitaine Chantal. He tilted the woman''s wless face up to gaze into the ssy ck-sclera of his eyes.

    "And if the enemies of the Kingdom so dare to touch a single hair on your head, I''d charge into the deepest depths of the Abyss to rescue you."

    Chantal narrowed her eyes, hesitating... "If not for a treaty, then why are you here?"

    Hai sighed deeply, shuddering and subconsciously allowing a clicking noise to emanate from his gullet.

    "vers. They''ve taken my people-- people protected by MY Kingdom. They seek refuge in Darktide waters. They think they''ve outsmarted me. They think they''re safe."

    He growled, wheezing the salty air, wondering why. Why would they dare? Why couldn''t he crush them, chew them up, tear them apart?

    "I don''t care how many they''ve taken, how long they''ve been doing it, who they''re protected by... One single child taken, Chantal, and I will not rest until I drain the blood of a thousand."

    He felt the thrumming of his insides. He turned his head upward, raising the fins on his head, back, and arms, and loosed a guttural rattle.  Why couldn''t he set sail right now and kill until he was satisfied?

    Hai gazed his glossy eyes at Grand-Capitaine Chantal, misty and distorted without the seawater. As he stared at her, even in his monstrous form, he felt his heart shudder.

    It was her. Yes, he feared her. He fought and struggled against a desire to obey her every whim? But why? It made no sense.

    "I don''t need your permission to sail your waters, Chantal."

    Hai curled his lips back, revealing a wicked maw of rows and rows of needle-like teeth, the transformed muscture making him unable to smile or frown. He was pissed. He was indignant. He was afraid. He was vengeful. Hai didn''t know how to feel, and he was d for once that his cursed face couldn''t show his emotions.

    "I''m telling you that my Sea Wolves are going hunting."

 Chapter 134 Cooperation

    ?"Wod ye bloody move, Tycon?? if''n ye keep so close, I cannae hear o''er the sound of me beatin'' heart!!"

    Eilean tried to shove Tycon with her shapely behind. He didn''t budge. Even using her body weight, the petite Sea Witch was not very strong.

    Undeterred, Tycon continued cing his ear on the cup held to the door, "Have you considered respecting your Captain''s privacy, Eilean?"

    "Hald yer wheesht, ye boak potato."

    Tycon poked the back of the woman''s orange head, "What does that even mean?"

    "It''s a starchy tuber ''at ye can shove up yer arse, err... yererdship. Now shoosh yer gob!"

    Tycon grimaced. There was another reason he missed Aur. The princess would never suggest shoving a root vegetable up his arse.

    The two remained at the door, catching bits and pieces of Hai''s and Chantal''s conversation. There was a bit of moaning, but Tycon highly doubted anything of a sexual nature was happening behind the closed doors.

    Eilean, however,  remained both positive and giddy, "OooOoh I hoop the wee Cap''n can take the Lady out on the skite."

    Tycon sighed, "As reluctant as I am to admit this, I also hope he''s doing well."

    ...

    Fleet Admiral Chantal, the Grand-Capitaine of the Darktide Fleet, gazed up at the 12 fulm tall Lang Hai. The twerp had transformed into a strange needle-mouthed hybrid fish,plete with swirling tentacles and ck, beady eyes.

    Half of the words the Little Captain spoke, he immediately made excuses for. The other half... as absurd as his phrasing was, she could not deny his honesty. As much as she wanted to loathe the Marine-Captain, she found his true form quite handsome and his straightforwardness *almost* charming.

    She looked at the pitifully small pistol in her hand, again clicked on the safety and holstered it. It was useless against a Sea Wolf-- she supposed it was a force of habit.

    The Beaurte Fleet had transformed into an entirely different beast after several years under Grand-Capitaine Lang Hai. The Sea Wolf Curse had no small part in the change, a gift Hai had brought, himself, from the rumored Sea Wolf Hidden Sect. But Chantal now saw that the boy had a sense of duty and honest charisma-- it was no surprise that he had attracted powerful allies like the Sea Witch, Eilean, and the Golden Crow, Shao Ran.

    Chantal sighed. Perhaps she had been too hasty? Lang Hai''s unselfish actions had nothing to do with his predecessors and the unjust death of her father.

    He was too stupid to be a part of such an immoral plot.

    ...

    Lang Hai focused to keep from shivering. Releasing his form usually came with relief, like a business-person taking off his restricting coat at the end of the day. Hai forced his muscles still, his fins retracted, and his naturally writhing tentacles down and straight.

    He didn''t want to clumsily knock any of his surroundings down. And he was miserable because of it.

    Chantal rolled her eyes with a deep sigh, "Very well, Capitaine. I appreciate your courtesy."

    Each of her words dripped with displeasure, stabbing Hai''s heart worse than a rusty knife.

    She made a soft motion with her hand holding a wisp of mana.

    BANG. CRACKKKK.

    Hai lost control of his body, dropping to both knees immediately. He heard the bones crunch against the hard, wooden deck, but with the adrenaline pumping crazily through his body, he felt no pain. His head went down and his lidless eyes stared at the floor. Not looking her in the eyes and making his huge body as low to the deck as possible relieved the unfamiliar pressure immensely.

    "Be advised, Marine. I don''t know where the Saltspray Kings keep their base, but I do know a resourceful adventuringpany that can be of use to you. I promised I''d help them. You''ll be the one to make good on that."

    He listened intently to every seductive whispering uttered by Chantal''s tongue, his heart racing toprehend it all.

    Chantal walked over to her desk and ced her ink quill to paper. Hai kept still for at least a quarter-bell before she finished writing.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Here. Now get out of my office," Chantal sighed again.

    Hai stole a nce upward to see her lovely chest heave and the longing gaze as she pouted.

    Hai received the slip of paper, his massive wed hand tenderly pinching the edges of the holy decree. The focus he utilized to not tear the tiny missive was not small.

    Sess? Mission Sess. The mission was a SUCCESS!

    AHAHA! There was no way this human woman would be able to resist his charm! Lang Hai was so great! And he didn''t even get shot!

    "Th-thank you, Lady-Capitaine Chantal!" Hai yelped miserably, "I¡­ Lang Hai¡­ Will always be your ardent admirer."

    And so, the sailboat-sized mass of scaled flesh that was Lang Hai speed-crawled out of Capitaine Chantal''s office.

    ...

    One of the double-doors opened quickly, just enough to allow the 5 fulm, 4 ilm High-Captain Lang Hai to low-roll out.

    Bam. He quickly mmed the door behind him.

    Phew. Ouch?

    Ow. It. Hurt. Ow. He vigorously rubbed his knees. Ouch. They had shattered moments ago but were healing quickly enough as Sea Wolf blood coursed through his legs.

    Lieutenant Eilean and that nerd, Tycon, sat no more than a dozen feet away,fortably conversing. Hai could have sworn he heard the two bickering at the door. He stood up and dusted off his horrifically torn coat and trousers before approaching. Maybe they wouldn''t notice? They were both pretty stupid.

    Eilean giggled bubbly, shing a vivacious grin, "Earn yeself a fornacket and a half in thar, Cap''n?"

    What did that even mean? Hai had learned to ignore half of what Eilean said. Thus far, it hadn''t caused any problems.

    "You didn''tst very long, did you?" the green-haired idiot raised an eyebrow.

    Whatever those two idiots were thinking, it was probably incredibly stupid.

    "We''re good, you two," Hai held up the piece of paper he''d attained.

    Tycon, squinted his eyes, "What''s it say?"

    Hai grinned and looked at the paper, "It says the Sea Wolves are gonna get help by an Iron-Rank guild called Sol Invictus! All we gotta do is taxi them somece! Ahaha! This day''s going GREAT!!"

    The noble fool went off into a corner and smashed his head against a wooden wall. Is that what nobles do to celebrate? Weird.

    Hai turned to Eilean, "Lieutenant, we''ll prepare a gift for Grand-Capitaine Chantal''s cooperation. Prepare the funds!"

    "Aye, Cap''n!" Eilean beamed. "I ''eard some spraff ''at Grand-Capitaine Guilliame fancied vani ice cream."

    "Excellent," Hai grinned, walking towards the exit with confidence.

    He''d send that domineering, overripe-melon woman a message. Hai was a petty person! He was determined to have the finalugh.

    "We''ll send her chocte."

 Chapter 135 The Elizabeth Dare

    ?Tycon checked the oven and prodded the beef roast. Everything wasing along well. He removed the roast and set it aside-- it would finish cooking as he allowed it to rest.

    He was granted permission to utilize the kitchens at the inn... the... ''Vertically-Challenged Person Defecating Into A Bucket Inn,'' he believed it was called. On the following morning, Dragan was going to travel by Sea Wolf ship west towards Bael Turath.

    Sending word to the Gatekeepers was an unfortunate duty that fell to Tycon and Sol Invictus as first-responders. It would be socially irresponsible not to. Tycon was going to send Taree with him. From Bael Turath, the pair could head to the Free Nation, where Dragan could nurture Taree with the resources hemanded there.

    She wanted to be strong. The Free Nation-- some would call it the Beast Kingdoms, would provide her with that opportunity.

    Tycon was preparing a decent meal for Invictus (and for the inn goers that came in for the lunch rush.) It was his way of thanking the silver-haired whelp, Kimura Taree, for apanying them. He and Lone were working on a full pic basket for her and Pale, to be full of sandwiches, side dishes, and a cotton cake.

    "Mister Lone."

    "Yes, chef!" Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, brandished two kitchen knives, one in each hand.

    Tycon red with incredulity, "What... are you doing?"

    "I uh... I was cutting the tomatoes like you asked, Boss?"

    Walking over, Tycon looked over to a pile of unevenly cut, pointed chunks of red, "Mister Lone. I *have* told you we were making sandwiches, yes?"

    "Yes, chef!" Lone shouted, his face full of confidence and pride.

    Tycon grabbed a filet knife from a rack, "Then why didn''t you cut the tomatoes into thin slices, capable of being ced onto t sandwiches?"

    "W-wait, Boss! Don''t stab me!" Lone pleaded.

    "This knife is better suited to slicing," Tycon picked up a whetstone and began to casually sharpen the de.

    "W-w-waaaaait! Hold on!! I-- I..." Lone reached over and grabbed a mixing bowl, "I melted the butter and whisked the cake batter like you asked!"

    Tycon examined the bowl and felt his heart break. Instead of a smooth, creamy batter, the mixing bowl was full of rock-like chunks, "Mister Lone... Did you melt the butter?"

    "Boss! I did! Just like you asked! I let it warm up on the double-boiler and then I mixed it in!"

    Tycon took the bowl and cradled it like it was his injured child, "Did you melt... the butter... until it waspletely liquefied?"

    Lone opened his mouth, then his pupils dted. It appeared that he understood the mistake he had made.

    Tycon tightly gripped the handle of the filet knife. He had to be mindful of his technique when using it.

    ...

    After Tycon deposited the Lone Shadowdark at a local infirmary, he wore his shiny Kingdom armor to meet with High-Captain Lang Hai at the port, boarding the Beaurte fleet''s gship, the Elizabeth Dare.

    ? "So this is my ship! Don''t touch anything! You probably don''t know any sea stuff, so don''t pretend to!!" Hai insisted.

    The boy had reced his torn Marine uniform with an older, saltier set. The young man, by his attire alone, looked the part of a veteran professional.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon pointed, "That bundle of ropes look rotted through."

    Hai stood in front of Tycon, blocking his view, "Ahaha! That''s SEA WOLF Rope! The roughest, toughest, meanest rope on the western continent-- nay, in all the realms!!"

    "I... see." Tycon forced a smile, "Where is your First Lieutenant? Perhaps I should talk to her, instead."

    Hai growled, pointing angrily, "I''m the Captain, nerd! I know everything that goes on in my ship and everything my very professional crew knows! I''m the one you talk to about missions and quests!"

    Tycon leaned to the side, looking over Hai''s Captain''s hat, "Did you give one of your men a quest to ''professionally'' fornicate with a fish."

    Hai immediately turned and dashed over to the end of the ship at an impressive speed. He used both arms to pick up the man, hold him over his head, and toss him overboard.

    The man''s trousers remained on the deck.

    The blue-haired boy dashed back, "Ignore that. What were we talking about?"

    Tycon smiled weakly. He took sce in the fact that he wasn''t the only guild leader of apany of fools. He decided to take a different approach in talking to the boy-Captain.

    "Ahem." Tycon cleared his throat and spoke measuredly, "As High-Captain of your Sea Wolf fleet and of your very impressive ship, I''m certain you are quite busy, Lang Hai."

    Hai crossed his arms and nodded, "Oh, yeah! Real busy! Always busy, Uh... What was your name again... Ehh. Baron?"

    "Tycon. Just... Tycon."

    Tycon tried to ignore the various crewmembers milling about aimlessly, pretending to work. One was pretending to count cannonballs without note-taking gear. Another was scrubbing a barrel. The young girl, Rico, had drawn squares on the deck with chalk and was ying a children''s hopping game.

    "Then perhaps someone less-busy should lead me around the ship? Like Eilean, perhaps." Tycon remained hopeful. Talking to the boy-Captain was... a chore.

    "Oh, right! Yeah. That makes sense," Hai averted his gaze, nodding to himself. "I err... First Lieutenant Eilean is currently out purchasing supplies... Ahem. So I''ve taken time out of my busy schedule to show you around!"

    Tycon nodded. The Sea Witch had ditched her Captain to do actual work... which begged the question of why Lang Hai remained on the ship.

    ...Perhaps it had to do with the boy''s penchant for destruction and the fact that the insurance policy Eilean had purchased likely wouldn''t cover additional damages.

    "So that''s the poop deck!" Hai dered with an illogical sense of pride, "What''s next? The bilge pumps? The metal box where we put Rico when she misbehaves? Ooh, I can show you the cannons! 5 of them work, for sure!"

    A gentleman Marine with a shield on his back hurried to Lang Hai''s side and mumbled something into the boy-Captain''s ear. Hai scowled, punched the man in the gut, and then threw him off of the ship.

    "Psh. Who needs 5 working cannons, anyroad! Ship to shipbat is too easy with those!" Haiughed, "Ahahaa! The Elizabeth Dare needs no such handicap!"

    Tycon nced over the deck railing at the quickly-sinking Marine, "That man was wearing a shield and heavy armor."

    "Let me show you to the Captain''s quarters! We even have a map!!" Hai began to hustle down a set of rotting stairs, skipping a few choice steps.

    Tycon grimaced and followed, taking care to not step on the stairs the young man avoided.

 Chapter 136 Magic Ring

    ?Hai had removed his Captain''s hat as he descended the stairs, revealing his dark blue hair and unfortunately losing several inches of height. Journeying with Dragan, Maximus, and even Lone, Tycon was silently pleased to travel with someone shorter than he was.

    Belowdecks, the Elizabeth Dare stank of bilge and sea rot. The general state of the ship was marked by disrepair and somehow... poverty. The Marines and Sailors on board didn''t seem to mind their surroundings, so Tycon kept his remainingints to himself.

    The silver-armored Tycon was greeted by sharp salutes and greetings from the younger crewmembers and apathetic half-nods from the older veterans. Tycon did notice that nearly every single veteran was a Bronze-Rank, surpassing the numbers of even the Darktide sailors. And they were led by Lang Hai, an Iron-Rank, (with the childish Rico being even higher.)

    When Tycon heard that Lang Hai had 4 ships, he assumed the squad he saw at the Couture estate was the strongest collected from all of his men. Sighting familiar faces on the Elizabeth Dare, Tycon discovered that Hai only chose from the Marines of the Elizabeth Dare.

    If the Sea Wolves were an adventuring guild instead of part of the Royal Navy, they would be ranked even higher than Guild Trayus on the number of Bronze-Ranks alone.

    Considering that the Abyssal Sea Wolf curse granted an obscene amount of strength and damage regeneration, a single Bronze-Rank Sea Wolf could tear apart normal Bronze-Ranks as easily as a normal Iron-Rank adventurer.

    The boy wasn''t boasting about theck of anti-ship weaponry being unnecessary. If the other 3 ships in port had a simr makeup of crewmembers, Tycon hypothesized that they would be able to raid ships and settlements five times their size and with a far smaller percentile of casualties.

    Tycon could not exin how the Captain''s Quarters looked even more impoverished than the rest of the ship. The room was sparsely decorated. Lang Hai used a hammock like the rest of the crew. The room was clean, save for an organized pile in the corner of the room made up of weapon parts and various pieces of navigation equipment.

    ...Tycon respected that the boy-Captain, as arrogant as he was, did not use his station to afford himself far better quarters... But then again, with the Sea Wolves''ck of coin, Tycon realized that this may have been borne of necessity instead of choice.

    With the assistance of the oilmp lighting the room, Tycon noted two proper decorations. Pinned to the far wall was an old desated map depicting the Kingdom''s coast. Nailed on the wall beside the Captain''s hammock was a water-damaged wooden nk covered with colorful shells. The name RICO was scratched onto it inrge, rough script.

    Hai walked adjacent to the map, "Anyroad! This is the--"

    The boy-Captain followed Tycon''s eyes. He dashed over to the wooden nk, tore it off of the wall, and stuffed it into a nearby footlocker, "Thanks for pointing that out! I''ve been meaning to put it away! Ahaha! Haha!"

    Tycon hardened his expression to avoid further embarrassing the blushing blue-haired boy, "Right... The map, Captain."

    "Ahem. Right! The map! Ahaha! The map..." Haiughed.

    Composing himself, he pointed at the map at a few inked X''s on some nearby inds, "These are the location of known inds with caves or otherwise can hold a settlement and a few ships."

    His voice faltered, "We uh... We don''t have any leads on the vers... but we have 4 ships! So we''ll just do a bit of micro! And then... somehow meet up again!"

    He perked up, scowling and crossing his arms, "Capitaine Chantal said you''d help! So... help!"

    Tycon pursed his lips... "I''m uncertain as to what you would have me do."

    Hai sighed, allowing his arms and head to droop, "We''ve been hunting down the vers for the better part of 3 moons, now. I''m at the end of my rotten rope, noble."

    "Tycon."

    "Right, Tycon. I was hoping to find some sort of link to the Saltspray Kings in Caractere, but..." Hai shrugged, "I don''t exactly have a crew full of skilled trackers and... I dunno, anyone with... skill?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "The... Saltspray Kings, you say?"

    "Yeah, stupid name, I know." Hai gnashed his teeth, "When I get ahold of those losers..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon reached into a pouch on his waist. Activating his spatial ring, he removed the ring formerly worn by the vemistress, Francesca Couture.

    ? System, bring up the information for the ring.  ?

    [Saltspray Ring. Elementary Magical Ring. Reveals a map when exposed to fire.]

    "Catch, Sea Wolf," Tycon tossed the ring up towards Lang Hai.

    With impable reflexes, the boy-Captain snatched the ring out of the air. He examined it with a frown, "If you''re showing me some kind of pity by throwing money at me--"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Why the hells would I do that? It''s a magic ring, you stupid pup."

    Lang Hai looked at his feet for a moment. He held the ring in an open palm forward, "If this is a dowry for my Lieutenant... I... can''t ept this. I still need her."

    The boy stamped his foot down, suddenly angry, "You can''t have her! I don''t know why you like her, anyroad! Her butt is huge! It knocks into things all the time! Did I mention she has a penis?!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "The ring... is the solution to your problems, Lang Hai."

    The boy-Captain took his palm back, "This is for me?! I don''t swing that way, dude, but no take-backs! I can fence it to buy supplies! Maybe even a new sword!"

    Tycon crossed his arms and took a deep breath, "I see now that I made a mistake in not being forward."

    "I''m not gonna marry you, nerd!" Hai shouted.

    Tycon stared at the ceiling, "Just put the magic ring in the fire before I-- ugh. Just do it."

    "Haha! Before you''d what? I can take anything you dish out, you boak potato!" Hai grinned arrogantly.

    Tycon frowned and pointed at the oilmp, "Ring. Fire."

    "Okay, okay. Lighten up, Ty," Lang Hai ced the ring over themp''s me.

    "Don''t call me that."

    "Egh, very well," Hai frowned... "You know I''m older than you."

    "You are not."

    As the ring heated up, the sweet smell of Hai''s burning flesh suffused the small room. Before Hai could argue back, a golden light emanated from the ring''s gem, disying a map on the ship wall it was pointed to. A bright X was clearly defined on one of the nearby inds.

    Tycon smiled, "I propose we begin our search there, Sea Wolf."

    The Sea Wolf Captain grinned and nodded, "As good a ce as any, Invictus."

 Chapter 137 Together Forever

    ?Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, helped shove Dragan through the entrance-way. Dragan had to duck low and struggled to squeeze through the doorway-- it was not an umon urrence.

    The small prison was run by the local Darktide enforcers and was notorious for keeping a light poption.

    Public execution was popr in Caractere.

    "Is that Dragan? You ugly bastard! I see you got rid of the arm cast!" A sailor heartily greeted, "And Lone, too! What brings you two fe''s to these parts?"

    Several more sailors greeted the pair with nods. Lone and Dragan frequented the public houses, carousing with the locals. Dragan, in particr, made fast friends with the Darktide prison warden.

    "Heyyyyy, Jules!" Dragan stretched the fingers of his hand, "Yeah, it''s feelin'' a bit better, thanks."

    Lone smiled with chagrin, "Hey, Jules. We heard you got a, uh... wolf-person."

    "Wolf? We don''t have any Sea-- Oh, you mean the Weretouched kid? He''s been rottin'' in the cells for a few suns, but uh..." The sailor grimaced.

    Dragan furrowed his brows, "What''sa matter, bud? Somethin'' wrong with him?"

    The sailor ced a hand on the back of his head, allowing his crossbow to hang from the strap over his shoulder, "Well, just between you fe''s an'' me, the kid hasn''t been having it easy in there."

    Lone and Dragan exchanged worried looks.

    Lone grimaced, "Can you exin that? Is he... okay?"

    The red-haired half-giant gave a broad, friendly smile, "Hey, listen, Jules. We''re here to post bail. What''re the damages, man?"

    Jules sucked in air through his teeth, "I''ll tell you what, big man. We can''t ept bribes. But eh... you know. Me and the boys could use a drink."

    Dragan smirked, both eyebrows raised, "Howw about a keg from the Slutty Siren?"

    The sailor took on a look of disgust, "That swill? Come on, Dragan. Y''might as well wring a whore''s bath towel into a barrel."

    "I didn''t think it was that bad..." Lone mumbled under his breath.

    The big man shrugged, "Take it or leave it, bud. You didn''t have an issue with either the swill or the way you sucked on that whore''s--"

    "Whoa, whoa-- hold on there, big man." Jules held his palms forward, ncing around nervously. The other sailors on duty averted their gazes, pretending not to have heard. "I never said no."

    Dragan scoffed, "Ch''yeahhh. Lone, wanna go grab that so the fe''s aren''t kept waiting?"

    Lone rolled his eyes, "Yeah, alright."

    Jules pat Lone on the arm, "Still mad about losing all that coinst night, Shadowdark?"

    "Psh, no." Lone denied it, "My game isn''t dice... It''s the field of battle. And the wager is my life."

    "Oooookay," Jules pursed his lips... "Anyroad, big man, follow me and I''ll take you to yer guy."

    ...

    Both Pale and Kimura Taree were ecstatic to have a pic meal cooked by Sir Tycon. That morning, Tycon gave explicit directions for how tobine the Alizeaun bread sandwiches for minimum sogginess and maximum deliciousness.

    Pale forgot most of it. And he had a feeling Taree didn''t pay attention, either... but he figured they''d manage somehow.

    The two had managed to find a secluded beach on the outskirts of the city. The rocks were too steep to climb for normal people, but Taree was a Martialist of the Ivory Judge sect and Pale was the future guild leader of Sol Invictus. Piece of cake.

    Lunch was delicious (but probably not as delicious as Tycon had intended.)

    The pair yed in the seawater, looked at cool and interesting fish,pared shells, and even drove back a giant reefw the size of Corporal Horse.

    They told stories from when they were younger... Pale told Taree more about his dad and his dad''s stories of his mom. Taree talked about both of her parents, about Uncle Kakui, and about some of the drama she had with the other Martialists in the sect. She even managed to talk a little about her brother before she cried a little about it.

    As the sun began to set, the pair sat on an unrolled mat on the rocky beach. Pale had wrapped a nket around them both, keeping them warm.

    "Pale?" the silver-haired girl looked up with hesitant eyes, "Everything feels like a dream."

    The half-elven boy grinned, "Mhm. The ocean''s pretty cool, especially how the sunset reflects on the water."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The girl snuggled into Pale''s shoulder, "I mean... everything. Finally defeating Muto Hisato. Saving my sect. Oh my gods, leaving the sect... And then... Yeah."

    Pale stroked the girl''s head, "I know. Bad things happen. But good things happen, too."

    Taree smiled, "Yeah, I know... I think... You''re the best thing that''s ever happened to me, Pale."

    Paleughed, ying with the girl''s pigtails, "And you''re the coolest person I''ve ever met."

    Taree tackled Pale to the ground to hide the fact that she was blushing, "Beighhh!! Who told you to sweet-talk me, huh?!"

    Pale was getting handier at wrestling. He shifted his body weight to unbnce Taree and rolled to the side, using the momentum so he''d be on top. It was a technique he''d learned from her.

    "I''m pretty sure you were sweet-talking me, first," Pale grinned. He poked Taree on the tip of her nose with his finger.

    Tareeid underneath Pale without struggling. She looked away, her face flushed.

    "Huh?" Pale furrowed his brows, "Are you okay, Taree?"

    "Pale... Are we..." She gulped.

    "Uh huh?" the boy prodded.

    Pale smiled. He sincerely enjoyed hanging out with Taree. He didn''t mind it, at all, that Boss Tycon kept assigning him to keep herpany.

    In a small voice, Taree whispered, "Are we gonna be together forever?"

    Pale scoffed, "Pshh. Yeah! Definitely!"

    The silver-haired Martialist looked up at Pale, her eyes bright, and her smile just as radiant, "Really?"

    Pale nodded, "Yeah! At least until tomorrow, anyroad."

    "Wait, what?"

    "At least until tomorrow."

    Taree''s face fell, her smile disappearing, "What... what do you mean until tomorrow? What happens tomorrow?"

    Pale put a hand on his chin in thought, something he''d often seen Tycon and Dragan do, "Well, you and Mister Dragan are heading to Bael Turath tomorrow morning."

    Taree kicked and punched, but Pale hurriedly stood up to avoid her strikes.

    "Wh-wh-wh-hhhhwhaaaaat?!" Taree got to her feet, yelling, "What do you mean?"

    "Uh, did I exin it wrong? You and Dr--"

    "No! I mean-- Yes! I mean-- why didn''t anyone TELL me?!" Taree''s entire body was trembling.

    Pale grimaced. He didn''t know what to do with his hands, so he just ced them behind his back, "I... didn''t think it was important?"

    "WELL, IT WAS!!" Taree screamed.

    Pale bit his upper lip, "Well... now you know?"

    Tears began running down Taree''s face, "I-- I can''t believe you!!"

    Pale didn''t know why, but there was something about the way she was yelling that made his chest tighten.

    In a burst of speed, she ran up the rock wall and scrambled up the rest of it-- up and away.

    Pale stood and watched her depart. He knew he had f*cked up.

    ...Somehow, he got the feeling that Boss Tycon was going to punish him for this.

 Chapter 138 Stronger Than Dragan

    ?Early the following morning, Guild Invictus arrived at the docks to see off Dragan Ashlord and Kimura Taree. Their mission was to inform the Gatekeepers of the incursion attempt by the mebriar Monarch. The fate of the world would be decided by an existence beyond that of the Iron-Rank adventuring guild, Sol Invictus.

    High-Captain Lang Hai agreed that it would be best to send the Calypso towards Bael Turath. The Elizabeth Dare and the other two Sea Wolf ships would be enough to hunt for the vers, the Saltspray Kings.

    ? Tycondrius, Pale, the Lone Shadowdark, and even Levi Wolfrider apanied their allies to see their departure.

    "We still thinkin'' mescars for the girl''s development, Boss?" Dragan asked with a grin. The "new" curved de Dragan wore on his back was as tall as Lone.

    Tycon nodded, "The mescarred Martialists should be more suitable for the youngdy''s offensive fighting style. Why do you ask?"

    Dragan smirked, "Ehh. I might have another idea. But it depends on what the girl wants."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Agreed. Most conducive to growth is desire. Whether the girl wants to develop her Skills, her raw power, or even her paltry intelligence-- as long as she grows, so too will Sol Invictus."

    Dragan saluted with his fist to his chest, "Sounds good, Boss."

    Tycon returned the salute, "Where is that little whelpling, anyroad?"

    "Ehehe," Dragan grimaced, "It looks like she and Bucket got in a fight. She''s already on the boat."

    "Tss. Of course, they did." Tycon scoffed, "I''ll reprimand the boy with some training."

    ...

    Taree huddled behind a barrel, hugging her knees. She felt so betrayed. She still couldn''t believe that Pale knew they were being sent on different missions and didn''t tell her.

    Stupid! Stupid stupid stupid! Why did she like such a stupid boy?!

    A shadow loomed over her and her barrel, but Taree only curled up tighter.

    "Heyyyy... What''cha doin'' there?" Dragan''s curious voice boomed.

    "Go away, Mister Dragan..." Taree felt her own voice crack, sounding pathetic. She really didn''t want to talk to anyone, so she buried her face in her knees.

    The Titanblood squatted down, his great height still towering over her, "I know you''re pretty upset right now, but you''re not gonna see Bucket and the rest of ''em for a while."

    Taree peeked her head out, revealing a pouty, tear-filled face.

    Dragan gave a broad smile and offered the girl his humongous hand, "You gotta say what you need to say, while you can say it, kid."

    With some difficulty, Taree nodded and took Dragan''s hand. She rushed to the railing to see Pale still on the docks-- the ship had lifted its anchor and it was beginning to sail away.

    She cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled. Even though she cried and sobbed and sniffled and coughed, she needed to say everything she needed to say. She needed Pale to know how she felt.

    Pale yelled back... but he was too far away and she couldn''t hear his response.

    She felt Dragan ce aforting hand on her back. She looked back to see the gentle Titanblood nod stoically.

    She hugged him and cried.

    ...

    "Mister Dragan?" Taree asked.

    "What''s up, kiddo?" Dragan asked, as cheerful as ever.

    "I want to be strong."

    The Titanblood chuckled softly, "I know."

    "Will you... help me?" the silver-haired girl looked up, trying her best to keep the strength in her voice.

    Dragan smirked, "Y''know, Boss had a n for you to follow. And he''s a real smart guy. Heh. And it probably won''t be as painful or as difficult."

    Taree hesitated... but only for a moment, "I want to be stronger than anyone else... Stronger than Pale... Even stronger than you."

    "Hahaha!" Draganughed, "You serious? You with me, then? You can''t change your mind after you decide."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Taree nodded, resolve clear in her eyes.

    Dragan grinned, his eyes shing red with mana, "Don''t say I didn''t warn you."

    ...

    The rest of Guild Invictus sailed on the Elizabeth Dare towards the pirate base of the Saltspray Kings.

    Tycondrius of Charm. Invictus Pale.

    Lone Shadowdark and Levi Wolfrider.

    The voyage was rtively uneventful. The Sea Wolves were incredibly adept at huntingrge and varied fish for food. Tycon remained in good spirits.

    The gentle rocking of the Elizabeth Dare inflicted Levi Wolfrider with a horrible nausea. Tycon assured him that the effects were temporary and he''d grow used to it... That was what he hoped, anyroad.

    In an ironic twist of fate, Pale, the prodigious spearman was... not good at being on a ship. The boy''s sense of bnce became nonexistent, and he constantly tripped and fell. Every time the Sea Wolves would cast theirs to catch fish, any fish that dropped onto the deck would somehow manage to bite him. He even dropped his water canteen overboard when a high wave sshed him and... only him.

    The superstitious Sea Wolves said that the sea god hated him.

    Tycon was tempted to agree.

    As for Tycon''s experiences, he spent his days trying to decode Eilean''s speech and ying games suitable for children with Rico... The girl was remarkably astute for a 3-year-old.

    The Lone Shadowdark had be suspiciously good friends with the Sea Wolf Sergeant named Garret, a man who Tycon had previously identified as ''Hammer''. Captain Lang Hai had informed Tycon that Garret was their newest, youngest Sergeant.

    The two were rather alike, both of them being idiots. But if Sergeant Garret was capable of melting butter, he''d rate the Sea Wolf as superior.

    As the Elizabeth Dare sailed closer to the ind identified on the map, Hai maneuvered the ship to approach with vision blocked by some steep cliffs. As they set anchor, the sun began to set off the starboard bow.

    ...

    A team of Sea Wolf scouts climbed aboard the ship, dripping wet. A gaunt, familiar man with daggers strapped to his belt saluted Lang Hai.

    "Cap''n."

    "Wee back, Corporal Jacque." Hai nodded, "Report."

    The man saluted, "Aye, Cap''n. 3 frigates and 6 corvettes in port, a seventh corvette out in the waters-- probably as a scout. We spotted a walled camp and a fortified structure beyond... They''re flyin'' the g of the Seaspray Kings, Cap''n."

    Lang Hai whistled, "If those ships have full crews, we''re looking at 1,500 men, at least. We''ve got less than a third of that."

    "Is that a problem, Sea Wolf?" Tycon smirked.

    Hai scoffed, "Tch. Yeah. We only need 3 kills per Marine? My men are gonna be bored."

    He turned to Jacque, "Good job, Corporal. Prepare a team. Two bells ''till dawn, I want every pirate on that scout ship dead."

    "Aye aye, Cap''n," Jacque saluted before hurrying off.

    "Lieutenant," Hai called.

    "Here, Cap''n!" Eilean saluted sharply. Tycon was both surprised and respectful of the woman''s suddenck of coquetry.

    "Once dawn hits, I want to be on that beach while the tide is rising. Inform the men."

    "Aye aye, Cap''n," the Sea Witch grinned.

    "Invictus?" Hai looked up at Tycon, smirking derisively, "You gonna help out? Not that it matters if you do or don''t."

    Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Of course, we will. Lone Shadowdark, you''re on the assault team."

    Hearing his name, Lone suddenly began to pay attention, dropping a hand of cards onto the deck, "Wait, what?"

 Chapter 139 Rising Tide

    ?The moon hung high in the sky, calming the waters below. The blue glow of dawn had yet to warm the horizon. Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, grasped the rope with his wet hands. If he hadn''t developed his grip strength, he''d have died in the hills of the Mosswood Wilds. He climbed in silence, using only the strength of his arms.

    Garret pulled Lone up onto the deck of the scout ship. He kept his voice low, "You good?"

    "Yeah," Lone nodded.

    He unbound his two wolf-hammers from his chest. Their squad needed to clear everyone that could raise an rm on the top level... which meant that Lone couldn''t use his weapons'' me On technique.

    He''d have to silence his targets traditionally.

    Lone crept to the wall beside Garret, "What''ve we got?"

    "Two bodies," the bald man whispered, no mirth in his voice.

    "I call right."

    "Left."

    The two nodded to each other.

    Lone dashed out of the shadows, crossing the distance with a leap. He smashed one of his wolf-hammers into the man''s temple, the dull crunch of a fractured skull copsing the man.

    One strike. The action was smooth, just as he''d practiced. The piratey on the deck, his body still twitching. Lone scanned his surroundings while also watching the downed man.

    The man''s temple was dented inward. After a few more moments, heid still.

    Lone was a weapon.

    It was not the time nor the ce to mull over what he''d done. He grabbed the pirate and dragged him back to cover, away from possibly prying eyes.

    Shortly after, Garret dragged a second man around the corner. His target had died in agony, his face swollen, and his neck shredded to the spine. Both Garret and his target were soaked in blood.

    He, too, was a weapon.

    On this battlefield, there was no mercy. There was no chance to surrender. Every pirate on the scout ship was an enemy... Any other considerations could possibly jeopardize the mission.

    But still, Garret trembled, his eyes unfocused.

    "Hey. Snap out of it," Lone whispered.

    Garret did not respond.

    Lone shoved the man, who red back angrily.

    "What?" Garret growled back in a hushed tone.

    "We''re not done," Lone peeked over the corner.

    "Y-yeah. He just... I just..." Garret gulped, "I knew this man."

    Lone came close and pressed his forehead to that of the dark-skinned man, "Shut up. Don''t think. Right now, it''s them or us."

    He didn''t know what exactly was bothering Garret, but now wasn''t the time to care. There were still dozens of pirates on the ship that needed to be killed.

    Without waiting for an answer, Lone left Garret behind, stepping into the shadowy darkness. Keeping low, keeping quiet, he descended the stairs to below-decks, leading 3 other Sea Wolves. Carefully activating the mana in his weapons, the dim red glow guided their journey.

    The sailors slept peacefully, unaware of the predators that stalked them in the night. Lone unsheathed a sharpened dark iron dagger.

    It would be best if they never woke.

    Lone was a weapon.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    The end of the horizon glowed a ghost of fiery orange. Dawn was fast approaching.

    The forward scout team had returned sessfully, reporting only Unranked and Bronze-Rank resistance. If there were any Iron-Ranks, they were killed in their sleep.

    High-Captain Lang Hai had collected the crew in a semi-circle. Most of the Marines would participate in the sea-tond assault, along with a number ofbat medics. A few Marines and the rest of the sailors would remain on the ships.

    "Lieutenant Eilean will be piloting the Elizabeth Dare onto the beach. Our initial assault will be on the docks, in order to prevent too many ships from trying to escape," the boy-Captain smirked.

    "We''re outnumbered at least 1 to 3. And then two of our ships on standby with their skeleton crews-- I ain''t gonna do the math for you all, ''cuz if you went to school, you''d probably be smart enough not to end up here. All of you cunts better pull your weight, you hear me?"

    The Sea Wolves resounded-- "Yes, Cap''n!" "Aye, Cap''n!" "We hear you!!" "Yessir!"

    "Any questions, Sea Wolves?" Hai red.

    Eilean raised her hand, a cheeky red-lipped smile beside the dark cloth over her face, "Cap''n! Are we allowed to die?"

    The blue-haired boy scoffed, "Good question, Lieutenant. The answer: F*ck no, none of you have my permission to die, unless I kill you, myself."

    A low chuckle from the Sea Wolves rose up from the crowd. Tycon found himself smiling. With a few simple sentences, the crowd''s anxiety visibly dissipated.

    "Well, that''s your gods-damned safety briefing. Now... BLOOD AND THUNDER!!"

    The crowd raised their weapons and their voices, "VICTORY AT SEA!!"

    ....

    First Lieutenant Eilean stood at the bow of the ship, raising both of her arms out. A Sea Wolf with a heavy shield stood at her side, ready to protect her from danger. With the Sea Witch''s magic, the Elizabeth Dare cut through the water, rapidly approaching the beaches.

    Pirates from the nearby camp were yelling-- likely scrambling to get their weapons and armor. Sea Wolves shouted "Blood and thunder!!" as they dove off the ship carrying spears,s, and cusses.

    More than a few jumped off with bulging, transformed muscture. Tycon expected that Lang Hai''s full transformation would be far more developed.

    Tycon stood by Eilean as the ship''s hull hit the sands.

    "Want tae kiss fer good luck, yererdship?" the blind Sea Witch puckered her lips.

    "And how do you know I''m joining the battle, youngdy?" Tycon teased.

    "Coz ye want to show off in front''ve me crew. Men''re all the same, tryin'' tae impress a bonniess like meself!"

    The man with the shield moved forward to intercept a crossbow bolt, "It''s not safe up here, ma''am."

    Eilean began floating in the air, surrounded by a sphere of water mana, "OH, FER F*CK''S SAKE!! F*CK OFF, YE F*CKING WANK-STAIN CUNTS!! F*CKING HELLS!! F*CK!!"

    As the woman yelled, dozens of mana-formed spears of ocean water lifted out of the drink. With each wave of her hand, the spearsunched towards the pirates running on the beach, as fast as ballista bolts. As inurate as each shot was, the crossbow-wielding pirates seemed intent on keeping behind cover.

    "CUNTS!! OY!!!"

    With each barrage of water spears, the pirates'' boulders and barricades began crumbling away. As for Eilean... she didn''t seem to be running out of seawater.

    Tycon took a deep breath of the sea-misted air. He estimated that the entire Sea Wolf crew, including the terrifying Sea Witch, Eilean, were to be treated a rank higher than the System had rated... as long as they were near water, anyroad.

    "I''ll be going, Eilean." Tycon smiled, "Blood and thunder."

    "Vict''ry at sea," she said, blowing a kiss. "Do be car''ful, mate. Ye dunnae wot they''ve got in that camp."

    "It''s probably fine," Tycon shrugged. He pulled the dark hood over his head and hopped off the ship''s bow.

 Chapter 140 Battlefield

    ?Tycon ran across the hard-packed sand of the battlefield, reverse-gripping a dark iron short sword.

    Normally on a battlefield, Metal-Rank adventurer teams were held in reserve, in order to conserve their mana and stamina. They would only be fielded to counteract Metal-Rank threats fielded by an enemy force.

    Under Captain Lang Hai''s reckless orders, every participatingbatant was important to the Sea Wolves'' sess and survival as a whole.

    Tycon ran past an axe-wielding pirate, shing his de through the man''s side with little resistance. Unranked. Weak. Tycon cut down 3 more pirates utilizing only his speed-- admittedly only average in Invictus.

    Pale, wherever he was, was likely cutting down the Saltspray pirates in swaths.

    Rushing past the hordes of weaklings, Tycon spotted an Iron-Rank, a pirate wielding a heavy staff with two spiked ends. The man whirled it over his head, knocking back two Sea Wolves and battering back a third.

    Two pirates were in Tycon''s way.

    He raised his de horizontally to block a downward sword sh, then sidestepped and stabbed the man deep in the abdomen. Cruelly wrenching the de, Tycon was rewarded by the look of pure agony on the pirate''s face.

    That was... not his best work. He shoved the man away and swiped the blood off of his short sword.

    The second pirate swung horizontally, so Tycon took a measured backstep to dodge. With his sword pointed forward, Tycon lunged. The very tip of his de pierced the man''s throat.

    That kill was more satisfying. If only all kills were so easy.

    The quarterstaff pirate turned with a bloodcurdling yell and began barreling towards the youthful murderer. Tycon smiled knowingly, swapping his sword to his offhand and raising up a lightly clenched fist.

    Sergeant Garret came from behind the pirate, smashing his sledgehammer into the man''s back, "Got''cha, bitch!"

    Tycon snickered softly, "Kehe. Well~ done."

    He snapped his fingers.

    [Commander''s Strike activated.]

    Garret looked over with a look of confusion, "What the? I didn''t do it to--"

    Tycon saw the moment the surge of mana hit him. Garret''s eyes glowed abyssal ck and a growl escaped his lips. The bald man kicked the back of the pirate''s knee and smashed his hammer into the man''s spine.

    Tycon snapped again.

    [Commander''s Strike activated.]

    Garret lifted his hammer to the sky and smashed it down with full force into the back of the man''s skull.

    After a brief second, his eyes gained rity, "What the... hells was that?"

    Tycon patted the tall man on the shoulder, "It was a respectable young Sea Wolf defeating an Iron-Rank with ease."

    The man shook his head adamantly, "Baron, I ain''t stupid. You did something."

    "...How you swung your weapon... how you utilized gravity to increase your force... the muscles that activated in your arms and core and legs... It felt wonderful, did it not?"

    Garret rubbed the back of his bald head, "Y-yeah... It did. Did I... really do that?"

    "Let us continue, young Sergeant." Tycon smiled. It was a gentle smile considering he essentially sentenced a man to death by broken spine, "Perhaps you might learn something."

    "I uh... Yeah. Let''s go," Garret nodded, obediently following Tycon towards the next fight.

    ...

    "PROTECT THE BARON!!" "PROTECT THE BAAARONNNN!" The Sea Wolves yelled.

    Baron Tycondrius had taken a red sash and tied it around a crossbow injury on his right arm. He had wrapped a torn blue g of the Kingdom around a spear and held it up as a banner, "SEA WOOOOLVES!! BLOOOOD ANNNNNND THUNDERRRRR!!!!"

    "VICTORY AT SEAAAA!!" Came the howls of the dozens of Sea Wolves within shouting distance.

    [Commander''s Strike activated. Commander''s Strike activated. Co...]

    The System''s messages ran in Tycon''s mind like the glorious music of triumph.

    Guild Invictus was participating in the Sea Wolf raid as a favor to Lang Hai. Tycon still needed to head to the Holy Country to finish his quests... But that didn''t mean he didn''t enjoy the one-sided ughter.

    "Come, this is no ce to die," Tycon picked up a fallen Sea Wolf.<novelnext></novelnext>

    [Inspirational Surge activated.]

    The Sea Wolf winced as he pulled a curved scimitar out of his gut, "Thanks, Baron."

    "Now, sod off and put that sword to use."

    "Aye aye, Sir!!" The Wolf ran off while screaming and raising the bloody scimitar in the air.

    Tycon pointed, chuckling, "You are INVINCIBLE!!"

    [Jumping Knee Counter activated.]

    The Lone Shadowdark deftly dodged an overhead strike from a greatsword. He nted his knee into the man''s gut before braining him with a wolf-hammer.

    "Thanks, Boss!!"

    "Shut up and keep killing."

    The battlefield was chaos, as they all were. Tycon''s senses were filled with swords nging, firearms sting, and the desperate prayers of the dying. asionally, cannons would fire-- either from the beaches or from the Elizabeth Dare, and shes of magic would tear through the sky.

    It was glorious.

    The moving toon of some 30 Sea Wolves moved quickly and lethally through the battlefield. At the center of the death ball was Baron Tycondrius, shouting orders and activating his support Skills. It didn''t matter the number, single men or scores of them, the pirates died withoutplete corpses. It didn''t matter the rank, the horde mowed down even Iron-Rank pirates with impunity.

    However, Tycon discovered something he had surmised but had no evidence of. The Sea Wolves could die. Marines and sailors fell and those remaining raged to avenge them. Tycon epted it. It was impossible for every Sea Wolf to have the same level of elerated healing as Lang Hai.

    The tide of battle had turned against the Saltspray Kings and many of the pirates were beginning to withdraw towards arge, defensible wood and stone fort.

    On both sides, casualties were inevitable. Too many casualties were uneptable. For the guild leader of a smallpany like Tycon, even a single loss was deeply felt.

    "Where''s Pale?!" Tycon yelled in order to be heard above the din of battle.

    Lone pointed, "Over there! That side!"

    Tycon yelled back, "The west wing, you idiot! Just say the west wing!"

    "The west wing, Boss!!"

    "Go find him!!" Tycon tossed Lone a pouch full of healing potions.

    "Can I have one??" Lone yelled back.

    "Stop asking stupid questions, you dunce. GO!!"

    ...

    Corporal Jacque of the Beaurte Marines was assigned a special mission by Captain Lang Hai. He had been ordered to shadow the Guild Invictus half-elf, Pale, and keep him out of trouble.

    Jacque didn''t know what business the boy had on a battlefield. The kid didn''t even look 10 years of age. Still, Jacque wasn''t one to question clear orders.

    Anyroad, the Captain looked only a year or two older than Pale... and Rico was literally 3. Age wasn''t a good way to judgebat prowess.

    Upon debarkation, the boy was unfortunate enough to havended in a burning coral reef from when he jumped off the ship. When he''d made it to the beach, he dropped and broke an expensive healing potion in the process.

    The sea god hated the boy.

    Jacque made a mental note to get the crew together about it. The kid needed to be lent a charm or five to ward off the bad luck.

    Jacque thought that perhaps his mission would be cut short and Pale would ask to reboard the ship. A coral-cut wound was prone to infection and was painful as hells, to boot. He recalled that Lieutenant Eleven of Seven used coral-des for that very reason.

    The injury seemed to only anger the boy.

    The boy cut through the battlefield with his spear, like a stabby crimson whirlwind. He moved from target to target almost effortlessly, urately piercing throats and hearts. Jacque could barely keep up with the boy''s speed-- and he got the feeling that the boy was holding back on his ount.

    Three skirmishes and over a hundred men deadter, Captain Lang''s predictions were beginning toe true. The boy began to slow due to injury. After a fourth skirmish, though the boy killed near 30 men on his own, he earned a crossbow bolt pierced through the meat of his left forearm and he suffered a bleeding gash in the leather armor on his chest. He was in no condition to continue.

    The Sea Wolves they were with had either rushed ahead or were killed, leaving him and the boy surrounded by more than a dozen pirates. Jacque flourished his two daggers and focused on calming hisbored breathing. He wasn''t in his best condition, either.

    "Got any bright ideas, kid?"

 Chapter 141 To Kill A Sea Wolf

    ? ?Like the other Sea Wolves, Corporal Jacque practiced the cursed Sea Wolf Body Art. However, his growth had taken a strange turn. He didn''t gain swollen muscles and raw, nigh unbridled power like Captain Lang. Jacque''s abilities were more reminiscent of Rico''s. His body grew thin and his movements became graceful. Further, his senses were greatly magnified when exposed to seawater.

    Captain Lang Hai was the former Patriarch of the Sea Wolf Hidden sect... a title he''d abandoned in order to join the Royal Navy. Following Admiral Langqiang''s death, the young Captain took over the fleet and shared the cursed Sea Wolf body art with his men. A few short yearster, everyone in the Kingdom understood that the Marines and sailors of Beaurte were synonymous to the Sea Wolves.

    ording to Captain Lang, as Jacque raised hisprehension of the Sea Wolf Body Art from Lesser to Middle Completion, his abilities would begin to normalize. He had incredible perception and his healing factor was above average, but his strength and reflexes remained on a very human level. Jacque could see strikes and bullets in flight as if they moved through msses-- but he could only curse in regret that he wasn''t fast enough to react.

    No Sea Wolf was useless-- not with their small numberspared to the rest of the Kingdom''s fleets. Jacque was also the only non-officer Marine with a high level of education and was capable of reading, navigation, and advanced math. He had also joined the fleet, slightly older thus markedly more mature than the young Marines who only sought glory and battle.

    It was that trust thatnded Corporal Jacque into his current special assignment and the mess he was currently in.

    He nced at the battered half-elf guarding his back, "Got any bright ideas, kid?"

    Pale winced in pain. The boy was bleeding profusely and the pirates that surrounded them were beginning to grow more confident because of it.

    "Ergh... I guess I''ll take half and you take the other half?"

    Jacque grit his teeth, "Was that a bright idea or a question?"

    "I dunno," The boy lightly shrugged. "Let''s just give it a try. What have we got to lose?"

    Jacque yelled as the boy rushed forward, "Your life! You could lose your life!!"

    He turned back to the pirates, who were beginning to attack-- Two swords cut down at him. Jacque sidestepped one and rotated his body to take a shallow cut on his side. He dropped a dagger, grabbed a man''s sword arm, and repositioned himself to keep his new hostage between his opponents.

    Half a dozen times. He shanked the pirate swordsman repeatedly underneath the man''s unarmored armpit, before shoving him away into his attackers.

    He had to get to the boy! Jacque sprinted towards where Pale was fighting.

    The boy had killed three men in the time it took Jacque to kill one... and he''d shed open the neck of a fourth while he was still running.

    "Pale! Behind!" Jacque yelled.

    The boy winced in pain but obediently rolled to the side, managing to just-barely dodge the cleaver-de of a guisarme.

    Jacque skidded to a halt, urately stopping at the perfect distance. 3 thrown-knife revolutions. He tossed a whirling dagger at the guisarme pirate''s neck, confident that it would hit.

    The pirate twisted his body, and the knife stuck in the meat of the man''s tattooed shoulder. He pulled it out with impunity, "Gahaha. Little toys, Sea Pups. The Saltspray Kings aren''t afraid of you."

    Jacque''s heart fell to the pit of his stomach, "Metal-Ranker!!"

    Sea god''s spear, Jacque wished he had at least another Sea Wolf to hold him off. He and the injured Pale were at a disadvantage against a Bronze-Rank... And if the tattooed pirate was an Iron-Ranker, they were done for.

    Jacque picked up a cuss and charged through the sands at the Metal-Ranker, "Blood and thunder!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    Pale leapt away from another sweep of a red-headed pirate''s halberd. Rolling to his feet, he vaulted up with his pole to round kick the pirate''s ear. With a quick downward stab, he imed another kill.

    Phew. He was so tired that his chest hurt when he breathed-- only a little bit, though. He couldn''t catch his breath just yet. There were too many enemies.

    A pirate edged closer defensively, holding a thick wooden tower shield. Pale stabbed the man in the foot and twisted, then dashed to the side and stabbed him in the side of the neck.

    With mana powering Pale''s vision and boosting his reflexes, he slipped under a pirate''s cuss swing. Dropping his body low, he held his spear firm underneath his arm. Rotating his hips, he shed his spearde into the side of his attacker''s neck.

    Turning back, he deflected a sword''s downward swing, knocking the weapon away. With the momentum, he used his spear-end to jab at a different axe-wielding pirate''s chin, knocking him back.

    Pale stood up straight and took another deep breath, his chest heaving, and humid sweat dripping everywhere. Wielding the Lifedrinker spear, he enjoyed its effect pretty much all the time. Each enemy that fell, he''d leech a small amount of stolen mana that improved his ability to dodge and deflect attacks. But even still, the battle was taking a toll on his stamina.

    Well... training was worse. He hadn''t even vomited yet.

    Pale guessed he''d better keep fighting until someone told him to stop... It was just like training.

    ...

    The stabbing de of the guisarme was not Corporal Jacque''s friend. He had a good 4 holes on his chest and one on his thigh.

    Jacque grinned and performed a rude gesture, "Come on, you rotten whoreson. It''ll take more than that to kill a Sea Wolf."

    The pirate grimaced in worry. Good. Jacque may have imed the worst of their exchanges but the pirate was bloodied by a cuss for his troubles.

    The hesitation was wee. 5 stabs were a bit much for Jacque to handle well. The more blood he lost, the more he slowed and the more he wanted toy in the sand and sleep forever. If he got his head lopped off, he''d get his wish.

    The pirate kicked up sand, causing Jacque to make an error.

    He blinked.

    The cleaver-de of the guisarme stuck into Jacque''s left side, biting deeply into his abdomen. He felt his body, weightless, as the pirate picked him up with his weapon. With a groaning heave, Jacque was thrown... and he rolled and tumbled on his side, in the hard-packed sand.

    Dizzy. Cold. Wracked with painful injuries... He tried to reach down with his left arm only to discover a new shock of agony. His left arm was broken, too.

    Corporal Jacque blinked the sand out of his eyes, powering his will to not go into shock. He smashed his good hand into the sand and focused on dragging his broken body back to Pale.

    He could still survive his wounds. The boy would not.

 Chapter 142 Blood & Sand

    ?Pale deflected the pirate''s guisarme, but his hands shook from the force.

    The pirate wasn''t as strong as Lone, but Pale was exhausted, sweaty, and the cut on his chest started to bleed more. He needed to end the fight quickly.

    Pale rocketed a spear stab towards the man''s neck, but the pirate was able to bring his weapon haft up to deflect it.

    Unbnced! Pale took the shot.

    He dashed forward, sliding low. He scissored his legs around the man''s legs and twisted his body and pushed with his arms as hard as he could.

    Yes! The man fell down, his back crashing into the sands. Pale got to his back, aimed his spear, and plunged it into the side of the pirate''s neck.

    Good. Now he could rest.

    ...No, wait. No, he couldn''t. Crap.

    "You''re a gods-damned monster, kid."

    Pale struggled to his feet and looked up to the voice.

    Aw, butt. Eight more pirates. Where was Jacque?

    The voice belonged to a pirate who was approaching warily, his trident pointed forward, "Put down the weapon, kid. We''ll make it quick and painless for you."

    Pale grit his teeth. Just eight more... He''d lost count of how many pirates he''d defeated. A hundred, maybe? Eight more was no big deal... He sure was tired, though.

    "BLOOD AND THUNDER!!" Jacque leapt up on one of the pirate''s backs, sinking a dagger in.

    "What the--" The pirates turned.

    Oh, good stuff. Pale sank his own spear into a pirate''s neck. Running and sliding to the side, he shed his spear at the back of another pirate''s thighs, severing both of their hamstrings. Summoning strength at the end of his limits, Pale lifted his spear up high and whacked the haft into a third pirate''s corbone-- the man crumpled to the ground.

    A covered Pale, almostfortable, like a nket. But Pale couldn''t yet rest-- it blocked his vision, it constricted his movement. He struggled to get it off.

    A sudden shock jolted through Pale''s body and he spat dark red blood.

    Aww crap.

    Pale looked down and a trident was piercing into his stomach.

    Pale tried to stab, but the end of his spear was grabbed by one of the pirates.

    "Ehehe! We got you now, you li''l monster!!"

    Pale grit his teeth as his eyes filled with hot mana, "Magnum BREAK!!"

    A geyser of me erupted from Pale, soaring 10 fulms in the air, disintegrating the, and sting the surrounding pirates back.

    The fire withdrew in a sh, collecting around the Lifedrinker spear. With a heated sh, he cut off the metal haft of the trident still stuck in him.

    Dashing forward, the me-wreathed spear cut easily through a pirate''s metal armor and into his chest. Rotating his body, Pale shed a different pirate''s leg,pletely rending it below the knee.

    He leapt forward and stabbed a fleeing pirate in the back, dropping the man dead on the sands.

    Not enough. There were too many.

    He reached for his pouch and unfurled a scroll.

    His eyes glowed cool blue with mana, "Lightning Circle."

    ...

    Jacque ran over to Pale, who had finally copsed on the ground, "Hey, kid. Kid! You still alive?"

    "Y-yeah... I think so," Pale groaned.

    "What in the hells did you do?" Jacque grabbed the boy''s pouch and emptied its contents onto the sand.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The boy was a monster, just as the pirates were saying. In a circr st of lightning magic, the boy had felled all the remaining pirates. Jacque fastidiously cut their throats before any of them could recover, then immediately knelt at the boy''s side.

    "Spell scroll... Last one I had, heh."

    "Sea god''s beard, you''re a Mage? I thought you were a Spearman?" Jacque found a bundle of bandages and immediately began to unravel it.

    "I''m both, I guess?" the boy''s eyes were unfocused, "Why... why are *you* okay?"

    "Every Sea Wolf carries a canteen of sea water. The stuff helps us heal."

    Jacque had to work fast. He needed to bind Pale''s injuries and hustle him back to the ship before he bled out, "Hold still, kid-- I gotta cut off your armor so I can patch you up."

    "Can... can I learn to heal like that?" Pale asked with a hopeful smile.

    Jacqueughed derisively, "Probably not. The sea god hates ya, kid. You''re better off rubbing sand into the wound and walking it off."

    There was too much blood. The ship was too far off... and Sea Witch Eilean couldn''t patch up a corpse. The trident stuck in the boy''s stomach and tearing up his guts only hastened the boy''s demise.

    The boy grasped at the sands, "Yeah, you''re right... Water''s no good."

    "Hey, listen to me kid-- focus." Jacque gulped. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "I''m here."

    He hadn''t known Pale for long... but the boy had done remarkably well. Jacque had heard the boy was a Bronze-Rank warrior... and at first, he didn''t believe it. But as it was, the boy was definitely on the level of Iron... and he would fight any man who would discount the boy''s courage as anything less than Gold.

    Jacque was a Corporal of Marines. He led men.

    In battle, men died, and being a leader, many died under his charge.

    It was never easy losing even one.

    Jacque clenched his teeth, tears running down his face. He tightly held the boy''s hand, "You... you got anything you need to say? I''ll... I''ll pass word to Sir Tycon."

    The boy picked up a clump of sand with his offhand and poured it ineffectually on his cuts, "Healing Sands..."

    Jacque furrowed his brows. What was the boy doing?

    With an earthy orange glow of mana, the cut flesh on the boy''s chest began to visibly knit together.

    He could scarcely believe it, "You... know healing magic?"

    The boy pulled the remainder of the trident out of his stomach. New blood sttered onto Jacque''s clothing, but he didn''t give a single shite.

    Jacque helped the boy up and helped steady him on his feet.

    Pale smiled, looking up, "Just learned it right now."

    Jacqueughed heartily, embracing the boy, "I thought you were dead, kid! Sea god''s socks, ohhh, I thought you were dead."

    Pale hugged him back, patting Jacque''s lower back, "Hey,e on. We have to catch up with the rest."

    "What?" Jacque stepped back, "Pale, you can''t be serious. You were just in a life and death situation!"

    The boy bent over to pick up his spear, then he pointed behind him, "It looks like everyone''s still fighting, though."

    Jacque grimaced, "You can be a little selfish, y''know. Aren''t you tired?"

    "Yeah, I am pretty tired." The boy shrugged, "But my dad taught me that as long as we can save even one more person, we can''t give up."

    Stunned, Jacque''s heart surged with pride. Wherever the boy''s father was, he''d undoubtedly be proud of him, "Well, alright. I''ll go with you."

    The boy grinned, "Good. I need someone to watch my back."

    Looking up, Pale stretched out his fist, "Blood and thunder."

    Jacque tapped his fist to Pale''s, "Victory at sea."

 Chapter 143 Monster

    ?High-Captain Lang Hai towered over the pirates, standing at 11 fulms tall. In his hybrid Abyssal Sea Wolf form, his muscles bulged with power, his unblinking fish-eyes were clouded an abyssal ck, and his needle-like teeth were as long and wide as swords.

    The pirates pockmarked Hai''s hard, shimmering scales with spear stabs, crossbow bolts, and bullets... but the wounds closed up as quickly as they opened.

    He was a monster.

    His tree-trunk sized arm shed horizontally with long, razor-sharp ws. In the single swipe, he felled 5 men.

    "PENTAKILL, F*CKTARDS!!" Hai bellowed.

    Rearing his head back, he howled the deep crescendo cry... It was reminiscent of the Abyssal Sea Wolf, but louder-- angrier, "I DEMAND VENGEANCE!! BLOOD!! AND!! THUNDER!!"

    He ran through the pirates, the tentacles on his backshing out, pulverizing men''s spines and raking the flesh from their bones.

    "Dear gods! Shoot him! Shoot him!!"

    "IT!! WON''T!! DIE!!"

    "Retreat to the gods-damned fort!! The f*cking Sea Wolves are att--ARRRGHHHH!!"

    Lang Haiughed as he picked up a man and sank his teeth into his torso, cruelly tearing him apart like biting into a hollow-boned quail. He spilled the man''s guts onto the ground and spat the man''s upper body onto the sands.

    "GAHAHAHA!!" Hai cackled with glee, "RUN AWAYYYYY!! I''M REALLY F*CKING STRONNNNNG!!"

    ...

    Tycondrius met up with both Pale and Lone before heading to the impromptu Sea Wolf war camp.

    "Blood and thunder, it''s Sir Tycon!!" "Ahaha! We showed those bastards, didn''t we?" "Wee back, sir!"

    A round of Sea Wolf cheers erupted when Guild Invictus arrived, withpliments showering upon all 3 of them. Tycon acknowledged the men with polite smiles and nods.

    Several tents had been repurposed into field infirmaries. Cook tents were erected, serving hot meals. Other Sea Wolves maintained their weapons. A few veteran Wolves wisely took the downtime to nap.

    Lone leaned towards Tycon, "Boss... Why are there wounded? I thought the Sea Wolves were immortal?"

    Tycon grimaced, "No one is immortal. The Sea Wolves merely heal faster than most... and it seems not everyone has the monstrous regenerative ability of their Captain."

    ...

    A pirate screamed-- crying, sobbing, begging for mercy. The little freckled brte, Rico, twisted and pulled a pirate''s head off of his body. The screaming stopped. She widened her eyes and gasped in surprise. She tried to put it back. When it fell off of the man''s shoulders into the sand, she pursed her lips in disappointment.

    The battle had finished, with the survivors of the war camp fleeing towards a fortified structure.

    Corporal Jacque was reporting to Captain Lang Hai, "At least 19 Marines have been killed... And at least 47 have taken injuries that sea water can''t heal, Cap''n."

    Hai ced his hand on his chin and nodded, "Between you and me, Corporal, those are actually better numbers than I was expecting."

    He turned to face the fortified structure in the distance. The Sea Wolves had ughtered their way through several hundred men, maybe nearly 1,000. The Spear of Selena and the Thalia Grace had sunk two escaping ships, as well.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...The remaining ships would be added to the Sea Wolf fleet, provided they were victorious in theing battle. Attacking a fortified structure was tricky, even moreso that the enemy had held their captives hostage.

    Hai heard from his men about the rallying cries of Tycon, and the effectiveness of both the young spearman, Pale, and the hammer warrior, Lone Shadowdark. Altogether, Guild Invictus provided substantial help in lowering the Sea Wolf casualty rate.

    Baron Tycon was a strange character. With his build and his manner, Hai immediately judged the fool to be weak-willed, highborn trash. Sure, he was good at talking, seeing the way he managed to charm Eilean... Rico loved the guy, too-- but then again, Rico was traitorous scum who would sell out her Captain for a bite of pork jerky.

    Hai owed Tycon for helping him get out of trouble when they destroyed that cartography shop in Caractere. Then there was that time when he just happened to have a map to the Saltspray Kings hideout. And there was the undeniable fact that dozens of Marines and sailors witnessed him carrying the Kingdom''s g as a banner, rallying the men-- even using the banner and a short sword to score some sweet kills.

    The guy was a living, breathing, badass.

    More telling of his character was the fact that Guild Invictus didn''t need to put themselves at risk. The Saltspray Map that Tycon had provided was more than enough to fulfill the terms of the contract. Chantal had asked the Baron to help-- she hadn''t ordered him to fight alongside the Sea Wolves.

    Lang Hai didn''t want to admit it, but he had grown a grudging respect for the green-haired nerd... He just hoped it didn''t go to the nobleman''s head. Every noble Hai had worked with prior had a weird sense of self-entitlement.

    Steel and spear, spell and pistol-shot did not differentiate between noble and lowborn.

    Eilean stood on her toes and began to wave in the distance, "Cap''n, haeres Invictus the noo."

    As badass as Tycon was, Lang Hai still had to let the guy know who was in charge.

    Lang Hai cross his arms and frowned at the approaching group, "Tycon, where the hells were you?"

    "Captain," Tycon saluted, fingers t, palm down, and touching his forefinger to his brow. It was a perfect salute by the Royal Navy''s standards.

    Lang Hai stared at Tycon held his salute. What the hells?

    Eilean poked Hai, "Cap''n, are ye nae gonna salute back?"

    Lang Hai suddenly widened his eyes, snapping out of his confusion. He quickly saluted Tycon, allowing the noble to ce his arm back at his side, "Ah, yeah. Sorry-- Anyroad, you uh... take any casualties... Sir? Tycon?"

    Tycon''s facial expression didn''t change at all, "No casualties, Captain Lang. Invictus is three for three."

    Hai pursed his lips, "What about that... dog-person?"

    "Och! I kin answer that, Cap''n," The Sea Witch interjected. "He was still on the ship, when I''d depaerted."

    "Tch!" Hai scoffed, "I didn''t know Invictus employed cowards!"

    "Neither did I," Tycon said solemnly, "I will deal with him, myself-- unless you''d like to save me the trouble and charge him under militaryw."

    Hai was caught off guard again. He bit his upper lip, "N-no, no. That''s fine. You can handle it. I have faith in you."

    Egh. Instant and willing obedience. Hai got the peculiar feeling that Tycon was a former soldier-- maybe in the Holy Country?

    "Anyroad," Hai continued, "Guild Invictus, Corporal Jacque, Lieutenant Eilean,e with me. I want to discuss how we''re gonna take the fort and rescue the hostages."

 Chapter 144 Gifts

    ?Hai stared at his food bowl.

    Gruel.

    A lot of boiled water, not enough corn meal. Those two things together made gruel. The Sea Wolves could scarcely afford better... But the slop kept the Marines and sailors under his charge alive. Those freeloaders could spend their own coin if they wanted better food.

    Sea god''s shorts! Where in the hells was Tycon??

    Bah! Whatever! Hai tossed the y bowl aside, spilling the gruel.

    AHHH!! Hai panicked. He just wasted food! He knelt down into the hard-packed sand and tried to recover any still-ptable gruel.

    "Captain Lang..."

    Hai ced a spoonful of sand and gruel into his mouth. Ugh. Salty and sandy. It was disgusting!

    "...Lang Hai, are you crying?"

    "NO!!!?" Hai turned his head up, "WHO''S ASKING??-- Oh, it''s you."

    The noble bastard, Tycon, was standing right in front of him. He had the worst timing... Lang Hai stood up and dusted his trousers off.

    Oh, right.

    Lang Hai spun around and wiped the tears from his face.

    Hai turned back to the patiently waiting Tycon, "You''re back."

    Tycon stared nkly... "I am."

    Hai nodded, "Well. Uh... Report!"

    "First off, I managed to find a basement dungeon. I wasn''t able to get close, but I estimate them to hold over a hundred ves in captivity."

    Hm. The number was smaller than Hai was hoping... but any number over 0 was worth fighting for.

    Tycon continued, "The Saltspray Kings have hundreds of pirates-- I counted at least 200 but explored less than half of the keep. There only appears to be one entrance and it''s lined with improvised traps, barricades, and defensive siege weapons. And their storeroom just exploded."

    Hai nodded, walking away, "I see... traps, huh. We''re going to lose a lot of--"

    He stopped.

    Lang Hai grabbed Tycon''s by the cor of his dark hood and lifted him up, "What the hells do you mean the storeroom just exploded?!"

    Tycon red, "Captain..."

    Lang Hai ced him back down, "Sorry. I uh... Please tell me about the storeroom."

    The green-haired noble smoothed the creases on his cloak, "I had a small cache of explosives, courtesy of the Ivory Judge sect. With them, I destroyed several barrels worth of food and drinking water."

    ..."Got anything else?" Hai tried his best to smile innocently.

    "Lang... Whatever type of face you''re trying to make, please stop."

    "Fine then! Nerd!" Hai crossed his arms, scowling, "Did you find anything good? I know you have a storage ring! I''m a Hidden Sect leader, you know! We know these things."

    "I didn''t exactly hide it," The noble waved his hand... a barrel and a few sacks appearing from his storage ring.

    Hai knelt down, tears streaming down his face. He grabbed a sack. Wonderful, delicious rations.

    Oh, wait, that was corn meal. Hai tossed it away.

    He grabbed the second bag. Sweet, wonderful, delicious not-corn-meal rations.

    Wheezing in excitement, Hai grabbed another bag. Salt! They had salt! Their meals could have a tiny, tiny bit of vor! He held it close-- or he could sell it and buy... weapons so his men didn''t have to use meat-hooks and butchers'' knives.

    "The salt will be used for food, Captain," Tycon chided.

    Sea god''s pants. Hai cursed inwardly. Was he really so transparent?

    He grabbed a heavy jar and cradled it to his face, "Sweet tree sap... I''ve-- I''ve never been able to afford you, before."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "One of the sacks is full of copper forks and spoons, as well," Tycon offered.

    "You have done... a great service for the Beaurte fleet," Hai said tearfully.

    "...You''re beginning to scare me, Lang Hai."

    Hai embraced the single barrel Tycon had summoned, "Tell me what''s in the barrel, great benevolent Baron."

    Tycon grimaced, "The barrel is full of pickled cucumbers."

    "SWEET! WONDROUS! BLESSINGS OF THE SEA GOD!! Hai screamed, his voice two octaves too high. "We have PICKLES!!"

    Tycon was covering his ears, "Hai, really? The whole camp''s probably heard you."

    Hai wiped his tears, "Yeah, sorry. It''s an old sailor''s tale. So the Sea God turns himself into a pickle-- funniest shite I''ve ever heard. Blessed by the Sea God, pickled cucumbers stave off scurvy."

    "Scurvy stems from a dietary deficiency. You could also dry and pulverize the peels of citrus fruits-- lemons, not limes."

    "Yeah, whatever." Hai scowled, "They work, alright?"

    Tycon stood patiently.

    Hai crossed his arms, grinning, "So, what now?"

    Tycon shook his head, "Why are you asking me? You''re the High-Captain of the fleet, Lang."

    ...

    Captain Milov of the Saltspray Kings had no clue how in the hells the Sea Wolves did it. Their storage room had literally exploded. The food they had umted tost them weeks had gone up in a puff of smoke. The job was done well-- enough explosives were used to level a fortified bank, much less a room where they kept food.

    Did they have a Mage that could cast invisibility? No, they couldn''t. If the Sea Wolves had a Silver-Rank Mage, they wouldn''t have bothered with subterfuge. And there were so many pirates around, that it was impossible for an Iron-Rank Rogue to get in...

    Did they really have a Gold-Rank stealth ss?

    Impossible.

    Out of 100, maybe even 200 Iron-Ranks, there''d be a single Gold-Rank. In his life, Milov only met one, a Bone Knight from Rekkenmark back in his home, the Sleeping Country.

    There was a traitor in the ranks of the Saltspray Kings. It was the only exnation Milov would ept.

    Over the past 2 suns, he had hung 20 men from the top of the fort''s walls... Pirates who he knew didn''t like him... Men with shifty eyes. Men who wore sses... He had to be sure. The other Kings-- his Lieutenants all agreed.

    His stomach growled from theck of food. He wanted to hold out just a single sun more-- more ships woulde soon... ships that would be purchasing the ves.

    The Saltspray Kings could cut a deal. They never lost out when they cut deals.

    A knock came on the door.

    Milov threw one of dozens of empty grog bottles, shattering green ss all over the floor, "You!! F*ck off!!

    A pirate with a well-kept silver beard opened the door, "Cap''n... They sent another Sea Wolf to negotiate."

    Negotiate? Pah. Never. The Sea Wolves are rabid... hungry for blood. They wouldn''t let them surrender. They were pirates. Surely, everyone knew that Marines never negotiated with pirates, especially Marines from the Sea Wolf fleet.

    "F*ck off, Liber!!" Milov grabbed ahold of the table and tried to stand, "Show me the Sea Wolf. I''ll cut his balls off and hang him-- *hic*.... Hang him..."

    Liber had walked close, "Captain... You are drunk. Again."

    Milov tried to focus his eyes, grabbing at the pirate''s cor, "Liber, listen to me. We cannot... negotiate! We are.... The Saltspray KINGS!! We CAN NOT... negotiate."

    Milov needed to convince him. He needed to convince everyone. They knew it in their hearts, but if their Captain didn''t convince them, the fools would try to surrender-- try to take the easy way. It would lead to their doom.

    The cool touch of a metal barrel touched the bottom of Milov''s chin. The sound of a pistol safety clicked off.

    Milov narrowed his eyes, again steadying himself on the table beside him, "Liber... What is the meaning of this?"

    Liber shook his head, "It is not me, Captain. The crew has chosen to mutiny."

 Chapter 145 Hear Me

    ?Three new men were strung up dead on the walls of the Saltspray Keep. A Captain''s hat was pinned to the center man''s chest with a crossbow bolt. It was obvious to any informed onlookers that the Saltspray Kings had undergone a change in leadership.

    Neutral ground was agreed upon between the fort and the outside camp, in order to negotiate terms of surrender. Tycon sat at a table across from a silver-bearded pirate, an empty paper contract between them. Off to the side was the young Pale, sitting quietly in his wizard robe and hat.

    Several hundred miserable pirates warily watched. On the other side was a simr number of sea Wolves, in good spirits and fattened by fresh fish and stolen storeroom goods.

    Liber of the Saltspray Kings tapped his finger on the table, "The only issue I have with the magic contract is the non-encroachment period."

    Tycon grimaced, "Your guild give us all of your captured ves. My guild leaves you alone for 90 suns. That should be plenty of time for you and your men to sod off into the ocean blue."

    The bearded pirate raised an eyebrow, "Mister Sea Wolf, the Saltspray Kings have amodity you need. You, as well have specifically stated in the magic contract, not ''many,'' and not ''some,'' but ''all'' of our captured ves."

    Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Mister Liber, are you trying to turn a profit? I have on good word that your peers could use a bit more ''oomph'' in their diet."

    Liber smiled, "My peers have no issues consuming human flesh-- and we don''t even have to eat our own. Come now, Mister Tycon, 90 suns are not enough time to rebuild. Give us 5 years."

    Tycon red as he gave his counter-offer...

    ...

    ...After nearly two bells of deliberation, Liber and Tycon agreed on the duration of the non-encroachment period-- 3 years. Pale drafted the contract using his elementary magic and half-a-bottle of magic ink. The pirates had a few amongst them who could read... but not well. At Liber''s behest, Tycon read the contract aloud to the pirates, patiently exining the dozens of uses besides the non-encroachment period.

    They were satisfied-- and for good reason. The terms the Saltspray Kings had bargained for, sharply leaned in their favor. Besides non-encroachment, they also demanded non-aggression-- a difficult concept to enforce. Liber knew how to leverage their hostages... and Tycon''s debate with the intelligent man left him mentally fatigued.

    Fooling Liber was a tiresome job.

    It took over 2 more bells for the Saltspray pirates to free some 110 captured ves. A significant number of prisoners were injured or had gone with untreated injuries for weeks. Nearly all of them were malnourished to some extent.

    The gruel would be a logical meal for the civilians until they convalesced enough to eat normal food. If the situation weren''t so troubling, Tycon was certain that Hai would be ecstatic that he wouldn''t have to waste the "good stuff."

    Out of both boredom and curiosity, Tycon decided to visit the infirmaries to assist with the triage. He wasn''t particrly skilled at medicine, but he was familiar with basic procedures. He interviewed patients to inform the medical staff, carried people and equipment, and served as a calming presence for all parties involved.

    "Sir Tycon, we could use your assistance, over here," a bald sailor with a musical voice called for him.

    Tycon checked the System-provided name over the sailor''s head, "Petty Officer Milo. What seems to be the issue?"

    The bald man smiled worriedly, "Sir Tycon! I''m gonna have to be honest, I saw you use magical healing on a few of the rescuees and was wondering if you had more of the juice."

    Tycon did indeed have more of... ''the juice.'' Tycon granted the sailor a smile, "My Skill rapidly elerates natural healing for several seconds-- somewhat reminiscent to how a Sea Wolf recovers, actually. Is there a patient having difficulty?"

    "Not exactly... It''ll probably be best if I just show you."

    Milo escorted Tycon to arger tent, separated from the others. Upon entering, Tycon first noticed a young woman with disheveled hair, staring at him nkly. A thin trail of saliva had dried down the side of her mouth and she wore nothing but a torn robe.

    Tycon waved a hand in front of her face, but the woman didn''t even flinch.

    ...The tent was full of men and women in a simr condition.

    The sailor grimaced, "They''re unresponsive... I don''t know if it''s something wrong with their heads or if there''s some sort of spell, but I figured that you might know something..."

    Tycon gently took the woman''s arm, "I''ll see what I can do. I believe you''ve made the right choice."

    He guided her and she walked obediently as Tycon directed. Sitting the woman down on a cot, he looked into her eyes for pupil dtion and checked her pulse-- even though he was using his System, he''d at least appear professional.

    ? System, inquiry: What is afflicting this woman? ?

    [System response: Target''s mental capacities are reduced by a Third-Circle enchantment.]

    Third-Circle... Normal humans rarely had ess to Third-Circle magic-- and if there was a Gold-Rank Mage allied to the Saltspray Kings, they would have some sign of it, by now.

    It was likely that a ritual was involved.

    ? System, inquiry: How do we reverse the spell''s effect? ?

    [System response: The enchantment can be nullified by a restoration spell of Third-Circle or higher.]

    Tycon shook his head. The cost and effort of finding a spellcaster for that were not within his best interests-- and especially not for so many people, "Petty Officer Milo, are there any other anomalies about these victims?"

    The young man flushed for a moment but kept his professionalism, "Yes, sir. Everyone with these conditions has shown signs of abuse and torture..."

    Sex and torture were theponents of the ritual. Tycon didn''t enjoy the thought of it. The victims had experienced sexual and physical depravities and were ultimately forced to surrender their minds.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The ritual was moderately cruel-- enough that a person or a group in the Saltspray Keep has grown considerably more powerful.

    "Is there anything we can do?" Milo asked hopefully.

    Tycon hesitated, "I''m doubtful. I will discuss exploring the fort with Captain Lang. It will be our best hope at reversing this spell."

    ...

    Byte afternoon, Captain Lang Hai had arranged for everyone to collect around a raised tform at the impromptu war camp. Hai stood with Baron Tycon, surrounded by the Marines and sailors of the Beaurte fleet. The recently rescued civilians watched on.

    Hai leaned over to the green-haired youth, "Remind me to never let you draft a magical contract for me, you... snake."

    Tycon chuckled lightly, "I''ll take that as apliment, Captain."

    "Are all nobles as insidious and sneaky as you?" Hai inquired.

    "I''d say I''m only average."

    "Guh... Not the answer I was looking for," Hai crossed his arms.

    Tycon picked up the banner of the Sea Wolves and raised it high, rousing a round of cheers and apuse.

    Hai addressed the crowd in a loud voice...

    "We havepleted one of our goals on this sun... Guild Invictus!! OUR ALLIES! They have returned to us our kinsmen! But in doing so, Baron Tycon was forced topromise... Sir Tycon."

    Tycon stepped forward, "I have drafted a magical contract with the Saltspray Kings. In return for the safe return of the prisoners... I have promised that my guild was to depart on MY ships as soon as we were able."

    He raised his arms up, "And MY ships are banned from encroaching upon Saltspray territory for 3 years!!"

    A confused murmur rippled through the crowd until a single shameless girl gasped aloud in her realization.

    "But you don''t own any ships, Mister Tycon!!"

    Tycon pointed at the voice''s owner, Rico, "And that,dies and gentlemen, is the smartest girl out of the lot of you."

    The Sea Wolves began to roar withughter. Apparently, Rico was well known amongst the crews of the 3 ships. (Amidst the noise, Rico was proudly showing off that she was 4.)

    As Tycon stepped back, Lang Hai again stepped forward...

    "We have ANOTHER goal to fulfill! Hear me, Sea Wolves!!"

    The crowd roared back, echoing throughout the ind. "WE HEAR YOU!!"

    Hai was not convinced, "I said-- HEAR ME, SEA WOLVES!!"

    "WE HEEEAAR YOUU!!!!!" The Wolves began stomping their feet and nging their weapons together as they called out.

    "I want EACH and EVERY single pirate in that fort RIPPED!! TORN!! DEAD!! HEAR ME, SEA WOLVES!!"

    "WE HEAR YOU!!"

    "I want that entire gods-damned fort RAZED TO THE GROUND!! DO YOU HEAR ME, SEA WOLVES!?!"

    "WE HEAR YOU!!!"

    "RIP AND TEAR!!" Lang Hai screamed.

    "RIIIP AND TEAARRRR!!!" The crowd returned his fervor.

    Captain Lang Hai nodded to Tycon.

    Tycon unsheathed his sword and raised it to the sky. With a deep breath, he bellowed, "BLOOD AND THUNDERRR!!"

    "VICTORY AT SEEEEAAAAA!!!" The Sea Wolves unsheathed and raised their own weapons. Dozens among them howled their strange, haunting songs, adding to the cries.

    Tycon pointed his de towards the keep... and the Sea Wolves surged forth, a roaring, howling tide thirsting for blood.

 Chapter 146 All Shall Fall

    ?Wilhelm was tired. He''d spent a majority of the sun helping carry food supplies back to the fort. Folks needed to eat, after all.

    He was thankful, though. He''d had spent too damn long rotting in the Saltspray Keep with a fat lot of thieves and brigands. Without food, the fortress was a keg violently full of Orkish sugar, tottering closer and closer to the me.

    The Captain and his Lieutenants started executing rando''s. That''s when everything started falling apart. Mutiny, they said-- traitorousness or whatever. They tried to shift the me like it wasn''t their fault everything was going to shite.

    It really didn''t matter none, the reason why things had gone the way they had. Everyone was in the shite. Wilhelm knew it. His buddies knew it. Their leadership knew it. But instead of just surrenderin'' the prisoners, they figured that rope and a bit of sky dancing was the fix-all to the f*cked up game they were ying at.

    Finally, one of the Iron-Rankers had enough. Someone was bound to, eventually. A man from the Holy Country, a guy named Liber, was the front for themon opinion-- that the ''Kings'' of the Saltspray pirates no longer had the right to rule.

    Wilhelm was one of the men that strung old Captain Milov atop the walls. It was funny. It was his idea to pin the Captain''s and Lieutenants'' hats to their chests so the Sea Wolves knew exactly what went down. Didn''t want ''em to get the wrong idea.

    Scary bastards, the Sea Wolves were. Folks came back tellin'' stories of how they''d stabbed a Wolf through the heart and they''d get up and go on to kill another ten men. Smash a man''s skull right in. Tear his arm right off. Tooth and tentacle, that sort of scary children story shite.

    If Wilhelm heard a Sea Wolf beat a man to death with his own spine, Wilhelm would probably believe it. Hm. Maybe he''d spread the rumor himself. That''d earn a bloke buyin'' him a drink, easy.

    The worst thing about being a sailor was that all the stories were true. Ghost ships, leviathans, merfolk-- and quite obviously, Sea Werewolves.

    Apparently, one of the Sea Wolves'' Metal-Rankers can turn into a 20-fulm tall giant that was nothing but tentacles and ws. And another was a giant dire wolf with a sword in her mouth, cuttin'' across the battlefield like a bolt of lightning. And their leader was an undying god of battle carrying a g and walking around with 30 guys chanting ''Blood and Thunder'' like a gods-damned cult.

    Scary shite. Wilhelm was fine lugging around sacks of cornmeal and whatever, if it meant he wasn''t on the front lines.

    Their leader, some green-haired kid, signed a treaty with Liber. The Wolves got their ves back, Saltspray got a non-aggression pact for 3 years. Shite was worth it. Liber''s a smart fe to have gotten all that. He even made the noble-looking bastard read it aloud.

    Things were starting to look up... but contract or not, Wilhelm wanted to get the hells off of the ind. He had a feeling there''d be no good ending for the Saltspray Kings.

    ...

    Wilhelm and the rest of the crew had finally arrived at the docks. He gazed longingly at the ship he and his called home, the Bloodsail Bucket. The sun was soon to set and they were a meal and a night away from setting sail, away from the cursed ind.

    Over a dozen Sea Wolves stood on the docks, blocking the way.

    Sea god''s beard... Wilhelm wanted nothing to do with the freaks.

    A uniformed guy with nted-eyes walked up, a halberd resting over his shoulders. He had a face Wilhelm wanted to rearrange with his fist-- he must''ve been a Marine.

    The prick grinned toothily, "You boys tryin'' ta'' head out?"

    Wilhelm forced a smile, "Yeah, we are. The Cap''n says we ain''tin'' back, neither."

    He felt like a bitch, but what the hells could he do? The guy''s halberd de glowed orange with mana. You don''t screw with a guy like that.

    "Hahaha!" The Marineughed, "Yeahhh~ that''s a pretty good idea. Wouldn''t want anything bad happening to ya."

    The guy moved back and forth, allowing the sun to glint on his shiny badges. Yeah, even worse. The nt-eye was an officer of some sort. All officers were pricks. It was a golden rule. Wilhelm focused every onze of his willpower just to not punch him in the mouth.

    Wilhelm looked back at his fellow crewmen. He''d get no help from those worthless cunts-- they were just as terrified as he was... He was the only one with the stones to be a coward, "You uh... you fe''s mind if you let us through?"

    ? nt-eye had jammed his pinky into his ear, picking out the gunk, "You say somethin? I haven''t heard volume so sweet since my daughter was born-- and she was still louder than you."

    The Sea Wolf''s eyes shone gold, "Get. Back."

    Wilhelm subconsciously stepped back. Sea. God''s. Shitebox. He was a sliver away from breaking down into tears. He just wanted to head to the ship and sleep in his thrice-damned cot. He didn''t want to deal with a dozen sea monster cunts with weapons that were literally on fire.

    "Wh-what? Isn''t there a treaty? Could you... could you please just let us go?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Yeah. He was being a total bitch. Wilhelm didn''t care. He just wanted to live.

    "Not hard, boy. You either have the steel to go through us or..." The guy motioned around him, "You go for a swim."

    Seven hells. There wasn''t any space on the docks to walk around them. They''d have to jump into the drink to get around-- and then do some fancy maneuvering to climb back onto the dock.

    "Hey, fuck you, Sea Wolf," Lenny shouted in anger.

    Wilhelm turned to re at the thrice-damned idiot.

    ''What in the seven gods-damned hells do you think you''re doing?'' --that''s what Wilhelm wanted to say.

    But Lenny would not speak again. Dark blood ran down the sailor''s mouth and onto his neck. 6 whitish points were sticking out of his chest, with more of his blood spilling onto the rotten-wood docks.

    Both sides of Lenny''s chest exploded in a rending of flesh and rib bone. Disbelief still marked on the man''s face, he fell. Standing behind him was a set of armor, just 4-fulms tall. The iron helmet on the guy was made to look like a mocking bull shark, and he was just thered in Lenny''s blood and guts.

    A glowing pearl set into the shark helm glowed as it spoke-- a deep, echoey, inhuman voice. "Lieutenant Shao Ran, the first has fallen."

    Shao Ran clutched at his stomach, cackling at the blood and gore, "Lieutenant Eleven of Seven, ''fallen'' doesn''t do it justice! More like ''eviscerated''! ''Eliminated with extreme prejudice''! Hahaha!"

    "A kill has been secured without resistance. Your bitching is irrelevant," Eleven swiped the blood off of his des, sharpened coral.

    Wilhelm felt his dder immediately empty its contents. The Sea Wolves never intended to let them go, in the first ce... "But-- but the treaty?! There''s a TREATY!!!"

    "Many remain," the short metal man chided.

    Shao Ran grinned, wiping a tear ofughter, "All shall fall."

    The man spun his halberd''s haft around his neck.

    As Wilhelm flew through the air, thest thing he saw was his headless body still standing on the docks.

    ...

    Lang Hai ran ahead of his men, his body morphing and twisting. Hepleted his transformation within seconds, bounding forward as a 12-fulm tall hybrid Abyssal Sea Wolf.

    He set his ws into the gate and with bulging muscles, pried the barred wooden doors apart. He tore one of the doors off of its heavy hinges and mmed it down, the sheer weight of it rending an unexpecting pirate into two.

    What an unlucky fellow.

    No one was around to stop the Sea Wolves, much less Lang Hai. Everyone in the fortress seemed to be resting or had returned to their ships in the docks... The crews of the Thalia Grace and the Spear of Selena would ensure they would not sail away. First Lieutenant Eilean could take the wind out of their sails. Tycon had seen it.

    "Impressive, Captain," Tyconplimented. "Do you work out?"

    Ravenous and frothing Sea Wolves, wielding w and cuss, ran past him and Hai and into the keep. It was a stark contrast to the leisurely walking Baron Tycon.

    The hybrid-formed Lang Hai shrugged. "It''s more of a grip-strength thing. We practice by crushing banana tree wood," His voice was echoey and garbled as if phlegm was caught in this throat.

    "Hm. Effective."

    "Please." The Abyssal Sea Wolf motioned ostentatiously for Tycon to move forward, "Age before beauty."

    Tycon rolled his eyes as he walked into the fort. "You''re such a gentleman," he said sarcastically.

 Chapter 147 Praises In Blood

    ?Tycondrius hadn''t felt so safe on a battlefield, as he did following Rico and Lang Hai.

    Every Sea Wolf that Tycon had seen, regardless of Metal-Rank, were swift and efficient yers of men. The Captain/PFC pair proved especially terrific exemrs of the killing art.

    Private First ss Rico had returned to her sleek and beautiful, 4-legged form. Her powerful bite crunched into a man''s torso. Her razor-edged ws shed a Bronze-Rank''s face into ribbons, spilling the contents of his neck and ribs. She pranced with speed and grace, handily dodging every attack. When the pirates'' attacks struck true, her wounds quickly closed-- seemingly unaffected by the distance away from the beaches.

    Captain Lang Hai''s hulking bipedal form waded into the pirate crowds. After so many hours of hammer-smashing with his fist, Hai had begun to grab the running, screaming pirates. He smashed them like insects onto normally-unreachable parts of the walls or onto the ceiling.

    The carnage and savagery from Rico, Hai, and the other Sea Wolves asionally sshed bouts of blood and guts onto Tycon''s cloak and boots. It was messy but within expected parameters.

    Upon entering arger room, a squad of nine Saltspray pirates hurried to the front, gutting an unfortunate Sea Wolf who had scouted ahead. They wielded a variety of unique weapons, each of them wrapped in a blue mana-glow.

    Bronze-Rankers.

    Hai pointed to the pirates, crushed and nigh-liquefied remains still evident between his fingers, "More MEAT to y in the GRINDER!! Gahahaha!!"

    "BLOOD AND THUNDER!!" "VICTORY AT SEA!!" --The Sea Wolves howled, their collective voices shaking the walls.

    "Rawr, BITCHES!!" Rico yelled. The 4-legged Dire Sea Wolf bared her teeth in a smile. Her out-of-ce snaggletooth jutted out of her maw, further diminishing her majesty.

    ...Tycon was slightly curious as to why Rico''s voice was exactly the same between her original and human form.

    ? System, inquiry: What is the source of the mana-glow on those weapons? ?

    [System response: Tidespray Weapon. Second-Circle Transmutation. Enchanted weapons deal a small amount of frost damage.]

    Tycon spoke aloud, his eyes scanning the area, "Captain Lang, there''s a Mage backing them. Remain vignt."

    A thrumming of clicks emanated from Lang Hai''s massive chest, "Got it."

    A young blonde pirate pointed forward with his greatsword, "Chaaaaaaaarge!!"

    Hm. Perhaps that one was a squad leader.

    Lang Hai crouched, the muscles on his thighs and calves bulging with power. Before the group could charge, Hai had already leapt through the air. He smashed into their formation and grasped at the greatsword-wielder.

    Rico dashed in and with a quick sh, the leader''s right bicep was nearly rent in two.

    The pirate was useless, injured and entrapped by Hai''s fingers-- he would not be able to escape. In his desperation, he unsheathed a dagger with his offhand and sank it deep into Hai''s knuckle, "The Saltspray Kings shall rule FOREVER!!"

    It was an impressive feat, garnering hope in such a precarious situation. Tycon recalled an aphorism from the Holy Country.

    "Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment," he snapped his fingers.

    [Commander''s Strike activated.]

    With mana enhanced-speed, Lang Hai smashed a clenched fist against a second pirate who was wielding a cuss. Hai then stted the contents of his fist against the floor. The four tentacles on his back wrapped around three more pirates, while the ''teeth'' on the remaining tentacle dragged across a fourth pirate''s abdomen. The fourth did not survive his evisceration.

    Tycon nodded, "Hm. Very well."

    A pirate rolled out of the way of Rico''s quick and clumsy rush. In the kneeling position, the woman held a long curved de at the ready.

    "Youngdy," He turned to Rico and snapped his fingers.

    [Commander''s Strike activated.]

    "IT FEELS SO GOOD, MISTER!!" The Sea Wolf yelled. With a downpour of shes from the girl''s front ws, her kneeling opponent transformed from a human into strips of meat barely held together by bone.

    Tycon held his hand out, consciously halting a third snap. He would no longer cast Commander''s Strike on Rico. He would seal it as a Forbidden Skill. He dropped his hand back at his side to watch the ughter.

    An Iron-Rank Aquamancer attempted to attack with surprise from around a corner. They had summoned waternces simr in size and shape to Eilean''s, if a second or two slower. Tycon shouted the universally understood order, "Geek the mage!"

    The mage was quickly buried underneath a Wolf pile, interrupting his spell.

    Following Hai''s initial strike to the center of the Bronze-Rank squad, their teamwork was harshly disrupted. Without teamwork, they were unable to deal a substantial amount of damage and eventually sumbed to their hardy opponents.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Hai strode up to their single casualty, the Marine gutted by an elemental weapon, "Tch. We got so far without casualties and you just had to run ahead."

    "B-b-blood.. and thunder, Cap''n..." The dying woman gurgled.

    The hatchet-wielding girl''s voice had a familiar nasal tonality. Tycon tapped her side with his boot, "Get the hells up, Marine."

    [Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Blood and thunder. ?

    [Activating. Victory at sea.]

    Hai''s unblinking ck-sclera eyes glowered over Tycon, "Have some respect. Loretta can''t regenerate such a severe wound."

    Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Captain Lang, I advise you as one leader to another, to never underestimate your subordinates."

    The hatchet girl sat up, coughing blood, her wounds visibly regenerating, "Y-yeah. Requesting permission to not die, Cap''n?"

    Hai reared his short-necked head back tough, "GAHAHA! SO IT WAS TRUE!! You''re a healer, you scummy noble!!"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Empty night, Captain. If you were curious, you could have just asked."

    ...

    Tycon examined a thick set of double doors. They didn''t budge and they had no lock. A powered kick by Lang Hai was more than enough to solve the issue, breaking through the improvised barricade.

    After a hasty observation of the room beyond, Lang Hai ordered a single squad to remain on standby. The rest of the Sea Wolves were to join the other squads in sweeping the remainder of the fort.

    The room was dark and the floors were slick with blood.

    Most of the walls and floors of the fort were decorated in gore, courtesy of Tycon''s travelingpanions... but none had yet graced the room before them.

    Hai entered first, followed by Tycon and Rico.

    Tycon''s eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. Corpses were arranged throughout therger room in a geometrical pattern. Runic symbols in clumsily-drawn script were painted in blood on every essible surface.

    "Oooooh, preeettty," Rico admired the walls. "Cap''n, can I draw on the ship when we get back?"

    "Don''t even think about it, Rico," Hai growled.

    Rico froze where she stood, staring nkly... How troublesome. Was there some sort of magical Paralysis effect in the script on the walls?

    She blinked and resumed her movement, "Kayyyy."

    ...Oh. The fool girl was making an attempt at not-thinking.

    Tycon approached a paragraph of text on one of the walls, "I''m assuming you two have no issues seeing?"

    "Not as easily as in the depths, but we''ll manage," Hai snorted, his throat full of phlegm. "Is there a deeper meaning behind these dead pirates beyond saving us the trouble?"

    Hai examined a scrawled text closely. It appeared to be in draconic. Troubling...

    ? System, trante. ?

    [Tranting... Trantionplete.]

    A small disy of the passage appeared in Tycon''s mind.

    The purring Rico rubbed her blood-covered head against Tycon''s arm, "What does it say, Mister? Rico can''t read!"

    Tycon frowned, "Praise the snake god."

 Chapter 148 Blood Empowerment

    ?Tycon discovered that there was a snake god.

    Of course, there was a snake god. Why wouldn''t there be a snake god?

    When Tycon awoke in the world, he remembered himself-- but not the people he knew, nor the rtionships he had. If he didn''t have the letter from Aur in his pack, he may have just aimlessly wandered around the Kingdom for moons on end.

    He knew about sses and Skills and various martial knowledges. He knew of the realm and of its nations and cultural etiquette. He knew of religions.

    There were three religions in the realm. Thirteen gods made up the main pantheon. People prayed to the ''good'' gods for blessings and to the ''dark'' gods for mercies. Dominant in the Sleeping Country was a belief in self-reliance, developed enough to call a religion. The Holy Country crusaded for an ever-burning Eternal me, its will tranted by their High Oracle.

    No snake god.

    Tycon was missing arge portion of necessary knowledge concerning medusa culture. Though the System allowed him to meld into human society, it remained that ording to Dragan, Wroe, and Aur... he was a Prince of the Free Nation-- though one of many.

    He also recalled how Ananta the Endless addressed him during their chance meeting. She called him the Ivory Prince. He did not know whether it was a pet name or that was another of his titles.

    "Hey-- Tycon," Hai loomed over him, "Snap out of it. What''s it mean?"

    Tycon shook the unnecessary worries out of his head.

    "Inane ramblings praising some snake god," he said, sweeping back his green hair. He was sweating.

    "What''s a snake??" Rico asked, her tongue hanging out the side of her maw.

    "It''s like an eel, but it lives onnd and is very handsome," Tycon responded, gently scratching the side of the girl''s neck.

    She purred, "Rico... loooves snaaakes."

    "She means she loves eating them," Hai exined. "During two separate asions, we invested in a talking parrot and a Bronze-Rank chicken Wizard to trante for Lieutenant Eleven of Seven. Rico ate them both."

    "I... see," Tycon nodded warily.

    ? System, add a prompt if I''m about to transform into a snake within 30 yalms of Rico. ?

    [Understood.]

    Rico sat back on her haunches and howled, "Rest in peace, Kentucky!!"

    Hai flicked her on the snout, "You. Ate. Him!"

    "I''m sowwy, Cap''n!!"

    "You''re not allowed to be sorry!!" the massive werecreature bellowed.

    Tycon crossed his arms, "I''d like to continue to the boss room-- that is... if you two are quite done?"

    Lang Hai turned his head and hmphed.

    Rico bared her teeth in a slightly-threatening smile, "Ehehe."

    ...

    Tycondrius stepped over the wooden debris from the door Lang Hai had smashed in, shortly followed by Rico.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Sea Wolves... I was beginning to wonder when you would arrive."

    Liber stood up out of the copper tub, rivulets of the blood he was soaking in running down his naked body. His muscles were clear and defined, a body like a chiseled marble statue.

    "We were takin'' our sweet time-- you know, decking the halls with Saltspray," Lang Hai chuckled.

    "Hmph. Yes, it will prove difficult rebuilding the Saltspray Kings." Liber stepped forward, leaving bloody footprints that boiled and bubbled into the wooden floorboards, "Perhaps I''ll start a new crew... How does the Wolf Eaters sound to you?"

    Tycon did not like how casual the pirate was speaking. In his situation, the man should be a squealing, cowardly mess. The Sea Wolves were a veritable disaster for the man and his men... and he had nowhere to escape. Instead, he openly taunted both Hai and Rico without armor or a weapon.

    ? System, inquiry: Basic information. ?

    [System response: Liber, Iron-Rank Human Warlock]

    Tycon surmised that whatever the ritual circle had done in the previous room had greatly solidified the man''s confidence.

    Lang Hai clicked in annoyance, "Give it up, pirate. And maybe I''ll let you die without knowing what it''s like being torn apart by teeth."

    Liber ignored him, "Mister Tycon... How did you do it? We drafted a magical contract. Your guild can''t vite the terms of agreement."

    Tycon shrugged, "They didn''t."

    "Of course..." The naked man stroked his beard, reddened by blood, "Well yed... The reason you focused on the specificities of the terms was to take away attention from the fact that you never belonged to the Sea Wolves in the first ce."

    Tycon elbowed Lang Hai''s thigh beside him, "The pirate''s smart. Do something."

    Lang Hai clenched his fists and howled loud enough to shake the walls, "RICO!! BEAST MODE!!"

    Rico''s eyes glowed red with mana as she bounded forward. She tilted her head to the side and mped her jaws around Liber''s side, her teeth sinking into his chest and back. Liber winced in pain as he used his well-defined arms to prevent her from biting him in two.

    Grabbing onto Rico''s teeth, Liber kneed the girl in the side of her jaw-- something that only made Rico angrier. She lifted him up and smashed him against the side of the wall, then she whipped him around, knocking over the copper tub in the process.

    Almost suddenly, Rico seemed to lose her strength, copsing to her side onto the bloodied floor.

    "What the-- RICO!! What''s wrong?!?!" Hai yelled.

    "Cap''n..." Rico groaned.

    Liber stood up, revealing his body-- Rico''s teeth hadn''t pierced his skin. Thin lines of mana glowed on his body, reminiscent of scales.

    The pirate shrugged, "If that is all, Sea Wolves, I''m afraid it''s not enough."

    Tycon ced a hand on Hai''s arm, "We should withdraw. You''re at a disadvantage here with your size."

    Hai glowered down at Tycon, "I will NOT abandon Rico!!"

    Tycon grit his teeth. Hai''s course of action was unwise, but it was a conscious choice. Tycon could only advise in a way to be most advantageous, "Force him into the main room."

    "I will tear you LIMB FROM LIMB!!" Lang Hai bounded forward, reaching his massive, transformed arm towards Liber.

    Liber''s entire body lit up in a green me as he stopped Hai''s grab with a single hand, "Funny. I was going to tell you the same thing."

 Chapter 149 Reason To Live

    ?Tycondrius and the two Sea Wolves had arrived at a difficult predicament. The Saltspray King, Liber, had be empowered by a Dark Ritual.

    The power Liber was utilizing was clearly above his rank. The ritual had already beenpleted, so disrupting the ritual circle was not an option. As there was no flowing source of power, Tycon hypothesized that the ritual had a limited duration... or may have been chained to a location.

    Lang Hai wanted to charge forward like a gods-damned hero, drunk on getting his vengeance. Convincing him to withdraw would be antithetical to the boy''s nature.  If Tycon withdrew on his own, he risked losing Lang Hai and Rico both.

    The situation had gone to shite, bringing Tycon to a fact he already knew intimately.

    Warlocks were nothing but trouble.

    "Eldritch st," Liber flicked his hand, a green bolt of dark energies smashing into Lang Hai''s chest. Hai stumbled backward, but the tentacles on his back smashed into the walls and floor to steady him.

    "Bah! You shite-eating mage-bastard! Come over here and fight!!" Hai growled.

    "How does it feel, Mister Tycon? To watch yourpanions die while you can do nothing?" Liber raised an eyebrow.

    Tycon smiled, "Admittedly, not very good, Mister Liber. Perhaps you''d consider attacking me, as well?"

    There was an important use in the contract. If a Saltspray pirate was to attack Tycon or someone from his guild, the non-aggression agreement would be nulled-- at least for that instance.

    Liber lightly shook his head, "No, Mister Tycon. I don''t think I will."

    "Very well. I only offered out of politeness, after all."

    Tycon turned to Lang Hai, who continued to be struck by green bolts of energy. His scales withered and ked. Parts of his body were discolored by a gangrenous rot. The boy-Captain''s regenerative abilities were being taxed heavily.

    "GrrrreEEAAAGHH!!" Hai picked up a nearby table and hurled it at the warlock.

    Liber wordlessly held up his hand, a spherical green mana shield surrounding him. Upon contact, the table''s movement abruptly halted, and it fell harmlessly to the ground.

    "If it makes you feel any better, dear Captain, I like your enthusiasm," Tycon offered.

    Hai snarled, his viscous saliva dripping from his maw, "When we get done here, I''m going to skin you alive, you stupid--"

    "Captain," Tycon interrupted.

    "WHAAAAAT?!" Hai was incensed.

    "Geek the mage, if you would be so kind."

    "THAT''S WHAT I WAS--"

    [Lamb to the ughter activated. Support ability. Allies within range arepelled to simultaneously charge the user''s chosen target.]

    Tycon saw the exact moment Hai''s body began feeling the effects of Tycon''s Skill. His fins raised up, his ck-sclera eyes widened, and the muscles on his thighs and calves began to tremble.

    "Oh." Hai closed his mouth, "Got it."

    Lang Hai rushed towards Liber, still being pelted by Eldritch sts-- but as long as he was affected by Tycon''spulsion, the spells'' stopping-power was nonexistent.

    Hai smashed an elbow into Liber''s face, knocking him back into a wall. He picked up the table and began to smash it repeatedly against the warlock''s staggered form.

    He really wanted to hit Liber with that table.

    Tycon sighed. It was an inefficient use of mana to utilize his Lamb to the ughter Skill with only a single ally, but Hai needed to get within range of Liber to threaten him.

    "Central hall, Captain!!" Tycon called out as he began walking, "I will see to Rico."

    "BESTIAL LATCH!!" Hai grabbed onto the Warlock. Bluish mana sheathed his fist and he crushed harder, causing Liber to yelp in pain.

    Hai wound up his arm and threw Liber into the central hall, bounding out of the room after him.

    ...

    Tycon knelt down beside the fallen Rico. The horse-sized Sea Wolf was lying on her side, looking ten shades of pathetic. The poor girl had vomited and even urinated on the floor. She whimpered andpped at Tycon''s face.

    He wished she hadn''t. The smell was atrocious.

    ? System, analysis: Rico''s negative status effect. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    [Analyzing...]

    "Rico, how are you feeling?"

    "I... I don''t feel so good, Mister Tycon," Rico whined, pain apparent in her voice.

    [Analysisplete. Poison. Third-Circle Necromancy. Greatly reduces target''s life force.]

    Rico could have better shrugged off a poison effect from an Iron-Ranker... But Liber cast at this spell at a higher level than his own. This and the barrier he had were likely the reasons why Liber was so confident.

    Tycon wasn''t a proper healer, but his Skill, Desire Trigger, could help Rico resist the spell''s effect. However, it would require the girl''s willpower... But judging by the girl''s hyperactivity and the fact that she had the tendency to cry and urinate when she went for too long without food, (he had seen it,) Rico needed a push.

    Tycon held up the girl''s snout, "Rico... Listen to me."

    "Am I gonna diiiiie?" Pools of tears had collected at the corner of Rico''s eyes.

    "No. Shut up for a moment, youngdy," Tycon scolded.

    "Kayyyyy."

    Lang Hai always treated Rico as a nuisance... but Tycon had only ever seen obedience from her. Rico was a good girl.

    "Rico, tell me something you like very much."

    "I... I like you, Mister Tycon," Rico nuzzled her snout into Tycon''s chest.

    "Rejected," Tycon lightly bopped her nose, "Something else."

    "I like... eating... with my friends," Rico managed to puff out her cheeks, an impressive feat considering her form.

    "Is that what you like most, youngdy?" Tycon scratched under the girl''s chin.

    "I wanna... be with Captain forever," Rico whimpered in a tiny voice.

    There it was. Tycon could work with that.

    "After this, then. We''ll all have a big meal. We''ll have everyone we can get... and I''ll make sure that Captain Lang Hai is there."

    Rico''s body started vibrating with how fast her tail was wagging, "But... but... Cap''n doesn''t eat with everyone else. He says it''s not something officers do."

    Tycon smiled gently, "Which is why it''s going to be special... just for you, youngdy."

    The Sea Wolf gasped, "Just for Rico?"

    "That''s right. So you have to get better, okay? You have to stay strong."

    [Desire Trigger conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    Rico blinked the tears out of herrge eyes, "It really hurts, Mister Tycon..."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. It sounded like the girl wasn''t finished speaking, "But?"

    "But it... hurts more thinking that a different Sea Wolf might eat with the Captain, instead of with me."

    Ah. Very well. So Lang Hai was ignoring the girl''s feelings. Tycon was going to beat the shite out of the boy after this.

    ? Activate the ability. ?

    [Desire Trigger activated. Support ability. Targeted ally ispelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target''s ability to resist detrimental effects.]

    Tycon unstoppered a borrowed waterskin and poured it into his hands-- he''d filled it with seawater just before, "Drink."

    Rico obedientlypped up the water.

    "Rest for awhile, youngdy. I''ll go help your Captain with that rude fellow," Tycon stood up.

    "O... okay, Mister. Come back soon."

 Chapter 150 Doing His Part

    ?Lang Hai swatted the Warlock away, but the green sphere surrounding Liber greatly reduced the impact. Sustainingbat in his dire hybrid form increased the drain on his stamina. And much more of it was being taxed by regenerating injuries from being hit by every gods-damned Eldritch st the Warlock threw.

    "I had heard tales of the strength of the Sea Wolf Marines," Liber mocked. "Frankly, I am not impressed."

    "Gehehe..." Hai''s barrel-chest thrummed as heughed. The man''s taunts meant nothing, "Soon, the shell will break. And then I''ll tear you apart and chew on your insides."

    Liber frowned, seeing that a crack had developed in his mana shield. He raised his arms at his sides, mana collecting in green mes at his palms, "Glory to the SNAKE GOD!!"

    Hai ced his arms in a cross to guard his chest and face against the eldritch barrage. He couldn''t remember a time where brute strength hadn''t been able to solve his problems inbat... not since he raised hisprehension of the Sea Wolf Body Art to Major Completion.

    He snarled in frustration-- he needed Rico to be okay. The three of them could escape... Then Hai would bring all 3 of his working cannons and the tens of working rifles he had and st the Warlock to oblivion. He''d bring Eilean too! That shield might be able to stop a punch, but it probably wouldn''t stop a hundred Water Lances!

    What was that green-haired nerd doing? Why was he taking so long?

    Hai desperately wanted to believe that Tycon could save Rico. She was too strong to just die-- even though Liber''s spell was really weird. If she did die... Hai would ensure Liber would suffer far worse fates than death.

    He felt the rage growing, his blood pumping faster. He''d thought he was fresh out of adrenaline, but he felt his energy returning and his fear and worries melting away.

    "I''ll TWIST and TEAR apart your limbs from your body!!

    "I''ll CRACK your bones and DRINK the marrow!!

    "I''ll BEAT you to death with your OWN GODS-DAMNED SPINE!!

    "HOW DARE YOU HURT RICO!!"

    Hai dropped his guard and began barreling through the spell sts. Each spell burst against his scales, numbing and burning. He could feel the dark energies twist and bore into his flesh, eating away at him.

    The pain was immense. And it remained.

    He sustained more injuries on his body.

    All of it hurt. Maybe even his soul was burning away.

    He had taken so much damage and his injuries were so severe that his healing factor could not keep up.

    But it did not matter.

    "Fall, damn you! FALL!!" Liber yelled, his voice frantic.

    "RISING STORMMMMM!!!" The air hummed around Hai as his five-fingered death w met the resistance of Liber''s mana ward. With a crash of thunder, a thick st of air burst outwards, crumbling the stone of the surrounding walls and forming a web of cracks on Liber''s mana shield.

    "Not enough, Sea Wolf!" Liber smirked. A thin trail of blood ran fresh down the side of his lips.

    "Oh, I''m just getting started," Hai promised. "Sea Wolf Sect: THOUSAND WAVE CRASH!!"

    Hai''s massive arms blurred as he activated the Martialist Skill, smashing dozens and hundreds of punches against Liber''s shield. The bearded man held up both arms, the life in his face visibly draining away as he desperately channeled mana into his barrier.

    Hai gasped for breath, ignoring the pain in his lungs and the broken bones in his fists, "Blood. And. Thunder."

    He kneeled down to steady himself and shut his eyes to concentrate his mana. The teethed tentacles on his back raked downward, shattering Liber''s shield. The green sphere burst outward, covering the entire hall in shattered mana shards, sizzling and melting onto the pockmarked wooden floor.

    "...How frightening." Liber''s voice remained calm, "I must admit, I am a little impressed."

    Hai shot his eyes open enough to wince in pain. A painful shock shot through both of his arms, followed shortly by the cool feeling of numbness.

    Hai gargled as he fell to his knees. Strength was quickly leaving his body, "What... have you done?"

    Looking down, he saw that from the elbow-down, Liber''s arms had lengthened and ended with the heads of snakes. The transformed appendages bit down into Hai''s forearms and were pumping him full of venom.

    This was the ability that Liber used to kill Rico...

    "You... mage... bastard!!" Hatred seethed in Hai''s ck-sclera eyes, "I will be avenged. This. Means. Nothing."

    Hai''s body began to reduce in size, his freakish muscles returning to that once more of a 14-year old boy.

    "Ahahaha! What''s this?!" Liber cackled, his eyes glowing red with madness. "A mere child!? What use is your strength now? You kneel before the might of the--"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Liber''s speech was interrupted by the whirring of a sword hurtling towards him.

    Blood spurted through the air. Liber pulled his arms back.

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "My uracy suffers, throwing from that distance."

    Liber cradled the bleeding stump of his left forearm, grinning, "You''ve missed, Mister Tycon."

    ...

    Tycon walked forward. Hai was in a sorry state, even reduced to his normal form. It appeared the boy-Captain had been poisoned, as well.

    ? System, analysis: Lang Hai''s condition. ?

    [Analyzing... Analysisplete. Weakness Bite. Second-Circle Necromancy. Greatly reduces target''s strength.]

    Tycon cursed inwardly. This encounter had be far more difficult.

    He shrugged, feigning nonchnce, "Indeed I did. I was trying to end that poor fool beside you."

    "Sod off, old man," Hai muttered.

    "You''re not dead yet, Sea Pup. Or are you trying to tell me that''s the best you can do?"

    As weakened as Hai was, Tycon needed the Sea Wolf back in the fight.

    [Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Activate. ?

    "The poison has weakened me, Tycon. And my injuries are severe," Hai spat. "But I''ve broken his shields. I''ve done my part."

    [Inspirational Surge has failed.]

    Liber stroked his blood-stained beard,  "I''m curious to how you''ve attacked me without suffering a magical bacsh. Was the magical contract a fake, Mister Tycon?"

    "I took a ssh from your mana ward explosion, sir. You should be more careful."

    Tycon charged forward but he had 10 yalms of distance to cross to get to the Warlock.

    Liber''s right arm glowed with mana as several green-glowing eldritch orbs hovered behind him, "Well yed. But surely you must realize the contract was the only thing that was protecting you."

    ? Seven gods-damned hells! Activate Tumble! ?

    [Activating.]

    Tycon ran on the side of a crumbled wall, flipping in mid-air, barely dodging the face-melting barrage of spells. He smashed his boot into Liber''s chest. Then, he hopped up and kicked him with a roundhouse to the face, staggering the man back.

    Tycon red at the kneeling Hai beside him, "You get the hells up right now, you worthless piece of garbage. Since when has a Captain-- no, since when has a Marine been allowed to give up?"

    [Inspir--]

    ? Activate, gods damn you!! ?

    "I''m telling you I can''t move my body!! I just can''t!!" Hai''s body trembled. It was obvious to Tycon he was trying-- but it wasn''t nearly enough.

    [Inspirational Surge has failed.]

    Tycon snorted and he spat onto Lang Hai''s face.

    Hai''s eyes shot open like he couldn''t believe it, "What... the fuck, you sick--"

    "You''re no longer worthy of my respect." Tycon shoved the boy to the floor with his boot, "Fine!! I''ll finish this fight my gods-damned self. And when I''m done, I''ll tell Rico that you died A SNIVELING COWARD!!"

 Chapter 151 Goodwill For Humankind

    ?"Your casting efficiency is superb, sir. Is that the result of your ritual?"

    Tyconplimented Liber as he cut down a green bolt of eldritch energy. He dashed forward, aiming a round kick at the Warlock''s thigh.

    "Thank you, but I must apologize," Liber tilted his body and backstepped to dodge the swipe.

    The Warlock sent a green-med front kick at Tycon''s chest. Tycon was forced to block with the t of his de, staggering backward from the force.

    Liber smiled, "Myprehension of the Eldritch st spell is well into Major Completion. I can go on for bells, at the least-- and I doubt you can continually dodge and deflect for even 5 more minutes."

    Tycon nodded, "That is unfortunate to hear."

    "Do continue to struggle, sir," Liber pointed the bloodied stump of his left arm forward. Abruptly his arm lengthened and its end transformed into a snake-head, snapping at Tycon.

    Tycon smacked the artificial snake in the top of its skull with his sword pommel, "A few of the prisoners you released were brain-addled and unresponsive. I suppose that was your doing?"

    "It was!" The Warlock pulled back his arm, whipping his snake-appendage across Tycon''s face, "I offered the Snake God their minds and bodies."

    Tycon rubbed his cheek. It would bruiseter, "The process seems overlyborious for only so much power."

    He reared his de back and shed in a full arc. As Liber dodged, Tycon drew his crossbow.

    CHNK!! The crossbow released a bolt that struck the warlock in the stomach.

    "Augh!!" Liber winced in pain, "Hm... Ohhh? Poison~?"

    The poisoned bolt didn''t seem to affect the man. Tycon was not surprised, "Blessing from the snake god, I''m assuming? Immunity?"

    Liber nodded as he pulled out the bolt. A superficial amount of blood dripped from the shallow injury, "Also correct. Infernal Rebuke."

    Tycon''s skin felt hot as he leapt back. Green mes glowed around him, burning his skin, "Arrrrghh!! Fffff*ck!!! O..."

    Tycon tossed away his crossbow, grabbed the end of his cloak, and swept it in front of him. Surging his mana outward, the mes disappeared as quickly as they came.

    "Tsk tsk," Liber pointed his sword with a limp wrist, "For the record, I thoroughly enjoy using the bodies of young women as my personal ythings. I believe every hot-blooded man is the same."

    Tycon shrugged as he unstoppered and drank a potion. It was hisst, "I''m a firm believer in proper, respectful courtship between two partners. Shadowfang Strike."

    Liber narrowed his eyes as Tycon stepped backward and melded into the deeper darkness, "Your tricks will not help you, Mister Tycon."

    The pirate turned to the side and shed at the shadows, deflecting Tycon''s sword. His eyes widened, realizing the force was too light-- it was a feint! Tycon put his weight into the downstroke, forcing Liber to block upwards.

    The Shatterspike longsword neatly cut through the dark iron de, opening a verticalceration down the Warlock''s chest, "Augh!! You gods-damned rat!"

    Tycon thrust his longsword at the Warlock''s throat, but Liber disappeared in a gout of mes, reappearing 5 yalms back. Embers of the green glow were scattered around the hallway, dimly lighting the room.

    Tycon swiped his sword with a flourish, cleaning it of blood, "Tricks are quite useful for changing the status quo, Mister Liber. You should not underestimate them."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Warlock tossed away his broken sword and drew a line with his fingers on the gash, closing the wound, "Well yed, then... Though I must say that you''d have won by now, had you used that Skill earlier."

    The two observed each other at a distance, weary from battle. They both tacitly agreed to use thebat lull to regain their stamina.

    Tycon took a deep breath, "I had only developed the Skill recently. It''s quite unpolished."

    "Then your mastery of swordsmanship and shadow maniption is respectable." Liber politely bowed, revealing a head drenched with sweat, "When I offer your life to the Snake God, I will undoubtedly receive a great boon."

    "Thank you," Tycon retrieved his crossbow and loaded a new bolt, "But really? Snake god? Have you listened to your own drivel?"

    Liber tilted his head upward, his clenched fist smoldering in mana, "Worship of the Snake God is a core belief of mine, Mister Tycon. I have years of theological debate and discussion on the matter."

    "Ah, I had spoken carelessly. Forgive my ignorance," Tycon returned the bow. It was unfair of him to allow his prejudices to interfere with his professionalism. "Theological differences aside, understand that I wish to kill you due to your allegiances and because I find your face to be tiresome."

    The Warlock grimaced as he twisted his beard with his fingers, "I quite pride myself in my appearance, sir."

    "Oh, I''m certain you''re very handsome. It makes me want to drag your face against the broken floorboards."

    "Have we devolved to personal insults, Mister Tycon?"

    "Oh, no, Mister Liber." Tycon feigned offense, "If I knew of your mother''s location, I would gut her as an act of goodwill for humankind."

    The Warlock narrowed his eyes, raising his palm towards the ceiling, "I''ve had quite enough of you, whelp. Nypacian Serpents!!"

    A misty haze surrounded Tycon as dozens of mana-formed snakes tore out andtched their fangs to his body. Tycon winced as he pulled a snake off, crushing it into mana-dust, "Humorous. I''d say the same thing to your mother if she were to spread her legs."

    Liber raised an eyebrow, "The Nypacian serpents have no effect? Mister Tycon-- are you, perhaps, blessed by the Snake God as well?"

    "Astute observation," Tycon finished plucking the snakes from his body. Other than the shock of their bites, the illusory snakes hadn''t caused him injury... "But I haven''t the slightest."

    "No matter," The Warlock rapidly gestured a series of seals with his one hand, "I''ll end you now and be on my way."

    "A familiar quote from your father to your mother, I believe."

    Liber began transforming his surrounding mana to a noxious cloud, roiling and violent, "(Snake God, hear my will. Grant thy loyal servant the mes of Witchfire!! The heretic before me, I offer his soul to you!!)"

    Tycon waved his hand to activate his spatial ring. A barrel reaching up to his chest appeared in front of him.

    Liber cackled, mad with power, "Gwahaha!! Are you trying to hide behind a paltry barrel?! You underestimate my power!!"

    "Well, yes. I had guessed as much."

    Tycon grasped his longsword with both hands, channeling what pitiful mana reserves he had remaining... "Iron... Dragon... REND!!"

    With a surge of mana, Tycon shed the de upward. The wooden floorboards split apart, rending a deep crevasse in the ground. Splinters, dust, and debris clouded the air.

 Chapter 152 Respect

    ?Faced with Tycon''s Iron Dragon Rend, Liber had canceled his spell, leaping back and shielding his eyes.

    As the dust cleared, he nced down to see that he stood in the dirt a few fulms lower, uncovered by the floorboards.

    "...An impressive attack, Mister Tycon."

    Tycon rolled his right shoulder. It ached terribly, "I dislike it. It exerts far too much mana and stamina for its effect."

    "As for its effectiveness... Does it merely split the earth?" Liber ran his hand about his body, "I seem have gained no new injuries... unless your intent was to stick me with a few slivers of wood."

    Tycon raised his palms in a shrug, "It''s unfortunate. Had you not retreated, you''d have been well-battered by rocks and a few very nasty splinters."

    "It *was* quite terrifying." Liber clenched his fist, reigniting it with the roiling me of Witchfire, "Well, I still have the mana to continue. And you, sir?"

    Tycon shook his head, "My mana reserves are nigh depleted."

    Liber nodded, "I see. You''ve done well. Had I not been recently empowered by the Snake God''s Blood Cleansing ritual, I would have been defeated soundly."

    "Ah, yes, an excellent tactic on your part, sir."

    "I know this is rude of me, but I have quite enjoyed our duel. Would you entertain the idea of joining forces, Mister Tycon?"

    "...No, Mister Liber." Tycon shook his head lightly, "Though I too, have enjoyed myself-- our goals and ideals greatly differ."

    "Well spoken, sir-- very well spoken. Then, I shall not insult you by offering mercy."

    Tycon chuckled derisively, "I do wish you would."

    Liber held his palm forward, focusing his mana into a concentrated sphere aimed at Tycon''s chest, "Speak your final words, nonbeliever."

    Tycon tried his best to hide a knowing grin, "Blood and thunder."

    ...

    [A few moments earlier]

    Captain Lang Hai lied on the floor, drifting in and out of consciousness.

    Stupid noble. Why did he say that?

    What about Rico?

    Rico was dying... Had Tycon... had he fixed her?

    Why was the fight so gods-daaaaamned nooooisy?

    Were they talking? Scummy noble. All they do is talk...

    Hai wasn''t a coward... Tycon was a bastard for daring to call him that.

    Marines don''t surrender-- but what could he do without strength? And against a magic caster clearly above his level?

    He did good, though. He broke that Liber guy''s shield. The mage was pretty strong.

    Tycon looked pretty weak, but the prick was handy with the sword.

    Oh, wait. He threw it at the mage. Hah. Idiot.

    Hai tried to lift himself up-- just so he could mock the green-haired nerd.

    Oh, that''s right. He was poisoned and all his strength had left him.

    What did he mean, though? Why did he say that he''d tell Rico?

    ...And why did the thought royally piss him off?

    He wasn''t a coward. Rico would never believe him, anyroad.

    The stupid girl looked at him like he was a god.

    She stuck around him, no matter what. She was super annoying about it, too.

    She showed him things like starfish and shiny shells and how beer made her drunk.

    Hai had to teach her how to wear clothes, so she wouldn''t go around the ship naked. He taught her how to count. He taught her that it wasn''t okay to kiss everyone she liked.

    She''d never believe Tycon if the noble said Hai was a coward.

    Aw, shite. What was he doing, lying on the deck?

    He couldn''t help it, so far away from the waters... His healing factor was barely keeping him alive, so it wasn''t a surprise he couldn''t stand.

    Sea god''s socks, he just wanted to die in peace, but his thrice-damned healing factor wouldn''t let him.

    Screw it. Hai would just get up and stop dying like a gods-damned coward.

    Hai tried to push himself off of the floor-- it was no use.

    He wasn''t a coward! He scratched the floorboards, trying to force his muscles to move. Mind over body! Heart over mind! Rage!! Over!! Logic!!<novelnext></novelnext>

    Aw shite. Hai lost a fingernail. It hurt.

    He wasn''t a coward. He couldn''t give up. Marines don''t give up. Sea Wolves don''t give up.

    The crash of a barrelnded nearby him, spilling seawater onto the deck and drenching Hai.

    Yes. Yesssss. What idiot left out a barrel of sea water?

    Haipped up the water like it was piss from the gods.

    Shite. Really? Hai got a splinter in his tongue. Bweughh~

    Was this the actions of a coward? Slurping up seawater off of the floorboards?

    His strength was returning-- but slowly. Too slow.

    Sea god''s spear! It was too slow!

    He needed to get up! He needed to punch that dickweed, Tycon in the throat.

    "Blood and thunder."

    Hai''s eyes widened, the Sea Wolf motto echoing in his mind.

    ...

    Tycon had remained too long, hoping that he could defeat the weakened Liber with pure martial skill. He should have withdrawn as soon as Rico dropped.

    [Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    Tycon smirked. This was his wager. If it failed, he would die.

    ? Do it. ?

    [Activating...]

    Liber closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "Blood and thunder, indeed. Unfortunately, sir, you will find no--"

    A dark blue blur of a ravaged Marine coat rushed past.

    The teenage form of Captain Lang Hai gripped Liber''s throat with both hands, "FUCK YOU, WIZARD!! I WILL MAKE YOU EXPLODE!!"

    Empty night. What kind of battlecry was that?

    Hai ran forward, smashing Liber against a wall. Holding him down with his right, he smashed his fist into Liber''s ribs. "BLOOD!!"

    "AND!!" Again he punched. Liber spat out blood.

    "THUNDER!!" And again he struck, Liber''s eyes rolling back in his head.

    Hai smashed his forehead into the man''s face and kneed him in the groin, "VICTORY!! AT SEA!!"

    He bit Liber with his very human teeth.

    Tycon walked over, grimacing, "You had some ten minutes to think about what you''d say, and all you managed was ''I will make you explode?''"

    Lang Hai didn''t appear to have heard him.

    Hai took him to the ground and brought down his elbow on the Warlock''s eye sockets.

    He broke all of Liber''s fingers and twisted his right forearmpletely around.

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Well, would you mind dragging his face against the floorboards?"

    "FUCK YOU TOO!!" Hai screamed, spraying saliva.

    Tycon snapped his fingers, "Right, then."

    Though the boy was indignant about it, he flipped the Warlock onto his face and grabbed the back of his head. He dragged the body across the floor, leaving a cruel streak of blood.

    Several momentster, Hai stood up covered in blood, his breathingbored. Liber''s skull had been crushed, the pink of brain matter spilled onto dirt-- as if his head had exploded.

    He turned to Tycon looking up. He opened his mouth in a scowl to speak, but quietly closed it, crossing his arms.

    Tycon nodded, "You did well, young man."

    Lang Hai furrowed his brows, his entire body still trembling, "Is... Rico okay?"

    Tycon nced back into the other room. Rico was curled up into herself, sleeping. She nuzzled her snout into her haunches, "She''ll be fine."

    Hai grimaced and stared at the broken floorboards. With a sigh, it appeared his fervor had left him... "Sir Tycon..."

    "What is it, young Captain?"

    "What... do I have to do to earn back your respect?"

    Tycon chuckled as he ced his hand on Hai''s shoulder, "I see no cowards here, Lang Hai."

 Chapter 153 Silver Scales

    ?After Lang Hai rested for a while (and healed his broken arm,) he lifted up Rico''s four-legged form onto his shoulders. It looked absurd, the teenage boy carrying a tentacled Sea Wolf the size of a horse.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Has your strength returned, Captain?"

    "Eh, not all the way," Hai admitted. "But I can at least do this much."

    Tycon found it strange. ording to Lang Hai''s personality, he''d expected him to rudely awaken the youngdy. Tycon surmised that the battle had taken an emotional toll.

    "I promised the youngdy that we''d eat a celebratory meal if she survived."

    Hai rolled his eyes, "Then she tricked you. All she wants to do is eat. We can''t afford to feed Rico 3 whole meals every sun!"

    Tycon smiled, "You will eat alongside her."

    "Ugh. No thanks." Hai frowned, "She steals food from my te, sings and dances, and is just a general annoyance-- besides, it''s unprofessional for officers to eat with the crew."

    "She has specifically requested it."

    Hai hesitated... "I suppose one meal couldn''t hurt."

    He nced at the double-doors, adjusting the sleeping Rico snugly against the back of his neck, "I''m gonna get this fatty back to Eilean and inform the men of our victory."

    The sleeping Rico bit Lang Hai''s head, causing him to yelp in surprise.

    Tycon chuckled amusedly, "Very well. I will remain for a short while longer."

    Hai pried off Rico''s jaws before ring at Tycon, "You''re going to investigate the weird snake cult stuff? Tch. You nobles and your weird hobbies."

    Tycon grimaced but could not refute the boy.

    ...

    ? The central room was the location of the cer door. Tycon had discovered it when he had initially infiltrated the keep, and with some patience, confirmed that it held the would-be ves from Beaurte.

    Tycon sought more knowledge about the snake god. Perhaps he could discover clues about his past. Some of the floorboards had already been broken through from his Iron Dragon Rend, revealing the spacious basement below.

    He utched the trapdoor, examining thedder that led down.

    ? System, Activate Small Snake Form. ?

    [Activating.]

    Tycon hadn''t sensed any enemies below, but the stealth effect of his snake form would provide an addedyer of caution. He silently slithered down thedder.

    The taste of old blood and unwashed prisoners still hung in the air.

    Metal bars made a third of the room into a prison. Inside, a few rotting corpses still remained, stripped naked and piled in a far corner. Outside, were well-used torture racks and tables, a constant reminder to the imprisoned.

    Prisoners could pray to their gods for sweet release. Or they would endure horrors if their gods remained silent.

    The burning floorboards above, once enveloped in sickly green mes, had calmed into bits of orange embers-- the light of which was enough for Tycon to see the color in the darkness. Besides the drab browns of human waste, rusted iron bars, and unvarnished wooden torture equipment... he spotted a sliver of silver. It hid beneath arge, loose rock in the corner.

    ? System, inquiry: Target status? ?

    [Unranked Snake]

    ...Well, that was certainly nothing to be afraid of. The System returned a target value, so the young snake was not a corpse-- unlike most everything else in the Saltspray keep.

    He decided to approach in a less threatening form.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? System, Cancel Snake-Form. ?

    [Small Snake Form Cancelled. Returning to Human-Form.]

    Tycon carefully knelt a few steps away. He cleared his throat began to hiss in Parseltongue...

    "(Wouldst thou reveal thyself? I am no threat.)"

    Hesitantly the silver snake revealed herself. She was a thin snake, not even a fulm in length, with a feminine tapered tail, "(Who... might thou be, Lord? Thou who can disguise himself as a man?)"

    Her voice was young, a child. This was a foul ce for one so young to live. On a soon-to-be deserted ind, she would soon run out of prey.

    Younger snakes tended to be deadlier than others in their brood as they could not well control the amount of venom they could inject. Tycon had easily resisted a Second-Circle poison spell less than a bell earlier. Even if the youngdy had bit him by mistake, Tycon was confident he would suffer no ill effects.

    "My name is Tycondrius--"

    The snake reared back, hissing in panic, "(The Ivory Prince! Lord, thou must forgive Sasarame for her rudeness!!)"

    Tycon smiled gently as the System''s disy changed the silver snake''s name to Sasarame. He reached an open palm to the ground, "Come with me, (I will take thee from this ce.)"

    Sasarame hesitated, "(Can... she finally return home?)"

    "Perhaps, youngdy. But until then, you can be my travelingpanion."

    The young snake shuddered lightly but did not approach.

    "(...She hesitates. Sasarame is afraid.)"

    Tycon nodded in encouragement, "(I will protect thee, beautiful child.)"

    Sasarame lowered her body, slowly slithering backward.

    "(Nay, Ivory Prince... Sasarame is afraid of thee.)"

    Tycon closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, "I too, am afraid, youngdy. I fear the uncertain dawn. I fear for my friends. I fear myself and the dark secrets that I know and know not... But fear will not stop me from doing what I believe is right.

    "(On my name as the Ivory Prince, on my name as Leader of Sol Invictus, on my name as yer of Dragons... I swear to protect thee, Sasarame.)"

    Finally, Sasarame slithered closer, "(Do... do dragons truly exist?)"

    "They do not," Tycon smirked. "I have killed a veryrge lizard, though. Will that be enough, (beautiful child?)"

    She stared at Tycon''s outstretched hand, "(Sasarame is not a beautiful child... She is a cursed child. The Ivory Prince knows naught of her...)"

    "(No child deserves to live in fear. If thou art truly cursed, I shalt enve the angels of the 11 heavens andmand the denizens of the 7 hells...)

    Tycon inwardly admitted that there were plenty of cheaper and less troublesome options he would try before waging war against an outer ne. While pricey, Tycon would look into hiring a Cleric or Cursemancer.

    "(Then... Sasarame will trust thee...)" The youngdy softly hissed.

    It had been difficult to convince Sasarame, but her distrust was not without good reason. Whatever depravities she''d witnessed in these chambers were certain to taint her worldview.

    Slowly, the young snake slithered to Tycon''s hand. She flicked her tongue against his fingers... and his eyes began to grow heavy.

    He felt his consciousness quickly fading. He struggled to stand, to cry out... but his vision grew dark.

 Chapter 154 Snake God

    ?Tycon opened the blue wooden shutters and walked onto the balcony overlooking the rocky bay. He breathed in the ocean air, cing his hands on the ornate metal railings.

    "I wonder where my cute sister has gone..." he mused aloud.

    Tycon smirked as he heard faint giggling noises behind him. Oh, what a foolish little girl.

    "Well, if she''s gone..." Tycon sighed, overly dramatic, "I''m gonna go raid her panty drawer!"

    "You wouldn''t!!" An olive-skinned girl screamed, revealing her hiding spot on the roof.

    Tycon hopped up and snatched the girl''s ankle, pulling her down and loosening some tiles. Keeping hold with both hands, he dangled the girl over the balcony.

    "Big brother! Let me go!!" the girl screamed.

    Her short dress hung upside-down and her undergarments were on disy for the world to see. As she struggled, her hair wriggled in distress to match her emotions.

    "Very poor choice of words, Cass!" Tyconughed, "The more you move, the looser my grip gets!"

    "Stars and stones! I''m sorry! Just pull me uuuuuup!!" Cass yelped, trying her best to keep still.

    Tycon pulled the girl up, straining a bit to do so, "By the heavens, you''re heavy!"

    "That-- you''re not supposed to say something like that to a girl!! You''re supposed to be a gentleman!!"

    Cass swept back the green streak in her otherwise all-ck hair. Tycon was always amused how the green shade of it urately matched his own. She stood as high as his chest, but she was still young. In a few short years, she would surpass him both in height and in--- ugh...

    "Psh N--ahhh.... Rrghhh..."

    Tycon snarled in agony, taking a knee and holding both hands against his pounding head.

    "NO!! I will not stand idly while being forced to watch!! I am in control of MY OWN FATE!!"

    ? I will refuse with every onze of my being. System, override: I need control of this dream. ?

    [Force overriding... Overrideplete.]

    Almost immediately, the pain halted as Tycon stood and took a step forward. Looking back, he was surprised to see he looked upon himself-- standing as he continued to talk with his sister. He had stepped out of his corporeal body as a mana-projection of himself.

    It was a small victory, watching his past self from an outsider''s perspective instead of his own.

    Examining himself, his first thought was, of course, that he was very attractive. However long ago the dream was set in... his dream-face was very simr to how it was normally. However, Tycon felt he was far more professional than past-him.

    He theorized a reason... perhaps he had yet to be a murderer.

    ? System, inquiry: How much control do I have over... whatever is happening? ?

    [System response: The user can skip to any point in time of the recorded dream sequence.]

    That was convenient. The System''s response implied that the vision Tycon was having was a finite sequence. He had no interest in the minutiae of his past-- but he would glean what he could from what little he was provided.

    ? System, disy a visual search sorted by time. ?

    A transparent box filled with hundreds of tiny images showed Tycon the contents of his dream.

    He did not care for the endlessly white house, with its interiors'' pillows and low tables. Nor did he care for the medusa sister that he had no emotional attachment to.

    Tycon focused on a different memory... Time shifted forward, to a new scene-- one where he was arguing the girl, Cass.

    She held her elbow, turning away, "Mother is calling for you."

    The medusa girl sounded distressed... fearful or regretful, perhaps. Tycon narrowed his eyes at the young girl''s image. This wasn''t the memory he needed-- but it was close.

    Tycon needed questions answered. What was he trying to do? Why was a medusa from the Free Nation working for Princess Aur of the Kingdom? He would free himself of his debts before he could truly do as he pleased.

    He found a different memory but hesitated. He did not have the privacy provided by his Private Sanctum spell. Perhaps it was the memories in his snake blood, but Tycon always remained wary of being watched.

    ? System, inquiry: Is anyone watching this outside of me? ?

    [System response: 2 results, Sasarame; Snake God]

    ? System, remove viewers... ?

    [Understood. 2 viewers removed.]

    ? Empty night... System, change setting: Prompt before any connections are made. ?

    [Setting changeplete.]

    Tycon focused his mana on essing the memory...

    Tycon saw a white snake with red eyes. The size of her form far surpassed his. She wasrger than Ananta the Endless... and evenrger than that pervert, Old Fool. Sheid in the center of dozens and dozens of males snakes, all vying for her sexual attention, all while Tycon watched in his human form.

    She stared only at him.

    Though Tycon''s mind was filled by an instinctual fear, he willed himself to keep his thoughts. The massive female stared at the past Tycon, and not him as he was. The memory had already happened-- it was a mere recording. While he was certain the giant white snake was nothing to be trifled with... in the arena of his own mind, he was god.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon fast-forwarded through the memories, shaking off his nagging anxieties until he finally discerned the answers to his questions.

    Rnia, the Queen of Stone.

    His mother.

    She was the massive snake from his memories, more powerful than anything he''d seen, thus far.

    Queen Rnia had assigned him 3 quests in 3 cities... one for Fairhaven in the Kingdom, one for Cersei''s Rest in the Holy Country, and finally, one for Vralkek in the Free Nation.

    ...He needed to go to the Holy Country, anyroad. Maximus of Ezyria was the former Rex diatores. Tycon would honor him by reporting his death and recounting the tale.

    He had seen enough from his own mind.

    ? System,mand: Return me to consciousness. ?

    ...

    Tycon shot awake, immediately gripping his hand. He didn''t want to hurt the young Sasarame-- but he did want to throttle her around a bit.

    He kicked his legs into the air, using the momentum to stand.

    "Sasarame!!"

    Tycon ced his hand on the hilt of the Shatterspike as he scanned the room.

    A gentleman in a white peaked hood rxed against a wall, as silent as a ghost. The style of the figure''s cloak and hood were strikingly simr to his own.

    "Yo," the man waved. "You were off-grid for awhile."

    Tycon felt an annoying rumble in his stomach, somewhere between disgust and an ulcer, "Who the hells are you?"

    The figure approached, red eyes glowing beneath the shadows of his hood, "Kehe. You always this rude to--"

    The arrogant man''s question was interrupted by Tycon striking his nose with a lightning-quick jab, "Ow, what the-- why?!"

    Tycon had half-drawn the Shatterspike from its sheath but hesitated. The hood fell away and revealed the man''s face. He had a familiar-looking head of green hair, a handsome face with symmetrical features, and red eyes with vertical pupils. If the man wasn''t an identical copy of him, then he was only slightly less attractive.

    ? System, inquiry: Target status. ?

    [Target not detected.]

    Troublesome.

    ? System, inquiry: Who is in this room with me? ?

    [System response: 1 result. Sasarame.]

    Tycon reced the sword in its sheath. Whoever he punched in the face was no threat to him. (And if he was a threat, a mere sword wouldn''t be enough to stop him.)

    The green-haired doppelganger wiped the blood spilling down his upper lip, "Tsssss. Good hit, but did it have to be the nose?"

    Tycon ignored the man''s question, "How am I to address you?"

    "Kehe... Well, since I doubt you''re willing to call me Snake God... you can just call me Zehr."

    "I don''t believe in you," Tycon exined simply.

    Zehr ced his hands behind his back, nodding, "I know how you mortals think. When a man appears from nowhere and ims to be a god, you immedi--"

    "You misunderstand. I don''t believe *in* you."

    The white-cloaked figure stopped abruptly... "That makes sense. I usually keep track of my followers of Iron-Rank and higher... I''d lost track of you for a few moons..."

    Zehr cracked a smile, "What~ happened?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes and offered a hypothesis, "Perhaps I realized I had no use for gods."

    "Regardless, because of your bloodline, you still fall under my domain." Zehr shrugged, "You needn''t do anything. But I do help those who ask."

    "You bleed. You''re not omniscient," Tycon was not impressed. "What use are you?"

    Zehr''s eyes glowed with a dull red mana, "I am the poison that breeds doubt. I am the w in thy careful ns, the secret thy lover holds hidden, the insecurity that fuels thy passions."

    Tycon sighed and betrayed a smile, "From doubt, I seek to question. From my wed nning, I begin anew. From secrets, I trust-- but verify. And in my passions, I live truthfully."

    Zehr''s eyes widened and his jaw ckened, "...Then what am I?"

    Tycon responded in Parseltongue, "(Thou art knowledge, that I may ovee myself.)"

    "Most interesting..." Quietly, Zehr closed his eyes and wore a derisive smile, "Ask thy questions, Champion."

    "Where''s Sasarame?"

 Chapter 155 Oracle

    ?Sasarame was much changed since Tycon hadst seen her. The beautiful 10-ilm silver snake with a tapered tail had transformed into a short girl with chocte-colored skin and stark, almost-glowing white hair.

    She was lying face-down on the floor, trying to hide underneath a torture table. Her size did not allow it, but she was trying her best.

    Tycon crossed his arms and shifted his weight.

    It was certainly Sasarame. The System had marked the young girl''s name over her head. Tycon hadn''t noticed when it had changed, but her name was marked with blue, the color of absolute trust.

    ? System, inquiry: Target status. ?

    [System response: Sasarame, Bronze-Rank Snake Oracle]

    Tycon narrowed his eyes and turned to Zehr, "You gave her a ss?"

    Zehr scratched his cheek, "Champion... why do you first inquire of her ss rather than her form? Ah, no matter... She seems to have gained the Oracle ss when she delved into your memories."

    The difference in ability between an Unranked and a Bronze-Ranker was significant. A Bronze-Rank Oracle was capable of casting First-Circle Divine spells. Sasarame was younger than Pale, yet was a more powerful spellcaster. Human mages tended to grow in power more slowly than mages of other species. Further, due to their lifespan, true Third-Circle casters were rare among humans, with Fourth-Circle mages and higher only belonging to elves and other oldbloods.

    However, an early Bronze-Ranker could still be killed as easily as a normal person... and the youngdy did not appear to be a naturalbatant. Initially, Tycon wanted to protect Sasarame out of a decidedly non-snakelike sense of kinship. With her gaining a ss, her abilities could be nurtured to improve Invictus'' overall strength.

    "Tell me of her rank and form, then." Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    "A side-effect from the contact from both my mana signature and yours, it seems," the doppelganger offered.

    Tycon knelt down and gently shook the dark-skinned girl, "Sasarame, get up. As you are, you can''t hide under that."

    Slowly, she got to her feet, standing as tall as Tycon''s chest and a bit taller than Taree. Long bleached-white hair fell to below her waist with two long elven ears sticking out almost horizontally. She was nude, but Tycon was neither interested aesthetically nor emotionally. She crossed her arms with chattering teeth.

    "Snake god," Tycon addressed Zehr.

    Zehr crossed his arms, "Yes, Champion?"

    "Give her your cloak."

    "...I beg your pardon?"

    "You''re a god. She''s one of yours. It''s cold," Tycon rolled his eyes. What an asinine thing to question. If a child is cold, you offer them a coat.

    Zehr opened his mouth to argue... but kept quiet. He removed his cloak, revealing a long-sleeved tunic underneath, and wrapped it around the young elf-girl, "There we are, young believer... this is a boon."

    She shivered lightly, hugging the material of the cloak, "(Sasarame is unworthy. Sasarame is cursed.)"

    Tycon observed Zehr''s reaction, "What''s this about a curse? Is this your doing?"

    "It is not." Zehr grimaced, "Mortals curse their gods at the slightest opportunity. Sometimes, it''s fate. Oftentimes, it''s blind luck."

    "What about the sea god?" Tycon inquired.

    Zehr hesitated... "The sea god''s been stepping on everyone''s tails as of recent. I''m sure he''ll be reced soon enough."

    Tycon mentally filed away the new information. Gods could be reced... and perhaps be killed.

    Zehr walked around the young girl, examining her long ears, staring into one of her eyes, and even checking her pulse, "I don''t sense any curses or magics on her... She does have the Oracle''s ability to see into people''s pasts, though."

    "Is your ability your curse, Sasarame?" Tycon asked with concern.

    She shook her head and pouted.

    Zehr ced a hand on Tycon''s shoulder, "As one of my believers, I was able to glimpse into her past... It is why she believes as she does..."

    Tycon calmly held up a hand, "When she feels ready, she can tell me herself."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zehr closed his eyes and nodded.

    Tycon sighed as he mussed up Sasarame''s hair. A fat clump of white hair atop her head stuck up, looking out of ce.

    He did not fix it.

    "The ritual," Tycon stated. He hoped he did not need to rify.

    "Liber did well..." Zehr offered no opinion on the man''s murderous ways. Tycon didn''t expect him to.

    "Can you return the afflicted to normal?"

    "While Liber may have sacrificed their minds to me, the process was symbolic." Zehr shook his head, "''Twas by mortal hands that such atrocities have been wrought."

    "I''d thought as much," Tycon twisted his lips into a grimace, "One more thing... how much does my mother know?"

    The corner of Zehr''s mouth curled up, "Ah, dearest Rnia... She has heard word of your exploits... You''ve made a big mess of things in the Kingdom, taking down House Tavor-- both the Baron and the Duke."

    "That will do." Tycon nodded lightly. He''d heard enough, "We''ll be going then."

    Zehr pointed at the chocte elf, "Sasarame''s faith is strong. I''ll be watching your exploits through her eyes, Champion."

    "Whatever," Tycon flicked Sasarame''s forehead.

    As soon as he did, Zehr disappeared as he had never existed. Tycon theorized that the snake god could only appear because of the Oracle''s presence. A level of the girl''s concentration-- even if involuntary, was necessary to hold the link.

    The theory would exin why the snake god''s form was so simr to his. Tycon surmised that he held a very high position in Sasarame''s subconscious mind-- supplemented by the fact that the System rated her at Trust.

    Curiously, the white cloak on Sasarame remained.

    She rubbed the welt on her head and pouted as if she''d been wronged.

    Tycon poked her soft cheek, "Return to your snake form, Sasarame, and we''ll head out."

    It would be easier to have Sasarame travel in her snake form, so he wouldn''t have to exin why he had a fork-tongued dark elf who only spoke in hisses.

    "(Master... how... does Sasarame return to her other form?)"

    Tycon sighed.

    ...

    Ignoring the protests of Sasarame''s and his empty belly, Tycon and she only emerged from the fort half-a-bellter. By then, he was thoroughly confident in her ability to transform, and just as confident that he could eat a grilled salmon of moderate size.

    Thankfully, Sasarame gained the same clothes-melding magic Tycon had. Upon transforming from elf to snake form, her clothes would meld away-- and vice versa. It was far more convenient than the clothes slipping off. Unwee questions would be raised if anyone was to discover that Tycon had kept a nude, underage girl hidden from his peers.

    For now, Tycon kept the silver snake warm inside his cloak. She traversed his neck and arms with ease. She found afortable resting spot, lightly curled against the back of his neck, hidden by his dark hood.

    The sun had already set, but it was about dinnertime. Tycon hurried his steps, worried that he and his young charge would miss the evening meal.

    As he neared the Sea Wolf camp, the hairs on the back of Tycon''s neck stood up. Sasarame stirred, sensing the danger.

    There was rarely a dull moment as the leader of Guild Invictus.

    He closed his eyes and allowed his other senses to examine his surroundings. He had recovered much of his mana since the fight with Liber-- a pre-meal skirmish was eptable.

    There.

    Tycon shot a back kick, urately striking the assassin''s groin with his heel. Hopping up and quickly rotating his body, he snapped a jumping roundhouse at the blue-haired figure''s temple.

 Chapter 156 Mission Completion

    ?Tycondrius was not as acrobatic as Pale or Kimura Taree. He was strong and had a good sense of bnce, but his kicking uracy was unpracticed-- especially when counterattacking from surprise.

    The initial kick to the groin made Tarquin Wroe keel over in pain. The second kick was a heavy bootnding on Tarquin Wroe''s vicle, causing the blue-haired Hexde to crumple to the ground.

    Tycon frowned. The second kick was aimed at Wroe''s temple.

    He quietly observed his surroundings, making certain there were no *actual* enemies, before seeing to the fallen man.

    He crouched down adjacent to the man''s face-down head, "Mister Wroe, you seem to have improved your Shadow Walk ability. I hadn''t sensed your approach."

    "H-hey, Boss." Wroe groaned in pain, turning his head to the side, "I''m assuming I... ergh... deserved that."

    "Indeed, you did. Are you... crying?"

    "Please... just let me save some face, Boss."

    "Though I don''t believe I struck you so strongly-- if one of your testicles have ruptured, you will require medical attention," Tycon pat Wroe on the back.

    "I''ll-- I''ll do that..."

    ...Tycon coaxed Sasarame out of her hiding spot, "This is my adopted daughter. Sasha, say hello."

    "(Hello, Shadow-Walker,)" she hissed.

    Wroe, still curled up in pain, waved one of his hands, "Hey."

    Tycon exined, "Mister Wroe is a daeva. ording to popr belief, he has angel blood flowing through his veins."

    Sasarame nodded in understanding before retreating back into the folds of Tycon''s hood.

    Tycon turned his attention back to Wroe, "What was so important to seek me out instead of waiting patiently-- Are you just going to keep lying there?"

    "Y-yeah-- I mean, if that''s alright with you."

    Wroe was setting an awfully low precedent for Sasarame... However, the angel-blood had just sustained a painful injury.

    Tycon decided to show off his magnanimity, "Very well. I shall allow it."

    Wroe gave his report, "Wolfbanger''s really sick... Lone needs to talk to you. And I think Pale''s learned a new skill."

    Tycon grimaced, "Understood... I''ll see them, shortly."

    ...

    After dinner, Tycon asked around for Wolfbanger''s location... Entering the infirmary, he met with Petty Officer Milo.

    "What''s wrong with him, doc?"

    "I don''t really know-- I''m just a dentist," Milo responded with good-natured sass.

    Tycon offered an embarrassed smile to the gentleman, "The uh... Sea Wolves don''t differentiate between medical personnel, do they?"

    "They do not! Anyroad, I''m just happy to help."

    Wolfbanger was in a sorry state... looking simr to how he did on the ship, pathetic and three-quarters dead. He also looked thinner and his wolf-dog-boy face was contorted in constant agony. Tycon even felt the boy''s mana spasm irregrly, like his very essence was trying to pull him apart.

    Tycon recognized the boy''s painful symptoms without needing to rify with his System. The boy was suffering mana bacsh from breaching a mana contract.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "What. did. you. do, boy?"

    The sickly weretouched boy blinked slowly, trying to focus. He looked over to the sailor, "I didn''t do it, Boss..."

    Tycon sighed, "Petty Officer Milo, could you give us some privacy?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    Tycondrius had to threaten the dog-wolf pup with physical violence to get him to admit that he tried to steal from the Saltspray pirates. As a matter of course, there were far too many pirates for that to work well without a supernatural stealth ability. He was caught and forced to kill one of their number. He had even lost his stupid-looking greathammer in the skirmish.

    Good. Tycon would get him a more reasonable recement-weapon.

    With the way mana contracts worked... the magical bacsh would have been greatly reduced if he was unaware of the contract''s terms. Likely, he knew ahead of time, or he was informed in the skirmish.

    The development and use of magical contracts, poprized by the devil-blooded mages of Bael Turath, led to an economic boom in the past several epochs. Of course, magical contracts were imperfect-- their terms were drafted by mortals, full of their own inconsistencies, so loopholes always existed.

    The young Wolfbanger was not cunning enough to utilize a contract''s loophole as Tycon had-- and he''d suffered for it. The boy would be unable to fight for even longer...

    ...Tycon had hopes for the boy... once... long ago.

    "(Master, who is that?)" Sasarame hissed curiously.

    Tycon responded in a hushed hiss, "(No one of consequence, beautiful child.)"

    At the very least, Wolfbanger''s blunder had led Tycon to an interesting discovery. Besides ves, the Saltspray Kings had something worthwhile to steal.

    ...

    Talk was abound amongst the Sea Wolves of how a ghost ship had mysteriously appeared in port... Tycon immediately searched for Captain Lang Hai to report that the ship was raised by his Warlock, Mister Wroe.

    It turned out that Lieutenant Eilean already knew as much. She had asked the ship, directly.

    Witch was a strange ss.

    Afterward, Tycon collected the remaining members of Guild Invictus for a meeting.

    He introduced Sasarame as ''Sasha'', an interim member of Guild Invictus. The silver snake proved shy around everyone but Tycon, preferring to hide.

    The blue-haired daeva Warlock, Mister Wroe, recounted his... mostly tragic tale of trying to get a ship. He seeded, however, and even brought the ghost ship to the Saltspray Ind. Tycon did not ask how Wroe found them.

    The nose-and-cheek scarred, dark-haired human, Lone, talked about how he was feeling frustrated that he had such a difficult time against the Bronze-Rank Aquamancers amongst the Saltspray pirates. Tycon ordered Pale to help the young man understand why fire-element attacks have reduced effectiveness against water-element mages.

    The half-elf sandy-blonde spearman, Pale, told everyone he learned a new Skill.

    Tycon wasn''t impressed until he heard it was a healing Skill. Healing Skills were highly sought after.

    After a light interrogation, Tycon was less enthused upon discovering that Pale''s Skill was incredibly limited in its application. Its mana efficiency was poor and required a healthy amount of sand as a spellponent.

    After mentioning Wroe''s recent injury, Pale offered to sprinkle his healing sand on the daeva''s testicles, despite the mana-cost. Wroe vehemently declined, for whatever reason.

    ...

    Tycon sighed, "With Mister Wolfrider''s injury, we will be returning with the Sea Wolf fleet to Beaurte-- more specifically, to Port Saint Guinefort. There, we may be able to get the boy some proper medical attention..."

    Only Lone of the 4 Invictus members showed concern for Wolfbanger.

    Tycon continued, "At any rate, I''ve a mind to see the captured Beaurte prisoners back to their home."

    Wroe and Pale were more onboard with the concept of ensuring missionpletion.

    "From there, we''ll depart from that port and make way to the Holy Country-- perhaps utilizing air travel via the Windwright''s Guild. At any rate, I''d like to send word back to Gian Vanzano''s family, if he has any.

    Guild Invictus agreed unanimously on the notion. The death of Maximus was still felt by every guild member.

    "For now, let''s search around for the loot pile Captain Lang''s amassed. I believe Guild Invictus has done well enough that we may be able to... requisition something."

 Chapter 157 Dragonâ€™s Breath

    ?After the guild meeting, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark retrieved an extra share of rations: a bowl of fish broth, some grog, and some sea biscuits.

    "I''m about to go see Mister Levi. Wannae with, Pale?"

    The 9-year-old half-elf was focused on oiling down his Lifedrinker spear, "Nah, I''m good."

    Lone hesitated. Pale didn''t usually reject his invitations to hang out (unless he and Dragan were going drinking or whoring.)

    "Uh. Is there something wrong, man? Are you hurt? Err... do you miss your girlfr--"

    "Nah. I just--" Pale stopped, "Do I miss my what?"

    "No, nothing," Lone caught himself trying to tease the boy... but he realized he really didn''t want to hear the answer.

    It was entirely possible that Pale had made Taree his girlfriend. 99.99% of the time, Lone would cheer his friend on, supporting him, no matter what. However... Lone never had a girlfriend in his life! Pale looked up to him and respected him like an older brother! He didn''t want Pale to find out that he was a lonely loser.

    Pale looked up from his weapon, looking concerned, "Are... you okay, Lone?"

    "Y-yeah," Lone averted his gaze to wipe the corners of his eyes, "I just figured... Mister Levi could use some encouragement. Boss said he was suffering a magical bacsh and is really sick."

    Pale focused his attention back on his spear, "No, thanks."

    Lone felt awkward. Pale had gotten along with everyone in Invictus... Besides him, Dragan, and Maximus, and the Kimura siblings-- he also got along with Sorina, Horse, and Jeremy. He even got along with Korr-- and she kidnapped him for an evil Baron, once.

    "Do you have something against Mister Levi?" Lone asked.

    Pale looked up at the tent ceiling in thought, "Nah, not really. I just... don''t really have a good feeling about him? It''s weird."

    Lone grimaced. He couldn''t argue against a gut feeling.

    A series of footsteps approached their tent, not bothering to hide their presence.

    Boss Tycon''s head peeked in through the entrance, "You two,e with us."

    ...

    Tarquin Wroe, master of seduction, approached the guard with a calm swagger.

    "Ne''er have I seen such ady. Unbridled sass and shapely nose. Even her manner of speaking has its own charm."

    "But you..." Wroe shed ady killer smile, "--are far more than a gaze-catching woman."

    "Oh-- oh, wow! It''s happening." The hatchet-wielding Marine fanned herself with her hand, "Oh, Noblest Nobleman. Mine Gash Grows Moist at Thy Verited Sight."

    Wroe swept back his sky blue hair as the starlight lit up his pale face, "Wouldst you honor me with your name?"

    ...After some exploration, Tycon and Barza located therge tent that was guarded with no one resting inside. With some information gathered by Pale and Wroe, they had confirmed that the tent held the spoils looted from the Saltspray Keep.

    Tycon sent Wroe to deal with the guard, a woman named Loretta that had nearly died during the assault. Though Tycon could not, at all, understand why women enjoyed Wroe''spany, Loretta was well-distracted.

    Wroe continued with his babbling, "I have noticed something off, Loretta... How does someone so simple as you, a very capable Sea Wolf, fail to see the value and worth of yourself-- that would rival even a goddess if you only realized."

    "Oh, my gods. YASSSSS. Take me! Take me now, angel-man!!" Loretta''s nasal squeals of excitement were grating to the ears, at best.

    Dereliction of duty. Tycon made a mental note that the woman was not to be trusted to guard sites of importance. He even considered hinting as much to Captain Lang, if it suited his needs to.<novelnext></novelnext>

    With Loretta distracted... Tycon, Lone, and Pale snuck into the tent.

    "5 minutes. Only grab what you can carry," Tycon gave his twopanions a gentle reminder.

    "Got it, Boss." "Yes, sir."

    Therge, ten-horse-sized tent was filled with weapons and armor, sacks of metal trinkets, and the superstitious charms that sailors valued. Lone moved with Pale, utilizing the faint red eye-glow from his Wolf-Hammers to see. Tycon, of course, could see perfectly well in the darkness.

    Tycon immediately picked up a creepy-looking box the size of two fists. It took all of 20 seconds. Wroe would like it. He then began to search for a cuss simr in weight to his old short sword.

    Pale picked up a helm with two horns-- each horn the size of his head.

    [Horned Helm. Second-Circle Magical Helmet. User may charge into battle with a devastating effect.]

    Tycon frowned. It looked ridiculous. As good as its effect was, the helmet was sorge that it would block his vision... "Put it back."

    Pale picked up a pair of gloves that were stained with blood...

    [Heartsnatcher Gloves. Second-Circle Magical Paired Gloves. User may tear out the still-beating heart of a weakened target.]

    They continued to drip, devoid of any obvious source. Tycon shooed Pale away, "Unhygienic-- and possibly cursed. Put it back."

    Pale found a strangely small pair of sharkskin leather boots.

    [Wavestrider Boots. Second-Circle Magical Paired Boots. User may briefly walk across liquid as if it were solidnd.]

    Tycon had no idea how the boy found footwear that would fit him... but it was a good find.

    Tycon activated his storage ring. Within, he ced Pale''s boots, the cursed box he found for Wroe, and a cuss he liked. Even if a Sea Wolf searched them, they wouldn''t be able to find any stolen  loot. (And Lang Hai would not be so shameless as to request to search his storage ring.) Tycon had also limited Invictus'' haul-- a mere four items missing from a tent full of loot was a negligible loss.

    As Tycon was about to leave, he found 4 strangely shaped boxes, each the length of his arm and as thick as his chest. Magical symbols covered the boxes and they were surprisingly light.

    ? System... Analysis. ?

    [Box of Holding, Lesser: Opens into a nondimensional space of 2 cubic yalms and up to 50 ponze. The box is sealed by a passphrase.]

    ? System, inquiry: What are the boxes contents? ?

    [System response: The box contains 50 ponze of Dragon''s Breath.]

    Tycon checked the other boxes-- the contents were all the same. Interesting... He signaled Lone and Pale to gather, "We''re taking these boxes."

    "But Boss... how are we gonna sneak these out?" Lone asked.

    It was a good question, admittedly.

    "Just pick them up and follow me. The Sea Wolves will assume we''re doing legitimate work, as long as you don''t act suspicious."

    "I don''t... think this is such a great idea," Lone whined.

    Tycon smiled and pat Lone on the shoulder, "Your opinion has been heard. As guild leader, I will ignore it. Pick up a box."

 Chapter 158 Eileanâ€™s Visit

    ?Tarquin Wroe cast his Shadow Veil skill to invisibly move Invictus away from the loot tent. After the spell''s duration, the group moved through the Sea Wolf camp, guided by the light of the stars. They would store their ill-gotten goods on Wroe''s ship, the Unfortunate.

    Tycondrius led the group, Lone and Wroe each carrying a box and Pale insistent upon carrying two. The few Sea Wolves on evening watch nodded in acknowledgment at the familiar guild. As Tycon surmised, none of them bothered to question them.

    Wroe sidled up beside Tycon as they walked, "Is there a reason we didn''t put the boxes into your storage ring, Boss?"

    Tycon nced over at his blue-haired angel-blooded friend, "The boxes all have a light spatial enchantment, just like the ring."

    Wroe nodded, "Ah, right. Sobining them would tear a hole through time and space."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "What? No. The lesser items-- the boxes, would break, at worst. The items held within would spill out, at best."

    "That''s... boring," Wroe grimaced with disappointment.

    "As always, Mister Wroe, I question your logic. But I''m d that facts have dissuaded you from foolishness."

    Upon reaching the ship, Tycon cautiously observed the rotten gangnk, "Really, Mister Wroe? If this is any indication of your ship''s condition, the Unfortunate is worse from the Elizabeth Dare."

    Tycon inwardly admitted that it was only a half-step worse. All of the Sea Wolf ships were in horrid condition.

    Wroe smiled and tilted his head with his eyes closed, "I trust her. And she will not betray my trust."

    Lone audibly gulped.

    Wroe continued, "The crew cannot easily leave the ship. Let''s get the boxes on board."

    Tycon nodded warily. He did not feel at allfortable about Wroe''sment concerning the crew, "Right... Go ahead, then, gentlemen."

    Wroe and Lone stepped onto the gangnk, while Tycon watched safely from the docks. He fully expected the rotten wood to copse... but the two made it onboard safely.

    Tycon nced over at Pale, who was carrying the 30 ponze boxes over either shoulder.

    Pale ced a single step onto the moist wood... and slipped. He nted a knee into the hard-wooden docks. Tycon was able to grab hold of one of the enchanted boxes, but the other slipped and kersplunked into the ckwater below.

    Tycon ced a palm onto his face, "Bucket, you must be joking."

    Pale sat on his behind, rubbing his pained knee, "I''ll-- I''ll go get it."

    ? System, inquiry: Please tell me that these boxes are unaffected by their surroundings. ?

    [System response: The Lesser Boxes of Holding are affected by outside conditions.]

    ? System, inquiry: ...But they are... waterproof, yes? ?

    [Negative.]

    Tycon felt his heart grieve. His eyes unfocused as he stared at the waning moon and performed mathematical calctions in his head. He had the System perform estimates of the market values of the box''s contents... of the illegal opioid, Dragon''s Breath.

    Pale''s face took on a shade of panic, "Boss! I-- what''s wrong?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "The contents within each box can be sold for over 1.5 million silver... with a 50% increase if we sell them illegally."

    Pale''s blood froze, his skin nching, "I-- no way... but... how would we--"

    "We literally have a Rogue''s Guild in Merylsward," Tycon swept his arm to the side, activating his spatial ring. Tycon''s halberd appeared in his hand, its de still wrapped in oiled leathers. It was the weapon that Tycon used most when training Pale.

    "Boss! I''m sorry! I just..."

    "1.5 million silver, young man. Do you know how many mercenaries Invictus could hire with 1.5 million silver?"

    ...

    Pale received intensive training until morning.

    The mind is weak. The body will remember.

    Departure from the Saltspray ind took a few bells, but the 3 Sea Wolf ships and the Unfortunate were soon on their way back to Beaurte-- in particr, to the naval base on Saint Guinefort ind.

    A gaggle of Sea Wolves, led by Corporal Jacque, gifted or lent Pale a smattering of superstitious charms and trinkets. Though Tycon could sense no magical effects from them, Pale was able to far better handle the cutting of the Unfortunate through the waters.

    ...Tycon chose not to question it.

    Wolfbanger continued to suffer from mana exhaustion, the resulting condition of breaking the magical contract. He was weakened, suffered severe migraines, and was generally miserable to the point of being bedridden.

    Further, upon boarding the Unfortunate, he again became seasick. The weretouched boy pissed and vomited everywhere he went. He upied a permanent spot on the top deck, where he could expel his fluids overboard. The crew tied his waist to a mast, so he wouldn''t roll overboard...

    Rico and other Sea Wolves, like Corporal Jacque and Sergeant Garret, would often climb aboard the Unfortunate, likely to avoid their ship duties. Tycon was d for theirpany, the women, in particr. Sasarame was terribly shy amongst most people. Only Rico, Eilean, and himself were able to talk to her with a sense of normalcy.

    Sasarame could understand but not speak themon tongue, so Rico volunteered to teach her... It was likely a disaster in the making, but Rico proved a decentnguage instructor-- as one non-human to another.

    As for Eilean... Tycon surmised that Sasarame did not know that the Sea Witch was actually human. He chose not to inform his tiny snake daughter of the fact.

    Lieutenant Eilean walked the decks of the Unfortunate... While her main body remained on the Thalia Grace, the Sea Witch was able to project herself as a blue-translucent slime.

    Upon seeing Tycondrius, she hurried over, her feet on the deck making an unpleasant suction noise. Devoid of clothing, her particr features were obscured, though her curves were entuated. Tycon couldn''t help but notice that the womancked a penis.

    "Yererdship! ''Ow are ya this fine mornin?!"

    Slime-Eilean tried to go for a viscous embrace. Tycon deftly stepped out of her range. The Slime Witchpensated by hugging herself and swaying cutely.

    "Good morning, Lieutenant. All is well."

    The two spoke for a short while about the ship''s conditions. Each sun, Eilean would project her Water-Clone to keep Tycon informed, provide exotic fish, and to talk about nonsense.

    However, it seemed that the current sun would be different.

    Among their conversations was the fate of the Unfortunate once Invictus had finished with their tour. Instead of remaining as Guild Invictus'' property, the ship would better serve being inducted into the Sea Wolf fleet. Soon, High-Captain Lang Hai would visit for an inspection...

 Chapter 159 Inspection

    ?It was a nice sun for a swim. High-Captain Lang Hai left his coat and hat in his quarters and leapt over the rails of the Elizabeth Dare. In the ocean waters, he had a casual conversation with some passerby dolphins. He beat up a shimmerscale tuna that looked at him funny. He swam circles around a terrified hammerhead then scared it off.

    After his workout, he swam toward the Unfortunate, the ship belonging to Guild Invictus. As he drew closer, he spotted a ropedder hung from the ship''s portside. It interested Hai-- he hadn''t taken any of Guild Invictus as the types to enjoy swimming.

    He knew Eilean visited the ship every sun to harass Baron Tycon... but she could use her Sea Witch powers to get on board. Was there anyone else visiting often enough to warrant adder?

    ...Maybe it was for him? ...Hai couldn''t remember thest time anyone did anything nice for him. He didn''t need adder, but the thought was nice.

    He climbed up to the deck, shivering and holding onto his naked biceps, "Whew. It''s pretty cold up here, is it wiiiiii--"

    Hai dropped his jaw at the sight of the crew.

    A nearby skeleton mimed cleaning a deck cannon, almost entirely corroded away. Two transparent spirits were singing off-key while mopping the deck-- a single verse of a sea shanty, over and over. An 8 fulm tall growth of seaweed moseyed along, minding its own business.

    "GooOod mooOooRning, GrAande-CapitaaAaine--"

    The voice came from within Hai''s head, from behind him, from all around him. He swiped a knife-hand at the nearest moving object... beheading a skeleton holding some rope.

    The skeleton-worker continued on. Hai rxed his stance. The crew of the Unfortunate had good work ethic-- he could not fault that.

    "...Um." A translucent woman hovered harmlessly in front of Lang Hai, wearing the familiar officer''s uniform of the Royal Navy. She saluted sharply and spoke in a haunting tone, "Good moOoorning, Grande-CapitaAine Lang Hai."

    The ghostly sailor emitted a cold that Hai worried chilled his very soul... It made him wish he brought his coat.

    Lang Hai knew cold. It was cold all the time. Cold was normal. Sailing on the sea, it got cold. Night was cold. The ice cream he got in Port Caractere, because he was an officer and deserved to try it once in his life, was cold.

    It was financially irresponsible to purchase ice cream for his crew, so he didn''t. Rico cried. Stupid Rico, guilting him like that.

    The ghostly sailor did observe proper decorum... And the fact that she knew Hai was a High-Captain, even without his coat on, meant she was cognizant of recent events.

    So far on the Unfortunate, Hai had only seen good work ethic and well-observed courtesies. He still felt slightly ufortable about theck of... life.

    Albeit hesitantly, Hai returned the salute, "Good... morning. I''vee to inspect the Unfortunate... At ease,  err-- what is your rank, exactly?"

    The ghost-girl offered a gloomy smile, "In life, I was knOoOown as SecoOond Lieutenant M... MonsieuuUur-Capitaine."

    "Very well... Lieutenant M. I uh... don''t n on demoting you, so that''s fine..."

    M floated, staring expectantly. Why was she making this so awkward? Was he the awkward one?

    Hai forced a smile, "So... uh... the ship?"

    "The UnfooOortunate welcoOmes you, siiir... The crEw awaaAaits your orders~"

    ...

    Around him, ghosts and skeletons and an oversized bundle of seaweed worked tirelessly on the sails and rigging. The slime-woman, First Lieutenant Eilean spoke amicably to her new ghostly female friend, Second Lieutenant M.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Hai wondered if M earned her rank before or after she died-- it had to have been before, right?

    Hai was certain he''s had worse suns. He was used to bleeding while assaulting a beach, or worried about the abysmally low funding granted to the Sea Wolves, or trying to make sure Grand-Capitaine Chantal wouldn''t kill him.

    Fraternizing with ghosts unnerved him a great deal.

    Lang Hai spoke in his deepest, most Captain-like voice, "Ship sails, M. Good job."

    "Excuse us," He grabbed Slime-Eilean''s arm, ignoring the viscous gooey feeling, and dragged the witch away from M.

    "Eilean, do we really~ reeeeally have to do this?" Hai pleaded in a hushed voice.

    The ship was in horrid condition. There were so many holes in the sails that he didn''t know how the ship was keeping up with the others. Everything was rotting worse than even the Elizabeth Dare. And while the ship had a skeleton crew, the term was very literal.

    He stared into the blue-translucent liquid where Eilean''s eyes were vaguely formed, "The cannons are all rusted over. There are *barnacles* on them. And look, look at that!"

    Hai pointed at a wriggling form on a deck cannon''s opposite side, "That''s a tentacle! It''s not attached to a creature, it''s just growing on the cannon!"

    With a huff, Eilean quietly argued back, "Cap''n, ye cannae get cold feet. Ye inspect each and every ship fer seaworthiness. Ye made tha rule yerself."

    "It''s got a hole bigger than fatty Ambrose in the hull. It fails. Let''s leave," Hai turned towards the broken railing, fully intent on leaping back into the drink.

    "Och, Cap''n!"

    The slime-girl melted into the wood, reforming herself to block Hai''s way, "It flooats. Ye cannae discount that... An'' it''s not thae only ship in the fleet with a hoole the size of Mister Ambrose, bless his wee meathook-and-chain."

    Stupid chain-and-meathook Ambrose. Hai made a mental note to put the oaf on half-rations.

    "Okay, great. It passes-- Let''s leave."

    Slime-Eilean suddenly paused, a wide grin slowly appearing on her face.

    "Yanno, Cap''n," Eilean fluttered her slime-eyshes. Hai stepped back in revulsion-- he had very rarely seen his Lieutenant without her eye-mask.

    "...What is it, Eilean?" Hai frowned. That stupid smile, loved by every Sea Wolf in the fleet, was something that Hai learned to be wary of.

    "Tha crew of the Unfortunate-- ye dunnae hafta feed them."

    Hai tensed all of his muscles. That was certainly cost-effective... The thought tempted him.

    Eilean put a hand beside Hai''s ear and whispered the sweetest words he''d ever heard in his life, "Ye dunnae hafta even pay them."

    Lang Hai took a deep breath, "I will ept this ship into the Sea Wolf fleet."

    Eileanughed, "Grreat ta hear! Let''s go belowdecks and let Sir Tycon and Mister Wroe know."

 Chapter 160 Just A Game

    ?Belowdecks, a group of 4 sat around a card table. Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, kept tabs on everything that was going on. A dozen other Sea Wolves sat around, resting, lightly conversing. He didn''t know why they were on the Unfortunate... but the Sea Wolves were good people.

    The dim light of antern hung above gleamed on Marine Sergeant Garret''s bald, dark-skinned head. He narrowed his eyes at the sandy-haired boy across the table, "Your turn, kid."

    Pale''s cloth armor was adorned by dangling bones and bells, and was covered with enough ribbons, feathers, and painted stones to rival a peacock. In contrast to his garish coloring, the half-elf boy reservedly revealed his cards, "So with these... I take all the cards in the middle."

    "Ughhh... I suck at this gaaaame! Can we y something else?" Lone bit his upper lip, " Maybe Red Snake, ck Snake?"

    Once Pale had been loaded with enough charms and trinkets to ward off the sea god''s wrath, the boy returned to being way too good at everything, including card games.

    Garret let his cards fall to the barrel they were using as a table, "Ergh, we''d have a chance at winning if you didn''t keep mucking everything up!!"

    "Oh, *I''m* the one mucking things up?" Lone ced his fists on the side of his thighs, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "That''s reeeallll funny, Garret."

    Shao Ranughed, reaching across the table and patting Pale''s shoulders.

    Upon meeting the boy, the Lieutenant immediately took a liking to him. They looked almost like brothers-- they had simr colored hair, simr weapons, and he''d even heard that they were simr in using fire-element attacks.

    "Ahaha! You fe''s should just quit! Losers! FAILURES, even! Spear Team wins AGAIN!!"

    ? Lone and Garret had lost three times in a row ying Spades against Lieutenant Shao Ran and the young boy, Pale.

    A short set of armor with a helmet shaped like a shark''s head stepped out of the shadows, "False. Lieutenant Shao Ran, your naginata-halberd functions more as a hafted sword than it does a stabbing spear."

    Shao Ran rolled his eyes, "Is that right, you bunch of sea rocks? How about I break off one of your functioning arms and stab it right up your arse?"

    The group, as well as a few onlookers, looked to Eleven of Seven for his response.

    Slowly the shark-helmet turned to face him. The inset gem lit up, emanating Eleven''s voice, "I have concluded that your experience at finding a hole in the dark is nonexistent."

    The entirety of the belowdecks erupted inughter, causing Shao Ran''s neck and face to flush red, "Why you..."

    Eleven of Seven held out a metal-gloved hand to interrupt him, "Stand by-- Good morning, Captain!"

    A shirtless and lithe teenage boy descended the stairs, apanied by a slime-woman and a transparent ghost... Everyone belowdecks on the Unfortunate knew who they were: High-Captain Lang Hai and Lieutenants Eilean and M.

    The boy-Captain let his re drift over the collected gaggle, "What the hells is going on here?"

    ...

    High-Captain Lang Hai felt his mouth twitch.

    Several crewmembers of the Elizabeth Dare werezing around on the Unfortunate, including Sergeant Garret who he had specifically remembered was ontrine duty. The idiot managed to identally gut himself on a set of stairs and left without cleaning it up. For his negligence, the crew had suffered half a dozen impalements and one sprained ankle.

    Hai''s gaze especially smoldered over Shao Ran and Eleven of Seven, the Captains of the Spear of Selena and the Thalia Grace, First Lieutenants by Marine rank.

    He nced at his two adjacent female Lieutenants, "Eilean, M... head back. I might be a while, dealing with... our subordinates."

    "Aye aye, Cap''n." "AaAayye, CapitaAaine." --The girls turned and headed back up to the top deck.

    Hai crossed his arms, "Lieutenant Eleven of Seven."

    Eleven of Seven was an anomaly simr to Rico, a non-human.

    Beneath the armor was a mass of sentient coral that joined the crew through Eilean''s powers of sluttery. It took a two-armed, two-legged form because it fit a set of metal armor that proved stronger than its brittle exterior. Its three-pronged sharpened coral ws cut painfully through enemies and it could regenerate its parts when exposed to seawater. It was practically a Sea Wolf.

    It couldn''t speak on its own, onlymunicating through Sea Witch Eilean. After two failed attempts at finding it a familiar to trante, the Sea Wolves came across a magical gem that spoke surface thoughts aloud in a weird, echoey voice.

    It was cursed. Eilean was able to buy it for cheap.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Captain Lang," the shark-helmeted Eleven pointed at Ran, "I am here to observe Lieutenant Shao Ran and prevent him from dereliction of duty."

    Hai glowered up at Lieutenant Shao Ran. He was an interesting addition to the fleet. Simr to him, Shao Ran was in line for the patriarchy of the Golden Crow Hidden Sect. But where Hai was thest descendant, Ran had plenty of siblings and cousins to take the mantle when he left.

    The golden-eyed Ran ckened his jaw, pointing back at Eleven angrily, "I''m only here because this rusty scrap heap wanted to have sexual rtions with growth on the bottom of the Unfortunate!"

    Shark-helm looked back to Lang Hai, "The growth identifies as female. And I am Coraletta''s lover."

    Ran was livid, his eyes glowing dangerously bright in the ship''s dim hold. "You''re making that up!! You even put CORAL in the name, youzy hunk of junk!!"

    "Forget it, you two." Hai ignored the bickering Lieutenants as he turned to Garret, "And what''s your excuse, Sergeant?"

    "I uh... I''m here to... keep Lone out of trouble," Sweat dripped down the bald man''s face. "He uh... he can''t win a game without me."

    "Ohhhh, really?" Lone rolled his eyes. After a curious second nce, he cleared his throat, "I mean... Yes, Captain. I asked for Sergeant Garret''s help."

    Hai crossed his arms, "And what makes you think that''s okay?"

    "My mercenaries can do as they please, Captain Lang..." Baron Tycondrius emerged from the shadows into the dimmplight.

    Sea god''s socks... Hai didn''t even notice the green-haired bastard approach. Did that nerd develop a new movement technique in the fight against Liber?

    "Good morning, Captain," Tycon nodded, his beady yellow eyes narrowed.

    "Tch," Hai scoffed. "Good morning."

    He had more choice words to say, but he wouldn''t say it in front of his men and Tycon''s subordinates.

    The noble turned to the Invictus half-elf, "Mister Pale. Report."

    Hai raised an eyebrow. He hadn''t guessed that the 9-year-old boy was more trustworthy than the adult Lone Shadowdark.

    "Uh... Lone and I were ying Spades and the uh... the Sea Wolves were doing a routine inspection."

    "Yee! That''s right, kid!!" "Routine inspection! Totally normal, you could say!" "Affirmative." --Garret, Ran, and Eleven were suspiciously quick to agree with the boy.

    "Do you... do you want to y, Sir Tycon?" Pale asked.

    Tycon frowned, "I''d rather not. I am unskilled at these types of games."

    Hai''s eyes widened. That noble prick was bad at cards? He''d been itching to one-up the bastard at something.

    He kicked Garret in the chest, forcing the bald man out of his way. He immediately took the open seat, "Alright. Deal me and the Baron in."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "No, I just--"

    "Come on! Don''t be a wuss!!" Hai goaded.

    Ran chimed in, eager to talk as usual, "Yeah, what''re you scared of-- it''s just a game! Haha!"

    Hai red up at the man, "How about you carry on with your ''routine inspection'', Ran?"

    The sandy-brown-haired Martialist held the back of his head andughed, "Oh... oh yeah, haha... hah."

    Pale smiled weakly, "I think... I''ll sit this one out."

 Chapter 161 Captainâ€™s Gamble

    ?Tycondrius did not enjoy most games yed for leisure.

    Concerning board games ruled for two yers, he did not have the patience to gain the skills to excel. Dice games and games of chance, he could not take them seriously. What did it matter, the luck of the die or the draw?

    In card games, Tycon was ruthlessly destroyed by Dragan, Sorina, Maximus, and Lone. He did have an advantage over the Kimura siblings, back when they were both alive. Tamaki couldn''t read numbers. And everyone tacitly agreed to out Taree in any group game, because she made amusing faces when she was troubled.

    Tycon had only agreed to a contest with Hai out of an illogical emotional reaction... He''d much rather enjoy thepany of Rico and Sasha. He had left the two of them in the Captain''s quarters when he went to investigate Lang Hai''s moring.

    He would lose face if he were to suddenly back out... so he decided to be patient. When the game grew dull, he would politely excuse himself.

    [Game 1; Tycon, Lone, Hai, Garret]

    Tycon looked over the cards in his hand, "So the... sword cards trump everything else. This symbol, then?"

    Haiughed, "Pshhhh! You don''t even know that much?! This game is gonna be in the bag!!"

    Lone and Garret exchanged worried looks.

    [Game 3]

    Lone sucked in air through his teeth, "Boss... How about you--"

    Tycon red at him, "Not now, Lone. Come back when you learn how to melt butter."

    Lone promptly shut up.

    Sergeant Garret grimaced, "Uh... Cap''n, are you sure you wanna y that--"

    "Shut up!" Hai snapped, "I know what I''m doing!"

    Shao Ranughed giddily, "Gahaha! Wow! You guys suck!! Real bad! Terrible!"

    Ran wasn''t ying, but it didn''t stop him from running his mouth. Tycon didn''t feel any particr way about the man, but could easily see how his arrogance could repulse others.

    Hai scowled, "Oh, yeah, Ran? How about you put your coin where your cunt is?"

    Ran grinned toothily as he politely reced Lone at the table, "Ehh? Alright, sure. But I''m warning you, I''m known as the god of cards!"

    Tycon lifted the corner of his mouth, "That''s interesting. I''ve always wanted to kill a god."

    Ran flexed his pectoral muscles, "Ehhh?!! Is that a threat, noble-guy? I''ll take you out right here!!"

    "In. the. card game, Lieutenant," Tycon sighed.

    "...Oh. Yeeeeaah... That''s what I meant."

    [Game 6; Tycon, Ran, Hai, Garret]

    Shao Ran mmed his hand on the table, "This game is FREAKIN'' STUPID!! Can''t we just FIGHT?!"

    "y your turn, Lieutenant." Tycon scolded, "It''s the only way you''ll get your coin back."

    The golden-eyed Sea Wolf growled, "You''re not even using your own money! What the hells is that about?!"

    Lang Hai shot Ran a re. The boy-Captain had been increasingly quiet, as time went on. Indignantly, Ran picked up his hand, ying the next card to continue the round.

    Tycon continued solemnly, "I''m utilizing what is avable to me. My guild assets are my assets."

    Lone whimpered from nearby, "Boss... you don''t pay me."

    "I fail to see how that''s my problem."

    Hai frowned, "Ran, I''m cutting your pay."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Shao Ran''s face turned bone-white at the mention.

    Garret coughed, "Eilean takes care of the pay, L.T."

    Hai turned to Garret, "Right. She might have issue docking a Lieutenant''s pay, but won''t have issue docking yours."

    Garret promptly shut up.

    [Game 7]

    "Boss, please-- please, stop" Sergeant Garret begged.

    "Listen to your Sergeant, young Captain. You''re already over 500 silver in debt." Tycon gently chided, "You''ve lost and you''ve nothing left to offer."

    Hai snarled, the muscles on his arms bulging, "Nothing to offer?! NOTHING TO OFFER?!?"

    He ced his ceremonial cuss on the center of the card-barrel, "I''ll put my gods-damned RANK on the line!!"

    Tycon took the cuss and pulled it from its scabbard. Thin. Flimsy, "This... is supposed to be a Captain''s sword? The design on the de looked like it was smithed by a thumbless kobold."

    Hai snatched the de and scabbard back, "Sh-shut up! It does not!"

    Tycon crossed his arms and red. Shao Ran crossed his arms and red.

    Eleven of Seven shrugged, "I concur. Also, I was not issued such a de."

    "WHATEVER!!" Hai shouted, "How about you take the gods-damned Admiralty and then YOU can figure it out!!"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Hai, you can''t be serious. Take the sword back."

    Hai bared his teeth, "I''m the gods-damned Fleet Admiral! I can do whatever the hells I want!!"

    Suddenly, Garret fell backward. A dull clunk emanated from where the bald man struck his head on the floorboards. The short figure of Eleven of Seven climbed onto Garret''s former seat, "I will fight to keep this fleet in capable hands."

    Ran narrowed his eyes with a dropped jaw, "Ehhhhh?! Eleven? Wait-- that''s not fair! This guy doesn''t even have a brain!"

    The metal man tilted his helmet, "Lieutenant Shao Ran, that has not stopped you."

    [Game 13; Tycon, Ran, Hai, Eleven]

    The hold had grown quiet, with only the 4 of them being its living upants. Spirits and skeletons continued to shuffle around, performing minor duties and providing background noise.

    Tycon stared at his cards and red at his opponents.

    He gnashed his teeth. He didn''t trust Ran or Eleven any more than he did Hai. At least the boy-Captain had been running a fleet for awhile.

    Tycon refused to let the fleet fall into anyone else''s hands! He''d see the fleet headed by a snake if he had to!

    ? System, inquiry: What are the cards in everyone''s hands? ?

    ...

    As a result of Tycon''s cheat-ability, he easily won the remaining games. He returned the Admiralty to Lang Hai, which everyone seemed to (somewhat) agree was the best decision.

    He got an honorary officer rank for his troubles-- it was a title without pay, not that the Sea Wolves could afford to keep him.

    Soon enough, the 4 ships reached an ind off the coast of the Beaurte territories. Young men and women from across the Kingdom flocked to Saint Guinefort ind hoping to be trained as Beaurte Marines and enter the Sea Wolf fleet.

    Tycon grinned at the prospect.

    Training for Invictus awaited.

 Chapter 162 Bloody Training

    ?"Finally nice to get off the ship!" Lone eximed.

    Pale nodded, "And with our feet on the sand."

    "Wee to Port Dog Shit, Sir Tycon," Marine Sergeant Garret saluted Tycon as he got off the rowboat and stepped onto the beach.

    Tycon nced back to the Unfortunate, anchored a bit off the coast. He was told that the ind''s existing docks were in use, mostly by ships that weren''t as seaworthy. Recruits and most inhabitants of the ind were expected to swim from their ship to the rocky beaches.

    "Mister Garret..." Tycon grimaced, "I''m sorry-- you said... Port Dog Shit?"

    "Ehehe, yeah," The bald man smiled with chagrin, "It''s a local name, kehe. You can smell it in the air, can''tcha? Figured it best you heard it from me, ''fore you heard it anywhere else."

    Tarquin Wroe took a deep breath, shutting his eyes and smiling radiantly.

    Tycon did not do the same. It smelled of fish rot and sulfur, "Your thoughts, Mister Wroe?"

    Wroe tilted his head, "I love it. Not the smell, though... but there''s this feeling of familiarity."

    Tycon frowned. That sounded like an absolute nightmare. What was familiar? Rotting things? Ghosts? Creatures from the great beyond?

    A loud bubbling sound echoed across the waters. Sergeant Garret looked over, along with Invictus members: Tycon, Wroe, Pale, and Lone. In a rumble of bubbles, the Unfortunate began to sink beneath the waves.

    The group stared on for over two minutes, watching the ship sink in its entirety.

    Tycon looked to his good friend, the blue-haired Warlock, "Mister Wroe... is that... supposed to happen?"

    The daeva gently grimaced, "No, Boss. It is not."

    ...

    It had been a few suns since the Sea Wolves'' return. The blood orange sun was swiftly setting upon the white sands of Port Saint Guinefort.

    High-Captain Lang Hai loved these sands, its bloody history, and the fresh blood of his sea pups, shed each training sun.

    "Swim faster, pups!" He raised his voice, snarling in anger, "Or you''ll run the course AGAIN!!"

    A dozen Marine recruits swam as if their lives depended on it. The pack emerged from the creature-infested waters, many of them leaving bloody footprints in the rocky sand. The whelps shared filthy grins. They had reached their training goal for the sun.

    The young half-elf boy, Pale, led the pack, carrying a spear and wearing thick sharkskin boots. Trailing at the end of the pack was the Lone Shadowdark, encouraging a Marine recruit beside him. Private Petit jogged with a haggard expression, three different flesh-eating fish nibbling on his torn back.

    "Stop crying, Petit. You''ll live," Lang Hai said, without giving him a second nce.

    Lang Hai allowed them to catch their breaths as their training instructor, Corporal Jacque, saluted and reported the trainees'' sess. Each of the sniveling recruits could survive their inhuman training at Saint Guinefort due to practicing the Sea Wolf Body Art. Each wound would regenerate in time. Most wounds, anyway.

    Lone cautiously approached Lang Hai... "Captain Lang... There''s a problem."

    Hai frowned. Lone and Pale of Guild Invictus had joined the training over the past several suns. Both of them being obviousbat veterans, they were allowed the privilege of being allowed to speak. Any other recruit would be beaten for talking back, "What is the issue, Mister Lone?"

    The balding, slightly heavy-set young Petit yelled, "Sir! This recruit is missing a finger, sir!"

    "They''ll grow back, Pup," Lang Hai rolled his eyes.<novelnext></novelnext>

    They''d grow back if he reached at least middleprehension with the body art, something that took years of practice. Petit''s injury wasn''t severe enough to summon a doc. His training would continue.

    Hai gave a nod to Corporal Jacque. Jacque would make Petit''s life hell for speaking so informally to a Captain.

    "Alpha Pack. Fastest in thepany. Corporal Jacque, allow them a decent meal and a full night''s rest."

    "Aye aye, sir!" Jacque responded, showing no trace of emotion.

    Captain Lang Hai was pleased. He was shorter than all of the male recruits, but they still paid him the proper respect his rank demanded. Corporal Jacque had done well... He was well on his way to a promotion.

    "Oh, and Corporal-- have one of your peer instructors assume your duties. Your wife gave birth a few weeks back, didn''t she?"

    "Captain?" Jacque hesitated, "The pups are still green, I can''t just--"

    "I understand your concerns, Corporal. Denied. Take the paid leave."

    Lang Hai walked forward to address the pups, "We take care of our own, recruits. Enemies threaten our shores, each and every sun. By mymand, you''ll charge until either *we* or the enemy lie dead."

    Hai red at each of the recruits, making certain his words were understood, "Take care of your friends. Take care of your family. Take care of your brothers and sisters to the left and right of you."

    He grimaced in annoyance... "And someone get those damned nibblers off of Private Petit."

    Pale was first to sprint to Petit, grabbing a fish and squeezing-- gently utching the creature from Petit''s back. Lone and a different recruit haphazardly grabbed the remaining fish, pulling out painful chunks of flesh from Petit''s back. A female recruit cupped some sea water and poured it over his wounds. Though Petit screamed in agonizing pain, the man''s torn flesh began to visibly regenerate.

    Training the Sea Wolf Body Art to Lesser Completion was almost necessary to survive training.

    "Corporal, get the recruits back to their shanty and dismiss Invictus to reinforce Sergeant Garret." Hai saluted, "Dismissed."

    "Aye aye, Cap''n!" Jacque returned the salute.

    After Lang Hai saw Jacque and his pups off, he sighed and pulled his hat low. As the sun set, the cool sea breeze threatened a biting-cold night. The recruits would not sleep peacefully.

    Hai sighed wistfully, "They don''t make them like they used to..."

    That idiot Shao Ran could swim and run the course Alpha Pack took in half the time. He had no idea how the man did it.

    Baron Tycon-- err.. Lieutenants Tycon and Shao Ran approached, armed and armored.

    The short blue-haired Captain crossed his arms, "What took youdies so long?"

    Ranughed, "Hahaha! I had to keep going back for the nerd!!"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Shao Ran insisted on running a circr path instead of straight here."

    Hai raised an eyebrow, "And you took so long, why?"

    The corner of Tycon''s mouth tilted up, "Because I jogged at a steady pace, like a normal person. I''m not undergoing training. I''m readying forbat."

 Chapter 163 Central Beach

    ?Tycondrius, Captain Lang, and Lieutenant Shao Ran sat on a 20-fulm rocky outcropping, overlooking the ocean. As thest vestiges of the sun''s light sank beyond the horizon, a foreboding mist churned over the dark waters.

    Tycon ced his wooden cup down beside the others, "Captain Lang, from what I was told the ind is attacked several times each moon."

    Hai shrugged. He poured thest of the bottle of rum into the 3 wooden cups he had provided for the asion, "Yeah. This one will be the worst we''ve ever had..."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"

    "Tch. Yeah." Hai scoffed, "Or else I wouldn''t bother bringing *both* you and Ran."

    Tycon crossed his arms. He did not like how Hai was dying his rifications, "Pale and Lone have withdrawn to the southern beach along with Invictus'' Warlock, Tarquin Wroe... But they support two full Sea Wolf toons."

    Hai nodded, "I hope those 2 can help the casualty rate... You guys helped out a lot during the raid on the Saltspray pirates."

    Ran drained his cup, "Yeah. My men couldn''t shut up about you guys. Invictus this, Invictus that! Gahaha! I finally get to see if you''re all talk, Tycon."

    Tycon ignored the man and groaned inwardly. Where were the central beach''s reinforcements? Where was Rico? Where was Eleven of Seven? ...Where was Eilean? Surely any of those were worth more than a single Shao Ran...

    The man was the worst card yer Tycon had ever seen.

    "Can''t you smell that, Tycon?" Hai pursed his lips.

    Tycon licked his lips. There was a faint stench of beach-washed fish carcasses that only grew stronger each sun. He shook his head, "My senses are not as sharpened as yours, young Captain."

    "Yeah, what gives, Cap''n?" Ran inquired.

    The cold winds blew sharply, whistling ghostly wails off the crashing rocks. The stench blew in with the waves, the reek of rotting salt-shriveled flesh growing stronger. Its unpleasantness made Tycon frown. Shao Ran gagged.

    Lang Hai seemed unaffected. He stood up and swept the sand from his coat and trousers, "It''s about that time."

    He hopped off the 20-fulm rock. Shao Ranughed and leapt off after him... Tycon sighed and walked the outcropping''s decline, to go around. He wasn''t going to waste mana on impressing those fools.

    ...

    Hai and Ran were staring out at the dark waters as Tycon approached.

    Lang Hai''s voice was deep and serious, "Ran, do you remember much of your training?

    "Eh? What about it, Cap''n?"

    "There was one night, right about the middle of it... It was the heaviest rainfall and most chaotic lightning storm Saint Guinefort had ever seen. You and your peers were instructed not to leave until morning."

    Ran shrugged, "Yeah. I thought that''s just so recruits wouldn''t try to skip out."

    Hai red, "Well... half-true. Tonight, I''ll tell you why some of your instructors never came back..."

    High-Captain Lang Hai tilted his head back and howled. The song of the Sea Wolf was deep, sonorous, a wail deeper and louder than a whale-beast and more haunting than and-wolf. From miles away up and down the coast, other Sea Wolves let loose their ghostly howls.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Hai shut his eyes, listening.

    Ran saw Tycon''s confused face and tranted, "North and south coast''re ounted for. The instructors leading the defenses of each beach are saying everything looks normal."

    The sea howled back.

    A chill ran down Tycon''s spine as the sea''s gargling wails howled back, ten times greater in number. Enemies. So many enemies. The hair on the back of Tycon''s neck stood and adrenaline began to pump through his veins.

    Tycon armed his crossbow. He even took out his pistols and loaded them with shaking hands, "Lang Hai, you mean to hold the gods-damned beach with just the 3 of us? Isn''t this area rger* than either of the other beaches?"

    Lang Hai smiled with chagrin, "Lieutenant Tycon, thest major attack... I lost nearly two entire toons, most of them instructors. Over 70 Marines and sailors died in a fifty-yalm radius of this very spot."

    Both Tycon and Ran grew quiet at the number. It was thrice the amount of Sea Wolves lost during the Saltspray raids.

    Hai grit his teeth and shut his eyes in contemtion, "You''re a leader, just like I am... just like Ran is. Every officer lost, every senior leader lost-- every puking, snot-covered recruit lost is uneptable."

    A certain blue-scaled dovahkiin came to Tycon''s mind. He nodded solemnly, "Uneptable, indeed..."

    The enemies began to emerge from the sea. First came rotting seaweed-covered ghosts of men wielding broken and rusted des. Leaping onto rocks from the churning waters were thick, heavyset sea wolves, their scales broken and shattered, intestines spilling from their ghostly syed-open ribs. Distant in the waters, four misty green phantom ships flew tattered gs of long-forgotten Pirate Kings.

    Tycon''s jaw dropped. Ghost Sea Wolves and undead pirates... "And is this more than usual, Hai?"

    Hai turned back to give Tycon a reassuring smirk, "That night I lost 70 men and women? There were 3 ships."

    Lang Hai tossed off his coat and hat onto the beaches, revealing the bare skin to the rain. His muscles began to twist and knot. The smooth sound of flesh crunched together and broke apart as his cursed body began to physically transform.

    Hai gazed into the dark, stormy sky at the bright moon beneath the clouds and grinned confidently at his two subordinates, "I called you here because I need you to do what I could not do with two entire toons of Marines."

    He put forward his musclebound fist, "My name is High-Captain Lang Hai. Will you follow me into hell?"

    Lightning struck, revealing the shadows of hundreds of angered ghosts dragging their bodies towards the beaches. Tycon gnashed his teeth. The man was a lunatic.

    Ran looked to the creatures pouring from the sea. He nted his halberd into the sand and, defiant of the rain, the de erupted in a golden ze, "I am Shao Ran and I will follow you into the bleeding gates!! As long as I live and Ferocity burns!!"

    He frowned as he looked to the sands below... much of it had turned to ss. If Ran was a little less precise with his mana control, Tycon might have stabbed him in the gut... not that that would greatly affect a Sea Wolf.

    The two of them looked to Tycon expectantly. Tycon smiled weakly and drew the Shatterspike longsword. He shed it against the 20-fulm outcropping adjacent to them, cutting a gash into the rock the height of the transformed Lang Hai.

    Ran stared with his mouth agape.

    "My name is Tycon." He twisted his lips, "And I n to outlive the both of you."

    Tycon cursed inwardly. If he didn''t properly support the two idiot Sea Wolves, he''d likely die on the beach.

    "Eh, good enough," Hai chortled, "Lieutenant Shao Ran! Lieutenant Tycondrius Charm!! I order you to hold the beach."

 Chapter 164 Frenzied Chariot Wheel

    ?A sharp crack resounded through the air as golden light flooded the beach. Lieutenant Shao Ran of the Beaurte Marines took off his uniform coat and hat before holding up his glowing halberd, Ferocity.

    He red at the creatures pouring from the sea like slop spilling from a bucket-- hideous zombified sea creatures and dead pirates from ns exterminated epochs ago. Revulsion pooled in the depths of his gut as he snarled, "As long as I am here, nothing will happen to the Sea Wolf pups!"

    Ran leapt into the air and through the heavy rains, slicing his ming halberd down onto a skeletal pirate. Cleaved into two, the pirate''s back burst with me magic outward like wings. Skeletons cracked and shattered while ghosts and zombies melted away, steaming into the waters.

    Every member of the Shao family was tested for the purity of the Golden Crow''s bloodline. Ran had the highest concentration of the divine beast''s bloodline in 10 generations. From birth, the favored child was instilled with training in The Golden Codex... a cultivation art marked by its reckless bursts of overwhelming energy.

    Ran performed the movements that had been drilled into him-- the same movements his ancestors inscribed into their souls. With each sh and spin, he easily dispatched the skeletal sea-eaten creatures littering the beach. With each burst of his mana, the sands lit up in pyres of gold. With each swing of Ferocity, he smashed dead men into broken bags of flesh and rotten blood.

    Shao Ran charged into a group of the repulsive creatures, spinning into the air as he curled in on himself. A ball of golden light condensed in his abdomen as he poured more of his power into it. Using his mana force, hepressed the orb into a fist-sized white sphere, shining as radiantly as the sun.

    "Golden Crow''s Frenzied Chariot Wheel!! BURN FOR ME!!"

    Fiery wings erupted from Ran''s own back and a circle of mes erupted from the waters around him. The heat was so fierce the rotting flesh on the creatures closest to him turned into nothingness. The sphere of blinding light descended to the sands, erupting in waves of inextinguishable mes. These mes were so fierce that the waters they touched immediately evaporated, turning the area 10 yalms around him into bright embers and molten me.

    ...

    The 12-fulm tall Lang Hai waded calf-deep in the frigid waters. Dozens of cuts and bruises marked his naked chest. He hated ghosts. Their very presence made him cold-- not like the cold of the abyss, but just... spiritually cold? Mentally cold?

    He just didn''t like it.

    Lifting his leg up, he stomped down hard, knocking back a half-dozen ghost wolves and spraying salt and ectosm onto his wounds. The wounds healed almost instantaneously. The stinging sensation of the salt water cleared any drowsiness he would have felt.

    Fighting off the ghosts was a chore. Hai made some mental calctions for how many decent bells of sleep he could get if he called a retreat... Of course, he couldn''t really. Hundreds of recruits would die if the line crumbled... as well as enough fully-trained Sea Wolves to noticeably set the fleet back.

    Hai trusted his instructors to hold their lines. His men trusted Hai to at least dy their central force.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Shao Ran took the center of the beach. His sweeping fiery halberd attacks covered his area in scalding-hot steam clouds. Every few moments, Ran''s obnoxiously bright sun-burst abilities would temporarily blind all of his allies. Hai had the feeling the steam clouds acted like a mirror or magnifying ss to somehow make the radiance even more blinding.

    Lang Hai had his eyes closed for a majority of the battle, relying on the movement in the waves and his other senses to attack. It was the only reason he''d been struck by so many attacks.

    He''d have brought Eilean... but he wasn''tfortable with how Ran acted around the Sea Witch. Why did he even like her? ...Hai decided to inform him that she had a penis. That seemed to work best when he wanted people to stop bothering her.

    (Concerning bothersome people, Hai had lost sight of Tycon.)

    As terrible to his allies as Shao Ran''s abilities were, the man could hold off against a veritable army as long as he had support... which is the reason he kept the team size to 3. Tycon could provide support Skills. And Hai wouldn''t trust anyone else to protect the both of them while simultaneously not dying.

    It might have been the Golden Crow''s fire that was especially effective against the ghosts. It might have been the sun-type abilities-- these ghosts didn''te out at night for whatever reason. If not that, the range and radius of Ran''s fire Skills were more than enough to melt swaths of undead like melting butter for a cake.

    ...Or maybe Shao''s horrendous naming conventions for his attacks made his opponents want to return to their eternal slumber that much faster?

    ...

    Tycon picked up his guisarme and aimed to swing down at a zombie pirate. The pirate lifted its rusty cuss up to block-- like that was going to do anything. Tycon followed-through with his swing, cleaving the cuss and slicing into the pirate''s skull down to his jaw. Tycon unstuck his weapon with a twist.

    Tycon was 100 yalms away from Shao Ran, but the brightness of his skills still hurt the hells out of his eyes. After the Sea Wolf''s first spellcast, Tycon immediately realized that that attack was not unique. Tycon tied a long strip of cloth around his eyes several times to protect himself. He had to rely on his tremorsense and sense of movement in order to target enemies-- it was odd, but as a martially-practiced Iron-Ranker... and a snake, it was manageable.

    There were certainly enough undead to warrant his assistance... but it was strange. Both Hai and Ran had practiced the Sea Wolf Body Art to high levels... which meant their healing factor was strong and their stamina levels were incredibly high. He couldn''t understand why his presence was requested.

    Tycon took it upon himself to guard the back line. Anything that rushed past the Sea Wolves, he''d thrust his guisarme through a zombie eye socket or cleave through a brittle spine. For over a quarter-bell, he''d only needed to dispatch 2 or 3 each minute... Nothing had yet dared to threaten the Sea Wolves'' rule over the battlefield.

    ...Tycon hoped that it would remain that way.

 Chapter 165 Dread Pirate

    ?Tycondrius sensed it before he saw it. There was a shift in the rotting sea breeze and an increase in the mana suffusing the air. Something stronger had arrived.

    The massive form of Lang Hai immediately dove-- hiding in the darkness of the night''s waters. Tycon hid behind a rock on the shore... he''d observe before acting.

    "Hold, boy..."

    A deep, rock-gargling voice whispered in Tycon''s mind, the loud echoing causing his head to ache. Stealthily looking out from his hiding spot, Tycon saw an old ghost approaching Lieutenant Shao Ran, walking on the waveless waters. Ran didn''t escape, either out of confidence or foolhardiness.

    The ancient Marine wore his uniform coat, his breast covered in service medals. The phantom was a hero of the Kingdom. Stepping forward, the waves below his feet thrumming with power, "Your mes burn hot, young Crow... but do you believe you can burn the whole ocean?"

    The other creatures moved... all as one. They walked, crawled, and dragged their broken bodies back into the waters, returning to the abyss.

    Tycon grit his teeth as he analyzed the enemy.

    [Gold-Rank Phantom Dread Pirate]

    The phantom had the same ss as Lang Hai did... and wore a thin, but well-kept beard and mustache on his blue, translucent face... The ghost''s eyes were nted, simr to Ran''s and Hai''s, and a dagger was imnted through an eye socket-- likely the cause of his death.

    Did the Sea Wolves know who this storied hero was?

    Shao Ran paused his ferocious attacks and for the first time in the battle, took a defensive stance.

    Tycon silently cursed Lang Hai for getting him into this mess.

    ...

    High-Captain Liang Qiang took off his coat, tossing it behind him. White spectral hands reached out of the ck waters to drag the sea-rotted cloth back into the abyss.

    "Honor... in all thy actions."

    It didn''t matter where he was. He was on the battlefield. Enemies were before him. He had one goal: to kill.

    "Courage... to do what is right... regardless of the consequences."

    Qiang adopted a wide horse stance. The ck waters churned beneath him as mana pulsated outward. The blurry translucent form he took solidified to a haunted bluish-green. The old man''s body was clear to see... A dozen wicked de scars and pockmarks from bullet shrapnel marked his pale flesh. The dagger pierced through his left eye caused it to ache terribly.

    "Blood."

    The old phantom flexed, his clear-cut and well-defined muscles rippled as if they would burst. Born of the Sea Wolf sect, born of the sea, his body had been trained to peak physical perfection.

    "And thunder."

    Liang Qiang stomped his leading foot onto the water''s surface and directed his hands forward, ready forbat. In another outward pulse of mana, he extinguished the me on the Golden Crow''s sect storied weapon, Ferocity.

    The boy stared at his naked de and involuntarily gulped.

    Qiang shot forward, faster than the boy could react. Striking the boy in his abdomen, he wrenched his fist, "Grasping Tide."

    "Shite!" Desperately, Ran tried to leap backward, but Qiang pulled the waters at the boy''s back to push him forward. He smashed a kick into the side of the Golden Crow cultivator then ced a domineering palm into his chest.

    The broken crow spat blood as he fell back... but the waters surged up, supporting him. The old manunched a dozen more punches into the boy.

    There was no mercy on the battlefield.

    Wordlessly, Qiang grabbed the boy''s bloodied face as he channeled his powers of undeath into his flesh.

    ...

    Shao Ran let loose an agonizing, pain-wracked scream as he fell onto his knees, covered in his waist by seawater.

    Empty night! The seawater didn''t look like it was enough for Ran to regenerate... Tycon bounded over his hiding spot and aimed his crossbow.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A geyser of water erupted behind the old phantom just before Tycon could fire. The 12-fulm Lang Hai surged out of the darkness, "Liang Qiang, you ROTTEN BASTARD!!"

    Qiang tossed aside the battered and broken Shao Ran, who sshed into the waters near the rocky beach, 20-fulms away. With a single finger, the old man blocked Lang Hai''s kicks and punches, "What the hells do you think you''re doing, you little shite? Observe the proper customs and courtesies, you disrespectful whelp. You will address me as High-Captain Liang."

    "Sod off, old man!" Hai snarled. He brought down the fury of the tentacles on his back.

    Qiang swept a knife-hand above him, severing all four tentacles. The old phantom even whipped out his opposite hand, deflecting Tycon''s fired crossbow bolt. Hai growled in pain, but gripped his fists together and swung his muscled arms down, trying to crush the phantom.

    Tycon began running towards the fallen Shao Ran, his boots sshing upon the thin film of water on the rocks. He hadn''t seen what Qiang did, but Hai''s hands flew backward as if repulsed-- and blood rained down from the sky.

    Hai held up his palms, bleeding terribly from both. He leapt back and ced his hands beneath the sea waters, his chest thrumming in displeasure, "Looks like death hasn''t dulled your edge."

    "Li Hai, cease this at once." Qiang reassumed hisbat stance, "Your Sea Wolf Body Art is not strong enough to defeat me. Return to the ship and meditate until yourprehension reaches Major Completion."

    Hai''s toothy face and betrayed no emotion, "Kakaka... Old bastard, it''s been years since you''ve died. I''ve already made it to Major Completion."

    A thin crease appeared between old Qiang''s brows, "I see... Who is my recement?"

    "Yours truly, you old nutjob."

    Qiang breathed in deep and shook his head, "Is your Sea Wolf Body Art truly so weak? Then you are not enough."

    Hai hesitated, unable to speak... He clenched his fists hard, blood continuing to drip into the ck waters.

    In another instant, the old phantom disappeared from where he stood.

    "Lang! Dodge it!!" Tycon yelled.

    [Jumping Knee Counter activated]

    Lang Hai''s eyes widened as mana increased his perception. Qiang''s fist found its mark in Hai''s abdomen, forcing him to crouch over. The boost wasn''t enough to dodge...

    Tycon gnashed his teeth, "You idiot! Don''t just stand there and take it!!"

    Hai grabbed hold of both Qiang''s arms andunched a devastating knee into the phantom''s chest. The old man groaned in pain-- the first strike he''d taken.

    Tycon crouched down and pped Shao Ran hard across the face, "Get the hells up, Sea Wolf!!"

    [Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Yes! Quickly, now! ?

    [Activating.]

    Ran shot awake, choking on sand and seawater, "What the hells, Tycon?!"

    Tycon grasped at Ran''s arm, pulling him up, "Not now! Go assist Lang Hai."

    Ran stood, blood covering his back from the sharp rocks on the beach, "Sea god''s beard, where the hells is Ferocity?"

    "Not important, Marine. Now--"

    Half of the Sea Wolf''s face was marked with dposing flesh, and his left eye was still shut. The other half of his face was marked with panic, "Shut the hells up, noble! That''s my family''s--"

    Tycon punched Ran in the chest with the fist holding the guisarme, "We''ll find itter. The three of us need to survive, first!"

    Ran grit his teeth and took the weapon.

 Chapter 166 Old Monster

    ?High-Captain Lang Hai vomited the contents of his stomach as he knelt in the waters. Viscous tears dripped down his abyssal ck eyes and he wheezed through his broken sword-length teeth.

    "You... thrice-damned old man. Your business is finished. Why won''t you die peacefully!?"

    Qiang stood arrogantly on the water''s surface with his fists held behind his back, "All of the Kingdom''s Admirals must be strong enough to defend their fleet alone. How dare you pretend to be strong, Li Hai."

    Hai sshed his torn-scaled face with seawater, "All the Old Monsters are dead-- you killed them, yourself."

    "Bah." Qiang narrowed his eyes in disgust, "I had a right to self-defense, Li. They had iting."

    Hai stood up, "Is that why you killed Admiral De Croix?"

    The transformed Lang Hai snapped his neck to the side from Liang Qiang''s round kick. His body flew, rotating in the air, pulverizing a sea rock.

    Qiang stood atop him, fist reared back, "I''ve always tolerated your filthy mouth, Li Hai. But I will not allow you to speak lies."

    The transformed Lang Hai stared defiantly at the old phantom, unafraid, "Then tell me the truth, old man."

    Qiang hesitated, "As much shite as I gave Guiume... I respected him. Probably the only gods-damned sailor I''ve ever respected."

    "You died a traitor to the Kingdom."

    Qiang scoffed, "As if the words of the Council are worth more than whale-shite! They framed me for Guiume''s murder. I felt no remorse for killing the bastards they sent after me-- I was only killed because I got bored."

    Hai thrummed a sigh, "That''s how I feel, old man..."

    The old phantom raised an eyebrow, "How so?"

    Hai thrust an arm forward-- not the massive Sea Wolf arm, but the quick, thin arm of a 14-year old boy. He grabbed onto the dagger in Liang Qiang''s eye and twisted it, "--yeah, bored of your gods-damned talk!!"

    Qiang roared in pain as he grabbed onto Hai''s wrist, the boy-Captain''s flesh sizzling from the corrosive touch.

    ? Wings of me lit up the battlefield, as bright as the sun, as Shao Ran flew towards Liang Qiang. With a guisarme of molten steel, he stabbed at the phantom. Qiang, barely able to block, wasunched away with the force, skidding along the surface of the water.

    Tycon was ready,shing out with a whip, urately entangling one of the old man''s arms, "Sea Wolves! BLOOD AND THUNDER!!"

    Hai charged forward, sprinting on the water''s surface. Sea Wolf Sect: Careful Stride-- something he was only able to do in his natural form. His Abyssal Sea Wolf form was too slow against former Admiral Liang Qiang, but it didn''t mean Hai was useless.

    "Victory at SEA!!" Hai reached old Qiang andunched a powered kick at the side of the man''s head. The old man blocked, but Hai clearly saw the man''s ghostly arm fracture, hanging loosely at his side.

    Descending with ming wings, Shao Ran brought two fists sheathed in me upon old Qiang. The old man countered with two quick snap kicks, extinguishing Ran''s fire.

    Undeterred, Ran made half-a-dozen quick hand gestures, "Golden Crow''s Wrathful Midday Sun!! BURN FOR ME!!"

    The golden wings on Ran''s back surged blindingly bright. The mes in his hands focused into a sphere and burst forward. The phantom screamed a ghastly wail of pain as the concentrated beam bored a hole through his chest.

    "Shadowfang strike," Tycon burst out of the shadowy waters with an upward sh from his enchanted sword. The terrifying old man was fast enough to block with his unbroken arm... but the sword that could cut through rock easily cut into the old man''s ghostly flesh to the bone.

    Tycon sighed and held out a hand, snapping his fingers.<novelnext></novelnext>

    With a surge of inhuman strength, Lang Hai stabbed his stolen dagger horizontally into old man Qiang''s spine. The man''s back spasmed as he snarled in a dark and seething rage.

    "High-Captain Liang Qiang..." Lang Hai growled, "Please go back peacefully¡­ Father."

    ...

    Hai leapt back, away from the undead Marine''s crazed thrashing.

    Ran''s eyes shone with empathy and respect. He cupped his fists in a salute, "Out of respect for my Captain and you as his father, I will send you back into the reincarnation cycle with my greatest move."

    "Any f*cking bell, Shao Ran!" Hai yelled. He held fast to the dagger embedded in the old man''s back.

    Ran raised his guisarme to shoulder height-- its de glowing with mes. The weapon would not survive the attack. mes began to slowly engulf the weapon, so thick to almost drip like blood. Heat pulsated from the weapon, the waters evaporating, and the sand glowing and moving like ocean waves.

    "Now, Senior... receive my Golden Crows Mournful Sunset."

    The me around his weapon died down to a single white dot at the tip of the de. Shao Ran thrust the weapon forward... releasing the power of his bloodline.

    The ghost of Liang Qiang kicked and wailed. Reaching out his fractured arm, he summoned a ghostly cuss and stabbed Hai deep in the stomach. Hai winced in pain, only releasing the dagger and rolling away at thest moment.

    Liang Qiang looked down at Ran''s oing weapon. The pain had left his face, reced by an eerie calm. He looked to Lang Hai... "Blood and thunder."

    ...

    "Piss off, ghost," Hai muttered.

    Lieutenant Shao''s powerful radiant attack destroyed a good half of Liang Qiang''s form, phantasmal guts and bone torn apart.

    Hai waved his hand, dispersing whatever ectosmic scum holding his cursed father together. In a quick motion, he snatched the corporeal dagger that was jammed in the old man''s eye.

    The sea grew calm, and the night''s fatigue quickly set in. The wound on Hai''s abdomen began to quickly mend...

    Howls resounded from the north and south beaches. The enemy had sounded a retreat. The other toons had sessfully defended their beaches.

    Hai looked over to his Lieutenants, Shao and Tycon. Those bastards were slightly more useful than he''d estimated.

    Not bad. Not bad, at all.

    "Good work, you two. Our casualties have been kept to a minimum thanks to your hard work."

    Shao Ran grinned like an easily excitable idiot. Tycon frowned like a pompous idiot.

    "It''s what, nearly 3 right now?" Hai asked.

    Tycon grimaced, "About 5 minutes past. Why?"

    Hai smirked, "Go take a break. Morning training starts at 4."

 Chapter 167 Training Hall

    ?Two weeks had passed peaceably since the attack by Dread Pirate Liang Qiang. ording to the Marine instructors, since then, the ghostly attacks were greatly reduced in frequency... though ghostly activity rose and fell like the tide.

    Lone and Pale participated in the physical training sessions of the Marine recruits. They ran beaches with rocks sharp enough to split their boots. They swam creature-infested waters until their muscles spasmed. They kept Private Pyle alive. Their wounds healed over and scarred, their hands grew calloused, and the muscles on their backs were beginning to solidify like rocks.

    While the recruits received knowledge-- tradition, structure, Sea Wolf specific tactics... Lone and Pale chose to rx with the other instructors at the training hall. Such was the benefit of belonging to Invictus and not being directly under Sea Wolf charge.

    Wroe waxed on about his love life, "I saw a Slime Girl on the Unfortunate... an exquisite source of aberrant beauty. If only I couldy eyes upon her once more..."

    Pale stood at the center of an arena pit, enclosed by a circle of dark stones. He was ying with his Lifedrinker spear, trying to spin it around his wrist, "Mister Wroe... I think you''re talking about Lieutenant... Eilean? I think?"

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, shivered lightly at the invasive thought, "Eugh... A Slime Girl, really?"

    Wroe smiled gently with his eyes closed, "Miss Eilean appeals more to the senses. I daresay her embrace is more thorough than this Madison I''ve heard about. What do you think, Lone?"

    Lone and Tarquin Wroe rxed around the sand pit along with Marine Lieutenants Shao Ran and Eleven of Seven. At Shao Ran''s request, Pale began to perform the motions of an Ivory Judge sect spear kata.

    Shao Ran yawned as he stood up, taking off his coat. He scratched his head of light-brown hair and rotated his back for a stretch. The Sea Wolf had gained a dark scar on half of his face like he had been severely burnt. However, that and the full tattoos on his back made him only look more intimidating.

    "Y''all should keep away from Eilean. Haven''t you heard the rumors? She''s more man than woman. You know? She''s queerer than a three-silver coin?"

    Both Lone and Wroe looked over with confusion.

    Eleven of Seven stood up, a set of armor, full 4-fulms tall. His helmet, shaped like the head of a bull shark, seemed to scowl at Ran with annoyance, "It ismon knowledge amongst the Sea Wolves that First Lieutenant Eilean has a p--"

    "YARR HARRR HRRR!!" A ghostly echo reverberated through the training hall.

    Lone stood up, hurriedly grabbing his two wolf-hammers, "What was that?!"

    Ran shrugged, "Eh, don''t worry about it. Nothin'' important."

    "Paranormal activity within eptable parameters," Eleven agreed.

    A transparent-blue form coalesced into the arena... a bald pirate with an eyepatch, a long ponytail of pale hair, and a myriad of potions strapped to various belt holsters and a chest bandolier, "Yarrrr... You fancy yerself a SEA WOLF, booooYYYYYYY!??"

    Pale looked over to his friends, "Um... guys?"

    ? Ran shrugged. Eleven gave a hand signal of two upward thumbs.

    "It''s probably fine," Wroe offered.

    The ghostly pirate unsheathed a chipped, ghostly cuss, "Have at thee boy, I challenge ye to a--"

    Pale smashed the ghost in the legs with the haft of his spear, dropping him. Once the ghost hit the ground, Pale stabbed twice in the chest, and once in the throat, ghostly ectosm spilling from the wounds.

    "Yar har har harrrr!!" The pirateughed as he grabbed the spear end. With his opposite hand, he began to smash potions into his mouth, chewing on the small ss bits and causing his form to glow red and orange.

    Lone turned to Ran, "Wh-what''s happening?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Ran whistled, "It appears Pale''s worth red and orange. Go Spear Team!"

    "The boy has improved since the raid on the Saltspray Kings," Eleven nodded.

    "Magnum BREAK!!" Pale lit up in a geyser of mes as he leapt up and stabbed the ghost in the head.

    The ghost dissipated without fanfare. Ran and Eleven apuded politely with Wroe and Lone joining in shortly after.

    Ran stepped into the arena, shooing Pale away, "Alright! My turn, young''un."

    "Go Spear Team!" Pale cheered.

    The ghost pirate reappeared, again wielding his cuss, "Bah! You, then, Sea Wolf!! Taste the steel of--"

    Ran''s halberd, Ferocity, hacked through the ghost''s neck. The ghost, undeterred, shed and stabbed at Ran, who dodged and slipped each attack with graceful precision. Finally, Ran was forced to block a strike, and though he stood fast, his feet moved a yalm back in the sands.

    "Pfff. This guy''s got a really heavy sword," Ran spat.

    The gem inset on Eleven of Seven''s helmet glowed, "Lieutenant Shao Ran, should you die, no one will mourn your loss."

    "This again? Can''t youe up with better after all this time?" Ran groaned.

    "It is not a threat. It is a theory yet to be disproven," the armored man countered.

    A few of Shao Ran''s powered me-halberd attackster, the ghost dissipated. The ghost had crunched on even more of the potions than when fighting against Pale. The glow emanating from the ghostly figure was also red to orange, with the orange light more apparent.

    "I get it!" Pale ced a fist on an open palm, "The ghost has the Alchemist ss! That''s how they use so many potions."

    "More orange than red? That''s good, right?" Lone asked.

    Ran walked out of the arena less than pleased, "Eh. I''ve done better. I usually get to white but I injured my knee--"

    "Lieutenant Shao Ran often makes excuses when he fails to perform," Eleven interrupted.

    "Oh, yeah, coral cunt? I''d like to see you do better!"

    Eleven crossed his metal arms, "We shall see..."

    It took several minutes for the ghost to reappear. Once he did, he sat down to recover from his injuries, idly drinking another few ghostly reds.

    Wroe tilted his head and gave his trademarked gentle smile, "Are you enjoying yourself, friend?"

    The scowling ghost red with his one good eye, "Sod off, Magician. No one asked you a damned thing."

    Dark mana began to rise from Tarquin Wroe''s eyes, ck like a cloud of ink, "Oh? ...Then perhaps I shall be next to entertain you."

 Chapter 168 Loneâ€™s New Technique

    ?"I hear her name and SING of her GLORY!! Death to the enemies of Invictus!! Death to the LIVING AND THE DEAD!!!"

    Tarquin Wroe floated in the air. The ceiling of the training hall had turned into an infinite abyss of darkness. Faint mockeries of lights shone down upon them, ever-burning corpses that were once stars. Hundreds of pale, feminine arms descended from the skies like thick, translucent-white vines.

    Songs of praise in a dozennguages rang in Lone''s ears. He tried to scream, but only words of praise left his throat, words in anguage he did not know. Tears streamed down his eyes at Her beauty... at the goddess who looked down upon the mortal realm from the dead-starred sky.

    "RIP! TEAR! REND! ON THIS NIGHT, NOW AND FOREVER, I SHALL FEAST UPON THE SOULS OF THE DAMNED!!" Wroe cackled.

    Shutting his eyes, he clenched his fist, "I hear her name... and thus... I sing."

    A hundred grasping arms tore the spirit apart as he screamed in an agony almost palpable.

    And then... all was silent.

    ...It was several moments before Wroe walked back to his peers and sat amongst them, smiling as if all was normal.

    Shao Ran rubbed his face, "Sea god''s pants, what in the seven hells was that? And why does the inside of my mouth taste like fried pickles?"

    Lone wiped the tears from his eyes. He looked at his hands-- they were stained as if by ck ink, "It uh... it happens."

    Eleven of Seven turned his shark-helm to face the Warlock, "I have no mouth, but I must vomit."

    Pale was curled up on the floor, quietly sobbing, "I... I had a cat... he got run over by a carriage when I was 8..."

    Ran grimaced, "Yeah, okay. That was weird. What... what was all that stuff about death to the living and the dead?"

    "What?" Wroe looked confused at the questions.

    "N-nevermind," Ran sat down and averted his gaze.

    Eleven stared at Ran in hesitation... "I no longer wish to fight the ghost."

    Ran nodded, "Y-yeah. We''llpare, next time."

    ...

    Lone finished a set of push-ups, "So, I''ve been thinking..."

    Pale started his set, "Uh huh?"

    "You have elf-blood, Pale... Wolfbanger has were-blood... Wroe has angel-blood, Maximus lizard-blood, and Dragan titan-blood..."

    Pale sat up and stretched his arms, "Um. Okay?"

    Lone looked to Pale with widened eyes, "Does that mean... I''m--"

    "Nope," Shao Ran interrupted, "You''re human."

    "Confirmed. Lone Shadowdark, you are 100% human," Eleven of Seven added.

    Pale smiled with his teeth-- looking not at all confident, "M-maybe?"

    "YARR HRRRRGGGGRRR HAHA HAAAA!!" A loud cackle emanated from the center of the ring.

    It had been nearly half-a-bell since Wroe had defeated the ghost. The one-eyed ghost appeared more transparent than before... and he trembled lightly as if he could barely keep his form together.

    The ghost pointed a cracked and weathered cuss at Lone, "You there!! Face me in BATTLE!! I''ll tear you apart! I''ll eat your children!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone looked around, but his peers refused to look him in the eye.

    He pointed to himself, "Me?"

    "Yes, you, COWARD!! FACE ME!!"

    Pale grimaced, "You don''t have to go, Lone."

    Ran stood up, "Yeah. I want some chow. You fe''s wanna get some chow? Let''s get some chow."

    Eleven nodded, "I shall apany you."

    Lone picked up his wolf-hammers, "Why are you guys all acting like this? I can beat him."

    He looked back to the one-eyed ghost. The man was beaten, stabbed, and torn apart. His form was shaky and see-through like he''d fade away at any moment. His sword was cracked and his arm shook from its weight. The ghost put up his offhand and raised his middle finger in an obscene gesture.

    Lone narrowed his eyes and stepped into the arena circle, "My name is the Lone Shadowdark. I will face thee in a bout of honorablebat, sir!"

    The one-eyed man grinned, showing a mouth full of jagged, filed-down teeth, "They call me... RAINBOW WARRIOR!!"

    The ghost sliced his cuss against the arena floor towards Lone, kicking up sand and blinding him. Lone was able to cross-block a cuss swing but received two jabs to the chin. The pirate swung against at Lone''s head, with Lone blocking the heavy attack with his hammer.

    The force of the strike sent Lone tumbling to the side, sliding across the sand. Thanks to his training, he kept hold of his weapon.

    Lone ended up sliding adjacent to Pale. The boy poked at him with the stick-end of his spear... "H-hey... you okay?"

    Lone rubbed the sand and fresh tears out of his eyes, "Psh. Yeah. I''m fine. This is my new movement technique!"

    In the background, Ran fell to the floor,ughing and clutching his gut.

    A thin crease appeared between Pale''s eyebrows, "I... don''t think that means what you think it means, Lone."

    "No, it''s real! That belt I got gave me a new movement technique! Just watch."

    Lone kipped up to his feet, adopting abat stance. He slowly edged toward the pirate.

    As soon as he entered the ring, the pirate charged forward. Lone carefully watched the trajectory of the cuss... deflecting the first cuss swipe. Finding his chance, he swung his wolf-hammer in a perfect counter. BAM!

    The pirate''s face was smashed to the side. Lone felt the pride of victory surge in his heart. Then he felt the pirate''s punch right below his sternum... the ghost had countered simultaneously.

    Lone copsed to his knees, dropping his hammers and trying to catch his breath. The one-eyed man smashed a red potion into his mouth-- the color of the lowest level.

    The pirate smashed the side of his cuss against Lone''s temple, and the side of Lone''s head hit the sand with jarring force. The ghost rubbed his boot on the side of Lone''s face, "Gahaha! That''s what you get, boy!"

    Ran looked to Pale, "Hey, Spear-Bro... is your friend gonna be okay?"

    Pale nodded with a smile, "I believe in him."

    Having caught his breath, Lone growled, struggling with his arms... but it was no use. The ghost''s boot had pinned down his head strongly and he couldn''t escape. Reaching out with his main hand, he grabbed one of his wolf-hammers and strongly gripped the pinning boot with his offhand.

    Lone cursed inwardly. Would he be forced to reveal his trump card just as soon as he''d developed it? Seven hells! It didn''t matter! Pride was nothing in the face of overwhelming victory!! He would unseal it!! And when he imed victory, none would dare question his means.

    Lone sucked in a deep breath, "Shadowdark Sect: FACE TO FOOT TECHNIQUE!!!"

 Chapter 169 Beautiful Dream

    ?"Ahahaha! Not gettin'' away now, are ya, you slippery eel?!!" The pirate ground his foot into the side of Lone''s face, nearly making him lose his grip.

    Lone held fast and clenched the wolf-hammer in his hand. Reaching up, he smashed his weapon into the pirate''s side then again onto the man''s thigh.

    The ghost growled loudly in pain. He grabbed yet another red potion and chucked it into his mouth, grinding it noisily with pointed teeth, "Yar har harr that be NOTHING TA ME!!"

    Lone gnashed his teeth, "Oh yeah, then take this! FLAME ON!!"

    mes burst from his wolf-hammer, burning bright enough to draw the pirate''s attention. Lone smashed the burning weapon against the pirate''s knee, finally knocking him down. Lone somersaulted backward into a kneel, rubbing his numb, bruising face.

    "Lone! Now''s your chance!" Pale yelled.

    "Oh, you think you''rre tough, huh?" The ghost pirate stood up slowly and warily, "YOU''RRRRE in for it nooww, boyyyy!!."

    The Lone Shadowdark stood up and opened his arms as an invitation to attack, "I will show you the Shadowdark Sect''s Movement Technique."

    "Fancy tricks are nothing before the MAJESTY of me SUPREME STRENGTH!!! YEEARRGH!!"

    The pirate charged forward, iling his cuss wildly in the air.

    Lone grinned. This was his chance to show off the versatility of his movement technique.

    The rushing pirate soon closed into the perfect distance so Lone... immediately threw himself onto his back, barely dodging the swing of the de.

    Reaching up, Lone smashed his wolf-hammer into the pirate''s groin. Lone spun his body, getting to his knees, and he brought his hammer down again on the Pirate''s abdomen.

    The ghost immediately began grasping at the various potions on his belt and bandolier, tossing reds into his mouth and crunching away as if they were dried nuts, "Yrarhrhrhrarggh!!"

    After nearly a minute of frantic smashing, Lone stood up.

    With the pirate''s iling, he was bloodied and bruised. From the pirate''s weapon, he suffered several stabs and nicks. But even still, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark was victorious.

    He raised his wolf-hammer in confident victory.

    Pale was first to begin apuding. Ran apuded hesitantly while Eleven stared on with his expressionless helmet.

    "You did really good, Lone!" Pale cheered. "You just beat an Iron-Rank by yourself!!"

    Lone''s eyes widened as he lost control of his dder, "I beat a what?"

    ...

    *Content Warning: Sexual Activity*

    Tycon was granted an empty officer''s shanty to sleep in, allowing him to sleep separately from his subordinates. Though he appreciated it, he was gued by a too familiar dream that troubled his sleep.

    Over the past several nights, Tycon had dreamt of Princess Aur.

    He dreamt of her body and of her insatiable lust for mana.

    Her seductive moans dripped with greed. Each gag from the back of her throat was with a sense of urgency and nigh desperation. Her eyes remained in a hazy state of longing. Her luscious lips and sultry voice sweetly begged to feel him deeper, to inflict pain upon her.

    The evening''s dream remained the same. Sweat dripped down Tycon''s brow as he held onto Aur''s waist. Her blonde hair stuck to her face and mouth as she tirelessly ground her hips against his loins, heedless of the disgusting noises their bodies made. Neither of them cared for decorum or courtesy. There was naught remaining in the room save a carnal desire for pleasure.

    "Prince... please..." The princess pleaded between ragged breaths, "Give it to me... Inside of me."

    Aur pleaded with a hoarse voice, as if she was near tears. Tycon groaned and embraced the woman tightly as he released his mana-essence. The princess greedily received it, gyrating her hips to take all she could.

    Each night''s dreams felt more and more real. However, his cognizance also increased with each passing night.

    Finally somewhat satiated, Princess Aurid beside Tycon and nuzzled against his shoulder. She drew a slender finger along his defined abdominal muscles, "I love your body, Prince... I wish I could make it mine."

    That was rather aggressive. If Tycon didn''t know better, he''d believe Aur was trying to kill him of mana exhaustion. The only reason he felt safe dealing with a woman of Aur''s position was that she was far weaker than he was. Otherwise, he would have far more safety precautions in ce.

    He moved to atop Aur, staring down at her. Moving his head close, he kissed her softly, staring into her blue eyes until she closed them. When she pulled back, Tycon smirked, "You act as if the other princes don''t have bodies like mine. In this world, a strong body is more respected than a weak one."

    Aur giggled, "I don''t look at my brothers in that way, Prince."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon paused. Something was wrong... "How is your brother? The one that fought in the war."

    The blonde princess giggled, "Why are you worried about him, are you gay?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Beauty is beauty. Answer the question."

    Aur embraced him, locking her legs tightly around Tycon''s waist, "He''s fiiiiine. Let''s focus on us."

    Tycon sighed. The answer was wrong.

    ? System, inquiry: This is a dream, yes? ?

    [Negative.]

    Tycon frowned inwardly. That was not good news.

    ? System, inquiry: An illusion then? What is the source? ?

    [System response: The host is experiencing a harmless illusion. The source is an Bronze-Rank Lust Phantom.]

    ? System... inquiry: ...Why is this illusion harmless? A "Lust Phantom" sounds quite hazardous. ?

    [System response: The host''s soul has an inscribed protective seal that prevents sexual energy drain and domination by Fourth-Circle spells and lower.]

    He had... a... what? Tycon pursed his lips. That was a strange fact he had learned about himself. He didn''t know any conventional magics that inscribed onto souls... and the domain of Fourth-Circle spells was beyond that of the human realm.

    He doubted that his family would have done him such a favor, especially considering the protective seal specifically protected against sexual attacks.

    "What''s wrong, Prince?" Aur scooted herself back to sit up, looking concerned. Her naked body remained as delicious in appearance as Tycon remembered.

    He would discover the reasoningster... Tycon shook the thoughts from his head as moved to the edge of the bed, "Get out."

    "P-prince?" Aur defensively covered her chest with a nket.

    "I haven''t moved to kill you because you''re wearing her face," Tycon replied solemnly, vignt for any sudden movements.

    The girl hesitated before standing up from the bed. No longer covering herself, she frowned, her form growing transparent, "I see..."

    In a blink, the woman disappeared, leaving Tycon sitting on the bed-- wearing more clothes than in the illusion moments prior.

    "Hold on."

    The phantom reappeared, still nude, her face hazy.

    "Go find Barza Keith. Rough looking fellow, dark hair, a scar on the bridge of his nose and on his cheek." Tycon pointed, "The next shanty over, in that direction."

    "The one that looks like a pushover, Prince?"

    Tycon nodded, "That''s the one."

    A faint smile appeared on the phantom''s lips before she dissipated into nothingness.

    Tycon sighed. He had set the System''s settings to warn him if he was ever in danger of such effects. He hadn''t bothered to guard against a harmless effect-- being fooled damaged his pride. However, he had the benefit of adding surprise training to Lone.

    ...Oh. And he had learned something new about himself.

    Tycon yawned before hissing aloud in Parseltongue, "(Beautiful child, are you awake?)"

    "(She is awake, Master.)" Sasarame was nestled on Tycon''s pillow, enjoying his residual body heat. She slithered close to climb his arm, "(Master''s heart? It beats so quickly.)"

    Tycon lifted a finger to boop his adopted daughter on the nose, "Nevermind that. Use your abilities to help me remember something."

    "(Sasarame is a good child. Is the dream a splendid dream, Master)?"

    Tycon shook his head, "Doubtful. Someone has protected me... and I''ve forgotten who."

 Chapter 170 Cursed Strength

    ?It was Lulu.

    With Sasarame''s help, Tycondrius discovered that Lulu, the missing Invictus member, was the one who ced a protective seal on his soul.

    The seal was cast at the Fourth-Circle. Logically, that meant that Lulu was a specialized Third-Circle caster or even a Second-Circle caster with ess to a powerful ritual...

    Or it meant she was a Fourth-Circle caster... Tycon shuddered at the thought. Such a caster could conjure walls of me that consumed armies, kill men with a nce, or literally control people''s minds.

    The memories unlocked by Sasarame''s Oracle-abilities were hazy... but Tycon had remembered a reliable way to find the missing Lulu, once they reached the maind.

    In the morning, he headed out to find Lang Hai and to gather Guild Invictus.

    ...

    A crowd had been gathered, consisting of Guild Invictus and of the men and women recovered from the Saltspray Keep.

    Previously, the would-be ves wore tattered scraps, miserable pallors, and the marks of maltreatment. Currently, they wore proper cloth tunics and trousers, had regained color in their cheeks and were returned a sense of dignity and resolve.

    High-Captain Lang Hai addressed them, utilizing his artificially deep ''Captain''s voice''...

    "Tomorrow morning, we will be sending a ship to return to the maind. The Sea Wolf fleet will provide you with enough fare for the caravan trip to Beaurte city-proper."

    Sergeant Jacque echoed the Captain''s words in the Kingdom''s Old Language-- some of the older farmers and potters preferred it over themon tongue. Many of the citizens wiped tears of relief from their eyes as they listened to their words.

    "The viinous oppress the weak. You have seen the results.

    "The Kingdom''s Royal Navy has done its best to recover you... but know this: You were lucky.

    "There are many who did not survive. You have bore witness to it."

    "And out there..." Hai waved his hand at the sea, "There are many more, just like you, still praying to be saved."

    The Captain solemnly gazed at his audience, allowing his words to sink into their hearts.

    "We Sea Wolves shall continue to fight against injustice, just as all those who have vowed an oath to protect the Kingdom and its citizens.

    "Return to the maind. Move on with your lives. Citizens are the lifeblood of our Kingdom-- your hopes and dreams, your crafts and trade... your children and their children."

    As short as Lang Hai was, the crowd looked to him with pride and gratefulness.

    "I have seen your bravery, sons and daughters of the Kingdom. You must live on, prouder, stronger for this... And if you cannot return to your lives, if you desperately need the strength to defend those who were once like you...

    The boy-Captain scoffed, arrogant, yet charming. He spoke without raising his voice, but the crowd held their breaths, so they could hear him.

    "The Marines of Beaurte will wee you."

    The crowd was silent before a young man stepped forward, "I... I wish to join."

    Slowly, a trickle of young and adult men and women stepped forward, iming the same. Hai nodded in eptance and directed Lieutenant Eilean to handle their procedures.

    ...

    "I don''t like it," Lone crossed his arms, seated on a barrel. "It''s like we saved all those people only for Captain Lang to recruit them."

    "It''s valid." Tycon shook his head, "It''s a mutual rtionship. Lang Hai gets more Marines. The civilians stave away nightmares of being taken away by vers."

    Guild Invictus had collected on a scenic cliff overlooking the treacherous beaches. They were having a pic.

    Lone looked extraordinarily tired. Wroe and Pale were munching on sandwiches made earlier in the sun. Sasarame, as usual, was in her snake-form and hiding within Tycon''s cloak.

    Lone pursed his lips, "They could just get stronger."

    Tycon sighed and gave a gentle smile, "Most people do not know how to be strong. It''s easy to learn how to lift a barrel. It''s far more difficult to look into the eyes of a sentient creature and slice their throats, knowing they could easily do the same."

    Tycon took the bottle of tea he had prepared, refilling his and Wroe''s empty cup, "You were lucky, Mister Lone. Strength came naturally to you."

    Lone grew quiet while Pale pat his back reassuredly.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Wroe swallowed a bite and drank some tea before tilting his head, "You did get a lot stronger after you joined Invictus, though."

    "Lone, you even beat an Iron-Rank!" Pale nodded excitedly, "Could you do that before?"

    "Well, no..." Lone admitted.

    Lone did what? That was difficult to believe.

    He shook his head of the thought and continued on the topic, "The Beaurte Marines are an institutionalized school ofbat, rooted in tradition, and shaped by modern warfare... And with Sea Wolf Hidden Sect''s Lang Hai as its leading figure, the fleet is as effective as a Sect."

    Lone grimaced, "The Sea Wolves are... really strong. But aren''t they cursed?"

    Tycon shrugged, "I have discussed this with Lang Hai. It is the reason the Beaurte Marine fleet remains a very small organizationpared to the Royal Navy it belongs to-- and even other fleets of Royal Marines...

    "Nearly 1 in 4 recruits fail their training, many of them bing injured or killed. The Sea Wolf Body Art imparted by the Lang Hai has alleviated their casualty rate in recent years, but it irrevocably affects each Marine''s psyche and intrinsically forces each of them to live close to the ocean."

    "But as you said," Tycon sighed, "The Sea Wolves *are* quite strong... Lone, Pale, tell me what you think of their training?"

    Lone shivered, "I hate my life every time we go out. I''ve never been yelled at so much since I was born..."

    With some hesitation, he mumbled in a minuscule voice, "and, and... I don''t want to fight ghosts anymore."

    Pale averted his gaze, "It''s... pretty hard."

    Tycon nodded to the boy, "Pale, you''re staying here toplete the Sea Wolf training."

    Pale opened his mouth to argue... but thought better of it.

    Tycon continued, "I have asked Lang Hai to have you undergo officer''s training. The more leadership skills you learn, the more beneficial it will be for you as a guild leader."

    Pale smiled weakly, "Um. Okay..."

    Tycon red.

    The boy sat up with his back straight, "Y-yes, Sir."

    Lone stood up, worried, "Wait, just a second, Boss! Officer training is harder than the normal training!?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. That was obvious, "I wouldn''t have it any other way."

    "Wait, I don''t understand! You sent Dragan and Taree away and now we''re ditching Pale?"

    "Yes, and Mister Wroe, as well," Tycon replied simply.

    Lone held his head in panic, "Wh-what?! Why?"

    Tycon crinkled his brows, "Because Pale can heal himself from injuries and Mister Wroe needs to instruct the Beaurte magicians on how to raise the Unfortunate and utilize its crew..."

    "You can count on me, Boss," Wroe smiled radiantly.

    Pale clenched his fist, "I won''t let you down, Sir."

    Tycon pat Lone on the shoulder, "You''re wee to stay here, but unless you train the Sea Wolf Body Art to at least Minor Completion-- you''ll probably die."

    Lone sighed and bit his lower lip, "Okay... I''ll go with you, Boss... So it''s just you and me?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Nonsense, young man. It will be you, myself, Sasha, and Mister Wolfrider-- a solid party of four."

    Sasarame shyly remained hidden in Tycon''s dark hood, unwilling to reveal herself.

    Lone, Pale, and Wroe shared worried nces.

    "Ahem... is... there something wrong with Wolfbanger?" Tycon twisted his lips to the side.

    Pale had an especially troubled look, "Um... After the Unfortunate sank, we realized we had left Wolfbanger on the ship."

 Chapter 171 Invictusâ€™ Test

    ?"Move with a purpose, men! Time waits for no man! Orrrrrr woman!!! Ah hahaha! --No, seriously, you women better move just-as-fast."

    Emilien Leserre, Knight of the Kingdom, clunked along in his heavy te. At his back, the remaining members of Guild Staghorn dragged their feet.

    Wizard Clemont looked warily at Leserre from atop his horse, adjusting his sses, "The guild has been hustling for the better part of a bell, Emilien."

    "It is still early in the sun, Wizard! Come, now! We''ve nearly arrived at the city of Nice!!" The mustachioed knight spoke gleefully, "There''s less of us, so moving a liiiiiittle faster shouldn''t be a problem!?"

    Leserre turned to yell at the troops, "Look alive, you lot!!"

    Clemont sighed, "How trustworthy is your sister''s information, anyroad? I still fail to understand who would be willing to hire Guild Staghorn after our *decimation* in the Mosswood Wilds."

    "Oh, ohhhh, Maeva''s always been the smart one! She even learned to read, I''ll have you know."

    "I can read. It''s really not all that impressive," Clemont grimaced.

    Leserre twirled his mustache as he waddled along the forest trail, "Maeva''s joined an *incredibly* wealthy organization called the East Charm Trading Company!! And again, very smart! Smarter than me! Ohoho!"

    Clemont nodded with understanding, "Right... I have gathered some information,st we were in the city of Passage. The business is less than a year old, but their business contacts include royalty and various Council Members."

    Leserre reached up to pat the mounted wizard on the back, "Maeva Leserre is a genius-woman! A genius!! --just like your good friend, Emilien!! Have some faaaaaaith, Clemont!"

    Clemont adjusted his sses again, "Right..."

    ...

    Clemont grimaced, looking at the men and women of Guild Staghorn as they set camp outside the city of Nice. Compared to a few moons prior, the guild had been reduced to a third of its size. They had lost members due to casualties and a loss of faithfulness from a catastrophic mission failure.

    Leserre kept a strong front, alwaysughing and jovial in the presence of the mercenaries. Clemont, among a few others, were privy to the man behind closed doors. Beneath the facade was a quiet and brooding man-- someone who had suffered the heaviest setback in his tumultuous and wearisome life.

    An adventurer''s life was marked with instability.

    Quests were finite. Once monsters in an area were subjugated, they would never return or it would be moons and years before the monster poption would resurge enough to be a threat. It was the reason adventurer''s guilds were known to travel-- the practice ensured a steady and neverending quest rotation.

    There were also hidden costs to adventuring. Maintenance and recement of gear cost coin. Ammunition cost coin. Various consumables like torches and rope cost money. Guild Staghorn also provided a regrettably small pension to families of the fallen and to those who decided to dissolve their contract honorably. The minutiae added up to considerable costs and within the guild, only Clemont and Leserre really knew the pains.

    Emilien''s sister, Maeva, sent him a letter via the Courier''s Guild with a job offer to work for a noble. It was a dream job... only the strongest guilds earned such backing. Such a contract would guarantee Guild Staghorn the security of steady pay.

    Of course, Clemont remained wary. Such an invitation was deeply suspicious. There were plenty of guilds simr in strength to Guild Staghorn... but only their guild had recently failed a quest, and so miserably.

    Guild Staghorn had always fought against dark guilds. As horrible as their reputation had dipped and as poverty-stricken as they were, Clemont would not allow Emilien to be advantaged by a criminal overlord.

    Clemont held onto the tiny hope that the contract offer was real and legal. Like many members of the guild, he longed for a more permanent ce to sleep and a consistent 3 meals each sun. Clemont was willing to bend over backward to achieve at least that much.

    The familiar nking of Leserre''s heavy armor approached Clemont. He closed the journal he was writing in and smiled, "Sir Knight."

    "Master Wizard! ...Old friend." Leserre gently returned the smile, steadfast pride upon his face, "Would you apany me to the Baron''s estate?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Leserre''s gait had grown a slight more ponderous than Clemont had remembered... and the dark curls of his hair had grown a few patches of white over the past few weeks.

    "Of course." Clemont stood, grabbed his wizard hat, and adjusted it over his brow, "Let us see what the East Charm Trading Company can offer us."

    ...

    The knight and wizard pair made their way through Nice, finally stopping in front of a... series of wood-built obstacle courses.

    "Doesn''t it look magnanimous, Wizard?!" Lessere''s eyes gleamed, "We had a simr one at the Knight''s Academy in Fairhaven!"

    "That word does not mean what you think it means." Clemont adjusted his sses, "Anyroad, we''re not here for log jumping, Sir Knight. We''re here on business."

    The full-adult mustachioed man pouted like a 10-year old child.

    The wizard rolled his eyes, "Don''t give me that look, Emilien. You know I''m not wrong-- be serious."

    "Fu fu fu fu fuuuu!!!" An echoingugh reverberated from seemingly nowhere.

    Clemont held his staff out defensively, "Who goes there!!?"

    "Stay back, ghost! I have a sword!" Leserre unsheathed aically small short sword, appearing even smaller with hisrge frame.

    "Stars and stones, Emilien, what the hells is that?" Clemont red.

    "...Only short swords were left in the guild armory."

    "Why didn''t... you just borrow someone else''s longsword? You knew this was going to be an important meeting!"

    "Well, that hadn''t urred to me, Wizard." Leserre ced his hands on his hips, "But it''s toote now, isn''t it?"

    A woman jumped down from her hiding spot, wearing a white cape and sculpted leather armor, "So the Chosen Ones havee... the first to test SORINA CAPULET''S NEWEST BUSINESS VENTURE!!"

    Sorina flexed her thin, somewhat muscled arms as four cheap-to-moderately-priced fireworks set off behind her, "the... SOL INVICTUS OBSTACLE COOOOUUUURRRSE!!"

    Leserre pped his hands in excitement, "Oh, this is wonderful. Wizard. Wizard! Did you hear that?"

    Clemont grimaced, "Wait-- did you say Sol Invictus?"

    Sorina spread open her arms and whipped back her short hair, "Gentlemen! Warriors of the Kingdom! On this very sun, you will undergo a challenge you will remember for the rest of your lives!

    "You shall test your mettle and might in an obstacle course inspired by the designs of the Ivory Judge Hidden Sect... but BETTER!! DEADLIER!!

    "And the prize, you might ask? A guild contract for a YEARRRRR!!"

 Chapter 172 Par The Course

    ?"This is a sick joke, Leserre." Clemont shook his head, "Let''s leave."

    Clemont took a few steps away before turning back, "Are youing?"

    "I''m not."

    Clemont stared at the strong back of Emilien Leserre. The man stood, tall and defiant.

    Leserre spoke without turning, "All my life, Clemont, I have been waiting for this challenge... It was made for me... for one of my specific set of skills."

    "Emilien..." Clemont found his voice stuck in his throat. He wanted to argue, but he knew his simple and honest friend had already made up his mind.

    Slowly, the knight turned his face, revealing tears running down his strong cheeks and into the white patches of his beard, "Soon, I will grow too old to properly run an obstacle course. This is... thest time I''ll be able to give it my all."

    "Fu fu fu fu!!" The lithe Sorina cackled, "It will certainly be yourst-- IF YOU DIE! FU FU FU FUUUU!!!"

    "This hardly sounds legal," Clemont remarked.

    "You must sign a liability waiver if you wish to take part-- FU FU FU FU FU!!!"

    Leserre crossed his arms, nodding powerfully, "I willplete this mission, on my honor as the leader of Guild Staghorn and as a Knight of the Kingdom..."

    He smirked derisively, "Nay... I will do this on my honor as Emilien Leserre."

    ...

    [Obstacle One: Bnce Logs]

    An array of logs was arranged for course-goers to bnce or climb across.

    Leserre had already gotten to the end, "Come on, Wizard! Chop chop!"

    "This... this isn''t so bad." Clemont pursed his lips, "Maybe I''ve been overreacting."

    [Obstacle Four: Burning Razor Wire]

    "CRAAWWWLLLLL, MAGGOTS!" Sorina Capulet roared, "CRAWL AS IF YOUR LIVES DEPEND ON IIIIIT!!!"

    Clemont crawled on his hands and knees as fast as he could through mud and slop. Burning mes lit on thin wires with razor-sharp barbs dangled overhead while the yelps of rabid possums threatened to bite at their heels, "I take it back! I take it all back! I wasn''t overreacting!!"

    Leserre stood at the end, throwing rocks behind Clemont, assumedly at the possums, "Come on, Wizard! Almost there!!"

    [Obstacle Six: Warped Wall]

    Clemont was doubled over, trying to catch his breath, "So it''s... it''s just a strangely shaped wall?"

    Emilien frowned, chopping his hand forward dramatically, "It''s not just ANY strangely shaped wall... it''s the WARPED WALL-- a staple of obstacle courses in the Kingdom, since--"

    "Spare me, Emilien," Clemont waved his staff, enchanting his boots with magic, "Jump."

    With a short sprint, Wizard Clemont easily leapt to the top of the wall, pulling himself onto the ledge.

    Leserre pursed his lips and started taking off his armor.

    [Obstacle Nine: Precipice of Doom]

    Clemont and Leserre came across two ledges. The left ledge was thinner and curvier, while the right appeared to take longer.

    The armor-less, tunic and underwear-wearing Leserre nodded, "I shall choose the left path!"

    "Wait, what? Why?" Clemont asked. The choice seemed illogical.

    "I''m here to challenge myself, Clemont! The right path won''t do!" Leserre insisted.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Clemont shrugged. He began edging carefully along the right path, taking care not to look down. The 20-fulm fall into the dirt wouldn''t be pleasant. The only thing he had to worry about was an odd curve around a wall.

    Turning the corner, Clemont found a red-haired woman on the other side. He narrowed his eyes. She looked remarkably familiar-- like Seldin Korr, the Unbreakable, but with vibrant, crimson hair.

    "...Miss... Korr?"

    "Oh, it''s the mage."

    Korr punched Clemont in the face, forcing him off the precipice and sending him tumbling to the dirt below, "WHHHHHHYYY!"

    [Obstacle Ten: Corrosive Arrow Barrage]

    [Obstacle Eleven: Trap Path]

    [Obstacle Twelve: Knights of the Round]

    [Obstacle Thirteen: Knights of the Round, Electric Boogaloo]

    [Obstacle Fifteen: Stairs of Heavenly Weight]

    [Obstacle Seventeen: Trap Path 2 (Electric Boogaloo)]

    [Obstacle Eighteen: Trigonometry Cumtive Final]

    [Obstacle Neen: Trigger-nometry Cumtive Final]

    Clemont walked along with Sorina Capulet. He had been eliminated, but spoke with Sorina amicably, "How many... obstacles are there?"

    "Just twenty-four." Sorina responded, "Korr and I had designed over 70, but we don''t have the technology to make things like the Seven-Star-ughter Formation and the Rasengan Sphere.

    "And... why exactly is Korr the Unbreakable actively opposing Knight Leserre''s progress?"

    "Ehehe..." Sorina chuckled with chagrin, "She was supposed to show course-goers how toplete the obstacles... but I think she decided on her own that she would do better as an obstacle, herself. Oh, and that''s the 25th obstacle. It''s just a fight with Korr."

    "I... see." Clemont grimaced, "So is there really a contract, Miss Sorina?"

    "Uh huh!" Sorina nodded, "Miss Maeva Leserre, the coordinator of our Merylsward branch, rmended your guild. Would you guys be interested in being hired directly by House Charm as we expand our trade to the surrounding major cities?"

    "Err..." Clemont furrowed his brows, "We are interested. But... is that all? Did you want to test us or our men? --Hold on, are you meaning to tell me it wasn''t necessary to take part in the course?"

    Sorina tilted her head, handing Clemont a rolled-up scroll, "We''ve done our research, Master Wizard. This is a draft of your guild''s contract. There are a few rules of professionalism and conduct that you will be responsible to follow-- everything legal.

    Clemont unfurled the scroll and nced over the contract before shaking his head, "These terms are far too good, Miss Sorina. I still cannot believe that Guild Staghorn is deserving of them, with our recent failures."

    The merchant girl ced a hand on her mouth to stifle a giggle, "Ehihihi. Well, about that, our employer is somewhat esoteric. Baron Tycondrius of Guild Invictus has judged the moral qualities of both you and Knight Leserre to be worthy of employment."

    The wizard widened his eyes, his jaw ckened, "Baron Tycondrius did?"

    Sol Invictus was a small guild, but their reputation was matchless, and many of their members supremely powerful. Staghorn was in such dire straits because they had taken a time-sensitive quest to hunt Invictus. They hadn''t had the time to research their reputation, mostly from their deeds in the Holy Country, nor their backing, which included Princess Aur.

    Clemont took in a deep breath, "Very well. I have no issues with the contract. Does... Leserre need toplete the obstacle course?"

    The two looked back-- Korr and Leserre were dueling with ming swords on a raised tform while a trio of guards threw burning pitch-covered handaxes at them. Leserre''s underwear was particrly eye-catching.

    "Mypletion of the obstacle course will NOT be stopped by you, woman! Your title as Unbreakable will be lost on THIS SUN!!" Leserre roared.

    "You will FAIL as ALL OTHERS BEFORE YOU!! I am ETERNAL!! My power, INFINITE!!" Korr screamed back.

    Sorina shrugged, "He does not... but look how much fun he''s having."

    Clemont sighed and offered a relieved smile, "Indeed."

 Chapter 173 Brume

    ?Tycondrius pursed his lips, "You''ve ced Wolfbanger on the Thalia Grace, then?"

    "That''s right." Wroe smiled with chagrin, "Apparently, the docs found him washed up on the shore, chewed up by a chomper and nom''d on by nibblers-- but alive."

    "A shame."

    Tycon patiently listened to Wroe''s report. Sasha, the chocte elf, had her white hood pulled down low while she hid behind the green-haired noble. Pale looked somewhat disappointed.

    "Where are we going to meet up after this, Boss?" Wroe asked. With a tilt of his head, his angelic blue hair flowed in the soft sea breeze.

    Tycon took a deep breath, "After you two finish up on Saint Guinefort, meet with Sorina in Nice for word. If Dragan needs help in the Free Nation, go there... I don''t expect to spend too long in the Holy Country, but I''m nning on being somewhere in the territory of Cersei''s Rest."

    "Aye aye, Boss," Wroe saluted with a palm to his chest.

    Tycon nodded and returned the salute.

    Wroe leaned in close to whisper, "Shouldn''t you go home, Ivory Prince?"

    Tycon had learned a bit of Wroe with his recent influx of memories. He smirked in response, "Shouldn''t you, Prince of Arcanite?"

    "S-sir Tycon?" Pale had kept his bearing while bidding farewell to Lone. Facing Tycon, the young man''s mouth only just began to quiver.

    Tycon sighed and ruffled the boy''s hair, "Did you have a question, young man?"

    "Do you really have to go?" Pale asked, looking up with sparkling eyes.

    Tycon snickered, "Be strong. Perhaps after all this is done, we can search for your father."

    A tear streamed down Pale''s cheek as he nodded resolutely, "Y... yes, Sir..."

    Tycon frowned.

    Unworried about how anyone around him felt about it, he bent over and gave the young man a hug. Pale seemed surprised but returned the embrace. After several seconds, Tycon felt it was socially eptable to release the hug and did so.

    Sniffling and with his body slightly trembling, Pale saluted, "Death... to the enemies of Invictus."

    Tycon returned the salute with a prideful heart, "Blood and thunder."

    ...

    Lieutenant Shao Ran was responsible for taxiing Guild Invictus and the few dozen remaining civilians back to the Beaurte territory. The civilians were the remainder of the hostages rescued from the Saltspray Keep, those who did not take up the Sea Wolves'' offer to join them. They were mostly too old or too young-- but there were a few amongst them who looked hale and healthy.

    ...There was no shame in shying away from the call of battle. The military life was simr to the adventuring life in that it was not easily adopted.

    Invictus'' final mission for the Sea Wolves was to escort the civilians at least to the town of Brume. From there, they could take a caravan to the city of Beaurte-proper and from there, to their own respective viges.

    The Thalia Grace anchored nearnd and ordered his men to taxi Invictus and the civilians to the beach via longboat. The salutes and nods of acknowledgment from the Sea Wolves lifted morale. Shao Ran, the loud braggart of a man, heartily shook Tycon''s hand as a sign of respect.

    As loath as Tycon was to admit it, he would miss the cursed band of murderous sea creatures.

    Other than that, Tycon was in good spirits. Sasarame in snake-form had her fill of a small rodent and rested peacefully in the folds of Tycon''s hood.

    Lone carried Wolfbanger, draped over his shoulders.

    Tycon poked the weretouched boy with the base of a halberd, "Mister Levi, we have returned to solidnd."

    "Guohhh." The boy''s response was... less than ster.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You know... not to threaten you, young man... but if you''d like, we can dissolve your contract."

    The boy had been nothing but trouble and per his actions, Tycon was fairly certain that Levi Wolfrider did not like being part of Invictus.

    "N-nah. I want to stay..." Wolfbanger groaned.

    Tycon furrowed his brows at the unexpected response, "Really? ...Well, alright. On your feet, then. Let''s see if fresh air and a walk will aid your convalescence."

    As the dog-wolf-boy steadied himself on his feet, Tycon handed him the halberd.

    "What''s... this, Boss?" he asked.

    Tycon smiled, "We cannot allow you to travel unarmed."

    A hafted weapon would do better for Levi''s fighting style-- remaining at a safe distance, but still able to utilize his strength.

    "Th-thanks." Levi averted his gaze, "Hey... Boss."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. The boy rarely had anything to say to him, much less ask him a question, "Speak your mind, young man."

    Levi rubbed the dirt with his pawed foot, "Why are you so nice to me?"

    Tycon was troubled. How was he supposed to respond to that? "...I treat you like a normal person. I don''t actually think I''ve gone out of my way to be nice to you, at all."

    The dog boy''s ears drooped. Tycon assumed that meant he was... unconfident?

    Tycon decided to say something sagacious, possibly bordering on giarism. Tycon cleared his throat, "We''re all different, Mister Levi. Strive to be judged by the content of your character, not the color of your... fur."

    Dropping his gaze, Levi smiled and nodded.

    ...

    Guild Invictus led the way to Brume without incident. On the way, Tycon utilized the most powerful skill in his repertoire: delegation.

    Wolfbanger had the (questionably) highest martial ability in Invictus. He was assigned to felling one of the many wild rams in the area and carrying it back. With the weretouched boy''s ability to *carry* the greathammer he once used, Tycon foresaw no issues with themand.

    Its meat would be tasty and the blood would be useful.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark-- Tycon assigned him to take any capable archers and hunt for deer, plentiful in the area. He lent out half-a-dozen crossbows. He hoped the peace of mind achieved from not feeling useless would be a good motivation.

    The deer meat would be tasty and the fat could be used to make tallow candles.

    Sasha, he ordered to hunt some preyrger than she was. A squirrel would be appropriate. The girl remained shy-- preferring to stay in her snake form and hidden in Tycon''s clothes than be a part of a group. Tycon needed to instill self-confidence in the girl.

    He could use the small skull and bones for... something. Tycon didn''t know what, but he''d figure it out once his silver daughter seeded.

    With the supplies Invictus had, the travel was pleasant. The pace wasfortable, the danger was nominal, and morale remained high. Thanks to everyone''s efforts, both Invictus'' and the civilians'' bellies remained full.

    Lone and Wolfbanger seemed a bit ufortable about the peacefulness... but Tycon advised them to savor the calm.

    The group had reached the town of Brume after only a couple of suns. A caravan had been prepared ahead of time, paid for by Kingdom coin. Tycon checked the caravan master''s credentials-- everything was in good order.

    More tearful goodbyes were had. The civilians thanked Guild Invictus as if their rescue wasn''t a collective effort of Lang Hai and hundreds of his Sea Wolves. Lone and Wolfbanger were praised as heroes. Tycon decided not to take that away from either of them.

    After they left, Tycon got a couple of rooms at the local... Unicorn Inn. He browsed the small selection at the local general goods vendor. And he got to work outdoors on a small project, making candles.

 Chapter 174 Sanctuary

    ?In the morning, Tycon took Invictus to Brume''s local temple.

    Sasha had been appeased early that morning, with a hearty meal of Tycon''s specially made bacon, eggs, and potatoes crisped in pork fat. The young elf stuffed herself until she was bloated. Tycon took her by the hand and they walked about-- he wouldn''t let her revert to snake form until she had digested a bit of her meal.

    "Guild Invictus! Thank you for visiting our temple," a balding, middle-aged temple priest greeted. "The local saviors of Brume. You honor us with your presence."

    "It seems word travels quickly, Sir Priest." Tycon politely introduced himself as Invictus'' leader and elf-Sasha as his young ward.

    The small temple was able to fit a congregation of 100 in its main hall, though Guild Invictus were the only visitors. Arge central shrine held a retinue of major gods and a collection bin was set out, filled with a few paltry silver and copper coins. Tycon found it odd that the Tempe wasn''t thergest building in Brume. Religion seemed a slight more important in the Free Nation and the Holy Country.

    "Please, my name is Villiers." The priest smiled, a perfect picture of affability. "Are you searching for the half-elf that went messing a moon prior?"

    [Villiers, Unranked Human Priest]

    "We are here for a different issue." Tycon prodded the white-haired chocte elf, "Go ahead, Sasha. Just like we practiced."

    The young girl pouted, trying to hide. Tycon kept a gentle grip on her wrist and humanely held the back of her coat so she couldn''t escape. The priest, as a credit to his profession, patiently waited, watching with a good-natured smile.

    Sasha shyly looked up to the priest, her long ears twitching, "Sssss... Snake god. Offering."

    She held up a squirrel skull. Tycon had guided her the previous night to melt the flesh away with elementary magic, leaving only the ivory.

    The priest pped his hands, "A wonderful offering, little Miss, to the... snake god, you say?"

    "That''s correct." Tycon nodded, carefully gauging the priest''s reaction, "The youngdy hase from far away. Is there a problem?"

    "Oh, no, not at all. It''s just quite rare."

    The priest led Tycon and Sasha to an open room adjacent to the main hall. A shrine was set inside, far smaller than the one built for the main pantheon. The symbols inscribed upon it belonged to the various dark gods, not to any one in particr. Sasha respectfully ced her offering upon the shrine and closed her eyes to hiss a small prayer.

    "The young girl is quite devout," the priestuded.

    Tycon shrugged, "She''s had a troubled life."

    "We must all go through trials and tribtions, young man," the priest nodded serenely.

    Tycon did not bother correcting him. The priest did not use age as disrespect. On ount that was about to ruin the poor man''s week, he decided to remain polite.

    Tycon stepped into the main hall with Sasha''s ears bobbing as she hurried behind. Priest Villiers'' jaw ckened as he saw dark candles set and lit on the shrine and the seats.

    The stink of iron filled his nostrils. Blood had profaned every surface.

    Lone handed Tycon the bucket of ram''s blood and a brush, giving Tycon an anxious look of uncertainty. Tycon ignored it, "Thank you, Mister Lone."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Wh-whaaaa-- WHAT are you DOING?!!" Villiers grabbed what was left of his hair as he yelled. "Invictus?? Please tell me what is going on!!"

    Tycon painted a massive eight-pointed star upon a nk wall, then began to inscribe some infernal runes from his System-assisted memory, "I''m opening a Gate, Mister Villiers."

    "You''re opening a WHAT?!?"

    Tycon paused. He turned to Villiers with furrowed brows, "...A Gate. I apologize, was I unclear?"

    "Why are you opening a GATE in MY TEMPLE?!?" Villiers screamed.

    Tycon frowned as he finished drawing the runes. It was a simple ritual-- which is why he was confident in its effectiveness, "This particr ritual has a higher sess rate if it is performed upon profaned holy ground."

    Lone''s face was set into a deep grimace, "This sounds like a reeeeally bad idea, Boss."

    Tycon hesitated, "Yes... yes it does, doesn''t it?"

    Turning to Sasha, he ruffled her white hair until a clump stuck upward, "Did you prepare that Sanctuary spell I told you about?"

    Nodding obediently, she quietly muttered to herself. A thin film of protective light shrouded her. Tycon barely registered the mana disturbance. It seemed Sasarame was a naturally stealthy caster.

    Tycon would have suggested Villiers do the same... but as he was Unranked, it was highly unlikely that he had a single First-Circle spell.

    He took a deep breath, ignoring the priest who was holding onto his arms and pleading.

    ? System, disy the recorded speech for summoning Lulu. ?

    The previous evening, Tycon had taken a passage of Infernal and transliterated it into the Common tongue to make it easier for him to speak. He spent some time cross-referencing it with the System''s trantions, to be reasonably certain about what he was summoning.

    Thankfully, he didn''t need a Mage. Lulu''s spell was quite ingenious, only using the residual mana from profaning a temple. Also, he didn''t need to read the script with religious fervor-- he only needed to speak the words normally. It was embarrassing enough to have to bloody a temple. Tycon would have considered a different way if he had to pretend to be a crazed devotee.

    "Is-- is that Abyssal!? Are you speaking Abyssal?!?" Villiers was literally crying.

    Tycon figured a normal-thinking priest would have probably tried to forcibly disrupt him with violence. Nearly any solution would perform better than Villiers'' attempt to violently shake him.

    Also, it was Infernal. The twonguages were simr, but Infernal was moremon. It was an oddymen''s mistake.

    The temperature rose within the temple to skin-scalding hot. The doors shut closed and the windows revealed that the outside was filled with naught but pirs of bone amongst mes. The blood on the wall began to melt the stone, revealing infinitely long tunnels with hundreds of glowing eye glinting in the shadows.

    A curly-haired tinum blonde woman emerged from the wall. Stepping onto the profaned shrine, her long slender legs were revealed by a high cut on her white robes. She licked her lips and spun the red-paper parasol in her hand, "Heya, Boss! Long time no see!"

    The corner of Tycon''s mouth lifted, "Wee back, Lucifer."

 Chapter 175 Validation Of Beliefs

    ?Lulu ced her two fingers upon her lips and blew a kiss.

    Tycondrius resisted the urge to recoil as the cold shock of instinctual fear washed through his senses.

    The temple''s blessed shrine tore apart into 4 twisted ck bodies formed of wood and hellfire. In perfect timing, they arranged themselves as descending stairs for Lulu to descend upon. With each step she took, their flesh sizzled against her naked soles and the scent of charcoal suffused the air.

    "Sorry for dying, Boss! There was a defector in the forest!" Lulu licked her thick, pink lips, "You know~ what we do to traitors."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Are you... implying that you copte with them?"

    The demoness drew a long, sharp fingernail lightly across Tycon''s chest, "Pleasure and pain go hand in hand, Ivory Prince."

    "...Which means?"

    "I tortured the shite out of her, then I murdered her. Kihihi!" The woman giggled as if she''d told the funniest joke in the world.

    "Please!!" Priest Villiers begged with his forehead ced against the ground, "Master Invictus, I beg of you! Seal the portals!!"

    Tycon pursed his lips and observed his surroundings. The rifts in the walls revealed a gued, fire and brimstone hellscape beyond. The ceilings were starting to break away, falling up into a twisting vortex of sinner''s screams.

    He helped the priest up, "Don''t be so cross, old priest. Look at the bright side."

    Villiers held onto Tycon''s shoulders, his nose filled with snot, and his eyes streaming unbroken rivulets of tears, "WHAT BRIGHT SIDE?!?"

    Tycon grimaced, hiding his embarrassment that the ritual was more powerful than he expected, "Well... the hells exist-- a fact quite obvious, by now. By the process of induction... this proves that the heavens exist! Isn''t it nice to have some validation in your beliefs?"

    "Not like this, Master Invictus! Not like thiiiis!!" The priest trembled and put his head down, continuing to sob.

    Tycon hesitantly pat the old man''s shoulder, "Perhaps you''re overreacting? You''re in no danger. My guild appears to be doing just fine."

    Sasha, the chocte elf, tightly gripped the back of Tycon''s cloak. She wore a look of curiosity and was especially interested in Lulu. Tycon didn''t think she was frightened of the glimpses of the hell around her-- just generally shy.

    Lone had his weapons at the ready, murmuring prayers to himself. He flinched at every infernal roar and agonized scream-- and there were many of them. That was probably a normal response.

    Lone did keep his guard up as his training dictated, so Tycon chose not to reprimand him.

    Wolfbanger... Ah. Priest Villiers had pointed at the weretouched boy with a shaking hand. Wolfbanger had opened the temple''s small donation box and was stealing the tens of copper and odd silver piece inside.

    "Mister Levi, while Imend your attention to detail... Can you not do that while the presiding priest is present?"

    Wolfbanger turned momentarily to re back, "I''ll do what I want, Tycon. You can''t stop me."

    Tycon frowned. That was certainly not the response he was expecting.

    The sound of ss shattering resounded in the temple and the air grew still as an ufortable silence reigned.

    "Wh-what''s happening?!" Villiers cried out.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lulu idly rotated her parasol, "Oh!  That''s the sound of the barriers breaking! But don''t worry, only the small fry will be able to get in."

    On cue, a red-skinned, muscled humanoid began to crawl its way through one of the walls. It roared with vering, pointed teeth, its yellowed eyes filled with hatred.

    Tycon casually approached it, pressed his drawn pistol against its forehead, and fired a bullet into its skull. The demon copsed, its body effectively blocking the portal, "That will do. Miss Lucifer, please seal the portals."

    "Teehee! I love being a girl! Everyone''s so nice to me, ehehe!"

    Tycon decided not toment, "Mister Levi! Mister Lone! On the portals, if you please."

    Sasha took an offensive stance-- likely copied from one of the Sea Wolves in the fight against Liang Qiang. Tycon ruffled her hair, "Sasha, remain vignt."

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, brutally struck a three-armed, ming-handaxe throwing demon with a cross of his hammer. He ran from wall to wall, ying a game of whack-a-demon. The young man had utilized what little mana he could muster in lighting his wolf-hammers ame.

    How Lone expected fire to be effective on demons crawling out of a fiery hell was beyond Tycon''s understanding. Still, the dark-iron hammers remained effective.

    Lulu walked past the priest, winking at him seductively, before standing at the center of the temple hall. As she chanted in Infernal, her eyes glowed with a decidedly pink mana as she levitated with power, "Come on, my lovelies! Use my holes as you please!!"

    Tycon coughed, "Lulu. Seal the portals. We want them sealed."

    "Oh, right--" Lulu grinned sheepishly, "Last call! Enter my holes now or be blue-balled in the Eternal Battlefield for another thousand years!!"

    Sasha looked to Tycon as if she wanted to ask something. A hard grimace set into Tycon''s face. He would not willingly exin anything that the demon-woman said.

    A small,nky demon made it through a rift, dragging its greyish body across the floor and leaving a slimy trail.

    Tycon fired a crossbow bolt into its eye, sneering in contempt, "Pathetic."

    He kicked the mass back into the rift it had emerged from, reloading his crossbow with practiced motions.

    He grabbed onto a demon woman''s greasy hair and jammed his second loaded pistol into her mouth. She tried to mutter something unintelligible. Tycon shook his head, "I''m sorry, Miss. I''m not interested."

    Pulling the trigger, the back of the woman''s head burst in blood and brain. Tycon pushed the woman back into the rift and shook off the juicy bits sttered onto his left hand.

    With the rate of demons flooding into the temple, Tycon''s and Lone''s efforts were not enough to stem the tide.

    "Wolfrider! Your halberd would be *appreciated* about now."

    ? Tycon scanned the walls. A few of the rifts had sealed, thanks to Lulu''s spellcasting, Lone was still valiantly fighting against half-demons... that is... demons half in the temple and half out. If any of the demons escaped the temple, the fear and havoc they would wreak would be catastrophic to Brume.

    An uneasy bile pooled in Tycon''s gut. Had he miscalcted so keenly? Was the current strength of Invictus too low to seal the demon portals?

    Turning back to Priest Villiers, the man was kneeling down, eyes shut, fervently praying to his gods with his holy symbol upraised. First to answer, however, was no god-- but Wolfbanger...

    Seeing Villiers hold up the bronzed divine focus, the weretouched boy grabbed hold of it and wrenched it from the priest''s hands.

 Chapter 176 Instrument Of Justice

    ?Anger and disappointment surged in Tycon''s heart. He marched up to Levi, ignoring the wails of the literal demons around him and grabbed him by the cor, "What the hells do you think you''re doing, Mister Levi?!"

    The weretouched boy held the symbol away as if trying to protect it from Tycon, "This is the only thing of worth in the whole sodding temple!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. What was the point of the boy''s incessant thievery? Even on the Saltspray ind, he only endangered himself because he tried to steal some mundane items from the pirates. If the boy wanted to steal something, the payoff should be worthwhile! The burnished icon he held wasn''t even worth 10 silver coins-- and maybe 2 for its base materials.

    Comparatively, the halberd that Tycon had lent him for *free* cost 20 or 30 silver.

    Wolfbanger''s re of defiance alerted Tycon that he would not be convinced in a short amount of time.

    Tycon shoved the boy, releasing him from his grip, "Get to the demons."

    "Aye aye, Boss," the boy muttered, adding a few more choice words underneath his breath.

    Tycon turned to the crestfallen priest, his head bowed, his temple falling apart, and his prayers unanswered...

    "You... what have you done?" The priest looked up tearfully, "The demons havee to destroy this world... starting with Brume."

    Tycon shut his eyes and grasped the priest''s shoulder tightly, "Forgive me, Priest, but now is not the time to give into despair."

    Villiers looked up in confusion, "It-it''s not?"

    Tycon inwardly groaned. Villiers was in a state of shock. At least that would make him easier to convince... if he wasn''t halted by fear, anyroad.

    "Your faith has been tested." Tycon unsheathed his Saltspray pirate cuss and offered the hilt, "Circumstances have dictated that you reinforce your faith, not with prayer, but with action."

    The priest''s eyes dted as he stared down at the weapon, "But... I--"

    Tycon frowned, "As it is, the temple is the battlefield--"

    ? "Because YOU opened the RIFTS!!" Villiers was livid.

    "That is beside the point, Priest Villiers-- this is your battlefield. Every sword counts. And I highly doubt you''ve taken an oath of nonviolence," Tycon pushed the hilt forward.

    The priest pursed his trembling lips, "I''ve... never held a sword in my life."

    "Pdinsmonly use swords because of their versatility and ease of use. Take it. Defend your temple against the demon hordes."

    Villiers gingerly took hold of the offered cuss. Tycon stepped back, allowing him to swing it, feeling its weight. The priest stared as if he was dreaming... "With my own hands?"

    "That''s right, Priest." Tycon smirked, "Show the gods the strength of your faith."

    Tycon ducked a wide swing from a ck-horned demon''s ws. Rotating his body, he hooked an arm around the demon''s neck and shoulder. With his free hand, he snapped his fingers.

    [Commander''s Strike activated]

    Mana filled the priest''s form as he raged forward, "I will DEFEND this ce with my LIFE!!"

    The cuss sank into the demon''s chest and pierced its heart, its tip stopping at Tycon''s chest armor. Tycon readjusted his grip on the demon and tossed it across the room, sending it tumbling into one of the open rifts.

    Lulu winked at Tycon, who nodded back. With a wave of her hand, the bloodied temple walls mped the rift closed, sealing the ck-horned demon away.

    Tycon nodded to Villiers, "Well done, Priest. We''ll see this through, yet."

    "I am the instrument of divine justice, born to this realm to PURGE the evils from MY LANDS!!" the priest screamed, charging towards the nearest stubby-legged demon.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon pursed his lips and looked at his snapping hand. Had he influenced Villiers too strongly?

    He turned to Sasha, who was watching warily from beside the priest, "Sasha, cast a blessing and... use a Cure spell on that fellow, if necessary."

    The white-haired elf nodded, the standing clump of hair on her head bobbing as she did, "Ssss.... snake god. Guide our--- guide usssss..."

    A light thrum of power boosted Tycon''s senses. He turned to observe both Lone and Wolfbanger ughtering with efficiency. Lulu continued to chant her sealing spells. Villiers screamed a holy chant as he charged at another single demon.

    He activated his spatial ring to summon the Shatterspike into his hands. The battle was not yet over.

    ...

    Several minutester, the battle was over. The demons were killed or sent back to the hells whence they came. The interior of the temple was covered in guts and gore, its furniture smashed and smoldering. The battle had been won and without casualties.

    Great sess.

    Villiers, a mess of cuts and w marks, broke down sobbing in prayer. It seemed the excitement was too much for him. The man didn''t seem to incur any threatening injuries, so Tycon kept his mana for Lone''s and Wolfbanger''s wounds.

    Tycon did feel a semnce of guilt for putting the priest through so much trouble, "You can... keep the cuss. It''s now literally a demon-ying sword."

    The cuss was worth more than the donation box and the stolen holy symbolbined. He would have rather kept it... and the priest would have rather not had his temple ruined.

    Compromise was key to healthy rtionships.

    The priest continued to sob quietly. Tycon took theck of response as an eptance.

    Tycon nodded politely to his demonic ally, "Miss Lulu, I have need of your help."

    "What''s up, Boss? Need to get off?" The woman extended a long tongue.

    "No. No, I do not." Tycon frowned, "I need a Teleport Circle."

    "Ohhhh! Sure thing, Boss. But you gottttaaaa payy the cooooOOoost~!!" Lulu winked.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Which... is?"

    "Blue diamonds, usually. I need a consumable focus-- it''s the only way I know how to cast it," she shrugged.

    Tycon cradled his chin in thought. Though he had the money, he was loath to spend it. The trip to Beaurte would be another several suns unless another caravan stopped by Brume... and then he''d have to travel to a city with a Windwright''s guild to book passage on an airship.

    "If... if I may," Villiers had recovered somewhat. He swept back his sweat-matted hair back to see, worry and a tinge of fear still apparent.

    "What have you, demon-yer?" Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    The priest wrung his hands, chuckling in his embarrassment. A deep look of pain was still set into his eyes, along with a single sparkly tear that Tycon prayed was hope or inner strength, "There is a magic tower some malms north. Perhaps they could assist you with your magical focus?"

    Tycon nodded. He could use the tower to channel Wolfbanger''s kleptomania. Once he was sated, then perhaps he would be more useful.

    The priest continued, "A young woman had gone missing recently-- perhaps you could investigate that, as well?"

    It was a reasonable request, "The half-elf you mentioned earlier? Agreed, Priest Villiers. Tell us what you know and we''ll set off."

 Chapter 177 Rebellious

    ?Lulu wanted to remain in Brume for a few nights, citing that she hadn''t had a taste of mortal flesh in moons.

    Tycondrius rejected her wish.

    She rified that she was referring to coption-- not cannibalization.

    While somewhat thankful for the rification, Tycon again rejected Lulu''s wish and quietly led Guild Invictus out of town. He would not risk waiting for Priest Villiers to change his mind and gather an angry mob.

    As they hiked, Sasha stuck worryingly close to Lulu, asking questions in broken Common, often falling back into Parseltongue. Lulu was fluent in the snakenguage, a trait that did not surprise Tycon, in the least. The curly-haired demoness answered the chocte elf patiently, as her vibrant, coquettish nature demanded.

    Tycon sighed, rubbing his temples. How was he supposed to convince his daughter that Lulu was a horrible role model? Lulu wasn''t doing anything wrong-- and it was overall healthy for Sasha to have a conversational partner than wasn''t himself.

    Other than dreading the effects Lulu''s influence would have on Sasha, Tycon was troubled by the recent actions of Wolfbanger. The wolf-dog-boy chose to openly offend Priest Villiers without any sense of decency. Worse, he risked the mission when he prioritized petty theft over fighting literal demons.

    Unlike Lulu, the boy was wrong. The boy''s selfishness was a needless risk, and should it continue, it would invite an Invictus injury or casualty.

    Tycon had difficulties approaching Wolfbangerpared to other members of Invictus. Pale, Lone, Tarquin Wroe, and to some extent, Dragan would be beaten or otherwise punished for their mistakes. He evenmanded little Sasha to run or do squats when she repeated an error.

    (Both were especially difficult for her. Though she could stand and walk, bncing remained difficult for her in her human form.)

    Tycon wondered if Wolfbanger''s issues had something to do with his bloodline...  It was easy to associate positive traits to their forms. Tiger Weretouched were known for being arrogant, effective hunters. Badger Weretouched were known for being fearless, reckless, and stubborn... Levi Wolfrider was... a canine-fellow... and seemed to share more traits with a shy rat or mouse.

    Weretouched individuals were far-reaching descendants of their Lycanthrope-affected ancestors. Depending on their type, many were capable of minor transformation-- lengthened cat ws, powerful bursts of strength in their raptor legs, hardened beaver tails. Tycon hadn''t seen Wolfbanger do anything of the sort. Perhaps his bloodline ability was weak?

    At any rate, it would be foolish and short-sighted of Tycon, if he were to actually judge Wolfbanger as a weretouched instead of as a person.

    As unhappy as Levi tended to act, and as caustic as he was to his peers, the boy did not wish to dissolve the contract with Guild Invictus. Unless the boy knew he was in the wrong and the reason for his punishment, Tycon doubted the boy would actually learn from it.

    Tycon cupped a hand over the side of his mouth to magnify his voice, "Mister Levi! --a moment, if you please."

    The white-furred weretouched boy walked leisurely over to Tycon, "What''s up, Boss?"

    Tycon took a deep breath and sighed. He was beginning to miss working with the Sea Wolves. Each of their men and women operated with at least a subtle sense of urgency, "I wanted to talk to you about the events in the temple."

    The boy''s eyes immediately grew suspicious, "What? I''m not gonna apologize if that''s what you''re looking for."

    It was not what Tycon was looking for, in particr, but it would have greatly alleviated his annoyance. He was sorely tempted to murder the boy where he stood for theck of respect... but again, the fact that the boy rejected the contract''s dissolution weighed heavily on his mind. The boy was a solidbatant... As a leader, Tycon had to learn how to motivate him.

    "I was wondering what your motivation was?" Tycon forced a smile.

    "Uh, what do you mean?" Wolfbanger tilted his head, allowing a dog ear to flop over.

    Ugh. Any answer would do. Why was he making this so difficult?

    Tycon took a moment to calm his nerves before continuing, "For anything, young man. What motivates you to pick up the de in the morning? To journey with Guild Invictus?"

    The weretouched boy shrugged, "I dunno. I just do."

    Tycon took great care not to gnash his teeth in frustration. It was no wonder the boy did as he pleased. He was an aimless wanderer, taking events as they came.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Perhaps a calling? To be part of something greater? It''s much easier to leave asting legacy in an adventuringpany than alone... especially one with Invictus'' achievements," Tycon offered.

    Wolfbanger shrugged again, "Nah. I don''t really care about all that."

    Tycon again resisted the urge to throttle the boy, "What... do you care about, Mister Levi?"

    "I dunno, Boss."

    How... how did Levi Wolfrider get recruited into Sol Invictus? Tycon found it inconceivable.

    Tycon tilted his chin up in thought, "Well... anyroad... let''s work hard. Follow mymands and we''ll survive whateveres next."

    The boy frowned shyly, "I... I still dunno why you''re so nice to me, Boss."

    Tycon frowned inwardly. He would beat the boy within ilms of death if he thought it would improve anything besides granting him the satisfaction, "Why do you say that?"

    "I... I used to get picked on a lot, for my... sexual preferences."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Mister Levi, why would I... care?"

    The boy''s eyes shot open in surprise, "Y-you don''t?"

    Tycon groaned in annoyance, "Of course, I don''t. I''m d you can express yourself as you see fit-- but your sexual orientation or choice of sexual partner has absolutely no bearing on your ability as abatant.

    "--Just don''t do anything illegal." Tycon scowled.

    Because of their new shared secret, Tycon hoped that the boy would be more receptive to his battlemands.

    ...Hope, however, was the first step on the road to disappointment.

    Tycon judged Levi Wolfrider by his actions, not by his speech. Regardless of the boy''s tragic, self-piteous past, he had proved to be a liability over several asions. The interaction had proved to be fruitful, though Tycon still wouldn''t trust the boy more than he did Lone.

    ...Empty. Night. Tycon realized that in the current party, the only person he trusted was Lone.

    Wolfrider was a moody, wishy-washy teenager. Sasha was a child. Lulu was a walking disaster.

    Tycon held his head in frustration, stopping in the middle of the road. He hade to miss the big-boned buffoon, Dragan, and the idiotic smile of Wroe.

    "Boss? Is there something wrong?" Wolfrider asked.

    "Yes. But it is none of your concern, young man." Tycon sighed and waved the boy away, "Please scout ahead, as you were doing prior."

    The weretouched boy grimaced, "Sure thing, Boss."

    "And take Lone with you," Tycon added. He recalled that Lone had learned many skills from Kimura Tamaki, notably a few scouting techniques. Wolfrider''s ss was Warden, abat warrior rted to the Druid ss. Though Lone hadn''t yet gained a worthwhile ss, honing his scouting and survival skills in the wild was a worthy pursuit.

    Tycon sighed again, too many times in too short a period. Guild Invictus wouldn''t find that Magic Tower soon enough.

 Chapter 178 Magic Tower

    ?"You know what''s weird, Boss?" Lone asked.

    Tycondrius grimaced, "I do not. Please, state your opinion or view without the annoyance of the prefacing rhetorical question."

    Guild Invictus had taken a natural break, sitting around a cookfire. Lone had learned how to cast a, a skill taught to him by thete Kimura Tamaki. Tycon oversaw the fire-roasting of river fish with sea salt, a simple but delectable meal.

    Lone scratched his head, "R-right. I mean... with all the weird things going on, it''s almost like Wroe''s still here."

    While Invictus was traveling with Lulu, birds would randomly fall from the sky, dead with worm-ravaged insides. It rained the day prior, but the rain included a few falling toads. Animals were generally terrified of Lulu''s presence-- not including fish, thankfully.

    Tycon pondered the thought, "No... I disagree, Mister Lone. As peculiar as recent events have been, I''m not worried about a rift randomly opening or chaotic outside forces to converge upon me with de and bullet."

    Lone bit his upper lip, "Oh... oh, yeah."

    "Then there are the oft painfully obvious times when Mister Wroe is abducted by a Shadow Creature and reced until we defeat it."

    Lone stared off into the distance, "Yeah..."

    "Hey!" Lulu peeked her head out of a bush, "Were you guys talkin'' about meeee?!?"

    "L-Lulu?" Lone furrowed his brows. He leaned over to whisper to Tycon, "Boss, what is she doing in th--"

    "Not now, Lone," Tycon interrupted him. "Lulu, we were only saying good things about you. When was thest time you have been reminded of your rtive beauty amongst females simr in physical age as yourself?"

    "Gee! Thanks, Boss!! Ehehe..." Lulu grinned before lowering her head back into the bush.

    Tycon checked across the cookfire to ensure that Sasha hadn''t been stolen. She was carefully blowing on her fire-roasted fish to cool it down.

    Not that Tycon particrly cared, but he noticed that Wolfrider was picking through his meal, eating the fleshy parts and ignoring the crisp and delicious saltedyer of skin.

    What a waste.

    Tycon red at Lone with disapproval. Leaning towards him, he whispered, "Lulu is a Lust Demon. Don''t ask what she''s doing in the bushes."

    Lone quickly nced over to where hest saw Lulu, a tinge of red creeping onto his face. Tycon rolled his eyes, "Mister Barza."

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark abruptly straightened his back. The look of guilt on his face was apparent.

    "It''s for your own good." Tycon sighed, "You might die if you sleep with her. Hm..."

    ? System, inquiry: Basic information for Lone. ?

    [System response: Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human Warrior.]

    "With a Bronze-Rank constitution, you''ll definitely die if you sleep with Lulu," Tycon patted Lone on the shoulder.

    Lulu popped out of a different bush, her face flushed and her naked vicles revealed above the foliage, "Who''s gonna sleep with me?"

    Tycon grimaced, "I was telling Lone that he''ll likely die if he sleeps with you."

    "Oh, no! He won''t!" Lulu smiled radiantly, two fanged incisors clear to see.

    Tycon nodded slightly, noting that the girl''s fangs were more prominent than his own. His were just painfully sharp, "And if he... coptes with you?"

    "Ohhhh!~" Lulu nodded in understanding, "Yeah. He''ll *definitely* die if we f*ck."

    "That is all, youngdy. You may return to your activities," Tycon shooed her away.

    "Got it, Boss!" Lulu descended back into the darkness of the greenery.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone stared at the cookfire, steepling his fingers, contemting his life choices.

    ...

    Guild Invictus reached the Magic Tower on a dreary morning. The whitestone tower was built near the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean and topped with pointed spires colored the blue of the Kingdom.

    Lone bent backward to take in the view of the tower in its entirety, "Whoa... Boss, that''s the tallest building I''ve ever seen."

    Sasha tugged on Tycon''s sleeve, "Massssster.... How... err... (How do we know that it''s a Magic Tower?)"

    "Well... first off, it looks magical." Tycon exined matter-of-factly, "Regardless if it is, or not, the residing Magician within has intelligence enough to not be taken lightly.

    "Then there''s the fact that there arerge floating spheres rotating near the tower''s top."

    "(They look as small as Sasarame!)" The chocte elf eximed.

    "Speak in Common, youngdy," Tycon gently chided.

    "The ballssss.... are... Sssssasha," The young girl had a difficult time.

    Tycon ruffled Sasha''s hair to get the clump to stick upward, "We''ll work on it. You''re learning well."

    "Why''s it so tall?" Lone asked.

    Lulu rotated the paper parasol in her hands. It was the perfect size to shield herself and Sasha from the harsh light asionally peering through the grey clouds. She continued to forgo shoes (something that Sasha was envious of) and wore a clean set of white cloth robes, tied at the waist with a thick red ribbon.

    "Because Wizards have tiny cocks," Lulu exined nonchntly. "So they like having biiiiiiiig towers."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Is that even remotely true?"

    Lulu giggled, "I''ve seen a lot of penises, Boss."

    Wolfrider shifted uneasily, "C-can we not talk about this?"

    Tycon shook his head, "Penis envy aside, Wizards build towers as a status symbol. The higher the tower, the higher the mage''s mastery of Circle-spells."

    Lulu tilted her head, grinning, "Booooossss~ it hasn''t been like that for ceeeeeenturies! Get with the times!"

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Well... that''s how it should be, anyroad."

    Lone pat Tycon on the back, "It''s okay, Boss. I didn''t know, either."

    "That reassures me very little, Mister Lone," Tycon scowled.

    Lulu spun her parasol and addressed Lone, "Magic Towers are all-in-one structures: they have magical defense measures, they amplify ambient mana, and they showed how suuuuuper rich they are."

    Tycon exined, "They''re easy to defend. An increase in ambient mana has a beneficial effect on learning spells and techniques. And the wealth status of an individual or group of individuals is a deterrent against random attacks."

    Lulu continued, "It was important because over a thousand years ago, 5th and 6th Circle Magicians were prettymon. The most powerful Magic Guilds and even solo Archmages had big ol'' towers that meant Do Not Mess With Us or Explosions-- and it was respected, for the most part."

    Lone reeled back in surprise, "What? Really? What happened?"

    The demoness winked flirtatiously, "Humans happened."

    Wolfrider sniffed the air, "Boss Tycon... someone''s over there... a human, I think."

    "Well..." Tycon ced his hand over the hilt of his cuss, "Let''s go see what she has to say."

 Chapter 179 Appearances

    ?Tycondrius carried the Shatterspike longsword over his shoulder as he walked towards the Magic Tower.

    He had Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, walk at his side. The young man appeared tougher than he actually was, with his dark, wild hair, a fighter''s scar on his nose, and leather armor that openly disyed the well-maintained muscles of his arms.

    [Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human Warrior]

    Lulu, in her white robes and red parasol strode confidently behind them. A dainty young blonde woman in thepany of toughs was plenty intimidating. Arguably, Lulu was the strongest amongst them-- any enemy that sought to specifically antagonize her would not fare well.

    [Lucifer, Gold-Rank Demon Umbre Meister]

    Appearances were important. The three of them together looked plenty intimidating. Tycon wanted to approach with a position of power, in the case that the woman had any designs to attack.

    Then there was Levi Wolfrider... with his stained, unkempt armor, looking nervously to and fro. At the very least, his halberd appeared professional and well-maintained. Tycon gave the boy his own halberd-- the one he used to train Pale. He was hoping to give the dog-wolf-boy the Saltspray guisarme, but Shao Ran had burnt and melted it in its entirety.

    [Levi Wolfrider, Bronze-Rank Weretouched Warden]

    Sasha, the white-haired chocte elf, walked with Lulu... Tycon needed to train her martial proficiency with... something.

    Medusae were naturally decent with archery. Snake eyes are better at tracking movement and judging distancepared to human standards. Tycon hoped that his snake-daughter would show promise with a shortbow-- or failing that, a crossbow small enough for her to handle.

    [Sasarame, Bronze-Rank Snake Oracle]

    "Sasha."

    "Yesssss, Masssster?" The chocte elf smiled.

    Tycon handed his hand-crossbow to the girl, "Hold this. Ah, your right hand goes here-- right, carry it like that."

    Sasha held the hand-crossbow and stared at it with a look of uncertainty... She likely had no idea what it was-- much less how it was used. Tycon made certain not to load it. Ortch the mechanism into ce. And the safety remained locked into ce.

    "Ssssssasha isss a good girl."

    "Yes. Yes, she is," Tycon reassured her. The little white clump of hair on her head already stood upright, so he didn''t disturb it.

    Appearances were important.

    Guild Invictus came upon a courtyard, enclosed by a white-stone fence the height of Sasha''s knees. A woman in a maid outfit sighed as she watered the garden nts. Her style of dress was popr for Kingdom maids-- reminding Tycon of the maids attending the estate in Nice and her long, straight pink hair was topped with a frilly white headband.

    Wolfrider sniffed the air and sneezed, "There she is, Boss."

    Lone pursed his lips, observing the courtyard garden.

    Dozens of lifelike, white-marble statues were arranged in various positions throughout. There were strange and alien winged angels and beautiful horned demons in humanoid forms, both. Worryingly, many statues had body parts broken off-- some cracked and crumbled away, while others were hewn cleanly.

    Perhaps the sculptor grew bored... or the ravages of time eroded the statues'' appendages away. Concerning the worst-case scenario, the System could not differentiate between petrified creatures and statues. A petrifying effect, like a medusa''s gaze, may be magical in nature but the end result was undoubtedly physical.

    "Boss, I don''t like this at all," Lone whispered.

    "Keep your wits about you, my good man," Tycon nodded.

    "Oh!" The young maid finally took notice of the group, dropping her brass watering can onto the dirt. She turned to the mercenary group, one hand covering her mouth in concern.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone''s jaw had dropped and he gawked at the woman like she was a rack of roastedmb and he hadn''t eaten in a week.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. He was fairly certain Lone was attracted to the maid girl. Was it therge bosom? Was the woman''s curvaceousness to Lone''s liking? Because of her half-elven heritage, her face remained young, though her body had matured. Her ears tapered into slight points... Perhaps Lone was attracted to that, as well?

    He didn''t quite understand it. It was interesting and somewhat amusing to see Lone''s exaggerated reaction, "I believe this is the first time I''ve seen someone fall in love."

    "Ehehe," Lulu chuckled, "We should hang out more, Boss. You''ll see dozens of fe''s fall in love by day''s end."

    Tears began to well at the corners of the maid girl''s eyes, "A-are you here to rescue me?"

    Tycon observed the girl''s features. They matched what Priest Villiers described of the missing half-elf.

    Lone immediately stood at her side, "Of course."

    Tycon nodded inwardly in approval. With an increase in strength, it seems that the Lone Shadowdark had grown a backbone. However, in private, Tycon would quietly remind the young man to always reserve a healthy amount of doubt.

    Lone paused, "Wait, excuse me? Rescue you from what?"

    That was a wee surprise. It seemed the young man''s wariness was not dulled, even in the face of the object of his attraction. Tycon was pleased.

    Lone grimaced, "Because if I can''t rescue you, then I need to know now."

    Tycon felt his eyebrow twitch. He needed to discuss with Lone, in private, the concept of tact and professionalism. Large groups can be judged by the actions and appearances of a single individual among them.

    The half-elf dropped her guard, wringing her hands, "My name is Margeaux... and I''ve... I''ve been cursed by the tower wizard. If I leave the vicinity of the tower, I''ll die."

    "Well..." Lone crossed his arms. He looked at all the life-like statues in the garden. He looked at the looming, multi-floor white-stoned magic tower against the backdrop of grey clouds. He looked at the manner of exotic, thorned nts in the courtyard, a number of which were faintly luminescent, "Okay... we''ll see what we can do to help you."

    Lone looked back to Tycon, who nodded in response.

    If Lone wanted to head the project, Tycon had no issue with it. He had no use for personal glory or any additional titles. It would be good for Lone to get a morale boost.

    ? System, inquiry: Afflictions on the girl? ?

    [System response: Margeaux is afflicted by an unknown Third-Circle Curse.]

    The half-elf''s story was legitimate.

    "I''m fine with it." Tycon looked to the white-robed girl in the parasol, "Lulu, opinion?"

    "Meh, I''m cool with it," the demoness shrugged and blew a kiss to Lone.

    Tycon poked Sasha''s cheek, "And you?"

    The chocte elf nodded shyly.

    Tycon''s gaze drifted over Levi Wolfrider.

    The white-furred weretouched boy had his eyes narrowed. Upon meeting Tycon''s gaze, he red at Margeaux and bared his teeth, "I don''t trust her-- not one bit."

 Chapter 180 The Concept Of Trust

    ?Tycondrius pulled Wolfrider aside. His concerns were reasonable-- even if he was terribly rude about it.

    "Mister Levi, would you mind exining what this is about?"

    Wolfrider shrugged, averting his gaze, "I-I-I-I dunno, Boss. There''s just... I dunno. I just don''t."

    Tycon grimaced, "Well, that''s hardly helpful."

    "I don''t trust her, Boss!"

    Tycon took a breath through his nostrils, "I heard you the first time."

    The concept of trust was aplex one. Trust existed on different levels, depending on the situation, the rtionship, and the judging individual. Tycon''s favored theory split the concept into a mere three levels.

    The first level of trust was enough to share a meal. Tycon would share a meal with Tarquin Wroe, under nigh any circumstances. The man provided excellentpany.

    The second level of trust was enough to ask a favor of, in particr, the care for a child or loved one. Tycon would not allow Wroe to watch over a smoked roast of beef, unsupervised. It wouldn''t be surprising for the roast to grow tentacles and crawl away.

    He wouldn''t trust Lone with it, either... he would somehow find a way to ruin it, like he did Tycon''s cakes and sandwiches.

    Nor would he trust Lulu... The constant pheromones she exuded and the bodily fluids she naturally excreted would somehow ruin the dish. She''d probably discard the roast, ther the sauce over her body, and ce herself, nude, on the serving table.

    He would trust Dragan, that big-boned troublemaker. He''d trust Maximus-- but he was dead. He''d trust Aur. Stars and stones, he''d even trust Monsieur Reynard. The man would be too terrified of making a mistake to not be trustworthy.

    The third level of trust was, quite simply, not enough. The half-elf Margeaux naturally fell under this category.

    Tycon didn''t see the need for Wolfrider''s panic. Tycon didn''t trust most people. The boy shouldn''t either.

    "You don''t have to trust her." Tycon assured, "A healthy amount of vignce is conducive to our survival."

    The maid-girl was cursed, Tycon was sure of it. It was reasonable the curse had something to do with the Tower Wizard. The woman was a Bronze-Ranker without an Arcane ss-- her strength made her prime envement material.

    The half-elf maid had value with her status as a tower ve. If there were traps or odd protective spells within the magic tower, she would be able to warn them.

    ...And since they weren''t being watched by the public, Tycon could utilize her as a sacrifice to ensure the survival of his subordinates. Invictus couldn''t lose reputation if no one knew about their misdeeds. The young woman was more useful than she wasn''t.

    Ignoring Wolfrider''s nasal whining, Tycon made his way back to Margeaux.

    Lone looked up, "S''everything alright, Boss?"

    Lone wasforting the maid-girl as she spoke to him with a tearful face and quivering lips. The two were rather close, with Margeaux holding onto one of Lone''s calloused hands with both of her soft, pudgy ones.

    Tycon slowly nodded his head... "Yes... I discussed circumstances with Mister Levi."

    The half-elf looked up, gasping with surprise. Her full bosom trembled with her movement, "Does that mean you''ll help me?"

    Tycon''s face remained impassive to hide his disgust, "Yes. All of Guild Invictus will assist you on your quest. We are looking to meet with the Tower Wizard and can negotiate terms of your release."

    "Oh, wondrous... That is a relief." Margeaux sighed, touching a hand to her sternum. Her mouth twitched into a pout, very slightly.

    "Is there an issue, youngdy?" Tycon inquired.

    "It''s just that..." Margeaux snuggled closer to the Lone Shadowdark. The man seemed to be enjoying life with one of the woman''s breasts mashed against his arm, "I haven''t seen the Tower Wizard for nearly a moon..."

    Lulu shrugged, "Weaklings die. Big deal."

    Tycon nodded, "Not our problem. Can you get us into the tower?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Margeaux nodded hesitantly, "Are... you guys here to rob the tower?"

    "Yes, we are," Lone proudly eximed.

    Tycon scowled, "No, we are not."

    Lone frowned... "We kinda are, Boss."

    "Tsss... We are here primarily for arcane materials. It would be best if we could barter or trade for them peaceably," Tycon exined.

    He was not against taking the Wizard''s valuables, but looters and traders were perceptibly different, with thetter looked upon more kindly.

    "Oh!" The maid eximed, "I know where the Wizard keeps his most expensive materials! It''s on the top floor."

    Lone loosed an annoyed groan, "Yep. Of course."

    Lulu nodded, "Makes sense."

    "I expected no less," Tycon shrugged.

    Traps existed on every floor of a Magic Tower. It was natural that the most protected items would be at its peak.

    Sasha grimaced, bravely stepping forward, "Sssssasha..."

    Everyone looked to her expectantly. Slowly, the chocte elf retreated to behind Tycon without finishing her sentence. Tycon pat his daughter on the head.

    He nodded to the half-elf maid, "Margeaux, let us enter the tower."

    [Wizard Tower: Floor 1]

    "There''s a Magic Beast that guards the first floor," Margeaux exined. "I can open the door to allow you all inside, but once I enter, the magic spirits me away to a different floor..."

    Lone was still holding onto her hand, "We''lle and rescue you, Margeaux. Just hold on."

    The blushing maid released Lone''s hand and politely bowed to the party, "I am in your debt, Guild Invictus."

    Stepping through the open door, she faded away in a pink haze of mana.

    Tycon sighed. With the woman gone, his n to use her as an emergency sacrifice had been dashed.

    Lone stepped forward bravely, "I... I''ll go. This is my quest, after all."

    Tycon shook his head, "No. You might die. Better me or..."

    He looked over to Lulu. She was in the garden, sexually assaulting an angel statue. He wanted to scold her but... non-sentient statues didn''t seem to be capable of giving or denying consent.

    The well-armored, protected-by-the-power-of-nature Warden was crossing his arms, sitting by himself on the ground.

    No... Levi Wolfrider had shown on several asions that he couldn''t be trusted with the most basic of tasks. Tycon took a deep breath and sighed, "Wait for me here...

    "If I''m not back in half-a-bell..." Tycon nced up at the Wizard Tower and groaned, "--wait longer."

    Tycon stepped into the tower, feeling a buzz of mana trickle through him. The interior of the tower, as expected, was awash with ambient mana. His mind was clearer, his senses grew noticeably sharper, and his own internal mana coursed easier.

    He stepped through the open-portal rooms, searching for the stairs... He found a lobby of sorts, some chairs, a table, and a few mundane scrolls. He noted a sleeping area with a few dozen beds and personal chests. Coming across the kitchen, however, Tycon came face-to-face with a 6-fulm tall, featherless rooster.

 Chapter 181 Territorial Guardian

    ?Tycondrius narrowed his eyes, keeping eye contact with his opponent as he slowly backed away.

    The creature before him was a cockatrice, a winged bird with scales all over its body and sporting a redb and wattle simr to a rooster. However, the bird was farrger than the goose-sized ones in his memories.

    ...That it was a mere cockatrice relieved him. If the creature were actually a giant, naked rooster, Tycon would have to worry about why it was plucked clean and where its feathers were. Thest thing he wanted was for razor-sharp feathers controlled by chicken-magic tocerate him into shreds.

    Wizards were a peculiar lot.

    ? System, inquiry: The cockatrice''s level. ?

    [System response: Cockatrice, Iron-Rank Magical Beast]

    The cockatrice squawked angrily.

    The creature''s rank was not particrly worrisome, but its size made it more troublesome to fight on his own than it was worth. Worse still was the fact that cockatrices were very territorial.

    The giant bird shifted its head, back and forth, judging Tycon.

    ? System, inquiry: Do I speak... chicken? ?

    [Negative.]

    Stars and stones, Tycon cursed inwardly.

    The cockatrice chomped onto Tycon''s sword arm.

    "Empty NIGHT!!!" He cursed. Dropping to a kneel, he picked up his dropped sword with his opposite hand and began bashing the giant chicken in its stupid chicken face.

    "Let go or I will sever your limbs and DEEP FRY YOU IN ANIMAL FAT!!"

    With his right arm mped tightly, Tycon smashed his arm and the cockatrice''s head with it against a nearby wall, "Stupid bird!!"

    The creature iled its head, pushing Tycon around with its wings. Simultaneously, it tried and failed to w at Tycon with its massive-taloned feet.

    Finally, Tycon managed a precise pommel smash into the bird''s eye. It flinched and reared back, squawking angrily.

    Tycon rubbed his arm. It hadn''t drawn blood, but there would be a bruise where he was bitten.

    Even normal-sized cockatrices were dangerous magical beasts. Their peck and bite turned living creatures to stone-- something that Tycon as a male medusa wasn''t at all worried about. With the giant cockatrice''s size, the bite was moderately more painful, though still manageable.

    A prolonged fight would see him gashed by the creature''s wed feet, however. Each talon was the size of a short sword and could easily eviscerate him.

    Tycon pointed threateningly at the bird, "You-- urgh... Wait there, chicken."

    The cockatrice squawked arrogantly as Tycon withdrew.

    ...

    After making certain the cockatrice wasn''t following him, Tycon exited the Magic Tower, meeting the expectant gazes of Guild Invictus.

    He pointed behind him, into the tower, "Cockatrice. Needs to be--"

    "Did you say COCK?! I volunteer as tribute!!" Lulu immediately raised up three fingers.

    Tycon''s mouth twitched. He had no idea what the gesture was supposed to mean... "Very... well."

    The blonde girl moved with high, springy steps. She reached her hand out to cross the doorway... but a glowing blue magical wall buzzed, halting her advance.

    She pressed against it with two fingers.

    "There''s something inside that I want very, very much..." she whispered with a hint of seductive longing.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The barrier cracked like ss, then broke apart, blue shards falling and dissipating into mana-dust. Lulu turned back with a wink and a knowing smile before continuing to prance into the tower.

    Lone ced a hand on his chin, "Um... should we go and help her?"

    Loud cacophonous echoes of pained squawking and agonized screeches resounded from beyond the doorway.

    Tycon pursed his lips... "I highly doubt she requires assistance."

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, gulped involuntarily. He no longer appeared as willing to help as before.

    Wolfrider''s dog ears ttened as he loosed a subtle wine.

    Sasha poised upright as if ready to strike. She held her hand-crossbow over her head. What she was trying to do with it, Tycon didn''t know. He took the weapon back.

    Tycon took a deep breath, "I suppose we''ll... wait 5 more minutes and we''ll explore the tower together."

    ...

    Blood was painted on the white-stone interior walls at irregr locations, an indication of Lulu''s one-sided ughter. Giant chicken body parts were strewn about in random ces. The cockatrice looked as if it was pulled and torn apart, without the use of a cutting instrument.

    Lone shuddered, wide-eyed, "Did... did Lulu do all this?"

    Wolfrider scoffed, "Yeah, of course. What, do you think it just exploded on its own?"

    Tycon grimaced. Was Wolfrider purposely being hostile to his allies? ...Also, Wizards were a peculiar lot. Angry explosive birds were not out of the question nor was it an unheard-of phenomenon.

    "Mister Lone, utilizing the process of induction, yes, Lulu was responsible for this carnage."

    Tycon grabbed a few choice pieces of thigh meat and ced them in his storage ring. He hadn''t cooked with cockatrice before but cooking with any type of poultry remained simr. They were safe to eat, as long as they weren''t carrion birds.

    He grabbed some bone bits, as well. It would make a fantastic stock. He needed to invest in some flour or potato starch to make gravy.

    He nced over at Invictus'' chocte elf, Sasha. She was looking around at the tower''s various but mundane wall tapestries and decorations as she walked. She was unbothered by the blood-- she had likely seen far worse in the torture chamber at the Saltspray Keep.

    She may have been more physically mature than Taree, but her mental age was lower. She would probably enjoy fried chicken strips.

    Everyone loved fried chicken strips, especially children.

    Tycon mentally increased the priority of attaining flour.

    Passing by the sleeping quarters, Levi Wolfrider immediately gravitated toward the room. Tycon rolled his eyes. The weretouched boy was probably enticed by the various footlockers at the foot of each bed.

    Tycon was continuously surprised by the fact that the boy was a Warden. Wardens were defenders of nature, a ss simr to Ranger or Scout in that they were advantaged in forest areas. Druidic magic boosted their constitutions, making them hardy front-line warriors... But with Wolfrider''s disposition, he would be far better suited to the Thief ss.

    It was an opposite circumstance,pared to Lone''s.

    Lone followed Wolfrider, with Tycon and Sasha following suit.

    As Tycon had surmised, Wolfrider was greedily eyeing the various chests. The boy walked over to one of the footlockers, kneeling over it and carefully inspecting its exterior.

    The Lone Shadowdark was first to question Levi''s actions, "Hey, Wolfbanger... Haven''t you heard of respecting other people''s property?"

    The boy didn''t bother looking back, "Sod off, Lone. You can''t tell me what to do."

    Lone grimaced, "That''s weird... Margeaux never said anything about other people living in the tower."

    "I don''t expect anything worthwhile from whomever''s footlockers these are." Tycon shrugged, "But if they are unsecured, that is the fault of the owner."

 Chapter 182 Compromising Position

    ?Tycondrius ced his hand on his chin, pondering, "I realize now that you haven''t yet entered a proper dungeon, Mister Lone."

    "A dungeon?" Lone absentmindedly rubbed the scar on the bridge of his nose, "What do you mean, Boss?"

    "Are you familiar with ''Dungeon Subjugation'' quests?"

    "Uh huh? The adventurer''s guild hires reputable adventurerpanies to clear them a monsterir..." Realization shone on Lone''s eyes, "Oh. We''re one of thosepanies, aren''t we?"

    Tycon''s mouth twitched... "Yes, I admit that can be easy to forget, sometimes...

    "A proper dungeon exists because of a Dungeon Core, functioning as the maintainer of an ecosystem. The core summons and cultivates natural and sometimes extranar creatures, traps, and even creates magical treasure."

    Lone was taken aback, "H-how does that work?"

    Tycon shrugged, "Popr theory states that Dungeon Cores subsist on the mana of defeated adventurer-- and dungeons attract adventurers by the droves. Adventurer guild hubs sometimes issue bounties for the cores, either to be destroyed or recovered for study."

    "Anyroad.." Tycon pat Lone''s shoulder, reassuringly, "Loot away. It''s what adventurers do."

    "And graverobbers," Lone muttered.

    Tycon chuckled, "If there''s any trouble, I''ll take the me. If anyone puts up a fuss, we can always return what we''ve taken."

    Lone nodded, albeit hesitantly, "Well... alright."

    As a matter of convenience, Tycon hid the fact that the tower was likely a Dungeon, powered by a Dungeon Core. Though cores were rare, it was the most readily avable artifact able to provide the increase of ambient mana within the tower.

    Throughout the areas on the ground floor, Tycon hadn''t seen a feeding area for the cockatrice. It reinforced the likelihood of a Dungeon Core sustaining the creature with its mana. The same sustainment phenomenon was not replicated when utilizing a mana-gathering formation.

    In the event that Invictus was pressed by the Tower Wizard, Tycon could use the excuse that they heard a rumor of a Dungeon in the area and only trespassed for the sake of defending humankind. Per the rules set by the adventurer''s guild, Invictus would be protected from any legal repercussions, within reason.

    ...There were no ''Keep Out'' signs, after all. It was a design w made by the Tower Wizard.

    "Uh... Boss?" Wolfrider looked up, his dog-ears drooping in distress.

    "Go ahead, Mister Levi."

    "My uh... h-help?"

    Tycon looked over to Wolfrider and his footlocker. The boy had ced his halberd down and both of his hands appeared to be awkwardly affixed to the wooden chest.

    Could he not remove them?

    Narrowing his eyes, Tycon gently held Sasha''s shoulder and guided her to move behind him, "Sasha... you and I are going to slowly move towards the door."

    Lone grabbed the pair of wolf-hammers on his belt, "Boss... What''s wrong?"

    "Standard safety procedure, Mister Lone. Kindly assist Mister Wolfrider, if you would."

    As Tycon and Sasha watched from the doorway, Lone moseyed toward Wolfrider, making a spectacle of taking his time.

    "Well, well, well... how the turn-tables..." The Lone Shadowdark taunted, "What''s wrong, doggo? Are you stuck?"

    Wolfrider emitted a low growl, "Rrrr... It''s not funny, Lone. Help me out."

    Sasha looked up at Tycon with big, rounded eyes, "(Master? She doesn''t know the reason.)"

    Tycon adjusted Sasha''s stark white hair, "I worry that that chest is an aberrant creature called a mimic."

    "(She knows nothing about the mimic?)"

    Tycon smiled gently but did not answer. He remained vignt of the wolf-dog and wolf-hammer''s plight. If his Dungeon Core theory was urate, traps and monstrous creatures would not be unexpected. He''d exin everything to Sasha, afterward.

    Lone managed to also get his hands stuck, trying to pry Levi''s hands off of the footlocker.

    Tycon was the only Guild Invictus member that consistently wore gloves. Having greater tactile senses were a boon inbat, so Lone had ignored Tycon''s friendly advisory on the matter. It was likely that the Bronze-Rank Warrior was regretting the choice in his current situation.

    If Tycon hadn''t watched the scene unfold, he would assume that the Lone Shadowdark had gently approached Levi Wolfrider and embraced him from behind. Wolfrider had two hands and a furred foot against the footlocker. Lone''s human hands were on top of Levi''s furry hands, their fingers inteced.

    Even more suggestive was the fact that Lone imed full body contact with Wolfrider''s back with his groin pressed firmly against the weretouched boy''s buttocks.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "S-stop moving so roughly," Lone pleaded in a meek voice.

    "Wait, hold on-- are you enjoying yourself?" Wolfrider''s tone took on a tinge of panic, "Stop rubbing!"

    Tycon tilted his head up, pursing his lips into a frown. He shielded Sasha''s eyes from the obscenities with a gloved hand.

    "Boss, could you lend us a hand?!" Lone yelped.

    "Establishing sexual rtions between coworkers is highly unprofessional," Tycon chided. "I will not partake in your debauchery."

    Lone scowled, "Boss, you don''t even pay me!"

    "Ah, that''s right..." Tycon ced his other hand on his chin and tilted his head up to think... "I suppose you''ve been with the guild for long enough. We''ll start your pay-- but with a negative bnce."

    "Oh, well, that''s great news but--" Lone paused, "HOLD ON! What do you mean by *negative bnce*?!?"

    "You lost quite a bit of coin while betting on the Unfortunate," Tycon exined matter-of-factly. "I''m surprised you''d forgotten."

    "Y-you were ying with my money!! And-- and I earned all that, myself!!" Lone cried out, on the verge of tears.

    "You can rebut the charges or apply for a pay raise with our Human Resources department," Tycon shrugged.

    Sorina Capulet was an intelligent woman, but from what Tycon knew, she did not give out money easily. She would surely reject any of Lone''s requests, whether it was for a pay raise or the outstanding debt he was going to detail in his next missive to her.

    Tycon wondered if Sorina had forgiven Lone for the events that unfolded when she tried to visit his room.

    He doubted it.

    "Can you guys not argue about this right now?" Wolfrider whined.

    "Stay here, Sasha..." As Tycon moved away, Sasha ced her tiny elf hands over her eyes.

    Good girl.

    Tycon walked towards the two with his cuss unsheathed, remaining vignt for a sudden attack. "Mister Lone... how did you get into that position?"

    Approaching from behind to unstick Wolfrider was an absurd and awkward way to help.

    "I-- I dunno!" Lone bit his upper lip, "I thought I could help him like that!"

    Tycon paused... "That approach makes no sense."

    "Hey, I''m TRYING, alright, Boss?"

    "Gods, you''re such an idiot, Lone," Wolfrider groaned.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. The young weretouched boy had gotten into this predicament because of his propensity for looting things. As clumsy and foolish as Lone could be, he operated on a sense of fairness and goodwill.

    Tycon found Wolfrider''s actions nigh inconceivable. How could he act as if he was meless,  simultaneously repulsing giving an honest effort to help him?

    "B-b-boss!?!" Wolfrider abruptly raised his voice.

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Yes, young man?"

    "I... I think the footlocker is moving!" the boy yelped.

    Tycon shut his eyes and took a deep breath, "It is as I feared, then."

    The footlocker opened, revealing its contents-- mundane clothes and trinkets.

    Looking over Wolfrider''s shoulder, Lone breathed a sigh of relief, "Oh, that''s not so bad."

    From somewhere within the chest, a tongue as thick as a human leg rose up and metal teeth sprouted upon its edges.

    Wolfbanger''s eyes opened wide as he screamed in fear, two octaves too high. Lone also began screaming. The footlocker, too, began screaming.

    Tycon nodded, "So it is a mimic."

 Chapter 183 Feelings In A Knot

    ?Without stopping to question or negotiate, the mimic''s tongue-like appendageshed out at Levi Wolfrider. It smashed into his face, viscous saliva drenching him, and went on to batter his other body parts mercilessly.

    As a credit to the defensive nature of the boy''s Warden ss, he moved his body instinctively, avoiding strikes to his vital areas. Of course, with every head-strike dodged, the mimic''s vicious tongueshes struck Lone, who was humorously unable to dodge.

    Tycondrius picked up the dropped halberd, ignoring the literal tongueshing that Wolfrider and Shadowdark were suffering.

    ? System, inquiry: Vulnerabilities to the mimic''s adhesive? ?

    [Searching...]

    ? Take your time, there''s no rush. ?

    [System response: The adhesive excreted by the mimic''s surface can be dissolved by alcohol.]

    Tycon pursed his lips and nodded in wonder. He had learned something new.

    ...He did have some alcohol stored for a special asion-- but not enough that he considered wasting it.

    Reasonably, if the mimic''s surface was coated in adhesive, the halberd''s point would be less likely to stick, as it had a smaller surface area.

    Tycon changed his grip to hold the halberd closer to its de... and he thrust it down into the mimic''s tongue-like appendage.

    It didn''t stick. Excellent. Tycon repeated the action several times until the footlocker ceased to move.

    Lone breathed a sigh of relief, "Thanks, Boss."

    Wolfrider was soundly beaten and bludgeoned. Heid on his side, still in Lone''s intimate embrace, "Boss... can you get this thing off of me?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. Was the weretouched boy referring to the mimic he was stuck to or to Lone''s genitalia?

    ? System, inquiry: Will the mimic''s adhesive weaken over time? ?

    [Affirmative.]

    ? System, inquiry: How long will that take? ?

    [System response: The adhesive substance begins to break down in as little as five minutes after the mimic''s death.]

    Tycon propped up the halberd onto the wall, "There''s a kitchen. I''m taking Sasha to see if there are any dried herbs or vegetable oils I can pilfer."

    "Wait, what about us, Boss?!" Lone cried out.

    "The adhesive will break down shortly. You two will be fine."

    ...

    It took quite a bit of pulling and bodily contact, but Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, finally peeled himself free of Levi Wolfrider.

    They both agreed to never speak of it again.

    Lone didn''t trust anything in the room and wanted to leave. Wolfbanger did not.

    Wolfbanger opened a chest. His hands were stuck. It was another mimic. Lone beat it to death with the halberd.

    Lone wanted to take a rest-- maybe Invictus could stay in the tower overnight. The beds lookedfy. Absentmindedly, he touched the bedsheets. His hands were stuck.

    The bed was a mimic. Wolfbangerughed at his misfortune. Lone chuckled at the absurdity of recent events. The wardrobe dresserughed because everyone else wasughing.

    They killed the bed. Then they killed the wardrobe.

    The curtain drapes sported golden knotted tassels that managed to pop Lone in the eye and delivered dozens more bruises to Wolfbanger. They killed that too.

    Aggravated, Lone struck the coatrack by the door with his wolf-hammer while they were walking out of the room. The hammer stuck. It was a mimic.

    The coatrack beat the hells out of the two and chased them out.

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    In the kitchens, Tycon had found a small store of salt, dried herbs, tea leaves, and a few other dried goods.

    He looted all of it.

    cing some firewood into a stove, he brewed a pot of tea for himself and Sasha, adding a few pieces of dried fruit for vor. The fruit infusion was popr in the Kingdom... and Sasha preferred sweeter things than not.

    Nothing in the Tower thus far hinted at the identity of its owner. The base floor seemed to be kept rtively spartan, with tapestries on the walls nondescript, and various decorations culturally neutral.

    He felt it was a ce of learning suited to contain a multitude of peoples from across the realm... either that or the Tower Wizard did not care for the frivolities.

    Levi Wolfrider and the Lone Shadowdark wandered into the kitchens with haggard, bruised appearances.

    Tycon was sitting at the table with Sasha, drinking tea and sharing slices of one of Tycon''s cured pork sausages.

    "Gentlemen... May I ask what took you so long?" He pointed to Lone''s swollen eye, "And what happened to you?"

    The two shared a look of tacit mutual understanding. It seemed the two had grown somewhat closer.

    "We''rete because... we... had some things to take care of, Boss," Lone answered. "And for what happened to us..."

    Wolfrider twisted his lips, "Lone took the knot."

    Tycon pursed his lips. Did the two have sexual rtions? ...As long as it didn''t affect their work ethic, he supposed he could ignore it.

    Did this mean that Lone no longer desired Sorina Capulet?

    ...and did he take the entire knot?

    Lone grimaced, "Boss? Wh-why are you looking at us like that?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "You two are standing rather close."

    The two leapt away from each other, Lone smashing his shin into a chair.

    "Me?! With the Lonely Shadowdark?? No way!!" Wolfrider insisted.

    Lone furiously rubbed his injured leg, "Y-yeah! It''s not like that, Boss!"

    Tycon shook his head, "Nevermind. Have you two discovered anything of interest? Perhaps something to induce the identity of the tower''s inhabitants?"

    "Yeah!" Lone yelled out, "This tower is STUPID!!"

    Tycon lifted his teacup to his lips, "That is neither helpful nor interesting, young man."

    Wolfrider frowned, "Nothin'', Boss. I don''t think anyone''s lived on this floor for a long time."

    The weretouched boy''s sense of smell was excellent. Tycon did not doubt his judgment.

    "Wait, but how is everything still so clean?" Lone asked.

    "Not too surprising for a Wizard Tower." Tycon exined, "There are plenty of magical means to keep a tower free of dust, especially in the Kingdom. Magical creativity is an art in this nation, after all."

    Tycon thought for a moment, "Permanency spells on cleaning enchantments are plentiful. Wizards often form contracts with house-fae who are paid with the privilege of cleaning. I''d imagine there are even animated brooms."

    Both Lone and Wolfrider shuddered at Tycon''s mention of animated cleaning supplies.

    "F*ck brooms," Wolfrider bared his teeth.

    Lone grimaced and looked to a wall, "Y-yeah, I don''t want to see another animate inanimate object ever again."

    That made no sense.

    Though confused, Tycon kept an impassive face, "Rest for a short while, and we''ll continue up the tower."

 Chapter 184 Fighting Styles

    ?The stairs were modeled after those of a mundane tower''s, incredibly uneven and circling counter-clockwise so attackers had the wall to their right. While not aesthetically pleasing, the defensiveness of the design wasudable.

    If the choice was purposeful, the Tower Wizard was a smart man. Tycon did not like to have intelligent men as his enemies.

    Wolfrider led the way. Tycon forced him to. The Bronze-Rank Warden was as hardy and resilient as he was, but Tycon was better suited to utilizing his Support skills from a safe position with Sasha.

    "Master Lone, how is Mister Levi''s halberd ability?" Tycon asked Lone, "Was it effective?"

    "Actually, yeah." Lone tilted his head up in thought, "More than a few times, the mimics were distracted by Wolfbanger''s weird attacks and they tried to attack him but they couldn''t."

    Tycon nodded, "It''s not amon practice, using a halberd. The fighting styles of the Green Circle Druids prefer bludgeoning weapons like staves and cudgels."

    Lone raised an eyebrow, "Huh? Then... why are you having Levi use a halberd instead? Wouldn''t it be better for him to fight how he was trained?"

    It was a good question.

    It was usually best for abatant to use weapons they were mostfortable with. Swords or axes were likely better for Lone than his wolf-hammers. The dark iron hammers, however, were of higher quality than anything Invictus hade across.

    "Wardens forego a shield, unlike Heavy Armor Knights like Leserre. They don''t need a free hand for defensive spells, like Swordmage Dragan. With a Warden''s thorn-enchantments and Mist-Form Weapon attacks, they remain a threatening presence on the battlefield even without. A hafted weapon only increases that threat."

    "Ohhh," Lone nodded in understanding, "That makes a lot of sense... What weapons am I good for, Boss?"

    Tycon mulled over the thought, "You are naturally strong and attack quickly, without allowing the enemy respite. A quick barrage of attacks suits you more than the single-sword precision of Mister Wroe''s fighting style or Korr''s heavy-handed attacks."

    "Quick and without letting the enemy react... So like... axes and swords?"

    Tycon smirked and nodded, "Excellent judgment. I''m of the same mind."

    Tycon sighed before adding, "Admittedly, I was hoping you''d pick up the Fighter ss by now, with all the training you''ve done... Either your Affinity Rate with the ss is low or..."

    Or Lone was not suited forbat and would take moons and years of training more to be strong. Any warrior could be trained and will improve over time. In an adventurer''s guild, however, the slower learners would quickly be overshadowed by the gifted.

    As Guild Invictus routinely utilized a small team instead of squads like Guild Staghorn or whole toons like the Sea Wolves, if Lone wasn''t capable of learning quickly enough, he''d be better suited returning to Nice or Merylsward instead of continuing to travel with him.

    "Or what, Boss?" Lone asked.

    "No, nevermind." Tycon changed the subject, "Perhaps we should train you in more weapon fighting styles? Weaponmaster is a good ss. And it''s always good to pick up new skills."

    "Yeah. I love picking up new skills. Both Tamaki and Wolfbanger said that I picked up the survival and tracking skills really well," Lone smiled with pride.

    Tycon halted his ascent up the steps. Sasha''s face abruptly collided with his behind.

    The chocte elf pouted, aggrieved.

    Tycon poked her cheek, "I''m sorry, little one."

    "What is it, Boss?" Lone asked.

    Tycon cursed inwardly for having missed the details. Lone must have had a higher affinity to the Ranger ss than to Fighter. Dual-Wielding Rangers were well known for their quick attacks and took easily to forest environments-- it was a perfect ss for him.

    Tycon punched Lone in the kidney. He twisted his side in surprise to the sudden shock. (Tycon held an arm out so he wouldn''t fall down the stairs.) "We''re going to train you to be a Ranger."

    Lone rubbed his leather-armored side, "Oh, wait, like the elven Rangers from the legends?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "There''s plenty of human rangers, as well," Tycon rolled his eyes. "I don''t have the patience to teach you any elven swordsmanship."

    Elven sword techniques were trash. They were only effective in the hands of the elves because adult Elven Rangers practiced their arts for upwards of a hundred years.

    "Oh... alright," Lone sounded disappointed.

    [Wizard Tower: Floor 2]

    Guild Invictus reached the second floor of the Wizard Tower,ing upon a hallway filled with the shattered white marble. A severed statue head peered up at Wolfrider with lifeless eyes. He gingerly kicked it away.

    The hallway was filled with pedestals, each with written ques on their bases, each base noticeably bereft of a statue.

    White-marbled statue... corpses, for want of a better word, were strewn about the hallway. Angels had their wings forcibly torn off and shattered against the walls. A massive bear was missing a hole in its center, whereabout its heart would be. More than a few demon statues were crumbled to dust, with only the asional horn or hoof hinting at their previous owner.

    Lone whistled, "What do you think happened here?"

    The serene decor of the courtyard contained dpidated statues of gently posed creatures. The broken statues in the hallway were in varied states of desperatebat or horror... with a few of them bleeding from their eyes, mouths, and other orifices.

    Tycon inspected one of the statues, assisted by his System''s analysis, "It''s not blood."

    "Wh-what is it, then?" Lone asked.

    "Do you really want to know?" Tycon frowned.

    Lone gulped... but nodded.

    "It''s a naturally urring bacteria that lives in soil and water that produces a bright, jelly-like pigment."

    Lone stared nkly.

    Tycon took a deep breath and sighed, "It''s not blood. Just... just trust me on that."

    "I... err... alright."

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, walked warily down the red carpet hallway, making sure each of the statues he passed by was truly dead.

    He was tired of animated creatures beating the hells out of him... but at this point, nothing truly surprised him anymore.

    Sir Tycon had revealed that a new training regimen was in store for him... ording to the green-haired noble, once he ss-changed to Ranger, he would be able to practice Bronze-Rank techniques. That meant he''d be able to effectively use mana... And that meant he could use what Yaeger taught him.

    He didn''t want his weakness being the reason he lost someone else important to him.

    And it was pretty nice that he was going to get paid! He had originally signed on as a free-hire, so it''s not like he was actually expecting a sry. He might even be able to afford soap, so he could clean his armor!

    Soap was expensive, but a single bar was so strong that it would easilyst a few weeks, only using a small chunk at a time. It was more important to him that the stink of sweat was gone, rather than smelling clean.

    Wolfbanger paused, pointing ahead of the group.

    Lone''s eyes opened wide, realizing he recognized the statue ahead.

 Chapter 185 Overcoming The Past

    ?Guild Invictus walked upon a red and gold rug covering the middle of a stone-floor hallway. Disyed upon the walls were paintings of battles from past wars and a dozen empty, stone pedestals.

    The statue of a familiar-looking many frozen on the floor ahead of Guild Invictus. It was posed as if desperately crawling away. His hand was reached out towards Lone, his expression crying out, begging to be saved.

    Wolfbanger whined quietly, "Why''s its back look so weird?"

    On the statue''s back atop its shoulder des, where the marble would be smooth and polished, it was instead jagged as if something was broken off.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "It appears to have been an angel statue..."

    Nearby, a trail of crumbled and cracked parts of an angel''s marble wings were scattered onto the stone beside the rug.

    Tycon continued, "And it appears someone-- likely Miss Lulu, tore the angel''s wings off, piece by piece until it ceased to move."

    Even though the statue wasn''t alive, Lone shuddered at the savagery.

    "Mister Lone, is something the matter? You look troubled?" Tycon asked.

    Lone grimaced. How would he exin it? It didn''t make sense... "That statue looks a lot like my old guild leader..."

    Tycon nodded quietly. Lone twisted his lips. He had been rxed for so long in Guild Invictus that he forgot it was Boss Tycon who murdered all the members of the Shadowdark Wolves, save for him. That he was the only survivor was the reason he took on the name the Lone Shadowdark.

    And he also seemed to remember that Baron Tycon could turn into a snake? Could he really do that or did he imagine it? A lot of weird things happened that night.

    Lone shrugged, "I know it''s not him... But there were a lot of things I wanted to say to him that I didn''t get to."

    The noble swept back his green hair, nonchntly... "I believe I''ve mentioned on several asions that I don''t particrly care about your love-life, Mister Lone."

    "What? No! That''s not what I was talking about!"

    "There''s no need to be reserved. I don''t care about your sexual orientation, as long as it doesn''t affect--"

    "That''s not what it was, Boss! I just... you know. Denman was always strong and I always looked up to him."

    It wasn''t easy joining the Shadowdark Wolves. Denman was probably the only decent person among them, and even then... the humiliation he endured as a novice adventurer still weighed on his self-esteem.

    Even during his time on Saint Guinefort with the Sea Wolves, as grueling and full of yelling and physical violence as it was... at the end of the day, he was able to rx with the instructors. He was able to see that they were human, too (with the exception of Eleven of Seven-- who was still pretty easy to get along with.)

    It was a privilege afforded to him by being a part of Guild Invictus. Joining them was one of the best decisions he''d made in his life. But as well as he was doing, he would never forget the tiresome hells he had to endure early in his adventuring career.

    Tycon held a palm up, motioning toward the statue, "In that case, go ahead, Mister Lone."

    It was a small notion, but it rekindled Lone''s pride and confidence. Boss Tycon didn''t have to allow him forward-- it was slightly selfish and mostly stupid... but Lone wanted it. He wanted a chance at the closure he never got.

    Lone nodded solemnly and grabbed the two wolf-hammers off of his waist. The heavy dark-iron maces feltfortable in his hands, "I''ll take a look."

    The little elf girl, Sasha, tugged on Tycon''s cloak and hissed something. Lone couldn''t understand it-- he really needed to practice his animal-speech. Or snake-speech? Were they the same thing?

    Tycon nodded to her, "Mister Lone, the youngdy wishes you to be careful. As you may have surmised, the statue is animated and may attack you."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Tch. Go ahead. You''re responsible for your own actions," Wolfbanger added.

    Lone walked forward over the red carpet, stepping over the crumbled marble debris. The angel statue remained rtively undamaged, save for the wings broken off of its back.

    He cleared his throat.

    "Denman... I know it''s not really you, but I never really got the chance to say goodbye.

    "You were uh... swallowed by the ceiling after... a Warlock cast a spell where hands came out of it. And then it ate you... I''m uh... really not good at exining this.

    "But thank you for taking me in. You were a piece of shite that was not as bad as anyone else I worked with. I didn''t really like you, but I didn''t want you to die without a corpse."

    Lone twisted his lips, "But overall, I''m d you''re dead. And... yeah. I think that''s it."

    "You suck, Lone!" Wolfbanger yelled from behind.

    Tycon jabbed the wolf-boy in the side with a quick punch that caused him to double-over in pain, "Not now, pup."

    Lone sighed, "me on."

    He lifted up his dark-iron wolf-hammer, Moon-Moon. Channeling his mana, the weapon''s ruby-colored eyes glowed and the weapon''s head lit aze in a solemn me.

    "I guess what I''m trying to say is... thank you. I''m doing well now. I hope you''re doing okay in the afterlife... but you probably aren''t because you''re in whatever hell your spirit went to...

    "So goodbye."

    Lone dropped his body weight, bringing down Moon-Moon with force. In this strike, he sought forgiveness for his weakness-- to be freed from the chains of his past.

    The statue raised its left hand to block the strike, the sound of cracking stone reverberating through the hallway. Two of its marble fingers fell onto the rug, broken and useless.

    "What the--"

    Denman sat up in a kneel and lunged forward, nting a solid punch into Lone''s abdomen and quenching his wolf-hammer''s mes.

    "Mister LONE!!" Tycon yelled, "You were TOLD it was still a threat! Take this seriously or I will have you stand down!"

    "No! I can handle it!" Lone had reeled back after the blow to his gut. He could still fight. The punch was strong but his armor reduced the blow to maybe some bruising, "Let me fight!!"

    "Then cease your babbling and do so!" the noble growled.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark had grown ten times stronger than he was in the past. He needed to win. He was determined to win.

    He needed to prove to his teammates that he was worthy of being part of Guild Invictus.

    And he needed to prove it to himself.

    He pointed at the statue with one of his wolf-hammers, "Death to the ENEMIES OF INVICTUS!!"

 Chapter 186 Three Wolf Moon

    ?Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark admired the naked muscture of the marble statue, the mass, the muscle insertions, all carved to perfection. The statue disyed peak physical perfection... minus missing genitals. How the thing was broken off made it look like its size was intimidating.

    He was fighting down the urge to vomit. Denman''s doppelganger had delivered a good, solid blow to his stomach, right beneath the sternum.

    Lone scowled in anger. He was only hit because he was careless.

    Breathing deeply and flourishing his wolf-hammers, he began to grin with confidence, "Let me introduce you..."

    Flexing his left arm, he raised his weapon proudly, "This is Moon."

    Flexing his right, he flourished the hammer with a spin before thrusting it forward, "This is Moon-Moon."

    The statue appeared unimpressed.

    ...Of course, it wouldn''t be impressed. It was a statue.

    Lone felt a blush creep onto his face. He remained standing in his heroic position, hoping no one would notice.

    In the silence, Wolfbanger''s muttering was easy to hear, "Your naming senses are f*cking stupid."

    Lone felt a vein on his forehead twitch. He had spent several suns thinking long and hard about those names. He was really proud of them!

    Wolves howl at the moon! That''s their thing. And his name was Shadowdark-- as in the Lone Shadowdark Wolf. It was a really cool title. Wolfbanger was just too stupid to realize his genius.

    The statue kept its nk eyes directed at Lone while it walked over and retrieved a stone sword from among the debris.

    Lone swung his arms to stretch his back and scoffed, "I guess I have to fight it."

    "Of course you have to fight it! This was your idea!" Wolfbanger cried.

    "I mean-- it''s the same as I can''t avoid it," Lone retorted, slightly aggrieved.

    Wolfbanger narrowed his eyes, "Yeah, DUH!!"

    "Mister Lone, I advise you to remain on your guard." Tycon warned, "A stone de without an edge is still a weapon."

    "Don''t worry, Boss. I still have a trump card I can use." Lone twisted his lips. Whether the enemy was armed or not, he was still more than confident.

    Lone dashed forward, hoping for the best. Dropping low, he smashed upward, hoping the statue would guard. He''d be able to take advantage of the unbncing.

    The statue rotated its body, and the first hammer-strike nced off of its stone exterior ineffectively. As the second hammer-strike came, the statue urately struck Lone''s wrist, forcing him to release his grip on his weapon.

    Aww, butt. Was his wrist fractured?

    The Denman statue suddenly glowed with a blurry, colorless mana. Air swirled around its sword like a miniature tornado.

    Lone narrowed his eyes, "What the--"

    That didn''t look good. That didn''t look good at all.

    "Mister LONE!" Tycon snarled, "Don''t just stand there!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone swung his remaining wolf-hammer, cracking the Denman''s statue in the side of the head. He kicked the statue backward and leapt forward, bringing down his hammer again onto Denman''s likeness.

    The statue swayed its head to the side at the force upon its cheek... then slowly turned back, revealing half of its face, cracked and crumbling. The statue responded by swinging its de wide...

    Lone was ready for it, "Shadowdark Sect: Movement Technique!!"

    Leaning backward to dodge the sword, Lone let his body fall to the ground. He swiped his mace at the statue''s legs, knocking it off his feet and onto its side. He ignored the straining muscles on his side as he hammered down against the statue''s chest.

    ...

    Tycondrius grimaced at the situation.

    He did not at all understand why Lone threw himself onto the floor. Then he shouted that it was a sect technique. Who was he trying to convince? ...Also, Tycon was fairly certain that Lone fabricated the sect he cited.

    What in the seven hells and eleven heavens did the young man think he was doing?

    Annoyed, Tycon observed Lone''s actions... He proved surprisingly effective with his back on the ground.

    Tycon eyed the frayed rope belt around the young man''s waist-- it was the item he had imed after the Saltspray Keep raid.

    ? System... identify: Lone''s magical belt. ?

    [Rope of ve Fighting. Third-Circle Magical Belt. User''s reflexes are improved when unbnced or prone.]

    The corner of Tycon''s mouth twitched. It was a defensive item, with an incredibly rare conditional... and Lone was most certainly using it incorrectly.

    What kind ofbatant throws themselves onto the ground in a fight? This wasn''t a wrestling match-- this was a fight where a wind-magic enchanted sword had the reach and lethality to eviscerate the young man.

    From what Tycon saw, Lone was no better on the ground than he was at standing. The belt was enchanted to reduce a disadvantage-- not to create a new... awkward and idiotic fighting style.

    He was going to kill him if the angel statue didn''t do it for him.

    ...

    The Lone Shadowdark rolled backward, getting to his feet. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he felt the silvery surge of his mana pooling in his core.

    There it was. It was back. Throughout exploring the Magic Tower, he had felt Yaeger''s presence... hinting at the strength he could unlock that was rightly his.

    He held his weapon to the ceiling, ignoring the pain in his stomach, ignoring his throbbing left wrist, "Moon-Moon... Howl for me."

    The angered eyes of his wolf-hammer, Moon-Moon glowed red before it exploded powerfully, lighting in a roiling me. Lone felt the mana surge from his body into his weapon... as the weapon transformed...

    As if it had a mind of its own, Moon-moon leapt out his hand and onto the floor. The second hammer, Moon, shot towards it and they melded together... and in a burst of mes and a metallic, echoing howl of a wolf, the weapon was reborn...

    Where once was a hammer, remaining was a ming, polished metallic ck, two-tailed wolf. Its fur consisted of sharp metal spines and its teeth were thick razor des, capable of crunching through stone. Its feet nked heavily upon the rug as it stepped forward in front of Lone, growling at the Denman statue in his defense.

    Lone smirked, "Let''s do this together... Moon-Moon-Moon."

 Chapter 187 Nerves Of Steel

    ?Tycon raised an eyebrow in amusement.

    The young man did indeed have a terrible naming sense.

    However, something had happened that Tycon was hoping for.

    Lone used a Skill. It didn''t seem like a Skill developed on his own, but one unlocked by virtue of his enchanted weapons. Still, it was an impressive feat.

    The concentrated ambient mana pervading the Magic Tower was effective in nurturing magical sses. For martial sses like Lone and Tycon, himself, the atmosphere was less effective, but still granted a substantial increase in sensory and mana perception.

    ? System, inquiry: Status of the Lone Shadowdark ?

    [Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human Warrior]

    Hm. The young man hadn''t broken through just yet.

    But at the very least, his breakthrough was close. His desperate fight against the Bronze-Rank statue was pushing him to his limits.

    The battle was important to Lone''s growth and development. As annoyed as Tycon was about the debacle, he would not move to help unless asked.

    The risk of a Low-Tier ss being killed was worth the battle experience he would gain... And while the probability was low, it was not impossible for Lone to break through during the fight and gain a Mid or High-Tier ss.

    "Stars and stones! What are you waiting for, man?" Tycon shouted, "Finish the fight!"

    ...

    Lone ran forward, Moon-Moon-Moon charging ahead. The wolf jumped up, biting and wing,  its teeth mping down hard into the stone of the statue''s arm.

    Right behind his dark-iron wolf, he grabbed onto its twin tails. The creature dissipated in a resounding howl and a burst of metal shards, leaving Lone again wielding his dark-iron hammers.

    Lone stepped back into abat stance, "Wolf Fang Fist-Hammer!!"

    Pushing through the excruciating pain in his left wrist, Loneunched attack after attack. He bashed the statue''s chest. He cracked its already-chipped head. He smashed both hammers down hard onto the statue''s shoulders.

    Trying to regain itsbat advantage, the statue lifted up its sword. Lone struck the sword, sending it hurtling towards a wall, shattering upon the collision.

    Yes! One more strike! One more strike and everything would be over!

    Lone headbutted the statue.

    Besides giving him a splitting headache, the attack was ineffective against Denman.

    Shite. He should have thought that one through.

    "Bahahahaha!! Boss! BOSS! Did you see that?" Wolfbanger cackled in the background.

    "I did... Indeed, I did," Tycon admitted.

    Lone visualized Tycon grimacing and shaking his head.

    He had seen it more times than he cared to admit.

    The statue grabbed Lone''s head and jumped forward, mming him against the tower wall. Lone felt his consciousness shake, threatening to fade away. He grit his teeth, unwilling to give in.

    While pressing the side of his head against a wall, the statueunched a full-powered punch at Lone''s elbow, breaking it.

    "GGGGghhhh--- GRAHHHHHHHHHGHHH!!" Lone screamed. The statue began to tug at his arm, immediately dislocating his shoulder and threatening to rip his useless appendage from his body.

    "Mister LONE!!" Tycon called, "Do you require assistance? I''d rather prefer you *not* be killed."

    "NOOOOO!" Lone screamed, "STAY WHERE YOU ARE!!"

    "Boss, he''s gonna die," Wolfbangerined.

    "Tsss." Tycon scoffed, "Not necessarily. Steel courses through that young man''s blood."<novelnext></novelnext>

    This was nothing! He had endured far worse as a member of Invictus.

    He was Barza Keith.

    He was the Lone Shadowdark.

    And he was immortal.

    Lone began striking the statue''s arm with his weapon, trying desperately to weaken the hold. The statue grabbed his head and once more rattled his skull against the wall. Lone could barely think-- his head ached horribly and he was dazed and nauseous.

    Using the statue''s grip to keep him steady, he ced both boots against the statue''s chest. Pushing with a desperate burst of strength, he finally broke free from the statue''s grip, copsing in a heap against the bloodstained wall.

    Blood poured down his face. His right eye was swollen shut. The world around him shook from his dizziness. Pain surged through his body from his broken arm, simultaneously numb and hurting like hells at the same time.

    He leaned over and vomited.

    There. Felt a little better.

    But only a little.

    Supporting himself on the wall and careful not to jostle his broken arm, he got to his feet and picked up one of his hammers, Moon-Moon.

    Denman stood in abat stance, ready.

    Lone needed to end the fight before anyone intervened!

    With a bloodcurdling screech, he charged forward.

    Eh. What''s a good attack name? ...Ah. Thought of one.

    Lone jumped forward through the air in a reckless attack.

    "FULL-POWERED LEAPING MOON ATTACK!!"

    A shock abruptly stopped Lone''s barrage and he spat out blood. Though reluctant, he opened his eyes to look down. The statue had enchanted its right hand with wind magic... and the pointed hand was thrust into his abdomen, tearing through his chest armor.

    It was far heavier of a wound than Lone was expecting to take.

    The statue could enchant its hand with wind magic.

    That was absolutely not something Lone thought it could do.

    ...It did make a lot of sense, though-- if the Denman statue could enchant a stone sword, it could enchant its stone hand.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark grinned, dark blood streaming down his mouth.

    At least his n had worked.

    "I''ve always wanted to say this..."

    The statue''s right hand was caught. Lone outstretched his right, strongly gripping the handle of Moon-Moon, "Fuck you, Denman."

    He swung his wolf-hammer at the statue''s head. It blocked with its arm.

    He swung again. Its arm cracked deeply, falling to the floor and breaking.

    He swung a third time. Lone''s wolf-hammer collided with the statue''s half-broken head, shattering it into white dust and an explosion of stone shards.

    The statue copsed backward, its entire body ruined and in pieces. A white cloud of powder drifted over him, stinging his eyes.

    The Lone Shadowdark fell to his knees, cing his forehead onto the debris-ridden floor.

    "...And thank you."

 Chapter 188 Maedar

    ?A single tear fell down the Lone Shadowdark''s cheek.

    He was d that the white cloud of dust grew thick enough to hide it.

    It was a hard-fought battle and he earned a hole in his stomach for his efforts... But he finished the fight... and without any help, even from Tycon''s support Skills.

    Blood and sweat matted his dark hair to his forehead.

    Lone moved to wipe his face.

    Eh?

    His wolf-hammer dropped to the floor.

    Seven hells.

    Was he losing consciousness?

    He dropped his weapon. It was the worst thing that could happen. Every time he or Pale dropped their weapons during training, Boss Tycon would scream and beat them.

    Boss Tycon haaaaaaated it when he dropped his weapon.

    Every time he would almost drop it, he''d grip his weapon tighter. He was trained that even when he would lose consciousness he wouldn''t let go... so why?

    His entire body felt stiff... numb. But he was still aware of what was going on. He couldn''t even feel the wound in his stomach anymore.

    What was going--

    ...

    Wolfrider held his halberd at the ready, "What''s with that cloud? Is it another enemy?"

    Tycondrius grimaced as he observed the white mana-fog. Judging by the number of stone statues, he had an inkling of the cloud''s effects.

    ? System, analysis: The magical cloud enveloping Lone. ?

    [Petrifying Cloud. Third-Circle Transmutation. The target and all its carried gear is transmuted into an inert statue.]

    Tycon took in a deep breath and sighed. Importing so much marble-stone and crafting so many statues was an expensive ordeal. He had feared that the Wizard, instead, had ess to a Flesh to Stone Spell. It was reasonable that from there, the Wizard had cast a different spell to animate the statues, keeping them as loyal, mindless ves.

    The statue''s destruction activated a defensive measure-- an intelligent Wizard design. A weakenedbatant was more susceptible to being affected by a sudden spell attack. And even if thebatant wasn''t injured, repeated petrifying clouds would give adventurers of any Rank pause.

    The cloud dissipated, revealing a majestic marble-statue of the injured Lone.

    "By the gods!" Wolfrider yelped, "This guy was sooooo stupid! That''s what he gets for trusting that pink-haired girl!"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow... Lone''s condition had nothing to do with trusting the maidservant. It seemed Wolfrider had a penchant for cing the me on circumstances he didn''t like, regardless of the logic.

    "...Right. I''ll restore his condition, then," Tycon sighed again, rxing his shoulders, as he walked toward Lone.

    Being turned to stone was a death sentence for an adventurer. It was practically impossible to cure the condition anywhere outside the Free Nation, where a male medusa could be sought out. Female medusa had a petrifying gaze, while the rare males had a de-petrification breath. Tycon imagined that several thousand years ago, females were responsible for hunting creatures, where the males would take care of the clutch and de-petrify stored food.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He much preferred the existence of... keeping livestock and... restaurants in urban areas. The creation of ice and boxes enchanted with cold magic were also a modern amenity that kept food far more fresh than stone and not-stone.

    Tycon observed Lone''s damages: swollen left wrist, limply hanging left arm, a hole in his stomach and ruined armor.

    At the very least, the young man reached his small breakthrough. That was worth the trouble... though Tycon would have preferred it if Lone had taken less damage. Lone''sbat power would be lower for the remainder of the tower-- and for a few suns or weeks depending on how long his arm took to heal with magical assistance.

    Tycon focused his mana, concentrating on the natural feeling of energy pooling in his core. The mana expenditure of his Flesh to Stone ability was less than that of his Iron Dragon Rend Skill.  The ambient mana in the Wizard Tower further alleviated the cost-- but it was still ufortable to utilize so much at once.

    He ced a hand on the kneeling Lone''s shoulder and gently breathed upon his white-marble skin. Lone''s flesh began to regain its color, slowly spreading from his cheek, down his neck, and to the rest of his body.

    Not enough. Tycon groaned inwardly. He took another deep breath and blew...

    Once his body and clothing had regained their color, Lone shuddered. Flecks of white dust fell from his clothes, dissipating into mana and reabsorbed and recircted by the Tower.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, blinked and rubbed his eyes. Both of his hands immediately gripped onto his again-bleeding stomach injury as he winced in pain.

    "Ugh... Ow... Why-- why are you blowing into my ear?"

    Lone looked to his left, where Levi Wolfrider was blowing.

    Tycon furrowed his brows. He did not know why Wolfrider was blowing into Lone''s ear.

    ...Did Wolfrider also have a Stone to Flesh ability?

    And Lone was already cured of his petrification status. Why was the weretouched boy still blowing?

    After noticing everyone''s stares, Wolfrider crossed his arms and turned away in a huff, "Sh-shut up, we saved you."

    Tycon''s mouth twitched, "Right... it was a joint effort, I suppose."

    ...

    Tycondrius cast Inspirational Surge on the Lone Shadowdark, closing his stomach wound. Sasha asked for the blessings of the snake god in order to further heal Lone-- notably his broken arm.

    Divine Healing magic was far more effective for treating injuries than Tycondrius'' elerated healing Skill. However, being a low-level caster and still wholly unused to controlling her mana, Sasha grew sleepy. It was a sign of mana exhaustion-- a light level of it that wasn''t greatly debilitating. If it wasn''t for the Magic Tower''s ambient mana, she would have likelyid down to take a nap.

    Unlike when Dragan broke his arm in Merylsward, Lone could operate his recently fractured arm without pain or worry... Still, Tycon advised him against using his left for strenuous operations for the next several suns.

    Wolfbanger tried to wrap an impromptu sling around Lone.

    The white-furred weretouched boy''s bandage-wrapping skills were horrendous.

    Tycon ordered Lone to go without the sling.

    "Come now, Invictus." Tycon gathered Sasha, Lone, and Wolfrider, "Let us search the rooms for ''clues'' and ascend to the next floor. We should be able to at least meet with Lulu soon."

    Lone sighed, "I hope we don''t find any more mimics."

 Chapter 189 Beyond His Patience

    ?There was nothing of interest in the remaining rooms on the second floor that Wolfrider could pilfer. The hallway paintings, furniture, and stone carvings were too unwieldy for the weretouched boy to carry on his own.

    He did try.

    Tycondrius and hispanions came across arge nning room. At its center was a long table, nked by several high-backed chairs. Military weapons and maps were kept in good condition and disyed prominently on the walls. A well-stocked bookshelf contained ssic writings on military doctrine-- most of which Tycon was already familiar with.

    Guild Invictus searched the room.

    The books flew off the shelves to attack them. Invictus was victorious, but the books were irrevocably ruined-- stabbed, shed, and burnt.

    A coat-rack and a few animated brooms attacked them. Invictus was also victorious. Lone savagely beat the coatrack as if the mere sight of it caused his blood to boil.

    The nning-table grabbed a sword and shield off of the wall.

    While unexpected, Tycon managed to nk it and cleave it in half with the Shatterspike.

    Unfortunately, he was unable to do so before the 8-fulm length table embarrassed both Lone and Wolfrider with its advancedbat prowess.

    After the nning room debacle and a short rest, Invictus climbed the staircase to reach the 3rd floor.

    Wolfrider paused, his ears perking up, "Oh. I think I hear Lulu."

    Just as quickly, the boy''s ears drooped and he turned to hide his face. Was... he blushing?

    Tycon paid little mind to it. He''d find out the reason, shortly...

    [Wizard Tower: Floor 3]

    Ascending to the top of the staircase and entering the door, Guild Invictus was greeted by the maid girl, Margeaux, whose face was in a blush suspiciously simr to Wolfrider''s.

    Ever the charismatic hero, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark was first to approach her.

    Tycon raised a hand up to stop him, but Lone had acted too quickly.

    The swelling on Lone''s face had gone down and the cut above his eyes had mended. However, he hadn''t washed off the blood on his face and clothing. The bruising on his face granted him a gruesome, yellowing pallor. The tell-tale hole in his armor revealed the raw, freshly mended skin underneath.

    Heedless of hisckluster appearance, Lone grabbed the girl''s hand and gazed into her vapid eyes, "What''s wrong, Margeaux?"

    As if to answer her question, Lulu, Guild Invictus'' token whore pranced into the hallway from around the corner. She presented a phallic stone object to the pink-haired maid, "I''m done! Here ya go! I know you were watching meeeeeee~"

    Tycon observed the familiar object from a few yalms away. He was wondering why the angel statue Lone was fighting was devoid of genitalia. The answer was revealed in Lulu''s hands. Used.

    Margeaux stood stupefied, gawking at Lulu''s brazen offering.

    Tycon gently guided Sasha behind him in order to block her view. As curious as the chocte elf was, she didn''t fuss, likely because she was still shy around Margeaux.

    Without skipping a beat, Lulu offered the stone ''device'' to Wolfrider, "How about you? Want it? I can wash it off? Unlesssssss~ you prefer it like this~?"

    "N-no thank you, Miss Lulu," Wolfrider was surprisingly obedient to the demoness.

    That was good. As yful as she was, Lulu had a keen intellect and sharp wit. She did not seem to be the type to broke outward disrespect.

    Unlike Lone, Lulu''s cloth robes hadn''t gained an inkling of blood or debris. Resting her folded parasol on her shoulder, she swayed from side to side as if she was bored.

    Tycon saluted the demoness with his hand to his heart, "Report, if you would."

    "Mmmm... Alr~ight. I will if you say pleeeease!~"

    Tycon blinked. It was a peculiar request, but easy enough to satisfy, "Very well... Report, Miss Lulu, if you please."

    Excitedly, Lulu pulled out a dark, desated, leather-skin about the size of a kite shield, "Tadaaaaa~!"

    Tycon took it and grimaced, "Necromancy, then?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? System, analysis: ckened skin. ?

    [Lingering aura of Third-Circle Necromancy.]

    Peculiar. A Third-Circle Necromancy spell''s aura onlysted minutes after it--

    Tycon tossed the skin against the wall and carved it into pieces with his cuss.

    Lulu cackled, "Hahahahaha! Yeah... Sorry, Boss, I couldn''t resist!!" She smirked and rubbed her shoulder onto Tycon.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Indeed. I was nearly fooled."

    A thin crease appeared between Lone''s eyebrows, "Boss? What''s wrong?

    Tycon''s mouth twitched, "The skin was a portion of a still-living... no, a still magically active undead creature."

    ? System, inquiry: What creature did that skin belong to? ?

    [System response: Gold-Rank Bound yed Beast.]

    A deep grimace set into Tycon''s face. yed Beasts were highly-ranked creatures utilized as war weapons by the Sleeping Country. Such a ritual required a dozen necromancers and the torture of captured dire-beasts. The brutal practice had fallen into disfavor epochs ago when Witch-Queen Arenfjord assumed the throne.

    It was a Bound Creature, though... meaning it was weaker than if it urred naturally. Guild Invictus would stand an excellent chance against it.

    Tycondrius had finally gained a clue to the Magic Tower''s owner. It was very likely he or she was from Nemaya Strana. The magic involved in the creation of a yed Beast and binding it to a summoner was the result of epochs of advanced necromancy research... advancements unique to the Sleeping Country.

    Shutting his eyes to concentrate, Tycon had the System retrieve all of its information concerning the creature.

    "What''s the issue, Boss? Isn''t it just some undead?" Lone asked, "I''ve fought undead before with my old adventuringpany-- skeletons are pretty easy to take out."

    "They''re not just ANY skeletons, dummy," Wolfrider reprimanded... "Uh, right, Boss?"

    Though Tycon''s eyes were still closed, he felt his right eye twitch in annoyance. Couldn''t they see he was trying to think?

    "It''s called a yed Beast... arge, quadrupedal creature. Emits a cloud of poison. ws secrete poison. Skin is magic-resistant. Worse still, the beast is faster than a living animal of the same size."

    "The poison is painful but not debilitating..." Tycon opened his eyes, "The fight is manageable, as long as we can defeat the creature quickly enough."

    Lone grasped Margeaux''s hand and nodded confidently, "I''ll fight it."

    Good. That was expected.

    Wolfrider twisted his lips, but still nodded, "Yeah, alright. I sure wish I still had my greathammer, though."

    Tycon felt his opposite eyebrow twitch.

    "The halberd is... a superior weapon. With the hafted weapon''s range, you will be able torgely avoid the area of effect of the creature''s inevitable poison cloud."

    Wolfrider frowned, "I didn''t ask for it, though!"

    Tycon''s body trembled with anger. He had given the boy his own halberd out of the thrice-damned goodness of his ck heart.

    The weretouched boy didn''t seem to notice.

    Lone and Margeaux took on looks of worry and Lulu covered her mouth to stifle augh.

    Tycon turned away and quietly took a deep breath, struggling to keep calm.

    The weretouched boy was beyond his patience.

    It was at that moment that Tycon decided... Levi Wolfrider was an eptable casualty.

 Chapter 190 Aberration

    ?Tycondrius approached Invictus'' chocte elf, Sasha, fully intent on using her body to rid himself of his frustration.

    With a merciless hand, Tycon mussed Sasha''s vividly white hair, making certain to keep her naturally formed hair-clump upright and majestic. Only after several seconds charging Sasha''s hair with frizzy static was Tycon able to calm his nerves.

    Hm... The youngdy needed a bath.

    Sasha pouted her lips, but as usual, she did not move to stop him.

    Once Tycon was satisfied, he smiled and gently poked the tip of the young elf''s nose.

    "(Wouldst thou assist us in battle, Beautiful Child?)" Tycon asked in Parseltongue.

    Sasha averted her gaze, staring at the ground and mumbling. The sprout on her hair bobbed when she did.

    Curious, Tycon moved his face closer to the young girl. Sasha was taller than both Pale and Taree, so he didn''t feel as ridiculous leaning closer to hear.

    "(Sasarame fears the aberration)," she softly hissed.

    "Be not afraid." Tycon stood back up and chuckled, "They have not the strength to take thee away from my protection."

    Sasha looked up, her pout turning into a subtle smile. It appeared that Tycon''s encouragement reached her well.

    It was highly unlikely that an undead creature of base intelligence would attack her. The creature would seek out threats... and Tycon was not nning to have Sasha participate in directbat. He would have her utilize her Sanctuary spell, preventing her from being attacked... and perhaps she could pray to the snake god for a blessing.

    Whatever prayers she used, the prayers increased Guild Invictus'' speed and sensory perception. Even with the Magic Tower''s ambient mana, every advantage was useful in a life-or-death situation.

    While Sasha utilized solid, First-Circle spells, she wasn''t at all conditioned forbat. She flinched at loud noises and had no martial weapons training. Compared to Lone, even though Sasha was a Bronze-Ranker and had a higher-tier ss, the Lone Shadowdark''s training made him the superiorbatant.

    And as far as the aberration...

    "Miss Margeaux, are you skilled inbat?" Tycon asked bluntly.

    The pink-haired girl stood up and moved away from Lone, her cheeks flushed crimson, "Oh! I''m sorry, what was that, Sir?"

    [Margeaux, Bronze-Rank Aberrant-blood Expert]

    Tycon expected almost nothing from the girl. If Guild Invictus hadn''t found her, they would not have gone out of their way to search for her. Her ss, Expert, was of the same tier as Warrior, but was far more useless to him, as it wasn''t a Combat ss.

    It was likely she was good at something... maybe cooking or cleaning or studying. Her build and demeanor suggested that it was something useless. Flower-picking, perhaps?

    Thus far, Sasha had made fast friends with Rico, Eilean, and Lulu-- all women with forward and weing personalities. Margeaux''s personality leaned towards the timid side... Tycon doubted they would get to know each other.

    It was just as well. Tycon had no use for a timid Bronze-Ranker-- with Seldin Korr as a somewhat-exception. Korr was an exceptionalbatant, a veteran mercenary, and had the high-tier Berserk Knight ss. She was an Iron-Rank whose attacks consistently broke apart steel weapons.

    Margeaux was...

    "What are you good at, anyroad, Miss Margeaux?" Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    He was still in a poor mood.

    The maid averted her gaze and tapped the points of her fingers together, "...I''m good at animal husbandry."

    "Nice, me too," Lulu interjected, cing herself between Tycon and the shy maid. "Wanna bang?"

    Tycon firmly grabbed the demoness'' ear and pulled her to the side.

    "Ohhhh~! Harder, Boss!!" Lulu moaned.

    Tycon red, incredulous, "How... how could you sexualize me pulling your ear?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "''Cuz I''m me! Teehee!" She pursed her lips and winked.

    Tycon sighed... but lifted the corners of his mouth when faced with the demoness. He vaguely felt that Lulu was trying to cheer him up with her antics... If anything, Tycon couldn''t treat the woman''s promiscuity with any sense of seriousness.

    "Oh! Right!" Lulu gasped, "I almost forgot!"

    "Wh-what is it?" Lone asked warily.

    ...Lone''s earlier confidence appeared to have transformedpletely into worry and panic. Tycon sighed inwardly in disappointment.

    Lulu stuck out her tongue and tapped her knuckles against the top of her head, "There''s not just one yed Beast, there''s two of them!"

    ...

    Tycon spent extra preparations on the fight. He had loosed the binding on his razor whip, to make it easier to draw. Since the enemy couldn''t be killed in one strike, he opted to use the Shatterspike instead of his faster, lighter cuss.

    He took off his pistol bandoliers and gave them to Lone.

    "Lulu will engage her target first. Wolfrider, you will move to intercept the other target," Tycon ordered.

    Wolfrider opened his mouth, "But Boss--"

    Tycon swiped his hand to stop him, "If you cannot do at least that, we will all die. We are counting on you, young man. If you do not feel you are capable, tell me now."

    Levi Wolfrider stared, his mouth still agape, stunned by Tycon''s forcefulness.

    Tycon waited patiently for an answer.

    Reluctantly, the boy nodded, "N-no... I can do it."

    "Good. To you, I entrust the safety of Lone, Sasha, and myself."

    Wolfrider fidgeted ufortably, "G-got it, Boss... but what if I--"

    Tycon turned away. He didn''t care for Wolfrider''sints, "Lulu, if you need assistance with your target, let me know."

    "Uhuhuhugh," Luluughed, deep and creepily. "A~! You care about me, Boss!"

    "Of course, I care." Tycon nodded, "You are a valuable member of my Guild Invictus."

    The demoness smiled radiantly-- an odd smile, in that Tycon didn''t sense any strange sexual innuendos behind it.

    "Lone. Sasha."

    Lone held two pistols up in the air, his fingers off the triggers, "Ready, Boss."

    Sasha nodded shyly, her fingers inteced.

    Tycondrius kicked in the double doors, "GO!!"

    Lulu ran past his right, her umbre ready. Wolfrider passed his left, running with his halberd pointed forward.

    Quickly, Tycon identified the yed Beast Wolfrider was fast approaching. It seemed the creature was caught off guard by Invictus'' abrupt entrance.

    Tycon pointed to it, mana sheathing his gloved hand, "Death to the enemies of Invictus!!"

 Chapter 191 Force-Activation

    ?[Wizard Tower: Floor 3, Necromancy Lab]

    Tycondrius smashed the thick double-doors open with a mana-charged front kick. Therge room inside held half-dozen cupboards keeping chemicals and catalysts, along with tables and desks for study and research. Anatomy charts of various creatures covered the walls, with a great deal of them being of humans.

    Metal cages were disyed prominently in seemingly random parts of theb, many with skeletal inhabitants or severed body parts in various stages of decay. Human-sized cages hung from the ceiling, 4 troll-sized cages were at the room''s center, and others more of varying sizes were strewn about the room.

    Lulu was first to dash forward, rushing toward a yed Beast on the right half of the room.

    "Six-Sealed-Point array, Boss!!" She yelled.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. Of course, it was.

    Wolfrider had gone off to engage the second yed Beast, engaging it near some of the heavy-woodedboratory workbenches. The yed Beast was a ckened skeleton, nearly asrge as Lang Hai in his Sea Wolf form, and towering nearly twice Wolfrider''s height. It appeared to wear a loosely fitting, rotting nket, draped from its form.

    In its attempt to eviscerate Wolfrider, its front ws easily tore into a 4-ilm thick table. The journals and ss instruments upon it crashed into the walls and floor.

    Wolfrider stared at the creature then back at Tycon as if he hadn''t understood what he was volunteered for.

    Lone walked forward, his pistols pointed to the ceiling, pointed forward at the beast.

    Tycon held out his arm to stop him, "Not yet."

    "But, Boss, Wolfbanger is--"

    Tycon twisted his face into a furious snarl, pointing angrily at Lone with his free hand, "You will gods-damned HOLD when I TELL YOU TO!!"

    Lone immediately straightened his back, a response that had been drilled into him from training.

    "Tss..." Tycon scoffed. He was more irritable than he thought he was. However, he had done nothing he felt the need to apologize for, "Wait for Wolfrider to establish himself as a threat. You are in no condition to take unnecessary damage."

    Lone nodded sharply, "Tell me when, Boss."

    Tycon groaned inwardly. Of course, he would. Lone was a weapon-- a honed and deadly one, "Get into a clear shooting position."

    "Understood, Boss," Lone saluted with his right pistol touching his shoulder.

    Nodding, Tycon turned to Sasha and hissed orders to her.

    "(Beautiful Child, I request thy Protection Spell. Following that, protect thyself with a Sanctuary Barrier and sing thy praises to the snake god.)"

    "(Thy wish is Sasarame''s will, Ivory Prince.)"

    A thin green film of divine energy briefly washed over Tycon''s body, causing his hair to rise and flow. Sasha''s protective spell was an additionalyer of armor the yed Beast would have to breach to injure him.

    Without another word, Tycon dashed forward, mana flowing freely through his core and through his legs.

    ? System, identify: The weakened corners of the array in the room. ?

    [Understood.]

    The System revealed to him transparent blue glows that only Tycon could see. Just as Lulu said, there were six points. Tycon immediately identified the multi-point array''syered points, formed by arcane markings on the cages throughout the room.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Tower Wizard was a genius. Had Lulu not immediately identified the array, Invictus would have fallen prone to an Enervation effect, inflicting them with mana exhaustion and weakness... and in Lone''s case, instant death.

    Tycon cut apart a metal cage with the Shatterspike, noting the magical array painted on the underside of its thick metal ceiling, "Lulu! How many do you need me to break!?"

    "Juuuuust one, Bosssss!!" The demoness yelled.

    Underneath Lulu''s yed Beast, a geyser of chilling frost erupted from the floor and broke apart the tiles. Lulu stabbed out with her paper umbre, urately striking the center of the creature''s skull-forehead. The air cracked as an obscene amount of mana was concentrated into the strike. The lithe woman and her mundane umbre sent the giant, half-tonze skeleton flying across the hallway...

    ...And into another of Lulu''s frost geysers.

    The yed Beast roared in anger and annoyance, struggling to its feet. The frost spells didn''t seem to affect it initially, but after 2, it was beginning to slow.

    Lulu pirouetted with her umbre pointed at the ceiling. The curls of her short blonde hair bobbed as she bnced on one leg. Over a dozen alternating fire and frost spheres formed behind her.

    ...Tycon decided that Lulu would be fine.

    He refocused his attention to Wolfrider.

    The weretouched boy held up his halberd to block a downward m from a yed Beast w. His knees buckled, trying to hold up the weight, "B-boss! Help me!"

    Tycon slowed his pace to a walk, keeping his longsword ready. He kept his voice at a conversational level. He didn''t feel like yelling over the din ofbat, "Mister Levi, you will not win being defensive. Attack the creature."

    "WHAT? Boss, I can''t attack, I--"

    The yed Beast stepped to the side and mmed its shoulder hard into Wolfrider, toppling him backward. Quickly, the boy got to his feet and began yelling, "Boss, are you STUPID?! WHAT DO--"

    Quietly and patiently, Tycon stared at the boy. Soon, Wolfrider grew quiet. The boy was injured, confused, and in a state of disbelief.

    Lifting his hand, Tycon pointed at the charging yed Beast, "I told you to attack."

    ? System, activate Commander''s Strike. Target: Levi Wolfrider. ?

    [Activating... Commander''s Strike failed.]

    ? System, force activation. ?

    [Warning. Forcing activation of a Support Skill on an unwilling target will heavily drain the user''s mana and may cause unnecessary strain to the target''s--]

    ? --Confirm force activation. ?

    [Understood. Activating...]

    "Mister Levi..." Tycon spoke quietly, but he knew Levi''s ears were attentive to his every word, "I am not asking you. You will do as I say."

    Almost immediately, Tycon saw the rush of foreign mana enter Wolfrider''s body. He thrust his body forward, curving his spine and baring his teeth. He turned toward the yed Beast and thrust his halberd into the leaping creature''s maw. Taking his right fist off of the haft, he bent his body low, then shifted his weight upward, uppercutting the beast where its throat would be.

    "Good," Tycon nodded. "Now do so, again."

 Chapter 192 Iron Sights

    ?[Fifteen minutes prior.]

    "Boss, wouldn''t I do better using Moon-Moon-Moon against the enemies?"

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark examined the pistols Tycon had armed him with. He understood how they worked. Pressing the trigger released the hammer, igniting the Orkish sugar in the barrel. The explosion would send a metal bullet tearing into an enemy at a speed that a Gold-Rank would struggle to follow. The resulting injury was incredibly destructive, far greater than that of a crossbow quarrel.

    Though Lone was good with a bow, he hadn''t used pistols before.

    The handsome green-haired noble curled the side of his lip in an arrogant smirk, "A Ranger is trained in all martial weapons. I have faith in you, Mister Lone."

    Tycon leaned forward to whisper into his ear, "But if you shoot me with that, I''ll stab you in both eyes and leave you for dead on the side of the road."

    An icy chill ran down Lone''s spine.

    Boss'' threat was far worse than his usual ones...

    Lone couldn''t recall a single time that Baron Tycon had broken a promise.

    Tycon stepped back and smiled-- but his eyes weren''t smiling, "Do you understand me, Mister Lone?"

    "I-- I do, Boss!" Lone yelped.

    "After the initial volley, your assistance will be crucial."

    Lone grimaced, "What do you mean, Boss? But I''m the... weakest guy here? Err... not including Sasha, anyroad."

    The nobleman rolled his golden eyes, "Stars and stones, Barza Keith, don''t you get tired of doubting yourself? I''m not asking for your opinion, I''m telling you the n."

    Lone holstered his two pistols, averting his gaze, "A-alright, Boss. What do you need me to do?"

    [Present time.]

    Lone held his pistols pointed upward as he rushed to get into position.

    Wolfrider was holding on well against the left target with Tycon approaching from his side.

    Lone kicked over a table to use as cover and hid behind it, resting his outstretched arms and aimed pistols upon it to keep his aim steady. He aimed at the beast''s side, well away from its front where Wolfrider fought with Boss Tycon''s halberd.

    He didn''t need to check beside him, but he knew Sasha was there. As shy as the dark elf was around him, she seemed not to mind him as much if he didn''t look directly at her. Sasha politely hiss-chanted her prayers to the snake god, having the weird effect of calming Lone''s nerves.

    He felt as if he were a hunter, slowly coiling around his prey. Once his prey was crushed, its hopes extinguished, and its spine broken, it would be the greatest feeling in the world.

    He nced over to where Lulu was. Lone knew she was strong... but she was still a little blonde girl, devoid of muscle. She had an Arcane ss? It was hard to tell if she was actually strong or not... If she got into trouble, Lone would rush over and help her out.

    Margeaux was watching from the entrance. It would be great if he looked heroic in front of her.

    Seven hells, the yed Beasts moved fast... pouncing faster than any wolf or bird Lone had ever seen. But at least Lulu would have a mana ward or--<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone choked on his own saliva seeing herunch the yed Beast back with a poke of her parasol.

    He examined the parasol before, while Lulu was off sexually assaulting statues in the courtyard. It wasn''t made out of special materials, at all. It felt that the tiniest amount of force could tear a hole through the paper.

    Geysers of elemental magic burst from the floor. Spheres of magical frost and fire were summoned through a dozen magic circles. Cackling like a madwoman, Lulu ced her hand onto an already-drawn magic circle on the floor and swords made of lightning managed to imprison her yed Beast.

    The woodenboratory tables gained sentience, lit on fire, ran at the creature and exploded in a series of blinding-white firebombs.

    Just like Boss Tycon said, it seemed the fire elemental spells hurt the creature more... Even if the creature resisted her magic, it seemed that Lulu could cast more than enough spells to keep the beast pinned down.

    Slowly, Lone turned his head. He''d... he''d just keep watching Wolfbanger fight.

    Margeaux was watching. He needed to keep professional and stick to the n! Guild Invictus needed to win before he could get any closer to her.

    He was tired of getting mixed up with powerful women. In Nice, he lost his memory and woke with ck eyes and bruises all over his body. He was pretty sure it had something to do with Korr. In the Ivory Judge Sect, every female he met was way stronger than he was. In Merylsward... Egh... Lone did *not* want to think about the creepy, unclean way he lost his V-Card to Madison.

    And he only found out long after he messed with Rico of the Sea Wolves that she was Gold-Rank... and that she was 3 years old! Lone almostmitted a crime!

    Uughhhhh. Boss Tycon probably didn''t have to deal with all these super-powerful women trying to kill him. He was incredibly strong, after all.

    Nope. Lone only wanted to deal with normal girls-- like Sorina... But Margeaux was a close second. Her boobs were huge. And he was pretty sure Sorina hated him. It was a no-brainer which girl he was nning to pursue.

    Maybe he could convince Boss Tycon to stay in the Kingdom a bit longer before heading to the Holy Country. Guild Invictus probably needed supplies.

    He looked over to the doorway and winked at Margeaux, who waved back.

    Yeah. She was super hot.

    Lone shook away his extraneous thoughts and sharpened his focus.

    The yed Beast was bing engrossed in Wolfbanger''s reckless attacks.

    Wait, reckless? That wasn''t how Wolfbanger fought, at all...

    Oh, that''s what it was. Boss Tycon was channeling his mana to guide his attacks.

    It just seemed so strange that Levi was taking so much damage... and Boss looked a bit more upset than usual. He had the same strained look on his face as when he uses Iron Dragon Rend...

    Lone watched patiently, his pistols trained on the yed Beast.

    Once he ced two pistol shots into the creature''s skull, he''d rush in and be the hero.

    The beasts were vulnerable to fire.

    Moon-Moon-Moon would have the chance to guide him and Guild Invictus to victory.

 Chapter 193 Never Drop Your Weapon

    ?Tycondrius observed Lulu''s progress from afar.

    It had seemed she tapped into the room''s Magic Array and used it to trap her yed Beast in a cage made from flowing electricity. The ability to disable a magical trap inbat made the woman a genius. Being able to redirect its energy and use it to amplify her own magic made her a monster.

    It was just as well. Sol Invictus was made up of monsters.

    ...and Barza... who was doing an excellent job and Tycon was very proud of him.

    Tycon''s core thrummed in strain, leaving him gasping for breath. The mana usage of a forced Commander''s Strike had left him fatigued. He took a deep breath of the mana-rich atmosphere, which began to immediately recover his energies.

    Though he could rest, he would rather capitalize on his advantage.

    ? System, force-activate Commander''s Strike. Authorized. ?

    Like a virus, his own mana had already seeped into Levi Wolfrider''s. Tycon clenched his fist, exacerbating the mana in the weretouched boy''s body.

    "GYAHHHHRRRHH!?!" The weretouched boy screamed in agony as if his body was ame.

    With the boy''s fatigue, his body sought mana from the environment-- easily attained from the tower''s energies. But if he was like a patient desperately seeking a blood transfusion, Tycon was the fraudulent chatan that, instead of blood, pumped chicken soup and sand into his veins.

    The sodding rat deserved it.

    Wolfrider''s swung his weapon with a sh, the instantaneous movement ending with his halberd mming down atop the yed Beast''s skull. Its jaw collided against theboratory floor, marking the tiles with a web of cracks. He turned and shed the halberd at the creature''s foreleg, promptly rending it from its body. And finally, he thrust the halberd de''s point into the beast''s green-me right eye.

    The creature''s echoing shriek reverberated throughout therge room but wasrgely drowned out by Wolfrider''s own.

    In its painful throes, the yed Beast began to exude a thick, green noxious gas.

    Poison.

    Tycon''s mana-connection with Wolfrider abruptly halted once more, leaving him lightheaded and briefly unbnced.

    As sorry as a state the yed Beast was in, Wolfrider''s was worse. The effects of the mana fervor had left the boy fatigued and haggard. His ears drooped and his tongue stuck out of the side of his maw. His white fur was a mess with blood dripping down his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. And it was obvious to Tycon that the boy had dislocated his left shoulder.

    ...Worse still was that the beast''s poisoned ws had yet to infect his blood.

    The boy couldn''t take much more.

    "LONE!!" Tycon called out.

    Two loud explosions rang out as Lone''s bullets urately struck the yed Beast''s skull and torso.

    Tycon scoffed as he saw Lone charge out from his cover.

    If Sasha had been attentive, she would have cast a Protection spell on Lone. She had plenty of time to do so. Tycon needed to beat the shyness out of her...

    ...by using positive reinforcement.

    However, the youngdy hadn''t yet froze up or flinched thus far. That was a point to beuded. She would grow quickly, adapting tobat and other mercenary activities, traveling in Invictus.

    ? Pointing again at the noxious skin-and-bones creature, Tycon spoke to Wolfrider in a quiet voice, "You''re not done, Mister Levi."

    The boy''s eyes shot up in shock, then turned to anger, then flinched in horror, "B-boss, but... I feel so--"

    The boy coughed up a thick wad of blood.

    Internal damage.

    Frowning at the boy with the blood-stained fur, Tycon sought deep within him... searching meticulously for a reason to care.

    He found none.

    Tycon continued to speak in slow, measured words. He would not waste the effort in raising his voice for this whelp, "Mister Levi. I. don''t. give a damn about your feelings."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Now, since you''ve disabled the creature''s left foreleg..." Tycon turned to Lone, "Pin LEFT!!"

    Lone rushed towards the yed Beast, running alongside his fiery Dark-Iron Wolf.

    "Pin left!!" He confirmed. The summoned creature, Moon-Moon-Moon, mmed its heavy ming body into the beast''s hind left leg.

    Taking a deep breath of mana-filled air, Tycon pointed his palm at Levi Wolfrider.

    "GHRHRKKK!!" The boy''s chest heaved up as foreign mana took over his senses once more. He choked blood, marking the walls a deep red, he grit his scarlet teeth and blinked away the tears of pain. He turned and sprinted to the opposite side of the yed Beast, then mmed his already-dislocated shoulder into its side.

    The creature toppled over, but Wolfrider copsed to the floor, crying and vomiting blood. The boy was wracked with pain from the stinging fumes, the mana exhaustion, and more than a few of the creature''s strikes upon his armor.

    The halberd slipped out of the boy''s hands.

    Tycon saw it fall... slowly... all of his senses sharpened to a razor-thin edge...

    It nged upon the floor, uselessly.

    Before Tycon knew it, he had wound up a kick.

    What was he doing? Tycon gained cognizance and realized he was about to strike the boy.

    Wolfrider dropped his weapon. You don''t drop your weapon.

    Tycon aimed and delivered the kick solidly to Wolfrider''s midsection.

    "You know better than to drop your weapon, pup. Now, get the hells up."

    "Boss..." Wolfrider groaned.

    Tycon closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. When he opened them, Wolfrider had grasped at his halberd and was struggling to stand. Good.

    Tycon did not know what he would have done, otherwise. He merely knew he would not have chosen to repeat himself.

    "Quickly now, Mister Levi." Tycon turned away from the boy and drew his razor whip, "That is not the best you can do."

    [Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? No, not until he''s earned it. ?

    Tyconshed his whip out, wrapping around the snapping yed Beast''s skeletal jaw. Holding tight, he pulled the creature''s head down to prevent it from biting into Lone''s torso.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, transformed his wolf back into a single weapon. Wielding it with both hands, he struck the creature''s side with the ming wolf-hammer, then again upon the base of its spine.

    Wolfrider had recovered somewhat. With a telegraphed thrust that was painfully slow, he stabbed his halberd deep  into the trapped undead''s hide.

    The undead creature''s green-me eyes surged with life and it emitted its noxious gas more strongly, forcing Lone to leap back.

    The poison was no issue to Tycon, so he concentrated on keeping the beast firmly in ce.

    It red at Sasha, the girl who had been doing nothing but casting defensive spells throughout the fight. It struggled to break free from Tycon''s hold and rend its ws into the young dark elf.

    Tycon scoffed. He would never let that happen.

    He drew the Shatterspike from his belt and drove it into the creature''s right eye where Wolfrider had struck it earlier. With a tremble and the burst of air like itsst breath, the ckened skeleton copsed...

    As its defensive mana began to dissipate, its hanging skin almost immediately lit aze from Lone''s fiery weapon.

    "Do not rest yet, Invictus." Tycon warned, "There is another."

 Chapter 194 Lulu Offense Formation

    ?Lulu, the blonde demoness could not easily defeat her yed Beast alone. She was, however, quite capable of rebuffing the creature''s rushing advances with her retinue of slowing and entrapment spells. When it came within jaw-snapping range, the tiny blonde would tap the end of her parasol upon it and send it sprawling back, crashing intoboratory equipment.

    The woman''s mana expenditure must have been immense.

    Even if it wasn''t, Guild Invictus would converge upon the remaining creature to ensure its speedy demise.

    Because of the tower''s mana-rich atmosphere, Tycon was willing to push his mana reserves. Forcing Wolfrider to attack against his will drained him near his limit. Breathing in deeply, the fresh mana flow was as refreshing as a drink from a cool, clean spring on a tiresome day.

    After only a few moments, Tycon''s energies were restored enough to cast a Skill he had kept long in reserve.

    "Sol Invictus!!" He yelled, "ATTAAAACK!!!!"

    ? System, activate Lulu Offense Formation. ?

    ...Tycon did not know what the skill actually did. He had discovered it, browsing a list of Skills he had at high Completion-Rating. Judging only by the name, it was an offensive formation with Lulu at its core.

    [Activating...]

    Tycon, Lone, and Sasha dashed forward as mana assisted their swift movements across the room... and the trio arrived adjacent to Lulu.

    Tycon held his whip back, ready to strike, while his sword pointed forward.

    Lone held his wolf-hammer above his head, ready to bring it down.

    Sasha held her arms locked-straight and both of her fists forward, trying her best to scowl angrily.

    And the three of them were facing... Lulu.

    "Ohoho!" Lulu chuckled, "You made a formation just for me, Boss~?"

    Lone and Tycon immediately turned their bodies to face the yed Beast, currently trapped in a lightning cage.

    Sweat ran down the back of Tycon''s head. What the hells was with that skill? It seemed like it was designed to fight Lulu.

    Lulu didn''t seem to notice. And if she did, she didn''t seem to be offended by it.

    ...Tycon decided to stop thinking about it.

    He ran forward,shing out with his whip and wrapping it around the yed Beast''s left foreleg. At the same time Lulu dispelled her lightning cage.

    "Invictus! Pin left!"

    ...

    The remaining yed Beast was felled quickly enough. Lulu revealed a unique skill-- she was able to open a rift to the Eternal Battlefield, effectively importing a torrent of metal shrapnel. Since the jagged bullet-like bits were quite physical, the undead creature did not have the benefit of its spell resistance. And with the creature pinned down, it could not escape the wicked barrage.

    Tycon grabbed a chair from one of the nearby tables and sat down to rest. He needed a short break to recover from his mental fatigue and to prevent the creeping onset of a headache.

    ...He considered heading back down to the kitchens to fry some potatoes with the Tower Wizard''s stove.

    The Lone Shadowdark took the victory as free reign to take his hammer to therge creature''s skull.

    What was he doing? Was there a need to waste so much energy?

    The young Shadowdark turned back to the room''s entrance to shoot a radiant smile at... Margeaux.

    Ohhhh. Tycon understood the phenomenon. It was a primitive disy of showmanship, performed by Lone, in order to attract a mate.

    The pink-haired maid was hurrying over, her soft, pudgy face full of concern.

    ...Tycon wondered if the girl knew if the tower had a hidden stash of food or dried meat. That would prove her useful, for once.

    Lulu''s shrillugh, a mad witch''s cackle, shook Tycon out of his deep, delicious thoughts. Slowly, he opened his eyes to slits to see the demoness doubled over inughter. Something tugged at his hand... and he turned to see Sasha pointing back toward the yed Beast.

    A human-sized, mass of ck was writhing while standing upright. The grotesque stood aside two fallen wolf-hammers.

    ...It seemed the ck, leathery skin that once hung from the yed Beast had wrapped itself around Lone. The fool was soon to suffocate and pass out.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Hmm... That''s right. We quickly destroyed and burnt the hides of the previous yed Beasts," Tycon mused.

    "MmmmHRHGGHH!! MHHRHGHHH!!" Lone mumbled loudly. He fell to the ground, wriggling and struggling.

    He looked like a sea cucumber. Tycon had found them especially delicious, braised with wine. It was one of his favorite dishes, dining on Saint Guinefort.

    Tycon was hungry.

    Margeaux, the useless half-elf, grabbed Tycon''s arm and shook him, "Sir Tycon-- sir. Please, you have to help him!"

    Tycon rolled his eyes and gently pried the woman''s weak grasp off of his arm, "Very well."

    ...He was nning to help Lone without the woman''s nagging.

    Standing up, he started towards the wrapped Warrior.

    Tycon had briefly considered being rude to the pink-haired annoyance. However, his sense of pride and professionalism was more important to him than the fleeting enjoyment he''d gain from talking down to a mundanemoner.

    Crouching down, Tycon peeled back the skin covering Lone''s mouth.

    "BOSS! HELP!!! I''M TRAPPED IN A KILLER BLANKET!!!!!"

    Tycon opened his fingers. With a rubbery snap, the yed Beast''s skin again wrapped around Lone''s nose and mouth. The young man resumed his panicked squirming.

    "Mister Lone." Tycon gently chided, "I am right here. There is no need to shout."

    Sounds of muffled sobbing emanated from the killer nket as tears began to stream down Lone''s cheeks.

    "Ughhh," Tycon groaned and peeled back the skin restricting Lone''s breathing again, "Good afternoon, Mister Lone."

    "G-good afternoon, Boss... Would you... ergh... please help me?"

    Smiling, Tycon pat Lone on the shoulder. The killer nket suddenly constricted. Lone exhaled in pain.

    "...Well, thatst bit was my mistake." Tycon gingerly retracted his hand, "But I must say that you were being rather careless, yourself."

    Lone was surprisingly silent. The young man''s face was beginning to change colors. Tycon surmised that the factor affecting his facial color was also preventing him from speaking.

    Tycon felt a broad grimace stretch across his face. He needed to free Lone before he rued any irremediable damage.

    "Haaayyyy~ Bosssss~!" Lulu sang sweetly.

    If Tycon didn''t know any better, he''d havepared the woman''s deep and musical voice to an angel''s, "What is it, Miss Lulu?"

    "You want me ta..." Instead of finishing her sentence, the demoness twirled a strand of her blonde hair and held out her palm. A fist-sized sphere of concentrated me appeared, slowly rotating in ce.

    Tycon twisted his lips, "What are the chances of that fireball also killing Lone?"

    "Not a hundred!!" Lulu nodded proudly.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "How about if the chances are out of 100... percent?"

    "Oh," Lulu closed her hand, the fireball dissipating in a sizzle, "Y-yeah... then it is a hundred."

    Tycon rolled his eyes. Demons had a love of wordy.

    "Sasha." Tycon summoned Invictus'' chocte elf, who trotted over obediently, "Have you learned the Sacred me spell?"

    She nodded in excitement.

    Tycon summoned his cuss out of his spatial ring, "Use your spell to heat up my sword. Hopefully, the divine mes will cause the creature''s skin to recoil and release Mister Lone..."

    The other result was the yed skin crushing him tighter.

    It was a risk Tycon was willing to take.

 Chapter 195 Smells Like Home

    ?Tycondrius held up his cuss, observing the divine energy. Sasha''s Sacred me Spell coated the de, dripping silvery wisps onto the tile.

    It was also very hot.

    The heated de would not be pleasant to touch directly.

    "Mister Lone, are you mentally prepared for this?"

    Barza Keith, the blue-in-the-face Shadowdark, shook his head frantically as if he had a choice.

    Tycon smiled with chagrin as he pressed the t of the de against the ckened leather atop Lone''s thigh. The thigh area had fewer nerve endings. The inflicted burn should have a limited effect on Lone and his fighting power-- once he got over the pain, anyroad.

    Thankfully, the ck-leather skin writhed in... difort? It loosened its deadly grip, allowing Lone to take a deep breath...

    With that breath, he chose to loose a blood-curdling scream.

    Tycon frowned at the unpleasant noise. Though the reaction could have been physical and involuntary, the young man had a habit of yelling both duringbat and upon injury. Tycon could not measure whether Lone was in excruciating pain or whether he was overreacting.

    ...Not that it mattered, for the task at hand.

    Flipping the cuss de, Tycon pressed it against Lone''s opposite thigh.

    "BAWWW-HAW-HAW-HAAAWWSSSSSS!!!" Lone choked pitifully on his sobs.

    "Kihihihhihi~!" Lulu grabbed one of Lone''s wolf-hammers.

    "Tres Lunas, howl for me," she whispered sweetly. The dark-iron weapon zed alive with a green-colored me, easily twice the size and thrice the fury than if it were in Lone''s hands.

    She pressed the hammer against the still-entrapped Warrior''s chest.

    "LUUUUUU~LUUUUUUUUUU!!!" Lone sobbed harder.

    The chocte elf Sasha approached with amusement and excitement on her face. She pressed her tiny elven hands against Lone''s stomach and began to channel her Sacred me, "Ehehe~"

    "WHHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!???"

    The yed Beast''s skin released Lone, squirming and shriveling up in multi-colored mes.

    Scraps and bits of the skin remained on Lone''s person, embers still burning dimly. He curled his body, holding himself and sobbing like a spurned lover.

    Lulu rubbed the fallen man''s crotch with her bare foot, dousing one of therger embers with a sizzle, "Pleasure and pain, cutie~!"

    "Wh-hah-haah-hyyyyyyy~!??" Lone ced his hands onto his face to muffle his mewling.

    Tycon groaned at the demoness, "Ughhh... Let him be, Miss Lulu."

    "A,e on, Boss!!" The blonde girl grabbed at Tycon''s arm. Unlike with Margeaux, he could not simply pry the woman off. Sasha mimicked Lulu, embracing Tycon''s other arm.

    "At least let me spit in his mouth~!" Lulu begged.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to disapproving slits, "Is that... is that a sexual fetish?"

    "It totally is," she confirmed.

    "...Right. Do whatever you want. Just fix... that," Tycon gestured towards Invictus'' Weeping Warrior before rolling his eyes and walking away.

    ...

    Tycon flipped Levi Wolfrider onto his back, facing the ceiling. It appeared the poison''s effects were diminishing, as the boy''s ragged breathing had begun to normalize.

    "Mister Wolfrider, congrattions. You appear to have survived a hard-fought battle. You were instrumental in Guild Invictus'' sess."

    The young dog-wolf-boy groaned in pain, his body convulsing sporadically.

    Tycon smirked as he leaned over and offered his hand, "It would be a shame to die here, wouldn''t it?"

    [Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]

    ? Yes, I suppose Mister Wolfrider has earned it. ?

    [Activating...]

    Wolfrider hacked out a glob of blood and phlegm. He reached up to sp Tycon''s offered wrist.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon pulled the boy up, "Notfortable on the floor, I take it, Mister Wolfrider?"

    The miserable-looking boy cracked a smile, "D-dying is for cowards, Boss..."

    "Very good," Tycon started to turn away but hesitated... "Was there something else?"

    Wolfrider''s mouth twitched, "Y-yeah... Thanks, Boss."

    Tycon found the weretouched boy''s gratitude peculiar... "And to what exactly are you referring to, young man?"

    The young boy coughed again, hanging his shoulders and looking miserable. He bent over and picked up his halberd, "Just... thank you for believing in me."

    Facing the floor, the boy turned up his eyes and ears, "I... I just want to make you proud."

    Tycon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "What garbage. I advise you to never seek another man''s approval as your goal."

    Taking a bundle of bandages from his belt pouch, he tossed them up for Levi to catch, "Take some time to realize what''s truly important to you... then grasp that goal by its figurative throat. Realize your own ideals-- not mine."

    Tycon shrugged as he turned about, "That''s the type of person I can be proud of."

    "Y-yes, Boss!" Wolfrider shouted as Tycon walked off.

    "I''ll be waiting."

    ...

    After a short break for some food and a few casts of Sasha''s divine healing spells, Guild Invictus was prepared to ascend to the fourth floor of the Wizard Tower.

    Margeaux led the way with Lone following. Thetter gazed longingly at the maid girl''s behind as they walked.

    She stepped back from the door, biting her upper lip in frustration, "The key I have doesn''t seem to work on this door..."

    Lone tried his hand at pushing and pulling the door handle, "Door''s locked, Boss."

    Tycon nodded, "Mister Wolfrider, go ahead."

    The white-furred dog-wolf-boy scratched his cheek, "Wh-what do you want me to do, Boss?"

    "Pick the lock?"

    "I... I''m a Warden, not a Thief, Boss..." Wolfrider averted his gaze, looking embarrassed.

    "I am aware... I was just..." Tycon trailed off. He had assumed (incorrectly) that the young gentleman had practiced other low skills, considering the boy''s penchant for stealing, "Nevermind. Lulu, the door."

    The woman hopped up the stairs and mashed her bits against the door, pressing her nose against it and taking a deep breath, "OoohhHHHhh~! Sevennnnn hells! It smells like hoooome!!"

    Smells. Like. Home. Those 3 words triggered every ring warning signal in Tycon''s brain. He immediately turned around, grabbed Sasha''s hand, and began guiding her down the stairs, "We can find another way to get materials."

    "What? Boss,e on-- we''re almost at the top?" Lone argued.

    "Sir Tycon, please. You''re my only hope!" Margeaux whelped in her weakling-voice.

    Tycon ignored the pink-haired maid and red at Lone, "Mister Lone, what did Lulu just say?"

    Lone''s eyes widened in realization, "Oh, shite. Yeah, nevermind. Let''s leave."

    "Oh,e on, you guyyyys! Don''t be such big babies," Lulu scolded. With a wave of her hand, a magic circle burnt onto the wood of the door. The door clicked with the sound of the mechanism magically unlocking and popped open a few ilms.

    It would have been more inviting, had it not been for the acrid stink of sulfur and burning metal.

    "It''s a super-friendly part of the Eternal Battlefield. Plus, everyone knows me! There won''t be aaaaany problems!" Lulu insisted.

    Tycon''s mouth twitched. Concerning Lulu''spanion devils Invictus had previously met, they had bashed with hammer, sword, and pistol back into the hell from whence they came.

    Lone, ever the exemr of chivalry, had released Margeaux''s hand and was already halfway down the stairs, "Are you guysing?"

    Both Wolfrider and Sasha showed nk stares of uncertainty. Neither of them likely understood the gravity of the floor ahead.

    ...But still, Lulu did appear to be particrly confident.

 Chapter 196 Eternal Battlefield

    ?Obtaining magicalponents for Lulu''s Teleport spell was the most efficient way for Tycondrius to travel to the Holy Country.

    "Fine," Tycon sighed, "Guild Invictus! We continue the ascent... against my better judgment."

    Lone looked up the stairwell in disbelief. He had already traveled half-way down the precarious staircase. He sighed in exasperation as he began the walk back up.

    "Thank the gods!" Margeaux breathed a sigh of relief.

    "NOPE!!" Lulu pped her hard across the face, disheveling her long pink hair, "If there''s anyone you should be thanking, it should be me, B i t c h!!"

    The pink-haired maid held her cheek, surprised and piteous, as Lulu stepped through the doorway... She seemed to understand that she was in no condition to argue.

    Tycon walked past her, whispering a friendly bit of advice, "I advise you to avoid the... ''G'' word around Miss Lulu. She can be rather testy about it."

    The girl frowned and nodded in aggrieved understanding as Invictus walked up the steps and through the door.

    ...

    [Wizard Tower: Floor 4, Vision of Hell]

    "Now where has Lulu run off to...?" Tycon mused.

    The door had opened into a hellishndscape. Orange desert sands stretched out to the horizon, marred by jagged spikes that made up cliffs and mountains. The ground itself seemed to give off an ominous glow, illuminating the area. The skies above were lit by foreign, colored stars and violent sky-storms of metal debris.

    Looking back, Tycon noted that the door was not built into a wall, but remained stationary, looking as if a simple push could knock it over.

    He knew better. The door was a stable portal that linked to the Eternal Battlefield. It would take someone of Lulu''s prodigious magical power or greater to disrupt the link.

    ...It wasn''t something Tycon wished to try. He did not want to be stuck in hell. The food variety was abysmal.

    Tycon paused. It was an interesting thought. Perhaps he''d been stuck in a hell before?

    Lone, Wolfrider, and Margeaux stepped out of the door, eyes wide in wonder.

    Sasha closed the door politely, behind them.

    Lone walked up beside Tycon, "Boss, where... where in the seven hells *are* we?"

    "The correct question is ''in *which* of the seven hells are we?'' We have crossed into the Eternal Battlefield," Tycon frowned, "Weren''t you listening?"

    Lone squinted his eyes as he began to observe thendscape, "I mean... I don''t see any signs of fighting?"

    Tycon opened his arms, directed to the ground all around them, "Look closer."

    Margeaux held her hand out, "Miss Sasha, no!"

    Sasha scurried forward and grabbed at the ground. She pulled out something like it was a radish and fell on her bottom. Tycon and Lone approached. The chocte elf had pulled out an ancient sword, but it waspletely rusted over and began to crumble away in herp.

    Amongst the rocks and sand surrounding Invictus were scores of demon-bones and corroded weapons and armor.

    Tycon grabbed Sasha underneath her shoulders and lifted her to her feet, "Youngdy, be careful of touching the things you find here."

    Levi Wolfrider froze, mere ilms away from grabbing onto a discarded silvery helmet, strangely undamaged by the atmosphere.

    "Like that," Tycon confirmed, "That''s definitely cursed."

    Wolfrider stood up straight and wiped his hands on his trousers, "I didn''t want it, anyroad."

    Lone nced around the deserted battlefield, flinching at imagined movements. "Is it safe, Boss Tycon?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "No, it is not. Why would it be?"

    Lone grimaced, "Um... Is it safe... to move to the next floor... with uh?"

    The dark-haired Warrior pointed above, to the sky-storms.

    Tycon observed the sky without concern, "It appears there''s a magical barrier protecting our pathway, preventing the rain of metal from above. Likely, when we get to the other end of the said pathway, we''ll reach the next floor."

    Lone peered around their surroundings in various directions, "I... I don''t see it, Boss."

    Pondering for a moment in thought, Tycon offered, "Did Lulu spit in your mouth, earlier?"

    "B-boss, that sort of thing doesn''t turn me on at all!" Lone crossed his arms in an X in front of him in vehement denial.

    "...Right. If Lulu lent you some of her mana, perhaps you can focus on it. She left a trail for us to follow."

    The Warrior crossed his arms. He seemed to be swishing the saliva around in his mouth.

    ...Was he saving Lulu''s saliva? No, that made no sense. It had been over a bell since then. What was he doing?

    "Got it, Boss. I can see it!" Lone eximed, "I think I''m starting to get the hang of this mana thing!"

    Tycon gave him a troubled smile but otherwise said nothing.

    Taking Sasha''s hand, Tycon started down the path Lulu had left for them. With an Arcane Mark spell, she had professionally drawn an easy-to-follow, pale-green line of mana. The path led Invictus into a mountain canyon, about 5 horses wide, littered with decayed bodies and desated gs ofpanies long forgotten.

    It didn''t take long for the demons to smell fresh meat.

    Crawling out from the rocky crags, nearly a dozen red-skinned, ck-horned humanoids dropped down, wearing looted armor and wielding chipped weapons.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, calcting the demons'' strengths, "Really?"

    The Wizard''s barrier must have been quite strong. Only Unranked demons had dared to get in their way... Each of them was capable of gutting a nonbat ss like Margeaux, but still...

    With a shout and a metallic wolf howl, Lone had his weapon transform into its dark-iron wolf form, "Boss, we''re surrounded."

    Levi guarded the rear, with Margeaux and Sasha protected at its center, "3 or 4 each. Can do."

    Tycon wasn''t good at his pronunciation in Abyssal, but most demons knew the Common tongue, "We bear the standard of Lucifer of Pride. Why don''t you ugly red bastards... sod off?"

    With a sh of zing red mana, Tycon disyed the Demon Seal inscribed on his soul. The demons flinched from its power, averting their gaze and covering their eyes.

    Tycon turned to his party members, "There. We should be alright, now."

    "(The OUTSIDERS have stolen the seal of Lucifer of Pride!!)"

    "(We must defend the honor of Luci!!)"

    "(How DAAAARE THEY!!!!)"

    "B-boss, what are they saying??" Lone asked in a panic.

    Wolfrider barked and whined, "Boss!! They''re looking really mad, right now!!"

    "Empty night," Tycon ced his face onto his palm.

 Chapter 197 Trash

    ?"Ughh..." Groaning and not at all enthusiastic, Tycon drew his cuss, "Invictus... We are under ''attack'' by... ''fooooul'' demons."

    Tycon reached for the ram-horns to the demon adjacent to him and hacked his de into its neck. He sighed, "Death--"

    "--to the enemies of INVICTUS!!" Lone and Wolfrider yelled.

    ncing behind, Tycon watched his two idiotpanions charge their half of the enemies...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, wielded a wolf-hammer with both hands. With savage force, he sent it crashing against a demon''s shield, knocking the unsuspecting fellow off of their feet.

    "Spread Smash!!" Wolfrider yelled out. His halberd began to glow with power, sheathing in a swirl of the orange dust that hardened into jagged stone spikes. He swung overhead and down into the demon''s face, ying him. The magical rocks exploded with a thunderous boom, forcing the other demons around them to halt their attacks and shield their eyes.

    Wolfrider rotated his body, spinning his halberd and striking the back of a different demon''s ankles. Their legs swept out underneath them, the base of the demon''s skull cracked against the red-orange rock. The Lone Shadowdark yelled and with a hop up, brought his hammer down.

    They defeated two demons in under a breath. It was an excellent disy of teamwork.

    ...Those two were getting along suspiciously well.

    Tycon turned back to his own half of demons, his face contorted in disdain. He released his grip on the first demon''s horns, allowing it to crumple lifelessly to the ground.

    "Five of you. One of me," Tycon swiped his cuss to the side, flinging the blood off of it.

    He examined his enemies... Red-skinned demon-soldiers with thick, bony brows and vicious, jagged-tooth weaponry.

    Many battles in the past, Tycon had been worried, anxious, and scared. This was not one of those battles.

    The soldiers wore looted, piecemeal armor, assembled haphazardly. Tycon surmised they may have been worn for style rather than for bodily protection. Their brows were thick and bony because their faces were sunken from fatigue, malnutrition, or both. And while their weaponry had rough, savage edges, it was because the weapons were chipped and in disrepair.

    These demons were trash.

    Stars above, he decided to say it out loud.

    "You lot... I''m surprised that you actually have physical forms. You might as well all be mindless, scum-sucking scavengers..."

    The demons looked at each other, still hesitant on whether to attack or not.

    Tycon took a deep breath and sighed, "You''re all trash. No-- you''re worse than trash. You''re the bottom of the trash heap. It''s like two bags of trash kissed and made illegitimate children. However, the trash king had passed aw, forbidding such loathsome creatures and you were shamefully cast out of the trash kingdom and into the trash wilds."

    That managed to get them riled up. The demons snarled theirints in Abyssal.

    "(Trash? We''re not trash! You''re trash!!)"

    "(Oh, you''ll pay for that, Outsider...)"

    "(We shall rebel against the KING!!)"

    Tycon stood, his cuss at the ready.

    He had transmigrated into this world without recollection of himself as Tycondrius. However, he was lucky enough to have a wide repertoire of learning and gained skills, relevant to the Realms. And of that knowledge, he knew several different sword styles.

    The Elven de styles were beautiful... but generally ineffective, lest the practitioner could assume the de forms as easily as singing and dancing.

    The dwarven arts emphasized strength and stability, usually with a shield. The orcs preferred heavy weapons, better for chopping while screaming at the top of their lungs.

    It was the humans that mastered the arts of war. They took their weapons and they simplified the arts, removed everything unnecessary. And from there, they mixed and matched. They profaned the original traditions in order to make ugly, half-arsed styles.<novelnext></novelnext>

    But they were easy to teach. And there were far more humans than there were elves or dwarves or orcs.

    And then the humans made their own beautiful arts. The various Hidden Sects came about, waging open and secret wars to amass their power. Heroes were killed, but their legendary arts lived on long after them, a testament to the mountains of corpses in their wake.

    The White Raven sword techniques were in the middle. They were easy to teach and only moderately difficult to master. The forms hadplexity and depth, but simple enough to always be relevant.

    The problems were the same as with arguably any art.

    Unbnce the enemy. Remain bnced.

    Know when to poke or jab and when tomit.

    Block or deflect with as little waste of energy as possible.

    Open your enemy''s defense for you or an ally to strike.

    ...Tycon closed his eyes, shaking his head. Ascending the Wizard Tower was taking a frustratingly long amount of time, with far more annoyances than he wanted to deal with.

    He tapped his foot impatiently, "Stars and STONES, I''m not even LOOKING!! Come at me!!"

    The first of the remaining rushed, snarling with stained, spiny teeth. Tycon lunged forward, popping the demon''s face with his sword''s pommel. Tycon forced his arms down for momentum, smashing a jumping knee into the demon''s sternum.

    Tycon opened his eyes, "Garbage."

    The demon on Tycon''s right lifted a chipped battle-axe. Tycon stepped forward, ilms away from the demon''s face. The demon stared nkly, unsure of what to do. Tycon squinted his eyes in disbelief, "Ugh, disappointing."

    He thrust his free hand out, grabbing the demon''s throat, applying pressure to his carotid arteries. The demon had a bipedal humanoid form. Unfortunately for it, its weaknesses were very familiar.

    Tycon began pushing the demon back, bashing his cuss'' pommel into the demon''s face over and over again. Soon, Tycon reached the jagged canyon wall. He kneed the demon in the side and allowed the pitiful creature the mercy of copsing onto the ground.

    Tycon reared his head back, gathered the phlegm in his throat, and spat onto the fallen demon''s face.

    It was incredibly unprofessional, but Tycon was unworried of the consequences. Who was the demon going to tell?

    Tycon turned back. The remaining demons hadn''t moved from where they stood.

    Of course, they didn''t.

    They were all spineless cowards.

    As Tycon approached, a demon with three white horns scratched his cheek. He growled with a scratchy throat, forcing out words in the Common tongue, "Art thou... True? Of Lucifer?"

    Standing next to the demon, Tycon grimaced. The demon was a few ilms taller than he was... even more so, with the height of his horns.

    Annoying.

    Tycon smashed the guarded pommel of his cuss into the demon''s crotch, causing the male humanoid to double over in pain. His gravelly scream seemed to echo into itself. Grabbing the demon''s right arm, Tycon used a burst of mana to quickly strike the back of its elbow. Unsurprisingly, the arm broke, bending at an unnatural angle.

    The demon tried to simply copse onto the floor, but Tycon wouldn''t let him. A savage kick to the demon''s side spun him onto his back, clutching where he was struck. Tycon stomped his boot onto the demon''s face, "What''s my name?"

    The demon roared in agony as Tyconcerated the outside of the creature''s arm, spilling fresh blood onto the sands.

    Another demon stepped forward, fumbling with his Common, "S-sir... You haf-- have not..."

 Chapter 198 Who Are You?

    ?"Hah... haha..." Tycon chuckled, wearing a slight grin. He had found a new toy.

    The demon who spoke out sported two ck spikes on his face like a fancy beard. Tycon stomped onest time on the teeth of the fallen demon before approaching Spike-Beard.

    "You... Ah." Tycon wagged his finger, "You''re the smart one. I should have asked you, to begin with."

    The demon took a step back. It opened its mouth, searching frantically in its mind for something to say.

    "What is my name?" Tycon tilted his head, "You''ve a question? You''ve an answer? Tell me... I''m. Absolutely. Thrilled. To hear it."

    Tycon continued to step forward. The demon continued to step back.

    The demon sought for a name. It longed for it. It found none.

    Of course, there was no answer.

    Hard rocks poked into the demon''s back. It struggled to press its body smaller against the walls. Would it bleed? Is it bleeding? Is the fear enough to make the demon pierce its own flesh upon the rocks? Crack its bones? Split its skull? Cry and beg to live its miserable existence?

    It opened its mouth. It tried to speak. Nothing. Still nothing.

    Tycon stuck his thumb into the demon''s mouth, grabbing hold of its cheek.

    Like an intimate lover, he leaned forward to whisper into its pointed ear, "You... don''t know, do you?"

    Streams of tears began to fall from the creature''s yellow eyes as it babbled apologies in Abyssal.

    "How. Disappointing," Tycon slowly widened his smile into a grin.

    With only his grip on the demon''s cheek, Tycon smashed the unfortunate bastard''s head against the sharp wall. After several rock-busting cracks to the side of the demon''s skull, it stopped its futile struggles and lost consciousness.

    Tycon turned around, wide-eyed.

    "Oh! I''ve forgotten!"

    The remaining demons looked to each other with uncertainty and fear. There were still four left.

    "I never told you my name! Isn''t that hrious?"

    The demons cracked weak, terrified smiles, and chuckled politely.

    Tycon stood up straight and sheathed his sword. He didn''t bother wiping the blood from the brass handguard, "You worthless shite-lings will refer to me as Boss. Any issues?"

    "N-no, Boss."

    "NO ISSUES, BOSS!!"

    "GRARHHRGGRHHHOAHHRLA!!!!!"

    "Catherine says she has no issues, Boss," one of the demons tranted.

    ...

    It appeared that Lone and Wolfrider had finished. The two of them had worked as a team to y their half of the enemies.

    ...It would have made more sense to split the enemies into thirds, but everything seemed to work out.

    "Oh, I was so scared, Mister Lone!" Margeaux revealed her dramatic concern.

    How useless. How long could one person exist, being weak and pitiful, until she grew tired of it?

    Sasha was safe. She had managed to build a sand-castle of the red-orange sand. Miniscule flecks of crystal had gotten into her hands. Tycon sighed. The flecks would develop into a painful and itchy irritation. They needed to be washed out with running water, mild soap, and maybe a soft rag.

    "Well done, you two," Tycon congratted wolf-boy and wolf-hammer. A stronger-than-usual tinge of sarcasm stained his words. Admittedly, Tycon was still frustrated.

    "Um, Boss," Lone frowned, "Should we... take out these demons, too?"

    "Don''t bother. They''re temporary parts of Invictus now."

    Tycon lifted his two arms out to his sides.

    His travelingpanions gawked in confusion.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "(Raise. The Master. To the exit,)" Tycon ordered in broken Abyssal.

    One on the left and the other on the right, two demons picked up Tycon by his arms and began carrying him forward at a steady jog.

    Lone shrugged, "Let''s... let''s follow him."

    ...

    "(Here. Down.)" Tyconmanded his new demon escorts.

    He was ced down rather ungently.

    Gentle was not... amonly practiced trait of demonkind.

    "Which one are you? Are you Catherine?" Tycon asked one of the demons who had carried him.

    "No, Boss. My name is--"

    Tycon punched the demon in the throat, "Work on your gentleness while carrying persons of importance."

    "Y-y-yess.... Boss..." The red-skinned humanoid managed to cough out.

    Lulu was syed out on a rock, rxing. Her robes were open, revealing a naked shoulder and most of her left breast. She sat up a bit, adjusting her clothing, "Heyy~! Boss. Who are theeeese? They look *weak*."

    "They are. You can have them."

    "Hah. I don''t want them," She scoffed, smirking like she couldn''t believe what Tycon had offered.

    Tycon frowned, "Well, neither do I. If you don''t want them, perhaps I''ll just have them killed."

    The six demons had knelt down and ced their foreheads to the floor.

    Wait, six? It appeared that two of the defeated followed theirpanions instead of hiding back in the crags.

    Ludicrous.

    "(Please, Mistress Lucifer!! Don''t kill us, we''ll do anything!!")"

    It was the demon with the two ck chin-horns. That one seemed slightly smarter than the others.

    """"PLEASE DON''T KILL US!!"""" The demons shouted in unison.

    ...The fact that they did so in the Common tongue made it a slight more impressive.

    "These low-level demons are surprisingly practiced at begging to live," Tycon offered.

    Lulu frowned, "I dunno... being a parent is a big responsibility."

    Tycon opened his mouth to continue speaking but hesitated... He shook his head, "Anything interesting about the next floor?"

    Lulu leered creepily, "Och yahhh? What''cha wanna see on thaaaa next floor? Mayyyybe your giiiiirlfriiiiennnd?"

    Tycon thought of Princess Aur. Eh... No, they didn''t have that kind of rtionship... but it would be nice to see her again. An evening spent with her would improve his mood greatly.

    He frowned, "Seeing a familiar face that could not logically be here would be greatly disturbing."

    "Y-yeah, I guess it would be, huh." Lulu stood up and swept her blonde curls out of her eyes, "Hey, Boss. I do have a question, though."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Yes? Go ahead, Miss Lulu."

    The demoness inteced her fingers and held her arms straight down, swaying as if she were a nervous teenager, "I mean, now that we''re alone..."

    What was she ying at?

    "Well, we''re not really alone... there''s..." Tycon nced back at the six-- eh? There were seven!! Where did they keeping from??

    The blonde woman closed her eyes. She took a step back and grasped the end of her parasol tightly. Her eyes shed open, filled with mana and glowing scarlet red.

    "Who are you?" She demanded.

 Chapter 199 Personal Conversation

    ?Tycondrius crossed his arms in contemtion. He pursed his lips to the side as he gazed up at the hellsworn sky, full of swirling steel.

    He observed Lulu at a distance.

    The barefoot woman was nearly as tall as he was. With her soft, pink skin, her white, patterned robe, and her paper parasol, she looked more suited to a summer pic out than slogging on, in the heights of a dungeon.

    The demon-woman exuded a terrifying swell of power, drawing from the mana-rich atmosphere of the Wizard Tower and likely also from the hellscape upon which they stood. Her eyes shone like they were going to emit concentrated beams of heat energy and she was poised to crack the mana-sheathed tip of her umbre against Tycon''s skull.

    All things considered, Tycon should have been horrified, pissing himself, and begging for mercy.

    However, he was stuck in an obstinate state of general annoyance.

    Lulu appeared to have found out that Tycon wasn''t... Tycon. But for all the demoness'' posturing, she had granted him the opportunity to exin himself, instead of just attacking outright.

    Granted the privilege of thinking on how to answer... First that came to mind were flowery motivations that dodged the question. Or he could provide a series of pleasant-sound half-truths...

    But Tycon realized that he didn''t really care for deceit.

    He trusted Lulu, as a person and as a fellow member of Sol Invictus.

    The notion was simr to how Tarquin Wroe drew power from the unknown beyond-- while Tycon might worry about the Warlock''s magical mishaps, he never once questioned Wroe''s loyalty.

    Empty night.

    Tycon''s survival instincts rebelled against even standing so many paces away from Lulu... He needed to recruit Invictus members that didn''te with horrifyingly cursed or literally hellish baggage.

    ...Anyroad, Lulu, being a cunning demoness, would likely see through false words.

    Tycon shrugged and offered Lulu a simple truth... "I''m your friend."

    "Wrong," Lulu countered, "I''m your ally. I''m your guild member. I''m not your friend."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow... "Ally and guild member, yes... But who would say we aren''t friends?"

    "Y-you did... You did, Boss," Lulu frowned.

    Did her bottom lip just quiver? ...And was he supposed to care?

    Tycon ced his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes, "Alright, then. We''ll go with--"

    "Am I really your friend??" The demoness had appeared just in front of Tycon, and he took an involuntary step back in surprise.

    Was that... a movement technique?

    Lulu''s eyes were no longer glowing with destructive intent and instead were sparkling with expectation.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... "Y-yes... W...why?"

    Lulu sighed in relief as she hugged Tycon''s arm, "I like the new you soOOoo much better!! We''re friends!! Yay!! ~?"

    ...It seemed that Lulu''s morale had been improved. That was good.

    High morale improved the guild''s efficiency and effectiveness.

    Anyroad, Tycon never doubted for a moment that he and Lulu were friends of a sort.

    The System had disyed her name with a blue color. Lulu trusted Tyconpletely.

    ...Circumstances would dictate just how much Tycon would trust Lulu with a task.

    She had a very particr set of skills. She was a powerful Third-Circle caster and... she was also... a whore? ...which he was certain had its uses... not that he could think of any, at the moment.

    The remaining members of Guild Invictus leisurely approached the exit.

    "Hey, Boss," Lone greeted. "What''s with the uh... kneeling demons?"

    Tycon gently peeled off Lulu''s grip and nced over at the seven demons with their foreheads against the floor, "New recruits. Their fate is yet to be determined. What''s with Mister Wolfrider?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Wolfrider had appeared more frustrated than usual, crossing his arms and walking a distance away from Lone, Margeaux, and Sasha.

    Lone scratched his head, "I dunno, Boss."

    ...

    Levi Wilfried was continuously surprised at how much of an idiot Lone was.

    How could that guy trust that Margeaux woman-- someone he JUST met!?

    He didn''t trust her. He didn''t trust her, at all.

    What if she was the Tower Wizard? And this was all a part of her insidious n?

    He''d had enough of her! He decided to bring it up with Boss Tycon.

    "Boss! Could you do something about this dumb woman?"

    The green-haired noble narrowed his eyes at him. That was Boss'' usual look, so Levi had learned to more-or-less ignore it.

    "How is your... body, Mister Wolfrider?"

    "What?" Levi rolled his shoulders, making sure not to let go of his halberd, "I''m fine. I''m a little sore from using all that mana, but I''m good. Thanks!"

    "...Right. And what would you have me do, concerning Miss Margeaux?" Boss Tycon asked.

    Levi smirked. He felt his tail wagging, "I thiiiiink~ we should kill her!!"

    Boss put his face in his palm. Oh. He didn''t seem to think that was a good idea...

    Arrrgh!!Levi needed to find a way to make Boss Tycon understand his reasoning... He cleared his throat, "I don''t trust her at all, Boss!"

    "I am aware of that, young man." Tycon calmly addressed Levi.

    It was one of the greatest things about Boss. He was always cool, calm, and collected...

    Tycon shook his head, "We can''t just kill civilians as we please-- not without reasonable suspicion."

    "But she''s--" Levi looked back to Margeaux. She was hiding behind Lone, using her powers of sluttery to seduce the Warrior into feeling bad for her!

    Levi felt his ears tten as he grit his teeth and growled. Why was that two-bit whore touching his friend?! She thought she was soooo important, getting so friendly with everyone.

    He''d been traveling with Invictus for weeks and weeks and he was just barely on speaking terms with Lone.

    It wasn''t fair! The maid girl might have used a magic spell-- that''s it.

    She had pink hair! You can''t trust people with pink hair!! It''s unnatural!!!!

    "Mister Levi, I''ve had quite enough of this."

    Eh? Who said that? Levi looked around for a woman''s voice.

    Margeaux walked up in a huff. Slow and clumsy, she nearly tripped over a rock.

    "Aha! The bitch finally shows her true colors!" Levi grinned.

    He elbowed Boss. It was funny.

    Tycon red quietly in response, but Levi knew they understood each other.

    The pink-haired maid girl turned to face Boss, "Sir Tycon, on the top floor, there is a private room belonging to the Tower Wizard. With your permission, I''d like to have a short, personal conversation with Mister Levi."

    "YEAH! Sounds good!" Levi yelled.

 Chapter 200 Death Atop The Tower

    ?Margeaux and Guild Invictus stood around a wooden door embedded in the red-orange rock. It was at the end of the mana-formed passageway that protected the group from the Eternal Battlefield''s windstorms and would presumably lead to the 5th floor of the Wizard Tower.

    "Sir Tycon," The maid held out her enchanted key. "Would you grant me permission to open the door? Or do you not trust me, either?"

    Tycon frowned. It was a matter of course that he didn''t trust her... but concerning the situation, that was clearly the incorrect answer.

    He took a step back and offered a polite gesture, "If you would, Miss Margeaux."

    "Thank you, Sir Tycon," The pink-haired half-elf replied. The tone she adopted was a bit forced and bordered on insolence-- not specifically directed at him, of course.

    Tycon chose to remain neutral in the argument between her and Wolfrider.

    He didn''t care much for either of them.

    Margeaux stepped forward and ced her key into the door. As she whispered a series of incantations in the Elven tongue, magic circles in white dimly appeared, emzoned upon the wood.

    Tycon looked to Lone. The young Shadowdark was staring at Levi in disbelief, and had been since Margeaux''s outburst.

    Tycon looked to Sasha. The chocte elf was watching Lulu with great interest.

    He looked to Lulu. She was whispering sweet words in Abyssal whileshing the seven demons with a suspiciously familiar, razor-edged whip.

    Tycon looked at his belt. His whip was missing. She must have taken it when he pried free of her grasp, earlier, "Miss Lulu, are you going to return that?"

    "Oh! Yeah, thanks, Boss! Sorry, I forgot about asking!" Lulu seemed uncharacteristically apologetic.

    While inconvenient, Tycon couldn''t fault the demoness. He hadn''t properly secured his whip and Lulu did tend to be... excitable, concerning her "hobbies."

    "No, it''s fine, but--"

    Lulu ced a finger on her chin and tilted her head, "Did you want me to wash it after I''m done using it??"

    Tycon frowned, "N-no.... That''s quite alright."

    If Lulu offered to wash it, she must have been nning on doing something obscene with it. Though Tycon preferred not to spend coin if he didn''t have to... he also didn''t want to utilize a weapon possibly cursed by lust-demon sex magic.

    ...He''d purchase or requisition a new one.

    Tycon turned back to Margeaux, "Concerning the private discussion with Mister Wolfrider-- if he is fine with it, then go ahead."

    The door in front of Margeaux gently clicked open and the spinning white mana circles slowed and dimmed. She turned and bowed politely, "Thank you, Sir Tycon, for the basic human courtesy."

    Ugh. Her voice was still dripping with annoyance.

    Tycon wanted no part of that. Wolfrider was on his own.

    He and the rest of Guild Invictus followed the maid in, leaving the whipped andcerated demons behind.

    [Wizard Tower: Top Floor]

    The top floor looked simr to the first floor in that the decor was... boring.

    In Wizard Towers, Tycon expected to see fantastical severed horns from terrible lizards or entrapped souls of spirit-beasts.

    The top floor of the Wizard''s tower was reasonably where their most covetous materials would be held. The decorations, however, were... maps of the Realm, a painting of a family, and a tapestry of the g of the Sleeping Country-- all very mundane items.

    There were 4 rooms: arge main-room with a desk, a bath, a simple bedroom, and a study with a workbench and a few shelves stocked with books.

    Margeaux turned on her heel, "Mister Levi, would you join me in the Master Wizard''s study for a short conversation?"

    "I don''t have anything to discuss with you, whore!!" Levi yelled back.

    Lone red in confusion.

    Tycon took a deep breath in through his nostrils and sighed.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Oh, wait. Yes, I did," Levi walked into the room.

    Margeaux stomped in after him, as angrily as a weak, maid-woman could stomp, anyroad.

    "Massster...?" Sasha tilted her head, "What isssss.... a... whore?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin slits. Lone averted his gaze.

    "It''s a noble profession," Lulu answered with a genial grin. "Human civilization couldn''t run without it!"

    "Oohhhhh," Sasha awkwardly bared her teeth in a smile, trying to emte Lulu.

    The top floor wasn''t veryrge. Tycon walked a few steps into thergest room with the desk. There was arge cab that likely held some worthwhile loot... and he also found a body, clearly dead.

    "Found a corpse," Tycon called out to the others, "On a different note, I seem to remember Mister Wolfrider not trusting Miss Margeaux."

    "A corpse? How''d it die?" Lone asked, walking up, "And yeah-- he didn''t. Kinda weird how he said that... then agreed to be locked in a room alone with her."

    Tycon paused, "Locked, you say?"

    "Yeah, Boss. They locked the door as soon as they closed it."

    Tycon sighed and walked back to the study door. He tried the handle to ensure that the door was actually locked-- it didn''t budge.

    He knocked twice against the wood, "Wolfrider, respond."

    There was no response.

    Tycon banged on the door, "Wolfrider! Are you in there?? Respond."

    Nothing.

    He turned to Lulu, "Have you prepared any more Knock spells?"

    "Oh! No, Boss. I only had one for today~" The demoness twirled her blonde hair without a trace of concern.

    "Right." Tycon took a step back from the door, "Lone, break it."

    "On it, Boss," Lone grabbed one of his wolf-hammers. He stepped back, then rushed forward with a yell and bashed his weapon against the door. A single crack formed on the reinforced wood.

    With another strike, the cracks deepened and spread.

    And with another, Tycon lost his patience and snatched the wolf-hammer away from him, "Seven hells, Mister Lone, have you never broken open a door before?"

    Lone narrowed his eyes in confusion, "Um, no? Why would I?"

    "Ugh. Observe," Tycon smashed the wolf-hammer against the door, near where the locking mechanism should be.

    With a single strike, the door flew wide open.

    "I did most of the work," Lone grumbled.

    Tycon rolled his eyes and moved past Lone, into the room.

    The first thing he noticed was that Levi Wolfrider had dropped his halberd.

    Looking to Margeaux, it seemed it was not out of carelessness, but rather, he had been disarmed.

    The wolf boy was struggling, mumbling cries for help, his furry head entangled within Margeaux''s long pink hair.

    Fresh blood stained her lips and mouth, staining the front of her clothing.

 Chapter 201 The Best You Can Do

    ?Magic, strangling hair. The concept was not unfamiliar to Tycondrius.

    Even from a young age, medusa females could utilize their hair as a weapon and could easily strangle a Bronze-Ranker to death. Upon entering adulthood, they could also magically transform their hair into snake-heads capable of delivering venomous strikes capable of disabling Iron-Rankers.

    Medusa women were terrifying to humans... which was unfortunate for thetter, as the species propagated through medusa and human couplings.

    "Margeaux?! What are you doing???!" Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, cried out, "Are you CHEATING ON ME???"

    Tycondrius, having his thought processespletely derailed.pletely dropped his guard. He turned to Lone, "You can''t be serious."

    Lone grimaced, sucking in air through his teeth, "Okay! I''ll admit that that''s a dumb concern, considering the situation."

    Margeaux lifted her head up, her hair still wrapped around Wolfrider''s mouth and throat, "No, baby! It''s not what it looks like!"

    ...What? Blood was dribbling down Margeaux''s mouth and onto her chest and the bloody floor. Wolfrider was bleeding out.

    Tycon raised his hands up in confusion.

    It looked like she was... eating him? And she was saying... she wasn''t?

    How particrly bad... was the argument Margeaux and Wolfrider were having... And it made this woman...? Eghh...

    Tycon sighed and dropped his arms. It didn''t matter.

    Mister Wolfrider was a troublesome individual and probably deserved it.

    "I''d like to request you not do anything rash, Miss Margeaux," Tycon slowly began gravitating his hand towards his cuss... "Or anything *else* rash, anyroad."

    "D-don''t move!! Or... or I''ll kill him!!" The maid girl screamed, spattering blood and saliva like an uncouth barbarian.

    Tycon''s eyes narrowed to thin slits, "Are you uh... aware that that is not a meaningful threat?"

    In a bright sh of light and a loud bang, the small study was filled with a cloud of white smoke. The sweet smell of burnt Orkish Sugar filled the room.

    As the haze began to clear, Tycon rxed his stance. Blood was running down Margeaux''s cheek. A spray of blood was painted softly on the wall behind where she stood. The fired bullet had entered through her eye and pierced through her brain, killing her almost instantly.

    Wolfriderid beside her. His head was turned too far to the side, his neck broken. A neat hole had been drilled into the center of his forehead. Though the wolf-boy''s body still twitched and convulsed, no amount of healing magic would fix those injuries.

    Lone''s hand trembled, still holding onto his smoking pistol.

    "If you drop that, I will beat you." Tycon warned, " The craftsmanship of the tool is rather precise."

    Lulu popped her head into the doorway, "OoooOOOh! Did she eat his BRAIN?!?"

    Sasha popped her head in below Lulu''s.

    Lone carefully re-holstered the pistol, "Boss... I..."

    "Good thinking, Mister Lone," Tycon patted the man on the shoulder.

    "Boss-- but... I just got Levi killed?"

    Tycon shrugged, "I would have killed him myself if I could. As you know, the Magical Contract restricted me from doing so."

    "I uh... It what?" Lone wore his ssic ''doesn''t know what''s going on'' expression.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "I''ve read it to you before, but it appears you hadn''t listened."

    He took a deep breath before exining, "The contract states that I am not to inflict malicious or unnecessary harm or death to any of our loyal members..."

    "Then... then shouldn''t I be suffering a Mana Bacsh right now?" Lone asked.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Nonsense," Tycon shook his head before grinning, "With Magical Contracts, the highest priorities apply. In this case, protecting yourself and the members of Sol Invictus was most important... And of course, you didn''t aim to *directly* harm our former ally."

    Lone nodded in thought, "I see..."

    Tycon shrugged as he turned back to the approaching Lulu, "Quite redundant, I think. It seems rather asinine to sign someone on if there was ack of trust... Who thought of that ''thou shalt not harm'' nonsense, anyroad?"

    "You did, Boss!" Lulu answered cheerfully.

    "Oh. In that case, it was an intelligent decision, full of foresight. Bravo," Tycon replied in rapid-fire to hide his embarrassment.

    He approached the corpse of Levi Wolfrider. Blood ran down his eyes, nose, and mouth. A thin trail of blood also seeped from the hole bored into his skull. His eyes remained wide open as if he still couldn''t believe he was dead.

    Kneeling down, Tycon closed the boy''s eyelids, "Levi Wolfrider, I hereby release you from service to Sol Invictus. ''Requesciat in Pacem.''"

    Tycon whispered a small prayer in thenguage of the Holy Country. It seemed appropriate.

    Standing up, Tycon took his halberd back. It needed a good oiling. Wolfrider wouldn''t be needing it, where he was going.

    Tycon turned back, but was immediately met with Lone''s downed spirits and pitiful expression.

    He sighed, "If it will make you feel any better, perhaps you should examine the maid-woman''s hair."

    "But I..." Lone frowned, but realized he had no reason to argue, "Fine."

    The young man walked over and knelt down, examining the aberrant-blooded woman''s pink hair in his hands, "Wh-why does it feel like that? It''s wriggling?"

    "Indeed. Margeaux wasn''t human.

    "Did you notice that Wolfrider wasn''t able to fight back? There must have been some magic she cast to prevent him from doing so...

    "Further, observe the precise hole bored into Wolfriders'' forehead. Recall he was a Bronze-Ranker. Our mutual friend, Margeaux, was far more insidious than she had initially let on if she was capable of--"

    "SUCKING HIM OFF!!!!!!" Lulu interjected, "TOOOOOOOO DEAAAAAAATH!!"

    Tycon''s mouth twitched, "Right, that."

    He shrugged, "As I mentioned earlier, with your quick thinking Lone... and the still unknown abilities of the hostile party, you have potentially saved me, Sasha, and even Lulu. You''re a hero, Mister Lone."

    "Proud of you, big guy!!" Lulu bumped Lone''s thigh with her behind.

    "Proud..." Sasha swayed her hips. The chocte elf remained in the doorway of the study, four fulms away from Lone.

    She was a shy, youngdy.

    Lone stood up, "A hero, huh... It sure doesn''t feel like it."

    Tycon closed his eyes and took a breath, "No... It often does not."

    Lone stared at his still shaking hands, "I just... I feel like I could have prevented it."

    Tycon shook his head, "It was the best you could do."

    "But it wasn''t the--"

    "It was the best you could do, with the time and tools you were allotted," Tycon insisted. "It is done, Mister Lone. I advise any feelings of inferiority be rectified with an increase in training and not drowning yourself in doubt."

    He walked past Lone, patting the silent Warrior''s shoulder, "The result is eptable. You did well. Next drink''s on me... the house ale-- booze isn''t cheap, after all."

    Lone held out his still-shaking pistol hand. With his opposite hand, he held onto his wrist, forcing it to still. With a deep sigh and heavy footsteps, he turned and followed Tycon out of the Wizard''s study.

 Chapter 202 Failed Assassin

    ?The best that Tycondrius could do for Lone''s psyche was to proceed as normal.

    It might seem heartless, but the rote normalcy of the adventuring minutiae could offer him some stability. They had a quest toplete. Working towards missionpletion could also distract the man from his regrets and from darker thoughts.

    Two people died because of Lone''s conscious decision and both were people he had an emotional investment in.

    Regret was normal. Overly harsh evaluation of one''s own actions was normal. These things were not exclusive to adventuring.

    Ultimately, Tycon was proud of the young man. A swift, well-made decision was ultimately superior to a perfect one, enacted toote.

    As his superior and for the glory of Sol Invictus, Tycon sincerely wished for Lone to seed... as an adventurer, as a Chosen One, as it were. But if he were to continue living the life of an adventurer, there woulde another time when lives could be lost as a result of a single decision.

    Lone needed the mental fortitude to enable him in making a proper choice.

    After all, inaction, even as a result of fear or uncertainty, was still a choice.

    Tycon could provide normalcy. He could provide gentle reassurance. He could provide him with the tools to seed-- to drill him as a weapon, to instill instant willingness and obedience to orders.

    However, thest step was one only Lone could take. The young man would be sieged on all sides by his inner demons: fear, uncertainty, and regret. Would he be able to fend them off? Or would he allow himself to be consumed?

    There was always light in contrast to the darkness. There was always hope... even if to get to it, one needed to slog through the bodies of the fallen and the filth they left in their wake.

    Tycon nced back at the closed door to the study.

    Thankfully, Wolfrider was a walking, barking pile of garbage and wouldn''t be missed. On top of that, it was his own damned fault that he went out the way he did.

    Worst of it was he continued being a nuisance in death, demoralizing his gods-damned Warrior and hopefully future Ranger.

    Stupid pup.

    "Boss, I''m gonna work on that locked cab," Lulu pranced around the desk in the main room and began to decipher the runes protecting the Wizard''s hoard.

    Tycon turned his attention to the corpse he had found earlier. He walked over to it and flipped it face-up with the end of his halberd.

    It was bloated. Bloody foam leaked from its nose and mouth.

    Dark clothes and hood. Dagger on his belt. A Rogue or Assassin, perhaps?

    Tycon briefly scanned the nearby wall where a magic circle had been inscribed but was devoid of power.

    ? System, analysis: The inert runes. ?

    [Human Heartbreaker Trap. Third-Circle Illusion. Causes the target''s heart to explode.]

    The trap was quite obvious to him but would be less so for someone not as knowledgeable... which was odd, considering that the invader had chosen to trespass a Wizard''s Tower.

    ? System, inquiry: About how long has this gentleman been dead? ?

    [System response: Upwards of 3 days.]

    A leather carrying caseid on the floor beside the body. Something inside would likely provide a clue to the man''s identity.

    Besides that, Tycon hoped that something within would make up for their guild''s frustrating experiences against the Magic Tower''s various traps and defenses.

    ...It would at least make up for the useless weretouched they''d lost.

    Tycon pulled the dead man''s case close and utched it.

    Ow.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon retracted his hand on reflex. A small drop of blood seeped out of the side of his finger.

    He examined thetch again.

    ? System, analysis: The protruding spike. ?

    [System response: The spike contains traces of an unknown Iron-Rank venom.]

    Mundane traps filled with harmful substances tended to be indicative of the Assassin ss. Tycon''s annoyance being bled by a simple trap was assuaged by the fact that the deadly Iron-Rank poison was unable to im a final victim.

    He opened the case, as Sasha and Lone looked on in wonder.

    An unstrung shortbow. A quiver of arrows. A sword and a dagger. Vials of holy water.

    Utilizing the System, Tycon scanned over the items. It seemed that the quiver was full of envenomed arrows. The bow, sword, and dagger were lightly enchanted... as well as the assassin''s boots and trousers.

    "Mister Lone, I advise you to take this man''s brown trousers."

    "Boss, really..." Lone frowned, "Are you ying a joke on me?"

    Tycon scratched his cheek in embarrassment, "I admit that I am not very good at making jokes..."

    Lone hesitated, but slowly nodded in agreement, much to Tycon''s chagrin. He began to remove the dead man''s boots and trousers.

    Tycon took the man''s enchanted boots.

    [Battle-Knight''s Boots. Second-Circle Transmutation. Increases the armored wearer''s speed.]

    Lone was examining the man''s trousers.

    [Never-Soil Trousers. First-Circle Universal. Cleanses odors, spills, and stains.]

    Tycon observed the short sword, it looked to be of a length that he preferred. But as he reached over, Lone''s hand crossed over his.

    Both men immediately retracted their hands.

    "You want it, Boss?" Lone asked, "Go ahead."

    "What?" Tycon growled, "If you want it, you should take it."

    "But, Boss... You obviously want it," Lone frowned.

    "Pah. I don''t need it. It''s unprofessional for me to take all the loot." Tycon narrowed his eyes, allowing his frustration to seep into his voice, "If you want it, take it!"

    ...Lone ended up taking the dagger, a fine de made of a silver alloy. He could fence it for a fair amount of coin.

    He could use it to afford better than the house ale. The young Warrior could use a stiff drink to distract him from his troubles.

    He gave Sasha the shortbow (after he checked it for traps.) He would teach her how to use it in theing days.

    "Boss, I found something else," Lone eximed, holding up a ring.

    Tycon scowled, turning up his nose, "Where did you... find that? It reeks."

    "It was hidden up the man''s arse, Boss?"

 Chapter 203 The Wizardâ€™s Treasures

    ?Tycondrius red at the Lone Shadowdark in disbelief, "Mister Lone, was that a question or a statement?"

    Tycon was at a loss, trying to discern just where Lone had learned such a loathsome tactic. The Warrior had searched for loot inside of a corpse''s anal cavity. Was it something Dragan had taught him? It sounded like something Dragan had taught him.

    "I uh... it was a fact," Lone looked around for help. Lulu was still working on opening the Wizard''s cab. Sasha was pretending to shoot arrows with her new shortbow, making tiny ''chuu'' noises. Wolfrider and Margeaux were absent, on ount of being deceased.

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Why... in the seven hells and eleven heavens did you think to root around a dead man''s arse?"

    "I dunno, Boss." Lone began to babble, defending his actions, "He seemed like the sneaky sort of guy. And... and sneaky sorts hide things in their butts!"

    Lone''s logic offended Tycon''s senses... "Do you consider me... a sneaky person?"

    "Well... you do wear a dark cloak all the time, Boss?"

    Tycon grimaced. He looked at the Assassin''s mundane cloak. It was simr in color and design to his own.

    Still, he was not amused, "And does it look like I regrly shove items of import up my arse, Mister Lone?"

    Lone cringed and began to babble meaningless excuses, which Tycon chose to ignore. Instead, he mentallymanded his System to analyze the ring... from a hygienic distance.

    Tycon cut off the young man''s ther, "--Spin the ring''s face about a half-circle, if you would."

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, opened up the ring, revealing its contents: a folded piece of paper and a small capsule. The capsule was a lethal ingestible poison. The paper revealed a series of instructions, directing the death of a Wizard named Konstantin Dunzis.

    As the 5th floor''s corpses consisted of an Assassin, a maid, and a piece of garbage, Tycon induced that the man had failed his mission.

    Konstantin Dunzis... The name sounded familiar.

    Tycon looked at the man in the family-portrait. He looked familiar, too.

    He felt a tug on his cloak. Sasha pointed to the side of a room where arge board, covered in chalk-scrawl had been hung.

    Tycon decided to let go of the mystery of the Wizard''s identity. He had more important things to deal with.

    ...

    Therge board that Sasha held interest in disyed aplex ritual, involving several dependent magic circles. The device itself was a t wooden board covered by an alchemical substance, allowing script to be written in chalk whichter could be erased with a damp cloth.

    Reusable writing board. Technology was marvelous.

    Tycon pointed at the runic lines, written in ancient Elven, "Theplex form on this board is part of a series meant to be inscribed around magic circles.

    "This line channels and focuses specific energies. This one marks a dependency to the Central Circle... notably... this main line. Tell me why that is."

    Sasha pursed her lips, thinking over Tycon''s question.

    Because of the youngdy''s Oracle ss, Tycon expected her to understand the rudimentary basics of the script. Even if she couldn''t understand its meaning, the make-up of the magic circles and their various formations were inherent to all casting sses.

    "(The second Divine Circle does not sing without the Base Prayer,") Sasha smiled in understanding.

    "Correct, youngdy." Tycon ruffled Sasha''s hair, "Now, we shall take a step back and address the Spell''s main functions... here. This line in the Central Circle, do you recognize its usage? --And speak in Common, please."

    The chocte elf pursed her lips, concentrating, "Thissss.... isss... like... water."

    Tycon nodded. It was close, "(How is it like water, Beautiful Child?)"

    "(It controls the flow of mana... It flows like a stream to a river. It drips like a gentle rain,)" Sasha tilted her head, "(Is Sasarame correct?)"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You are, indeed correct. This line limits the flow of mana, and can be adjusted for a burst of energy, or a longersting, steady stream of power."

    Sasha hissed happily, performing a wiggling dance.

    Tycon took a piece of chalk and wrote a few symbols surrounding the line, "What will happen if I link this line on the left directly to the one on the right... bypassing the limiter."

    Sasha ced her hands on her cheeks, "The mana... will flow... all of it?"

    Tycon nodded, "And what happens when there''s an overflow of mana?"

    Sasha pursed her lips to the side again and rubbed one of her long ears, "The spell... fails."

    "Fshhhh..." She made the sound of a spell fizzling out.

    Tycon chuckled, "Correct."

    Sasha wasn''t wrong. However, with the amount of mana the spell was handling, it was far more likely to cause a catastrophic explosion, damaging all ritual casters involved.

    He turned back to where the blonde demoness was working, "Lulu, how is your progress on the cab?"

    Lulu leaned over, "I''m almost... there~!"

    The cab glowed brightly, and then abruptly dimmed with a sound of shattering ss, much like the barrier breaking at the tower''s entrance, "OoohHHhhh YESSS!!! It feels so GOOOOD!!"

    Tycon kept an impassive expression, "Are you quite done?"

    Lulu breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief, "Yup. Come on over, Boss."

    Tycon walked over and nced into the Wizard''s personal stash. Various arcaneponents were hidden inside, in particr, obvious expensive gems and liquids and materials kept in thick and expensive vials.

    Lulu hopped up, lifting one of her heels to her behind, "I''ve got your blue gems, Boss!!"

    "Very well-- Oooh, are those government bonds?" Tycon swept the papers up into his spatial ring.

    The smaller items of value, gems and high-value coins, he began cing into his wallet.

    "Mister Lone!" Tycon called out, "Invictus is looting everything unmarked and of value in this room. Any issues?"

    Lone shrugged, returning a half-smile, "Nope. Screw this wizard and his mimics."

    Sasha tugged on Tycon''s cloak and pointed to Lone with concern. A coatrack was sneaking up on Lone, likely another of the Wizard''s mimics.

    Tycon sighed, "Mister Lone. Contact, rear."

    Lone rolled forward, escaping the coatrack''s sneak attack, "How DARE you show yourself before the LONE SHADOWDARK??!?"

    The young warrior engaged in battle with the coatrack, his most hated enemy.

    Lone had be quite skilled at fighting mimics.

    ...How... how many mimics had he fought in this tower?

    Lulu rested her chin on Tycon''s shoulder from behind, nuzzling her cheek into his, "So what''s the n, Boss?"

 Chapter 204 Beautiful Child

    ?Tycondrius gently flicked the demoness'' forehead, "I''ve sent Dragan and a newer Invictus member named Taree towards the Labyrinth to contact the Gatekeepers."

    Lulu rubbed her forehead, grinning happily, "Right... I suppose I should probably say hello to Raelion... Is that all?"

    She was referring to General Raelion, themander of the Gatekeepers'' military forces. Lulu must have held a high position to be able to speak of him so casually.

    Tycon took in a deep breath and sighed. He took off his glove and summoned a few more items from his spatial ring... his crossbow quiver, the Shatterspike longsword, mundane pieces of maintenance and repair equipment, a bedroll, and basic adventuring gear.

    He peeled off his ring... He did not want to part with it. It was arguably the most useful item he had.

    She took the enchanted ring and examined it, "Oooh, it''s soulbound. I can''t break this, Boss."

    Tycon winced in emotional pain as he reached out and unbound the ring from his soul. The mana drain weakened him immensely and his knees buckled from the expenditure.

    Leaning forward against his halberd, Tycon kept his voice hushed, "There''s over 5 million silver worth of opioids in that ring, 150 ponze of it. I want them sold via our channels... get to our Guild Headquarters in Nice and discuss it with Sorina Capulet."

    "Do we have smugglers?" Lulu grinned.

    "We control a Dark Guild, in Merylsward. Rogues. The gentleman-leader''s name is Monsieur Reynard... In the ring, there are some books on business for him and Sorina, as well."

    "And what''s my cut?"

    "15%"

    "25~?," Lulu grabbed onto Tycon''s waist and pulled herself close.

    Tycon sighed as he palmed Lulu''s face and pushed her away, "Fine. But I''m sure Dragan would be upset if you didn''t share any with him."

    "Got it, Boss," Lulu giggled. It was a refreshing sound, pleasant to the ears.

    Tycon shook his head. The safest way of transporting the contraband was utilizing a spatial item with high security functions. His spatial ring he had looted from the Ivory Judge Hidden Sect was perfect for it. And Lulu was more than strong enough to deliver the goods safely.

    "And what do you n on doing, Miss Lulu?" Tycon changed the subject. He no longer wished to think about the loss of his ring.

    The blonde demoness shrugged, "I think me and the kiddo''s are gonna profane the tower before we report to General Raelion. You know. Sex stuff."

    "Very good." Tycon turned and called out, "Mister Lone, you will being with us, yes?"

    Lone walked forward, victorious in his battle against the coat rack, "Holy Country right? Yeah, I wanna go."

    Tycon offered the hilt of the Shatterspike.

    "Um, Boss... What''s this?"

    "Are you daft? It''s the Shatterspike. It''s a--"

    "--a kickass magic sword that cuts through anything!"

    Tycon frowned.

    "Oh, I interrupted you. Sorry, Boss," Lone rubbed the back of his head.

    "Besides that, take it. The sword and hammerbination will suit you."

    Lone gingerly took the sword from Tycon and held it in his hand, "R-right... And I can have Moon transform into Tres Leches while I wield Moon-Moon with Shatterspike."

    "R... right..." Tycon pursed his lips. He wanted to tell him that Tres Leches did not trante to ''Three Moons,'' but he risked Lone renaming his Skill to something even more absurd.

    Tycon ced his adventurer''s pack on his back, the familiar weightforting.

    He held his halberd in his right and took Sasha''s hand in his left, "(The Beautiful Child travels with me, beyond the horizon. Is she willing?)"

    The chocte elf widened her lips in a soft smile. A single clump of white hair on her head stood up majestically, "(Sasarame is willing.)"

    Tycon nodded to Lulu, who was charging up her magical spell. She glowed with power and a bluish-white magic circle of power lit up on the ground, rotating underneath Tycon, Sasha, and Lone.

    "See youter, Boss!" Lulu waved.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon smirked, "Yeah... See you."

    ...

    [Meanwhile, in the Free Nation of Brel.]

    A woman wearing half-te strode the halls of the pce, her hair ck with a rebellious green streak down the front. She opened the double-doors and barged into the throne room.

    Two male guards with halberds hurried to stop her. They did not dare to immediately brandish their weapons.

    "Princess, please! The Queen is not to be disturbed!"

    "Princess Cass, please don''t-- we will be killed if we don''t do our duties."

    The young woman red in annoyance, "Seven hells, why would I give a shite about a pair of humans?"

    Errrrgh. She had picked up her brother''s nasty habit of cursing. It was an annoying trait that she really needed to get rid of.

    The guards nced at each other, then back at Cass, "P... please forgive us, Princess."

    Simultaneously, both guards raised their weapons.

    Idiots.

    Cass stretched out her hand and outstretched a single finger.

    She felt her haire alive as she channeled her mana. 12 ck-scaled snakes and a single golden-eyed, green shared their senses with her. They hissed at a few other guards that had arrived on scene.

    Seeing Cass re up in power, the approaching guards wisely chose to stop in their tracks. Like a wave, they began to kneel and prostrate themselves with their foreheads to the floor. It was the best way to avoid being targeted by her wrath.

    Cass had undimmed her petrifying gaze and stared into the eyes of her attackers. Both halberdiers transformed instantaneously into majestic statues of beautiful white marble, poised to strike.

    She pressed her fingernail to the first human''s forehead... a thousand cracks appeared on its form and it crumbled into dust.

    Cass walked past, towards her mother''s chambers, with no additional challenges. .

    She raised her hand and made an offensive gesture to the guards at her back, "Wind Cutter."

    A condensed wind-spellunched behind her, cleaving the remaining guard''s stone head from its shoulders.

    ...

    Cass flung the doors of the royal chambers open, being met with the strong stench of iron, and her naked mother tearing the flesh for a human male''s neck.

    "Auuuuuughhhh," Cass groaned, "Are you *serious* mother?"

    "What?" Rnia twisted her lips, spitting out a chip of bone, "I was bored. I eat when I''m bored, you know this, daughter."

    Cass ced her hands on her hips, "I''ve received word about my brother. Can you have hime home, already? This quest is absurd!!"

    Queen Rnia''s majesty was slightly diminished with the blood running down her chest, but her beauty still bordered on the divine. Beautiful blonde-orange snakes on her head flicked their tongues as they observed the armored princess.

    Cass quietly hoped that she would grow more alike to her mother''s form, but that wasn''t at all the point of the visit!

    Rnia shrugged, "He wanted to take the quest, himself. You know how your brother is... foolishly optimistic. But that''s what you love about him, don''t you, Daughter?"

    Cass felt her cheeks grow hot, "Wh-what are you talking about, Mother! We''re rted!! I don''t like him like-that, LIKE-THAT!!"

    "Fufufu," the Queen chuckled, wiping her mouth and chest on the sheets, "Worry not, my love. Your brother''s next quest is to please the Archbishop of the Holy Country. I''m certain Tycondrius wille crying back into yourp, by then."

    "I really don''t like him like that, mother!!" Cass insisted.

    "Whatever you say, Beautiful Child."

 Chapter 205 APPENDIX 1: Ranks & Circle-Magic

    ?**You may skip this chapter and the next chapter to return to the story.**

    Detailed in this chapter are Adventurer Rank, Circle Magic, Magic Rarity, and Rank Imprecision.

    ADVENTURER RANK

    Adventurers are split into 4 categories, ording to their RANK (Unranked, Bronze, Iron, Gold.)

    * Unranked: Normal person. In game terms, has ~35 HP where a sword deals 50 Damage.

    * Bronze-Rank: Stronger than a normal person. Strengthened constitution can reasonably survive and even fight through a severe injury like a crossbow bolt to the chest or a dagger to the abdomen. In game terms, can have ~75 HP.

    * Iron-Rank: Strengthened constitution can reasonably survive what would assuredly kill a normal person. Several stabs and crossbow shots to the chest. Has ess to Skills that can fell normal persons in a single strike. In game terms, has ~250 HP and is more difficult to damage sessfully.

    * Gold-Rank: Can be expected to survive an onught of 30+ Unranked or Bronze-Rank adventurers because of martial prowess. Very difficult to kill, unless utilizing powerful poison, magic, superior numbers, and the element of surprise. In game terms, has 500+ HP and is far more difficult to damage. Bronze-Rank attacks (with the exception of attacks utilizing Orkish Sugar) deal minimal damage to Gold-Rankers unless they are caught by surprise.

    * Higher Ranks: 13 Adamantine-Rank adventurers are known to the various nations and are tracked carefully. Ranks beyond that exist, but are even more rare. Dragon-Ranks are capable of challenging powerful beasts of myth and legend. A battle with a Heaven-Rank can destabilize the entire reality ne. A God-Rank can wage an active war against the armies of an entire ne.

    ...

    CIRCLE MAGIC

    Casters, whether their power source is Arcane, Divine, or Primal are rated by the highest CIRCLE of spells they can cast. Humans can cast up to Third-Circle spells. It takes a gifted Elven wizard over 400 years to reach Fourth-Circle proficiency. Circles First through Third can be synonymous to Bronze through Gold ranking.

    First-Circle: Offensive spells are capable of ying Unranked and severely damage Bronze-Rankers.

    Second-Circle: Offensive spells are capable of disintegrating Bronze-Rankers and severely damaging Iron-Rankers.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Third-Circle: Single spells are capable of ying dozens of men. A handful of Third-Circle casters can kill hundreds on a battlefield, to thousands if left unchecked.

    ...

    RARITY OF MAGIC

    There are 3 types of magic that are considered rare: Healing, Teleportation, and Measurement.

    Proper healing magic is rare because less than 1 in 3 Casters draw their powers from the Divine. Non-Divine Healing magics like alchemist healing potions and Tycon''s Inspirational Surge Skill greatly elerate healing over time. Divine Spells like Sasarame''s Cure Spell reverses the damage dealt or are otherwise (inexplicably) more effective.

    Teleportation magic is rare because they are ouwed by an organization called the Gatekeepers, who guard the realm against threats from the Outer nes. The various nations''ws support this ban.

    Measurement magic are rare because the mana expenditure is inefficient and thus far, all efforts to instill permanency to a measuring device remain costly. A school that promotes learning of magic usually has 1 such device, which costs thousands of silver to maintain each year.

    ...

    RANK IS IMPRECISE

    Mana-sensitive sses can detect the mana-expenditure of others. An Iron-Rank Warrior canpare their own passive mana to that of a Bronze or Gold rank and know they outss them or are greatly outssed.

    However, this bes moreplicated if the Warrior''s opponent may have a different ss Tier (Berserk Knight Korr)... or are more skilled inbat (Warrior Lone)... or boasts greater physical attributes (Dread Pirate Lang Hai, Human-Form).

    Further, somebatants radiate an aura of power beyond their Rank (Maximus of Ezyria) while some are weaker than their Rank suggests (Kimura Tamaki).

 Chapter 206 APPENDIX 2: Classes

    ?**You may skip this chapter to return to the story.**

    Detailed in this chapter are ss Tier, Tier Demographics, Named Guilds, and Glossary of Terms.

    CLASS TIER

    There are 3 types of ss TIERS. There are Low-Tier, Standard sses, and High-Tier sses. Higher Tier sses develop faster and more powerfully. A High-Tier Iron Rank won''t necessarily lose against a standard Gold-Rank.

    However, Lower Tier sses progress ranks more easily. It is not umon for one 5-year war veteran to be an Iron-Rank Warrior while a peer would be a Bronze-Rank Fighter.

    Low-Tier:

    Kimura Tamaki, Bronze-Rank Human Fisherman

    Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human Warrior

    Reynard, Bronze-Rank Human Expert

    Standard-Tier:

    Dragan Ashlord, Iron-Rank Titanblood Swordmage

    Kimura Taree, Bronze-Rank Human Martialist

    Levi Wolfrider, Bronze-Rank Weretouched Warden

    Maximus of Ezyria, Iron-Rank Dovahkiin Warmage

    Naedrielle, Iron-Rank Elf Sentinel

    Pale Invictus, Bronze-Rank Half-Elf Spear-Warrior

    Sasarame, Bronze-Rank Snake Oracle

    Tarquin Wroe, Bronze-Rank Human Hexde

    Tycondrius Charm, Iron-Rank Medusa Warlord

    High-Tier:

    Lucifer, Gold-Rank Demon Umbre Meister

    Seldin Korr, Iron-Rank Human Berserk Knight

    Sorina Capulet, Bronze-Rank Human Calctor

    ...

    TIER DEMOGRAPHICS

    In Merylsward, a poption of 60,000, there are approximately 30 Gold-Rankers, with Martial-sses to Casters at a 2:1 ratio.

    ~200 are Iron-Rank sses. ~500 are Bronze-Rankers. Of those, less than 40% have a standard-tier ss.

    Less than 1% of the poption (600) work as guards or militia and are mostly brave Unranked and Bronze-Rank individuals.

    Forparison, the United States civilian to military ratio is 0.6% and the civilian tow-enforcement ratio is 0.2%

    ...

    NAMED GUILDS

    Public Guilds

    Adventurer''s Guild of the Kingdom - A government-funded hub that makes quests avable to adventuringpanies, single adventurers, or otherwise skilled experts

    Banker''s Guild - Provides banking services and insurance policies, essible in any major city<novelnext></novelnext>

    Courier''s Guild - Physically or magically delivers mail between cities

    Windwright''s Guild - Provides privately-owned, governmentally-regted travel services by airship between major cities

    Adventuring Companies

    Shadowdark Wolves (Bronze) - Formerly led by Warrior Denman

    Sol Invictus (Iron) - Led by Warlord Tycondrius of Charm

    Staghorn (Iron) - Led by Heavy Armor Knight Emilien Leserre in Nice

    Trayus (Gold) - Led by High Wizard Trayus in Merylsward

    Hidden Sects

    Sea Wolf Sect - Lang Hai''s sect, officially a part of the Kingdom''s Navy

    Golden Crow Sect - The sect that the Sea Wolf, Shao Ran, was part of

    Ivory Judge Sect - Led by the Kimura Patriarch

    Kingdom Military

    Darktide Fleet - Fleet under Grand-Captaine Chantal''smand. Part of the Kingdom''s Navy

    Knights Arcane - An elite cavalry-centric battalion in the Kingdom''s Army

    ...

    GUILD TERMS

    Adventuring Company - A guild of adventurers, traveling in apany. Apany, in this case, ranges from a team (2-5), a squad (~10), a toon (~50), or a properpany (2-4 toons). Companiesprised ofrger than 200 require a legal permit and are rare outside of times of war.

    Dark Guild - A type of guild known for performing illegal acts ie. extortion, very, assassination, and smuggling.

    Guild vs Company - These terms are usually used interchangeably. The proper use of pany'' refers to either a traveling group or the military term of 2-4bined toons.

    Mercenary Company - An older term sometimes used interchangeably with ''adventuringpany.'' The term remains as, during wartime, adventurers were often hired as mercenaries attached to armies.

    ...

    OTHER TERMS

    Daeva - A human with traces of angelic ancestry.

    Demonblood - A human with traces of demon or devil ancestry. Also known as devil-bloods. In this setting, demons and devils have a healthy rivalry, but are not hostile. Demons dislike being called devils and vice versa, but ept thatmonfolk would not easily know the difference. Even current-generation demons and devils find it hard to tell the difference...

    Dovahkiin - A human with traces of scalefolk ancestry, often specialized in elemental magic. Will be used unless someone tells the Author they can be sued for it.

    Elf - A long-lived race that has mostly integrated with humankind. Known for being flighty. Elves reach physical and mental maturity at 110 years old.

    Iredar - While mostly referring to furred Kobolds, the term is used as a catch-all for underground-dwelling humanoids. Includes Gnomes... but not Dwarves.

    Irvhir - While mostly referring to scalekin Kobolds, the term is used as a catch-all for scale-folk with lizard ancestry. Several thousand years ago, the term Irvhir referred to what is now the Iredar. Historians are unsure or when or why the change urred.

    Mana Ward - A mana-shield generated by Caster sses, who often do not have strengthened constitutions like Martial sses.

    Orc - Large, green-skinned humanoids who worship their gods by engaging in "honorable" battle. To be respected in an Orc tribe, one must either be brutal or cunning-- preferably both.

    Orkish Sugar - ck explosive powder. First discovered by Dwarves. First utilized by Orc Shamans. First weaponized by Humans.

    Popoto - A gnome-sized, bronze-skinned humanoid, known for having cute, child-like appearances. Popotoes tend to have a high affinity for magic.

    Titanblood - A human with giant ancestry. Also known as half-giants.

 Chapter 207 Zehr Of Ezyria

    ?"Eeeeek!!!"

    "Eternal me!! Are you okay, Gianna?"

    The horse-drawn wagon ran over a bump in the road, jolting its passengers. Gianna fanned her reddening face after having been startled. Rena showed feminine concern for herpanion, though a smirk of amusement failed to leave her face.

    "It--it surprised me!" Gianna frowned. She took off her issued helmet, revealing her blonde ponytail and a forehead glistening with perspiration.

    Justus felt his nerves calm, basking in the simplistic picture of beauty. He ran his fingers through his short red hair and chuckled, "Haha, ease off, Rena. When wee under attack, Gia can warn the whole cohort."

    The usation left the wagon''s passengers chuckling at the absurdity, save for one, a fair-skinned young woman in old leather armor and her hood pulled low.

    Rena covered her mouth with a hand, "Oh, you''re just criminal, Justus. You were too busy staring at my Gianna to be surprised, yourself."

    "S-since when was I *your* Gianna?" the blonde soldier pouted, crossing her arms over her segmented armor.

    Justus rolled his eyes. The crossbow girl was too much.

    ...Was he really being that obvious?

    One of the older soldiers chuckled, "Best be careful, little girl. You''re teasing the Hero of Leopardon, after all."

    The wagon erupted in more boisterousughter, much to Justus'' embarrassment.

    "What''s this about being a hero, Justus?" Gianna leaned forward. Her bright blue eyes gazed deep into his soul.

    Whatever Justus was trying to say was caught in his throat.

    me eternal... How long had he been staring?

    Justus opened his mouth to speak-- "Buohhh!!"

    "Buoh?" Gianna tilted her head and a thin, graceful crease of confusion formed between her eyebrows.

    "Mhm! That''s right. Justus and I grew up in a small town called Leopardon." Rena, sitting beside Justus, had jammed her elbow into his side. The strike winded him, despite his own set of armor.

    Justus held his side and red at his childhood friend, "It''s nothing, really. I chased some wolves off with my father''s sword."

    Rena giggled, sweeping back one of her brown bangs behind her ear, nuzzling her cheek into Justus'' shoulder, "You should have seen it. He was wearing a chamber pot over his head while yelling and screaming. The wolves ran off, terrified!"

    Another of the older soldiers, the grey bearded Modestus, reached over to rub Justus'' head, "Ahaha! You''re a good kid, boy. Don''t worry about the little girl picking on you."

    Justus didn''t like being treated like a kid. It''s why he joined the Rhodok adventuringpany as soon as he was of age. But still... he could sense the care and concern by his peers. That and Gianna''s wholesome smile made him ept thepliments withoutint.

    The wagon driver, Cael, half-turned back with a grin, "Far from home, aren''tcha, Justus?"

    Justus pursed his lips. Decanus Caelistis was a strict leader. He also loved to insult the men and women under his charge, which led to a bit of awkwardness when they weren''t out training, "Yes, Decanus. I''ve always wanted to join a guild in Ezyria."

    Cael turned his attention back to the road, "Hah. You did good then, Fish. The Rhodok adventuringpany is the best Gold-Rank guild in all of Tyrion!!"

    "It''s the only guild that the Decanus hasn''t gotten kicked out of, yet," One of the other veterans yfully added, causing reservedughter from the others.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The gaunt and goateed Decanus turned back again with an exaggerated scowl, "Ahaha! Shut the hells up, you old fart, before I pull this wagon over and make you!"

    The veteran gave Justus a smirk and he returned a grateful nod. Caelistis would ept criticism from the older vets, but never from a newer recruit like himself-- a fish, like the Decanus said.

    "Hmph! The best guild in Ezyria is Sol Invictus!!" Rena pouted with upturned lips, "Isn''t that right, Justus?"

    Justus sighed inwardly. Why did this girl always want to make trouble for him?

    "Sol Invictus... That''s that Gold-Rank arena guild, isn''t it?" Gianna asked.

    Justus felt his heart surging with pride. He had grown up on stories of Sol Invictus... and his parents had even taken him to a colosseum to watch their most famous fight. Invictus'' leader, Quies, delivered the legendary Maximus of Ezyria his one and only loss.

    Sol Invictus was the reason Justus had sought to join a guild instead of trying to make it as a solo adventurer like Rena had wanted him to be.

    "Pahh! Hahaha!" Cael burst out into derisiveughter, "Sol Invictus? They''re old news, blondie. They disappeared years ago. Rumors say they fled the country after they tried their hand at doing *real* adventurer work."

    Justus frowned but didn''t argue with Cael''s assessment. It was true that Invictus disappeared from the limelight a few years prior, but any guess on what happened to them was pure conjecture.

    "Whoa!" Cael suddenly pulled on the reins of the horses, jarring the adventurers as the wagon came to an abrupt stop.

    "Eeek!" Gianna yelped again as she fell forward. Justus acted quickly, catching the woman in his arms and steadying her.

    "Are you alright, Gia?" Justus asked. He felt his face warming up, speaking with her so closely.

    "Decanus!!" Rena shouted at the wagon''s driver, interrupting the moment. "What''s the big idea?"

    Decanus Caelistis looked back angrily, "By the me, girl, take a look! The wagon in front of us is stopped too!"

    Rena turned back to Justus and Gianna with her hands on her hips, "And how long are you two gonna stay like that?"

    Gianna looked down at her hand, which was being held by Justus. Her face turned to shock as she jumped back into her seat, her face flushed as red as a tomato.

    Justus closed his hand and smiled to himself. The sensation of Gianna''s hand in his was nice while itsted.

    Rena crossed her arms and twisted her lips to the side, "How hard is it to keep your bnce, Gianna? Look at Zehr! She hasn''t budged an inch!!"

    "Hasn''t said a word since joining, either..." One of the veterans offered.

    The thin, hooded figure turned towards the archer at the mention of her name and gave a wave of acknowledgment.

    "See!?" Rena insisted, "Professional adventurer, right there!!"

    "Tchh! Yeah, sure." Cael scoffed, "With her secondhand armor and hole-ridden cloak, she''s definitely *not* a worthless person under that hood."

    In the proper style of Decanus Caelistis, his words dripped with both snake venom and sarcasm. As professional as Zehr acted, though, her gear left much to be desired.

    Cael gged down one of thepany''s riders, "You there. Why have we stopped?"

 Chapter 208 Mistaken Identity

    ?The wagon train of the Rhodok adventuringpany had over a dozen wagons, carrying some 150 well-trained and well-armed soldiers. Some 30 mounted riders were dispersed throughout, to ensuremunication and to serve as a light cavalry force.

    Cael caught the attention of one of the Equitatus, who had just reported to the wagon in front of theirs.

    The horse-mounted Eques rode closer, briefly checked Caelistis'' rank, and saluted, "Decanus, the lead wagon has discovered something of interest. Do you have any scouts in your tent group skilled in tracking?"

    Cael ced his chin against his fist in thought, "No, I don''t think we have--"

    The thin, hooded warrior stood up, her hand adjusting the sword on her hip. Everyone in the wagon gawked, including Justus. It was thergest motion Zehr had made since her silent introduction at their journey''s beginning.

    Cael''s mouth twitched. It appeared he had also been caught off guard, "R-right. My mistake. Go ahead, Zehr."

    "At once, Decanus, "An unmistakably male voice spoke from underneath Zehr''s hood.

    Zehr crouched down, grabbed the edge of the wagon railing, and hopped off. With the mounted warrior''s horse at a trot, the hooded figure kept pace at a steady jog.

    Rena half-stood as she stared at the departing warrior. When she was certain he was out of earshot, she kept her voice low to curse, "me take me! I thought Zehr was a girl this whole time!!"

    Justus grinned, "That''s what you get for making assumptions."

    "And did you know, Munifex Justus?" Gianna asked yfully. She had ced a finger on her chin, entuating a beauty mark next to her lips.

    Justusughed, cing his hand on the back of his head, "Haha, I didn''t either."

    "Miss Rena, if you were curious, why didn''t you ask?" Giana offered.

    Justus was curious of Rena''s reasoning, as well. The archer wasn''t shy about anything. She was the only fish capable of talking back to Decanus Caelistis without getting torn to shreds. Over the past several moons, even Cael had learned not to test her snake-tongue when she was in one of her... moods.

    The brte archer crossed her arms and shivered in exaggeration, "Ehehe... She seemed kinda scary-- err... I mean he did."

    Cael scoffed, turning his body to sneer at Rena with his blonde goatee and wispy mustache, "So there is something the Bitch of Leopardon is scared of."

    Rena stood up with her hands on her hips, "And how about you, Decanus? How can you call me and Justus fish, but you call Zehr by her-- by his name!?"

    The Decanus shrugged, "Because you two look, talk, and act like fish. You''re fish. And regardless of the shite-armor that hood-and-cloak wears, he''s not really... fish-material."

    "I see..." Rena sat down... but popped up again with a face full of fury, "me TAKE YOU, Decanus!! What do you mean BITCH of Leopardon?!?"

    The wagon groaned as a collective whole as Justus ced his face into his hands. As clever as Rena could be, sometimes there were only clouds in that head of hers.

    Cael swayed back as if moved by the archer''s anger, "Heavens and hells, calm your tits, Fish."

    "By. The. me. Sexual harassment!!" Rena cried out, "You guys are all witnesses! I''m being sexually harassed!!"

    "C-calm down, Miss Rena. The Decanus didn''t mean it like that," Gianna shot Justus a guilting look.

    Justus coughed into a closed fist. He supposed it was time for him to stand up for his friend, "Decanus, if I may?"

    Cael raised an eyebrow, "Yeah? What is it, then?"

    "Asking Munifex Rena to ''calm her tits'' is technically incorrect..." Justus calmly exined.

    Rena''s eyes lit up, "Yeah, Justus! I knew you loved me!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "--as she doesn''t have any tits to speak of."

    ...

    Tycondrius cut his hunting knife into the waste pile, grimacing.

    One of the scouts approached from the woods, "Same tracks all around. They''re too big to be wolves, though... and there''s at least a dozen of ''em."

    "Maybe... we''ve got some really big wolves to worry about?" Another scout offered with uncertainty.

    "Hah. me take your head, man. That''s a terrifying thought."

    The cavalryman called the scouts over, "Munifex Zehr found some dung! Come check it out."

    Tycon had joined the Rhodok adventuringpany as a frencer under the pseudonym of Zehr. He had a goal that just so happened to coincide with theirtest Gold-Rank undertaking and he had a mind to ensure that thepany survived at least until that could be achieved.

    The scout looked over his shoulder, "It... resembles wolf-droppings. Stinks just as bad, that''s for sure. What do you think, Munifex?"

    Tycon shut his eyes, pretending to think.

    ? System, analysis: Droppings. ?

    ? Analyzing... The feces were produced by a male Iredar, approximately 2.5 bells prior. ?

    Hidden within Tycon''s psyche was a multi-functional System, capable of automating his Skills, trantingnguages, and most importantly, deciphering both the magical and the mundane. Unfortunately, the results of its analysis did not bode well for the Rhodok guild.

    Tycon stood up, "Iredar droppings. Eques, please advise the Primus Pilus that we should find a way around this area."

    The three men exchanged looks of shock.

    The Eques grimaced and sucked in air through his teeth, "Heavens and hells, Munifex. What''s an Iredar?"

    "A kobold."

    ...

    Word managed to travel faster than Zehr did. The cloaked gentleman returned with the sun illuminating his face beneath his cloak.

    Bright green hair nked the sides of his young face, no older than 19. His golden eyes were set into a hard stare, disappointed by recent events.

    "Holy me... he''s... really hot," Rena whispered.

    Justus rolled his eyes, "You''re drooling, Fish."

    Rena wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand like a barbarian and red, "You''re a fish!"

    Decanus Caelistis frowned at Zehr as he climbed back into the wagon, "I hope you''re happy, Munifex Zehr. Now the whole cohort thinks our tent group''s terrified of dog shite on the side of the road."

    Zehr gave a nomittal shrug, "I have provided my professional opinion. It is the Primus Pilus'' right to ignore it."

 Chapter 209 Holy Bolter

    ?The Rhodok adventuringpany was crossing into kobold territory.

    Nine of the ten members of the tent-group had treated the news without rm. The older soldiers were quietly sharing stories about their homnds or wives or girlfriends, only sparing an asional extra nce at the surrounding woods.

    Like the others, Justus dismissed the kobold threat. He found it difficult to be worried about a 3-fulm tall walking dog that barely weighed 50 librae.

    Zehr had spoken very little.. which was nothing new. However, with the way he carried himself, Justus figured  Zehr would speak only when necessary.

    It bothered him.

    It was an aching, nagging feeling, deep in his gut, that there may have been strong reasoning behind Zehr''s concerns.

    Justus had no idea what that reason could be. The Rhodoks wore military-grade Tyrion segmented armor and carried Tyrion tower shields. Even if there were twice as many kobolds as they had troops, their crude and savage weaponry would be as effective as hurled insults and strong feelings.

    In his uncertainty, Justus looked over to Gianna who sat across from him, hoping to be greeted by herfortable smile. Something had caught her eye... and Justus followed her gaze to see that it rested on Zehr.

    A slight pang of jealousy crept into his heart, but he quickly shook away the thought. Simply looking at another man had no meaning, in itself. Besides, he and Gianna didn''t have that sort of rtionship. It felt like the entire cohort teased him and Rena as an old, married couple...

    Who would like that kind of woman? ...Not him, that''s for sure.

    Zehr too, had his attention focused elsewhere. He was turned away, calmly observing the wagons traveling in front of them. Was a professional Munifex like Zehr really worried about a bunch of kobolds? Or was he really just trying to sound important like the others were saying?

    Everyone in their tent group knew what Decanus Caelistis thought. The man spoke his mind until spit drenched his fuzzy goatee, and none of what came out of his mouth was ttering. Zehr stood and calmly epted the beratement until Cael threw up his hands in exasperation and a few choice curses.

    The Decanus hadn''t spoken a word since. Justus (and likely the others in the tent group) silently thanked Zehr for his selfless sacrifice.

    "me, guide my holy bolt..." Rena quietly whispered a prayer. She tapped her finger against the metal tip of a crossbow bolt in her opposite hand. Holding it up, its tip glowed a silvery light, like the sweet guiding me of a nighttime candle.

    The one member of their tent-group shocked into a state of frenzy was Munifex Rena. Her ss was Holy Bolter, and she was preparing additional enchanted bolts in the unlikely case of enemy attack. Dark circles were beginning to form underneath her eyes from mana fatigue.

    When he and Rena were children back in Leopardon, she cried when she found out she wasn''t a Holy Swordsman like he was. From that sun on, they called him the Hero of Leopardon, destined to bring fame and glory to the countryside town. And her...

    And from that sun on, Rena worked tirelessly on improving her skills. By the me''s guidance, she gained her own ss, able to stand on her own by Justus'' side. The little crying girl grew up, if only a little bit. However, with all that time being familiar with his childhood friend, he knew Rena was nearing her limit.

    "Hey, Rena... That should be enough, don''t you think?"

    Rena looked up at Justus abruptly, the silvery glow on her finger growing bright before fizzling out.

    "By. the. me!!" Rena cursed, tears of frustration forming at the corner of her eyes, "Thief!! Triple-thief!! Give me back my mana, Justuussss!!"

    Justus turned away, "Y-you''re the one that used all that mana."

    He hadn''t meant to disrupt her concentration... but he didn''t want to give Rena the satisfaction of an apology. She would lord it over him for the next moon-- probably longer.

    "But seriously," Justus continued, "Don''t pass out. I''d probably end up having to carry you somewhere."

    "Pshhhh!" Rena rolled her eyes and groaned, "You''d probably enjoy that, pervert."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Justus twisted his lips and shrugged, "The feeling of a man''s chest on my back is not my idea of a good time."

    "Why you!!"

    "Miss Rena," Gianna offered a polite smile, "You probably are overdoing it. You have rings under your eyes."

    "I-- what?!" She pulled out a polished knife to see her reflection, "me take you, Justus! Why didn''t you tell me?!"

    Justus thought better of responding to the Witch of Leopardon while she was holding a knife. He copied Zehr in looking away at the forest... There was nothing, not even a deer or rabbit.

    ...Though the fact that there was nothing was suspicious, in itself.

    The bubbly brte ced her knife back in its sheath and let out a long sigh. She slumped back in the hard seat of the wagon, trying to melt into the wood.

    Gianna voiced her concern, "What''s wrong, Miss Rena?"

    Rena pouted, "It''s just... I heard that kobolds... you know. They capture women and then they do... unspeakable things to them in theirirs!"

    Gianna frowned with a newfound worry, "Is that really what they say?"

    Justus furrowed his eyebrows, "I think... you''re thinking of goblins, Rena."

    "No, they''re the same thing!!" Rena eximed. "R-right?"

    Gianna pursed her lips, "I think that''s a goblin thing."

    A veteran soldier nced over, "It''s a goblin thing."

    Decanus Caelistis turned to look over his shoulder, "Goblins, Fish."

    Rena adjusted her seat position and crossed her arms, "Fine. But still! I don''t want to get left behind and captured by kobolds!"

    "Nothing''s gonna happen, little Fish," Cael groaned.

    "But Decanus!? We''re in enemy territory! Can''t you guys... you know, be at least a little bit worried?" Renained.

    Justus widened his eyes in understanding. He had been trying to understand why he felt like he was tottering on an edge, even if the logic to it made no sense. Regardless of the size and shape of the enemy, the effects of an ambush would be several times greater than a head-on attack.

    "We''re always gonna be in someone''s territory, Fish. It is what it is," Cael raised his arms in a shrug.

    No... That wasn''t something to just shrug off as the way it is.

    Justus looked into the thick woods nking the road, hoping he wouldn''t spot eyes gleaming back at him.

 Chapter 210 Illud Est Quod Est

    ?Tycondrius exhaled out of his nostrils in frustration. The foliage was practically swarming with movement, but despite his warnings, his peers remained blissfully ignorant. He wondered if Decanus Constantina''s scout group had reported his findings to the Primus Pilus. If so, it was his own damn fault that his beloved cohort was going to be needlessly decimated.

    The archer, Rena, was babbling nonsensically about getting captured and savaged by the kobolds.

    Tycon found the thought of it absurd. There was no reason above the seven hells or below the eleven heavens that amon kobold would capture and mate with a human. Their anatomy was particrly ipatible with humankind and wouldn''t result in offspring.

    A captured human would be held for ransom or used as a hardbor ve. Failing that, humans had more use as edible meat than for grotesque sexual outlets. A kobold copting with a human outside of a consensual rtionship would be as abhorrent as a human seducing a pig or a horse.

    At the very least, the archer-girl had themon sense to be worried about a possible attack.

    If Tycon was an optimistic person, he would believe that the Rhodok adventuringpany was well familiar with Iredar tactics. If he could choose, he would drill his troops to quickly assume a defensive formation, and withdraw to a safe distance-- away from the cunning traps the Iredar had certainly set.

    If he were less than optimistic, he would think that the humans were grossly underestimating the Iredar threat. Had any of them experienced an attack by a full Iredar tribe, Holy Bolter Rena''s panic would not be unique to her.

    As he observed the young woman, he mentally inquired his System about her status.

    ? Rena, Bronze-Rank Human Holy Bolter ?

    She was a low-level archer-type ss. Ranged sses generally had better survival instincts than their melee counterparts.

    Unlike the costly andrge, unwieldy ss-Identification and Mana-Measurement devices developed by the Artificer''s Guild, Tycon''s personal System granted him a generally urate measurement of a person''s abilities.

    He hadn''t chosen to transmigrate into this Realm, but he was d the fates had seen fit topensate him for his troubles with his System. It did have its limits. It didn''t unlock new skills for him ore with its own storage space or allow him to increase his attributes. It wasn''t at all omniscient, but it did allow him analysis and information enough to serve as a "cheat" for a morefortable adventuring life.

    It was enough, anyroad, that Tycon had no desire to off himself to try and start over with a different benefit... not that he was certain such a "reset" was a viable option.

    "It is what it is," Decanus Caelistis dismissed Rena''s worries with a foppish shrug.

    ? Caelistis, Bronze-Rank Human Warrior ?

    The Decanus with an unstylish goatee had an awe-inspiring ability to waste words. ''It is what it is.'' Such a statement was worth as much as stating that water is wet. As Caelistis was a Bronze-Rank with a miserable personality, Tycon respected nothing besides the man''s rank and position.

    "That''s... that''s wrong," the young, red-haired recruit, Justus, muttered.

    ? Justus, Bronze-Rank Human Holy Swordsman ?

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, both pleased and mildly amused. It seemed there was someone else in their tent group withmon sense. Just like Rena, he had an excellent ss: Holy Swordsman.

    "Eh? You say something, Fish?" Caelistis asked with a sneer.

    It was a shame that Justus was also Bronze-Rank. Without a rank difference, if he was stronger than the Decanus, the difference was negligible. With the 5 or 10 year age difference, it was also doubtful the young man had the experience and skill to best his superior.

    Justus cleared his throat to speak up, "I''ve got this weird gut feeling, Decanus... like we''re being watched?"

    Yes. Tycon had seen the movement of dozens of Iredar in the woods. It wasn''t impossible that there were hundreds, waiting to strike. It took far less to feed a simr-sized cohort of kobolds than of humans. The travelingpany, full of potential ves and food supplies proved a viable and attractive target.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Gahhhhh," Caelistis groaned, "You too, Fish? Let them watch, we''ll keep doing what we''re doing. It is what it is."

    Tycon felt his eye twitch. He pulled back his hood to address Caelistis, "Decanus, with all due respect... what the hells is that supposed to mean?"

    "Huh, what?" The Decanus narrowed his eyes but could unfortunately not change the vacuous expression on his face, "It means what it means. What is, is. Is there a brain beneath that 12 copper helmet, Munifex Zehr?"

    Tycon took great pains not to roll his eyes. The man wasn''t worth wasting his words on, "Munifex Justus."

    Justus sat up straight, "Huh? Me?"

    "...Yes," Tycon nced left and right... He was fairly certain there was only one Munifex Justus in the wagon.

    "M-munifex Zehr, how can I help you?"

    Tycon thought that he had perhaps been too hasty in thinking the boy was worth conversing with. Still, he had chosen to address the boy. It wouldn''t do to keep his words unsaid.

    "Your ''gut feelings'' stem from your senses. Though you may not be able to exin it, it remains that one or more of your sensory perceptions is warning you that not everything ''is as it is.''"

    "Munifex Zehr... that..." Arge-breasted blonde tilted her head at the thought.

    ? Gianna, Bronze-Rank Human Shield Maiden ?

    Another rare ss. Tycon was surprised at the amount of talent he had lucked into, joining Decanus Caelistis'' tent group.

    "Anyroad," Tycon turned back to scan the road in front of the wagon, "Remaining vignt costs you nothing. We can rest during our sleep cycles."

    "By the me... he is sooooo hawt," the Holy Bolter, Rena whispered.

    If the woman thought she was being subtle, she was not.

    Decanus Caelistis pulled on the horses'' reins, "Seven hells... Really, we''re stopped again?"

    It appeared that the wagon train wasing to a halt for a second time. Another issue may have been discovered by the scout team or one of the lead wagons.

    "Ooohhhh, look!!" Gianna''s voice had raised in pitch to a high squeal. She sat up to look over the opposite side of the wagon, "It''s a puppy!"

    Tycon''s eyes widened as adrenaline coursed through his veins and slowed his sense of time to a crawl.

    The floppy-eared, blue-furred kobold raised a heavy crossbow, leveling its sights onto Gianna''s surprised face.

    Seven hells of ice and whirling steel. Eleven heavens raining blood and fire. The Iredar were attacking.

 Chapter 211 Military Doctrine

    ?Tycon''s instincts led his movements. He stood up and snatched Gianna''s ponytail, yanking her head back just as the kobold''s crossbow twanged. With his increased senses, Tycon watched the bolt slowly whizz past the blonde woman''s face. Had he not acted, the woman''s eye would have been pierced and the bolt would have made its home, rattling around inside of her skull.

    Decanus Caelistis stood up and threw his 4-fulm pilum, spearing the kobold in the chest, pinning it to the ground, and ending its pitiful life

    "Shameless trash!" He spat, "Good work, Zehr. Seems you''re good for something."

    Justus hastily scanned the forest before seeing to the blonde woman, "Gia, are you alright?"

    With still-shaking hands, she grabbed her helmet from the wagon floor and securely buckled it onto her head, "Y-yes, somehow."

    Rena ratcheted back her crossbow string, arming it with one of her enchanted bolts. She sighed at Gianna, "I wish Zehr would pull on my hair..."

    Tycon was anxious. They were quickly running out of time, "Decanus Caelistis."

    "Y-yeah? What is it?"

    The man still had no idea.

    Tycon frowned. He did not know how to properlymunicate the gravity of the situation, "We wille under a massive attack, shortly. I advise that our tent group immediately retreat into the eastern forest."

    Caelistis snorted inughter, "Listen, Munifex. I know your pride''s hurt because there are kobolds in the forest and no one''s taking you seriously. I get it. But anything that''s out there--"

    Tycon''s senses sharpened as he heard another thunk of a crossbow release. He dropped his weight down to a knee as he witnessed a quarrel lodge into the Decanus'' right cheek.

    He turned and yelled, "RHODOKS, GET DOWN!!"

    Justus turned to look at him, "Zehr, what are you--"

    Thrice-damned fool! Tycon yanked the red-haired swordsman''s front leg out from under him, dropping the boy onto his back in a clumsy metal crash.

    Scores of crossbow bolts began to fire from the west, bolts striking hard against the side of the wagon, with some piercingpletely through.

    Gianna and the veterans in their tent group ducked down and turned their shields towards the attack.

    All around them, men and women of the Rhodok adventuringpany were screaming, cursing. The horses attached to the wagon neighed theirst as they copsed, bleeding before the barrage of bolts.

    "By the me! By the me! It''s happening! I don''t wanna get raaaaaped!!" Rena grabbed the dazed and fallen Justus and shook the boy relentlessly.

    Tycon, taking cover behind Gianna''s shield, red at the archer, "Munifex Rena, that is *not* going to happen."

    The brte''s eyes sparkled, "Are you gonna save me, Zehr?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin slits at the archer... "Yes."

    He decided to agree. He hoped it would end the woman''s babbling.

    Tyconid on his back and cocked back both legs. Channeling mana through his Iron-Rank physique, he smashed his heels against the eastern side of the wagon, tearing the wooden board off of its nails.

    He unsheathed his short sword and sprang out of the wagon, onto the side of the trail. With two mana-powered shes, he broke the high wheels, though his cheap iron sword shattered in the process. The side of the wagon copsed, spilling the tent group into slightly better cover from the crossbow fire.

    Justus managed to get to his feet beside Tycon, "Munifex Zehr, I don''t understand! It sounds like they have hundreds of crossbows! HOW can they have crossbows??!"

    "No, it makes sense," Gianna shook her head. She winced at the sound of another horse''s rattling neigh... "What better weapon to arm themselves to null their size disadvantage than Tyrion crossbows?"

    "Munifex Justus.... I do not know why the Iredar wield crossbows." Tycon grit his teeth, "I advise you to ept that they do and we react ordingly-- ''lest you wish to reject my advice like the fellow lying behind me."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Justus looked past Tycon at the unmoving Decanus. He gulped but nodded in obedience.

    Caelistis had fallen to their side when Tycon broke the wheels. Flipping him over onto his back, Gianna let out a shriek seeing the man''s rolled-back eyes and pink froth on his mouth. He had been peppered with crossbows on his arm, his side, and even in his neck.

    "Requesciat in pacem," Tycon whispered an old Tyrion prayer and shut the dead man''s eyes.

    Tycon''s gaze hardened as he looted Caelistis'' tower shield and military-issue sword. He examined the man''s visored helmet. The fool died while his visor was opened-- it could have potentially saved him from the initial bolt that dropped him.

    Tycon took the helmet.

    Caelistis'' judgment concerning the integrity of Tycon''s helmet was correct. The Decanus'' modified helm covered his eyes and cheeks-- it would provide him far better defense than his cheap one.

    "What''s the n now, Munifex Zehr?" A grey bearded veteran asked. He nced at the helmet Tycon was putting on, "Or should I address you as Decanus?"

    "Congrattions on your promotion, Decanus Zehr," Gianna tilted her head and gave a weak smile.

    "A battlefield promotion is not something to celebrate," Tycon said grimly as he tightened the helmet''s buckle.

    Tycon appreciated that his opinion had be far more important. The whole Iredar debacle could have been avoided had it been important earlier, but hypothetical analysis wasrgely useless with their current situation.

    "We retreat into the eastern forest, shields on our backs. The foliage will protect us somewhat from their crossbows."

    "On our backs? That''s not military doctrine," the veteran frowned.

    "Let''s set up a shield wall," Justus offered.

    Tycon shook his head, "There are traps in the eastern forest."

    A deep-voiced veteran grit his teeth in anger, "By the me, how can they have traps too..."

    Tycon grimaced, "We have a better chance avoiding them if we scatter. Shields on our backs, run into the forest at an angle. By the end of this you''ll have prayed your fill to the me."

    Grey Beard chuckled derisively, "--or we''ll be talking to Her directly, I reckon."

    A veteran archer crept closer, "Hey, Decanus. How about we split our tent group. The old folks can set up our moving target and you can take Gianna and the fish into the forest."

    The older soldiers mumbled in agreement.

    It was Tycon''s turn to scoff, "You bastards are trying to die in glory?"

    Justus clenched his fist, "Zehr, let me go with them. With my ss, I can--"

    "Sod that." Tycon interrupted, "In case you''ve forgotten, this is a chance ambush, not our guild''sst bloody stand. We retreat into the forest. We regroup. The cohort will survive. The cohort *must* survive."

    Grey Beard nodded slowly... "Alright, we''re with you, Decanus."

    Gianna smiled, "My shield is yours tomand."

    "My body is yours, to have and to hold," Rena offered.

    "me, protect us," Justus nodded gravely.

 Chapter 212 A Lesson Of Modesty

    ?Munifex Justus fidgeted anxiously. He tightly gripped his shield and examined his sword. It belonged to his father and was kept in excellent condition. It was gifted to him when he joined the Rhodok adventuringpany. Thest thing he wanted was to have a letter delivered to his family detailing his death.

    "We''re fleeing east into the forest?" Justus frowned in worry, "What if there''s more enemies there?"

    Zehr nced past Justus, "Munifex Rena, exin to Justus what a sector of fire is."

    The starry-eyed archer smirked arrogantly, "Because the kobolds are firing their crossbows from the west, they wouldn''t station any troops east, or they''d get caught in the crossfire."

    "Do you understand?" Zehr inquired.

    "Yes, Decanus..." Justus considered running into the hail of crossbow fire, himself, to avoid the embarrassment of his stupid question.

    "Good." Zehr nodded, a perfect picture of a calm, veteran Decanus, "You there, Archer. It looks like at least two tent groups that way are bunkered down. Send word to as many Decani as you can."

    "At once, Decanus," The veteran archer dashed off, firing a chance shot at the kobolds as he went.

    Zehr turned to the grey bearded veteran, "Do we all have throwing spears?"

    The Munifices swapped their weapons, each holding their issued pilum.

    "What are we waiting for?" Justus asked, impatience clear on his face.

    The sound of y pots breaking and shattering surrounded the tent group in droves.

    "What the hells was that?!" Modestus yelled. The grey bearded veteran furrowed his brows in worry.

    Gianna picked up a broken y fragment and turned it over, revealing a yellowish, viscous liquid, "This is..."

    Zehr peeked over to the wagons ahead, "It''s pitch. Your moment will arrive shortly, Munifex Justus."

    "Wait-wait-wait, hold on!" Rena whined, "Pitch burns! Wait! Pitch EXPLODES!!"

    In a mix of men''s desperate battlecries and furious kobold barking, a terrifically loud explosion boomed.

    Justus felt a chill run down his spine. Coordinated crossbow fire. Traps. Pitch pots. He had underestimated the craftiness of the kobolds. Decanus Caelistis, too. The whole me-takenpany had underestimated the beasts.

    Why the hells did he think the kobolds were any less intelligent or ruthless than humans?

    Zehr took a deep breath in, "READDYYYYY!!!! PILA!!!"

    The Munifices of Justus'' tent group turned while remaining in the kneeling position, a pilum in each of their right hands.

    Explosions boomed throughout the trail, the mes'' heat causing sweat to pour down Justus'' face. Their own wagon lit in a ze of me.

    Men were screaming, dying all around them. Justus didn''t know when he had pissed himself, but he was not the only one in his tent group who had done so.

    Zehr noticed Justus'' staring and gave a solemn nod.

    Justus gulped hard and nodded back.

    "TARGETS!!" Zehr yelled.

    As one, the Munifices of three tent groups stood up and threw their p.

    "MOVE!!" Zehr took off.

    Justus sprinted after him, keeping sight of the Decanus'' crest.

    ...

    "I... I can''t... I can''t run... anymore," Rena spoke between her gasps for breath.

    Justus red at the lightly-armored archer. What she wore was far lighter than what he did. He, too, was gasping for precious air and couldn''t bother to respond. The mad dash into the forest was the most terrified he''d ever been. Munifices around him hit snare traps, pit traps, or fell to crossbow bolts.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zehr was the fastest man he''d ever seen, dashing ahead of them all and even disabling one of the snare traps with his sword... and the man was barely breathing hard. They had been rushing for nearly 20 minutes, bounding over brush and navigating through trees. And after that, they slowed their pace to a quick march for at least a bell.

    "C... carry me, Justus," Rena squeaked.

    "Not interested," he responded.

    Decanus Zehr lifted up his helmet visor, revealing green hair, golden eyes, and a young face. He addressed the slightly taller, grey bearded veteran, "Brother-Munifex, what was your name, again?"

    "You honor me, Decanus. My name is Modestus."

    The old man had run nearly as fast as Justus and Rena but was still able to keep a semnce of his decorum in not gasping and choking.

    "A fitting name," Zehr nodded.

    "The me saw fit to make me immortal, Decanus."

    "Very well, Brother-Immortal." Zehr chuckled, "Report."

    Modestus frowned and averted his gaze, "We have about 6 tent groups, but including casualties, we have 4 groups and 3 Decani amongst them..."

    "Does that number include myself?"

    "Tch. Of course, Decanus," The old man scoffed and wiped his brow. Sweat continued to pour down his grizzled features.

    "And our own group?" Zehr scanned the area.

    The collective members of the Rhodok adventuringpany had taken shelter underneath a rocky outcropping near a freshwater stream. Over a dozen men, including a 4th Decanus, were too injured to continue the march or dying.

    Modestus continued his report, "Narcissus has a sprained ankle from a pit trap and cidus took a bolt to his back, but they''ll both live. Gianna is seeing to them now."

    "9 out of 10." Zehr nodded, catching Justus'' gaze, "We were lucky."

    Modestus chuckled, "The fish is our good luck charm. Did you hear, earlier? That one''s the Hero of Leopardon."

    Justus felt his face heat up from the attention. He had done nothing to deserve his title as hero. And the one who did deserve the credit was staring at him with judgmental eyes.

    Rena popped up, suddenly full of energy, "And they call me the Bitch of Leopardon!! Err... I mean Witch! Witch of Leopardon!"

    Zehr narrowed his eyes as he approached. Was he angry? Justus immediately stood up straighter. His idiot childhood friend should know better than to address a Decanus so casually, even if Zehr was only recently promoted.

    "I would prefer to call you Rena..." The Decanus rained an eyebrow, "If that''s quite alright with you?"

    "Ohhhhhh~? ...Catch me," Rena swayed back, falling into Justus'' surprised arms.

    As heavy as Rena was, Justus was too surprised by Zehr''s nonchnce to dodge. Zehr was a veteran Munifex and knew how to act ording to military protocol. By all means, he should have been as strict as Caelistis and... every Decanus he had met.

    "I''m no hero, Decanus." Justus frowned, "I''m just a fish."

    "Tss," Zehr scoffed, "You just survived the first half of a battle. You''re not a fish, anymore."

    "Haha, agreed." Modestusughed. "He''s a good kid, I''m telling you."

    Zehr raised an eyebrow, "Perhaps you could learn a lesson of modesty from the young man, Brother-Immortal."

    The older man revealed a crooked grin, "Nah. I know everything there is to know about being modest."

    "Hm. Of course, you do."

    "Decanus..." Something about what Zehr said didn''t sit right with Justus, "What do you mean... by... the first half?"

 Chapter 213 Trial By Combat

    ?Justus racked his brain, trying to understand. Zehr implied that the Rhodok adventuringpany had only seen half of the battle.

    The Decanus turned back to Modestus, "Brother-Immortal, ask the other tent groups if there is a map amongst them. I believe there is a walled vige a few miles north, but I would like to be certain."

    "At once, Decanus," the old man saluted and hurried off.

    Zehr approached Justus and grimaced at the woman in his arms, "Munifex Rena, you have steady hands, do you not?"

    Rena, who had pretended to have fainted, scrambled out of Justus'' arms and saluted, "I don''t really have any practice with that sort of thing-- but if you''re okay with being my first, I can give it a shot!"

    Zehr hesitated... "I was going to ask you to help with the triage."

    "Right away, Decanus!" The red-faced archer dashed away...

    It looked like the Decanus had more to say to her, but he was left with his mouth agape as he watched her run off.

    Was she ever really tired in the first ce?

    Zehr shut his mouth and gave Justus a weak smile, "And you, Munifex Justus, look like you are lost. Perhaps you wish you were elsewhere?"

    Zehr''s words were teasing and almost-friendly, but his golden eyes were narrowed in judgment.

    "N-no, Decanus," Justus managed to stammer.

    "Speak your mind quickly or hold your peace..." Zehr ordered, "I doubt we are more than a bell ahead of our enemies."

    Justus steeled his courage. Zehr had mostly conveyed politeness and reason, but he still felt nervous being scrutinized by the man''s bright golden eyes, "Decanus, you''re saying the kobolds are still following us?"

    The Decanus removed his helmet and gently shook his head of green hair, spilling down past his ears, "Indeed. And pray that they are following us. There''s a chance they''ve gone ahead and cut off our escape."

    Zehr shrugged as if it had nothing to do with him.

    Justus felt so sick, he could vomit.

    It felt like the lives of their entire cohort relied on the mercurial hands of fate.

    "What... what are we going to be on the lookout for?" Justus asked.

    The young Decanus raised an eyebrow, "Excellent question. The kobolds excel in ambushes, traps, and quick strikes utilizing arge number of troops."

    Justus'' eyes widened, "Then the reason the wagon train was stopped... and-- and the hail of crossbow fire and thrown pitch pots?"

    "Right. They must have been prepared for quite some time," Zehr nodded. He pointed to the side, directing Justus'' attention to the nearby brook. "We''ll follow the stream, northward."

    "But... won''t they be expecting that?"

    Zehr sighed, "We have the dilemma of choosing between speed and unpredictability. We have injured. Deaths can be prevented if we--"

    That was ridiculous! Justus couldn''t ept such a wed n, "But Decanus, more will--"

    Suddenly, Justus couldn''t breathe. He copsed to his knees, grasping at his throat, tears hot at the corners of his eyes.

    Zehr''s hand had swiftly chopped him in the throat.

    "Please don''t interrupt me, Munifex." Zehr chided, "Nod your head if you understand."

    Justus didn''t want to talk anymore. He wanted to wake up and still be in the wagon or waking up in his tent after a sleep cycle. Still, Justus nodded, fearing a second strike.

    "Very good. While along the stream is predictable, the slightly clearer ground will increase our group''s overall speed, as well as make it difficult to set traps." Zehr paused in thought, "Do we have any skilled Rangers amongst our ragtag collection?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Justus had managed to regain his breathing. Standing up, he nodded, "We do, Decanus."

    "Excellent. They''ll be earning their stipends, today."

    ...

    "This is criminal. This is absolutely criminal," Justusined.

    One of the remaining Decani disputed Zehr''s n to travel upstream. And they chose to decide the fate of a third of the Rhodok adventuringpany with a trial bybat.

    Nevermind that they were being chased by hundreds, maybe thousands of hostile demi-humans. The pride of a Decanus was more important to appease than saving their lives.

    "Shushhhh," Rena shot a vicious re at Justus. "This is the first time I get to see my husband without his shirt on."

    "Since when were you two wed?" he grumbled.

    "Future husband! Same difference," Rena ced her arms vertically in front of her chest and rested her chin upon her fists to watch the show.

    The two half-naked Decani stood six paces apart, wielding quarterstaves in an impromptu ring surrounded by the Munifices. The red-bearded challenger, Decanus Ferrutius, was just as surprised by Zehr''s body as Justus was-- as everyone was.

    Zehr, in his close-fitting leather armor, was easily mistaken for a woman due to his fair skin and thin features. Without his shirt, all that was dashed. Stark, clear lines defined his muscles, bulging and rippling with power.

    When he was younger, Justus and his parents visited therger cities in Rixus and Kasydon. The carved physiques of Tyrion war-heroes he had seen there looked plump and weakpared to Decanus Zehr.

    Absentmindedly, Justus rubbed underneath his left pectoral, closer to his side. How... do you get that muscle so defined?

    Rena elbowed him in the opposite side, causing him to jolt in surprise.

    "Wh-what is it?" Justus red, trying to hide his insecurities.

    His childhood friend leered at him like an old man, "I saw you checkin'' out mah man''s abs. Are you jealous??"

    Justus crossed his arms, "I... I have abs too."

    Zehr stood calmly, observing his opponent. He held his quarterstaff with his fists in front of his thighs in a neutral, unassuming stance.

    Ferrutius approached from the right and raised his staff to attack.

    THWAP!! The length of Zehr''s staff struck Ferrutius'' bare chest, leaving a painful red welt.

    Ferrutius struck down in anger, but Zehr side-stepped to dodge.

    THWAP!! Again, Zehr''s quarterstaff pped against Ferrutius'' back, causing the man to groan and bend backward in pain.

    Justus watched the duel in deep thought.

    Zehr was toying with Ferrutius. As fast as the Decanus could move, he could easily send an urate strike at Ferrutius'' chin or temple. Instead, Zehr struck with the broad part of his staff to inflict loud, painful bruises.

    Earlier, Decanus Zehr mentioned wanting to lead a forward group to scout for traps and possibly skirmish with the kobolds. Justus wanted to volunteer himself. He was known as the Hero of Leopardon and had the rare ss, Holy Swordsman. There was no way he''d be refused, especially since their numbers had dwindled due to casualties.

    But...

    Zehr''s skill inbat was at a level Justus couldn''t even fathom.

    Could he really help his Decanus, even if he wanted to?

 Chapter 214 Theatrics

    ?Justus stared at thebatants, focusing, taking in all their movements.

    He couldn''t ce his finger on it.

    Decanus Zehr made the fight look so easy. Every time Ferrutius moved, it was like Zehr already had a response. He''d dodge, he''d block and counter, or he''d just interrupt with a quick jab or a broad, painful whack.

    There was no wasted movement. There were no fancy flourishes or misdirection. It was just... like Zehr could see and react faster than his opponent.

    The old, grey-bearded veteran, Modestus, clicked his tongue, "Caelistis was right... for once. That guy''s no fish."

    A few other mumbles were heard throughout the crowd, kept to a low volume. Justus was thankful that at least a few intelligent souls understood that thepany was still being tracked by enemies.

    Justus shook his head. He couldn''t understand the fight. More and more, Zehr was bing an anomaly to him-- something Justus just couldn''tpare himself to.

    He nced to his opposite side, where Gianna sat. It seemed she was just as engrossed in the fight as he was. Frustration welled in his heart.

    Turning to Rena, heined in a low hush, "This is so criminal, when is the Decanus going to stop wasting his time?"

    "Huhhkkk!!"

    Hearing a distinct sound of Decanus Ferrutius, Justus quickly turned his attention back to the fight.

    CLACK. Zehr had struck Ferrutius'' quarterstaff out of his hands.

    Ferrutius was stumbling back, holding onto his sternum, weaponless.

    Justus blinked his eyes. He couldn''t believe it.

    Zehr''s golden eyes were staring at him. He had turned aroundpletely, with his back to his opponent.

    Had the Decanus heard him? That was impossible... Justus was 30 feet away and whispering. It must have been a coincidence.

    Gianna looked up, flinching and letting out a yelp of surprise.

    Justus nced above... and what he saw made his heart drop into the pit of his gut.

    He stood up, not needing to take a step. Reaching his right arm up to the sky, Justus caught Decanus Ferrutius'' quarterstaff.

    "me, take me..." Rena gawked in awe, "I love that movement he just did... how he just... moooved."

    Justus was too preupied to try and understand Rena''s nonsense.

    Zehr was staring at him emotionlessly from where he stood in the ring.

    By the me... it was all true. The Decanus had heard everything. The Decanus could have ended the fight at any time. The Decanus could... uratelyunch quarterstaves using other quarterstaves?

    "What the hells was that?" Modestusined, "Is this a me-scarred circus?"

    "Watch out!"

    Justus looked to Rena but... it wasn''t her who had yelled. Confused, he looked to his opposite side and understood. It was Gianna''s.

    ...

    Tycondrius stared at Justus from the impromptu ring. The young man was right. Tycon was getting carried away. It would be best for him to finish off his opponent quickly.

    Decanus Ferrutius was approaching him from behind and to the right with slow, clumsy steps. Per Tyrion military close-quarterbat drills, Tycon expected a punch.

    He half-turned his body to see... it was a punch, a wild and desperate, full-arm swing.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon stepped backward, colliding his shoulder into Ferrutius'' chest and halting the man''s movement. Tossing away his own staff, Tycon grabbed hold of his opponent''s outstretched arm. Then, tucking his body in close, he shifted his body weight to throw the red-haired Decanus over his shoulder.

    He kept a tight grip on the man''s wrist, and dropped a knee on the fallen man''s shoulder to keep the arm locked back.

    Tycon leaned in, speaking just loudly enough for the other Decanus to hear, "Follow my ns and I''ll let you keep some of that pride."

    "Grrrrh... Errghh..." The red-headed Decanus strained at his muscles, trying to escape, "Or what?"

    Tycon steadily applied pressure to Ferrutius'' trapped arm, causing the man to groan with a new sense of urgency, "You''re going to help me, Decanus, either by supporting me... or by bing an example. Make your choice."

    ...

    Justus narrowed his eyes in confusion.

    Somehow Decanus Ferrutius had managed to get out of the arm lock, turning and grappling with Zehr properly. The two rolled on the ground across the arena, ending with Ferrutius on top.

    Ferrutius, with his beard and hair covered in dirt and sweat like a savage, rained down punches, forcing Zehr to block.

    It made no sense. Was Zehr... weak at grappling?

    A few members of the crowd clicked their tongues, and one man loosed a whistle that was quickly hushed by his peers.

    Zehr abruptly popped up his lower body, unbncing Ferrutius and forcing a swing to go wide.

    Then the strangest thing happened...

    Zehr kicked his legs up, hooking right under Ferrutius'' arms. Then with Ferrutius'' body going forward and Zehr somersaulting on the ground backward and over his head... Zehr wrapped his arms in a lock around Ferrutius'' calf and ankle.

    "I yield! I yield, Decanus," Ferrutius spoke, loud enough for everyone could hear.

    A wave of murmuring rippled through the crowd.

    "Heavens and hells..." Modestus cursed, "I can''t believe it. I''ve joined a louse-ridden circus instead of an adventuring guild."

    Rena hopped up in joy, squealing quietly, "Justus... Justus... I knew he would win. I called it."

    Justus looked to Gianna, "Hey... Gia, is everything alright?"

    Gianna was still staring at Zehr and Ferrutius with her jaw unhinged. Justus felt a smoldering frustration in his gut from Gia''s attention being upied by someone that wasn''t himself.

    "O-oh, I''m sorry, Justus," the blonde woman tilted her head. "I just thought Decanus Zehr''s finishing ankle lock was interesting... He resembled a snake for a moment, don''t you think?"

    Justus returned an uncertain smile, "I''m not sure the Decanus would appreciate being called a snake."

    "If he is, he''s an incredibly handsome snake," Rena added. "Oh, here hees now."

    Zehr approached, drinking from a waterskin. Still shirtless, the Decanus glistened with sweat, only made more impressive when he dumped the waterskin''s remaining contents onto his green hair.

    "D-d-d-decanussss..." Rena stammered, "It''s so nice to... see you..."

    "Y-you know," she wet her dried lips and gestured from Zehr''s sculpted chest to his loins, "--all of you."

    For a moment, Justus thought he could see steaming out of the archer''s ears.

    "I quite enjoyed your theatrics, Decanus," Gianna smirked.

 Chapter 215 True Enemy

    ?"Oh?" Zehr raised an eyebrow at Gianna, chuckling softly, "Haha... Was I being too obvious?"

    "I think you''ve performed appropriately, Decanus. Not everyone is well-versed with grappling techniques." Gianna revealed a wide, knowing smile, "Might I challenge you to match, sometime?"

    The Decanus scoffed, "Tss. Really, Munifex Gianna..? Grappling is not my strong suit... but perhaps after we''re out of danger, we can have an instructional match or two."

    Rena raised her hand, "I would like to request a private grappling match."

    "Hm," Zehr ced his hand on his chin, "Perform well, today, and I might ede to some of your requests--"

    The archer fainted, plopping dramatically onto her side.

    "R-rena?? What''s wrong?" Gianna knelt down and gently shook her friend.

    "...though likely not to the extremes you seem to keep alluding to," Zehr finished, frowning.

    Justus furrowed his brows. What did Gianna mean when sheplimented Decanus Zehr''s ''theatrics''? He racked the concept around in his brain...

    Unable to decipher the puzzle on his own, he decided to ask directly, "Gia, what did you see?"

    Gianna smirked and looked to Decanus Zehr.

    Zehr raised an eyebrow, "I, too, would like to know."

    Gianna sighed and waved a finger, "The way you rolled around with Decanus Ferrutius was unnatural. You were obviously using your own momentum to make it look more violent."

    Justus began to link the formerly illogical events of the fight. The whole flow of Zehr''s duel had changed... after he disarmed Ferrutius! Zehr must have said something to him while they were grappling. The whole fight after that was just a farce...

    His eyes shot open in sudden realization, "Hold on, Decanus! Were you only pretending to--"

    Zehr interrupted Justus by holding a syed hand out, "Not so loud, young Munifex. I have my reasons."

    Justus felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He lowered his voice, "But why, Decanus Zehr? You could have beaten Ferrutius easily?"

    Zehr smiled gently. The Decanus closed his fist and tapped it on Justus'' armor, "Know your true enemy, Munifex Justus."

    Justus scrunched up his face... "My true enemy is myself... If I always strive to be better today than I was yesterday, no enemy can defeat me."

    Zehr gave a troubled smile, "Well spoken, but I was actually referring to the Iredar-- the uh... kobolds."

    "Oh..." Justus scratched the back of his head, "Right."

    "I saw it better to win Decanus Ferrutius'' respect and gain his support than to embarrass him too thoroughly and gain a new enemy."

    "O-oh..." Justus hadn''t even thought of Ferrutius'' pride. He suddenly felt foolish and small-minded... He had a long way to go if he wanted to be a leader.

    "Brother-Immortal," Zehr turned to the old veteran, Modestus, "Gather anyone with the Ranger or Scout ss. I''ll be leading them ahead of our little cohort."

    "Eh... Come on, Decanus," Modestus stroked his grey beard, smiling yfully, "You sure you wouldn''t rather send Gianna instead of this tired old man?"

    Justus pursed his lips in confusion. He''d never seen Modestus talk back to Caelistis.

    "I would not. I prefer herpany to yours," Zehr exined simply.

    "Ohoho," Modestus chuckled, "Fair enough."

    "And besides, why would I feel any remorse about sending an Immortal toplete my tasks?"

    "Oof, well, I can see that this handsome face isn''t wanted around the young folk," Modestus saluted, "Decanus."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zehr nodded, "Go with honor."

    Justus averted his gaze. It seemed Gianna was blushing at Zehr''s off-handed remark but the Decanus hadn''t noticed.

    It was a bit low of him, but he was d that Zehr didn''t seem particrly interested in Gia. If the Decanus did choose to pursue her romantically, Justus was afraid he wouldn''t stand a chance.

    His childhood friend, Rena, was overtly forward in her advances... even though she was as much of a virgin as he was. But still, Zehr remained professional.

    ...That was probably why she wasn''t shy about being forward. Zehr projected an aura of professionalism and safety that he only previously really got from Gianna. But concerning safety, Gia had a ss that let her literally keep people safe with her shield.

    He couldn''t really understand why Zehr felt that way, but he didn''t feel alone in his thinking. Besides Rena and Gianna, everyone in the tent group seemed to implicitly trust their new Decanus.

    "Decanus Zehr," Shield Maiden Gianna grinned.

    Zehr hesitated, "Yes, Miss Gianna?"

    "Are you epting volunteers for your scout team?"

    Zehr looked the blonde woman up and down, before returning his own reserved smirk, "It depends who''s asking."

    Justus fixed his posture and stood straight, "Decaus Zehr, please allow me to apany you on the mission."

    Even though he knew he wasn''t good enough, he wanted to learn from the Decanus... The way he moved, the way he led... The man inspired him.

    The Decanus put a hand to his chin, eyeing him judgmentally, "So eager to die, are we, Munifex?"

    Justus felt the sweat forming on his back, being under Zehr''s scrutiny, "No, Decanus. I just want to help."

    Gianna picked up her shield and leaned over it, "I''ll being with him."

    Justus gulped, averting his gaze away from the leaning Gianna''s cleavage. Was she doing that on purpose?

    "I didn''t think volunteers were so plentiful." Zehr crossed his arms, smirking, "And I don''t remember epting volunteers, in the first ce."

    "Well, you haven''t told us no, yet, Decanus," Gianna ced her hand over her mouth as she giggled.

    Zehr, Justus, and Gianna all looked down at the grounded Rena, expectantly.

    She sat up, dirt and leaves in her brown hair, "I wanna go too!"

    "I suppose you cane too." Gianna absentmindedly touched her finger to the beauty mark next to her lips, "The Decanus said he''d protect you, after all."

    Decanus Zehr sighed helplessly, though he wore a subtle smile, "Very well, you three. Gianna, Rena, coordinate with Munifex Modestus. I want the forward team to be off in fifteen minutes."

    "Wh-what about me?" Justus asked.

    "You''ll being with me, Munifex."

    ...

    Tycondrius led the forward team through the forests, along the streams. He hadn''t told his tent-group the entire truth about the team''s purpose. He had wagered something... and that wager had paid off.

    In less than two bells of travel, the scouts returned to him, reporting that they had found kobold tracks. With the rming rate and frequency, they estimated a settlement was somewhere nearby, full of dozens to hundreds of Iredar.

    A possible attack on the vige would buy the Rhodoks the breathing room they needed to escape north, to the walled vige of Montegarico.

 Chapter 216 Kobold Patrols

    ?"Catch me, Justuuuuus~!!"

    Munifex Rena dropped from a tree and into Justus'' arms.

    "By the me, Rena, are you a monkey??" Justus scolded.

    As they were marching on patrol, he was wearing a heavy circr shield instead of the rank-and-file tower shield. Had he not, he wouldn''t have both arms to catch the flying woman.

    Giana looked up, "Wow. Miss Rena, that jump looked pretty dangerous."

    "Ehehe," The archer girl climbed down from Justus'' princess-carry, "He''s never failed to catch me before!"

    Gianna, the light of Justus'' life, granted the pair her radiant smile, "I''ve always been a little envious of the trust between you two."

    Justus tried to smile as naturally as he could, "I... I can always trust you to have my back, Gia."

    Gianna''s eyes widened in surprise before her expression softened. Sparkling eyes. Gentleness in her gorgeous smile.

    "You''re so sweet, Munifex Justus." She bowed her head, "I will be your shield, ever stalwart."

    "...And I will be your de, forever at your side," Justus nodded.

    "Whoa hoh hohhhh," Rena let out a sharp whistle, "Now that I''m getting a good look at your armor, you''re lookin'' like a sexy hunk of MAN, Justus."

    Justus was borrowing the muscled cuirass of one of the injured Decani. Decanus Zehr thought the armor would be better used by someone in the forward team. And as embarrassing as Justus'' title was as the Hero of Leopardon, he''d heard that was the deciding factor on being lent the armor.

    It was a bit heavier than his Munifex armor because he wore leathers underneath, but he really liked the way it made him feel-- almost like a real hero.

    Gianna ced her finger on her lips, looking Justus up and down, "He does make a very handsome Decanus-- he just needs the helmet."

    Justus gazed into Gianna''s eyes. She often did that when she was thinking, cutely cing her finger on her lips. It made the beauty mark on her chin stand out. She had expressed not liking it a few weeks prior, but Justus had stupidly blurted out that he thought it made her look beautiful and more mature.

    Since then, he hadn''t heard her mention it, even once.

    ...Though it could have been because Caelistis made him run with weights for an entire week as punishment for speaking out of line.

    Rena ran her hand through Justus'' red hair, "Right. The helmet would make iiiiit *perfect.*"

    "Did I hear Munifex Rena''s voice?"

    The trio turned to see Muni-- no, Decanus Zehr approaching.

    Justus could almost hear Rena''s jaw drop and hit the floor.

    Zehr had eschewed his tattered cloak and hood, wearing a muscled cuirass, polished to a silvery gleam. His well-defined biceps were revealed and his battle-skirt showed off his well-muscled legs. His helm reflected the sunlight breaking through the forest canopy, the majestic ck and yellow brush clearly marking him as a Tyrion Decanus.

    Decanus Zehr wore the helmet better than Caelistis ever did.

    However... Justus found it odd that the Decanus didn''t wear a shield. Instead, he wore two swords on his waist and carried a bundle of p.

    Zehr began walking aside the trio, wearing a troubled expression on his face, "Munifex Justus, your hair is a mess. Please adjust yourself."

    Justus made sure to re extra-angrily at Rena before walking towards the water''s edge to fix himself.

    "Munifex Rena, what did you find? --And before you begin, understand that I''m referring specifically to anything of pertinence to the enemy."

    "Aww," Rena groaned... "I evaded two kobold squads of nine, lightly armored, with crossbows and spears."

    "And their banner?" Zehr asked.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Wait, what do you mean ''their banner''?" Rena tilted her head.

    "By. The. me." Gianna approached Zehr, her eyes wide like a little girl''s, "Do the doggos have little gs?? Do they carry them around on little sticks?"

    "E... eh.... Please... restrain yourself, Munifex," Zehr looked troubled. He shot a nce at Justus for help.

    Justus cleared his throat, "The uh... the kobolds are the enemy, Gia."

    "Oh..." Gianna giggled in embarrassment and took a step back from Zehr, "Right."

    The Decanus thanked Justus with his eyes.

    Justus nodded, happy that he could finally help Zehr with something.

    That was something Justus didn''t know about Gia until then. The woman must have really liked dogs.

    The kobolds were probably her worst possible enemy...

    "I remember... red paint and a ck paw painted on one of their shields?"

    Zehr nodded, "Red paint, ck paw. Well done, Miss Rena."

    "Ohhhhhh~!" Gianna squealed, "That is so precious!~?"

    "Decanus..." The archer poked her two forefingers together, "C-can you just call me Rena, please?"

    Zehr raised an eyebrow, "Very well. Thank you for a job well done... Rena."

    Justus grimaced, "I''m not going to catch you if you swoon."

    Rena stuck out her tongue, "You''re no fun, Justus."

    "You three, with me," Zehr began to increase his marching pace.

    Justus jogged forward to walk alongside the slightly-older youth, "Decanus, all together? Where are we going?"

    "Oh? I figured it was obvious." Zehr smirked and patted Justus'' shoulder, "We''re going to gather the others and ambush some patrols."

    ...

    Tycondrius sighed as he hid in the bushes along with the Munifices. He joined the Rhodok adventuringpany as a mercenary because of the Gold-Rank quest they undertook. He didn''t expect toe into a battlefield promotion and be working to protect their lower rank Munifices from a kobold tribe.

    Red paint. ck paw.

    Tycon had seen the same banner on the attacking kobolds from the earlier attack. It seemed their tribe was somewhere close by. Settlements tended to be near a water source, and it seemed they had lucked out.

    If only there was more foliage on the east rather than the west, the Rhodok escapees would have been herded in the opposite direction.

    "Decanus," Ferrutius approached, a sleazy grin on his face.

    "Yes, Decanus? Here for another beating?" Tycon smirked.

    "me take you, Zehr." He rolled his eyes, "I could barely put my armor back on."

    Tycon smirked. Ferrutius'' men were in ce. Their Decanusing to report meant they could soon enact their n.

 Chapter 217 Earning Their Pay

    ?The red-bearded Decanus, Ferrutius, wore a shite-eating grin.

    He had news that Tycondrius wanted and it seemed the lesser man wanted to lord it over him. It was a cheeky attempt at payback for the man''s earlier loss.

    "What''s on your mind, Decanus?" Tycon asked, "If you''re lonely, I''m told that my man, Modestus, sells his services for 2 silver."

    "Prices were raised, Decanus Zehr," Old man Modestus grinned, "3 slugs for that one-- and that''s for a kiss on the cheek."

    "3 silver? Those prices are criminal, Brother-Immortal. That''s almost a whole loaf of bread." Tycon wore a look of feigned shock, "Perhaps we, Decani, can lobby for a discount on ount of Ferrutius'' green eyes."

    Modestus waved his hands, "Can''t do that, Decanus. I''ve got a family to feed... Now, if he had blue eyes like Gianna, I could bring it back down to 2."

    Gianna, hiding in the brush a few fulms away, let out a gasp. She popped her head up, pouting, "Munifex Modestus, are you telling me you''d charge me for a kiss on the cheek?"

    "Nonsense, Miss Gianna," Modestus reassured her. "If I could earn a kiss on the cheek from you, I could die a happy man."

    "And what about that family of yours, Modestus? And what I''m assuming is a wife?" Gianna teased.

    "Right. I''d die a happy man because my wife would kill me," Modestus shrugged.

    Ferrutius grimaced.

    Tycon tapped the man''s armored chest, "Speak your mind, Brother-Decanus."

    "Let''s trade tent groups, Zehr. I think I''d rather have yours."

    Tycon shook his head, "Modestus isn''t for sale, Brother-Decanus, only for rent."

    "You honor me, Decanus," Modestus chuckled, causing his belly to shake.

    "Indeed." Decanus Ferrutius chuckled, "You''re a me-scarred thief, Brother-Decanus. Anyroad... we''re all in ce, p and crossbows, hidden around."

    A Tyrion horn sounded in the distance.

    "And that?" Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    Ferrutius''s smirk widened back into his wide grin, "That would be the 4-man team I sent to lure some of our kobold friends in."

    ...

    Munifex Justus kept on one knee, waiting patiently. They had done plenty of waiting, but the adrenaline and anxiety for realbat frayed his nerves.

    Zehr sighed and turned to him with a smile.  Justus smiled back, feeling his mouth twitch. It was like the Decanus could read his nervousness like chalk scrawled on a wall.

    "Having doubts, Munifex?" He spoke in a quiet voice.

    Stealth was paramount, but ording to the volume of the decoy team''s horn, they were still some distance away.

    Justus took in a deep breath. Talking would calm him down a bit. He responded to the Decanus, keeping his volume as low as he could, "Why is the scout team only 4? Half a tent group? Doesn''t that reduce their survivability?"

    "The Iredar only attack if they have a numerical advantage. I chose 4 as a good number to bait a 9-dog patrol," Zehr continued to slowly scan the surroundings, not facing Justus directly.

    Justus squinted his eyes to observe the forest, but still found nothing of interest, "They''re like dogs, right? Won''t they... smell us, when they get closer?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Rena," Zehr muttered. "It appears Munifex Justus has judged your ambush position wanting."

    Justus heard the sound of something low-crawling in the dirt beside him. He heard a light jingle of coin as that ''something'' took his wallet.

    He turned to re at Rena, who had just lifted his hard-earned coin.

    "What do you think you''re doing?" Justus whispered as angrily as he could.

    "The doggos won''t smell us, dummy. We''re downwind." The archer-turned-thief, removed a gold piece and bit into it, "Ooh, real gold. I''m taking this because you''re stupid."

    Justus snatched his wallet back, then the saliva-covered coin.

    "Okay, fine. I''m sorry for doubting you," He whispered.

    Zehr narrowed his golden eyes, "They''ll be here shortly. Get to the kneeling, you two."

    Justus stared hard at the location the Decanus was looking at intently. He nced at his archerpanion. She too was still moving her eyes, scanning for enemies.

    ...Decanus Zehr could see better than an Archer ss? Justus realized that he didn''t know what ss Zehr had. The man could grapple better than a Fighter. He could sprint faster than a Scout. He knew the kobolds as well as a Sage. And he''d just learned that he could see further than an Archer.

    Zehr was introduced to their tent-group as a Bronze-Rank Warrior. The notion was criminal. But Justus couldn''t understand why he would lie. If he was an Iron-Rank or a higher Tier ss, he would have been inducted as a Decanus or better and with the pay to match. Besides that, he would have been assigned to the First Cohort and not the Second...

    Was Zehr an enemy? No, that made no sense, either. The Decanus had been trying his damnedest to save as many men and women as he could.

    Rena quietly steadied her crossbow on her knee and aimed down the sights, through the brush.

    She had spotted something.

    Justus slowed his breathing and focused.

    It didn''t take long for three runners in leather armor toe into view. Justus wasn''t a learned man, but he knew the difference between three and four.

    me take those kobold bastards.

    The runners ran past the trio, none the wiser to their presence. He felt stupid for doubting Rena''s choice of ambush point.

    That''s when Justus saw them. There were eight of them, blue-furred dog-men the size of 6-year-old children. They ran on both their arms and hind legs, but were weighed down by piecemeal metal armor, weapons and shields strapped to their backs.

    A chill ran down Justus'' spine, seeing their speed. He nced over to Zehr''s confident smile. The Decanus wasn''t joking when he said the scouts would earn their pay for the month with a measly run.

    "Remain calm." Decanus Zehr pointed, "Archers first."

    Justus nodded, gripping his pilum tight. He had nearly forgotten.

    Zehr lifted one of his p to rest atop his shoulder and Justus did the same with his.

    The kobolds were within range.

    In a smooth and silent motion, Zehr stood, judged the distance, and hurled his spear.

 Chapter 218 Lancepesade

    ?Munifex Justus stood up from his hiding position, lifting up his pilum to aim. He took a deep breath, trying his best to calm himself.

    Zehr''s pilum speared into the lead kobold''s lower abdomen, dropping it with a pained yelp.

    Another kobold was struck in the chest with a silvery bolt, one of Rena''s. It fell backward with a dull thump that Justus was surprised he was able to hear so clearly.

    He aimed. His heart was beating out of his chest.

    The kobolds were barking in a loud panic. Some grabbed for their weapons. Some looked around, desperately trying to find their attackers. One had dropped to their knees, desperately shaking one of their fallenrades.

    Justus threw.

    Everything was wrong: his breathing, his concentration, his unsteady hands. His pilum missed, overshooting the kobold group.

    P continued to be thrown. Crossbow bolts continued to fire.

    Justus ducked back down into the brush. He stared at his hands. They wouldn''t stop shaking. They couldn''t stop shaking. Behind him, the kobolds yelped and growled as they were killed, one after the other.

    Justus mmed his fist against the ground. What was happening to him? Why couldn''t he calm down?!

    A pained dog''s howl split the air. He could barely hear it over the sound of his beating heart.

    Silence reigned. It hadn''t even been a minute, but to Justus, it felt like an entire bell had passed.

    He felt nauseous.

    The kobold howled once more.

    With still trembling hands, Justus peered over the bush.

    The kobold squad of 8 had been annihted. Theyy bloody and dead, crossbow bolts in their eyes and fur, entire p piercing their bodies.

    One kobold still howled... in dying agony, but clearly alive.

    It was the first kobold, which Zehr had speared.

    No, that was impossible. It was inconceivable.

    How could Decanus Zehr miss? Was this another trick? A theatrical farce?

    A low chuckle emanated from nearby. It was from the grey bearded Munifex, Modestus.

    "With all due respect, Decanus, you''re a damned bastard," The old man sighed and shook his head. The action made him look... old. Tired.

    Zehr rolled his eyes, "On ount of the situation, I''ll pretend I didn''t hear that, Brother-Immortal."

    Rena put an uncharacteristically gentle hand on Justus'' shoulder, "Hey... hey, are you okay, Justus?"

    Justus felt sick. He was shaking. His eyes were hot with tears.

    The sound of a howl echoed in his head. The kobold was in excruciating pain. It was dying. It screamed for help. It begged for release. He locked the sound away in his brain, a mournful song he''d never forget for the rest of his life.

    "If you''re going to vomit, Munifex..." Zehrmanded in a low voice, "Don''t."

    Justus felt the bile rise to his throat... but he forced it back down, swallowing his weakness with an audible gulp.

    Sweat ran down his forehead, dripping onto the dirt in rivulets.

    Zehr held out his arm, "Don''t. He can handle it."

    "But Decanus..." Giannained.

    "If you don''t think he can handle it, then go ahead. But the two of you will be returning to the cohort," Zehr warned.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Justus looked up with blurred vision. Gianna''s blue eyes pleaded with him, praying that he''d be okay. But she didn''t move to help him.

    Justus mmed his arms into the dirt, "I''m... I''m okay."

    "You''re not, right now. But you will be," Zehr nodded. "Brother-Immortal, lend Munifex Justus your waterskin."

    Modestus sat Justus up and lifted the waterskin to his mouth.

    Justus drank heavily. Tears dropped down from his eyes and down his cheeks.

    "You''re a good kid, Justus. Happens to everyone," Modestus reassured him.

    "Brother-Immortal, I told you to give the young man a drink," Zehr growled. "Not to treat him like a child."

    Justus felt his heart pound in shame as his eyes began to water again.

    "You get used to it..." Justus heard Gianna''s sweet voice, marred by a hint of her own troubled experiences, "We all do."

    Justus bared his teeth. The Shield Maiden had confided in him that she joined the forward group because she knew he was going to volunteer. A heavily armored ss didn''t make sense in the scout group, otherwise... Did she know this would happen?

    He took hold of Modestus'' waterskin, gargled some water and spat it out. Still, the acrid taste didn''t leave his mouth-- it stuck in his throat.

    He felt ashamed. He felt useless. He felt sick. He felt like he should have never left home. He felt like he should have taken up farming or a trade, instead...

    His title, Hero of Leopardon, felt like a joke. His entire life leading up to this point felt like it was a cruel joke.

    He turned to Zehr and bowed his head low, "I''m... I''m sorry, Decanus."

    "Lower your voice," He growled. "Apologize at sun''s end."

    The dying kobold howled again, a bit weaker, but the high-pitched sound reverberated throughout the forest.

    Zehr took a deep breath and exhaled through his nostrils, "There will be plenty more chances for you to redeem yourself. For now, focus on getting your shite together, Munifex... And save your tears for when we''re safe at camp-- if there''s any left by then."

    Justus gathered the phlegm in the back of his throat and spat, "I... I don''t understand, Decanus... Why?"

    "You''re in a state of shock, young Munifex. As your tent-mates have alluded to, it''spletely normal," Zehr''s voice held no emotion, but the calm exnation managed to rattle Justus'' brain back into rational thought.

    "It''s... it''s not over?"

    "It is not. I''m hoping to take out at least 3 squads in this manner," Zehr answered.

    Justus tried to struggle to his feet, cing his hand on the hilt of his sword, "I... there''s one more. Let me--"

    Zehr''s firm hand grasped his shoulder and forced him back down, "That won''t be necessary, Munifex."

    Justus'' eyes shot open, "But... why? It''s dying. It''s no threat to us."

    Modestus clicked his tongue and turned away. Gianna, too, grimaced and refused to meet his eyes.

    "I... I don''t understand either, Decanus," Rena''s voice squeaked, soft and uncertain.

    The Decanus narrowed his eyes, "Is that so?"

    The archer grimaced, lowering her head and pulling in her shoulders, "Please tell us, Decanus."

    Zehr crossed his arms and shook his head, "Brother-Immortal, inform the Munifices of your reasoning for calling me a bastard."

    Justus looked over to the grizzled old man and swallowed hard.

 Chapter 219 Howl Of Pain

    ?In the distance, a blue-furred koboldid on its side. It squirmed and sniveled, restless. Its legs twitched, pawing at the sky like it was having a nightmare-- like the pain it was experiencing wasn''t real... like it was desperately trying to wake up.

    A Tyrion pilum had pierced through its stomach and out of its back. The off-white fur on its belly was stained filthy from blood-soaked dirt.

    Justus saw Zehr miss his throw... The line was an easy, straight shot. Rena''s chosen ambush point allowed him the advantage. Justus had missed as well-- but he couldn''t understand why Zehr''s aim had strayed.

    ...Unless?

    No, that still made no sense. Why would the Decanus miss on purpose? What reason could there be in injuring a demi-human instead of killing it outright?

    Modestus, the old Munifex, clicked his tongue, "You see... the reason we''re keeping one of those me-taken shites alive..."

    "Ugh..." The man trailed off as he stroked his grey beard, his face full of frustration, "me take it all-- I don''t like it either! But it''s them or us. It''s a fine order, damned as it is. You''ll hear no gripes from me!"

    Rena approached Zehr holding out one of her enchanted bolts, "Decanus... one shot. Let me do it..."

    Herrge, childish eyes sparkled as she pleaded in a hoarse whisper, "Please..."

    Zehr reached forward to close the archer''s hand around her gift of a merciful death. He shook his head, "No, Rena. Save your ammunition."

    Justus cleared his throat, "Then make us understand, Decanus."

    The golden-eyed Decanus narrowed his eyes, "Are you challenging me, young man? Your superior officer?"

    An ice-cold chill ran down Justus'' back and his entire body froze. What... what was this feeling? What was this horror? He opened his mouth to exin himself, but his throat felt like it had sealed up-- he couldn''t breathe, he couldn''t scream.

    "Decanus, your aura," Gianna warned.

    Justus copsed again to his knees. He thought he had gotten over the shock of his first battle, but the intense wave of fear that washed over him was nothing like he''d felt during the kobold ughter. When he stared into the Decanus'' eyes, it was like he was staring into the eyes of a feral beast, thrice his size.

    "Tss..." The Decanus scoffed, "I apologize, young Munifex. I am in a foul mood."

    "Could... you please tell us, Decanus Zehr?" Rena pouted her lips. She folded her hands with sincerity, allowing her crossbow to hang from its sling.

    Zehr closed his eyes, cing his palm over his mouth in thought. He tapped his cheekbone impatiently... "I will ask you a series of questions in order to better facilitate your understanding. Are you prepared?"

    Justus sat up with Rena''s help and he nodded, though he kept his eyes on the dirt. The sudden bout of fear had mostly left him, but still, he didn''t want to meet Zehr''s gaze.

    "The enemy has sustained a great injury. From there, what are they capable of doing?" Zehr asked.

    Justus grimaced, "He can... struggle to the end."

    Zehr nodded, "Correct. However, I''m looking for... specifics."

    The dying kobold whimpered and whined. It reared its head up to howl but stopped abruptly-- coughing up gobs of blood.

    Rena''s eyes widened, "He can cry for help."

    She whispered as if she didn''t want it to be true.

    Zehr nodded, "Full marks, Rena."

    Justus grit his teeth in the horrific realization, "But... it doesn''t sound like it''s crying for help. It just sounds like it''s in pain."

    Modestus shook his head, "It''s the same thing. The enemy will hear the blue-furred bastard and try to help... We... we, humans, would do the same thing."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Justus shook his head frantically, "No... that''s... no. We can''t be doing this! This is... cruel! Too cruel!"

    "Munifex Justus, your voice," Zehr reminded, annoyed.

    Justus nearly bit his tongue, having realized he had unconsciously raised his voice.

    He looked over to Gianna, who was crouched nearby, "Gia, you can''t agree to this either?"

    "Decanus..." Rena whined, "No..."

    Justus looked back to Decanus Zehr. He held another pilum to his ear with his opposite arm outstretched. It was a perfect throwing stance as if the Decanus was emting a statue.

    Looking over to where the injured koboldy among the dead, the creature had dragged itself 5 feet away, leaving a gruesome trail of blood. Justus forced himself to watch as Zehr''s second thrown pilum pierced through its calf, pinning the creature to the dirt.

    Its howl of agony far surpassed all its previous. It cried out in anguish with a new fervor. Its high pitched whines threatened to unravel Justus'' sense of reason.

    Justus returned his gaze to Gianna. She had her eyes shut and was frowning with a deep grimace.

    "Gia..."

    ...He wanted to say more. He had trouble finding the words-- any words. Seeing Gianna''s dark expression plunged his mind into an abyss of confusion and regret. How did they get to this point? Since when has it been okay tomit inhumane atrocities in order to survive?

    "It sickens me..." She admitted, "But I understand the Decanus'' reasoning. The tactic was chosen out of necessity, not out of malice."

    "But... we can just go hunt the patrols? We... we have the troops for it?" Justus tried to argue, even though he didn''t believe his own words.

    "No..." It was Rena who had answered. She held her stomach as if she too, was growing nauseous, "We have a really good vantage point here. We''re upwind and are hidden from the path. This is the safest way to ensure minimum casualties."

    Justus gulped, remembering how there were only 3 members of the sent runners instead of 4. He slumped back down into the dirt, feeling lost and uncertain.

    Was this really the life of honor and glory he had sought?

    Zehr sighed, "urate assessment, Rena. And thank you for your support, Gianna."

    "Forgive me, Decanus." Gianna replied, her eyes closed, "I don''t support this decision. I... I wish it could be different."

    "That is eptable." Zehr nodded, "And you, young Munifex."

    Justus pointed at himself, "M-me?"

    "Understand that this n was chosen out of weakness. Only those privileged enough to be strong can fight with honor. The Iredar are simr in that they rely on surprise, traps, and overwhelming numerical advantage."

    Justus grimaced, baring his teeth, "But those... are proper military tactics?"

    Zehr allowed himself a light shrug, "Proper military tactics refer to those that are effective."

    It was a harsh truth and thinking on it made Justus'' chest ache... but it was a viewpoint he hadn''t heard before.

    He nced back over to the injured kobold. It stared at the sky, arching its back and howling... Each howl growing weaker and weaker, trailing off. The creature''s death from its injuries neared ever closer.

    Justus shut his eyes, trying to drown out the pained cry with his thoughts. He needed to be strong. He needed to be the hero deserving of his title.

    If only he was strong enough to wipe out the kobolds by himself, would he be able to avoid the cruelty and injustice he''d experienced this sun.

 Chapter 220 Howl In Desperation

    ?The lull inbat was troublesome for Tycondrius. While it allowed him and the forward group to rest, it also allowed the troops silent introspection.

    It was all too easy to give into dread and despair. It also bred doubt, festering like an infected wound.

    It frustrated him.

    In his carelessness, he allowed his killing intent to seep through, nearly causing Munifex Justus to lose control of his dder. Again.

    Tycon was silently thankful for the sharp-minded Shield Maiden, Gianna, for noticing it. Of anyone in the cohort, she was the only one likely to realize that Tycon was not, in fact, the Bronze-Rank Warrior he said he was.

    ....Not that it mattered.

    After ten minutes, the three runners returned, reporting that they had lost track of their fourth. They remained verbally hopeful that theirpanion would return to the main cohort.

    No one truly believed that. Tycon, least of all.

    Within the next half-bell, a second pack of kobolds came to investigate the pained cries of the injured. They were wiped out, much like the first. The enemy fired blindly into the brush, but the Rhodoks sustained no injuries.

    That pack wasprised of fifteen Iredar, bringing the number of dead to twenty-one. The first dying kobold had finally found the sweet embrace of death. The recent attack found two more kobolds severely injured, living a torturous hell.

    Were they to cease their cries, Tycon only needed to toss more bloody encouragement.

    The number of fifteen, however, Tycon found peculiar. Iredar operated in packs of nine... Fifteen hinted that there was a reason for them to consolidate.

    The most obvious exnation was that the First Cohort had begun hunting down the patrols. In that case, the Second Cohort''s escape had a higher chance of sess.

    Tycon shared these thoughts with the forward group. Just as doubt swelled and festered, the troubled men and women would grasp onto any hope with the same zeal as the dying kobolds praying for death.

    The Holy Country of Tyrion was one united by religion. Their worship of the Eternal me brought their kinsmen a collective sense of unity. It could light the courageous hearts of men and women ame.

    It was an excellent tool, perfect for the current low-morale situation.

    Even with the increased risk in mind, Tycon wanted to eliminate a third patrol. He wouldn''t press his luck any farther than that. Every Iredar dead would increase the probability of the Second Cohort''s sess and survival.

    He shut his eyes and listened to the dying kobolds. Their cries were dissonant music to him, heralding the oing battle.

    ...

    Chief One-With-Spotspped at the river stream. It was tiring carrying his iron sword around. His archers weren''t doing well, either, hungrily drinking from the clear waters.

    "(Chief, we can''t keep this pace,)" A golden-furred kobold with floppy ears crossed his arms. The tongue hanging down the side of his mouth revealed the older dog''s own fatigue.

    One-With-Spots bared his teeth momentarily, "(I don''t remember asking for your opinion, Sun-Fur.)"

    Sun-Fur pointed at the troops, growling, "(My archers can barely keep up. If wee into battle, and they don''t have the strength to load their bows, then who suffers?)"

    One-With-Spots felt his ears tten... "(Forgive me, Sun-Fur. I just...)"

    Sun-Fur nuzzled his maw on top of One-With-Spots'' neck, hugging him close, "(I know, Chief.)"<novelnext></novelnext>

    One-With-Spots did not reject the affection. He was worried, truly worried. His old friend, Sun-Fur felt his pain.

    The Iredar Chief sighed, "(Attacking the caravan was a mistake. The Head Chief''s decision was too hasty... The humans'' armor is too thick. Their spears and swords, too sharp.)"

    Sun-Fur let go and whined, "(The supplies run low. Caravans grow more scarce. This raid would have allowed us to move without worrying for our pups.)"

    One-With-Spots marched in a circle, barking in frustration, "(That''s what I mean, Sun-Fur! ...That''s... that''s what I mean.)"

    The golden-furred kobold sighed, "(You worry for your daughter, Half-Ear...)"

    It was true. Half-Ear grew up a sickly pup, but he and his mate showered their child with no less love than her brothers and sisters. She grew up healthy and strong, with a beautiful spotted blue coat like her father. Her right ear remained stunted and short, as it did when she was born, but it never flopped over her dominant archer''s eye.

    She became one of Sun-Fur''s best students, surpassing even him in uracy and skill.

    One-With-Spots let out a yawn, "(I know Half-Ear can take care of herself, but...)"

    Sun-Fur yawned as well, grunting with his tongue out, "(It is a father''s right to worry for their children.)"

    A different pack of Iredar approached from upstream. Their Alpha, a spear-wielder with dark-blue fur running over his eyes, barked in a troubled greeting.

    One-With-Spots stepped forward, warily, "(Scruffy, I thought I smelled a bad dog.")

    Scruffy growled, deep and low, but stabbed the staff-end of his spear into the dirt, "(There''s trouble, One-With-Spots, if you can quit chasing your own tail long enough for you to see it.)"

    One-With-Spots had never gotten along with Scruffy. They had been friends, once, but that all changed when theypeted over a mate during their adolescence. One-With-Spots had won the heart of the love of his life, Cinnamon, while Scruffy ended up mating with a tramp from a different tribe.

    Even so, there was something in Scruffy''s voice that didn''t sit well with One-With-Spots. He felt a worrisome feeling deep in his gut and involuntarily let out a troubled whine.

    One-With-Spots exchanged a troubled look with Sun-Fur before looking back to the dark-furred kobold, "(Speak.)"

    "(The humans are encroaching upon the forest. Many patrols have been routed or annihted.)"

    Sun-Fur growled, "(That''s not all, is it? What are you hiding, Scruffy?)"

    Scruffy ttened his ears and let out a subtle whine, "(We heard the howls of one of the patrols, crying for help... It''s...)"

    One-With-Spots felt his heart drop. He bared his teeth and drew his iron sword, cing it against Scruffy''s neck, "(Don''t say it! I''m warning you, you son of a bitch!!)"

    Scruffy growled back, "(Your useless barking won''t make it any less true. I heard your daughter''s pitiful howl, crying desperately for help.)"

    Even with the sword at his neck, Scruffy pressed a hard paw into One-With-Spots'' chest, "(Crying desperately for *you*.)"

    One-With-Spots tossed his sword away and grabbed both paws onto Scruffy''s armor, "(Then why are you HERE and not THERE??!)"

    Scruffy stared back, unafraid, "(Half-Ear is the best gods-damned archer in the tribe. Whatever took out her pack can take out mine.)"

    Growling, Scruffy shoved back One-With-Spots before adjusting his armor, "(Now, are we gonna save her or not?)"

 Chapter 221 Howl As One

    ?The metallic ring of a de being unsheathed shook Munifex Justus from his reverie.

    Decanus Zehr had drawn one of his two swords into his left hand, a pilum still in his right.

    Justus sat up, peering off into the distance that Zehr faced. He didn''t see anything, but he felt the tension and killing intent emanating from the Decanus'' aura.

    "Decanus..." Justus gulped, "What''s--"

    "--Hold, young Munifex," Zehrmanded. "Brother-Immortal, which group is to the immediate west?"

    "Should be... Scoutmaster Constantina''s group," Modestus knelt with a rigid spine and narrowed eyes. Sweat matted his grey curls to his forehead. "She''s a mean shot, the kobolds will--"

    "Hold, Brother-Immortal." Zehr interrupted again, "Send word to Decanus Ferrutius. Only allow the Bronze-Rankers to engage in the first wave."

    Modestus narrowed his eyes, "That foregoes the Shield Wall, Decanus."

    Zehr nodded, "Go. Prioritize speed."

    The old man sucked air through his teeth before nodding. He got up and dashed away, faster than a man his age had a right to.

    "Rena."

    "Yes, Decanus," The archer nodded. Her pupils shook, her nerves frayed. There was something in the way that Zehr was acting that put her on edge.

    "Meet with Decanus Constantina. You''ll fall under hermand for now," Zehr ordered.

    A thin crease appeared between Rena''s brte brows, "But Decanus? I want to stay with--"

    Zehr cut her off, "--Keep the high ground, if possible. If you are spotted, reposition. If you are spotted, do *not* engage."

    "Y-yes, Decanus," Rena grit her teeth, her eyes full of worry.

    "Shield Maiden Gianna."

    "On my honor, Decanus," the blonde woman ced her hand against her heavy metal armor.

    "Try your best to keep up with me," The Decanus ordered, as he began to stretch his legs. His thick, muscled calves bulged with energy.

    "D-decanus, what about me?" Justus asked.

    Zehr narrowed his eyes, causing Justus to reflexively shrink back. He spoke in slow, measured words, "Listen. Closely. Young Munifex."

    Justus averted his eyes from the pressure Zehr was emitting. He nodded hurriedly.

    The Decanus leaned close, forcing Justus to meet his golden-eyed gaze, "You may engage only after Gianna and I do..."

    The green-haired Decanus'' words echoed in his brain. His mind was racing quickly... More kobolds wereing. Rena was sent away. Modestus was sent away. Gianna was going away. He had to do something. Shite. What was it? He just--

    The Decanus grabbed onto Justus'' armor and pulled him close. His forehead bumped against the cool metal of Zehr''s helmet.

    "Say again, your orders," Zehr asked.

    ? Justus opened his mouth, searching for the words, "I... I''m only to engage... after you and Gianna."

    Zehr released him, "Keep saying that in your head, ''lest you forget. What are your orders?"

    "Only engage... after you and Gianna, Decanus."

    Rena bit her lip, "Decanus... What''s wrong? What''s changed?"

    Zehr turned to her, "Nothing, youngdy. Extra precautions. What were your orders?"

    Rena pointed to herself, "Oh, me? I um... Meet with Decanus Constantina and her scouts."

    "And?"

    Rena furrowed her brows, ncing at Justus before looking back to Decanus Zehr, "Uh... Keep the high ground?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zehr lowered his voice, strong, demanding, brooking no exceptions, "Prioritize safety. Reposition. Risk nothing. What are your orders?"

    Rena repeated her orders with more confidence.

    Zehr stood up, no longer bothering to hide his voice, "Gianna, Shield Maiden of Rhodok!!"

    Gianna stood up and loosed a silvery aura of protection, "I hear you, Decanus!!"

    Justus felt his senses sharpen and his skin tighten and harden as if it were a thick leather. Was this... one of her Shield Maiden abilities?

    "With me!!" Zehr dashed forward like a silvery hammer thrown by the me itself.

    ...

    One-With-Spots held out his left paw over his same shoulder, signaling his warband to stop.

    The dark-blue furred spear-dog, Scruffy growled in annoyance, "(Bones and biscuits, One-With-Spots, we''re not even--)"

    "(Not another yip. Something''s wrong,)" One-With-Spots barked. His ears pepped up, listening. There was something. Something was approaching-- and fast.

    Sun-Fur turned left and right, sniffing the air for hostiles. He knew not to argue. The old dog trusted One-With-Spots'' judgment even more than his own nose.

    One-With-Spots'' eyes widened abruptly, "(They''re here!!)"

    He dashed forward. A Tyrion pilum was hurtling through the air towards him. He grabbed onto his iron de, gripping it hard with his paw.

    "?Moon-Fang Hell sh?!!"

    One-With-Spots swung his iron sword, ink-ck energy trailing his de andunching forward. The thrown pilum disintegrated against the oppressive mana.

    "(AMBUSH!!!)" Sun-Fur howled.

    "(Alpha, no!!)" A brown-furred shield pup pushed Scruffy out of the way.

    A second thrown pilum pierced through the pup''s side and he copsed to the ground with a whimper, "(Alpha... Tell my wife...)"

    "(Fido? FIDO!!)" Scruffy fell to his knees, barking angrily and shaking the fallen pup, "(Wake up, you son of a bitch!! WAKE UP, GODS-DAMN IT!!!)"

    His kobolds fell into a panic, grabbing onto their weapons.

    Sun-Fur barked orders, "(Archers, CONTACT FRONT!!)"

    "(Get the hells up, Scruffy! He''s gone!!)" One-With-Spots yelled.

    "(You don''t understand, One-With-Spots!! I promised his mother I''d bring him home safely!!)"

    Tears were pouring down Scruffy''s cheeks. The hardest thrice-damned son of a bitch One-With-Spots had ever known was mewling like a newborn pup.

    "(You''ll bring back his body and the bones of the enemy!! But You! Need! To. GET. UP! NOWWWW!!!!!)" One-With-Spots yelled into Scruffy''s ear.

    Scruffy stood, vering and growling. He yelped and barked and howled like a mad dog, "(I''ll KILL you, human scum!! I''ll crunch my teeth into your bones and PISS ON YOUR REMAINS!!)"

    The humans were closing in, fast. The heavy nk of an armored female was sprinting forward as fast as a horse-drawn wagon.

    This was it. These were the ones that hurt his daughter. These were the humans that he needed to defeat.

    Was she alive? Was it toote to save her?

    It didn''t matter. Just like Scruffy, he had to fight-- he had to live to see the next morning''s sun. He''d nurse Half-Ear back to health or he''d bury her.

    But before that, he''d tear out the throats and bellies of every human that dared to get in his way.

    "(With me, Blood Paw Tribe!!)" One-With-Spots yelled, pointing his sword forward. "(Howl!!! AS ONE!!!)"

    The Iredar of the Blood Paw Tribe howled their battlecry, "(BLOOD! DEATH! AND VENGEANCE!!)"

 Chapter 222 Rage At The Fallen

    ?"(ARRRCHERRRRS!!!!)" Sun-Fur barked his orders, his ears peaked and his eyes wary, "(AIIIMMM!!!)"

    The giant human female lumbered forward, carrying a shield harder than stone.

    One-With-Spots felt his paws sweating profusely. His body was hot and his fur was unbearable. He panted heavily with the nervousness of battle. The female before them was a Tyrion Legionnaire, an armored monster capable of wading through dozens of kobolds without suffering a scratch.

    She was the first. The humans never fought alone, much like the Iredar... and in a one-to-one fight, only he or Scruffy had a chance against one of the steel-covered monsters.

    Sun-Fur stared down the sights of his own crossbow.

    "(SING!!)" He howled.

    "Eternal me, I am thy ?Unstoppable? Vengeance!!" The female screamed, a silvery light encasing her shield.

    Fifteen bows and crossbows released their song, firing a barrage of arrows and bolts. The female slowed her charge, the bolts sticking to her shield, an arrow biting deep into her left shoulder.

    She did not stop. She would not stop.

    Blood, guts, and bone. She had some kind of magic-- She was what the humans called a Bronze-Ranker... and there was no guarantee that was the extent of her ability. There was no other reason she''d have been able to survive, otherwise.

    "(I will TEAR into her throat and GNAW on her spine!!!)" Scruffy howled as he dashed forward on all-fours. "(Blood Paws, WITH ME!!!)"

    "(Scruffy!! NOOO!!!)" One-With-Spots barked, but it was toote.

    Ten more Iredar dashed after their Alpha, yipping and howling in rage.

    Scruffy would die if he fought alone. The metal-woman was stronger than he''d originally thought, shrugging off crossbow bolts like they were thrown sticks. Only One-With-Spots'' mana-powered strikes could pierce through armor that thick.

    He clenched his teeth hard, loosing a menacing growl before crouching down to dash after him.

    "?Shadowfang Strike.?"

    A familiar surprised yelp from one of his kobolds made him hesitate.

    No, it was impossible. One-With-Spots had over 30 kobolds under hismand. Any human that dared to attack them from behind would be met with spear, sword, and bolt.

    It was suicide.

    How could the Blood Paws hope to fight humans that knew no fear?

    A human youth stood amongst his kin, his silver armor shining in the sun. He held Sun-Fur up by the throat with his gangly human arms. The old dog grasped and scratched with his front paws and kicking and wing with his legs, his efforts in vain.

    One-With-Spots'' troops pointed their weapons, all trained on the human... but the human towering over them, nearly twice their heights.

    "(Do...)" Sun-Fur whimpered, "(--your duties.)"

    One-With-Spots held his sword at the ready, channeling mana into his sword, "(Don''t do anything rash, old dog...)"

    "(Heed your Alpha, yellow-fur,)" The human growled in ented Iredar.

    "(My name...)" Sun-Fur bared his teeth.

    "(Gods damn it, DON''T DO IT!!)" One-With-Spots hastily swung his de, "?Moon-Fang HELL SLASH?!!"

    "(--is SUN-FUR!!!)" The aging dog drew the knife on his back.

    The human mmed Sun-Fur down upon the ground, faster than a crossbow could shoot. One-With-Spots'' ck-mana wave sliced harmlessly over the human, severing the heavy limbs of a nearby tree.

    The human plunged the sword it held in its left hand deep into Sun-Fur''s chest, easily piercing through the dog-archer''s leathers.

    "(SUN-FUR, NOOOOOOOO!!!!!)" One-With-Spots howled in despair.

    The human stood up, covered in the blood of his friend. The dog was like a second-father to him. And in a single, bloody instant, he was taken away.

    Frenzied mana coursed through One-With-Spots'' body.

    No. He would not lose his reason. He was not like Scruffy, leaping into every battle, surviving by the skin of his teeth. He was not like Sun-Fur, who nned and calcted the positions of each of his archers with care and precision.

    He was One-With-Spots, bathed in blood, his heart hardened by dozens of battles, and his de quenched with the blood of hundreds of dogs, beasts, and men.

    He was One-With-Spots, Champion of the Blood Paws.

    "(Face me, Human!! I WILL BE YOUR OPPONENT!!!!)"

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Scruffy leapt powerfully into the air, brandishing his spear.

    "(My spear is the spear that will) ?Pierce the Heavens!!?"

    He roared, channeling his boundless rage into his weapon attack.

    Striking against the massive metal shield, sparks of silvery fire burst outward. The armored female stood her ground but was pushed back, kicking up the dirt.

    It wasn''t enough. Of course, it wasn''t enough. It would NEVER be enough to ke his bloodthirst.

    "(Suffer by my hand! I will break your shield! And I will break YOU!!)" Scruffy snarled.

    The female moved her shield, uncovering her face. Blood ran down her nostrils, but she ran her tongue above her lips,pping up the blood.

    "Aren''t you... just... precious?" Her eyes gleamed in interest.

    Her shield rushed forward, colliding with Scruffy''s nose, sending him hurtling backward and tumbling in the dirt. He struggled to get back onto his feet-- tomand his brothers and sisters to act with care.

    The metal-woman stabbed out from behind her barrier, piercing the neck of one of his kobold-brothers, "OooOoh, I could just eat youuuu uuuuup~!"

    Scruffy''s ears dropped back in a new fear. He had rushed forward for vengeance, to engage in honorablebat against a fearsome enemy.

    But instead, he found a ravenous monster wearing steel skin.

    "(No! Utilize pack tactics!! Three kobolds to a man!!") Scruffy yelled, hoping desperately that his packmates would listen.

    "I''ve got you, Gia!" A red-haired human yelled as he cut down a grey-furred spear-dog with his sword.

    "(To me!!)" Scruffy yelped, seeing two more humans were fast approaching besides the two in front of him, "(To me, DAMN YOU!!)"

    "(We''re with you, Alpha!!)" "(Kill!!)" --Rover and Sharptooth nked him, ready for abination attack.

    Scruffy dashed to the side, lowered his body weight and swept his spear at the red-haired male''s legs, "?Knockdown Assault!!?"

    "Aw~! You''re. So. CUUUUTE~!!!" The female moved nearly instantaneously, lunging over 5 fulms and mming her shield down to guard the male''s legs.

    "Thanks, Gia!" The male crashed his shield into Sharptooth''s snapping and vering maw, opening up his guard. Without mercy, the human''s sword eviscerated Scruffy''s old friend.

    "(NO!! STOP!!!)" Tears began to blur Scruffy''s vision. Too many of his kin were dying-- old dogs, honorable dogs, veterans of dozens of battles and tribal wars.

    Scruffy mmed his spear against the side of the female''s shield, opening her guard. He needed to get past her defenses. She needed to die. She was their enemy''s greatest champion. If she died, then... then maybe One-With-Spots would have a chance.

    "Whoops! Ahahahaa!!" The femaleughed as she smashed the pommel of her sword hard into Scruffy''s nose, "You''re soOoo adorable, I wanna take you hoooome and squeeze you until you diiiie!!"

    Rover turned to flee. That was Rover, always the smartest dog in the pack. They should have all run when they had the chance...

    The red-haired male chopped his sword forward. Rover fell to the ground, burying his snout into the dirt. The back of his neck had been cut open, revealing the bone underneath.

    Fear and regret surged, deep from within the bowels of Scruffy''s gut. He should have never charged forward. He should have listened to One-With-Spots. He should have never told him he had heard Half-Ear''s dying howls. He should have told the Head Chief the attack on the humans was too risky.

    Scruffy grasped his spear tight.

    One.

    At least one.

    He needed to kill at least one.

    Scruffy hurled his spear at one of the approaching humans, a man wearing a red-crest atop his head.

    The human dashed to the side and dodged it.

    It wasn''t enough.

    One. He needed only one.

    Then he could die without regret.

    Scruffy scrambled onto the monster woman''s shield and climbed to its top. If only he could get past the shield... he could tear out her soft, tender neck, and feel her life essence flow out of her.

    "(I''ll KILL you, human!! I''ll FEAST on your INSIDES!! I''ll string you up and RAVAGE you in view of your dead!! I''LL KILL YOU!! I''LL KILL YOUUUU!!!)"

 Chapter 223 Ferrutius The Fool

    ?Tycondrius had used his ?Shadowfang Strike? to appear in the midst of the main Iredar pack, surrounding himself by spear, bow, and crossbow. It was a risky decision, but he was determined to disrupt the enemy''s ranged line-- a volley of bolts and arrows would devastate Decanus Constantina''s scouts.

    Tycon''s hand grasped tightly around the throat of a golden-furred kobold.

    It seemed he had chosen his hostage correctly, as the pack hesitated to fire upon him.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, feeling the old dog shift its weight.

    It struggled to groan what would be itsst words, "(My name is... SUN-FUR!!!)"

    Tycon mmed the kobold down against the hard-packed dirt, dodging a precariously close ?Moon-Fang Hell sh?-- a skill thatunched a deadly projectile of mana. The crescent sh shot into the forest, sundering the thick branches of a nearby hardwood.

    Tycon decided he did not want to be hit by that.

    Pressing the tip of his sword against the golden kobold''s armor, Tycon shoved the de through the grounded dog''s chest.

    "(The dead have no need for names,)" Tycon barked in Iredar, loud enough for his enemies to hear.

    "(SUN-FUR!!!!)" The kobold with mottled fur howled, "(NOOOOOOOO!!!!!)"

    ? Spotted Kobold, Bronze-Rank Kobold Fighter. ?

    The spotted kobold was clearly the pack''s Alpha, both as the strongest Iredar amongst them and the one boasting a rare skill-type, allowing him to attack with his sword at a range.

    "(Face me, Human!! I will be your opponent!!!)" The Alpha yelled.

    "(Unlikely,)" Tycon shrugged.

    The single Bronze-Ranker wasn''t Tycon''s aim.

    Tycon picked up the dead dog and tossed the corpse into a trio of bunched up Iredar. Drawing his second sword, he quickly sliced the kobold throats to his left and right.

    Bringing his swords back into a cross, he blocked the Spotted Alpha''s jumping sword strike.

    It was a heavy strike, but it was tolerable.

    "(Leave my pack alone. Fight me!)" It growled.

    Tycon smirked, "(No, I don''t think I will.)"

    He uncrossed his des, forcing the Alpha back. Tycon half-turned to slip a spear thrust, piercing his sword through another kobold''s eye. He shed his offhand de to the side, chopping straight through a dog-archer''s trigger hand.

    "(You are a COWARD, human!!)" The Alpha yelled, chasing after Tycon as he weaved through the pack.

    Generally, yes, Tycon preferred to act cowardly, avoiding danger, and only engaging if it was advantageous to him. As ironic as it seemed, he felt safer inside the kobold pack than out. The Iredar wisely checked their fire, unwilling to identally shoot one of their own.

    "(Have you ever felt so useless in a battle?)" Tycon taunted the Alpha, "(Are you enjoying watching your kin die, while you do nothing?)"

    The spotted kobold growled in barely-restrained fury but otherwise kept his maw shut.

    It was unfortunate. The Alpha was smarter than his peers. Tycon did not want to withdraw until he could bait at least one more activation of the Bronze-Ranker''s ?Moon-Fang Hell sh.? A single well-aimed execution of the skill could kill or critically injure two or five of his Rhodok archers.

    He thought well of Rena and preferred her alive rather than not.

    The Alpha swung his heavy iron sword, which Tycon chose to deflect instead of block. The de struck against the ground, kicking up a blinding cloud of dirt and rocks.

    ...Dangerous.

    Though Tycon goaded his opponent, he was cognizant of the threat the Iredar posed. The one skill the Alpha had revealed had a devastating rending effect. He''d avoid that.

    The Alpha also imed a high level of strength, irrespective of his size. Tycon was certain his armor and physique could handle a mana-powered strike or two... but he hoped to avoid that, as well.

    One of the kobold archers was blinded by the dirt cloud, allowing Tycon to slip his sword''s edge against its throat. Dashing into the opportunistic and fleeting cover, he threw one of his swords back at the doggedly chasing Alpha.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The metal ng of his sword being deflected rang out, but it had bought Tycon a moment. He grabbed onto one of the p he threw earlier and twisted it out from the corpse of a chocte-furred Iredar.

    He assumed a proper throwing stance, judged the distance, and hurled the pilum towards where Shield Maiden Gianna and Holy Swordsman Justus were fighting.

    ...

    "Gia!!" Munifex Justus yelled.

    The dark blue kobold had climbed up onto Gianna''s shield, snarling with ravenous fury.

    Justus kicked a dirty-blonde kobold away, but seeing another opponent rushing him with a wood axe, he dropped to a knee and braced his shield.

    CLANNNNG! The impact rang against the metal barrier. Though shaken, he swiped his sword underneath his shield, disemboweling the axe-dog. It dropped its weapon and stumbled back, clutching at its belly. Blood and entrails spilled from its tiny paws as it copsed.

    A sudden and pained yelp went up from behind him. He turned to see... the kobold on Gianna''s shield had been speared through... by a thrown pilum?

    Justus looked over from where the pilum was thrown. Decanus Zehr was fighting for his life INSIDE the mass of kobolds.

    The man was INSANE!!

    "Munifex, shield UP!!" A voicemanded.

    Out of conditioned reflex, Justus heaved his shield up, taking an unseen blow that caused his still shaking shield-arm to rattle and ache.

    Decanus Ferrutius jammed the end of a pilum into the kobold that had attacked Justus, leaving a hole in its abdomen. Laughing, the wild-bearded Decanus drew his pilum back with a twist and again, thrust it forward, driving it entirely through the creature.

    Ferrutius released his weapon, wiping his palm against his filthy armor. He turned to Justus with a sleazy grin, "Ohhh, it''s the fish."

    The orange-bearded Decanus unsheathed his sword, "You know, you should really pay attention."

    Justus grabbed the end of the Decanus'' spear with his shield arm. Bracing his arm with his sword hand, he swung the spear outward, colliding the dying kobold with another enemy that had leaped at the Decanus.

    "I uh... with all due respect, Decanus," Justus smiled sheepishly.

    Ferrutius'' expression quickly changed from confusion, to shock, then normalized back to his creepy leer. "Oops! So it''s Munifex Justus! You should have corrected me when I called you a fish. Now I feel like a fool."

    Justus tightened the grip on his sword. Was the Decanus trying to thank him? He didn''t know how to respond, so he kept his awkward smile.

    The Decanus chuckled, "With me!!"

    "I hear and obey, Decanus!!" Justus yelled.

    The pair rushed forward, their two shields ramming into their attack group and splitting them apart. With practiced sword slices and thrusts, Justus struck down one and blocked an attack from another.

    Ferrutius cut down the trio of kobolds in front of them, finally taking a look at Zehr in the distance. He twisted his face and cursed, "me TAKE you, Decanus Zehr!! What use is glory when you''re going to get yourself KILLED?!?"

    "I''m so SORRY, doggie!!!" Gianna screamed. She had reversed her sword grip and stabbed it downward into a fallen kobold''s neck, "Justus, we have this from here!! Go help the Decanus!!"

    Justus froze. What were his orders? His orders were to engage only after Zehr and Gianna. He did that. He did that!!

    He was alive and fighting! Pained barks and whines and yelling surrounded him-- he could barely think.

    He raised his shield to block another kobold''s attack, retreating a step from the force.

    His arms only moved as his training demanded.

    "Hero of Leopardon!!" Decanus Ferrutius'' voice shocked him back to reality, "I ORDER you to help your me-scarred FOOL of a Decanus!!"

    "At once, Decanus!!" Justus yelled back, his voice hoarse.

    With aching legs, he abandoned Ferrutius and Gianna, running as fast as he could towards Decanus Zehr.

 Chapter 224 Surrounded

    ?Munifex Justus held his shield in front of him, bracing it with his sword arm.

    A crossbow bolt banged against it-- oof, that was close. Sweat poured down Justus'' back. The bolt was inches away from embedding itself into the meat of his thigh.

    He smashed his shield full-force into a kobold spear-dog, knocking it off of its feet.

    THNK. Justus staggered back. An archer''s crossbow bolt had bounced off the center of his chestte. It didn''t pierce through the metal but... seven hells... he was stunned and couldn''t breathe.

    Justus narrowed his eyes, refusing to flinch. He watched as the archer systematically reloaded another bolt. That would finish him off.

    He forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see how he died--

    However, the archer stopped. It copsed onto its knees.

    With a snap of his wrist, Zehr pulled a handaxe out of the back of the kobold''s skull, a mist of blood spraying into the air.

    Zehr immediately spun, trusting Justus with his back as he faced the unending onught of enemies. The Decanus was fighting like a barbarian, a bloody sword in one hand and a skull-cracking handaxe in the other...

    It reminded Justus of a barbarian... or... an arena diator... like the champions of Sol Invictus.

    "Munifex Justus, I thought I told you to stay with the others?" Zehr growled.

    He sounded angry-- angrier than usual. Justus had a feeling that if there weren''t any kobolds around, Zehr''s hatchet would have found a new home in his own skull.

    Justus gulped as he tried to normalize his breathing. He made sure to keep his eyes open, as well, "They-- they sent me here-- to you, Decanus."

    "Ugh, right." Zehr groaned.

    "Decanus Zehr!!" Justus stepped towards the kobold line, smashing the bottom of his shield into another spear-dog''s knees. As it dropped its guard, he thrust his sword underneath its chin and pierced through its snout, "Why did you charge in, by yourself??"

    "I saw an opportunity and I took it," Zehr responded calmly.

    The Decanus swept his weapons outward in a wide arc, decapitating one kobold and forcing the others back.

    "Shield towards the forest." Zehr ordered, "Now!"

    Justus repositioned his shield, though he didn''t understand the reasoning. Why the forest?

    Zehr ducked behind Justus'' shield, "CONSTANTINA!!!"

    Decanus Constantina? Why would he yell for--

    "FIIIRE!!" A woman''s voice yelled from the forest. Heralded by loud clunks of release crossbow mechanisms, speeding bolts sang from the brush.

    Oh. That was why. Half a dozen kobolds were killed or critically injured in the first volley.

    "RELOAD!!" Decanus Constantina''s voice rang out amongst the din of battle, "FIRE AT WILL!!"

    The kobolds began to scatter, some shooting back, some holding their light shields up in vain.

    "?Moon-Fang Hell sh?!!"

    What the-- one of the kobolds had a skill? They... THEY HAD A SKILL?!?

    He felt Zehr grab onto the back of his armor.

    ...Nothing about Justus'' situation was good.

    Justus was pulled backward. His back hit the ground, his head bounced against the dirt. In his daze, he felt his helmet loose and roll away.

    A vicious stream of ck mana passed overhead the pair, carving a deep scar into the rock wall behind him.

    More bolts twanged from seemingly every direction... and the kobolds began to die in flowery bursts of blood mist.

    Zehr pulled Justus up, "You did well, Munifex. Go back to the others. Have them withdraw in the opposite direction. Regroup with the cohort!!"

    Justus was confused. He had only just arrived, "Decanus, but what about y--"

    "WHAT are you ORDERS??" Zehr yelled. He was loosening the strap on his modified helmet.

    Justus furrowed his brow and clenched his teeth, "To go back, Decanus! To regroup with the cohort!!"

    A furious spotted kobold leapt towards the Decanus with his sword over his head, snarling bloody murder. Zehr met the de''s swing with his own, knocking the enemy back in a shower of sparks.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Decanus, your sword..." Justus felt his pupils dte, staring at the bent and misshapen de in Zehr''s hands.

    Zehr thrust his Decanus helmet into Justus'' chest, "Yes, a shame, I know. Take this. It''s time to--"

    ? Zehr nced away and Justus followed his eyes.

    A kobold was lumbering forward, its left arm raising a stolen Tyrion sword, its right holding onto its blue-furred side where a crossbow bolt was protruding.

    Suddenly, it stopped.

    Blood began to spill out of its mouth as if poured from a bucket. It fell to its knees, choking and coughing, before falling onto its side, convulsing in death throes.

    What the... what the hells just happened?

    Zehr turned his golden eyes back to Justus, "Earn your title, Hero of Leopardon. Lead the forward group to safety."

    Gazing into Zehr''s haunting, almost predatory gaze, Justus could only nod.

    Before Justus could do anything else, Zehr turned away and dashed off. He snatched up the fallen sword, running into the kobold pack and out the opposite side, leaving two more kobolds dead.

    Crossbow bolts continued to drop the kobolds as the pack began to scatter, over a dozen of them chasing after Zehr.

    And the Decanus was... barking back at them?

    Justus grimaced as he breathed hard into his nostrils. With his shield still turned to the forest, he began to hustle back to Gianna and Ferrutius.

    ...

    Tycondrius jogged at a leisurely pace.

    The battle with the kobold pack had drained some of his stamina and focus, dodging and killing as he had, but he was fortunate enough to sustain no injuries.

    He nced over his shoulder. 8 or 9 kobolds remained, including the spotted Alpha. Decanus Constantine''s archers had done well in culling the majority of the pack. There had been some 40, to begin with, which had forced Tycon to improvise a change of ns.

    40 Iredar against not-even-half-that amount of Rhodoks would have led to an uneptable decimation.

    Munifex Justus had performed admirably. As luck would have it, Tycon was able to pass his unique helmet-- a physical symbol of leadership, to the young swordsman.

    Tycon had seen how the boy fought. His teamwork and naturalbat senses were excellent... He had even managed to save the rebellious Decanus Ferrutius from harm by virtue of his quick thinking.

    The other two Decani, Constantina and Ferrutius, he deemed unreliable. Ferrutius was better at arguing andining than he was at leading. Constantina was an excellent leader-- but she would take her scouts and do as she pleased. It was conducive to what was hers, but not to the forward group as a whole.

    The forward group needed to fight their way out of hostile territory and it would behoove them to do so as apliant unit, not an unorganized gaggle.

    Justus would be their spearhead.

    Hm.

    Tycon had run far enough. He slowed to a brisk walk.

    The kobold pack slowed their pace, panting and heaving. A few barks from their leader had them move to surround their single, very handsome opponent.

    "(You finally stopped running, coward...)" The spotted Alpha spoke in a serious tone. He appeared as fatigued as his kin, "(You howl as we do. I know you understand. ept my challenge of honorablebat.)"

    Tycon turned with a smirk on his face, "(Thank you for using up your remaining mana on thatst skill, pup.)"

    The Alpha''s ears perked up and he growled low.

    That was interesting... Tycon assumed the reaction confirmed his conjecture-- not that he well knew how to read the emotions of dog-persons.

    "(We have you surrounded, Human!!)" A muscr, thin-furred kobold barked, "(Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.)"

    A few of the other kobolds chuckled uneasily, a bit reminiscent of hyenas'' yapping. The Alpha remained unmoved.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, a wide grin spreading on his face. He did know that the baring of teeth showed aggression. And he was fairly certain his enemies were terrified of him.

    The pack hesitated.

    Tycon chuckled low. He opened his arms to disy his arrogance, holding his sword and hatchet out to his sides, "(All I am surrounded by is fear and dead dogs.)"

 Chapter 225 Violent Disrespect

    ?A dark, female Iredar flexed its muscles, barely contained by its thin coat. It snapped at Tycondrius with its razor-sharp teeth, "(ATTACK! ATTTAAAAACK!!! RIP AND TEAR!!)"

    Four of the kobolds charged simultaneously.

    Easy enough. Tycon dashed to the side, so the enemy formed a line in approaching him.

    The thin-furred kobold came at him with her il raised. Tycon cut a red line across her throat and kicked her back into her fellows. Stepping forward, his axe chopped into the side of another kobold''s neck. Using his sword, he deflected an opponent''s de beforecerating a deep wound on a spear-dog''s white-furred forearm. He thrust his sword into thest sword-dog''s gut before hacking his hatchet down between the spear-dog''s eyes.

    His hatchet was lodged deep into the Iredar''s skull, straight down its center at an aesthetically pleasing 90-degree angle.

    Tycon took a moment to admire his handiwork.

    He released his hold on the hatchet. The kobold fell to its knees. Its eyes rolled back. Then, it copsed backward like a child''s discarded doll.

    The Alpha and the remaining 4 Iredar watched in silence.

    Tycon shook his head,ughing to himself. He grabbed the end of his hatchet and pressed his foot down against a corpse''s maw. He wrenched it out, flinging blood and bits of brain at his ever-so-patient audience.

    There was nothing quite as intimidating as a bit of violent disrespect.

    The Alpha stepped forward, his actions strangely calm and measured, "(I will fight the human. Return to the tribe.)"

    "(Should your packmates run, I will kill them.)" Tycon grinned, "(The only one with a chance to escape is you, Alpha. How about you run instead?)"

    "(Does your cruelty know no bounds?)" The spotted Alpha howled in grief, "(WHY?!?! Why, Human?!? You are amongst the strongest, the fastest, the goodest of boys!! This ughter is beneath you! Let my brothers go!!)"

    Tycon leaned down to wipe the blood of his hatchet on the white kobold''s fur-- the body he continued to rest his foot on, "(I suppose I only need one or two of you to return to your tribe. You would need to report your Alpha''s death, no?)"

    "(You''re not a human, you''re a gods-damned monster!!)" A kobold yelped in fury.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. The pup who spoke up was the smallest amongst them, a shortbow carrying archer that had somehow survived Decanus Constantina''s onught.

    The Alpha smacked his paw against the smaller kobold''s nose, barking back to Tycon, "(Human, forgive Nipper! He knows not what he barks!!)"

    "Hmm." Tycon tapped the t of his sword against his shoulder, "(Choose one amongst your brothers-- one that you wish to live.)"

    The Alpha grabbed the aggrieved pup by the shoulders, "(Listen to me, Nipper. Return to the tribe. Tell the Chief that we need to leave this ce. Everyone is to pack-- take only what is important. Head west. We''ll head to the Kingdom, far, far away from here.)"

    "(But... but Alpha. I... I dishonor you by leaving,)" The pup''s ears drew back as it whimpered.

    "(No, pup. You don''t dishonor me.)" The spotted Alpha licked the side of the pup''s snout, "(The younger generation must go on-- the tribe must survive. Its fate rests in your very paws.)"

    "(Go with honor, Nipper.)" "(You''re a good boy.)" "(Run like the wind, pup.)" --the other kobolds reassured the young one.

    Nipper took a hesitant step back, unwilling to leave, "(Alpha... I''ll never forget you.)"

    The Alpha nodded, "(I have no regrets. Go. Tell my mate--)"

    Tycon threw his hatchet, its edge cracking into the side of the pup''s skull. The pup fell to the dirt, motionless. Its eyes still gazed on, looking slightly up, as if unaware it had died.

    "(What?)" The Alpha tilted his head, one of its blue ears falling t on the top of its head, "(No... you didn''t.... You couldn''t have...)"

    The Alpha turned towards Tycon, its entire body trembling. Saliva and froth began to bubble from its maw, "(What... what have you done?)"

    Tycon smirked. He wanted to incite a frenzied rage into his opponent. An angered and grief-ridden opponent was more predictable and easier dispatched than a cunning warrior.

    His offer implied an offer of salvation. His true purpose was to glean the death that would wreak the greatest emotional havoc.

    It appeared to be working... if perhaps too well.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Alpha ducked his body low, growling and barking, "(You''re no human, you''re a SNAKE!! You offer nothing but POISON, you dishonorable cur!! BAAAD HUMAN!! BAAAAAD!!)"

    "Your vengeance is right here, Iredar." Tycon bared his teeth in a mocking grin, "Come and take it."

    ...

    Munifex Justus hurdled over a huge fallen tree, "I still don''t understand why the Decanus gave me his helmet."

    He turned back to grasp Gianna''s arm, helping her over.

    Whew. She was actually pretty heavy with her heavy shield and armor-- not that he was stupid enough to say that aloud.

    "Thank you, Justus-- um..." Gianna nced down.

    Justus followed her gaze. He was still holding onto Gia''s hand. He quickly released it.

    "Ah, sorry, Gia. That uh... that tends to happen a lot, doesn''t it?" Justus smiled with no small amount of embarrassment.

    A groan of annoyance came from nearby as Decanus Ferrutius approached, "Seven hells and a bucket of angel shite! Decanus, put on your me-scarred helmet."

    "But I... it''s not mine, it''s his," Justus stared at the Decanus helm he held.

    Gianna took Justus'' hand back in hers, "And it was Decanus'' Caelistis before that. Decanus Zehr gave it to you because he trusted you."

    Ferrutius shrugged as he walked past, "You''re a good scrapper, Decanus Justus. And since Zehr went rushing off to sacrifice himself, you''re a decent recement."

    Justus scowled, "He''s not dead, Decanus Ferrutius."

    "Even if he''s not, he''s no use to us now," He shrugged... "As a side, if he is dead, I''ve got one up over the bastard."

    Justus smoldered in anger. Zehr killed nearly a dozen on his own and led away another ten more. With only those achievements, the Decanus had done more than enough.

    Gianna grasped Justus'' hand tightly, "You knew to worry about the kobolds even before I did. I think Decanus Zehr sensed that."

    Gia''s soft hand put Justus'' mind, somewhat at ease.

    "Wellllll~! I don''t like it, ONE BIT!!" Rena pouted, walking ahead.

    Justus gave Gia another smile before releasing her and hurrying to catch up to the others. He ced the cooled, crested, modified Decanus helm upon his head, its protective weight moreforting than bothersome.

    He didn''t pull the visor down, though. It seemed too... Zehr-ish for him to do that.

    Rena spun on her heels, stopping toin, "How could you just let the Decanus go off like that!?"

    "Well, that..." Justus hesitated.

    Zehr had given him clear orders-- but that''s not an excuse that Rena would ept. Most likely, he would get the back end of a crossbow smashed into the side of his helmet for daring to cite ''orders''...

    It was true, though!

    Gianna walked beside Rena at her opposite side, "Miss Rena... you saw how fast Decanus Zehr moved. He must have the Scout ss-- he would have better mobility without Justus."

    "But... but..."

    Justus rolled his eyes. His childhood friend was going to cry.

    Rena looked up with moist and sparkling eyes at Gia, "Why didn''t he bring meeeeeeeeee???!"

 Chapter 226 Motivation

    ?Shield Maiden Gianna gently rubbed Rena''s hand, "No, don''t cry, Miss Rena. He''s going to be okay."

    "He said-- Zehr said... he was going to protect me from-- from getting ravaged by the goblins~" Rena sniffled, an ugly trail of snot running from her button nose.

    "You mean... the kobolds, I think?" Gia smiled, pulling Rena into her sword arm''s embrace. She shot a guilting look at Justus over Rena''s shoulder.

    Justus grit his teeth. Rena''s bawling would attract the attention of every kobold within 5 or 10 miles-- and probably some goblins, too. He had to do something...

    ...But why was it always him that had to do something about it?

    "Hey, Rena, listen..."

    The archer left Gia''s embrace, turning to Justus with reddened eyes, "Nope! No way!"

    Justus furrowed his brows, "W-what do you mean, ''no way''?"

    "You''re terrible at making me feel better! You''re just gonna make fun of my boobs or tell me I''m dumb!!"

    "What? No, I''m better than that," Justus bit his lower lip. That was exactly what he was going to do-- just not in that order.

    Gianna''s blue, icy-cold eyes continued to re at him.

    me take this archer girl! She was making him look horrible in front of his crush! Arrrghh!

    "Rena, listen up. Decanus Zehr gave me orders for you, too," Justus lied.

    He figured he wouldn''t get into too much trouble, speaking for the Decanus. Zehr seemed more-or-less okay with Rena''s flirting... He didn''t respond back positively... but he wasn''t negative, either? Seven hells, the man was hard to read.

    "R-really?" Rena''s lips trembled as she pouted, achieving an extra pathetic and pitiful look.

    Gianna wrapped an arm around Rena, nuzzling her face, as they began to walk again, "Ohh, you''re soooo cute, Miss Rena~!!"

    Rena struggled out of Gia''s grasp enough to question Justus again, "What''d he say? Huh? Huhhh?"

    "You''re one of the best scouts we have, Rena." Justus smiled, "The Decanus is counting on you (and me) to lead us out without any casualties."

    It was abination of half-truths that sounded believable. Even if Decanus Zehr found out, there wasn''t really anything incorrect with the statement. But still, he hoped it would convince--

    "OKAY!!" Rena pumped one of her arms in victory, "I''m on it!!"

    Raising her crossbow in both arms over her head, she quickened her pace to scout ahead.

    Gianna smiled with furrowed eyebrows, tilting her head, "Is... is she going to be okay?"

    Justus grimaced, sucking air through his teeth, "I... I think so. Rena doesn''t usually get upset for very long."

    "Aha... Yes." Gianna chuckled, "It''s a rather endearing trait, I think."

    It was true. Rena was a rare light of optimism that always managed to shine through the dark clouds of his own brooding and worries-- and that of the others in the tent group, of course.

    Justus absentmindedly looked up as he walked, reminiscing about older, simpler suns. Even then, giving up... surrendering to his insecurities was amon thought of his.

    He trained in Leopardon with his father. He practiced with wooden swords and training dummies. He trained his body. He did hardbor throughout the vige. It was hard. It was always hard.

    He got rejected by the adventurer''s guild more than once. And he was rejected by the local militia, too... He was too young. He was too weak. He wasn''t made of the ''right stuff.''

    He liked to think he always had a strong will. But Rena''s cheering him on certainly helped.

    And after all that, he somehow became a--

    The unmistakable twangs of a crossbow bolt fired in the distance. Birds chirped and fluttered away from further into the forest.

    The traveling forward group stopped in their tracks.

    Justus and Gianna shared a silent look.

    A series of other crossbows echoed the initial firing.

    Shortly, the sounds of running men and women grew closer, with Rena appearing with some of Decanus Constantina''s scouts.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Rena bent over, gasping for breath. There was no bolt loaded in her crossbow, "Guys... guys..."

    Gianna hurried over, offering her waterskin, "Miss Rena? What''s wrong!"

    One of the other scouts grimaced, "Kobold patrol-- at least a dozen, maybe 20."

    "Get down!!" Gianna pushed the scout out of the way.

    With a loud bang, a crossbow bolt nced off of her heavy shield.

    "To arms, brothers and sisters! We are under attack!!" Justus drew his sword and raised it up, "Honorable warriors ?Never Fall!!?"

    Light shone through the treetop canopy and onto his sword, suffusing the de with a warm golden aura that spread out through the nearby Rhodoks.

    Ferrutius whistled, "Whoa ho hohhhh~! Decanus Justus, you''ve been holding out on us!"

    "I... I dunno what came over me," Justus stared at his glowing de. "I just said what... felt right?"

    Gianna beamed from behind her shield, "It feels good, Decanus Justus, like you''re keeping me safe."

    Ferrutius banged the t of his de against Justus'' Decanus armor, "Best buckle that helm of yours."

    Justus frowned, but hastily began to fumble at his helmet strap, "Or what?"

    "Or I''ll get more kills than you, haha!" Ferrutius bounded off, shield and spear in hand.

    Justus squinted his eyes in thought. As much as Ferrutius loved to brag, sometimes he made no sense.

    "He''s... really excitable, isn''t he?" Gianna offered. Another crossbow bolt dinged against her heavy shield as she smiled.

    Another team of scouts ran towards them-- the lead woman raised a hand signal for them to stop. She lifted her hood slightly, revealing a scarred, smirking face, pale-green hair peeking out at the top, "Shields. Perfect."

    "We''ll hold them off, Constantina. Will you support us?" Justus asked.

    The hooded Scoutmaster red, "Who the-- Oh, it''s you. That was my n, regardless of your request."

    She turned to her scouts, "Climb."

    "At once, Decanus!" The various scouts ran to many-branched trees and began to climb.

    Constantina turned to point at Rena, "And you."

    Rena had caught her breath and stood up at attention, "Yes, sir! --I mean ma''am!!"

    The Scoutmaster shook her head, "You have good eyes. Survive this and I''ll transfer you to one of my tent groups..."

    Constantina narrowed her eyes, "--I thought I told you to CLIMB!!"

    "Y-y-y-y-es, ma''am!!!" Rena babbled as she scrambled up a tree like a monkey.

    "Decanus Constantina," Justus nodded.

    The hooded Scoutmaster warily looked him up and down. "Decanus Justus," She nodded slightly, before ascending towards the treetops, up after Rena.

    ...

    Justus crept around a tree, hearing the soft padded movements of the enemy. Peeking over, he counted nine... Five were armed with spears and melee weaponry, three with ranged. A single kobold carried a on a pole... an insidious looking y pot was cradled inside of it.

    It would be just like earlier. The kobolds were an enemy that needed to be defeated... especially the crossbowmen. The bolts would bounce off their shields and armor, but a deep bolt to an arm or leg would cripple their small group''s fighting strength.

    Suddenly, one of the kobolds'' ears perked up.

    The three archers'' ears went up almost instantaneously and they turned their bows up to one of the trees.

    Decanus Ferrutius grinned from the branch he was crouched upon.

    "Tyrion steel!!" He shouted.

 Chapter 227 Blessed Steel

    ?"Tyrion steel!!" Decanus Ferrutius leaped out from the hiding spot in his tree.

    "--and Human VENGEANCE!!" He drove his pilum into a kobold''s eye, mming it hard into the dirt. He rolled upon his shield, using the momentum to stand. Whirling in a circle, the metal end of his shield knocked two more kobolds off of their footing.

    That was his chance!

    Justus rushed forward, stabbing into a kobold archer''s back, piercing through its heart. Pulling his sword out, he leapt forward with a spinning sh.

    "Heyaaaaa~!!" His de sliced through the front half of another kobold''s neck.

    "Aha!" The grey-bearded Modestus, following close behind, stabbed his pilum into one of the downed kobold''s throats, then mmed his shield into an approaching spear-dog, "Well done, younger brothers!!"

    Ferrutius stabbed the throat of the other fallen kobold, then threw his pilum to impale Modestus'' spear-dog, "Ah, it''s Brother-Immortal. How goes your sales?"

    With the trio''sbined fury and a few crossbow bolts from Constantina''s hidden scouts, the kobold gang was quickly defeated.

    Justus paid special notice to the kobold with the poled-- it didn''t have a chance to throw a single one of its pots. A foul stench emanated from a broken one, clutched by its dead paws.

    The old man grinned, "Haven''t earned a copper. Times are bad for business, I suppose."

    Justus stood up and whipped the blood off of his sword, "What are you guys talking about?"

    Munifex Modestus chuckled, "Hur hur, we''ll tell you when you''re older, young Decanus."

    The wild-bearded Decanusughed heartily, pping Modestus on the shoulder, "I concur with Brother-Immortal."

    Justus rolled his eyes.

    Oh. The conversation sounded like something that Decanus Zehr would have...

    "Shields UP!" Justus dashed between the pair, ducking and covering himself with his medium shield.

    Ferrutius and Modestus mmed their own shields down against the dirt, hunkering down. Bolts and arrows banged against the metal wall.

    "What do you think, Justus?" Ferrutius yelled, "Withdraw or move forward?"

    Justus grit his teeth, "We wait for Gia to catch up, then we push. We need to get back to the main cohort and these archers might give chase and pick off our injured."

    A groan emanated from behind Ferrutius'' shield, "Ughhh... Why did I bother asking?"

    Modestusughed, "Because you knew what was right, but didn''t want to hear it."

    Gianna emerged from the brush, her armor and shield soaked in blood.

    Ferrutius whistled, "It''s like the Legend of the Shield Hero, herself."

    Gia smiled, "I heard the n. You''ll protect me, won''t you Justus?"

    Justus nodded, "My sword is yours, Gia."

    ...Ferrutius coughed, "The skill, Decanus. Use the skill."

    "O-oh, right," Justus smiled with chagrin. He ced the t of his de on Gianna''s shoulder, "?Never Fall,? Shield Maiden Gianna. We''re counting on you."

    Gia shut her eyes with a slightly reddening face. A golden glow lit up her armor with divine light, "I could get used to this~?"

    Justus smiled, "Come back safely."

    "Yes, Decanus," Gia gave him a coy wink.

    Justus felt butterflies churning in his stomach.

    He liked Gia. He liked her a lot.

    The Shield Maiden pivoted to walk towards where the bolts were firing from. She smashed the pommel of her sword hard against her shield, the ng reverberating throughout the forest, "Hear me, my enemies! I carry the blessings of the Eternal me and wield the wills of a thousand Tyrion heroes!! I!!! AM!!!! ?UNSTOPPABLE!!?"

    A silver glow covered her shield on top of the gold of her armor... and she charged forward. Arrows and bolts fell to the ground harmlessly, deflected by her shield or the swirling radiance surrounding her.

    Ferrutius leered at Justus, "By the me, that''s an attractive woman. Are you pursuing her?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Justus nodded, grinning with confidence, "Yeah, I am."

    ...

    Decanus Justus wiped the blood off his de in the dirt. The kobolds would engage three-to-one, but would quickly fall, especially with the support of Gia and Modestus.

    It was bing rote to kill-- not something that Justus felt particrly proud of. As a child, he''d often ask his father about the battles he''d taken part in. His father''s eyes always grew distant, reminiscing... Justus now understood the nature of those eyes, if even only a little bit.

    He shoved all his worries away, deep into the recesses of his brain. Like Decanus Zehr said, those could wait until they were safe.

    "Any casualties, Uncle-Immortal?" Justus asked.

    Modestus chuckled, "None from our side. One of Ferrutius'' tent group got slung up in a trap and took a bolt to a sensitive area-- or so I''m told... And Decanus, I''m really not that old. Could you call me Brother, instead?"

    Blood had stained the old veteran''s pepper-grey beard.

    Justus offered a troubled smile, "Sorry-- it still feels a bit strange."

    The cracking of wood and a woman''s scream resounded through the forest, shattering Justus'' illusion of safety.

    Gia turned up from sharpening her de on a whetstone, "That was..."

    Justus bolted towards the noise, praying that his instincts were correct. It was damned hard to locate things by sound in the echoing forest.

    "Decanus!! Where are you going?!" Gianna yelled out after him.

    "It''s Rena!!" Justus yelled, not bothering to turn back.

    He grabbed a tree vine and swung over a fallen log. He hurtled through the underbrush, not even bothering to check for kobold traps.

    He had heard Rena''s voice scream.

    His body had moved before rationale could dissuade him... but just like his other worries, he caged that tightly in the corner of his mind.

    He couldn''t lose Rena-- no, he couldn''t think like that.

    Justus had to save Rena, no matter what situation she was in.

    A kobold carrying an axe turned to the stampeding Justus, frozen like a deer spotted by a hoodedntern.

    Justus flourished his sword, mana infusing into its metal, "?Blessed de!!?"

    The golden sword cut through the kobold''s weak armor, burning and sizzling with the heat.

    Renaid next to a fallen tree branch, scooting away in fear from two approaching kobolds, "Please noooo~!!! I have a boyyyyyyfriiiieeeeend!!!"

    Justus'' legs ached, numb and begging for mercy, but he powered forward, straining his muscles as he leapt again through the air, "?Blessed BLAAAADE!!?"

    One of the two managed to turn back before the golden sword pierced through its heart. It yelped and grasped in futility at Justus'' sword hand, but it quickly ceased its struggles and fell limply to the ground.

    Rena screamed again.

    Oh, no.

    Was he toote?

    Justus shoved the stuck kobold off of his sword and stepped towards his childhood friend.

    Tears ran down Rena''s cheeks, mixing into a stter of blood on her face.

    She held her polished hunting knife in her trembling hands, covered in the blood of her enemy.

    The spear-wielding kobold before her had taken a knee and clutched at its stomach.

    "What... what have I done?" She whispered.

 Chapter 228 Unyielding

    ?The injured kobold growled low, ring at the fallen archer. It was lowering its body, about to strike.

    "NOOOOOO!!!!" Rena shrieked as she lunged forward, thrusting her dagger into the kobold''s neck.

    The kobold grappled with the taller human, rolling around... but when they stopped, the koboldid motionless atop her.

    Decanus Justus grabbed the kobold by the scruff and tossed it to the side.

    He knelt by the archer''s side and shook her, "Rena!! Rena, it''s me! Are you okay??"

    Rena blinked her eyes, tears streaming down her face. Bawling, she dropped her knife and wrapped her arms around him, "I killed him! Justus, I killed himmmm!!!"

    Eleven heavens and seven hells. He embraced Rena tightly.

    Only bells prior, Justus had been in the same miserable mess. He didn''t realize it until that moment, but Rena hadn''t yet been close to the killing. It was different, looking down the sighs of a crossbow.

    "I killed him... I... I... It... it was so easy... My knife just... slid in. I felt him die in my arms," She sobbed into Justus'' chest.

    Justus grimaced, rubbing Rena''s small back.

    How could a woman so headstrong, so brave... be this weak and frail at the same time?

    Looking past her, he saw Rena''s crossbow, the archer-girl''s pride and joy. Its base had cracked and splintered. The weapon was useless.

    "Hey-- hey, listen to me, Rena," Justus grabbed onto her shoulders.

    The miserable girl sniffled but continued to stare at the bloody dirt.

    Justus examined her for injuries...

    Blood was pooling around her leg. She had taken a spear stab to the side of her calf.

    Shite.

    Justus sheathed his sword and unstrapped his shield. Still kneeling, he turned his back toward her, "Quick, get on."

    He could sense her hesitation, but Rena gingerly ced her arms over his shoulders and around his chest.

    Justus stood up with the girl on his back, using his arms to support her legs.

    He nced down and grimaced. He was leaving behind his shield and Rena was leaving behind her knife and crossbow.

    He had to.

    He was confident in protecting them both with just his sword. Earlier, a strange golden light had wrapped his de, allowing him to kill two kobolds with ease.

    ...But it wasn''t important. What was important was getting to safety. He needed to get away. He needed to wrap Rena''s wound and staunch the bleeding.

    He needed to keep going. They could rest at sun''s end.

    ...

    "?Moon-Fang HELL SLAAAASHHH!!!!!!?"

    Tycondrius calcted the aim and direction of the spotted Alpha''s attack. He stepped to the side, dodging the cutting crescent of mana, and nted his knee into the Iredar''s abdomen.

    "Yield," Tycon ordered.

    "(I will NEVER yield to you!!)" The kobold coughed, choking up blood.

    Tycon grabbed the kobold by the neck with his offhand and mmed him high against a tree, "You are well out of mana. You are injured. You have lost."

    The kobold snarled and vered and spat, "(You''re a MONSTER!!)"

    "You''re repeating yourself," Tycon sighed. He stabbed his sword into the kobold''s right bicep, piercing the wood of the tree. Still, the kobold did not relinquish the grip on his weapon.

    Tycon smashed his elbow into the dog-creature''s snout, "Yield."

    "N-NOOOO!!" The kobold barked, snapping at Tycon''s elbow.

    Tycon ced a mana-powered fist deep into the kobold''s abdomen, "(Show me your belly.)"<novelnext></novelnext>

    He grabbed onto the kobold''s sword and yanked it out of his hands.

    "N... never. I will NEVER... yield..." Blood and spit dripped down from the kobold''s chipped and broken teeth.

    Tycon drew his own sword out of the tree, allowing the kobold to fall painfully to the dirt.

    Without looking, he pointed his sword back, only ilms away from an approaching kobold''s eyes.

    "W-wait!!" The alpha reached out a bloodied paw.

    Tycon spun quickly, striking the kobold behind him with a kick that sent it sprawling to the ground. He stood over the defeated Alpha, "(Show. me. your. belly.)"

    Whimpering softly, the dark-blue, spotted kobold rolled onto its back and showed the soft white fur of its belly, "I... I yield. Mercy... (Please... enough blood has been spilled on this sun.)"

    The two remaining kobolds whined sadly but did not move to help their Alpha.

    Tycon nced over to the kobold he had struck. Its neck was broken.

    Pathetic. He hadn''t used his full force, but an attack of that level was still enough to kill one of the Iredar.

    "You two," Tycon pointed at the survivors. "Your Alpha fought with honor. You will watch him die with honor."

    The kobold with spiked blue fur howled in despair. He knelt to the ground and scratched at the dirt, "(We will sing of your glory, Alpha!! No one in the Red Paw tribe will forget your bravery!! You were a good boy-- the goodest of boys!!)"

    The particrly fluffy kobold stepped forward and grabbed at Tycon''s armor, "(Why must you do this, Human?! Does your cruelty know no end?!?)"

    Tycon red down, "Stop calling me that."

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    His system''s cold voice resonated in his head, a voice only he could hear.

    ? Activate. ?

    ? ?Vexing Gaze?: Ocr ability. Target takes damage from an illusory poison, affecting both target''s mind and body. If sessful, target bes distracted and may go into anaphctic shock. ?

    ? Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    The kobold began to cough, spitting gobs of red upon the dirt. Slowly, painfully, it copsed to the ground, clutching at its chest, choking and gurgling on its own blood.

    The Alpha and the spiked kobold grew silent.

    Tycon sheathed his sword and tossed the kobold''s iron sword to stick in the ground, "How many Iredar took part in the initial attack?"

    The Alpha growled, but suffered a kick to the ribs as his reward, "Swear you''ll let Spike go..."

    Tycon shook his head, "You are in no position to bargain."

    "SWEAR TO ME!!!" Tears spilled down the Alpha''s furred cheeks... "Lie to me if you must..."

    Tycon rolled his eyes and sighed, "After that one witnesses your death, I will allow him to leave."

    The Alpha closed his eyes, "Two... two full bands... (We should have never risked such an attack... but our vige has--)"

    Tycon tuned out the Alpha''s groveling. It wasn''t important.

    Grimacing, he reviewed the information. Two bands meant some 200 kobolds. The forward group had taken out at least a quarter of that number, but many more remained.

    "And you were the leader of one of the bands?" Tycon inquired.

    The kobold sighed... "I... was."

    It coughed and wheezed in pain. Judging from the way it moved and its fading life force, it was also suffering from mana exhaustion.

    "Would you... answer my question? You... who wears human skin?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Speak."

 Chapter 229 Dog Of War

    ?The battle against the kobold Alpha was over.

    Tycondrius had all the information he wanted.

    He could spare a few more moments, out of respect for the dead.

    The spotted kobold sat up on its haunches, "(My daughter... her name is Half-Ear.)"

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Does she have... half an ear?"

    The kobold''s eyes widened, "(Yes, how did you know? Have... you seen her?)"

    Tycon mulled over his thoughts. He did see a female Iredar with a stunted ear. She was an unfortunate archer whose injured howls attracted her fellows.

    She watched dozens of her kin and kith killed. She cursed the humans with her final breaths. She died a miserable, slow death, choking and asphyxiating on her own blood.

    Tycon grimaced, shaking his head, "I will have you meet with her, soon."

    The Alpha sighed... "(Why does my tail not wag when you say that?)"

    "...Because she is dead."

    The Alpha took a deep breath and let out a mournful whine, "(This, I knew... And what of the vige?)"

    With the Iredar casualties incurred, the patrols would withdraw. The tribe would certainly struggle with the loss of warriors, but that was none of Tycon''s concern.

    Tycon shrugged, "It would be wise to relocate. I''ve no ns to go, myself, but the humans I travel with-- no, humans as a whole, are a vengeful lot."

    The kobold growled, wincing as it tried to move his injured arm. He held a paw to his injured bicep to slow the bleeding, "(You are a good dog... Were you trying to anger me, earlier?)"

    Ty was amused that since he was no longer considered human, his status was *elevated* to dog, "Indeed. Did it work?"

    The Alpha shook his head, "(It did. And I have suffered for my loss of control. Perhaps if I were in your position, the roles would be reversed?)"

    He granted the Alpha silence, allowing him to believe as he wished. Tycon did not hate the enemy. He had no need to be arrogant before the defeated... "Name yourself."

    The Alpha nodded, "(Hear my name)... I am Kerberos. (Good boy of the Blood Paws.)"

    Tycon nodded and drew the kobold''s iron sword from the dirt, "And how do you wish to die, Kerberos, loyal son of the Blood Paws?"

    The kobold stood up and raised its paws, "(In battle... and against your true form.)"

    Tycon tossed the sword back to Kereberos, who caught it with a trembling paw.

    It was a useless gesture. The Alpha was out of mana and they both knew it. The multitude of bloody injuries on Kerberos'' body made it impossible for him to pose a threat.

    ...But every warrior wished to die with a de in their hands.

    ? System, activate Large Snake-Form... ?

    ? Activating... ?

    It wasn''t Tycon''s "true form" per se, but it would satisfy the Alpha''s wish.

    Tycon felt the bones of his spine thickening, his muscles twisting and contorting. His armor and clothing began to meld with his body, magically stored somewhere-- deep in the abyss, in a way simr to a spatial ring. Ivory white scales formed and hardened on his skin as he knelt forward andpleted his transformation.

    Tycondrius of Charm, in his snake form, was over ten times the length and weight of the kobold. They called him the Ivory Prince-- likely because of his peculiar shade.

    He could have used his sword. He could have used his ?Vexing Gaze? skill. But as brutal and as unforgiving as his earlier tactics were, he wanted to honor Kerberos by showing him that he''d never had a chance of victory.

    It was a kindness he did not expect from his own enemies.

    Tycon slithered forward.

    "For... the BLOOD PAWS, I HOWL-- I howl ALONE!!!" Kerberos screamed.

    The Iredar''s final strike bounced harmlessly off of Tycon''s armored scales.

    Quick. Tycon wrapped his body around the creature.

    Tight. The creature-- no creature could escape from his grip.

    Slowly... steadily... he increased the pressure.

    Its bones popped... they cracked. Its howls and cries abated, not all at once... slow... agonizing.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The breathing stopped. Seconds more passed. Finally, the corpse released the sword in its hands.

    It fell to the dirt without fanfare.

    Tycon''s golden gaze rested upon the one remaining kobold-- the spiky-furred one. Its name was Spike.

    It stood with bated breath, staring at the fallen sword.

    What was it thinking?

    Wide-eyed, it stood in a pool of its own cowardice.

    Tycon flicked his forked tongue...

    Fear. It knew fear.

    Tycon whispered in the softest of voices... "Run."

    It took a half-second longer for the mechanisms in the kobold''s brain to work. Tycon''s gentle suggestion was likely the best idea it had heard in its life. It turned, yipping and scampering away as if its life depended on it.

    It didn''t matter. Tycon would kill it before sun''s end... but he decided to give it a few minutes of a head start.

    He performed a hasty scan of the Iredar bodies around him.

    There was nothing worth taking. Their gear was looted and in disrepair or old. They didn''t carry coin, either. Iredar traps and tactics made them difficult to chase and even more difficult to eradicate.

    Fighting the Iredar was not just dangerous, it was a waste of time.

    Frustration welled in his heart, Tycon hoped the Rhodok leadership was in a state of deep regret.

    ? System, activate ?Shadowform?. ?

    ? Activating ?Shadowform?. ?

    Tycon''s gleaming ivory scales immediately turned ink-ck, shadowy smoke rising up in thin wisps. With his form, he would blend well with the natural shadows of the forest and would even move faster than his human running speed.

    In general, he would have liked to use his snake form more often.

    Unfortunately, he did not fit in his Decanus armor as a snake.

    ...There were other problems, too. A giant, talking snake was more likely to be hunted and killed than treated as an amusing curiosity.

    Anyroad...

    Iredar had a fantastic sense of smell, far better than his own. The fleeing Iredar would be able to easily find and regroup with one of their patrols.

    Tycon was betting on it.

    He reasoned he could take out one or two more patrols and still catch up with the main cohort.

    Slithering away, he focused his mind on the hunt.

    ...

    It was troublesome being a transmigrated human. Being a snake was much simpler.

    He slithered around in the dirt, not particrly caring where he went, because he was an apex predator. He had killed some 20 more kobolds with abination of his ?Vexing Gaze? skill and by virtue of being a giant, shadowy snake with sharp fangs and a life-crushing grip.

    If Tycon was a smaller-- or a weaker snake, he probably would not have enjoyed himself so much.

    Tycon had lost a majority of his memories, both from his current life, and most everything about his previous life. He did know that he had transmigrated from another, strikingly simr world. And he did know that he had ess to a personal System.

    He did keep his knowledge. He knew how to fight. He knew how to count and how to read. And he knew that deer was very tasty.

    Hm... It was harder to focus as a snake, than as a human...

    There were a lot of deer in the forest.

    Tycon thought it would be nice to hunt a couple of them forter use.

    After that, he nned to slither his way toward the walled vige of Montegarico.

    With any luck, the Rhodoks had survived.

 Chapter 230 Montegarico

    ?The walled vige of Montegarico seemed like it had been abandoned for years, lonely and destitute under the orange glow of the setting sun. Still, it was a wee refuge for the survivors of the Second Cohort.

    Justus, along with Decani Constantina and Ferrutius, led the remains of their cohort into the settlement. With the loss of Zehr and one of Constantina''s scouts, they were left with 63 men and women. Counting the Munifices, without the Immunes and those who were injured, it was barely half of the cohort.

    It was the initial kobold assault that took the most men. Many didn''t make it to the forest. Some did reach the tree line but took injury that ensured they didn''t make it out. Others who made it... haven''t been seen, since. Maybe they''d run off, deciding to free themselves of their mercenary contract. Maybe they were rotting in the trees, felled by a kobold spear or bolt.

    Or maybe, just maybe, Zehr had saved them.

    ...If he was alive, anyroad.

    Justus hoped he was. He didn''t seem like he could die, but the fates were often cruel.

    As the dusky glow cooled to a dim evening blue, the Second Cohort finally reached the town walls. The soldiers of the First Cohort met them with surprise more so than cheer.

    They had met with their own difficulties, Justus was sure.

    ...not that it mattered to him. At this point, he didn''t care for the glory. He just wanted toy on the dirt somece he didn''t have to worry about being attacked in his sleep.

    A thought urred to him that Decanus Zehr had mentioned earlier...

    It was sun''s end and he had no tears left to cry.

    Walking through the camp, Justus noted that at a cursory nce, it seemed the First Cohort had taken simr losses.

    Justus found the notion inconceivable.

    There were more veterans in the First Cohort. They had Equites. They had Iron-Rankers like the Primus Pilus and the Optio. They even had a Gold-Ranker!

    Justus counted no more than 50 men and women in the camp. A few would be hidden away in their tents, but... he doubted their numbers would be substantial.

    The wild-bearded Decanus Ferrutius gloated to every soldier he recognized. The cool-tempered, scarred Decanus Constantina silently judged all she saw.

    Justus made sure the members of his tent group were treated at the infirmary. He was informed by the pink-haired Rhodok Gold-Ranker, Fortuna, that she would see to their treatments, herself.

    He thought it was a gesture of kindness. Ferrutius informed him in unkind terms that the First Cohort just didn''t have many survivors left to heal.

    Gianna''s shoulder injury would be fine with magical healing. The old immortal, Modestus, seemed to have strained his back. He''d probably be fine even without special care. Rena slept like a baby. The sun had been especially long for her...

    Justus held a tiny hope that he''d find Decanus Zehr among the injured... but there were no signs of him.

    Justus left the infirmary tents, walking into a gentle rain and into the hooded Decanus Constantina.

    "Hey, you."

    Justus looked around him. There was no one else Constantina could have been referring to.

    He put on the friendliest smile he could, "Y... yes? Decanus?"

    Constantina was easily the best scout in the cohort. She moved fast, had deadly aim with a longbow, and gave clear, precise orders.

    ? However, she was known for having a shite personality. She was strict with her tent groups. She kept her thoughts quiet. She had a fearsome temper. And if the rumors were to be believed, she would cut off the genitals of anyone that mentioned the scar running from her chin, across her lips, and to her nose.

    Justus was trying very hard not to stare.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...He thought her scar was attractive, though.

    "The Primus Pilus calls for you," the woman said, no trace of emotion in her eyes.

    Justus pursed his lips, "O-okay."

    The hooded woman continued to stand in front of him. With the falling rain marking the passing of time, it made him anxious.

    "Was there anything else, Decanus Constantina?" Justus smiled sheepishly.

    "...I''m only going to say this once." She red, "If it wasn''t for you and Zehr, we wouldn''t have made it."

    "O... oh," Justus was stunned.

    The woman turned and walked off with wet footsteps, but the experience stuck with him. Maybe it was because he had suddenly found himself in a position where he was dealing with a lot of people he ordinarily had no business dealing with... Zehr, Ferrutius, Constantina... and now the head Centurion of the Rhodok adventuringpany, the Primus Pilus.

    He hurried over to the tent where the Rhodok g flew the highest...

    ...

    "I can''t stand the arrogant tone of that Decanus Ferrutius." Optio Sixtus crossed his arms, his heavy gauntlets nking against his te armor, "Ourpany may be at only half its strength, but what makes him think he can say what he wants?"

    Centurion Cyrac, the Primus Pilus, refilled his Optio''s cup with wine, "Let him talk. Talk is cheap. And he''s brought back the best news of the sun."

    Sixtus frowned and took his seat at the table and took off his helmet, ruffling his short dark-brown hair in frustration... "We can''t abandon the mission."

    He grabbed his cup and took a long pull...

    "I know..." Cyrac twirled the end of his white, curly beard, "We can''t afford not to. We''ll need to recruit after this..."

    "And we need to at least pay off the pensions of the dead," Sixtus reminded.

    "Indeed... Not so long ago, plenty of men died with regrets. Steady pay was the only thing keeping their wives and offspring from being sold into indentured servitude or prostitution..." Cyrac sighed.

    Sixtus stared into his half-empty cup... "It''s a good rule... but yes, it does not help our financial state."

    Cyrac shook his head, "If we don''t finish the mission, it''ll take years to rebuild thepany. And I doubt I have that much time left..."

    Sixtus remained silent. The young Champion was in no rush to take over thepany... but it was no secret that Centurion Cyrac was not growing younger.

    Amidst the light rain, the sounds of muddy footsteps approached the tent, "Good evening, Primus Pilus! Decanus Justus requesting permission to enter!"

    Sixtus raised an eyebrow, his cheeks already turning a ruddy hue from the wine, "Decanus Justus? We don''t have a Decanus named Justus. Tch. What an absurd name."

    Cyrac nodded to his Optio, "He''s new. And he''s likely to be more agreeable than Ferrutius or Constantina."

    Sixtus pursed his lips to the side, "Don''t get me started on that-- disagreeable woman."

    Cyrac raised his voice, "Come in from the rain, Decanus. And do brush the mud from your sandals before entering."

 Chapter 231 Celebratory Wine

    ?"At once, Primus Pilus..."

    Justus brushed the mud off of his sandals as ordered... It may have been a trick of the light or his frazzled nerves, but he thought he saw flecks of blood caking his soles.

    Taking off his helmet, he entered Primus Pilus''rgemand tent and into the dim glow of an oilmp. A few cots had been set up for the field officers, as well as a t-topped footlocker used as an impromptu table. There, sat a still-armored Decanus and an old, white-bearded man in afortable tunic.

    Centurion Cyrac, the Primus Pilus, had been an aging officer since Modestus was a part of the Tyrion military, proper. The old man had a dull brass eyepatch covering his right eye, a neatly trimmed white beard, and aged lines on his face like they were carved out of weathered rock.

    Justus thought it strange that the Primus Pilus had discarded his armor. The centurion wasn''t a small man... but without his armor, he looked like a friendly tavernkeeper or a farmer who earned theirnd by serving their full terms as a soldier.

    It was the man whose choices had doomed half of theirpany to death.

    Optio Sixtus silently scrutinized Justus as soon as he''d entered the tent. The Optio''s face was young and his short, dark-brown hair had no signs of white. However, with his military achievements, Justus guessed the man was at least 30 or 35-- not young for a soldier. It was perhaps young for a field-grade officer.

    Sixtus'' armor was simr to Gianna''s:prised of thick tes of polished professionalism. The majestic helm he had ced on the table was crested with horsehair, dyed dark green. Optio Sixtus was one of the Rhodoks'' handful of Iron-Rankers and his armor matched his prestige, if slightly out of uniform with Munifex armor.

    Justus expected to feel a simr fear, like when judged by Zehr''s predatory gaze. Instead, he felt vague difort and the general fatigue from the fighting and marching.

    ...Maybe there was magic in the golden eyes of Decanus Zehr.

    "Come in,e in, young Decanus. Sit down." Cyrac gestured at an empty stool, "And just ''Centurion'' is fine. A *real* Primus Pilus leads 1000 loyal Tyrion men and women. I''m just an old, doddering Pilus Prior, if anything."

    Justus gave a friendly smile. It was certainly different treatment from being called a fish all the time, and he could sense no ill-feelings from the older gentleman, "Thank you, Pilus Prior."

    "Ehehe... Thank you, but no. Just Centurion, will do." Cyrac chuckled. He poured wine into an empty wooden cup, "Here you go, drink up. me knows you need it, leading the Second Cohort out through enemy territory, as you did."

    Justus felt his brows furrowing as he hesitated. Most of the achievements belonged to Decanus Zehr. Tactics and coordination were performed by Scoutmaster Constantina and... the particrly bloodthirsty Decanus Ferrutius was a very effective yer of kobolds.

    One was missing. And he knew the other two Decani were not popr with the Rhodoks'' leadership. It was why despite their skills, they were in the Second Cohort, instead of the First.

    Justus offered an apologetic look, "I''m sorry, Centurion, I''m too young to drink."

    The old Centurion paused before erupting intoughter.

    "Amusing." Sixtus nodded, the corners of his mouth curling up ever so slightly, "Young Decanus, be advised: A superior''s wish is a subordinate''s order."

    Justus averted his gaze, "O... oh. M-my apologies, Optio."

    Cyrac frowned, but his eyes still kept their mirth, "Oh,e now, Sixtus. Decanus Justus, are you allergic, perhaps? I''ve never heard of a young soldier rejecting alcohol before."

    "...With your permission, Centurion," Justus took the cup in front of him and looked into it closely. The strong scent of the alcohol seemed a bit intimidating... but taking a sip, it was sweeter than he thought it would be.

    "It''s not the best, haha." Cyrac shrugged, "Our Rhodok adventuringpany has enough to pay its troops, but not enough for good wine."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "N-no, it''s good. Thank you, Centurion," Justus bowed his head.He was beginning to feel the wine''s warmth redden his cheeks.

    "See? Look at this, Sixtus." Cyrac gestured, "This is the younger generation. This is good. I like this. When I was his age, every other sun I surrounded myself with wine and whores!"

    Optio Sixtus nodded, "Polite. Professional. I have no qualms about his promotion to Decanus."

    Cyrac reached over the table to pat Justus on the shoulder-- a strong, stalwart arm from a trustworthy leader. Justus'' heart surged with pride at the assessment... but his heart ached in guilt. Decanus Zehr should have been the one receiving these honors, not him.

    "Cheer up, young Decanus. The battle is over, for now." The Centurion poured more wine into Justus'' cup, the liquid threatening to spill over the brim, "Tell us! Whose helmet is that?"

    "It''s... different," Cyrac nodded... "--but I remember seeing it before."

    Justus caressed the modified visored helmet as words caught in his throat. He was going to tell them it belonged to Decanus Zehr, but that wasn''t exactly right.

    "It belonged to Decanus Caelistis."

    "Ehhh? That thick-headed thief?" Cyrac''s face contorted to disgust. He turned to Sixtus, "I thought he''d been kicked out?"

    Sixtus tilted his head up, frowning, "No, Centurion. He was one moreint away from me crucifying him personally. I''d like to remind you that you were the only officer against the notion."

    Cyrac pped Justus on the shoulder again, "You look better in it than he did, I''m sure."

    Justus wore a wry smile, "Thank you, Centurion."

    The old man sighed and shook his head, "Anyroad, congrattions on your promotion, young man! ''Tis cause for at least a cup or two of celebration."

    Justus took a polite sip of his cup so it wouldn''t spill... "A battlefield promotion is not something to celebrate."

    Cyrac sat back and took a deep breath. He pushed his own wine cup away, nodding slightly to himself, "Of course... That''s true... That''s very true."

    Slowly, the Centurion leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression grave, "Young Decanus... the Fates have conspired to ce you into your position... You may not think you deserve it. You may not even want it... but I hope you''ll ept it and perform your duties with honor and fidelity."

    Justus took a deep breath through his nostrils, trying not to choke on his emotions. Many had died. An uneptable amount of Rhodoks had died. The Centurion captured his feelings on the matter, perfectly.

    "I will, Centurion... I swear it," Justus gulped and tried to calm his breathing.

    "Decanus Justus," Optio Sixtus nodded, a half-smile of approval on his face. "You were summoned to give your ount on the sun''s events."

    "Yes, Optio," Justus nodded. He began to tell his superiors what he knew...

 Chapter 232 Honor Over Gold

    ?"Yes, that about sums everything that Ferrutius reported." Centurion Cyrac mused...

    Sixtus nodded, "But you have managed to do so with far more rity and less embellishment. Well done, young Decanus."

    There was... one thing that Decanus Justus had hidden from the Centurion and Optio...

    Decanus Zehr could... speak to the kobolds. The fact... bothered him. He had never heard of anyone being able to speak to beasts... maybe a druid of Alizeau... maybe of the Beast Kingdoms to the west... but not in Tyrion, for sure.

    But such words hinted at treason-- and there was no way that Zehr was a traitor, not with everything he''d done.

    No... Justus would take the secret to his grave.

    Optio Sixtus sighed, "I shall take the me for our failure to urately judge the kobold threat."

    "Nonsense, Sixtus." Cyrac growled, waving his hand, "The scouts told us there were a few stray dogs in the woods-- not gods-damned hundreds of them, and armed with spears and crossbows, and me-scarred burning shite-pots."

    Justus nodded, "With respect, Centurion, Optio, is there anything else? I''d really like to return to the infirmary. My... close friend has had a rough sun."

    He had a feeling if Rena woke up and he wasn''t around, she would cry. She had always been overly emotional... and even though they had both grown into independent adults, she somehow hasn''t quite grown up yet.

    "He can wait a short while longer-- or she, if you''re referring to a particrly outspoken archer." Sixtus waved Justus over, "Come sit on my side and I''ll instruct you how to properly maintain your new Decanus armor. I highly doubt Caelistis showed you... or if the blockhead even cleaned his own set."

    "Ah, yes. There was one more thing," Cyrac narrowed his eyes in thought. "What would you say to the rank of Tesserarius?"

    Justus'' eyes widened at the thought. The Tesserarius was only second to the Optio. That would make him superior to even the Decani.

    Sixtus scoffed, "Keh... You''re a bit new, but you have what it takes, I''d say. There are major differences in watching over 100, rather than 10..."

    The Optio shook his head, "But as the Centurion says, I could use the help..."

    Guilt again hounded at his conscience, "I... I can''t, Centurion."

    The refusal spawned a harsh re from Optio Sixtus, but Justus couldn''t relent, "The honors of the sun belong to Decanus Zehr... He was the one that led the escape. And then Decanus Constantina led her scouts, and-and Decanus Ferrutius--"

    "Yes, yes, Decanus Justus." Cyrac nodded, "You''ve made your point several times during your ount. But in this case, it''s not a reward for your achievements."

    "Centurion?" Justus'' mouth hung open, trying to understand.

    "From what I''m told-- and from what I''ve seen, you handled yourself very well. Youmand a battlefield presence better suited for a young officer and you''re not bad with a shield and sword. You care for your peers, and that''s something that won''t change with a different rank or title."

    Justus was left speechless, "But-- but I..."

    "You''re a born leader, Hero of Leopardon," Sixtus turned up his nose. "In the dire straits of the Rhodok adventuringpany, we''re giving you a chance to act like one."

    The sound of a few soldiers quickly approaching the tent with muddy footsteps interrupted Justus'' train of thought.

    "Primus Pilus, we''ve found a suspicious intruder," A voice called from outside.

    "Of course you would reject it, with your humbleness. But I will ask again after our mission ispleted, young Decanus." Cyrac turned to the entrance of the tent, "Come in-- and brush off your damned sandals."

    The sound of furious brushing came from outside before two Munifex entered the tent out from the rain. They escorted a third... Decanus Zehr, his green-hair and armor filthy, caked in mud and traces of kobold blood. His golden eyes seemed to glow, reflecting the tent''s dim oilmp.

    The Centurion red at the two nking soldiers, "And why is the prisoner not bound, you empty-headed mushrooms?"

    The Munifices shared a tacit grimace. One answered, "He... he came willingly, Primus Pilus."

    "A coward who''d run and hid in the forest until the fighting''s stopped?" Cyran grimaced, "Twentyshes. Now get out of my sight."

    "The usual punishment is twenty strikes with a cudgel." Optio Sixtus crossed his arms, "Consider yourself lucky, Decanus."

    "Wait, wait! Hold on, Centurion!!" Justus interrupted, "On my honor, that''s Decanus Zehr! He led away the kobolds! He was the one who led us out in the first ce!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zehr narrowed his eyes, "Don''t be so quick to put your honor on the line, young Decanus."

    Sixtus looked over, "I agree. Honor to a Tyrion has more worth than gold, Decanus Justus."

    Cyrac was visibly stunned. He took a second look at the green-haired youth... "You look like a me-scarred mess, Zehr."

    "With respect, Pilus Prior." Zehr raised an eyebrow, "It''s not my blood."

    Optio Sixtus broke out in unabatedughter, "Haha! Not my blood!! True, true... Perhaps we can go without theshing, Centurion? This one seems to have seen his share of beatings."

    "Right, right," Cyrac shrugged. "Forgive me, Zehr."

    "A misunderstanding, Pilus Prior. I shall take no offense," Zehr lightly inclined his head.

    Justus frowned. As young as Decanus Zehr looked... with the way he acted, it always felt that he was decades older than he was.

    Cyrac sighed, "As a token of my apology, I''m cing you in charge of one of the tent groups in the First Cohort."

    "I must respectfully decline," Zehr bowed his head again.

    Justus twisted his face, absolutely baffled by what he''d just heard.

    "Wh-what? Why?!" He blurted out.

    Sixtus frowned at him. Justus covered his mouth-- he had spoken out of line. Thest time he did that, Caelistis made certain he never forgot the consequences.

    "Yes, why not...?" Cyrac was equally confused, a deep line set between his brows.

    "I am merely a Bronze-Rank, Centurion." Zehr gestured at Justus, "The honors belong to Decanus Justus. I only request permission to return to my tent group."

    "...I might have believed you." Cyrac narrowed his eyes, "--if the fiery-haired young Decanus in our presence had already volunteered your name as the one who deserved the honors, first."

    He pointed, "You, Zehr. I''m rewarding you with the rank of Duplicarius. That way, you can keep wearing the armor. It''s not like we have enough Decani that could use it..."

    The Centurion waved his hand in annoyance, "Return with Decanus Justus and serve as his advisor. Shape him into something you can be proud of."

    Zehr snapped to attention, "Understood, Pilus Prior."

    "Now all of you, get out. Get some rest and stop bothering me with stupid shite."

    ""Yes, Primus Pilus!!"" Everyone in the tent replied.

    "Not you, Optio." Cyrac grumbled, "Stay here, you thief."

    "Very well." Sixtus chuckled, "Decanus Justus, we''ll continue our conversation in the morning."

    "Yes, Optio," Justus nodded as he quickly excused himself to follow the others out into the rain.

    ...

    Emerging from the tent and stepping through mud and ran out of earshot, Justus could barely contain his excitement.

    "H-how did you make it out, Decanus Zehr?" He asked, "Have you been running this whole time? How many did you kill? Did you find anyone e--"

    Zehr raised his hand to object, "I apologize for interrupting, but I have a task of import. Get the others. Ah, and get Ferrutius and Constantina, too."

    Justus'' heart fell deep into the pit of his stomach and the hair on the back of his neck rose, "Is... is there trouble?"

 Chapter 233 Peculiarities

    ?Cyrac watched the red-headed Decanus Justus rush out of the tent.

    The boy''s excitement reminded the Centurion of... a child, eager to y with his elder brother who''d returned from the war.

    Hm. But such aphorisms were useless for the current generation. It had been two decades since the wars ended, after all.

    The cheeky green-haired boy didn''t look the part of the "elder." Cyrac would have guessed... 16? 17? Younger than Justus, at least. The whelpling wasn''t even old enough to drink-- bless his heart.

    Cyrac tried to recall what age that was, exactly... It was something he, himself, had never cared for.

    When he''d heard Zehr speak, he immediately understood that he couldn''t judge the boy by his looks.

    Cold. Calm. Not speaking out of line-- yet able to tactfully express his opinion.

    His demeanor screamed ''military veteran.''

    ...That, or ''spy.''

    And the mescarred whoreson didn''t as much as flinch when he was threatened with twenty hard, bloodlettingshes with a thrice-damned rope.

    No... there was something off about that young man. He was leaning towards spy...

    But then he remembered... in the standing army, the cold, dead eyes of his veteran peers wouldn''t have flinched either. Maybe they''d moan andin, but they''d submit to militaryw. That''s what they were trained to do.

    Cyrac drained the rest of his wine up in frustration. He was a leader of men, not a police investigator.

    He looked over to his Optio, Sixtus. That man had good senses.

    And he had good genes, with how well he aged. Sixtus was only ten years younger than Cyrac was... and didn''t have a single grey hair!

    Cyrac, on the other hand... he aged like milk.

    The Optio sat up, pausing from his random and redundant gear maintenance check, "You''re gnashing your teeth, Centurion. What''s on your mind?"

    "I was just pissed off that your hair''s still as brown as the shite of my horse," Cyrac growled.

    "If you''d like my secret..." Sixtus rubbed his chin, trying to look sagacious, "I rmend a bnced diet, at least six hours of rest each sun, and--"

    "Exercise regrly and drink plenty of--" Cyrac scowled, "Shut the hells up, you patronizing thief."

    The Optio chuckled politely, "If you''re worried about your appearances, then I shall remind you to take advantage of being a ''wise, old veteran.''"

    Cyrac rolled his eyes. As soon as his hair started to grey, his military subordinates stopped questioning him. Most people wrongly associate age with wisdom-- something that tends to be true, but isn''t always.

    Most old vets in the military rose in rank, not because of achievements, tactical prowess, or an unyielding loyalty to their country... but because they were useless donkeys that couldn''t gain respect by talking to people like human beings.

    "Old men are all full of shite," Cyrac grimaced. "Myself, included."

    "But still, the younger generation listens to the older..." Sixtus smirked, "Myself, included."

    Cyrac groaned, standing up out of his seat. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms, "Sometimes, I wish I took up farming or a trade, after the wars..."

    "And why didn''t you?" Sixtus smirked.

    The aging Centurion shook his head, "All I know how to do is be a part of a shield wall and yell at fish all day... Without the Rhodoks, I''d probably be on the streets, begging for scraps of bread."

    "Nonsense, Centurion." Sixtus reassured him. He emptied thest of the rationed wine into his own cup, "You can always sell your flesh, in order to survive."

    The thought was absurd. Cyrac narrowed his eyes, "I highly doubt women with coin would be willing to purchase my services."

    "With respect, Centurion, you''re limiting yourself to 50% of the poption," The Optio chided jokingly

    Optio Sixtus. Cold. Logical. And somehow, the milk-weaned prick still manages to be clever.

    He was fiercely loyal. He was the fiercest enemy of any exercise he deemed wasteful. And as such, he fiercely defended his opinions, supporting them with both verbal wit and martialpetence.

    Sixtus was a perfect Optio. He''d make a better recement Centurion when Cyrac finally retired.

    The old Centurion always dreamed of owning a small plot ofnd. Either he''d live the rest of his days in an old shack or his Rhodoks would bury him beneath it.

    Either way, he was certain he''d have noints.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Sixtus," Cyrac addressed his Optio. The young professional had removed his armor and was scrubbing the dirt out of its sculpted muscles. "Tell me what you think of the youth with green hair."

    "The Duplicarius? Zehr, I believe his name was. He''s a damn good scout and he keeps to himself." Sixtus twirled the brush in his hand, turning and offering a smile, "And when he does speak, he does so with respect, confidence, and honesty. He''s a perfect soldier-- I''d hire a whole century of him."

    Cyrac tapped his finger on the table. He wished he could ce his finger on what bothered him about the youth, "You don''t find him... strange?"

    "Everyone is strange," Sixtus shrugged, returning to his brushing, "Is there something especially strange about the Duplicarius?"

    "It''s the way he acted, I think... He''s rejected the honors offered-- and from what Decanus Justus has said, it''s probably mostly his doing that over half the Second Cohort survived..."

    Cyrac scratched his beard in thought, "He knows rank, too. He called me Pilus Prior and Centurion..."

    "--Which is the way you prefer it."

    Cyrac rolled his eyes, "Right."

    Sixtus propped up his armor, nodding at his work, before searching through his sack for a rag and some polish, "As far as skill is concerned, he''s likely an old veteran. As for rejecting the honors, there must be a reason for trying to keep his head down... Perhaps he''s wanted for murder? Or desertion?"

    "Hah. Perhaps..." Cyrac mulled over the thought, "But the youth is no coward-- not by Justus'' ount. And there was him not flinching when I ordered himshed."

    "Right..." The Optio responded, still focused more on his work than the conversation. "Maybe he''s innocent from whatever he''s running from. It wouldn''t be the first time a political y saw an Immunes discharged from the military."

    Sixtus polished his armor to a professional sheen, glowing in themplight, "Hm. There was one thing I found odd... The young Duplicarius had rather... unique eyes."

    Cyrac frowned, "Elf blood or something-- shite, that''s probably why he looks so young. We''re not like the Tyrion military, proper. Out here in the field, we don''t give a snake''s arse about how he looks or who his mummy and daddy are-- just whether or not he canplete a mission"

    "Cyrac, please." Sixtus narrowed his eyes, "I am of the same mind. I merely mention it as a theory to exin the Duplicarius'' apprehension. We both know that our nation''s sentiments tend to be... unkind towards those with outsider blood."

    The old Centurion nodded, "Right..."

    "Allow me to ask a question of you, old friend."

    Sixtus tilted his head down and raised an eyebrow, "Do *you* trust him, Centurion Cyrac?"

    Cyrac scoffed, "Seven hells, I trust that one more than all the Decani of the Second Cohortbined."

    The old Centurion felt his forehead creasing as he pursed his lips. How quickly his own answer ayed his fears.

    Sixtus held his abdomen as he guffawed unapologetically.

    It was ridiculous. Even Cyrac had tough at his own folly.

    The peculiarities of the young Duplicarius didn''t matter. The Rhodoks were all in this shite situation together.

    ...

    Tycondrius had told Justus there was trouble he needed assistance with.

    The young Decanus responded with a look of shock, followed shortly by sheer terror.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. He feared the young man was going to relieve his bowels on the spot.

    "What? No. I killed two deer on the way here and I need help carrying it back."

    He was in a hurry. The meat was strung up on a tree outside of the vige walls, ripe for a hungry wolf or stray Iredar to chance upon.

    Justus'' doe eyes grew wide as eggs, "You did what? H-how did you carry them this far?"

    Tycon felt his lips twitch, as he stopped and stared, ""I... dragged them. I pray you''re aware that it is easier to drag heavy items than it is to carry them."

    Admittedly, that was a good question. Tycon''s Iron-Rank physique allowed him to carry his prizes back with ease.

    Tycon was hiding his rank, something he doubted that Justus had gleaned. The young Decanus was somewhat of an idiot.

    Justusughed in embarrassment, "Oh, right, haha... Yeah, that makes sense."

    One of the Munifices offered an apologetic smile, "H-heyyyy... Uhhhh... Duplicarius? Maybe the two of us can help out and... maybe join you for a meal?"

    "What?" Tycon squeezed his eyes into thin slits, "No. You bastards nearly got meshed. Sod off."

 Chapter 234 Unwelcome Interrogation

    ?The Rhodok adventuringpany had been reduced from nearly 200 men and women to barely a little over half. Though there were far less than 80 Munifices, there were more than enough Immunes to fill in the gaps.

    Every Immunes was also a spearman, after all.

    With the assistance of Decanus Constantina and her scouts, Tycondrius oversaw the cleaning and gutting of two deer in less than a bell. The roasted meat was enough to feed three tent groups well, with enough left over to smoke tost a few days... or feed the entire cohort.

    Even though they were cooking downwind, three tent groups quickly swelled in size to over ten-- including the Pilus Prior and Optio,

    It seemed that Ferrutius couldn''t keep his mouth shut.

    ...It wasn''t often that Tycon regretted not inflicting enough violence on someone.

    During the meal, the red-headed Decanus regaled the archer Rena with the tale of how Tycon was nearly condemned to ashing.

    Justus was somewhat of an idiot, after all.

    Tycon was worried the young woman would march off to Cyrac in order to submit a formalint. Instead, she tried to spit on the food portions given to the Munifices responsible.

    Tycon stopped her. Hygiene was very important to him, as a cook. Professionals have standards.

    The two Munifices were overtly thankful, apologizing profusely for their earlier transgressions.

    ...It''s not like Tycon could have refused them with the entire cohort praising him as Saint Zehr, Hero of the Rhodoks, yer of dogs, bringer of deer meat.

    Tyconmented that he was a tremendous failure at keeping a low profile.

    His reasons for bringing back the deer were entirely selfish. He was tired of cheap battlefield rations and small game animals. Worried for his short temper, he sought to satisfy his base urges to alleviate his mood. He just wanted to gorge himself as a proper carnivore.

    Failing that, he was worried he''d do something rash... like beat an orange-bearded Decanus named Ferrutius to death for not keeping his gods-damned mouth shut.

    Or he might have been tempted to ravage the young archer, Rena... Though that would have been terribly unprofessional.

    ...Hm. On second thought, both options were unprofessional.

    Maybe he''d consider scrounging up two silver pieces to purchase Modestus'' services.

    ...Probably not, though. Three coin and some copper bits could buy him a loaf of bread.

    Nine of ten of Tycon''s tent group had survived. The Rhodoks said it was a blessing by the ''Eternal me'' that they were so lucky. Tycon was not a religious person. However, with the loss of only one fool Decanus, he epted that luck was involved.

    There were a few injuries, notably Rena and Gianna. The Gold-Rank healer Fortuna saw to their convalescence.

    Justus seemed to have recovered mentally.

    Tycon was proud. The young Decanus was growing more reliable.

    ...

    Following the meal, Shield Maiden Gianna invited Tycon out to explore the walled vige of Montegarico.

    He could find no reasonable excuse to deny her. Whatever peculiarities she had figured of him or would inquire-- he doubted it would change his ns to see the Rhodok''s mission through.

    Perhaps she was going to challenge him to a grappling match? Why she would seek to make it a private ordeal was beyond his understanding.

    The cool, nighttime air was a refreshing change of pace from the overbearing sun beating through the canopy of trees. The Shield Maiden walked with her full armor, her shield strapped to her back-- a wise decision, considering they were still near hostile territory.

    She did eschew her helmet, unbinding her blonde hair and allowing it to spill down her shoulders.

    As he walked alongside Gianna, Tycon noticed that both Rena and Justus skulked behind. It had seemed that Justus was not only somewhat of an idiot, he was also useless at sneaking about.

    Their invasion of privacy didn''t concern him. Rather, he felt secure in the additionalbat power, in the case of an attack or an otherwise troublesome incident.

    Gianna softly smiled, her hair seeming to glow in the moon and starlight, "So, Duplicarius... congrattions on your promotion,"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Thank you," He responded.

    It was a nice smile. The woman was of marriageable age, had an above-average bust-size, and gave off a gentle, motherly aura. She was a perfect human woman-- probably.

    Tycon was admittedly not a good judge of human female attractiveness. He judged her using information he had surmised from the conversations of his peers. Large breasts, symmetrical features, wide birthing hips, and... the shapeliness of a woman''s buttocks?

    That seemed to be the male perspective of a woman''s top 4 most desirable features.

    Honestly, he didn''t know why intelligence, loyalty, or demeanor weren''t on that list.

    The woman hadn''t offered anything to the conversation past the initial congrattions.

    ...He figured he should probably say something.

    Should hepliment her symmetrical features? ...No, she had a tiny mole on her lips, but pointing out unique physical traits tended to be frowned upon ording to human culture. One couldpliment a human female''s unique eyes and be thanked, butpliment her powerful jaw and be offended.

    He consideredplimenting the woman''s sizable bust... No. Hm. He needed apliment that was guaranteed to be socially safe.

    "It pleases me that you are alive," Tycon forced his lips to curl up, trying his best to convey his sincerity.

    Gianna raised a hand to her lips,ughing politely and with obvious reservation, "I''m assuming that was your best try at apliment."

    Tycon averted his gaze. The woman had seen through himpletely. That wasn''t good.

    "I love the way you speak, Zehr... But I noticed something."

    Tycon turned back, an eyebrow raised.

    ...Gianna continued to look on quietly.

    He supposed he needed to respond, in order for the conversation to continue.

    "Yes?"

    Hm. Was that too short of a response? Stars and stones! This was more difficult than murdering dogs in the woods! He wanted to say more, but the only thing he could think of was the useless lumps of fat on the woman''s chest.

    Thankfully, she responded.

    "You always call Justus ''young,'' like you''re several years older than he is..."

    Tycon averted his gaze again. He felt beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead.

    Shite.

    He forgot that, to human perception, he looked about as young as Justus did. Dealing with his peers in Sol Invictus, this had never been an issue.

    Tycon was a Maedar, iming the physique and abilities of the Medusa bloodline, an adult of which was over 100 years of age. He needed to dodge the question, in order to avoid unwee suspicion. Outsider blood was not looked upon kindly in the Holy Country-- with the exception of the angelic-blooded Daeva.

    It was definitely toote topliment Gianna''s breasts.

    Tycon coughed into a closed fist, "Well, yes. I am older than I look."

    Gianna tilted her head to the side, allowing her hair to sway. Her long, full-bodied hair was well-cared for, again advertising the fact that she was in good health and was able to give birth to strong young with an increased chance of survival.

    "How old... are you, Duplicarius Zehr?" She asked.

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Older... than you."

    "Well, that''s good." Gianna grinned yfully, "I like older men."

 Chapter 235 Scoring Criteria (Part One)

    ?Tycondrius narrowed his eyes.

    Yes, it made logical sense to be attracted to older men.

    An older male should theoretically be more established, with the social and financial clout to be able to provide for a family.

    He also recalled reading somewhere that young females also matured faster psychologically, and thus were easier to connect emotionally to older males rather than younger.

    Very well. Tycon nodded, content in his masterful understanding.

    Gianna approached closer. He was tempted to take a step backward, to keep at afortablebat distance...

    He could not. He refused to show weakness to his peers. However, he doubted that Gianna was going to attack him. She seemed like the type to challenge him openly.

    ...But why was she still looking at him, then?

    "That''s uh... that''s good?" He offered.

    Gianna fidgeted nervously, wringing her hands, "I... I like you, Zehr."

    A sudden help erupted from a nearby bush. With that surprise and Tycon''s inward panicking, he turned and smashed his face painfully against a soft-bark tree.

    He immediately checked his nostrils for blood. Light injury-- suboptimal, but it bought him time to respond. This... this was not the type of challenge he was expecting.

    No. He was not at all romantically interested in this woman.

    Ah. Aughhhhh. Empty night! How did he... how was he supposed to--

    Gianna''s face had turned to concern, "Oh, by the me, are you okay, dear?"

    AH! AUGHHHH! No! Zehr-- no, Tycon couldn''t...

    Tycon again turned away to hide his agitation, "I uh... I can''t ept your feelings, Gianna."

    He couldn''t form anysting attachments to the Rhodoks-- not with his long-term mission in mind. Tycondrius was merely utilizing them to take part in their Gold-Rank quest. Afterward, he''d be off to a different part of the Holy Kingdom... and it''s not like he could have asked her or anyone else to defect to his own adventuring guild, Sol Invictus.

    ...Even if the trio did seem to have a high opinion of it.

    The Shield Maiden''s soft, ringingughter managed to confound Tycon''s rationale. He thought he was quite direct... did he need to change his verbiage?

    "Six points, Duplicarius," She chuckled.

    Tycon turned back with a frown, "Six points? Really... exin your scoring criteria."

    He didn''t know what the points were for, but six seemed like an unfairly low rating.

    "Above average for being a gentleman," Gianna chided, "Minus a few points for being clumsy."

    She tapped aside her lips, one of the Shield Maiden''s idiosyncrasies, "Plus a few points because I got to see a new side of you-- and it was quite cute."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips to the side, "That sounds like I deserve more than six."

    "That''s what you get, though." Gianna smiled but said nothing more. Her expression was somewhere between amusement and unbelieving scrutiny.

    "I''m... not interested in a rtionship right now," Tycon insisted.

    "Three points, not good enough."

    Irritation burgeoned in Tycon''s heart.

    Gianna continued to smile, but her eyes closed to thin slits, "Are you gay?"

    "No?" Tycon furrowed his eyebrows. Did that mean what he thought it meant? He... he didn''t think he was? And if he was, was there something wrong with that? But that was beside the point...

    He decided to mention one of his previous rtionships, hoping to avoid the unfair interrogation, "I uh... there''s someone else that I... like?"

    No! Seven heavens and eleven hells! He should have delivered that line with full confidence! It was perfect!

    He couldn''t help his hesitation, though...

    There was a particr woman he was thinking of, a certain princess belonging to the Kingdom of Alizeau. They shared manymon simrities and conversedfortably. He even had intimate rtions with her-- though the exchange was mutually beneficial.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The princess was able to absorb his mana to refine and use in her sorcerous cultivation. His Iron-Rank mana was further tempered by his naturally arcane bloodline. In exchange, Tycon enjoyed several hours of carnal pleasure. He had lost the most precious member of Sol Invictus, at the time, and nothing short of that would have cured his mood.

    But did he desire her romantically? Tycon wasn''t certain. He had many goals he needed to achieve before he could settle down and consider raising brood.

    Gianna was stifling augh, covering her hand with her dainty female hand, "It''s okay. I didn''t expect you to ept..."

    This woman...

    As the frustration welled in him, Tycon considered striking his face against the tree again. If this was part of her expectations, why was she oppressing him in this way?

    He was cing all of his effort and care into being socially polite. He did not want to change the status quo of their tent group''s dynamics.

    "Oh. I see," Tycon replied coolly.

    Yes. Confident, just like that. Tycon inwardly congratted himself for achieving basic human conversation.

    Gianna tilted her head inquisitively, "What''s she like? The other girl?"

    Ah, hm. Tycon pondered the thought... "She''s gentle... a bit shy at times, but willful. She seems like she''s lost, but she knows what she wants... and she''d do anything to achieve her goals."

    Tycon smiled as the answers began to flow more easily, "She dresses in fineries, but shees off as being impolite-- almost even uneducated, especially for one of her status."

    He found himself smiling... and it wasn''t forced, "She is... an honest girl. I find that to be an admirable quality."

    "Ooooh. She sounds like a princess," Gianna mused. "That definitely sounds like the type of girl you''d like."

    Tycon nodded in agreement, "She is, indeed, a princess."

    That was an odd coincidence. Was the Shield Maiden familiar with Princess Aur?

    "Is she prettier than me?" Gianna asked.

    Oh! That was an easy question, as well. First off, beauty was subjective and in an ever-changing state. A woman could have a beautiful smile, yet have an ugly temper. And second, there was only one ''correct'' answer.

    "No, of course not," Tycon smirked.

    Next question! He was beginning to grow fond of the interrogation... as long as the questions remained easy to answer.

    "Well, that''s good." Gianna giggled, "I''m pretty proud of my boobs, you know."

    Seven hells. He should haveplimented her breasts, after all.

    ...

    ? A few moments earlier. ?

    "By. The. me. So Zehr''s an older guy. I. Love. Older guys," Rena''s breathing had turned erratic like she was a perverted old geezer.

    Justus stared at Rena''s back, noting that even in the moonlight, her ears were bright red, "Can we... y''know... stop hiding in the bushes and... talk to them?"

    "No, we can''t do that!" Rena scowled, "My Gianna has to get her heart broken in private! It''s the least I can do for my bestie!!"

    Justus frowned. He thought he was her best friend, "You''re awfully confident. Especially with that t chest of yours."

    Rena hooked the back of Justus'' neck with her arms.

    Justus froze. The embrace was awkward. Was she jealous? He couldn''t remember thest time Rena had hugged him... maybe when they were kids?

    "Rena Special Attack: Knee Strike of Forgiveness," She whispered.

    What?

    Rena''s knee smashed Justus'' crotch with the force and fury of a thousand kobold hammers, striking as one.

    Justus cried. Heid on the dirt, tears streaming down his face. He couldn''t move his body. He couldn''t even scream. His entire existence was pain and suffering.

    "I forgive you, Justus. Now keep quiet or I''ll forgive you again."

 Chapter 236 Scoring Criteria (Part Two)

    ?Decanus Justus, Hero of Leopardon, was lying on his side. The cold, hard night-time dirt was a stark contrast to his tears, burning hotly from his eyes.

    He shut his eyes hard, trying to force them to stop.

    He didn''t want to cry anymore.

    Rena clicked her tongue, wagging her finger.

    "Anyroad, just lie there quietly, and I''ll exin to you why it''s impossible for the great and wonderful Rena to be jealous of my Gianna."

    The archer sat down on Justus'' side.

    Justus didn''t care. He clutched at his groin with both hands, praying for the pain to end.

    Then he''d kill her.

    ...Or maybe he''d punch her.

    ...No. Nevermind. Justus decided he wouldn''t mention Rena''s masculine chest while he was in ball-busting range of the ruthless woman, ever again.

    "First off..." Rena listed, "You and my Gianna are a perfect couple."

    That made Justus feel a little better-- but not really.

    "Second off, Zehr doesn''t like Gianna like that."

    That didn''t make Justus feel better at all. Gianna was the most beautiful woman he''d ever seen-- while Rena was just... ''meh.'' He honestly couldn''t imagine Zehr rejecting Gia''s feelings if she did, in fact, approach him intending to confess. It was one of his greatest worries.

    "And third--" Rena continued. "Zehr is already my husband."

    "S-since when were you... wed?" Justus managed to groan.

    "Future husband! Whatever." Rena hmphed, "I already called it. You were there."

    The pain began to fade, though Justus still felt a deep difort, deep below his gut.

    Shoving his childhood friend off of him, he clumsily crawled over to peek aside their hiding-bush, "Wh-... egh... what are they talking about now?"

    And why was Zehr''s nose bleeding?

    Rena shook Justus, "By the me, by the aaaaame, Zehr''s talking about me! H-he called me a princess!!"

    Justus'' brain rattled around in his skull from Rena''s violent shaking, "Okay, okay. Stop. Please stop-- I really don''t think I deserve any of this."

    "Ohhhhh, I''m so happy I could kiss you-- but I won''t. I''ll never cheat on my husband, as long as I live!" Rena squealed.

    "Rena!" Zehr''s voice, calling out crisply in the night air made the archer abruptly halt her movements. She looked as stupid as she sounded.

    "Busted," Justus smirked. "It''s because you were being too loud, you pumpkin."

    "Decanus Juuuustus~?"

    Gianna''s cutely upraised voice froze the blood in Justus'' veins. Goosebumps prickled the skin on his arms. Sweat began to pour down his brow... He should have never agreed to skulk about with Rena, spying on Gianna and Zehr.

    Rena skipped out from their hiding spot, happily, dragging Justus along the dirt by one of his arms. Where she hid her strength in that tiny frame, Justus had no idea.

    "I knew they''d be together. Aren''t they the cutest couple?" Gianna beamed.

    Justus got to his feet, "H-hey... Wh-what were you guys talking about?"

    "Oh, you know~" Gianna tapped her chin, "Just the state of affairs of our Rhodok guild."

    Justus noticed that Zehr had opened his mouth to speak, but held his words as Gia exined. Weird.

    Neither of them seemed particrly happy or depressed... Justus wondered if he''d thought wrongly and Gianna didn''t confess to Zehr? ...Or maybe the Duplicarius... rejected her?

    Justus rubbed the back of his head, "Uh... I can exin why *we''re* here?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Like an affection cat, Rena leapt at Zehr, embracing him tightly, "Zehhhhr, I LOVE yooou!!"

    The Duplicarius stood still, holding his palms outward as Rena hugged him. His golden eyes were opened wide in confusion. He looked to Justus, tacitly pleading for help with his expression.

    Justus keenly remembered the pain in his groin and averted his gaze.

    ''I''m sorry, Duplicarius Zehr.'' He apologized in his heart, ''I can''t help you this time, brother.''

    Zehr awkwardly patted Rena''s back, "Y... yes. I... appreciate your... affection? I quite pride myself on my cooking ability."

    Justus pursed his lips. It seemed there had been a misunderstanding. But did the lovestruck blockhead notice that?

    Rena released her embrace, but took hold of Zehr''s arm, snuggling against it, "I mean-- I mean... I''m so d you''re safe!"

    Rena had admitted as much several times, during their evening meal. Justus was getting tired of hearing it. The entire cohort was probably tired of hearing it.

    "Um... Yes. I am also d I am safe," Zehr scratched his cheek. He didn''t shake Rena off of his arm, though.

    Justus ced his hand on Zehr''s shoulder, "Guard what is important to you, Brother-Zehr. You''ll thank meter."

    "I''ll... thank you now, if that''s appropriate." Zehr''s eyes were mired in uncertainty, "It''s... good advice, if somewhat foreboding."

    Zehr gently pat Rena''s arm, signaling for her to release him, "I''d like the three of you toe with me. There''s a ce I''d like to investigate-- and perhaps we may find some enemies worthy of the Hero of Leopardon."

    Justus grinned. Zehr had returned to being the cool and calm Decanus that he knew, "Of course. My sword is yours tomand, Zehr."

    ...

    Rena had taken her handkerchief to clean the blood from Duplicarius Zehr''s nostrils, "Ohhh, I''m wearing new earrings! They''re pearl-- reeeeal pearl. They cost a fortune!"

    "Um, yes. They look... uh... cute?" Zehr responded.

    Justus sighed. Rena had gotten into one of her babbling fits-- this time, showing off her fineries to someone who clearly didn''t care.

    He, himself, was rather distracted. He felt awkward, walking next to Gia.

    Dozens of questions flitted through his rattled brain. He did catch the tail end of their conversation... and Zehr was talking about the person he liked. What started that? How did Gianna feel about Zehr? ...How did she feel about him?

    He cursed himself inwardly. He hadn''t told Gianna about his own feelings... Was it toote? At first, he was just a fish. Then, he earned a promotion to Decanus-- and maybe he''d be a Tesserarius soon. That kind of sry would definitely be enough to afford a wedding... maybe support a family, if Gianna wanted to retire.

    He felt his cheeks warming at the thought. A family with Gianna... their kids would be beautiful if they took after her more than him. Children of a Shield Maiden and a Holy Swordsman would definitely grow up to be strong, too.

    "What are you thinking about, Decanus Justus?" She asked.

    Justus nearly leapt out of his armor, seeing Gianna''s face so close.

    "I-I ah... what? Hey. Hi. Gia? What''s up?" He stammered.

    "Five points," Gianna winked.

    "Um. What?"

    "No, nevermind." She sighed and looked away.

    Justus felt the temperature rise in his cheeks again at the seemingly mundane action. Everything the Shield Maiden did, captured his heart.

    He needed to get her attention... With his heart beating louder than a war drum, he took hold of her hand, "Tell me... Gia."

    The Shield Maiden turned back with a look of pleasant surprise. She hesitated... "To be honest, Justus... I''m a little envious of Rena."

    Gia chuckled to herself. She looked and sounded like she''d just lost something important to her, "I''ve been thinking like that often."

    Justus took a deep breath and gathered his courage. He squeezed her tiny hand and met her gaze, "You have nothing to be envious about. You''re the strongest, bravest, and most beautiful woman I''ve ever met."

    Shield Maiden Gianna''s eyes widened, but finally, her sad look was reced again by her radiant smile. Averting her gaze downward, the woman twirled a strand of her blonde hair in her fingers, "Ten points, Decanus."

 Chapter 237 Greatest Achievement

    ?Justus grinned. Was that a good thing? It sounded like a good thing, "What do the numbers mean, Gia?"

    Gianna ced her hand over her mouth, lightly giggling. Justus figured that was her answer.

    Though he was still curious, he was happy to be able to restore her spirits.

    With that done, he brought his attention back to his trusted ally, "Duplicarius Zehr, what did you want to investigate, exactly?"

    Zehr''s left arm was preupied by Holy Bolter Rena''s grip. The Duplicarius pointed with his right at a building in the distance.

    The old stone guard tower looked like it was ravaged by fire years or decades ago. There was evidence of ckened soot in parts that hadn''t been washed or eroded away by rain. While its stone architecture proved sturdy, it didn''t look weing, at all-- especially in the dark of the moonlit night.

    "I had entered the vige earlier through a wall broken by siege weaponry," Zehr exined. "I wanted to see if there were any spoils of war to be had. It seems the residents aren''t around to contest our ims."

    "The wars..." Gianna pursed her lips.

    Everyone turned towards her.

    "Go ahead, Gia," Justus prompted.

    She nodded and continued, "Over two decades ago, when the Realm Wars were at the peaks of their hostilities, the northern edges of Ezyria were gued by Nemayan raids."

    Justus grimaced at the thought. No other nation in the Realm was viewed with more suspicion and hostility than Nemaya.

    Gianna shrugged, "My father fought to defend towns like Montegarico-- he... he still had nightmares, up until the sun he passed away."

    "Hm, the Sleeping Country, you say?" Zehr mused.

    Rena ced her cheek against Zehr''s bicep, "Um... C-can we go back now?"

    Zehr raised his eyebrow, "Did you see them, too?"

    Rena nodded, pouting.

    "Mhm, I think we should go back." Gianna agreed, "I wouldn''t want to disturb ''them.''"

    Justus furrowed his brows. He knew that both Rena''s and Zehr''s vision was excellent, but Gianna''s? It was nighttime! Humans aren''t supposed to see in the dark! "Wh-what did you see, Gia?"

    "Oh, I didn''t see anything. I just wanted to sound cool, too," Gianna admitted.

    "The restless dead inhabit the tower," Zehr shook his head. "It''s not worth the trouble. Let us return."

    Zehr and the two girls started back. Justus continued to stare at the ruined structure.

    He felt someone shove his butt and he stumbled forward a step. He turned back to see Rena with her sandaled foot outstretched.

    "Hey, Mister Decanus. Youing?" She asked.

    "I... I want to fight them," Justus pursed his lips to the side, "I think I learned a new skill today."

    Zehr raised an eyebrow and ced his hand on his chin, "A skill? That''s quite impressive for your age."

    "I''m almost 18!" Justus yelped.

    Oh. That sounded way more pathetic than he had intended.

    Gianna stifled anotherugh, though the look of amusement turned Justus'' ears scalding hot.

    "I meant no offense." Zehrughed politely, "Very well. With the 4 of us, the danger is minimal."

    The Shield Maiden nodded, "I could use some after-dinner exercise. Don''t wanna get fat."

    "You''re perfect the way you are, Gia," Justus offered a genuine smile.

    "Well, I''m not fat right now," She lightly punched Justus'' arm.

    Justus rubbed his arm and averted his gaze. He hadn''t gotten that reaction before... and somehow it felt they''d be closer.

    "H-hold on~!" Rena interrupted, "M-my crossbow broke and I didn''t get a new one yet!! I only have like... three bolts-- can I run back? I''ll be quick."

    Justus scrunched up his face in worry. What was that little thief nning to do? Steal from one of Constantina''s scouts?

    Zehr managed to escape from Rena''s grasp while she was distracted, "That won''t be necessary."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Because you''ll protect me, Zehr?" She grabbed hold of Zehr''s arm again, holding on tightly.

    Zehr shot Justus a small grimace. Still, Justus didn''t move to help him.

    The Duplicarius turned back to Rena, trying (and failing) to keep emotionless, "Rena... your ss is..."

    "Holy Bolter!"

    Zehr''s mouth twitched from the girl''s overly gleeful response, "R-right. The Holy Bolter is a branch of the Divine Enchantress ss."

    "Oooh, Enchantress. I looove that," Gianna beamed.

    "But... I can only enchant crossbow bolts?" A cute, thin line appeared between Rena''s eyebrows and she crossed her arms. She seemed to be thinking terribly hard on the concept.

    Zehr slipped his hand down, reaching for Rena''s waist.

    "N-n-n-no, what are you doing? Not here! We''re in public!" The archer protested, "--Unless you''re into that? By the me, are you into that?"

    ...Or so Justus thought she protested.

    A confused Zehr held up one of her crossbow bolts. He had taken it from her belt.

    "Can you enchant one of your bolts with your eyes closed?" Zehr inquired.

    "O-oh. Hah. Yeah. I can do that," Rena blushed furiously, closing her eyes.

    She pointed out a finger, cing it lightly against the bolt Zehr held.

    He held onto her wrist, "Concentrate. You are enchanting the surface area of the bolt with your prayers to the divine, yes?"

    Rena nodded her head, "Mhm. The Eternal me guides my bolts... It''s my faith-- it''s my will to protect my friends that gives me the strength to fight."

    Justus felt a warmth in his heart. He had nearly forgotten Rena''s personality. As much as she loved to beat him, she hated fighting. He thought back to the tears she cried after she killed a kobold out of desperation.

    Everything that Rena had done was out of her desire to protect... him.

    She had made friends along the way, yes but... Justus was the only reason that she would join-- had joined the Rhodok adventuringpany.

    He began to feel a bit guilty because of it. He really wasn''t thankful enough for her and her unselfishness-- her unselfishness on anything that didn''t concern Duplicarius Zehr, anyroad.

    Justus hadn''t noticed when Zehr had done it, but the green-haired Duplicarius had managed to silently unsheathe his Decanus sword with his opposite hand and hold it in ce of Rena''s bolt.

    "Oh wow..." Giana admired Rena''s work, "Enchaaaantment."

    Zehr spoke softly, a hint of smugness in his voice, "Take a look, Divine Enchantress Rena."

    The Holy Bolter opened her eyes... to see that a portion of Zehr''s de glowed with a silver me.

    "Wh-what? I can... Did I do that?" Rena blinked her eyes, staring at the de closely.

    Zehr smirked and raised an eyebrow, "That''s a rather silly question, considering the circumstances, don''t you think?"

    Rena tilted her head, her lips pursed in disappointment, "B-but it''s so small? How can I make it bigger?"

    Gianna abruptly snorted, turning away in embarrassment.

    Justus grimaced, his heart beating rapidly.

    He had to say something to that. He had to risk it.

    ...Even if risking it meant that his life would be forfeit.

    But it was worth it. It might just be... the greatest achievement he''s had in his life.

    No... Living like a coward was not a life worth living at all.

    Decanus Justus, Hero of Leopardon, was no coward.

    "Rena...." He shed a radiant and trustworthy smile, "--maybe if you actually had tits, this wouldn''t be a problem."

 Chapter 238 Proper Opponent

    ?Duplicarius Zehr picked up a weighty rock, tossing it up and down in his hands.

    In a smooth and practiced motion, quite different from his pilum throwing, Zehr stepped out and flung it, utilizing a near-full rotation of his body.

    It looked so natural... so casual. But the speed of the thrown rock was as if it was shot from a sling. Decanus Justus tried his best to memorize the movements.

    "Th-they''re moving," Rena warned, her voice cracking with worry. "B-be careful, Zehr... And Justus. You, be especially careful!"

    Justus felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance, "I''m always careful."

    "I think Miss Rena means: Don''t underestimate your opponents," Gia offered with a reassuring smile.

    "Right. Makes sense," Justus nodded.

    They spilled out of the darkness of the tower.

    A trio of charred ck skeletons lumbered forward, dragging their limbs over stone and dirt as if they still remembered their injuries. The metal pieces of their armor were cracked, broken, and covered in rust. The leather underneath were discolored by age, tattered and torn.

    Two of them carried weapons-- ruined curved swords, one broken in half, and the other as rusted as the armor they wore.

    "Hm..." Zehr pondered, "Gianna, I''d like you to engage with the two swordsmen. Allow Justus the third."

    Justus frowned, "Zehr, I was hoping to fight properly."

    "I know," Zehr shrugged. He tossed his own sword, spinning up into the air... and it stuck, de down into the dirt in front of the unarmed skeleton.

    Green mes lit in the ebony skeleton''s eyes as it drew the Decanus sword out of the dirt. It flourished the de, feeling its weight in its hands, and nodded to itself.

    "Wh-what''s going on? Why... what?" Rena began to panic, "I thought skeletons were mindless?!"

    Zehr chuckled derisively, "It depends on the ritual that instilled undeath into them. These are Nemayan undead. They retain their military training, fighting simr to as they did in life. They never break formation, they always obey orders, and they are incapable of fear."

    "me, take me..." Justus cursed. His stomach roiled in protest as it threatened to eject its contents.

    Why did he think this was going to be easy? As long as he''d known Zehr-- nothing that had to do with the green-haired Duplicarius was easy.

    "Justus, Gianna..." Zehr pointed forward, "Engage."

    ...

    As soon as Justus charged forward, Tycondrius dashed to the left side. Gianna dashed to the right, keeping her shield towards the enemy.

    It was a simple exercise, but required a bit of finagling to work properly. He watched as Justus blocked the skeleton''s first attack--

    Hah.

    The Decanus sword with Rena''s holy enchantment struck Justus'' shield, bursting in silvery light. The boy staggered back, unbnced.

    The skeleton would have a simr strength to what they had in life-- powered by whatever dark energies kept it moving. The young fool had likely grown used to the weak strikes of the kobolds.

    Tycon looked across the way. He and Gianna had formed a triangle around the three skeletons.

    The blonde woman charged in with her shield-- without her hair tied or a helmet, her hair streamed behind her like a goddess of war. She collided with the two other skeletons in a crash of steel. They struck the ground-- onending hard, the other rolling acrobatically, back to the standing.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon grabbed onto that skeleton''s sword-wrist, pulled downward, and kicked at its ankle. It dropped to the dirt, like the other. He pried the sword out of its cold, bony fingers, kicked it in the skull, and walked off.

    Gianna had re-engaged with her opponent. Tycon figured he''d disarm that one, too, to ensure the Shield Maiden''s safety, then retreat to watch Justus fight...

    ...

    Justus blocked another sword strike, hiding behind his shield. The blows were heavy, his opponent was stronger than anyone he''d ever dueled before.

    It was embarrassing.

    He clenched his teeth and stabbed out. TING! The skeleton struck his sword, forcing Justus to swing his arm back, opening his guard. What the--? He had nearly lost his grip. He raised his shield up, directing it to block another two sword shes.

    He peeked over his shield, observing the enemy.

    It attacked... Again and again...

    The enemy''s attacks fell upon his shield in a rhythm. It went on, never slowing.

    Argh... me... take... this bastard. It was a skeleton soldier. It knew no fear. It knew no *fatigue* either. me take me...

    Justus'' own arm would grow tired from the rattling attacks-- he couldn''t just watch and wait... And he couldn''t just block and rely on the Munifex to his left or right, like in a real battle.

    But he had the timing down... If he could just...

    Justus saw the shield spark from a diagonal sh towards his left. The enemy was open! He dropped his left shoulder and began to swing his sword--

    To see the Decanus de swipe inches away from his eyes. The skeleton had turned its body, spinning its de and utilizing the rotation to slice opposite from its earlier sh.

    What... what technique was that? That wasn''t even a skill?! They didn''t teach anything like that in Tyrion military doctrine?!

    Justus leapt back, cold chills shocking his spine. He had nearly taken an injury that would have ended his adventuring career.

    "The Nemayan soldiers use des 6 inches to a foot longer than Tyrion swords," Zehr''s voice warned.

    Eh? Justus nced back. He didn''t notice when the Duplicarius arrived. How much of his embarrassing fight had he seen?

    "It appears your opponent hasn''t gotten used to his weapon yet," Zehr rolled his eyes.

    Justus observed his opponent... The skeleton''s green-me eyes were staring emotionlessly at the short de in its hands.

    He gulped. Thinking back, he should have noticed that the de''s initial strike was light... It was a trick... a set-up for the second, killing attack.

    "Tss..." Zehr scoffed, "You''ve done well during the sun, young Decanus. But right now, you seem intent on *wasting* my time."

    Justus grit his teeth in frustration.

    He was a Holy Swordsman, a ss belonging to myths and legends! Every Holy Swordsman before him was a hero known for crusading against evil. Undead... demons... wicked viins throughout the ages would fall against their enchanted evil-ying swords.

    Justus lunged forward, a swirl of golden mana coating his sword, "?Blessed de!!?"

    With this de, he would show Zehr his determination. It had to work! It just had to!

 Chapter 239 Lessons

    ?Tycondrius sighed.

    He expected... more of the Bronze-Rank Holy Swordsman.

    ? Decanus Justus had leapt forward like a crazed fool-- probably an unfortunate result of Tycon''s earlier annoyed remark. He even used mana in his attack, though poorly channeled. It reminded him of a stage illusionist, utilizing Unranked magic to entertain children.

    And then the fool had the gall to look surprised when the obvious attack was deflected by his opponent''s sword.

    If the radiant mana didn''t strike the undead''s body, then it was just a stronger-than-usual sword strike. It was still more than tolerable, especially against the sturdy Tyrion steel de Tycon had lent the undead warrior.

    Tycon grimaced. He was considering just taking Gianna and Rena back and reporting that Justus fell into a pit or was eaten whole by a mimic.

    Bah. He''d probably have to lead the tent group in his stead. That would be a hassle.

    Justus finally managed to get a strike on his opponent-- a stab without a wisp of mana powering it. It bounced off harmlessly against the undead''s shoddy, rusted armor.

    Tycon was tired of looking at failure. He looked back to Holy Bolter Rena....where he found pitiful pleading eyes of sincere worry.

    He took a deep breath and sighed again. He had conveniently forgotten that the trio were all friends.

    Looking over to Shield Maiden Gianna, he called out, "Gianna, defeat one."

    ...He was attempting to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

    "I hear you, Duplicarius!" She replied. She brandished her sword, glowing silver from Rena''s enchantment.

    Tycon was confident that she would have no issues with her opponents. She was an excellentbatant and had an advantageous weapon.

    Rena was able to change her thinking from ''I can only enchant bolts'' to ''a bolt is one of many weapons I can enchant.'' The mana usage was slightly less efficient, but he had judged from her expenditure prior to the Iredar attack, that she had an abnormallyrge reserve of mana.

    Holy Bolter Rena, Shield Maiden Gianna, and Holy Swordsman Justus... the trio all had excellent sses.

    "Decanus Justus," Tycon grimaced. "I advise you to use your skills inbination with your attacks. It''s a waste of mana to use them so haphazardly."

    "Y-yes, Duplicarius!" Justus groaned.

    The boy was cowering behind his shield, blocking the endless onught of the Nemayan soldier''s attacks.

    Peeking over his shield, he tried to direct his sword against the next big strike-- an obvious feint.

    Oh, he was going to die. That''s too bad. Sorry, Rena.

    The skeleton side-stepped and shed at Justus'' neck. However, Justus disyed his exceptional reflexes, shrugging up his right shoulder. The sword smashed against his shoulder guard, leaving a dent.

    That would leave a bruise.

    Tycon rolled his eyes again and looked around him. He found a branch. That would do. He picked it up and snapped bits of it off, leaving him with a sturdy stick about the size of a long dagger.

    "Step back, Justus."

    "But Decanus, I--"

    Tycon red.

    "I mean-- Dupli-- I mean... Yes, sir!" Justus leapt backward, creating some distance for Tycon to intervene.

    Holding his stick in a threatening manner, Tycon approached the skeleton soldier. It turned the green embers of its gaze towards its new opponent, then quickly lunged towards him with a stab. Tycon deflected it, smacking his improvised weapon against its ckened skull.

    "If the opponent does not make mistakes, force them to," Tycon smashed the heel of his sandaled foot against the skeleton''s chest, cracking its dark-bone sternum and pushing it back.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Nemayan soldier regained its stance and flourished its sword, swinging it to its left and right.

    "If you''re being pressured, create space. Kicks and shoves are superior to retreating."

    Tycon pursed his lips, analyzing his opponent. Approaching more carefully, the skeleton shed at him again-- a telegraphed swing from the side.

    Tycon blocked the skeleton''s attack by striking the skeleton''s wrist. With a backstroke, he mmed the stick against the opposite side of the skeleton''s skull, "Anticipate attacks by analyzing the enemy''s body for movement."

    The skeleton stumbled back, holding its head. It slowly raised its ck skull, the stark green mes in its eye sockets burning furiously.

    Oh, that''s amusing. Was the undead creature emting emotion?

    It lunged forward, feinting high, before swinging low towards Tycon''s midsection.

    "In a one-on-onebat..." Tycon side-stepped to the skeleton''s left, dodging the swing entirely. He hooked his arm around the skeleton''s neck and powered a knee into its unarmored thigh, shattering the bones and dropping the skeleton to the dirt, "--utilize circr direction to gain an advantage. And remember that your entire body is a weapon."

    He looked back to Justus. The boy''s mouth was gaping open, his pupils dted in disbelief.

    Tycon threw his stick at Justus'' face out of annoyance.

    "BUOHH!!" The stick smacked the gawping imbecile''s forehead. The boy rubbed his nose, tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

    Tycon looked at his hand. He was fairly certain he had thrown the stick neither hard nor quickly. He narrowed his eyes. Why had the boy''s keen reflexes abruptly disappeared?

    He lifted his leg and crushed the skeleton''s brittle skull under his heel before picking up the sword he''d lent it.

    He turned his still-narrowed eyes back to Justus, "Did you learn anything?"

    "I... I think so," Justus frowned.

    Tycon continued to stare, displeased.

    Justus raised his voice-- and involuntarily also raised his pitch, "I uh... I did, sir!"

    Tycon was hoping for an apology for wasting his time, but he supposed that was fine, too.

    "Come with me. I''ll provide one more demonstration."

    "Yes, Duplicarius!"

    ...

    Shield Maiden Gianna thrust her sword into her opponent skeleton''s fiery eye socket. The silvery glow from Rena''s enchantment grew brighter, shattering the undead''s skull in a burst of light.

    She flourished her de, flinging the bits of ck bone dust off of it. Examining the de again, she noticed it had lost its mana enchantment.

    That was probably why Holy Bolters only enchanted their crossbow bolts. It didn''t seem efficient to utilize their mana that only worked for one or two strikes.

    "Well done, Miss Gianna," Zehr approached, with a defeated-looking Justus sticking close behind.

    "Aww... what happened?" Gianna pursed her lips.

    "Justus has learned not to underestimate the Nemayan fighting style," Zehr exined.

    Still cognizant of the one remaining skeleton, Gianna mmed her shield forward, stunning it. She then hopped forward, swinging her shield with the momentum, knocking it onto its back.

    Zehr smirked, "--which is something you seem to be having no issues with."

 Chapter 240 Legionbreaker

    ?Shield Maiden Gianna thought Justus was extra-cute with his pitiful expression. She wanted to unstrap her shield and give him a big hug... though that would honestly be to fix her own spirits, rather than to make him feel better.

    She nced back to Zehr. Admittedly, she was still a little disappointed that he had rejected her... but it wasn''t out of her expectations. They hadn''t known each other for very long, after all. In fact, she probably would have been even more disappointed had he epted her confession.

    "Allow me to take over, if you would, Miss Gianna," Zehr smiled radiantly.

    Gianna felt her heart beat just a tiny bit faster... Cute...

    Remembering that Zehr thought well of princesses, she took a step back and gave a polite curtsy, "Most gracious of you, my lord."

    Zehr nodded in thanks, "It will be my pleasure, youngdy."

    It was just on a whim that she told Zehr her feelings, that''s all. She might have been a little jealous of Rena''s forwardness, but she really did like the cool, calm, and collected Duplicarius.

    Gianna turned to the young Decanus and tried to reassure him, "Ohhhh Justus! Don''t be sad. You learned something from Zehr, didn''t you?"

    "Y-yeah. I did," Justus looked up, smiling weakly.

    She had seen a little of Zehr taking over the fight--menting that she couldn''t watch it in its entirety.

    Gianna liked the way he moved. She liked it a lot.

    But even if Zehr decided to remain distant, at least she still had Justus. He was the sweetest boy she''d ever met.

    ...

    Tycondrius lifted his sword in front of his face, focusing his mana.

    "I''m only going to do this once, Justus." He warned, "Pay attention."

    One of the greatest benefits of Tycon''s System was the repository of information he had ess to, notably on ss skills. They varied from those belonging to his own ss of Warlord to Rogue movement techniques, Fighter execution skills, and even a few Martialist forms.

    He could replicate any of the Bronze-Rank skills, to different effects.

    Most of the skills from his own ss, (minus one particr ?Iron Dragon Rend?), he had developed to a High Completion Rating. A good number of physical techniques like ?Shadowfang Strike? were at a Middle Rating.

    Because of his bloodline, he could even utilize arcane skills... at a Low Rating. It was better than no rating, at all. However, the mana expenditure for a Low Rating skill was so high and its effect was so mediocre, that such usage wouldrgely be a waste of effort.

    The Holy Swordsman ss was reasonably a branch of the Divine Champion or Crusader sses, simr to how Rena''s Holy Bolter ss was rted to Divine Enchanter. With that in mind, he recalled an offensive technique he did have at Middle Completion.

    Still, it was a Divine skill, not a Martial one, and the mana expenditure would tax his energies ufortably.

    Channeling mana into his Tyrion sword, it began to glow a stark, concentrated white, cutting clear through the darkness.

    Justus'' awed voice whispered hoarsely, "Z-zehr... you have a holy sword skill too?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "That''s a very stupid question, young man" Tycon rolled his eyes, "I am obviously channeling radiant energy through my sword. So, yes. It is a holy skill. With a sword. That makes it a holy sword skill."

    "But... but how?"

    Steadily, Zehr retracted his mana back. He had to do so gently-- an abrupt halt of the flow could damage either himself or the weapon.

    The skeleton had gotten to its feet, so Zehr kicked it in the chest, sending it tumbling back. He noticed that Gianna was about to shove it back, had he not done so first. She was quite reliable.

    He turned back to Justus, "What do you mean ''how''? Does it *matter*? Do you think you''re the only person capable of channeling radiant energy? Obviously, Rena can do it too. So can Gianna. Why does it matter, how? Shut. Up."

    Ugh. Tycon felt a hint of disgust at himself from having to rebuke the young man. He had lost his calm in front of Rena and Gianna. He took a deep breath to return to his stone-faced expression.

    Justus lowered his head, pulling his arms in, appearing smaller. If he had a tail like an Iredar, he''d have tucked it between his legs.

    ...Tycon wondered if he was being too harsh?

    He shut his eyes and nodded solemnly, "Now is the time for learning, young Decanus. Save your questions for afterward. Now... would you still like this demonstration?"

    Justus rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, "Y-yes... I''m sorry, but... please show me, Duplicarius Zehr."

    "Good," Tycon turned back to the skeleton-- again approaching, but with more wariness than before. "I don''t know how many times I can use this skill."

    At Moderate Completion and with the particr level of the skill, Tycon was certain he could cast it at least three times before suffering effects of mana fatigue. He implied its limited number of usages so the fool boy would pay attention.

    He returned his sword to the front of his face and channeled the same white glow through it.

    Lunging forward, Tycon dipped his head low, dodging a skeletal w, "?Legionbreaker.?" He pierced his radiant de entirely through the skeleton''s armored chest.

    ? ?Legionbreaker? Weapon ability: A sharpened point of radiant mana gathers at the tip of the weapon, for use in prating heavy armor. ?

    It was a skill developed by a Champion-- a ss that utilized both physical strength and divine favor. Tycon made a mental note to raise its Completion Rating to High-- it was an effective trump card.

    White light spilled from the undead creature''s mouth as the skeleton dissipated into ck bone powder. Tattered and rusted parts of armor copsed into a heap, off of Tycon''s sword.

    He blew a puff of air onto his de, cleaning it of the bone dust, "Now, do you have any questions, Justus?"

    Justus frowned deeply, looking lost, "Didn''t you say you were a Bronze-Rank Warrior?"

    Tycon shrugged, "I''m very talented for a Bronze-Rank Warrior."

    Hm. He had given himself away, disying skills clearly not of the Warrior ss... If an intelligent onlooker assumed Tycon was a Warrior... being able to utilize a cross-ss skill marked him as at least Iron-Rank.

    Thankfully, he had judged Justus as an idiot in everything that wasn''tbat. And even then, he was somewhatcking in certainbat areas.

 Chapter 241 Symbol Of Pride

    ?Tycondrius leisurely nced back to the Holy Bolter and Shield Maiden to gauge their responses. Gianna was politely covering her mouth, giggling. At what, Tycon had no idea. Rena was--

    Rena-was-adjacent-to-him, staring up with starry eyes. Tycon had nearly leapt backward in surprise, but he managed to control himself.

    That would have been embarrassing.

    She hadn''t seemed to notice his distress, though. Tycon supposed that was fine.

    The poor fool, Justus, was still staring in disbelief at what remained of thest Nemayan skeleton soldier.

    "That''s enough excitement for one evening," Tycon pat the young Decanus on his metal shoulder guard.

    Justus winced. Yes, the shoulder underneath was definitely bruised. Tycon hadn''t patted the boy''s injury on purpose, but he did not n on apologizing for it.

    He turned to the girls, catching their attention, "Let us return and get some rest."

    Gianna nodded excitedly, "Mhm. Sounds good, Bronze-Rank Warrior Zehr."

    Tycon smiled. That was good. It appeared he was doing an excellent job pretending to be a Bronze-Rank Warrior.

    Rena was staring at Tycon''s arm again. Odd.

    Tycon offered her his elbow, which she embraced lovingly, nuzzling her cheek into his bicep.

    She was fooled, as well. Most excellent.

    Tycon began walking back towards the camp, nked by two (probably) attractive women. The sounds of a still-confused Decanus Justus'' steps trudged along behind them.

    ...

    The wagon creaked softly as it continued down the rocky trail. Modestus was driving the horses along... and interestingly enough, had been doing a remarkably better job than Decanus Caelistis had done, before him.

    It had been two suns since the kobold skirmishes, and Justus'' muscles ached worse than they''d felt in years. His legs felt like jelly. He wanted to scream in frustration and stab a knife into his calves. Maybe whatever weird muscle-juice was inside that made him sore would drain along with his blood.

    Instead, he crossed his arms, furrowing his brows. He tried to channel his inner Zehr.

    The previous night, his bedroll was atop a rock. In the morning, he was nearlyte to the officer''s meeting.

    Since then, he''d been brushing and polishing his Decanus armor. Optio Sixtus had been very particr that he paid attention to detail. He was tired of it!

    And he was hungry!

    Rena looked down the sights of her new crossbow into the surrounding trees, not paying Justus any attention.

    She yawned and ced her weapon down, "What''s got your panties in a bunch, Mister Decanus?"

    "The morning meeting... took two entire bells," Justus groaned.

    "Mhm~?" Gianna happily chimed in, "Miss Rena and I wanted to wait for you, but we were told the officers would be awhile."

    "By the aaame~ The morning breakfast was *amaaaazing.*" Rena deepened her voice to emphasize her love for Zehr''s cooking.

    Justus'' annoyance boiled in his abdomen. He had literally carried Rena for over a mile, a few suns prior, and this was how she repaid him?

    "You guys didn''t even save me anything. I thought you were my friends!!" Heined.

    "Nuh-uh! You''re our boss, now!" Rena grinned. She cleared her voice and sat up rigidly with mock self-importance, "An officer does not eat with his crew! He''s far too important for that!"

    She was quoting one of Decanus Caelistis'' aphorisms-- one of his stupider ones, and there were many. Justus had inquired about it with the other Decani. There was no such rule. Cael didn''t eat with the tent group because he didn''t have any friends.<novelnext></novelnext>

    And apparently, neither did he.

    Justus looked over to Duplicarius Zehr. He sat next to Rena, crossing his muscled arms and scanning the distant forests-- reticent, as usual. Justus had returned to him the modified Decanus helm with the visor, while he had a new one issued to him with a heroic red crest.

    Sensing his gaze, the silent warrior turned to him, "Two portions of venison sausages, eggs, and fried root vegetables were reserved for you."

    "Two portions...?" Justus narrowed his eyes. He already knew who to me, even without Gia and half of the tent group not-so-subtly turning to Rena.

    The archer girl was twiddling her thumbs and whistling innocently.

    Feeling everyone''s eyes on her-- and especially Justus'' very, angry stare, she shot back a sleazy grin, "Whaaat? You have to eat food when it''s hot! It''s *wayyyy* better that way."

    Justus groaned, slumping back in his seat until his metal helmet tapped against the wood of the wagon rails, "Zehr, really? Could you please tell this girl she was wrong?"

    The visored Duplicarius pursed his lips, "Her assessment of hot food is correct."

    "That''s not what I meant!"

    "...Oh." What was revealed of Zehr''s face conveyed no change in expression, "Rena, that was wrong."

    "Okayyyy. I''m sorry, Justuuuusss. Love yooou!" Rena nuzzled her cheek into Zehr''s shoulder.

    Justus got the feeling that Rena wasn''t feeling sorry, at all... He also got the feeling that Zehr had no idea what he was having her apologize for. He had assumed that he''d be easier to talk after getting to know him better but... it seemed he was naturally not very... talkative.

    He looked to Gianna who was watching Zehr and Rena with a tender look.

    She winked at Justus and looked to Zehr, "Weren''t you invited to the meeting, Duplicarius?"

    "I was." Zehr responded, "I didn''t go."

    Justus again took the scrub brush to his armor, "Ugh. Was this why you didn''t want to be a Decanus, Zehr?"

    "Indeed."

    Justus exhaled deeply, channeling his frustrations into cleaning, "At the time, I had no idea why you so vehemently refused the title. Now, I''m the one who feels like a fool."

    The entire tent group of ten chuckled at his remarks. The tent groups had been rearranged by the cohort, most groups nowprised of two or three groups'' members. Justus'' tent group was the only one that kept their original nine-- only losing Decanus Caelistis.

    Their "new" tenth was another veteran Immunes, an engineer who was well-familiar with Modestus and a few of the others. Everyone held a deep respect and camaraderie for each other as survivors.

    It was altogether a pleasant group of individuals.

    Justus'' arm ached too-- but it felt like it was from the scrubbing, not from battle...

    "This feels like a stupid waste of energy," He grumbled.

    "Your armor''s appearance is excellent," Zehrmented. "That is a symbol of your pride as a Decanus."

    Justus wasn''t sure how to respond. It sounded like he was trying to be reassuring but... Zehr had joined thepany with a terrible-looking set of armor. Maybe because Zehr didn''t care about something like pride? Was this some sort of lesson?

    Gianna nodded, "It looks very handsome, Decanus."

    The Shield Maiden''s praise raised Justus'' spirits. Just looking into her blue eyes gave him the strength to carry onward.

    "Uh huh," Rena nodded. "You actually look respectable, at first nce."

    Justus knew better than to take Rena''sments seriously.

 Chapter 242 Slayer Of Legend

    ?The clopping of another couple of horses drew closer. A mounted Eques was leading another horse towards their wagon.

    "Good morning, Decanus," The Eques saluted. "Or should I say Hero of Leopardon?"

    Justus recognized him as one of Decanus Constantina''s scouts. He returned the salute, "Decanus is fine, thanks. Is there an issue?"

    "No, sir. We''re a bit short on Equites right now. Decanus Constantina was hoping Duplicarius Zehr could join the rotation."

    Justus turned back to his tent group. Zehr was already standing, readjusting the straps on his gear.

    Justus nodded, "Go ahead, Duplicarius."

    "Of course, Decanus," Zehr tapped a fist on Justus'' armored chest.

    The man stepped onto a wagon railing and in a peculiarly graceful jump,nded gently on the horse''s saddle. Zehr leaned forward, whispered something into the horse''s ear, and rubbed the side of its neck.

    Justus narrowed his eyes. He knew that Zehr could talk to the kobolds-- could he talk to horses too?

    Justus shook his head, "I think... I''ll never be as good as that guy."

    "Nope!" Rena agreed.

    Gianna frowned, "Miss Rena, be polite. Aren''t you two friends?"

    Rena''s face reddened and she turned away, "I mean... yeah! But... Zehr is just too amazing!"

    Gianna averted her gaze. Yeah. Justus figured Gia couldn''t argue with her assessment, either.

    Modestus, the immortal wagon-driver, turned at the waist to face the tent group.

    "The Duplicarius has been around for a while, young Decanus. Experiencees with age, after all," He chuckled.

    "I think you''re doing great, Justus." Gia ced a reassuring hand on Justus'' arm. He felt her care and the radiance of her smile warm his entire body.

    "You''ve protected me, after all~" She beamed.

    One of the other veterans spoke up, "Decanus, word through the camp is you used a skill the other sun."

    The tent group murmured in agreement.

    Justus quietly unsheathed his sword, holding it upright and staring at the cool, oiled metal.

    "Have you been practicing?" Gianna tilted her head.

    "Yeah, I have been," He nodded.

    Justus closed his eyes. Mana swirled from within, swirling and flourishing. It fed on his faith, on his courage, and at the same time, fueled them. Slowly, he ran two fingers up the t of his sword, "?Legionbreaker.?"

    The feeling he had was hard to exin. It felt like... even if he had no hands, he''d know where his sword was, wherever it went.

    The tent group had grown quiet, ooh-ing and aah-ing at Justus'' soft execution of his skill.

    He opened his eyes... only to be disappointed.

    His de''s point had been sheathed with a brilliant piercing gold... and it dissipated. He had sessfully cast ?Legionbreaker.? He knew from the way it looked and from the sharpness he felt in the skill''s formation that it would pierce through thick metal armor.

    But it wasn''t quite the same.

    When Zehr used the skill, the light his sword had was brilliant and white. Clearly, the powers he drew from were... nothing short of divine. And while Justus'' bright gold was still impressive to everyone else... he had seen a higher level. He wanted that... at least a little of it.

    He groaned in frustration, rubbing his red hair. He slipped the sword back into its sheath, "It''s not enough."

    "What are you mad about? It looked fine!" Renained.

    "It''s very impressive to learn a skill so quickly, Decanus," Gia added. "It looks like you''ve practiced it to a Middle Completion Rating? Or close to it."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Justus took another deep sigh. A general feeling of difort pooled in his gut. He knew hisints were ridiculous.

    He decided to change the subject, "Why do you think the skill is called ?Legionbreaker??"

    Gianna tapped the beauty mark on her lips, one of the loveliest quirks she had that Justus admired the most, "Well, I have an idea on that. At first, it might seem the skill was developed to use against Tyrion legions."

    Justus frowned. That wasn''t what he wanted to hear. Why would Zehr have such a treasonous skill?

    Rena pursed her lips like she''d bit into a lemon, "That makes no sense, though. The skill channels radiant mana. And that''s something, you know... the Tyrion military is known for."

    Gia nodded, "Right. So what I''m thinking is... the skill might have been made tobat the legions of the seven hells. I''ve read stories that they have ck-armored, rank-and-file devil soldiers, in a perverse mockery of our own military."

    Rena bounced in her seat in excitement, "Ohhhhhh, I love it. Maybe Zehr''s a demonyer!!"

    Giaughed politely, "Um... a devil-yer. I think they''re different, but it''s not something that the general poption is allowed to study."

    Realization rocked Justus'' entire body. His heart began to pump faster and he felt sweat begin to form on his forehead.

    That was it. He''d figured it out.

    That was the reason Zehr was so secretive. That''s why he could talk to the kobolds. That''s why all of his abilities were high, even though he was only a Bronze-Ranker like himself.

    His ss must have been Hero... or a branch of it.

    It was the rarest and most powerful series of sses throughout the realm.

    He must have been on some super-secret mission... maybe for the Archbishop? Whatever it was, Justus was both d he had never doubted him and that Zehr had joined them.

    Modestus interrupted the silence by groaning and standing up in the driver''s seat, "I can''t wait to be off this wagon and finally reach this me-scarred quest. The old wagon was better! My arse has been rubbed RAW!!"

    Various members of the tent group muttered their agreements, some lightheartedly mocking Modestus'' weakness. A few members, including Rena and Gianna, giggled at Modestus'' verbiage.

    Justus pieced the puzzle in his mind together. Zehr''s presence probably had to do something with the quest the Rhodok adventuringpany had epted.

    While it was good that Zehr was around... it was also a sign of trouble.

    ...Maybe the quest was more troublesome than anyone had thought.

    "Seven hells, Brother-Immortal!" The engineer eximed.

    He was on the team that worked tirelessly at repairing the wagons recovered after the kobold attack, "I''ve done the best I can with the tools and time they gave me."

    Modestusughed, "Well, you did terribly. Why aren''t our wheels made of gold? Where is the barrel of wine I *specifically* requested?"

    The members of the tent group burst intoughter. Even Justus spared a chuckle.

    After theughter calmed, a scout muttered, "At least we''re moving faster since we''re down to a single cohort."

    The wagon grew uneasily quiet. The scout frowned and turned away, likely regretting that he''d soured the mood.

    Modestus sighed, "Aye... at least when everything''s gone to shite-- it can only get better from there, eh?"

    Low mutters of approval followed Modestus'' words, as well as loose strings of curses and prayers.

    "Yep..." The old Immortal nodded slowly, "Almost done..."

    "The quest, Brother-Immortal..." Justus asked.

    Modestus shrugged, "Some lizard in the mountains. Nothing to worry about, young Decanus."

    Justus hadn''t worried about it, either, until his recent realizations. If Gianna''s guesses were true... a Hero like Zehr fighting against the fantastical devil legions of hell... then the lizard they were hunting...

    Could it be a dragon?

 Chapter 243 Childrenâ€™s Tales

    ?Rena stood up suddenly, clumsily stumbling to the side. The wagon rocked ufortably, as its inhabitants grabbed onto the railings to steady themselves.

    Justus narrowed his eyes to look up at the agitated girl. Had she understood it too? That Zehr was more than he let on?

    "Justus, wait... Hold on... Do you think we could be...?" Rena''s anxious voice was rapidly climbing to a higher and higher pitch, "I mean we-- the Rhodok adventuringpany, are we..."

    Suddenly, she dropped her voice low, "Are we hunting a--"

    "I''m gonna stop you right there, Miss Leopardon," Modestus raised his voice.

    "--Oh. Sorry..." Rena pursed her lips and sat down obediently.

    It seemed that ''Brother-Immortal'' had a higher ce in Rena''s heart than her Decanus.

    "That''s bad luck to talk about, Little Miss... real bad luck," Modestus muttered. "There''s a big lizard in the mountains... maybe an overgrown snake or a crawling lizard with legs-- whatever monster it is, it''s a mundane one."

    "If it''s grown asrge as the rumors say, it may have been alive for a century or two." Gianna nodded sagely, mulling the thought over, "While umon, it''s not unheard of."

    It was nice that Gianna always had something intelligent to say. From what Justus understood, she was the daughter of a Tyrion military officer-turned-merchant. She had a bit of higher education and didn''t show it off often. She couldn''t, anyroad, not amongst the unlearned folk that were her peers.

    ...including himself, of course.

    "Right. Whatever''s in the hills, it''s not gonna breathe fire or whatever," Another of the veterans agreed with Modestus.

    The engineer nodded, "Won''t have wings-- and even if it did, it wouldn''t be able to fly. That''s not how physics work."

    Rena leaned over to Justus, whispering properly, "Wouldn''t it be cool, though?"

    "No, that-- is dumb." He emphasized each word, to make a point, "You-- are also dumb."

    The crossbow girl puffed up her cheeks in disagreement, but Justus was too preupied with his thoughts to care.

    It was a horrifying thought.

    ording to the legends... dragons were massive creatures that could fight entire armies, flying overhead and breathing mes or bolts of lightning or noxious clouds of gas. Their armor was harder than steel tes, and even if a spear or arrow were to get past that, there was still a thickyer of flesh to cut through before causing any substantial harm.

    Worse still, they were intelligent, conniving creatures. While some tales told of goodly dragons that aided heroes on their quests, many more cast them as viins. Dragons were enigmatic creatures of supreme power and could only be challenged by a team of Gold-Rankers... and led by one stronger... An Adamantine-Rank.

    That''s what the stories taught him... If dragons did exist, it was in legends... stories of a bygone age.

    ...Just like the Hero ss.

    He shot an uneasy smile at Gianna. A few suns prior, Ferrutius had called her the Shield Hero.

    A new thought formed in his overworked brain... Maybe Hero wasn''t a ss, at all... Maybe it was a title.

    Gianna returned his smile, her blue eyes thinning to gentle upturned lines. It calmed him greatly... and he fell in love all over again.

    She was certainly strong enough, wonderful enough to rate such a title.

    Gia took Rena''s hand in hers, "Miss Rena, don''t worry. There''s nothing to fear from something that doesn''t exist."

    Rena puffed up her cheeks, "I know... but... but they did exist, at one point, right?"

    They did... in children''s tales... Just like faeries and gorgons and chimerae.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Gianna beamed, cing her palms on Rena''s cheeks and smooshing them, "They did, indeed."

    Many of the veterans averted their gaze. Even the engineer and veteran who were naysaying dragons earlier understood the mood and kept quiet.

    No one would refute the Shield Maiden-- the invincible shield that could save them from certain death in battle. And especially not when she was just being polite to Rena.

    Even Caelistis never got on Gianna''s bad side, and he was the biggest blockhead that Justus had ever known.

    "ording to legends," Gia began. "--the various territories of Tyrion are named after ancient dragons."

    The few veterans having side conversations stopped to listen. Gia''s angelic voice and a lighthearted conversation about children''s stories had an alluring air to them.

    "The Kasydon territory is named after the mysterious dragon known as Kas. He was all-knowing and never doubting, and because of it, he was ever-loyal to the Old Empire.

    "Nerine to the east was named for Neerin Neelia, the wisest of dragons. The ancients imed that she guided the maths and sciences, propelling our Empire to the forefront of modern technologies of the time."

    The way Gia spoke to Rena as if telling a bedtime story to her daughter-- not that it was far off, with Rena''s personality.

    She gauged everyone''s interest and continued, addressing the entire wagon, "Even our capital city, Rixus, is named after Rixen, the most powerful of dragons. His mes were so hot, it could melt rock. Some mountains still bear those scars."

    "Ooh, oooh. What is Ezyria named after?" Rena giddily hopped in her seat.

    ...She really was like a child.

    Justus wondered if his and Gia''s daughter would have the same excitement... the same look of fascination in her eyes.

    Gianna rubbed the top of Rena''s hand, exposing her true ss as Adamantine-Rank Mom, "Ezra was the dragon of the forge-- her scales were a cold, hard metal, and she gifted them to the men and women of the Empire to make unbreakable weapons that thrummed with the power of draconic mana."

    Rena tilted her head up, staring up at the sky, deep in thought. Justus had heard of the stories but never in the detail that Gianna had exined. The various veterans, too, nodded in wonder.

    It was interesting, and... no one had anything better to do than listen.

    ...Gia could sing, too. That was an even rarer gift than her telling old stories.

    Modestus turned about, stretching, "Ah, look at you lot. Is that what we do, now? Listen starry-eyed to old wives'' tales?"

    ? He spoke with mirth in his voice, trying to lighten the mood.

    Gia tilted her head, "Are you saying you''d dismiss the words of your wife, Munifex Modestus?"

    "I uh..." Modestus ducked his head low, refocusing his attention on the horses, "Ah, sorry. I have to pay attention to the uh... driving."

    The wagon erupted in snickering andughter.

    Giannaughed politely, "You have a healthy fear of women, Brother-Immortal. That''s probably why you''re still happily married."

    The wagon shook with another round ofughter-- at Modestus'' expense. The old, red-faced man chuckled along in agreement.

    Marriage, huh? Justus looked at the side of Gianna''s face as she stifled herughter with her dainty hand.

    He wanted to be married... perhaps on a sun much like the current one.

 Chapter 244 Saving Zehr

    ?Justus was in deep thought...

    Somehow his brain wouldn''t let go of the thought of marriage. He had someone he liked. She was sitting next to him.

    "In other news..." Gia tilted her head. "I heard that the Eastern States have recreated replica weapons of ancient Tyrion steel. They call it Arcanite and the make looks remarkably simr and they say it holds a mana-charge remarkably well-- though it''s not like they''re going to take our ancient weapons out of museums to test the theories."

    The blonde woman looked back to Justus.

    Oh. Was he staring again? Uh...

    She winked.

    AH!

    What was she saying? Everything she''d said, Justus had forgottenpletely.

    "Look alive, Justus League." Thankfully, Modestus saved Justus from more awkwardness, "It looks like the Deca-- err, the Duplicarius is heading back."

    Another veteran groaned, "Maybe he''s gotten another me-scarred promotion, so we all can be more confused at what to call him."

    "I think we''ll be fine," The scout on the opposite side of Rena nudged her with his elbow. "--as long as we don''t mistake him for a girl."

    Rena pursed her lips, "My husband can be a girl if he wants to be! There''s nothing wrong with that!"

    Her outburst was met with polite stares, all around.

    Justus was sure there were one or two things wrong with her statement-- but its message was... sound? No... it was better not to address it.

    Zehr''s horse galloped by and quick-turned, adjacent to the wagon.

    Gianna whistles, "Ohhh... wow. That maneuver was actually quite difficult. It looks like the Duplicarius is either a noble or used to work on a farm."

    Justus'' eyes widened in surprise, "How do you figure that, Gia?"

    The corner of her luscious lips curled up, "Not everyone has ess to a horse, silly Decanus, especially in Tyrion. Have you forgotten?"

    He had.

    "Nobility''s more likely," One of the veterans offered. "He talks funny-- how I expect a noble to sound."

    "Mhm." "Yeah, he does." --the crowd murmured agreement.

    Justus stood up and offered a hand to Zehr, "Wee back, Duplicarius."

    Zehr stood up on the horse, grasped Justus'' wrist, and stepped onto the wagon, "My thanks, Decanus."

    Strangely, Zehr turned back to the horse, "You have performed your duties well, Heracles. Go with honor."

    The horse-- apparently named Heracles, neighed in... a salute? It sped off, galloping back towards the front of the caravan.

    ...The tent group-- especially the engineer, stared in even more wonder than at Gia''s stories.

    It only urred to Justus then, that there was no apanying Eques to guide Zehr''s horse back.

    ...He wanted very much to ask if that was okay, just letting Heracles go like that.

    "Is everything alright, Duplicarius?" Gianna asked.

    The visored Zehr took a seat, "It is not. You can tell?"

    She tilted her head, "No. You generally hide your emotions well, so I figured it faster to ask."

    Zehr shook his head and shrugged, "I gave the Primus Pilus a suggestion. It was rejected outright."<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...Gianna was the smartest woman Justus had ever met. However, everyone in the tent group sat up anxiously and grew silent, after hearing what Zehr had said.

    "Wh-what''s going on?" The engineer asked.

    "The Duplicarius knew about the kobold attack before it happened," One of the veterans exined. "And of course, it''s the mushroom brains of our leadership that decided to ignore him."

    "Yeah, if Zehr thinks something''s wrong, by the me, we''re gonna listen," The scout added.

    "I see..." The engineer nodded gravely, "We have to do something, then."

    Modestus turned around, keeping his voice low, "How about we break one of the wagon wheels? We''ll have our wagon trail at the back of the caravan?"

    A few voices of assent encouraged the n.

    The engineer looked unhappy about it, "Can we... pretend to have a malfunction, instead?"

    Zehr pursed his lips.

    Rena looked to him with worry in her face, "Are we gonna be okay, Zehr?"

    "Yes, of course. Why wouldn''t we be?" He responded.

    "Is it because you''re going to protect me?" Rena squealed.

    "Is it because you have faith in our skill and camaraderie?" Justus asked.

    "Is it because you''re nning to pull a few crazy stunts like you did the other sun?" Gianna questioned thoughtfully.

    Zehr tilted up his visor, revealing narrowed eyes and a thin crease between his eyebrows, "I feel like there may have been a misunderstanding..."

    Gianna sighed, trying her best to smile-- though Justus noticed her eye was twitching, "Duplicarius... what did you tell the Primus Pilus?"

    Zehr returned her look with a serious gaze, "I suggested that his horse, Bucephalus, would enjoy more fruit in his diet."

    Eight out of ten members of the tent group tried to throw Zehr out of the wagon.

    It took Justus at least twenty minutes of arguing to get them to calm down. It was the first time he actually missed Caelistis for his ability to demand obedience.

    ...

    A few hourster, the Rhodok adventuringpany had reached the mountain. The slightly reduced First Cohort-- with many new transferred groups, including Justus'' own, would be trekking through the forest and rockynds. The Second Cohort-- made up of a few tent groups of mostly Immunes, would care for the injured and watch over the remaining wagons and horses at the mountain''s base.

    As they marched on foot, a few Equites came by to pass word, their horses in a trot. The scout group was 30 minutes to a full bell ahead, somunication was paramount. Justus'' tent group could see the group ahead of them talking amongst themselves, checking their weapons and gear in anxiety. It was obvious that the word the Equites were bringing was more precarious than usual.

    Justus watched a clearly-struggling Decanus Ferrutius approach, circling the tent group on a familiar horse beforeing close. He wrapped his forearm around the reins, pulling hard-- causing the horse to rear up and whinny in distress.

    "Whoa there! Come on, girl! Seven hells, work with me!!" Ferrutius scolded Heracles.

    "Your equinepanion does not like you pulling on *his* bit so hard, Decanus Ferrutius," Zehr warned.

    The orange-bearded Decanus scowled, "Oh, it''s you. Do you have any other suggestions, Duplicarius?"

    Zehr shook his head, "Heracles is a stallion-- a *male* horse. And he prefers thepany of women."

    Gianna took the hint, and with a reassuring hand on Heracles'' neck and her gently whispering, she managed to calm him down-- the horse, of course.

    Justus nodded, "Decanus Ferrutius, what''s the word?"

    Ferrutius shook his head and spat, "It''s bad up ahead, Justus. The Centurion''s looking for archers, as well as any volunteer Bronze-Ranks and higher."

 Chapter 245 Requested By Name

    ?Tycondrius ced his hand on his chin, tapping his cheek with his finger.

    "Decanus Ferrutius, I have some questions."

    "Eh?" Ferrutius raised an eyebrow, "Come on, Zehr. Don''t waste my time. There''s a monster out there, killing off what''s left of us."

    Tycon ignored him, "Tell me of your... ''monster.''"

    Justus nodded, "If you would, Decanus Ferrutius. It''s important."

    The wild-bearded Decanus groaned and rolled his eyes, "It''s a me-scarred cat with wings. It''s fast. It swoops down and shite... uh... like a hawk-- except it''s a few hundred librae of muscles, ws, and tail-spikes."

    "You mean like... a lion?" Justus asked.

    Tycon grimaced, "Tail-spikes, you say..."

    He didn''t like the sound of that. It sounded like something he was familiar with... a type of Chimera. Chimerae were strange beasts, cursed by magic,prised of parts of other creatures. Ram horns, fire-breathing lizard maws, and venomous, scorpion-like tails weremon...

    With leonine features, wings, and tail spikes, Ferutius'' monster was likely a Manticore, a Gold-Rank creature. It wasn''t particrly strong, but the ability to fly, though not particrly acrobatic, could be used to devastating effect on the swaths of Unranked and Bronze-Rank Rhodoks. That, and adult Manticore couldunch their tail spikes with fair uracy, easily able to pierce the leathers the archers wore.

    It did have its weaknesses... but none seemed particrly relevant.

    Tycon turned to face the young female, Holy Bolter Rena. Small. Weak. Chimera also tended to be intelligent. She''d be targeted near immediately when it sensed her weakness... or the fact that her glowing silver bolts posed a threat.

    "Rena, don''t go."

    She was readjusting the shoulder strap on her crossbow and fiddling with her quiver pouch. Suddenly, she halted her actions, staring nkly,  "Wait, wh-what?"

    "I said: Don''t go."

    Tycon hated repeating himself. However, he wished to make his point clear.

    He could exin the minutiae, tell her about the Gold-Rank creature... remind her that she was weak and that the forward group would ultimately survive, even without their help.

    ...but it was irrelevant. The only important concept he wished to convey was that he, personally, did not want her to leave. He had grown fond of the honest girl... not romantically, but her presence wasforting.

    He had a scout once, in guild Sol Invictus. Kimura Tamaki died miserably, in and far away from his home. They couldn''t even recover his body. While Rena wasn''t a part of Sol Invictus... still, he preferred her alive, rather than not.

    "Zehr, what in the seven hells do you think you''re doing?" Ferrutius scowled, "The old man of the Rhodoks, the Centurion his''self wants *all* the archers."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "You can have cidus."

    The scout gulped, "I''m... I''m injured, Duplicarius."

    Atop his mount, Ferrutius tilted back his head, biting his bottom lip, "F*ck you, Zehr."

    Tycon sighed. He snorted in a very particr manner, "(Put him in the dirt, Brother-Heracles.)"

    Heracles, the mighty war-bred stallion, reared up on its hind legs, whinnying, "(GET THE F*CK OFF ME, YOU FLAME-TAKEN SHITE!!!)"

    "Oh! What the--" Ferrutius was thrown off, his back crashing against the hard dirt, "AWWWGHHH!! Really?! Gods damn, REALLY???! me take you, you STUPID HORSE!!"

    "Language," Tycon frowned... "I owe you a small basket of hard-fruits, Heracles."

    Heracles'' heavy hooves, each the size of a human''s head, began to stomp down violently, trying to crush Ferrutius'' face into a paste of meat and broken bone, "(NAH, YOU GOOD!! I''M DOIN'' THIS FOR FREE!!!)"

    Tycon widened his lips into a displeased grimace. He hoped Ferrutius would survive this-- not that he would be med (or take credit) for the Decanus'' death. As much of a prick Ferrutius was, every skilled Rhodok could still be attributed to the mission''s overall sess.

    ...And though Heracles was gleefully trying to extinguish Ferrutius'' life, Tycon nned to collect a basket of fruits for the war-horse by sun''s end. Favors must be repaid.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Ferrutius had managed to right himself, pointing his sword at Heracles'' snout, "Don''t TEST me, horse."

    Heracles stood defiantly, his massive frame towering over the human Decanus, "(I''ve already TESTED you, and the results say YOU''S A B*TCH!!)"

    The war-horse suddenly jerked forward, a feint. Fooled by it, Ferrutius retreated, yelling and shing his sword in a desperate defense.

    "(F*ckin'' try me,") The war-horse snorted. "(I''ll f*ckin'' EAT you.)"

    "That''s quite enough, Heracles, Hero of Ezyria," Gianna gently chided. "Any more and one of you is going to get hurt."

    "--and it''s going to be Ferrutius," Decanus Justus added.

    Heracles whinnied arrogantly and turned away, "(You lucky, b*tch. You LUCKY I''m adies'' horse-- an'' that the prettydy asked all NICE.)"

    Gianna pat the Heracles'' nape, "That''s a proper gentle-horse, Heracles... and you''re quite a handsome creature, too."

    "(A, yeahhhhh. I like what you be doin'' with those hands, girl! How ''bout you an'' me go back to mah stables after all this quest shite?)"

    The Shield Maiden smiled.

    ...Tycon was fairly certain she didn''t understand what Heracles was saying... nor did he wish to elucidate her.

    "(B*tch, you fiiiine,)" Heracles nuzzled his head against Gianna''s.

    Tycon held out his hand, outstretched to Rena, "Stay with me."

    The archer girl stared at it, beside herself.

    Was she drooling? Ugh. He wanted to tell her to have some self-respect, but in this case, her lust could only help convince her.

    "Hey! Hey, Zehr. What the hells are you doin''?" Ferrutius growled, "Holy Bolter Rena has been requested by name."

    "She''s noting with you," Tycon lowered his opposite hand, cing it on his sword.

    "Duplicarius, calm down. You''re getting worked up," Justus frowned.

    Tycon took a deep breath... Indeed, he was. He had no right to stop Rena... She was a Rhodok, after all.

    "Decanus Ferrutius." Justus called out, "Who... who requested Rena?"

    The orange-haired Decanus rolled his entire head to show his annoyance. The seriousness of the act was severely diminished, as he was keeping his eyes and sword pointed at Heracles, "Scoutmaster Constantina. She''s in charge of all the archers in the cohort, now."

    Tycon felt Rena take his outstretched hand into both of hers... but she folded his palm closed.

    The young woman looked up with eyes sparkling in the sun.

    "Thank you, Zehr," She said. "I know you''re just worried... but Decanus Constantina needs me. As much as I like you, my duty to thepany is going toe first."

    Tycon felt his heart ache. He clenched his teeth as his fist trembled lightly in her small hands.

    Duty always came first. It was a trait he admired in the various guilds and militaries he hade across. That honor and the glory of upholding it, even at the worst of times, was something that he sought to instill into the members of his own guild, guild Sol Invictus.

    He took his hand back and took his other hand off of his sword, closing his eyes in displeasure.

    Rena wasn''t a child. She was capable of her own thoughts and had the free will to choose her actions.

    He had to trust her.

 Chapter 246 Heroine Of Leopardon

    ?Decanus Justus grimaced. Sixtus'' words from a few suns prior echoed in his head. Clouds formed in his mind under their shadow, just as passing clouds overhead turned the journey dismal and sunless.

    ''You''re a born leader, Hero of Leopardon... In the dire straits of the Rhodok adventuringpany, we''re giving you a chance to act like one.''

    This was Rena''s chance.

    She was the hero of her own story... and moving to Constantina''s aid would ensure her rise in rank in the Rhodokpany.

    The Witch of Leopardon needed but to be unleashed upon her enemies.

    He steeled his courage and spoke in the proudest voice he could, "Go where your heart tells you to go, Rena."

    Ferrutius snapped, "Oh, COME ON, Justus, you can''t be--"

    Justus waved his hand to halt Ferrutius'' words.

    "Go or don''t go. I will take the me if you want to stay here," He smiled.

    Rena nodded, "Th... thank you, Justus."

    "Now THAT is a Decanus worth following," the old man, Modestus,ughed.

    ...

    Rena''s heart thrummed with pride at Uncle-Immortal''s belly-shakingughter.

    It was a routine call... to support Constantina with her crossbow... Still, the way Duplicarius Zehr was acting, made her a little anxious.

    "Yeah, save our scouts, Rena!" "It might be dangerous." "Yeah, be careful, girl." --The tent group was enthusiastic in their support.

    "Stick to cover. Remember your training," The injured scout offered.

    Rena nodded, smiling to Justus.

    There he was, her super-handsome friend. He was such a dummy, but he was always honest, innocent, pure. She always treated him like the crybaby he used to be, growing up.

    ...But somewhere along the way, he grew up. She didn''t realize when it was, exactly. She knew it for sure with his deration, just now. Maybe he had grown up a little when he took that helmet from Zehr. Maybe he grew up way before her, when he set off from their hometown of Leopardon to join an adventuringpany.

    She bowed lightly, "Thank you, everyone."

    "Hahaha! Just be careful, little one!" Modestus assured her, "Run and hide, if you need to."

    "I will, Uncle-Immortal!"

    The old man chuckled, scratching his beard.

    She turned to Zehr... The most handsomest man in the entirepany... and the man who was desperately trying to convince her to stay, out of... worry? Jealousy?

    The thought of it was making Rena''s heart gush with love and affection. Even now, Zehr was half-turned away. His strong jaw looked both majestic and forlorn, as he gazed at the cloudy horizon.

    Rena knew she was being a bit selfish with Zehr. She unfairly forced her feelings onto him...

    She couldn''t help herself. She loved him so much, and she... just wanted to drop everything and be with him.

    But that''s not how the world works. There were things more important than crushing on the manly hunk of manliness that was Duplicarius Zehr.

    There was honor. There was pride. There was doing everything she could to help. She joined the Rhodoks to keep Justus out of trouble-- and sometimes, it felt like he took care of her more than the other way around.

    Someone needed her help. She was asked for by name by Scoutmaster Constantina.

    She wouldn''t betray that trust.

    Rena thought to herself... that she could be a little selfish. Zehr promised he''d protect her, after all. That meant he liked her, at least a little bit.

    She took his hand in hers. It was still a little shaky. Her heart was racing crazily as her hastily made n wasing to fruition.

    As he turned to face her, she found her chance.

    She lifted herself up on the tips of her toes and ced her lips against Zehr''s.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Soft. Every bit as magical as she''d hoped. Her heart was pounding so hard. it hurt-- but it was a lovely feeling. She loved the way being with Zehr made her feel.

    ...She swore she could hear bells ringing-- but that was definitely just in her head.

    Zehr opened his eyes in disbelief, "Rena... you..."

    "I''m going, Zehr. Thank you for worrying about me."

    The green-haired man gulped audibly. "I don''t want you to go," He whispered.

    Rena''s heart somehow beat even faster-- a hundred-thousand miles per second, "Hey... can we... can we go steady, after? I mean... like... as lovers?"

    "Tss," Zehr scoffed and turned away again. "Come back alive and we shall discuss it."

    Rena jumped up, embracing Zehr''s neck. She nted a dozen kisses on his confused face.

    Jumping off of him, she yelled, "It''s a DEALLL!!!" And she pumped her fist down in victory, "You all heard it! I called him! He''s MIIIINE!!"

    She would survive, no matter what! With all the energy and good luck she just stole from Zehr, Rena felt invincible.

    Ehehehe!

    She dashed off to the side, adjacent to Heracles. She was pretty light, so she wasn''t worried about startling him too badly-- she climbed onto a stirrup, then mounted the saddle.

    "Heracles! Zero to hero!!!" Rena yelled, pointing towards the front of the caravan.

    The horse bucked up, neighing, more than willing to be herpanion in crime. And so, Heracles galloped forward, as fast as the wind.

    ...

    Justus watched Ferrutius run as fast as he could for several steps. It was useless, of course, and he quickly slowed.

    Heracles and Rena were just too fast.

    "Ohhh, FLAME. TAKE. THE BOTH OF YOU!!!!" The Decanus yelled, falling to his knees. He drove his pilum angrily into the dirt.

    It shattered. The rocky terrain, even after the sporadic rains, was still too hard to pierce.

    "What the HELLLS??!?!!?" He screamed, the sound echoing off of the hills.

    Duplicarius Zehr turned to Justus, "With Rena''s recent actions, should I be less worried or... more?"

    Justus shrugged in response, "She... she''ll be fine."

    Rena would be fine.

    She was an idiot.

    Idiots didn''t die.

    "She seems to have a lot of respect for Decanus Constantina," Zehr mused.

    Gianna walked up, "She does... Constantina grew up in a time where females in the military weren''t really respected. It was only recently that it was opened up to both genders."

    Justus smiled inwardly. To be honest with himself, he was afraid that Rena had only joined the Rhodoks and stuck with it, because of him. The girl needed to stand up for herself-- to fight for what she believed in.

    She couldn''t follow him forever.

    Zehr began to walk away... towards where Rena and her horse galloped off to.

    "Wh-where are you going? Duplicarius?" Justus raised his voice.

    Inwardly, Justus cursed himself for blurting out such a useless question.

    Of course, he already knew where Zehr was going.

 Chapter 247 Crucifixion

    ?Tycondrius began to walk quickly. Reasonably, the archers would regroup and discuss tactics before engaging, but he didn''t dare waste time.

    Behind him, he heard the sound of Decanus armor rubbing against the leathers underneath. Its wearer was increasing his pace to catch up with him.

    Tycon nced over. Justus had eschewed his rank-and-file tower shield for his lighter, faster circle shield.

    It was smart. The two of them weren''t going to be utilizing shield wall tactics. Besides that, maneuverability was more important. The Rhodok-issued shield was not something that could take a direct strike from a Gold-Rank beast.

    "They''re taking volunteers." Tycon didn''t turn to face the young Decanus, "I''m going after Rena."

    "I know, and I''ming with you. Don''t try to stop me, Zehr."

    Tycon scrunched up his face and raised an eyebrow, "Why the hells would I try to stop you?"

    Justus grimaced, "I mean uh... I dunno, I figured you''d say something like it''s too dangerous or... you wanna keep me out of danger? You know what-- nevermind."

    The sound of another set of rough, ungraceful armor mbered after the pair.

    Again, without turning, Tycon grumbled, "Go back. You''re too slow, you''d only be a hindrance."

    "Sod off, Zehr. I have to *walk* back because I don''t have my me-taken horse," An insulted Ferrutius replied.

    Tycon had forgotten that it could have been Ferrutius. He had assumed it was Gianna.

    ...Oh, well. He wasn''t going to apologize. He did not like the orange-bearded ruffian.

    The entire prospect of wanting to run off to keep their archer alive brought a nigh limitless amount of frustration to Tycon. He wanted to take rx after the Iredar attack, but the fates seemed to enjoy conspiring against him.

    With the pace, he figured he''d be able to at least advise the archers. The Gold-Rank beast would be simple enough to take down if surrounded and roped down, utilizing natural cover to guard against its ranged attacks, and keeping their distance.

    Many lives would be lost... but the Rhodoks still had plenty to spare.

    ...

    Decanus Constantina absentmindedly ran her finger along the traces of her scar.

    She used to hate it.

    It never fully healed. It always remained a bit tender. It stung sometimes when touched by sweat or tears. Sometimes, it itched terribly, and if she scratched at it, it would bleed. She used to wake up at night with a pained, bleeding face and terrify the hells out of her tent group.

    She never thought she was particrly attractive. The scar basically guaranteed that she would struggle to find a husband after she left the military. The other female Munifices whispered behind her back how they felt sorry for her...

    Their gossip was ridiculous. She didn''t need a man in order to be sessful in life.

    A mercenary gave it to her during a border skirmish near the end of her career in the Tyrion military. She drove her sword into his guts... through his crotch. She spat on his corpse afterward for good measure. Thinking back, that might have intimidated her Centurion at the time. She was processed out after her contract waspleted, without being offered reenlistment.

    It took more than a few years for her to ept it as part of herself.

    She liked her scar-- it was useful. It kept people from approaching her... and just as she came to terms with her face, she also found that she... just didn''t like people. She functioned perfectly fine alone. She loved solitude... and whenever she felt lonely, she relied on one, maybe two peers that she trusted.

    She became a Decanus in the Rhodoks... and she gained the ability to dote on those in her tent group she tolerated and ignoring or dismissing those she didn''t.

    The me-scarred creature took out her entire tent group of scouts beside herself and the Ranger, Hestia.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She refused to wipe the blood and viscera from her face and armor. She was incensed.

    In the creature''s cruelty, it tore her archers apart, a maw of sword-like teeth biting off portions of their limbs as they screamed in agony.

    Piece by f*cking piece. me take it and all its kin, itughed as she ran away. The mescarred creature LAUGHED.

    "me take that girl, Rena! I''ll have that bitch crucified if she''s not here in five minutes," She grumbled.

    "Scoutmaster Constantina..." Optio Sixtus crossed his arms, "Crucifixion is reserved for severe infractions of military code, like r*pe, treason, desertion, and war-rted crimes... not for a Munifex beingte."

    Hestia came to her aid, scowling at the Optio, "Sister-Constantina was being *melodramatic* you ignorant male."

    "I was just being informational," Sixtus nodded lightly. "I enjoy crucifying people. It was my job as a Centurion, when I was still in."

    "You should try it, sometime, Decanus," He poked Constantina in the side, with his elbow.

    "Eeeep!!" Constantina let out an involuntary feminine shriek.

    She was ticklish. Her mood swung from furious to embarrassed to murderous.

    She turned to re at the smirking Optio, "My entire tent group was killed and eaten in front of me, you public heap of shite."

    "Whoa, hold on there, Constantina," The old Centurion, Cyrac approached on his war-horse, Bucephalus. "And you too, Optio. Stand down."

    Still glowering, Constantina and Sixtus saluted the Centurion after he dismounted.

    "Have some respect, Sixtus," The old man frowned. "The Decanus is distraught. It isn''t easy to lose people."

    "We''ve lost an entire cohort." Sixtus shrugged as if it wasn''t his problem, "We''ll get more. Lives are the currency of Tyrion, which we pay to defeat our enemies, after all."

    The old military aphorism did nothing to calm Constantina. In fact, it only pissed her off more. Constantina smoothly drew her razor-sharp dagger, knowing her actions would get her crucified.

    She took some sce knowing that Sixtus wouldn''t be crucifying her. He''d be confined to a bed after she shoved her long dagger up through his testicles.

    "Sister, wait," Hestia ced her hand on Constantina''s arm and pointed in the distance. "It''s Heracles."

    Constantina looked towards the sound of heavy galloping to see the war-horse quickly approaching. The lithe form of Holy Bolter Rena sat upon his saddle.

    She narrowed her eyes. It was a feat for the girl to get that unruly horse to heed hermands. The horse was known for biting and throwing off any rider beside the Eques who had cared for him.

    ...That Eques wasn''t around anymore. She was killed by having her insides feasted upon as Constantina watched.

    "It appears that Decanus Ferrutius understood the priority of his given mission, giving Rena the horse," Centurion Cyrac nodded hopefully.

    "Improbable," Sixtus shook his head. "More likely that Ferrutius was thrown off."

    "That pig..," Hestia groaned.

    "Worthless trash," Constantina muttered. "Rena, dismount! We''re moving in to attack. Now."

 Chapter 248 Team Zehr

    ?Munifex Rena dismounted Heracles and looked at the surrounding archers. She didn''t recognize any of them, besides Hestia.

    "Um... Decanus Constantina?"

    "Walk and talk, Munifex." Constantina, the scarred, certified badass, turned to her subordinates, "We move!!"

    "YES, DECANUS!!" --The archers screamed as one.

    "--Y-yes, Decanus!!" Rena was a bitte-- eh... Everyone red at her.

    ''Come on, guys!'' She thought, ''It''s my first sun in the archer group! Go easy on me...''

    She waved goodbye to Heracles and hurried her pace to catch up to them, "Decanus um... with all due respect, is this... everyone?"

    They had twelve archers-- the Centurion and the Optio wereing too, as well as Fortuna, and a tent group of Decani and Munifces from the First Cohort, proper... But they should have had at least thirty archers left?

    Constantina''s archer groups introduced themselves to her, the previous evening. Word had passed quickly that she was going to be taken under the Scoutmaster''s wing. It was an honor only given to the Iron-Rank Ranger, Hestia, before her. They had even heard that Constantina had a positive opinion of her, so they wanted to see how weird she was.

    "Little Sister," Hestia walked beside Rena. "They were all eaten by the monster."

    "Ahaha..." Renaughed awkwardly as she jogged along. "No, really. Are they up ahead? You see, I have this inside joke with Septimus, and I told him next time I see him, I''d--"

    "Munifex Rena," Decanus Constantina raised her voice to interrupt her.

    Oh... Oops. Dumb Rena. Stupid, stupid Rena. She was babbling again. She told herself she wouldn''t babble in front of Decanus Constantina. She really respected her.

    She came the whole way exining to Heracles how she felt about Decanus Constantina and reminding herself to keep her big mouth shut.

    At least Optio Sixtus was jogging beside her, opposite Sister-Hestia. He was handsome. And older. Though to be honest, Rena hadn''t decided she thought older guys were hot until recently. He still had nothing on Deca-carius Zehr, though!

    Rena decided she would forever be Team Zehr.

    The Optio smiled at her. But it WASN''T SEXY ENOUGH TO DISSUADE HER!!!

    "Over half of the archers were killed." Sixtus exined, "The creature was quite thorough-- finishing off those it injured."

    Rena''s mouth widened into a grimace as she ran.

    Her and her big mouth...

    She suddenly felt like a big hole was deep inside her stomach. She really, really needed to poop.

    Seven hecks, she wanted to run away and go back to her tent group.

    Ahhhh! She should have taken Zehr''s hand! Maybe they would have made out in the wagon while they waited!!

    Stupid blockhead Rena! Why u do dis?!? Renaaaa! I hate yoooooouu!!

    "It''s not your fault, Munifex," Centurion Cyrac reassured her, in his calm old (gross) super-old man voice. "Focus on the task at hand."

    Rena narrowed her eyes. By the me, the Centurion was old. She didn''t like guys *that* old. She would have preferred if Sixtus said that, instead.

    "I... I have a boyfrie--"

    Constantina cut her off, "The monster has retreated into a nearby cave. The Iron-Rankers are going to engage it inside. Should it fly out, which is likely, we''re going to ce 13 well-aimed silver bolts into its me-scarred face."

    "Will your mana hold out, Holy Bolter Rena?" The unnecessarily hot Optio asked.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Yes, Optio!!" Rena replied.

    If it was only a single sun prior, Rena might not have been so confident enchanting so many bolts at a time. The other evening, Zehr showed her that it was wayyyyyy easier to enchant a bolt than it was a sword.

    The experience changed her way of thinking... and it became a lot easier and less mana-intensive for her to enchant her ammunition.

    She wanted to do this not just for herself and for Decanus Constantina. She wanted to do this for Zehr, too! She had to get rank and recognition to catch up-- Zehr was a Duplicarius and all.

    Rena believed in equal partnership and both spouses working hard!

    Oh, but what if she got pregnant? Ehhhh, then she wouldn''t be able to work for a little bit.

    A! A baby boy would be soooo cute. A mini-Zehr!! And he''d be a super-handsome baby, too. Oh, oh!! Gianna seemed like the motherly type. She''d definitely help care for him.

    Rena figured she''d submit a request to be an Immunes. She figured she''d make a pretty good marksmanship coach like Hestia-- ooh, or she could be a quartermaster. That way, she could travel with Gianna, Zehr, and Justus!

    All of them, together! Go, Team Zehr!! Woo!

    OW!!!

    Rena rubbed her forehead. Oh no! It was going to bruise!!

    Decanus Constantina had flicked her, hard, with her finger.

    "Focus, Munifex. We''ve arrived," She scowled.

    ...

    Tycondrius strode up to a familiar-looking horse. There was no leadership or any of Scoutmaster Constantina''s scouts or Equites standing about. Heracles looked more trustworthy than any of the surrounding Munifces.

    "Heracles, report."

    "(Oh, the Duplicarius. What up? Ey. Yo girl already went ahead. There''s a cave or some monsterir or whatever further down the trail.)"

    Tycon scanned the distance ahead. There was no cave in immediate sight. Perhaps they still had time.

    "(Look, man, I tried to tell her to wait, but that ho, Constantina-- that b*tch be trippin o''er sum''tin,)" Heracles offered his constion.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Your information is invaluable. Thank you, noble Heracles."

    "(No problem, man. Go get her. She a good ho! --but I ain''t tryin'' to get at that, see? That Gianna though? Mm-mm! Yehhhh, boy. She is one FINE piece of a--.)"

    "Right, please excuse us," Tycon interrupted. "I''m in a hurry. You understand."

    Heracles neighed in embarrassment, "(Oh, mah bad! Yeah, man, you go do your thing. Save the girl. Get that good-good. I''mma chill right ''ere.)"

    Decanus Justus had taken off his helmet and was scratching his red head of hair, "Duplicarius... can you... really talk to horses?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Young man, is that really important right now?"

    Justus looked away, "No... I mean, uh... What did he say?"

    "The archers have gone ahead. We need to catch up quickly." Tycon turned to one of the gawking Decani-- a rtively smart-looking one, "You there, I need two spools of rope. Be quick about it."

 Chapter 249 Broken Faith

    ?Decanus Constantina leapt sideways through a pair of stgmites, sshing onto a puddle of stagnant water, and rolling on the uneven cave terrain. Getting back to her feet, she sprinted towards the light, as fast as she could.

    Her scouts were waiting-- no... The archers were waiting. The only ones left amongst them belonging to her were Hestia and Rena.

    The remaining archers were second-string knuckleheads, the lot of them... but Constantina could at least rely on Hestia''s rapid-firing arrows and Rena''s saint-like aim.

    Seven hells... She cursed underneath her breath. Nothing in the cave happened as she''d hoped.

    She, herself, volunteered to be the lead scout. Sixtus denied her. Still, she insisted. She apanied the Shields as their rear guard.

    Proserpina was chosen, instead-- one of the injured archers, a weapons-master who used to be part of her tent groups.

    As skilled as she was, the me-scarred creature found her before she found it.

    The monster was impossibly quiet... hidden in the darkness. It stood taller than a man, yet was motionless and invisible amongst the cave''srge natural rock formations.

    It ambushed her lead scout, dropping from the ceiling like a me-taken bat.

    Another of her family was taken away from her... just like before.

    The creature''s heavy leonine ws held Proserpina''s chest steady. Its maned head bit down on the whole of her torso. She heard it again, a sound that would haunt her nightmares forever. She could swear it wasughing-- chortling as it chewed Proserpina''s flesh and bone with an open maw.

    Even though the creature''s jaws could certainly bite through her spine... it didn''t. Instead, it... it pulled. The meat that used to be Proserpina tore, her skin and flesh cut into gruesome ribbons. Itsughing voice was high-pitched... mocking... blood and entrails spilling messily down onto the fur of its paws and chest.

    Proserpina was killed. Constantina med herself.

    The girl died screaming, horrified... as her body was slowly ripped apart.

    Constantina knew it was her fault... It was always her fault.

    The Shield-bearing Decani and Munifices were amongst the best the Rhodoks had to offer... the best that were still alive. Bronze and Iron-Ranks, they were led by Iron-Rank Sixtus and Cyrac. They could even risk an offense in rtive safety, due to the presence of the Gold-Rank Healer, Fortuna.

    Amongst them, they imed literal heroes of Tyrion-- peerless meleebatants, proven in the Realm Wars and the skirmishes and mercenary disputes that followed.

    Optio Sixtus had the Champion ss, wielding a radiant de against his enemies. He was their core, protecting the Rhodoks with a reinforced shield, impossibly heavy armor, and unrelenting faith.

    She respected the Optio''s rank and begrudgingly eded that he was the Rhodoks'' strongest and most invinciblebatant.

    Centurion Cyrac was a Fighter, wielding sword and spear with deadly, unerring uracy and precision. He always moved to support his Rhodoks with a well-ced strike. Decades of martialbat only seemed to temper his abilities.

    Constantina had never gotten along well with leadership, but Cyrac always remained professional with her. She respected that.

    The two together crafted and refined foolproof ns for the Rhodoks... always with a keen sense of strategy, battle tactics, and troop positioning... Never before had they erred... not until... the Rhodoks epted this mission.

    Decanus Constantina finally reached the cave entrance, blinded by the sudden light. She took a short moment to catch her breath.

    The archers had all taken cover around afortablyrge ledge against the mountainside. The area was wide enough that she could disperse them so only two at a time would be vulnerable to the creature''s attacks. If they were targeted... only the me could help them, then.

    They were ready, their bows nocked, their crossbows loaded. Each bolt and arrow gleamed a dim silver glow, obvious to her keen eyes, even in the sunlight.

    When the creature emerged from itsir, it would be met with all of Constantina''s fury: a vengeful hailstorm of enchanted bolts and arrows. She was wagering all of her mana, all of her archers... all of her hopes, on that initial strike.

    She rushed to cover, vaulting over a fallen boulder and ducking down behind its protective cover.

    It was the furthest ambush point from the cave and provided a clear line of fire that wouldn''t risk injuring the approaching Shields.

    Munifices Hestia and Rena ced themselves there, her two best scouts. With Proserpina gone, they were herst two remaining family members.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Hestia was the best archer she had-- iming the powerful Ranger ss. It was no miracle that she had survived the kobold onught. Though she was separated from her tent group, she relied on her survivalist skills, her melee prowess at wielding two short swords, and her keen judgment to survive. She brought back more than a few dog ears pinned to her belt.

    "Are you well, Sister?" She asked.

    "I''m fine," Constantina lied. "Stay on guard."

    Munifex Rena looked to her with starry eyes, full of worry, "Decanus..."

    The poor girl was a fish less than a week prior. Combat made them grow quickly.

    It was something Constantina knew well.

    "Shut your me-scarred mouth, Munifex-- I don''t want to hear it," Constantina growled, keeping her voice low.

    Conceal the pain. Men and women die. As much as her heart ached, she would not show her weakness in front of herst two younger sisters.

    Rena was the most promising Munifex Constantina had met in her entire career. The girl had good eyes and an archer''s instincts. When she was ordered, she''d fire first, asking questions afterward-- good questions with the intellect usually reserved for a Decanus or Officer.

    She was also young, unafraid, and full of hope... all things that Constantina considered detrimental to her growth as a female in a military profession.

    Constantina would train her. She would instill in her fear and a sense of caution. She would teach her to doubt.

    And once the Holy Bolter was guarded, no situation-- no enemy would make her cry.

    Constantina would selfishly take that burden from her and more. It was by her orders that her archers shot and killed their enemies. It was by her decisions that young men and women were sent to their deaths-- dying withoutplete corpses.

    When the creature was finally killed and her family avenged, she could finally mourn the dead. She could finally apologize for all of her faults.

    When the nightmares woulde, she would beg Proserpina for forgiveness.

    "Did Pina die a quick death?" Hestia asked.

    "She died honorably," Constantina lied again.

    "Are... are we going to be okay?" The young Rena asked hopefully.

    Constantina grit her teeth. Her answer was silence.

    "This thing... It''s killed so many people." The crossbow girl squeaked in a small voice, "M-maybe I should have brought my boyfriend..."

    Hestia grimaced. She took her right hand off of her bowstring, rolling her shoulder and stretching her arm back, "A word of advice, little Sister: If you have faith in someone, they''ll let you down. He is a man, after all."

    The young crossbow girl''s face turned a shade of crimson, "A-are you saying... that I should date a woman?"

    Constantina narrowed her eyes, "Both men and women are capable of betraying your trust."

    Hestia opened her mouth to respond-- but was interrupted by a thunderous crack of the boulder they hid behind. Dust kicked up in the surroundings.

    Not good... With that, the archers were blind.

    The Munifices under hermand began to shout...

    "It''s HERE!!"  "I can''t see SHITE!"  "Hold your fire! HOLD!!!"  "Where is it?!!"

    Constantina began to stand, to shout her orders... but then the second peal of thunder split the air.

 Chapter 250 Family Of Failures

    ?Decanus Constantina blinked the dust out of her eyes. The explosion had sent her tumbling painfully across the rocky terrain. The surface of her right arm had been torn raw and hundreds of tiny pebbles had been embedded into her skin.

    There was a chain of four or five explosions... What... happened?

    With one hand, she hung precariously off of the steep cliff edge. She tossed her shortbow up and, clenching her teeth, she pulled herself up.

    The cloud of sand and dirt still hung in the air, a blinding curtain of death. Was someone screaming? A high-pitched whine resonated inside of her skull.

    What was going on? Did the creature use a skill? Was it magic? It was like the explosions from an alchemist''s bombs-- but all of the Rhodok Immunes with alchemy proficiency had been culled.

    Constantina grabbed her bow and nced over at the cover they hid behind. The heavy rocks had been cracked and shattered by an undeniable destructive force. If she and her sisters took the st directly...

    She peered through the clearing dust... seeing Holy Bolter Rena... She was safe... but her back was against a dying tree and her eyes were wide in shock. Not good.

    Her hearing began to return... but Constantina almost wished it hadn''t. She heard Hestia... hidden somewhere inside that cloud.... the sound of her whimpering and crying, marred by the ugly song of the ringing in her ears.

    "ARCHERRRS!!! FIRE!!!" Constantina screamed at the top of her voice, sounding muted in her own head.

    She dropped to the kneeling and began quick-firing arrows at the dark shadow in the cloud. The archers were out of position... she was in danger. She still gave the order to fire. Rhodok bolts and arrows sped passed her, some mere inches away from critically injuring her.

    With a downward swoop of the massive leonine creature''s wings, the dust cloud dissipated.

    It was a mountain cat with scaled wings-- but bigger than any lion she''d ever witnessed in a Tyrion arena. One of its furred paws was held in front of its head, over a dozen arrows pricking it like needles. Constantina had burned through the entirety of a quiver, and most of it was blocked.

    Dozens of arrows jut out from the creature''s hide along its back and sides... But... if it was bleeding, it was barely noticeable. If it was hurt, she couldn''t tell.

    The creature had pinned Hestia to the ground, cing a heavy paw on her chest. The Ranger held both of her hands in front of her face, sobbing. Her stomach had beencerated open and it was taking small, quick bites of her insides.

    It shook its leonine head, much like a kobold would shake off water, allowing its thick, furry mane to protrude the stench of blood and rot.

    "You are QUITE good at WASTING your energy," The creature taunted. Its... voice was... like plucking discordant strings of a harp with a rusty knife.

    "Y-you can speak?" Constantina''s mind raced.

    The creature was intelligent. That meant... everything it had done... it had done on purpose.

    There was no instinct in the way it killed her archers... not in the way that it slowly tore Proserpina apart. And the way it was torturing Hestia... there was only cruelty.

    In a smooth, steady motion, Constantina began reaching her hand towards her second quiver.

    "By ALL MEANS.... Go aHEaD," The creature leaned forward, over a ton of muscle mass crushing Hestia''s chest.

    "K-kill me, Sister..." The dying Hestia managed to groan.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It would be thest thing she''d say. She tried to gasp for breath, but the pressure on her ribcage and lungs prevented her from doing so. As a futile act of resistance, Hestia struggled to push off the creature''s paw.

    It was a pathetic joke... but the dying struggled against death, even against reason.

    Constantina clenched her teeth. Should she shoot a useless arrow at the creature''s face? Or should she ce it through her sister''s skull and end her suffering?

    "Eternal me, guide my spear!! ?Leap Attack!!?"

    The Shields had finally emerged from the cave-- one of them desperately charging to attack.

    Constantina watched in horror as the lion''s spiked-mace tail mmed into the charging Decanus-- the spikes piercing into Decanus'' torso and entirely through his neck and head. The dead body was raked across the ground, leaving a bloody streak in the dirt. Withshing motion like a whip, the creature''s tail flung the lifeless body past her and down the steep drop.

    Constantina made her decision.

    "H-heal!! One of my archers needs healing magic!!" She yelled.

    She fired a well-aimed shot at the monster. Bolts and arrows and p from near all directions bounced uselessly off of its sides-- only one in a score of them piercing its hide.

    The creature quickly tilted its head, Constantina''s arrow bouncing off of its hard skull, and not into its soft eye like she''d hoped, "OHHH!! You have a HEALER!!! You humans are quite prepared. Which one is it? Which ONE??"

    "By that order!!" Optio Sixtus'' voice cut through the din of battle. "Do NOT heal Munifex Hestia. Do NOT give away your position."

    "Constantina!" The Centurion yelled, "Magical healing won''t heal an injury of that level!!"

    Decanus Constantina blinked away the tears she always tried to hide. He was right. They were both right. The Gold-Rank Healer, Fortuna, was capable of miracles. But as a human-engineered miracle, it had its limits.

    With Constantina''s hearing returned, she noted that the yelling positions of Sixtus and Cyrac meant they were surrounding the creature. They would lose archer support-- but it seemed the only thing Constantina''s family was capable of was letting the Rhodoks down.

    The creature lifted its paw off of Hestia''s chest and smashed it down on her leg.

    "Bah. You HUMANS and your uniforms." The creature let out a high-pitched groan, "You all look the SAAAME!!"

    "NOOOO!!!" Constantina screeched, straining her voice.

    If Hestia survived, she''d never walk again.

    Constantina stood, walking towards the creature, firing arrow after arrow, aiming at its eyes-- looking for any possible weak point.

    Ignoring the arrows bouncing off of its face, the creature mmed its paw down again, crushing Hestia''s hips. Finally, the Ranger was shocked into unconsciousness.

    Constantina prayed Hestia wouldn''t wake up. She couldn''t imagine the pain she''d undergo if she did.

 Chapter 251 What Comes Next

    ?Decanus Constantina reached into her quiver.

    Empty.

    me take her. How could it have been empty? Had she really gone through two quivers of 60 arrows each?

    She hastily scanned the blood-soaked ground around her. There were many arrows lying uselessly-- but she''d have to spend precious moments searching amongst them for undamaged arrowheads, unbent shafts, and intact feathering.... No, she needed... That! Hestia''s dropped quiver!

    Sister Hestia used a shortbow, like she did. Her quiver would be full. She found herself in the creature''s grasp before she fired a single shot.

    Constantina made a mad dash towards the winged lion and her fallen sister.

    "Ihihihihi!!!" A massive cat paw crashed down-- not on Hestia, but on the ammunition Constantina desperately sought, "Looking for THESE??!? Aiihahahaiihiii~!!!"

    Scoutmaster Constantina skidded in the dirt, barely avoiding a swipe of theughing creature''s ws. She threw herself backwards, rolling to her feet in an acrobatic tumble.

    The arrows... She grimaced as she looked at the trampled container. They would be bent and useless, if not broken.

    Constantina drew her long, sharpened dagger. She wasn''t confident of her chances in closebat-- the creature''s ws would break her body and rend her flesh. She''d be maimed. Then she''d be tortured.

    But me take the beast-- she wouldn''t die without struggling to thest... just as Hestia did. At the very least, she swore to die with her eyes open.

    The creature whirled around, smashing its spiked tail into the Shield-bearers surrounding it.  One Decanus'' shield was pierced through entirely. Knocked away, the woman''s back struck against the uneven mountainside. The only movement left of her was from the blood pooling underneath her shield.

    The tail was a death sentence to any Shield-bearer that took a direct hit, save Sixtus-- and even he angled his shield to deflect the blows.

    A CHNK of a crossbow sounded off, close to Constantina.

    A glowing silvery bolt pierced the side of the creature''s cheek.

    The winged lion contorted its face into a disgusted frown. "Mm... Your arrows... they BOTHER me... It makes me feel LIKE... killing ARCHERS! HAHA!"

    Why? Why would it say that? Dozens of arrows were pierced into the creature''s hide out of hundreds fired.

    "Why?! Why my archers???!" Constantina shouted, "AND WHY won''t you DIE??!!"

    The creature grinned, bits of Hestia''s guts evident caught in its teeth, "You must BE the leaderrrr. I''ll saaave you FOr LAassst!!"

    "me TAKE YOU ALL!!! Throw thes!!" Sixtus screamed.

    It was toote. The creature spread its wings and dashed towards Constantina, dodging the series of throwns and p. It leapt over her and down the steep drop... Soon, its wings would catch air. Soon, it would fly up to kill the rest of her family.

    Constantina clenched her jaw. She knew what she had to do.

    She dashed to Holy Bolter Rena. Her hands shook as she fumbled to reload her crossbow, taking cover behind a dead tree.

    "C-constantina! I shot it... It-- I don''t know. It wasn''t enough." Rena babbled. Her head suddenly reeled back with a thought, "Let me enchant your arrows! D-don''t worry about my mana!! We have to kill this thing!"

    Scoutmaster Constantina grabbed hold of Rena''s wrist and began to drag her away, "Listen to me, Munifex. You will withdraw, immediately."

    The fool child''s eyes widened, her pupils shaking. She pulled her arm, uselessly, "B-but... No! I won''t leave you, Constantina!"

    Constantina stopped and pped the girl hard across the face, "This is no time for your stupid sentiments. I gave you a direct order!"

    Rena shut her eyes, the side of her face reddening. She screamed, "And I''m choosing to ignore it on ount of your order being STUPID!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Constantina took a deep breath, her entire body trembling in anger.

    She would have done the same. Exact. Thing.

    The pot of emotions in her heart had boiled over. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, raging at the fallen. Her heart surged with pride, irrevocably stained by guilt. The pure and innocent love and respect of Constantina''s newest, youngest sister cracked the iron barrier guarding her feelings.

    She pulled Rena into her arms, "Listen to me, girl. You''re the best archer that I''ve ever known. I know you''ve worked hard-- I know you''ve struggled. I''ve been tracking your progress since you began basic training, long before you became a Munifex."

    "I... No-- I don''t understand! Decanus, please!!" The child in her embrace began to choke on sobs. Though she denied it, Rena''s tears proved that she understood clearly what needed to happen.

    The winged beast flew up... past the two of them... high up into the air.

    "Ohhh, AAaaaaRCHeeeEEERRRS!!!" The creature sang, its voice an ugly, varying pitch.

    Death wasing for her and those under hermand.

    Constantina averted her gaze from the beast. She grabbed onto Rena''s shoulders and pushed her to arm''s length, "You have talent. You have perseverance. The me has blessed you with a high-tier ss to show for it. I know you''re strong enough to get through what''s going toe next."

    Tears ran freely down Rena''s dusty cheeks, "Constantina, no! What are you saying?"

    ...

    Optio Sixtus cursed his thrice-damned inability. He wasn''t strong enough to nullify the Manticore''s tail with his shield. The fact turned the fight from a contained undertaking to a ughter. In its clumsy iling, the beast injured and killed over half a dozen Rhodoks-- but it was still too early to reveal Fortuna.

    She had the Healer ss, but her martial skills were only about the level of a basically trained Munifex. If she was targeted and killed... No, it wasn''t worth the risk of saving only one or two.

    The Rhodoks utilized Fortuna after battles, saving the lives of the injured. Any inbat healing spells were to be used with priority on himself and Cyrac. They were the strongest Iron-Rankers and essential battlemanders.

    In front of the forward team and the archers, Sixtus loudly ordered Fortuna to ignore Ranger Hestia''s injuries. Fortuna would be obedient-- it was not the first time he gave such an order, and never before was the situation so treacherous. It was more important to win the battle than it was to save a single person...

    It was a shame. Hestia was an excellent scout.

    Constantina would never forgive him. Fortuna already hated him, so there was no loss there.

    The Manticore flew up high, spinning acrobatically in the air and whipping its tail. Its tail spikes-- longer and thicker than Tyrion swords plummeted down, embedding themselves into the rocks near the archers hidden behind cover.

    They were inurate. None of the archers were hit.

    Sixtus quickly identified six different bone-yellow spikes dispersed around the archer line.

    Wait, no. No!

    "SHIELD WALL!!!!!" He screamed. He smashed the bottom edge of his shield down into the dirt. "Eternal me, ?Protect the Faithful!!?"

    The others immediately heeded his orders, interlocking their shields, facing them towards the bone spikes.

    Sixtus remembered hearing a thunderous series of explosions before the forward group emerged from the cave. There was a cloud of dust and the rocks near the cliff edge had been broken as if by a huge force.

    He stared at one of the spikes through a thin opening between his shield and the Decanus to his right. His vision was colored silver through the protective mana enchanting his and his Rhodoks'' wall of steel. Would it be enough?

    Though the bone looked solid, it began to expand-- its surface bubbling as if it were a gtinous soup. There was an unseen pressure inside, pushing outwards.

    And when the pressure grew too great...

 Chapter 252 Distance

    ?The archers began to panic, some yelling, some cowering in confusion. A few brave fools continued to fire arrows at the skyborn creature.

    That bastard, Sixtus, ordered a shield wall formation.

    Decanus Constantina focused on Rena, ducking behind cover and pushing the crossbow girl down, beside her.

    Rena wiped her tears with the side of her wrist, "Wh-what''s happening?"

    "After the explosion, you''re going to run," Constantina exined.

    "But--"

    "Listen, for now, dear sister."

    Rena pursed her lips, nodding, though her tears continued to fall.

    Constantina continued, "I wanted so badly to train you... to hone your skills, to teach you to ignore those who hate you. Your archery... it''s a gift... and you need to use it to save as many people as you can..."

    She closed her eyes for a moment, opening them to reveal an expression of pure hatred and unabating fury, "--by killing every me-taken bastard who threatens your friends and family."

    BOMMMM!! BOM BOM BOM!! A series of explosions, ear-piercing peals of thunder, reverberated throughout the cliffside.

    The ground shook, a light rain of dirt showering the two of them. They were unhurt-- the ringing in their ears would only be temporary. Still, Constantina yelled over the scream of her dying allies, "You have to RUN!! GO!!!! NOWWWW!!!"

    The creaturended.

    It was like a cat, making next to no noise as it hit the ground. It was ridiculous. The creature had to have been a thousand librae of muscle, spike, and w.

    Constantina felt the monster''s breath, hot against her back. The acrid stench of rot made her want to gag. Rena was frozen in fear, staring up at the creature''s face.

    Fight. Flight. Freeze. They were the three human responses in times of crisis.

    The winged lion revealed its maw full of blood-and-gut covered teeth, "Hello.... ARCHERS!!!"

    Constantina kissed Rena''s forehead, waking her from her reverie

    "Go," She urged once more before turning to face the monster, "?Shadowtooth Strike.?"

    Dark clouds made of mana burst from her form, shrouding her movement. She pushed Rena away, towards the hill they had initially ascended. There was plenty of cover on the way. She''d be fine.

    Besides, Constantina would provide a worthy distraction. She leapt up towards the creature''s face. She let her instincts take over... smooth, swift, and faster than her senses could fathom, she plunged her long dagger deep into the murderous lion''s eye.

    It roared in pain, stumbling backward, "Yooooou BIIIIITCHH!!! Howw DARE YOU strike ME... after.... ALL of my MERRRCY!!!"

    Constantina kept her eyes on the creature. She hoped that Rena was running-- but the only thing she could hear was the impossibly fast pounding of her heart. The only thing she could feel was every muscle in her body aching, screaming in pain. She had utilized nearly all of her mana, pushing her movement technique to its limits.

    She screamed as loud as she could, "I''ve gone my entire life wishing that someone saved me! The stupid, useless Munifex with a scar who only had to rely on herself!! Be that person!! Survive this, Munifex Rena! Stay with the Rhodoks!! LEAD MY ARCHERS!"

    The winged creature bounded forward, reaching forward with both of its monstrous ws, ready to score Constantina''s flesh and tear out her insides.

    "Save that little girl..." She whispered...

    In her mind, she thought the words she could not say... ''Be her friend. Show her that it''s okay to trust... some people... Don''t let her be like me.''

    A thousand librae crashed into Constantina. One of its ws swiped down, searing heat erupting from the entirety of her left arm. Her arm was severed at its shoulder-- how could it still hurt?? Its other paw pinned her down. Her ribs creaked... they were breaking. Blood was pooling in her lungs as she began to choke.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The lion-beast leaned in, staring down at her with its one functional eye, almost as big as her head.

    "Remember when I said I''d KILL yousssst???" The heat of the creature''s breath stung Constantina''s eyes... "I lied."

    Constantina only had a few more moments of consciousness remaining... She reached out her right hand towards the dagger embedded in its left eye.

    ...

    ? A few minutes earlier. ?

    Tycondrius spotted the creature, flying... At the distance, it was barelyrger than an insect.

    His earlier conjecture was correct. It was indeed a Manticore.

    It spun in a circle, whipping its tail swipe around. A Munifex plummeted off the side of the cliff, falling hundreds of fulms below.

    He hoped it wasn''t Rena.

    Justus drew in a big breath of air as he ran alongside him, "Z... Zehr... We can sprint... We... we can make it."

    "No. This is my pace, which is still faster than yours." Tycon responded, "If we go any faster, you will be useless once we arrive."

    With his Iron-Rank physique, he had no issues jogging and holding a full conversation. He found the situation strange. He was one of the slowest members of Sol Invictus, but it seemed that was a terribly unfair standard. The young Decanus was being pushed, but the pace was still tolerable.

    "Go... ahead... I''ll... catch up," Justus spoke between breaths.

    Tycon frowned. He didn''t know the situation he''d be getting into, but all signs thus far suggested it was a poor one. Rena may have already been killed. No, he''d rather make a safer y and enterbat with Justus at his side.

    As good as his offensive skills were, Tycon''s most powerful skills increased the strength of his allies, not his own. If he were forced to show the Rhodoks that he was, in fact, an Iron-Ranker, Justus would be his instrument of war. Because of the young Decanus'' trust, only he could receive Tycon''s Command skills without a mana bacsh or a reduced effect.

    "Cease yourints. Focus on running," He handed Justus one of the bundles of rope. "Hold this. Don''t release that knot."

    The red-crested Decanus took hold of it, cing the heavy loop around his shoulder. The weight was not conducive to his running, but Tycon needed to tie a quick rope knot into the other bundle.

    The young Decanus started, "What... is..."

    "Focus, young man. I''ll exin," Tycon interrupted. "That is asso,monly used to reign in cattle."

    The terrain had changed to a bit steeper-- Tycon slowed slightly to ensure Justus wouldn''t be pushing himself too hard, "We''ll tie the end to a sturdy base. I will be throwing the opposite loop. It may be able to limit the Manticore''s movement."

    Tycon grimaced.

    The more time that passed, the less likely he felt that Rena would still be breathing when they reached the battle.

    He couldn''t help but begin to distance his feelings from the archer girl. Yes, she provided pleasantpany. It wasmon in her conversations to stoke his ego. It was nice to be reminded that he was incredibly handsome.

    The creature would fall even without their help-- the Rhodoks'' core force was strong enough to ensure it. An inefficient strategy, however, would still result in an unnecessary amount of deaths.

    To a Gold-Rank adventuringpany from the Holy Country, Munifex Rena was an eptable sacrifice.

    The concept annoyed him greatly.

 Chapter 253 Illusion Of Safety

    ?? Several minutes earlier. ?

    "Do you really have to do this, Gianna?" Modestus crossed his arms, "And isn''t it a bitte to go after them?"

    "Which is why I had sent word for a horse," Shield Maiden Gianna mounted the gorgeous, red-brown mare. Her mount''s coat was mottled with white; her legs, muzzle, tail, and mane were cutely tipped in ck.

    Gianna wanted to keep her.

    After her father returned from the war, he became a sessful merchant andndowner. Those suns of carefree horse-riding and doing as she pleased were long behind her. She joined the Tyrion military, searching for the same glories that he had. And in doing so, she found a new family-- one she wanted to protect, dearly.

    Gianna smiled to reassure her overly protective tent group. None of them wanted her to go after Zehr and Justus. Her father never wanted her to join the military, either.

    She tilted her head, "Everything''s not as it seems, Uncle-Immortal."

    The old man scratched at his greying beard, "That''s what I''m saying, Gianna! It''s too dangerous. The Duplicarius will take care of it!"

    "We can''t rely on Zehr for everything..." Giannamented.

    "Pshhh," Modestus scoffed. "Sure, we can! That''s how our tent group''s made it this far! We''d ''ave all been dead and dog-shite if Caelistis hadn''t had his face decorated by crossbow bolts."

    The tent group mumbled in agreement, but Gianna shook her head. She was the strongest in their tent group besides those who had already left.

    "The entire cohort owes it to Zehr for their survival," she dered. "I... have a gut feeling that we won''tplete the mission without his help."

    No one could say anything to that. It meant that even if they hadn''t said it aloud, they understood it in their hearts.

    Gianna tilted her head, "Wish me luck, gentlemen."

    "Bring the three of them back safely!!" "Don''t you dare die, Gianna!" "Do your best, Shield Hero!!"

    Modestus grimaced and saluted, "me protect you, girl."

    ...

    ? Current time. ?

    Tycondrius finally approached close enough to identify the Chimera''s features. A slight part of him hoped it was actually something else-- a weaker, more predictable creature. But s...

    ? st-Spike Manticore. Gold-Rank Magical Beast. ?

    "What are.... those... explosions?" Justus wheezed.

    He debated telling Justus in detail... but it would be mostly useless. What would he do with the information?

    The Manticore was a type of Chimera that grew bony spikes on its tail as a defensive measure. The spikes could be released with a flick of its tail. Worse was the fact that there were still several long, protruding spikes remaining... no more than six.

    Worse still was the fact that the specific Manticore''s spikes would explode in bursts of bone-fragments, causing catastrophic damage to the humans. He hadn''t heard of such a phenomenon, but it''s not like he could argue against what he saw nor with the System''s additional details.

    "It''s called a Manticore. Itunches giant bone spikes. Don''t get hit by them. Also, they explode," Tycon summarized.

    If Justus was caught up in the st, he would be almost certainly be killed. The magnitude of such an attack would severely injury Tycon, himself, or at least incapacitate him.

    Tycon grabbed onto the back of Justus'' armor and guided him towards cover. The young Decanus copsed with his back against the rock, struggling for air and rubbing his aching legs.

    "Rest. Catch your breath. Take a minute or two," Tycon warned.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Thankfully, Justus acquiesced without arguing, grabbing his waterskin, and attempting to drain it down his gullet.

    Tycon snatched it out of his hands, "Drink slowly, fool. Small sips. We''re about to join a battle."

    He returned it to the embarrassed young man, who sipped obediently like a child. Tycon examined his surroundings... There was a sturdy looking boulder he could tie the end of hissso around.

    Peeking over from the rocky side of the mountainous wall, he observed dozens of bodies... Archers, it seemed, though Tycon did see at least one fallen shield-bearing Decanus. Centurion Cyrac and Optio Sixtus were still alive, some 60 fulms away.

    The Rhodoks''s shield-bearers had surrounded the Manticore. The beast was struggling with throwns, its hide ridden with arrows. Tycon was thankful that someone had figured out to bring at least that much.

    It could have been worse, of course... but they had made it in a reasonable time. His and Justus'' presence could save a few lives.

    Turning back to the Decanus, Tycon judged him momentarily useless. The wheezing swordsman''s hands were trembling too much to work a proper knot.

    Tycon began to tie his rope to the adjacent sturdy boulder, "We will move together when you''re absolutely certain you''ve regained enough energy to execute your skills."

    Justus nodded quickly, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing.

    Tycon nced out from their cover, once more... He scanned the surroundings for a second stable point.

    He noticed with interest that a sword-- no, a knife had been driven to its hilt into the Manticore''s left eye. But still, it was valiantly fighting its useless battle against the humans.

    Seven hells, the creature was stupid. Had it truly wanted to survive, it should have fled... Tycon surmised that perhaps there was a brood it was protecting-- some kind of logical reason it was unable to leave so easily.

    There. Tycon. spotted it. Near the front of the cave, there was a thick, sturdy stgmite he could tie his secondsso to.

    He turned back to Justus, "60 seconds. Will you be alright to charge in 60 seconds?"

    The young Decanus nodded quickly. He was wise to save his breath.

    "Count to 60, thene out and follow. I''m going ahead."

    Tycon slunk his way out from hiding, moving quickly and quietly along the rock wall.

    "ZEHHHR!!!"

    It had only been moments before his stealthy movement was spotted. Tycon''s eyes widened, turning towards the voice. Holy Bolter Rena had emerged from cover and was making a mad dash towards him.

    Unfortunately, the Manticore noticed, as well... and it was closer to Rena than he was to her.

    "RENAAAAA!!" Justus yelled.

    Further increasing his troubles, Decanus Justus left his hiding spot, running towards the girl-- he was still out of breath, waving at her like a maniac.

    "GRAAAIIIIIIIIHHHHH!!!" The Manticore in the distance screeched. It whipped its tail towards them,unching its remaining bone spikes. They plunged into the dirt, narrowly missing the running archer.

    She continued to run... but she wouldn''t be able to get far enough.

    Tycon skidded on the dirt and sprinted back towards Justus.

    Reaching out his arms, he speared his shoulder into the young man''s abdomen and grabbed the back of his legs to take him down.

    A loud series of explosions shook the earth, engulfing Rena in a cloud of dust.

 Chapter 254 Divine Enchantress

    ?There was dust... so. much. dust.

    Justus wasying on the hard ground, his entire body aching... winded from Duplicarius Zehr''s tackle. The visored Duplicarius was... holding onto his ears? A rain of dirt covered his face and hair.

    He shook Zehr off, spitting dirt, "Rena... is she...?"

    "She''s dead," Zehr stood up. "The n continues. I''m going to rush--"

    "No!!!" Justus got to his feet, shoving the Duplicarius away.

    Rena can''t die! That was impossible! He refused to believe it.

    He ignored his aching legs, he cursed his burning lungs, and he rushed into the dust cloud.

    Aghh! Powdered sand and debris filled his vision. He choked and sputtered from breathing it in. With tear-filled eyes, he struggled to find a sign of Rena. Getting down on his knees to crawl, he searched for her with his hands.

    Blood. Everywhere. Wherever he ced his hands, he felt the sensation of syrupy dirt.

    He patted something. It was Rena-- it must have been.

    As the dust began to clear, he embraced her fallen form, "RENA! Rena, it''s me. It''s me. Everything''s going to be okay."

    "Fool girl. You were safe, hidden behind cover," Zehr emerged through the dust like a demon, shrouded in the shadows.

    Justus looked down at Rena''s body.

    Her left arm was... missing. Her blood flowed freely onto the dirt, pumping in spurts in time with her slowing heartbeat. Justus gripped onto the bloody remnant of her arm tightly, trying in vain to keep Rena''s life essence from spilling out between his fingers.

    The right side of her face was torn, a mass of red blood and flesh and what remained of an eye.

    "J.. Justus... I can''t see..." The girl whispered hoarsely.

    "Shh... Don''t talk. Everything''s going to be alright, Rena. Please. Just... stay with me." Justus pleaded.

    The emotionless demon crossed his arms, "I apologize, Munifex Rena. I couldn''t protect you from such a distance."

    Justus held the dying girl close. Tears streamed down his face and anger welled in his heart.

    He drew his sword, turning back to the Duplicarius, "me, TAKE you Zehr!! Do something!!! HEAL HER!!"

    "Preposterous. Healing? Me? Take a look at her injuries, young man, and you''ll see that she''s not going to recover."

    me take it all... Justus knew it in his heart that Rena was beyond saving. But... Zehr had done so many amazing things... He hoped... he grasped at the tiniest bit of hope that the Duplicarius would be able to save her...

    Instead, Zehr saved him... Why was he worth saving and not her? Zehr had promised to save Rena. He promised...

    "Is... is Zehr here? Did... hee to rescue me?" It was difficult understanding her slurred speech... the right side of her face was devastated.

    Only the other half was able to smile. Her remaining eye had rolled back... a single sparkling tear left a streak in the dust covering her cheek.

    Zehr hesitated... "Yes. You need to rest now, Rena."

    "I... I can''t rest," Rena admitted softly. "Not until... the creature..."

    Justus ced his forehead against Rena''s, "No... no more, Rena. Please stop talking. We''ll fix you up. Save your energy."

    A silvery glow began to emanate from below him.

    Justus looked down to see that Rena had ced her remaining hand on his unsheathed sword... It glowed with a thick concentration of energy.

    Enchantment.<novelnext></novelnext>

    But with that level of mana usage... No... NO!

    "Rena, STOP!!!" Justus begged.

    She was using thest of her life force to enchant his weapon.

    Zehr knelt down beside him and Rena. He reached out and closed her eye, "Requiesce in Pacem, my young love."

    With a bloody half-smile, Holy Bolter Rena fell limp in Justus'' arms.

    ...

    Frustration filled Tycondrius'' heart. Dull clouds blotted out the sun overhead as a grim expression clouded his face.

    He told her not to go.

    And Justus was nigh useless in his mental state.

    Though he could no longer entertain the girl''s passing fancy of a romantic rtionship, he could fulfill herst wish. Her soul could rest after the creature''s defeat.

    He took onest look at the pitiful Decanus and the crossbow archer. He had be truly fond of her. Maybe in another life, it would have been different.

    Lasso in hand, he sprinted towards the battle, eschewing his earlier stealth and cover...

    "Duplicarius!!!" The Optio spotted him running and yelled to him, "This is a Gold-Rank beast! Don''t be reckless!!"

    Tycon groaned inwardly. It was good advice-- he just hadn''t the patience to heed it.

    Though the Manticore was surrounded, the Optio was struggling against its free-moving tail. Thergest of its bone spikes were gone, but a direct hit would still break a Bronze-Rank''s bones and severely injure the Iron-Rank Champion. Centurion Cyrac at the creature''s front wasn''t doing much better-- he couldn''tnd a solid attack, risking being eviscerated by the creature''s ws.

    Tycon skidded to a halt-- he was close enough. He began to whip hissso around to build momentum, observing the Manticore''s body.

    He found his chance as it tensed its muscles to strike.

    Tycon tossed the rope preemptively as it lifted its left paw-- he had it. He pulled the rope back, tightening its hold. Wrapping the length of rope around his arm for leverage, he grabbed hold and heaved back with his Iron-Rank physique. When the Manticore tried to swing its w forward, its strike was slowed and weakened, allowing a surprised Centurion Cyrac to directly block with his shield.

    Tycon didn''t have the patience to hide his strength-- nullifying a Manticore''s w with but a rope was not something a Bronze-Rank Warrior should be able to do. However, he doubted any of the Rhodoks were paying him much attention to him.

    The white-bearded Centurion dashed underneath the Manticore''s head. Keeping his shield up, he drove a spear into the left underside of its chest.

    The beast roared in pain, swinging its entire body around, whipping its tail. Cyrac was knocked back. A ncing blow to Sixtus'' shield sent him flying. Tycon dropped onto his hands and feet to dodge the swipe.

    ? Getting to the kneeling, he put his hand on his sword, "?Shadowfang Strike.?"

    Mana filled his body, elerating his movement and blurring his form.

    Tycon leapt onto the creature''s side, he grabbed onto its fur as a disgusting handhold and vaulted up to mount its back. He still carried the bundle of rope over his shoulder. He whipped the rope around creature''s head, hooking its mouth-- pulling it to prevent it from biting into another of the Munifices.

    Exhaling with his effort, Tycon thrust the sword in his hand down into the Manticore''s arrow-marked hide. He wrenched the de and pulled it out, a fountain of blood spouting forth.

    The creature roared once more, reared up, and pped its wings. Tycon was thrown off, feeling the jarring sense of weightlessness for a scant few seconds... before crashing upon the dirt. He rolled his body sideways with the momentum, tumbling through rocks and earning a few fragments of bone in his revealed flesh. He reached out a palm and his heel to p against the roll.

    ncing to the side-- he noticed he had stopped himself from falling off the mountainside. That would have been inconvenient.

    Lying on the ground, his arms and legs outstretched, Tycon stared up at the grey, cloudy sky. The creature was trying to fly away.

    There was only one rope... He wanted two. He would have preferred four or five. But at least he caught its paw... and there was a loop around its throat.

 Chapter 255 Hero Of Leopardon

    ?Justus trudged forward towards the Manticore with heavy steps, crushed by the weight of responsibility. He held the instrument of Rena''s final will in his hand.

    The filthy, arrow-ridden Manticore reared back on its hind legs, baring its bloodstained teeth in a roar. It pped its wings downward, the sudden gust of air forcing the surrounding Rhodoks back.

    "OhhHHHh!!! It HURRRTS!!! IhihihiHAHA HAAAA!!!" It cackled, its raging voice crescendoing to a raptor-high shriek, "Was that ALLLLLL, HUUUUMANS?!??"

    The monster''sughter shook the mountainside, but Justus was undeterred. His fury would not be denied.

    Justus'' heart shook seeing Duplicarius Zehr in the distance. He lied in the dirt, unmoving.

    "me, take this monster," Justus cursed... "me, take this rotten world. me, take... all of it."

    Someone''s voice was calling him. Was it Cyrac? Maybe Sixtus? Was it trying to warn him? Was it telling him to stand down?

    ...to allow an actual Hero to step forward-- where he uselessly dared to stand in their ce?

    He dispelled his doubts to focus his attention entirely on the enemy.

    Mana... like a torrential downpour of anger... no... a furious sun of righteousness was circting through his body at fantastic speeds. He clenched his trembling fist, tightening the grip on his sword.

    The power in his body was limitless. Mana spilled out, even as he walked, glowing bright as a raging me beneath the cloudy, sunless sky.

    His body was going to break if he were to channel it carelessly... but that wasn''t something he gave any sort of me-scarred shite about.

    "OooooOOhh!!!" The Manticorended back on its front paws, smashing the body of another Rhodok into paste.

    Decanus Constantina, Requesciat in Pacem.

    "Anothhherrr ONE." The creature grinned, bits of flesh still in its teeth. Its earlier anger forgotten, it mocked Justus, "It seems I''ve made YOU annngrrRRYy, Human!!"

    That the winged lion could speak themon tongue should have surprised him. Its scratching, alternating-pitch voice should have unnerved him. He wasn''t impressed. He wasn''t even curious. Its anomalies only served as fuel for his hatred.

    Nonhumans should be purged.

    Justus walked forward. He ced the sword in front of his face. He held its hilt at his chin, the t of the de pointed outward.

    The metal swirled with a concentrated, silvery radiance-- thest of Rena''s vibrant life force.

    He left the woman dead on the dirt, behind him. She said she couldn''t rest until the creature was killed. And... and she died smiling, entrusting its fate to him and Zehr.

    The Duplicarius wasn''t able to protect her... and neither could he.

    But he could avenge her. He would ensure that Rena would rest in peace.

    ...even if it was thest thing he did.

    "Ooooh... Facing me alooooOOOne?? Hur HURR hurrr!!!" The Manticore cackled, swatting the bloody remains of Constantina away and off the mountainside, "Who the HELLS do you THINK YOU ARE?!??!"

    Justus whipped his de to the side, "They call me the Hero of Leopardon!!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    He increased his pace to a run, his eyes over his light shield.

    "aHhahhHAA!!! A HERO!!! But can you FLYYYY!??!!" The creature pped its mighty wings, leaping skyward.

    The ckened rope around it quickly began to grow taut. Zehr wanted two ropes... but only managed to tie one to its paw.

    ...but the rope was also looped around its neck. When it reached the rope''s length, the creature suddenly jerked in the air, "HRRRKKK!!!"

    The massive boulder it was attached to was shifted several feet from its position, but with the beast''s momentum halted, it plummeted to the ground, crashing clumsily onto its back.

    "Rhodoks, throw the NETS!!!" Optio Sixtus bellowed. "Protect the Decanus!!"

    More weighteds were thrown-- far too few... but they bought him a single moment. A single strike was all he needed.

    Justus took a deep breath-- nearly close enough to strike... He exhaled as a blinding swirl of golden mana enveloped his body.

    "I never deserved the title of hero...." He spoke the words in his heart, "A hero protects-- I couldn''t even save the one person I wanted to..."

    The mana flowing outward projected his voice, shaking the ground with each sprinting step.

    "But without a shield... I still have THIS SWORD!!" He dered.

    "JUSTUUUS!!!" A voice interrupted him... Gianna''s.

    She rushed ahead of him at breakneck speed, utilizing her mana not to protect herself... but to elerate her movement forward.

    Entrapped in thes, struggling and iling its wings and ws, the Manticoreshed out with its life-ending tail, "DIIIIIEEEE!!!!"

    Gia skidded to a halt. Spinning her back heel in the dirt, she rotated, directing her reinforced shield to the right, towards the attack.

    Adrenaline coursed through Justus'' body. The mana filling empowering him increased his perceptions beyond the limits of human ken, sensing everything faster than he could act.

    Justus heard Gianna''s every word... "I will be your shield, ever stalwart."

    He watched helplessly as the Manticore''s tail cut through the air and collided with the armored Shield Maiden.

    Gia''s shield dented impossibly inward, ignoring the fact that a human arm was bracing behind it. The force lifted her off her feet, and she flew upwards and away. Justus didn''t even have time to blink. The loud sound of a metal heap crashing into rock reverberated across the mountainside. .

    A renewed sense of guilt gued Justus. Gianna was badly hurt-- he prayed she wasn''t dead. His heart wouldn''t be able to take it.

    She sacrificed herself to provide him the opportunity. If she hadn''t, he would have been killed instantly.

    He grabbed hold of one of the spiked protrusions on the Manticore''s tail with his shield arm. As the creature retracted it, he allowed the momentum to propel him forward, into the air and towards the Manticore''s head.

    He no longer wanted to be a hero. His heart yearned only for revenge.

 Chapter 256 Avenger Of Leopardon

    ?"I judge thee guilty of crimes against humankind."

    Decanus Justus, Avenger of Leopardon, soared through the air towards the Gold-Rank Manticore.

    "Beg your god for mercy, for I shall grant you none."

    The purest white glow he''d ever seen... even more concentrated than Zehr''s ?Legionbreaker?, sheathed both his de arm and the sword itself.

    That was what it was supposed to feel like... the feeling of raw power, condensed into lethal killing intent. It was filled with pain... it was filled with hatred. It was his will to avenge... and it was his desperate prayer to protect those who remained. All this, and was kissed by a mana that wasn''t his own... a foreign divinity that he felt intimately...

    How could he exin it?

    Ah... He knew.

    "I am the will of the Eternal me," Justus dered.

    From his sword, a beam of golden light shot up towards the sky, parting the dull grey clouds. His de... literally pierced through the heavens. And his de... would send the monster to the Seven Hells in pieces.

    "Receive thy ?Final Judgment.?"

    He reared his sword over his left shoulder, then sliced through the Manticore''s neck with the golden beam of light. The crescent of golden mana went on, scarring the rocky cliffside in front of him with aceration five men wide and one man deep.

    The Manticore halted its screaming, its headpletely severed from his body.

    Justus crashed into the dirt, tumbling and smashing into the brush.

    His mana depleted, his body hungered for more-- he curled up, his muscles spasming in pain. His body craved more mana... but though it once ran like water, his mana cirction had be asbored as thick mud. Pain and exhaustion threatened to halt his consciousness.

    With a trembling hand, he lifted his sword up. He did it. They did it.

    ...The silvery glow on his de had begun to fade... the de cracking, bits of it turning to mana-dust and dissipating.

    "No..." Justus pleaded, "Stay with me... Don''t go... Rena..."

    But the de didn''t listen. It shattered, not like exploding steel, but like thin, broken crystal. All that remained were wisps of mana that gently kissed his cheeks-- and those left him too, taken by the winds.

    Justus ced his hands onto his face and he cried himself to unconsciousness.

    ...

    "Fortuna, see to the survivors," Optio Sixtus grimaced. He slung his shield onto his back, rubbing his aching arm. He expected to feel pain from some of the bones being fractured, but it seemed the me favored him at least that much.

    The Rhodoks had lost several Bronze and Iron-Rank shield-bearers. And the archers... he would consider it lucky had they two or three left.

    "And see to the corpses," He added.

    "You mean the bodies," Fortuna red.

    Sixtus grit his teeth in annoyance, "Yes, yes. The bodies."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Cyrac stepped between them, "Now is not the time for bickering, Optio, Lady Fortuna..."

    The old Centurion took off his helmet and ced it against his chest, "Fortuna, please... Every moment counts."

    The Gold-Rank Healer''s angry gaze softened, "Yes, Centurion. I''m sorry, Optio."

    Sixtus suffered one of the Centurion''s res. It was a tacit sign that meant he was supposed to be polite, regardless of what was logically correct, "You are right, Fortuna. I apologize."

    "You there, give me your hatchet."

    Sixtus heard a dissident, yet familiar voice from behind him. He turned to see a young man wearing the modified Decanus helm. The visor covered the upper part of his face, keeping his eyes hidden. Duplicarius Zehr snatched a utility hatchet from a Munifex''s hands.

    "And you, Decanus." Zehr pointed at another, "I saved you from being bitten in half."

    "You did, Duplicarius. And for that, I am eternally--"

    Zehr cut him off and pointed at one of the corpses, "That is Munifex Rena. Allow no one near her or I will tear you in half, myself. I will be gathering wood for her pyre."

    Sixtus approached warily, "Duplicarius, what is the meaning of this?"

    The shorter Duplicarius looked him up and down, "Optio, with respect, I will prepare Munifex Rena''s funeral rites, myself."

    "That won''t be necessary, Duplicarius. We will be preparing a mass--"

    "Optio Sixtus," Zehr lifted his visor, revealing sharp, golden eyes. "I shall do this on my own, with no additional trouble to the Rhodoks. The only exception is a single Decanus guarding the body. Afterward, I will subject myself to any punishment, as you see fit."

    The way Zehr spoke in absolutes was a bit forceful, but his words were concise and still showed deference to his rank as Optio. Sixtus decided to take no offense.

    Centurion Cyrac approached from the side, "As far as punishment goes, you and Decanus Justus will be joining the forward team, Zehr."

    The Duplicarius flipped his visor back down, "I hear and obey. Excuse me, gentlemen."

    Without suffering small talk, Zehr immediately turned on his heel to walk away.

    Still, Sixtus was disappointed. People were a resource... they were numbers. He knew their names, knew their strengths and weaknesses but did not mourn their loss.  He had originally thought Zehr was much like him, a kindred spirit, also jaded by the horrors of war.

    But Zehr mourned. It was a sorry weakness-- and a human one.

    "Hold, Duplicarius," Sixtus called out. "Who was... Munifex Rena to you?"

    The Duplicarius stopped, half turning back to project his voice, "She was my lover."

    ...

    Tycondrius went about chopping wood with great efficiency. With no one around to observe him, he cleaved the wood from dead trees using his Iron-Rank physique. In an ufortable coincidence, the one who had taught him best how to chop wood was Sol Invictus'' deceased scout, a young human boy named Kimura Tamaki. And using those skills, he was nning on sending off a different scout.

    When Tycon had transmigrated, he had no recollection of friends, family, or loved ones. He had to re-establish those connections, as essentially a new, different person. But one of the things he did know... in disturbing detail, was how to build a damned good funeral pyre.

 Chapter 257 Proposal

    ?Tycondrius knew the ancient traditions of the Old Tyrion Empire. One of Sol Invictus'' members, Lulu, had informed him that most of his knowledges were epochs and centuries old. But still, he would act on the assumption that the Tyrion cremation process remained unreliable.

    No, he would not risk a hastily and shoddily built pyre for Munifex Rena. He''d do it himself. A properly prepared me had to be hot enough to burn her remains into ash.

    As luck would have it, the grey clouds overhead dared not rain. A humid environment would be less conducive to a fire. And as an unfortunate blessing, much of the blood had drained from out of her severed appendages. The probability of her corpse bursting and dousing the mes was low.

    He washed and dried Rena''s body. Having no scented oils to anoint her, he elected to rub her skin with sweet-scented flower petals. He took no pleasure in the macabre work.

    It physically pained him to part with a single Tyrion silver coin-- ced underneath Rena''s tongue... It was only proper. It seemed Justus, the young Decanus, was unfamiliar with the custom. Gianna might have known, but apparently, she had taken injury during the Manticore fight.

    For a moment, Tycon wondered if it would be different if he had chosen to wait for her, too... He quickly discarded the thought. Hypotheticals were useless for such a specific situation. He acted to the best of his knowledge.

    The coin was a tribute to the old gods-- or somesuch. A Reaper... or whatever name the concept had in Tyrion culture, would take the payment, to ensure ease of passage into the afterlife. All cultures had something simr.

    If the memory originated from the "previous" Tycon, then it seemed that even he didn''t care much for names.

    The dead were dead. The living remained. Why should he care? He did not fault the previous-him.

    ...He wished he knew. In the case he needed to war against the heavens or hells, he would ask for the Tyrion Reaper by name and demand Rena be returned to him.

    ...

    Justus woke up in one of the medical tents. One of the Immunes caretakers informed him that he had suffered acute mana fatigue-- a diagnosis by the Rhodok Healer, Fortuna.

    He was certain he had used up all of his life force in his attack against the Manticore.

    ...Just like Rena did, enchanting the sword he lost.

    It was a miracle-- a blessing of the me that he survived. But the fact that Rena didn''t...

    As blessed as he was, with all the power he had at his disposal... he couldn''t help but feel a splinter of doubt piercing his heart, challenging his faith.

    He asked the attending physician for Gianna. The Shield Maiden was only hurt because of Justus'' own weakness. He wanted to know the extent of her injuries. He used his rank as Decanus to demand the information from the annoyed Immunes.

    He was told she was in a different tent... one reserved for those in critical conditions. He wasn''t allowed to see her, but she had survived and was convalescing.

    Justus breathed a sigh of relief. He inwardly praised the me, his faith restored, at least a little.

    He sought out one of the surviving archers in the medical tent. He wanted to ask about Rena,  even though it pained him to do so. Did she do well? Did she run and cry at first opportunity? Was she brave?

    The archer told him that only the bolts she enchanted were able to injure the Manticore. Hemented that it was not enough to save Constantina and the others... but the ranged fire was able to slow and fatigue the beast. Without it, far more Rhodoks from the forward team would have been killed. The great risks taken by himself and Duplicarius Zehr had turned the tide of battle in their favor.

    Justus was proud of her... She died with honor. And he would continue to fight against the evils of the Realm...  if only to honor her memory.

    He was released by Centurion Cyrac-- he tried to ask for a personal favor to see Gianna, but he was denied. Fortuna was working exhaustively to heal far too many Rhodoks. Gia''s fate rested in the hands of another-- but one well equipped to help her.

    Only able to obediently follow orders, Justus returned to his tent group...

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycondrius met with Decanus Justus after he returned from the triage area. He seemed well enough to work, so he had him gather their remaining tent members-- not including Gianna, anyroad.

    Word had spread, even to the camp at the mountain''s base. Over twenty hade-- more than a few female Munifices too, who wailed with ugly tears. It seemed Rena had friends throughout the cohort.

    He felt a tinge of guilt that he knew so little of her.

    The impromptu collection was a modernization of old rites... a centuries-old ritual where the gathered would say something polite about the deceased. It was practiced when the Tyrion Empire had dominated near all the "civilized" parts of the Realm.

    They called her... the Heroine of Leopardon. Everyone remained respectful. It was good, as Tycon did not wish to throw any more Rhodoks off of the mountainside.

    Divine Enchantress Rena''s body was burnt to ash, just as the veteran Crusaders and Pdins in Tyrion legends.

    With Rena gone... none of Tycon''s doubts remained. He wouldplete his mission. And to do so, he would climb a mountain of Tyrion corpses, regardless of how high it would be.

    ...

    After Justus saw Rena off... he returned to the infirmary tents, hoping to see Gianna alive and fully healed.

    With a crescent moon high, the Munifices on evening watch escorted him to the Shield Maiden''s tent.

    "Come in, please..." Gia''s familiar voice called. It was hoarse... parched by weakness.

    Entering, Justus fought back tears. Lying on a bed underneath thick nkets was a frail woman with a sickly pallor. He never thought the strong, vibrant, always-smiling Gianna could look so broken.

    He knelt by the side of her raised cot, "Gia... I... I''m so d you''re alive. But... maybe you should rest."

    "N-no... I wanted to see you too, Justus," She said shyly. "Be a gentleman and help me up."

    Justus would do anything for her... He helped support her, embracing her soft, armorless back and taking in the sweet scent of her hair.

    "I heard what happened to Rena... I was... Ergh... Ow..." Gia winced.

    Even though she was in physical pain, in her infinite kindness, she ced her sword hand on Justus'' arm to reassure him.

    "I''m sorry," She whispered. "I was moments toote..."

    Justus'' words were caught in his throat. When her nket slipped off of her upper body, he saw an earth-ster cast had been wrapped around her shield arm. She had taken a career-ending injury... and she still cared more about him than herself.

    "Your... arm," Justus grimaced, baring his teeth and raising his cheeks up against his tearful eyes.

    Gianna smiled with a hint of regret... "I promised to be your shield, Decanus."

    Justus took her soft, supple hand in his, "Gia... Marry me."

    The Shield Maiden''s eyes widened, her pupils dted, "I''m sorry?"

 Chapter 258 Breathtaking

    ?Justus took in a short breath, his lungs refusing to fill on ount of his pounding heart, "I asked you to marry me, Gia. I n to stay with the Rhodoks but... you can-- you can serve as an Immunes or something, a weapons trainer or a quartermaster."

    His hands were trembling, his palms covered in sweat. He was beginning to lose feeling in them, too, from how fast his heartbeat was going.

    "Centurion Cyrac offered me a promotion to Tesserarius... I''m going to ept the offer. It pays well-- I can support you. Y-you don''t even have to work, not if you don''t want to."

    Gianna averted her gaze, her cheeks flush, "You know Justus... My ss may be Shield Maiden, but I''m not so pure... I''m... not really sure if--"

    "I don''t care, Gia. I love you," Justus dered. "Everything''s going to be okay. I''ll take care of you. Please... just let me."

    He kissed her small hand, wet from small droplets of his tears, "I don''t want to lose your smile. It''s... it''s the only thing keeping me together."

    Justus closed his eyes, trying not to bawl his eyes out. So many different emotions whirled through his mind... Regret, loss, anxious anticipation for what the future held...

    "You mustn''t cry, dear Decanus..." Gianna cooed. Taking Justus'' hand in hers, she softly kissed his fingers. "No one should see my husband cry-- none but me. Your pain... it will also be mine to bear."

    Justus sniffed. He looked up to the love of his life... at her eyes, bright blue even in themplight... at her perfect,forting smile... and his breath was taken away, once more...

    The woman tilted her head, closing her eyes, curved upward. Gia was a gentle goddess, healer of his heartache.

    Ah!! He was staring again.

    "Gia... you mean?"

    "I ept your offer," She said simply... but those few short words made him so happy...

    "I... but I..." Justus'' mind, his entire thought process shattered. He didn''t think this situation would y out as it did. He had been toying with the idea in his mind... but it was just that, an unattainable fantasy.

    Opening her eyes, Gia raised her eyebrows.

    "Oh, were you not serious, Decanus Justus? You really shouldn''t y with a woman''s heart like that," Sheughed politely to herself, but her eyes stayed serious.

    Justus wiped his tears with his wrist, gripping Gianna''s hand tightly, "I''m serious about you, Gia. Please marry me."

    Her smile still hid something... a hesitation... She lightly ran her fingers across Justus'' palm, "We... can start slow, if you''d like. It might turn out that you don''t really like me all that much."

    Justus shook his head rapidly, "No, I''ve thought this through, Gia. Really, I have. I''ve liked you since we''ve met-- your demeanor, your temper, your virtues and your vices, all of it. I want to spend the rest of my life with you--"

    "No..." He hardened his gaze, "--whatever challenges lie beyond, I want you at my side."

    Gianna gasped in surprise, holding her hand in front of her chest, her eyes sparkling, reflecting the dimntern me. Her voice quavered as she spoke, "My... my heart won''t stop racing. I knew... I knew you liked me but... I had no idea... You really..."

    "It''s true," Justus'' lips trembled as he spoke. "All of it. Please, Gia... ept my feelings."

    He bowed his head to show his sincerity... and to hide his heated cheeks and swollen eyes.

    "I''ve already epted, dear husband." Gia sighed as she stroked his hair, "But I think instead of bing an Immunes, I''ll remain as your shield. I''ll need some time to heal my broken arm, though."

    Wait, what?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Justus shot his head back up, revealing his ugly face full of tears, "Gia? You''re-- you''re going to be okay?"

    "Well, yes. Fortuna''s healing magic is quite effective..." Gianna pursed her lips, "Decanus... was all that only because you thought I--"

    Holy Swordsman Justus embraced the love of his life, "I''m... I''m so d... I''m so..."

    He thought he looked pathetic. The tears... they wouldn''t stop. But he didn''t care... She said yes.

    "Ow... ow... Justus, please..." Gianna''s pained voice made him leap back in sudden worry.

    "By the me, I''m so sorry, Gia-- Are you okay? Oh-- ahhh!! I''m so dumb!!" Justus wanted to smash his face against the dirt to beg for forgiveness.

    Gia smiled, a trace of pain still evident in her expression, "No, it''s okay. I... I do like being held by you... But I''d prefer you be gentle...

    "Justus..." She whispered, "I want you to be sweet to me... like I know you are."

    Her words made his heart thump painfully hard in his chest. He ced his tearful face on Gianna''sp, "I''m... just so d... You''re going to be okay..."

    She continued to stroke his hair... calmly... lovingly, "Dear husband..."

    He lifted his head up, emotions spilling from his heart. He didn''t know what to think... This entire quest had been a series of unfortunate losses... but something unexpectedly good came from it, "Y-yes... w-wife?"

    cing her finger beneath his chin, she lifted his gaze up to meet hers, "Will you lie with me, tonight?"

    Justus'' heart soared to atop the highest mountains... yet sank to the lowest hells. Those words... he had never thought-- not in a million years, that he would hear them. But... he couldn''t. It was too soon.

    With Gia''s condition... he was afraid he''d hurt her... And besides that, guilt still gued his heart from Rena''s death.

    "Mm... maybe that was unfair of me to ask right now," Gia added, taking the silence as his answer.

    "No, I want to... Gianna, you''re... the most beautiful woman I''ve everid eyes on..."

    Gia leaned forward to kiss his forehead, "But?"

    "But... just... your condition," Justus curled up his lips. He didn''t know how to decline her without hurting her feelings.

    Her kiss filled his entire body with warmth.

    "And it''s Rena," She offered.

    Justus nodded, gulping, and holding back another wave of tears.

    "Then I shall ask tomorrow... and perhaps the day after that," Gia smirked. "Until you are cured of your heartache-- and still after that... until you get tired of this old crone."

    Justus felt his eyes well up again, and he buried his face in Gianna''s softp, "Thank you, Gia... I''m sorry, and thank you..."

    "Dear husband... I''m sorry, too... I should have never ignored your feelings for as long as I have."

 Chapter 259 Aftermath

    ?It had been a sun and a half since Rena''s death. Tycondrius figured the break would take two-- one for the Rhodok healer to expend her mana and another for follow-up healing. Reasonably, they would set out by the morning of the third sun. The healer''s mana would have regenerated in full, ready again to support her allies.

    Then, the Rhodoks would break their bodies against their next enemy. Repeating the procedure, the healer would repair the bones of those that still lived. It was an effective strategy.

    However, he preferred his Sol Invictus'' methods. His own guild utilized only a few strong adventurers, instead of a mass of bodies thrown haphazardly at a mission objective.

    It was far less... messy.

    During the interim, Tycon had the displeasure of watching the miserable young fool of a Decanus, Justus, mope around.

    Munifex Rena''s death hadn''t been the young man''s fault-- it made no logical sense for him to attribute such a thing to himself. The girl had chosen the worst possible time to run out of cover. She even yelled out, marking her position. Worst of all, their particr enemy seemed to prioritize inflicting pain and grief more than it wanted to survive.

    There was no brood in the cave, no reason for it to remain instead of fleeing. Tycon snuck out after-hours with Modestus to check. He surmised that it was merely the Manticore''s nature to be cruel. That was why it was killed. Pathetic.

    Concerning his emotions over Rena''s death, Tycon was... annoyed. He enjoyed herpany, but it wasn''t like she was an integral member of his Sol Invictus-- not like his previous scout.

    Bah. The thought of it only frustrated him more. Tycon couldn''t even identify what exactly it was that made him like the girl. Was it her instant and willing obedience to orders? Her keen eyes and urate shot, perhaps? Or did he, on some subconscious level, wish to return the young woman''s romantic feelings?

    It was a useless question, but the waiting allowed him time to contemte.

    Rena was dead, her body turned to ash.

    Gianna was injured-- and even with magical healing, it would take several days or weeks for her arm and whatever else had broken, to recover. She, along with others too injured to continue, were sent back down the mountain to the remnants of the Second Cohort to convalesce.

    Justus... that peculiar, emotional, numbskull, was alive and physically well. He had even managed to breakthrough mid-battle.

    ? System, disy the information on Justus. ?

    ? System response: Justus, Iron-Rank Holy Avenger. ?

    It made sense that the young Decanus broke through to Iron-Rank, despite his age. He was at the peak of the Bronze-Rank, developing faster than both Holy Bolter Rena and Shield Maiden Gianna... However... the ss-change to Avenger gave him pause.

    His memories marked the Avenger as one of the most useless sses in the Realm. As an Iron-Rank, his abilities and physique were all boosted, yes... but the Avenger ss was specialized at... avenging.

    They were a valuable and rare ss, yes. The Church of the Eternal me would wee him with open arms. Wielding greatswords of xenophobic hate and oppression, the Avengers were bounty hunters of the Church. Their job was to eliminate traitors, political dissenters, and anything their human masters deemed as "sinners."

    But in a mercenarypany? The ss had a skill called ?Avenger''s Oath?... an oath not to be taken lightly. It was quite useful, allowing him to strike unerringly with mana-powered shes of radiant energy.

    There were two conditions for using it-- the first was against a true viin, like the Manticore, a murderous and remorseless creature that reveled in cruelty. The second was after one of his allies had fallen.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Unfortunately for Justus, not every enemy was a viin. A guild like the Rhodoks would ughter tribes of innocent Iredar if they were granted the mission. In such a case, Justus would be no better than an Iron-Rank warrior.

    And for the second condition... an ability that relied on an ally being killed was beyond useless in Tycon''s mind.

    No... the Holy Swordsman ss that the young man used to be would have been far more versatile to develop.

    The Avenger was also a mana-intensive ss... and if Tycon judged correctly, the only reason his mana had surged so greatly, previously, was because their misguided Holy Bolter had instilled her massive mana pool to supnt his.

    Justus even wasted a majority of it, channeling it into his steps and his voice... even going as far as shooting a beam of light into the sky. What was he trying to do? Alert every faction in the mountains that humans hade to invade their territory?

    Rena''s desperate decision to grant Justus her mana had killed her far faster than if she hadn''t. Tycon would have even considered taking back the broken girl and hiring her as a nobatant assistant-- if she was any good at it, anyroad. Even with one arm and half a face, she was probably more useful in a fight than Sorina Capulet, his quartermaster back in the city of Nice.

    But still... Rena made a conscious choice-- for that, Tycon could not fault her.

    Empty night.

    He could be angry about it, though.

    ...

    Justus was told to fetch Duplicarius Zehr for a meeting with the Centurion and the forward group. He half-expected to have to drag him there, knowing his friend''s disdain for such events... but he was pleasantly surprised when Zehr apanied him withoutint.

    After the initial greetings, Zehr was first to ask a question, "Who''s in the forward team?"

    Many around the table red at him for his forwardness.

    Optio Sixtus nodded, "You''re looking at them, Duplicarius."

    Justus looked around the table set up in the Centurion''s military tent. The forward group was made up of the traditional ten. He felt a little embarrassed, especially at his friend''s demanding nature. He figured that only he and Zehr were the only Bronze-Rankers amongst them.

    Sixtus briefly introduced everyone around the table, allowing Centurion Cyrac to brood at the table''s head.

    "So you''re Duplicarius Zehr..." A woman''s voice mused... It belonged to the Rhodok adventuringpany''s single Gold-Rank, the head medical Immunes of the cohort, Healer Fortuna.

    "Your reputation precedes you, Sir," She offered... though her voice was... almost mocking.

 Chapter 260 Fortuna

    ?Centurion Cyrac gnashed his teeth, grimacing. They hadn''t even set out yet and Fortuna was picking a fight. The woman knew she was untouchable as the Rhodok''s only Gold-Rank... and she sometimes threw her weight around when she was feeling... moody?

    Everyone''s eyes were turned to Zehr. The young red-headed Justus audibly gulped. Hah. Even the boy knew hispanion was trouble.

    Cyrac anticipated a good show. A little useless anger amongst the tent group was better than the general dull depression. With the Manticore''s decimation of their already dwindling forces, morale was not high.

    He kept quiet. Fortuna would speak her piece... If Zehr was as tactless as Optio Sixtus... he would intervene. If not... he would strongly consider the Duplicarius for promotion, even if he had to stuff it down his throat for him to ept it.

    The visored Duplicarius lightly bowed his head, "Gold-Rank Healer Fortuna, thank you for your grace in healing mypanion, Shield Maiden Gianna. I am forever in your debt."

    "Hmph!" The also-helmeted Fortuna turned away, crossing her arms.

    Oho... That was well-spoken. The young man countered Fortuna''s misced aggression with a heartfeltpliment that she would find trouble to deny.

    "I didn''t do it for you, idiot," Fortuna muttered.

    "Nheless, you have my gratitude."

    Cyrac raised an eyebrow at Sixtus.

    That criminal... The dark-haired mushroom-brain was polishing his helmet. Cyrac wanted to belt his Optio in the head and demand that he listen-- maybe he could learn something from the Duplicarius. He inwardly cursed the fact that he had to y his persona as the Rhodoks'' wizened leader.

    Sensing the two''s conversation finished, Sixtus returned his gaze to the table, "The forward group has the highest-rank leadership among the remainingbatants, as well as a few veteran Iron-Rankers. Besides detailing the mission proceeding tomorrow, I would like to address any concerns you may have, as well as gather your opinions on a few issues..."

    Zehr crossed his arms, closing himself off. Cyrac chuckled inwardly. It would not be so easy to escape Sixtus'' nigh-ceaseless questioning. The man loved meetings, gathering everyone''s thoughts and concerns so he could form a n to the best of his ability, to address everything.

    Sixtus gestured to Zehr with an open palm, "Starting with you, Duplicarius."

    Zehr uncrossed his arms, facing the Optio, "I have two concerns, Optio, both of them rted."

    The Optio nodded, "Go ahead."

    "The first is... how many Rhodoks remain? Sending ten on a mission seems a far cry from our Rhodok Company''s usual tactics."

    Fortuna mmed the table, jostling Cyrac''s wine cup, "And how would you know what our Rhodok Company''s tactics are??"

    Fortuna''s question was ridiculous. The Rhodoks used standard Tyrion military tactics. If his and Sixtus'' conjecture was correct, Zehr was a former Tyrion Immunes, while Fortuna''s first taste of military life was with the Rhodoks. It... seemed that the girl was trying to seek trouble with the Duplicarius... but he couldn''t fathom any rhyme or reason to it.

    "Please, Fortuna. Everyone at this table is important enough to speak," Cyrac spoke to intervene.

    He had initially expected to have to ask Zehr to stand down. In a strange twist of fate, he had to calm his Healer down, instead.

    The willful girl pointed angrily at Zehr in response, "And why do you keep that helmet on? Do you have something to hide? Huhhh?!"

    Ugh. What was the girl trying to do? She was only digging a hole for herself to crawl into.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zehr grimaced, "With respect, Miss Fortuna--"

    "Don''t call me Miss~! I''m not that old!!"

    "With respect... Fortuna..." The Duplicarius paused, likely to see if he''d be interrupted again, "--I will remove my helmet, if asked. However, you are... also wearing a helmet."

    Cyrac sighed. There it was. Only two people at the table wore helmets. Fortuna wore a standard-issued Tyrion helmet, while Zehr wore a helm modified to cover his eyes, allowing him to see through a narrow slit. He looked quite menacing in the dim candlelight, but Cyrac knew that the young man did so to hide his unique eyes.

    "Take it off, then!" Fortuna sat back in her seat, thinking she''d won.

    Zehr ced his hands on the sides of his helm, removing it in a smooth motion. He brushed his green hair back, revealing an unfairly handsome face, youthful features, and a haunting golden gaze.

    Fortuna... gawked, her face as red as a tomato... Cyrac thought she looked like a farmer''s daughter seeing a soldier for the first time.

    me take it all. Cyrac had a feeling this would happen as soon as his Healer mentioned Zehr''s helmet. That thrice-damned Duplicarius was probably the handsomest bastard in thepany.

    "Y-y-y-y-your eyes..." She stammered.

    "They are gold, yes," Zehr replied. "And yours are purple."

    Amusement prickled Cyrac''s heart. It was rather difficult to discern the color of Fortuna''s eyes in the dim light. He would have asked for him instead of Proserpina, had he known just how good the Duplicarius'' vision was.

    "Fortuna," Sixtus gestured to the Healer. "--if you would."

    "Wh-wh-wh-wh-what? Wat?" The girl stuttered and babbled. Any train of thought she might have had, had been runpletely off-path.

    Cyrac did his best to hide his amusement, smiling and adopting a polite tone, "Fortuna, the Duplicarius hasplied with your request. Would you remove your helmet, as well?"

    She obviously didn''t want to, but it was perfectly fair. She did so... but in an excruciatingly slow, obstinate manner.

    Removing her helmet, Fortuna revealed dark purple hair in a braided bun... and two elongated ears, marking her as an Outsider with an elven bloodline.

    More than a few eyes around the table grew wide-- far more surprised at Fortuna''s ears than Zehr''s eyes. This was the grave that Fortuna had dug for herself.

    Cyrac wasn''t sorry in the least.

    Not many of the Rhodoks knew that their leadership recruited those with Outsider-blood. It was because of that policy that they had discovered Fortuna in the first ce... an Unranked girl, useless atbat, with an honorable dream to save lives-- to make a difference.

    "S-s-s-s-stop staring!! Idiot!!!" Fortuna growled, "You''ve got elf blood too!! Don''t try to deny it!!"

    The golden-eyed Duplicarius smirked. He whispered something-- and Cyrac could swear it sounded like a... a pleasant song? A magical phrase of some sort?

    ...And that magic turned Fortuna''s face redder and hotter, her ears lighting up like torches ame.

 Chapter 261 The Mission Will Continue

    ?Centurion Cyrac leaned over his fist. He wondered what Duplicarius Zehr had said to manage to turn Fortuna in an even worse, thering mess. However, it seemed a bit... beneath him, to ask such a thing, himself.

    "What did you say, Zehr?" Decanus Justus asked. "Was that... Elven?"

    The boy was quite helpful sometimes. Cyrac was d they promoted him.

    "Hm? Indeed it was." The Duplicarius responded, slight confusion in his tone, "I merely noted that purple eyes are auspicious in elven culture."

    Justus furrowed his brows, "Is that... a good thing?"

    That was most useful, as well. Cyrac had no idea what that word meant. ncing around the table, it appeared that no one else did, either.

    Zehr nodded, "Indeed. Because of it, her beauty is blessed--"

    "Stop! Stopstopstop stooooopppppp!!!" Fortuna held her palms out, then pped her hands together and bowed, "Don''t continue!! I won''t question you anymore!!"

    The Duplicarius squinted his eyes, lightly tilting his head, "There is nothing I said to be ashame--"

    Fortuna mmed the table again, except this time, with mana-coursing through her fists, "I am Healer Fortuna, I can give life aNd i CaN tAKE it AWaAAAAyyYY!!!"

    The young woman bosom was heaving with angered, ragged breaths. Her pupils were dted and shaking.

    ...She wasn''t... at all intimidating, though. Surely, she must have known that?

    Cyrac averted his gaze. He had only realized just then that because he''d always posted Munifices to guard her, the not-so-youngdy was not at all versed with romantic rtionships. It seemed it had turned into... a social vulnerability.

    Duplicarius Zehr didn''t even seem to be trying, a look of uncertainty clear on his face.

    Cyrac entertained the thought of ying "matchmaker." The cool, calm, collected Zehr could perhaps temper Fortuna''s willfulness...

    Ah, that wouldn''t work. He recalled that the young Duplicarius was mourning a certain crossbow archer in his tent group-- his former lover, it seemed.

    "I... see..." Zehr relented.

    Sixtus took the lull in conversation as a signal to continue, "Duplicarius Zehr, here are 67 remaining Rhodoks, including the injured. The tent group size is because we expect the caverns we will be searching are too small to effectively use Shield Wall tactics."

    Zehr nodded, "Very well."

    "And your second question, Duplicarius?" The Optio smiled.

    "For the second... forgive me, Optio, Centurion--" Zehr twisted his lips to the side, meeting Cyrac''s gaze.

    Cyrac felt a knot form in his stomach. He already knew what the question was, based on the phrasing, "Go ahead."

    "With our numbers so reduced..." Zehr paused to gauge everyone''s reactions, including the silent and stewing Fortuna, "--Why are we continuing the mission?"

    There it was... It was the question Cyrac was certain was in everyone''s mind, yet only Zehr had the testes to ask.

    "I will answer the question, Duplicarius," Cyrac sighed... "There are two reasons...

    "The first is honor... our duty to the fallen. The Rhodok adventuringpany has a reputation to uphold... and I would have the fallen remembered for being unfortunate casualties on an otherwise sessful mission."

    Zehr nodded, "Indeed. The road to sess is paved by the corpses of our soldiers."

    A pang of guilt struck Cyrac deep in his chest. That was... poetically stated.

    Cyrac continued, "The second is... finances. If we cannotplete the mission, the Rhodok adventuringpany cannot afford to pay our troops-- notably the pensions to the bereaved families"<novelnext></novelnext>

    The young, green-haired gentleman nodded, "Then it is as I surmised... The fate of the Rhodok guild is decided on the next sun... Thank you, gentlemen."

    ...

    Justus caught up with Zehr as he was leaving.

    "Zehr..."

    The visored warrior turned, "Yes, young Decanus?"

    Thankfully, the Duplicarius had again donned his helmet. It was still a bit difficult for Justus to look into Zehr''s eyes.

    Justus looked down at the rocky dirt, hesitant... "What you said back in themand tent... are you... going to back out? We... we could really use your help."

    Zehr flipped up his visor, "Though I do understand the wisdom of abandoning the mission, I do n on apanying you all."

    That was a relief. Justus was fairly certain he could rely on Zehr for that, but still... he had a feeling that something had changed since Rena''s death... He knew he, himself, would never be the same, but... Zehr? He seemed really... hurt. And Justus really couldn''t gauge his friend''s feelings without asking.

    Then there was the other burning question in Justus'' mind... It was the question he truly didn''t want to ask. If it had an answer... he... wasn''t certain he wanted to know.

    Zehr seemed to sense his hesitation, "Speak your mind, young Decanus. I wish to return to my tent and wrap myself up warmly."

    Justus grimaced... "Tomorrow... are we..."

    He gulped. Justus tried to calm his frayed nerves as Zehr waited patiently.

    Bah. He was just going to say it.

    "Tomorrow, are we going to be fighting a dragon?"

    Zehr narrowed his eyes.

    Oh, no... was it true, after all?

    The Duplicarius leaned closer with a serious expression, "Dragons don''t exist."

    "Tss hahaha," He scoffed and straightened his back. Chuckling, he gave Justus a smirk, "Don''t take your young wife''s stories to heart, young Decanus. Their value is in entertainment, imparting morals, and scaring children into behaving.

    "Have no fear, the creature we seek in the cave is no dragon." He added seriously.

    Justus breathed a sigh of relief. For the briefest of moments, he felt... indescribable danger, but that was all dispelled with Zehr''sugh.

    The Duplicarius ced his finger upon his visor, cking it back down into ce, "Let us return, then."

    "Oh," Justus rubbed the back of his head. "The Centurion had something he wanted to talk to me about. I''ll see you at our tent."

    "Very well," Zehr turned on his heel and walked away.

    Justus reentered themand tent, his spirits lifted.

    "And what did he say?" Centurion Cyrac asked, "Will he be apanying us?"

    Justus nodded, "Yes, Centurion. He will be."

    "Oh, good... Good." The old man took a deep breath. It seemed he was as relieved by the news as he was, "We''ll be relying on him... Both him and you, Hero of Leopardon."

 Chapter 262 Hidden Motives

    ?The following sun, Tycondrius geared for utility instead of for rank-and-filebat. He wore a shortbow on his back, a quiver, and two short Tyrion swords.

    He held one of the des out towards Fortuna.

    ? Fortuna, Gold-Rank Half-Elf Healer. ?

    "Eternal me, light our path..." She whispered, tapping the t of the de with her nail, "?Emberglow.?"

    Tycon examined his de-- Fortuna''s magic had imparted a brilliant silver glow upon it. Nodding, he sheathed the weapon-- reducing the light to a dim radiance, barely better than candlelight. With the increased vision of his bloodline, that was all he needed to see in the dark.

    "My thanks, Fortuna," Tycon nodded.

    "I didn''t do it for you!!" The half-elf squawked.

    Tycon grimaced, looking at the sheathed, glowing sword in his hand... Fortuna literally enchanted an object, knowing it was going to be used by him.

    Or did she mean something else? ...But what?

    Tycon''s mouth twitched and he shook his head, "I don''t understand. What exactly do you mean?"

    "I mean-- argh!! Go! Just go!!" The girl turned him around and shoved his back.

    Confused, Tycon gave a final nce behind him.

    Their paltry tent group was made up of nine humans, one of them a half-elf. Two Bronze-Ranks, Six Iron-Ranks, and a single Gold-Rank.

    Prior to the Manticore attack, the forward group wasposed of only Iron-Rank and higher. Recing the injured and dead, even two Bronze-Rank Decani were volunteered for the duty... the unlucky bastards.

    The Iron-Ranks were Holy Avenger Justus, Champion Sixtus, and Fighter Cyrac. Then, there were three Iron-Rank Warriors that were little better than the Bronze-Rank Spear Fighter and Legionnaire.

    With their numbers and quality, it was reasonable that the Rhodoks expected victory against their "dragon." However, Tycon knew that most certainly, it would not be so easy.

    Two tent groups of twenty waited outside the cave. Thirty-seven rested at the base of the mountain.

    Nocking an arrow into his shortbow, he journeyed forward, inscribing the numbers into his memory.

    ...

    Justus still felt out of ce, walking alongside the Rhodok leadership.

    He was certainly the youngest person there, and being new, the others held a keen interest in him. He answered all their questions: Where he grew up, how he got his title, about the ?Final Judgment? skill he used on the Manticore.

    It was fine, he supposed. It got his wandering mind away from his mixed feelings. He still felt Rena''s death weighing down his spirits. He still felt like it was unreal, having his marriage proposal epted by the most beautiful woman in the world.

    Duplicarius Zehr had set off, scouting ahead. Optio Sixtus kept in the lead, his shield ready. He did not join in the idle conversation. As talkative as he was during the meetings, he stayed rtively quiet in a potentialbat situation.

    Justus thought that Sixtus and Zehr could be good friends...

    Centurion Cyrac, even wearing his armor and gear, had somewhat dropped the strict Centurion act. He joked affably with everyone-- and it seemed to be... normal?

    Though being treated as a curiosity by most-everyone was fine... one person in the tent group did not seem to appreciate his presence.

    "You''re not the first reckless Decanus I''ve met, Justus," Fortuna grumbled. "Take care of yourself. As much of a baby as you are, having to carry back a corpse is a waste of manpower."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I understand. Thank you, Fortuna," Justus grimaced. She could have definitely phrased that more politely, but it seemed... she meant well?

    "You will address me as Lady Fortuna! Or call me ma''am!!" She retorted.

    Justus felt his mouth twitch. That... that waspletely different from what she''d said the previous sun to Zehr, "A-alright, Ma''am."

    Though most everything remained in darkness, Fortuna''s enchanted orbs of light lit their path, illuminating polite smiles from Rhodoks who offered no verbal assistance. It seemed the half-elf had a certain privilege in the cohort.

    The forward group had discovered that the Manticore''s cave had stretched deeper into the mountains. Reasonably, the cavern system would lead them to their bounty...

    A giant lizard had been spotted by an Iron-Rank adventuringpany while they were hunting harpies or something. A lucrative quest had been issued for the giant creature''s death and there was anotherpany offering coin for its scales. Thepany desperately needed to be sessful, in order to survive financially.

    Justus very much liked having an honorable job, not living on the streets, begging for coin. He wanted very much for the mission to be sessful.

    As they moved deeper and deeper into the cool, humid caverns, Justus found that Fortuna''s treatment was not only reserved for him. There were three Munifices and Fortuna harshly criticized them for... walking incorrectly? And for a host of other things that had nothing to do with the journey.

    Growing agitated, he found a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It was the old Centurion, "Don''t let her get to you, young Decanus. Fortuna''s a good girl. She only acts impolitely when she''s nervous."

    Justus didn''t believe him for a second... not with how Fortuna singled out Zehr the other evening.

    "I heard that, you old thief!" Fortuna stomped towards Cyrac, stepping in front of Justus to do so. "These ears aren''t just for show!!"

    But... her ears were underneath her helmet? Elves were truly mysterious creatures.

    Faintly illuminated, the one-eyed Cyrac gave Justus a wink-- or maybe he was just blinking, "Fortuna, I''m curious..."

    "And who wants to sate your curiosity, you greedy old man?"

    The Centurion continued, ignoring the girl''s willful words, "The young Decanus is good friends with Duplicarius Zehr."

    "Don''t you think I know th--" The girl suddenly halted her steps, lost in thought.

    The forward group continued walking, ignoring her.

    Fortuna''s quick sandaled steps hurriedly caught up, "You guys! When someone stops, you have to wait for them!"

    "Incorrect, there''s nothing wrong with the group being dispersed." Sixtus, in the lead, spoke aloud, his voice echoing back, "Though it''s still advised you remain in the middle of the formation where it''s most protected, Fortuna."

    "See if I heal you, you stupid mushroom!" Fortuna hmphed.

    That didn''t seem fair. Justus thought it was good advice.

    Concerning the reason Fortuna stopped, he was... a little curious. He didn''t care much for Fortuna after he discovered her rotten personality, but... talking to the capricious girl would at least keep him amused.

    "Why did you stop-- err... Ma''am?"

    "It''s not like I was thinking about that person!!" Fortuna shouted, her voice echoing in the cave a dozen times over.

    The entire group, minus Sixtus, turned to shush her.

    Justus pursed his lips. Fortuna was... very poor at hiding her feelings.

 Chapter 263 Brothers & Sisters

    ?The forward group had been traveling in the cave for a couple of bells.

    Justus wished they moved faster... The thought of it reaching nighttime and camping in the cave unnerved him a great deal.

    Puddles or other strange, slippery algae or animal droppings were dispersed around the cavern floor, as well as the asional pitfall... dug by a creature nearly asrge as a human. One of the other Decani nearly fell in. After that, Optio Sixtus slowed their marching speed immensely.

    Fortuna''s floating orbs and the glowing enchantment on Sixtus'' shield were barely better than torches, but Justus was thankful the constant glow didn''t create dancing shadows amongst the cave''s stgmites like flickering mes would... though it still felt like they were being watched by... something.

    "That guy-- he''s probably a total loser, anyroad." Fortuna muttered. "He looks like a girl!"

    The only sound chasing away the creatures lurking in Justus'' heart was... Fortuna''s voice. Justus prodded her whenever it grew too silent to bear, and she''d babble away like a brook. Thus far, he''d only had to prod twice. It reminded him of a machine he saw in capital city Rixus that dispensed holy water in exchange for a silver coin... except the stream of whatever Fortuna was sayingsted longer.

    The idle conversations stopped as they ventured deeper into the Manticore''sir. Maybe everyone else was as nervous as he was... Justus hoped Duplicarius Zehr woulde back soon. There were marks of his presence in the form of chalk-mark arrows on the floors and walls, but it felt safer when he was around.

    "Does he have any friends? I bet he doesn''t. I bet he doesn''t even talk to any girls!"

    Fortuna''s eyes didn''t match what she was saying. She didn''t seem upset-- but more... curious?

    "Does he like anyone?" She asked.

    Justus frowned. Zehr seemed pretty hurt by Rena''s loss, even though he didn''t seem interested initially. The Duplicarius'' increased annoyance as ofte was probably the only way he knew how to express his feelings.

    After all, Zehr was human, too.

    Justus nodded hesitantly, "Yeah... I think he did."

    "Oh? Who?" Fortuna badgered him, "I mean, not that I particrly care-- I just wanna know. Because she''s probably too good for him! ...But who is it, though?"

    A dull pain filled Justus'' chest at the thought.

    "I apologize for Fortuna, young Decanus," Optio Sixtus'' voice called back. "She thinks she''s terribly clever."

    "Shut up, crucifixion pervert," Fortuna shot back.

    Justus gave a weak smile, "She... she died in the Manticore attack."

    Silence again reigned amongst the tent group. Justus regretted spoiling the admittedly neutral mood, but he wanted to answer Fortuna truthfully.

    After journeying for several quiet minutes, Optio Sixtus spoke his thoughts aloud, "It''s a shame the Holy Bolter was killed."

    Justus clenched his fists and unintentionally gnashed his teeth, "Her name... was Rena."

    He felt his mana circting rapidly-- his heart started to pound and sweat began to form underneath his helmet.

    "Young Decanus..." Cyrac ced his hand on Justus'' shoulder, "Your aura..."

    Justus realized his foolishness... He took a deep breath, trying to slow his heart rate. He willed his mana to slow... "I''m sorry, Centurion."

    "It''s fine, Young Decanus," The old, one-eyed veteran nodded sagely, "You feel anger out of love. It''s because of that love for our brothers and sisters that we can fight so hard to protect them."

    Fortuna crossed her arms, "Like you love anything, you old goat."

    ? Cyrac chuckled, "Of course, I do. Though to me, Fortuna, you''re not so much a sister--"

    "Sexist pig!" Fortuna red.

    "--you''re the wonderful daughter I never had," Cyrac smiled.

    "O-oh..." The Healer pouted, her anger derailed. "Wh-who asked for a thief of a dad like you?"

    "After all this--" Cyrac dered, "We''ll gather for a meal. We''ll honor the fallen. We''ll all mourn together."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The old Centurion pped Justus'' shoulder-- a masculine but somehow gentle reassurance, "The youngest pours the drinks for everyone. And I''ll pour for you. How''s that sound?"

    "The custom goes that the oldest pours for the youngest," One of the Decani offered.

    Cyrac coughed and averted his gaze, "Aha, right."

    "Yes, Centurion... I''d like that." That sounded good... Everything being over, that is.

    "I must apologize to you, young Decanus," Sixtus'' unexpected voice threw Justus off-guard.

    "Sixtus, taking the initiative to apologize..." Fortuna raised an eyebrow, "By the me, who is this imposter?"

    "It is indeed a bit of a rare urrence," Cyrac stroked his white beard amusedly.

    Optio Sixtus turned back to reveal a frown of disapproval, "Decanus Justus, I meant no offense concerning Holy Bolter Rena. I wished to express mymentation of her passing, as she was one of our most promising officer candidates. She was skillful and well-liked within the cohort."

    Justus nodded. He hadn''t asked-- but it made a lot of sense that Rena was so promotable... not that it meant anything now.

    "She was a person too, Sixtus! Not just one of your tools!" Fortuna scowled.

    Sixtus twisted his face and came to a stop, "Fortuna... please understand that I think the way I do because I want the Rhodoks to seed. The Rhodoks are experiencing great tribtions now and it is my solemn wish to see us through."

    His gaze passed over everyone in the forward group, "You are my brothers and sisters. Though I do not often say it, I am eternally grateful to you all for fighting by my side."

    The Optio''s admission stunned the whole group. Fortuna gawked with her mouth open.

    Cyrac gave a heartyugh, "Well spoken, old friend!"

    Justus nodded, his chest warmed with pride, "Yeah..."

    Suddenly, Fortuna''s head whipped to the side, her eyes narrowed.

    Their group didn''t have a second scout... and the half-elf had better hearing than everyone else. Justus ced his hand on his sword, "What do your elven ears hear?"

    The woman red back with a reddening face, "Something''s... chewing."

    Sixtus directed his shield, enchanted with Fortuna''s light, in the direction she faced.

    A visored Duplicarius sat cross-legged on a raised rock formation. Zehr waved in acknowledgment, "It seemed you were having a pleasant conversation. I did not wish to interrupt."

    Justus breathed a sigh of relief. Fortuna mentioning chewing made his stomach recoil. He remembered all too well, the Manticore''s work-- half-eaten bodies on the funeral pyres, disemboweled to inflict agony and slow, painful deaths.

    "Would anyone like some dried apples?" Zehr offered, "The texture is simr to jerky."

    Sixtus took a deep breath through his nostrils and nodded, "Let''s take a break-- we''ll eat in two shifts."

    "I''d like some," Justus walked up. "You''re a really good cook, Zehr."

    "Drying fruit over a few suns is nothing special..." Zehr curled his lips up in a polite smile, "--but thank you for thepliment, Justus."

    Justus mulled over the thought of Zehr''s appearance in his mind. He was the only one amongst their number not on edge... which could be a testament of his demeanor, but...

    "Zehr... have you... maybe..."

    The Duplicarius pursed tilted his head, "Speak freely, Justus, but do gather your thoughts. It is frustrating if you speak with them iplete."

    "R-right," Justus smiled with chagrin. He''d juste out and say it, "Have you been to these caves before?"

 Chapter 264 Unfortunate Call

    ?Duplicarius Zehr pursed his lips, "Yes, Decanus. I have been here before."

    Justus felt his blood freeze. What... what could that mean?

    "--I inspected the cave two suns prior. I was searching for the Manticore''s nest," Zehr continued. "I found none."

    Sixtus frowned. He was staring with disgust at his rations, at which point, Zehr offered some of his dried fruits, "My thanks, Duplicarius. Tell me, did you go alone? That was quite reckless of you."

    "Of course not, Optio." The visored Zehr smiled. "I took one of my Munifices, Modestus, with me."

    Justus grinned. Finally, the nagging feeling in his brain that something was wrong could be quashed by logic. Modestus was rather grumpy, as ofte-- and it seemed that the Duplicarius dragging him off was probably the reason for it. He was a little hurt that he wasn''t invited, but thinking two suns prior... he was still in a deep state of mourning.

    "Very well," Sixtus nodded in contentment. "Tyrion military doctrine holds lessons which I value greatly."

    "Indeed. They''re good lessons-- the few that I know, I keep close to heart," Zehr agreed.

    Justus furrowed his brows as he ate his rations. Those two really seemed like they could be friends. That would be good-- Zehr could use someone to talk to, not even about anything in particr. Someone that he could speak with freely could distract him from Rena''s death.

    It was human to mourn. If the Duplicarius were to bottle up his emotions, it wouldn''t be healthy for his psyche. Justus'' own heart still ached-- he missed Rena terribly. He couldn''t imagine what it was like in Zehr''s mind.

    "Give us a report--" Cyracmanded, "Ah, no need to stand at attention. We''re on break, after all."

    "Oh. My thanks, Centurion," Zehr offered thest of the dried fruit to Cyrac. The old man epted, almost gleefully.

    ...Being in a military environment was strange. Back home, he was taught it was polite to refuse gifts at first, but no one had declined Zehr''s offer.

    "Signs of enemies ahead. Thick webbing, strong enough to entangle a Rhodok," Zehr reported.

    "Giant spiders, then?" Cyrac crossed his arms.

    "I would like to burn everything in this cave, thank you," Fortuna added.

    Justus frowned. The half-elf had taken most of the dried fruit. He wanted at least one more piece...

    Zehr ced his hand on his chin, "There are many spiders... some of them the size of a kobold."

    "That doesn''t sound too difficult-- Bronze-Ranks at best..." Sixtus remarked. "Unless you think there''s something else, Duplicarius?"

    Zehr nodded, "I do. With the number of them, all in one ce... there could be a Spider Breeder. Admittedly, I do not know much about the habits of the particr spider species-- they could just be pack creatures."

    Pack creatures? Spider Breeders? Justus felt a chill run down his spine. Neither of those sounded good. ncing at the sweating and panicking Fortuna, he was d that he wasn''t as bad off as she was.

    "Zehr, what''s... a Spider Breeder? Is that a... ss?"

    The Duplicarius shook his head, "It''s a type of creature-- a man-sized, bipedal one."

    "--with a habit of breeding spiders," Cyrac grimaced.

    "Naturally," Zehr responded.

    The old Centurion nodded, "Ran into a few in my younger days-- they''re Iron-Rank, but the webs and their ''pets'' make them not so simple."

    "Have you any ns?" Sixtus asked.

    "Burn it with fire," Fortuna offered with a scowl. She was being quite forceful of her opinion.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Sixtus frowned at the half-elf, "I would *prefer* an expert''s opinion, before we brainstorm for ideas."

    "Fortuna''s n is sound," Zehr stated.

    "Of course it is!" She hmphed... "Wait, is it really?"

    "Following signs of bat droppings, I found numerous holes which they fly out of, to hunt," Zehr exined. "--We''ll be able to use fire. The webs will burn quickly and the smoke will rise out of the vents."

    Cyrac sighed, "We can tear strips of our tunics to wrap our mouths and prevent the smoke inhtion..."

    Justus pursed his lips, "Centurion... Why do you sound so down?"

    The old man gave a weak smile, "Thank you for worrying, young Decanus... It''s just-- recing our tunics is another unwee blow to our coffers..."

    ...

    A few streams of light spilled through from the cracks overhead. They had reached the webbed area, finding where the bats had gone. They were wrapped up in the webs, unmoving.

    Optio Sixtus got to work, lighting a torch with a flint and tinder. He and a small team of Shield-bearers began to ignite the webs, each web burning quickly in spectacr fashion.

    The remaining forward team, as well as Centurion Cyrac, held back, ready to support.

    Justus found it odd seeing the shortbow in Zehr''s hands. He had seen him with sword, shield, and pilum. He was probably just as good with that...

    It was... peculiar that Zehr was pushing this particr passageway. Usually, the Duplicarius had done his best to lead the Rhodoks to avoidbat. As they walked, there were at least three or four different tunnels. Did Zehr... check them all?

    "Zehr, why are you so intent on going down this path?" He asked.

    "Excellent question, young Decanus." The Duplicarius nodded solemnly, "The quest of our Rhodokpany has to do with arge-scaled creature. Though the mission doesn''t explicitly state its size, it seemed prudent to choose thergest of the passages."

    "But there are webs?" Justus asked.

    Zehr paused, "And what of them?"

    "Doesn''t that mean... the passageway is unused? At least by the scaled monster?"

    Zehr chuckled to himself, "Quite the opposite, actually. Webs mean that preyes and goes. Anyroad, webs don''t take very long to form-- maybe a bell or so for a single spider."

    "Eeee..." Fortuna shivered. "Can we talk about something else, please? We don''t have to talk about work all the time."

    Zehr frowned, "Everything we are discussing is contextually relevant to our situation."

    "I don''t want to hear it!!" The half-elf shouted.

    Justus turned towards the sudden noise-- the skittering of hundreds of clicking legs came at Fortuna''s call.

    "Rhodoks!" Sixtus called back, "To me!"

    Centurion Cyrac tapped Justus'' chestte, "Shall we?"

    He nodded, "Yes, Centurion!"

 Chapter 265 Spider Breeders

    ?Tycondrius stepped forward to be in view of the Rhodoks attacking the spiders. Dozens of spiders, each the size of a fat roon nicked at their feet.

    He was honestly growing tired of Justus'' questions. They were good ones, too. The reasons for bringing the Rhodoks to the Spider Breeders was twofold. One, he wanted to observe his tent group fight-- he wasn''t able to when they fought against the Manticore.

    The other was... it was also the most straightforward path. If he were to lead the Rhodoks through the several winding turns to avoid them, he risked them realizing that he knew the cave''syout intimately.

    Upon entering the cave, he activated his System''s automatic map feature-- something incredibly useful forplex structures. The map was essible as a mental disy-- even marking the rtive locations of his allies and the Spider Breeders'' pets.

    Centurion Cyrac cut the limbs off of one of the spiders. The aged Fighter''s attacks were quick and urate. If he were still in his prime, he''d be a horrifically dangerous opponent.

    Tycon pulled his bowstring back and aimed, "Centurion, shot."

    The Centurion leapt backward, allowing Tycon to loose his arrow. The struck spider was pinned to the cave floor, twitching a few more times before copsing as if deted.

    "Good shot, Duplicarius!" Cyrac shouted as he immediately engaged with another target.

    Tycon excelled in closebat. He was nowhere near as good of a shot as Holy Bolter Rena... but it was hard to miss considering the short range, that he was not under duress, and he was taking his time.

    ...His arrows delivered the mercy of a quick death.

    While Centurion Cyrac was a skillful and very technical Fighter, Optio Sixtus was... arrogant. He strode forward in heavy te armor like he was invincible. He wore metal boots like Gianna, not the sandals traditionally worn by Tyrion soldiers, and he used them to trample the spiders underfoot. He swung his shield to batter away a leaping spider and pinned it against a wall with his spear. He willfully ignored the creatures trying to swarm his back and legs-- they were unable to bite through Tyrion steel.

    Champion Sixtus was very effective at drawing the enemy''s ire. The others in the tent group supported him, protecting his back while they were rtively safe...

    Far from the streams of light spilling from the openings in the ceiling... Two Spider Breedersy in wait, hidden in the shadows. Tycon saw their eyes, glinting in the darkness.

    He could have said something. But no... a sense of apathy and a deeper sense of loathing and disgust called him to inaction. These were the people who allowed Rena to be killed.

    "Eee..." Fortuna, at his side, quietly whined as she trembled.

    Right... She was a half-elf, and her vision would be decent in the conditions, though not as good as his. Though she may not have seen the monsters in the dark, she might have seen their movement.

    He decided to take advantage of her pitiful condition... taking her hand in his.

    Her trembling stopped almost immediately, "Z-zehr... What are you....."

    She epted it, gripping it tightly.

    "Everything''s going to be okay," He assured her.

    It was a polite, neutral statement that meant nothing.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The half-elf nodded, her spirits renewed.

    Tycon was slightly surprised that it seemed as effective as it was.

    It felt like... he was somehow betraying Rena. But... with Fortuna''s main hand upied and Tycon standing to block her vision of the battle, it would be more difficult for her to heal her allies.

    The Spider Breeders were dark, chitinous creatures standing 6 feet tall, each. By human ounts, their bodies were grotesque and bulbous, hunched over underneath the thick, powerful muscles in their backs and shoulders developed for climbing. Their faces were covered in several dark eyes and spidery fangs, and their limbs ended inrge cutting scythes that were still adept at weaving their webs. They attacked, screeching in righteous rage, furious that their children were being put to the ughter.

    One of them shot a glob of webbing from its mouth, hurtling across the cave. It sshed upon one of the Decani, binding her sword arm. As she fell, one of the fat-roon-sized spiders bit at her exposed legs. She let out a blood-curdling shriek. The pain must have been excruciating.

    Another Decanus wasn''t so lucky. A Spider Breeder charged him, taking him off of his feet. Its scythe-arms didn''t pierce through armor-- but its fangs found the man''s throat. It bit into it, not ripping and tearing, but injecting a lethal poison into his bloodstream.

    That one wouldn''t survive... If he was healed immediately, perhaps-- but after several moments, healing the wound would require abilities beyond that of a Gold-Rank Healer''s ken.

    Fortuna released Tycon''s hand, but ced her hands and face against his back, "Wh-what''s happening? I... I don''t want to watch."

    "Then don''t." Tycon allowed himself to smirk, an expression seen by no one.

    "me, TAKE YOUUUUU!!!" Decanus Justus screamed in holy fervor.

    Ah, right. Justus'' ss had been changed to Holy Avenger. Seeking vengeance forever, until he died... and perhaps beyond that. Such was the fate of his ss'' existence. The situation was catered to him.

    In that specific instance, Tycon was doing the young man a favor.

    Justus dashed towards the Spider Breeder, smashing his shield into the taller creature and knocking it off of its wed feet. He stood over it, hacking his sword down into its chest, streams of golden mana trailing from his de in a dazzling disy that Tycon was certain would well-entertain children.

    Spiderlings burst from the egg sacs on its stomach, ichor poured forth from its wounds, and Justus was covered in both, "DIE, NON-HUMANNNN!!!!"

    Ughhh... Hearing the young Decanus'' battlecry, Tycon furrowed his brows and grimaced.

    It was... a very Tyrion sentiment that fueled his misguided zeal. The Holy Country was one united in their hatred of Outsiders, indoctrinating those beliefs in theirws, general education, and even their religion. Justus had suffered enough and in a too-short span to be asked to see reason.

    The Iredar... the Manticore... and now, the Spider Breeders.

    Well... the Manticore was a nuisance and it was good to have been killed.

    It was a shame, but Tycon could find no words to reassure the young Decanus, or to dissuade him from hate. After all, that hatred was so ingrained into Justus'' psyche that he broke through to Iron-Rank for it.

 Chapter 266 Injury

    ?Decanus Justus heaved in the air to catch his breath. The battle was finally over. He was covered in Spider Breeder blood... but was lucky enough to not get any in his eyes.

    He tried to walk, but toppled over, his knee banging painfully against the cavern floor as he caught himself with his forearms. His leg didn''t move as he willed it to. It just... hurt.

    Sitting down, he looked at his leg... blood ran down the side of his right calf...He vaguely remembered a spider gnawing on it before one of the Munifices put a pilum through the eight-legged freak. The wound swelled painfully, the skin around it so tight that it felt like it was going to burst.

    Oh, no... Was he going to lose it?

    Justus held up his recement Decanus sword, staring at it in shame... It still wasn''t enough. The world of mana he saw fighting against the Manticore-- he couldn''t reach it. The pathetic amount of mana he wielded... its concentration, its purity... it was nothing like before.

    Was he really the hero that fell a Gold-Rank? He suffered an injury fighting whatever these things were-- clearly not Gold-Ranks, though! He was trash! He was the entire dung heap!

    "Decanus Justus!!" A woman''s voice shouted his name... and it didn''t sound like she was going to congratte him...

    Justus withdrew his shoulders, trying to appear as small as possible.

    "I thought I told you not to be reckless," Fortuna reprimanded. She was being apanied by Duplicarius Zehr who... didn''t speak to defend him.

    ...Maybe it was payback for that one time Justus didn''t help him dealing with Rena. As silly as that decision was, at the time... he regretted betraying Zehr more than anything.

    "I... I know," Justus sighed.

    He didn''t realize what was happening before his feet carried him to battle... When he saw one of his allies ambushed by the monsters, he... he just charged... his senses overwhelmed by a need for vengeance.

    Justus looked to the side... He had tried to save the Decanus that was attacked.

    The fallen Decanus'' neck was swollen thicker than his calf and froth bubbled from his paling lips. Spiders scurried about his face... and when they crawled over the whites of his eyes, the Decanus didn''t move an inch. He was dead.

    Fortuna shivered, "Can we move out of this passageway? The spiders are... ick."

    "I... hurt my leg, Ma''am." Justus smiled in embarrassment.

    Rena hurt her leg, too... He had to carry her back. He looked to Duplicarius Zehr... It would feel a bit demeaning, but maybe Zehr could at least drag him out of the passageway, away from the spider nest?

    "Crawl," Zehr suggested.

    Justus felt like he should have expected something like that... but still, his feelings were a bit hurt.

    The half-elf glowered over him, "Eternal me, ?Heal? Decanus Justus'' wounds. This, I pray."

    Fortuna''s hands glowed in a silvery light, and it extended to cover his leg. He felt the skin begin to mend and the swelling visibly reduced in size.

    Justus stood... almost as good as new. He did feel hungrier-- as if they never took a break for lunch, but he didn''t need his leg amputated, which was a big plus.

    "Fortuna... you''re... you''re amazing," Justus bowed his head in awe. It had been the first time he witnessed Fortuna''s abilities.

    This was the same woman who healed Rena''s leg after being injured in the kobold attack... and the same one who saved Gianna''s arm.

    Fortuna turned away, flustered, "I-- I didn''t do it for you, idiot!"

    Justus chuckled in chagrin, "Thank you, Lady Fortuna."<novelnext></novelnext>

    He didn''t think she meant what she said. It seemed that more than one of his new friends weren''t so great at expressing their feelings.

    The woman looked down and to the side at the fallen Decanus, "I just wish I could save everyone..."

    Justus nodded, "Yeah... but we can''t."

    He looked to Zehr. The words were meant for the Duplicarius as much as they were to stifle his own insecurities.

    The man always had something wise to say. He''d surely agree-- maybe he''d offer some other profound bit of wisdom. Maybe he''d express that if more lives were saved rather than not, it was fine-- Zehr was pretty pragmatic, after all.

    Duplicarius Zehr pped Justus'' shoulder, "Protect your neck, young Decanus."

    There it was... Justus looked down at the fallen Decanus and gulped. That was good advice.

    ...

    After a short break, Duplicarius Zehr went forward to scout ahead. The few that were injured were healed by Fortuna.

    They couldn''t bury the fallen Decanus, nor halt their progress and carry his body out. They hoped to finish the mission soon, so they could return to camp by nightfall.

    The Rhodoks followed the chalk-scrawled arrows left by Zehr with a bit more confidence. The cave passageway opened up, the terrain not as uneven and with fewer rock formations, though it was still slippery.

    The size of the passageway could easily fit four or five men across... Justus did not like that, at all. If the scaled creature they hunted was that wide...

    The Rhodoks found another of Zehr''s chalk arrows on the ground... but it failed to pry their attention away from arge cave mural painted onto a t wall.

    "The hells is that?" One of the Munifices whistled, looking up at the wall. The fantastic drawings stretched up past the glow of their light-enchanted weapons and shields.

    Upon the wall were various depictions of a giant snake... Men surrounded it, but not with weapons, but wearing dark robes and raising their hands. Familiar inscriptions were etched into the rock, but it wasn''t something Justus could read.

    "Can anyone read the Old Language?" Optio Sixtus asked.

    Everyone shook their heads. Justus silently wished that either Gia was around. She could read it... Maybe Zehr, too.

    "Don''t bother. I recognize this mescarred shite," Centurion Cyrac spat. "Snake Cult. Nothing good wille from examining it."

    "There''s always something to learn, old friend." Sixtus reached up with his spear to tap against the rock wall, "See this? This might be what we''re looking for."

    Justus examined the pictures... most of them depicting arge snake with a diamond pattern on its scales. It definitely didn''t look like a dragon. It felt more... believable.

    "What''s... the Snake Cult?" He asked.

    "They''re a group of heretics... they perform weird cultist shite like sacrificing men and women to their dark gods," Cyrac grimaced. "Fortuna knows more-- but she cares as much for the Snake Cult as I do."

    Justus raised an eyebrow, looking towards the half-elf, "Lady Fortuna, could you tell me more?"

    The woman frowned, "Y-yeah... My parents were killed by Snake Cultists."

 Chapter 267 Dare To Exist

    ?The Rhodoks stood in front of a Snake Cult shrine, faded murals painted on the walls. A table of rotting wood on a raised stone dais may have once held scores of offerings... What remained was a few decrepit ivory and stone idols, burnt out wax candles, and cracked, empty bowls.

    Justus held his breath. He had no idea that his thoughtless question would offend Gold-Rank Healer Fortuna.

    "I''m sorry, ma''am, I had no idea that--"

    "No," She waved. "It happened a long time ago-- back when Cyrac''s beard was ck."

    Justus furrowed his eyebrows, turning back to the Centurion.

    "Though theparison was a bit demeaning, it''s true." Cyrac pursed his lips, gesturing with an open palm. "Lady Fortuna may not look it, but she''s been part of the Rhodoks for a very long time."

    Sixtus nodded, "She''s probably the second oldest--"

    Fortuna had unsheathed a small dagger.

    "--st carving... and... painting techniques I''ve ever seen," Sixtus awkwardly changed his statement. "I am talking about the cultist''s murals. They are not very good."

    The Optio went from observing the murals to inspecting the various y bowls and snuffed-out candles, touching them with the tip of his pilum. There was an element of caution in his actions, not touching anything with his bare hands.

    Fortuna twisted her lips, putting her weapon away, "The Snake Cult is an ancient organization birthed when the Tyrion Empire was young. The Church dered them eliminated some 50 years ago, but... such a thing doesn''t die so easily."

    Her eyes grew glossy as she spoke, "My parents were killed in a cultist raid, thirty years ago. They had an Iron-Rank Warlock with them... Our vige had no chance."

    It was as if she was talking about a girl that wasn''t herself.

    Justus grimaced and nodded in understanding, "May I ask what a Warlock is, Lady Fortuna?"

    The woman sighed, "It''s a heretical ss that makes up the Snake Cult elite. The Warlocks and their kin follow ts that propagate murder, cruelty, and oppression. And in exchange for their evil deeds... they draw power from the void beyond, wielding dark, eldritch, and nigh-uncontroble energies."

    Justus felt an unease deep in the pit of his stomach. The way that sounded... was like a perversion of their own nation''s heroes. The Tyrions followed ts, good and just, for the wellbeing of all peoples. The most faithful, Schrs, Priests, and Champions gained the blessing of the Eternal me and were able to call forth divine, holy power against the enemies of mankind.

    His own Holy Swordsman ss was unique to worshippers of the me... but the only difference between him and the Warlocks... seemed to be their choice of deity.

    ...But why would other humans worship something they knew was evil? There must have been something he was missing.

    Justus couldn''t voice any of those thoughts aloud. Even thinking about them was... both heretical and treasonous. Every Tyrion citizen was urged to report heretics to be arrested-- or killed on the spot.

    "Fortuna--" Optio Sixtus interrupted his thoughts, "I request your ''expert'' opinion at what we should do with the Snake Cult shrine and paraphernalia."

    The Healer closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "Their very existence is a mockery to everything we stand for."

    She opened her eyes, alight with a silver mana-glow, "Purge it in righteous fire."

    ...

    Tycondrius skulked around in the darkness, taking several twists and turns before arriving in a familiar area. Had he not had the System guiding him, he wouldn''t have gone out of his way, for fear of getting lost.

    The dim light from his sword enchantment illuminated an elongated reinforced gear chest. A massive opal eye glinted in the shadows, the size of a human head. It watched over him, unblinking and silent.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon utched the box, first finding his familiar halberd. He unwrapped the oilskin covering the de. Wonderful. It didn''t rust, even after the moons he''d been gone and in the cave''s humidity.

    He spoke aloud, "Eight humans in the cave. Twenty outside. Thirty-seven at the base of the mountain."

    "Whaaaat...?" A rumbling voice in the darkness spoke, slow and unhurried. "Is... that all?"

    "That''s what''s left." Tycon pursed his lips and shrugged, rewrapping the halberd and cing it aside. He inspected his hand-crossbow... it hadn''t degraded either. Excellent.

    He unstoppered a vial of poison, smearing it on a bolt''s tip, "They think there''s a dragon in the cave."

    "Thaaat''s ridiculous... Dragons don''t exist..." The voice in the darkness grew agitated. "And should they dare... they''ll have a gods. damned. war. on their miserable, wed haaaands...."

    Tycon chuckled, winding the crossbow''s firing mechanism and loading the poisoned bolt, "Haha. Too true..."

    ...

    Decanus Justus sighed. After they destroyed the Snake Cult''s profaned shrine, it felt like his fatigue began to mount. It should have been the opposite-- they, as Tyrions, should have regained their spirits. Instead, it felt like a chore-- like clearing cobwebs or polishing armor.

    After they moved on, they were greeted by the visored Duplicarius Zehr. He sat on a rock in in view, resting a glowing de against his shoulder.

    Optio Sixtus approached him, "Brother-Zehr, give us your report."

    Though Zehr had received a new honorific, there was no change in his expression as he stood and saluted, "Optio, the room ahead is a spacious area with many pathways."

    The Optio frowned... "And you''ve returned because... you don''t know which to choose?"

    Zehr nced back at the passage he had emerged from, before looking back to Sixtus, "I would prefer to stay with the group."

    "Very well. Fall in line," Sixtus nodded.

    As the Duplicarius sheathed his sword and rejoined their ranks, Centurion Cyrac gave him a friendly smile, "Any sign of enemies?"

    Zehr shrugged... admittedly nomittal in his response, "If there are, they hide in the shadows... and well."

    Justus nodded to his friend in acknowledgment, who returned the nod with the briefest of smiles.

    "I-if you''re going to stand next to me, no holding my hand again!!" Fortuna yelped.

    Justus furrowed his brow, "Duplicarius Zehr was holding your hand?"

    The Healer''s face reddened. Now the whole tent-group knew.

    Zehr took his ce next to Fortuna without saying a word. The Rhodoks continued down the passageway, led by Optio Sixtus.

    That was normal of him, but still, Justus decided to do as Gianna once did and ask preemptively, "Zehr... Is there anything wrong?"

 Chapter 268 Obscuring Mist

    ?Justus felt the hairs of his neck stand on end. He was worried... and for once, Zehr''s presence did not lessen his anxiety.

    The visored Duplicarius walked in silence, cing a hand on his chin and another across his chest in thought, "I''m nervous, I suppose."

    A chill shot down Justus'' back. The cool, calm, and unppable Duplicarius Zehr was nervous? The thought of it sent him on edge. He quietly unsheathed his sword as he walked.

    The other Rhodoks paid him no mind. They had been walking for so long, this far without being challenged... but Justus trusted his instincts.

    The cave opened up into a wide area-- in proper Zehr fashion, the Duplicarius vastly understated its size. The ceiling stretched up hundreds of feet up, a harsh light spilling down near its center from a pathetically small hole. It did little to illuminate the area, at least as wide as an arena stadium, instead, the focused light made the shadows even more pronounced.

    Justus counted at least four passageways, as well as ominous holes in the ceiling that did not lead to outside light... and openings in the floor that seemed to lead to the depths of the seven hells. He imagined beasts, each asrge as the Manticore, hiding within them... and he stared into the shadows, fully expecting to see the shine of their eyes.

    "Wait, hold on--" Fortuna pointed, "What''s that?"

    Justus and the Rhodoks looked to the light in the center of the room.

    A young teenage girl stood in the light, barefoot... wearing white robes, almost like a Tyrion priestess. White silken hair spilled from her head, contrasting with her dark brown skin. And she had long elven ears that stretched outward.

    A non-human. Justus felt a sudden surge of disgust and hatred... but quickly silenced the thought with logic. It was just a young girl...

    "A dark elf..." Cyrac said in wonder, "Evil creatures from a society ruled by tyranny and cruelty."

    Fortuna frowned, "The ancient underground societies of dark elves are a thing of the past, Cyrac. Elves are elves-- and that''s clearly a child."

    Optio Sixtus handed off his pilum to a Decanus as he approached the light with an open palm, "Youngdy, don''t be afraid. We''re not here to hurt you."

    The dark elf raised her head... she was whispering something... hissing, almost. She stepped back out of the light and a grey, cloudy mist began to fill where she stood, cloaking her form in its darkness.

    Though the light from above should have suffused the clouds with a glow-- it did not. The shadows only grew.

    Sixtus unsheathed his sword, "What sort of trickery...?"

    Fortuna''s eyes widened suddenly, "It''s a First-Circle spell! The girl is a Witch!!"

    Cyrac stepped forward, a heavy pilum in hand, "Could she be a Snake Cultist?"

    "She might just be scared!!" The Healer snapped.

    Optio Sixtus turned his head, walking backward to avoid being engulfed by the mists, "me take it all, woman. What do you want me to do? Go after her?"

    Justus pursed his lips. It was a confusing situation. Go after her? They were in hostile territory. Kill her? She was just a child. That wouldn''t make anyone feel good.

    The answer came from the obscuring mist.

    Faster than Justus could blink, arge, reptilian head emerged, snatching up the Decanus adjacent to Sixtus, leaving only the Optio''s pilum behind. The head disappeared back into the cloud before the man could even scream.

    ...It was a snake. It was a giant, me-taken snake.

    "Gold-Rank!!!" Sixtus yelled, "Shield wall!!!"

    Zehr grabbed Fortuna''s wrist, "With me, to cover."<novelnext></novelnext>

    She nodded, "Y-yeah! Protect me, Zehr."

    Justus drew his sword, feeling an ache in his heart. He was frustrated that Zehr had grown so close to Fortuna in such a short period of time.

    Still, he hoped that, for everyone''s sake, he could protect the Rhodok healer well.

    "Justus, let''s move!" Cyrac rushed forward.

    "I''m with you, Centurion!!"

    ...

    Tycondrius led Fortuna to behind the cover of some solid-looking stgmites. The quick relocation seemed to have winded the girl. As he surmised, his endurance far outshone any of the Rhodoks... and after the short sprint, the half-elven Healer was worse off than after Justus'' run up the hills to reach the Manticore.

    "I think... I think my healing spells... can reach from here," Fortuna wheezed between breaths.

    Tycon nced over at where Sixtus and the others were fighting. Another Rhodok was snatched up by the creature hidden in the magical ?Obscuring Mist?. Six humans left.

    "Um... Zehr..."

    He did his best not to roll his eyes at Fortuna''s shy, piteous squeak, "What is it?"

    "Y-you can let go of me, now," She nced down at her wrist, still in Tycon''s grasp. "I think it''s going to bruise..."

    A bruise. How amusing.

    "Pay attention to the fight," Tycon ordered.

    Fortuna nodded, ncing over their cover. Her eyes widened, "By the me, no... The monster has an Ocr Ability."

    Tycon reached down to where he hid his hand crossbow. Aiming it quickly, he shot the poisoned bolt into the woman''s neck. She dropped to the cold, cavern floor, her metal helmet thumping against the stone.

    "Yes, he does."

    He felt like he overprepared... which was fine. Tycon greedily saved up coin in most things... but spentvishly for quality gear and extensive battle preparations.

    The fired bolt wasced with an asphyxiation poison, the materials of which were quite expensive. It was rare that a healer-type ss would be able to cast spells without verbalponents... and it was well known that the Rhodoks had a Gold-Rank Healer amongst their ranks. The poison was a countermeasure specifically made for Fortuna.

    Tycon had the excellent luck of being able to catch the Healer off-guard and away from her protective allies. Aiming for the neck injury would have increased the poison''s potency, its onset effects being near-immediate.

    But having the bolt pierce her throat entirely was as effective without the poison. Fortuna wouldn''t be casting any spells in the interim.

    A single bolt removed the only pir of hope the forward team had.

    Tycon looked back over the cover. Another three Rhodoksy on the ground, with a fourth kneeling down, struggling against the odds. It seemed the Ocr skill that Fortuna''s "monster" used was more effective than he''d thought. Perhaps the Rhodoks'' fatigue and anxiety made them more susceptible to the First-Circle spell.

    Two Iron-Rank humans remained.

 Chapter 269 Unique Helmet

    ?Tycondrius took Fortuna''s dagger at her waist. Flipping her body over, he thrust it into her heart. He did not wish to risk her mounting a final act of heroic resistance.

    He vaulted out from cover, rushing out, drawing his swords. The remaining Rhodoks would have no reason to doubt him. There was blood on his hands, but none on his des-- and no one had the eyes to notice it in the darkness, save the dead half-elf.

    The Titan Snake, Isidor, was engaged inbat with Decanus Justus and Optio Sixtus. He was a friend-- and certainly not a dragon.

    Sasarame''s ?Obscuring Cloud? spell allowed him to strike and quickly retreat the upper length of hisrge, ungainly body back into cover. She was also a friend-- part of Sol Invictus. Her true form was a snake and Tycon was very proud of her.

    Cyrac raised an arm towards the running Tycon, his eyes wide and frantic. The white-bearded man was kneeling down, his arms trembling and his body sporadically spasming.

    That would be from the effects of Isidor''s ?Paralytic Gaze? skill. It was somewhat weaker than his own ocr skill, so he was surprised that the Iron-Rank Fighter fell prey to it. Tycon surmised that the human''s advanced age may have been to me.

    Tycon skidded to a halt, kneeling down beside Cyrac, "Centurion, I''m here. What of the others?"

    "I-I can''t-- move... my BODY," Cyrac clenched his teeth, growling low. It seemed he was struggling even to talk. "The others... THey had-- no... chANce. Para-- LYzed."

    Tycon nodded in understanding, "That''s a shame."

    "Go back... Report... Failed," Cyrac managed.

    Oh, that''s right. Cyrac still thought he was a Bronze-Rank warrior. Niiice.

    "How can I prove such a thing to the Rhodoks? Make them trust me?"

    With a shaking hand, the Centurion violently tore off the buckle on his helmet. The meaning was clear. The Primus Pilus'' helmet would suffice as proof of legitimacy. Tycon took it gently off the old human''s head, cing it behind him to avoid getting blood on it.

    "me-taken... Snnn--NAKE..." Cyrac groaned, fury in his eyes.

    Of course, he''d be angry. All he could do in his condition was watch helplessly as his allies were killed.

    "Always... hated... tHeMM.... Errrgh.."

    Tycon chuckled to himself. That was a very poor choice of words. He lifted up his helmet''s visor.

    Medusae were able to develop the ?Petrifying Gaze? Ocr skill. In order to not petrify their allies, their young, and themselves when looking at their reflections, they trained to "dim" their vision, effectively turning the passive ability on and off, at will. Tycon, as a male Medusa-- a Maedar as the terminology went, had the same capability for his own Ocr skill.

    "Thank you, Centurion." Tycon smiled and patted the one-eyed man''s shoulder like he would an old friend, "I''ll tell them you died honorably."

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    The System''s prompt filled his heart with a nostalgic warmth.

    ? Yes, please. Activate. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    ? Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    Tycon felt the mana circting behind his face, concentrating in his eyes. He felt the strange sensation of his pupils... twisting and elongating. He knew that when he undimmed his vision, his pupils thinned to reptilian slits.

    The Centurion''s pupils dted and shook, staring into the face of what had been his enemy all along. He struggled to move, to turn away.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Resilient old fool.

    Tycon ced his swords on the ground and ungently grabbed the sides of the old man''s head. .

    He wondered if it looked simr to how a gentleman would gaze into a lover''s eyes. That would be embarrassing. He did not think the aged human was attractive.

    "Centurion, what''s wrong?" Tycon asked aloud, "Is the snake''s gaze attack affecting you?"

    He was referring to himself, but hoped the answer was yes to either Ocr skill.

    Cyrac''s body began to shake and tremble violently. He couldn''t breathe. But was it from the paralysis or his own skill?

    Dark blood began to spill from his mouth, dribbling down his beard and spilling onto his armor and sshing a bit onto his own.

    Ah, it was his own skill.

    Nice.

    Finally, the Centurion''s body grew stiff and he copsed. The old man offered nost words to alert his Rhodoks to Tycon''s treachery. Was he trying to? Either way, he didn''t do a very good job.

    "Centurion, NOOOO!!!!" Justus loosed a blood-curdling scream. The young man had been having a terrible time, watching all of his loved ones die.

    "Die, you me-scarred SNAAAAKE!!!" The red-haired Decanus resumed his clumsy, yet spirited onught of attacks. They bounced off of his enemy''s hide-- because he is an idiot and seemed to have forgotten that he has a skill specifically developed for piercing through Isidor''s armor-like scales.

    Optio Sixtus readied one of his p, and as the Titan Snake burst through the fog, he threw it at one of his eyes. It missed-- though Tycon doubted it would have dealt any damage. Every part of Isidor''s body was empowered by his natural Gold-Rank mana.

    "me take this beast!" Sixtus roared, drawing his sword once more. "Zehr!!! Come help!!!"

    Tycon again dimmed his vision and pulled his visor back down. He picked up his swords, standing and turning towards the fight, "Yes, Optio!!!"

    He sprinted towards them-- watching as, in his rage, Optio Sixtus plowed a mana-powered shield bash into the side of Isidor''s head, apanied by a loud ''wank'' sound.

    Hah.

    Isidor was in no danger of being defeated, but Tycon found it humorous seeing the Titan Snake take a thump to the head.

    Champion Sixtus was a resilient and tenaciousbatant. Seeing that he was unphased by Isidor''s paralysis, he opted not to utilize his own skill on him. Besides, it allowed him to not strain his eyes. Doing so resulted in a sharp headache, afterward.

    Holy Avenger Justus wasn''t doing nearly as well. His sword wasn''t even glowing.

    Seven hells, did he even know how to use his ?Avenger''s Oath?? The young man had ss-changed only a few suns prior and he''d spent his time grieving instead of honing his skills... Tycon inwardly sighed, realizing that Justus was likely unaware of his own potential.

    It was a shame.

    It would have allowed him to survive a tiny bit longer.

 Chapter 270 Justice (Part One)

    ?Tycondrius of Sol Invictus dashed towards the battle, leaping over the downed Rhodoks.

    He''d finish them off afterward-- if they weren''t already dead.

    Optio Sixtus revealed an arrogant smirk, fully believing that help had arrived.

    "Duplicarius Zehr!! The enemy''s scales are nigh-imprable!!" Sixtus shouted, keeping his focus on Isidor, "Do you have any skills that can pierce through armor!!??"

    Tycon did.

    He slowed his pace slightly to keep his bnce, cing one of his swords in front of his face in a stance that Decanus Justus would be familiar with.

    Ah, the young man wasn''t paying him any attention. Such a hint would have given him at least a chance to not feel so useless.

    Tycon concentrated his mana into his de, forming a razor-sharp pointed edge at its tip. The white glow of his own mana coupled with the silver from Fortuna''s ?Emberglow? enchantment made it blindingly radiant.

    Increasing his speed again, he refocused a quick burst of mana into his legs to empower a majestic forward leap, "?LegionnnBREAKER!!!?"

    ? ?Legionbreaker? Weapon ability: A sharpened point of radiant mana gathers at the tip of the weapon, for use in prating heavy armor. ?

    Tycon plummeted down from above, piercing the tip of his de between Sixtus'' neck and shoulder. Landing and steadying himself, he pushed the weapon deeper, almost to its hilt. His second de, he stabbed beneath the Optio''s left armpit, stabbing somewhere near the heart.

    Quickly, he withdrew the offhand sword, spilling the Optio''s blood onto the cavern floor. He swiped it in the air to flick off the blood and took a step back to admire his work.

    He decided that his main hand sword was... not worth the effort, getting it free, so stuck inside of Sixtus. Anyroad, the radiance from Fortuna''s enchantment wasrgely muted, the sword now illuminating his insides. The surroundings were darker, as he preferred it.

    Optio Sixtus fell to his knees, head bowed... dying with at least a modicum of dignity. Tycon kicked him over. He''d have none of that.

    Tycon looked over to... Decanus Justus. He stood and... gawked with his mouth agape like a disbelieving chipmunk. Both his shield and sword arm hung loosely at his sides, his will to fightpletely gone.

    Isidor looked down at thest remaining Rhodok, "Are... weee.... still fiiighting?"

    "No, I think Decanus Justus is finished," Tycon answered... "Look, the young man has dropped his guard."

    "Pooooor form..."

    "It is, I agree," Tycon nodded.

    Justus took a wary couple of steps forward, "Zehr... How... how could you?"

    Tycon pursed his lips. Was that a... rhetorical question? The answer to ''how'' would be... ''quite easily,'' but he sensed that was not the answer the young Decanus was searching for.

    Justus gulped, "What... what about the quest? The m-mission?"

    Tycon curved his lips up in a polite smile, "This was the mission..."

    "The mission... was to kill... that?" He pointed to therge, very patient Titan Snake, curling up in the distance. The ?Obscuring Mist? had dissipated, revealing Isidor''s whole form, over 80 fulms long, his head nearly as tall as Justus, and a bitrger at his base.

    ? Isidor, Gold-Rank Titan Snake ?

    Tycon shook his head, "My mission was to kill the members of the Gold-Rank Rhodok guild that posted a bounty on Isidor."

    Justus gripped the hilt on his sword, clenching his teeth and... allowing tears to flow freely down his cheeks, "Was everything... a lie?"

    "There was deception involved, yes."

    The Decanus tore off his helmet revealing his mussed red hair-- as for why, Tycon had no idea, "What about your feelings for Rena... was that a lie too?!?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I don''t quite see how that rtes to the conversation... Also, understand that I haven''t actively tried to sabotage the Rhodoks until... this sun, actually."

    "That... that can''t be..." Justus shook his head.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He shrugged, "Every blunder thus far was the fault of your Rhodok guild."

    "Soundsssss like.... you''ve few goooood storiessss... Brother-Tycon..." Isidor remarked.

    "Your ent ising out again, Brother-Isidor," Tycon chided.

    "Sssssorry-- ugh... Myyy apologies."

    "So your real name is Tycon..." Justus gulped, wiping his tears with the back of his wrist, "What... what happens now?"

    Tycon grimaced, organizing his thoughts. There was a way for him to spare the young Decanus'' life. Though he judged the chance Justus would take it was slim, Tycon supposed he owed it to him for his faith... and for his respect for the Ezyrian guild known as Sol Invictus.

    With a smooth and subtle motion, he wiped his palm free of Centurion Cyrac''s blood and raised it towards Decanus Justus, "Join me."

    Justus clenched his teeth, "I will NEVER bow down to a NON-HUMAN!!"

    Tycon tilted his head, his eyebrows deeply furrowed, "I feel that there''s a lot of misced hatred in that remark."

    "The Manticore was evil incarnate... You--"

    Tycon angrily swiped down his offered hand, "--The Manticore..."

    Ah. He interrupted the young man. He hated being interrupted, himself. He felt a bit guilty about his hypocritical actions.

    Tycon continued, calming himself... "The Manticore is a poor example. As far asrge magical beasts go, look at Isidor! All he does isy about, take long baths, and eat tributes of cows and swine. And for that, the Tyrion Adventurer''s Guild ordered him killed."

    "Brother-TYYYcon..." Isidor''s voice held a hint of betrayal.

    "Not now, Isidor," Tycon red, exining quickly. "I''m trying to prove a point. You''re not a viin."

    "...Alright."

    "But... the kobolds..." The young Decanus stared at the ground, depressed that Tycon was destroying his worldview.

    "The Iredar attacked arge armed force traipsing around their territory. Humans do that all the time-- Tyrions, especially. And oftentimes they don''t care about whether or not there are civilians."

    "The... the Spider Breeders?" Justus almost whispered.

    "The worst example of all, the Spider Breeders were living off of bats. You were likely the first humans they''d ever seen."

    "They killed the Sssspider Breeeeders?" Isidor reared his head back dramatically in shock, "We have... a huuuuge... bat infesssstation..."

    "Just two," Tycon frowned. "Were those the only ones? --And it''s not like bats are pests. They eat insects."

    "Oh.... Just two... That''s fiiiine, thennn..."

    Justus shook his head, "I... I can''t... It''s too... ording to everything I''ve learned..."

    "...Hatred against non-humans is deeply ingrained into Tyrion culture." Tycon sighed, offering a polite smile. "Well, that was the offer, and I''ve been rejected. Thank you for your honesty, young Decanus."

    "Th-thanks, Duplicarius, I think..." Justus scratched his cheek.

    "Come on, then," Tycon stretched his back and flourished his short sword. He lightly held his wrist, gently rotating it in a stretch.

    "Wh-what?" The clueless Decanus asked.

    "We have to fight." Tycon grimaced, "I just killed all of your friends. Have you forgotten?"

 Chapter 271 Justice (Part Two)

    ?Tycondrius held his sword horizontally, low and in front of him. It was a simr stance that made Ferrutius charge at him like a fool, but it seemed that Justus remained hesitant. He remained in his spot, 10 fulms away, illuminated by the hole in the ceiling, an allegory representing the good and just Tyrion forces and the big, bad evils shrouded in the darkness.

    There were a half-dozen ways that Tycon could have ended the fight effortlessly. He could have used his ?Vexing Gaze? skill while Justus was off-guard. He''d get a sharp headache, but it would be tolerable. He could have rushed forward and pierced the Decanus through with ?Legionbreaker?.

    Stars and stones... He could have just asked Isidor to deal with him.

    He didn''t. It was a foolish decision, a peculiar whim. He felt that... somehow, the young Decanus, the ally-turned-enemy, deserved this fight-- a chance to defeat the deceiver and live on.

    "You are... a very poliiiite swordsman, Brother-Tycon," Isidor hissed.

    "Thank you. I try."

    It was nice that someone noticed.

    Justus nodded slowly... "It... this all feels like a nightmare..."

    "Unfortunately, it is real, young Decanus."

    "Do we... really have to fight?" Justus asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

    Tycon scoffed, "Tss... Really? Think about that for a moment. I''d very much not like a bounty ced on my head-- I have a very unique appearance."

    And such a bounty would be on top of whatever bounties Tycon didn''t know he had.

    "And you, Decanus..." Tycon gestured with his offhand, "--could you rest easy, knowing that I was integral to the Rhodoks'' failure?"

    Justus grimaced, taking a step back like he''d taken a physical blow... "I... I guess you''re right."

    "Of course I''m right," Tycon shrugged. "Never question me again."

    The young man stared at the cavern floor, "What... what about Gianna?"

    Tycon hesitated, "She has to die, as well."

    "But she hasn''t done anything!!" Justus retorted.

    Tycon sighed, "If any Rhodoks escape and report the mission failure, another guild will be sent to hunt Isidor-- the Church may intervene, as well. No, we need to eliminate the guild in its entirety to buy Isidor time to move."

    "I... have to whaaaat?" Isidor raised his head in surprise.

    "Oh, shut up." Tycon red at the bigger, heavier snake. "Did you really not work that out? Your location is tied to your stupid mountain and the humans will keep sending forces to kill you. Of course, you''d have to move."

    "I thought... Bah... I''ll go get my things..." Isidor slithered back into one of therge caverns, quickly disappearing from sight despite his size.

    Isidor had possessions? Tycon furrowed his brows, trying to think what exactly he meant... And how would he carry them? In his mouth?

    Justus shut his eyes, "Then I have to fight... in order to protect Gianna..."

    Returning his attention to the fight, Tycon smirked, "You''ve finally steeled your resolve then."

    Justus opened his eyes, emanating a thick, golden mana that had been suspiciously absent throughout the battle with Isidor, "Yeah... I have."

    He stepped forward, the cave lit up by his aura, his hair flourishing upwards even in the absence of wind, "Duplicarius Zehr-- no, Tycon... You have betrayed your oath to protect your brothers and sister Rhodoks, actively murdering the defenseless."

    Tycon had sworn no such oath. It was a huge oversight that would have strongly affected his n.

    "I trusted you... We all did... And you''ve stabbed us in the back."

    That was an amusing choice of words. He''d shot Fortuna in the throat, poisoned Cyrac with magic, and shoved two swords into Sixtus'' neck and armpit. He hadn''t literally stabbed anyone in the back.

    "And thus, I pray... Eternal me, grant me strength to punish the Rhodok traitor... This is my ?Avenger''s Oath?..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...Empty night. Tycon quickly reviewed his options. Was it toote to just kill Justus outright?

    Decanus Justus charged forward, slicing his glowing sword through the air, "?Sunde HEAVEN SLASH!!?"

    Oh, that sounded familiar. Tycon ducked a crescent of golden energy, then twisted his body and spun to the side to dodge a secondary projectile-de. Justus'' abilities as an Avenger meant his attacks were twice as hard to dodge.

    "If your opponent does not make mistakes," Justus growled, rearing his sword back for another swing. "--force them to."

    ...Seven bleeding hells. That wasn''t good to hear from the opposite side.

    Tycon lifted his sword in a reverse grip, bracing it against his forearm. He blocked a heavy strike, which threw him off bnce and forced him to stumble to the side.

    Justus switched directions and swung overhead. Oh, that one wasn''t so bad. Tycon steadied himself, deflecting the sword to the side--

    Oh... Aw... He expected a full strike and used too much force to strike it away.

    Justus grabbed Tycon''s cor, "My entire body is a weapon."

    Tycon''s vision grew white as the Decanus smashed his forehead into his nose. In response, Tycon quickly cut his forearm across his chest, freeing him from Justus'' grip.

    He jabbed his sword out quickly, but it was deflected. The young Decanus had very, very good reflexes. However, Tycon redirected his de''s momentum by spinning his left leg back, managing a light cut across Justus'' face.

    Distracted by his new injury, Tycon nted a solid foot to Justus'' midsection, pushing him back.

    "If you''re being pressured, create space," Tycon sighed. He touched his hand to his nose. Blood ran from it, freely.

    "Kicks and shoves are superior to retreating," Justus nodded, knocking his knuckles against the muscled metal cuirass covering his stomach.

    "Are you sure you don''t want toe with me?" Tycon smirked. "The offer''s still open."

    Justus shook his head, "You know I can''t."

    Tycon dodged Justus'' overhead sh, stepping to the left, deep into Justus'' circle of movement. He sliced against the side of Justus'' armor, but his sword nced off the Tyrion steel.

    Justus swung his sword again-- bah, too close. Tycon braced his sword to block instead of dodging or deflecting.

    "?LEGIONNN-BREAKKERRR!!!!?" The Decanus yelled.

    Aw, shite. That wasn''t so easy to block.

    Tycon channeled mana into his sword, bracing his offhand palm against the t of his de. At least it was a sh, not a stab, so the piercing effect wouldn''t be as precise.

    Justus'' sword nged against his, the des sparking and a brilliant burst of mana exploding outward.

    The secondary st of mana, however, followed past the sword, cutting deeply into Tycon''s chest and sending him hurtling backward. As he rolled and tumbled against the rocky terrain, he was internally thankful that Isidor wasn''t here to see him struggle.

    He got to his feet. His head hurt. He considered removing his visored helmet-- but he remembered that that was stupid. Blood ran down the gash on his armor, down its front.

    "Surrender!!" Justus ordered, "You can''t continue with that level of injury, Zehr!!"

    Tycon twisted his lips into a smirk, "And what? We''ll go see the healers together? Behind thatrge rock over there, Fortuna lies dead with my crossbow bolt in her neck."

    Justus paused... closing his eyes and finally allowing the situation to set into his brain.

    "T-to the death, then?" Justus asked, his lips quivering slightly.

    Tycondrius readied his sword and nodded, "Either yours or mine."

 Chapter 272 Justice (Part Three)

    ?Tycondrius, Warlord of Sol Invictus, had taken an injury. It had been awhile. He had almost forgotten what proper pain felt like.

    The games were over.

    "Come at me, Justus. Your hatred for non-humans, I will receive it all.."

    He flipped up his visor, undimming his vision. He didn''t focus extra mana into his gaze, so he doubted it would be effective against another Iron-Ranker, but it would add to his intimidation factor.

    ? Vexing Gaze: Ocr ability. Target takes damage from an illusory poison, affecting both target''s mind and body. If sessful, target bes distracted and may go into anaphctic shock. ?

    Decanus Justus, Holy Avenger of Tyrion trembled slightly. He shut his eyes and shook his head violently to rid himself of the illusory poison.

    "I don''t hate you, Zehr," He said.

    Perhaps it cleared his mind, as well.

    "You won''t be able to defeat me without it," Tycon chided. "You don''t have the technical skill to challenge me... nor can you change your luck. You rely on strength and mana... both easily empowered by rage and hatred."

    "I... will... NOT!!!" Justus yelled. He ced his sword in front of his face, charging it with a surge of mana. A beam of light struck the cavernous ceiling, a series of stctites cracking loose and falling around them.

    Tycon nced up. It seemed he was safe from that. That was incredibly reckless of the young Decanus.

    "?Sunde Heaven sh!!?" Justus yelled,unching another two crescents of golden energy-- the manaposing it, far more powerful and concentrated than before.

    Right... that ability could be used multiple times.

    "Good!" Tycon nodded. He dodged the first sh, then deflected the second with a mana-charged de, "Use your aggressive feelings, young man! Let the hate flow through you!!"

    It was a marvel of Tyrion steel that it could handle so much mana-abuse. He nced down at his sword. It had cracked from where he deflected Justus'' attack.

    ...Nevermind.

    "This isn''t hatred..." Justus growled. "This is the power of my faith."

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch. For a soldier of the Holy Country, that... was the same thing.

    "Stop this, Zehr!!" Justus pleaded, raising his glowing sword for another attack.

    "Ah... hahaha..." Tycon chuckled ruefully, "Do you think this is the best I can do?"

    ? Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Activate, thank you. ?

    ? Activating. ?

    Tycon drew the two fingers of his left hand across the injury on his chest, wiping the blood off of the mending wound.

    "Y-you can heal?" Justus asked, incredulously. "You... YOU CAN HEAL???!"

    "I never said I couldn''t," Tycon smirked.

    "Why... but Rena... You could have... W....why?" Justus seemed to have be quite upset. "WHY???!! WHY DIDN''T YOU SAVE HER?!?!"

    There was a simple answer to that. His healing ability, ?Inspirational Surge?, increased the natural healing of a target manyfold. As such, its effectiveness was muted on the elderly and those with naturally poor regenerative abilities, like horses.

    ...It also made him hungrier-- he figured all increased-regeneration type healing skills did. Near all healing abilities and potions had this sort of effect.

    Divine casters like Fortuna had ess to more effective healing. The mostmon of theirs reversed the damage, which allowed more critical injuries to be "reset" to an earlier, less injured state.

    Rena''s injuries were not at the level he could help... nor could Fortuna, for that matter. That sort of thing was useless to exin. He doubted Justus wanted the truth. He just wanted a target to let out his anger.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon rushed forward, leaping up to attack. It was a calcted gamble. The best thing to do was to dodge his attack. Knowing Justus'' personality, he''d likely block, distracted by the fact that he could heal and he did nothing as Rena died from her own foolishness.

    "?SUNBLADE!! HEAVEN!!! SLAAAAASHH!!!!?"

    Or Justus could attack. Shite.

    Airborne, Tycon was unable to dodge. He desperately shed his sword at Justus'' first golden crescent, his sword shattering near the middle of the de. He squinted his eyes, feeling bits of shrapnel cutting into his face, wishing he had not raised his visor. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, protecting his vitals from the Avenger''s second sh.

    It cut deep.

    It hurt. The injuries would bleed profusely. But Tycon was still alive-- he wasn''t certain he was going to survive, but that had minutes to be determined. Hended, dropping down to a knee.

    He was close enough to Justus to deal a lethal strike.

    The boy ced his sword in front of his face, "I''m sorry, Zehr... Receive thy ?Final Judgment.?"

    Ah! That was the skill that felled the Manticore. Tycon could see... tears streaming down the young man''s face. He had a good heart. It was too bad that that skill was far too slow to be effective. Justus raised his glowing sword for thest time.

    Tycon stood up and sprinted forward, sheathed by magical shadows, "?Shadowfang Strike.?"

    Not even the light of Justus'' aura could pierce his movement technique.

    Moving quickly through the shadows, Tycon ignored the searing heat of his injuries on his forearms to arrive behind Justus.

    Tycon hooked his left arm around the young man''s throat, then he shoved what was left of his broken sword into Justus'' lower back.

    With his left elbow, Tycon violently tilted Justus'' head up... and grabbing the hunting knife off of his back, he sliced the Decanus'' throat.

    ...Ah, maybe that wouldn''t be enough. He ced his knife back against Justus'' neck and cut again, slower, deeper. The young, dying man dropped his sword, pulling desperately at Tycon''s grip. The young man struggled to breathe, but blood was filling his airways, and his desperate gasps for air turned to bubbling gurgles.

    Tycon continued to hold Justus up, continuing his bloody work, carving deeply into human flesh. It took several seconds for the boy to stop struggling... finally falling limp in his hold.

    Releasing the young man, Tycon kicked his back-- he was being very careful. Justus'' body slumped onto the cavern floor, his face colliding hard against the rock.

    Excellent. That was a good fight. Tycon hurt all over from using his mana and taking a bit of injury.

    He picked up Justus'' Decanus sword, which was in surprisingly good condition. He looked at his surroundings and counted the bodies in the cave. No one had ''woken up'' and escaped, which was excellent.

    ? System, I''m feeling rather inspired. ?

    ? Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Yes, please, and thank you. ?

    ? Activating. ?

    ? System, change setting: When I thank you, I''d like you to respond "You''re wee." ?

    ? Setting changeplete. You''re wee. ?

    It was a job well done, he thought. Mana surged through his body, healing the cuts on his forearms. There was a copious amount of blood-- that he didn''t yet feel lightheaded was a sign that he was near his breakthrough to Gold-Rank.

    Tycon finished his work, systematically stabbing the throats of the fallen Rhodoks. It was best to be careful. None of them responded to his efforts, but it was always best to be sure.

    Tycon''s personal mission was a sess-- defeating and killing several Iron-Rankers and a Gold-Rank. Now, all that was left was to stamp out the remaining Rhodoks, to allow Isidor a safe relocation.

    Zero humans left in the cave. Twenty outside. Thirty-seven at the base of the mountain.

 Chapter 273 Krakhammer (Part One)

    ?Tycondrius entered afortable section of Isidor''s mountain cave, warmed by Dwarven forges. A stout, bearded dwarf apprentice worked tirelessly near one of the furnaces, nging away rhythmically on an anvil. An older dwarf stood behind him, quiet and cross-armed, offering the asional grumble of advice.

    The room was anything but cramped. The massive Titan Snake, Isidor, rxing in the corner, only took up a third of it. The peaceful coexistence was nice, though it did look a bit awkward, as a whole.

    The dwarves were strong, squat, human-like creatures known for being as stubborn as rocks. They generally preferred to keep to themselves, doing... whatever dwarves did. Their culture produced storied cksmiths and monster hunters, but as for Isidor... They likely deemed the generallyzy and soft-spoken Titan Snake as betterpany than as a trophy.

    That and Isidor could probably fit their entire n in his gullet.

    Tycon nodded at a team of bearded Dwarven infantry as they passed him, walking towards his titanic friend, "Brother-Isidor, I was curious about the... things you mentioned."

    "Oh... The humans... they broke all my stuuuffffff..." Isidor moaned.

    Tycon wore a sympathetic smile, "That was awfully rude of them."

    "Indeed... I''m... a little depressssed..."

    Tycon pat the side of Isidor''s massive body, "No worries, Brother-Isidor. We''re going to kill them all. Then perhaps... we''ll get you more... things."

    Isidor sighed. Because of his sheer size and his inversely-proportionate spirits, Tycon found it difficult to take his mncholy seriously.

    "I''ve lived a lonnnnng time, Brother-Tyconnn... It''s not the first time I''ve lost something... important to me."

    Tycon shut his eyes and nodded, "I know the sentiment."

    "Besides that..." Isidor slithered to ''stand'' taller, the rocks shifting beneath him, "Have you broken through to Gold-Rannnk? You seem... sssstronger..."

    "Almost." Tycon smiled politely, "Thest of the human elites gave a good fight."

    "Whaaaat? Thatst one didn''t sssseeem very strong." The Titan Snake bowed his head, "My apologies for leaving so ssssudenly."

    Tycon waved the thought away, "No-- no, no worries. Admittedly, I made a few blunders. MY performance was rather unsightly."

    Isidor nced down at Tycon''s armor, "You look... well?"

    Tycon smirked, "My own armor was ruined. This armor belongs to one of the Decani you killed."

    "Oooh... Clever," The Titan Snake bobbed his head in a nod, "I tried to save the higher-ranked ones for you."

    "Thank you for that. They''ve all been dealt with, as well," Tycon lightly bowed his head, "And how is my daughter, Sasarame? Has she been behaving?"

    "About thattttt..." Isidor flicked his tongue hesitantly, "You''d best ssssseee her..."

    "...Very well," Tycon grimaced. He found it strange that Sasha hadn''t waited for him after his battle with Justus.

    The bustling of wings came at a wee pause in the conversation. A small flock of harpies flew in from one of the holes near the top of the cavern, human-like females with vibrantly-colored wings and ws in lieu of arms and taloned raptor-feet instead of legs. Seven of them descended slowly, gliding in circles, finallynding gently near Tycondrius and Isidor.

    Tycon exchanged greetings with the young women. He had met with them a few moons prior, when he''d met Isidor-- and quickly forgot everything about them. Thankfully, one of the benefits of his System was that it quietly and intelligently recorded their names and basic details for Tycon to review at his leisure.

    ? After only a single meeting, he remembered each and every name of his subordinates and allies. It made him appear very reliable.

    "Wee back, Ivory Prince," The eldest harpy bowed her head. She smiled radiantly with her eyes closed, the white of her teeth contrasting with her raven-colored crest and plumage.

    ? Virgilia Darkfeather, Iron-Rank Harpy Siren. ?

    Tycon chuckled, "Lady Virgilia, please-- I am a Prince far from my kingdom. You may address me as Tycon."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Nonsense, Ivory Prince!! Your family ruled thesends when our ancestors were mere eggs! The winds whisper from my Bloodfeather sisters to the west that the alliance with the Queen of Stone is as solid as her namesake."

    Though Virgilia argued vehemently, the smile on her face only widened-- wider than a human''s and probably quite terrifying. But she took good care of her teeth, so Tycon found it aesthetically pleasing.

    She was a rather politedy-- but with her adtion, there was likely a hidden motive... Tycon made a mental note to keep his guard up. Unlike the Bronze-Rank humans, an Iron-Rank schemer was something he would pay special attention to.

    As Tycon conversed with the harpies, more allies began to file into the warmed cavern, causing the dwarves grumbling to increase in both frequency and volume. They were victims of circumstance. The warmth of their forges would serve as the mostfortable area for a Titan Snake. The mountain''s denizens would meet with Isidor, not the other way around.

    ...And the havoc and destruction he''d unintentionally cause, visiting their homes, would not be worth the ''politeness.''

    "Your allies havee, hearing of your arrival, Ivory Prince," Virgilia sang.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Or was it because of the light show from the humans'' fight with the Manticore?"

    "That too," She chittered a series of quick, high chirps, a... giggle? It sounded positive?

    There were more than a few faces and forms Tycon didn''t recognize. It seemed every faction in the mountains had been alerted to the human threat. There were Spider Breeders, a gang of fat roons, a timid-looking cave troll tightly grasping a tiny book, an elven couple along with some griffons.... and...

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... "Is that...?"

    Virgilia turned her head. Oh. Huh. The Darkfeather Harpies could turn their heads 270 degrees. That was a... rare trait amongst the peoples Tycon dealt with.

    "Oh, Stephanos? The Gorgon?" Virgilia chirped.

    "A gorgon... right."

    As the gorgon looked over, Tycon quickly dropped to a knee, ducking down behind Virgilia and her flock.

    ...He didn''t understand why he did so. His body moved out of reflex.

    "Gwahaha..." A deepugh sounded, approaching Tycon from the side, "Rare to see one of your kind kneeling, Snaaaake Prince."

    A squad of dwarves swaggered over, led by a gruff and stone-faced gentleman with a beautifully kept, braided beard-- a lustrous chestnut brown.

    The System offered no name, so Tycon was fairly certain they hadn''t met. He sat down cross-legged on the raised tform he and Virgilia stood on, looking eye to eye at the dwarven leader.

    "You honor me with your presence and your magnificent beard, Brother-Dwarf."

    The dwarf pointed angrily, "Snaaake!! I''m here to tell you the Krakhammer n won''t--"

    Suddenly, he stopped... retracting his hand to stroke his beard, "You think so? I''ve been using this new shampoo. Bartered with one of the knife-ears-- said it smells like a summer''s orchard, and it does."

    "Patriarch... we can''t call them knife-ears here." One of the younger dwarves whispered, "This is a public set-ting."

    "Bah!" The Patriarch smacked the top of the younger dwarf''s helmet. "Whatever! We''re all friends here, they won''t be offended."

    "Anyrooooad!!!" The Patriarch again pointed angrily, "Thrumondi Krakhammer and his n''re no friends of you, Snaaaake!!"

    Tycon''s mouth twitched.

    Was he... supposed to care?

 Chapter 274 Krakhammer (Part Two)

    ?Tycondrius sat, crossing his legs on an upraised tform, hands on his knees. Isidor restedzily behind him. He figured the two of them together looked quite intimidating... but none of the mountain''s denizens seemed to fear the Titan Snake.

    Tycon patiently listened to the Dwarven patriarch pointing and yelling loudly. It was a bit stereotypical of the dwarf... Tycon decided to take no offense.

    ? Thrumondi Krakhammer, Bronze-Rank Dwarven Chieftain. ?

    "Patriarch... we are friends of the snakes..." A female dwarf reminded.

    Tycon noted that the woman had no beard, looking more like a squat, rock-muscled, young human. It must have been a more modern aesthetic style-- perhaps to appear younger? Tycon surmised that the female must have waxed her face to achieve such an effect.

    "AS I WAS SAYING!! We may be FRIENDS of you, Snaaake." Without hesitation, the dwarf corrected himself. "But make no mistake, we''re not FRRRRIENDS!!"

    Tycon felt his cheek twitch again.

    Oh, no. This one was an idiot. He wished he could ask for someone else, but this one seemed to be in charge.

    His gaze met with the female. She didn''t get her helmet struck like the first dwarf. He reasoned that she must have had some status.

    Tycon gestured towards her, "Trantion, please?"

    The woman bowed politely-- not too low, which was eptable, "Greetings, your lordship. The Patriarch wishes to say that there is no benefit in the Krakhammer n taking arms against the humans."

    Ah. That made sense. There were a small number of species that were an exception to human xenophobia, not actively hunted and wiped out. In particr, dwarves, elves, and popotoes were fully integrated in all societies besides... the Holy Country. Daeva, dovahkiin, gnomes, and titanbloods belonged to that category, too, but there were far less of them.

    Tycon nodded, "Your name, noble warrior?"

    The Dwarven woman smiled warmly, her eyes bright with pride, "Diamantia, Prince."

    ? Diamantia Krakhammer, Iron-Rank Dwarven Destroyer. ?

    Even her name was modern. It wasn''t Dwarven, but in the style of the people of the Holy Country.

    "That is unfortunate, Lady Diamantia. I was certain that the humans would weep for mercy and the rivers would run red with blood when the Krakhammers took to the battlefield."

    The Dwarven Patriarch, Thrum, stiffened like worked steel doused in water.

    Tycon continued... "And the spoils of war, Patriarch... the gems and rings to collect... they would look so opulent, reforged by *proper* craftsmanship and woven into your magnificent beard."

    The Patriarch''s entire body shook. Slowly, he turned to the woman at his side and spoke in a guttural Dwarven, "(Dia... My love... Can we war with the humans? Please?)"

    Ah... The Patriarch was the n Head... but Dwarven Destroyer Diamantia was the neck that could turn the head any way she wished.

    The woman red at the Patriarch. She nced back to Tycon, bowed again, "Prince, please excuse us... just for a moment."

    Tycon kept his face impassive and raised a palm, "Please. Take your time."

    "(Thrumondi Krakhammer, son of Bumdael, son of Glorilgrin, son of Thrumondi, we had discussed this. No means no.")

    "(Oh,e on. Just one squad? Maybe two? Three! Three squads, and that''s all!!)"

    "(We only have three veteran squads, you insufferable fool.)" The woman ced her hands on her hips.

    Thrumondi subconsciously dipped his head, raising his shoulders in response, "(Dia... Please, the prince seems like a nice guy. He''s nothing like the stories say. Maybe we can invite him to drink? We can y that board game you like-- ooh! The trivia game! You *love* the trivia game!)"<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...Dwarven ale and a board game? That sounded like a lovely evening.

    Diamantia scowled, "(First off, I heavily doubt that. The prince likely has more important things to do, my love.)"

    Tycon did, but one night off didn''t sound so bad. He wondered if he could bring Sasarame and Isidor... It wouldn''t feel proper to leave them out of the festivities.

    "(This was *your* decision, Patriarch.)" She insisted.

    "(I may have been a bit... hasty,)" Thrumondi apologized, looking pitiful.

    Tycon chatted idly with Virgilia as he waited. It seemed that Thrumondi and Diamantia were husband and wife. Sensible.

    Finally, Thrumondi approached again, "We''re JOINING the war, Snaaake! And there''s NOTHING you can do to stop us!!"

    Diamantia hooked her arms on the opposite side of Thrumondi''s neck in a ''loving'' embrace... then she pulled his head down, while simultaneously powering an Iron-Ranked knee strike into his side.

    Thrumondi did not fall, a testament to his sturdiness, "S-s... snaaake... We''ll NEVER join your WAR. And there''s NOTHING... you can do... Yeap... Nope. Nothing."

    Was he injured? Tycon was a half-step into Gold-Rank and was fairly certain he''d be critically injured after such an attack.

    Concerning the dwarves... to enlist their aid, Tycon had a few things to offer at minimal risk to himself. After all, they were being as polite-- honestly, as much as he could hope for.

    Tycon took a deep breath and sighed. He wanted to give the impression that he thought the dwarves were actually important.

    "I have a Trading Company in the Kingdom. We''ll invest in your smithy."

    The Dwarven Destroyer crossed her arms, "Ivory Prince, I''m sorry. We''ve made up our minds."

    Thrumondi grumbled haplessly at thement. The other dwarves gave their Patriarch pitying looks but remained silent.

    Tycon smirked. He held a trump card that was rarely useful, but would be effective for his current opponent... "I''ll have you know, I''m friends with the Prince of Arcanite."

    "...Go on," Diamantia gestured, raising an eyebrow in interest.

    Wonderful. Craftsmen loved working with quality material... and Arcanite was suitably valuable enough to pique the Dwarven matriarch''s interest.

    "I''ll have my Quartermaster arrange for a shipment of Thorium... though the mana stones would be more difficult to provide."

    Diamantia looked at the various creatures around the cave, "Oh, I think we''ll manage."

    ...Was she going to ughter her allies for mana stones? ...Her ss was Destroyer, after all. The thought was worrisome.

    One of thergest differences between sentient races and magical beasts like Isidor and Stephanos was that only thetter had mana stones, harvestable from their corpses-- or spirit stones, as the Hidden Sects called them. They were rarely useful-- save for Hidden Sect techniques, magical power sources for Wizards, and... for the forging of the mana-absorbent metal known as Arcanite.

    Diamantia nodded, her expression pleased, "It''s a pleasure to do business with you, Ivory Prince. We''ll join your war. Isn''t that right, dear Patriarch?"

    ...The woman was cutthroat. He thought he was getting a good deal, but judging by her expression it might not have been so.

    However, Diamantia would not be dealing with Tycon, himself. She''d be dealing with his Quartermaster, the Calctor, Sorina Capulet. She was more than a match for Diamantia.

    Sorina had a Business Degree.

 Chapter 275 Stephanos

    ?Thrumondi Krakhammer, son of Bumdael, son of Glorilgrin, son of Thrumondi, approached Tycondrius, wringing his hands.

    "Snaaake... Is there uh... anything for me?"

    Tycon''s mouth twitched. The dwarf was a fool... and a shameless one, at that.

    "I have a small cask of Elven wine that I wished to sample with a few choice battlepanions."

    The Dwarven Patriarch frowned, "Bah, knife-ear swill. Why would I bother?"

    Tycon responded with no change in expression, "We could sit around a fire, drinking ale, intellectually discussing its poor quality."

    "I, Thrumondi Krakhammer, will devote my axe to your endeavors, Snaaake."

    Arrogance. It made friends... Tycon appreciated the dwarf''s honesty and looked forward to sharing hispany... as long as it was kept in small doses.

    After the dwarves left to make their preparations, Tycon saw to the other allies as they approached, ordered by approximate faction strength. They all agreed to submit to his battlemands.

    One of the nicest things about non-human assemblies was that the leader was generally easily agreed as either the strongest faction or the strongest individual. There were no weak leaders in non-human factions. Those that were, were quickly reced. Violently.

    All of the factions gathered were notrge enough to stand on their own-- even the Krakhammer n was only some sixty strong.

    Isidor was a Gold-Rank Titan Snake. Tycon was a half-step away from Gold-Rank, as well... and a Warlord, a ss that specialized inrger scale battles. Though no one in the cavern feared Isidor, everyone knew that he was the strongest creature in the mountain. It seemed Tycon was just as respected-- be it his aura as a peak Iron-Rank or his title, it didn''t matter.

    With the dwarves as thergest faction, the others would follow suit. Where he pointed his sword, the tides of battle would swell. When he demanded their arrows sing and their hammers fall, the humans would die.

    Finally... it came the gorgon''s turn to approach Tycon. Stephanos was... a peculiar cross between a longhorn bull, a centaur, and an animated set of full te armor. Tycon wondered which brain he had inherited.

    He wasrger than the Manticore, standing on four cloven hooves at some 9 fulms tall. His bull body was huge and covered in metal scales. The ''human'' arms and torso were molded like a Titanblood in peak physical condition. His short neck was like a thick tree trunk, supporting a horned bull''s head.

    And to further exemplify the creature''s status as an unstoppable war machine, instead of a bull''s tail, there was a tapered-metal whip-like appendage with what appeared to be a spearde at its end.

    The legends said the gorgons were killing machines created by mad Wizards... creative ones... with too much time on their hands.

    The brutish, metal-bull-centaur should have been intimidating... However, for a reason Tycon could not exin, each of the gorgon''s features he observed only annoyed him more and more.

    ? Stephanos, Gold-Rank Gorgon. ?

    ...It was the first time that he thought the System''s assessment was untrustworthy.

    ? System, change specific ss designation: Stephanos is an idiot. ?

    ? Understood. Stephanos, Gold-Rank Gorgon Idiot. ?

    It made him feel a little better.

    Tycon tried to hide his displeasure as he addressed the Idiot, "So the gorgons are with us..."

    Therge, metal bull-creature wore a wide, foolish grin, revealing great, t, bull teeth, "Ivory PRINCE!! I haven''t seen you in EE-POKS!!"

    He meant epochs. Tycon assumed he meant epochs.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin, scrutinizing slits, "Have we met?"

    He wanted to apologize for not remembering such a... gregarious personality, but he decided against it.

    "I''m HUUURT, Brother-Tycon!!!" The bull ced his hand to his chest, his entire 4-legged body swaying backward.

    "Then you''d best see to a healer... or an... Artificer, to have you repaired," Tycon nodded. "I believe the dwarves should--"

    "BROTHER-TYCON!! We shed briefly in Kasydon, but I was CERTAINNN I gave you a thrashing you''d NEVER forget!! Ahahahaha!!!"

    Tycon''s mouth twitched. He disliked being interrupted. But if Tycon wanted to strike the bull, he''d have to stand and jump up to catch Stephanos'' horns... and his metal face would hurt his hands or dent his sword...

    No... As tempted as he was, it wasn''t worth the trouble

    Tycon waved his hand in a calm gesture, "I lost my memories."

    "Ehhhh?!!" The tip of Stephanos'' tail touched upon his chin as he gazed up and away in thought.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He probably thought it looked wise. Tycon thought it looked stupid.

    "No one... told me this... Was it... a Wizard''s curse, Brother-Tycon?" The metal-bull offered.

    "Probably."

    When in doubt, me the Wizards. Tycon med them for creating the gorgons-- no, that''s terribly unfair... He med them for creating this particr one.

    Stephanos knelt down onto the floor, tucking his legs beneath him, "Brother-Tycon... Surely you haven''t forgotten Stephanos, the FIERCE KNIGHT!!?"

    Tycon grimaced, "Stephanos--"

    "--the FIERCE KNIGHT!!!"

    ...Tycon grimaced and took a very deep breath through his nostrils, before exhaling, "Are you quite done?"

    "I am..." Stephanos nodded his fat, bull-head, "After we met in Kasydon, we joined forces, and not for a short amount of time! You MUST remember!! "

    "I do not."

    "Searching for the shards of the Shikon jewels with that weretouched fellow? That took FOREVER!!"

    "Negative."

    "The ATTACK on TITAN!!!???"

    "That sounds like it would be memorable, but no."

    "Sailing the sea on the Going Merry, searching for the Great Treasure, the ''One Piece''?"

    Tycon hesitated, "That one sounds like it''s made up."

    Stephanos, the... Fierce Knight, leaned forward, lowering his voice to what he thought was a whisper, "Then... fighting against the Snake Cult in Caeruleum?"

    Tycon squinted his eyes, "Why the hells are you whispering?"

    "Brother-Isidor is quite partial to the Snake Cultists-- I figured you wouldn''t remember that, either."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Relying on their tributes is also why he''s grown fat andzy."

    Stephanos sat up straight,ughing politely, "Hahaha... As great as Stephanos, the Fierce Knight is, I don''t have the status to say such things aloud, Ivory Prince."

    Tycon''s eye twitched... If that was the case, why was the Gold-Rank Idiot speaking so forwardly to *him*?

    "The battle..." Tycon wanted to get back on point, "Can we call on you for assistance, Brother-Stephanos?"

    "--THE FIERCE KNIGHT!!!"

    "...The Fierce Knight, yes."

    The fool bull crossed his armored forearms across his chest, again cing the tip of his tail against his chin, "I dunno... I know they were going after Brother-Isidor, but... have they attacked anyone else?"

    Tycon felt confusion creep onto his face. With all that talk of battle and adventure, was he really skittish about going to war with the humans?

    "They killed a few Spider Breeders," Tycon reasoned.

    Virgilia gasped at Tycon''s side, covering her mouth with her wing, "Oh, no... Matriarch Feverbite won''t be pleased..."

    "Ehhhh..." Stephanos whined, "I didn''t really know the Spider Breeders."

    What a selfish bastard.

    Tycon pursed his lips, "The Manticore, too."

    Stephanos mmed his palms onto the ground, leaning forward in surprise, "They HHHH-WWWAAAAAT?!?"

 Chapter 276 Beauteous Voice

    ?Tycondrius exchanged a look of confusion with Siren Virgilia. From their idle conversation earlier, he had figured no one was surprised-- or even upset that the Manticore was killed. She was known for having a very reckless personality.

    Stephanos, the Fierce Knight, ced a thick palm over his eyes... openly weeping, "Every Tuesday night... was SINGING night.... I will forever miss the Manticore''s BEAUTEOUS VOICE!!!"

    Singing night? That sounded quite pleasant. He knew Virgilia''s ss was Siren. Did she...?

    Tycon nced over to Virgilia. Her face had paled and she wore a look of sheer disgust.

    No, she did not attend Tuesday singing nights. And no, it was not pleasant.

    "Thrumondi... Noblest of noble dwarves... Manti-CORA... Manticor-iest of Manticores..." Stephanos sobbed.

    "And I... Stephanos... the--"

    "The Fierce Knight," Tycon offered.

    "THE FIIIIIERCE KNIIIIGHT!!!" Stephanos continued, "The three of us together... We were the masters of SONG... BARDS of... of LEGEND, whose voices could make ANGELS WEEP!!!"

    Tycon could picture it perfectly: angels weeping, gnashing their teeth, and openly denying the existence of the gods they served.

    Ugly tears streamed down Stephanos'' face, dripping to the cavern floor in oily plops, "We would always sing... songs dedicated to Glory... to the HONOR of our CLANS..."

    "Can we not do this right now?" Tycon asked, "I really have to get going."

    "NO!!" Stephanos clenched a fist.

    Tycon frowned, "...No?"

    "The humans... Will. PAY. For this TREACHERY," Stephanos dered.

    "I really don''t think that is the correct word to use in this particr--"

    Stephanos bowed his massive head, to which Tycon had to sway his seated upper body back in order to avoid being struck.

    "I, Stephanos, the FIERCE KNIGHT, will fight alongside you once more, Ivory Prince... no... BROTHERRRRRRRRR!!!"

    Tycon really didn''t want a brother like this... but...

    "...Thank you. I uh... ept your allegiance."

    "GIVE ME A HUG!!!!" Stephanos yelled in Tycon''s face. Snot dripped from the bull-centaur''s messy metal snout and onto Tycon''sp.

    "No." Tycon crossed his arms, "Absolutely not."

    "COME ONNNNN!!! COWARDDDD!!!"

    ...With a sigh, Tycon stood. He approached the kneeling metal bull-centaur and hugged the front of Stephanos'' abdomen. He patted his side, "Don''t cry, brother Stephanos."

    "--the... the Fierce Knight... Uhuhuhuuuu~"

    Tycon felt Stephanos'' disgusting, viscous tears dropping onto his head as the gorgon returned the embrace. The bull was surprisingly gentle and the hug solidified their brotherhood... but the situation still made him slightly ufortable...

    "...We''ll uh... we''ll make some ice cream. Would you like some ice cream?"

    "Uhuhhhhuuuuu..." Stephanos sniveled, "Yeahhhhhh..."

    ...

    The meetings with the various races only took a few bells. Derations of loyalty in battle were received, promises were made. There was still plenty of sunlight left, so Tycon wished to hurry... but still, he felt obligated to see his adopted daughter, Sasarame, before he departed.

    Her room was dark, lit by a candle tucked away in a corner, with the Dwarven oilmp on her wooden desk only mere decoration. The sad, dim me provided the only light she needed to see.

    "Sasha... I brought you gifts."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The dark elf sat at her desk in her white, hooded robe, scrawling letters of the Common alphabet onto parchment with a feather quill pen.

    ? Sasarame, Bronze-Rank Snake Oracle. ?

    Sasha was a very unique individual. She had a ss and she had picked up the Common tongue surprisingly well, considering her age and species. Isidor was decades old and still had issues with it.

    Unlike Isidor, Sasha was also skillful at body maniption, wearing the form of a lithe dark elf female with the approximate physical age of a teenage human. Her white hair was simr in color to her natural form''s silvery scales-- but appeared brighter, due to her elf form''s chocte-brown skin.

    Sasha said nothing, more preupied with inking her work than greeting him.

    Tycon was being ignored. Was... she upset? He couldn''t think of anything he''d done to upset her-- except the fact that she was left alone for a few moons with Isidor.

    ... Thinking on it, that was a perfectly eptable reason to exin her sulking.

    Tycon raised the small covered bowl in his hands, the movement catching Sasha''s predatory senses, "I brought you some ice cream. It''s vored with wild berries."

    Sasha''s hand stopped, cing her quill gently back into its inkpot. Slowly, she pushed the wooden chair away from her desk and turned, tilting her gaze up at Tycon.

    Tycon pursed his lips and offered his tribute forward. She snatched the stone bowl and the wooden spoon away from his grasp... then ced them politely on her desk.

    "The Ivory Prince returns..." She mumbled.

    "...I apologize," He started open-ended, in the case there were multiple things he had to apologize for.

    The chocte elf continued to ignore him, uncovering the bowl and taking a small spoonful of the cold dessert... "It''s sweet."

    Yes. That was the goal. Sasarame enjoyed sweet things.

    "Sasha does not forgive..." She whispered.

    Still, she continued to eat.

    ...Tycon still felt like he had the advantage in the encounter, but he allowed his youngpanion her verbal victory.

    "I will be leaving again... for a shorter period of time," Tycon stated. It was not a negotiation. "The humans must be dealt with."

    The dark elf paused her gluttony, turning her small mouth into asrge of a frown as she could muster. She turned in the wooden chair, staring up expectantly.

    Tycon''s mouth twitched, "I expect Brother-Isidor and the others have provided you with proper learning materials. When I return, I will review yourprehensive knowledge."

    He had tasked Isidor with instructing his daughter innguage, basic maths, andmon learning. If Isidor had failed him, the Titan Snake would suffer severe physical consequences.

    Sasha bowed her head, "She will await... the Ivory Prince''s return..."

    That was probably the best he was going to get... still, Tycon felt it appropriate to request one more thing.

    "I would like a hug."

    The youngdy pursed her lips, "She does not see why."

    A dull pain ached in Tycon''s heart at the rejection, but he did not relent, "It''s... a human affectation. It''s part of your learning... to fit in with human culture."

    "Oh," Sasha stood up.

    Tycon reached his arms forward and embraced the girl to his chest.

    After a moment, Sasha began to shove him away, "Master smells of blood... She hungers."

    "Right," Tycon chuckled. He ran his fingers through Sasha''s white hair, allowing a naturally urring clump to stick upright like a flower reaching for the sky.

    Tycon reached into a side pouch on his belt and revealed his second gift-- the trump card he was saving that would win back his daughter''s heart.

 Chapter 277 Guard Work

    ?Tycondrius smirked, watching Sasha''s elven eyes widen, her pupils dted. She licked her lips, clearly able to smell its contents.

    "Venison jerky," He waved the package in front of her, and her eyes followed it... "Taken from the hindquarter. 1/8th ilm-slices. Cut against the grain of the meat... Pliable but chewy..."

    Sasha was visibly salivating. She wiped her mouth with the back of her coat sleeve.

    Tycon whispered his next words to attack her soul, "Sweetened... with honey."

    Sasha rushed forward, wrapping her arms around Tycon and burying her face in his armored chest.

    ...Likely, she did not understand what she was doing, but she did understand that a ''sincere'' hug would see a reward. Clever girl.

    Food was the most powerful diplomatic measure in all worlds, not just this one. That he was decent at cooking was one of his most powerful aspects.

    He recalled that it was likely how the Rhodok Healer began to trust him so unreservedly. When he picked fruits for the noble Rhodok stallions, Bucephalus and Heracles, he cut and sun-dried what he could, for his tent-group. Luck saw that those bits of apples and berries suited Fortuna''s elven pte.

    "Do well, youngdy," Tycon stroked his daughter''s hair. "When I return, we will continue our travels."

    The chocte elf looked up at him and nodded, a slight smile on her lips.

    ...

    Modestus sat underneath the shade of a leafless, dead tree on the mountainside, staring at his dried rations with annoyance and disgust. For the past several suns, he had padded his meals with Duplicarius'' Zehr''s fire-roasts, meat jerky, fruits and berries-- both fresh-picked and sun-dried. He knew the military rations were bad... he was used to them from decades of military life.

    ...But me take it all, he missed that green-haired boy''s food.

    Decanus Ferrutius was in charge of the two tent-groups guarding the entrance of a cave. Guard work was a good 80% of military work, so no oneined-- well, no one was surprised. Everyoneined.

    The Rhodoks had arrived early in the morning and after an excruciating 16 bells of guarding and patrolling, he checked the sunlight to see... that it was just past noon.

    me. Take it. All.

    The Rhodoks had brought tents, but Modestus hoped they wouldn''t go on into the night. Knowing his luck, it would... but with his sense of time, he''d probably be dead of old age and boredom when that came around.

    They guarded a cursed ce... where over two dozen archers had been killed by a monster called a Manticore. He and the men swept through, covering up old blood with sand and earth, whispering Old Prayers. Some more brazen men sphemously called on unfamiliar gods, hoping that *some* deity would hear them.

    Modestus didn''t like it-- but he started to see some of the sense in pleading for forbidden help from the great beyond. He forced himself to chew some hard tack, washing it down with water...

    "I''ll worship whatever me-scarred demon that pops out, if she can cook me a proper meal."

    A Decanus with a wild, orange beard sat beside him, drinking heavily from one of his canteens. It was filled with wine, and the breaths of the two of them stank of it heavily, "How about you head into the caves and ask the devil, Zehr, himself."

    Modestus chuckled, scratching at his itchy grey beard, "Like hells, I will. First off, the boy has a temper-- like you didn''t notice. And second... those caves are ck as night and full of holes that drop down to the hells."

    "Tch," Ferrutius scoffed. "Like I''m scared of that prick. Haha... More wine?"

    Modestus smiled politely, taking the offered wineskin. The Decanus had his own pride-- every warrior did. Zehr walloped him in a straight fight. Ferrutius would be a fool to challenge him to a second.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Modestus took a deep pull of the delicious liquid, returning him to a warm state of light drunkenness.

    "You ever wish you were anyce but here, Brother-Immortal?" Ferrutiusid backward, resting his forearms on the dirt, "I heard you have a wife."

    Modestus nodded, passing the skin back, "Aye. Most of the coin I earn gets sent directly to her-- and she budgets well. And I''ve a boy who was apprenticing for a potter-- pretty sure he''s mine, too. Even if thepany goes to shite, I can just go home and be a family man."

    The Decanus began to chortle, squealing like a dying pig, "me take you, Modestus. You sell your body for two silver slugs."

    "Hey, that''s three silver-- and that''s for a kiss on the cheek!!"

    The two of themughed for a short while...

    "Ah, no... It''s a joke, Decanus," Modestus sighed.

    "You know, with the way Zehr talks... Don''t you think the boy believes it?"

    Modestus felt his eye twitch... Shite. That was right...

    "It''s toote now..." He let out a helpless sigh, "Any harm that''s done with that''s, already done."

    "Brother-Immortal..." Ferrutius sat up... "You thinking of retiring after this?"

    Modestus groaned and rolled eyes so hard, his entire head rolled back. He wished he hadn''t done so... with the way his neck felt, he was certain it''d be sore in a few bells, "aaaame take thaaaat, Ferrutius. I''m immortal, haven''t you heard?"

    Ferrutius grinned, revealing a crooked, untrustworthy smile, "I have."

    "It''s bad luck to talk about retirement. In the stories, the old man gets offed on hisst sun-- you know that."

    Modestus scowled, snatching the wineskin back from Ferrutius. He drained thest of it.

    "I thought you said you were immortal?" Ferrutius countered.

    "I can be as immortal as I like and not want my skull dashed against the rocks, thank you."

    The Decanus gazed up at the bright blue sky, "Well... I''m one to tempt fate. I think I''ll retire after this. I''ve done my duty to my country... and the thanks I get is a bit shite for it."

    Modestus sighed as he rifled through his pack, looking for another wineskin. He offered it to the Decanus, "I don''t me you."

    The scream of arge hawk or eagle cut the somber moment. Modestus looked up to see several... bird... people swooping down towards his Rhodoks.

    Men and women began shouting. Their weapons ttered as they scrambled to pick up their weapons.

    The monsters of the mountains were attacking...

 Chapter 278 Song Of Battle

    ?The drunken Modestus staggered to his feet, strapping on his shield and grabbing his pilum.

    Harpies.

    me-taken harpies. Naked women with chicken wings for arms. A dozen of them swooped down, grasping his Rhodok allies with their taloned feet and before gliding back up into the air.

    The attack was so sudden, no one could get their shite together.

    "Put me down!!!" One of the Munifices screamed.

    The harpy dropped that one off of the cliffside, and they plummeted down, hundreds of feet below.

    Ferrutius squinted his eyes hard-- he had been hitting the wine far harder than Modestus had, "That was a very poor choice of words."

    Modestus felt his heart beat painfully in his chest.

    Seven hells, was it going to just... stop? Bah. Whatever. Even if it did, he''d have a good six or seven seconds before he''d die. He''d just go down fighting, "Decanus, put your helmet on. Quickly, now. Everyone is dying."

    "Ssssod off, Brother-Immortal," Ferrutius slurred as he grabbed his helmet and buckled it on. "You''re not my dad."

    "Your mother''s name is Scinti, isn''t it?" Modestus prodded.

    The lush bastard had let her name slip during an earlier conversation.

    Ferrutius'' eyes widened, "Seven hells... Maybe you are? ...To the monster killing, then."

    The pair charged forward, sobering somewhat as they ran.

    A 9-foot tall creature made entirely of steel stampeded out of the cave on four legs and hooves. It gored one of the Munifices with massive bullhorns, piercing her chest entirely. In its two metal arms, it carried a massive battleaxe, chopping the woman''s body in two.

    "Do YOUR BALLS hang LOWWW~?!?! Do they DANGLE to and FROOOO~???!"

    It was screeching a cursed tune... None of the Rhodoks dared to stand before it... everyone running, whether it was from its appearance or its ''song'', Modestus was unsure.

    "Can you TIE them in a KNOOOOTTTTT!!!? UHUUUHUU~" The metal bull-creature was... crying, in deep, sonorous sobs. He sliced down, severing the torso of a Munifex and another Munifex'' legs below the knee, "Can you TIE them in a BOOOOOOOWWW??!"

    "Nope," Ferrutius stumbled in the dirt, tumbling and getting dirt in his beard, but scrambling to his feet and running in a different direction. "Big nope. Biiiig big nope."

    Modestus was of the same mind. The two of them turned away from the cave and immediately started running down the mountain path. All of the Rhodoks with at least half-a-brain did the same.

    Death cries all around, Modestus dared not look back. From the shouts and shrieks and squeals, he figured even more mescarred creatures were spilling from the mouth of the cavern.

    Seven bloody hells. The Rhodoks have unleashed a gue of monsters on the Holy Country of Tyrion. We will forever be known as the Gold-Rank guild of failures.

    He hoped his wife and kid would be okay. There wasn''t much hope left for him.

    He and the remaining Rhodoks... four of them total, stopped running. The path ahead of them was lined with... spider''s webs, each strand as thick as a man''s arm. And they had to get through several feet of it, to continue down the mountain.

    ...Of course, there was a faster path down the mountain. It was over the edge.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Ferrutius growled, "It''s just some webs, you blockheads. We''ll just CUT through!!"

    He swung his sword, trying to cut through the thick, vine-like webs. The sword stuck. As he struggled with that, his hand stuck. The webs moved in the wind or by some unseen force, and his forward leg stuck.

    Two long, monstrous purple arms reached through the webs, grabbing the remaining two Munifices and pulling them into the webs.

    Modestus could barely make out its form within the web forest, but it was big... and it wasn''t shaped like a human... It spoke with a voice so low and deep, the webs vibrated, further entrapping Ferrutius and the others in the glob, "We... shall keep you.... alive... My children... will feast... upon human flesh... for many nights."

    That sounded like a horrible time. Modestus took a step back, ncing at the stuck Ferrutius, "Decanus, I''ll be going."

    Ferrutius gave a muffled scream in response. It seemed some of the webs got onto his mouth.

    Modestus turned and began running towards the ledge to jump.

    He had always wanted to do the leap through the air, pilum-pointed-downward attack...nding on his knees like a hero. He''d never done it before. He knew he''d probably hurt himself doing it. But in this situation, he figured he wasn''t going to survive, anyroad, so he figured this would at least be fun.

    Something snatched his spear wrist and tossed him to the side, and he rolled several times on the hard dirt instead of off of the mountain. His head smashed painfully onto the hard-packed surface, banging against his helmet.

    Bollocks.

    "Can''t have that, Brother-Immortal," The voice of Duplicarius Zehr sounded out throughout the carnage of battle.

    "Zehr? Seven hells, boy!" Modestus sat up, trying to blink his eyes out of his daze, "You know how long it would take for the two of us to kill all the monsters here? I''d rather die!"

    "Ever the modest individual," Zehr pursed his lips.

    Zehr''s armor was pristine, untouched... a bit dusty, but it was marked by no bits of blood. And under an arm he carried... the Primus Pilus'' helmet.

    The forward team had failed, that much he could guess. But Zehr''s appearance was... ominous.

    "Brother-Thrumondi, I have need of your axe arm!" He called.

    ...

    Tycondrius examined Modestus'' severed head, holding it up by his ck and white peppered beard.

    He wasn''t certain that the old veteran was actually immortal, but just in case, he had the Dwarven Chieftain fight him in one-on-onebat. The dwarf won easily, cutting off the Munifex''s head.

    There was no burst of light, no leaking of mana, no sparkly reincarnation or transmigration effect-- it was likely he wasn''t as immortal as he said he was.

    But still, Tycon liked being thorough.

    "Woz that all, Snaake?" The surly dwarf grumbled. "Seemed hardly worth the trouble."

    "My thanks, Master Dwarf. It was a personal request," Tycon smiled. "And as you know, there are more at the base of the mountain."

    "Ahaha," Thrumondi chuckled. "Then let us continue our war!"

 Chapter 279 Numbers

    ?Tycondrius traveled with the mountain factions for most of the way, finishing the journey with a short flight, courtesy of Virgilia. He nned to act on his own for about a bell of time, to prepare for the main body''s arrival.

    The orange horizon promised a cool, refreshing evening. Most of Tycon''s recent allies could see well with little to no light. The humans could not.

    Tycon as "Duplicarius Zehr" returned to the Rhodoks alone, carrying the Centurion''s helmet as proof of his service. He reported the obliteration of both the forward group and their apanying tent groups.

    The remaining Rhodok leadership was devastated but... unsurprised.

    News spread quickly that he''d be passing word to thepany-- that Tycon would be rying the Centurion''s final wishes. Of that, they wrongly assumed.

    Everyone was to gather for ountability, a rote gathering that no military-minded individual would question. Inrge military groups like the Tyrion military, and by extension, the Rhodok adventuringpany, their most important resource was people. ountability was a way of life-- knowing the location of your resources was integral to utilizing them.

    Tycon was informed that many injured Rhodoks would be unable to attend the formation. As such, he volunteered to check the infirmaries, himself.

    ...

    Tycon and Scout cidus checked the medical tents, thankfully cordoned off from those of the dead.

    There were enough tents and few enough Rhodoks that Shield Maiden Gianna had her own, personal tent.

    "Seven in the medical tents, Duplicarius," cidus saluted. "Eight, including Shield Maiden Gianna."

    "Check again. Memorize their names," Tycon red through his visor. "I will be checking on Munifex Gianna, myself."

    "Hah. I''ll leave you two alone, then," the injured scout went off, wearing a suspicious smirk. "You know Gianna has a very particr reputation. Enjoy."

    ...What was that about?

    Tycon adjusted his armor, allowing the metallic sounds to announce his presence, "Gianna, it''s me."

    "I know," Gianna''s low voice called out from within her tent. "Come inside, Duplicarius."

    Entering her tent, Tycon found the woman out of her cot-- sitting on her footlocker, wrapped in a dark nket. She stared up at him quietly, like she was expecting something.

    ...He''d begin by stating the obvious.

    "I came to see you."

    "I know..." Shield Maiden Gianna whispered. She averted her gaze, "Did... did Justus make it?"

    Word traveled fast. Gianna would rightfully be in mourning, knowing her young husband-- or fiancee, as it were, was killed.

    "He did not," Tycon shook his head...

    She continued to... stare at him? He offered more, to fill the silence, "I gave him an offer to escape with me. He decided to stay and fight."

    Gianna''s voice raised in pitch, "Tell me truthfully... is it possible he''s still alive?"

    That was rather direct.

    "It is not. Justus is dead."

    The Shield Maiden sighed and... chuckled ruefully to herself... "How about youe closer, Zehr."

    ...Peculiar. Tycon didn''t sense any malice in Gianna''s request, so he approached as requested.

    Gianna reached an arm out of her nket, pulling him close. Her other arm was no longer in an earth ster cast but was bandaged and hung in a sling.<novelnext></novelnext>

    But with the nket slipping off of her shoulders...

    Tycon frowned, "Where are your clothes, Gianna?"

    "It''s you I want, Zehr," She whispered as she wrapped her long, muscr legs around Tycon''s waist. "Can you feel how much I want you?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows underneath his visor. He could feel the seductress'' loins, stiflingly hot, pressed against his groin. The woman was in heat.

    "I can," Tycon admitted.

    "Good, haha..." Gianna smirked. She hooked Tycon''s head with her functional arm and pulled him down,pping her tongue at his lips, "I was afraid of what I''d do if I couldn''t have you."

    Tycon nced over to see an unsheathed dagger on a nearby table, beside a wrap of bandages, "I can see that."

    "I want you tofort me, Zehr. My ''husband'' was just killed and I am in *desperate* need of you," She whispered, nibbling on his bottom lip.

    With a coy smile, Gianna''s voice gained sudden forcefulness, "Now, take off that helmet. And everything else."

    "...Right."

    Tycon took off his helmet as he undimmed his vision.

    "S-snake?" Gianna''s gaze widened as she recoiled back in sudden fear. Within seconds, blood spilled from her mouth, down her naked chest. She choked on her own blood, unable to breathe or scream.

    Tycon picked up the fallen nket and wrapped the naked woman with it, soaking up her life essence. Picking her up, heid her back in her cot and checked her pulse.

    Dead.

    Good. He didn''t want to make any more of a mess than he had.

    He didn''t quite understand the Shield Maiden''s motives... but that was a mystery he didn''t care to unravel.

    "Rest now, youngdy. I''ll be checking with the others," Tycon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before exiting the tent.

    ...

    Tycondrius carried a lithe form, wrapped in a nket to the Rhodok nighttime ountability formation.

    There were supposed to be thirty-seven of them. When everyone had been gathered, there were twenty-five, sleep-deprived, miserable, and mostly injured Rhodoks... Three had died. ''Nine'' were in too critical a condition to join the formation... or escape.

    Tycon mentally arranged the numbers to ount for Gianna''s death. Twenty-five ''able'' Rhodoks. Eight injured. Four dead. The numbers matched Optio Sixtus'' reports of thirty-seven.

    He was surprised there were no deserters, as the situation seemed rather bleak. However... the Rhodoks did have an excellent reputation, paid rather well, and it was likely that those who remained incorrectly assumed that they were safe from attack.

    After Tycon counted the Rhodoks'' numbers and was able to visually confirm their presence, he unwrapped the bundle in his arms to reveal... a harpy. Virgilia awoke, refreshed from a short nap.

    Unveiled to the stunned humans, she began to sing.

    Siren Virgilia had developed a rather nasty Vocal skill shezily named ?Siren Song?. A few affected humans began to fall to the ground screaming, bashing their heads against the rocks, one unsheathed a dagger and tried to bore it into his ear... then into his eyes, for whatever reason. One began to strip off their armor. More than one began to attack whoever was closest to them...

    None of the humans were having a good time.

    Then the dwarves came. And the fat roon gang. And a rather hesitant cave troll. And Stephanos, the Idiot.

    And the one-sided ughtermenced.

 Chapter 280 Blade Dance

    ?Tycondrius decided to not wade into the carnage. He had a unique helmet, but the armor he wore was still distinctly Tyrion.

    Everything was on fire. The dwarves seemed to be having a great time. Stephanos was crying. The fat roon gang was looting. The single cave troll was, terrified, caught between two burning zes of Rhodok tents.

    What was that one doing here, anyroad? He didn''t have toe. He was obviously not abatant.

    Tycon sighed, "Virgilia, go... go save that guy. "

    "Yes,mander," The harpy shook her nkets off before flying up into the star-filled sky.

    A deep and gorgeous voice cut through the battlefield, a sweet, wondrous song about smiles, a spring morning, and a new beginning... sung in a fluent Dwarven tongue. Diamantia Krakhammer swung a two-handed hammer, breaking a human''s thigh and pulverizing the bones that should have been protected by the meat of it. Then, she whirled her weapon around her head and smashed it against the human''s temple.

    All that, and her timing as she sang was uninterrupted. It was pleasing to hear.

    "Sister DIAAAA!!!" Stephanos yelled, "You should join us for SINGING NIGHT!!!"

    "GRARWRREEAAAARRRGHH!!!" Dwarf Chieftain Thrumondi seemed to go into a berserk rage... perhaps rted to the bull-centaur''s casual invitation. With his axe held overhead, he smashed into a shield wall of humans by his thrice-damned self, shing and headbutting, bashing and chopping. All that, while taking cuts and stabs from sword and spear.

    With that kind of recklessness, armor was useless. Was the dwarf relying on prayer to survive?

    Tycon frowned. They''d win without his help, but his battlefield presence would prevent a severe injury or two.

    He stepped forward, "Master Dwarf! Is that the best you can do?!"

    ...

    After the battle, the mountain factions gathered the bodies... or whatever was left of them. The time it took was doubled due to having to gather partially-eaten body parts and petrified stone crumblings. The fat roon gang''s gluttonous nature and the Gold-Rank Idiot''s ?Petrification Breath? were to me for that. Tycon made them do most of the work.

    There were thirty-seven dead humans. His own forces suffered zero casualties.

    Tycon''s mission wasplete.

    "What shall we do with the bodies, Commander?" Virgilia asked.

    Tycon ced a finger against his chin in thought, "In order to avoid magical scrying, anything that can''t be consumed by this time tomorrow, I want gone-- destroyed or burnt, preferably."

    Siren Virgilia bowed her torso and tilted her head several degrees too far, "We can just toss them off the cliffs, your lordship."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Don''t bezy, youngdy. That would likely create undead for whomever to deal with next."

    "But it won''t be... our problem~" Virgilia sang sweetly, nuzzling her head of dark raven hair against Tycon''s shoulder.

    "I want the bodies gone. You have an entire sun to do so," Tycon rolled his eyes, "The particrs will be up to you."

    Virgilia revealed her too-wide grin, "It shall be done, Commander."

    ...

    ? The following morning. ?

    Tycondrius reviewed the parchments holding Sasha''s cumtive test results. It tested her reading skills at an advanced level, local history, and general history of the Realm.

    It was a far more ''modern'' collection of knowledge than he had, himself.<novelnext></novelnext>

    There was a section, too, on... basic human interactions....

    ''When a human asks you how you are doing, how do you respond?''

    Tycon red at the parchment. That was one of the easier questions.

    ''How do you politely say no to an invitation?''

    Seven hells... Tycon put the paper down, looking at the... almost regal elven couple.

    "Lord Ithilrandir, Lady crai," He addressed them with respect. "I thank you for your assistance in this endeavor."

    The two lowered their heads politely, with Lady crai speaking, "I was a University teacher at Dcour, prior to moving east and have served as a private tutor for several households for over three centuries."

    The elven couple lived peaceably among the Mountain Factions, helping when they... felt like it.

    The capricious and whimsical nature of the elves made them... unreliable, to be polite. They likely treated Sasarame as an anomaly and teaching her was something new, to break up the monotony of... whatever elves do.

    The male elf spoke in a flowing, graceful song, but deep and masculine voice, "Sasarame performs well in archery. Had we not known better, we would have guessed she was a pure-blooded elf."

    Tycon nodded, "My thanks, Lord Ithilrandir. I will ry the message to her."

    The elf tilted his head, "She is aware."

    Ithilrandir blinked slowly as he observed Tycon. The sclera of his eyes were pure ck, marking his bloodline as far more pure than that of most elves. Tycon knew not to demand anything of him-- only to request.

    "Prince Tycon," The elf began.

    Tycon looked up, trying to hide the surprise in his face. There was something else? A hole in his gut formed, worrying about what sort of developmental problem his daughter had.

    "... The winds whisper that you are versed in the elven art of the de Dance," The elf closed his eyes and tilted his head downward in... what appeared to be high regard for the subject.

    Oh. That was fine, then.

    It was a sphemous statement, a trap. As isted as this couple was from their kin, Tycon doubted the words of any adult elf were meant to be answered with unfiltered honesty.

    The correct response was to be annoyingly humble and borderline obeisant. Tycon gave the Elven Ranger what he wished, denying his own skill and praising the elves, wishing only to emte their... grace and... uh...

    Tycon spoke with colorful... long words, most of which, he did not put forth the effort to memorize. He had his System open a reference document for long, impressive words, and he peppered his statements with them out at random-- sporadically.

    The elves were satisfied. Tycon learned some new words. Sasha was miserable... but educated. Everything was fine.

    ...

    The Titan Snake sought Tycondrius shortly before it was time to depart the mountains.

    "I''d like..... to speak with youuu... of something, Brother-Tyconnnn..."

    "Empty night, Brother-Isidor," Tycon twisted his face in a grimace so set, his cheeks hurt. "Don''t tell me you''re having second thoughts."

    "No... no.... Maybe.... But anyroad," Isidor tasted the air with his forked tongue as he hesitated... "It''s about... Ssssssasha..."

 Chapter 281 New Hunting Grounds

    ?Tycondrius was checking his gear. He kept his looted Tyrion Decanus armor, throwing his dark cloak over it. He left behind his helmet; Duplicarius Zehr would be counted amongst the casualties.

    ...He wondered if his promotion was in-writing, somewhere.

    Anyroad, Tycon''s hood allowed him general anonymity. Most people seemed to assume he was elf-blooded, which wasn''t... terrible.

    He took two Decani swords-- they were good quality steel, as well as his halberd and crossbow.

    Isidor loomed over him... admittedly, looking rather cowardly and uncertain for an 80 fulm long Titan Snake.

    "Sssashaaaa... She refers to herself... in third-person."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. Sasarame was young and he found the trait endearing. Though yes, it was wed ording tomon diction, "What of it?"

    Isidorzily swayed his head back and forth-- like a cobra... which he was not, "You... you encourage ittttt..."

    "...State your point, Isidor," Tycon urged, slightly impatient.

    The Titan snake hesitated once more... "You mussst... stop. Ssshe is... physically thirteen, ording to human standardsss... Near the age of adulthoooood... old enough... to marry."

    Marry? His daughter? None would dare.

    Tycon felt his mana circting rapidly, a sudden and inconsble rage blossoming in his heart. Mana too coursed through his halberd... the oiled leathers covering its de disintegrating and illuminating its mana-sharpened edge. He mmed the base of his hafted weapon into the ground, forming cracks in the earth as he turned his gaze towards Isidor.

    Gold-Rank mana surged through every fiber of his being, and his eyes glowed a harsh white.

    "Did. You. SAY SOMETHING?? BROTHERRRRRR??!?!"

    Isidor shrunk back, ducking his head down against the dirt, making himself look as small as possible, "No, no. I said nothing, Brother-Tycon."

    "Get your things. And we will be leaving the mountain," Tycon ordered. He clenched his teeth, growling thest words, "Brother-Isidor."

    "Right. Going," Isidor slithered away...

    Tycon slowed the cirction of his mana... He tried to do so gently. He had to sit down and concentrate in order to stifle his anger, narrowly avoiding injury to his mana-circuits.

    Minutes passed. Bells of time passed as he sat and regted his mana flow. Finally, a bell or two before the morning sun, he grew confident in reigning in his power.

    ? System, disy: My personal information. ?

    ? System response: Tycondrius, Gold-Rank Maedar Warlord. ?

    Tycon frowned. If anyone asked him how he turned Gold-Rank, he... would have to lie to save his dignity.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    The fearless Isidor returned,ining that he didn''t want to go, after all. Tycon had to bribe him with the promise of meat and spices.

    There was not a single bag of holding amongst the fallen Rhodoks, nor any bags amongst Tycon''s closer allies amongst the mountain factions. (Likely the elves and dwarves and fat roons had them, but had not openly volunteered their use.)

    Tyconmented having left his spatial items in the Kingdom with his allies. Without them, he was forced to be particr about carrying only what was necessary.

    Sasarame carried a shortbow and wore her white, peak-hooded cloak. Tycon forced her to carry a few of her own items, as well... extra clothing, a thick bedroll, and extra quivers.

    It turned out that the Krakhammers wanted to move to a more resource-filled area for years, butcked the reason and the armed forces to do so. With the threat of more humans constantly sieging their territories and the factions gathered with Isidor as their base, the dwarves had both. They suggested the alliance travel to the Aetnian mountains to the west.

    Tycon incited a war. Reaping the lives of the injured and hopeless Rhodoks did little to sate their bloodlust. They would continue on, taking their frustrations out in a new war. With the Gold-Rank Titan Snake and Idiot supporting Destroyer Dia and Chieftain Thrum, he had no doubt the alliance would gain a powerful standing in their new home.

    The mountain factions journeyed together in looted Tyrion wagons, the forefront consisting of the Elven couple and the Krakhammers. Tycon insisted the alliance pay a visit to a certain Iredar tribe, the Blood Paws. They were forcibly inducted into the conglomerate-- an easy task, since most of their warriors had been killed in recent weeks.

    The Iredar preferred grassy areas to mountainous, which was fine. At the base of the mountains, the Blood Paw territory would be a trap-filled threshold for any invading forces. They would fend for themselves, birthing more pups and training them to be heroes. Should the humans attack in force, they could lobby to have the mountain factions to help defend their territories against the major threat.

    It was more-or-less how the Free Nation worked in the far west. The Eastern States worked simrly, as a republicposed of several city-states.

    In a few years, the heroes of the Blood Paws would howl once more, as one.

    ...

    Three hooded figures of varying heights and sizes walked the nighttime streets of Caeruleum.

    Tycondrius found the city''s name familiar... Where had he heard it before?

    Tycon led the trio, wearing his favorite cloak and peaked hood, dark and stylish, thoughfortable. Sasha wore her ringly white coat, her hood pulled down low to disguise her Elven features. She refused to wear a different coat, as it was literally a gift from her god. A bulky figure, shorter than Tycon and Sasha both, followed quietly behind.

    Isidor was disguised in his humanoid form. It wasn''t... very good and the Titan Snake found it bothersome to wear, but due to his size, he would not cause immediate rm amongst the humans. And he ate less, which was arguably the main reason Tycon insisted upon it.

    They were searching for a particr tavern, directed to him by Virgilia Darkfeather before they parted ways. However, the conspicuous trio found "trouble" before they found their destination.

    "The streets are dangerous at night, friend," A human with a patchy beard sat on a dpidated wooden crate. He brandished a knife, picking the dirt underneath his fingernails.

    ? Bronze-Rank Human Thug. ?

    "Thank you for the advice... friend," Tycon eyed the suspicious individual warily.

    "Gehehe..." The human grinned, "But now that you''re here... how about you... stay awhile?"

 Chapter 282 Lone, Ranger (Part One)

    ?Tycondrius identified six male individuals in the dark, their outlines illuminated by the nighttime streetmps. They watched with great interest, quietly drawing sword and dagger, not knowing that all three of their marks could see as well inmplight as in sunlight. Tycon pulled Sasha closer-- he''d be able to defend her better, in the case the enemies had crossbows.

    His System designated the first man and his surrounding allies as possible enemies. However, the first human was Bronze-Rank and had a low-tier ss... and the others were Unranked, save one other Bronze. With their numbers, they weren''t a real threat to anyone but Sasha.

    It was somewhat of a waste of mana to deal with them... but that was fine.

    Though Tycon and his friends were hungry after their journey, a pre-meal exercise would be fantastic for whetting their appetites. As a bonus, he''d be able to see how Sasha''s martial abilities had progressed, as well as give Isidor some much-needed practice in controlling his rarely used humanoid-form.

    All this, he could get for the low price of a mere seven counts of murder.

    Tycon grinned wide, allowing his golden eyes to glow with mana underneath his hood, "Now that we''re here, how about we give you gentlemen our own lesson of... ''life advice.''"

    In order to continue living, don''t cross guild Sol Invictus.

    "Hold it!!" A sharpmand cut through the quiet night. The voice''s owner turned around a building corner, yet another cloaked figure... yet this one looked like he had some self-respect.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, swept his hood back, "No one f*cks with my friends."

    Tycon crossed his arms. That was a surprise. His old ally hade to their aid.

    ...That was fine, too.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark... was a human with unfriendly eyes and medium-short, dark hair. He wore a scruffy beard that Tycon insisted the young man shave clean each morning, though it would regrow to a dark shadow by evening. His skin had bronzed from constant suns outside, and he had a tired, weathered look about him, most notably in the dark spots underneath his eyes.

    A cut across his nose had scarred over his wide face, an injury from long ago, marking him as no stranger to closebat, and he''d a broad, armored chest that revealed the well-developed muscles of his arms. They''d thinned slightly sincest he remembered, growing morepact with function rather than bloated in size.

    "And who in the hells are you?" The knife-wielding human groaned.

    "I am the grilled cheese sandwich of your deaths," Lone grinned, his eyes widening to reveal his bloodlust. "Now, which of you arseholes wants a bite?"

    Tycon had met the young man during his adventures in the Kingdom to the west and immediately bullied him into service.

    And then he broke him.

    He was weak. Sol Invictus trained him.

    When he made a mistake, his punishment was more training. When his performance was deemedcking by even one of their number, he was punished with training. When Tycon was bored... he trained alongside him.

    Tycon, Lone, and the members of Sol Invictus... they trained together, ate together, bled together.

    Lone was made to hate his training-- to hate his failures, to hate his own weaknesses. He grew reckless, seeking perfection of the art of war... anything he could do to make the training stop. His first instincts were not to run or cower in fear, it was to close with the enemy and eliminate each and every one of the bastards in closebat.

    Tycon took that hate, he took that recklessness, and he cultivated it into a perfectbatant-- a machine trained to war... and one better than any creation made by mad Wizards.

    He instilled in him instant and willing obedience to orders.

    He instilled in him the arrogance that only belonged to the victors of war and battle.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The training was no longer to defeat a specific enemy... It was to ovee his own ws, to defeat the unseen enemy that woulde to take his life and everything he held dear.

    But tonight... that undefeatable monster, the bringer of hope and despair, the life-reaping sandwich... was Barza Keith, the Lone gods-damned Shadowdark.

    Tycon pointed at the ruffian with the knife. He gave Lone a single word.

    "Kill."

    "DEATHHHH!!!" Lone screamed. He tossed off his cloak, grabbing a Dark Iron hammer and unsheathing a magical longsword from his waist.

    "TO THE ENEMIES!!!!" He sprinted forward, leaping up-- crossing near 30 fulms before anyone could move.

    "OF INVICTUUUSSS!!"

    The Bronze-Rank Thug had no chance. Lone''s hammer swing struck the side of the man''s temple, denting his skull in. He stabbed his sword into the man''s abdomen, then tore it to the side, eviscerating him. Blood and guts spilled onto the floor.

    Tycon snapped his finger.

    ? Commander''s Strike activated. ?

    It was Tycon''s strongest and most useful skill. A surge of rage and battle-lust would affect his target, sharpening their senses and increasing their speed. Lone would push the limits of his body and execute an empowered attack, made urate by the guiding mana, empowered by the flowing hate.

    "RrrrrrrrraaaaAAAAAHHHH!" Lone''s growl crescendoed into a roar. He dropped his weapons-- an interesting choice, and one that he would be punished for... if not for the longbow he grabbed in one hand and the two arrows in the other.

    "?Whirl Shot!!?" He fired a mana-powered arrow, which found its way to the center of a man''s chest, then spun around, dropping to a knee. Tilting his bow, he fired a second shot, the glowing arrow striking the center of another man''s kneecap.

    Hohhhh... A skill... The young Lone had improved with his solo training... and by mana-powered leaps and bounds.

    "Taste the power of an Iron-Rank death-sandwich," Lone spat. "?Whirl Shot.?"

    Another two fell.

    An Iron-Rank, huh?

    Tycon smirked. It was wonderful news. Sol Invictus grew stronger, each and every sun. He shut his eyes, pleasantly surprised.

    "S-stay away!!" One of the humans called out from behind him, "Or-- or your friend GETS IT!!"

    Tycon furrowed his brows... No, they couldn''t be so stupid. Opening his eyes, he tilted his head down at his side. Sasha''s doe eyes looked back up at him.

    He looked back to where the polymorphed Titan Snake would have been...

    The humans had captured Isidor.

 Chapter 283 Lone, Ranger (Part Two)

    ?The two remaining humans had captured Isidor. One had his arm hooked around Isidor''s neck and was pointing a knife at... his head?

    The second human pointed a sword towards Tycondrius in an attempt to appear threatening. The man''s knees buckled like he was about to piss himself and his sword hand trembled terribly.

    Tycon did not feel threatened.

    "Whatttt.... should I doooo?" Isidor asked.

    Tycon pursed his lips. The situation was absurd.

    The two humans, a Bronze-Rank and an Unranked-- had just captured a disguised magical beast with a Gold-Rank physique and were threatening him... with a knife.

    Sasha tugged at the fabric of Tycon''s cloak, "Th-they''ve... captured Brother-Isidor..."

    Tycon''s mouth twitched, "Yes... yes, they did."

    Lone strode up, standing beside Tycon, "Let the kid go and no one gets hurt."

    No one gets hurt? Tycon turned to re at Lone. And why would they believe that? *How* would they believe that? Five adult men had just been murdered or were inflicted career-ending injuries, and he had done that, himself! There was no way they''d even entertain the thought.

    Tycon looked back to the two ruffians. They didn''t believe Lone''s words, either.

    Tycon took a deep breath and sighed, "Isidor, just uh... kill them, I suppose?"

    Isidor frowned underneath his head, "Brother-Tyconnn... I... I don''t know if I should."

    "Shut up! You''re just a HOSTAGE!!" The swordsman screamed.

    In his foolishness, the sword-wielding human backhanded Isidor across the face... which threw back the hood hiding his form.

    Underneath Isidor''s cloak, his humanoid form resembled a beardless dwarf. He had a thick, heavy build of muscles and was capable of using his Gold-Rank physique, though he stood a head underneath Tycon. It was strange that Isidor had to look up to look at the humans. In his natural form, that was definitely not so.

    Reptilian scales covered his skin... unlike any dwarf Tycon had ever seen. Isidor''s was so untalented with his alternate-form ability that he''d... be a unique creature.

    The human that struck Isidor immediately began to scream. He held up his hand, his flesh torn...

    Isidor grimaced, looking apologetic while revealing his pointed teeth.

    Besides the scaly skin, Isidor''s form also had sharp, thin teeth like... a crocodile''s.

    ...Tycondrius had no idea why they were like that. His natural form was nothing like a crocodile.

    He frowned. They needed to end the fight and quickly relocate. They''d made enough noise that would attract undue attention... and while he couldn''t stop Lone from yelling out his attack names at the top of his lungs, reducing the noise Isidor''s captors made would be reasonable.

    "Brother-Isidor, please. Silence the human," Tycon ordered.

    Tycon had no idea what Isidor would do. He realized that the notion slightly worried him, but it was toote to take back the order.

    The Titan Snake turned scaly dwarf had no idea how to fight in his new form... but a clumsy punch or even a bite from a humanoid with a Gold-Rank physique would be... messy. If his cloak were to be drenched in blood, they wouldn''t be able to take him into any public ces without being questioned.

    ...And it would be a pain to clean. It would stink if they didn''t. Tycon, however, did keep a bar of scented soap in his pack. He considered it necessary adventurer supplies.

    Isidor walked forward, dragging the human at his neck along with him. Hesitant for a moment, reached his burly arms around the swordsman''s lower back... and squeezed.

    The human stopped screaming very quickly, unable to breathe. He even dropped his sword.

    Trash.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The human with a knife began to panic, stabbing at Isidor... It did nothing-- not when he stabbed his back, not his arms nor his neck. Even stabs to the thinner parts of flesh on his face were unable to make Isidor flinch. The human stabbed so hard that his hand slipped off of his de, cutting deeply into his palm.

    Tears in his eyes, palm bleeding severely, the human pulled at Isidor''s arms, he punched ineffectively at his face, even trying to poke his eyes. Isidor was undeterred.

    Really, what he should have done was run away. But with the way he was fighting so desperately, maybe they were good friends?

    Finally, Isidor released the human. The body fell to the ground, limp and lifeless, its eyes rolled into the back of his skull.

    "I broke... hiss ssssssspine," Isidor looked back to Tycon with a small, polite upward curve of his lips.

    Nice. He learned to smile. Tycon was very proud of his friend.

    Tycon turned back to Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, "Lone, help me grab their wallets and let us quickly leave this ce."

    Lone frowned, "Boss, there''s one more guy."

    Tycon took out his hand crossbow and shot the remaining human in the eye.

    The man copsed backward.

    "...R-right, I''ll get the guys over there," Lone pointed.

    Tycon nodded, "I''ll search the other half."

    ...

    Following a brief introduction of Isidor, Lone led their small party to their target destination, a particr inn and tavern, the sign marking it disying a drum with a hole in it.

    Tycon entered the establishment first, loudly dering, "Holy Drum!!"

    The mustachioed gentleman behind the bar counter looked over, unsurprised by the outburst, "Nope. Care to try again, adventurer?"

    Tycon crossed his arms. He was so certain... The rest of Sol Invictus entered, behind him.

    "R-rhythm Heaven," Sasha suggested. She pulled her peaked hood down with both hands, hiding her embarrassment.

    "Nice try, youngdy." The bartender shook his head. "We''re just called the Broken Drum."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "I was hoping for something... more creative."

    "We can''t be beat," The bartender shrugged.

    "...I stand corrected." Tycon admitted, "That is indeed very clever."

    "They got me too, Boss." Lone nodded, "I thought it was a cracked barrel."

    "Cracker Barrel," Sasha softly suggested.

    ...

    Sol Invictus sat down for a meal. With their ill-gotten coin, Tycon was confident of a short,fortable stay in Caeruleum, to include meals and a private room that fit the four of them.

    ...He doubted the stay would be short, though. In the morning, he''d search for a way to earn more coin.

    "Boss..." Lone grinned, "I''ve finally... reached Iron-Rank. What do you think?"

 Chapter 284 Hope For Lone

    ?Tycondrius looked away, trying to think of how he''d word his response.

    ? System, disy: Information on Mister Lone. ?

    ? System Response: Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human Ranger. ?

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, hadn''t ranked up, at all... He *did* ss-change, which... which was nice. That was the goal of him going off, training in the woods as he volunteered several moons prior.

    Lone''s original ss was Ruffian, a low-tier ss. Tycon took great pains in training his martial senses-- the original goal being to change his ss to Fighter, a standard-tier ss.

    ...When he did get the ss-change... it was to Warrior... another low-tier ss.

    Then he found out that the gentleman had a good sense for tracking, wielded two weapons ambidextrously and with finesse, and even had an Iron Wolfpanion named... something stupid.

    Tycon figured he''d have a greater affinity increasing rank in the standard-tiered Ranger ss. All of those traits, Rangers were known for.

    ...Though not the stupid-naming one. That just made Lone unique.

    Lone stared at his hands, "I practiced with my bow every sun, me and... me and my wolf, Tres Leches."

    Oh, right. That was the name of his wolf. It was a sentient magical hammer made out of Dark Iron that transformed into a wolf. It did look rather handsome with a coat packed with sharp metal spikes. Lone had mistakenly thought the name meant ''Three Moons.''

    It wasn''t the case.

    Lone looked so... proud, though. He had his longbow strapped to his back, a hunting knife on his waist, animal teeth and ws decorated his gear and clothing. He looked the part of a storied Ranger who lived off of thend.

    Tycon... as the current leader of Sol Invictus wanted nothing more than to increase the young man''s power, guiding him towards that goal as best he could. However... he knew if he told his friend that he did not in fact rank up... such a setback would hurt the young man''s fragile-as-ss ego.

    He was trying, ever so hard. He needed to be encouraged-- shown that his hard work was... not as useless as it actually was. Even a single step in a journey across the Realm was forward.

    Tycon reached over the wooden tavern table and grasped Lone''s shoulders with both arms, "I''m very proud to have a loyal and hard-working Ranger in Sol Invictus."

    Lone grinned, beaming with pride, "An Iron-Rank Ranger."

    "But a Ranger, nheless," Tycon felt his mouth twitch but prayed Lone would not notice it.

    ...

    The meal was more than satisfactory and it cost none of Tycon''s personal savings. He recalled an old aphorism that free food tasted the best.

    Or was that for stolen food?

    Besides the coin looted from the ruffians, the remaining coin was from looting the Rhodoks. The greedy-- no, the financially sound Krakhammer dwarves took most of the spoils.

    "This... this pleaaasesss.... my pte," Isidor whispered. His humanoid form was hidden away by his heavy cloak, so as to not rm the humans. "Tell me.... of its...position."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon smiled weakly, "Meat, vegetable oil, salt, and... ck peppercorns."

    The ingredients were simple... but it was fire-roasted properly to a crisp exterior-- with the contrast giving the sense that the juices were ''sealed'' inside. Further, Tycon went into the kitchens himself, to specifically point out the cuts of beef he wished for.

    It seemed to have been considered rude... but it ensured the quality of their party''s meal, so was worth the effort.

    "ck peppercorns..." Isidor held his steak by the bone and took another ravenous bite, revealing pointed teeth in his maw, "The magic the humannnssss wield... It has... progressed much."

    Tycon frowned. He would have Isidor apany him for a few suns longer. If only that impressed him, the cuisine of the Holy Country had far more to offer.

    The white-hooded Sasha quietly and unobtrusively nibbled on arge meatball, perfect to fill the youngdy''s small stomach. She ate even less in her natural form, but as a Bronze-Rank Oracle, it was best she remained in a humanoid body. She had gained ess to her dark elf form rtively recently... and interestingly enough, she was far better at using it than Isidor was using his.

    Blood, meat juice, and ale were thered all over Isidor''s chin and onto his clothing. It was... shameful. Isidor would certainly be the "older" brother, having lived for several decades, while Sasarame had lived for... less than five?

    Tycon took a dinner napkin and dabbed some tomato sauce off of Sasha''s chin.

    At least Lone would be a proper gentleman. He was a human, after all.

    He looked over... and again, his hopes were dashed against the rocks. The figurative skull of said hope was cracked open, its figurative pink brains, strewn about, and was picked by record-breakinglyrge figurative carrion birds.

    The young glutton was savaging his meal, his face and clothing covered by sauces, butter and bread crumbs, and... tears?

    He had thought grilled cheese sandwiches would be a rtively neat meal.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Mister Lone... Please."

    Lone wiped his eyes and took a long, noisy pull from his nose, breathing in a hearty glob of snot, "I''m-- I''m sorry, Boss. I''ve just... This is the best meal I''ve had in moons."

    He was a Ranger. His skill at archery was more than well enough, he had seen it. His hunting skills should have been excellent. His cooking skills... must have been decent enough to feed himself, at least.

    ...Though Tycon was aware that Lone wascking in that area. The man couldn''t even melt butter properly.

    Tycon was curious as to why Lone had no questions about Isidor''s strange appearance. It seemed he was preupied in taking care of himself-- which was fine. It was proper to celebrate their reunification.

    The meal finished in good time and wine was poured. Even without Tycon specifically requesting it, Sasha''s wine was heavily watered down to little better than grape juice. It was the custom in the Holy Country, for serving wine to non-adult, young persons.

    Tycon leaned over to catch Lone''s attention, "I tasked you to reach out to the Archbishop. Did you receive my message?"

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, swirled his wooden winecup, hesitant, "Y-yeah... I met with that girl."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    Was there an issue with the harpy messenger that Virgilia Darkfeather sent?

 Chapter 285 Polixena

    ?"You''ll have to be more specific, Mister Lone," Tycondrius urged.

    There were many harpies in Virgilia''s flock, and he was fairly certain he''d met all of them-- even their hatchlings. If one of them was rude to a member of his Sol Invictus, he''d have Virgilia punish them severely.

    "Well..." Lone twisted his face, looking up at the tavern ceiling, "She had wings instead of arms..."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Yes, she was a harpy. I sent a harpy to contact you, but I was asking on identifying details for the *specific* harpy."

    "Oh, right," Lone nodded. "The feathers on her arms were... ck and white? And the ones on her chest were a bright orange... and her hair--"

    "You mean her crest?" Tycon politely corrected him.

    "Boss--" Lone frowned, "I''m trying to tell you."

    "You''re right. I apologize."

    Lone finished talking, but Tycon ignored him, instead choosing to review his System''s database on Virgilia''s flock. One matched the description.

    "Ah... You speak of Polixena. Her plumage is indeed, quite beautiful," Tycon smiled.

    The harpies that originated in the Holy Country all had lovely, vibrant colored feathers. Unfortunately, because of that, they were also valued as ves or "pets" in most countries... which admittedly, was slightly better than hunted to extinction by the xenophobic Tyrions.

    "Y-yeah... We went on a date," Lone averted his gaze.

    "Oh, that''s nice," Tycon nodded.

    He assumed it was a romantic date. He had recalled that his friend''s endeavors towards that tended not to end well, but Tycon still wished the best for him and hoped he would seed.

    ...He was fairly certain a harpy and human pairing would create eggs. And that was more potential power for Sol Invictus, several years in the future.

    "Sh-she tried to feed me, Boss," Lone crossed his arms, difort in his expression.

    "Yesssss...." The hooded Isidor remarked, "A romantic..... notionnnn...."

    "Isidor, no..." Lone tried to argue, "Boss Tycon..."

    "She... she liked you..." Sasha nodded.

    "No, guys-- you don''t understand!" Lone stood up, looking as if he was about to cry again.

    Tycon groaned, "Sit down, young man. Just tell us your issues."

    Lone sat down, pointing his finger aggressively at the table and speaking through clenched teeth, "She chewed up food and tried to vomit it into my mouth."

    Tycon''s eye twitched, "Well, that was... nice of her?"

    He didn''t see the issue.

    "R-romantic," Sasha agreed.

    A wide grimace crossed Lone''s face, "Guys, no. It was *gross.*"

    "Oh,e now, Mister Lone," Tycon chided. "It''s just as unhygienic as kissing. This really shouldn''t be a big deal."

    "Boss! It''s different!!" Lone raised his voice, before realizing he was being red at by the other tavern guests. He shot them apologetic nods, before lowering his body and his voice, "It''s... it''s different."

    Tycon shared an uneasy look with Isidor.

    Turning back to Lone, he asked, "If this were to happen to me... should I... also be disgusted?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone pursed his lips, "Yes."

    "...Very well, I will take this into consideration."

    And thus, Lone taught the three non-humans a valuable lesson.

    ...

    The Lone Shadowdark had indeed received Tycondrius'' message by Polixena''s mouth, as well as... a uh... a full meal, apparently.

    The Archbishop would be journeying to Caeruleum, herself-- which was more sincerity than Tycon could have hoped for, and they needed to stay in the city for a few suns more in the interim.

    Tycon had enough coin to keep Sol Invictus fed and sheltered for the time being. They needed more. As ast option, he could withdraw funds from a branch of the Realm-wide Banking Guild, but that would also broadcast his presence to all of his unseen enemies.

    He decided not to worry at least Sasha and Isidor. The quartet walked the market streets of Caeruleum, the two of them taking in the sights of colorful street stalls, the smells, and the sounds that they''d been away from for far too long. A small budget had been set aside for the young snake and the "young" snake to purchase food or... souvenirs.

    They were enjoying themselves.

    Tycon shared his financial worries with Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark-- though he honestly didn''t expect his human friend toe up with any worthwhile ideas.

    "We could just... sleep outside, Boss?" Lone tilted his head as they walked.

    Tycon shot back a look of incredulity... then of worry, "Is that what you''ve been doing? Haven''t you earned any coin while we''ve been out?"

    Lone looked away, "I uh... I haven''t, Boss."

    "You can''t... you... no." Tycon stopped and turned to look at him, "You can''t be serious. What have you been doing all this time?"

    "I''ve... I''ve just been doing low-level jobs and selling... pelts and stuff," Lone gulped.

    "Why... the..." Tycon shook his head and pulled Lone close to angrily whisper, "Why in the seven bleeding hells didn''t you sign up at the Tyrion Adventurer''s Guild to take any quests?"

    Lone panicked. He was unsure where to ce his arms, so he limply iled them about, "Boss, I thought-- I thought maybe wemitted a crime or something?"

    "What? No. Neither you nor I havemitted any crimes." Tycon rolled his eyes, shoving Lone back, "You''re probably thinking of Dragan or... or Horse."

    Dragan Ashlord and Horse were two other members of Sol Invictus. One liked tomit murder and had a penchant for the stimnt drug known as cocaine. The other was Dragan.

    "Oh... Well, shite. I think I''m just stupid, then..." Lone admitted with chagrin.

    "Yes..." Tycon sighed, "I think that, myself."

    "Boss?" Lone frowned, "Can... can you be nicer to me? Just today, at least?"

    Tycon took another deep breath. He hadn''t heard such a request from him before, "Very well. Is there a particr asion?"

    "It''s... it''s been an entire year since I''ve taken the name the Lone Shadowdark... and have been in Sol Invictus."

    "Your Name-day, then?" Tycon closed his eyes and chuckled, "Has it been so long already? I apologize, Brother-Lone. Let us work together as allies so we don''t have to sleep outside the city walls."

    Lone pursed his lips... "Should we... rob someone? Together, Boss?"

    Ah. There it was, Lone''s habits from his original Ruffian ss had revealed themselves. That itcked originality and thought should have bothered Tycon... but it did sound like a viable n.

    "I would love to rob someone with you, Mister Lone."

 Chapter 286 Robbery

    ?Tycondrius gave Sasha and Isidor their pocket money and shooed them off to get into trouble. Sasha was a clever youngdy and Isidor was... old enough to take care of himself.

    The chocte elf took Isidor by the hand and dragged him off. Sasha was a verbally quiet youngdy but had no issue acting upon her impulses and curiosities.

    ...It was a disservice to the city of Caeruleum that Tycon unleashed the two of them... but their little ''adventure'' without supervision would be conducive to their growth.

    Lone had the privilege of choosing their destination. It was his Name-day, after all. The two of them traveled to a different tavern: dirtier, cheaper, and with arger collection of unwashed adventurers than the Broken Drum.

    Tycon swirled his wine cup, noting not one, but two still-living flies, struggling within it. He calmly called over one of the tavern waitstaff. He was provided with a decanter.

    It would do.

    "So, Mister Lone. How does this go?"

    Lone downed his wine-- notably without utilizing the decanter to de-fly it first.

    "Well... usually, we wait for a well-off young master toe in, then we take him into the back alleys and shake him down for all he''s worth."

    Tycon narrowed his gaze into thin slits. During their very first meeting, Lone''s guild attempted that very n with him as the target, "I''d like a different n, please."

    Lone ced a hand on the back of his neck, "Oh, right. That might not go so well."

    The young Ranger was the only survivor of his previous guild. Tycon murdered the rest of them in ruthless and bloody fashion with bolt, steel, and spell... and a spine-breaking constriction.

    "Well..." Lone bared his teeth, grinding them lightly in thought, "--we could just start a fight and take the wallets of the loser?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows... "Very well. Seems... logical, enough. Shall I?"

    Lone wore a worried expression, "Boss, I don''t really think you''d be good at that."

    "Nonsense," Tycon frowned. "How hard could it be? If I were to ignore the fact that this tavern smells like weeks-old unwashed undergarments, I could find fighting words calling attention to the Tyrions'' unbrushed teeth; feebleminded, racist bigotry; and the looming stench of poverty that hangs over them all."

    Lone frowned, nodding, "I don''t want to fight the entire tavern, Boss."

    "...Oh." Tycon averted his gaze for a moment. He gestured to Lone, "Then, please."

    It was no time for Tycon to practice something he was apparently unskilled with. It was best to allow an ''expert'' to demonstrate their prowess.

    He sipped on his wine as he watched Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, saunter over to... admittedly, the poorest-looking fellow in the tavern.

    It was good to start with a low-difficulty target, challenging higher difficulties from there. He imagined that with Lone sleeping outdoors for several moons, he''d be out of practice.

    ...Right. They had both been away from civilization for some time. After this endeavor, the next order of business was a trip to the public baths.

    "Hey, old man!!" Lone mmed his hands down on the poor adventurer''s table, startling him.

    ? Unranked Human Beggar. ?

    The older gentleman with a malnourished pallor shrank at Lone''s unwarranted aggression, "Wh-what do you want?"

    Lone sneered, the muscr Ranger looking down at his prey, "Give me all your money."

    With his battle-scarred appearance, Lone struck a fearsome and unfriendly appearance. Tycon supposed if he, himself, was an Unranked human, he''d be obeisant to such a confidentmand.

    "I... I don''t have nothing on me," The old man frowned, his eyes sparkling with a hint of tears. "I... I been robbed a coupl''a nights ago... P-please don''t hurt me."

    Lone looked down at the old adventurer''s fare. It consisted of discarded bread heels, a small bowl of broth, and a cup of water.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You must... really be hungry," He red.

    "Y-yes... I... I am."

    Lone raised his hand as if to strike the beggar.

    Tycon held his breath. Arrogance. Ruthlessness. His friend was being quite heartless, but this was how this world worked. The weak were trampled underfoot, while the strong grew in power. If these tactics could get Sol Invictus the coin they needed to survivefortably, then so be it.

    A waiter approached the beggar''s table and addressed Lone, "How can I help you, sir?"

    Lone scowled at the waitstaff, "Get this man today''s special-- on my coin."

    "Right away, sirs."

    Tycon''s face fell, his forehead striking against the table. At thest moment, he had the cognizance to hold onto his winecup so it wouldn''t spill.

    ...

    Lone returned to Tycon''s table looking quite proud of himself.

    Tycon spent arge amount of willpower and... he felt like it cost him mana to *not* use a Third-Circle ?Vexing Gaze? on him.

    Lone sat down, his expression suddenly changing to one of shame. He looked away, not meeting Tycon''s re... "I uh... I failed, Boss."

    " Y e s . " Tycon gnashed his teeth, " Y o ud i d . "

    The Ranger turned back with a wide smile, "But I did a good deed."

    ? System, activate ?Vexing Gaze?. ?

    ? Warning: The target is a Trusted ally. Continue activation? Y/N? ?

    Tycon took in a deeeeep breath through his nostrils... and exhaled... slowing his heart rate, returning him to a calmer state.

    ...Then he took a second breath.

    ? System, disregard. Do not activate. ?

    ? Understood. ?

    Tycon twisted his lips into a hard grimace, "Just... do it again. And pick a wealthier mark, if you would."

    "Got it, Boss," Lone nodded hurriedly, eager to please.

    Lone stood from the table and immediately swaggered over to a trio of filthy adventurers. They looked a bit wealthier, but they were the third-strongest group in the tavern.

    The most outspoken gentleman amongst them was arge, bearded fellow who looked almost fat on ount of his underlying muscture.

    ? Bronze-Rank Human Warrior. ?

    Lone''s new target had more promise than hisst.

    With an antagonistic scowl on his face, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, insulted the man''s mother.

 Chapter 287 Provocation

    ?Tycondrius watched the exchange with great interest.

    The Lone Shadowdark was... a coward. He was also often a fool. But he had his good traits. He was a natural with weaponry, wielding sword and hammer to great effectiveness. He also had a great eagerness to prove himself. His battle fervor, as it were, allowed him to cross metal rankings and defeat stronger opponents on more than one asion.

    Were Lone to face a single adventurer of the same rank, he''d surely win... but Lone faced a potential three-to-one situation. With only a Bronze-Rank physique, a single attack catching him unaware would nullify any advantage of pure skill he had.

    Tycon also kept careful tabs on the one other Gold-Ranker in the tavern. If that person chose to move against Lone, Tycon would be forced to intervene-- the goal being to escape rather than to prove his dominance. It was more important to keep hispanion alive than to gain a few paltry coins or for an adventurer''s sense of ''pride.''

    The bearded adventurer responded to Lone''s provocations.

    ...He insisted that his mother''s cooking was the greatest in the nation-- a very bold statement and one likely marked by bias. The conversation continued for some time but ended with Lone being invited... to the adventurer''s mother''s home for a meal.

    Lone politely thanked the adventurers at the table, before returning... defeated.

    He sat back down at the table, lips quivering. He opened his mouth to speak-- but no words came. Tycon waited patiently... Lone had indeed tried harder than his previous attempt, so he wasn''t upset.

    "Boss... I... I don''t understand," Lone ruffled his hair in frustration. "That was... that was my greatest move."

    Tycon was just as surprised that the young man''s tactics had failed, something he didn''t allow to show in his expression.

    Instead, he smiled politely, "May I offer a suggestion?"

    The young Ranger took a deep breath and sighed, "Y-yeah... Go ahead, Boss."

    "The Tyrions have a great love for their religion. Maybe if you... insulted their High Oracle?"

    The High Oracle was the highest existence in the Church of the Eternal me. It was said that she could speak directly to their deity.

    ...Just why that Oracle was so celebrated and respected was beyond Tycon''s understanding. Oracles weren''t amon ss-- none of the Divine sses were particrlymon, but they weren''t unheard of.

    Empty night, even Sol Invictus had one.

    ...But then again, Tycon was very proud of her.

    Lone stood up... "Well, yeah. I guess I could give it a shot."

    "I believe in you, Mister Lone," Tycon nodded. "Do your best."

    "Thanks, Boss."

    Lone walked off, slightly less confident than earlier. He approached a table with a smaller, less-dangerous looking adventurer.

    ? Bronze-Rank Human Expert. ?

    Severelycking in enthusiasm, Lone insulted the Tyrion High Oracle.

    He immediately received a punch to the face.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "TABLES!!" Someone yelled-- one of the tavern goers or one of the staff.

    Like a practiced battle formation, the adventurers worked together to push the surroundings tables back, creating an impromptu fighting ring in the tavern''s center. tes of mediocre food spilled onto the floor and various persons amongst the crowd grumbled in annoyance. It appeared that fights were amon urrence.

    Lone boxed his opponent with hands and knees. He won quickly enough, knocking the other party unconscious-- but took a strike to the ribs and a few shots to the face for his troubles.

    He looked very proud of himself. He should not have been. Tycon made a mental note to emphasize hand-to-handbat in Lone''s training regimen.

    An adventurer wearing heavy chainmail and a two-handed sword on his back approached Tycon peaceably from the side, "That guy yours?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes slightly in thought. The honest answer was yes. The correct answer was... not that.

    Thinking of a proper response, he had a sudden, lucrative idea. He ced his wallet on the adjacent table, the silver bits inside jingling in temptation.

    "That guy is who I''m betting my coin on. Care to have a wager?"

    ...

    Over three solid rounds of betting, Lone was victorious against each opponent. Tycondrius made some decent coin-- enough for afortable stay in the city, as well as market-stall money for the children. Those who lost coin grumbled about Tycon hosting only the three.

    With each of Lone''s sessive fights, the betting odds grew... as did the probability of Lone losing. Tycon decided to only risk that much.

    The adventurers continued to bet amongst themselves. The crowd grew into a cheering frenzy as the coin that would feed and shelter them in theing weeks was consumed by their greed.

    Lone ced a finger of his blood-covered hand against a nostril and blew, expelling snot and blood. Then he raised his hand up in an arrogant victory pose, "Another one BITES THE SANDWICH OF DEFEAT!! Who remains to challenge the Ranger of Sol Invictus?!?"

    The crowd both cheered and booed, depending on where they had ced their bets. It seemed that the reasons for fighting had been forgotten.

    Tycon figured that was not an umon urrence in human history.

    A thin figure stepped forward out of the crowd, their form wrapped in a heavy cloak, "I will be your next challenger, Sol Invictus."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, quietly observing Lone''s newest opponent. Two long des hung from their waist. They removed a longbow and quiver worn on their person, setting it upon their table.

    ? Gold-Rank Elven Hunter. ?

    ...He was d he had not continued betting.

    Though the elf was a Gold-Rank, he (or she) seemed to prefer minding their own business. They hadn''t moved other than to help push back the tables. It was because of that fact that Tycon was confident in betting his coin as he had.

    Then Lone blurted out the name of his guild.

    ...Sol Invictus had a reputation in the Holy Country... something that he was fairly certain the Ranger was well aware of. Regardless of the particr reasons behind it, it appeared that Lone''s thoughtless deration was the reason for his newest challenger.

    ",

 Chapter 288 Sol Invictus

    ?The cloaked and hooded elf unbound one of their two long, straight swords from their waist.

    Tycondrius narrowed his eyes at the action. Only a single sword?

    Lone''s previous four fights were all done bare-handed-- bloody fistfights that raised the crowd''s energy the more either party suffered and swelled.

    Now he''d face an edged weapon. Tycon hoped he wouldn''t die too quickly for him to heal. It would be somewhat of a waste of all his prior training.

    The elf then unsheathed their sword, wielding that in their right and the empty scabbard in the left-- an improvised blunted weapon.

    "Felinus, First-Ranger of the Brazen Guard," The elf introduced himself with a male name.

    Tycon was inwardly thankful for it. Because of the elf''s light voice, he struggled to discern their-- err... his gender.

    Lone grinned. The blood running down his nose and a cut from a swelling wound on his forehead made him look especially wild and reckless, "The Lone Shadowdark, Legendary Ranger of Sol Invictus."

    It was a proper one-on-one challenge. Tycon could not intervene unless he incurred the ire of everyone in the tavern. He might have made folly of adventurers'' pride earlier, but that same pride would ensure Lone and that Felinus fellow would have a ''fair'' fight, without outside interference.

    But concerning that ''fairness''... Measuring Devices were umon and pricey in the Realm. Further, skills emting their effect were almost nonexistent. It was likely that only Tycon knew the strength disparity between the twobatants.

    "That''s a pretty bold statement," Felinus chuckled lightly. "To say you belong to the storied Ezyrian guild, Sol Invictus."

    Lone smirked, still painfully unaware of the danger he was in, "But it''s true."

    "It''s ridiculous, that''s what it is." The elf shook his head, "And then you''ll tell me that you were trained by Quies, himself."

    Lone''s smirk widened into a mad (but clueless) grin, "Never heard of her."

    Tycon grimaced. Quies, or ''Quay'', as the members of Sol Invictus referred to him, was the previous leader of guild Sol Invictus. He was also the single father of one of their guild''s strongestbatants, the half-elf boy, Pale.

    Tycon required the assistance of Sol Invictus Oracle Sasarame, to delve into his previous self''s memories... and learning his guild''s past was one of the more important periods of history he sought to learn.

    Sol Invictus poprized themselves as the strongest diator guild in the Holy Country many years prior, undefeatable. They were celebrated as heroes... human heroes. But in truth, their roster was entirely made of men and women with Outsider blood. It was a fact only known in rumors... and one that directly rted to the guild''s quiet disappearance.

    Dragan Ashlord, the fiery-haired axe-wielding Berserker (actually a Magic Warrior-- or a Swordmage, as the ss was properly called) was a near 9-fulm tall Titanblood. His ruthlessness and arrogance were unquestionably masculine and drew in a majority of the guild''s poprity from coliseum-goers thirsty for blood.

    Lulu was a beautiful and unapologetic tinum-blonde seductress who took to the field wearing close-fitting robes and wielding a parasol. Her spells littered the battlefield with magical traps and in closebat, she defended herself with Gold-Rank mana coursing through her seemingly flimsy weapon. She was also literally a demon.

    Tarquin Wroe-- nicknamed the Prince of Arcanite, armed Sol Invictus with weapons and gear that far surpassed that of the other diatorial teams. Further, he was a fantastic duelist, trained in Nemayan swordsmanship. He was a Daeva--angelic blood coursed through his veins. With fluffy feather-down blue hair and ''enchanting, ocean-deep eyes'', he was arguably the ''prettiest'' person in Sol Invictus.

    Quay was a stereotypical blonde elf, skilled in the Elven de dance-- that annoying, generally-useless de dance that elves needed to practice for 80 or 100 years before they grew somewhat proficient at it. But proficient, he was.

    Then there were others: Levi Wolfrider, the Weretouched; Indrazeal Zuko, the Phoenix-blood; Be Sapphira the Witch... Gobsuke the Goblin.

    Horse.

    And of course, there was himself, the shadow-leader of their guild.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Sol Invictus was headed by a snake.

    "I see..." The elf narrowed his eyes. He brandished his held de and scabbard, a smooth and subtle motion indicative of Elven demastery,"So you say you''re a Ranger? Show me."

    "Pshhh" Lone scoffed, "You say YOU''RE a Ranger?! Show ME!!"

    ...Tycon had never considered tact or... persuasiveness as part of Lone''s skillset.

    Felinus tossed his sword... up, and it spun in the air. The Elven Ranger performed a graceful pirouette, and a sliver of steel rushed towards Lone.

    It was too fast for Tycon to react to at the distance. Had the shot been aimed at Lone''s eyes or neck, the human would have taken a grievous injury.

    Lone raised an eyebrow, smirking pompously, "Was that it?"

    Seven hells, the young man was good at acting.

    Blood dripped down a fresh cut on his cheek.

    The adventurer standing nearest to the elf also had a knife missing from their chest bandolier. They hadn''t even noticed it was taken, staring at the opposite side of the tavern. A dart-board behind Lone had a throwing knife embedded in it-- not quite at the board''s center, but close enough to prove a point.

    Lone didn''t look impressed. Tycon figured it was because the young man didn''t see the dartboard. Or feel the cut on his face.

    The elf caught his de before it hit the ground, rotating his wrist in a shy flourish.

    Tycon considered just leaving... but that would have been rude to his friend, death-sentence or not.

    Lone chuckled to an unspoken joke that only he found funny as he drew a sword with his main hand... a beautifully crafted, simple de.

    ? Shatterspike. Second-Circle Magical Longsword. Deals increased damage to weapons and objects. ?

    The weapon also cleaved wonderfully through flesh. The Gold-Rank elf would not be able to take a mana-powered strike from that weapon... Tycon doubted they would be fool enough to allow themselves to feel its bite, but Lone did have a minuscule chance at victory.

    Lone''s second weapon, the Dark Iron wolf-headed mace, he allowed to fall onto the tavern floor, its weight cracking the wooden nks.

    "Howl, Tres Leches," He whispered.

    The weapon began to glow with a violent crimson mana, twisting upon itself, expanding, and forming into a four-legged wolf. It growled, frothing with weapon-oil at the mouth... baring sharpened metal teeth that could bite through armor. Its metal coat gleamed in the tavern light, rough and spiked, and its eyes glowed red with bloodlust.

    "Oh?" Felinus mused, "So you *are* a Ranger."

    The elf did not appear intimidated, even with Lone''s disy of enchanted weaponry.

    Tycon stealthily counted the coins in his wallet. Was it toote to bet on Felinus?

 Chapter 289 Pride As A Ranger

    ?Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark charged forward, along with his wolf, Tres Leches.

    It was his chance to show Boss Tycon-- to show everyone, the results of his several moons of training in the woods. It would be his first real fight since he ranked up to Iron.

    His pride as a Ranger was on the line.

    Rushing forward, he grabbed onto his wolf''s tail with his off-hand... With an enchanted sh of Tres Leches'' crimson mana, Lone drew a fully-formed mace from the wolf''s butt.

    Two weapons were better than one! Boss said that his endurance was one of his best aspects, and he was trained to swing his arms for hours. The elf seemed like he was pretty skillful-- but everyone got tired eventually, especially as weak as the elf''s tiny arms looked.

    Lone would win by relying on an unending onught of attacks. He wielded a heavy hammer made out of Dark Iron. He had a sword that could literally cut through anything. And he even had his bestest buddy, Tres Leches, attacking on the side.

    He leapt up into the air-- an overhead sword going high and when hended, he''d swing his hammer low. Tres Leches-- he''d do something, too! Three attacks! Like three wolves howling at the moon! That''s how his wolf gained his incredibly awesome name.

    "?Whirl Strike!!?" He yelled. Mana empowered his attacks, which would allow him to strike quickly with both weapons while keeping his bnce.

    "?Twin Strike,?" The elf muttered.

    ...Oh. Right. He was a Ranger too.

    The elf deflected Lone''s Shatterspike with his own sword, then struck Lone''s wrist with his scabbard.

    Lonended on the tavern floor, his knee striking painfully against the wood so he wouldn''t fall onto his face. Neither of his attacks were sessful and he felt his left wrist swelling up terribly. He almost dropped his hammer-- but he was trained to only drop his weapon if he''d died. Tres Leches leapt forward to defend his master.

    The elf turned to face the oing wolf, not looking at all surprised, "?Raptor Strike.?"

    With a loud metal ng, Felinus'' scabbard struck the center of Tres Leches'' forehead. The wolf copsed in a noisy heap.

    Lone narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth.

    "Shite."

    ...

    The fight was a one-sided beatdown. The elf bashed Lone repeatedly with the unsharpened edge of his sword and gave him several painful whaps with his reinforced, hardened leather scabbard.

    Lone was very powerful for a Bronze-Ranker... Gold, however, was... too much for the young man to handle.

    The crowd had nothing left for the young man, save jeers and insults.

    It was a good run while itsted. And the elf was polite enough to not kill the young human.

    ...Though when Loneid upon the floor, covering the back of his neck with a hand, the elf did continuezily beating the young man for another several seconds.

    Then the elf stopped. His ears twitched. In a sh of mana, Felinus used a movement skill-- Tycon saw the back door open up and the elf escaping, swathed in a blur.

    "By the light of the me, what is GOING ON??"

    The Caerulean Guard entered the tavern, shouting and yelling. Several uniform armored individuals wielding blunt sticks began to detain adventurers trying to escape.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was time to go.

    Tycon wished he had the cognizance to disappear at the same time as the Gold-Rank elf. He had no wish to be the target of Tyrion xenophobia.

    Whether Lone was too injured to escape or was too foolish to try, he remained. Or maybe he''d forgotten that he''dmitted high-degree treason in insulting the Tyrion High Oracle. The detained adventurers immediately shifted the me for the disturbance to him and Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark was arrested with great prejudice.

    Tycon was questioned as well. He cleverly implied that he had no rtionship with the treasonous fellow, though he did have his wagered winnings reviewed. Apparently, betting was illegal if the pool of coin grew beyond a certain amount. Suchrge amounts were reserved for nation-run gambling: arena fights and racing events at the local coliseum.

    He expected to have to bribe the guards but was pleasantly surprised when they released him, his winning intact. They let him off with a warning-- and a reasonably polite one, considering the circumstances.

    Lone''s weaponry was confiscated and the young man was carted off in chains.

    Tycon watched him taken, feigning an expression of indifference.

    ...Happy Name-day, Lone Shadowdark.

    He would be meeting with the Archbishop in a few days... Tycon hoped she was a magnanimous individual. She was his best hope for Lone being released.

    ...

    A few sunster, Tycondrius met with Archbishop Natalya Crucis at the local eatery. His main quest in the Holy Country of Tyrion had to do with her. His main goal in his transmigrated life was toplete the three quests for Rnia, the Queen of Stone. He wouldn''t think beyond that until they wereplete. The quests alone were more than enough trouble.

    ? Natalya Crucis, Gold-Rank Human Hallowed Summoner. ?

    She was a tall, mature woman who appeared even taller with the hat atop her head, part of her... holy uniform, as it were. She removed it upon entering the premises, revealing lively crimson hair tied into a ponytail.

    Her forehead appeared quiterge because of it, but her face was symmetrical and did not easily reveal her age. Her uniform revealed her arms and adhered to her curves, proving that she did not neglect her physical training.

    Tycon reasoned that she was reasonably attractive, especially for one in her station. Good for her.

    He stood up to greet her, exchanging pleasantries... but the sneer of disgust never left her face.

    "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Archbishop," Tycon bowed deferentially.

    The Archbishop was more-or-less a Princess in status. His actions showed his sincerity.

    The woman groaned and rolled her eyes, "Sit down, Tycondrius of Charm."

    She was being rude, but Tycon was here to ask for a favor... even if that favor was... to ask to perform a favor for her.

    "Thank you, your Holiness."

    "Spare me, Irvhir." Natalya sat down, oozing the snobbery and self-importance as her rank allowed.

    Tycon felt his eyebrow twitch at the Archbishop''s terminology.

 Chapter 290 Two Reasons

    ?Irvhir? That wasn''t correct, at all... Irvhir was the proper name for bipedal scalekin creatures that popted various caves throughout the nation, and eternal enemies of the dog-like Iredar.

    ...The humans, in theirck of knowledge, assigned the term to all scaled sentients: the Medusa, Troglodytes, Yuan-Ti, and even Dovahkiin, at times. Tycondrius figured that Natalya Crucis was uninformed... but with how she was treating him, even if she knew, she would likely use the term anyroad.

    "I know you are not of our faith." The Archbishop shook her head, "Address me as Lady Crucis, as befitting of your own station..."

    She groaned, "--or Natalya, if you must."

    The eatery waitstaff approached the table, "May I take your orders, Your Grace? Young master?"

    Tycon hid his frown and tried to continue the pleasantries, "Lady Crucis, would you like me to order you some wine?"

    The taller woman narrowed her eyes, "No, this is my country. I will be paying for this meal."

    Oh. That was nice of her. Tycon forced a smile and looked to the male waiter, "I would like an ale, please."

    "Mypanion and I will be having the wine," Natalya ordered-- also specifying a brand.

    ...Oh. Well, that was fine. He did enjoy Tyrion wine.

    "I''ll have an order of the garlicmb-- the lunch portion, please," She continued.

    That sounded... absolutely wonderful. Tycon wished to order that, as well.

    The Archbishop twirled her finger towards Tycon dismissively, "And that one will have the sd."

    No... Oh, no...

    "Wait..." Tycon caught the waiter''s attention as he was leaving, "Is there... any meat you can add to the sd? Poultry will do.

    The waiter looked back to the Archbishop, asking for confirmation with his eyes.

    "Please." Tycon said with a strained voice, "I''m begging you."

    He hoped at least one of the two would hear his plea.

    Though Natalya Crucis was unhappy about it, the waiter noted Tycon''s change in order to add grilled chicken. If Tycon ate too many leafy vegetables in a sitting, he''d get a vicious stomachache. At least this way, he''d at least be able to somewhat enjoy his meal-- politely picking at the greenery.

    When the waiter was out of earshot, the Archbishop furrowed her brow, carefully scrutinizing Tycon''s face. He waited patiently for her to speak, betraying no more expressions. She wantedmand of the conversation, and so she would have it. He was at her mercy.

    The Archbishop spoke slowly, her voice dripping with malice, "Have the dragons finally returned?"

    Tycon took a deep breath, anger welling in his heart at the mention of the nonexistent creatures, "They have not."

    Archbishop Natalya Crucis crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed to thin slits, "That... Tycondrius... I had incorrectly assumed would be the only reason you''d *dare* step foot in my country."

    Tycon raised two fingers, "My reasons are twofold."

    "What''s the first?"

    ...He was getting to that. The Archbishop was not a patient woman.

    "The Queen of Stone wishes to mend her rtionship with you."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Natalya scoffed, snorting in an udylike gesture, "You''re serious?"

    Tycon pursed his lips. What a stupid question, "Yes, Lady Crucis. I am."

    "Ridiculous," She waved. "I merely dislike Queen Rnia for her personality and demeanor. While her actions during the Snake Cult Wars were inconvenient for our forces..."

    Natalya paused in thought before shaking her head,"No... any offenses incurred were impersonal."

    "Nheless, I offer myself and Sol Invictus'' services to your cause and to your Holy Country towards gaining your favor." Tycon lightly bowed, "This is our sincerity."

    The Archbishop ced a hand on her chin in thought, quietly analyzing... "I must say that I expected more arrogance from you, Ivory Prince."

    "I''m a different man from the one you''ve met prior," Tycon stated.

    ...It was not a figurative statement. He had transmigrated with zero memory of the previous Tycondrius'' rtionships, personality, and motives.

    "I can see that," Natalya mused. "As a person, I trust you very little. But since youe to me as a tool, it would be folly for me not to utilize you."

    A thin smile crossed the Archbishop''s face... It reminded Tycon of a torturer''s grin. He hoped she wouldn''t ask for something incredibly demeaning... or lewd. He doubted it due to her station, but if she was particrly cruel, Tycon was uncertain he''d be able toplete his mother''s quest.

    The meal came.

    Natalya remarked that the grilled chicken on Tycon''s sd looked delicious. She helped herself to over half of it.

    ...Tycon watched her do so in silence. Why did she get the lunch portion if she could eat so much? The dinner portion only cost two silver more!

    It was one of the most depressing meals Tycon had, to memory. The chicken was marinated and juicy, the herbs were fresh and vorful, and the meat itself was tender and grilled with lovely cross-hatched char-marks.

    ...But he had so little of it.

    "I''m having some trouble deliberating on what I''ll have you do," Natalya mused. "I *am* having issues with... traitors amongst my ranks, as ofte."

    Tycon tried to focus on the conversation, not on the fact that delicious food was unjustly taken away from him, "Perhaps I can assist you in rooting out those traitors."

    "I was referring to how I don''t wish to have you, Prince, amongst my people," Natalya teased.

    Tycon returned to staring dreamily at his te. He did not like this woman. He just wanted to finish this quest and go home.

    "No, that wouldn''t do, anyroad. It is an issue I will have to assign to someone of higher status-- and within our rank structure," She mused to herself. "For mere personal reparations, I shall task you with something of appropriate importance..."

    Natalya finished her meal, dabbing a cloth napkin at the corners of her painted red lips, "Ah... I have just the thing."

    Tycon nced up, his hopes not high. Was she going to taunt him, again?

    "But before that..." She wore a sleazy smile, fully aware that she was ying with his feelings, "What was the second reason you mentioned?"

    The second reason... brought Tycon no joy. He grimaced, gathering his thoughts... "Maximus of Ezyria, Sanctum Parmrius of Tyrion, is dead. He was killed in honorablebat by a creature hailing from the ne of Fire."

    The woman''s eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped. The napkin she daintily held in her hands fell to the ground. She stared into Tycon''s unrelenting gaze... and she did not ask for rification.

    She took a deep breath, holding a hand in front of her corbone, "Tell me what you know."

 Chapter 291 Favor Of The Church

    ?Tycondrius sipped his wine quietly, allowing Natalya to process the information. He had previously learned the details of Maximus'' demise through the first-hand ount of Sol Invictus member Dragan Ashlord. He ryed that information to the Archbishop, truthfully and without embellishment-- though he utilized much more polite diction than originally presented.

    "You tell me that Sanctum Parmrius Maximus found an honorable death..." The Archbishop shut her eyes in contemtion, "He served well..."

    A frown crossed her lips, "Did he tell you why he left the Holy Country?"

    "He did not," Tycon narrowed his eyes. "I thought it odd, but Sol Invictus, as an adventurer guild does not ask those kinds of questions."

    Natalya ground her teeth, "Of course, all you adventurers think about is--"

    "--Only that he acts with honor." Tycon red. He had nopunctions in interrupting the conversation to ensure Natalya Crucis did not cross his bottom line, "And that is something, Lady Crucis, that I will not allow you to question."

    The Archbishop swallowed her words, nodding in annoyed eptance, "Many of his orders near the end of his Tyrion service were questionably bereft of such a luxury."

    Tycon took a deep breath, "Then... the reason he sought out Sol Invictus?"

    "...Likely to regain that honor lost," Natalya said solemnly. "After his Arena days, he joined the military... and this was the time shortly after the Snake Cult wars... He served... as an Avenger."

    An Avenger? That somewhat exined the man''s obsession with serving under a guild with an honorable background. However...

    Tycon steepled his fingers and leaned forward, "Lady Crucis, I had thought Avenger''s workwas a lifelong upation."

    "It is. After Maximus took an injury that dropped his ranking to Iron, he was discharged as a personal request. Even as weakened as he was, he defeated all of the Assassins I sent."

    Tycon frowned and spoke solemnly, "You mean ''the Church sent.''"

    "I know what I said, Prince." Natalya scowled. "You, of all people, know how my organization works, so don''t you dare act surprised."

    She rolled her eyes and refilled her wine ss, "And anyroad, this whole ce is sheathed in a ?Zone of Truth?, and your shite news has caused me to babble national secrets by mistake."

    She sighed in frustration, gnashing her teeth, "By my hand, Maximus was attached to the Avengers and forced to trade his warrior''s honor for the honor of preserving the Church''s integrity and reputation.

    "You lost a friend and ally." Natalya took in a deep breath through her nostrils... After exhaling, her voice softened... "I, on the other hand, allowed a national hero to grow disillusioned with his cause and die far from his home."

    Tycon remained silent. He was no longer upset about the Church''s kill-the-defectors policy. Thinking logically, it was likely by Natalya''s order that the Tyrions *only* sent so many Assassins.

    The Archbishop sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, "You''ve returned news of Maximus'' death. He died honorably and against the enemies of humankind. He will be honored as a Saint, remembered for his glory. For this, the Church shall grant you a boon."

    The Church of the Eternal me would offer Tycondrius, a nonhuman, a boon? That would be sacrilege. It was probably a trap, something that would cause him to be indebted to their cause. Tycon already had a ridiculous Realm-spanning quest from a monstrous Queen-- he had no desire to serve a faceless organization on the side.

    "What the Church can provide me with, Archbishop..." Tycon leaned back to match the Archbishop''s posture, "--is a quest, the purpose of which, is to mend rtions between the Queen of Stone and... you."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Fine." The Archbishop shook her head and shrugged, "There''s a noble daughter from a fallen house, a young girl named Athena. Take care of her."

    "Avenger work? You would have me kill a child?" Tycon red in disbelief, "Is your opinion of me really so low?"

    "Yes, it is." Natalya returned the re, "But in this case, I misspoke. I do not want Athena killed. Her house has fallen out of favor, both in public and amongst her noble peers. I want her family name strengthened and her honor restored."

    She took a slow, steady pull from her wine cup... "She is a good child... and does not deserve what befell her family."

    The order wasplex and open-ended, but Tycon expected a bothersome trial of this level. He would strive toplete the mission in such a way that the Archbishop would be unable to doubt his sincerity... And even if she still did-- humans were an untrustworthy lot, after all... as long as hepleted the quest to his own high expectations, he would meet Rnia''s conditions, regardless of Natalya''s judgment.

    "I ept." Tycon nodded firmly, "I need one of mypanions released from your prisons."

    The womanughed, "Mister Lone? I''ve heard. I will have him sent to Turrim Orientem until we see results."

    "You don''t trust me, Archbishop?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "On a professional level?"

    "I''m fairly certain you know that I do not."

    ...Asking for Lone was worth a try. Tycon hoped the facility transfer was a good thing.

    He shrugged, "Very well. Provide me with the youngdy''s details and I shall be on my way."

    "Oh, I will~" Natalya''s voice lilted yfully, "--After you ask for a real boon, Prince."

    It was Tycon''s turn to be incredulous, "You can''t be serious, Lady Crucis."

    He crossed his arms, trying to make sense of the woman''s insistence.

    "No, I am." Archbishop Natalya Crucis confirmed, "You gave Maximus what I could not-- the honor that he sought. As it is, I owe *you* a favor. Please understand that I am disgusted by your presence and find you loathsomepany."

    Tycon was very handsome. He was quite confident in that regard. Natalya must have been talking about his general presence as a nonhuman.

    "I want someone resurrected."

    The Archbishop narrowed her eyes.

    "Absolutely not," She said with finality.

 Chapter 292 Sanctified Oracle

    ?Tycondrius felt his heart tremble. He asked for something he should not have asked for... a forbidden magic. The dead were dead. Returning them to life was an honor reserved for only the greatest of heroes.

    Archbishop Natalya Crucis leaned forward, speaking low but emphasizing each of her words, "Maximus will be honored as a Hero and a Saint-- a dead one."

    "No, not Maximus," Tycon shook his head. "He died honorably and I would not take that away from him... But someone else-- another one of yours."

    He hesitated, a knot forming in his heart. Remembering Holy Bolter Rena, hemented her loss... He wished to resurrect her... maybe if only to tell her how stupid she was, "Her name is..."

    "Prince... this is not negotiable," Natalya kept a stern voice.

    Tycon furrowed his brows, trying but failing to reign in his anger, "Gods damn it, woman. I *know* you have at least one healer capable of a Third-Circle Resurrection. Rena of Leopardon was a devout follower of your Eternal me. She trusted me and I failed her. How can you tell me no?"

    ...What the hells was that? Tycon''s eyes shot open wide and his heart was beating rapidly. He had... just blurted out far far more information than he had originally intended to provide.

    Natalya chuckled to herself.

    ...It wasn''t funny.

    "I told you this ce is covered in a ?Zone of Truth?," She spoke in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. "It allows honesty even you, yourself, may have been unaware of, Prince."

    She paused, "As for resurrection, we literally cannot... Firstly, only High Oracle Troia can perform such a ritual."

    Tycon steeled his gaze, "I shall persuade her myself, Natalya. Grant me this much."

    "...Allow me to finish, Tycondrius," She gestured calmly.

    Tycon didn''t realize it, but he''d half-stood in his seat. He adjusted himself, closed his eyes, and nodded, "Please continue, Lady Crucis."

    "Worshippers of the Eternal me have their souls returned to the me, itself, to be reincarnated. As such, yourpanion cannot be resurrected," She exined.

    Tycon nodded slowly. That was something he should have been aware of, had he thought for more than 5 seconds about the Church''s beliefs... "I see."

    He felt like an utter fool... "I apologize for my outburst, Archbishop."

    "This, I will forgive." She took hold of her wine cup and swirled the liquid inside of it... "We have both failed Heroes of Tyrion, it seems."

    Tycon clenched his eyes shut and exhaled his useless anger in a breath. He took his own cup and offered it forward in a toast, "For the fallen..."

    Natalya''s eyebrows twitched... Tycon was worried she wouldn''t reciprocate, but the Archbishop gingerly tapped her cup against his... "And for those who order them to their deaths."

    "No good end wille to us," Tycon drained his cup.

    "...Unlike what our doctrine states... I am inclined to agree," The Archbishop took a deep pull from hers.

    What else could the Church of the Eternal me offer him? ...After a moment of quiet deliberation, Tycon offered another improbable request... "I want an Oracle sanctified and trained."

    Divine casters in the Holy Country of Tyrion had to be sanctified by their government in order to operate legally. The process included training and indoctrination... but was something almost exclusively reserved for humans.

    The Archbishop twisted her lips, "Sanctified... perhaps. But be aware, it takes years for an Oracle to reach Bronze-Rank, even if he or she is gifted."

    Tycon chuckled to himself, "And what if she is already Bronze-Rank?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Hmmm~ I suppose I can make the arrangements," Natalya hummed.

    ...

    Tycon brought Sasha to thergest temple in Caeruleum, as Archbishop Crucis instructed. He specifically did not bring Isidor. His scaly head would probably end up being mounted on one of their walls, Gold-Rank physique or not.

    Sasha was cute and polite-- and had a far higher mastery of her humanoid form. She''d probably be fine.

    "A dark elf..." Natalya scrutinized her form. "That will do. Hoods aremon amongst the students, so she will be able to easily hide her Outsider blood."

    Tycon nodded, "And she will be in an all-female dormitory, you said?"

    "Correct. Further, because of her special case and your sponsorship, she will be provided private quarters."

    "And they offer three meals each sun?" Tycon asked.

    "Indeed. The professionals in charge of the childrens'' nutrition were hand-picked by myself. You have my word that they will be cared for."

    "And she can write letters through the Courier''s Guild?" Tycon grimaced, "Should I give her coin for postage?"

    "Tycondrius..."

    "Yes, Lady Crucis?"

    "Compose yourself." The Archbishop chided gently, "Your youngpanion will be fine. I''m sure you will see her during the summer or winter vacation weeks."

    "Lady Crucis, this youngdy is my daughter," Tycon insisted.

    The Archbishop narrowed her eyes, exuding a moderate amount of skepticism... "Right."

    The chocte elf hugged her adventuring pack, looking up at Tycon with a tiny pout, "She doesn''t want to go..."

    Tycon''s heart was being torn as he looked down at his daughter''s pitiful face... But no, Sasha was old enough to go to school. It was what children did. They went to school.

    She had to go, to better her effectiveness in Sol Invictus. He couldn''t just keep her around. It would be selfish of him...

    Maybe she''d make some friends.

    "Beautiful Child, if you wish to be useful to me, you will learn," Tycon stroked his daughter''s soft white hair.

    "She... she wishes to be useful," Sasha''s turned away, clenching a tiny fist. Her look of uncertain discontent turned to one of... uncertain determination.

    That would do, "I''ll have you know that I''m very proud of you."

    Sasha bobbed her hooded-head up and down, her lips pursed in a subtle smile, "She is aware."

    And with that, Tycon saw his lovely daughter taken away by Church officials. She would apany Archbishop Natalya Crucis to the ind of Cersei''s Rest, the following sun.

    Children grow up so quickly. Tycon missed her already...

 Chapter 293 Friends, Then

    ?"Is everything in order, Lady Crucis?"

    Tycondrius let out a deep sigh, stering a fake smile on his face for the Archbishop.

    Natalya Crucis nodded, tapping the bottom of her white staff against the ground, "Yes. The Measuring Device marks your ''daughter'' as having a Divine ss capable of casting First-Circle spells. The Church will train her."

    Tycon nodded solemnly, observing the Archbishop''s Measuring Device. It was straight and somewhatpact, carved with sharp, perfectly inscribed runes. At its tip was a brilliant blue mana-stone, cut for sharp edges.

    Spellcaster equipment in the Holy Country was quite different from those in the Kingdom. A Kingdom staff might be gnarled wood with a rough-cut crystal set into it-- the wood grown over to hold it in ce. A Holy Country staff was much the opposite, worked with human hands to harness the powers of the elements and whatnot.

    "Would you like me to measure you, as well, Prince?" Natalya offered, her voice lilting yfully.

    Tycon eyed the woman incredulously, "Have you done so already, without my permission?"

    "Yes, I have," She replied.

    The woman had no shame... but it was the answer Tycon expected.

    "Then yes, I would like to know my results."

    "Your mana measures at Gold-Rank," The Archbishop winked. "Congrattions~"

    It was the most insincerepliment Tycon had ever heard. He surmised Natalya was... very, very strong as a Gold-Ranker.

    "Also, your ss is not divine in nature-- if you weren''t aware," She added.

    "I was aware, thank you."

    Natalya revealed a full smile.

    The Archbishop''s teeth were white and properly aligned... Tycon had deemed her as an attractive woman (probably)... If he was a proper human male, he should have been enamored-- smitten, perhaps.

    Instead... he felt... that there was an almost palpable malice in the Archbishop''s expression.

    Tycon frowned. He was in a temple belonging to her Church... in the middle of Caeruleum. He''d run into a host of issues if he fought his way out... Depending on how strong Natalya was, he might not even make it out of the courtyard.

    ...But If she wanted to kill him, why would she have taken this long?

    Tycon did his best to force a smile, "Was there... something else, Lady Crucis?"

    "Since you''ve given me one of your precious Sol Invictus members, I shall grant you one of my own."

    Archbishop Natalya Crucis of the Church of the Eternal me continued to smile radiantly, pleased with her own machinations.

    Tycon pursed his lips, "A guardian, to keep me out of trouble?"

    "A babysitter," Natalya assured. "He will ensure your safety-- and I hope you will ensure his."

    Natalya raised her staff, spinning it dramatically as she channeled mana into it. A song of praise began to reverberate through the temple-- in the Holy Country''s Old Language, foreign yet familiar enough to feel haunting and ethereal. She smashed the end of her staff against the white tiled floor, a brilliant circle of light enveloping the two of them...

    And when Tycon''s vision returned, he saw that a third person had joined them in their circle... a tall, armored man, kneeling in reverence.

    "This..." Natalya gestured with an open palm, "is Centurion Skyreaper. He will be your symbol of the Church''s authority in your quest-- when appropriate, of course."

    The gentleman stood up, a tall human, taller than Natalya, and over a head taller than Tycon. He had a pristine, cut-to-regtion mustache, and handsome, youthful features. His Centurion armor was clean and polished, too-- his sculpted abdominals particrly shiny.<novelnext></novelnext>

    That would do wonderfully. If the gentleman was agreeable and his work ethic matched the care for his person and belongings, he would be an effective asset for Tycon''s activities in the Holy Country.

    There was, however, two issues-- possibly rted.

    The first was that teleportation-ss magics were ouwed by the Gatekeepers, a Realm-spanning organization whose main job was to prevent incursion by other nes. The Church of the Eternal me was not exempt to their fewws.

    Tycon spoke aloud, "That was not teleportation magic."

    "It was not," Natalya confirmed.

    The second was that Skyreaper was breathing rather hard... a thin trail of sweat dripped down from his regtion haircut.

    Tycon scrunched his brow and took a cursory nce at his surroundings, "Did you make him... run out of hiding? Was he in the seating area?"

    "I made him run out from one of the side columns," The Archbishop confessed.

    Tycon frowned. Columns were popr in Tyrion architecture, and the temple had several of them. The Archbishop could have agents everywhere...

    The tall man took a deep breath and put on a friendly smile, "My name is Zenon Skyreaper. Would you mind starting this partnership as friends?"

    ? Zenon Skyreaper, Iron-Rank Human Librarian. ?

    Friends?

    Tycon felt his eye twitch as he stared at Zenon offering an outstretched hand. He nced back to Natalya, her calcting smile not having left her face. It felt like... there was some sort of trick, but he couldn''t fathom what it was.

    Centurion Skyreaper''s smile was... well, it looked genuine. It carried a... youthful optimism that was... very uncharacteristic of Tyrion officials.

    Setting aside his doubts, Tycon shook Zenon''s hand with a firm grip, "Tycondrius of Sol Invictus. Friends, then."

    ...

    Tycondrius found everything about Centurion Skyreaper... peculiar.

    Veteran Tyrion soldiers tended to be jaded, unfriendly, xenophobic individuals.

    This one was... disturbingly agreeable.

    Tycon followed Zenon throughout the twists and turns of therge temple, listening to him speak excitedly about the most... mundane topics. Most addressed any concerns he had with hospitality received in Caeruleum.

    It had been the friendliest reception Tycon had experienced since transmigrating.

    There were far too many ''firsts'' and ''most this or that'' in this stupid temple. Tycon wanted to leave. Immediately.

    The gentleman even insisted upon being called ''Zenon'' in private conversation. Tycon, simrly, insisted on being called ''Tycon'' as opposed to ''Tycondrius.''

    ...Everyone else did so, anyroad.

    As Tycon racked his brain over what treachery Natalya could possibly have been nning, a brash, masculine voice called out.

    "''Ey, Zenon! Get over here!"

 Chapter 294 Scuzz

    ?Arge Centurion in heavy-armor approached Tycondrius and Zenon,rger-around but not quite as tall as the Librarian. The man''s armor carried scuffs and scars from old battles-- a great deal more weathered than Zenon''s own. A few achievement medals and decorations on the fellow''s armor, too, made the Librarian''s look... empty.

    ? Bronze-Rank Human Champion. ?

    The man''s voice echoed in his full-helmet "Brother-Librarian..."

    He spun his gauntleted finger casually, then pointed it behind him, "I need the toilets scuzzed."

    ? Tycon was unfamiliar with the word... but considering the context, it sounded... demeaning. The Centurion was asking Zenon to... clean? ...Or maybe Tycon was privy to a secret, holy ritual-- the blessings of the sacred piss-pots.

    Zenon smiled with chagrin, "Brother-Centurion, I... The Archbishop has tasked me with escorting this adventurer on his quest. Right now, I belong to his guild and not the Caeruleum temples."

    He was? Tycon was pleasantly surprised by the admission, as he''d thought Centurion Skyreaper would be acting as an independent advisor. He wasn''t nning on mistreating the help, but that the Iron-Ranker would heed his battlemands? Tycon grew more confident in facing the challenges ahead.

    "Oh, is that right?" The Centurion mused. "Then I''ll have you mop the vestibules before you leave."

    The Centurion turned on his heel and walked off with heavy metal steps... Tycon expected some sort of... congrattions or... at least concern from Zenon''s associate.

    Archbishop Natalya had said that Zenon''s rank was that of Centurion... yet with Skyreaper''s armorpared to the other Centurion''s, there seemed to be a clear difference in status.

    He was d that his own Decanus armor was hidden underneath his cloak. The rude Centurion might have ordered him around, as well.

    "Zenon," Tycon pursed his lips... "Is this normal?"

    "Whaaat?" The Librarian smiled. Compared to his earlier expressions, Tycon judged the current one to becking. The smile didn''t reach his eyes, "Yeah-nahhhh."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Which is it?"

    Zenon took a deep breath and released a tired sigh, "Just-- just give me a few moments, Tycon."

    Tycon followed Centurion Skyreaper, watching as the tall, mustachioed gentleman retrieved a bucket and mop. He offered to assist, but Zenon insisted on doing it alone. He had a particr ''system'' for mopping.

    ...He did. And he was very good at it... but deep in the pit of his heart, Tycon felt that a Centurion should not be cleaningmon areas... alone. None of the temple''s clergy assisted him-- they were busy cleaning other areas. Tycon also noted that no one of Decanus or higher rank was doing any cleaning, at all.

    Was this why Natalya was so eager to let Zenon go? For him to gain a few battle scars on his armor? Tycon was unsure...

    The treatment of Zenon Skyreaper, however, was causing him to grow irritated.

    "I hope that was okay, Tycon," Zenon spoke with uncertainty as he mopped. "That I''ll fall under yourmand as a member of your guild?"

    "That''s perfectly eptable," Tycon nodded. "By my honor, I will never give you an order that would prove harmful for your faith or the followers of which. That is the only type of order you may disobey."

    Zenon was a noble Tyrion Centurion... mopping the entrance hall like a recruit. He was a gods-damned joke-- or in his case, maybe a mescarred one. Tycon offered his words to disy his sincerity, to alleviate Zenon''s spirits. He rated at least that much respect.

    The Librarian nodded as he worked, "Thank you for that. I wasn''t worried, but it''s pretty nice to have it spoken aloud."

    He wasn''t worried? Tycon pursed his lips. Did Zenon... know he was a non-human? No, he must have... but did he, though?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon pushed back his doubts and wore a serious expression, "Centurion Zenon Skyreaper, wee to Sol Invictus."

    ...

    Zenon emptied his mop bucket outside the temple, then set that and the mop against the building wall, "Alright, I''m done. Let''s get out of here before I get asked to do anything else."

    Tycon still felt a nagging irritation, "Would you like me to... teach that Centurion a lesson?"

    He had more than a few abilities and skills to wreak subtle vengeance... Stealing or sabotaging some of the fellow''s personal items would be simple for him, especially since he''d recently ranked up to Gold.

    The tall man chuckled, "Haha, no. We are all of the same faith, Tycon."

    The two walked in silence, Tycon contemting the situation.

    After a short while, Zenon continued, "Anyroad, spilling that guy''s entrails onto the temple floors would be a pain to clean. And then the adepts would have a horrible time removing the standing candbra I shove up his arse."

    Tycon used an inordinatelyrge amount of focus for his face to not change in expression, "I understand. For the good of the Church, then."

    "For the good of the Church," Zenon nodded. "Where to next, Brother?"

    Tycon returned his best ''amicable'' smile, "I have one morepanion that I need to send home."

    "Oh, right. So you came to Caeruleum with that person and your daughter, right?" Zenon''s own smile had returned. "I went to the same school she did and I turned out fine."

    Tycon tried not to read too much into that statement, "Right. Also, a thirdpanion is being sent to... what did the Archbishop say... Turrim Orientem?"

    Zenon visibly flinched, "Ooooooh....."

    He sucked in air through his teeth, "That... won''t be a fun time."

    Tycon took a breath and averted his gaze. That reaction was not at all promising, "I don''t suppose you''ve been there, as well, Centurion?"

    "Turrim Orientem is a prison containing the most violent criminals in Tyrion. Arge number of them have enough political strength to not be outright-executed-- and those people essentially lead big prison gangs."

    Zenon bared his teeth in a grimace, "I uh... I hope he''s strong."

    Well... Tycon considered that to be overall good news. He was worried that Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, would grow weaker while incarcerated. But with this knowledge...

    "He''ll be fine," Tycon smiled politely. "Do you know how to get to the Broken Drum from here?"

    "Of course," Zenon chuckled. "They can''t be beat."

    Tycon''s smile fell into a grimace, "So I''ve heard."

 Chapter 295 Isidorâ€™s Hoard

    ?Tycondrius settled his bill with a staff member of the Broken Drum inn and tavern. It pained him to see so much coin lightening his wallet... but the beds werefortable and the rooms were clean. It was well worth the additional coin to not sleep in squalor.

    He did not add an additional tip. If the Broken Drum wanted more of his coin, they''d have to wait for Sol Invictus to stay another evening.

    Isidor wore his hood low, revealing only a nose and wide, unsmiling lips on a beardless chin. A leather sack nearly half his size was slung over the stout fellow''s shoulder.

    "What''s in the sack, Brother-Isidor?" Tycon asked. He was fairly certain of the answer, but still... he held hope that he''d be pleasantly surprised.

    "It''ssssss... filled withhhh... sssssouvenirs..." Isidor exined.

    Tycon took a deep breath, "Isidor, really? How are you going to carry all that?"

    Also, how was he able to afford all that? Tycon had provided him and Sasha with enough coin to purchase food and a few trinkets if they spent frugally but...

    No... Tycon had a feeling he knew how he was able to afford so much junk.

    "I was going to carry them in my mou--"

    "Hold on, Brother-Isidor," Tycon raised his palm. "Did you... eat?"

    Slowly, the scale-dwarf''s mouth twisted into a pout, then into a grimace.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "If you lie to me, I will beat you."

    Isidor was ridiculous. It seemed he had spent his money for the past few suns on stupid souvenirs, ignoring his personal health. While he was a Gold-Rank and was in no immediate danger of death by starvation, he must have been quite ufortable.

    Zenon Skyreaper crossed his arms and frowned, "Y''know, Tycon, I don''t wanna tell you how to raise your kids, but--"

    Tycon shut his eyes, raising up his palm to stop Zenon, as well, "Brother-Zenon, please. Isidor knows not to lie."

    Also, Isidor was not a child, not by size, nor by age. He knew the consequences of his actions.

    "Is... is there more coinnnn... for foooood, Brother-Tycon?" He asked, his face still set in a deep frown.

    Tycon exhaled through his nose, "Zenon and I are continuing our journey. Go. Return to the Aetnian Mountains and rejoin your faction."

    "What of the young Ssssasha?"

    "I sent her off to school."

    "The... the Lone Ssssshadowdark?

    "He''s gone off to..." Tycon paused for a brief moment, "--to train."

    "Can... I go withhh you?" Isidor asked hopefully.

    "No," Tycon red. "You have prior responsibilities, Brother-Isidor. I will not be your ''excuse'' to ignore them."

    "I don''t... eat muchhhh..."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes into a deeply scrutinizing re. In Isidor''s scale-dwarf form, he ate as much as a Titanblood. In his natural form, he could go without food for some time, but when he ate, he would gorge on the Snake Cult''s tributes of quadrupedal non-sentients... and probably the asional human.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I have already closed our ount at this establishment, Isidor." Tycon exined, "I will not reopen it on ount of your selfishness."

    Isidor looked down at the tavern floor. He somehow managed a sullen look, even though he generally had trouble expressing emotions with his humanoid disguise.

    Tycon felt no remorse. The Titan Snake knew what he was doing, spending money on useless trinkets instead of filling his belly.

    "Hey, Tycon..." Zenon spoke in a calm voice. "How about you guys stay at my ce? I have to get a few things from home, anyroad."

    Tycon shook his head, pursing his lips, "Centurion, we really shouldn''t impose. Isidor can feed himself while he''s on the road."

    Only the wildlife in the Holy Country''s forests could properly satiate a snake of Isidor''s size.

    "It''s just one night. And I''ll take you guys to dinner," Zenon urged.

    Isidor looked up, his eyes full of expectation-- his mouth still set into a frown, so he looked quite pitiful. He... he really needed more practice, if he hadn''t yet learned to un-frown.

    "I know all the best ces," Zenon offered. "I''ve been stationed in Caeruleum for awhile."

    The Centurion was... far too kind of a human. Tycon let out a deep sigh and smiled politely, "Very well... one night will be fine. We can set out with the morning sun."

    "You have... my tttthankssss, Brother-Zenonnnn," Isidor thanked the Librarian, his expression still shing with his tone.

    Isidor didn''t want to go to Caeruleum in the first ce. Now he didn''t want to leave? It was absurd.

    "And you will return, afterward," Tycon reminded.

    ...

    Tycon wanted to eat at a restaurant that offered fire-roastedmb.

    Centurion Skyreapermented that he could not afford to pay for everyone''s bill if that were so. After a short deliberation, they agreed that the Librarian would pay for the cost of their party''s drinks. Sol Invictus would be able to eat better, while still allowing the Centurion the pride of a generous host.

    As for why Zenon couldn''t afford to pay when he had the rank of Centurion-- it seemed he was only being paid as much as a Decanus. His rank was afforded to him because he was a Sanctified Psyker-- Tyrion''s designation for a legal spellcaster.

    Zenon''s status in the Church of the Eternal me was... as pitiful as his pay grade.

    Tycon was finding it harder to judge Archbishop Natalya''s motives as being anything but generous and benevolent. Attached to Sol Invictus, Zenon was away from the toxicity of his temple''s leadership-- and he was certain to gain a few battle scars, gaining him an award or three to pin onto his armor.

    It was a partnership mutually beneficial to both parties.

    Well yed, Natalya Crucis.

    "This is the ce!" Zenon pointed at the eatery sign they were searching for. "Best food in Caeruleum, right here!"

    Tycon scrutinized the sign, "That''s... an... oblong-shaped berry?"

    "It''s an olea. It''s a small tree fruitmon in Tyrion cuisine," Zenon happily exined. "Come on, let''s get a table."

 Chapter 296 Bronze-Rank Musician

    ?Tycondrius of Charm, Centurion Zenon Skyreaper, and Isidor the... snake ate at a restaurant called Olea Garden.

    It was little better than street stall food... specifically a street stall that cheaply churned out hundreds of meals per sun.

    Isidor was fed cheaply with a deal on an "endless" noodle dish, where he could finish a te and ask for another. The ingredients for each te was cheap enough, and Isidor ate worth... perhaps double the coin spent, had Tycon purchased the ingredients individually.

    Tycon ordered themb. He received... a pathetically small portion of it. He also ordered some grilled chicken. That was slightly better.

    Zenon consumed three entire baskets of bread, toasted with an eptably copious amount of garlic, butter, and herbs.

    Tycon thought the bread was good... though not three-baskets good.

    The wine was good. The meal, overall, was... Ugh. It really was not.

    ...But Isidor and Zenon were happy. Good for them.

    In the morning, Tycon would refill his stocks of dried herbs and spices at the market before they departed to the City of Silva. He and Zenon could hunt some wild boar or deer. He looked forward to impressing the Centurion with his campfire cooking.

    During the meal, Zenon discovered that Isidor was not, in fact, human. He had pointed crocodile teeth, far more evident while he was eating. Anyroad, besides the hood, Isidor wasn''t particrly hiding his features.

    Tycon expected an immediate xenophobic bloodbath. Again, Zenon shattered all of the stereotypes Tycon knew of members of the Church when the Centurion only responded with excitement and good-natured curiosity. Zenon expressed that he had never met a mountain dwarf before.

    Isidor was not a mountain dwarf. Tycon did not correct him.

    Having lived amongst the Krakhammer dwarves for decades, Isidor was able to provide the answers to all of the Centurion''s inquiries. The disguised Titan Snake was able to practice his Common, focusing on his ent. Zenon was able to gain knowledge of non-humans. Tycon was able to not think about how shite his meal was.

    ...

    Afterward, Zenon led the group to his... dormitory room. The building was in disrepair-- but at least he wasn''t the only one living in horrible conditions. A few low-level adepts walked past Sol Invictus, each of them minding their own business. They paid no special attention to Zenon other than offering a voiceless wave or nod of acknowledgment.

    ...Tycon had the sneaking suspicion that the Centurion did not have any friends.

    The tall Librarian had to duck to avoid striking his head against the top of the door frame.

    "Regtion haircut, regtion-trimmed mustache, and uniform polished to regtion standards," Tycon mused. "But not regtion height."

    Zenon shrugged, "Yep, that makes me a failure."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I don''t follow."

    "It was a joke, man." The Librarian chuckled to himself, "Come on in, you two."

    Isidor strolled in fearlessly. Tycon mused that if the humans had merely offered Isidor food, they would have gained enough of his trust to have the Titan Snake deliver himself to wherever the humans wished.

    ...Then he wouldn''t have needed to go through all the trouble he had, in order to eradicate an entire Gold-Rank guild.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Centurion''s room was small, containing lockers, two desks, and having two bunk beds, a sleeping pad on the base, and a second essible by a shortdder. A chair was set beside one of the beds, likely to allow Zenon''s entire length to fit when he lied down.

    "Brother Tyconnnn... He has....." Isidor pointed... at a stringed instrument on a wooden stand at the corner of the room.

    "Oh, you guys wanna hear me y my guitar?" Zenon asked, almost giddy with excitement.

    Tycon''s mouth twitched... "Yes... If you would."

    ...

    Tycon listened patiently to Zenon Skyreaper''s musical talent. It wasn''t... expert level, but if his ss had been Musician, Tycon would have rated it around Bronze. Not horrid. He''d be able to earn some copper ying in the streets and... wouldn''t have to starve in the woods like Sol Invictus'' Ranger had.

    The scaly, beardless dwarf that was Isidor... absolutely... loved it. He sat and stared, enthralled by Zenon''s mastery of the arts.

    ...Tycon wondered if he was being too harsh in his judgment. Zenon and Isidor were both enjoying themselves, leaving only himself as miserable, worrying about what tomorrow would hold.

    The warmth of being in thepany of friends in good spirits was something Tycon hadn''t had the chance to enjoy, as ofte. Onepany-- he was integral to their murderous eradication. Then he sent his daughter off. And Lone got arrested for treason.

    ...And Isidor was leaving in the morning.

    Tycon decided to change his mind. The music of the evening wasn''t bad, at all.

    Zenon yed his guitar and he sang. The Centurion reminisced about his past (Tycon couldn''t rte), and he shared his hopes and dreams. Most of all, he spoke about his hobbies-- most notably, watching diatorial battles in the coliseum at Caeruleum.

    Tycon wondered if Zenon knew the legacy of Sol Invictus, though he wouldn''t have been surprised if he did not. The young man was born in a different generation.

    And besides the Centurion''s extensive knowledge on the topic... he showed off his extensive... collection of... diator toys.

    No... Zenon called it something else: his collection of ''figures,'' an assortment of 5 or 6-ilm carved statuettes of assumedly real persons.

    He politely, but firmly corrected Tycon when he suggested they were ''miniatures.'' Apparently, there was a difference between the two. Tycon didn''t know any better, so... ''figures'', they were.

    "Asuna, the sh, is one of my favorites," He exined, handing a light-armored female model to Isidor.

    Isidor held the figure in his open palms, knowing better than to attempt manipting it.

    "She is... pretty," Isidor held his palms out towards Tycon.

    Tycon carefully picked up the figure by its base, scrutinizing it... "The attention to detail is very good. Though the art is static, the way her clothing is carved suggests dynamic movement. Wonderful."

    He returned it to Zenon who nodded excitedly, "That''s not all. Her underwear is visible, too. Check it out!"

    With that, he popped off the figure''s armor, revealing the... excruciatingly detailed intimates underneath.

 Chapter 297 Optio

    ?Tycondrius frowned, casually observing the object of Zenon''s admiration.

    "...She wears only a brassiere underneath her armor? No tunic?"

    "Is that.... peculiar?" Isidor set his face into his well-practiced frown.

    Tycon looked up to Zenon, "She''d chafe terribly, traveling in that."

    Zenon bared his teeth in a wry grin, "Okay, maybe there''s a little... artistic interpretation. In real life, she probably wears a tunic and chain underneath her armor-- but look? She has sculpted abs!"

    Tycon and Isidor took a closer look. She did. She looked very strong.

    Zenon reced Asuna''s clothes and grabbed another figure from his disy shelf, "And this is, without a doubt, my coolest one. Behold! Orcus, god of battle!"

    Tycon carefully received the figure, a male in dark armor. He rotated it slowly, so Isidor could also see its details.

    Zenon''s ''coolest'' figure was a shadowy, almost-viinous figure. The Centurion''s expression only held awe and worship.

    Tycon couldn''t make sense of it. He thought the Tyrions far preferred holy-looking white and silver, not dark and brooding. What was the variable? Was Zenon strange? Was Orcus so popr? Or perhaps the stereotype was incorrect...

    "I thought..... all Tyrions followed... the Eternal aame...?" Isidor''s frown correctly exemplified his confusion.

    "It''s just a stage name. And it''s reaaaally cool." Zenon chuckled, taking the figure back, "He''s not actually a god, just a god of battle."

    The Centurion was met by the nk stares of both snake-persons.

    "I can see how that would be confusing to non-Tyrions," He admitted. "But really, Orcus is a legend in his own league-- a legend at the apex! He''s a hero emergent from the storm of war!"

    "Are you quite done?" Tycon frowned.

    "He''s a Champion of the Eternal me and one of the greatest heroes of mankind! This guy is something else!"

    The nk stares continued.

    "What... does that meeeean?" Isidor asked.

    "I think, in the context, it''s... a good thing," Tycon suggested.

    "What''s even cooler--" Zenon continued, "is that the title is passed on from legend to legend. This is the current Orcus-- and I have a total man-crush on him."

    Tycon was familiar with the word... crush. It referred to the figurative crushing weight of an unrequited romantic longing for a person. But... a man-crush?

    Was there a point to needlessly making such a term masculine? There was nothing wrong with respecting another man''s aplishments and expressing admiration in their physical beauty. That was what a crush was-- or so he thought. The concept didn''t seem pointedly gendered.

    Or maybe it meant something else, like the difference between figure and miniature? Tycon felt like it would be rude to keep asking, so he mentally filed the information away and nodded to imply that he understood, "I see."

    Zenon scoffed,ughing, "Don''t worry about it, Optio. It''s a very normal thing to have man-crushes on Tyrion heroes. It''s not weird, at all."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips into a slight frown, "I''m sorry... what did you just call me?"

    Zenon scratched the back of his head whileughing uneasily, "Oh, you know. Optio! Since my rank is technically Centurion, I figure you can be my Optio! It''s pretty legit''. It''s a real rank! I can do that! (You won''t get paid, though.)"

    "Taaaaake it, Brother-Tyconnnn," Isidor urged. He ced his hand to his mouth to adjust his frown into an unnatural smile, baring his pointed crocodile teeth.

    Sure, why not. What could it hurt?

    Tycon forced a smile and offered his arm, "Of course, Centurion. You are more than worthy of my loyalty."

    He and Zenon sped wrists and shook. The affirmation of friendship brought a heart-warming smile to the tall, mustachioed Librarian''s face. Tycon found afortable feeling welling in his chest, as well.

    "Yeah..." Zenon nodded, tapping a closed fist to his armored chest, "It feels pretty nice being a senior leader."

    Huh. Concerning that... to judge Zenon by his youthful face, he appeared to be in the early stage of human adulthood. Tycon did not know the exact age of his body, but as he was an adult with the Medusa bloodline, he was definitely older than 100. This didn''t include the one or more lives Tycon had transmigrated through.

    But, in order to protect his friend''s smile, he decided not to correct him with such unnecessary information.

    "And when you return home, Brother-Isidor, you can tell your buddies that you''re an honorary Duplicarius," Zenon offered.

    "Yesssss... I climb... the ranksssss," Isidor nodded his head. "The othersss will be jealousssss...."

    Tycon''s mouth twitched. He had a sudden ominous feeling that various members of the mountain factions might seek them out, asking for human-granted military ranks. The Krakhammers... the Darkfeathers... the... the Fierce Knight.

    He decided not to inform Isidor of where exactly he and Zenon would be headed to.

    ...

    The Holy Country spanned arge amount of coast on the western continent. Because of it, their seafood cuisine was the most developed in the Realm, arguably the best. Arriving in the coastal city of Silva, Tycon looked forward to a meal: a nice,rge, meaty fresh fish. Fried? Grilled, perhaps? Oooh... braised.

    The scent of the sea reminded him of his time in the Kingdom at port cities Caractere and Saint Guinefort. Though this time, he was thankful that he had yet to run into any pirates with quirky personalities.

    Instead of a regenerating, rip-and-tear Sea Wolf, Tycon had a... Librarian. What kind of ss was Librarian, anyroad? Because Zenon was a Sanctified Psyker, it meant he was a Divine or Arcane ss, capable of magic. But Librarian was... not in Tycon''s purview of ss knowledge...

    He didn''t ask.

    They were certain to get into trouble eventually-- a skirmish with a group of rogues, adventurers... adventuring rogues or rogue-adventurers. He''d find out, then.

    Tycon had a very brief glimpse of... what he thought might be cruelty in the Centurion''s easy-going personality. He looked forward to seeing more of it. Perhaps he could harness it-- utilize it as a weapon. Zenon could only grow stronger, because of it.

    "Wwwee to the City of Silva, travelers!!"

    Tycon grimaced at the voice''s owner, quickly approaching.

 Chapter 298 Footman

    ?Tycondrius and Zenon warily eyed the human that approached them, a young boy wearing vibrantly-colored clothing. A greeter of sorts?

    The boy revealed a sleazy grin of crooked teeth, "How about I give you a tour of the ce! See the sights! Live the history that is Port City Silva! Just 8 silver slugs, gentle sirs!"

    Tycon looked around the busy main road, merchant wagons and various peoples walking by. No one was paying their group any special attention. He did notice a few street performers... along with more than a few people carefully watching the crowd-- pickpockets, likely.

    He surmised that the young person who approached them preyed on travelers. But would he be useful or was he merely another street thief?

    Zenon crossed his arms, "Well, 8 silver doesn''t sound so bad..."

    Tycon red at hispanion. 8 silver? That was a brazen robbery. And the sun was bright in the sky, the child''s con clear to see.

    He narrowed his eyes at the little thief, "I''ll give you 2 if you can direct us to a decent inn."

    "Whaaaat? I got a family to feed, adventurer!" The boy feigned a hurt expression, "8 coin goin'' towards feedin'' my mum! She needs the money fer medicine!"

    That was, in no way, Tycon''s problem.

    "Sod off, whelp. We''ll find one ourselves."

    "Whoa, hold on, Optio," Zenon stopped Tycon from walking away.

    "What is it, Zenon? I''m not ''made of silver'', as it were, and neither are you." Tycon scolded, "Don''t tell me you believe this young man."

    Zenon wore a sorry expression, but a credit to his honor, he did not relent, "No, it''s not that bad. I still have some coin."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, his mouth agape, "What?! No."

    Zenon could barely afford a meal at *Olea Garden*. Tycon wouldn''t easily allow him to spend so much his hard-earned coin on a rtively useless service.

    "Fine!" Tycon growled. "I''ll pay for it."

    He stared down the boy with angry golden eyes, "What was it again? 2 silver? 3?"

    "S-six silver, sir," The boy pouted.

    "SOD OFF, you whelpling SHITE!!" Tycon raised his voice and his arms. The boy stumbled back, shrinking in fear.

    He retreated a few fulms away to safety, turning back and pointing with a rude gesture, "Yer as cheap as a Greer!"

    Tycon furrowed his brows at the insult.

    What the hells was a Greer?

    Zenon crossed his arms and looked down at him with disappointment, "Optio, that wasn''t very nice of you."

    Tycon red back... well, he red up in order to meet Zenon''s gaze, "And you think that wasn''t deserved?"

    "I don''t think it was," the Centurion frowned. "We don''t know what that kid''s been through."

    "Earning coin by earning sympathy from travelers is an effective way to survive," Tycon shrugged. "But it won''t be my coin. And it shouldn''t be yours, either."

    Zenon remained unconvinced.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Anyroad..." Tycon rolled his eyes, "How about you listen to the conversation that the young man is having with his next mark?"

    The crooked-teeth boy had approached another group of travelers, led by a merchant who appeared to have some wealth, "Wee to the City of Silva, sir! I''m a servant of princes and senators, alike! I''ll show you the sights of the city for 15 silver!"

    "15... It sounds a bit much," The merchant grimaced, deep in thought.

    "I''ve got to, sir! My dad''s in a wheelchair! Got both ''is legs chopped off in the war ''gainst the Snakes!"

    Zenon crossed his arms, "Well... it might... be true?"

    Though the Centurion spoke the words, theycked the support of his earlier confidence.

    "Or is it more likely that the boy is utilizing deception?" Tycon waved the thought away without waiting for Zenon''s response, turning to walk off, "Regardless of what is true, let''s be off. I wish to find a ce that serves braised fish and hopefully has a decent m and cream soup."

    "Y-yeah..."

    The Librarian took ast look at the boy in the distance before hurrying to catch up.

    ...

    The two friends found a lovely restaurant in amercial area, near the Silva Adventurer''s Guild. It was cheap and their specialty was a slow-cooked cauldron of the m soup that effectively sated Tycon''s pte. They''d prepared gallons of the stuff each day, and the longer it stewed in the cauldron, the more tender the ms, the pork, and the root vegetables became.

    Zenon enjoyed himself, though he waxed more upon the fact that their prices were reasonable, rather than on the food''s quality.

    Tycon was waiting for him to admit that that fare was a great step up from Olea Garden... The admission never came.

    They inquired of the eatery staff about a trustworthy inn. With their shop''s location, they catered to adventurers daily. Tycon trusted their rmendation over that of a snot-nosed child-thief.

    Upon leaving the restaurant, Zenon lowered his head, whispering quietly to Tycon, "Looks like the me''s on our side today, Optio."

    Tycon pursed his lips... "You are a Centurion of the Church of the Eternal me. Isn''t your deity... always on your side?"

    "It was a figure of speech." Zenon''s mouth twitched. He pointed stealthily with his palm, "Take a look. That''s our guy."

    Tycon looked over, his face scrunching up in confusion. He observed a young human male speaking with a group of adventurers.

    "Yes. That is a... ''guy''... but concerning the young gentleman being ''ours'', I had thought... we were searching for a youngdy?"

    "Check out the tabard he''s wearing. That''s a footman of House Vanzano."

    He''s a footman of House... No. Tycon must have misheard Zenon. He turned, his brows furrowed hard, and his eyes squinted in disbelief, "I''m sorry. You said..."

    "I''m pretty sure I know who he is, too," Zenon continued. "You see... Orcus, the God of War, has a twin brother. And I think that''s the guy."

    "No, the other thing," Tycon red.

    "Right. It''s a stage name. It''s really cool, right?" Zenon exined, the slightest tinge of irritation in his voice. "He''s not really a god. And we don''t really worship him--"

    "No..." Tycon huffed a deep sigh, "The house name, Centurion. What did you say it was?"

 Chapter 299 Surrounded By Trash

    ?The conversation Tycondrius was having with Zenon reminded him of simr back-and-forths with the other Sol Invictus members... notably the Titanblood buffoon Dragan Ashlord and the Void-worshipping Daeva, Tarquin Wroe. However, Centurion Zenon Skyreaper was no fool...

    ...At least that was something Tycon desperately wished to be true.

    Perhaps Tycon had misspoken during the conversation... That was the reason for getting such asinine answers. Yes, that was it...

    "Yeah, Optio!" Zenon raised an eyebrow, "House Vanzano! The house of Sanctum Parmrius Maximus-- the greatest diator known to Ezyria."

    Tycon couldn''t help but inwardly apud the arrangements of Archbishop Natalya Crucis. It was not enough to rely on his honor as an adventurer or his sincerity inpleting Queen Rnia''s objectives. The quest Natalya engineered was one that Tycon would have a personal desire to seed to the best of his ability.

    The Church of the Eternal me knew well how to effectively utilize guilt in their machinations... and the guilt that weighed upon Tycon for allowing Maximus to die was by no means small.

    However... the house of Maximus, well apparently that was a "stage name"-- the house belonging to the deceased Gian Vanzano had... fallen? He couldn''t fathom how. Gian was a popr Ezyrian diator and went on to serve honorably in one of the militant arms of the Church of the Eternal me. His fame was immense and would certainly extend to his family''s businesses...

    The Vanzano footman in the Adventurer''s za was a pale human with slicked-back, bleached-white hair. By the young man''s features andck of facial hair, he was a young adult or barely just. He was nearly as tall as Zenon-- so near a head taller than himself... which Tycon found slightly annoying.

    He wore sculpted-muscle leather armor and a white tabard over it, disying a stylized lightning bolt painted in ck. Tycon recalled that Maximus had the same symbol on his own shield and armor, though colored differently.

    Most peculiar was that the young man carried no weapon... not even a sword on his side.

    ? Vanzano Footman, Human, Unknown Rank, Unknown ss ?

    ...The System''s analysis of him proved rtively useless. Tycon had experienced the phenomenon once before, so he had his hypotheses... but he couldn''t be certain. Still, he knew not to act carelessly around anybatant whose strength he could not approximate.

    The footman was conversing with a couple of adventurers. Those two, however, did not look strong at all.

    ? Bronze-Rank Human Knight; Bronze-Rank Human Rogue. ?

    "Just one dungeon," The footman insisted. "It''ll be easy. In. Out. And we''re done."

    "Yeah, I''m not really feeling it," The Rogue pursed her lips. "You''re really not offering the right amount of coin for that sort of job."

    "me take you, man." The Knight huffed, "You should be paying *us* for wasting our time."

    The footman was a dungeon runner? Interesting.

    "Should we go talk to him?" Zenon offered.

    "Hmm." Tycon ced his hand on his chin in thought, "Let''s wait a moment. I''d like to see how this ys out."

    ...

    Trash.

    All I''m surrounded by is filth and trash.

    Tanamar of House Vanzano wore the fakest gods-damned smile he could muster, "Well, thank you for your time, Miss."

    The Rogue was somewhat-civil. He''d been treated worse-- much worse, even during the span of the two bells he''d spent recruiting.<novelnext></novelnext>

    House Vanzano''s reputation was in the dirt, and even the adventurers knew it... No one had ever heard of the Stormbrand adventuringpany before, so few unguilded adventurers cared to risk joining.

    And then the garbage-looking Knight dared to ask for more coin.

    "Oh. Well... Sir Knight..." Tanamar felt his mouth twitch.

    Mana surged through his arms and chest as he thought he''d like nothing more than to jam a Holy Lance up the man''s arse. And not in the sexy way. Though he figured that his Rogue probably railed him every night with a wooden cock.

    She looked like she wore the pants in that rtionship.

    Tanamar reigned in his mana-- he didn''t know why he bothered. The idiot probably couldn''t even tell he was so close to bleeding to death via irreparably torn rectum, "What do you think the going rate for your services should be?"

    The Knight thought it over, trying his best to not look like he was pulling a random number out of his arse, "Two gold coins would suffice."

    It didn''t matter what the f*cker said. Tanamar wasn''t going to pay him shite.

    "Oh, very well," He nodded. "Well. Thank you. For your time."

    A vein was throbbing on his forehead and he felt a migraine quickly approaching. Thankfully, the two went on their way before Tanamar could lose his gods-damnedposure.

    Trash. Absolute and utter trash. He was fine with the Rogue and Knight noting along. Chances were they''d need to be coddled, anyroad.

    He wished he and Athena couldplete dungeons with just the two of them. He had aplete and utter disdain for recruiting... but he needed more bodies to throw into the meat grinder.

    ...This was his life now.

    And he supposed he''d sacrifice two of his own gods-damned gold coins, trying to recruit the next meatshield.

    ...

    "He looks professional," Zenon nodded in approval.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "He looks like he''s about to kill everyone in the za... Open your senses to see the mana he''s trying to hold in."

    Zenon took a second look... "Oh. Well." He crossed his arms, "F*ck."

    "Aptly stated," Tycon scoffed.

    Iron-Rank mana. That solved one of Tycon''s questions. Iron-Rank, considering the footman''s age, though, was very, very good. Lone was a few years older and hadn''t reached that level (though he didn''t know it.) Zenon was Iron-Rank, also older, and had the benefit of being cultivated by the Church as a Sanctified Psyker.

    Zenon didn''t seem to think anything special of it... Either he was used to being surrounded by Iron-Rankers, or he didn''t judge people based on the quality of their mana.

    In the case of the former-- the concept that the Church had Iron-Rankers hidden behind every column horrified him. In the case of thetter... it proved that Zenon was a more righteous person than he was.

    Tycon very much preferred to judge people by their mana output. He liked to know who he could and could not kill at a moment''s notice.

    With a tacit gesture to Zenon, the two of them began to approach the Vanzano footman.

 Chapter 300 Warehouse

    ?The white-haired footman straightened his back, seeing two gentlemen approach, one armored, one cloaked... Tycondrius found it amusing that they resembled another Knight and Rogue.

    The young man nodded warily, scrutinizing them both, "Good afternoon. How can I help you?"

    Tycon rested his halberd against his shoulder and unbuckled the top of his cloak to reveal the Decanus armor underneath. At least the armor and weaponry worn by himself and Zenon were far more professional than the footman''s previous numbskulls.

    "Zenon, Iron-Rank Librarian," The Centurion gave a friendly smile. "Long-range caster."

    "Tycon. I operate as an Iron-Rank Tactician. Mid-range support," Tycon stated.

    "Ah, you guys are here for recruitment," The footman smiled... but disappointment was evident in his eyes. "Tanamar, Iron-Rank Holy Lancer, footman of House Vanzano. Thank you two for being professional-- haven''t had much of that, recently."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is there an issue?"

    "Oh, no," Tanamar grimaced. "I was just hoping for a ss with heavy armor specialization. Always need those."

    For a typical monster-subjugation quest, any possible threat could be reduced by fielding arger number of adventurers. It was upon that concept that the Rhodok Adventuring Company built its reputation. Dungeons, however, tended to be inside of cavern structures, old ruins, or otherwise had limited space. In such conditions, sess via overwhelming numbers was highly inefficient. Efficient dungeoneering utilized fielding a number of quality individuals, reasonably synergistic teampositions, and working as a team.

    Decent defense-type sses were sought after in dungeons... but not because the sses were rare. Armored Knights, Weaponmaster Fighters... even low-tier Warriors were fairlymon. The difficulty was that the defensive roles in a dungeon were responsible for the well-being of several others in their team. With that setting, attention-to-detail, quick thinking, physical reflexes... all of their ws became much more apparent.

    Shield Maiden Gianna and Champion Sixtus performed well, protecting their allies in the thick ofbat... and they were two out of two-hundred Rhodoks. Adventurers of their caliber, Tycon judged as far fewer than 1%.

    Sol Invictus did have a powerful armored ss... the Iron-Rank Berserk Knight, Seldin Korr. Should this mission require her assistance, he''d send Sorina Capulet a missive via the Courier''s Guild.

    The young Tanamar again forced a smile. His annoyance was clear, but the two of them didn''t seem to be the source of his frustrations, "Since you two are interested in running with the Stormbrands, let me tell you about our requirements."

    The young man''s ''''requirements'' wereughably simple.

    1. Don''t be an idiot.

    2. Listen to directions.

    3. Offering two gold pieces to recruit an armored ss.

    Tycon thought deeply about the list, "Your first... requirement seems... like it should be a well-understood, unspoken rule?"

    That considered, the second rule also seemed redundant.

    Tanamar shook his head, "Oh, you sweet summer child..."

    What did that mean?

    ...Was he being insulted? Concerning age, the footman was far more of a child than Tycon was.

    The sound of bells rang out through the adventurer''s za before Tycon could ask.

    "Aw, me take me," Tanamar grit his teeth. "I have to go. Come by the Vanzano estate in four bells and we''ll talk more."

    The footman hurried off at a steady jog.

    Zenon pursed his lips into a grimace and looked down to Tycon... "Anything you wanna do that''ll take four bells, Optio?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "No, there is not." Tycon shrugged, "Let''s follow him."

    ...

    Following the Holy Lancer''s trail, Tycon and Zenon eventually found the young man... driving an oxen-pulled cart... full of marketables?

    "Yeah, looks good! Back it up nice and slow, Tanamar!" A warehouse overseer called out.

    "What... what is he doing?" Zenon asked, incredulous.

    "He appears to be working a part-time job... driving a cart into a warehouse," Tycon crossed his arms, mulling over the thought of it.

    "No, I mean... he''s a footman of a noble house. Why would he be working a second job?" The Centurion crinkled his mustache.

    Tycon had simr thoughts... He observed Tanamar''s skill in checking over his shoulder to judge distance, directing the oxen, and listening to the overseer''smands. It was clearly not the young man''s first sun-- he looked like he''d been working dutifully for weeks or moons.

    House Vanzano should rightfully belong to a social circle of wealthy noble peers. If word surfaced that one of their footmen was forced to work a second job... and in a mundane business... they would receive nothing but contempt and derision.

    But surely Tanamar must know that?

    Tycon approached the cart, raising his voice, "Tanamar of House Vanzano..."

    "Holy shite!" The young man jumped in surprise, nearly out of his seat.

    The Holy Lancer was still wearing his tabard-- he wasn''t hiding his identity, at all. He really shouldn''t have been that surprised.

    Tanamar''s mouth twitched, "I...mend you on your interest in joining the Stormbrands."

    "I''d like to address the fact that you''re working as amonborer." Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin slits, irritation hastening his speech, "You are a footman of *House Vanzano*. Do they not pay you enough?"

    "I can exin... just give me a bit," He sucked in air through his teeth but kept quiet until he could park the cart properly.

    The young man had excellent work ethic. Tycon could not fault him for that.

    Dismounting the cart, Tanamar thanked the warehouse overseer for his patience. Thetter seemed... apologetic about the job, while the footman offered unabated thanks for the opportunity.

    Tycon feared that Natalya''s quest was even more difficult than he''d anticipated.

    Tanamar faced Tycon and crossed his arms, hesitant..."House Vanzano... is not doing well financially, right now."

    "That seems... painfully obvious," Centurion Zenon shook his head.

    "...Who''s in charge of the House?" Tycon furrowed his brows, "Do they know about this?"

    "Athena''s parents are... and they don''t know."

    "And the young mistress?" Tycon interrogated, "Does she know?"

    "Ehh... let''s just say she doesn''t." Tanamar grimaced, baring his teeth, "And let''s just say... I''d rather she not find out."

 Chapter 301 Athena

    ?Tanamar of House Vanzano scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, "Athena''s doing everything she can-- trying to fend off the family''s debt collectors, dungeon-running, training to be a junior officer in the Silva Academy... If she found out I was doing this on the side to recruit for the Stormbrands..."

    He hesitated, frowning deeply... "It would cause her a lot of... worry that she doesn''t need."

    She sounded like a most-diligent youngdy. Tycondrius wondered how much of the footman''s words were true. His methodologies would change, depending on Athena''s hardworking demeanor.

    "Is that Tanamar?"A female voice rang out, high and clear, like a soft bell.

    The youngdy''s voice was a light contrast to the footman''s gruff voice, Zenon''s smooth voice, and whatever voice Tycon had-- that he was certain was very deep, and more attractive than that of his twopanions.

    "Optio." Zenon leaned down with his hand cupped to whisper into Tycon''s ear, "That''s Athena."

    "I gathered," Tycon narrowed his eyes, observing the approaching girl.

    "Oh! It is Tanamar! Hey!" Upon Athena ensuring that the cart driver was indeed her footman, she hurried her steps in excitement.

    She was young, a teenager, not yet an adult by human standards. Her hair was an icy-pale shade of blue, hinting at Outsider blood, like her brother, Maximus.

    ? Athena Vanzano, Unranked Human Warrior. ?

    The System rated her as... human, *unlike* Maximus. That wasn''t a pressing issue, as bloodline abilities could be unlocked as she cultivated. Tycon honed in on the fact that her ss was Warrior. Outside of Hidden Sects, most humans did not begin cultivation at younger ages. Thus, that she had abat ss at her age meant her martial abilities held some promise.

    The youngdy wore a solid steel armor breastte that covered her torso. It looked inexpensive and... somewhat aged but its condition showed careful treatment. Interestingly, her style of armor was also unlike her brother''s. Maximus'' armor looked simr to Tycon''s-- in the style worn by the rank-and-file Decani and Munifices of the Holy Country''s military-proper. Athena''s armor was closer in design to the ponderous, heavy armor worn by the Church-- like Zenon''s armor.

    Besides carrying a small sack of what appeared to be groceries, Athena also wore a thin sword, hanging in a scabbard on her waist. Tanamar mentioned the youngdy was taking part in Academy training. She looked every part a young Armor Knight''s squire or a Champion-to-be.

    She also stood shorter than Tycon. That was nice. He found it bothersome that everyone he tended to associate with was taller than he was. He was the shortest male member of Sol Invictus, save Pale.

    Pale was 10.

    ...Or was he 11 now?

    Athena smiled so wide that her eyes squinted into upturned curves, "Tanamar, what are you doing in the market streets?"

    Tanamar''s eyes widened, his pupils shaking in his eyes, "Oh, Athena... I was just, uh... talking to these adventurers about... adventuring."

    Tycon thought that sounded like a reasonable excuse. The young footman could have instilled a bit more confidence in his speech, though.

    The blue-haired girl tilted her head, "Because it looked like you were driving that cart, just now?"

    Tycon frowned. The youngdy was sharp. That was generally good. For Tanamar''s situation, it was not so.

    "Oh, no... I was just... helping," Tanamar turned to Tycon, pleading for assistance with his eyes.

    Tycon sighed inwardly. He supposed that protecting the status quo of the young footman''s rtionship was one of the many facets his quest entailed.

    "Good afternoon, youngdy. My name is Tycon and this is Centurion Zenon. Your man, Tanamar, has provided invaluable assistance thus far."

    Tycon hoped she wouldn''t ask for a rification. He didn''t have one prepared.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The young noblewoman saluted promptly, crisply and with professional zeal, "My greetings to you, Sir Tycon. Centurion Zenon."

    Tycon rated her salute a 5 out of 5-- very promising, indeed.

    "Ehehe..." She giggled, smiling shyly, "But Tanamar''s not my boyfriend."

    "I''m sorry, what?" Tycon furrowed his brows in confusion, his lips twisting to the side. The young woman''s response was... unexpected.

    "Oh, he''s not my boyfriend," Athena exined. "I mean, he''s very handsome-- but I''m not old enough to be dating anyone."

    "I... I see," Tycon nodded, pretending to understand.

    "What are *you* doing in the market streets, Athena?" Tanamar asked.

    Hm... The two were on a first name basis? Tanamar didn''t refer to Athena as ''Lady'' or ''Mistress''. They seemed quite close... and Tycon noted that their ages were not far apart. He had an inkling that Athena''s ''he''s not my boyfriend'' would be more urate as ''he''s not my boyfriend *yet*.''

    ...Dealing with the rtionship tension between two parties was very well outside of Tycon''s expertise. He hoped the concept wouldn''t inevitably cause him issues.

    Athena nodded, "The grocery stalls are closing up soon. I was going to ask if they were going to throw any of their stale bread out."

    Her smile almost glowed in radiance, "We can have bread and milk for dinner! One of the farmers gave me a free bottle of the stuff as I was walking past."

    She held up her grocery bag as redundant proof... revealing some red-lined scratches on the back of her main hand.

    "Oh, I have to go quickly! I spent a little bit ying with some kittens abandoned in that alleyway..." She sighed, "I just wish we could adopt them... but that would mean more mouths to feed."

    And with that, Athena gave another respectful salute and hurried away.

    The trio of Tycon, Tanamar, and Zenon watched her back as she departed.

    "It''s funny," Tanamar mused. "Athena likes animals, but... they don''t tend to like her, much."

    "...Well, that was something." Zenon looked over, "What do you think, Optio?"

    The youngdy radiated an interesting aura... one that touched upon a base instinct, urging him to protect her innocence from everything that wished to deal her harm.

    Tycon took a deep breath, "I will restore House Vanzano''s honor, no matter how many Tyrions I have to kill."

    Zenon looked down in disapproval.

    Tycon pursed his lips, returning Zenon''s gaze... "Is it toote to rify that I was speaking figuratively?"

    "Centurion? Optio? And you guys are with the Church?" Tanamar crossed his arms, frowning, "You didn''t approach me just to join the Stormbrands..."

    "Astute observation," Tycon smiled weakly. "I would prefer exining only once. Let us meet at the Vanzano estate once you finish your shift."

 Chapter 302 Repent (Part One)

    ?Tycondrius of Sol Invictus neatly folded his hood and cloak, cing it into his pack. His Decani swords too, he put away. Too many weapons would weigh him down... and would look ridiculous, besides.

    He unwrapped his halberd de, taking a rag to polish the metal to a ''divine'' gleam.

    Tycon wore his sculpted Decanus breastte made of Tyrion steel-- no helmet, though. Besides carrying his halberd, he wore an enchanted dagger on the small of his back. He also wore one other enchanted item, a pair of thick-leather, steel-toed boots that felt lighter than their materials would suggest.

    The dagger and boots were spoils from a deceased Assassin back in the Kingdom. He''d eschewed them during his stint with the Rhodoks in order to better fit in. With the current situation, he and Zenon would appear as unique special forces agents of the Church.

    They might even be mistaken as Avengers to the uninformed.

    There were two ways Tycon figured to approach House Vanzano. The first was to offer himself as a ''hero'', as it were-- selfless and oozing with patience and benevolence. With his ''heroic'' help, the noble House Vanzano would return to its former glories, utilizing the power of friendship, trust, and hard work.

    That would take far too long.

    The second way was to act as he always did: as a tyrant. He would not have his authority questioned. He would not have his strength questioned. He would return House Vanzano to its former glory, regardless of their wishes.

    Tycon wound up his crossbow mechanism, locking the safety mechanism. He specifically separated the poisoned bolts from the not-so-poisonous ones, keeping thetter as his default.

    He nced over to his tallpanion, "Centurion, are you nearly finished with your preparations?"

    "I was born prepared to fight against wickedness and heresy that hides in the hearts of men," Zenon''s voice resounded, echoing from inside a full-helmet.

    Zenon Skyreaper stood 6 and a half fulms tall, covered in Centurion armor, metal greaves, and metal gauntlets. For this operation, he also chose to wear a reinforced full-helmet that hid his face. He looked nothing like the rank-and-file Rhodoks, whose armor was essentially the same as that of the Tyrion military. The militant arm of the Church of the Eternal me was the true force behind the Holy Country''s might.

    Tycon mentally noted that if Optio Sixtus of the Rhodoks was wearing the Church''s Centurion armor, he would have been easily able to contain the Manticore''s attacks. Further, the Champion would not have fallen in a mere two strikes while fighting against Isidor.

    Most intimidating about Zenon''s armor were the tri-de ws attached to his forearms. They emitted a low hum and asionally sparked with bluish lightning mana.

    Zenon was... a Librarian. Why did he have lightning ws? Tycon thought that Librarians... took care of... a library... with books.

    ...Perhaps he was a protector of said libraries?

    Who in the seven hells and eleven heavens would want to siege a library so badly... that the Church armed their Librarians with lightning ws?

    A shiver ran down Tycon''s spine. Were the Librarians tasked with recovering overdue books? Did he have any overdue books?

    ...Bah. What useless thoughts. Zenon had a fearsome appearance. Tycon would just be thankful for it.

    "The wicked shall kneel before the righteous," Zenon''s metallic voice echoed within his helm.

    Tycon smirked and added one of the Church''s adages he was familiar with, "By fire and steel, their souls shall be redeemed."

    ...

    From afar, the Vanzano estate was no different from the others in Silva''s wealthy residential district. Upon approaching, Tycondrius and Zenon were greeted by the sights of withered trees, untrimmed bushes, and vines biting into the house''s worked-stone. The courtyard was filled with ugly grass, overgrown and discolored, and had a small pond covered with a thinyer of filth.

    Tycon did not look forward to seeing interior of the Vanzano manor, proper.

    He expected some sort of guard or door-man by the gates. Instead, the duo found an unsavory dozen humans, the lot of them armed. They did not appear to have an affiliation with the noble house.

    Trespassers, then? Or perhaps the debt collectors that Tanamar mentioned?<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Centurion, it seems we dressed properly for the asion," Tycon mused.

    "Their blood upon my boots will be my offering of prayer to the me," Zenon responded.

    Tycon''s mouth twitched. It felt like Zenon putting on his helmet... changed his personality. Or maybe Tycon had grownfortable with Zenon''s ''personal-demeanor'' and this was the gentleman''s ''work-demeanor''?

    Very professional. He approved.

    Zenon stared down through his emotionless helmet, "Shall we make *inquiries* to those adventurers about the reasons for their visit?"

    "Unnecessary," Tycon shook his head. "I''m certain they will be forting, even without."

    He strode towards the armed group, halberd in hand. A sharply dressed brte eyed him with uncertainty. She wore a short sword on her side at the center of their formation. An unfriendly gaze observed him from the back of their group, an Iron-Rank Ruffian who was the strongest amongst them.

    Tycon was better armored and better geared than any of his opponents. Further, they had no idea that he was a Gold-Ranker. He could murder them all with his bare hands if he wished.

    He wondered if his opponents would be... wise enough to watch their words.

    "Who in the me are you?" One of the Bronze-Rankers spoke in an impolite voice.

    Oh, good. Gooood. That one was not wise.

    Tycon nced up. He was holding a halberd. The halberd was glowing with magical white light, an ?Emberglow? spell cast by Zenon. It wasn''t functionally useful, as the sun was still out... but Tycon was obviously backed by someone who used Divine magic.

    Divine magic belonged to the Church of Eternal me.

    The Bronze-Ranker... was questioning a man of the Church. He wasn''t wise, at all.

    Zenon Skyreaper loomed over him from behind, a machine of war cultivated by the Church of the Eternal me. Symbols of mes were emzoned onto his armor, sacred texts inscribed into the metal. His armor literally glowed with sanctified enchantments.

    Regardless of whoever these people''s backers were, the Church of the Eternal me stood above them. Though Tycon wore no such imagery, the fact that Zenon stood by him was enough to prove his association.

    Tycon had the status to do as he pleased. It would be a waste not to take advantage of it.

    He ced both hands on his halberd. He pulled the haft back with one hand and powered the de downward with the other, dropping his weight.

    He channeled mana into the strike, too.

    Why shouldn''t he?

    The lightning-fast strike bit deep into the Bronze-Rank''s shoulder, nearly severing it from his body. Tycon grinned, chuckling. The man''s throaty scream was like a wonderful song, pleasant to his ears.

    He reached forward with his offhand and grasped the man''s neck, halting the noise-- almost as if they had agreed upon the act beforehand.

    Tycon was so pleased, he decided to whisper a friendly suggestion.

    "Repent."

 Chapter 303 Repent (Part Two)

    ?Tycondrius lifted the human up by the neck. The man wed at Tycon''s grip with his good arm and he kicked at his feet, unable to reach the ground.

    The response was good... but it was... wrong.

    An annoyed frown etched into Tycon''s face. He was looking for a specific response: Repentance.

    Why was no one repenting? He had specifically requested it.

    Perhaps the man hadn''t heard him? Arge amount of adrenaline should be coursing through the gentleman''s veins-- after all, his useless arm was a sliver of bone away from falling off of his body.

    Tycon hated repeating himself, but circumstance seemed to demand it. He was used to shouting in hecticbat situations, but he wished the notion hadn''t annoyed him so.

    "REPENT!!!" Tycon screamed into the man''s face, "--or your LIVES ARE FORFEIT!!!"

    He changed his halberd grip, moving it up to just below the de, "?Legionbreaker.?"

    With the sharpened mana sheathing his weapon''s edge, he released the man''s neck with his offhand. For the briefest of moments, relief washed over the ruffian''s expression... Then Tycon struck the top of the de with his fist, fully severing the man''s arm from his body.

    Blood spilled onto the ground in a gruesome fashion, spurting the fellow''s life force energetically along with his heartbeat.

    Tycon grabbed the man''s neck once more, mming him into the fencing surrounding the Vanzano estate.

    All the fellow had to do was repent. From Tycon''s memories, it didn''t seem so difficult. Was Tycon doing something wrong? Was he not being taken seriously?

    ...Well, the fellow in his grasp was going to bleed to death. At least that one could be an example to the others for not doing as they were told.

    Tycon stabbed his weapon into the pinned man''s abdomen then into his chest. Then, he tossed the useless corpse onto the floor.

    He would have been nicer, had the fellow repented properly.

    ncing back to Zenon for assurance, the tall Librarian was watching in silence, an unmoving, ever-judging observer.

    He nced back to the thugs surrounding him. They were no markings of allegiance, not to the city of Silva, nor to any particr adventurer''s guild. They were unnamed trash.

    Yet they had not yet knelt and begged for forgiveness?

    It was odd. Had these people not experienced the tyranny of the Church of the Eternal me? In Tycon''s memories, it wouldn''t be an exaggeration to say it was amon urrence.

    Perhaps they were in shock? Tycon decided to continue on. He had only killed one man. Before he changed his tactics, he''d kill a second, just to be certain this approach was ineffective.

    The same rule applied to long-range marksmanship. Shoot twice before adjusting your aim for other factors, like the wind, and misaligned crossbow sights.

    Tycon regripped his halberd and swung it in a wide arc around his head, chopping into another man''s right side-- severing his arm at the elbow. There was more screaming-- not from that fellow, that fellow was dead. The man''spanions were screaming, drawing their weapons, their eyes rightfully shining with fear.

    It took them so long to react, though... Were they not often embroiled in suchbat situations? They looked like a ragged bunch of thieves. Were they stunned by Tycon''s handsomeness? Pah. This was why he often wore a hood or helmet.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Wait!! Stop this madness!!" A woman yelled-- the sharp-eyed one.

    Still, it wasn''t what Tycon was looking for.

    He''d continue on.

    Tycon swung his halberd, nging against a thug''s sword and forcing their arm back. With the opening, he then shoved his halberd''s point into the man''s throat.

    Tearing the weapon to the left, Tycon stuck the de''s edge into the side of a woman''s neck-- deep into the jugr vein. She released the sword in her hand and copsed to the floor, convulsing from the blood loss.

    Switching grips once more, Tycon kept his offhand on his halberd and reached for the dagger on his lower back.

    ? Dynamic Weapon. Second-Circle Magical Short Sword. Weapon''s form can be changed to a ded weapon of the wielder''s choice. Soulbound to host. ?

    It was a lovely, multi-faceted weapon.

    Tycon had a favorite weapon, which he used often, adventuring in the Kingdom. It was a whip, one with sharpened razor des at its ends. It was particrly dangerous and peculiar in that it needed many bells of practice to be proficient in its use. He found it aesthetically pleasing.

    Against stronger opponents, it was more useful as a whip, binding limbs or providing a painful distraction. Against Bronze-Rankers and below... it was quite cruel.

    Tycon gripped the dagger''s hilt, charging it with mana. Glowing a radiant white, the weapon segmented, the metal stretched, and its pieces nged together, rebuilt magically as a short sword.

    With a forward-flick of his wrist, the de''s segments loosened once more. A pliable ''rope'' of mana kept each section of edged-metal shrapnel together. Functionally, the Dynamic Weapon was his familiar whip, except unnecessarily stylish.

    The segmented sword had wrapped around a human''s neck. Tycon pulled. The des wrought havoc on the gentleman''s flesh, ripping into it... tearing, exposing the man''s windpipe to open air and spilling more fresh blood onto the street.

    The woman-- the smart one, finally rushed forward, kneeling down at Tycon''s feet, "Please!! I''ll tell you everything!!"

    Everything? No, that wouldn''t be good enough.

    Tycon snapped his wrist to the side, his weapon reforming into its original short sword form. He pressed the short sword''s tip against the side of the brte''s neck. He''d make it quick.

    "Optio," Zenon''s metallic voice resounded in his helmet.

    Tycon froze his movements. No... Haha... His face still moved. He wasn''t aware of just when-- but he found that he was grinning.

    Tycon steadily increased the pressure on his weapon. A rivulet of blood dripped down from underneath her short brown hair, running down her neck.

    "Optio, that''s enough," Zenon repeated himself. A boom of power thrummed from where the Centurion stood, tossing up dust and forcing the remaining humans to stagger a step back.

    The woman quietly sobbed, the stones beneath her, wet with her cowardice.

    Tycon tilted her head up with the t of his de, "Do you repent?"

 Chapter 304 Repent (Part Three)

    ?"I... I repent, Lord..." The woman cried, "Please... have mercy."

    She begged without looking up at him. Her hair was a mess and miserable tears streamed down her face, ruining her dark makeup.

    Tycondrius pursed his lips. He couldn''t believe that this woman thought that only this level of sincerity would be enough. Where was the gnashing of teeth? The dashing of her head against the stones? She hadn''t even torn out her hair in grief!

    Humans, these suns...

    "F-forgive me," The woman sobbed quietly. It didn''t even sound like she was talking to him, anymore. That was a step in the right direction.

    "Oh? For what, youngdy?" Tycon prodded.

    Yes. Apologize for your weakness. Apologize that your faith was not strong enough to protect you. Apologize for the fates damning you to be at this exact spot when two members of the gods-damned Church of the Eternal me were trying to have a nice, mid-afternoon stroll.

    "We... we came to... to collect the money owed," The woman sniffled.

    She dared to look up.

    The audacity aggravated him.

    Tycon leaned his head forward, close enough to taste the woman''s delicious tears.

    "Wrong answer," He whispered.

    "Grrrrr... Let... GO OF HERRRR!!!" The Iron-Rank Ruffian yelled.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, ncing at the bellowing fool, rushing heroically to his death.

    Hm. He figured he could drop his sword and grab his crossbow with his main hand... but no, cleaving the short sword through the young woman''s neck would be more efficient. Then, he''d be able to face the oing Iron-Ranker without distractions.

    "The HELLSWORN SKY is beholden to ME!!" Centurion Skyreaper yelled, his voice booming and echoing like an angry god, "It is by MY HAND that decides whether you live or DIE!!"

    The armored Centurion held out his hand and the sprinting Iron-Ranker stopped as if his neck was caught by an invisible force. Winds swirled around the purple-faced man''s form as he levitated into the air, mortal hands desperately grasping at the blurred mana wrapped around his throat. Suspended in the air, the man rotated, faster and faster-- surrounded by a localized windstorm of dust, trash, and road debris.

    The man''s scream was quick and concise. There hadn''t seemed to have been much air remaining in his lungs. However, in that short breath, the fellow urately conveyed to his allies just how much pain he was experiencing in that sensational moment.

    Masterfully done.

    The man fell lifelessly back to the ground. The fellow''s armor looked like it was thrown off a rocky mountainside, twice or thrice. The flesh on his face, his arms, his legs-- everything exposed was torn to unrecognizable ribbons of marbled meat, exposing bits and fragments of tooth and bone. Warm blood had sttered onto the ground, droplets on everyone present, like a mischievous child had pissed into the wind.

    The Librarian''s name was Skyreaper. Tycon found it fitting.

    "Now, loyal citizens of my beloved Holy Country..." The Centurion roared. "-- KNEEL!!!"

    The remaining brigands quickly got to their knees.

    "PRAISE THE ETERNAL FLAME!!" Skyreaper ordered.

    The humans prostrated themselves against the bloodied road, weeping, praying for mercy... begging with strained breaths for the benevolence of the me.

    The woman too, she wept, she begged for forgiveness, apologizing for inane and unintelligible sins she hadmitted. She even cracked her forehead against the stone.

    Tycon stood up and crossed his arms. This was the response he wanted! He''d thought he''d given it a good effort... He made a mental note to ask his Centurion for tips, afterward.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "WHO SENT YOU?" Zenon Skyreaper demanded, his voice echoing deep into the broken hearts and minds of his flock.

    "H-house Gnis, Lord," The woman screamed. "We are innocent!"

    "Tsss," Tycon sneered, his teeth bared. He tapped the woman''s cheek with the t of his de, "Innocence proves *nothing*."

    Tycon tilted his head up, his gaze meeting with those of the various survivors, "The lot of you. Take your dead and leave. Should House Gnis require reparations, know that they ask not men, but the Holy Church of the Eternal me."

    They hesitated. Of course, they would.

    Tycon stabbed his sword into the woman''s bicep. Twisting the de to drive the point home, the woman cried out in both agony of the flesh and praise for her god.

    Good. She would live.

    "NNNNOW!!!" Tycon roared.

    Quickly, the humans moved, taking the corpses and running faster than they''ve ever run in their lives.

    "And you, speak..." Tycon smirked at the woman clutching her bleeding arm. "--but choose your words... carefully."

    ...

    House Gnis was not a noble house, it seemed. It was a quiet, underworld power. Should they send more, Tycondrius had no issues paying them... a visit. He had no interest in making friends ''properly''in the Holy Country.

    Tycon used a healing skill on the Gnis whore to prevent her from going into shock or bleeding out. She would remember the pain. She would remember her fear and helplessness. If she sought to act against him, she would be wholly cognizant of the risks in provoking him.

    After the unsavory group had left, Zenon Skyreaper took off his helmet, "Optio, by the me, what was that?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "What? Do agents of the Church not act like that?"

    "No, they..." Zenon hesitated. "They... they do. I just..."

    "Yes, Centurion?"

    "I figured you''d be more... reluctant to spark conflict, being in the Holy Country." Zenon grimaced... "Say, Optio... have you worked for the Church in the past?"

    Tycon smiled politely in response. He did not-- not to memory, at least. He acted with the proper arrogance that he expected of the Church of the Eternal me. The Church was little more than murderers sanctioned by their god, demanding absolute faith and judging doubt as a heresy of one of the highest orders.

    He was surprised that there was so much hesitation in the enemy party.

    ...Oh. Tycon recalled that his memories of the various factions of the Realm were decades old. Was it umon for agents of the Church to act as he did? ...But Zenon asked if he was a former agent?

    Curious...

    Tycon took out a cloth rag and began to wipe the blood from his weapons, "Shall we seek to enter the manor?"

    "Yeah." Zenon twisted his lips... "But I''d like to *talk* to the manor''s people before ending them."

    Tycon chuckled to himself. He had no intention of making such a promise.

 Chapter 305 Circular Logic

    ?Tycondrius hefted his bag over his shoulder. The weight of it was a uniquefort, as he would utilize most of the items inside, hopefully within the next few bells. Tycon knocked the bottom end of his halberd against the double doors of the Vanzano estate.

    A young footman answered the door, a handsome, blonde fellow, wearing the clean ck attire of a uniformed servant. He wore no armor or tabard, but the stylized Vanzano lightning bolt was sewn into his clothing.

    The young man bowed politely, "Good afternoon, sirs. I must apologize. The Lord and Lady are not present, today. Please return--"

    Tycon shoved the man out of the way, knocking him to the floor, "Don''t care."

    He strode into the spacious manor. It was worse than he had expected.

    Centurion Zenon followed close behind, first frowning at the fallen footman, then at the state of the manor. Concerning the former, the blonde fellow was a pathetic sight. He had a crippled right hand that was not apparent upon first introduction. He cradled it, curling his body up, his face scrunched up in sweat and agony. He had likely struck it against the floor or wall when he lost his bnce.

    For the manor... Zenon was used to looking at wealthy temple decor: high and ornate architecture, stained ss windows, and religious symbols. He would also have a mind for defensive considerations like archer parapets, uneven stairwells, and twisting halls that hindered right-handed attackers.

    There were precious little fineries within the manor. The walls and shelves were noticeably devoid of paintings and wealthy trinkets. Faded rectangles and other-shapes upon empty mantles were bereft of dust, hinting at their past existence. Windows were cracked or broken, cobwebs settled at their highest corners. Linen sheets covered sets of furniture, with scraps of paper lying upon them that suggested their mary value.

    Worse for the Centurion... there wasn''t a column in sight.

    "What is going on in my house?" The hurrying of feet clomped from another hallway. An older gentleman, his thin grey beard and mustache neatly trimmed, entered the lobby with a look of shock on his face.

    "Lord Greer, w-we have intruders!" The footman shrieked, his voice marred by pain.

    The old man''s face fell into an angry re, "These are members of the Church, Victorius! Show some respect!"

    Tycon raised his eyebrows, his voice lilting up in amusement, "You... you lied to me."

    The footman had a good physique, save for his crippled right hand. That would put him at a disadvantage if they were to fight properly. A shame.

    A wide smile crossed Tycon''s face, his leather gloves stretching as he tightened the grip on his halberd. Lying was a sin. Sin was to be punished.

    "Optio..." Zenon whispered quietly, ncing down to meet Tycon''s eyes.

    Tycon nodded in return, rxing his grip. The Centurion''s gentle reminder implied that the next course of action was to be conversation, not murdering a liar.

    Footman Victorius was safe, for now. Tycon would only murder the members of House Vanzano after careful deliberation.

    "Lord Greer, sit with us." Tycon grabbed the end of a linen cloth and with a swift pull, removed it from afortable leather seat... He then quickly and neatly folded the cloth and ced it to the side, "We''ve a few questions."

    ...

    Unfortunately, Greer was well-versed in the speech of nobles. The thin elder with a thinner mustache was able to slyly deflect each of Tycon''s questions concerning the state of his businesses and reputation.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Our businesses are thriving!" Greer said. That meant nothing without a reference point.

    "The loyalty of our consumers is and always has been unquestionable!" Also meant nothing.

    Zenon''s irritation grew more and more apparent as the conversation went on. He was likely not used to dealing with meaningless affectations, double-talk, and wordy. Tycon took a slightly sadistic satisfaction in that the Centurion was likely regretting his request to ay their violent tendencies, in an attempt to appear cordial.

    The ''coffee'' that Victorius served did nothing to restore the Librarian''s spirits. Tycon expected... honey cakes or something. That was popr in the Holy Country''s cuisine. The footman gave them heated water-- no snacks. Rude.

    With the round of questioning, Tycon... couldn''t even discern what exactly House Vanzano''s businesses were. But what did be painfully clear was that Lord Greer Vanzano was useless to him.

    The man steered the conversation towards three particr subjects:

    1. Stories of Gian''s victories in the Ezyrian arenas. Greer likely had very little to do with that.

    2. The promise his daughter, Athena, disyed at the Military Academy in Silva. The man expressed more than once that he and his wife (Marigold, apparently) were continuously surprised at the girl''s talent. From that, Tycon inferred that Greer had even less to do with Athena''s academic sess than with Gian''sbat prowess.

    And 3. How much he and his wife spent on the various mediocre knick-knacks and souvenirs that still remained in the manor''s receiving room. The silver amount was in the thousands to several thousands.

    The fool man even insisted that because they were able to spend coin on such lucrative items, that their businesses were absolutely not in dire straits, as Centurion Zenon had somewhat rudely suggested.

    It was circr logic. How can a man be poor if they spent as if they were not? Tycon could have cited the dozen debt collectors he and Zenon chased off a bell prior, but Greer would likely have a prepared response for that, as well.

    Thankfully, at about that time, a figurative angel arrived. Her timing was impable. Zenon was near about to utilize his wind-magic to hurl Greer against a wall or ceiling.

    "Sir Tycon?" Athena''s crisp bell-like voice called out. She entered the room from a different doorway than Greer had emerged, wearing a simple tunic and cradling a sheathed sword in her arms. Bits of her light blue hair was matted against her lightly perspiring forehead-- perhaps she was training, just now?

    Excellent work ethic.

    Tycon nudged Zenon lightly, signalling for the taller man to stop clenching his jaw and fists. He stood up and wore the politest smile he could fake at a moment''s notice.

    "Good evening, Athena Vanzano. The Centurion and I are here for you."

    "For me?" Athena''s eyes grewrge and she clutched her sword tighter to her chest, "By the me, am I being drafted? Oh, no, is there a war? But I''ve yet to graduate from the academy?"

    Tycon chuckled in his heart. There''s always a war, always a reason to have strong men and women willing to serve in their nation''s defense, whether it be against enemies of the state or policing their own.

    Greer turned to his daughter with an ugly scowl, "Fool girl! Listen when a man speaks to you! Don''t just run your mouth like a thoughtless whore!!"

 Chapter 306 Why Are You...

    ?Tycondrius felt his mouth twitch at the man''s tant disrespect. Athena was the only good he had left willing to bear the Vanzano name.

    Archbishop Natalya Crucis'' quest had two conditions: The name of House Vanzano must be restored and Athena must be well taken care of. Nowhere was it stated or even implied that Greer''s wellbeing was necessary. With the man''s recent words, his presence wasn''t even wee.

    "SILENCE!!" Zenon stepped forward, his voice booming with magic even without wearing his full helmet, "My name is Centurion Zenon Skyreaper and by the decree of the Church, you are all now under mymand."

    The ded ws attached to his forearms sparked with electricity as he nearly spat his words in contempt, "The only words on your lips should be praise for the Eternal me."

    "P-praise the me..." Greer whispered.

    The footman, Victorius, stealthily escaped into a different hallway. Was that a movement technique? That was promising.

    Athena frowned, half-hiding behind one of the linen-covered couches, "What... what does the Church want with me?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, picking up his bag off the floor, "Let me make it painfully obvious."

    Zenon stood up and nodded, cing his full helmet back upon his head, "Shall I retrieve the other things we require, Optio?"

    "Please, Brother-Centurion..." Tycon grinned. "Athena and I will... be awhile."

    ...

    Tanamar jogged down the empty streets, hastening his return to the Vanzano manor.

    About a moon prior, House Galina came to collect their debts. They were due for more harassment... and soon.

    Thest time, they made a mistake of trying to push their weight while he wasn''t working at his other job. Tanamar convinced them to leave-- and the cost was him needing to break an arm and a leg. When they''d send more collectors... and if the Gnis head had any brains, there would be far more than just three or four of the bastards.

    Arriving at the gates of the manor, Tanamar was greeted with a grisly sight...

    Blood painted the road from shes of a heavy de. Blood had pooled against the fencing, spilled onto the dirt as if a man was restrained and bled. In one spot, there was... an unholy amount of blood collected in a messy puddle, littered with metal armor bits and what he suspected were fragments of bone.

    Remnants of mana from a Circle spell still remained... and with the amount still hanging in the air, the original spell had to have been at least Second-Circle...

    Seven hells... Maybe even Third.

    Had House Galina recruited a Sanctified Psyker? Impossible.

    Tanamar briefly closed his eyes, mentally activating one of his skills.

    ? Aspect of the Celestial Hound. ?

    He breathed in the magic all around him, his senses not-quite-magnified, but honed... He identified the auras he was familiar with... tracking the blood. Whoever spilled the blood had moved to inside the manor... And they were familiar to him... but who were they?

    Could they have taken Athena?

    Tanamar clenched his teeth. She was the only existence of value in the whole me-taken house. Even Tanamar''s mescarred brother knew better than to stay in this quickly-sinking hellhole. Tancred joined the gods-damned circus at first opportunity, painting himself as a clown and calling himself the seconding of Orcus.

    He recalled that that was about the same time he abandoned his own family name. Nothing good came of it.

    Worthless traitor. Pathetic garbage.

    He clenched his fists. Iron-Rank. He was just as pathetic.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Once he reached Gold, he''d show them not to mess with the people he gave a shite about.

    ? Aspect of the Winged Seraphim. ?

    Tanamar leapt up, his adopted aspect boosting the height of his jump and allowing him to traverse the fence with ease. Bounding across the courtyard in gliding steps, he reached the door to the servant''s quarters and nearly smashed it off its hinges.

    Victorius nearly jumped out of his clothes, smacking his head against the top bunk of the bed he was sitting in. The former Archer was rubbing ointment onto his crippled hand... He looked like he was having a rough day.

    He apologized in his heart, but there were more important things at stake than his fellow footman''s aching hand.

    "Victorius," Tanamar growled.

    Victorius pouted, "Wh-what''s wrong, Tanamar?"

    "Where is Athena?"

    ...

    ? A bell prior. ?

    "What''s that stuff you''re putting into the stove-pot, Sir Tycon?" Athena asked, her eyes wide in wonder.

    "Water," Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    That was a ridiculous question. He set the water-filled pot onto the stove me, trying to make sense of it.

    "Well, yeah! I know that!" The blue-haired girl pouted. "Come on. What''s that jelly looking stuff?"

    Tycon''s mouth twitched. He felt like he was in the wrong for misunderstanding the youngdy''s question.

    He opened the jar and held it towards the youngdy to examine, "The gtin within is a reduced broth made by the sailors of the Kingdom."

    Why it was in a jar made of ss instead of a wood or paper container that allowed it to better dry was beyond him. Along with the jar of portable soup, there were fresh herbs and vegetables within his grocery bag. It would at least be enough for the evening.

    "Mmmm..." Athena smelled the contents of the jar, but then her eyes shot open and she gasped dramatically, "From the Kingdom of Alizeau? Is it made with magic?"

    ...The probability was high. The people of the Kingdom loved using magic. Streetmps were powered by it. Children in the city streets could cast Elementary spells for show or for mischief. Noblewomen would use low-level mour spells in lieu of makeup. In the Kingdom, shops that catered to beauty and skincare sold magical reagents alongside mundane skin paints, scented soaps, and lotions.

    Tycon brought his focus back to Athena''s question... "A broth is heavily reduced, thenid out to dry further. Often, ingredients are mixed into that to make the gtinous substance even drier."

    "Like, magic ingredients?" Athena asked.

    "Flour, likely," Tycon responded simply. "Magic is unnecessary to the process."

    The cogs of thought turned in the youngdy''s brain as she stared nkly. Then all at once, understanding seemed to dawn on her.

    "Ohhhh. Got it," She said proudly. "And because it''s all dried, it doesn''t spoil easily?"

    "That''s correct, youngdy," Tycon allowed himself an encouraging smile. It was nice to work with a young person-- no, with any person who could think independently without his direction.

    "But why are you in my kitchen?" She asked.

 Chapter 307 Yin Body

    ?Tycondrius pursed his lips. He was wearing a chef''s apron and had deposited his sack of cooking ingredients onto the nearby table.

    He thought it was quite obvious why he was in Athena''s kitchen...

    "I''m... cooking a meal."

    Tycon removed the boiling pot of water from the heat and added the broth-jelly. He frowned at the final set of ingredients: the bag of discarded bread heels Athena had brought home. It offended his senses as a cook that the youngdy was nning to eat them stale with only a bit of cow''s milk to wash it down.

    No, that wouldn''t do. Tycon would make a proper meal out of it.

    "Why are you acting like that?" Athena red. "You know what I mean."

    Tycon furrowed his brows. He did not.

    "Oh..." Athena''s face fell to match his expression, "Oh! By the me, do you not? I''m so sorry!"

    The youngdy''s quick apology and slight panic only made Tycon feel...cking. He made a mental note to reinforce his study of human questions and their implications. Perhaps Zenon would be able to help in that... He seemed... well-adjusted.

    Tycon forced a smile, "If you mean to ask why I''m cooking a meal for you, youngdy, would you be so kind as to grant me your hypotheses on the matter?"

    Tycon would guide the members of Sol Invictus with such leading questions, particrly with Pale, often with Kimura Taree, and even with Lone. He judged Athena to be honest, clever, inquisitive, and confident... traits ideal in a student. He hoped she would be receptive to this kind of conversation instead of finding it beneath her.

    Athena pouted, her brows crinkled up in thought, "You''re a guy... and you''re cooking for a girl. Do you... have a crush on me?"

    Tycon dipped his head and sighed deeply. Perhaps he''d been too hasty in his judgments... "Incorrect... That is... not why I''m here, youngdy."

    "Well, that''s good." Athena sighed in relief, plopping down onto a kitchen stool, "I already have someone that I like."

    "Good for you."

    "Well... you''re from the Church... and you wear military armor..." Athena ced her fingers on her chin, pushing her lips out in thought, "That symbol''s for a Decanus, right?"

    "Correct," Tycon nodded, his voice lilting up in hopefulness.

    "And Mister Zenon calls you Optio..."

    Tycon averted his gaze. Why was he called ''Sir'' and ''Centurion'' Zenon Skyreaper called ''Mister?'' Athena was obviously familiar with the rank structure if she could recognize the Decanus symbol on his armor... Didn''t she go to a military academy?

    "What''s really weird," Athena tapped her cheek. "--is that the Church doesn''t pay house visits like this..."

    Her gaze drifted off as if she''d understood something.

    "Speak your mind, Miss Athena," Tycon urged.

    Her eyes narrowed sharply, "I can tell from the mana you''re emitting that you''re really strong."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow as he felt a sudden chill assault his senses. Frost mana? Interesting. And judging by the steady stream of power behind it, the young Athenamanded a precise level of control...<novelnext></novelnext>

    No, it wasn''t just a show of her ability... Stars and stones, the girl was using her mana to emte a different spell... a ?Detect Rank? spell.

    ? Athena Vanzano, Unranked Human Warrior. ?

    She was a young genius.

    The implications of Athena''s subtle magic maniption were manyfold.

    First, of obvious note, was her ?Detect?-like ability.

    Twobatantsparing their mana output wasmon phenomena amongst sses of the same type: a Martialist analyzing a Blood-Knight, a Cleric to an Invoker, a Firewalker to a Necromancer. However, Tycon had originally thought that such senses were only developed by Bronze-Ranks and higher... and besides that, Athena was using an Arcane-based skill to measure the mana of Tycon''s Martial ss.

    Tycon''s Arcane abilities were poor-- on the level of an Elementary mage, or maybe even Unranked. He could probably light a candle, but he''d need to concentrate for a half-bell on the endeavor without the aid of a wand. Thus, if Athena was so impressed, she must have glimpsed at his mana, not only as a caster, but of his abilities as a whole.

    Second was that Athena could expertly control her frost mana-- like an additional hand or arm. Such skill was almost specific to single-element casters. Sea Witch Eilean, for example, could both manipte sea water into offensivences and extend her rudimentary senses through the water around her, allowing her to ''see'', though her physical eyes could not.

    Athena had shown promise in the military academy with her martial prowess. Was she just as talented in martial ability as she was with magic?

    Third was the surprisingly pure frost mana that the youngdymanded... especially interesting. Again, Athena had not yet reached Bronze-Rank... her mana reserves would only grow deeper, and its quality, more pure.

    Perhaps she had a bloodline to support it? Yet... her brother had a lightning-affinity. That would be illogical.

    ...Or was it possible that she was born with a Yin Body? Ugh. That type of knowledge was out of his purview. He''d need to contact one of the masters from the Hidden Sects to learn more... He''d write two letters in the evening. One to Kimura Diago, Patriarch of the White-Scale Sect, the other to High-Captain Lang Hai of the Sea Wolf Sect.

    With such a mastery of frost-type mana, Athena would develop better not as a pure Martial ss, but an Arcane-Martial Hybrid like Sol Invictus'' Swordmage Dragan Ashlord or Hexde Tarquin Wroe... or Warmage Maximus of Ezyria.

    With her multitude of talents... she was in no way inferior to her brother.

    However, Tycon could not allow the cold to continue on. With the difference in level, if he allowed Athena to urately gauge his mana, she''d suffer a painful bacsh. The young mistress being bedridden for bells and fatigued for suns-after was *not* in Tycon''s agenda.

    Also, it would affect his cooking.

    Taking a pause from chopping up the bread heels, Tycon used his kitchen knife to cleanly slice through Athena''s invasive mana.

    The youngdy closed her eyes, quietly reorganizing and retracting her mana. She put her hands on her cheeks as she twisted her lips in frustration, opening her eyes to interrogative slits, "So what are you? Bronze-Rank? No-- Iron? Bronze! At least Bronze for sure."

    "I believe that''s irrelevant to the conversation, youngdy," Tycon smirked.

    He figured it better to hide the fact that he could murder everyone in her estate without breaking a sweat.

    "Then..." Athena pouted, pressing the tips of her fingers together, "I think you guys are here on behalf of my brother."

    The youngdy''s expression fell... her earlier perkiness, sapped away.

 Chapter 308 Assembled

    ?It was more or less true. Tycondrius and Zenon were here on behalf of Maximus of Ezyria, Archbishop Crucis'' wishes aside.

    The young Athena Vanzano had happened upon the truth, on her own... However, she seemed to be on the verge of tears, because of it.

    As this was not a training-environment, Tycon immediately began to panic, "Is uh... there an issue? Youngdy?"

    "It''s fine," Athena wiped the corner of her eyes with her wrists. "We received the news a few suns back, that... that Maximus fell in battle... But it''s fine, really."

    She said it twice. From her expression and the quavering in her voice, Tycon judged that she may not have been entirely truthful.

    "Ever since Maximus left... and then Tancred left... and then thepany losing its backers... and then dad''s spending habits got worse... and then mom''s drinking problem..."

    The youngdy''s volume steadily softened, its pitch raised-- with sporadic sniffling sprinkled throughout. It was most certainly not fine.

    Athena held out her hand towards Tycon.

    ...The action implied a response. But... what?

    Tycon gingerly took hold of the youngdy''s hand. She continued to cry quietly, not sharing words, merely sharing Tycon''spany.

    He hoped he had chosen correctly...

    It seemed that everything went to shite as soon as Maximus left Ezyria-- something Tycon doubted the dovahkiin knew. With Maximus'' generally upright and somewhat predictable nature, the man would have sped back on his stupid-looking blue wings to be the hero that Athena needed most.

    Unfortunately, Maximus was dead. And his Church wouldn''t bother resurrecting him, even though that would likely fix this poor child''s issues.

    ...All ''what-if'' thoughts of Maximus were useless, of course. Tycon didn''t know why he bothered.

    It took a few minutes for the youngdy''s sobs to subside. Tycon remained patient. He wasn''t in a hurry... His preparations had already reached the ''in-the-oven'' stage.

    "If you''re just here on behalf of the Church..." Athena whispered, her voice still cracked from crying, "--you can go back. House Vanzano doesn''t need your pity."

    Tycon chuckled to himself. What a selfless youngdy, "Not so. The Church has deigned to assign you a champion, so to speak. Further, I worked closely with your brother in the Kingdom."

    Athena tilted her head up, showing her wide eyes and tear-covered cheeks, "R-really?"

    ...Yes.

    Tycon continued, "I will be overseeing your martial training for the time being... and I know a very capable woman that could serve as an advisor for your family''s financial troubles."

    "Wait, really?" Athena''s eyes widened,rger than he''d observed thus far.

    Why did she keep asking that? Tycon did not reply. He would assume the questions were rhetorical, in order to avoid the embarrassment of a snarky response.

    "No, really? You would do that?" Athena asked.

    Oh, it was a real question.

    Tycon smiled politely... "Yes."

    It was very difficult talking to this woman.

    ...

    ? Current time. ?

    "By the aaaame, this is sooooo goood!!" Athena gushed. "I want to stuff it all in my mouth and have it live there forever."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zenon had removed his armor and was utilizing table manners proper for a young military officer, eating from his te of broth-soaked bread and vegetables.

    Tycon nodded in approval, carving a piece for him from arge roast chicken. Zenon had gone out to purchase it while he used the kitchen. After providing for the Centurion, Tycon ced a meaty chicken breast, freshly cooked and sulent, onto Athena''s te. She was a growing youngdy and he wanted to ensure she had enough protein in her diet.

    Zenon narrowed his eyes at the door to the servant''s quarters. Tycon felt it, as well. He positioned his body to guard the roast chicken from whatever attack was imminent.

    The door burst open, nearly breaking its hinges. Silvery mana ring wildly from Tanamar''s person, his white hair flowed as if wind was flowing upward. He stepped forward, dust and fragments of tile levitating around him. Clenched tightly in his right hand was a... Tyrion pilum, save it was formed entirely of concentrated silvery mana.

    "ATHENAAAAA!!" Tanamar yelled dramatically.

    The youngdy stopped abruptly, a half-bitten piece of chicken in her hands. She ced the meat down and politely brushed the sides of her mouth with a napkin, "T-tanamar. Hey! Wee back! Have you had dinner yet?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, looking over his shoulder at Tanamar''s confused state. The footman looked like he was ready for a fight of some sort.

    Thankfully, he and Zenon were more than ready for it. Tycon had physically interposed himself between the Holy Lancer and their roast chicken. The Centurion had applied a magical wind barrier to protect the table of food from dust and debris.

    The mana pilum that Tanamar held exined why he traveled unarmed. Apparently, Holy Lancer was a mana-shaping ss-- a unique type of spellcaster that formed weaponry with their magic. Other mana-shapers included mages that cast Polymorph-type spells onto parts of their body, transmogrifying them into weapons. Creation-type spells like Tanamar used were less mana efficient, but more versatile.

    The white-haired footman waved his hand, his aura-glow diminishing and his weapon dissipating into a rainbow of dust. He gingerly took a seat at the dinner table, his expression solemn.

    The fellow with the crippled hand, Victorius, entered the room shortly after, a trace of worry still in his eyes. Tycon surmised that that fellow had something to do with Tanamar''s furious entry.

    "What''s this?" Tanamar asked, looking at his te.

    "Sir Tycon called it dressing! It''s sOooooOo good," Athena exined, speaking quickly and mashing her words together in excitement. "I helped!"

    She did.

    Tycon gave Tanamar a chicken wing. Everyone liked chicken wings.

    Athena cleared the confusion by exining to Tanamar and Victorius that the two representatives of the Church would be staying with them for a period of time.

    In retrospect, Tycon should have exined that in the first ce... but he thought it paramount to garner Athena''s reaction to it, before continuing. Tycon had nopunctions against taking over House Vanzano tyrannically, but he sought to achieve his specific target''s blessing.

    Or perhaps he was treating her kindly, merely because she was Maximus'' sister.

    Tycon looked over his new crew, assembled before him.

    Zenon was a sanctified spellcaster with electrified ws, righteous and just.

    ?Zenon Skyreaper, Iron-Rank Human Librarian. ?

    Athena expertly wielded frost mana and he was fairly certain had a physique valued by the Hidden Sects.

    ? Athena Vanzano, Unranked Human Warrior. ?

    Tanamar was a young, slightly temperamental fellow with a high-tier ss.

    ? Tanamar, Iron-Rank Human Holy Lancer. ?

    And then that fellow Victorius looked like... he could be trained.

    ? Victorius, Bronze-Rank Human Archer. ?

    Three out of four were promising.

 Chapter 309 Tested (Part One)

    ?Thergest advantage of making connections was the concept of specialization.

    Tycondrius was very good at several things. He was not the best at any of them, but he was eptably talented at waging war, training, and... gathering a half-dozen or so rtively useless fools and forcing them into doing something... useful.

    For bncing books, Tycon could have attempted to fix it all himself... but a far more efficient and effective solution was to call in a specialist. Through the Courier''s Guild, he sent out a few letters, including a discrete letter to Sorina Capulet, the Bronze-Rank Calctor that was Sol Invictus'' Chief Financial Officer. Barring any fantastical incidents, she would make her way to the Holy Country''s city of Silva as soon as possible.

    The formation of a proper n to revitalize House Vanzano''s businesses would hinge on Sorina''s arrival. Until then, Tycon would correct any ringly poor business practices he came across-- but otherwise would focus on the training of the young Athena Vanzano.

    ...By extension, he''d train her two footmen, as well. It''s not like those two were doing anything important.

    Wisely, Centurion Zenon Skyreaper asked Tycon of his ns, which they discussed over a warm bottle of Tyrion wine. Zenon agreed. He had no idea how businesses worked, either. Why would he?

    Training, however? Both Tycon and Zenon lived, breathed, loathed, and loved training. The two wrote out a basic regimen to subject Athena to... starting with a daily morning run.

    The beaches were breathtaking, the crystalline green waters, had visible coral and non-aggressive sea life clear to see. The wavespped against the fine, vibrant sand. And of course, three young persons were struggling to both breathe while continuing to run at an elerated pace.

    Zenon ran alongside Tycon, the only exception to the young-persons failing miserably. As tall as he was, each of his strides were two, nearly three of Tycon''s own. Tycon was sweating lightly. The Centurion could carry full conversations.

    "You know, Optio... You''re pretty good at running," Zenon admitted.

    Tycon grimaced. He did not, in-fact, consider himself good at running. Including Zenon, he was still the slowest runner amongst thebat sses of Sol Invictus.

    He took a deep breath in order to respond without pause, "Why do you think that?"

    "Well, you''re running in full armor, while I''m just carrying this pack. That''s gotta count for something," Zenon smiled amicably. "What''s in this thing, anyroad?"

    "Just training gear. Practice swords and such," Tycon smiled with chagrin.

    He chose not to tell the Centurion that he wore magic boots that made his armor feel as light as linen. He wore his armor to psychologically pressure Athena and the two footmen.

    Concerning endurance training, Athena looked the best of the three. The pace Tycon set for her pushed her abilities, but obviously she was no stranger to running along the sands. Her near-shoulder-length, light-blue hair was tied into a ponytail, and she wore afortable tunic, rhythmically breathing in twice, out twice.

    Tanamar was performing the worst... his silvery hair matted against his forehead and face. He should have bound his own hair, as well, but for whatever reason, he did not.

    However, Tycon found an interesting phenomenon. When the silver-haired footman fell behind. Tycon would slow his pace to jog beside Athena. The Holy Lancer''s pace would then mysteriously increase... in order to run between Athena and himself. From there, Tycon would increase his speed to run in the lead alongside Zenon.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He had tested this three times, attaining the same result each time.

    It was not a coincidence. The implications of the young man''s actions were something Tycon could take advantage of.

    The short-haired, blonde footman, Victorius, initiallyined that his crippled hand ached terribly. That the fellow''s injury was debilitating was reasonable; his hand was twisted and gnarled as if crushed by a heavy stone. Tycon offered the footman bandage-wrap to reduce the swelling, or perhaps to be used as a sling to prevent his arm being jostled as he ran.

    Victorius refused.

    He exined that before his injury, he was the best archer amongst House Vanzano''s personal forces, and his training was top-notch.

    ...Why he mentioned that was beyond Tycon''s understanding. It... didn''t seem to rte to anything, at all. Such an admission only made him expect more of the fellow. He was still young, after all. Such an injury, the footman would need to train around, but it did not make him worthless.

    Tycon surmised that Victorius'' injury made the fellow doubt his own usefulness. Like Tanamar, his loyalty was reliable, since neither footman had abandoned the house even in its state of reduced wealth and prestige. Rebuilding Victorius'' confidence would mean one additional ally for the young Athena.

    Tycon raised an arm above his head, his fingers and thumb pointed up, "Here will do."

    The group of five slowed to a walk, cooling down from their run. Zenon led the group in a few stretches. It reminded Tycon of his time with the Sea Wolves, performing stretches and exercises mandated by the Kingdom''s Navy.

    "Athena!" Tycon called out.

    "Yessir!!" The youngdy screamed, standing up quickly from her seated stretch. Sand shot up everywhere and she spent a few seconds spitting it out of her mouth before recovering in a Tyrion salute.

    ...There were plenty of things Tycon could have said. He decided not to call attention to the youngdy''s clumsiness on ount of her eagerness... "Youngdy, I would like to test your swordsmanship. From what I understand, you''re training to be a Knight-Champion."

    "A P-pdin, Sir Tycon!" Athena pouted.

    ...A Papdin? ...No, Tycon was just going to assume she said Pdin... Apparently there was a difference between Pdins and Knight-Champions. Tycon had no idea what that could be, though.

    "Considering your station, I''ll give you the option of being tested now... or in private, when we return," Tycon made a show of eyeing the other two footmen. Did she trust her footmen to reveal the extent of her abilities to them?

    "I''d like to be tested now, Sir. I have nothing to hide from Tanamar," She smiled cheerfully.

    Tycon pursed his lips. What about the other one? There were two footmen... "Miss Athena, please retrieve a wooden sword from Centurion Zenon."

 Chapter 310 Tested (Part Two)

    ?Tycondrius'' sword swings would be deflected by the young Athena Vanzano. After such, she would counterattack, aiming at a vulnerable point. When not deflected, the youngdy would also dodge, weaving her body acrobatically, keeping her bnce well. After such, she would... counterattack.

    It was quite skillful. Tycon was only able to trivialize the fight because of his superior vision, his rank, and that he was very, very skilled at swordy. In fact, he''d have forgotten that the youngdy was Unranked, if not for the fact that her attacks and movementcked mana eleration.

    "Very good, Miss Athena," Tycon smirked, flourishing his wooden practice sword. "You''ve exemplified the basics of the Tyrion rapier."

    The youngdy pursed her lips and allowed her practice rapier to rest, pointed low, "Why doesn''t that sound like praise, Sir Tycon?"

    A deep frown etched into Tycon''s face, "It was meant to be praise."

    Athena tilted her head, "Oh. Thank you?"

    "Optio Tycon has a somewhat sarcastic voice," Zenon offered from the sidelines.

    "I have a sarcastic voice?" Tycon furrowed his brows.

    "See? There it is," Zenon pointed.

    "Ohhhhh," Athena nodded.

    Athena''s swordsmanship was good. She utilized a light sword style, which emphasized keeping her body tilted to the side to reduce her profile, and leaning back and forth to strike precisely and urately. Her footwork was good, too, endless drilling obvious-- she performed excellently, as fatigued from the beach run as she was.

    Tycon split up swordsmanship-- (most contests, really) to four stages of skill. In the beginner stage,batants don''t know what they''re doing. They utilize their base strengths: their weight, their reflexes, maybe a lesson or two in form for effective strikes, in order to strike a sessful point. Victory would be attained by... not performing as poorly as the opponent.

    In the intermediate stage,batants understood basic swordy. Identifying mistakes bes paramount in this stage, as well as understanding the flow of movement. Every swing, every step uses or risks bnce-- perhaps opening up a vulnerability. A win is attained by capitalizing on the opponent''s mistakes.

    This was the level of Athena''s swordy.

    Tycon sighed, "Anyroad... Miss Athena, I will increase the speed and vary the tactics. Are you prepared?"

    "Wait, you''ll what?" The youngdy widened her eyes. "But you''re so fast already?"

    Tycon groaned inwardly. He had been moving at a slowed speed--painfully slow. He wasn''t even boosting it with mana, in respect for Athena''s Unranked level. It frustrated him slightly that his efforts weren''t noticed.

    Again, concerning the stages of skill... somewhere during the mid-tote intermediate stage, eachbatant no longer made mistakes in the short term. Matches were high-focus contests where a single blunder can determine the end of a match.

    Beyond intermediate was the expert stage. In this stage, experts well-versed in their arts would seek to break the static nature of the fight.

    The simplest way was to utilize the environment. Swordsmen tended to focus on their sword and not everything around them. Tycon tossed a ball of fine sand at Athena''s face, aiming for her mouth. The cool, calm, collected Athena turned into a sputtering mess.

    Attacking from wholly unexpected directions was also useful. Tycon slipped a wide rapier swing, ducking and swaying out of Athena''s immediate vision. Ending up nearly behind the girl, he shoved her forward with his offhand.

    Then there were unorthodox tactics. Tycon grasped the center of the practice de in his offhand and loosely held the hilt with his mainhand. When Athenaposed herself and attacked, Tycon deflected the swing with the hilt side of the sword, as he stopped the sword''s wooden point before it bruised the area between her corbones.

    It was a movement he recalled from a Tyrion swordy manual... and as Athena studied in a military academy, she might have seen such a movement, even if she hadn''t the skill to utilize it in high-speedbat.

    "Environment. Directionals. The entire body is a weapon. Unorthodox tactics," Tycon summarized. "Your basics are sound, miss Athena. From here, a wider array of experience will be best for your cultivation."

    "What-- but... No... You?" Athena began to babble in confusion.

    "Arrrrgh!!" She stomped her foot on the sand, upset.

    "Oh?" Tycon raised an eyebrow. "Would you like a second chance? I daresay your fatigue is mounting, youngdy."

    Athena red, twisting her lips in resentment but she kept quiet. Shortly after, she pped her palms against her face and sighed deeply. Her frown fading, she wore a bright smile, "Thank you for your guidance, Sir Tycon. Sorry, I got a littlepetitive."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Huh. Tycon nodded and smiled in response. Well, that was rather nice.

    "Did you want to give it a go, Centurion Zenon?" Tycon pped a hand onto the seated Centurion''s shoulder.

    Empty night, was he tall, for a human.

    "What? Against you, Optio?" Zenon shook his head. "No, thanks."

    Tycon red, "I meant against Tanamar or Victorius."

    "Oh! Hahaha!" Zenon chuckled. "I think those two''s specialties are closebat. I''m more practiced at a longer range, so I''ll let you keep going."

    Seriously? Zenon''s uniform armor had two ws installed on his forearms-- and they sparked with lightning. Were those just for show?

    Fine.

    "Tanamar," Tycon called.

    "Eh..." The young gentleman stood up, but he wore a look of hesitation. "Can we do this in private?"

    ...Odd. But why? Athena had disyed her skill willingly. Did Tanamar have something to hide?

    "Maybe he''s a bit fatigued from the run?" Zenon stood up and offered his thoughts in a low voice, "That should be fine, right?"

    No... Tycon doubted that was it.

    He frowned at the young Tanamar, "I''d like a reason."

    The silver-haired gentleman smirked arrogantly, "I don''t have a bow. I''m an archer."

    Of all the... Tycon had clearly seen the young man dash into the dining area the other evening with a spear made of literal mana in his hands. Why would he need a bow?

    And he was Iron-Rank. No, the boy''s excuse was absurd.

    "I''d prefer not attacking you unawares, young man," Tycon red. It was a thinly veiled threat.

    Tanamar let out a deep sigh, "Do we have to?"

    Really, what was this human''s problem? Tycon pointed his wooden sword forward, "I''m attacking."

    Tanamar shrugged, "Very well."

    Zenon reached his hand out, "Hold on, Optio. Tanamar hasn''t chosen a weapon yet?"

    Tss. Why would he care about giving the boy a weapon?

    Tycon dashed forward, leaping up with an overhead swing. Decently fast. Very straightforward. Aimed at Tanamar''s head of silver hair.

    He found himself grinning. What are you going to do, boy? I know you''re strong.

    Show me.

 Chapter 311 Tested (Part Three)

    ?Tycondrius'' de plummeted down towards the Vanzano footman''s head at the rtively slow speed of gravity.

    With an almost insulting level of nonchnce, Tanamar stepped to the side and reached his forearm out. He blocked Tycon''s swing at the wrist, deflecting its force to the side.

    Naturally recovering his momentum, Tycon swung his sword again-- horizontally at the boy''s temple. The silver-haired youth responded with a tilt of his head, lowering his body... simultaneously shoving Tycon in the chest.

    Slightly disappointed, Tycon allowed himself to stagger backward. He could have used mana to force his position... but the Holy Lancer had yet to use even a sliver of his own.

    Admittedly, the two-strike exchange was technically impressive. It shook Tycon''s ego, but that was permissible, considering the circumstances.

    He nced back to Athena and the others.

    The young woman looked rather aggrieved, "Really, Sir Tycon? Why the hells aren''t you trying?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. Miss Athena Vanzano was not a... subtle woman.

    Returning his gaze to Tanamar, he flourished his sword.

    The reason he wanted to duel Athena and her men was to gauge their skill levels, using the data to better appropriate their training regimens. As Tanamar had yet to reveal the extent of his abilities... logically, it was permissible for Tycon to increase his pressure.

    Yes... it wasn''t a stronger, older, more-handsome gentleman brutalizing a teenage boy for being rude... it was a teacher asking for the best from his student.

    Tacitly. And with violence.

    ...And spite.

    Tycon pointed his sword forward.

    This would hurt.

    He moved forward, leaning his body weight into the strike. Tanamar tried to deflect with his hands, but the momentum wasn''t enough. Tycon''s sword found his mark, striking deep the footman''s abdomen.

    The young man keeled over and dropped to a knee, dry heaving with an amusing musicality. It didn''t look like he was used to taking damage.

    A shame.

    Tycon raised his sword up, ready to inflict his next lesson.

    "Tanamar, watch out!!" Athena yelled.

    Yes, Tanamar. Watch out. Tycon scoffed as he swung his arm downward, expecting the bloody crack of wood against a human skull.

    A brilliant sh of silver birthed a glowing rod in Tanamar''s hands-- a spear, or a... holynce, as his ss suggested. The kneeling man raised his arms, blocking the attack and deflecting the blow to the side. In a solid counterattack, Tanamar whipped the side of his spear across Tycon''s chest, forcing him back.

    Just as quickly, the weapon dissipated back into mana. The action was quick enough that Tycon doubted Athena and Victorius witnessed what exactly had transpired.

    Tycon rubbed his chest, "Good hit."

    It was more of a push-blow than an impactful one, suitable for training. But as revenge for Tycon''s earlier strike, it was woefullycking.

    Tanamar returned to the standing position, still slightly hunched over from the strike he''d taken earlier. He frowned as if disgusted, "What weapon would you like me to choose?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow in surprise before adopting an arrogant grin.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Holy Lancer implied he had options avable to him... Interesting.

    Tycon kept his voice low... just loud enough for the young man to hear, "Choose a weapon that can prevent me from embarrassing you in front of your little girlfriend."

    Tanamar furrowed his brows and his lips curved upward. The strange smile didn''t reach his eyes, "Oh, so is that how it''s gonna be?"

    Tycon grimaced, confused. Was that a real question?

    "Yes?"

    "So be it," Tanamar chuckled. The footman then began to walk counter-clockwise, remaining alert for the next attack.

    He was subtly creating distance. Very interesting... What was his purpose? ...He did say he was an Archer... was he mostfortable at that distance?

    Tanamar reached out a hand to his side, wrapping it with a silvery charge of mana, "Luckily for you, there''s a good hospital nearby."

    The young man was a thoughtful individual.

    Tycon did not hate that, "Noted."

    The Holy Lancer''s mana coalesced into arge stylistic pilum, the shape reminiscent of a ballista''s arrow. He threw it forward, aimed at Tycon''s chest.

    It was quite fast... but its speed was only at the level of an Iron-Rank.

    Tycon sighed inwardly. An Iron-Rank wouldn''t be able to block or counter-- only dodge the speedy attack. He properly leapt out of the way, rolling onto the beach sands and back to his feet.

    Its power and distance was impressive. Tycon pursed his lips as he watched the thrown mana spear rocket past, forming waves of power as it tore over the ocean waters.

    As he was distracted, Tycon noticed another object moving in his peripheral vision. Tanamar had hurled a second, morepact spear.

    That one, he didn''t need to dodge. Tycon channeled mana into his practice sword, protecting it from damage. He casually swiped at the attack.

    The holynce shattered... and too easily.

    Oh, that wasn''t good.

    In a brief instant, a dozen shards of mana surrounded him, then began to unerringly fall upon his body in brilliant shes of energy. He was blinded, disoriented-- not hurt, but severely annoyed.

    What in the seven hells was going on? Who makes a stupid illusory spear attack? Tycon felt a mana arrow strike him in the stomach... hard.

    There it was.... that was the revenge hit... He doubled over and held his gut, blinking repeatedly and willing his vision to return. Two more blunted mana spears struck him in the face and chest, staggering him backward. Errrrgh...

    Tycon was growing more and more irritated. He mmed a mana-charged fist into the sand, dispelling the miasma of power in the air, then sprinted forward towards his opponent-- who was bracing a Holy Lance, waiting patiently for him to blindly rush in.

    Shite. Tycon again sighed inwardly. He could have used mana to forcibly redirect his momentum... but that''s not something a normal Iron-Ranker would be able to do. He took yet another blow to the abdomen.

    Ow.

    Tycon swiped his sword at Tanamar''s head, plonking him properly in the temple.

    Hah. Serves you right.

 Chapter 312 Tested (Part Four)

    ?Tycondrius stabbed at the retreating Tanamar, only for his sword to be deflected downward and his wrist grabbed. The Holy Lancer directed a powerful knee at his face, which Tycon managed to soften by blocking with his offhand palm. He used the momentum of the blow to throw himself back, simultaneously twisting his wrist to escape Tanamar''s grasp.

    A ''Holy Lance'' jabbed at his face-- forcing Tycon to dodge and slip the series of attacks. He deflected the fourth thrust... a noticeably shallow strike.

    Tycon was... not abat ss. In a normalbat situation, he often relied on his allies, his skills, his bloodline abilities, and even alternate weaponry. In terms of pure skill... he was being slightly outssed by the Holy Lancer.

    Tanamar smashed the side of his mana spear against a point between Tycon''s neck and cor. A normal person would have been knocked out by such a strike.

    He believed it was called... the jugr vein, a particrly blood-filled tube important for delivering valuable oxygen from the heart to the head-- or was it vice versa?

    (Within milliseconds of thought, he asked his System for rification. It was the other way.)

    Striking the vein with a blunt object or applying force to it in a chokehold would cause a brief bout of unconsciousness in a human. It was far faster and more reliable than strangtion.

    Hm.

    Tycon struck Tanamar in the jugr vein. The Holy Lancer dropped like a sack of cabbages from a cart.

    The mana spear in Tanamar''s hands hadn''t yet dissipated, but it was fading...

    "Hah, seriously..." Tycon chuckled. "I hope you don''t think you can protect Athena with just that level of skill... And you don''t need to answer because I''m assuming you''re unconscious."

    With a silver surge of mana, the mana spear solidified. He was still awake. Tycon had miscalcted.

    Tycon felt his legs kick up. Tanamar''s sweeping spear had struck the back of his heels. Experiencing the sense of weightlessness, he took a deep, annoyed breath as he fell with his back towards the sand.

    He supposed that was enough.

    "Zenon," Tycon muttered.

    A barrier of blurry, swirling mana formed around Tycon.

    The sound of shattering ss reverberated throughout the mana barrier. With a wicked shriek of metal scraping against metal, the tip of a mana spear was stopped less than an ilm in front of Tycon''s face. If not for Centurion Skyreaper''s protective skill, Tanamar''s follow-up attack would have impaled him through the eye.

    Standing over him, Tanamar looked furious. The youth was nearly frothing at the mouth, his eyes full of hatred and violence.

    "I take it back. Your skill level is sufficiently high." Tycon felt like he owed the young man an apology, "It could always be better, of course-- but that''s true of all things."

    Tanamar pounded the top haft of his weapon downward, the spear tip piercing the sand. Tycon, of course, had moved his head to avoid injury.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I was being sincere, arse."

    "You have a really sarcastic voice, Optio!" Zenon called out. The Librarian probably assumed he was being helpful.

    "Oh. My bad," Tanamar twisted his lips and released his grip. The mana spear dissipated, turning into silvery dust caught by the wind.

    Tanamar grasped Tycon''s wrist and assisted him in standing.

    "Thank you for your assistance, Zenon," Tycon lightly inclined his head.

    "No problem, Optio. That''s what friends are for," Zenon beamed.

    "But I''d like to insist that I do not, in fact, have a sarcastic voice," He frowned.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zenon''s smile fell-- very slightly, "Th... there it is again."

    Bah. Why did he even try?

    He turned to Tanamar, "I''ve no truly negativements on your form... Though be advised that you do have a temper."

    Tanamar pursed his lips in thought, "Makes sense."

    "Nheless, well done." Tycon gave Tanamar a cursory observation, finding no major injuries. That was good. Tycon did not wish to reveal his healing ability if it wasn''t necessary, "Are you self-taught?"

    The Holy Lancer paused for a moment in thought, "Yeah... Yeah, I am."

    "Then you''re a natural." Tycon was slightly surprised, but nodded in approval, "Even without formal training, allbatants seek to strike faster, strike urately, retain their bnce, and eliminate unnecessary movement."

    Tycon ced his hand to his chest... a salute used amongst the members of Sol Invictus, "I apud your efforts, Holy Lancer Tanamar. You must havee a long way."

    Tanamar nodded quietly and crossed his arms. Something seemed to be on his mind. Tycon hoped that he''d learned something of himself. Self-introspection leading to a cultivation breakthrough would benefit their force''s overall power.

    Quietly returning to Athena''s side, the youngdy began to animatedly praise his efforts.

    "Great job, Tanamar!!!!" She shouted, nearly into his ear. "Wow! I didn''t know you were that strong!! You did great! Way better than I did!"

    Did she really think that?

    "Of course, Sir Tycon didn''t throw me-taken sand into your mouth. Might''ve been different, if he did!"

    Athena shot an obvious re back at Tycon.

    ...So she was still upset about that.

    Empty night, he was *trying* to teach her something.

    Tycon nced over to the final Vanzano.

    ? Victorius, Bronze-Rank Human Archer. ?

    That his ss was still an Archer was a minor obstacle. He would need to be retrained to a Warrior or a Scout... However, Victorius still had his reflexes and having received formal training, he would reasonably have retained a basic mastery of swordy. He''d have to use his offhand, but still, the skills were ingrained into hisbat instincts.

    No real damage had been incurred by his and Tanamar''s duel. They could start immediately.

    "Victorius, you''re up next."

    The blonde man stood up, nursing his injured hand, "Sir Optio, I''d like to pass on this."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Pass? Mister Victorius, you may not have realized this, but unlike Lady Athena, I did not give you such an option."

    "I''m... I''m an Archer, Sir," Victorius tried to argue. With his tone of voice, it sounded like he was well-aware hisints would fall on deaf ears.

    Tycon frowned, "Well, unless you''d like to painstakingly specialize in crossbows you can load and fire in a single hand, I suggest you pick up swordsmanship."

    The young man''s gaze hardened, "I can''t fight, Sir."

 Chapter 313 Tested (Part Five)

    ?Tycondrius ced his hand on his chin, examining the young Archer. Victorius had taken no injuries on the run. He stood with his chest out, full of vigor in his heart and a courageous fire in his eyes.

    He would have been impressed... that is, if the boy wasn''t so vehemently insisting upon his cowardice.

    Tycon took a deep breath, trying not to let irritation mark his voice... "Just as I asked Tanamar before you... I''d like a reason."

    His gaze sharpened, "A. proper. reason."

    Victorius grimaced briefly.

    "I''m injured, Sir," He admitted without shame.

    "Seven me-f*cked hells, are you being serious?" Tycon took a step forward, gritting his teeth and trying not to strangle the boy. "Victorius of House Vanzano, I''ve seen you run. If it doesn''t hurt terribly to move, you can swing a wooden stick just. as. well."

    "This is an exhibition, not a life-or-death duel!" Tycon raised his voice, gesturing to the others. "You have options avable! You can fight the Librarian! Or you can fight your fellow footman, Tanamar!"

    "Emptyyyyy NIGHT," Tycon groaned, half-clenching shaking fists, "If you''d like, I''ll bind an arm behind my back-- I''ll even allow you the first three strikes! I''ll bind BOTH arms if I need to!!"

    Still, the blonde footman''s face remained impassive.

    "Come on, then?!!" Tycon''s frustration crescendoed his voice to shouting. "The purpose of this exercise is to measure your reflexes andbat sense! Is there any part of this that''s unreasonable? Tell me!"

    Tycon looked back to Athena and Tanamar. They offered nothing.

    Centurion Zenon responded by tossing the remaining practice sword. Directed through the air by an unseen hand, it sunk into the sand beside Victorius. The footman only had to reach forward and grasp its hilt.

    Tycon felt the muscles in his eyes spasming from anger. He had to divert his willpower in keeping his gaze undimmed, so he didn''t inflict a Third-Circle poisonous affliction upon all hispanions.

    "Ites down to beliefs, then..." Tycon scowled, gnashing his teeth, "You believe you shouldn''t fight. I believe that you... you MUST... have something worth fighting for...

    "On the field, men and women fight and die for their beliefs. Some on the behalf of their deity. Some for love... some for honor. Many fight for something even more base... food to stave off dying of starvation or a ce to sleep, safe from the elements."

    Tycon red, "--or perhaps to gain a f*cking modicum of self-respect."

    Anger welled in Tycon''s heart. He lifted his gaze towards Victorius, trying to gauge the fellow''s reaction... but it only made his killing intent surge more violently, threatening to spill blood.

    There was something. There was always something that a person held dear to them, human or not... The only reason to live was if there was something-- thrice-damned anything that was worth fighting for.

    If he could find that for the Archer... he had the potential to be their strongest ally.

    "What. the f*ck. do you believe in, Victorius?"

    The Archer narrowed his eyes, "I won''t fight."

    Tycon had enough.

    He didn''t have his previous memories... but he recalled... an emotion. He held a deep, nostalgic feeling... of what it was like to face uncertain death. It wasn''t split-second, adrenaline-pumping life-or-death he recalled. It was the intimate feeling of struggling for suns and moons and years and epochs... with the only reward being survival.

    For him, surviving for minutes or bells more... was a cause worth fighting for.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Athena was juggling her academy studies and her shite family... and she still remained hardworking and honest. Tanamar had taken a second-job to assist her-- even though that job was far beneath his station.

    Tycon''s efforts were going towards strengthening Athena and House Vanzano... They knew this. He had exined his ns beforehand. There was no mystery behind his goals.

    Victorius had the opportunity to repay that faith, both his and Athena''s. All he had to do was train.

    He refused.

    That was... uneptable.

    "In my world..." Tycon snarled, "If you do not fight, you die."

    He gathered all of his rage, the wild and tumultuous mana... and he condensed it. The concentration of power coursed through his form. The refined mana was pure, its intent was clear, and its capability lethal.

    Tycon willed his body forward. He felt his legs kick off of the sand, faster than an Iron-Rank could possibly move. A giant wave of sand kicked up behind him in his wake.

    Tycon raised his sword. The swing was slow. The attack was telegraphed. The speed and force of it was more than enough to crack Victorius'' human skull, dislodge his spine, and spread a cloud of pink mist into the air as congrattions.

    Wind and sand swirled around the two as Tycon stopped his weapon, ilms away from contact.

    The wood of the practice de began to crack.

    In order to stop his movement, Tycon had to channel arge burst of mana into his weapon to counter the force. Expectedly, the wooden sword broke apart, dissipating into golden flecks of sand that fell onto the beach.

    Victorius had fallen on his arse, shielding his face with both of his hands. Tears had pooled at the corners of his eyes.

    A welt was reddening on the side of his head from a weapon that hadn''t even struck him.

    Tycon clenched his right hand, crumbling the rest of his sword into mana dust.

    He turned back to the others, "We''re returning to the manor."

    Without another word, Tycon increased his pace, jogging back towards the Vanzano estate.

    ...

    Zenon watched his Optio depart. He was pissed... and for good reason. In the Church, ''Failure to Train'' got you executed. The real world operated differently... not at all like in the military.

    Athena was on her feet, stretching, getting ready for the run back. Tanamar was still staring at Victorius. The other footman sat alone, his unfocused gaze looking out over the ocean waters.

    ...No. Tanamar was still staring at the ce in the sand where Tycon was once standing.

    Zenon wondered what was going through his mind.

    He stood up, "Let''s get going, everyone."

    Whatever thoughts he had, Tanamar shook his head, discarding it, "Yeah... Let''s go."

 Chapter 314 FitFO

    ?The first morning of Tycon''s and Zenon''s training yielded decent results for two, while simultaneously outing Victorius as a worthless coward.

    Subsequent days progressed as expected. Ever diligent, the Invictus duo ventured to the Military Academy in Silva to work with Athena''sbat instructors. Tycon was particrly skilled with the Holy Country''s longsword techniques and was asked to host a short lecture.

    He liked to teach... and the small bit of coin the Academy gave him was worth the time spent.

    Even still, Tycon was running low on funds.

    The coin went towards a bnced diet for his three trainees... and the ever-variable cost of training equipment, bandages, wooden swords, and the like.

    He couldn''t ask for money from the Vanzano Patriarch, Lord Greer. Tycon had rarely seen him in the manor... not that he cared to keep track of him.

    He wasn''t willing to use a lesser grade of proteins or herbs. Besides feeding the children, his cooking fed himself and Zenon. Professionals have standards.

    A small part of him wished he could subsist on simpler pleasures... like Sol Invictus members Dragan and Lone. To improve their morale, they just needed a whore or two.

    ...Tycon made a mental note that they could probably share a whore between them. Even if he or she charged a bit more, it wouldn''t be so much as double... If he cut their pay slightly, he could set aside guild funds for their whoring. He doubted the fools would mind, as long as they got their ''Whore Bonus.''

    Within the week, he figured he''d have to visit the Banking Guild. There, he''d withdraw coin on his credit as a guild leader and owner of the East Charm Trading Company. Hopefully, whatever enemies were searching for him wouldn''t dare tread into the Holy Country. After all, the nation had agents of the Church hidden behind every column, poised to smite anything suspicious into oblivion.

    Tycon was a very handsome fellow. Handsome fellows were above suspicion.

    "Don''t look now, Optio," Zenon lowered his head. "There''s trouble."

    Tycon crossed his arms as Zenon slowed their group to a halt. Athena, Tanamar, and Victorius had finished a morning of light training and were still in good spirits, thus were only slightly curious about the dy.

    Though Tycon''s eyesight was superior to his Centurion''s, Zenon''s vision was... elevated. With that particr advantage, he was often first to spot threats to the party.

    Tycon did not envy the man. Zenon would also be the first to be noticed and shot by enemy snipers.

    "If I''m not to look, now..." He nced up at the Centurion, "When... would it be permissible?"

    Zenon twisted his lips, struggling for an answer... "It was a figure of speech."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. What did it mean, then?

    ...He chose to wholly ignore it. He moved forward to peek past the side of the wall Zenon had nced over. Over two dozen armed men and women were loitering in front of the Vanzano estate.

    "Those bastards... what could they want?" Zenon grumbled.

    Tycon scoffed inwardly. This was an opportunity. If he could murder those people, he could rob them all... Even better, if he could track down their leader, he could extort that person for coin! This was a wonderful development.

    He began to chuckle quietly as he counted the coins in his possession. Taking a few, he handed his wallet to Tanamar.

    The white-haired footman warily took the bag, "What''s this for?"

    "Consider it a well-deserved break from training." Tycon smiled politely, "Take the youngdy somece nice. Return to the manor after two bells."

    Tanamar furrowed his brows, "Tycon, I... I can''t take your money."

    "Good, I''d prefer it that way," Tycon shrugged. "Use your own. But keep the extra coin for purchases rted to training."

    Athena pouted, "Is it okay? If it''s okay, I''d like... some new athletic clothes."

    "Permission granted," Tycon nodded. It was not umon for articles of clothing to be ruined duringbat training.

    Tanamar moved closer to whisper, "I''m not leaving, Tycon. You guys need my help."

    Odd. The young man hadn''t looked over the wall to see the threat they faced. However, instant willingness to assist his allies in a physical altercation was an admirable trait. Tycon approved.

    "Incorrect, we do not-- but thank you for volunteering." Tycon gestured up at Zenon, "Understand that the Centurion and I are able to handle this sort of situation because of our stations."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Won''t that get you guys in trouble?" Tanamar asked.

    The young footman''s worries were reasonable.

    "If we act in a particr way we are..." Tycon smirked, "--above thew. Any questions?"

    "Y-yeah," Tanamar''s face fell. "What... what am I supposed to do with her?"

    Tycon nced past the Holy Lancer, seeing a radiantly smiling Athena. She was barely able to keep still, clutching Tycon''s wallet in anticipation.

    "Go." He narrowed his eyes at Tanamar, "I have faith you''ll... figure it out."

    As a general teaching strategy, Tycon loathed the ''figure it out'' instruction. If a student asks a question, it should be answered in order to facilitate their growth.

    However, concerning Tanamar''s specific situation... he did not need guidance. He got along well enough with Athena that whatever they did would foster their mutual rtionship.

    The white-haired footman left obediently, Athena dragging him along back the way they came. This would be his and Zenon''s fight, not theirs.

    "As for you..." Tycon turned to Victorius, "Here''s three gold coins. Ensure dinner is served at the manor in two bells."

    "V-very well, Sir." The crippled-hand footman took the coins, but couldn''t meet Tycon''s gaze.

    Tycon found it frustrating. The young Victorius dutifullypleted his mundane training along with his mistress and fellow footman... but that was the extent of his faith. The former Archer still shied away from anything rted tobat.

    ...With Victorius stillpleting his training, Tycon did not have enough reason to beat the fellow to death.

    In the meantime, Victorius remained a loyal servant of House Vanzano. As annoyed with the young man as he was, he had nopunctions in assigning him reasonable duties.

    ? He handed him a piece of paper, "And since you''re going out, buy some groceries."

    "Sir?" Victorius asked with uncertainty.

    ...What could it be? Tycon hoped it wasn''t going to be simr to Tanamar''s asinine, ''but wHaaT do I doOooO?''

    "I... I can''t read," Victorius admitted.

    Tycon squeezed his eyes into a focused re, "What?"

    "I... I can''t read, Sir."

    Tycon was shocked, "Empty night, what do you mean you can''t read? You are a *footman* of a *noble* house. You''re not a filth-riddenmoner?"

    "I uh... I joinedte," Victorius stared at his feet.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, turning to Zenon, "Centurion, am I wrong? Am I the ''bad guy'' here?"

    Zenon grimaced, revealing his teeth, "Well... most citizens can count but not read, Optio. Only merchants really need readingprehension."

    Tycon sighed, "Victorius... give the list to the grocer. They should be able to fill the order for you."

    The Archer nodded, "Oh. Right."

    "Why are you still here?" Tycon red.

    "Sir, I don''t think three coin will be enough," Victorius squeaked.

    Tycon took a deep breath, "Just... just go. Figure it out."

 Chapter 315 Reap The Whirlwind (Part One)

    ?Sanctum Librarius Zenon Skyreaper ced the enchanted Centurion helmet upon his head. Unlike mundane equipment, its metal remained cool, his vision remained upromised and his voice projected through its molded scowl.

    He did not wear it often. While wearing it, he felt... detached when dealing with others. However, the situation called for his utmost professionalism.

    He narrowed his eyes, not that anyone would be able to see it, "How many, Optio?"

    "Over twenty at first nce, Centurion," The green-haired Decanus looked behind the wall, "They''re peaceable enough-- though it looks like our viins have gained... a ything."

    Zenon felt hatred grip his heart as he stepped out from the wall, "While the enemies of the me still draw breath, there can be no peace."

    "Of course. How could I forget?" Tycon shrugged as Zenon walked past, "Do as you will. I shall cover you."

    Zenon nodded, his back turned to his Optio. That he had Brother-Tycon covering his back warmed his heart with pride and strengthened his will to do battle.

    He was sworn to protect House Vanzano against any would-be attackers.

    It was an oath he did not take lightly.

    A tiny kitten cowered within the circle of sinners. Its orange fur was mangy, bitten by insects. It was thin... malnourished. Grown men spat at her, kicking,ughing. It made Zenon feel ashamed to be human.

    Zenon crossed his forearms, allowing his ded ws to touch. The satisfying spark got their attention, a precursor to a one-sided beating. He ran forward, the sanctified Tyrion steel of his metal boots smashing into the road, flinging up rocks. Several hundred librae of righteous fury sped towards those who dared disregard the sanctity of life.

    Wisely, the thugs took several steps back, drawing their weapons. Zenon scooped the kitten up in his metal arms.

    "Are you unhurt, child?" His voice echoed.

    Zenon would rather have been saving a human, but a cat was fine, too. The tiny creature shivered in hisrge metal palms, but it was safe.

    He kept his voice calm and low, warm and sincere, trying to calm the young kitten''s nerves. He had no wish to intimidate the creature. The thugs around that he and Brother-Tycon would be facing were a different matter.

    Zenon ced the kitten within a pouch on his waist, where it fit wonderfully. Focusing his mana, he allowed a silver glow to emit from the eyes of his helmet, "How many are you?"

    "Huhuhu..." One of the thugs chuckled, a dangerous-looking rogue with dark, sunken eyes.

    There were far too many of them and surrounding him in a half-circle... Zenon couldn''t keep track of them all. How could so many sinners challenge the Church? Tyrion was united in its faith! He found the situation inconceivable.

    "You''re gonna find out, ''oh so holy one~''" The dark-eyed man mocked, his voice raspy and old. He raised a hand to his mouth, releasing a loud, piercing whistle.

    Zenon heard movement from all around him... but even through his full-helmet, the wind brought rity to his ears. He smirked, "Thirty-one."

    The number brought a twitch to the dark-eyed man''s mouth and his thugs grimaced in uncertainty. The dark-clothed forces of House Gnis were all around them... swordsmen emerging from alleyways, archers skulking about on rooftops opposite the Vanzano estate.

    "So the altar-boy can count. Big deal." The dark-eyed manughed, "You''re outnumbered. Might as well give up, th'' both o'' ya."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Indeed. The observation period is over," Zenon nodded. "Swing your sword, Brother-Tycon."

    Zenon shoved his arms out to the left and right, one set of ws piercing a man''s head, the other gutting a man and electrocuting his insides with a violent rush of mana. Tearing the bloodied des out of the flesh of sinners, he crossed his arms and formed a series of gestures with his hands.

    With that spell, his Optio would be protected. Once he sensed Tycon''s sword, he could cast an enchantment on that, as well, to increase the speed and fury of his strikes.

    "If you stay in the sphere, you''ll be safe," He spoke aloud, shing the most confident smile he could.

    Oh, wait. He was still wearing his helmet. ''By the me, my people-skills suck.''

    ...

    ? Several seconds earlier. ?

    Tycondrius dyed the release of his ?Shadowfang Strike? skill. With its movement-effect duration not-yet-expired, he had a few short seconds of magical stealth before he needed to appear.

    The Centurion''s judgment of thirty-one was... slightly off. There were thirty thugs, archers, warriors in dark clothing... but the one was different. Within the group, hidden by the crowd... was a single member of the Church.

    ? Bronze-Rank Human Inquisitor. ?

    He even had a Church-specific ss.

    The middle-aged fellow wore a tall buckled hat and a dark expression. It was likely the Inquisitor was not informed that a Centurion and his Optio were working with House Vanzano.

    It was possibly a precarious situation, but Tycon had a mind to ensure the gentleman''s survival. He doubted the Church would care if he and Zenon ughtered a hundred Tyrion citizens. A single Inqusitor, though, would be worth at least an eye-raise.

    Tycon felt Zenon''s ?Wind Barrier? cover his form. It was an odd spell, sheathing his body in spinning winds that protected him from damage. Still, it was nice of him.

    He hadn''t brought his halberd, but he had his two Decani swords and the dagger on his back... What could he use that was particrly eye-catching? By his actions, he wished to immediately dissuade the Inquisitor from acting against them.

    The noise of the ?Wind Barrier?''s speed, whirling about his form made it difficult to think.

    ...Oh. That would do nicely.

    Tycon emerged from his stealth, grasping the neck of the thug closest to the old man. The wind barrier swirled about, bits of debris cutting into human flesh, sanding off the features of the man''s face like a broad stroke of coarse sandpaper.

    It was... more effective than Tycon had hoped, blood streaming down both his face and armor and that of his target''s. He''d need a bath afterward.

    "Good afternoon, Inquisitor," He spoke aloud, tossing a dead man aside.

 Chapter 316 Reap The Whirlwind (Part Two)

    ?Tycondrius gave a cursory nod to the Inquisitor. Though blood had sshed upon the older man''s clothing, the Church uniform seemed designed for it-- dark leathers and red cloth.

    The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes, growling low, "Good afternoon, Decanus."

    "I would offer to shake your hand, Sir, but..." Tycon pointed the four fingers of his left hand forward and thrust it through one of the thugs'' chests. The ?Wind Barrier? allowed him to easily pierce the man''s heart.

    "Tch, circumstances dictate the cordiality *inappropriate*." The Inquisitor scoffed with annoyance, "Carry on, as you were."

    "My RAGE BURNNNNNS as Eternal as the FLAAAAME!!!"

    Zenon''s echoing voice sounded like he was breathing mes. Tycon thought it sounded quite impressive.

    A short distance away, Centurion Zenon was hurling spheres of condensed mana at various dark-clothed ruffians. Archers from the far rooftops fell, heads and sections of body missing as the cruel, spinning orbs found their targets. Zenon''s spells rent through flesh and bone just as easily as Tycon''s wind-sheathed arms.

    Tycon batted one such orb away from the Inquisitor. The wind-to-wind contact rebuffed the attack wonderfully, the errant sphere obliterating a woman''s leg below the knee. Tycon dashed to the fallen and pounded a fist into the back of her skull, the wind enchantment tearing out her hair and the flesh from the back of her neck.

    "With respect, Inquisitor..." Tycon stood and smiled politely, "What is your association with these people?"

    "House Gnis? Pah," The old man red, his face curled up in disgust. "Mind your tongue, Decanus. I have no ''association'' with these filthy creatures."

    Before Tycon could argue, the Inquisitor pulled a crossbow from his side and shot a quarrel into the side of a man''s skull. The old veteran ratched back the weapon''s mechanism and reloaded it with practiced skill.

    Tycon allowed himself a smirk, "You must forgive me, Inquisitor. Then it was a mere coincidence that you stood amongst their number."

    "Very well..." The Inquisitor shot a few more bolts in the crowd before speaking again. His voice remained a surly mix of displeasure and annoyance, "I shall forgive your insolence, Decanus..."

    He narrowed his eyes, speaking through clenched teeth, "--but I assure you, you were mistaken."

    ...

    Thirty men and women, dead. And apparently, the Centurion had rescued a cat.

    "You''ve outdone yourself, Centurion," Tycon congratted.

    Zenon took off his helmet, showing a cheesy smile, "Not so bad, yourself, Optio."

    The taller man tilted his body to look behind Tycon. Tycon couldn''t fathom why. The elevated Zenon could look past him without the exaggerated movement, "Who''s that? An Inquisitor?"

    "A gentleman caught in the wrong ce at the time," Tycon assured his Centurion.

    The Inquisitor nodded at the armored Zenon, "Librarian."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Inquisitor," Zenon returned the nod, before frowning at the surrounding massacre. "Very well. Hm... I shall see to cleaning the blood and bodies."

    The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow, "May I suggest hanging them from your walls. It would be a more effective deterrent against... unreasonable solicitors."

    Admittedly, that was good advice. Unfortunately, there were difficulties to that. Blood tended to be... a detractor of a business'' value, at least when disyed so openly. Until Sorina Capulet arrived, Tycon did not want to worsen House Vanzano''s reputation. It would be better to hide the bodies and have Zenon use his magic or mopping skill to keep recent events to rumors, as opposed to facts.

    Further, Tycon worried that with Athena''s demeanor, she might not look kindly upon the wanton ughter he and Zenon hadmitted in her House''s name.

    ...Anyroad, when he and Zenon left blood, bone bits, and a severed arm in front of the estate several suns prior, it elicited the rage of one footman Tanamar. It was better to clean up the mess, in order to at least avoid that fellow''s whining.

    "No, Brother-Inquisitor," Tycon shook his head. "That would go against the Centurion and my goals with House Vanzano."

    "Oh?" The Inquisitor frowned. "Then I suppose House Vanzano is your jurisdiction, then?"

    The tall Centurion loomed over the two of them, "Is there an issue, Brother-Decanus?"

    "There is not, Brother-Librarian." Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Brother-Inquisitor, I believe you and I should speak in private."

    The old man nced up at Zenon before grimacing to Tycon, "Indeed..."

    ...

    Tycon and the Inquisitor stepped several fulms away, allowing Zenon to begin cleaning the damage with his magic. It was a simple spell, cleaning blood from the stones as if with pressurized sts from wind or water. In the Kingdom, such spells were far moremon... but magic for mundane tasks seemed somewhat frowned upon in the Holy Country.

    The Inquisitor had ess to an Elementary magic spell called ?Message?, which allowed him and Tycon to speak privately without risking the Librarian and his Wind-Affinity hearing them. For added privacy, they used the Holy Country''s Old Language. The old veteran Inquisitor was naturally fluent in it... and as Tycon''s family originated from the Holy Country, the memories held within his bloodline made him just as fluent.

    "(I must insist once more, Inquisitor,)" Tycon stated. "(House Vanzano belongs to the jurisdiction of myself and Centurion Skyreaper.)"

    The old man rolled his eyes, his decorum diminishing as his patience did, "(A shame, Decanus. It''s quite frustrating, you see.)"

    Tycon chuckled to himself. He felt just as annoyed as the Inquisitor with the development of general events-- unrted to the older gentleman''s issues, he was sure, "(Might you speak your mind, Brother-Inquisitor? I have none to spill your secrets to.)"

    The old man sighed in annoyance, "(Indeed. I was growing quite partial... to the young Athena. She''s the only reason I was in this me-taken city. Do you know how difficult it is to find a ''breakable'' young noblewoman, in recent years?)"

    Tycon let out an unintentional scoff, "(Hah. Oh, I cannot rte, Sir. However, I advise you to mind your tongue around my Centurion. I believe he would not take kindly to your honesty.)"

    "(Just my luck,)" The Inquisitor spat against the stones, "(We are of different factions, then, Decanus?)"

 Chapter 317 Class Unknown, Rank Unknown

    ?"(Different, yes.)" Tycondrius mulled over the thought, "(--but I believe my ''faction'' is one neutral to yours.)"

    Sol Invictus was a faction to itself. It wasn''t one known to the Snake Cult, but in implying he had a backer, Tycon would retain his social importance in the conversation.

    "(Neutral?)" The Inquisitor scoffed and shook his head, "(Is there truly such a thing? Hah.)"

    Tycon shrugged, "(I believe it the most appropriate term.)"

    "Fair..."

    The old man paused, cing a hand upon his chin and scrutinizing Tycon''s armored and blood-covered form... "(I sense a kinship in you, Decanus. Why is that?)"

    "(I believe because we are both practical gentlemen,)" Tycon smiled politely.

    "Hmph, indeed," The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes, "And will you be visiting House Gnis after this?"

    "Likely," Tycon nodded.

    He wasn''t afraid of retribution from the house of thieves. He wanted to kill the lot of them and take their coin.

    "(''Tis a shame...)" The old man released a heavy sigh, "(I had a few... toys cultivated there. There was an elf, you see...)"

    "(--Inquisitor, I must apologize,)" Tycon interrupted, smiling with chagrin, "(With my current circumstances-- notably my Centurion... I doubt I will be able to recover your... items.)"

    There would be no substantial gain, financial or social, in recovering the man''s ves... assuming that''s what he was referring to. And if there was, Tycon would be hard-pressed to do so, on ount of his morality. The concept of unjust very did not sit well with him.

    "(How unfortunate..." The veteran frowned, "Well... do as you must. You will not be seeing of me again, Decanus.)"

    "Oh, before you go..." Tycon held out an open palm.

    He wanted something of the Inquisitor. He wasn''t certain what he''d be receiving... but as he had implicitly saved the old degenerate''s life, he was certain he''d get something of worth.

    "Right," The old man groaned. From a small pouch, the Inquisitor produced a stylized silver coin and ced it into Tycon''s hand.

    Emzoned onto the metal was a snake skull on a backdrop of mes. It was a favor of the Snake Cult.

    "(You do know what that is?)" The old man raised an eyebrow.

    Tycon could feel killing intent practically oozing from the old man. But just that much? He didn''t even flinch.

    To ensure the Inquisitor''s trust, Tycon spoke his response in Parseltongue, thenguage of serpents, Yuan-Ti, and Medusae, "[(Be well on your travels,] Inquisitor.)"

    "(Be well on my travels, indeed. Not something I hear often.)" The old man scoffed, turning on his heel, "Fair travels to you, as well, Decanus."

    ...

    With the Centurion still cleaning, Tycon sat down next to the injured cat. He removed a half-ration of jerky he had been saving and chewed on it absentmindedly.

    "(Mind if I... have some of that?)" The cat meowed. "(I''m dyin'', here.)"

    Tycon nced over. The orange-furred cat seemed not long for life, dragging its hind legs as it wed forward.

    It didn''t look like it ate much. He tore off a (small) piece of his jerky and held it towards the dying creature, "Sure thing."

    "(Holy shite, you can understand me?)" The cat looked up, the pain in its eyes turning to surprise.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Dying Cat, Unknown Rank, Unknown ss.?

    In asking his System for the cat''s information, he sensed an eerily familiar message... Interesting.

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded. "I''ve found it''s a somewhat rare ability."

    "(Yeah, if you could just... hold that there,)" The cat nibbled at the meat Tycon held. "(Oh, hey-- this is pretty good.)"

    "My thanks," Tycon smirked. That the cat enjoyed his spiced jerky meant the creature''s taste buds were... not as cat-like as he appeared, "What''s your story, young one?"

    "(Eh, you wouldn''t believe me if I told you,)" The cat yawned-- or was it a sigh? ("Ugh. Those bastards did a number on me. Worst day of my life, man.)"

    "What does my status say?" Tycon asked casually.

    "(ss Unknown, Level Unknown?)" The cat crinkled its nose before covering its eyes with its paws, "(Aughhh. My System is useless. You know, it even talks back to--)"

    The cat paused, its mouth open wide.

    Tycon decided to continue the conversation in... cat. He did not want to leak unnecessary information to his Centurion, "(All of our Systems are different, it seems. Mine does not seem to have a personality.)"

    The cat yowled angrily, "(Grahhh... Then you''re lucky! So you''re a transmigrator too? Who are you? Where are you from?)"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "(In this Realm, it''s considered polite to offer your own information first.)"

    The cat narrowed its eyes, ring, "(You first. I''ve got nothin'' to lose.)"

    "(I gave you some meat. I''d like some reciprocation.)"

    "(Eh...)" The cat hesitated, "(Fine. My name is Kanbrai and I''m originally from a called Evocar-Five. I woke up in whatever-world-this is... about a week ago."

    "(Hm. Never heard of it,)" Tyconmented, "(Tycon, nice to meet you. I transmigrated into this world a year or so ago.)

    Kanbraiid its muzzle upon the stones, "(For the record, this backwater sucks. I hate it. I got a System, though-- so I got that goin'' for me.)"

    The cat tried to move, but grimaced in pain from its injuries, "(Yep, nevermind. Not rolling over... How many of us are there?)"

    "(I''ve no idea,)" Tycon shook his head. "(I''m aware of four... including myself. Each of us came from different worlds, it seems.)"

    "(Must be nice to transmigrate into your situation...)" The catined.

    "(Indeed. Though I did not gain this body''s memories, I''ve memories from this world-- or a world simr. And I believe my bloodline has granted me memories, as well. Adjusting has not been difficult.)"

    "(Psh. My bloodline memories are useless. I just know how to pounce on mice and be terrified of snakes.)" Kanbrai rolled his eyes.

    Tycon noted that the young cat had very poor instincts.

    "(Anyway,)" The cat hissed, "(--I was referring to the fact that you''re a humanoid.)"

    "(To be honest, I''m not.)" Tycon chuckled, "(I just have a humanoid form.)"

    "(Oh, transformation ability? Niiiiice.)" The cat yowled excitedly, "(I guess I can ask my System if I can unlock that ability, too.)"

    "(At least neither of us reincarnated into a stick,)" Tycon offered.

    "(Yeah... Though that would be... interesting?)"

 Chapter 318 Sweetest Ialtrae (Part One)

    ?Tycondrius and Kanbrai watched Centurion Zenon Skyreaper work systematically. He used abination of mundane mopping and mana-fueled pressure-washing to clean the blood from the roadstones.

    "(He''s pretty good at that,)" Kanbrai remarked.

    "(He is...)" Tycon mused... "(Your ns from here, Mister Kanbrai?)"

    The cat licked at his paw and brushed his face, "(I guess I''ll level up by killing rats or somethin''.)"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "(The Centurion and I are staying as guests of House Vanzano. Perhaps I can introduce our hosts to you as ourpanion?)"

    The cat shook its head, "(I appreciate it, Tycon. But I''m a solo sort''a guy.)"

    Tycon smirked, "(Imend your bravery, Mister Kanbrai.)"

    "(Please don''t.)" The cat mashed its face upon the stone, "(I put my points into a bunch of solo passives, ''cuz I didn''t think I''d be able to find a team. I practically get reduced XP in a group.)"

    Points? What could that possibly refer to?

    Tycon was silently thankful that his System had no resemnce to Kanbrai''s. He didn''t quite understand the cat''s System-specific diction... but that his cultivation was impaired in a group? Tycon would struggle to adapt with such a limitation.

    "(Say, Tycon...)" Kanbrai lifted his head, "(Are there healing tanks in this world? Or consumables that heal injuries? ording to my System, it''ll take me a few days to get back to full hit-points.)"

    "Hmm..." Tycon pursed his lips, "(I''ll restore your injuries with one of my skills. If we cross paths again, you owe me a favor.)"

    "(Fair enough,)" Kanbrai agreed.

    ...

    Tycon wished Kanbrai well, watching the cat slink off down an opposite alley. From what he had learned, he was fairly certain that Tanamar of Vanzano had transmigrated from another world, much like himself, Kanbrai, and Aur.

    ...Though that did nothing to change his perceptions or his situation.

    If anything, Tycon hoped that the young man would have an edge over his peers. He had the unique ability to think unlike the natural denizens of the Realm.

    "Centurion," He called.

    "What''s up, Optio?" The diligent Centurion had a healthy gleam of sweat on his brow from his hard work.

    "Mister Kanbrai, your feline friend, has appreciated your assistance. He''s excused himself, as he has another appointment to deal with."

    "O-oh..." The Centurion smiled, not entirely certain about what to do with that information, "He... he did, did he?"

    "Further, I''ll be paying a visit to House Gnis." Tycon opened his pack, retrieving his dark cloak and hood, "I expect to returnte in the evening. Leave a window open, if you would."

    "How about I just leave the door unlocked?"

    "No, I prefer it this way." Tycon smirked, "When I return, Victorius might soil himself if I appear at his bedside in full armor."

    "Hm, alright." The Centurion crossed his arms, "Want any help?"

    "No, but I appreciate the offer. I will be traveling with stealth."

    "Very well." Zenon nodded, "You are pretty good at that. Take care of yourself, Optio. I will see to Athena''s evening studies."

    ...

    **Content Warning: Explicit torture and death**<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Don''t cry, Little Doe," Ialtrae cooed, her Elven voice musical and soothing.

    Doe wiped her face, wet with tears. She hated her situation and the humiliation she was forced to endure. She wanted nothing more than to scream-- maybe it would make her feel better?

    She couldn''t yell at Ialtrae, though... She was far too sweet... far too kind. She didn''t deserve this.

    Doe hated her for that.

    ...It wasn''t a real hate. She wasn''t that petty... but Doe envied her, nheless. She couldn''t understand how the Elven girl could stay so brave... still appear so strong. Ialtrae had been in captivity far longer than any of them had. They had tried to break her again and again... but she still somehow kept a bit of dignity.

    Doe wanted someone to me... the Eternal me for not answering her prayers, her parents for being poor, House Gnis for their tyranny...

    If she couldn''t me anyone, she could only me herself.

    She''d spent most of her life doing that.

    She was tired of it.

    House Gnis'' headquarters were deep within the sewer system below Silva... far enough that the city guard just decided it wasn''t worth the trouble, poking around. me take the lot of them... it was their fault that Gnis'' corruption ran so deep.

    Somewhere in that shite-smelling underground maze was a dark cell with two iron cages suspended from the ceiling. Within those cages were five women, naked and starving.., and a sixth woman, naked and dead.

    Doe shared her cage with Seta. Seta was a noisy bitch... not that she could be med for it. The sounds of buzzing insects and the squirming of maggots in her eyes kept Doe wary. She feared that the maggots would burrow into her ears or feast on her still-living flesh.

    No matter how exhausted she was, that fear kept Doe awake.

    Ialtrae said it was dysentery. Fancy name or not, Seta soiled herself to death. It was not a dignified death... Was it possible to die *with* dignity? Doe absolutely did not want to die like Seta... not that she had a choice in the matter.

    Her and Seta''s cage was better than Ialtrae''s. Hers filled to capacity, holding three women, mashed together... At least Doe could stretch half her body at a time.

    The cages weren''t built forfort.

    Why would they be?

    As a plus, Doe had the option of throwing her humanity away and filling her belly on Seta''s rotting flesh. It''s not like Seta was using it, anyroad...

    Haha... She''d never be able to do that.

    Before this, Doe had always considered herself a practical woman. When House Gnis offered her a job in exchange for a few sexual favors, it only took her a few minutes to ept the offer. When herpanions were dying in front of the Vanzano estate, she was the first to throw away her shame and beg the golden-eyed Decanus for mercy. After her failure, when she was stripped naked andshed within ilms of death, she was more-or-less okay with it.

    Currently, Doe was nude, suspended from a metal cage, and crying because she was forced to soil herself in the near-darkness. She was malms away from safety, clean clothing, unspoiled food, and clean water.

    She had no idea when exactly she stopped being okay with... anything.

    Again, tears began to well up at the corner of her eyes. Whenever she thought she had cried herself dry... she found that she had infinite tears.

    It was like she had the Realm''s worst superpower.

    She''d only stop when Ialtrae''s gentle voice whispered smallforts...

    Doe ran her fingers over the scar tissue on her bicep. How many suns had it been since meeting the golden-eyed Decanus?

    "I should have just begged for death, then..." She whispered to herself.

 Chapter 319 Sweetest Ialtrae (Part Two)

    ?**Content Warning: Continuation of explicit torture and death**

    Light slowly creeped into the room from beneath the heavy door. Doe''s captors were returning. Maybe it wasn''t toote to beg for death?

    The wood-rotted door creaked open on rusty hinges, the oppressive light of a bullseyentern spilling through. It hurt her eyes terribly. It had been so long that she hadn''t been able to see.

    ...It had been so long without the warmth of a me.

    Seta had grown fat and bloated, her eyeless sockets staring in silent sadness at the two who entered.

    An elderly man wearing tattered robes dragged his limping body into the room. Underneath white, unkempt hair, he wrinkled hisrge, crooked nose and blinked with eyes, clouded white. He lifted up hisntern, inspecting the caged women on disy.

    The old man didn''t have a name... or if he did, Doe was never important enough to know it. He didn''t deal with the lower echelons of House Gnis, and everyone with half-a-brain avoided him like the gue he stank of. He was referred to as the Ancient... or The Warlock.

    It wasn''t terribly creative, but those that called him anything but ended up in the Herd.

    A younger man followed close beside him... a tiny-pricked, less-than-human bastard named Linos.

    Linos focused the light of his ownntern at Doe''s face.

    It burnt so badly...

    She struggled to shield her eyes with her hand. It had been too many suns without food and water... It tired her so... enough that she stopped her struggles, glowering into the burning light, helplessly epting the pain.

    "You ready to give in, Doe?" Linos smirked, "Being a part of the Herd isn''t so bad."

    Doe clenched her teeth. A few moments ago, she was fully intent on begging for death. Seeing Linos'' pockmarked face and hearing his ugly, high-pitched voice, she wanted nothing more than to w his eyes out.

    She, along with Ialtrae and the others, were being prepared to join the Herd... through of House Gnis'' weird, cult-y rituals. They said they''d be better sacrifices, the more torment they were put through.

    Why couldn''t she join a criminal organization that volunteered at soup kitchens or picked up trash on the beach? As a reward for years of faithful service to House Gnis, all Doe received was the special ''privilege'' of learning about the Herd.

    It was a fate worse than death.

    Every man and woman who took part in the ritual would inevitably change. Sometimes, it took a few suns-- once, she''d seen it take a whole me-taken week.

    Slowly, she''d start losing her memories... What she ate for breakfast. What she was doing and where she was... Where she grew up and who she grew up with. What her name was.

    In that fear and panic, she''d be more suggestible... holding onto anyone that offered direction. Sleep with me. Take this drug. Sleep with a few of my friends. They''ll protect you. I''ll protect you.

    They were the sweetest lies... Admittedly, they had worked on Doe even without mind-altering dark magic.

    Eventually, she''d lose the ability to think for herself, her mind an empty te. Her only use then would be suffering physical and sexual abuse withoutint. She wouldn''t even be able to take care of herself... needing to be spoon-fed like a child and washed down like a beast.

    A part of her didn''t think it sounded so bad. The Herd lied around all day, vited and beaten by sadistic and cruel men and women. They were fed and bathed regrly.

    But their eyes never changed. They held stared in sadness... they shook with fear. There was... rity in those eyes.

    Doe wasn''t afraid of death. She was afraid of living each day unable to control herself... watching like a ghost... knowing that she couldn''t even act to kill herself.

    She should have left the organization, then. She should have left it a long time ago. She was stupid. She fell for the lies. She even lied to herself,ughing it off... saying it would never happen to her.<novelnext></novelnext>

    No one expects the worst to happen to them... until it does.

    She opened her parched mouth to speak, willing sounds toe out... to form the words that would tell Linos how she truly felt.

    "Ffff..."

    "What''s that, my love?" Linos raised an eyebrow. "Free you?"

    "Fff....ffff...uck... yyyou...."

    Yasss... She did it.

    Doe closed her eyes... As dry as her lips and mouth were, she was smiling. The coppery taste of blood at the corner of her lips was her reward for her tiny victory... but even that made her tired.

    Hopefully, they''d kill her for her disrespect.

    An iron ng resounded through the room from a cage being struck. Three weakened women yelped in surprise to the tune of the low tter of metal.

    "WhaaAAt... the f*CK issss thisss???" The Ancient demanded, his words thick with phlegm and the gravelly crackle of age.

    "What? The shite and piss on the floors?" Linos asked in contempt, "Or my rtionship with the whore I was just talking to?"

    Doe grit her teeth. She wanted to argue back... maybe insult his sexual ability or... ask if the bastard had ever loved her... But she was just so tired... She didn''t even want to open her eyes.

    The agonized screaming of three caged women gave Doe strength she didn''t know she had. She opened her eyes. She shook her cage, "What? ...No ....S-stop it..."

    The Warlock was holding out a twisted hand, a heretical swirl of green magic swirling around it. The room was illuminated as green mes engulfed a woman in the other cage.

    Ialtrae... poor sweet Ialtrae... even as she burned alive, she was beautiful. Her eyes were twisted in pain as she sang... a mournful song of grief and unending suffering. The other two that shared her cage struggled, unable to escape-- they would share sweet Ialtrae''s fate.

    The sweet smell of burning flesh mixed in with the shite and rot. Doe''s body was wracked with a body-convulsing pain as she dry heaved. There was nothing in her stomach left to vomit.

    "me take you, Pyraxis," Linos frowned. "What is the meaning of this?"

    "OhhHHHh, sod offffff, Linos..." The Warlock doubled over, coughing, only rising after spitting a thick glob of green upon the floor, "I willll notttt.... ssssuffer an elf to LIVE before me....."

    Linos rolled his eyes, "sted old man! Elves are worth far more than normal men and women. You''re wasting Mister Gnis'' money."

    "Annnd YOUUUU!!" The old man pointed a bony finger tipped with a rotten nail at Linos'' throat, "have WaAAAsted my TIIIIME."

    The old man pointed his gnarled hand at the immted elf. The unholy green mes spilled from their cage and onto the filth of the cell''s floor like it was a clump of bread dough. Obediently following the Warlock''s direction, the mes wrapped tenderly around Linos in an immting embrace.

    The other women cried, continuing Ialtrae''s song. Sweet Ialtrae remained quiet, listening in her infinite patience... just as poor, bloated, maggoty Seta held her peace.

    Linos screamed... a half-step less musical than Ialtrae''s, but somehow...forting. Doe closed her eyes... She felt like she''d finally be able to sleep, listening to the luby of her ex-boyfriend burning alive.

    She was so very tired.

 Chapter 320 Acceptable

    ?Gnis wore threeyers of clothing and a pair of gloves. It was his own me-taken fault, for needing to. He''d chosen the coldest room in thebyrinth below Silva. He''d tried putting in a furnace once, but the venttion was shite and it somehow brought in the stink from rest of the sewers.

    He''d heard somewhere it was a good strategy, keeping it cold as it was. Anyoneing to deal with him would be real ufortable-- and that''d give him an edge. Gnis was a smart guy. He''d take every advantage he could get. That''s how a guy survived for so long, doing what he did.

    It just didn''t ur to him at the time that the higher up thedder he got, the less time he had to deal with the rabble. The less time dealing with the rabble, the more stupid he felt for having to live in the mescarred cold.

    If he wanted a second office, he should have got one five years back-- back before everyone knew that he was the wealthiest sack of shite in Silva.

    Gnis didn''t keep much in the way of personal belongings. He had a desk, he had a metal safe, he had a fake housent. He had a few portraits on the wall-- of himself, of course. He wasn''t the handsomest guy-- maybe average, maybe a little less. The painters tried to pretty him up. It didn''t matter. The paintings were a status thing.

    Something that would really tie the room together, though? A rug. And it''d probably make the room a little warmer too. It wouldn''t be warm to keep peoplefy, but just a little bit would go a long way. And it''d look good. Maybe a nice bold red? A powerful color for a powerful guy.

    "How in the hells do the whores not freeze to death, down ''ere?" He asked aloud, rubbing his leather gloves together.

    As if to respond, a dim green candle-me began to burn in the room''s center. The normal-colorednterns began to dim at the same time.

    Gnis rolled his eyes. There was a reason he never got a rug. It was that guy.

    The mes expanded into a fat, green bonfire... and just as sure as dragons don''t exist, a hunchbacked, triple-thief, piece a'' shite Warlock hobbled out of it. He probably thought he looked real impressive, too, scowling with a ck toothed grin like he''d just eaten a libra of shite.

    "Pyraxis..." Gnis groaned, "What in the seven hells d''you want?"

    He looked over to where the mes had gone out. The fire was gone, but it left an ugly ck spot of soot on the stone. Seven hells... he''d probably need to mop it himself. None of his goons were good at mopping, save maybe Linos.

    Or if he had a mescarred rug, he''d be able to put that over it.

    Gnis was the head of a criminal organization. Apparently, that meant he didn''t rate nice things.

    The old Warlock, Pyraxis reached his leathery hand out, pointing with a knobbed finger, "I have broughttt... DEATHHH... to one of your... beLOOOVED whOOores..."

    He did? Well, that was the worst news he''d received since he''d heard Inquisitor Titos was seen skipping town.

    "A shame," Gnis shrugged, "I''ll get Linos to clean up the mess. Funny. I didn''t know your eh... yer Magic Stick still worked, you old thief."

    "LINOSSSS!!!!! IS!!!!!! DEAAAAADDDDD!!!" The Warlock screamed, devolving into a coughing fit. He sounded like a cat hacking up a hairball.

    Wait, Linos was dead?

    "You me-taken criminal!" Gnis yelled, pping his desk with his palms, "Linos was my best guy! Did he deserve it? The seven hells did ''e do?"

    Pyraxis wiped his chin free of blood and snot with his sleeve, "Heeee..... hid... an ELF.... from me..."

    Gnis slumped back into his desk chair, "me take that mushroom-brain... Ya''d think if a guy''s name was Pyraxis Elf-yer, then he''s got a special thing fer yin'' elves."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Warlock loomed over the desk. Gnis thought he could hear all of the old bastard''s bones creak.

    "Youuuu innnSSSULLT ME, GALANISSSS????"

    "Sod off, old man." Gnis red back, "I was f*cking agreein'' wiv you."

    The Ancient''s eyes glowed a weird, heretical lime-green, "Elvesss... are a BLIGHT upon this LAAAAAND... Nottttt to be trusted!! Not to be... ssssufferrrred to LIVVVVE.... I have burnt..... VILLAGES.... CITIES.... razed to the ground... to protct.... my country..... ARE YOU LISTENNING?!??!"

    Gnis raised an eyebrow. He wasn''t-- not really. He''d heard the Warlock''s xenophobic drivel before, and it didn''t have shite to do with him, "Yeah, yeah, f*ck elves. Whatever. The hells are you here for, old man?"

    The Old Warlock wouldn''t havee to him just to tell him that his smartest lieutenant was dead. Pyraxis glowered, his eyes ring with burning green mana.

    "THE ARTIFAAAACT!!!!" He demanded, smacking his wooden staff noisily against the dungeon stones, "It mussssst be RECOVERRRED!! For the GLOOORRY of the SNEK CULLLLT!!!"

    Gnis stared nkly.

    Pyraxis continued, mming his geriatric fist upon Gnis'' desk, "Only then... must we JOURNEY..... to the Icingdeath Mountainsss..... We will RECLAIMMMM.... The Sixth.... Eye."

    Gnis stared at the old man''s hand, wondering how the old freak hadn''t fractured anything. When Pyraxis lifted his fingers, it left burning embers smoldering on the wood.

    ...His desk?! F*ck a mescarred rug. Apparently, Gnis didn''t rate a nice desk, either.

    Annoyed to shite, Gnis swept the embers away with a quick st of his own eldritch energy.

    The old bastard had taught him at least that much.

    "Listen up, old man... and I say that partick-ry not outta disrespect, but ''cos yer hard of hearing..." Gnis leaned forward, "Yer not in charge, ''ere."

    "Youuuu.... You DAAAARE?"

    Gnis stuck out his chin, "Try me, ya ol'' bastard. F*ckin'' try me. You know I''m the only me-taken thief in this me-f*cked city criminal enough to do your dirty work."

    The old man grumbled, but that was all. The mana that was collecting around him began to dissipate.

    "...Whhhyy?????" The Warlock demanded with a disgusting gargle, "--is the artifacCCCT.... Not. YET. Recoverrrrred?"

    "Because it''s a me-taken process," Gnis firmly reminded. "Listen, guy-- I sent like... thirty guys down to Greer''s ce. If they can''t get our Snake artifact, then we''ll just burn it down. How ''bout that?"

    Pyraxis narrowed his eyes... "eptable..."

    "You''re gods-damned right it''s eptable."

 Chapter 321 A Visit

    ?Tycondrius had two goals in mind when he decided to pay House Gnis a visit.

    The first goal was simply restoring his spirits. He was in a poor mood.

    The second goal was to kill as many humans as he could, taking their coin and any items of value.

    He had no doubts that the first goal could be solved by splendidlypleting the second.

    Tycon was frustrated. He hade across... issues, during his and Zenon''s training of Athena and herckeys.

    As indignant as Athena Vanzano was, at times, she remained diligent in her training.

    However, she had reached a threshold between Unranked and Bronze. With her mastery over frost-type mana and her martial abilities, her growth more closely resembled a Cultivator than a pure Mage. Because of this, Tycon was uncertain how to proceed. He''d sent letters to the two Hidden Sect Leaders he knew... but had yet to receive replies.

    Her mundane training level had been increased--her endurance, her physical strength, her reflexes and agility, all tested to their limits. She grew ever closer to Bronze-Rank... but there was something inexplicably missing...

    She needed... some sort of catalyst.

    He knew of two ways cultivators eased their breakthroughs.

    The first was body purification-- he recalled an ally from a previous life named Zing Lee insisted on hazardous herb-concoctions towards that goal. He did not have the recipes for such things, nor the ingredients, nor a Hidden Sect''s Alchemist or Pill Master capable of crafting such items.

    The second was mana absorption. Martialists used their Hidden Sect techniques to absorb power from ''spirit stones'' or ''beast cores''... fancy names for mana rocks cultivated from magical beasts. Depending on the rock''s source, such rocks had low affinity rates with a caster, therefore also had pathetic rock-to-absorption ratios.

    It would be different if Tycon had a supply of hundreds of Ice Golems and Frost Elementals. Or perhaps a several-hundred-year-old Ice Lizard? Ethics and morality aside, he did not.

    Athena had to reach a breakthrough on her own.

    ...It was fine. The Realm had always worked in such a way, as far as he knew. As an instructor, however, Tycon wished to give his students every advantage he could manage.

    Tanamar was a different creature entirely. The young man was hiding something. Tycon had seen glimpses of the young man''s power. He sensed it on the evening Tanamar burst into the dining area wielding a holynce, killing intent flooding from every pore of his body.

    Again, he sensed it when Tanamar nearly pierced his skull through the eye with that samence.

    After that? Never again.

    The training was harsh... Admittedly, there were times where it bordered on unfair... Tycon wanted to push the young man... to find those limits. But each time Tanamar was pushed to the edge, he would eke out just a tiny bit more effort... and seed.

    ...Or he''d fail spectacrly. There was a hospital nearby, so mundane and Elementary healing were avable at reasonable cost.

    Eventually, Tycon and Tanamar''s practice bouts grew to be back-and-forths of skill and form, utilizing various weaponry. It was simple... but strengthening core skills in martial training was always beneficial. Tycon''s weapon skills were sharpened. Tanamar''s too. But still, Tycon would have liked to see the strength of a Holy Lancer.

    Then there was Victorius... The man performed the bare minimum during training. And still, he refused to pick up a sword.

    Tycon was going to n the footman''s death or dismissal... if he couldn''t find a reason to outright murder him. He didn''t know how he''d do it... but it was on his to-do list.

    Useless bastard.

    Anyroad, if Tycon couldn''t lift his spirits doing as he pleased... he''d search for an evening street stall. He''d grab some hot snacks and a jug of wine and he''d share them with Zenon or whoever was awake.

    The bigger an organization was, the easier it was to find their whereabouts. Tycon sessively dragged a pickpocket, two con-men, and a street whore into an alleyway. Upon them, he used abination of polite questioning, the threat of violence, and violence proper. Tycon was able to cross-reference his findings to locate the entrance to their hideout, an oft-used sewer grate.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He was mentally prepared to explore thebyrinthine understructure of the city and explore for a bell or three.

    What hive of scum and viiny would he find below the streets of Silva?

    ...And were they wealthy enough to have a spatial bag?

    ...

    "By the me, what''s wrong?"

    A panicked human''sntern had caught sight of one of his fallenpanions. The man scurried forward down the hallway, kneeling down over the corpse.

    Tycon''s snake-belly gripped the dungeon stones above the two, peering down the hall the second human came. No one else. There really didn''t seem to be many people down in the sewers.

    He dropped his weight down onto the kneeling human... and he felt like he''d probably fractured one of the fellow''s legs with his quarter-tonze, 8-yalm-long snake body.

    ...Oops.

    The man screamed, in a state of excruciating pain, and likely horrified that arge reptilian predator had fallen upon him from the low ceiling.

    Tycon lifted his snake head... easily the size of the human''s. He was illuminated in the fallenntern mes, which undoubtedly made him look far more intimidating, "You''re being rather loud, sir."

    The man''s shrieks strained at his vocal cords, rising in pitch-- sounding quite unpleasant.

    Well... Tycon had killed the earlier gentleman via constriction. He''d do something different for this one. He leaned forward and sank his dagger-sized fangs into the man''s neck and upper chest. Venom pumped through his teeth, into the man''s bloodstream.

    It was a strange sensation.

    Releasing his victim, Tycon allowed the convulsing human to fall beside hispanion.

    While it was an interesting kill, he didn''t quite like it. It seemed rather intimate... and slightly unhygienic.

    ? System, cancel Snake-Form. ?

    Tycon felt his body shape and twist, once more taking the shape of a cloaked and armored human. He took his waterskin from his side, swished water in his mouth, and spat it out.

    In a wonderful and fortunate coincidence, he had earlier vored his water with cucumber slices and mint leaves.

    Ah. Better.

    It was quite cold in the sewers. He took an extra cloak off of the poisoned-to-death fellow and threw it over his person.

    Much better.

    After a cursory inspection of the two corpses, Tycon ventured deeper into the Gnis hideout.

    How would he kill his next victims?

 Chapter 322 Venomous Shadow

    ?"They''reing! The adventurers areing!!"

    "How the hells did they get past the traps!!"

    "me take you, man, how the hells would I know that? The traps were useless!!"

    "Hey, help me move this bench! We have to barricade the doors!!"

    Tycondrius had dropped down into the room from one of the many venttion pipes. Assuming his human form, he sat patiently on a chair in the corner, watching. There were... eight men and women panicking, barricading their only reasonable path to escape.

    What was their n? What if the barricade worked and he actually was on the other side of the door. They''d have to leave, eventually.

    Arger gentleman approached him, "Hey you! Blood-cloak guy! Don''t just sit there! We''re under attack!!"

    "Yes," Tycon smiled politely. He unsheathed his sword and drew a neat line across the man''s eyes, "By me."

    The fellow screamed, holding his face. Blood spilled out through the man''s fingers, lightly sttering blood onto Tycon''s over-cloak.

    He didn''t mind. It wasn''t his.

    "By the me, he''s HEEERE!"

    "Whose me-taken idea was it to barricade the DOOOORRR?!??!"

    "me take you all, someone SHOOT HIM!!"

    As intelligent as the ''shoot him'' advice was, the various thugs of House Gnis approached Tycon with sword and an assortment of melee weaponry.

    The first came with a hatchet raised. Tycon quickly stepped forward and shed the tendons of the man''s wrist. Then, he kicked him in the chest, whereupon the human collided with another Gnis tool. Two of eight.

    A gaunt gentleman with a wispy beard swung a longsword... wide. Tycon grasped the man''s attacking wrist, then entrapped the man''s arm with his own. He stabbed his short de into the man''s gut, then grabbed the heavier sword out of the dying man''s entrapped hand. Three.

    Anotherrge man screamed with crazed fervor as he brought down a heavy sword overhead. Tycon lifted his sword, hilt up, t to the side, allowing the de to nce off. Then he swung his own de in a wide arc.

    CLANG.

    The man managed to brace his weapon, blocking the heavy strike-- the man''s arms shook from the blow. Not bad. Tycon pushed his sword forward and it slipped easily into the man''s neck. Four.

    Once more relinquishing his sword, Tycon grabbed therger man''s weapon. He ducked a sword swing from a female Warrior. With his hand choked two-thirds up his de, he thrust histest stolen sword''s tip into the woman''s neck like a spear. Five.

    Another fellow swung his sword sideways, which Tycon was able to block with a vertical de. He grabbed onto the other weapon''s sword, and with his boot, smashed the side of the man''s knee.

    He was aiming for the back of the knee, which would have forced the man to kneel.

    ...He missed.

    Tycon''s mana-powered kick broke the man''s leg, just below the knee. The man whimpered in pain, falling to the floor, gnashing his teeth and clenching his fists... Five... and a half.

    Tycon hefted his sword up and threw it at the next fellow. It speared the human in the chest, a mortal injury.

    And for the eighth, he''d use Vexing... Oh, the eighth was running. Tycon quickly nced around the room-- that was thest of them.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? System, activate ?Venomous Shadow?. ?

    ? Activating... ?Venomous Shadow?. Reaction ability. A shadowy doppelganger appears behind the target, performing a single weapon attack. ?

    In Tycon''s off-time, he chose to develop two new skills... ones more focused on offense than his others. He could have chosen a low-level Fighter or Martialist skill... Rationally, he''d be able to develop something from a Martial ss that he''d have a Minor or Middle Completion with.

    ?Venomous Shadow? was marked as... a ss skill. It had an unnaturally high Completion Rating... even though it didn''t sound at all like a Warlord skill. It sounded like something used by an Illusionist or a Puppeteer... perhaps a specialist Rogue.

    It might have been granted by his bloodline. It did have the word ''venomous'' in its name.

    The skill... behaved oddly. It didn''t fail... and it was still effective. It was just... odd.

    The eighth human stopped abruptly, facing a dark-cloaked shadow, golden spheres glowing in the darkness beneath its hood. The shadowy doppelganger had Tycon''s cloak and something that resembled his eyes. However, itcked other major features. It had no hands... nor legs. Its arms and torso ended in wisping trails of dark smoke.

    It did look intimidating, though.

    The System''s description of one of his two new skills specifically stated that the shadow would form ''behind'' his target... Even if it formed in a blind spot, that would have been permissible, as the summoned doppelganger would be able to attack from surprise.

    This shadow appeared... in front of the eighth human. Clear to see. And it blocked the human''s only avenue of escape... so they''d have to do something about it.

    Tycon was fairly certain the shadow could be defeated in one strike... so its behavior irked him.

    The human took a fearful step backward. With his courage quickly fading, he managed to unsheathe his sword, pointing it with shaky hands, "S-stay away!! Monster!!"

    The doppelganger swiped its shadowy hand, knocking the human''s sword away with impunity.

    Tycon grimaced. His shadowy doppelganger was an arsehole.

    It was quite helpful, though... Tycon raised his arm... easily catching the human''s sword. He began to slice the throats of the humans too stupid to pretend they were dead.

    There were other issues with the shadow, as well. His System stated that it would make a weapon attack... but it didn''t form with a weapon? And during all of Tycon''s solo testing of the skill, he could never find out why it was called a ''venomous'' shadow?

    "By the me!! Please!! Please no!!!" The human shouted.

    The human''s shrieks turned into... gargling... and sizzling?

    Tycon pursed his lips. Should he look? He really didn''t want to... but he felt like he had an obligation to do so.

    ncing up, he observed his shadowy doppelganger. From within the darkness underneath its hood, it was spewing what appeared to be a stream of... greenish liquid upon the human''s face, notably their eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Steam misted off of the fellow''s reddened face and it appeared... that their eyebrows and facial hair were... melting off?

    ...The torrent of acidic vomit continued for several seconds, the man begging for mercy, choking and sputtering.

    It was... disturbing.

    "That''s uh... that''s quite enough!" Tycon called out, "Thank you?"

    Obediently, the venomous doppelganger stopped. It released the human in its grip and dissipated back into the shadows.

    Tycon pursed his lips. Odd... but again, useful.

 Chapter 323 Scarred Guardian

    ?Tycondrius came across... a heavier-looking door, hoping that it belonged to the Gnis ''boss.'' However, upon a cursory examination, he sensed that the room beyond... smelled of excrement and burnt, rotten meat.

    He''d be terribly disappointed if the ''boss'' of such a moderately sized (though mediocrely armed) organization lived in such squalor.

    ...This was, of course, discounting the fact that they were based in Silva''s underground sewer system.

    Tycon considered himself a proper adventurer. As such, he felt obligated... within reason, to search each room he came across for spoils.

    He had made excellent time thus far, ughtering the members of House Gnis with sword, fang, and acid-spewing shadow. The task remained simple, as he''d only encountered Bronze-Rankers and below. He surmised a majority of House Gnis'' Iron-Rankers had died by the front gates of the Vanzano estate.

    From merchant social circles to noble ones, House Vanzano''s name was... not well respected, bordering on bad luck to speak of. Further, they were financially indebted to multiple factions, including House Gnis and the Banker''s Guild.

    The attack wasn''t for reputation... nor was it for coin. Such a powerful force of Iron and Bronze-Rankers could topple the city guard... as well as threaten any noble house, save the precious few with a Gold-Rank in their employ.

    What was House Gnis'' real reason for their interest in House Vanzano?

    Tycon fiddled with the door''s heavytch and swung the rotten door wide open, allowing dim light to spill into the otherwise ckened room.

    He narrowed his eyes at what he saw inside... suspended cages containing nude women, most of them deceased. A few bells earlier, a Church Inquisitor mentioned he had... toys in cultivation.

    He had wrongly assumed the old degenerate was referring to drugs and depraved sex acts. The captives held within the cages were starved, physically tortured, and killed as if they were simple beasts.

    What was the point? With the former, a human could derive physical pleasure. For thetter... it just seemed wasteful.

    With his sharpened vision, Tycon saw movement from a brte and a blonde, both within the first of two cages. The brte''s hand twitched. She was alive, if barely. The movement of the blonde was from the undting flesh of one of her cheeks-- maggots, likely. Bloated body, thrumming skin, flies buzzing about... Tycon hoped that one was dead.

    Walking into the room, Tycon struck the second cage with the t of a stolen longsword. Even with the loud, sudden ng, there was no movement.

    "Well, no point tarrying here," Tycon shrugged, turning back towards the door.

    "W... wait..." A weakened voice whispered.

    Tycon hesitated. The voice sounded... familiar. Odd. He was fairly certain he hadn''t made any ''friends'' in Silva.

    He approached the first cage, "Good evening. You appear to still be alive-- for now. Congrattions."

    "Are..... rescue?" The girl mumbled.

    Tycon had been trying to improve his ability to understand implied questions. Logically, the caged girl was asking if she was being rescued.

    Scrutinizing the malnourished, dehydrated, and shivering girl''s form, Tycon recognized her. It was the young woman he had stabbed in the bicep a week or so prior-- the smart one. Scar tissue from her healed injury still remained.

    It was but one of the many signs of abuse on the woman''s naked body...shes upon her back and breasts, self-inflicted cuts on her inner forearms, a vertical line across her entire abdomen. He recalled back then, she was sharply dressed in long-sleeves and trousers... the better to hide her scars.

    With her condition, Tycon judged she wouldn''t live much longer... not unless her deity provided her with some sort of miracle.

    Hah. A shame.

    "No. I''m not here to rescue you, youngdy." Tycon smiled politely, "But if it makes you feel any better, I''m technically... avenging you? I hope that''s alright."

    A small, relieved smile appeared on the woman''s lips... then her eyes closed, never to open again.

    Tycon took a deep breath and nodded. That worked out. He spun on his heel to leave once more, proud to have sent off the young woman in peace.

    ...The girl''s pathetic coughing halted his movement.

    She wasn''t dead.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, grimacing. He was staring at a keyring on the wall adjacent to the door. Security-wise, it was a very poor ce to put the cage keys.

    It annoyed him. He wanted nothing to do with the girl. There was no benefit to it... But it would cost him minimal effort and only several seconds to do so.

    Taking the keys, he opened the cage. Utilizing his upper body strength, he removed the weakened woman, holding her in a princess-carry. At least she would die free.

    The woman pressed her forehead against Tycon''s shoulder, the scent of her unwashed shoulder-length hair slightly unpleasant.

    "K... kill me..." She begged.

    Tycon slightly wished she''d asked that before he''d spent the several seconds in recovering her It would have taken less time to stab her in the eye.

    "Alright, just... give me a moment...." As weak as the woman was... if Tycon just dropped her, she''d probably die with her head''s impact upon the stones. He began to scan the floor below, searching for a particrly jagged rock.

    "Those eyes.... It''s... you." She whispered, reaching a frail hand out to brush against his cheek. "I''ve... I''ve repented..... All this time... I''ve repented....."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Oh..." Tycon hesitated. Her pitiable words made his chest tighten, "Well... good for you."

    "Your... your name..... ss...savior?..."

    "Hah. Forgive me. I''m not going to tell you." Tycon smirked, "You''re going to die soon and people could be listening."

    She coughed weakly into the fabric of his bloodied cloak. Tycon decided not to mind it. It wasn''t his.

    "My name... is.... Doe."

    Tycon chuckled, "Like a deer? A female deer?"

    The woman had enough liveliness to pout at Tycon''s teasing, "It''s short..... for Medousa..."

    ...Oh, was it?

    "Medousa, then... as in ''Guardian'' or ''Protector'' in the Ancient Tongue?" Tycon pursed his lips... "Hm. It''s a beautiful name."

    The woman remained silent. Did she die?

    Tycon ced the woman down gently outside of the prison cell, closing the heavy door to somewhat ay the stench. He checked the woman''s pulse. She lived.

    Doe was a resilient youngdy.

    Tycon removed his thick, (stolen) cloak and ced it upon the shivering woman. It amused him slightly that the thinyer of blood would provide additional guard from the dank, chilly environment. He tilted her head back and poured a sliver of water from his canteen down her throat. She awoke, choking and coughing.

    "Wh... what.... the hells...." Doeined. She blinked tears out of her eyes, adapting from utter darkness to dim torchlight.

    "Tss..." Tycon scoffed, grinning, "I''ve decided to grant you a miracle. Make your choice. Do you truly wish to die here?"

    ? Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Go ahead. ?

    ? Inspirational Surge..... Activating. ?

    ...

    Tycon left his canteen and a bit of jerky with the young woman. He instructed her to only take small sips and to suckle on the rations. Victims with her condition had to slow their intake dramatically, in order to avoid vomiting.

    He found another door-- this one, different from all the others. A metal sculpture of a snake was built into the door at about eye level. It was probably designed to be intimidating. Tycon thought it looked... cute.

    His System informed him the door had a mechanical trap... That was interesting. When he stood adjacent to the door, the metal snake began to hiss, emitting a translucent gas.

    First-Circle Poison.

    Tycon took a deep breath, appreciating the thought and engineering expertise of the device. It was a very handsome snake, too. It made him want to hire a sculptor to capture his likeness... not that he had any permanent home where he could disy it... nor was he willing to spend such coin on the frivolity.

    The thought was nice, though.

    He charged mana into his leg and kicked at the door near its lever mechanism. It broke off its hinges... which revealed that the door wasn''t as impressive as he''d initially thought. Maybe it wasn''t the ''boss'' room?

    "Good evening!" Tycon strode into the room. He smiled, making eye contact with the single fellow inside. He approached him,zily flipping his short sword, "I''m looking for the head of House Gnis! Would you happen to know where he or she is?"

    "That''d be me, tough guy."

    A sharp-eyed human stood with his two hands syed onto his desk. The bandit leader had short, dark, curly hair, a bit of white sprinkled throughout. His clothes were... passable as a noble, though his hair was oily and his weak chin was rough and unshaven.

    ? Bronze-Rank Human Warlock. ?

    There was a surprisingck of fear on his face. It was likely he couldn''t sense the rank difference between them.

    ...Or maybe he had a bit of self-respect?

    Tycon approached the table, standing eye to eye with the gentleman.

    "Let''s cut a deal, guy," A sleazy grin was stered across the Warlock''s face. He spoke, gesturing with one hand, "I know what you''re ''ere for --and I''m sure we''s cane to some kinda arrangement."

    Did he mean that? No... Tycon doubted it. Every human lies.

 Chapter 324 Blessed By The Snake God

    ?"Ahhhh..." Tycondrius nodded, "Of course, that--"

    Abruptly, he grabbed Gnis by the hair on his scalp. He mmed the man''s head against the desk, dazing him.

    The human mind loves logic. It seeks it. It makes sense of noises, put together into words, into meanings, intoplete rational concepts. Interrupting that logical flow... is unexpected. In mundane situations, the interruption leads to annoyance and irritation. In the current situation, the approximate half-second of the cogs turning in Gnis'' brain would ultimately lead to Tycon''s overbearing advantage.

    Tycon hacked his short sword against the desk''s surface. It imed three of the man''s fingers. Warlocks needed those, in order to cast their spells. The fellow was likely right-handed-- it was the hand he used to gesture with.

    Grabbing the quill pen that had spilled onto the desk... Tycon lifted Gnis'' head and stabbed both of his eyes in quick session. Warlocks needed their eyes to see the targets of their spells. It was likely he only had two. Some Warlocks had more. Snake Cultists did not seem to have such a trait.

    Green mes began to emanate from the man''s left hand. Tycon, again, mmed the man''s head against the desk and shoved him to the floor.

    The Gnis fellow curled up in pain, clutching his bleeding hand. He sobbed quietly, shivering on the cold dungeon stones.

    ...Perhaps he hadn''t as much self-respect as Tycon had earlier assumed.

    He walked over to the fallen bandit leader, prodding at the man with his boot, "I was curious about your interest in House Vanzano."

    Tycon''s System politely informed him that the human''s aggression rating had gone from Hostile to Will-Not-Attack. He did not feel apologetic, in the least.

    As the blind man with three less fingers cried like a helpless child, Tycon searched through his desk.

    Within, he found... a BAG!

    ? SYSTEM! Identify! ?

    ? System response: Mundane wallet.?

    All of Tycon''s excitement drained from his body, leaving him fatigued. He lied down on the surface of the desk and stretched the length of his body. It was an ugly desk-- there was even an unsightly scorch mark on it.

    Seven hells. He felt like he''d never find another spatial bag.

    "I wish you lot were a tad bit wealthier..." Tycon groaned, "I should have expected as much, since you all literally live amongst sewage."

    While Tycon had not yet looted the bodies, he hastily inspected each of the defeated for valuables. He estimated the coin alone worth two or three weeks of groceries and basic expenses... In a sun or two, he''d have a much more difficult battle, haggling over prices in the Market Square.

    The Gnis fellow continued to rudely sob to himself, not offering anyment.

    "Again, Mister Gnis... what is your interest in House Vanzano?" Tycon frowned... "I''m nning on torturing you unless you answer my questions."

    The thought of it made Tycon chuckle to himself. Torture wasn''t a very effective way of gathering information. It would pass the time, though... and that Gnis fellow didn''t deserve an onze of pity.

    "Donnn''ttttt.... BOTHERRRRR..." An ominous voice echoed in the rtive darkness of the room, deep and... as if gargling snot.

    Tycon sat up, casually looking around for the voice''s origin.

    Embers of familiar-looking green mes began to smolder at various points in the room. The dark magic was enough that thentern lights on the walls dimmed.

    ...It wasn''t very impressive. Such an effect could be achieved by children utilizing Elementary spells... which admittedly was amon sight in the Kingdom but absent in the Holy Country.

    At the same time, an unpleasant smell wafted into the room. If it was the effect of a magical spell, that was certainly unique. Hm. Or perhaps the heat of it, magnified the stench from elsewhere?

    ? System, inquiry: Besides myself, who else is in this room? ?

    ? System response: 2 results; Gnis, Bronze-Rank Human Warlock; Elder, Iron-Rank Human Blightmancer Warlock. ?

    Iron-Rank Warlock. High-Tier ss. Could be dangerous-- probably wasn''t. Tycon entwined his fingers behind his head and lied back down, reasonablyfortable.

    ? Thank you, System. ?

    ? You''re wee. ?

    The voice in the darkness began to cough-- disgusting, phlegm-filled hacks, decrepit and pestilent... "Youuu.... have offended.... the SSSSNAAAAKE CULLLTTT."

    "Yes, I... I gathered that." Still resting on his other hand, Tycon gestured a hand towards the room''s entrance, "You know that there was a likeness of a snake on that door I broke over there. Only your Snake Cult uses that kind of imagery."

    "UHUHUHU.... Soooo... ARROGANT.... Let us sssseee.... how confident..... you are.... innnn..... DAARKNESSSSS!!!!"

    The mundane lights in the room extinguished, all at once. However, with the green embers remaining, Tycon had no issues with visibility.

    He sat up and smiled with chagrin, "I somewhat regret informing you... that I can see in the dark."

    The Warlock grew silent... He was a hunched-over, unwashed, old human. Even if Tycon couldn''t see in the dark, he could urately target the man from the smell of piss and human age.

    ? Iron-Rank Human Warlock. Warning. Fourth-Circle Poison detected. ?

    Hoh. Really?

    ? System, bring up the information on that fellow''s poison. ?

    Tycon took a moment to review the information. It was slightly depressing. The old man had been incrementally poisoned for several years and his life force was pathetic, because of it.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He turned his body towards the motionless old man.

    The old man responded by lowering his body, his old joints cracking as he did so.

    "I can still see you... and I can literally hear your knees pop."

    "WELL!!! NO MATTTERRR!!!!" The Warlock waved his hands frantically, "You shall ssssstill PERISH!! By the MIGHT of the SSSSNAKE CULLLLLT!!!!"

    Tycon highly doubted that.

    The Warlock pointed a hand of gnarled fingers threateningly, "?Sssssserpents of Nypaaaacia?!!!! Come forth!! Ssssssend this fool to the DEPTHS OF THE SSSSEVEN HELLLLS!!!"

    Tycon grimaced. He was familiar with the attack. A different Warlock used it on him while he was gallivanting in the Kingdom with the Imperial Navy. Mana-formed ghostly snakes appeared from the dungeon floor and began to bite at him. Their ethereal fangs pierced his armor and channeled a weak poison... that in other circumstances, would wreak havoc upon his internal mana.

    The Warlock''s expression turned into an ugly grimace.

    Tycon smiled politely...

    The Warlock again threw his hands up, "SsssSSSERPENTS OF NY--"

    "Hold," Tycon held a palm up.

    The old man''s spell fizzled out into sad, green sparks, "What?!?!"

    "It worked the first time," Tycon assured. "I''m... immune to poisons."

    "Youuu.... have the BLESSINGS... of the SNAAAAKE GOD???" The Warlock spat, incredulous.

    Tycon pursed his lips. He''d met the avatar of the snake god once. From that exchange... he probably did.

    "Yes," Tycon replied... "I''m fairly certain I do, anyroad."

    "Oh," The old Warlock stood ufortably, shifting his weight from a creaking knee to his other popping and cracking one. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

    Tycon was beginning to feel guilty that he was rebuffing the poor old fool sopletely, "Would you like me to get you a chair?"

    The old man scowled, "Ssssilence!!! Nonbeliever!!! I won''t be yed for a FOOOOL by a MERE HUMAN!!!"

    "I''m... not a human."

    Tycon somewhat regretted his automatic response. The old man''s mouth hung open, unable to continue his monologuing. It seemed that once again, he''d forced the Warlock into speechlessness.

    "Are... are you an elf?" The Warlock asked gingerly.

    "What? No." Tycon red, "How dare you."

    "J-just checking..." The warlock coughed and spat, "My vision isn''t what it used to be. Elves. Filthy creatures."

    "I''m assuming you mean that... figuratively."

    The old man doddered over to a chair, finally able to rx slightly, "What? No! I mean...? Uh... Huh..."

    If the Warlock was working purely off of prejudice, it seemed Tycon''s words had given him cause for introspection. The battlefield was... admittedly a wonderful ce to rid oneself of negative stereotyping.

    "I have little love for the elves," Tycon exined. "However, as a whole, they are a very... clean people. They reuse their tools and clothes more than they discard them... and their cultural foods promote a vegetarian diet."

    "Bah. Sssssds. Nothingggg... ever good came from sdsssss...."

    "Ah, I wholeheartedly agree," Tycon nodded. "I''ve had a craving, recently, for a proper steak and some ale."

    "Indeeeed... I was raisssed... on Tyrion wine. But ale... ale is good." The Warlock twisted his lips in frustration, "Are there... any.... eateries..... still open at this time?"

    "I was hoping there''d be at least one," Tycon mused. "It''s not *terribly*te in the evening, is it?"

    "Would you like to--"

    "No," Tycon rejected the man immediately. He had no wish to associate with this fellow-- not unless he took a bath and dressed in clean clothing.

    "You DAAARE?!? I am PYRAXISSSS ELFSLAAAYERRRR!! yer of maaaaany elvvessss!! WarloCKKK of the SNAAAAKE CULLLT!!!" The old man yelled,fortable in his seat.

    "Good evening. My name is Tycondrius. Uh... Blessed... of the snakes..."

    Warlock Pyraxis gasped, clutching at his heart. Oh, was he dying?

    The old man began to struggle out of his chair, "The.... the IVORY PRINNNNCE.... I.... I... FORGIVE ME!!!"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow... "What?"

 Chapter 325 Bloodline Memories

    ?"You uh... know of me?" Tycondrius asked.

    The aged human warlock stood from his chair and lowered his body to get to his knees... Somewhat expectedly, he lost his bnce and fell painfully upon the dungeon stone.

    Tycon pursed his lips. Should... should he help? He stood up and approached. He felt like he should help.

    Pyraxis took the opportunity to grasp and grovel at Tycon''s feet, "Sssssnaaake blood.... courses through this old man''s veins.... my bloodline memories... they know you are who you immmm to be...."

    Bloodline memories. Of course. Concerning mundane creatures, a snake is born knowing how to hunt. They are born understanding they must seek shelter from the cold and to fear predators like hawks and owls. Humans have an instinctual fear of heights and a love of clear, reflective surfaces that resemble clean drinking water.

    For magical beasts like flood dragons, medusae, nymphs, unicorns, the knowledge is greater. A nymph is born understanding she will die if she leaves her tree. Without trial-and-error, a unicorn understands how to utilize their innate magic to impart healing miracles upon their allies. Medusae and elves can speak in their bloodline tongues without needing to be taught... as well as sharing an inexplicable hatred for creatures resembling dragons.

    If the old Warlock had bloodline memories, the serpentine blood within him was quite strong... It was also possible that that was the poison that was killing him.

    Tycon grimaced, turning up his nose, "Please... get up. It''s unpleasant having an old, unattractive human trying to win my favor."

    "The Ssssnake god has sent an EXARCH... to RECLAIM the artifact that BELONGS TO USSSS!!" The Warlock praised, running his tongue along Tycon''s boots.

    That was enough. Tycon grabbed the de of his sword and started jabbing at the Warlock''s wrinkled face with the pommel, "Wonderful. What-portent-could-be-greater? Release-me-at-once."

    "P-please, Ivory Pricce!!! Recover.... the ssssnake skulllll.... from Houssse Vanzano..."

    "Fine. Just... let go."

    "And please take me AS YOUR SSSTUDENNNT!!!"

    "No. Absolutely not."

    The old man sobbed loudly, hugging Tycon''s calf, "But whyyyyyy notttt?! I have been faithfullll ALL THESE YEARRRSSSS!!! I have killed.... SO MANY ELVESSSSS!!"

    Tycon covered his face with his palm, "I... that... that has nothing to do with me... or with the Snake Cult, for that matter. Thest time I met with your god, he had no issues with the elven peoples."

    "Wh-wh... what?" Pyraxis looked up pitifully, tears running down the age-lines on his cheeks, snot and... blood running down his nose and over his mouth.

    Tycon crossed his arms and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath while trying not to directly smell the old man. Once again, his careless words had inflicted psychological damage upon the fellow.

    "No... that.... that cannot be...." Pyraxis stared in shock with quivering lips.

    Ignorance was bliss and Tycon had been unintentionally cruel with his truths.

    No! The old man was clearly a viin! A murderer! Tycon was pretending to be a hero of the Church! He should have nopunction in violently purging this man along with his great sins!

    This... mewling... whimpering... defenseless, old human, sobbing pitifully to himself... he''d wasted his life on a crusade he mistakenly believed would please his cruel deity.....

    "Hey... it''s... it''s not so bad," Tycon prodded the old man with his sword pommel... reassuredly. "The snake god... he... he loves cruelty? I''m sure you inflicted more than enough... pain... regardless of the peoples you inflicted them upon..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I could... I could have tortured so many more... humans... There''s so many humans! So... so few elvessss...." Pyraxis cried.

    Tycon grimaced... "Well... yes, this is true."

    "I have... sssssooo much to learn..." The Warlock sputtered, again devolving into a coughing fit. "Please.... Ivory Prince.... ept me.... as your faithfullll disciple...."

    "What? Come on, now." Tycon scoffed, "Tss. What use would you be as a disciple? You''re going to die soon, especially considering you''ve been poisoned for thest several years of your life."

    "I what?"

    Oh. Oooooh. He didn''t know, "No. Nevermind. Let''s arrange a contest of a sort. If you win, you can be my disciple."

    Pyraxis wore a look of terror in his milky-white eyes, "Wait, what... what was that.... about...me..... being poisoned?"

    Tycon took several steps back, creating distance between him and the unpleasantly smelling Warlock, "Martial contest. Disciple-hood. How about it?"

    The old man struggled to his feet, wringing his hands nervously, "Y-yess... Please go easy... on me... Teacher"

    What a ridiculous request. Tycon was not nning on honoring it.

    Mana glowed in Pyraxis'' hands, culminating in roiling green mes. He was a proper Iron-Rank Warlock, well versed in his craft, "Price.... I shallll make the firsssst move...."

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch, "R-right. Go ahead."

    The ancient Warlock took a deep, snot-addled breath, "?Eldritttch..... BLAAAAAST!!!?"

    cing his wrists together, Pyraxis pushed the unnatural mana forward, allowing fiery tendrils to surge towards Tycon... While the spell''s speed wascking, the mana concentration was focused-- domineering in power.

    Tycon lowered his sword. Sheathing only his hand in mana, he pped the sphere of dark energies away. The eldritch orb crashed into a wall, bursting into violent green mes as the Warlock watched, white-eyes shocked at his failure.

    Tycon closed the fingers of his steaming hand. He had grown far stronger since he''dst fought a Warlock. He''d end this farce of a fight quickly. Besides ?Venomous Shadow?, Tycon had also developed a second offensive move... one he''d chosen specifically to counter spellcasters.

    "?Shadowfang Strike,?" Tycon whispered. He dashed forward, utilizing his movement technique to appear from nigh-invisibility behind Pyraxis.

    He poised his sword to strike down the warlock''s raised arm.

    ? System, activate ?Echo Seal?. ?

    ? Echo Seal. Offensive ability. Target takes severe weapon damage and is magically inhibited from repeating skills or abilities used within thest 100 seconds. ?

    ? Activating. ?

    Magical runes floated above the surface of his stolen short sword, signifying the skill''s effect. Quickly and precisely, Tycon pierced his de through the Warlock''s right bicep. The runes shed white, disappearing and reappearing in bloody ck script upon the Warlock''s forehead.

 Chapter 326 Incentive

    ?Excellent, the seal was sessful. Now, the Warlock wouldn''t be able to cast ?Eldritch st? for--

    Pyraxis copsed and fell onto the cold, hard dungeon stone.

    Tycon pursed his lips, still wary for deception. It appeared he had killed his opponent outright.

    "...I should have brought the Librarian," Tyconmented aloud... "Stars and stones, maybe I should have brought the cat."

    "IVORY PRINNNNCE!!!" The Warlock reared up, standing on his knees.

    "Aaah!" Tycon stabbed the man in the chest.

    Die already, you useless old man!!

    The Warlock sat on his knees, head down, sword in his chest. He coughed more blood and phlegm, allowing his crimson life-force to drip down his chin.

    "I... I was young... once..." He muttered between sobs, "Sssso... full of hope...."

    Quietly, Tycon began to sneak away... He... he needed to leave. A half-dead, naked woman was still waiting for him to return.

    Ugh... He briefly considered going straight home, instead.

    "Are you listening... s...sweet prinnnce?" Pyraxis choked... "It''s... it''s sssso dark... and c-c-coooold."

    Tycon sighed.

    ? System, activate ?Venomous Shadow?. ?

    The cloaked shadow appeared... beside Tycon, which he noted was nowhere near Pyraxis. Golden spheres of mana glowed beneath its hood, staring emotionlessly. Tycon mentallymanded his ghostly ally, pursing his lips and pointing to the Warlock.

    Obeying his wishes, the shadow floated over to Pyraxis.

    The Warlock grasped at the material of the shadow''s cloak, "Prinnnnce.... my story began.... in the tenth century...."

    The shadow peered up, looking to Tycon for confirmation.

    ''Just... stay there,'' Tycon mouthed.

    The shadow returned its gaze to the Warlock. Then it grabbed onto the old man''s head with its shadowy hands and began to vomit its green venom onto the fellow''s face.

    The man screamed in pain as his flesh sizzled. He choked and sputtered and spat. The fellow was blessed of the snake god, though... he should have a rudimentary resistance to poison. However... it looked as if Tycon''s doppelganger was trying to drown the fellow.

    Tycon shut the door quietly behind him.

    He''d had his fill of this ce.

    ...

    There was a hospital conveniently nearby. Tycon utilized their services more than once, apanying Tanamar after particrly treacherous bouts of training. He woke the attending physician with a polite knock and informed her and her staff that the woman he carried was rescued from a poor environment and had been starved for several suns.

    Admittedly, it was incredibly suspicious. The staff knew Tycon was a member of the Church, so did not ask questions.

    He couldn''t decide if he was thankful for that or disgusted by its implications.

    Tycon woefully offered some coin for their troubles... but was pleasantly surprised when the physician refused, saying it was her duty to restore the ill to health, especially a victim of abuse.

    Still, bandages and care were not cheap. Tycon ced a gold coin in one of the hospital''s donation boxes. Just one.

    He left immediately after.

    ording to Pyraxis, there was an artifact valued by the Snake Cult within the possession of House Vanzano. Tycon intended to recover it for his own purposes.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    The following sun, Tycon woke upte. Zenon had already taken the others out for training-- which was fine. He put on his training clothes, warmed his body, stretched, and went off after them.

    Expectedly, he found them on training on the beach. Unexpected, they were carryingrge rocks for distance... rocks far weightier than Tycon thought reasonable and for distances almost humorous.

    Because of Victorius'' condition, he carried two rocks tied by a rope that hung across his shoulders. With the weight evenly distributed on his body, he should have been doing better than the other two.

    The coarse, ragged rope had cut and chafed the back of his neck raw.

    ...How long had they been doing this?

    Zenon greeted him with ominous words: "Can you believe these guys don''t like Olea Garden, Optio?"

    At Tycon''s order, the physical training session was cut short. With the time remaining, he requested a different course.

    As of recent, Tycon had run into repeated issues of being unfamiliar with Tyrion colloquialisms... as well as situations where he was caught unaware of the social context. He wished he could summarize what exactly he wanted to learn...

    Athena volunteered to lead a discussion on morality and ethics. She brought the group to a pier overlooking the crystal waters around Silva. All the while, she exined that she always had good marks in the subject at the academy.

    It wasn''t quite what Tycon wanted, but it seemed relevant enough.

    He looked forward to watching Athena teach--municating concepts to a crowd was an important leadership ability. Further, though Tycon and Zenon were instructors inbat, they had no issues being students in another discipline. Learning at any level was just as important as being able to teach.

    During the lesson, one particr instance stood out...

    "Let''s say you had a ssroom of seven children..." Athena exined, "But you only have five chairs. What would you do? Sir Tycon?"

    That wasn''t too bad. Tycon nodded, "I would use the chairs as an incentive. Perform well, and the students could sit down properly. I would also vary the contests and include effort and growth as part of sitting criteria, in order to encourage the students'' diligence."

    "Oh!" Athena smiled, "That''s a wonderful idea, Sir Tycon! What was your answer, Mister Zenon?"

    The Centurion smiled with chagrin, "Kill two kids."

    Athena red, "You mean... dismiss two children."

    "Y-yeah," Zenon looked away, his expression dark.

    Tycon felt sympathy for the Centurion. Zenon was raised as a sanctified spellcaster in the Church and it showed.

    "How about you, Tanamar!" Athena pointed aggressively.

    Tanamar also averted his gaze, "I... had the same answer."

    "The same answer as Sir Tycon? That''s great!" Athena recovered her mood, smiling radiantly.

    "Y-yeah. As Tycon. Right," Tanamar assured her.

    The discussionsted a good half-bell. He learned quite a bit... for several hypothetical situations. Would you save one ally, risking the lives of nine others? Would you disobey orders if a superior officer sentenced civilians to death? Was it permissible to lie in order to avoid a close friend from receiving a harsh infraction?

    ording to Athena, Tycon''s ethics were not terrible... though the reasoning he provided was peculiar at best.

    That was satisfactory.

    She alsomented that Zenon and Tanamar would have failed the ethics course at the Academy.

    It was then that Tycon realized that perhaps he was not so bad at being human, after all.

 Chapter 327 Magic Key

    ?Tycondrius checked his pocket watch. With the time disyed, Athena Vanzano should have returned from her sses at the Academy. While there was still over a bell before evening training, he wished to discuss something with the youngdy in private.

    He casually strolled through the manor, still somewhat annoyed by theck of decorations. From the way dust and discoloration had gathered, the manor was... cluttered in the past. With those items removed, what was left was an irksome sense of emptiness.

    Therge waiting room contained a single gaudy couch, an end table, and multiple bare shelves.

    It offended his aesthetics.

    The couch could be pushed against the wall. All the shelves but one could be removed. A simple rug could tie the room together-- a dark red, perhaps... a powerful color. Arranged well, the room would still be spartan, but it would appear open. Simple, but purposeful.

    A y pot with a green nt wouldn''t cost too much...

    The walls could be painted a lighter color... then the dark-wooden floors could be reced by a lighterplementing color. A low, t table on the central rug would be sensible... Then that wall didn''t appear to be load-bearing-- it could be knocked down to create more open space...

    No... Tycon took a deep sigh. He would not spend his own money on the manor. When he restored House Vanzano to glory, he would advise Athena to hire an interior decorator that could work with a low budget. An elf... or a human capable of achieving an elven style would be ideal. Simr to training and cooking, simplicity was more than capable of bringing about the most wonderful results.

    Tycon arrived at Athena''s door, gently rapping upon the wood with his knuckles.

    "Come in~" Athena sang.

    Tycon hade to associate the young woman''s bell-like voice with hard work and honesty. She was indignant at times, in particr when she was treated roughly during training. It was a cheap trick Tycon used. Such provocation motivated her. Admittedly, such encouragement was usually unnecessary. The youngdy was hard on herself, even harder when she felt that she wascking.

    Athena strove to seed in all that she did. In Tycon''s current life, she was his second-most-diligent student.

    "Good afternoon, youngdy." Tycon opened the door, "I have something to..."

    A white sh of movement crossed the room. Tanamar of House Vanzano was standing in a corner... not hiding, but back-straight, perfectly still.

    Tycon''s first thought was that he interrupted something. Intimacy, perhaps. But Athena had so readily invited him in?

    Strange...

    The blue-haired noble girl was sitting on her bed. She smiled brilliantly, unabashed, and radiating... purity. It almost hurt Tycon''s eyes.

    "What''s up, Sir Tycon? It''s not time for training, yet, is it?" She tilted her head, "Are we going somece farther than the beaches?"

    Athena didn''t seem surprised by either Tycon''s appearance or... Tanamar''s reaction for that matter.

    Very strange...

    Athena had a simple room, mostly devoid of... things, much like the rest of the manor. She had a bed, a desk and chair, a dresser, and an insultingly small mirror. Her only decorations were a rug and a mount for her armor and gear.

    Topare Athena to another member of Sol Invictus... Tycon expected the ever-serious, sharp-eyed Seldin Korr to have this level of no-nonsense room. Korr liked stuffed dolls and whimsical art.

    ...Then again, Korr was notcking in coin.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat. "Anyroad, I''m d it''s only the two of you... I wanted to ask you--"

    Tanamar was slowly lowering his body down to the floor. As steady as he was, Tycon''s eyes kept catching the movement. It was distracting.

    "Young man, could you please stop. Perhaps you can sit down like a normal human being?"

    "Yeah, why are you standing all the way over there?"Athena patted the space beside her, "Come sit down next to me!"

    The young footman pursed his lips and obediently walked to the bed. He sat an entire fulm away from his mistress... but was still within arm''s reach.

    Athena grabbed his hand. Tanamar tried to shake her off. She did not relinquish her grasp.

    ...Tycon decided he was not going to try and decipher the situation, "Athena, is there a snake skull somewhere in the manor? A magical one?"

    It was probably cursed, too. The ''Snake Cult'' was an organization that dealt with the dangerous and unknown rather than the structured and well-researched.

    Athena idly swung her legs back and forth. She happily held Tanamar''s hand, softly humming to herself, "Ummm... No. I don''t think so?"

    Tanamar frowned, "Athena..."

    "Oh, maybe!" Athena hopped up, finally releasing her grip on her unwilling servant. "My brother, Maximus-- he brought back things to the house, sometimes."

    She walked over to her dresser, rummaged through the bottom drawer, and produced a brass key, "Want me to show you?"

    Tycon raised his eyebrows. He was used to asking things of his own guild members and receiving nothing but irritation for his troubles. Sometimes, he felt like they purposely acted like fools to irk him.

    That the youngdy was so intelligent and so helpful often surprised him.

    His gaze softened and he nodded in approval, "Yes. Please lead the way, youngdy."

    ...

    Athena waved Maximus'' key in front of an empty bookcase in a just-as-empty study. The bookcase and wall turned transparent before fading away, unveiling a stone stairwell that led down.

    Tycon frowned. Spatial magic... it must have been. The solid wall had entirely disappeared... and he found no signs of a mundane mechanism. He doubted he''d have been able to find the Snake Cult artifact without Athena''s help.

    "Ehehe," Athena giggled. "Magic key!"

    Tycon lightly apuded, causing Athena to curtsy like a proper noblewoman.

    Well yed, Maximus of Ezyria. You''ve hid your secrets well. What else have you left behind besides a dying family name and a loving sister that you don''t deserve?

    Holding antern, Tanamar led the way down the stairs with Athena close behind.

 Chapter 328 Jewelry Box

    ?Tycondrius followed Athena and Tanamar leisurely. The stonework was solid and he was well aware of his surroundings even in the dim light. The temperature gradually dropped the further they descended... which was worrying-- but he decided to shrug it off as an anomaly.

    Athena turned over her shoulder to speak, "We''ve sold most of Maximus'' things... but there''s a few still left?Maybe what you''re looking for is still there?"

    Tycon didn''t hold high hopes. If the Snake Cult artifact was gone, he wasn''t going to bother searching for it. If he did get ahold of it, there was a greater chance it would merely prove troublesome-- not being useful, at all.

    He decided to change the subject, "Miss Athena... I was curious as to why you refer to your brother as Maximus. I had thought his birth name was Gian?"

    He was also curious as to why she continually referred to Zenon as ''Mister'' instead of ''Centurion.''

    "Well, Sir Tycon..." She replied softly, "To me, my brother has always been Maximus."

    She took a deep sigh, shaking her head, "I don''t really remember why, but I think I must have gave him that name? We... yed diator a lot? Ehehe... He always let me win, too. Can you believe that? Maximus of Ezyria! It''s... it''s a really diator-y name, isn''t it?"

    ...It was.

    The way Athena''s voice began to crack as she spoke of her brother was troublesome. Tycon chose not to respond. With her personality, if he tried to address it, he also risked worsening her mood.

    "I... I made up Tanamar''s name too!" Athena forced energy into her voice, turning back at Tycon to reveal her forced smile.

    She was a very polite youngdy. As hurt as she sounded from recalling memories of her deceased brother, she still expressed honest worry about her allies.

    It was a strange conundrum. Athena was born to be abatant. Such naivete could prove to be her undoing. But to remove that weakness would challenge her positive and pure outlook. There was a certain innocence existent in the youngdy that was sorely missing inbat veterans like himself.

    "Um... Is that weird, Sir Tycon?" Athena asked. "I''m sorry."

    "No apologies are necessary, youngdy," Tycon smiled politely... "All names are made up."

    "Well, yeah... but... yeah, you''re right," Athena nodded to herself, again focusing her attention on Tanamar''s back.

    As the trio silently continued to descend into the darkness, Tycon''s mind drifted off in thought.

    Compared to Athena, even Zenon was somewhat cynical and jaded. Over the suns of travel with him, Tycon judged the Centurion''s open disy of optimism to be somewhat forced. Zenon trusted because he wished for that trust to be returned.

    Athena was different. She waspetitive. She gave her best effort without being told. She spoke her mind. She trusted as if she''d never been betrayed.

    Further, she had the benefit of a champion who defended her... Tanamar of House Vanzano, the silver-haired footman who rebuffs her advances. He encourages her when she appears weak. He seeks to shoulder her burdens. The few cases of him disagreeing with Tycon''s judgment would never be on his own half... but would revolve around Athena''s physical or emotional wellbeing.

    Thus far, Athena''s and Tanamar''s rtionship only positively influenced the other. However, Otherworlder or not, the both of them were young and rtionships... were tenuous. Tycon thought well of them both and sincerely hoped that his worries were unfounded.

    "T-tanamar," Athena prodded. "Tell him the story!"

    Tycon saw Tanamar''s head dip, the young man sighing deeply, "I don''t think Sir Tycon is interested in that."

    "No, he is! Tell the story!" Athena insisted. She turned back to re at Tycon expectantly.

    Tycon smiled politely. How could he refuse? "I would like to hear of it... A short summary will suffice."

    The group took a few careful steps down the stone stairs quietly, before Tanamar began, "My birth name is Athanasius Mors."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "See? It''s kinda like my name?" Athena gleefully added.

    "Athena and I were introduced when we were kids... and our--err... my instructor may have given my name to Lord Greer incorrectly."

    Tycon honed in on that piece of information, "Your instructor, you say?"

    Several days prior, Tanamar had stated that he was self-taught, yet now he spoke of an instructor. Was it abat instructor or something else?

    "Forgive me, Sir Tycon. He and I are no longer on speaking terms."

    With the sharpness of Tanamar''s speech, Tycon doubted he''d get more information. If the Holy Lancer''sbat skill was any indication, his instructor was quite skilled.

    When the trio reached the bottom of the basement, Tanamar hung up thentern on the wall to illuminate the room. Tyconmented that the pitiful me did nothing to ay the cold temperature. His cloak was upstairs and he wore thin tunic only suitable for training.

    He hadn''t expected to descend into the depths of an icebox.

    There was precious little in the basement, though empty shelves and weapon racks hinted at the majesty it once held.

    Tycon was miserable. Tanamar looked ufortable. Athena was wholly unbothered.

    Yin body. Of course, she''d be fine.

    "I have a feeling that what you''re looking for... is in that," Athena pointed.

    At a table in the center of the room was a small, wooden chest, reinforced with gold and about the size of a severed human head. If it was cleaned and polished, it wouldn''t look out of ce in a young woman''s room-- perhaps used to contain jewelry.

    "I wouldn''t touch that thing," Tanamar politely offered as he rubbed his arms.

    Tycon approached the chest warily, "Thank you, young man. Your counsel is wise."

    "Sir Tycon has a sarcastic voice," Athena reminded her footman.

    Tycon red back at the two, "I do not."

    He examined the chest by sight. A supernatural cold radiated out of the chest, yet did not mark it with frost or damage the wood.

    ? System, inquiry: Is this box-- or whatever is within the source of the cold? ?

    ? Affirmative. ?

    That question eliminated an outside source for whatever phenomenon he was experiencing.

    ? System, analysis: Basic information on the box and its contents. ?

    Tycon shut his eyes and reviewed the information his System provided. The box''s contents were cursed. The box, itself, was not. He took it, turned it upside down, and emptied its contents.

 Chapter 329 Cursed Sentience

    ?Spilling out of the mundane box and dumped onto the table was a heavy blue crystal, about the size and shape of a human heart. Within it, the outline of a fractured snake skull glowed whitish-blue.

    Though it appeared like the sealed skull had some significance-- it was a visual illusion created and powered by the stone, itself. Ultimately, Maximus'' treasure was a mana rock... one that radiated high-purity frost mana.

    "Eep!" Athena jumped up, wide-eyed in wonder, "H-how did you open that?! W-we never found a key for it!"

    Tycon grimaced, "It wasn''t locked."

    "O... oh," Athena sat down on the floor quietly, her face glowing a deep shade of red.

    Tanamar dared to scowl at Tycon as if the youngdy''s embarrassment was his fault.

    Tycon shut his eyes and briefly consulted his System. The stone was cursed. No surprise. It had minor sentience, as well.

    Without the box as a subtle limiter, the crystal pulsed its mana outward, chilling the immediate area and causing Tycon''s teeth to chatter. He stepped away, wary for an attack and... annoyed.

    As the fates had decided that Tycon was always to encounter things he did not like, the stone''s frost mana enveloped him... and only him. It made logical sense. He was the most handsome person in the room, after all.

    ...Also, he had the strongest passive mana signature.

    Errant thoughts invaded his mind. Suddenly inspired, Tycon had the most wonderful idea to murder his allies on behalf of that useless snake god.

    He''d start with Victorius. He immediately conceived a feasible n-- more for efficiency than for enjoyment.

    Which one would be next? Greer, perhaps? And his extravagant strumpet of a wife, as well. Sol Invictus does not discriminate based on gender, among other things.

    That''s probably where the killing would stop, though. Everyone else remained useful.

    ? The Host has sessfully resisted a Third-Circle Domination effect. ?

    ...Oh. Was that the attack?

    Tycon frowned, crossing his arms.

    ? System, inquiry: Did... ?Mark of Pride? activate? ?

    ? ?Mark of Pride?. Demonic Seal. Prevents domination-effects from Fourth-Circle spells and lower. Strongly increases resistance against energy drain through bodily fluids. Inscribed by Lucifer of Pride. ?

    ? Negative. System response: The Host resisted the effect before ?Mark of Pride?''s activation. ?

    Tycon nced back to the others. Tanamar had faithfully stepped in front of the sitting Athena, his shoulders visibly rxing after the danger had passed.

    "Move your butt, Tanamar!" The curious youngdy was still sitting on the floor, peeking out from beside her footman.

    There was nothing left to see, save a cool blue miasma still hanging in the air. Tycon dispelled it with a casual swipe of his hand.

    The frost mana spread out to the corners of the room... though a thick cloud of it drifted towards Athena. Though Tycon was certain it was bereft of sentience, it doggedly sought her out, like a tiny droplet of water reaching out to join with arger bead.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The mana flowed into the youngdy... naturally and harmlessly.

    ? System, inquiry: What is the affinity between this relic''s mana and Athena? ?

    ? System response: 88%. ?

    Tycon raised an eyebrow in amusement. He had a theory to exin Athena''s high affinity, but he wanted to verify... "Athena, what is the story behind this box?"

    The seated Athena frowned, remaining silent.

    "You can tell him, Athena," Tanamar helped her to stand. "We can trust him."

    "Y-yeah, I know..." The girl sniffed, pouting her lips, "It''s still... I just... I still miss him, so much."

    ...

    The youngdy told a tearful story. Tycon had to gather all the information and reorganize it to make sense of it. He had deciphered worse, so he did not mind.

    It was several years prior. Athena was still a child and Maximus had only recently joined the Church''s special forces. The box was a spoil from one of the Warmage''s first missions and he intended it sealed in the underground vault, never to be opened.

    Yearster, Maximus returned-- over a year prior to the current date. He had changed. Little was left of the kind, soft-spoken elder brother in Athena''s memory. Though the youngdy''s faith was shaken, her love for her brother could not be diminished-- though not forck of trying on his part.

    Sanctum Parmrius Maximus'' team was massacred down to one. Maximus himself was so grievously injured, he fell in rank. He was listless, paranoid... temperamental. He left the manor soon after... but he left very insistent instructions.

    The box was to never leave the manor.

    He didn''t say anything about not using it... or even opening it --just that it must neither be sold nor given away. And most certainly, it was not allowed to fall into the hands of heretics.

    As Tanamar gently consoled the sniveling mess that was Athena, Tycon quietly reviewed the information.

    He was both annoyed, yet awed by what had transpired. It was no coincidence that Athena had developed an affinity to frost mana. Maximus had purposely left a powerful, high-mana Frost Stone within the manor with Athena''s well-being in mind.

    Likely, Athena always had a high affinity to frost mana. In such close proximity, the Frost Stone''s residual high-purity mana was absorbed by the youngdy over several years. This exined her unnaturallyrge mana pool and her ability to control it with precision.

    It was not an exaggeration to say every breath she took was infused with high-purity mana.

    Still, Tycon would not carelessly expose Athena to the Frost Crystal directly. A Third-Circle Domination magic was not something she would be able to easily resist.

    However... he could draw a formation-- engineer a ritual that bypassed the relic''s sentience. He didn''t even needoutside help. He could use the stone, itself, as the ritual''s power source.

    As Athena''s affinity with the relic was incredibly high, she would have no issue circting the stone''s power through her mana circuits. He needed only to create a way to control its flow in order to avoid mana overload.

    Tycon ran a few simtions in his head with the System''s help... It was possible.

    But would she agree to it?

 Chapter 330 Formation

    ?Tycondrius wore the most sincere smile he could fake, politely addressing the young Vanzano.

    "Miss Athena, I''d like to use your brother''s relic to speed your development to Bronze-Rank."

    "Um, isn''t it cursed?" Athena stuck out her lips, pursing them together like a tiny duck bill.

    "Yes," Tycon nodded. "Grant that I will first nullify the curse, in order to ensure your safety."

    "It''s literally a snake skull." Sheined, "It looks gross!"

    "Does it?" Tycon nced back at the table. He thought it looked impressive and powerful, "No matter. The purity of the Frost Stone''s mana should be enough to catalyze your breakthrough."

    Holy Lancer Tanamar of Vanzano stepped forward, his expression grim and determined.

    "It''s too dangerous," He insisted.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Seven hells, young man. Take a look at the crystal''s affinity rating with your charge."

    Tanamar raised his eyebrows, his pupils dting in surprise. Shortly after, his eyes narrowed to slits. It looked like he understood.

    "What are you guys talking about?" Athena asked.

    "What''s the percentage?" Tycon asked in a lowered voice, grinning mischievously.

    Tanamar scowled back, "What do you mean ''percentage''?"

    "Is it 88?" Tycon whispered, just loud enough for Tanamar to hear. "I''m certain you''re aware of the implications."

    "You..." Tanamar shut his eyes, "Tch... No wonder you don''t act like an NPC."

    Tycon did not know what that meant, but he decided to 1. treat it as unfamiliar transmigrator diction and 2. take it as apliment.

    After a moment he grimaced... but nodded, "Yeah... we won''t get this kind of chance, again."

    Tycon smiled as he turned to Athena, "Tanamar and I are just using some esoteric terms to describe the ''Frost Stone.'' Ultimately, I believe I''ve convinced him that the n is worthwhile."

    Athena puffed up her cheeks, "I dunno... I kinda wanted to get stronger like a normal person. Isn''t this kinda like cheating?"

    Tycon reared his head back in surprise. He found the notion absurd, though the reasoning was... heartwarming. Athena had talent and an artificially-made Yin Body. Those were advantages to be seized and cultivated, not ignored.

    "Youngdy, this opportunity is a gift from your brother. Perhaps he meant for you to use it to protect yourself."

    "Maximus... for me?" Athena''s eyes shone like snow globes. Soon, more tears would flow and Tanamar''s problems would be renewed.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon chuckled in amusement, "I''ll need to perform some tests. Lend me the basement key and return to Zenon and Victorius for evening training."

    ...

    It took Tycon three suns to create Athena''s ritual formation. His goal was to bypass the Frost Stone''s curse and to tap into its power source. Simple enough.

    The testing was not without its dangers. Working with the stone so intimately, Tycon had the chance to observe its effects.

    The Frost Stone''s curse had a rudimentary sentience. Tycon likened it to a... priority flowchart. First, it would try to overload his senses. While he was distracted, it would then try to forcibly change his settings-- effectively adding third-party... desires. The instilled whims were inane... enving viges to ritually sacrifice, violently betraying those closest to him, and actively avoiding hand-washing after relieving himself.

    If the curse took hold of him entirely, he''d awaken as a gentleman of argely different set of morals and motives. In exchange, he''d gain the ability to cast a few paltry frost spells and knowledge of Snake Cult propaganda, customs, and courtesies.

    He didn''t look into just what. That would take more research and the information wasn''t useful to him. He checked the data over for any rogue curse functions in the knowledge subset, but that was the extent of it.

    Tycon would not have his mind taken over as long as his arrogance overpowered the stone''s ancient will. Likely the curse''s strength had diminished over time or it was instilled by a mere Gold-Rank mage.

    If his willpower was to waver, he could rely on his ?Mark of Pride? ability. He was immune to overt domination effects.

    Without fear of aplete override, he could utilize his System to forcibly cut the connection with the Frost Stone via mentalmand. A few changes to the System''s connection filteringter, he ensured the curse''s most severe effects would not activate on him.

    He couldn''t make himself entirely immune during the testing phase. He needed to ensure his ritualpletely bypassed the curse so Athena wouldn''t turn into an unhygienic Snake Cultist. To that end, he worked with the Frost Stone''s power set to 2%, feeling the bite of the curse and the cold, both.

    Less than thirty minutes into working on the first sun, he returned to the servant''s quarters to borrow and steal several thick nkets. Some individuals reveled in difort, taking pride in stubbornness and hardiness. Tycon would suffer minor annoyances for greaterfort. It was efficient.

    The workings of the Frost Stone''s curse were simplistic, itsposition logical and grouped. However, its organization was... appalling. The entirety of the curse was lumped into one concentrated mana-stream.

    It was an unintentionalyer of defense. If Tycon wished topletely dispel the curse, he would need to root through the inner workings of its core. It would take several suns to decipher it, then further study to calcte how he could modify the mana-stream without causing an explosion. Such an endeavor also required a moderate amount of arcane power-- something he did not have.

    ...He could have written it better, though. He found it so bothersome, he did take the time to forcibly change and reorganize some of the curse''s misceneous settings.

    Because of the Frost Stone curse''s design, Tycon surmised it may have been created identally, perhaps the result of a desperate mage''s will coalescing into a physical form. If that were so, the creator was not merely an uncreative hack-- they were just a man or woman with shite morals.

    The ritual formation would have beenpleted sooner. However, Tycon took an embarrassing amount of time designing a modifiable variable function. In the midst of the ritual, he wanted to be able to adjust the amount of mana flow from the stone to the empowered target.

    It would have been highly inconvenient to activate the formation at a low percent, only to repeat the cast several times more at increasing percentages. This way, he''d only need toplete the ritual once, adjusting as necessary.

    After all was finished, they''d seal the stone away, perhaps for useter?

    It would probably be fine.

 Chapter 331 Frost Stone Ritual

    ?Tycondrius elicited the help of footman Tanamar, real name Athanasius Mors, for Athena Vanzano''s ritual. He insisted upon weapons, but not armor. Against attacks powered by frost mana, Tycon doubted the effectiveness of leather and steel protection. He wore more than oneyer of clothing, as well as an unnecessarily stylish wool scarf.

    The drawn formation took the space of most of the basement vault. The tables and shelves were pushed out of the way and several sections of script and shapes were inscribed onto the stones. Tycon tried to summarize what exactly he''d done with the various sections.

    Neither of them seemed to understand even a modicum of his efforts.

    It ayed Athena''s reservations. Tycon took a miniscule amount of sce in that.

    Empty night... He wished they''d understood just how gods-damned hard he worked. Ultimately, however... he was not designing a ritual for praise. The true goal was to aid Athena''s breakthrough to Bronze-Rank.

    Tycon opened the box, unleashing the Frost Stone''s blue glow upon the room. He designed the fantastical disy with the intent to impress the two.

    "Is... is that... my brother''s Frost Stone?" Athena''s eyes glowed in wonder, quite opposite of the grimace of disgust a few evenings prior.

    One of the settings Tycon changed in the stone was the form the mana exhibited within the crystal. Before, it had formed into a handsome snake skull. Now, it was a glowing, stylized lightning bolt, reminiscent of the Vanzano heraldry.

    That change, too, took a lengthy amount of time... but was well worth it, considering Athena''s look of awe and Tanamar''s nod of respect.

    ...

    With the Frost Stone in ce at the formation''s center, Tycon performedst-minute checks of all of the formation''s functions. No apparent errors.

    He also checked Athena''s condition...

    ? System, inquiry: Check the affinity between the Frost Stone and Athena. ?

    ? ? System response: 99%. ?

    A higher affinity rate could only be a positive change... It... was a dubious jump in number, though.

    "So... I just stand here, Sir Tycon?" Athena pirouetted gracefully within a circle at the end of the formation.

    "Indeed," Tycon smiled politely. "I will be operating this section, which regtes the mana flow."

    "I''m ready! I''ll take ALL OF IT!!" Athena dered with confidence.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... "I will increase the power steadily, depending on your tolerance."

    "All of it?" The blue-haired noble smiled sheepishly, "I wanna get stronger now."

    Tycon shared a worried look with Tanamar, "I''m having second thoughts."

    "It''s kinda toote to back out now." The footman shrugged, "Anyroad, you''ve already done all this work. You''ve even tested it a hundred times over."

    "Something to that extent..." Tycon grimaced. He''d tested it in itspletion three times-- more than enough, but far from a hundred.

    The most likely negative result was Athena suffering the effects of mana overload, which was even more usible considering her overly confident personality. Tycon was relying on the fact that the girl had a keen mastery of mana sense and would know her limits.

    A little mana overload was fine. She would be able to expend additional mana by casting spells, with Tanamar and himself provided as ''target practice.''. If she lost control, the two of them would attack the youngdy, forcing her to use her mana defensively.

    "Miss Athena, if you would, sit down and circte your mana," Tycon ordered. "Your goal is to ept the flow of power, regte it to match your own, and absorb it."

    If Athena''s mana intake was far higher than her ability to process it, her physical body would be torn asunder by her own power. Tycon did not mention this. He wished for the youngdy to strive for sess, not to merely avoid failure.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Yes, Sir!" The youngdy obediently sat down. She folded her hands and closed her eyes, appearing to be in devout prayer.

    Tanamar channeled his radiant mana to catalyze the ritual... the chalk-drawn lines on the floors and walls beginning to glow with power. Tycon observed the workings... clean, unobstructed... just like the simtions and trials.

    2%

    5%

    10. 20. 33. The girl calmly continued to regte her mana flow, her body greedily absorbing the Frost Stone''s power.

    40. 50. 66. Sweat crystallized on Athena''s brows and frost mana swirled around her, forming thin, but beautiful fractals along the stone walls.

    Tycon was d he had the mind to apply sent to the formation. It would be catastrophic if the lines were disrupted or one of the base circles were modified.

    "75%, youngdy!" Tycon yelled over the localized snowstorm surrounding Athena. "How do you feel?!"

    Athena''s eyebrow twitched, her face curling up in difort, "I''m still okay! K-keep going, I think it''s starting to feel good..."

    Hm. He would increase the pressure by 5% increments from here...

    Tanamar shifted ufortably.

    "What''s your issue?" Tycon red. "You''re not the one in the ritual circle."

    "Yeah, it''s just..." The footman hesitated, his mouth twisted to the side, "The way she''s saying these things is kinda..."

    "''Kind of... what?"

    "No, nevermind."

    80. 85. 87... 90... 91...

    Athena''s eyes and mouth began glowing at 91. A thinyer of ice formed on her body at 92. She began to aimlessly cast icences and frost orbs at 93.

    ...94?

    Athena shrieked in power, levitating up in the air. Her hair stood on end and flowed as power swirled around her, giving her the appearance of a woman submerged in water. She appeared to have lost rational thought.

    94 was the limit. Tycon gestured to Tanamar. The Holy Lancer would upy Athena while Tycon eased the Frost Stone''s mana flow.

    A manance formed in Tanamar''s hands as he leapt up and batted it at Athena. A shield of ice formed around her, deflecting the attack without as much as a crack. It was as if Tanamar had struck solid steel.

    "Oooooh!!!" The glowing-eyed, floating noble, spun excitedly. "I''m really strong, now! Oh, I''m so happy! I can actually help you in the dungeons, Tanamar!!"

    "Tycon!" Tanamar yelled, "Did you turn it off?"

    Tycon red at the boy, raising his voice in annoyance, "Yes, I turned it off! You can visibly see that the formation''s lost its power."

    "Then why is Athena''s power level still rising!?"

 Chapter 332 Frostblade

    ?Tycondrius rolled his eyes, "Because of the mana overload. We discussed this. Now please attack her seriously or we risk the young mistress violently exploding."

    Her eyes suddenly gaining rity, Athena twisted her head towards Tycon, "Wait-- violently what?"

    ...Oops. He let it slip.

    Tycon unsheathed his two Decani swords, "My apologies. I had withheld that information."

    He somewhat regretted not having exined that. He was worried the youngdy would have been hesitant to process such a high concentration of mana, had she been aware it was usible she would violently explode.

    "SIR TYCONNNN!!! IM GONNA EXPLODE??!?!" Athena shrieked. She directed her palms towards him, glowing icy blue with concentrated frost mana.

    Oh, that didn''t look good.

    "Not... necessarily?" Tycon offered.

    "?IIIIIIICE BEEEEEAMU!!!!?"

    Emanating from the youngdy''s palms was a veritable stream of frost energy. Everything it touched frosted over immediately, forming jagged crystals of ice. Tycon immediately began sprinting counterclockwise, staying a few steps ahead of the concentrated beam.

    ? System, activate ?Tumble?, please. ?

    ? Activating. ?

    ?Tumble? was always a reliable skill. With Tycon being Gold-Rank, he could also cast it more than once. Mana flowed through his circuits, filling him with energy and making his body feel light. Tycon ran up and across the side of the dungeon walls, acrobatically flipping to dodge-- making sure tond on dry stone.

    Besides the beam, Athena simultaneously cast other, lesser spells. The technical skill she disyed in double and triple-casting was impressive-- genius-level magery. With a higher-level of mana coursing through her circuits, she was casting almost purely by instinct, but strongly affected by her strongest emotions: rage and fear.

    It made her predictable.

    He smirked, snapping his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    Again Tanamar leaped up, swinging his holynce. This time, however, the footman''s attack was empowered by Tycon''s skill.

    With an instantaneous mentalmand from Athena, a frost shield formed around her, protecting her from damage. Still, the force of Tanamar''s strikeunched the levitating woman across the room, smashing her into the stones.

    The dust and debris blocked thentern light, but the whitish-blue glow of Athena''s mana-overloaded form lit up the basement''s entirety.

    Her form hidden by the clouds, Athena''s words echoed coolly along the frozen walls, "?Icicle Fall.?"

    Dozens of icicles formed on the high ceiling, each nearly the size of an adult human. They plummeted down, crashing near Tanamar with deadly force and mana-assisted speed.

    "D-dodge it, Tanamar!" Athena yelled worriedly.

    ...Tycon was slightly disappointed that he didn''t get the same encouragement. He sprinted towards Athena-- through the cover of darkness and in her blindspot.

    Shadowfang Strike? Legionbreaker? No... That would be too lethal. Tycon elected to use brute force.

    He skidded along the ice-slicked stones, lowering his body...

    Athena noticed. She turned her head and reached her arm to the ceiling. A massive de made of crystal clear ice formed above her head, ready to swing downward.

    As impressive as the high-mana attack was, it was dreadfully slow.

    Keeping his legs grounded as he slid, Tycon swung his sword utilizing his full body''s rotation. Athena''s frost shield went up at once, but the youngdy was againunched backward with a satisfying crack of the solid ice.

    Blood dripped down Tycon''s face from a cut on his cheek. He nced down at his Decanus sword... It was made of solid Tyrion steel-- more resistant to mana effects than steel of other makes. Still, the de had shattered upon impact, frostyering over the surface of the metal.

    ...He was d the shrapnel didn''t find his eyes.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Athena bounced off of a wall, but Tanamar managed to catch the falling girl before she took additional damage.

    "Tycon!!" Cradling her in his arms, he scowled murderously, "What the hells was that?? Are you trying to kill her?"

    Tycon pursed his lips... "No?"

    He''d been yelled at too many times in the past several minutes. Really, he thought the two of them trusted him a slight bit more.

    Athena struggled out of Tanamar''s arms, "I''m fine. Let me fight him."

    "But..."

    "I gotta get Sir Tycon back for his stupid sand-attack."

    ...So she was still upset about that.

    Stars and stones.

    Tycon sighed and pulled his cloak around him tighter. He was wearing threeyers of clothing in preparation for freezing temperatures, butmented not having brought... a nket or two. He breathed hot into his gloved hands and rubbed at his numb face.

    He also slightly regretted not having brought Zenon. He trusted the Librarian, but he did not want to burden the Centurion with the secret of utilizing a tool the Church would deem heretical.

    "It''s too dangerous," Tanamar insisted. "I''m sworn to protect you, Athena. Let me fight for you."

    "I... I know..." Athena sighed, averting her gaze, "But you''ve always been fighting for me. Just... I need to do this. I need to prove to you that I can help!"

    "You''re always doing your best. You never ask for help!" Tanamar nearly shouted back at her.

    "That''s because I always know I can count on you!!" Athena looked back, tears dripping down her eyes as frosty sparkles.

    "I just... I can''t bear seeing you get hurt," Tanamar grimaced. It looked like it physically pained him to say that aloud.

    "T-tanamar..." Athena sighed. Suddenly, her eyes shot open, "Wh... WHERE ARE YOU GOING, SIR TYCON??!"

    Tycon nced over his shoulder, "That''s a rather silly question, youngdy. I''m taking the stairs, back up."

    "BUT WHYYYY?!" Athena stamped her foot, like a child throwing a tantrum.

    Tycon turned, sitting upon the stone steps... "I suppose... it''s mostly because it''s cold down here."

    Also, the two were sharing a private moment. He felt like he was intruding.

    "That-- that''s... I can''t help it!" Athena pouted, "I have frost-type superpowers!"

    ? Athena Vanzano, Bronze-Rank Frostde. ?

    "Yes. You''re very strong," Tycon smiled politely. "I''m proud of you."

    "Oh," The youngdy bared her teeth in an embarrassed half-smile. "Thank you!"

    Tanamar stepped forward, irritation still on his face, "What about the mana overload?"

    "It seems like Miss Athena has everything under control," Tycon calmly gestured. "Using the process of induction, I believe it has something to do with herrge expenditure of mana in shielding against myst attack... which neither of you have thanked me for."

    Also, the subsequent conversation between her and Tanamar further stabilized her emotions. From there, it seems Athena''s Yin Body quickly adapted. However, Tycon was too cold and irritated to exin that.

    Athena pursed her lips, the figurative fire in her eyes dying out, "Th-thank you, Sir Tycon."

 Chapter 333 Intent To Kill (Part One)

    ?Still standing on the stairwell, Tycondrius looked down and nodded sagely, "You''re very wee, youngdy."

    Athena''s gratitude lifted his spirits slightly. It was nice to be thanked-- even if he had to more-or-less request it.

    "You tried to kill her, dude!" Tanamar shouted.

    This much was true. Tycon hadn''t held back with hisst attack, fully trusting in Athena''s capabilities to survive. Of course, if he wanted to kill her for certain, he would have used a skill or attacked her while she waspletely unaware.

    "Miss Athena is obviously not dead," Tycon groaned. "I don''t understand why you''re so upset."

    "Sir Tycon?" Athena shyly approached the stairs, "Can... can we keep fighting? I still have a lot of mana and it feels... ufortable."

    Tycon grimaced. It was a reasonable request. The more mana she expended, the easier it would circte through her body after a rest period. It was imperative, of course, that she not exhaust her mana reserves or receive a critical injury.

    He sat upon the steps and snuggled deeper into his cloak and stylish scarf, "Fight Tanamar."

    The white-haired footman''s eyes furrowed, revealing a hint of panic, "Wait, what?"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "As long as the youngdy can use her mana, there''s no difference in her choice ofbat opponent."

    "Well, yeah..." Tanamar scratched his cheek, "But that..."

    "Come on, Tanamar! Let''s fight!" Athena grinned happily, bouncing up and down in her usual glee.

    The footman red back to Tycon, before his expression changed to helplessness, "There''s some issues with that... and you know about it."

    Tycon surmised that there were two things the young man could be referring to. The first was his unwillingness to hurt Athena. Tycon decided this was a non-issue. Tanamar was smart enough to not use lethal attacks. During previous bouts, he often used the blunt side of his holynce for this reason.

    The second was Athena''s subconscious inability to use lethal force on Tanamar-- even going as far as to warn thetter to the dangers of her attacks.

    That was simple enough to solve.

    Tycon smirked, "Miss Athena, I wonder if Tanamar is a poor opponent... as I suspect you are romantically interested in him."

    Athena''s chill-touched face zed a pinkish red, "H-he... what?! No. I-- what?! He''s not-- I''m not!"

    Tycon shrugged, standing up, "If you hold back your attacks against him, then perhaps it would be better if I were to--"

    "?FROZEN ORB!!!?" Athena yelled. cing her hands together, she hurled a frozen sphere half her size at her manservant.

    Tycon gulped. The white, spinning orb of frost magic looked reminiscent of Zenon''s deadly, ?Wind Spheres?. Worse, the orb alsounched sharpened sts of frost mana as it traveled.

    Had he just sentenced Tanamar to death?

    Tanamar retreated, dodging ice sts, ?Frost Lances?, and another cast of the area-attack ?Icicle Fall.?

    Should he intervene? He didn''t want to stop the fight... Athena was attacking with... somehow more fervor and seriousness than against him.

    ...Tycon also considered just... leaving.

    The Holy Lancer threw himself out of the way of a particrly deadly-looking mana icicle. Sloppily rolling along the cold dungeon stones, he came to a stop, resting his face t on the floor.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "If I lose, I''ll get yelled at. If I win, I get yelled at," Tanamar grumbled. "What the hells am I supposed to do?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, feeling a bit guilty. Social effects aside, Athena expended more mana fighting against two people consecutively rather than just one.

    He raised his voice to encourage the bedraggled footman from the safety of the stairwell, "Cheer up! We''ll get dinner after this-- I''ll inform Zenon you two are exempt from evening training."

    Tanamar pushed himself back to his feet, discontent clear in his eyes.

    Tycon shrugged in apology. That was the best he could offer.

    Athena summoned another ?Frost de? above her head, the manaposition far more condensed than her previous one. She took less time to form it... and with its smaller size, swung it nearly as fast as she swung a corporeal de.

    The footman was forced to block the attack with a swipe of his holynce, but... her ?Frost de? shattered. The mana remnants levitated, spinning rapidly around the two of them.

    Tycon smirked. He had seen the tactic before... in Tanamar''s ?Scatter Lance? skill. If he guessed correctly, the icy debris would fall upon her footman, stunning him and leaving him vulnerable to follow-up attacks.

    Athena smiled innocently... like a cruel child about to tear off the wings of an insect, "?Frost Tornado.?"

    ...That didn''t sound right. Tycon expected her to name the skill Scatter Sword or... Frost Scatter.

    The ss-like shards of ice began to whirl around, quickly picking up speed.

    Oh.

    Tanamar was battered repeatedly by the spinning shards, dozens of superficial cuts appearing on his body. Tycon considered intervening... but he judged the attack only capable of grievously wounding the young man.

    He''d live.

    Eventually, Tanamar was forced to kneel, mming his holynce against the dungeon stone, dispelling the attack.

    "Oh, no! By the me! Tanamar! Oh, nooooo!" Athena rushed over, panicking, "Are you okay?"

    "Y-y... yeah. I''m just... gonna... gonna... sit here," Tanamar''s body slightly lurched forward. Righting himself, he audibly gulped... before smiling reassuringly. He did not reveal his teeth.

    Tycon suspected that the young man had spat out blood due to internal bruising. He held back, in order to save face... and to avoid worrying his young mistress.

    "Well, that''s enough of that," Tycon stood up and began walking down the stairs. "Mister Tanamar, you''re dismissed. Head back upstairs, if you would."

    Quickly nodding, the footman used what was left of his strength to quickly escape up the stairs.

    Athena was left behind, staring at his back in disbelief, "Is he... is he gonna be okay?"

    Tycon smiled politely as he racked his mental capacities, searching for a usible excuse, "Perhaps... he was excited for... evening training? You know how he is."

    "But... but he looked--"

    "He''ll probably be fine," Tycon shrugged.

 Chapter 334 Intent To Kill (Part Two)

    ?Tycondrius walked back down the stairs to stand on the same level as the young Athena Vanzano.

    "Now, I suppose you''ve some energy left, youngdy."

    Athena puffed up her cheeks, nodding hesitantly, "Y-yeah."

    Tycon shivered. He did not like the cold, "Again, I''m rather ufortable with the temperature--"

    "It''s not my fault!!" Athena shouted, aggrieved.

    "--nor did I me you. Please let me finish, youngdy..."

    "Ehehe... S-sorry, Sir Tycon."

    "What say you to a single concentrated attack?" Tycon offered.

    "Oh... okay. I can do that," Athena nodded. She allowed herself a tiny smile, apparently still excited to use her new abilities.

    Tycon walked to the center of the room''s formation. He noted that parts of the walls were still frozen, the effects of her powerful ?Ice Beam? spell not yet dissipated. He was nning on using that.

    He judged Athena''s supercharged mana-charged spells to be at Second-Circle. As she was, she had powerparable to her brother at Iron-Rank. After this, she''d fall back to afortable Bronze, but he doubted she''d encounter a bottleneck in the near future.

    Tycon hid one hand behind his back, gesturing for her with his other hand, "Please, youngdy. Attack with your all-- but don''t overexert yourself."

    Athena stood up straight, saluting crisply, "Y-yes, Sir!!"

    She closed her eyes and pressed her hands together, as if in... prayer?

    White winds swirled around her, causing Tycon''s cloak to flutter, the winds prickling and biting at his skin beneath his clothes.

    Her eyes shot open, glowing white with power...

    She spoke...

    "(Winds of the Frozen North. // Sisters shunned by the light of the sun.)"

    ...And she was speaking in the gods-damnednguage of the Elementals.

    "(The dark side of the moon, hidden by the zealous sky. // Frozen blood of a hundred thousand sinners...)"

    She pointed her arms forward, just as six more arms made of crystal-clear ice pointed forward... They glowed with an unnatural light, reminiscent of a Warlock''s spell.

    Tycon felt his heart ache. He wanted to cry. He should have left. The power of Athena''s oing attack Third-Circle, maybe even Fourth...

    "LIGHT OF THE ETERNAL FLAME!!!!" Athena shrieked, her voice echoing thrice-over. If it was from the walls or from her magic, he couldn''t tell, "SHOW NOT THY MERCY, HERE!!!!!"

    Tycon did not like the sound of that. He did not like that, at all.

    "?IIIIIIIIIIICE!!!! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAMU?!!!!"

    The entire room turned white as if hit by a snow blizzard while the sun was shining. As Tycon was engulfed in a concentrated beam of below-freezing frost mana... he couldn''t help but wonder... why did Athena add the -oo sound at the end of ?Ice Beam??

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Utilizing his boot knife held like an icepick, Tycon hacked away at the massive ice crystal formation in the center of the room. It took him several minutes of Gold-Ranked knife stabs, but he was finally able to free his hand. His boot knife was ruined. And he''d lost his glove...

    His leather gloves were expensive... and as handsome as he was, he would look foolish if he wore one without the other.

    Held within Athena''s ice formation (and still held by his glove) was the Frost Stone. Tycon volunteered himself as the target for a single concentrated attack, knowing he''d be able to mitigate its effects by utilizing the cursed relic as a shield.

    Athena kept himpany, sitting on the stone steps and watching patiently as Tycon hacked away.

    Tycon addressed her, "Miss Athena..."

    "Y-yes, Sir Tycon?" She looked guilty... like she knew she was going to be scolded. But still, heuded her obedience in not escaping.

    "If I didn''t know any better... I''d think you were trying to permanently encase me in a block of ice..."

    "Y-yeah... Eh... hehe..."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, staring until the young woman met his gaze, "That would have killed me, you know."

    "O-oh..." Athena pursed her lips, "I mean... you''re really strong, though?"

    Tycon''s mouth twitched, "Well... thank you."

    Even with thepliment, he remained mildly annoyed.

    "I mean... I kinda figured you were immortal," Athena bared her teeth in a sheepish grin.

    Tycon sighed, "Danger aside... everything appears to have worked out..."

    "Are... you immortal, Sir Tycon?" She asked.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "No. I do not believe I am. I would appreciate you not purposely trying to kill me in the future."

    Athena twisted her lips, chuckling softly, "Ehehe... y-yes, Sir..."

    ...

    The Frost Stone remained dangerous. Though its potential was severely weakened, it still held a simple, but malicious sentience. For the ''small'' price of irrevocably altering a person''s mind tomit Snake Cult atrocities, a host would gain the ability of a Circle Mage.

    A single Circle Mage could be the core of an adventuring team. A squad of them could turn an even battle into a one-sided ughter. If he wished, over the course of a few years, Tycon could utilize the relic to make an army of evil frost mages, capable of toppling entire nations. Someone else could... use it to be a much less threatening nuisance-- but a nuisance, nheless.

    He wanted to report the relic''s existence to Zenon''s Church... but there was a chance they wouldn''t try to seal it further. He feared they''d instead try to harness its powers. Archbishop Natalya Crucis mentioned there were traitors abound within her organization. He had seen it himself, having earned a Snake Cult favor from one of their Inquisitors.

    After analyzing Athena''s chanted spell with his System, he confirmed it was indeed cast at Fourth-Circle. Interestingly, it was not by the virtue of the Frost Stone''s Third-Circle nature, nor by Athena''s First-Circle control and her temporary boost to Second-Circle. The high affinity from the two together, and perhaps the incantation guided by her instincts broke the Circle barrier.

    Athena''s ice from her mana barrier was harder than Tyrion steel. The ice encasing the Frost Stone... no normal human would be able to break.

    That girl... Athena Vanzano... the blood-rted sister of Rex diatores Maximus of Ezyria... just how powerful could she be?

    And how could he use her?

 Chapter 335 Second Chance (Part One)

    ?While the Frost Stone had lost much of its mana, it still had enough for Tycondrius'' purposes. He modified his formation, directing the stone''s mana flow into its prison, effectively sealing it until its power decayed.

    In a few suns, the ice would freeze over the formation lines, making it nigh-impossible to modify further. Outside of special circumstances, it would take years (hopefully epochs) to recover it. Besides discovering its location, it would then take a specialized team of experts with the proper tools to do so.

    By that time, it would no longer be Tycon''s problem.

    Athena''s impromptu ice prison was admittedly a half-measure. It would be far better to ce a proper seal on it... hiring a Formation Mage to do so. Then he could hire adventurers to seal it at the bottom of a dungeon with an active Core... or to throw it into a fiery volcano that linked to the ne of Fire. Such ns, however, risked the secret of its location being leaked.

    The ice prison would do. It was free.

    Still, to be thorough, Tycon sent a coded letter to Archbishop Crucis. To keep its secrecy, the writing remained vague... but he hoped to get his point across.

    Stars and stones... It seemed that it wasn''t umon for Sol Invictus to encounter persons and items capable of destabilizing the entire Realm. Tycon wasn''t a selfless hero. He was just a snake.

    ...

    Medousa of Silva rolled over onto her side. The bed was so soft andfortable. Sweat covered her back... leftover from the nightmares. She never expected to sleep well-- if only the nightmares would be more convenient. Still, warm andfortable, Doe snuggled deeper into her nket...

    Usually, when she awoke her heart was racing in fear. How strange... She took a deep breath, nostalgic for a happier time, surrounded by friends, and not wanting for food or shelter.

    The smell of clean linens was so lovely...

    ...Wait. Clean linens?

    Her heart began to race again, just like in the nightmares. Doe threw off the foreign nkets, a scream caught in her throat.

    She was wearing a thin, white linen gown.

    Looking at her surroundings, she was in... a small room containing four beds, medical tools and bandages disyed neatly on a nearby table. The sun shone ringly bright through a nearby window... and everything smelled... clean? An infirmary?

    A confused-looking woman in a dark-ponytail approached her, adjusting her white healer''s robe and sitting upon an adjacent bed. She looked about Doe''s age, maybe a little older-- as she had the barest hint of a crease on her forehead and at the corners of her mouth.

    "You''ve awoken, Miss," The physician smiled.

    Doe''s mouth hung open in shock. What was going on? Was she still dreaming? Why was she being treated so politely?

    "I''m so sorry..." She apologized, bowing her head. "I don''t have any money. I''ll... I''ll leave."

    The woman tilted her head, giving a gentle smile, "Coin is not an issue-- I''d really prefer if you stayed for a while. You were recovered by a member of the Church and you''re quite weak."

    A member of the Church?

    Doe immediately began piecing together her fragmentary memories, involuntary tears running down her cheeks. She was alive. Poor, sweet, Ialtrae was not. But then again, her ex died in excruciating pain in front of her eyes, so she had that going for her.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It didn''t hurt. Unlike what the physician said, she... didn''t feel like she''d gone without food and water for several suns... She felt like she could stand and walk around if she wanted to. She also felt like she could eat a whole cow, though.

    "Now, you don''t have to answer..." The physician''s eyes turned serious, "--but may I ask your rtionship with the Decanus with golden eyes?"

    Doe gulped... That man... The man with the terrifying eyes saved her from dying cold and alone, rotting in the sewers of Silva... "He... he''s my savior."

    The physician released the tension from her shoulders, "Oh, good. I was slightly worried that he was the one who did this to you."

    "Oh! No!" Doe raised her voice... Oops. She was being too loud. Doe was pretty sure infirmaries were supposed to be quiet... "N-no. He saved me from... from those people."

    The woman nodded in understanding, "I had hoped for as much... but in my profession, you learn quickly that looks can be deceiving. Everybody lies."

    Doe chuckled to herself derisively, "Y-yeah... I know."

    The physician asked Doe a series of questions about her condition, which she answered obediently. The older woman admitted she expected Doe''s recovery to take well over a week, maybe two, even while administering Elementary healing potions. It had only been two suns.

    Doe must have received First-Circle healing... maybe even stronger. She had never received such an expensive gift without having to give up something in return.

    ...But... why? Doe couldn''t hope to repay the Decanus for his kindness. She had no possessions and no money. Even with her usual pay, she would barely be able to afford a shite inn room, much less a stay in an infirmary-- not including the cost of recovery medicine.

    The only thing rtively nice that Doe had was her body. But... he didn''t even reveal his identity when asked.

    "Do... do you know who saved me? His name?"

    "Unfortunately, I do not," The physician shook her head. "But he doese often enough."

    "Did hee to visit me?" Doe asked, her heart suddenly racing.

    "That..." The woman smiled sadly, "He did not."

    Doe nodded... suddenly embarrassed. Why did she ask such a stupid question? Of course, the Decanus wouldn''t visit her... They wereplete strangers.

    "I... I have to go," Doe tried to get out of her bed. "Where are my clothes?"

    The physician held Doe''s hand to stop her, "We''ve cleaned the cloak the Decanus brought you in... but if you won''t stay... I''d like to feed you a proper meal before I let you go."

    Doe grimaced. The woman''s kindness made her want to cry again, "But..."

    "Free of cost," The kind physician prodded.

    Tears again welled up at the corners of Doe''s eyes. She nodded her head, "Th... thank you... Thank you..."

 Chapter 336 Second Chance (Part Two)

    ?Medousa stumbled out of the infirmary... It took her several minutes to get her body limber enough to walk normally.

    Maybe she should have taken the physician''s advice. Who was she to question someone who probably went to a school for their profession? She was an idiot. By the me. Doe was an idiot.

    People on the streets stared at her.

    Was it because of her stupid walk? Or was it because they knew she was naked underneath her ratty cloak? Were they looks of pity? Or were they out of disgust?

    She knew she wasn''t supposed to care about what people thought. Even still, the burning stares caused her face to redden and made her limp just a little bit faster.

    She had to take several breaks from walking, sitting on benches or taking a knee when she needed to. It wasn''t particrly warm outside, but she was sweating from just how tiresome it was to walk. Bits of her brown hair stuck to her forehead, painting her ten more deep shades of gross and homeless.

    Maybe she should have asked the physician for a hair tie. That girl wore a ponytail. Ponytail girls always have extra hair ties... But no... the kind woman had already gone above and beyond her duty. Asking for even one more thing would have broken Doe''s heart.

    After over a bell of walking, Doe''s legs ached terribly. She wanted nothing more than to copse on the cool roadstones. But her goal was right there-- the golden gates of House Vanzano.

    Just a few moments more...

    She limped through the gates, onto the overgrown grass, resisting every urge she had to copse and fall asleep.

    There he was... he stood amongst several other people in the courtyard, amongst... what looked like... traveling packs?

    A green-haired man with golden eyes shined through the crowd in his silver armor. He was a man in military uniform, untouchable... at an unreachable standard. At the time she didn''t realize just how attractive the Decanus was... a literal Tyrion hero, so brave... and so strong.

    And young... so incredibly young.

    Also, really rude... but... honest. He hadn''t lied to her... he didn''t string her around. That made him a thousand times better than any man she had ever met. At Doe''s darkest point, it was the Decanus who offered her a second chance at life. She wanted to repay that debt... no matter what it took.

    She also wanted to grab him and cry into his chest for a bell or two... but that would be awkward. He didn''t even know her.

    ...Why the hells was she here? He didn''t even know her!?

    Her feet just... took her to this ce. All that time and she didn''t even think about what she would do when she arrived! By the me, how are you this stupid, Doe?!

    ...But she had nowhere else to go. She could go back to Madame Virgil''s... but... she didn''t want to work in the brothels, anymore. And with her body the way it was... it really wasn''t an option.

    Five sets of backpacks and supplies were set out in front of the Vanzano manor. The Decanus was holding a piece of parchment, talking to a taller man with a mustache. She didn''t recognize that person.

    Doe did recognize Lady Athena Vanzano, the baby-faced, blue-haired daughter of Lord Greer. And there were two more people who she''d seen before-- Vanzano manservants.

    "Everything appears to be in order," The Decanus nodded solemnly.

    "That''s a relief," The taller man smiled. "I know we checked the night before, but sometimes... things just go missing."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Decanus narrowed his eyes, looking upward, "I am familiar with the phenomenon. It is the reason why I am checking your gear and you are checking mine."

    "Sir Tycon!" Athena called out, "THIS RECRUIT is ready for inspection!"

    The Decanus sighed and shook his head as he approached the young Vanzano mistress, "Please do not call yourself that. It''s demeaning and I only associate myself with professionals."

    "Ehehe... Sorry, Sir." She chuckled. Looking over to a silver-haired youth, she whispered, "I''m a professional."

    So the Decanus'' name was Tychon... It wasn''t amon name, but it was distinctly Tyrion. Like her proper name, Medousa, it was derived from the Ancient Language.

    Maybe she was saved by that coincidence... The Eternal me granted her a miracle.

    "Um, Sir Tycon?" Athena tilted her head.

    "Yes, youngdy?"

    Doe felt her heart tighten. Sir Tychon had called her the same exact way. Was she jealous? Of a teenage girl? Ughhhh. Why had shee heeeeere?!

    The young Mistress looked over to Doe.

    Oh, no... What was going to happen? Was she going to be chased away? She barely had any strength left... If Athena had her servants chase her away, she was going to get beaten...

    The young Mistress... she smiled. It wasn''t a sneer or... a malicious smirk. It looked like... an actual smile?

    "Is that one of your friends?" Athena asked.

    Sir Tychon nced over. Doe felt her heart begin to pound. She was going to faint.

    "She looks like a vagrant," A rude looking blonde man interjected. "Shall I escort her off the property? Lady Athena? Sir Tycon?"

    "Unnecessary," Tychon returned his gaze to his paper. "Miss Athena, your gear is ounted for... save your rations?"

    "I''ve got them," The silver-haired footman answered for his mistress. He had the most... unfriendliest eyes. There was a Vanzano footman that chased away House Gnis'' collectors before... and Doe had a feeling it was him.

    "Mister Tanamar, treat this as training." Tychon firmly insisted, "The youngdy will have no issues carrying a few additional librae. Return them to her."

    Doe frowned. She was being ignored. She thought she heard something crack-- was it her heart breaking? All of her willpower, all of her courage drained out of her body at once, and she only felt cold and numb. She hadn''t even tried to speak to Sir Tychon... but it wasn''t worth it. There was nothing for her in House Vanzano.

    She plopped to the ground in her tiredness. She wanted to cry.

    ...The tears flowed forever when she was in the dungeons. But right when she wanted them back, they were nowhere to be found. She chuckled to herself. Doe... poor, foolish Doe. Why had she chosen life? Was that what she really wanted?

 Chapter 337 Second Chance (Part Three)

    ?"Sir Tycon," Athena red, pointing angrily at the girl in the tattered cloak. "What is your rtionship with that person?"

    Tycondrius raised an eyebrow, "I met the youngdy a few evenings ago, naked in a dungeon. Why do you ask?"

    Without warning, Tycon received several harsh ps of a sheathed sword.

    "By the me!" Athena screamed, "How can you ignore her?!"

    "Miss Athena..." Tycon used his left forearm to block the girl''s simple attacks. They stung, though.

    "Go TALK TO HER!!" The youngdy was furious.

    ...Tycon grimaced, "But why?"

    "Seven HECKS! Just go! Go or you''re fired!!"

    "...I don''t... I don''t actually work for you, youngdy. You can''t fire me."

    "Then I''ll get Mister Zenon to fire you!!" Athena growled.

    "I won''t dismiss my Optio unless I know the full story." The Librarian shrugged... "But you''re lookin'' kinda like a scumbag right now, Tycon-- no offense."

    Tycon furrowed his brows. What did he do?

    "There is no point in speaking with the youngdy. Be serious, you two. We''re in the middle of a gear inspection."

    "Just... just go! Do it! Or I''ll be really mad!" Athena puffed up her cheeks like a petnt child.

    She was already mad. This was the extent of the youngdy being mad. No. He didn''t want to go. He wanted to finish the inspection.

    "Duty above all else." Zenon gave a half-hearted smile, "I''ll finish checking the gear, Optio."

    Tycon watched as his beloved inspection sheet was snatched away from him. He enjoyed doing inventory... and he had lost that privilege.

    "Very well," Tycon sighed. "Please be thorough, Centurion."

    He was going to be very upset when one or two of the children reported missing supplies.

    "Of course."

    Taking a deep breath, Tycon walked over to where a miserable-looking youngdy had sat upon the grass. Her shapely legs were revealed beneath her cloak-- appearing slightly alluring. Had she been able to recover proper clothing within the past few suns... or was that all she was wearing?

    "Good afternoon, Miss Doe," Tycon greeted her.

    Doe''s eyes widened as she looked up in surprise, "Y-you remember me?"

    ...He did... slightly. The youngdy was of no importance, so he hadn''t thought much of her. Thankfully, his System always did an excellent job at informing him of various persons he''d met previously.

    ? Medousa, Bronze-Rank Human Expert. ?

    "Yes. I was curious as to your arrival. When first we met, I tried to kill you." Tycon smirked, "Are you so willing to waste the life I had gone out of my way to save?"

    Admittedly, it hadn''t taken much effort to save the youngdy. He had taken maybe a bell''s worth of effort and spent a single gold coin. After fleecing some stolen trinkets and valuables from House Gnis, he had the benefit of disposable funds.

    "I... I wanted to pay you back," Doe muttered. She shifted uneasily, revealing more of her scarred legs.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon rolled his eyes, not particrly caring to hide his emotions, "Not necessary. Concerning my current quest, I''ve no use for you. You can go back and live your life as you please."

    She knelt and bowed her head, "I... I''ll do anything you want. I can fight..."

    "Tss. You?" Tycon scoffed, shaking his head, "The five of us will be venturing to the Icingdeath Mountains. While I appreciate your enthusiasm, with your level, you''d only be a hindrance."

    Expert was not abat ss. That she would volunteer herself for such a job was absurd, regardless of where Sol Invictus was going.

    She pointed past him, angrily, "And why is he going with you, then?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, following her finger, "Victorius? He''s a... porter."

    It was a good question... Why was heing along?

    "I can... I can carry your things for you," Doe offered.

    Why was this youngdy being so stubborn? Tycon grimaced, refusing her again, "Carry things? You''re clearly fatigued just from your travel here. Your pupils are dted and your body is literally shaking. I trust you as much to carry gear as much as I trust you can walk five paces."

    He took in a breath through his nostrils, exhaling slowly, "Rest for a while. Go back, afterward. I insist."

    "Sir Tycon... Please," The girl begged, bowing her head near his boots. "I can... I can warm your bed."

    Frustration tinged Tycon''s voice, "Raise your head."

    Thest woman who offered her body to him, he had killed immediately after. It was something he did not regret.

    The young Medousa was physically attractive. The scars on her body he was privy to, while considered a social w by human culture, he didn''t care for, at all. Once she recovered, her body would be in good condition for such physical endeavors.

    That she was offering herself without a strong rtionship seemed to be... a social faux pas. When the youngdy raised her head, he looked into her eyes.

    Within them, he saw fear, uncertainty, desperation...

    ...and not an onze of self-respect.

    "I will not share a bed with someone who does not respect her own body," Tycon dered with finality.

    The youngdy''s jaw hung open and she gawked in disbelief, "Wh... what?"

    Tycon sighed. The girl was lost... confused. He likened her actions to that of a child, promising whatever she could, without thinking of the consequences.

    Kneeling down, he patted Doe on the head, "There was no selfish motive in saving you, young Guardian. You owe me nothing...

    "But if you need guidance... get off your feet, work towards a goal, seek to support yourself honorably. And I prefer if you did not need saving again..." Tycon chuckled, "Hah... You only get one."

    The youngdy''s eyes had zed over. Small tears ran down the sides of her face and her lips were quivering. He was trying to be inspirational... he hoped those were ''inspired'' tears.

    Tycon poked the center of Doe''s eyebrows, "Do you understand me, youngdy?"

    rity returned to her eyes, "Y... yeah. Th... thank you, Sir Tycon."

    Tycon offered a smile that he did not need to fake, "Good."

 Chapter 338 Revisiting The Past

    ?Exhausted, Doe let her feet take her to the only other ce she thought to go. Her bare feet torn and filthy, and feeling like she was half-dead again, she stumbled through the back door of Madame Virgil''s Massage Parlor.

    "By the me, is that Doe?"

    "Doe, what happened to you? Oh no! Are you hurt?"

    As soon as Doe half-copsed onto a couch, five of the girls surrounded her, various levels of worry on their faces. The girls were always the sweetest. After Doe left the Massage Parlor to work for House Gnis, she was no longer consideredpetition. That was the only reason they could pretend that they cared as much as they did.

    Kleio split her way through the crowd, her make-up half done, her damp hair wrapped with a towel, "Finally back, b*tch? Seven hellllllls, you look like shite, girl."

    Oh, Kleio... she was the most beautiful whore in all of Silva. Doe never understood how she wanted to w her eyes out but at the same time confide in her all of her deepest secrets.

    Doe gave a tired smile, trying her best not to cry, "Shut up, Queen B*tch, haha... I''ve had... I''ve had a really... really rough sun."

    Kleio smirked, "Wee back, Little Doe."

    Even if they were lies, Doe had missed the warmth of someone-- anyone, pretending to give a shite about her. She failed at not crying. She was definitely crying, "Is... is Madame Virgil in?"

    "Hally is getting her now!" One of the girls said, "We heard about what happened to House Gnis..."

    "What... what happened?" Doe asked, "I... I got sick. And I haven''t been around for awhile."

    "Mister Gnis got himself strung up in the Market Square, just a sun ago," Kleio licked her teeth, before sitting down next to Doe. "You wouldn''t happen to know anything about it, would you? Weren''t you f*cking one of their leaders?"

    A powerful falsetto voice reverberated through the room, "Now, now, girls. Give Little Doe some space."

    Obediently, the girls made way for Madame Virgil to saunter into the sweltering back room... with the exception of Kleio. Kleio draped her arms over Doe possessively.

    Virgil swept back the hair of her gorgeous wig of blonde curls, while adjusting her backless, strapless red dress, "You too, little Queen."

    "I don''t wanna~" Kleioined. Still, she nted a sloppy lipsticked kiss on Doe''s cheek before standing up, "I missed you, b*tch."

    "Y-yeah... I missed you too," Doe admitted between her sniffles.

    Madame Virgil was the sweetest vedriver Doe knew. Before she had met Sir Tychon, she didn''t think any man in Silva was worth her trust. But even though Madame Virgil was born male, she didn''t count as one... for somewhat obvious reasons.

    "The underground is in an uproar," Virgil sang in her deep, sultry voice. "But Madame Virgil''s Massage Parlor still offers its services to those who have the coin...

    "If you want toe back..." Her expression changed to a motherly worry, "By the me, Little Doe... It looks like we''ll have to feed you for a week or two before you''re plump enough to work again."

    Doe wiped at her eyes, smiling... sobbing, "Th-thank you, Madame Virgil... But no... I''m..."

    "There, there..." Virgil snatched up a clean cloth and dabbed at Doe''s eyes, "Mama Bird is here. All my girls are wee, back in the nest... What can we do for you?"

    Doe sniffled, leaping forward to embrace her former employer... Everything was going to be okay. This was her second chance to live how she wanted.

    "I... I want to be a maid for a noble house. Can... can you teach me?"

    ...

    ? An unknown amount of years prior. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Ehehe..." Athena giggled, "This is the farthest I''ve ever been away from the house."

    She was looking over arge rock formation at its lowest point... standing atop the shoulders of her newest servant, Tanamar. He was a lot nicer and friendlier than the other servants. He didn''t evenin when she told him to boost her up.

    Athena didn''t think he''d do it. She felt kinda bad. But she really did want to see over the rocky outcropping.

    "Wh-whoa!" Suddenly, she lost her bnce. With the fall, she found herself plopped down atop Tanamar''s back as he exhaled painfully, "Oh! I''m sorry, Tanamar!"

    Quickly getting off, she knelt down by him and swept her light blue hair out of her eyes, "Oh, no~ By the me, are you okay??"

    "Yeah," The silver-haired boy groaned. "I''m fine."

    "Oh, I''m so d," Athena breathed a sigh of relief, fanning her flushed face.

    He sat up, rubbing his lower back, "Why are you here, again?"

    "I wanted to see what kinda training Uncle gave you!" Athena beamed, "Also, I have a responsibility to protect my friends!"

    "...Shouldn''t it be the other way around?" Tanamar shook his head, "Well, that''s fine, I guess. You have to listen to my directions, though."

    "Ehehe. ''Kay!!"

    Tanamar was always super nice about everything. She had asked properly before she decided to tag along on her own. Uncle said it was really dangerous in the hills, but Tanamar was about her age. How could it be dangerous?

    "What did you see? Athena?"

    Tanamar never called her mistress. It was nice. Since they''d first met, she never treated him like a servant. He was her friend! An awesome friend that let her stand on him if she wanted to!

    "No enemies! We''re safe!" Athena grinned. She found herself smiling often when she was around him. She loved that feeling.

    Tanamar stood, gazing up the steep rock... Was he going to climb up? There weren''t any handholds?

    "?Aspect of the Winged Seraphim,?" He whispered... really quiet, so Athena could barely hear him.

    It was like Tanamar sprouted wings. He ran up the rocks, grabbing the jagged top with one arm. He pulled himself up to observe beyond it... before sliding back down.

    "Wow," Athena said in a hushed voice. "You''re really cool, Tanamar."

    "Why are you whispering?"

    Athena tilted her head, "Because the enemies might hear us?"

    Tanamar narrowed his eyes, "Well... you can stop. I can hear you just fine if you talk normally."

    "Then why were you whispering?" Athena pouted.

    Tanamar''s mouth twitched and he grew quiet. He was so cute when he was confused! Athena didn''t even care about the answer anymore, grinning wide, "Where are we going next?"

    The white-haired footman held out his hand, a glowing rod of light appearing like a divine weapon gifted by the Eternal me itself, "I saw an enemy. It''s hidden, but it''s there."

 Chapter 339 Breaking The Ice (Part One)

    ?? Present sun. ?

    Tycondrius observed Athena Vanzano''s gait as she hiked near the front of the group''s column. She was more than happy to recall memories of herself and Tanamar.

    Normally, he''d be perfectly pleased to listen to idle chat. Mindless stories helped to pass the time. While they were technically in hostile territory, the wildlife seemed to be keeping to themselves. He and Tanamar both remained especially vignt of their surroundings, so the likelihood of being caught unaware was low.

    However, journeying towards the dungeon in the Icingdeath Mountains, they began to slowly ascend. The higher they went... the lower the temperature became.

    The lower the temperature became, the keener his scrutiny became.

    He could only wear so manyyers of clothing without impeding his movement...

    With Athena''s enthusiasm, she marched ahead without issue. Her ''natural'' gait became one where she kicked her boots out in front of her like a toy soldier.

    The youngdy was wearing armor. Her pack was weighted with adventuring equipment, extra clothing, full canteens of water, and rations. Furthermore, their group was steadily marching uphill, the air growing noticeably thinner as they ascended.

    She was having a suspiciously easy time.

    For Athena to still have so much energy, Tycon surmised that Tanamar-- yet again... may have taken weight out of her pack when unobserved. The young noble may have recently ranked up to Bronze, but that would not improve her stamina dramatically.

    Zenon was carrying additional weight in gear and weaponry, but he''d left his heavy Church armor behind, so was actually carrying less weight. Even considering Zenon''s pack bnced differently, Athena was not as strong of a hiker as Zenon. Something was amiss.

    Tycon had packed an additional set of chainmail. Once their group took a break, he was nning to have Tanamar carry it as punishment.

    "And that''s when Tanamar swore to protect me, forevermore!" Athena eximed.

    Tycon pursed his lips in thought. The story seemed to end... abruptly, "I have questions... several of them."

    "To answer one," Tanamar huffed. "Athena left out the part where like-- five giant centipedes started chasing her."

    "That-- that''s not important!"Athena''s yelped.

    "Well, you made it sound like I didn''t have any reason to protect you," Tanamar shook his head.

    "Y-you don''t need a reason!" Athena argued.

    "There were five pretty good reasons at the time," Tanamar shrugged.

    "Hmph. Don''t listen to him, Sir Tycon!" Athena puffed up her cheeks.

    Tycon kept his face impassive to hide his confusion. What did that mean? Was she suggesting Tanamar''s oath of protection was not serious? No... Was he supposed to doubt the existence of several giant centipedes that chased the two of them in the past?

    He was fairly doubtful of five. One or two sounded more realistic... though even one was capable of eviscerating two human teenagers.

    "Where were you?" Tycon asked Victorius. He wasn''t trying to be rude-- he was sincerely curious. A youngdy going missing seemed like a major event.

    The blonde footman grimaced, "I was training with Tancred, at the time. The whole manor was in an--"

    "Optio!" Zenon called out.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, holding a hand signal up for a group halt. He would hear the counsel of the elevated one, before they were to continue.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Centurion shut his eyes, listening to the chilly mountainous wind, "There''s a battle ahead. People shouting-- shouldn''t be more than a dozen."

    Tycon nodded, "Drop packs. Grab your weapons. Let''s move."

    ...

    The moisture within the grass underfoot had frozen, crisping as the five of the Athena Team hurried forward. Tycon observed a group in the distance fighting against a swarm of round, rock-like, many-legged creatures, each waist-high. Five armed and armored men and women were heroically defending themselves against a herd of them.

    ? System, analysis: The strength of those creatures. ?

    ? System response: Bronze-Rank magical beasts. ?

    Tycon grimaced. There were two issues. The first was that while his System could urately assess the creatures'' strengths-- all of them Bronze-Rank, he had no idea of what the creatures were or their abilities.

    The second was that five Bronze-Rankers were fighting against twice their number of simrly-ranked beasts.

    The humans were going to die.

    Footman Tanamar of Vanzano slowed, shutting his eyes.

    It was a precarious situation for the humans... but the young footman''s actions were so extraordinary that it gave Tycon pause.

    The white-haired Holy Lancer opened his eyes, looking over to the patient Tycon, "Nearly two dozen Rock Creatures. Blood''s acidic. We have to take care of them before the--"

    A loud roar interrupted Tanamar''s analysis, causing the team to look over at once. A 9-fulm tall, rock-skinned humanoid had emerged from a nearby open cave. In its hands was a dead tree, torn from its roots.

    Tycon increased his pace to a run. He could intercept it before it reached the besieged humans. Interestingly, Tanamar caught up quickly, keeping the pace effortlessly.

    "It''s more efficient if we fight the little ones, first," Tanamar warned. "Then it''ll be safer to engage the boss."

    Tycon kept his eyes forward as he ran, "Sound n. Therger one will inflict heavy casualties if left alone. Be efficient? Save lives? Choose now."

    "Tch. I''ll engage first," Tanamar growled. "?Seraphim.?"

    Tanamar dashed forward, the burst of speed Tycon had never before seen during training. The footman''s feet barely touched the ground, as if he''d had invisible wings. A movement technique?

    Stars and stones, that man did not like revealing his abilities... Or perhaps he knew that revealing such a skill would only result in his training growing harsher.

    "Zenon! Athena!" Tycon yelled, "Support the Bronze-Rankers!"

    "Yes, Sir!!" Athena yelled. With a hand on her rapier sheath, she began to sprint towards the other group.

    Zenon ran after her wearing his flowing white cloth robes, "Shout if you need support spells, Optio!"

    Tycon ran towards where Tanamar had stopped.

    The footman was charging mana into a wooden longbow, likely to keep it protected from the cold. He swiped his opposite hand forward, snatching two mana-created arrows that far better resembled Tyrion p.

    ...Tanamar could shoot his holynces with a longbow. How much more had Tanamar held back during training?

 Chapter 340 Breaking The Ice (Part Two)

    ?Tycondrius continued to run towards the 9-fulm tall humanoid, running to the left to give a wider berth to Tanamar''s line-of-attack. The Holy Lancer was right-handed and the wind was weak. If the arrow was to drift away, basic knowledge dictated it was more likely to veer right.

    "?Double Strafe,?" Tanamar utilized another skill, firing two of his erged arrows nearly simultaneously at the creature''s chest.

    The two spears of light struck the goliath''s chest, forcing it to stagger back a half-step. Unfortunately, it began to lumber towards the two of them, as if barely inconvenienced.

    ? Gold-Rank Magical Beast. ?

    Mundane Gold-Rank creatures could be defeated easily enough by the Tycon-Tanamar duo. He was d he gently suggested that they engage with it. Bronze-Rank humans would be felled by any of the monster''s attacks.

    His System ssified the tall human-like creature as a magical beast... notably not a humanoid, nor a monster. Like the other beasts, his System also offered no suggestion to the creature''s name or its abilities.

    Tycon recalled that, ording to earlier calctions, they were quite close to the Icingdeath Dungeon. The creature may have been created and cultivated by the Dungeon Core...

    If so, Team Athena was within the dungeon''s zone of influence... or even already within the dungeon-proper. Worse still, it meant that they would only encounter stranger and more fantastical creatures as they progressed.

    He would act on this assumption. If the creature was sentient, its loyalty would first be to the Dungeon Core or whatever forces allied to it. Thus, it was safe to act with extreme prejudice, aiming to kill.

    Moving within range of the creature, Tycon grabbed his Dynamic Weapon off of his lower back. Allowing it to segment itself into a whip of metal fragments held together by mana, heshed it forward, wrapping it around the goliath''s right ankle. With a sharp pull, the de wrought havoc on the creature''s stone-colored flesh.

    Tycon grimaced, watching the creature continue to lumber forward. His attack had drawn blood and ording to its anatomy, it should have been crippled.

    "It has a healing factor!" Tycon yelled as he threw himself out of the way, retreating to a safe distance. The goliath''s weaponized tree mmed down into the mountain dirt, scattering rocks and dust onto Tycon''s cloak and hair.

    He sighed inwardly. Because he was perspiring, the dirt stuck... increasing his level of difort and annoyance both.

    Even if the rotten beast was sentient, he would choose to murder it.

    Footman Victorius had caught up with Tycon, stopping and bending over to catch his breath. Though the former archer wasn''t abatant, it was smart that he''d followed. Being left alone in the dungeon''s zone of influence was an effective way to get killed.

    "F-frost troll!" Victorius squealed between breaths, "It has to be! It''ll regenerate unless we have fire!!"

    Tycon got to his feet, groaning to himself. He raised his voice loud enough for Victorius to hear in the distance, "That information does nothing to help us!"

    Their team did not have ess to fire-based spells or attacks. Perhaps if they had a torch, they could cauterize the creature''s wounds-- but a hostile frost troll would not be so obedient.

    Tanamar dropped his longbow and began to charge towards the creature, holynce in hand.

    "Y-you don''t understand!" Victorius yelled. "It doesn''t matter how much we attack it! You won''t be able to kill it!"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, ring at the young blonde, "Seven hells, where did you get that information?"

    Meanwhile, Tanamar sidestepped the troll''s weapon m and ducked his head to barely avoid a heavy w swipe. In a flurry of spear stabs, he stuck the creature''s chest half-a-dozen times.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was at a speed Tycon was familiar with. He felt relieved that the young man at least hadn''t held back during weapons training.

    Tycon left the indignant Victorius behind, circling behind the troll and snapping his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    With the burst of mana, Tanamar''s eyes began to glow and he attacked with an arrogant fervor. A spear m cracked the troll''s ribs and a deep stab pierced the roaring creature''s eye and partly into its brain.

    "GRAHHHRRRHHH!!!!" The creature held its bleeding eye, stumbling backward. The way it roared, the seemingly lethal attack was not enough to kill it.

    It was good timing from Tanamar, though.

    "?Shadowfang Strike.?" Concentrating a burst of mana into his legs, Tycon sped his movement to close the gap. Heshed his razor whip up, catching the troll''s neck, pulling and simultaneouslyunching a Gold-Ranked kick into the side of the creature''s ankle.

    Unable to catch itself, it crashed onto its side.

    "Right arm!" Tycon yelled.

    Tanamar stabbed his holynce into the fallen troll''s weapon-wrist. It shrieked in pain, clutching at its wrist with its opposite hand.

    Beautiful. Tycon quite enjoyed working withpetent teammates. The two had not practiced such teamwork maneuvers, but Tanamar naturally understood exactly what needed to be done.

    Drawing his Decanus sword, Tycon held it high above his head, "ZENON!!!"

    "Cut down the enemies of mankind, ?Wind de?." Though Zenon stood several dozen yalms away, his voice echoed crisp and clear, carried by the winds.

    Tycon''s ?Legionbreaker? skill could cut cleanly through human armor. For this particr case, Zenon''s ripping and tearing ?Wind de? skill would prove more effective against the troll''s mana-infused, regenerating flesh.

    With a heavy hack, Tycon''s de bit into the troll''s neck. Releasing his whip, he continued to apply pressure with his sword, allowing the spinning wind-enchantment to cut deeper and deeper. Eventually, he relieved the Gold-Ranked Frost Troll of its head.

    Tanamar kicked the troll''s body so itid on its back. With its head separated from its body, it had stopped regenerating.

    The two looked over to the others. With Zenon''s spells affecting multiple enemies at a time, the round, rocky creatures were beginning to scuttle away in retreat. It also appeared there were no additional casualties from the humans they saved.

    Footman Tanamar faced Tycon and scowled, "I did most of the work."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. That was rather obvious, "Yes, you did. You also pinned both of its arms to ensure my safety. Expertly done on both ounts."

    Tanamar paused before rubbing the back of his head, "Y-yeah. Thanks."

 Chapter 341 Good People

    ?Tycondrius and Holy Lancer Athanasius Mors walked towards the others. Team Athena''s timely assistance had ensured the survival of all five of the standing adventurers they encountered. It seemed that they stood to fight because half of their party were injured and in no state to withdraw. Centurion Zenon currently assisted with the triage of the wounded.

    A crestfallen Athena Vanzano gingerly approached the duo, her stepscking of her usual... energy. Besides the youngdy''s expression, it was quite obvious that the blue-haired youngdy was missing her family-crested armor.

    Saluting crisply with her rapier, Athena reported, "Tanamar! Sir Tycon! We have defeated the enemy without additional casualties!"

    "Well done. At ease." Tycon returned the salute... before slowly crossing his arms and waiting for further details.

    While Athena was unaffected by a cold due to her Yin Body there was a certain impropriety of the noble traipsing around in only a tunic. Further, it was worrisome that her clothing was marked with a series of holes.

    Tanamar shared an uneasy look with Tycon before addressing his mistress, "Athena, you okay?"

    "Y-yeah." Athena nodded, "It was really hard, but we managed to win with Mister Zenon''s help."

    "Ahem..." Tycon cleared his throat, "Youngdy, where is... your armor?"

    Athena frowned for a half-second, "It''s more important to save a life than to worry about the cost of my armor."

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch. Both were important. Was she implying there was a situation where she had to choose between them?

    One of the five adventurers was hurrying over, ragged from battle, and with a blooded bandage wrapped around his head.

    ...With such a head injury, he should not have been running as he was.

    "Lady Athena!" The man yelled, "By the me, are you alright? You ran off without being treated."

    The dark-blue-haired armored fellow rested his hands on his knees, catching his breath. Tanamar stood by his side and steadied the man, so he wouldn''t fall.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "A friend of yours, Tanamar?"

    "Sir Tycon, this is Karodin of Emberhold." Tanamar revealed a light smile, "He''s good people."

    ? Karodin, Bronze-Rank Human Legionnaire. ?

    Barring the grammatical butchery that Tanamar used, Tycon kept a mental note on the fellow. If the Holy Lancer trusted Karodin, so would he.

    "Mister Karodin, might I ask the reason to your urgency?"

    Karodin stood up and bared his teeth in a grimace, "Lady Athena saved my life. She took a direct hit from one of the Stone Frogs'' acid blood!"

    Athenaughed derisively at her misfortune, staring down at the cold dirt, "It''s fine, Mister Karodin. I''m fine."

    He turned to Athena, "But mdy! Your armor! And... and you should really be checked by one of the healers!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Athena frowned, "I really don''t want to inconvenience them. Almost half of your team have worse injuries, Mister Karodin."

    Tycon and Tanamar shared another tacit gaze.

    Tanamar nodded, "I''ll take care of it."

    "Please do," Tycon gestured.

    Grabbing onto Athena''s arm, the young footman dragged her over to be checked by the healer in Karodin''s group, "Traitor!!"

    Tycon and Karodin exchanged pleasantries-- with thetter apologizing profusely for allowing harm to befall Athena. Why Karodin thought that Tycon, a person rtively unknown to him, was appropriate to receive a list of personal-failings was beyond him.

    The reason Sol Invictus had traveled to the Icingdeath Mountains was for a coborative effort with the Brazen Guard, thergest adventuringpany from the Tyrion territory of Kasydon.

    Tycon intimately understood that the Gold-Ranked guild was going to grow in poprity in Ezyria. It was bingmon knowledge that the Gold-Ranked Ezyrian guild, the Rhodoks, had yet to return from theirst quest.

    Only Tycon knew that the Rhodoks were hunted down and killed... as well as a number of stubborn horses and beasts of burden that refused to join Isidor''s faction.

    The Brazen Guard was initially an amalgamation of tworge guilds that had often worked together, the Old Guard and the Brazen Souls. Because of their history, it wasmon for them to consolidate their ranks with adventurers from smallerpanies. With greater numbers, they were able to challenge andplete more dangerous quests.

    This particr excursion was to curb the monsters in the predictably named Icingdeath Dungeon, recovering the Dungeon Core, if possible.

    To that end, Tycon and Zenon would be acting as interim members of thepany Tanamar and Athena imed membership to, the Stormbrands. Athena, Tanamar, and even Zenon would gainbat experience. Tycon could oversee their growth and keep them alive if he needed to intervene.

    Legionnaire Karodin belonged to one of the Brazen Guard''s Bronze-Rank teams. He was both surprisingly humble and receptive to Tycon''s inquiries. Adventurers, especially those ofrge, powerful guilds,monly had insufferable egos. That the first Tycon had met was so agreeable made him look forward to the immediate future.

    Tycon hoped to work in a team of men and women peaceably. If all of the Stormbrands were as polite as Karodin of Emberhold, Tycon decided that he might enjoy himself... even despite the cold.

    ...

    With the help of Victorius (and Karodin, going above and beyond to be helpful), Tycon removed his Decanus armor, lending it to Athena. That his armor sized well to a teenage girl forced him into a deep state of ufortable introspection. Was the coincidence a result of marvelous Tyrion engineering or... something else?

    Tycon did not mind downgrading to a sleeved suit of chainmail. He soon came to prefer it, realizing that it kept him warmer than the cool military breastte that failed to cover his arms. After again wearing his unnecessarily stylish dark cloak, Tycon felt relieved that his body temperature began to steadily return to eptable levels.

    After meeting up with Centurion Zenon, Tycon requested of Karodin of Emberhold to introduce the two of them to the Brazen Guard guild leader, Bannok of Kasydon.

    While seemingly unnecessary, it was socially polite to do so. In the future, it might even prove advantageous to have forged connections.

    Unlike Tycon''s previous Gold-Rank guild, he wanted this one to be sessful.

 Chapter 342 Brotherhood

    ?The Brazen Guard war camp was in good spirits. Nostalgia filled Tycondrius'' heart from again being amongst military-minded peoples. Tents were set up, adventurerszed about, napping, eating, performing gear maintenance, and ying card games to pass the time.

    Karodin insisted on hurrying. Tycon continually reassured the fellow that there was no purpose in doing so. Team Athena had arrived two bells before the agreed-upon time.

    As Zenon was not specifically crusading for the Church, he had eschewed both his title and his Centurion armor. Instead, he wore white cloth robes, supplemented by his own set of recently purchased chain mail.

    The Centurion had insisted also on undergoing a shave and haircut before departing. Tycon respected the tall man''s diligence and professionalism. Because of it, he listened patiently to Zenon''sints about how cold his face and head felt.

    Shared misery brings about camaraderie.

    Entering themand tent, Tycon observed the only human present, a bald but bearded Tyrion veteran seated at a table and examining a map.

    Deep lines were carved onto Guild Leader Bannok''s face from age and scars, both. He wasn''t particrly attractive, neither old nor young. He didn''t look unreasonably muscr underneath his dark armor-- nor was he fat. He had the advantage of a few inches of height on Tycon but was nowhere near Zenon''s elevation.

    With nothing particrly standing out about the human, Tycon would have struggled to identify him in a crowd. Thankfully, he had his System to constantly remind him of anyone he''d encountered.

    "Hey! Karodin!" Bannok stood and approached them, wearing an easygoing smile that radiated supreme confidence, "You look like an ogre ate you and shite you out. You gonna be alright or am I gonna have to call Ari to fix you up with a heal?"

    ? Bannok, Gold-Rank Human Weaponmaster. ?

    Bannok was a confident leader of hundreds of men who spoke affably and expressed concern for a Bronze-Ranker. Name and reputation aside, just that small interaction was enough to win Tycon''s respect.

    Karodin apologized for his clumsiness inbat and reported the patrolling incident. He waxed... somewhat poetically at the timeliness of Team Athena''s intervention... though Tycon found it odd how he was referred to them as such, instead of as the Stormbrands they were supposed to be.

    At Bannok''s insistence, Karodin was to leave to seek out a secondary check-up from the Brazen Guard lead healer, apparently a woman named ''Ari.'' Before he left, he introduced Tycon and Zenon, as well as their respective sses, Iron-Rank Tactician and Librarian.

    "Oh, yeah? Good shite, fe''s." Bannok nodded. He sped wrists and shook, first with Tycon, then with Zenon, a professional Tyrion greeting, "Sure is nice to get a couple more Iron-Rankers."

    "Heard a lot about you, Guild Leader," Zenon smirked.

    Most of Tycon''s information about the Brazen Guard hade from Zenon. Apparently, besides knowledge of Ezyrian diators, he enjoyed reading about the military histories of various adventuringpanies.

    Zenon did not have many friends... which in this particr case, was a boon.

    "It''s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Bannok," Tycon nodded.

    "Ahaha," Bannok chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, none o'' that here. Name''s Bannok-- not Guild Leader, not Sir, not Fat-Old-Guy."

    Tycon looked up to share a look of uncertainty with Zenon. Using honorifics was a force of habit for both of them. The Centurion was raised in the militant Church of the Eternal me. If an acolyte failed to use proper courtesies, they would be flogged... or worse. Tycon enjoyed being polite.

    "Uh... sure thing... Bannok," Zenon said hesitantly.

    "Come on, guys." Bannok twisted his lips to the side, "Don''t give me that look! Anyroad, I''m just gonna call you''s by your first names, too. Tycon and Zenon, yeah? Though if we get in the shite, I might just call you green-hair and tall-guy."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I''m alright with that," the Centurion smiled.

    Tycon chuckled softly, "I''ve been called worse, Brother-Bannok."

    The term gave the Weaponmaster pause before he burst outughing, "Haha! A weird guy, huh? Alright. Why the hells not?"

    Bannok nodded, grinning wide, "d to have you, Brother-Tycon, Brother-Zenon. Ah... make sure your guys are all in order, yeah?"

    Tycon forced a smile. There were still whole bells of time before their collective would set out, "Hurry up and wait, then?"

    Zenon chuckled at the joke. Concerning military situations, hurrying would inevitably result in dys, usually for logistics purposes.

    "Oh, a military guy, huh?" Bannok sat down on a folding stool and gestured to two others. "I was part of the Snake Cult wars... seven hells, it''s been fifteen years since. I got out two years back. I''m only really good at making things bleed-- without a war, I ain''t shite."

    Bannokughed at his own joke, "How about you guys?"

    "Also military..." Zenon admitted, "But I haven''t seenbat yet."

    The Weaponmaster snorted, "Yeah. I can tell by your shave and haircut-- you look like you''re a fish, fresh outta training! Don''t worry ''bout it, guy. You''ll get plenty of action here... and if you''re alive at the end of it, we''ll all have an ale together."

    Tycon was liking Bannok more and more.

    "How about you, green-hair-guy?" Bannok asked.

    "I did serve as a Duplicarius recently," Tycon smiled weakly, "But for my other military endeavors, I honestly can''t tell you.."

    Bannok raised an eyebrow, "Confidential shite? You look like you know what you''re doing."

    It was an astute observation, considering they had only just met, "Memory loss."

    "Yeah..." Bannok shook his head. "I been hit in the head a few times too many. Hey, it''s fine, though... there are things I seen I wish I could forget."

    ? Tycon frowned. The Weaponmaster mentioned he left the military two years prior, "Did you deploy to the Free Nation?"

    Bannok took a deep sigh, "Yeah... I... killed..."

    The Weaponmaster hesitated, shaking his head, "--I did a lot of things I can be proud of. Fighting for a good cause, that sorta thing I can be proud of. In the Free Nation... there wasn''t a lot of that."

    Tycon nodded quietly. Military leaders all had simr stories. It was why they tended to keep to their own kind. The gravity of their decisions was not something civilians could easily understand.

 Chapter 343 â€œOrcusâ€

    ?"There are no good ends for people like us, Brother-Bannok."

    Tycondrius ced his hand on the armored human''s shoulderguard. He had said the same thing to Archbishop Natalya Crucis, "But we shall continue, whether it''s forging the path for the next generation or keeping ourselves alive for one more sun."

    Weaponmaster Bannok''s eyes grew wide... before he burst out into unrestrainedughter, snorting and holding his stomach, "Hahaha. You''re shite at being inspirational, guy."

    ...That was not the reaction he was hoping for.

    "Brother-Tycon... naturally has a sarcastic voice," Zenon exined, "But he tries. Really!"

    Tycon frowned. That did not make him feel better.

    Bannok took off his gloves, wiping at the corners of his eyes, "Ah.... I needed that. Alright, fe''s. As much as I''d love to keep running my suck, you''s should meet up with the kid and the rest of the Stormbrands."

    The ''kid'' likely referred to Athena, the youngest member of her adventuringpany. It seemed to be a term of endearment, as well. Everyone that Tycon had met thus far had a good opinion of the youngdy.

    It gave him even more reason to eventually remove Lord Greer and Lady whatever-her-name-was.

    Tycon and Zenon politely excused themselves. The next step was to meet Athena''s and Tanamar''s adventuringpany, the Stormbrands. He was looking forward to it.

    ...

    As the two approached the Stormbrand camp, Centurion Zenon began to exhibit signs of panic and hyperventtion.

    "That-- that''s the guy, Optio!" He whispered breathily.

    Tycon pursed his lips, trying to understand his robed friend''s excitement, "You''re referring to the... gentleman conversing with Athena?"

    A young, beardless, white-silver-haired human was speaking with Athena Vanzano. At first nce, it seemed like they were getting along splendidly. Upon further observation, Tycon noticed a subtle dance, even from the distance. The male would speak proudly and energetically, stepping slightly towards the youngdy. Athena would smile, respond respectfully, and... take a slight step backward. The process continued.

    He looked... familiar. However, Tycon''s System did not mark him as an individual known to him. The male''s hair was long, tied into a high ponytail-bun that would otherwise spill down past his cheeks... and of a simr color to Tanamar''s-- real name Athanasius Mors. Besides that, the fellow''s age and facial structure were also very simr to the footman''s.

    "It''s... it''s Orcus!!" Zenon squealed. "God of battle!!"

    Ah. It was the diator with the stage name-- Athanasius'' twin brother. diators were often adventurers on the side and vice versa. Sol Invictus was of that exact archetype.

    Besides the fact that the presence of... ''Orcus'' turned Zenon''s voice from deep and melodious to shrill and unpleasant, Tycon did not have a good opinion of the fellow. Tanamar remained a loyal footman of House Vanzano. His brother, on the other hand, had chosen to leave.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was rational. It was human. At the time (and still, currently), the Vanzano name was more-or-less worthless. While participating in the arenas could restore fame and fortune to the noble house, it was far more lucrative to work for wealthier patrons.

    Tycon would have likely done simr.

    The price... was trust.

    ''Orcus'' had shown that he sought fame and financial reward. He could be trusted that much. Most mercenaries could only be trusted as far as their pay could afford.

    The Stormbrand adventuringpany would be paid as long as two stiptions were met. The quest had to seed and they had to survive. Unfortunately, there was little incentive to perform above average-- just enough to do their part and allow their allies to make up for their deficiencies.

    It was a weakness of the Brazen Guards'' business model. Allying with various smallerpanies allowed their numbers to swell. However, besides the original two guilds that hadpletely merged, the smaller teams retained their own identities and would be prone to acting selfishly, keeping their own membersfortable rather than seeking for the collective''s sess as a whole.

    Of course, there would be exceptions to this rule,panies that built excellent reputations and thrived on building trust. He liked to think that Sol Invictus belonged to that category.

    Most of thepanies that sought reputation, though, would have already relinquished their team identity to join the Brazen Guards properly. Thankfully, from what Tycon had observed in the war camp, the number of main guild members outnumbered the numbers of those they allied with.

    "Brother-Zenon..." Tycon hesitated, trying to form his words to not offend his elevated friend, "May I ask again... what exactly is so impressive about that fellow?"

    Athena''sck of foresight was about to entrap her. The approaching ''Orcus'' was positioned so that the youngdy would back into a line of seated Stormbrands, making her unable to back further.

    Tycon quickened his pace. When he and Zenon were in view, Athena would have a socially eptable excuse to withdraw from the conversation with the overbearing male.

    Zenon hurried after-- and by that, he began taking full steps instead of half, "I just think he''s cool. Look, you can see he''s wearing his diator armor!"

    ''Orcus'' wore dark armor underneath a long, white coat... but he also wore gaudy crimson gloves and dark blue boots. The fellow could have been colorblind. It could have been a trick to lull his opponents into thinking his poor stylistic choices corrted to his skill. More likely, the mismatching gear was lightly enchanted.

    ? ''Orcus'', Iron-Rank Human Reaver. ?

    Arge, two-handed axe was strapped to his back, looking far too unwieldy for the human to properly control. Realizing this, Tycon''s opinion of the fellow fell even more.

    The two of them were finally noticed by Athena, who bowed politely and excused herself from her conversation with ''Orcus.''

    ...Tycon realized something else. He did not like that name. But why? It was an aesthetically pleasing name, sounding guttural... raw... and powerful. He spent a few moments rifling through the fragments of his previous life''s memories...

    He knew an Orcus once-- most of the details lost to him. It was possible they were even friends. That an unworthy human shared his name was an unfortunate coincidence.

 Chapter 344 Public Display

    ?"Sir Tycon!" Athena Vanzano beamed, "Hi! Wee! These are the Stormbrands! What d''you think?"

    Tycondrius had to control himself to not shy away from the positive radiance the youngdy was emitting. She was like a child presenting her favorite material possession. Knowing her... Tycon had to restrain himself. If he was uncareful with his words, Athena would pout.

    ...which was also somewhat like a child.

    ...which, considering their differing ages, she was.

    Tycon forced a polite smile, "What is... going on here?"

    Besides ''Orcus'', the various Stormbrands all had mismatched armor as well. It seemed only Athena and Tanamar, were actually armed and armored well... as well as a rough-looking fellow in a dark coat simr to Tycon''s own. The mix of Bronze-Rank adventurers and a few Iron-Rankszed about on the ground or seated upon their packs.

    There appeared to be no logistical personnel of any sort. There were no tents set up nor was there evidence of gear being inventoried or maintained. Though there was a higher-concentration of Iron-Ranks in the group for such a smallpany...pared to the rest of the Brazen Guard war camp, the Stormbrands looked incredibly unprofessional.

    Tanamar was nowhere to be seen. He was probably doing something more important... likely having to do with logistics.

    What the Stormbrands had put effort into... was creating a dueling ring of sorts, a dozen or so rocks arranged in a somewhat-circr shape. A Bronze-Rank Warrior and Thief were sparring at its center, but the technical skill disyed was not enough to hold Tycon''s interest.

    Athena looked back at her woefully colorful troupe, "Y-yeah. It''s not really much. But most of us grew up together!"

    So the youngdy was personally invested with the Stormbrands. That made sense why a full-time academy student would also be in an adventuringpany. If she was well-liked amongst her guild, Tycon could at least trust they would keep her safe.

    Zenon stepped forward, speaking in a hushed voice that could barely contain his excitement, "Th-that''s Orcus, right? Can you introduce me to him? Do you think you can help me get his autograph?"

    "Oh, Mister Zenon..." Athena tilted her head, her smile somewhat hesitant, "Y-yeah, I don''t think Tancred will mind."

    Tycon did not let the name-drop go unnoticed. Athena''s brother, Gian, she called by his childhood nickname, Maximus. Her footman, she referred to as Tanamar. ''Orcus, god of battle'', she referred to as... Tancred, assumedly his actual name.

    As for why Athena chose to call him that, Tycon did not know... only that it was markedly different. He also did not know the reason he was referred to as Sir Tycon and his Centurion as Mister Zenon.

    "It looks like Tancred''s about to duel Mister Photios," Athena looked over. "So you''ll have to wait, Mister Z."

    ...Zenon''s name changed again? Stars and stones, what did it mean?

    "Oh! Oh! Can we watch?!" Zenon Skyreaper, Centurion of the Church the Eternal me asked giddily.

    "Mhm! Sure!" Athena grinned.

    Tycon grimaced. It was an open dueling circle. Why was Zenon asking for permission to watch a public disy?

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    A mage entered the improvised arena, wearing an ugly sneer upon his thin, sunken face. His height was above average, but he was slouched over and slovenly. If not for the mage''s thick, enchanted, ck-and-silver robes, Tycon would have judged him to fit well amongst the rabble of the Stormbrands.

    Athena informed Tycon that the gentleman was Photios, the strongest offensive caster in the Brazen Guard.

    ? Photios, Iron-Rank Human Silver Pyromancer. ?

    It was no wonder. The mage had a Tyrion-specific high tier ss. Zenon noted that, though he wore no rank identifiers, there was imagery inscribed onto Photios'' robes that hinted that he was a sanctified spellcaster of the Church of the Eternal me. Due to his young age, it was likely that he had only recently left its service.

    Logically, Photios had fulfilled his contractual obligations honorably, as he was still alive. The Church was not lenient to those they deemed...cking.

    In a sh of mana, silvery mes began to radiate outward from where Photios stood. Tycon was disappointed that the heat the magic generated was pitifully low. It seemed the mage''s source of power was less elemental and more divine in nature. Divine energies were better suited to smiting enemies of the Church than for keeping warm.

    If Photios was an actual fire mage, Tycon would have wanted to be friends with him.

    The Pyromancer grinned, crooked tooth and arrogant, "You ready to do this, little diator?"

    Tancred Mors stood across the circle, stifling a yawn. He drew his heavy two-handed axe and allowed its weight to fall, the de sticking deep into the earth with a loud thump, "So you finally grew some f*cking balls."

    Tycon grimaced. He did not like either of the rudebatants. He spoke idly with Athena and Zenon about their wellbeing and the weather, only paying half-attention to the fight.

    The mage cast some fire spells. They were dodged and deflected by Tancred.

    Athena had a big blister on her toe, but it got better with some Elementary healing.

    The mage set an arcane trap, chains of silvery fire bursting from the ground. Tancred leapt through the mes.

    Zenon was craving for garlic bread, but that would likely have to wait until they returned to Silva.

    The mage used their ?Mana Ward? skill to prevent getting decapitated by an ally. Then, they disappeared in a gout of me, reappearing at the opposite edge of the arena.

    Tancred used a movement technique, ?Charging Bull?, to close the distance. The fight was ended with a skill called ?Ravager''s Strike?. The domineering axe attack shattered Photios'' arcane barrier, following through and smashing into his left forearm.

    Tycon judged Tancred to be rather reckless. The Reaver relied mainly on his reflexes, reaction speed, and strength rather than forming a careful n. It was a viable strategy and worked especially well, considering that Tancred could not be entrapped by Photios'' spells.

    "By the me... He''s so cool," Zenon was exuberant to watch his personal hero in action.

    Tycon remained skeptical, "Mister Photios appears to be grievously injured."

 Chapter 345 Controlling Life & Death

    ?Tycondrius had previously fought in a duel on contested territory. The participants fought with quarterstaves. Blunted weapons are generally more appropriate for training purposes and lowering the probability of injury.

    Within the Stormbrands'' dueling ring, Pyromancer Photios was utilizing Second-Circle spells, each capable of decimating a squad of unranked warriors. Tancred Mors was swinging around a weighty axe more appropriate in a ughterhouse than on a battlefield.

    Athena Vanzano winced and averted her gaze when the Tancred struck Photios down.

    "H-he should be okay," Athena whispered, perhaps more for herself than for Tycon. "We... we have a healer. That''s Mister am, now."

    Tycon watched a human in a dark coat approach the fallen mage. Long, raven-ck hair, eye-patch and scar over an eye, unshaven beard, wrinkled and tattered clothing, am appeared just as rough as his peers.

    ? am, Iron-Rank Human Cleric. ???

    As he walked, he carried a curved warscythezily over his shoulders. He looked more like a Weaponmaster than a Cleric. am snorted before spitting at Photios'' feet and squatting in front of him.

    "AWWWWW! What''s wronnnng Photios???" The Cleric mocked, "Did you get HURRRRT?!? HAR HAR HAR!!"

    The entire circle of Stormbrands shared am''sughter. Tycon couldn''t decide if they wereughing due to the fellow''s somewhat redundant observation or at the fellow''s exaggeratedughter.

    "me take you, am," Photios cursed, clutching his forearm. Sweat dripped down his face, his expression twisted in pain.

    "Tancred!" He shouted, "What the hells? You broke my mescarred arm!"

    Reaver Tancred shrugged, raising his arms high, "It''s not my fault your ?Mana Ward? is so weak!"

    Photios gnashed his teeth, clenching his eyes shut, "Whatever! Fine! ...Ergh ...am! Help me out, here!"

    "Ehhhh?" am sneered, grinning with jagged teeth, "How the hells is that my problem?"

    The Cleric prodded Photios'' arm with the end of his warscythe, causing the man to yelp out in pain.

    "ARRRGH!! Seven hells, that hurts, you rotten thief!" Photios growled, "I need a heal, am. It hurts like hells..."

    Still squatting, am rested his chin on his fist, "Hmmmm... If you want a heal... how about... you get on your knees and beg?"

    Tycon frowned. That was... exactly what Photios was doing.

    What was am''s goal, though? What was worth extending the duration of pain suffered by an ally?

    "me take you, man!" Photios roared, " You can''t be serious?!"

    "It''s just a broken arm, you mescarred thief," Tancred mocked. He was nonchntly drinking from his waterskin. "Suck it up."

    The mage''s face was beginning to pale, his pupils dting. Whether Photios was unused to such pain or the injury was more severe than the Stormbrands were estimating, it was clear that he was not faking his condition.

    am nted the base of his warscythe and stood, lifting his other arm, "I am am! By the power that flows through these hands, I control your life and death as I see fit! How about you show a little gods-damned respect, witch?"

    Witch? Tycon raised an eyebrow. Was this a ss thing? In the Holy Country, casters were sanctified by their government, brainwashing the powerful into never betraying their nation. Those who failed the sanctification were deemed as heretics and executed.

    To themon folk, the prejudice took on a different form. Worship of a different religion? Heretics. Speak out against the Church''s draconianws? Heretics. Warlocks and Sorcerers that drew from non-traditional power sources like dead gods and elemental nes were rare-- mistrusted and persecuted.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Heresy was punishable by death.

    Still, it made no sense for Photios to be subject to such treatment.

    He was a sanctified spellcaster. He was a human of the Holy Country. He was part of the Brazen Guard collective.

    Besides that, they were in the field, where prejudice was less important. When the actions of teammates directly corrted to survival, it did not matter the shape of their ears or the color of their fur.

    Tycon was starting to highly doubt his initial theory and developed a new one... that Cleric am and Reaver Tancred were worthless human beings.

    Tycon looked over to Athena. She was ring intently at am... clearly unhappy.

    But she said nothing.

    The vocal, always-confident Athena was holding her peace.

    Tycon grew more and more irritated. Everything he had seen thus far of the Stormbrands either disappointed or confused him. Their professionalism was a joke, they were rude, arrogant, and generally unpleasant to associate with. They derived a cruel sense of camaraderie fromughing at and mocking an Iron-Ranked mage that, for all intents and purposes, was their ally.

    He decided to prod the youngdy, "Miss Athena... perhaps you should do something?"

    Athena dropped her gaze to the cold mountain dirt, "I... I don''t really like talking to Mister am...

    "He..." She shook her head, "Yeah..."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Athena''s reluctant expression. There seemed to be a reason she avoided conversing with am, and not one she wished to share.

    Strange and stranger still...

    ...

    Soon after, am finally used a ?Rejuvenation? spell on the fallen mage.

    During Photios'' suffering, Tycon said nothing... Athena and Zenon, too, kept their silence.

    Tycon could have corrected the Stormbrands, but he would gain no direct benefit. At best, Photios would be healed faster and he would feel better about himself for helping humanity.

    In doing so, he risked a negative opinion being formed of him. He was unfamiliar to the Stormbrands and they were more hostile than they were epting and friendly.

    That negative opinion directly corrted to his survival. In a high-stressbat situation involving teamwork, the man or woman with the lowest social standing is open to be sacrificed. At worst, he would be actively sabotaged.

    By staying silent, he risked nothing. The only cost was his pride being wounded, an eptable loss considering the circumstances. He also worried that Zenon''s opinion of him would worsen. However, the Centurion also watched in silent judgment, his enthusiasm from earlier, nonexistent.

    It seemed that he, too, understood.

    The two of them were supposed to entrust their lives to the Stormbrand adventuringpany.

    Between the dangers of the Icingdeath Dungeon and a score of pig-headed teammates, Tycon couldn''t decide which was worse.

 Chapter 346 Brazen Plan

    ?The Brazen Guard collective began to move, surprisingly, only a half-bell after the agreed upon time. During which, Tycon and Zenon wisely kept to themselves, rejecting contests of skill by feigning weakness. The Centurion was slightly more indignant about it, but agreed with Tycon''s counsel in keeping a low profile.

    If either he or Zenon lost their tempers, it would result in critical injury or death. Zenon did not have the defensive advantage of his Church-mandated armor. Tycon would have not stopped at only one murder. There was no benefit in fighting.

    The movement towards the dungeon was rtively painless. The Brazen Guard led the push, only encountering low-level skirmishes from hostile magical beasts and wildlife. Like Tycon had encountered earlier, there were asional Grey Trolls and Stone Frogs that the Bronze-Rankers could handily defeat using tactics and teamwork.

    With the Bronze-Ranks more than capable, Iron-Ranks and higher were allowed to save their energy, remaining were free to move about the field and assist at a moment''s notice. The nobatant Immunesmoved without issue, the engineers, the fletchers, quartermasters, as well as porters like Victorius.

    The collective finally entered the Icingdeath Dungeon, peculiar in that it was almost an open-air valley. A thick, magical mist hovered high above, perfect for enemies to attack from-- if such enemies existed. The sun''s rays through the mists covered their view a bleak grey while simultaneously blotting out warmth.

    Tycon no longer hoped to be warm. He was fully convinced that the fates hated him too much to offer him that.

    The familiar Legionnaire, Karodin of the Brazen Guard, was sent to retrieve Tycon from the Stormbrands. His presence was requested by their leadership, likely because of his stated ss as Tactician. That he was a tactician wasn''t an outright lie. His actual ss, Warlord, had all of a Tactician''s abilities but was a tier higher.

    Tycon arrived at Bannok''s war tent to discuss the tactics for the next major encounter. It was there that he met the various leaders of the Brazen Guard and their collective.

    ? Bannok, Gold-Rank Human Weaponmaster. Leader of the Brazen Guard. Striker Lead. ?

    Bald human, veteran of war. Honest and straightforward. Tycon liked the fellow.

    ? Ariadne, Gold-Rank Elven Priestess. Brazen Guard Caster Lead. ?

    A bronze-skinned Elven woman with silver eyebrows and blonde hair-- dyed, perhaps. Light-colored magical runes were etched into her skin, amon practice in the Eastern States.

    ? Felinus, Gold-Rank Elven Hunter. Brazen Guard Scoutmaster and Ranged Lead. ?

    Tycon had encountered the androgynous elf in the city of Caeruleum and now was able to appreciate his features without the cover of a hood. Long purple hair, thick eyebrows, and a wisp of a goatee since then.

    He also had the benefit of being familiar with Felinus'' skill and prowess. The elf had handily trounced a Bronze-Rank Ranger without as much as a scratch.

    ? Athanasius Mors, Iron-Rank Human Holy Lancer. Guild Stormbrand. ?

    Other group leaders were part of the meeting, but only Tanamar sat amongst the three Brazen Guard leaders. The young footman must have held a special status.

    Scoutmaster Felinus exined the situation, "ording to our information, there are eightrge quadrupedal, furred and fanged creatures about the size of a carriage. Hostile. We''re calling them Frost-Tails."

    "Just eight? Any more threats?" One of the group leaders asked.

    Felinus nodded, "There''s an abnormallyrge nest of Stone Frogs in the area, as well. There might be a corrtion between the two creature-types, but tobat both, I advise fielding the Bronze-Ranks simultaneously with the Iron and higher."

    "Who gathered this information?" A different leader inquired, an Iron-Rank Scout, "I didn''t see anything like that."

    "The information can be trusted." Felinus said impassively, "Tanamar saw it. I verified."

    The Iron-Rank Scout crossed his arms, "We''re going to risk our Bronze-Rankers on the word of a Lancer ss?"

    Tycon felt his eye twitch. It was a fairly reasonableint... but it didn''t feel good to have one of hispanions doubted... Of the Brazen Guard leaders, the dark elf, Ariadne, wore a displeased expression.<novelnext></novelnext>

    If the Iron-Rank Scout fell into disfavor with a healer-ss-- the leader of all the other healers and casters, he was undeserving of sympathy.

    Tanamar, himself, rolled his eyes and sighed. He didn''t seem to care.

    "Yes," Felinus answered simply. "Tanamar''s the best scout we have. I trust his judgment as well as my own."

    It was high praise from a Gold-Rank Hunter.

    Bannok grinned, "Hey, listen, guy. You must be new. Tanamar''s one of those guys you can''t judge based on his ss or age. He''s good people. You''re just gonna have to trust us on this."

    The Scout nodded and apologized, sessfully avoiding the wrath of a Gold-Rank Priestess Ariadne.

    "So the big guys got four legs and teeth," Bannok pondered aloud. "The Stone Frogs can injure our guys by bleeding on ''em. I want some opinions... Ladies and gent''s, this is our new Tactician, Tycon. What do you think, green-hair guy?"

    Tycon nodded, "Not enough information on the creatures. I''d like to consult a Loremaster if we have one. Failing that, since there are eight, I''d advise isting one with a high-mobility group, baiting its abilities."

    Felinus was called next... but instead of giving his opinion, he gestured to Tanamar, who had his eyes suspiciously closed.

    "Jaws that can tear apart anyone without armor," Tanamar exined. "Mana-empowered tail swipe. Also minor earth spells that can entrap in a small area.

    "I say we do as Tycon says. We focus fire them down one or two at a time. We keep our clear slow, to keep everyone safe."

    Tycon was slightly surprised by Tanamar''s level of information. But then again, the young footman was a transmigrator like himself. Whether it was knowledge he retained from a past life or an ability that granted him such, it would only be beneficial.

    Also, transmigrators tended to keep their abilities secret. Tycon''s own abilities werergely unknown to his peers, his ss, his rank, and even his ability to heal injuries.

    "Any objections?" Scoutmaster Felinus asked.

    "Yeah, from me." Bannok grinned, "Sounds like that''s gonna take awhile. And we got an awful lot of guys... plus that risks our Bronze-Rank ranged line getting hit with the entrap."

    Tycon was not sure where the Brazen Guard leader was going with that line of thought...

    "We''re gonna treat this first encounter as a stress test." Bannok continued, "These things don''t sound that tough. We got enough Iron-Rankers to assign a team to each of ''em. We go in hard, our Bronze guys spread out, watch for Frogs. If we get shite on, that means the Brazen Guard won''t be able toplete this dungeon."

    The veteran turned to Tanamar... not Felinus, not Ariadne, but the young Holy Lancer, Tanamar, "You think we can do it, Hero?"

    "Tch," Tanamar grinned. "Of course, we can."

    When prompted, Felinus and Ariadne also agreed.

    Tycon agreed with Bannok''s n, as risky as it was. The entrance area of the dungeon would not be more difficult than the dungeon''s as a whole, and the Brazen Guard collective did have enough Iron-Ranks to seed. A more hectic fight would better test the teamwork of the various groups and set the tone of the entire dungeon delve.

    Why the hells not? Tycon looked forward to seeing the full strength of a Gold-Rank guild.

    ",

 Chapter 347 Efficient Tactics

    ?"This n is ridiculous," Victorius frowned. "It definitely doesn''t sound like one of Tanamar''s. What is Bannok thinking?"

    Tycondrius took a deep breath to calm himself. There was no benefit in him arguing against the professional porter''sints other than to feel intellectually superior.

    The fact would remain true, regardless of whether or not he unted it.

    "I''m goin'' in!!" Tancred yelled, "Follow me!!"

    ? Tancred Mors, Iron-Rank Human Reaver. Guild Stormbrand. ?

    "Victorius," Tycon gestured. "Take care of Miss Athena."

    "You got it, Sir Tycon," Victorius tried to immediately respond with a salute, wincing in pain, before withdrawing clumsily.

    Hm. Interesting. The results of the footman''s training showed for a brief second.

    "Hold on! I''ming!" Karodin yelled, trailing several steps behind Tancred.

    ? Karodin, Bronze-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    As many members as the Stormbrands had, they stillcked a defensive ss. Tobat the creature deemed as a Frost-Tail, Karodin of Emberhold was assigned to them. Reasonably, the shield-wielding Legionnaire would have been the most idealbatant to engage first.

    The Stormbrands were... not so keen on the minutiae of efficient tactics.

    Simultaneously, several Forward Groups moved to engage with the Frost-Tails, each centered around Iron-Rank closebat sses. In case of an attack by the numerous Stone Frogs, the Bronze-Ranks in the Forward Groups were to thin the wave. Rear Groupsposed of ranged sses were defending the nobatants in the back line, amongst which Athena and Victorius remained in rtive safety.

    Ultimately, the encounter was to be a disy of which of the groups worked together effectively, so the Brazen Guard''s leadership could reallocate and adjust. The Stormbrands seemed to understand that...

    Perhaps offended by the concept, they seemed to take it as a challenge to outperform their peers.

    Tycon was not surprised. The Stormbrands did not have a dered ''leader.'' It should have been Tanamar, since he seemed to be the one that arranged most-everything. However, his brother, Tancred Mors, had a stronger personality.

    Tancred was an arrogant diator with gaudy clothing, a loud, obnoxious voice, and a style for arena ir that bordered around ostentatious. Naturally, the Stormbrands'' teamwork would revolve around him. He was too selfish to work around others.

    Tycon moved up with Zenon and Tanamar to engage from range. The four-legged Frost-Tail was a greyish, quadrupedal creature that stood twice as tall as a human. It thrashed about, trying to swipe jagged ws at Tancred, trying to bite at him with tooth and tusk. The Reaver responded by dancing and leaping about like an acrobatic whore-- also forcing the creature to turn its body...

    ...which turned its dangerous, prehensile tail towards a majority of the Stormbrands.

    That had potential to be troublesome.

    Thankfully, before anyone took a Gold-Rank tail swipe, Karodin''s shield and pilum finally proved annoying enough to divert the creature''s attention.

    With the Frost-Tail standing in one ce, Tanamar signaled for the Stormbrand ranged line tomence fire.

    Holy Lancer Tanamar was firing glowing arrows half the size of ballista bolts from a sturdy, lightly enchanted longbow. Librarian Zenon began casting painful-looking wind spells. Amateur Archer Tycon began firing freely with his medium crossbow, utilizing a reload tool to quickly and efficiently reset the mechanism.

    The Frost-Tail''s natural mana shielded its eyes from attack,mon for stronger creatures. Tycon remained diligent, cing well-aimed shots at the creature''s vulnerable eyes and mouth. The creature''s mana would run out eventually, and faster than if his bolts were deflected by the creature''s stony hide.<novelnext></novelnext>

    An unexpected headbutt from the stone-skinned Frost-Tail sent Legionnaire Karodin staggering back, barely avoiding being gored by a tusk.

    "Heal!!" He called out, again dashing forward to re-engage.

    Tycon frowned, feeling sorry for the armored fellow. The Stormbrands were not a group where inbat healing was reliable. If he were closer, he would have advised the Legionnaire to back off and look for another opening to rush in. After all, Tancred looked like he could use a lesson in humility.

    For a moment second, Tycon felt the ground rumble beneath him. Tanamar had taken several steps to the left, not even taking a moment to stop firing his longbow. Tycon grabbed the back of Zenon''s armor and began pulling him back.

    One of the Stormbrand archers wasn''t paying attention. Tycon took a hand off his crossbow to yank the fool''s cor, dropping them onto their back. Not a half-secondter, several magical rock pirs jutted out from the ground, blocking the ranged line''s vision. Anyone several steps forward would have been trapped. The archer Tycon had grounded would have been impaled.

    "What the hells?!" The archerined as he got to his feet, "me take you, man!!"

    Tycon furrowed his brows, ncing back at the spike-pirs in front of them. He did not feel like he deserved such a response.

    The ranged sses of the Stormbrands began to reposition to the left with Tanamar... with Tycon being the only one moving right. It was exined earlier that dispersion was desirable, to prevent being caught in the creature''s area spells.

    He stood alone. Had... he understood incorrectly?

    The Frost-Tail was taking damage. None of the Stormbrands were dead or dying. Still... the fight seemed... sloppy.

    Tycon checked his fire, seeing a leaping attack enter his field of vision.

    "DEEEEECAPITAAAATIONNNN!!!" A Stormbrand in a dark coat yelled, the crazed fool crossing the line of fire as he swung his long, curved warscythe at the Frost-Tail.

    ? am, Iron-Rank Human Cleric. Guild Stormbrand. ?

    am''s weapon a superficial cut along the side of the Frost-Tail''s neck. The creature, again, whipped its head to the side, smashing into the Cleric and sending the idiot tumbling several yalms onto rocks and dirt.

    Tycon resumed his shooting, trying his best to ignore the Cleric''s nonsensical actions. Trying to decipher the fellow''s line of reasoning would only make his head hurt.

    "Wow! This bastard''s pretty strong! Har har haaah!!" amughed, kneeling dramatically and wiping his bloodied nose. "?Healing!!! Touuuuch!!!?"

    Tycon watched as am swept a hand through his raven-ck hair, a divine glow shrouding him for a brief moment.

    The Cleric healed himself.

    Karodin would not be getting healed anytime soon.

    Tycon was annoyed. He wasn''t surprised, but he was annoyed.

    A few more casts Rings of Pirster, the Frost-Tail had received a substantial amount of damage. Tycon''s had ced five crossbow bolts into the creature''s left eye, each of them piercing through its weakened mana barrier.

    Karodin was looking miserable, injured but alive. A few Stormbrands were lying about-- mostly somewhere near where Tancred was fighting, injured and hopefully dead.

    ...If a majority of them died, Tycon wondered if he could ask to be assigned to a different group.

 Chapter 348 Lighthouse

    ?A few more moments passed without incident, not that Tycondrius was particrly concerned.

    Reload. Brace and aim. Breath control. Slow and steady squeeze of the trigger. Reassess situation. Repeat.

    The encounter was finite. No matter how much suffering, whether it was physical, or through the slow and steady annihtion of his hopes and expectations... it would end, eventually.

    "?Ravagerrrrrr''s STRIKE!!!?"

    Tancred''s voice came at an unwee time. The Iron-Rank Reaver struck a weighty greataxe against the Frost-Tail''s head, forcing it to stagger backward and away from Legionnaire Karodin. The damaging attack was sound. Its execution was questionable.

    In its half-blinded blood haze and without an obvious target to direct its anger upon, the creature began to thrash about. Its mana-empowered tailunched three different Stormbrands away-- one of them into a pile of suspicious-looking rocks near several suspicious-looking holes.

    Stone Frogs, the roundish, grey-skinned creatures began to swarm, trying to defend their hatchery. The stone spheres cracked open, revealing even more juvenile, but more-or-less fully formed creatures.

    The unlucky Stormbrand amongst them woke from their brief unconsciousness only to find dozens of the many-legged rocks desperately flinging themselves at him. The agonized screams onlysted a brief moment. Though painful, there was some luck in that the powerful jaws of the small magical beasts were able to end them quickly.

    Tycon nced over to am. The Cleric was circling around the Frost-Tail, warscythe poised above his head, ready to attack. He waspletely oblivious to the painful death of one of his teammates.

    The furious Frost-Tail charged forward, away from Tancred and am, as well as a desperately-chasing Karodin. It crashed into a ring of pirs near Zenon, copsing them and covering that area in a cloud of dust and dirt.

    Tycon continued to fire his crossbow. He''d move in case he needed to pull the Centurion from the rubble... but he was not at all nning on joining the absurdity of the striker line.

    The dust cleared quickly with a shout and a st of wind emanating from Zenon. The Centurion was well, sheathed in his own ?Wind Barrier?. Two other archers were not.

    Tycon found the casualties thus far... uneptable. Were the other teams doing this poorly?

    A stream of Frost Frogs were heading towards the back line, too many Bronze-Rank Stormbrands down to intercept them.

    Tycon nced over to Tanamar. The Holy Lancer was a focused, unending stream of light,unching dozens of his arrows at the Frost-Tail''s side, precisely collecting near where Tycon estimated the creature''s heart would be.

    Tanamar was very good at what he did. The Holy Lancer had a massive mana pool and it seemed that remaining focused on the Frost-Tail would drain the rest of its stamina. Tycon''s help was no longer necessary to secure the kill.

    Tycon threw up a hand signal for Zenon to join him, then together, they began to hurry towards the defense of the back line. While he had no doubt that the Bronze-Rank Frostde, Athena Vanzano, could protect herself, it was a better use of Tycon''s time to go where he could help.

    ...

    ? Several minutester. ?

    Tycon stepped amongst the scores of Frost-Frog corpses. He utilized his enchanted short sword to deliver killing blows to the remaining injured, still-living creatures-- a normal sword would be damaged by their blood.

    Photios whistled, "Librarius Zenon!! You''re a piece of work!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Photios, Iron-Rank Human Silver Pyromancer. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    "My thanks, Ignus Cantor," the mustachioed Zenon smiled. The two of them sped hands at the wrist. As they too, scanned the battlefield for surviving enemies, they idly spoke of their experiences in the Church.

    Zenon made a friend. Good for him.

    "Looks like the two witches are bed-buddies," One of the surviving Stormbrands remarked, taking no care to lower his voice, "Typical."

    "Did you hear what Tancred called him? Lighthouse!! Hah haha!!" Another Stormbrand added.

    "Hah! Because he''s tall and light can go through his ears??"

    "Because when he''s around, people crash into the rocks and die!! Aaahaha!!"

    Tycon had several problems with what he was hearing. Many of the adventurers the Stormbrands'' ranged line were injured, some critically so-- some of them even belonging to the Stormbrands proper. Still, there was no respect given to those who fell.

    Only weaklings fell in battle. Such arrogance was not at all conducive to a team environment.

    Also, that was the exact opposite of what a lighthouse did.

    Tycon was having a personal crisis. He had initially thought it was an excellent idea to apany Tanamar''s and Athena''s adventuringpany. Team Athena would receive pay from the Brazen Guard for their efforts and there was plenty of valuablebat experience to be had.

    The Stormbrands...

    He hated them. He hated being around them. With the exceptions of Athena and Tanamar, he loathed every one of their members he''d properly met. He wanted nothing to do with them.

    They had climbed half of a gods-damned mountain to get to where they were. Still, he was strongly considering abandoning the mission-- or at least his part in it. He did not want to die for someone else''s quest.

    He made a mental note not to allow Athena to fight in the main team. It would be a catastrophic loss if she were to be killed due to having shite teammates. Participating in a dungeon delve was not the only way for her to gain experience.

    The Stormbrands defeated their Frost-Tail second amongst the teams of the Brazen Guard collective, only losing to Bannok''s main team. It was an impressive achievement, especially considering that Bannok was a Gold-Rank Weaponmaster and had the assistance of Gold-Rank Hunter Felinus.

    Shouts and cheers resounded in their group, praising Tanamar''s name-- it seemed like the Stormbrands were also the loudestpany in the collective.

    Tycon did not know why the Stormbrands celebrated Tanamar as if his achievements were their own. It irked him. Then again, in his emotional state, he found everything to be irksome.

    Every team in the collective took injuries. For such a small group, far too many Stormbrands were too injured to continue. The Stormbrands also incurred the only death.

    That was absolutely not something to celebrate.

 Chapter 349 Selflessness

    ?"Athena," Tycondrius approached the young Vanzano mistress. She still wore his Decanus breastte, which remained in handsome condition. That was good. "I have something I wish to discuss with you."

    "Aha... ha... H-hello, Sir Tycon," The blue-haired noblewoman had ced her hands behind her back, trying and failing to look as innocent as possible. "Craaaazy seeing you here."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes...What was crazy about it? And why was the youngdy hiding her hands? Hm.

    He held out an open palm expectantly.

    Athena sighed, resigned to her fate. With a listless expression, she ced the hilt of her rapier into Tycon''s outstretched hand.

    ...Just the hilt. The sword''s de appeared to have shattered near its base.

    Tycon took in a deep breath through his nostrils, covering his eyes with his opposite palm. Her clumsiness had broken wooden training weapons before... but one made from Tyrion steel? How unlucky was this girl?

    "I''m sorry, Sir Tycon!! I''m really sorry!" Athena waved her hands frantically, "I''ll-- I''ll pay for it!!"

    "First off, this was your sword. Second, you haven''t any money."

    "I can still fight!!" Athena pleaded with shining eyes, "I can use my ?Frost de?!!"

    Footman Victorius stepped forward, looking haggard and ridden with guilt, "Sir Tycon..."

    Tycon held up his palm to stop him. He needed a moment to calm himself and breathe... "Forgive me. My mood is not the best at the moment-- though that has nothing to do with either of you... Mister Victorius, please exin."

    The blonde footman gulped... "Lady Athena broke her sword defending the back line... me, in particr."

    "N-no!" Athena''s lower lip quivered as if she was about to cry, "I made a mistake! I panicked and swung my sword wrong, it''s not Victorius'' fault!"

    Athena''s clumsiness tended to extend from her selflessness. As upset as Tycon wanted to be, she had made the correct decision.

    "It''s fine," Tycon shook his head. "A human life is worth more than a sword. And besides Victorius, there are many others who have you to thank for their defense."

    Still, Athena''s gaze dropped to her feet, clearly unhappy. He was trying to be nice. Did she want to be scolded?

    Tycon patted the youngdy''s head to reassure her. Then, he took his sheathed Decanus sword from his belt and offered it forward.

    "S-sir Tycon?" Athena pouted, "I... I can''t take your sword, too! You already gave me your armor!"

    "Lent." Tycon firmly insisted, "I lent you my armor. And I am now lending you my sword. As we both know, you need to raise your Completion Rating with your ?Frost de? before you can use it efficiently. For now, take this to defend yourself."

    As talented as Athena was, she was having difficulty adapting to her new Frostde ss. While she was more than capable of casting spells, it was incredibly difficult for her to do so while simultaneously attacking or defending with her sword.

    While she had ess to a retinue of powerful frost spells, her Completion Rating with them was only mediocre. Her ?Icicle Fall?, ?Frozen Orb?, and ?Ice Beam? were cast too slowly to be reliable inbat, quickly drained her mana reserves, and would often give her headaches.

    With her ?Frost de?, she needed far more practice. As she was, she could only hold its form for several seconds. Even a momentarypse in concentration would cause it to shatter.

    Then her most powerful spells, the incanted ?Ice Beam? and ?Frost Tornado?, she was unable to replicate their effects.

    However, this wasn''t to say that Athena Vanzanocked talent.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She demonstrated her ability with her Completion Rating rising drastically with simpler spells-- ?Ice Lance?, in particr. Instead of allowing her time to practice, Tycon decided that the invitation to delve into the Icingdeath Dungeons was too valuable to decline.

    At the time, the quest seemed only beneficial. Team Athena as a whole would gain in experience, while Athena herself could cultivate an environment rich in frost mana.

    In hindsight, it was a horrible mistake.

    Athena took the offered weapon gingerly, still reluctant... "But... but what are you gonna do without a sword, Sir Tycon?"

    Tycon''s mouth twitched, "I have more than one sword. And I''m literally wearing a crossbow on my chest."

    "Y-you can use a crossbow?" Athena gasped.

    Tycon found himself staring nkly into the distance. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he met Athena''s gaze... "Do you really need me to answer that, youngdy?"

    "Ehehe..." She bared her teeth in a sheepish grin, "I guess not."

    "From hereon, stay in the back line. Stay safe. Keep the others safe," Tyconmanded. "In that order."

    "Yes, Sir!" Athena saluted.

    ...

    "PHOTIOS!! AHAHAHA!!!" amughed at seeing the Brazen Guard mage, "Why you walkin'' so slow?! You out of maaaana???"

    ? Photios, Iron-Rank Human Silver Pyromancer. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    Tycon did not think it was out of the ordinary for Photios to look fatigued. Centurion Zenon looked just as haggard. The two of them would recover after a short rest.

    During thebat, Pyromancer Photios fell back to support the vulnerable rear line with his destructive silver mes. In doing so, he was forced to leave his ?Ley Line Circle?, which reduced his casting efficiency.

    It was the correct action. With the front-line strikers locked in closebat against the Frost-Tails, it was most efficient for the sses capable of attacking from range to switch their priorities. Bronze-Ranks were positioned to defend the nobatants, but having ranged support certainly reduced the number of casualties.

    am, the Stormbrand healer, hadn''t used much of his own mana. Most of his time was spent yelling attacks that weren''t skills and swinging his warscythe ineffectually at their group''s Frost-Tail. Tycon did witness the Cleric casting spells... but only targeting himself.

    Photios didn''t respond to am''s provocations. Wise. Instead, he chose to share a bitter smile with Centurion Zenon.

    am grinned toothily, continuing to mock the mage, "You probably got yourself mana-fatigue because you''re not as strong as Tanamar!!"

    Tycon took in a deep breath through his nostrils. He wanted to spend as much time away from the Stormbrands as he could-- especially their two most noteworthy personalities, Cleric am and Reaver Tancred.

    "Zenon, I believe we should assist our allies with the triage," He offered quietly. "Certainly, your expertise will be appreciated."

    The tall Centurion crinkled his mustache and nodded, "Yeah. Let''s go help."

    "Right, I''lle with," Photios agreed in a hushed voice... "Though, shouldn''t that mescarred thief, am, be headed there already?"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Selflessness does not seem to be that fellow''s strong suit."

 Chapter 350 Handsome Snake

    ?Despite the chill of the mountain air, the body heat in the infirmary tent was warm enough to lift Tycondrius'' spirits. It was an unintended benefit in him offering to help.

    As soon as he and Zenon had arrived at the infirmary tents, they were immediately assigned work. There was always something or someone to be moved, injured to be calmed, bandages to be wrapped, and, as a matter of course, human byproducts to clean.

    While the other medical personnel bemoaned their circumstances or idly griped about the tedium of their mundane duties, Tycon and Zenon performed as requested.

    The work was somewhat inglorious. It was thankless.

    It was necessary.

    Anyroad, Tycon preferred doing just about anything over returning to the Stormbrand camp.

    Besides thefortable environment, there was an additional unintended benefit. The lead medic seemed to have dropped her guard around him.

    "me have mercy," Ariadne dered, sitting down on a foldable travel chair. "I thought we''d *never* be finished."

    ? Ariadne, Gold-Rank Elven Priestess. Brazen Guard Caster Lead. ?

    "Thank you for your hard work, Lady Ariadne," Tycon smiled politely. "You are undoubtedly the most skilled healer I''ve had the pleasure of working with."

    "Well, aren''t you precious?" The Priestess had produced a paper fan, which she unfolded and used to cool herself, "Thank you, hon, but I must look a fright! I''m sweatin'' like a hooker attendin'' a Church service..."

    Tycon pursed his lips, trying to understand what exactly the woman was trying to say. She was perspiring, yes. What was a... hooker? It was obviously ng for something else. And how did that rte to the Church of the Eternal me?

    Ariadne eyed him, top to bottom, "Y''know, Mister Tactician, I was wrong about you. When I heard you was one o'' them Stormbrands, I reckoned you''d be lower than a snake in the grass."

    "Lady Ariadne..." Tycon frowned, "Snakes are very handsome creatures."

    "I do dere!" Ariadne covered her mouth with her fan as sheughed, "It was a figure of speech, darlin! Don''t get''cher knickers in a knot!"

    ...That was probably a figure of speech too.

    Ariadne was a woman from the Eastern States and had the speech mannerisms to match. Simr to how her dyed blonde hair contrasted against her bronze skin, intricate silvery runes covered her bare arms-- likely continuing beneath her healer''s robes. The tattoos weremon to the ''Dark Elves'' of that region, so that was unsurprising.

    Notably, there was a non-magical iron ring on the woman''s finger, engraved in the Old Tyrion Language.

    ''I love you too little,'' It read.

    It was probably supposed to be romantic. The wearing of a wedding band was a Tyrion custom, marking Ariadne''s fidelity to a single partner.

    It was a human custom.

    Xenophobia aside, Tycon found it curious, as Ariadne was a full-blooded elf and had a lifespan five times the length of a human.

    "Somethin'' catch your eye, hon?" The Priestess grinned, holding out her hand and showing off her ring. "Sorry, darlin''! Little ol'' Aria''s already taken!"

    Tycon was caught staring... He was caught in an awkward social position where he felt obligated to say something polite, "Congrattions?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Thankfully, the Gold-Rank Priestess did not look bothered, "Thanks! Ah''ve been married to Bannok fer ten years now!"

    "Ah, to Brother-Bannok," Tycon nodded.

    He had deemed Bannok as an intelligent gentleman. Though there were obvious difficulties to an elf-human pairing. Tycon would not question it out of respect for the Brazen Guard''s leader.

    Also, he had witnessed the Priestess'' professionalism and skill in the healing arts. She was good. Very good. With Lady Ariadne at his side, Bannok''s actual lifespan was probably double that of a normal human''s.

    "Ah heard about what you said to him!!" Ariadne pped her hands together, "Real sweet of you, Mister Tactician. Mah husband doesn''t like ta make friends, and he''s real appreciative of ya-- even if he won''t say it straight."

    Tycon chuckled to himself, "Your husband has earned my respect with his professionalism and valor."

    "By the me," Ariadne gasped, again hiding her lips with her fan, "Are you tryin'' ta seduce my darling-husband, Mister Tactician?"

    "Why?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is that... snake-like behavior, Lady Ariadne?"

    "Oh, jus'' Aria''s fine~" The Priestess sang, "And I will admit you''re a very handsome snake."

    Tycon couldn''t tell if he was being insulted or not. Lady Aria remained in good spirits, though, so he decided not to question it. Building rapport with a Gold-Rank healer could only be advantageous to him.

    "What''s this I''m hearing ''bout snakes?" Bannok entered the tent, his voice markedly annoyed. His brows were furrowed and he looked to Ariadne for an answer. He didn''t look... upset. Wary, perhaps? Suspicious.

    Ariadne rolled her eyes, "You''ll have to forgive my husband, Mister Tactician. He doesn''t care a lick for snakes."

    "I gathered." Tycon nodded, "Though somewhat unfair to the noble and majestic reptile, I''m assuming the prejudice has to do with the Snake Cult."

    The human''s distaste for snakes was... misced. Tycon would not take offense for it.

    Hatred runs deep.

    Bannok took a seat beside his wife and let out a deep, reminiscing sigh... Tycon and Aria waited patiently for him to speak.

    "Sorry, you two," Bannok forced a wry smile, "It still pisses me off, thinkin'' that those cultist bastards are still out there, hidin'' in their holes."

    "I also have no love for the Snake Cult, Brother-Bannok." Tycon smiled politely. "In fact, I''ve directly participated in killing two of their Warlocks."

    Tycon had witnessed the brain matter of one Warlock spilled upon the wooden floor. Another, he had witnessed being drowned by acidic bile. It was a fair assumption to believe that one was dead, as well.

    The bald veteran took another deep sigh before adopting a wicked smirk, "I knew I liked you, Brother-Tycon. Kehe... but two? Two''s rookie numbers."

    Tycon shrugged, "Then I shall strive to increase the number if the opportunity presents itself."

    "Haha! Well said!" Bannok''sughter resounded through the cloth of the tent.

 Chapter 351 Improvisation

    ?Tycondrius was invited to the strategy meeting.

    As for why, he would have liked to believe it was because he had introduced himself as a Tactician. It was a rare ss and apparently, was the only one in the Brazen Guard collective. Further, he had provided solid strategy in the first meeting. Tacticians were most valuable during the nning phases prior torge-scale engagements.

    More realistically... he was invited because Bannok and Aria favored him.

    He arrived to themand tent earlier than most everyone else, not wishing to suffer thepany of Tancred''s Stormbrands. A purple-haired elf sat silently in the corner. A minuscule twitch of his pointed ear was the only sign that Tycon was noticed.

    ? Felinus, Gold-Rank Elven Hunter. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    As light as Tycon''s steps were, he had no doubt that Felinus sensed him. That the elf had no particr reaction meant they were not overly offended by his presence.

    Elves tended to be offended by... the presence of most.

    With time to spare before the meeting began, Tycon took a seat at the nning table, intent on performing basic weapon maintenance. Unlike Aria, Hunter Felinus did not exhibit human social mannerisms. In their culture, the beauty of silence (and the things their Elven ears hear) was preferable to unnecessary chatter.

    Along the same line of thought, Tycon much preferred the practiced, rhythmic scrapes of a sword against a whetstone to idle babbling. While he was certain hisbat standards would not appease an elf''s aesthetics, it felt like he had years and epochs of experience keeping his gear in good condition. Briefly meeting Felinus'' curious gaze, the Elven Hunter offered a nod that he hoped was approval.

    It was a very human response... and likely one he had to train, in order to be better epted by his choice of ally.

    With that, Tycon was fairly certain he had formed a good impression.

    ...It was difficult to tell with elves.

    He could say the same for Aria... but that was furtherplicated by the fact that she was a woman. Tycon did not and did not hope to understand women.

    He doubted anyone did... even other women.

    Not long after, the three remaining people entered themand tent.

    ? Bannok, Gold-Rank Human Weaponmaster; Ariadne, Gold-Rank Elven Priestess; Athanasius Mors, Iron-Rank Human Holy Lancer. ?

    Holy Lancer Tanamar had proven his worth in thest meeting and apparently several times prior. Tycon surmised that Tanamar''s System specialized in analyzing creatures'' traits andbat abilities. It was an overpowered cheat, fantastic for dungeon delving.

    "Looks like we''re ready to start," Bannok nodded, idly running a hand over his clean-shaven head, "Feels a lot nicer in here, without all those chuckle-f*cks."

    Tycon was unfamiliar with the terminology. The context was grossly negative, though.

    "They do try, though," Aria hid a smile behind her paper fan. "Bless their hearts."

    "Well, yeah. They''re all a bunch of useless thieves, though," Bannok groaned, seating himself at the table. "Fel, tell us what you guys saw."

    Hunter Felinus nodded sagely, "Within the coniferous forest is a clearing in which a 20-foot tall humanoid is seated upon a throne, frozen in ice."

    The elf produced a piece of parchment, pushing it forward onto the nning table, "Threerge symbols radiate mana, carved intorge stones and ancient trees. Here is a quick sketch."

    Tanamar shook his head, "We showed the sketch to Photios and a few other mages, but they''ve all agreed that it doesn''t mean anything."

    Aria frowned, pushing out her plump lips, "It... looks like it should be... something... Egh. What terrible drawing, Fel."

    "Sapling..." Felinus narrowed his eyes, "I''ve been wielding the brush for longer than you''ve drawn breath."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Not what I meant, sir, thank you kindly!" Aria pouted. "I meant whatever human made this-- it''s obviously supposed to be a magic rune, but this doesn''t make any sense."

    Tycon took the drawing,mitted it to memory, and shut his eyes as he analyzed it with his System''s assistance.

    "How about you, Hero?" Bannok asked. "What do you think of what we''re up against?"

    Tanamar tapped the table with his finger impatiently, "The forest... it''s haunted. And I''m talking undead in the hundreds. Then, the giant on the throne is a mage... Third-Circle-- maybe capable of Fourth-Circle spells."

    Bannok whistled, "By the me... This is a shite dungeon. No wonder this quest hasn''t beenpleted."

    "Darlin..." Aria cooed, "It''s better to stay safe than to force a fight we can''t win."

    Tycon opened his eyes, smirking. His deep knowledge concerning spell formations allowed him some insight.

    Felinus noticed first, raising an eyebrow, which caused Bannok to follow his gaze.

    "Would you look at that!" Aria beamed, "Mister Tactician''s grinnin'' like a possum eatin'' a sweet potato!"

    "Brother-Tycon!" The Weaponmaster bared his teeth in a grin. "What''cha got?"

    "Concerning tactics, you mean?" Tycon returned the smile.

    "Pshhh. Get a load o'' this guy!" Bannok eximed, "You figure somethin'' out from Fel''s shite drawing?"

    "Young man..." Felinus narrowed his eyes, unhappy.

    Bannok held out his palms defensively, "It was a joke, Fel."

    Tycon ced the parchment back on the table, smudging the charcoal with his finger and making several more lines, "I believe the original runes may have looked like this."

    Felinus shook his head, "Tactician, I find your hypothesis... imusible."

    "I''m gonna have to agree with Fel on this, hon," Aria frowned. "The three runes you''ve made don''t make a lick of sense,in'' outta the first... and all mushed together like that? It''ll p the formation mage to sleep, then p ''em for sleepin''"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "And what if I reminded you two that it''s likely a human made this?"

    "Slightly more usible," Felinus admitted... "Such abination would only be proposed by a novice or a madman."

    "Butter my butt and call me a biscuit!" Aria eximed, fanning herself.

    It had be clear to Tycon that Ariadne was improvising phrases.

    "Yeah..." Bannok sat back, crossing his arms, "Could you guys speak in themon tongue? ...Especially you, wife."

    "It''s a seal, Brother-Bannok," Tycon exined... "--and as Aria has previously stated, a vtile one."

    ...That''s what he hoped she said, anyroad.

 Chapter 352 Too Handsome

    ?"That makes sense..." Holy Lancer Tanamar nodded, "The thing imprisoned in the ice... it''s half unsealed, which is why it''s so dangerous."

    "Which begs the question..." Felinus brooded, "How powerful would it be, released from its prison?"

    Tycondrius continued, "The decayed runes are likely a result of a mana overload that erased most of the script."

    "Then what was that shite-eating grin about?" Bannok asked.

    The corner of Tycon''s lips curved upward, "I will be able to go from seal to seal, restoring the formation''s integrity. I will need a substantial amount of mana dust and sanctified mages at each point to channel mana towards each seal''s reactivation."

    "Can do!" Aria pped her hands together, "We have the materials and the mages!"

    "Great! Hahaha!" Bannok guffawed, "So we go in, distract the big dead guy, make the smaller dead deader, and you lock the thing back in its icebox?"

    "Hold your horses, bub! We''ll give you a defensive detail," Aria pursed her lips. "I''ll give you a healer-- Fel, can you lend Mister Tactician some o'' yours?"

    "I will apany him," Felinus dered.

    Tanamar shook his head, his eyes shut, "The undead in the forest include fliers-- including Iron-Rank ones. It''ll be dangerous to sacrifice our ranged line."

    That was indeed a problem. Felinus and Tanamar''s archery skills were the best in the Brazen Guard. If either of them were to directly assist Tycon, the collective as a whole would lose a substantial amount of safety.

    "I''ll pick a few Rogue-types to go with him," Bannok dered.

    "Darlin'', weren''t you listenin''?" Aria scolded, "I''ll assign a barrier mage and a healer to babysit."

    "I will be enough," Felinus insisted.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. It was the first time his handsomeness had be an issue, considering the three Brazen Guard leaders were bickering with each other to help him. Discussion over it wasrgely useless. Anyone skilled enough to keep up with him would be better suited to fighting the Iron-Ranks.

    "Unnecessary." Tycon shook his head, "I can do it, myself."

    "Absolutely not," Aria huffed. "It''s too dangerous to go alone. You take some help, sir,or you ain''t goin'' at all!"

    Tycon looked to Bannok for confirmation.

    "Ehh..." Bannok shrugged.

    A Gold-Rank Weaponmaster avoiding conflict with his wife... was reasonable. Tycon could respect that, even if the result inconvenienced him.

    "Hm..." Tycon ced a hand on his chin in thought, "My duo is a wind mage. He can keep up with me."

    "The fish with the fresh haircut?" Bannok asked, "He''s good people. You happy with that, Ari?"

    "Hmph," Aria turned up her nose and hid behind her fan. "I s''pose."

    Tanamar opened his eyes again, frowning... "Tycon... What will you do if you can''t reseal all four runes?"

    That was most troubling... Tanamar did not show a propensity for formations, yet urately assessed that resealing the creature required four runes. Hunter Felinus admitted to having only found three.

    Had Tanamar encountered the formation in a past life? No, that was highly unlikely. He would have reacted after the three runes were identified.

    ...The only possibility Tycon could think of was that Tanamar''s had ess to limited precognition. If he could see the future... then even with his formation expertise, it was possible that his resealing would fail.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Hon?" Aria tilted her head, "Y''alright?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "If I cannot reactivate the formation, we can overload it once more, causing the creature''s ice prison to violently explode."

    "Which would unseal the creature," Deep lines of doubt set into Hunter Felinus'' frown.

    "While also making it vulnerable to attack..." Tanamar shut his eyes briefly... Opening them, he nodded and grinned, "Yeah. I like that."

    "My only question..." Bannok crossed his arms, "--is why wasn''t that the n to begin with?"

    ...

    ? Tycon examined each of the four sets of runes. They were deceptivelyrge, each spell circle nearly two fulms in diameter and chiseled into the material. Following the symmetrical spacing, Felinus found the fourth set, which was underneath a light nket of snow. There was also a fifth set, which Tycon did not need to modify.

    "I''m assuming there''s a reason why we can''t just fix all the seals without fighting, Optio?" Centurion Zenon asked.

    "That would be the best-case scenario." Tycon pursed his lips, "We are positioning before the fight in case the Throned Giant reacts negatively to our... meddling."

    Tycon turned to Zenon, frowning, "Remain calm and quiet, Brother-Zenon."

    An Elven hand cupped over Zenon''s mouth, muffling his scream.

    "Tactician," Felinus nodded. The Elven Hunter had silently dropped down from a tree, stifling Zenon''s surprise, "Tanamar''s briefing will begin shortly."

    "Thank you, Master Hunter," Tycon patted Zenon on the chest, "You''re fine."

    Only when Zenon rxed his shoulders did Felinus release him. By the time the Centurion turned around to look, the elf had long disappeared, "O-optio? Wh... what was that?"

    Tycon shrugged, "If I know elves well-- which I don''t, then it was a lesson. Keep your wits about you, there are ghosts in this forest."

    Zenon rubbed his hands and warmed his cheeks, "Brother-Tycon, do ghosts really exist?"

    "In this particr case, does it really matter?" Tycon chuckled, shaking his head. "Whatever enemies we find have to be dealt with."

    "Hm... I guess you''re right," Zenon sighed.

    "Of course, I''m right. Let us withdraw."

    ...

    In the distance, an old man sat upon a throne, his left arm and abdomen-down encased in magical ice. His skin was desated and grey, his eyes eaten by beasts long ago. No life remained in those eyes. Yet still, it turned its ancient head, watching with sightless eyes. Waiting.

    With no enemies before it and even though its lungs had crumbled to dust, it let out a ragged sigh, gnashing its teeth in frustration.

    All this was slightly more unnerving, considering that seated, the man was over 20-fulms tall and radiated an aura of powerful magic. Worse still was that the throne that imprisoned the creature slowly crept forward, apparently not as immobile as it seemed.

    ? System, inquiry: The power level of the creature. ?

    ? System response: Adamantine-Rank Undead. Warning: Proceed with caution. ?

 Chapter 353 Best For Everyone

    ?Deep within the forest, the Throned Giant roved around arge clearing. The leaders of the various Brazen Guard tent groups collected at its opening to discuss strategy.

    Tycondrius found therge clearing, free from trees, most peculiar. As a cursory inspection, he swept aside the snow underneath his boots to find hard-packed ice. They stood upon a tributary leading to a smallke, both of their surfaces frozen solid.

    Moving shadows drifted about in the depths of the waters, each dwarfing the humans idling unaware. The creatures below were almost certainly more products of the Icingdeath Dungeon. They would not be able to thrive to such proportions, otherwise.

    Tycon stood far away from the general popce, upon what he judged to be thicker, denser ice.

    "A few things to note about this fight..." Tanamar carved a map into the ice with the de of his holynce as he exined. "There is one ''Boss'', the Throned Giant in the clearing... and there are two types of ''adds.''

    "During the fight, the three groups will be stationed at three different seals. Now, pay attention: the first group will rotate to the fourth seal after theirs ispleted. Defend the Tactician, provide support against the Lake Eels, and the mages of those groups will be reactivating each of the seals.

    "If not assigned to those three groups, the strikers will be arranged to protect the squishies, with their priority being defense first and creature-clear second..."

    An Archer with dark rings underneath his eyes spoke up in a loud, high-pitched voice, "Hold on a second! What about the mescarred ghosts? The ghosts are going to wipe us all out!"

    Tanamar closed his eyes and took a deep breath... "I was getting to that."

    "This me-taken forest is haunted as shite!" The Archer argued.

    Tanamar took yet another deep, aggravated breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You wanna exin the fight? How about youe up to where I am?"

    The Archer remained quiet, feeling the burning stares of his surrounding peers... "N-no, I''m good."

    "You sure? It sounds like you know what''s best for everyone," Tanamar gestured, looking bored.

    "All of you''s guys save your questions for the end," Bannok ordered, "Keep talkin'', Hero."

    "Right," Tanamar nodded. "The non-caster ranged sses will be arranged here and... here. Your primary focus will be attacking ghosts. If the pressure lets up, provide fire support against the Lake Eels."

    Going more into detail about everyone''s various roles, Tanamar went on to exin what he expected each creature was capable of. Then finally, he reiterated everyone''s positioning, based on his drawn map.

    At a certain point of the exnation, Tanamar''s speech slowed and he began overly enunciating his words.

    "--and just to make it easy, I have a bunch of gs. Each g has a symbol. When you hear the horn signalling to focus on the ghosts or the eels, you will move from one g to your corresponding g... both denoted on the drawn map and seen on the field. On the field, you will *literally* be able to see which g you''re supposed to run to."

    Each group only had to memorize two gs: their own, and that of their attached group. It seemed easy enough. Tycon didn''t quite understand why Tanamar''s exnations were bing redundant.

    Hunter Felinus handed Tanamar a bundled pack of poles, each with a colorful g attached.

    "Listen up!" Tanamar raised his voice, "Bannok''s group will engage the boss, represented by this skull g. The Brightstars gets a four-pointed star...

    "...--The Stormbrands will be this double circle."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Pff..." Augh came out of the crowd.

    ? Tancred Mors, Iron-Rank Human Reaver. Guild Stormbrand. ?

    "It looks like a nipple!" The Reaverughed so hard, he wheezed.

    Tanamar sighed again, seemingly too fatigued to argue with his twin brother... "Stationed at this point will be... nipple group. Now, does anyone have any questions?"

    "Yeah, I got a question," A Warrior raised her hand. "Which gs are mine, again?"

    Another slew of questions rang up nearly simultaneously.

    "Hey! Did you say where Team Destiny was supposed to be?"

    "Mister Tanamar, I''m so sorry, but which g is for the Brightstars?"

    "Was I supposed to be on the Lake Eels or the ghosts?"

    "Can my team be part of the nipple group?"

    Tanamar looked like he wanted to cry.

    Tycon would not have med him if he did.

    ...

    After another half-bell of Tanamar''s rifications, each group was finally ready to take their positions. Tanamar had foregone physical gs. With the help of one of Ariadne''s Creation Mages, he fired holynces topped with colorful, glowing magic gs that he stuck onto various points of the battlefield.

    That it did not alert the enemy was odd... but as aggravated as Tanamar was, the action wasn''t particrly hostile.

    Exining strategies to arge group of people was... troublesome. The experience reminded Tycon of why he preferred to operate with only a small number of elite adventurers. If he had to exinplex monster-hunting strategies so many times, he''d have likely murdered all of his troops in frustration.

    Anyroad, he trained together with Sol Invictus'' members so often that it was often easy to deviate in ns. It wasforting being able to rely on synergistic teamwork toplete various objectives.

    It was a strange phenomenon that an individual human could be so rational and intelligent. With a group of them... it was a wonder how they could remember to blink and breathe.

    The nobatants, the still-injured, and the less-experienced remained behind at the collection of camps, which included Athena and Victorius. Even with their numbers more than halved, those that were participating in the fight numbered nearly seventy.

    ...That left over sixty different persons with varying levels of skill and professionalism that Tycon did not trust.

    If the fight went poorly, he would have Bannok call for an immediate withdrawal. Tycon could not see how to reduce the risk of failure any further, other than calling off the fight altogether.

 Chapter 354 Face Of Death

    ?Tycondrius took in a deep breath, examining the set of runes in front of him. Once he began reestablishing the formation, it was likely that the Imprisoned Giant would sense the danger and attack.

    "You ready, Optio?" Zenon asked. The Centurion''s voice shook. His hands trembled, but not from the cold. Besides the ghosts and Lake Eels, there was an Adamantine-Rank creature within 100 yalms that was capable of ending him in a single strike.

    It was likely the closest to death that Zenon had ever been.

    "How do you feel, Brother-Zenon?" Tycon asked, granting him a reassuring smile.

    "I... I dunno, man. So many things could go wrong," Zenon grimaced.

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "You''ll remember this feeling for the rest of your life-- as long or as short as it''ll be."

    "What do you mean?" Zenon pursed his lips and looked away, "Being scared shite-less?"

    "Figuratively staring into the face of death and still having the courage to act," Tycon grinned. "Now, take a deep breath. Keep focused on your surroundings. Move with me. We begin... now."

    ...

    Undead.

    A mockery of precious life. Felinus was no stranger to the cursed beings. The red leaves fell in the autumn months. All things were destined to die, their rot and decay giving birth to new life to the forest.

    Life and death. Two opposing concepts. Like two sides of a silver coin, there was that which was neither. The entropy of the world and itsws ensured that exceptions would always exist. And when thews of the world were thus challenged, there would be heroes to return the bnce to as it was.

    Dark magics were afoot, the result of humans meddling with powers best left alone.

    Humans. Confusing creatures. Always changing. Always interesting. It was for this reason that Felinus chose to associate with them. As many Shadowwalkers and Necromancers they produced, the humans proved noble and selfless Champions, cunning and relentless yers... and the asional amateur Ranger.

    They were a clumsy people. But in their honesty, their unpredictability, their noisiness-- in their chaos... there was an admirable purity.

    Felinus would serve his part.

    A human sat upon a throne of ice, swollen by magic crafted centuries ago. Not a giant, but no longer entirely human. Not living, not dead. Not sealed, not free. Forbidden magics flowed through its form. Through the Tactician''s n, the same spellcraft would prove its undoing.

    Sightless eyes looked down upon Bannok, son of Tyrion.

    He would not die on this day.

    The giant raised an arm. Desated. Skin stretched taut. Dark magic swirling about it, drawing from the void, the dark unknown, the entropy between this world and all worlds.

    Three arrows. Felinus fired three arrows that bounced harmlessly off of the creature''s ?Mana Ward?, before they could sink into its outstretched arm.

    The giant pulled a wicked cudgel from the beyond, the dark metal steaming and sizzling as if it was freshly forged.

    Three arrows. Seven. Twenty-two. Each arrow shot would weaken the creature''s energy until they could finally deliver the finishing blow.

    Live, Bannok. You must live.

    "Come at me, you big me-taken bastard!!" Bannok banged his shield with his battleaxe.

    The giant swung down its weapon, as fast as Felinus could see, but faster than he could shout to warn his human ally.

    A deafening ng echoed through the frozenke, the force of the strike more than capable of crushing Felinus to a lumpy paste. The sapling, Ariadne had enchanted Bannok''s shield with a divine ?Barrier?. Bannok had braced himself against the attack, dropping down to a knee, but showing no signs of injury.

    How powerful.

    "You okay, hon?" The young elf shouted to her mate.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Yeah! I''m good, Ari!" Bannok mmed his shield to the side, forcing the giant''s mace away. With a quick strike, the human''s enchanted battleaxe bit into the giant''s wrist, "Is that all you got, big guy??"

    How arrogant.

    But that''s what made them interesting.

    "Archers!!" Felinus yelled, "Let your arrows sing!!"

    ...

    Tycon furrowed his brows as he restored the outline of the broken seal. Tanamar''s concerns were not unfounded. Though he was fully confident he could repair the seal, he had made the ring error of overestimating his assistance. While the formation wasprised of Third-Circle parts, the result was Fourth-Circle. With the increasedplexity, perfectly repairing the seal with only Second-Circle casters would take time.

    Judging by the chaos of the battle, time was not something he was afforded.

    The heads of three ghostly, eel-like creatures emerged from theke''s surface, phasing through the ice as if it was still water. Even with only a third of its body exposed, each stood slightly taller than Tycon''s human allies.

    Fortunately for them, the creatures had flesh. Flesh would bleed. The bloodied could be killed.

    An Iron-Rank Warrior smashed her shield against the teeth of one, forcing it back. A Thief pierced that eel''s side, low on its body, while a Legionnaire pierced a vicious pilum into the side opposite.

    ...With the shield-wielding girl distracted, a second eel bit its dagger-long teeth into the armored woman''s sword arm.

    Centurion Zenon stood only slightly shorter than the creature''s revealed height. He pierced his tri-ded lightning ws into the side of its head, charging his lightning mana into its skull. The creature''s ghastly wails drowned out that of the dying Warrior.

    From the surrounding forest, walking skeletons and translucent ghosts began to trudge onto the ice, raising ancient Tyrion shields to block the hail of arrows.

    A horn sounded throughout theke valley, apanied by shouting.

    ? "Lake Eels!!"

    "Focus ''em down!!"

    "Cease fire on the ghooosts!!"

    Tycon began to paint over the runes with the mana-ink, sacrificing his uracy for speed.

    "Tactician!" Photios looked greatly perturbed, "What the hells are you doing?!"

    ? Photios, Iron-Rank Human Silver Pyromancer. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    "The seals will take too long to restore," Tycon hastily exined. "I''m modifying the formation to remove the limiters."

    "You crazy son of a b*tch, I''m in," Photios nodded. "Brothers and sisters!! Focus your mana on my channeling!!"

    Thankfully, the Pyromancer saw the value in the sudden change of n. Photios'' group of mages began to channel their mana to re-activate the formation. Tycon''s assistance was no longer necessary to guide them.

    "Go!" Photios ordered, "We''ll meet you again at the fourth seal."

    Tycon nodded, turned, and began to sprint away, hearing the steps of his Centurion following close behind.

    "Stay alive, Brother-Photios!" Zenon shouted.

    "Whaddya think I''m tryin'' to do?!" Photios yelled back.

 Chapter 355 Donâ€™t Look Now

    ?Stormbrand Cleric am swept back his raven-ck hair. He adjusted the strap on his chest, emboldened by the familiar weight of his trusty warscythe, the Decapitator, on his back. He pounded his gloved fist into his opposite palm, cracking his knuckles.

    "Time to shine,dies," He grinned.

    The Archer beside him took another shot, not bothering to change his focus, "am, we''re supposed to be focusing on the Lake Eels."

    "Psh." am scoffed, "You can do what you want. I''m better off attacking the enemy rather than sitting on my arse."

    "?Ravager''s STRIKE!!?" Tancred cleaved his greataxe into a Lake Eel, severing its lower jaw from its ghostly body.

    He turned to am, "Tanamar said eels first, man."

    The Cleric shrugged, "If I engage with the ghosts, they''ll take that much longer to get to us."

    "There''s a lot of ''em," The Archer yawned, idly firing away. "?Triple Shot.? You sure you can handle that much?"

    am snorted, "Har. I ain''t ''fraid of no ghost."

    He rushed forward, the crunch of his metal-cleated boots against the ice reminding him of marching over skull and bone. Jumping up at thest moment, he drew his fist back and mmed it hard into a skeleton''s skull, cracking it with a fist of holy righteousness.

    "Deus vult, motherf*ckers!!" He cackled.

    He grabbed onto the undead''s ribs, pulling it closer, then with his main hand, tore its broken skull off its spine. He smashed the skull into the side of a zombie''s head before throwing the half-broken thing at another frail-looking bone-man.

    Rotating his body, hended a solid uppercut against a charging ghost''s chin. He drove his fingers into its ghostly eyes and knee''d it in the groin. It keeled over in agony, keenly felt, beyond the grave.

    am straddled both of his legs over the ghost''s head and grabbed its waist.

    "SPINNING PILEDRIVER!!!" Picking the ghost up, he leapt back, spinning-- smashing his upside-down enemy into the hard ice.

    Standing back up, am cracked his neck to the left and right. He was surrounded by enemies. Poor bastards. They had nowhere to escape.

    He pounded a fist into his chest, "me-Taken ghosts, do you know who the f*ck I am?!"

    Grabbing his warscythe, he spun around like the veritable badass of badassitude he was, "DECAPITAAAAAATE!!"

    Two ghost-heads and three more skeleton skulls found their way to the icy floor.

    "I am am the DECAPITATOR!! My hatred knows no bounds! Not for the living! NOT FOR THE DEAD!!"

    ...

    Tycon sighed internally, witnessing an... anomaly. It came from where the Stormbrands were positioned, the orange-colored... nipple g.

    Cleric am had waded into a melee of ghosts, clearly going against orders. He appeared to be faring well... but when it came time for the ranged line to support him, he would be caught in the crossfire. More likely, though, they would be forced to shoot around him.

    Logically, they would not be the only group that strayed from the n. The faster Tycon couldplete his objectives, the less time the various groups would have tomit errors.

    Reaching the second seal, Tycon and Zenon found Karodin of Emberhold''s group in the thick ofbat. Three Lake Eels had been in, but they were engaged with another five.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zenon nged together his tri-ded ws, the fantastic spark of lightning a reassuring disy of power, "Take the objective or clear the wave?"

    "Thin the wave," Tycon said as he quickened his pace, "?Shadowfang Strike.?"

    Leaving behind a blur, Tycon pierced his enchanted short sword into the belly of one of the ghostly eels, jerking it upward to exacerbate the wound. With his opening strike, three of Karodin''s team fell upon the creature with spell and steel.

    Tycon quickly swept his gaze over the battlefield, searching for a certain Legionnaire. With a flick of his wrist, his sword segmented into a whip, which heshed forward to wrap around the eel Karodin was engaging. With a burst of mana and his Gold-Rank physique, Tycon yanked it downward, crashing the one-tonze eel onto the ice.

    Karodin followed-up with a yell, striking the downed eel with the edge of his shield before driving his serrated sword into the center of its forehead.

    "My thanks, Sir Tycon!" Karodin yelled. Glowing ectosm, the ghostly eels'' blood, was zed all over his Tyrion helmet and armor.

    ? Karodin, Bronze-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    "Zenon!" Tycon yelled.

    Karodin turned just in time, blocking the jaws of a Lake Eel with his tower shield.

    Centurion Zenon thrust his hands forward, "?Wind Barrier!!?"

    Spinning, tumultuous mana sheathed Karodin''s form, turning his shield into a whirlwind of ice crystals that tore into the Lake Eel''s maw. As the creature drew back, the Legionnaire lunged forward, piercing it underneath its belly. Pressing his vicious shield forward, the eel was slowly eviscerated, further thering Karodin''s armor in blood and guts.

    Tycon was impressed by the gentleman''s bravery. Karodin was far closer to Iron-Rank than not.

    "Are you guys okay?" Karodin asked, "These things are really dangerous!"

    Tycon rolled his eyes. The Legionnaire''s personality tended towards clumsiness with a healthy dose of oblivion, "Focus on surviving, Mister Karodin. We shall see to the seal."

    ...

    Dozens of ghosts, skeletons, and zombies lumbered out of the forest... a wave of dead civilians, adventurers, and even military-armored Tyrions from an age past. A horn resounded through the valley, signaling for the ranged line to switch from the Lake Eels to the surge of undead.

    "Optio, don''t look now. Here theye," Zenon warned.

    Disregarding his Centurion''s asinine suggestion, Tycon turned his head as they hurried to the third seal.

    "Their numbers are still tolerable. The ranged line should be able to whittle them down."

    "Y-yeah, you''re probably right." Zenon responded, not at all winded by their running pace, "After all, Tyrion defeated the Nemayan hordes in the past."

    Tycon decided not to respond. Nemaya, the Sleeping Country, would field hundreds of undead in rank and formation, simr to the Tyrions. A proper Nemayan attack force had archers, mages, anti-personnel siege weaponry, and also had elite undead squads incapable of pain and fear.

    The Brazen Guard was not dealing with an organized military-trained line led bypetent military-minded officers. These undead were instinct-driven savages, running out of the forest, one by one.

    It was then that Tycon felt the briefest rumble of movement beneath his feet.

 Chapter 356 Not Like This

    ?Tycondrius kicked a foot forward, skidding as his boots scraped against the ice. Catching onto Centurion Zenon''s forearm, the both of them slowed to a stop before a unique Lake Eel phased through the ice, roaring at the sky to show its dominance.

    ? Dire Lake Eel, Gold-Rank Magical Beast. ?

    It was twice asrge as its kin, its ghostly scales hardened and scarred, and had bony tes adorning its belly and head. More worrisome was that the color of its scales were a deep red instead of the frosty-bluish of its peers.

    ...It looked surprisingly simr to a Flood Dragon, essentially an overgrown river eel. Tycon had met one before, but the current enemy appeared to have greater intelligence. It did not talk to prove otherwise.

    "Optio!!" Zenon yelled, "I''m not sure if we can fight that thing!!"

    Tycon spent an annoyingly high amount of willpower in not rolling his eyes. The two of them were more than strong enough to fight ''that thing''. The dilemma at hand was whether or not it was worthwhile to fight and defeat it.

    "We''re going around it!" Tycon yelled.

    "I''ll cover you guuuuyyyys!!" Karodin shouted.

    Tycon whipped his head around, seeing the Bronze-Rank Legionnaire running as if his life depended on it.

    Karodin of Idiot-Hold.

    Empty. Night. What in the seven hells was that man doing here?

    A white sphere of power coalesced in front of the Dire Frost Eel''s open maw, greedily absorbing mana from its surroundings.

    "Move!!" Tycon pushed Zenon away, giving him the momentum to begin increasing his speed, "?Tumble!?"

    Activating his movement technique, Tycon skated towards Karodin, hooking his arm and spinning the two of them to the side. The Dire Eel''s concentrated beam of mana bored into theke, nearly obliterating the both of them.

    "S-s... ir Tycon..." Karodin cried, "I think I''m gonna be sick... ughhh..."

    "Zenon!!" Tycon yelled.

    "I got him, Optio!!"

    Tycon released the whirling Legionnaire, sending him sliding across theke surface, quickly losing his bnce and mming onto his side. Thankfully, he fell onto his shield, which acted as a makeshift sled, reducing his friction. Zenon thrust a hand forward, a concentrated st of wind sending Karodin careening forward.

    Karodin was screaming, spiraling wildly as he skidded along on his shield. While Tycon felt somewhat sympathetic for the human, keeping the Legionnaire alive was more important than saving his dignity. Anyroad, the forward momentum of the trio remained towards their objective, the third seal.

    The Dire Lake Eel was eyeing Zenon with great interest, but Tycon had an answer for that. Heshed out with his sword-turned-whip, striking the creature''s face.

    While the damage it dealt was superficial, the attack caught its attention and baited a lunge towards the passing Tycon. Tycon reactivated his ?Tumble? skill, grabbed hold of one of the creature''s bony face-tes, and vaulted atop it to run along its back. Dismounting before being shaken off, Tycon caught up with his Centurion and spinning-shield Legionnaire.

    "Optiooooo!??!" Zenon shrieked in panic.

    "What, NOW?!?"

    Tycon nced back to see the overgrown fish charging another beam attack.

    "Go left!!" Tycon ordered.

    As Zenon peeled to the left, Tycon jumped onto Karodin, causing the human to painfully, "Oof!" while stopping him from spinning. Kicking against the ice to speed Karodin''s movement, the snake and the human-sled careened towards the right.

    The Lake Eel''s powerful beam attack again cut through the ice, again missing the trio as they sped out of its attack range.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    "We''re nearly at the third seal!" Zenon yelled, "It''s just behind that rock formation!!"

    "Technically incorrect!" Tycon returned, "The seal is inscribed into the rock!!"

    "Optio!" Zenon roared back, "Is it really the time to nitpick about that?!"

    Tycon did not respond. It was not.

    The trio had escaped the Dire Eel. It would remain problematic for whichever group had to deal with it next --but the problem wasn''t theirs.

    As the dazed Karodin was in no state to run, Tycon had transitioned to carrying the fellow in his arms. The human''s helmet had fallen sometime as he tumbled across the frozenke, revealing his dark blue hair. He had lost his pilum, but his discipline was tempered enough that he kept his shield. A short sword remained sheathed on his side, standard of all Tyrion Munifices. That would be enough.

    Vomit had sshed onto the front of his armor and soaked a bit into his tunic underneath. He reeked, but he was alive and could feasibly still help with defending the third seal.

    "Sir Tycon! This is really embarrassing!" Karodin moaned, "Can you carry me a different way?"

    Tycon couldn''t remember thest time he''d heard so many gripes in such a short amount of time. Karodin was saved on reflex without much thought ced into it. After breathing in the Legionnaire''s rancid breath, Tycon grew far less keen on keeping the fellowfortable.

    He dropped the fellow onto the ice, shield-down, but grabbed onto his leg and continued to drag him along.

    "Not like thiiiis!!!" Karodin sobbed, "Sir Tycon! Sir Tyconnnnn!!!"

    Why in the seven hells and eleven heavens was this particr human so difficult to please?

    ...

    Tycon and Karodin rested against the rock to catch their breaths. Zenon shut his eyes, listening to the wind.

    "We have to move quickly," Zenon grimaced. "The group protecting the third seal isn''t doing well."

    While Tycon was tempted to climb the rocks to look over, he trusted Zenon''s judgment, "Has your sense of bnce returned, Mister Karodin?"

    "Y-yeah. I think I''ll manage, Sir Tycon," The blue-haired human smiled weakly. He raised a trembling hand, gesturing with an upwards thumb.

    He did not look or sound confident. Tycon ced a finger on Karodin''s outstretched hand and pushed it downward, receiving no resistance.

    "Stay back," Tycon ordered. "I''d prefer you alive forter than to have you make a foolish sacrifice, now."

    "But I..." Karodin gulped, shrinking back from Tycon''s re, "I... Hrrk-- alright..."

    Tycon was almost impressed by the number of times and amount of liquid Karodin managed to expel, "Rest. Take deep breaths. Circte your mana to restore your senses."

    Karodin stared nkly at the order, jaw agape.

    ...Did the Legionnaire not know how to circte his mana?

    Tycon did not expect Karodin to join them anytime shortly.

 Chapter 357 Shadowy Support

    ?Tycondrius rushed out from their cover towards the skirmish, with Zenon following close behind. The Centurion had grossly understated the situation. The striker line guarding the Third Seal was almost non-existent and a dozen humansy injured or dead near the seal itself.

    Four Lake Eels were attacking an injured Iron-Rank Duelist, supported by an Iron-Rank Adept and two other Bronze-Rank casters. Farther in the distance, the group''s remaining ranged sses were clumped together. They had to sustain their concentrated fire against the undead swarming from the forest, or they''d all be overrun.

    "Optio!!" Zenon clenched his fists as they thrummed with lightning mana, "We have to save them!!"

    "I''ll do something!" Tycon growled. "Support me, but keep your mana reserves high in the likelihood that something goes wrong in the near future."

    The Centurion grit his teeth but nodded in agreement.

    Tycon hoped for the best. However, with how often the heavens seemed to conspire against him, he would at least have a back-up n.

    His mind raced faster than his legs, analyzing thebat situation.

    Even with the Duelist engaged with a single Lake Eel, Tycon did not wish to fight against the other three Iron-Rank magical beasts, all at once. If he made a single mistake, its effects could be catastrophic. An injured hand or leg would jeopardize his ability toplete the third and fourth objectives.

    The Brazen Guard were unfamiliar with him... thus the effectiveness of both his offensive and defensive support skills would be greatly reduced. He wanted to save Zenon''s mana. Karodin was currently useless.

    The ghostly eels would be highly resistant if not immune to the illusory poison of his ?Vexing Gaze?. He could reveal his healing ability and use an ?Inspirational Surge?, hoping that the Duelist might pull through... Then he could hope to pick off a weakened eel with his ?Shadowfang Strike?...

    With the Duelist''s injuries... how useful would she be? Logically, the heal would be better if he saved it for himself or Zenon.

    "Empty night," Tycon cursed as he skidded to a halt, "?Venomous Shadow?."

    ? ?Venomous Shadow?. Reaction ability. A shadowy doppelganger appears behind the target, performing a single weapon attack. ?

    His summoned shadowy doppelganger could at least provide a distraction.

    A white wispy cloak appeared at Tycon''s side, causing Zenon to leap to the side in surprise, taking a defensive stance. The shadow''s cloak had changed from a night-ck to a camouged snow white. The legless, floating shade stared impassionately at the Centurion, naught but darkness and two golden spheres for eyes underneath its hood.

    "H-he with you, Optio?" Zenon asked.

    "...Yes."

    Tycon hastily observed his summoned creature. In its ethereal hands, it held a heavy, two-handed hammer. It was the first time he had seen his shadow materialize with a weapon... and it was not something that he had ever remembered using himself.

    It would do.

    "Give me that."

    Tycon took the hammer, trading it for his crossbow, quiver, and reload tool, "Do not take offense, but do you know how to use that?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    The shadow nodded, ratcheting back the bowstring and loading a bolt with practiced ease.

    While Tycon was still incredibly uncertain about how effective his doppelganger would be, it was reasonably better than nothing.

    "?Wind Walk.?" Zenon quietly cast a low-rank spell to increase Tycon''s speed.

    With the wind pushing at his back, Tycon sprinted out from cover towards the Duelist. One of the four Lake Eels was caughtpletely unaware, allowing him to crash his hammer against the side of its head. It fell upon the ice and would hopefully not revive.

    A crossbow bolt pierced into the creature''s closed eyelid. It did not move afterward. If that was his shadow''s single attack, Tycon was d that it at least gave him peace of mind.

    "S-sir Tactician!" A Bronze-Rank Acolyte shouted, "Thank the me you have arrived safely!!"

    "Please worry about yourself, youngdy," Tycon red before dashing towards the Duelist.

    The Duelist nced over, seeing Tycon''s approach, wearing a relieved grin. Skillfully, the woman sidestepped a lunge from the eel, stabbing it in the eye and holding it still. With the creature''s movement limited, Tycon lifted his hammer and smashed it against the top of its head. Keeping the momentum, like chopping a log with an axe, he hammered down twice more. With a beam of light from the Adept and a few more stabs from the Duelist, the second of four eels were defeated.

    "Whew! Y''took your sweet time, Tactician," The Duelistughed, saluting with her sword before wiping the sweat off of her brow.

    Tycon returned the salute, frowning, "If it wasn''t obvious, I rushed here as fast as I was able."

    He and the Duelist simultaneously leaped back to avoid a body m from another eel.

    "I''ll hold off this one!" The Duelist shouted.

    "Right," Tycon scanned the field for the fourth eel. He found it chasing one of the Bronze-Rank casters, snapping at the heels of the fatigued Healer. With only three casters left, Tycon needed to keep all of them alive to channel power into the seal. "?Shadowfang Strike!?"

    With his movement increased by both Zenon''s wind spell and his own movement technique, Tycon crossed the distance within seconds. However, with his Gold-Rank perception, he could tell he wouldn''t be fast enough. Skidding to a halt at three rotations, he lifted his stolen hammer above his head and threw it towards the eel.

    It struck true, causing the eel to roar in pain as its body took the weighted strike. The hammer exploded in a dark cloud of energy, the screen possibly enough to cover the Bronze-Rank Healer''s escape.

    "Fly, you fool!!!" Tycon yelled.

    The warning wasn''t enough. The enraged eel snatched up the hesitant Healer, its toothy maw piercing easily into the man''s flesh. The creature reared up, straightening its body and allowed the human to fall down into its gullet... But a crossbow bolt pierced through its eye.

    The creature fell to the ice, dead and nonmoving.

    Tycon nced back to where Zenon was. His shadow remained closeby, staring with emotionless eyes. Not taking its eyes off of the battlefield, it calmly reloaded its crossbow, again taking aim.

    ...Excellent shot on both ounts.

 Chapter 358 Savior

    ?"Mages, to me!!" Tycondrius had two casters left to sabotage the sealing formation. It would be difficult for the two of them and they''d likely suffer mana fatigue... but they''dplete the mission. Afterward, he could signal for the ranged line to copse. They could take the casters and fall back to safety.

    Tycon quickly inscribed new mana lines into the seal, bypassing its mana-limiters while mentally reviewing his situation.

    Duelist: Injured, but alive.

    Ranged line: Surviving, but not easily.

    Casters...

    The Bronze-Rank Acolyte was a young, olive-skinned girl wearing a white cloak lined with fur. She did not appear to have sustained injury, but was shaken. That was likely due to the fact that over a third of her group were dead or in critical condition.

    The Iron-Rank Adept was a kindly-looking bald and beardless gentleman in billowy Church robes, his face lined with age. He looked pathetic, exhibiting clear symptoms of mana fatigue.

    "My mana reserves are... greatly diminished," He admitted, confirming Tycon''s fears. "Diantha, you''ll need to work with the Tactician. Lead the channeling spell."

    "I... I can only do my best," Acolyte Diantha grimaced. She removed her hood, revealing short, dark curly hair and wide doe eyes. "My only fear is that it will not be enough."

    Tycon felt his heart drop... The young woman they were depending on was simr in age to Athena.

    A woman''s shriek of pain caused the Adept to look back. In Tycon''s peripheral vision, the Lake Eel had caught one of the Duelist''s arms in its teeth, even despite Zenon''s ?Wind Barrier? protecting her. She was stabbing at the beast''s eye, growing more desperate the more blood she lost.

    "Begin circting your energy, Miss Diantha," Tyconmanded. "I''ll be back in a moment."

    "I hear you, Master Tactician," Diantha nodded.

    "May the Eternal me guide your hand," The older Adept nodded.

    ...

    With the Duelist still caught in its jaws, the Lake Eel whipped its head and mmed her painfully onto her side. Superficial cracks formed in the frozenke''s surface from the force.

    Dazed but still conscious, the Iron-Ranked woman jammed her sword into the creature''s maw, and with a twist, managed to pull her bloodied arm free. She ran her de along the side of the eel''s head-- not nearly deep enough.

    "I''m not sure how much longer I can hold on, Tactician!" She shouted, keeping her eyes on her enemy.

    The ghostly eel lunged at her once more, crashing into the ice. Tycon shielded his eyes to guard against the burst of icy shrapnel... and he peered through the cloud of powder, hoping that the woman still breathed. The current situation was worrisome enough without the group''s final closebatant dying.

    Tycon drew his short sword from his lower back, approaching while keeping vignt.

    The eel rose out of the white clouds with the Duelist mounted on top of its head. She held on with her ruined arm, hacking and stabbing at the beast''s head with focused fervor. The eel predictably responded by thrashing about, flinging the woman away. She struck the ground hard, rolling along the ice and leaving a trail of blood as she slid thest few fulms.

    Tycon immediately ran to her side to check her condition, "Youngdy..."

    The half-dead woman shoved him backward with a surprising amount of force.

    "Go back." The Duelist got to her feet, spitting blood, "I''m handling it."

    She wasn''t doing a very good job of it.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Youngdy," Tycon scowled, "Please tell me this is not the best you can do."

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    "Hah!" The woman chuckled before spitting again, "Go. Complete your formation, Tactician."

    More blood ran down the side of her mouth and she wiped it with her sleeve. Her internal injuries were not light.

    ? ...If possible, yes. ?

    ? Activating... Activation failed. ?

    How disappointing. The woman was resigned to her fate.

    Tycon stood up straight and flicked his sword-wrist to unveil his preferred weapon, the segmented whip. The remaining Lake Eel needed to be killed quickly. He did not know when... but it was certain that more would arrive.

    "Sir Tyconnnnn!!!"

    Hearing the voice of Karodin of Emberhold, Tycon narrowed his eyes, tracking the fellow in his peripheral vision. Enchanted by Zenon''s ?Wind-Walk? spell, the Bronze-Rank Legionnaire bounded over the ice and rock, smashing into the Lake Eel''s side with his shield.

    "By the me!" The Duelist yelled, "What the hells are you doing here, Karodin?"

    "SAVING. YOUR. ARSE!!!!" The Legionnaire roared, "PTOLEMAAAAA!!"

    The Lake Eel reared up, hissing and baring its hundreds of spiny teeth. The blue-haired human''s eyes widened, shocked by its terrifying speed.

    The bastard was still fatigued from earlier.

    "Karodin!!" Tycon yelled, "Do something!!"

    He couldn''t think of any specific action he couldmand Karodin to do without him suffering a cruel and quick death. Thus, he decided to be vague and... hope for the best.

    ? Activating ?Jumping Knee Counter.? Reaction ability. Targeted ally''s physical defenses are improved against a single attack. Target ispelled to make an instantaneous unarmed strike against an enemy with increased uracy. ?

    Cognizance returned to Karodin''s eyes. In that brief moment, he knelt down, stabbing his short sword into the ice and bracing his shield as silvery mana encased him. The eel collided with the shield but was rebuffed by the immovable object, recoiling back in pain.

    "I''m not done with you, yet!!" Karodin yelled. Drawing his de, he leapt up and stabbed the creature in the snout. Likely because of Tycon''spulsion effect, the Legionnaire alsounched a mana-powered knee-strike into the creature''s jaw. The resulting crack was thankfully from the eel''s broken teeth and not from Karodin''s knee-cap.

    ? ...System, inquiry: Karodin''s information. ?

    ? System response: Karodin, Iron-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    The young man had broken through to Iron. That was somewhat promising. Still, that would not clear his fatigue from earlier. It was likely that he would die along with Duelist Ptolema.

    It was a sacrifice Tycon was willing to make.

    "Take care of it," Tycon turned on his heel and jogged back towards Acolyte Diantha and herpanion Adept.

 Chapter 359 Sacrifice (Part One)

    ?"Senior Librarian... Master Eugenios..." Diantha had materialized her mana, and it took the form of a t, wispy rectangle, glowing silver in her hand. It was enough... but Tycondrius would have far preferred if she had two or three cards, instead of just one.

    The Acolyte''s bottom lip quivered as she bowed her head in shame, "My mana only amounts to this much."

    Adept Eugenios returned the bow, "Trust in your heart, young Diantha. We shall do all that we can to assist you."

    "Well spoken, Brother-Adept," Zenon gave Diantha a reassuring smile, "All we can do is follow the pathid out for us, child. Do your best. Your seniors are here to guide you."

    "Trust... The path..." Diantha furrowed her brows, thinking deeply upon her situation. "Of course... The me lights my path. All I need to do is have faith."

    As Tycondrius approached, he sensed the girl''s mana spike and stabilize. The silvery card in her hands glowed brighter, its edges growing sharp and defined. Both Centurion Zenon and Adept Eugenios shared a look of pleasant surprise.

    Acolyte Diantha had undergone a minor breakthrough. If she survived the dungeon, it wouldn''t be impossible for her to reach Second-Circle within a year or so.

    "Brother-Tycon," Zenon waved in greeting. "I will assist with the channeling."

    "No, you will not." Tycon refused him outright, "As I said before, if you expend your mana and concentration here, we will be disadvantaged in the near future."

    "Tycon... Let me do this," Zenon insisted.

    The Centurion''s expression betrayed that he knew what was right. It was emotion and not logic that guided his stubbornness.

    "Brother-Zenon..." Tycon frowned, "The situation remains precarious. It would better behoove our cause if you were to instead watch over Mister Karodin."

    "Brother-Librarian, the Tactician is right," Eugenios smiled sheepishly, "Allow Diantha and this old man to do our part."

    Zenon shut his eyes, a deep grimace set below his mustache... "Very well."

    No longer hesitating, the Librarian turned and ran towards Karodin. With Zenon supporting the shield-bearing Legionnaire with both offensive and defensive spells, Tycon and the others would be afforded the time needed.

    Tycon briefly exined to the Acolyte and Adept pair what needed to be done. Unfortunately, even after the young Diantha''s breakthrough, a zed look of uncertainty remained in her eyes.

    Uncertainty led to failure.

    Tyconmented that he could not do everything himself. The first two seals werepleted without much difficulty. The raw magic power from several participating mages was enough to channel mindlessly, forcing the formation''s reactivation. Unfortunately, even with all of Tycon''s knowledge, his own magical power amounted to less than that of a First-Circle Acolyte.

    With Diantha, Tycon chose to idiot-proof the process. He re-exined the spell formation in greater detail, walking her though each step. He traced the logical lines of power and mapped out their rtions to each of the formation''s three parts. He asked active questions throughout, making absolutely certain she understood.

    The more familiar she was with the ritual, the more efficient her mana would transfer. This was the way the objective would bepleted with a Bronze-Rank Acolyte and half-an-Iron-Rank Adept.<novelnext></novelnext>

    With a semnce of confidence instilled into the young Diantha, she ced her t, rectangr mana-focus onto the stone ritual circle, beginning its reactivation.

    Her mana flowed freely and without reservation. That was good.

    Still, the formation was essentially Fourth-Circle, far beyond the ken of her abilities. It was logical for her to encounter difficulty. That she was not was... worrisome.

    Tycon turned to the youngdy''s senior. Sweat dripped down Adept Eugenios'' wrinkled face, his expression strained.

    Stars and stones...

    The old man''s mana reserves were too low to directly charge the formation, that much was certain. However, it seemed he had taken it upon himself to correct, stabilize, and funnel Diantha''s magic power.

    It was an unintended effect from Tycon''s detailed exnations. Likening Acolyte Diantha''s tribtions to being in a hedge maze carrying a barrel of water... it was like Adept Eugenios had a map and was running alongside and ahead of her to prevent her from going down wasteful paths.

    Tycon had the assistance of his System forplex magical calctions to perfectly determine what would usually take weeks, months, or longer. He could not carry a barrel of mana, but he knew the multiyered hedge maze intimately. The guidance he could provide Diantha was nothing short of perfect.

    Adept Eugenios did not have that advantage. His map was not asprehensive and he''d have to fumble around the hedge maze himself. He risked pitfalls and traps and he even had to carefully carry his own smaller barrel, preventing his mana from spilling out. The mental power he had to expend in order to do so was astounding.

    The old man was already suffering mana fatigue. Following this, he would certainly suffer mana exhaustion. It wasn''t impossible for him to be imbecilic, his mind broken... lost in the hedge maze, forever.

    Tycon was not going to stop him. Interrupting Eugenios'' struggles risked a severe magical bacsh with undoubtedly catastrophic effects for everyone involved. That... and his selflessness greatly increased the chances of Diantha''s sess.

    "Stabilize the mana going to the fourth line in the second quadrant. Fill the middle circle steadily-- the formation is already drawn, you don''t need to force it."

    Tycon continued to calmly guide Diantha. He couldn''tplete the objective by himself. It was foolish to try to stop Eugenios. He was unwilling to utilize Zenon. His best option was to continue pushing the youngdy to her limits.

    The girl was... remarkably simr to Athena, if not by appearance. Their ages were simr. Most everyone she was initially relying on had been killed by monsters. She did not question her duty. She held onto what confidence she could. She was clearly trying her best.

    Tycon loathed the fact that he had to ask the young Acolyte to shoulder such an important task. If she failed, the Brazen Guard would have to sound the retreat, which would result in even more casualties. Even if she seeded, it would not return her deadpanions to life. The pressure was immense for a single teenage girl.

    If she was Athena, Tycon would have immediately taken her from this ce.

    She was not.

    Tycon would ensure shepleted her mission, even if she had to sacrifice herself in doing so.

 Chapter 360 Sacrifice (Part Two)

    ?"Theke..." Tears flowed down Acolyte Diantha''s face, "The monster''s seal is theke... My mana cannot... possibly be enough."

    Tycondrius grimaced. There was yet another problem that stemmed from his detailed exnations. Diantha keenly understood how daunting her task was to handle alone and how little room she had for error.

    She was lost in the formation, her eyes aglow with mana. She could not see how desperately Karodin and Ptolema were fighting against three Lake Eels... and losing. She could not see how yet another Archer in her group''s ranged line had fallen. She could not see her senior leader, the old Adept Eugenios, trembling with pain, blood streaming from his ears and nostrils.

    Tycon lowered his voice, his tone solemn... "Listen to me, girl."

    "I... I hear you, Tactician."

    "You''ve survived this far into the battle. All of your friends are dying around you... to protect you. You are our victory condition. This is when you need to push. This is when you draw deep inside of you to find whatever that keeps you going. What drives you? Why are you here? Why do you fight?"

    "Tactician, I..."

    Tycon stared at the girl intently, growling through clenched teeth, "Answer me."

    Sparkling tears seeped from the girl''s glowing eyes, "I... I do not know..."

    "Why do you continue?!" Tycon''s voice grew louder in urgency, near shouting in her face, "Why haven''t you abandoned your mission??"

    He wished this could be a civil discussion. Circumstances dictated that he could not afford Diantha even that small mercy.

    "Faith..."

    "Your volume is pathetic! What was that?!"

    The youngdy clenched her jaw, "Faith, Master Tactician..."

    What did that mean? Was she referring to faith in her god? Faith in her religion''s ts? In her allies? In humankind? Whatever it was... she needed to prove it.

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Then you have more to give."

    "I... hear you," Diantha sobbed.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Show me."

    The channeling was nearlyplete. With Diantha already pushing her limits, she was certain to suffer mana exhaustion like Eugenios. However, Tycon asked for more.

    In this world and most, mana was present in all living beings. Not so obvious-- and not at allmon knowledge in the Holy Country, was that beingpletely drained of mana was a death sentence. If the rate of Diantha''s mana output remained consistent... whether she drew from thest of her reserves or from her very soul, she would die.

    Was it worth it? For her, Tycon did not know. For those who relied on her... Tycon could not say. Still, her efforts were necessary to reactivate and overload the third seal.

    Another human hand was ced onto the etched stone formation.

    "You are not alone in your faith, Diantha," Zenon said quietly. He offered Tycon a small smile in apology.

    Tycon crossed his arms, ring. Zenon was going against his wishes... but he knew exactly what he was doing.

    Sanctum Librarius, Centurion Zenon was choosing to invest his mana reserves into easing Diantha''s burden. He was saving her.

    The Centurion was not wrong to value the life of a sentient being. Tycon was not wrong for seeking mission efficiency.

    It was just a shite situation.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    Duelist Ptolema lied on her side, feeling miserable. Her left arm was definitely broken.

    Karodin supported her, allowing her to sit up-- which still jostled her injury. She clenched her eyes hard, enduring the pain that traveled like lightning bolts throughout the entire left side of her body.

    Pain meant she was alive... and that meant she was better off than a few members of her Snowy Vige adventuringpany.

    They were dead.

    Ptolema had no right toin.

    "Here, you go," Karodin unstoppered a healing potion and ced the ss to her lips.

    "Bwohh!!" Ptolema turned her face away, "Mister Karodin! My arm is broken, not my spine!"

    Karodin grinned like a fool, cing a hand behind his ruffled, dark blue hair, "I uh... I know that."

    "Then *hand* me the potion," Ptolema red. "Please."

    "Right. Here," The Legionnaire smiled, "Drink slowly."

    Ptolema began drinking from the potion bottle... She would have finished it in one gulp, if Karodin hadn''t reminded her otherwise. The vor was terrible, but as an Iron-Rank adventurer, she was used to it.

    She felt a little guilty for treating Karodin of Emberhold so poorly. If she remembered correctly, the Brazen Guard Legionnaire was part of the group at the second seal-- and not even its strongest member. He had gone well out of his way to help her and her guild out of a dire predicament. She''d apologizeter.

    Karodin''s almost overbearing helpfulness made no sense. They had only met a few suns prior. They weren''t from the same city or anything like that. She doubted it was because he favored her, as Ptolema wore men''s clothing and Karodin hadn''t heard her voice until just recently.

    He was stronger than he looked, too. The way he blocked the Lake Eel''s charge just by bracing his shield... It was something she expected out of the Brazen Guard''s guild leader, Bannok-- not from him.

    "Mister Karodin, you live," The green-haired Tactician approached the two of them, his cloak billowing in the wind.

    As pretty as he was, his voice was... incredibly annoying to hear. She and Karodin had literally just-survived a life-and-death situation. They could do with a little gratitude.

    "Yep!" Karodin flexed his sword arm, "Ptolema and I took down four."

    Ptolema held her tongue. All she had done for the final four Lake Eels was defend herself. Legionnaire Karodin did that, as well... while keeping the creatures'' attention... and defending her... and finishing them off, too.

    Strong. Humble. Selfless.

    Ptolema sighed. He was superior to her in every way. She definitely needed to apologize.

    "Oh." The youthful Tactician''s eyes passed over her in judgment, "Miss Ptolema... you appear to have survived, as well."

    The way the Tactician spoke to her made her want to punch him in the face. As rude as he was, though... he was definitely an ally. Also, the particr gold color of his eyes unnerved her slightly.

    "Wait-- MISS Ptolema??" Karodin turned incredulously, "You''re a girl?"

    Ptolema red daggers in response. She might have preferred trousers with pockets to a skirt... and sure, her hair was incredibly short after a run-in with a fire elemental a few moons prior... but her name was obviously female. By the me, this man was ridiculous.

    There was no way she was going to apologize after that remark.

 Chapter 361 Tempting Fate

    ?Ptolema swayed her head backward to avoid Karodin, bowing for forgiveness. The Legionnaire''s speed surprised her a little bit. Wasn''t this person a Bronze-Rank?

    "I hadn''t meant to take advantage of you, Miss Ptolema." Karodin apologized, "--grabbing you like that, I mean."

    Was he referring to when he helped her sit up? Ugh. It wasn''t like he did anything creepy or touched anyce questionable. This man had a shite sense of propriety.

    "Tch. It''s fine," Ptolema grumbled.

    "The fourth and final seal, Mister Karodin," The green-haired Tactician prompted. "Will you be apanying us?"

    "Yeah! I''ming!"

    Without as much as a goodbye, the two sprinted off, the tall mage going along with them.

    Ptolema''s arm felt hot, the fracture steadily repairing due to the potion. It was how she knew it was working... that, and how hungry she felt. Standing up, she waved her good arm to greet the approaching Acolyte Diantha.

    Diantha trotted over quickly and gave a sharp salute, "Leader."

    It was rare to see her with her hood down. Her baby face and cute, dark curls betrayed her young age. In a simr betrayal, the dark rings beneath her reddened eyes showed that she''d had her own share of difficulties.

    "d to see you still in one piece, girl," Ptolema wore the most assuring smile she could, "Report."

    "The third seal has beenpleted but Mister Eugenios is suffering mana exhaustion," Diantha coolly exined.

    "Hm. Very well," Ptolema nodded in thought. "Help him withdraw. I''ll pass word to our archers that we''re heading back."

    The Acolyte shook her head, "Our guild members are still in danger, Leader. I will go to them and provide support as we fall back."

    The girl''s n made sense. Ptolema didn''t like it, but it made sense.

    Even with one arm, Ptolema was stronger and could assist Eugenios more easily. Conversely, the Acolyte ss could support their other ranged sses at a distance.

    "Tch. Alright," Ptolema grimaced. "Do so."

    Diantha bowed her head, "I hear you, Leader."

    "Ehh..." Ptolema sighed and shook her head, "You can just call me Ptolema from now on."

    She deserved it, especially concerning how difficult the fight had been. It looked like she gained some confidence, as well. If anyone in the Snowy Vige adventuringpany needed more confidence, it was the reticent Acolyte that tended to hide quietly underneath her hood.

    Acolyte Diantha raised her head and curled her lips up in a small smile, "me guide your path, Ptolema."

    Ptolema nodded, "me guide you safely back, girl."

    ...

    "Did you use a Tactician skill on me, Sir Tycon?" Karodin asked as the trio jogged towards the fourth seal. "It felt like all of a sudden, I could fight the Lake Eels singlehanded-ly!"

    "I highly advise against it," Tycon frowned, not bothering to meet the bounding Legionnaire''s inquisitive gaze. "Do not take unnecessary risks, Mister Karodin."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You got it, Boss!" Karodin grinned.

    ...Hm. It had been a while since he''d been called as such. It gave him a sense of nostalgia.

    Tycon, his tall friend, and his slightly-ridiculous friend arrived at the location of the fourth and final seal. They were supposed to receive a warm and hearty greeting by the members of Pyromancer Photios'' group, easily the strongest of the three caster-centric groups. Instead, they were greeted by the sight of their corpses, strewn about in pieces or crushed and bled by Lake Eel teeth.

    Tycon took a deep breath and sighed. Duelist Ptolema''s group had to defeat nearly three times the number of eels as the other groups. Whatever had happened at the fourth seal had likely factored into that.

    "Brother-Zenon..." Tycon turned to the Centurion, "How confident are you in reactivating the seal on your own?"

    Zenon averted his gaze, "I don''t have enough mana toplete the channeling by myself."

    It might have been possible, had he not wasted-- no... used his energy in assisting Acolyte Diantha.

    ...As frustrated as he was, there was no sense in berating Zenon for it. The Centurion already keenly knew he was at fault. Further, it was probable that his recent friend, Mister Photios, lied amongst the dead.

    The closest seal beside the first was the third... and Diantha had no mana left. By this time, the group at the second seal should have already withdrawn to the back line.

    Tycon briefly considered seeking assistance from one of the mages from Bannok''s group? ...No, a rogue factor entering intobat with the Throne Giant carried a substantial risk. Anyroad, every single member of that group would be focused on keeping Bannok alive. Taking one or two had the possibility of offsetting that bnce.

    Tycon shook his head, his expression grave. The n was a failure. They needed to move as fast as possible, in order to find a hornblower to sound a retreat. Thankfully, they had the advantage of Zenon, who could boost their movement with his mana-efficient ?Wind Walk? spell.

    ...In retrospect, he should have asked for one of the horns and instruction on its usage.

    Karodin''s sharp whistle pierced the silence, "This sun keeps getting worse and worse."

    Tycon and Centurion Zenon immediately red at the Legionnaire.

    "Whaaat?!" Karodin grinned in embarrassment, "I was trying to lighten the mood!"

    The frozenke beneath them began to rumble violently, Karodin dropping to a knee and Zenon reflexively using his magic to levitate.

    "Karodin!" Zenon shouted, "Come on, man! You don''t say these kinds of things!"

    A familiar creature emerged from the ice. The red-scaled Dire Lake Eel surged up, towering over the trio. While it sported a few new arrows and crossbow bolts stuck in its armored ting, it remained rtively undamaged overall.

    "When you tempt the fates, Mister Karodin..." Tycon massaged the bridge of his nose, "Do not be surprised when they answer."

    The creature''s roar drowned out the Legionnaire''s frantic apologizing.

    ...

    ? A few moments earlier. ?

    "Save your strongest skills for when the fourth seal is released," Tanamar spoke calmly. Divine arrows like rays of the sun shone from the Holy Lancer''s bow, finding their marks upon the undead giant''s chest, "It''ll be soon."

 Chapter 362 Ranged Support

    ?Only Felinus''s Elven ears would be able to hear Tanamar so well over sword, spell, and shouting. The young hero''s direction was clearly intended for him, alone.

    They were strange tactics... even for a human. But they were logical. With each seal destroyed, the creature''s ability to resist the song their bows sang fell drastically. When the final seal was broken, though the Throne Giant''s power would surge tremendously, its ?Mana Ward? was likely to shatter, leaving it vulnerable.

    "It feels like our arrows are doing jack shite!!" An Iron-Rank Hunter yelled.

    "Keep firing!" Tanamar ordered, "The giant is wasting concentration on blocking our ranged attacks. He''ll start casting Fourth-Circle spells if we let up!"

    The other Hunter''s face paled with the new knowledge and his rate of fire increased.

    Humans always needed a motivation to perform to the best of their ability. Some found it easily. Some needed not-so-gentle reminders.

    What capricious creatures...

    "Keep focusing it down, Fel," Tanamar whispered. "I''m going to split my damage for a sec."

    Felinus understood Tanamar''s actions even less than that of a typical human. Still, their judgment had always proven reliable in the past. Felinus trusted the boy as much as he would any honest and well-meaning child.

    Felinus was a master archer with well over two hundred years of experience, without peer in both precision and uracy... until the Brazen Guard had enlisted the help of the Stormbrands.

    Though the human wasn''t even a tenth of his age, it was as if he''d lived several human lifetimes practicing the art of the bow. Further, the skills the Holy Lancer used were... unique.

    Tanamar could fire arrows of varying sizes, someparable to human siege weaponry. Sometimes they would curve to follow their targets as if they had wills of their own. At other times, Tanamar''s arrows would shatter, blinding his marks and shocking them into confusion. Only reliant on mana, his barrage of arrows could be as endless as a coursing river... with the primordial force of a great typhoon.

    Felinus'' ears twitched, hearing the roar of a great beast in the distance. Following Tanamar''s gaze, he observed a Dire Eel emerging near the opposite side of theke. Its scales were red instead of pale blue... Perhaps their scales hardened and changed color with age? ...Or perhaps the creature had undergone bloodline evolution?

    Narrowing his eyes, he made out the green hair of the Tactician, the tall stature of his Librarianpanion, and... one more. They were being sorely contested at the fourth and final seal.

    "Is that your target, Hero?" Felinus asked.

    "Ayep," Tanamar responded casually.

    If it were any other human, Felinus would have found the notion absurd. The Dire Eel was at a range far past the limits of his own longbow. With the seconds of time it took for an arrow to reach the creature, it would have long moved from its spot.

    "Is the beast known to you?"

    "It is," Tanamar nodded. "Lake of Rage, north of Mahogany Town. That one was bigger, though."

    Felinus had traveled all of Tyrion and had never heard of such a foreboding ce.

    At any rate, though the Brazen Guard would lose a third of their pressure by losing Tanamar, it was far more important for him to reposition in order to ensure the fourth seal''s reactivation.

    "Go. I''ll keepmand while you''re gone."

    "No need," Tanamar aimed his bow towards the beast. "I can hit it from here."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Mana pulsed from where the young human stood. The billowy mist above the dungeon parted, a beam of light crashing down from the heavens and shrouding Tanamar''s form. Runed lines glowed upon the ice, thrumming with power, rotating and reconfiguring dynamically to empower his attack.

    Tanamar''s silvery hair stood on end, flowing as the air swirled around him. As he drew back his longbow, a blur of magical afterimages followed.

    The mana-empowered skill was... greedy, hungry. Most Archer sses coborated with the world and itsws... Tanamar... he was forcing the world to bend to his will. And bend it did. The spirits in the ground, the air they breathed, the trees and the snow, the light of the heavens-- all bowed, lending Tanamar their power.

    "Creation is a noble charge..." Tanamar spoke, his voice a peal of thunder, an echo in an empty valley. "The elements give themselves freely to the cause. I am unworthy of their praise... for my light brings only darkness. This is my ?Oath?: Death to the enemies of House Vanzano."

    It was not an arrow of mana that formed in Tanamar''s drawn string. It was divine light... condensed power wielded by the gods... raging against being wielded by a mortal. Releasing the bowstring, the death sentence sped instantaneously across the frozenke, rending a crevasse in the ice trailing its path.

    For the briefest of moments, Felinus thought for certain that he heard the screech of a giant feathered roc, descending upon its prey.

    The Elven Hunter shivered, a chill of terror running down the length of his spine. Tanamar was an Iron-Rank. He was young. And he was human. How powerful would he be in the future?

    Felinus controlled his breathing to calm his heart rate... "Hero... you previously stated we should save our strongest skills."

    "Oh, no worries, Fel," Tanamar smirked. "I can cast that twice."

    ...

    Oh. Hm.

    Tycon grabbed Karodin''s cor and yanked him backward. He nced back to Zenon-- he would be fine. Tycon took a quick hop backward, careful not to slip on the ice.

    A beam of light about twice the thickness of a ballista bolt shot through the red Dire Eel. The ice immediately grew slick with the pooling blood from its gaping wound.

    "What?! WHAT??!?" Zenon shouted, "By the FLAME, what just happened??!"

    "An attack from one of our allies, it seems." Tycon shrugged, "Our enemy still remains. Which one among us would have the honors of the kill?"

    The thunk of a crossbow answered the call before either Zenon or the grounded Karodin could volunteer. The massive eel collided with the ground, which cracked the ice, but thankfully did not break it.

    The Lake Eels were strange creatures for their bodies to half-phase through the ice while reverting to fully corporeal upon their deaths.

    Legionnaire Karodin sat up, staring at the eel corpse, "What... By the me... what just happened?"

    "An attack from..." Tycon stopped himself, sighing. "Don''t worry about it."

    He red back at where his Venomous Shadow was hidden. The white-hooded doppelganger ced its crossbow and quiver neatly against the rock near the fourth seal before fading away.

    How polite.

    No matter how strange Tycon''s ?Venomous Shadow? summon was, he could not hate it.

 Chapter 363 Magical Appearance

    ?Zenon grimaced as his gaze passed over Tycondrius and Karodin both, "What... what should we do now? Optio?"

    Tycon shook his head, "We still have to return-- unless a powerful enough mage magically appears to help us."

    "Ahem," The sound of a man clearing their throat put the trio on edge, and they naturally took outward defensive positions.

    "Whoa! Hold on!" A hooded mage in ck-and-silver robes appeared in a gout of silvery mes, "I''m an ally!"

    ? Photios, Iron-Rank Human Silver Pyromancer. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    "You''re alive!" Zenon cheered, "Thought we lost you, man!"

    "Haha, yeah..." Photios grinned somewhat awkwardly, "I wasn''t sure I was gonna make it, to be honest."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, somewhat rxing his guard but not re-sheathing his sword. The Pyromancer had arrived alone. His groupy dead upon the frozenke. Something had happened... but the presence of Photios would factor well into their mission''spletion.

    "You''ve excellent timing, Mister Photios. I pray you have enough mana to assist me and Librarian Zenon with the final seal..."

    ...

    The Brazen Guard collective gathered at the war camp to rest and recuperate. After the reactivation of the fourth seal, Bannok had severed the head of the enthroned giant with his battleaxe. Footman Victorius told him about it in grisly detail.

    He made it sound like he was there alongside the Gold-Rank Weaponmaster.

    There was a high degree of embellishment in his tale, but the results were undeniable. The Brazen Guard was vict-- was sessful.

    There were more casualties incurred. Photios'' entire group was annihted, save himself. The Snowy Vige adventuringpany lost a third of their members, with most of the remaining too injured to participate in further encounters.

    The Stormbrands, of course, did not disappoint even whenparing levels of failure. One of theirs was also killed, their corpse strewn about in pieces over the frozenke. Unfortunately, it was neither Reaver Tancred nor Cleric am.

    The Brazen Guard hosted an internal auction for the spoils... most of it mundane and worn weaponry, dropped by the various undead. Tycon was granted priority... but chose to default to the Gold-Rank guild. A cache of basic arms and armor would always remain useful in apany of their size.

    ...and there was nothing of immediate value to be imed.

    Word was passed that the Brazen Guard would rest for two suns. There were more than enough adventurers to continue, after all. During the downtime, Hunter Felinus'' scouts, as well as some volunteers were to patrol deeper into the dungeon, reporting on their findings.

    That was fine. It allowed Tycon the time to train his charge.

    ...

    They did not teach magic at the military academy in Silva. Everything Athena Vanzano had learned, she did on her own... and with perhaps a bit of assistance from her loyal footman, Tanamar. It was quite impressive, especially considering the girl had nearly killed him with an incanted ?Ice Beam? a few weeks prior.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon patiently exined basic magical concepts, the youngdy''s frost-blue-haired head greedily soaking up the information. As always, she proved a diligent student, the questions she asked granting him confidence that she well-understood the material.

    Some of the mage-initiate''s inquiries, (while slightly off-topic,) pushed the boundaries of Tycon''s knowledge. He provided what theories he could... but magic, at its core, was not so easily exined, even by one as handsome and intelligent as himself.

    At theke mouth was a majestic waterfall, its sheer size dwarfing both the Dire River Eel and the Throned Giant. With the magic of theke undone, in a few short bells, the waterfall again resumed its flow. The torrent crashed upon therge rocks below, the force easily enough to pulverize a Bronze-Rank.

    With the amplified ambient frost mana in that area, Athena discovered that she gained the ability to levitate... slightly. Her excitement turned to horror as Tycon assigned the youngdy hertest training.

    Three wispy spheres of Athena''s condensed mana slowly rotated around her as she floated above the icy waters. Four was her limit. Three allowed her to keep her levitation mostly stable...

    Still, Yin Body or not, apse in concentration would find her very cold and very miserable.

    Athena''s ability to sustain her spells would see an improvement... or she''d be greatly inconvenienced by drowning or the hypothermia that would set in afterward.

    Tycon calmly observed their surroundings, ever vignt for signs of danger. The forest was still quite haunted, but Athena would remain safe even if he was her only guardian.

    Zenon apanied them for a while. The Centurion''s spells, in particr, held the distinct divinity of his Eternal me, rending the forms of ghosts as easily as the flesh of men. Where he went off to from there, Tycon did not know. It was likely that the events of the battle weighed on his mind.

    Post-battle was an excellent time for introspection.

    Scouts traveled near the falls in small teams of four, often stopping to gawk at the floating Vanzano''s magical appearance. They woulde by to relieve their boredom with idle talk before ultimately returning to their duties, foraging for wood and hunting furred animals.

    Having Athena handle a fourth sphere was too easy. Instead, he sharpened the youngdy''s concentration by inviting passersby, as well as the members of Team Athena, to hold thoughtful conversations with her.

    Victorius did well to help. The blonde footman reminisced about his past glories and shared inside jokes that Miss Athena was privy to.

    Tycon slightlymented that Centurion Zenon had gone elsewhere. He would perform an excellent job distracting Athena, speaking about his favorite diators or the history of some obscure adventuringpany. The levitating Vanzano would not be able to escape... though as polite as the youngdy was, she''d probably prove perfectly receptive to the elevated gentleman''s tedium.

    For whatever reason, Tanamar''s presence made Athena fail fantastically. When his eyes fell upon her in wonder, she seemed to panic. With her concentration broken, she crashed into the waters. The noble hero that was Tanamar immediately leapt in to save her.

    Though Tycon couldn''t identify how, Footman Tanamar was most certainly at fault.

    One of Karodin''s team members, a Bronze-Rank Adept, came by and dried Athena''s hair and training clothes with magic. The fellow even helped Tycon build a fire and an improvised formation helped protect it from the domineering frost mana that suffused the environment.

    The youngdy was more resistant to hypothermia than he''d originally estimated. Conversely, her misery was worse from her failuresbined with her damp clothing. Thus motivated, the training continued.

    Following that event, Tycon chased Tanamar away with his de-whip. It was good to challenge Miss Athena... but it seemed that that fellow''s presence had too powerful an effect.

 Chapter 364 Unfair

    ?"Sir Ty..." Athena waved her hand, deflecting a pinecone with her ?Frost Shield?, "I have a question?"

    "Ask away, youngdy," Tycondrius tossed up another pinecone in a gentle arc, which the youngdy also blocked easily. He was slowly increasing the speed of his projectiles, training Athena''s ability to react while still holding her concentration on her spheres and levitation... "Also, don''t call me that."

    "Um, alright." Athena pursed her lips, "Sir Tycon, you''re friends with Mister Z, right?"

    "We are friends, yes," Tycon tossed a pinecone in a high arc. Athena would have to be mindful of its trajectory as she responded.

    "D''oh," Even though she was watching for it, the pinecone bounced off the top of her head. The youngdy idly rubbed where it struck, "Doesn''t he seem... kinda sad,tely?"

    "Is that so?" Tycon pitched another... aimed at her abdomen instead of her head.

    "Y-yeah," Athena caught the pinecone. With a surge of her mana, she coated its surface with frost. Using her magic to keep it levitating, she directed it back towards him.

    Tycon gently caught the frozen pinecone, following its momentum, preventing it from shattering. He held it up to shine against the cracks of light spilling from the mists above. It was an admirable disy of talent to be able to freeze the small object in its entirety, "What would you advise?"

    "Oh! Wh-whoa!!" Athena''s concentrationpsed briefly, and she struggled to regain control and not fall into the icy waters. "A-advise? I dunno! I don''t want to be rude."

    Tycon shrugged, "This is a rxed training environment-- just the two of us. You may speak freely."

    Athena grimaced, but nodded, "I think you should talk to him. I''m worried."

    Tycon pitched a fast pinecone, aimed just shy of her right ear.

    The youngdy shrieked. Slowly struggling to keep hold of her spell, her body slowly descended towards the water. When the cold touched her rear, her spell failedpletely, and she sshed into the waist-deep water, "S-sir Tycon!!! That wasn''t fair!!"

    "I''ll talk to him," Tycon chuckled. "Warm yourself by the fire and we''ll walk back together."

    ...

    "?Wind Barrier?..." Centurion Zenon activated a defensive spell as Tycon dropped down from the trees, a short distance behind.

    "It''s me," Tycon raised his voice to ensure he''d be heard.

    Zenon sighed aloud, shaking his head of dark brown regtion-cut hair. He dispelled his magical shield and offered a slight smile, "Sorry, Optio. You surprised me."

    "No apologies necessary," Tycon chuckled lightly. "I''m quite d you remain vignt. As close to the camp as we are, it''s quite dangerous to wander in hostile territory."

    Tycon had found Zenon along the outskirts of the Brazen Guard camp, listlessly moping about on his own.

    "I''m sorry I haven''t been participating in the training..." Zenon sighed again, his eyes focused on something far off into the distance.

    Tycon followed Zenon''s gaze. He wasn''t looking at anything in particr.

    ...Strange.

    "It''s fine," Tycon pursed his lips. "Is there... an issue?"

    "No... I... " The Centurion shrugged, "I just have a lot to think about."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon brushed the frost and snow off of a smooth rock and seated himselffortably. He was prepared for training in the mountains and had swaddled himself in a thick fur nket over his armor and cloak.

    He wore a polite smile and stared at his friend. Zenon had more to say. Silence was the best way to convey that he was willing to listen.

    The Centurion crossed his arms, shivering briefly, "Her name was Diantha. She was an Acolyte from Rhizenia."

    Tycon shut his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath through his nostrils. He was afraid he knew where Zenon''s thoughts had gone. Acolyte Diantha was imperative in reactivating the third seal as the Brazen Guard fought the Throne Giant. That Zenon spoke of her in past tense...

    "She was one of the casualties in the Snowy Vige adventuringpany..." Zenon grimaced, crinkling his mustache and staring at his feet, "I just... It wasn''t fair that she..."

    Tycon remained quiet, gesturing for Zenon to continue.

    "I... I feel guilty about it. Like... I could have done something..." Pain was evident both in Zenon''s expression and his voice, "We could have taken her with us..."

    Tycon scoffed internally at the notion. He never would have agreed to such a suggestion. The mana-fatigued girl would have only been a burden.

    Zenon was struggling to think of what he could have done differently and was distraught at not having an answer. His internal crisis was very human... resulting from reliance on logic. The human mind seeks causality. Every effect should have a cause.

    While somewhat true, there are a myriad of catalysts that are impossible to influence. ording to Chaos Theory, the slightest changes in conditions canpletely upturn an eventual oue.

    Induction is impossible. Gathering enough information to exin an event can only provide a theory. Further, not everything that led to Diantha''s death could be observed, the tactics of the enemy, the actions of her guild members, the thoughts going through the young woman''s mind.

    Sometimes... bad things happen to good people.

    Such unfortunate events take ce, catching all parties involved rtively unaware. Of course, hindsight analysis proves useful in preventing repeat incidents. The future can be changed. The past can not... not in this world, anyroad.

    "Decisions were made, Brother-Zenon," Tycon forced a smile. "We acted on as much information as we had, did we not?"

    "Yeah, but... I could have..."

    Tycon gestured with an open palm... "Realistically, you could have what?"

    "I could''ve... prioritized her safety or..." Zenon''s voice trailed off.

    "The mission came first," Tycon shook his head, "We were not wrong in acting as such."

    "...We... we should have known," Zenon''s voice grew quiet.

    "We did not know she was at such risk," Tycon stood up and ced a reassuring hand on Zenon''s arm, "We did what we set out to do...plete the mission...

    "At the time, we made our decisions, as best we could. In our profession, such decisions will haunt us until the end of our suns... Mourn the dead, but do not let your grief consume you."

    Zenon dropped his arms, taking a heavy breath in thought, "Alright... I''ll try my best."

    Tycon chuckled to himself, "The best is all we ask of you, Brother."

 Chapter 365 Adventuring Life

    ?Two suns after defeating the Throne Giant, the Brazen Guard collective ventured deeper into the valley forest. The scouts had found a few off-beaten paths leading to subsections of the Icingdeath Dungeon. The various groups that made up the collective could split off to explore and loot as they pleased... provided the ''Dungeon Boss'' was defeated.

    On the fourth sun, Felinus'' scouts reported the discovery of the strongest creature in the dungeon, a Dread Wraith. Tycondrius was somewhat familiar with therge undead creature, unlike the other dungeon denizens.

    It wasrge. Its touch could instantly drain the life force of an adventurer. And it was an Adamantine-Rank threat.

    The quest issued by the Tyrion Adventurer''s Guild referred to the creature as the White Lady, which Tycon found to be woefullycking in creativity. Also, unfortunately, Felinus and Tanamar identified no workarounds that Tycon could take advantage of.

    The Brazen Guard''s guild leader, Bannok, limited participants to Bronze-Rank, high-tier sses and stronger. Nearly forty members remained, a rather high number. Many casualties of the Throne Giant were able to be restored to fighting condition, thanks to Priestess Ariadne''s healing. Of course, she couldn''t bring back the dead... that was the purview of the White Lady.

    Theoretically, their numbers would be enough.

    Within those left over from the screening, Tycon was pleased to see a few familiar faces.

    ? Karodin, Iron-Rank Human Legionnaire; Photios, Iron-Rank Human Silver Pyromancer. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    Photios had gotten along well with Zenon. From it, Zenon had recovered much of his enthusiasm, doing his best to hide his uncertainty.

    Karodin waved like a fool upon seeing Tycon. Hesitantly, Tycon waved back in acknowledgment. The clumsy Legionnaire was almost certain to die in the nextbat. It was surprising that he hadn''t died in the previous two.

    ? Ptolema, Iron-Rank Human Duelist. Guild Snowy Vige. ?

    The hooded Duelist stood near Karodin, granting Tycon a nod when their gazes met. That girl was too stubborn to die. If she wasn''t already the leader of her own guild, Tycon would have considered scouting her.

    ? Athena Vanzano, Bronze-Rank Human Frostde. Guild Stormbrand. ?

    "Athena," Tycon red. "Go back."

    "Aww... Okay," The youngdy sauntered off, somewhat disappointed.

    What was she expecting? For her to go unnoticed? Her frost-blue hair stuck out in a crowd as much as Tycon''s green.

    There were also a few familiar adventurers loitering amongst the crowd that Tycon was less than pleased to see.

    ? Tancred Mors, Iron-Rank Human Reaver; am, Iron-Rank Human Cleric. Guild Stormbrand. ?

    Tancred stood around in his multi-colored armor. He was trying to look disinterested in his surroundings, but his vapid stare only betrayed how foolish he appeared.

    am roved about, leering at females. Otherwise, he was aggressively posturing in front of the few adventurers obviously a lower metal rank than he was.

    As before, Tycon specifically avoided thepany of those people. If they disliked him for it, he was not interested in their opinions.

    Bannok announced that the Brazen Guard collective would engage in battle with the Dread Wraith the following sun at noon. While the dungeon''s high mists blocked a majority of the sunlight, it was generally epted knowledge that it was better to siege the undead with the sun at its highest peak.

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    A strategy meeting was called at the Brazen Guardmand tent consisting of Bannok, Ariadne, and Felinus, as well as himself and Tanamar.

    Tycon had assumed they were to discuss strategy concerning the Dread Wraith. He was pleasantly surprised to discover it was to share a hot meal and some warm wine.

    "So what''s your rtionship with the kid, Brother-Tycon?" Bannok asked... "If it''s not some secret squirrel shite, anyroad."

    The human''s cheeks were lightly flushed by the drink. Because of the battle on the morrow, he was insistent on ''holding back'' even as he drained half a Tyrion congius of wine.

    Tycon swirled the sweet red wine in his wooden cup, "Circumstances have dictated that I am to assist in rebuilding the name of House Vanzano."

    "Ah. She''s a good girl... and a good leader," Bannok nodded, plunking his empty winecup onto the nning table. "A shame what happened to her house, though..."

    "She''s the sweetest thing!" Aria grinned as she refilled the winecups of both Tycon and her husband. "Ah made cupcakes once. She stuffed her li''l mouth like a chipmunk."

    ...Tycon had seen the phenomenon before with the youngdy''s love for thinly-sliced fried potatoes, topped with sour cream and sharp cheddar. He had scolded her for her impatience and impropriety.

    "How about you, Brother-Bannok?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Why continue the adventuring life instead of bing andowner with all your military achievements?"

    Bannok leaned back and sighed contentedly, "Gotta stay sharp. Without a war going on, adventuring is the best way to prepare for the next one."

    Ariadne''s eyes drifted over to Hunter Felinus, prompting everyone in the tent to follow her gaze.

    "Ahem..." The quiet elf cleared his throat, "The Brazen Guard must continuouslyplete quests in order to provide for the upkeep of our magical equipment. Mana dust is difficult toe by inrge quantities, otherwise."

    "Like Fel says," Bannok followed, "Quests get us coin to keep our gear good. asionally, we find a magic weapon or set of armor, too. Our guild''s really just about killin'' people, if you think about it."

    Tycon nodded in understanding. Bannok and the Brazen Guard lived for war. To that end, adventuring was the most logical and effective way to remain a relevant military force. His sess was evident in that his guild was the strongest in Kasydon and was able to take high-rank quests with regrity.

    However... a war did exist, even if Bannok stated otherwise. It was waged silently within his Holy Country of Tyrion. The Snake Cult seemed to have infiltrated deep within the ranks of the Church of the Eternal me. He was fairly certain that Bannok was intimately aware of it... as he expressed a sense of guilt that he did not remain in the military proper.

    It was for the best. The Weaponmaster had implied that he participated in the war massacres in the Free Nation. Viges and entire cities were quarantined and put to the torch tobat the spread of a highly contagious lycanthrope. As a high-ranked Centurion, Bannok had undoubtedly made many difficult decisions during that time.

    With anyrge-scale engagement, unfortunate casualties weremonce. While the death of innocent men and women was never eptable... for a man so loyal to his country, fighting against his kinsmen was a nightmare that Bannok had to avoid at all costs.

    Ariadne hummed musically... as elves were wont to do, "An'' look at us now... we''re in the hills, cold ''nough to freeze a tit off a frog, huntin'' poltergeists."

    "It''s a wraith, sapling," Felinus corrected her.

    The dark elf Priestess ced her hands on her hips and stuck her tongue out, "How ''bout we call a spade a shovel, Fel!?"

    Tycon paused, thinking about the incredulity of his own situation. In the span of a few moons, he had gone from convincing dwarves and a gorgon idiot to fight on his behalf... to sending his daughter to school... to freezing like a... frog in the mountains. And now, he was fully intent on defeating an Adamantine-Rank Dread Wraith.

    ",

 Chapter 366 Snowfall

    ?Priestess Ariadne pointed usingly, "Look, Fel! You scared Mister Tactician!"

    Tycondrius narrowed his eyes. He wasn''t scared. That was ridiculous.

    "We must exercise a healthy amount of caution," Hunter Felinus warned with a grave expression. "The Dread Wraith''s very existence weakens the boundary between the corporeal world and the ne of Shadows. Bnce must be returned."

    "Eh, should be a simple fight," Bannok shrugged. "Won''t be an easy one, but it''ll be simple. Tell ''em, Hero."

    Tanamar was finishing up his te of spiced marinated beef, caught off guard by Bannok''s questioning. He hastily swallowed, washing the bite down with wine, "Ahem... Yeah, it''s a pretty straightforward fight. We enchant our weapons with Spiritbane and we survive the illusions."

    "There we go," Bannok drained another winecup. "We kill the ghost, grab its spirit stone, and that''s it-- questplete. We''ll spend a bit snooping around for a Dungeon Core for some extra coin, but that''s secondary."

    ? The details the Holy Lancer had provided were vaguer than for the two previousrge-scale encounters. Tycon feared that the wraith''s illusions were far more dangerous than he was making it out to be.

    ...

    "(Why has the me forsaken us//The enemies are breaking through

    I long for the warmth in being surrounded by my kin//The enemies are breaking through

    They cast me and out and call me a witch//I am but a mother who loves her children

    Their hatred is stronger than my faith//Without faith, I am nothing.)"

    The White Lady drifted alone through a field of frozen statues, tattered and translucent robes billowing in the cold winds. Hermentations echoed, a hundred spirits lending their voices to the chorus.

    The Tyrion Old Language was not something well-known to modern Tyrions... the Dread Wraith''s diction and inflection were more aligned to Tycon''s understanding than he had heard in recent practical discussions.

    She was from an age long past.

    And judging by the transparent form the ghost took... she was once human.

    ? White Lady, Adamantine-Rank Dread Wraith Witch. ?

    Upon the woman''s head, she wore a peculiar metal contraption that blocked her eyes and ears. It was an ancient device that had fallen out of favor, once utilized by the Witch-Hunters of the Church, and likely unfamiliar to anyone save himself and Hunter Felinus. If the mask was corporeal, it would greatly weaken or nullify the woman''s ability to cast spells.

    What was the significance of her torturous helm? Of what battle did she sing? How much pain had she endured? How much hate had she amassed to grow so much in power?

    Tycon sighed and shook his head.

    Ultimately, such things did not matter. There was no humanity left in the Dread Wraith. Like the other undead the Brazen Guard had encountered, she was no different-- naught but a visage of her former self, her actions guided only by an instinctual hatred for the living.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon looked to Felinus. If anyone knew of the White Lady''s circumstances, it would be the well-traveled elf. The Elven Hunter was shutting his eyes, visibly trembling as he circted his internal mana to calm himself.

    That was not a good sign.

    Combat engagements with the undead tended to be difficult to gauge. Such creatures tended to emanate an aura of fear... unnerving even the strongest and most powerful living adventurers. Flinching against the swing of a heavy sword or a stray arrow plummeting from the sky could prove fatal for even a Gold-Rank. Even a sliver of fear in a warrior''s heart could lead to their undoing.

    Worse was that the source of fear on the battlefield was not just from the Adamantine-Rank undead flitting in the distance... but was empowered by its ss as a Witch.

    Over a hundred ice-frozen statues were arranged in a field, each serving as a testament of the Dread Wraith''s deadly effectiveness. Logically, each statue was once living, sentient being.

    As worrisome as the encounter seemed, the Brazen Guard collective had enough factors in their favor. They had four Gold-Rank adventurers and plenty of skilled Iron-Ranks.

    Then there was the fact that Holy Lancer Tanamar was confident of their sess.

    Unfortunately, even he knew very little of the Dread Wraith''s abilities besides its illusions. There was only so much his overpowered cheat was capable of. Casualties were certain-- Third and Fourth-Circle spells, even illusory, would wreak havoc on the Brazen Guard.

    Their victory was certain. The point of contention was how much they had to sacrifice in order to grasp it.

    Tycon had an additional trump card in that he was more-or-less immune to illusions, as he could circumvent them with his System. Further, he had a ?Mark of Pride? inscribed upon his soul, which prevented the effects of Domination-type spells cast at Fourth-Circle and lower.

    Still, Tycon prepared additional precautions. He had his crossbow ammunition enchanted with blessed Spiritbane oils. He retrieved his Decanus armor from Athena, the Tyrion steel slightly more resistant to witchcraft than his mundane chainmail. In the same vein, he also borrowed a Munifex helm and a medium-weighted shield from the Brazen Guard armory. Most importantly, he swept up a thicker, ck, fur-lined cloak that he wore over his armor.

    The cloak was so very warm... He did not look forward to returning it.

    Bundled up from the cold, shield and sword strapped to his back, and with a crossbow in his hands, Tycon was a veryfortablebatant. He thought he looked quite stylish with his red scarf matching his ck cloak, though he did appear somewhat thick and cumbersome.

    Then again... his peers consisted of adventurers, a profession analogous to murderers and graverobbers. At the worst end, the Stormbrands were a garish rainbow of nauseating colors. No one on the field should particrly care how he looked. He could afford looking... puffy.

    "Brazen Guard!!!" Bannok raised his voice, lifting up his axe overhead. "Engage the enemy!!!"

    A collective shout of excitement rumbled through the collective as the near-forty adventurers navigated through the field of statues towards the Dread Wraith.

    The floating ghost turned her head, near 270 degrees, her transparent body turning and shifting to follow. It loosed a ghastly shriek, swelling in power and size, growing to a height simr to the Throned Giant they had encountered prior.

    Ice and frost mana whirled around it and within moments, the field was overtaken by a blinding-white snowstorm. The harsh winds and piercing cold threatened to cut through Tycon''s thick cloak.

    He expected no less.

    Adjusting his cloth scarf over his face, Tycon trudged forward through the mounting mounds of snow, towards his next fight.

 Chapter 367 Certainly An Illusion

    ?Tycon slogged along in the white storm, stepping into snow banks that reached his knees. He was somewhat miserable for being in an illusion... but he tried not to let the details bother him.

    He jostled his waterskin to ensure it wouldn''t freeze too quickly, taking a small sip from it. He rubbed his face to keep warm. He thought of better times.

    ...and he thought of how concerned he would be if he were caught in an actual blizzard.

    Tycon continued walking forward in one direction. There was no one else around, no footprints or other signs of life.There was no shelter in sight-- no trees or valley walls, either. His only constion was in judging that the snowfall and the harsh winds would soon calm.

    The situation was absurd-- most certainly an illusion.

    If it was a teleportation-type spell, there would have been some sort of magical signature hinting at it-- there was not.

    Failing that, he was caught in a formation... which was a field that Tycon was supremely confident in. Utilizing his System, he could identify and triangte its weakpoint, where he would then... kick it... or something disruptive to that end.

    Time was immaterial in Tycon''s snowy world. He could have been wandering for minutes or bells or entire suns... not that it particrly mattered. All thingse to an end. Eventually, the storm cleared as expected, granting Tycon vision of his surroundings.

    ? He found himself standing in the eye of a thick mist. Slowly, the walls dissipated outward to reveal an ever-expanding field of translucent, crystal flowers.

    Tycon picked one with a gloved hand, snapping its stem with a crack and rotating it in his fingers. It was marvelous, the way its numerous petals reflected the light. It was a masterful illusion to be soprehensive, well-deserving of its Fourth-Circle rating.

    Splotches of crimson marred the field in the distance. Humans. An armored Munifexy dead, his flesh cut and broken by the flowers underneath. Arge, ashen-grey humanoid creature the size of a bear knelt over the body, feasting hungrily upon the fallen''s eviscerated abdomen.

    ? Wendigo, Iron-Rank Undead. ?

    Tycon was familiar with the creature-- that wasforting, all things considered. It was a gaunt, bony creature with desated skin and a hunger for human flesh, mostmon in the mountainous regions between the Eastern States and the Sleeping Country to the north. Their cannibalism made them grow in power. Judging by its size and rtively weak strength, it had not yet realized its potential.

    Tycon prepared his crossbow and reload tool as he approached. A single wendigo would be easy enough to defeat.

    However, as the mists began to recede... more Brazen Guard corpses were revealed... along with more wendigos feeding. As before, with the Lake Eels, Tycon did not want to engage with multiple Iron-Ranks simultaneously, if he could help it.

    ...Hm. No. Something was wrong. He chuckled to himself. There was no need to defeat such illusory creatures.

    ? System, analysis: That creature. ?

    ? System response: Wendigo, Iron-Rank Undead. ?

    ? System.... inquiry: This is... an illusion, is it not? ?

    ? Negative. ?

    Tycon grimaced as he felt his heart rate spike to an ufortable pace.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? System, inquiry: Where am I? What is this ce? ?

    ? System response: The Host is in a Reality Marble created by the White Lady. ?

    Tycon shut his eyes and cursed internally.

    Stars and stones.

    A Reality Marble waspletely different from an illusion or mind-control effect. Tycon was trapped in a magical world sustained by the Dread Wraith that was, for all intents and purposes, quite real.

    If his magical power was stronger than the caster, he could forcibly break out. Unfortunately, concerning magic alone, he only amounted to an elementary mage, not even First-Circle. He could also feasibly brute force his way out if he was a higher level than Gold-Rank... but he was nowhere near breaking through.

    There was no shelter in sight. There was nowhere to run. He was surrounded by enemies... and there was the likely possibility that there were more, still hidden in the mists.

    Tycon unslung his crossbow, "?Venomous Shadow?, support me, if you would."

    His white-cloaked shadowy doppelganger appeared beside him. Tycon handed over his heavy ranged weapon, quiver, and reload tool. The shadow epted them, almost casually, inclining its head lightly as it drew back the bowstring and loaded an enchanted bolt.

    ...Hm. So the shadow could handle blessed bolts. It was a strange existence.

    The sound of the bowstring locking interrupted the nearest Wendigo''s meal. It lifted up its head, growling at the interlopers with stained teeth, blood dribbling down its chin and chest.

    Tycon sighed as he strapped his shield to his arm and drew his enchanted short sword, "Let''s... let''s get this over with."

    ...

    After Tycon had killed five wendigos, he was covered in blood. The issue was that... the blood was not of the undead. It was from the recently deceased. It somehow felt... dirtier, because of it.

    Even though his cloak was stained horrifically, he had to convince himself he was fine with it. It wasn''t his.

    With the goal of avoiding injury, Tycon used a moderate amount of skills in the skirmish. He had used ?Tumble? twice and ?Shadowfang Strike? once. He even used ?Iron Dragon Rend? to cleave a crevasse in the ice, splitting the attacking forces into two groups.

    His ?Venomous Shadow? disappeared after several crossbow shots, which markedly wasn''t *only* one as his System suggested. He had no ns to correct his shadowy ally.

    Thankfully, he was able to defeat each of the creatures, one-by-one, quickly and only at the cost of his stamina. To reward himself, he took a light sip from his waterskin and broke off a piece of jerky. He was trying to ration well, as he was uncertain how long he''d be stuck in the Reality Marble.

    There would be some consciousness that he had to best... and if it were to hide from him, he might very well waste away without food and water.

    A rumble and the shaking and shattering of various crystal flowers heralded a greater creature. Tycon stood up and stretched. Hopefully, whatever ridiculous creature appeared would be his key to escaping his prison.

 Chapter 368 Demon Blade

    ?A wendigo stepped out of the mists, standing thrice Tycon''s size and wearing an incrediblyrge antlered skull. Saliva dripped down from its lipless mouth and jagged teeth, burning the white snowyndscape a corroding ck. Its long,nky arms ended in wicked, gnarled ws with bits of rotten meat, trapped beneath its nails. It chortled in echoingughter, the bones of its face threatening to burst through its taut, leathery skin.

    ? Ancient Wendigo, Gold-Rank Undead. ?

    Hm. Tycon flourished his sword. The creature''s appearance was disappointedly predictable. Compared to the beast''s lesser kin, the Ancient wasrger, stronger, and... would probably be faster, due to the rank difference. Its weakness lied within the fact that its attacks would be straightforward.

    Not wanting to waste any time, Tycon charged forth. He stepped to the side, dodging the creature''s powerful fist smashing the ground. He stabbed his de deep into its forearm, and when the creature retracted its arm, he allowed its momentum tounch himself towards the creature''s head.

    "?Legionbreaker.?" Tycon thrust his mana-sharpened sword into the creature''s right eye, thenunched a powerful sh at the side of its neck. The maddened Ancient pped the wound with a clumsy, desated hand, but Tycon had already stylishly backflipped off...nding behind the creature''s... missing feet.

    Tycon was in the kneeling, staring at where the Wendigo''s feet should have been. The creature was floating, bleeding from its ankles down as if they were eaten by ravenous beasts.

    His n to sever the creature''s tendons, forcing it to fall, was doomed to fail from the start.

    "?Taste the Demon de!!?"

    The activation of a skill forced Tycon to move quickly. He somersaulted out of the way of the falling Ancient Wendigo, narrowly avoiding its crash and fall. Just to be safe, Tycon turned away and shielded his face beneath his cloak to avoid the ice flower shrapnel.

    The wendigo''s bloody, antlered head fell in the distance, a short second after its body did.

    Someone else was here.

    And that someone cut the wendigo down with a demonic de... Tycon peered through the powder, searching for its wielder.

    ? System, inquiry: What ss utilizes the ?Taste the Demon de? skill? ?

    ? System response: Samurai. ?

    ...No one in the Brazen Guard held such a ss.

    Tycon opened the p of one of hisbat pouches, removing and quietly quaffing a healing potion. He doubted he''d have the chance to use it, afterward.

    A grey-skinned orc stood beside the corpse of the wendigo, swiping his long curved sword to his side to fling the blood off... then cing it in the crook of his elbow, wiping the de clean with his sleeve.

    ? Gold-Rank Orcish Samurai. ?

    The orc stood a full head over Tycon, as tall as Centurion Zenon, except thrice as thick with muscle. A decorative knot of hair was arranged atop its meaty head and thick tusks jutted out of its broad grimace. It woreyered brigandine armor, its color faded with time.

    Samurai was a rare ss originating from the Kogani Empire, an ancient culture with tens of thousands of years of history, predating even the Medusae. While that feasibly meant that the orc was well-versed in the arts of closebat, the art of war hade a long way since then. Any of the five nations in the Realm would prove superior to Kogani war strategies-- most of them drawing deeply and developing thetter.

    For such an orc to be such a high-ranked Samurai... Could he be tens of thousands of years old? No... If that were the case, the Dread Wraith would have been far more powerful than Adamantine-Rank.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was likely that the orc was from a Hidden Sect.

    Tycon stood and saluted with his sword, "My name is Tycondrius of guild Sol Invictus, savior of the White Scale Sect, guest elder of the Sea Wolf Sect, and friend of the Golden Crow Sect."

    The orc''s eyes widened and it bowed deeply, his deep voice like gargling gravel, "I am known as Garock Heartrender, warrior of the Screaming Silence...

    "Forgive me, noble warrior," The orc flourished his de, holding it up by the hilt near his head. "But I have nothing to say to a human of Tyrion."

    "I''m not a human," Tycon responded automatically.

    "Oh..." Garock''s jaw twitched as he lowered his weapon. He let out a heavy sigh, "My soul and that of mypanions have been imprisoned here for countless years... Each time we are called back to defend our tormentor, more hopeful heroes are doomed to join our ranks."

    "That is very interesting, please tell me more," Tycon asked in a t voice. He had recovered his crossbow. Though he had to forego his shield to wield it, he doubted a Samurai from a Hidden Sect would be familiar with the weapon.

    The orc nodded, his eyes shut, "Savior and friend to the sects... I have... a difficult request to make."

    Tycon pursed his lips to the side, loading his weapon using his reload tool, "Is it to... release your trapped spirit from the grasp of the Dread Wraith?"

    "Wh...what?" The orc Samurai''s eyes widened and his toothy jaw hung agape, "How did you know?"

    It wasn''t difficult.

    Tycon''s expression grew solemn, "All warriors wish to die with honor."

    "Ah," Garock nodded. "It appears some things do not change over the years."

    Tycon smirked, "I don''t suppose you would consider closing your eyes and dying peacefully, without a fight?"

    The Samurai shrugged, "I was nning on allowing my bloodline''s base instincts to take over, attacking you with reckless abandon honed by decades of swordsmanship and martial training."

    Empty night. This fight was not going to be pleasant for him.

    Tycon liked orcs a bit more than he liked elves. Orcish culture promoted honesty, valuing cunning inbat, rather than in wordy.

    "Before we begin," Tycon''s gaze drifted in thought, "I wish to ask you if--"

    Tycon interrupted his speech by firing his crossbow from the hip, not taking the time to aim. If he''d wasted even a second, he''d lose the element of surprise.

    In a fight between Gold-Ranks, he''d take every advantage he could get.

 Chapter 369 Death Wish

    ?Garock thrust out his left to block the fired crossbow bolt with the thickyers of muscle on his forearm.

    "Tss," Tycondrius hissed in frustration, reloading another bolt. The Orcish Samurai had Gold-Rank perception, the reflexes to match, and reacted to the tiny projectile as much as a bear to a splinter.

    It only seemed to anger him.

    Tycon quick-fired a second bolt at the charging orc''s center of mass.

    Garock ducked his head and dodged to the side, but his size worked against him. The blessed bolt lodged deep into the orc''s right shoulder.

    Tycon took sce that if he was going to die here, he''d at least be certain his opponent would be greatly inconvenienced.

    He held up his crossbow to block a sidewards sh from Garock''s heavy sword. It was slower than he expected... perhaps the result of two steel bolts in the orc''s muscture. Tycon threw his broken crossbow away to redirect his opponent''s kic force, granting him the opportunity to counterattack.

    Stepping to Garock''s open right, Tycon drew his short sword. Though he wanted to be nowhere near the raging orc, creating distance would bergely disadvantageous to him due to the Samurai''s reach and his lengthy, ovepensating weapon.

    Tycon shed his sword at the orc''s side... and Garock precisely blocked the de with the base of his own sword''s hilt.

    It was an unorthodox defensive tactic that required a high level of precision, reflexes, and skill. Also, it was very upsetting.

    Tycon dipped his head to barely dodge an Orcish backhand, lunging forward to stab the orc in the chest.

    Garock swung his de up, parrying the thrust... the sheer force of the strike nearly finding Tycon disarmed.

    The orc brought his weapon down with a diagonal sh, which Tycon swayed his body to avoid. He grabbed at the orc''srge wrist with his pitifully small hand and tried to cut a line across the bastard''s eyes.

    Garock lowered his body to slip the strike, then swung his oppressive de with a roaring surge of strength.

    Tycon braced his sword against his chest, the heavy blow taking him off of his feet. Coursing through the air, he smashed painfully into a pile of shattered flowers, rolling along... Thankfully, the sharpened ice fragments did not pierce through his cloak and armor.

    Still, Garock''s de had bled the right side of his chest.

    "Gahaha!!" Garock cackled as he approached, ss flowers crunching below his boots. His eyes glowed red with mana, his bloodthirst quite apparent, "''Ow many years ''as it been since dis body''s felt PAINNNN?!?"

    "I do wish you''d grow tired of bleeding and-- DIE!!" Tycon circted his mana through his body to increase his speed and dashed forward.

    He shed, he redirected his momentum into more shes and stabs, he kicked and elbowed, and he slipped Garock''s slow, heavy swings. The Orcish Samurai expertly blocked, deflected, or counterattacked with fists and knees to nullify Tycon''s sword at every step.

    Finally, Tycon''s emotionally driven barrage of attacks rewarded him with a ?Taste the Demon de? sh across his chest. A subsequent heavy kick to his gut sent him, again, sprawled and skidding along the shattered-flower field... further ruining his borrowed cloak.

    Tycon mmed a gloved hand into the shards in frustration, then kicked his feet and used the momentum to roll to the standing.

    The orc lightly ground the tips of his sharp teeth, "''An ''ere I was... ''oping you''d finally be da one to kill me, Warrior Tycondrius."

    Garock watched with an amused Orcish grin stered on his stupid tusked face.

    Tycon spat to the side.

    Blood.

    Empty night.

    "Oh really?" Tycon smirked to hide his uncertainty, wiping the blood from his mouth, "Do you think this is the best I can do?"

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Do so. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    Tycon had tested his limits and was found wanting. He was outssed in one-on-one martialbat against the Gold-Rank Orcish Samurai.

    The orc raised an eyebrow and re-assumed his defensive stance, "Strong. Resilient. A good opponent."

    ? System, analysis: The material of Garock''s sword. ?

    ? System response: Mundane high-carbon steel. ?

    Tycon immediately formed a reckless n, relying on the fact that his sword was enchanted and Garock''s was not.

    "Tss. A ghost that refuses to die," Tycon scoffed. "Pretending to have honor as he cuts down the innocent."

    Tycon was not the smartest individual when it came to personalbat. His actions were a grave taboo within the adventuringmunity. He was purposely aggravating a 6 and a half fulm tall, 300 ponze Gold-Rank orc.

    It was a thrice-damned death wish.

    The effects were immediate, with the orc roaring to the clouded sky. Blinded by bloodlust, Garock charged forward, crunching the crystalline flowers underfoot and holding his sword back, ready to end Tycon''s reasonably innocent life.

    Tycon held his sword across his body, opposite of how Garock''s sword was positioned.

    If he wasn''t concentrating, he would have soiled himself.

    There.

    Tycon threw the crystalline fragments he''d grabbed at the orc''s face, forcing Garock to slow and shield his eyes. It would have been a great advantage if the Samurai was blinded.

    The orc''s eyes shot open, dripping blood and shining blood red and bright...

    Seven hells.

    It didn''t blind Garock. It only made him more terrifying.

    The Orcish Samurai screamed, mana empowering the speed and strength of his sword sh, "?Taste the DEMON BLAAAAADE!!?"

    Tycon had attacks he could yell, too. He nted his feet and rotated his body, swinging his sword at Garock''s weapon, "?LegionBREAKERRRR!!!!!?"

    The mana-sharpened sword cleaved through the orc''s steel, the upper two-thirds of it flung away into the distance.

    Tycon breathed a sigh of relief. His n had worked.

    Nice.

    Then Garock stabbed the broken de into Tycon''s chest, right underneath the shoulder.

    Gods... DAMN IT!!

    The orc smashed his thick forehead into Tycon''s face then shed again-- which Tycon was barely able to block.

    Tycon counterattacked out of reflex-- a horrid mistake. He found his wrist grasped tightly by Garock''s grey-green hand.

    ...He knew where he was going before he left.

    Garock lowered his body while pulling Tycon close, then flipped him up and over with a shoulder throw.

 Chapter 370 Illusory Worlds

    ?Tycondrius'' back smashed onto the ground, forcing him to expel the air in his lungs and wish he had feigned injury and stayed at camp. Falling back to his survival instincts, he activated his ?Tumble? movement technique to pull his arm away, rolling to his feet to barely avoid a skull-crushing stomp.

    "Cunning..." The orc growled as he flourished what remained of his curved de. "You''d have made a fine Orcish warrior."

    Tycon grabbed onto his dislocated shoulder and painfully jammed it back into ce, "Oh, shut the hells up, you green-skinned battle maniac."

    Garock chuckled as he raised his broken sword once more... "Make peace with your gods, warrior Tycondrius."

    "I''d rather not. I don''t like him much." Tycon shook his head as he circted his mana for another skill, "?Shadowfang Strike.?"

    Tycon disappeared in a cloud of smoke, utilizing his second movement technique. Circling to Garock''s side, he swung his enchanted short sword at the orc''s tree-trunk neck.

    Predictably, the orc reacted as soon as Tycon reappeared, blocking the strike with what was left of his broken de.

    Tycon undimmed his vision and redirected his mana to his eyes, relying on the Samurai''s Gold-Rank perception to be affected in that brief moment.

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? activated: Ocr ability. Target takes damage from an illusory poison, affecting both target''s mind and body. If sessful, target bes distracted and may go into anaphctic shock. ?

    Garock flinched.

    While Tycon highly doubted the skill''s poison alone would defeat the orc, it was enough to bring about his downfall. Tycon charged mana into his sword, changing its form to his segmented de whip. It carried its momentum from its strike, wrapping tightly around the Samurai''s neck.

    Tycon hopped up, cing both his feet against Garock''s chest.

    "DIIIIIIE!!!!" He screamed, straightening his legs while yanking his weaponhilt hard.

    The metal shrapnel of the enchanted whip tore the orc''s throat open and exposed it to the cold air. Tycon smashed onto the ground, rolling backward defensively... just in case the orc survived.

    Garock fell to his knees, clutching at his bleeding neck.

    He... looked defeated.

    "M-medusa bloodline..." He managed, before gargling for air and copsing to the ground.

    Still on a knee, Tycon held his aching head. He had used too many skills in too small a period of time.

    Annoyed, he flicked his wrist to return his weapon to its short sword form. Then, he stabbed the orc through the heart. And again through the neck.

    The satisfaction lessened the pain in his head very slightly.

    "This..." Tycon choked and coughed more blood... "this isn''t even the best I can do."

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Yes... Please. And... thank you. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Activating. You''re wee. ?

    ...

    Tycon stood up from the kneeling, finding himself once more in the field of frozen statues. In particr, he stood in front of a frozen orc who was kneeling down, staring up in hopelessness.

    It seemed that Samurai Garock''s defeat had returned him to the Brazen Guard battlefield.

    "?Legionbreaker?," Tycon beheaded the statue.

    After healing himself, his wounds had closed, but his mana reserves were low and he felt like his head was stuck in a vise. He was not proud of his sloppy victory. He only felt irritated.

    The White Lady floated above the field, continuing to sing her song about how pathetic she was and how she was wronged so many years or epochs ago.

    Nearly half of the Brazen Guard seemed to be under the effect of the Dread Wraith''s illusions, performing noticeably nonsensical actions. A Warrior was swinging her weapons around in a circle, screaming in the old Tyrionnguage. An Archer was firing blindly at their surroundings. A Champion had copsed, curled up in a ball, and was bawling like an abandoned child.

    The remaining survivors had turned into transparent ghosts, some of them with their bellies eviscerated and their guts eaten. Were they all dead? Tycon sighed, ncing in the direction of the war camp. He was strongly considering abandoning the field, withdrawing to camp to eat a meal and go to sleep.

    A familiar corporeal form caught his eye... Tanamar of House Vanzano materialized into flesh, holynce in hand. The young man took two steps forward, breaking a frozen statue by spearing it in the chest. Immediately after, he rushed to a different statue and ced his hand upon it, turning translucent and ghostly once more.

    How difficult. The adventurers that were not susceptible to the Dread Wraith''s illusions seemed to be captured by her Reality Marble. Thankfully, as much as the White Lady above was concentrating, she would prove rtively easy to defeat...

    Tycon had only to find someone capable of shooting down a creature fifteen fulms in the air.

    ...He immediately began searching for one of the Brazen Guards'' Gold-Rankers. Weaponmaster Bannok, Hunter Felinus, Priestess Ariadne... each of them would do a better job of defeating the Dread Wraith than himself.

    "You took EVERYTHING from me!!" A woman shrieked.

    Somewhat bemused, Tycon turned to the charging, screaming Iron-Rank Adept... "I don''t even know who you are."

    The girl thrust her mana charged arms out to her sides, silvery mes sheathing her fists. Though she faced Tycon, her eyes were unfocused, looking at something far in the distance.

    The Adept''s interruption was slightly troublesome, but her exaggerated attack-pose left her open.

    Tycon hopped forward and nted a fist deep into her abdomen, destroying her concentration and causing her spell to fail. Grabbing her by the throat, he mmed her back against the hard, icy ground before standing up and continuing on his way.

    The battlefield was a chaotic mess, offensive spells and skills activated at random. Even so, Tycon remained calm and unbothered. With how steady his heart rate was, it felt like he''d experienced hundreds of battles simr.

    Walking throughout, he carefully dodged errant attacks, either nullifying his attackers or circumnavigating them by keeping his spacing around the frozen statues littered around the area.

    While doing so, he hastily began to identify persons amongst the Brazen Guard that were known to him... If he could disrupt the illusions, victory would soon follow.

 Chapter 371 Just Do It

    ?Many adventurers that Tycon was familiar with were still alive. That was nice. Still, the ones he observed, save for Tanamar, seemed to have their minds caught in their own illusory worlds.

    Athanasius Mors, real name Tanamar, was fine. Immune or resistant to the Dread Wraith''s mind-domination effect, he went about challenging various ice statues, breaking their frozen forms afterward. Tycon hypothesized that in doing so, the Holy Lancer was defeating the Reality Marble guardians to free the trapped members of the Brazen Guard.

    Since the silver-haired footman was busy... Tycon searched the crowd for someone else reasonably able to help him defeat the Dread Wraith.

    He had a useful skill for the situation.

    ? ?Desire Trigger?. Support ability. Targeted ally ispelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target''s ability to resist detrimental effects. ?

    It brought him to a different quandary... who among the Brazen Guard would be most useful for him to use the skill on?

    Tycon had two conditions.

    First, his target needed to be powerful enough that together, they could challenge the White Lady.

    The second condition was the target only needed to be pushed in order to defeat their inner demons. ?Desire Trigger? wasn''t guaranteed to release someone from the White Lady''s illusions, it only increased the recipient''s resistance.

    As a bonus third condition, it would also be best if that person knew and trusted him. Tycon''s other support-type skills, notably ?Commander''s Strike?, had a chance to fail, otherwise.

    Tycon could not find the likes of the Brazen Guard''s Gold-Rankers... Though with their ages and experiences, he had no doubt their inner demons were horrifying to face.

    He saw Karodin cowering behind his shield, apologizing for his mistakes.

    ? Karodin, Iron-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard. Willpower: Low. ?

    The Legionnaire was not ideal.

    The woman from the Snowy Vige adventuringpany, Ptolema, ran past him. She was utilizing a movement technique to boost her speed... running away from her past.

    She skidded to a halt and turned with tearful eyes, "No, mother! I refuse to marry that weakling! I''m going to be an adventurer!"

    ? Ptolema, Iron-Rank Human Duelist. Guild Snowy Vige. Willpower: Low. ?

    ...She was also less than ideal.

    Centurion Zenon was sting a heavy boulder with a violent stream of concentrated wind and debris.

    "Yiff in the depths of the seven hells!!" He screamed, straining his voice in doing so, "DIE, FURRY SCUMMMM!!!"

    ? Zenon Skyreaper, Iron-Rank Human Librarian. Willpower: Medium. ?

    Tycon wanted no part of that... He did find it interesting, though, that as tolerant Zenon was of non-humans, it seemed he was extremely xenophobic towards furred persons.

    He ignored it. Such hatred did not apply to himself.

    Who amongst their number... would be so ridiculously arrogant enough... to triumph against their deepest, darkest fears... and against all reasoning?

    Tycon took in a deep, haggard breath.

    ...A Stormbrand. He needed a Stormbrand.

    Tycon weaved through the battlefield in his search. He took an Archer''s quiver and tossed it aside. He grabbed a heavily-armored Champion by the arm, spun him around, and sent him crashing into a group of his peers. He tripped a Rogue and used it to cut off the string on their wallet.

    The coin would be a smallpensation for Tycon going out of his way to save human lives. Why shouldn''t he take it?

    "Ah hahaha! Hur hur hurr!!" A human with long, unkempt raven-colored hair was roving about with his dark coat unbuttoned.

    Tycon grimaced deeply upon finally encountering one of... them. He faced Cleric am, the Stormbrand healer who only seemed capable of healing himself.

    am continued to chuckle to himself, slowly creeping forward, his hands raised up as if to capture Tycon, "Don''t runnnnn, little girrrrrrl... I''ve got... some candy for you to SUCK on..."

    Tycon had originally thought everyone''s illusions preyed on their fears and insecurities. Whatever dreamscape am was trapped in... he was thriving in it.

    ? am, Iron-Rank Human Cleric. Guild Stormbrand. Willpower: High. ?

    Tycon slowly scanned the battlefield as he took in another deep breath. Was there a better option? There had to be...

    am licked his cracked lips with a long tongue and lunged towards Tycon, "I GOT''CHA NOW!!"

    Surprised and very much unwilling to be embraced by the filthy human, Tycon drew his sword,slicing horizontally at am''s neck... which the Cleric blocked by lifting his forearms up to guard.

    Tycon frowned, checking his sword for damage. It felt like he had struck a rock. Though the fabric of am''s sleeves were cut, his attack only managed superficial red marks on the Cleric''s revealed skin.

    He slightly regretted not using a skill when he attacked the degenerate.

    "Ooooh... Feisty...." am stuck his two fingers in a V over his lips as his too-long tongue explored the space between his fingers, "Yesssss.... I love it when you screammmm..."

    Tycon''s fatigue was quickly reced with a sense of urgency. He activated his ?Legionbreaker? skill... but changed the shape of the mana from a razor-edge to... broad and t. The mana would ensure the integrity of his sword as he pped some sense into the debaucherous wastrel.

    ...But the skill changed so much that Legionbreaker was no longer urate.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon swung the t of his de at the side of am''s head, "?Cleric-smacker?." The Cleric''s head whipped to the side, the speed and force enough to break the neck of a lower-ranked human.

    That he still lived proved the bastard''s incredible resilience.

    am stumbled, dazed but not falling. He squinted his eyes, peering all around him, "Eh? Where''d you go? Are you HIDING from me, little GIRL?!?"

    Tycon sighed, "?Desire Trigger?."

    ? Activating... ?

    rity returned to the Cleric''s eyes as he stood up and rubbed his neck, "Oh, green-hair guy! Hey, you didn''t happen to see a--"

    "Not the time, Mister am," Tycon red.

    am calmly observed his surroundings, the sobs and screaming, the bleeding and broken, all with the Dread Wraith overhead, singing her mournful song, "Huh. Looks like everything''s gone to shite. Hurr hurr."

    "Before we salvage the situation..." Tycon sighed, "--I''d very much like if you could adjust yourself."

    "Why?" am opened up his coatpletely, baring the thin tufts of hair on his chest, "Does THIS bother you?"

    The Cleric then began to flex his defined pectoral muscles, alternating between the left and right, "Bam. Bam."

    Tycon cradled his face in his off-hand palm, "Ugh, nevermind."

    am ced his hand on his chin, leering up at what was underneath the White Lady''s dress, "Alright, listen up."

    Tycon''s brows furrowed into deeply-set confusion, "I''m sorry?"

    "I need you... to go like this," am squatted down, grabbing his biceps and oveying his forearms, "Then, I''m gonna run at you."

    "...And that will do what, exactly?"

    am grinned, revealing crooked, somewhat pointed teeth, "When I step onto your locked arms, I need you to fling me up towards the ghost b*tch."

    Tycon averted his gaze in thought, "To rify... You want me... to boost you... in leaping to your certain death at the Dread Wraith above?"

    "Uh huh," am nodded.

    "The Adamantine-Rank Dread Wraith."

    "Uh huh."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin slits, "I''m not going to do that."

    "Just do it!" am yelled, grinning madly. "Coward!!"

    "Fine!!" Tycon shouted, "Come at me, then!!"

    Tycon''s eyes widened as he realized that he responded emotionally as opposed to logically... But as he had already agreed, he would not go back on his word.

    am created some distance by performing an acrobatic backflip,nding on a palm, then back on his feet. Then he cracked his gloved knuckles and stretched his neck to either side.

    ...He made no motion to reach for the ridiculous warscythe strapped to his back.

    Tycon took a deep breath as he lowered his body and locked his arms together, "Mister am, are you not going to use your weapon?"

    The Cleric charged forward like a bull, heedless of Tycon''s advice.

    Tycon did not like this man.

    am jumped up, cing a spiked boot onto Tycon''s forearms...

    This bastard... Tycon angrily flung the human upward with the mana-empowered force that his Gold-Rank physique allowed him.

    The Cleric sailed majestically through the air towards the White Lady. He cocked his right arm back, pointing forward with his left hand in an offensive gesture.

    "ONE!! PUNCH!!! IS ALL I NEEEEEED!!!!!!!"

    The Cleric''s unforgiving fist crashed into the White Lady''s ghostly face.

    Oh. That''s right. The Stormbrand Cleric had no issue touching ghosts as if they were corporeal. The fool''s n had more reasoning behind it than he had originally understood.

    He still did not like the fellow.

    The ghost''s levitation spell immediately failed, seeing the two of them plummeting to the ground. With her song interrupted, the translucent members of the Brazen Guard began to materialize, shaking their heads anding to their senses.

    "Ah... my back hurts..." am stood up and literally patted himself on the back, "?Healing Touch?."

    He turned around to face Tycon, breathing a sigh of relief, "Ahhh... It''s so hard to always be the one carrying the team."

 Chapter 372 Close To Death

    ?Cleric am had sessfully disrupted the White Lady''s song. He immediately celebrated by removing his dark coat, flexing his muscles, and screaming obscenities.

    At whom the half-naked fellow was yelling to, Tycondrius had no idea.

    A short distance away, the Dread Wraith had recovered from her fall. She had ced her ghostly hands together, condensing ck and purple mana into what appeared to be a Third-Circle destruction spell. Mister am was about to be obliterated by a soul-rending sphere thrice his size.

    Of course, Tycon was far enough from the spell''s path and its subsequent danger. Though he wasn''t willing to kill the Cleric, he had no qualms in *not* saving him.

    "Eternal me!! ?Protect! The! FAITHFUL!!!!?" Gold-Rank Weaponmaster Bannok dashed in front of am, bracing his shield. A thick veil of silvery mana formed in front of the two.

    "?Divine Bulwark!!!?" Gold-Rank Priestess Ariadne''s voice rang out like a crystalline bell, golden mana reinforcing Bannok''s defensive skill.

    The White Lady''s violent spell collided with the barrier, causing fantastical shes of silver and gold, bouts of murky ck darkness, and a thunderous cacophony.

    As the dust and debris began to clear, Gold-Rank Hunter Felinus fired a barrage of blessed arrows at the Dungeon Boss, "Brazen Guard!!!! Cleanse this abomination from ournds!! The bnce must be RESTORED!!!"

    Tycon pursed his lips and sighed again, deeply.

    He had underestimated the three leaders of the Brazen Guard. Freed from the control of whatever effect they were stuck in, they immediately closed in on the vulnerable Dread Wraith... saving am from absolute annihtion.

    Tycon quietly turned back towards the rest of the battlefield to make sense of the chaos. All of the translucent members of the Brazen Guard had re-materialized and were either actively fighting the Dungeon Boss or had be corpses. Likely, those were the ones caught in the White Lady''s Reality Marble.

    Several others were still caught in their illusory worlds, marked by their unfocused actions. Tycon figured he''d relieve some stress by protecting those persons from themselves... perhaps breaking a few bones in the process.

    ...

    "Stay away from me..." Zenon begged, his face marred by snot and tears. "How could the Eternal me suffer people like you to live..."

    Tycon was somewhat taken aback by the rapid shift in Zenon''s dreaming. Earlier, he was being rather violent. That was far preferable to the miserable state he had fallen to.

    Zenon thrashed around with his tri-ded ws, trying to fend off whatever assailed him. Tycon dodged to the side, out of the way of a clumsy cut. The follow-through crackled with lightning mana as Zenon cleaved into one of the frozen statues.

    With his opponent off bnce, Tycon kicked out with a t heel to strike the tall gentleman''s thigh, bringing his generally high elevation down to ground-level. He then swiftly and decisively mounted his back and... de-wed him, unstrapping his forearm weapons and tossing them aside.

    When Tycon stood up again, Zenon sat up. cing his head between his knees, the grown man began to sob quietly, "Eternal me... why... do bad things happen to good people?"

    Tycon grimaced. Even though his friend could not hear him as he was, he pat him on the back, "It is by mortal hands that our world is forged, Brother-Zenon, and by mortal hands that can achieve your vengeance."

    If a friend of his sought revenge, there would be little reason not to pursue it. Loyalty and friendship were worth such a price-- depending on the person. Of course, Centurion Zenon would need the confidence tomunicate whatever issues he was having.

    Tycon would be waiting.

    Zenon continued to rock himself quietly. That was fine. He would be safe in his small corner of the battlefield.

    The sound of metal scraping along the ice steadily drew towards the two. Tycon stepped away, keeping between the Librarian and his newest opponent.

    A human grinned as blood dripped down his face and stained his silvery hair... He was dragging his gore-covered greataxe along the ground, marking the frosty dirt with a trail of blood, "You will address me... as Orcus... god of battle."

    ? Tancred Mors, Iron-Rank Human Reaver. Guild Stormbrand. ?

    A short distance beyond him was an adventurer lying in a quickly growing pool of blood, convulsing as they bled to death. Tycon expected no less from a Stormbrand, to be able to disadvantage their mission to such an extent.

    The Reaver hefted his heavy greataxe upon his shoulder, his eyes raging red with either Iron-Rank mana or a severe bacterial infection.

    Tycon had feared this moment... but not for himself. He was worried that he''d take the opportunity to murder Tanamar''s twin brother and Athena''s... friend?

    Associate? The two had known each other since childhood. What was their rtionship?<novelnext></novelnext>

    "?Charging Bull?," Tancred used a movement technique to close the distance, attempting to check Tycon with his shoulder.

    Toote to dodge, Tycon nted his feet and threw out a grounded left straight. He felt the satisfying sensation of kic energy transfer from the rotation of his hips, to the end of his fist, and into the right side of Tancred''s face.

    Rtively undeterred, save for a bloody split near his eye, Tancred swung his greataxe, "?Ravager''s Strike?."

    The disparity between Stormbrands was huge. Tancred and am were as resilient as pests. In the previous fights, others of their numbers were ughtered like pigs.

    Tycon had expended much of his stamina in his fight with Garock, but his Gold-Rank perception and physique was still more than enough to handle an unthinking Iron-Rank beast. He drew his short sword and deflected the attack''s force away, then redirected his weapon,cerating the Stormbrand''s inner forearm.

    Predictably, Tancred lost hold of his weapon... but Tycon had failed to ount for a chain that secured the handle of his oversized hunk of metal to his wrist.

    "I did this for you... Athena..." Tancred regained hold of his greataxe, heaving it up for another strike, "Why. won''t. you. worship me?"

    Tancred gnashed his teeth, the disgusting sound grating at Tycon''s patience, "I. am. a. GOD!!!! ?Unbridled!!!! WRATH!!!?"

    The Reaver swung his greataxe down-- a painfully telegraphed strike.

    Tycon bobbed low and stepped to the side, easily avoiding it, "?Legionbreaker.?"

    With a quick swipe, Tycon cut the weapon chain. Then, he quickly jabbed Tancred with his sword through his thick bicep, before grabbing the haft of the greataxe and tossing it away.

    "GRAHRRR!!" Tancred threw a backfist, screaming like a petnt child with his favorite toy stolen away. Though Tycon had nothing to fear from such a weak attack, he danced away from it. He would not give even the mind-dominated fool the satisfaction of striking him.

    Devoid of reason, Tancred Mors continued to give chase, punching and wing. Tycon conserved his energy, dodging the human''s frantic swings.

    They were fast. They were powerful. However, as Tancred Mors continued to attack without a n, the Reaver''s fatigue quickly began to mount.

    Tycon''s one-on-onebat situation gave him no sense of urgency. There were so many ways to win... or rather, to not lose.

    Tancred was slightly faster and moderately stronger, having the advantage of being a Martial ss... and the fortune of not-having to fight a Gold-Rank Samurai.

    However, Tycon had a keenly superior sense of perception. He could predict Tancred''s attacks with ease... not that the fellow did not try. The Reaver''s tempo and attack patterns had great variety, but there were only so many variations of ''I will run at you and put my hands upon you.''

    A few minutes in, the effectiveness of Tycon''s tactic became apparent. Constantly evading attacks with efficient movement and breathing control kept his stamina reserves high. Conversely, Tancred''s breath grew ragged and his movements slowed as his fatigue mounted.

    Tycon remained patient. All he had to do was remain cognizant of the threat his opponent posed and not fall for their tricks.

    If he took an errant attack and became injured, he''d withdraw. He had the speed and agility for it. Perhaps he''d enlist the help of another adventurer... or attack with the advantage of stealth or an armor-piercing crossbow.

    He could also use one of his trump cards. His ?Vexing Gaze? ability came to mind. If Tancred choked to death on his own blood, the murder would be difficult to trace back to him.

    Or perhaps Tycon would convince someone else to kill him? Tycon wasn''t so arrogant that he needed to defeat each of his opponents in singlebat. Missionpletion was always more important than a one-on-one duel.

    The thought of it didn''t even threaten his pride.

    Tancred was a piece of shite, unfit to lead. Tycon did not need to kill him... or even prove himself by besting him. Between them, Tycon was the better human.

    ...But then again... why shouldn''t he kill him?

    Tancred was of no use to him. If either or both Tanamar and Athena had an issue with it, he could im it was more advantageous for him to have offed Tancred than not. They would move on. There were more pressing issues House Vanzano faced.

    Tycon flicked his wrist, segmenting his sword into its whip-form. He needed to inflict severe mortal injury to Tancred, with no hope of survival, even with Priestess Ariadne''s healing in mind.

    And for added personal benefit, Tycon would ensure it was as painful as possible.

 Chapter 373 Spoils Of War

    ?The low thrum of a battle horn resounded through the battlefield. The sound of sword and steel grew silent... and was soon reced by celebratory cheers of victory.

    Tycondrius looked over his shoulder. Guild leader Bannok had climbed atop arge boulder in the distance, where he raised his axe in a victory pose.

    "The White Lady had been defeated!! The honors go to the Brazen Guard collective!!!"

    The adventurers still caught in illusions slowly began to regain themselves. Even Tancred, sopping wet with the blood and gore of his allies, stopped his iling about, staring nkly with his eyes unfocused.

    Tycon clicked his tongue as he turned to walk away.

    Though the battle had been won, an inkling of regret remained in his heart. He prayed that the decision he made this sun would not haunt him in the future.

    ...

    The Brazen Guard''s elite forces suffered six deaths, total. All of the other casualties were able to be saved, as Priestess Ariadne''s magical healing ability was nigh miraculous.

    Tycon recognized several of the bodies. He had witnessed them in various states of being devoured by cannibalistic wendigos.

    He wondered if he could have done more to save them. Tanamar had sought out and defeated the frozen statue guardians as well as he could.

    Tycon did not do that, nor did he wish to. He had his fill of singrbat, fighting a Gold-Rank battle maniac.

    The Brazen Guard guild leader, Bannok of Kasydon, gathered the various group leaders together to divide the battle''s spoils.

    For their merit, Bannok granted the highest priority to Tycon and Tanamar-- with the rest of the Stormbrands to choose afterward. While this disyed clear favoritism, none of the other adventuringpanies gave great objection.

    If Tycon was guaranteed reward for throwing garbage-humans to their certain deaths, he would do so more often.

    Numerous adventuringpanies had fallen to the White Lady over the years. Enchanted weaponry, armor, trinkets-- there was plenty to choose from. Granted, Bannok was particr about adventurers only choosing items based on their ss.

    Tycon spent some time analyzing the various gearid about.

    His first priority was to find a spatial storage item... which was notoriously absent from the loot pile... It was so troublesome to carry heavy gear around on his back instead of an easy-to-transport magical bag.

    His second goal was to find an enchanted set of armor... or failing that, a weapon that was either more versatile or more powerful than his de-whip. He found nothing substantially superior in those categories.

    Ultimately, he chose an item his System identified as having a hidden feature.

    ? Sturdy Scabbard. Elementary Transmutation. Warning: This item contains a Gold-Rank sentience. ?

    The scabbard was for a two-handed, curved de, peculiar in that it was reinforced with adamantine, one of the most durable metals in the Realm. The craftsmanship was superb.

    It made sense. Only a master smith would be capable of working with the magical material.

    While he did not prefer such arge weapon... the enchanted scabbard resonated with him. The etchings upon its non-metal parts were Orcish in nature, granting Tycon the strong suspicion that it once belonged to Samurai Garock.

    That it still held sentience... or a Weapon Spirit, as the Hidden Sects called it, was something Tycon wished to investigate.

    Upon choosing his reward, Tycon was mentally prepared to be contested. A lengthy sword scabbard was not particrly beneficial to the Tactician ss and iming an item that belonged to an orc was certain to be met with suspicion.<novelnext></novelnext>

    However, it seemed the members of the Brazen Guard collective were relieved that Tycon hadn''t taken anything of actual value. It was likely that only him and perhaps Tanamar could sense that the scabbard''s sentience had more worth than a Second or Third-Circle item.

    ...that and none of the Tyrion humans had recognized its markings.

    Tanamar chose an ostentatious Second-Circle war-spear... of which the Stormbrands hailed and congratted him for.

    Tycon knew better. Tanamar''s mana-created holynce performed as well as, or better than his chosen item. Clearly, he was nning on selling it. The small fortune he would gain would tide House Vanzano''s coffers for another moon or two.

    Tancred Mors picked up a crimson belt that would look very handsome, worn on its own. However, adding that to his already colorful set of armor tempted Tycon to gouge out his eyes.

    Cleric am chose an enchanted set of armguards once belonging to a Martialist. Notably, he ignored a few choice pieces of gear that would increase his mana reserves or empower his healing ability.

    Tycon ignored the fellow''s inefficiency as well as he could.

    Zenon chose a unique pair of trousers that slightly increased his affinity for protective spells. While it slightly increased the efficacy of his ?Wind Barrier?... it didn''t do much else for him. Tycon did not stop him, as he didn''t identify anything substantially better that could be worn in tandem with his Centurion armor.

    "Hah! HAHA!! The Lighthouse!! Hahaha!! What''re you gonna do with that, sell it?!" A Stormbrand Champion openly mocked him.

    "Hurr hurr hurr," am chuckled. "Peasants do as they please-- he probably just picked it because he liked the way it looked."

    Cleric am made a point to sneer at Tycon, afterward.

    Tycon was again taken aback by the cluelessness and hypocrisy disyed by the group he associated with.

    Athena was amongst thest of the Stormbrands to choose. Tycon''s heart tightened as he watched her pick up a set of enchanted heavy-steel armor, far toorge for her to ever hope to don herself.

    "It''s... it''s a lot of material. It''ll... it''ll cost a lot," Her bottom lip quivered terribly as she averted her eyes away from Tancred and am. The pain in her voice was apparent.

    am crossed his arms and grinned, "It''s a cool set of armor, Athena."

    "It''s a good choice," Tancred nodded.

    Though the various Stormbrands were directly supportive of the youngdy, they could not take back the carelessness of their earlier words.

    Athena Vanzano could not smile about her family''s situation. But though she faced hardships, she continued to do her duty, seeking every advantage to grant to her family.

    As miserable as she must have been feeling... she refused to cry.

    Athena was a good girl.

    Tanamar stood by her side, silently wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The young man was likely the only consistent rtionship that Athena could truly rely on.

    Both Tanamar and Athena deserved better.

    That was what Tycon was fighting for.

 Chapter 374 Waterfall Cave

    ?The Brazen Guard had enough supplies to remain another four suns, leaving two suns for convalescence and another two for exploration. With the major threats in the Icingdeath Dungeon dealt with, the various adventurer groups could explore the various parts of the mist-covered valley forest, murdering the dungeon denizens and looting as they pleased.

    Bannok''s group would be searching for the Dungeon Core, of course. As they had three Gold-Ranks amongst them, they would reasonably encounter little resistance. If they did, they''d call for a full withdrawal, reporting back to the Tyrion Adventurer Guild, where another quest would be opened.

    Tanamar sought to venture into a cavern system he had discovered near theke waterfall. To that end, he gathered a few volunteers from the Brazen Guard collective along with all the Stormbrands who could still fight.

    Athena was very insistent upon apanying them, leveraging the fact that she hadn''t been allowed to participate in the encounter against the White Lady.

    Centurion Zenon absolutely did not want to support the Stormbrands.

    Tycon just wanted to go home.

    Still, his conscience bade him to apany the youngdy to ensure her rtive safety. He and Zenon would keep the back lines, only intervening if necessary.

    "Hey! Tanamar! Tanamaaaar!!"

    A certain armored human was thest adventurer their group was waiting for. The clumsy fellow had somehow dented his shield in the previous battle, making him seem far more pathetic than he actually was.

    ? Karodin, Iron-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    "Tch, Karodin of Ember-shite," Cleric am red. "What in the seven hells do you think you''re doing here?"

    "am, chill." Tanamar rolled his eyes, "I invited him. You know we''recking in defensive sses."

    "Pfff. Well, alright." am swept back his raven-ck hair, "As long as he doesn''t get our guys killed like that Lighthouse guy."

    Centurion Zenon crinkled his mustache at the insult, both of his fists clenched in annoyance. Tycon tapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head.

    "Th-thanks for agreeing to bring me along, Tanamar," Karodin confided.

    "Don''t worry about it, man." Tanamar smiled, "Just don''t let what these guys say get to you."

    "Ehehe..." Karodin scratched at his dark-blue hair. It seemed he had yet to rece his helmet, "I just hope I don''t make any mistakes."

    Empty night. The man was an Iron-Rank Legionnaire-- and an armored ss that the Stormbrands could sorely use. He could use a bit more confidence.

    Tycon and Zenon nked Athena as they entered the cave system.

    ...

    The first sign of trouble was when Tycon''s System alerted him of a noxious Elementary poison spread throughout the caverns. While rtively harmless to the Bronze-Ranks and above, it was usible for it to affect anyone who became grievously injured.

    Tanamar didn''t seem to notice it. If he did, he made no mention of it. Tycon was particrly sensitive to the existence of poisons... but as the other transmigrator showed no concern, neither did he.

    The second sign of trouble came when Athena''s teeth began to chatter. She wore Tycon''s open-sleeved Decanus armor, and absentmindedly shivered, rubbing her bare arms.

    Two suspicious factors should have been enough for Tycon to elect to abandon the mission. Athena had an artificial Yin Body, which made her all but immune to the cold. As the temperature hadn''t drastically decreased in their surroundings, there must have been a different, not-yet-apparent exnation.

    Within a half-bell, the cave''s denizens revealed themselves to defend their territory.

    Low-rank frost demons. Mostly Bronze, a few Iron. They were either summoned by the Icingdeath Dungeon Core or they had managed to escape from the hells whence they came through an insignificant hole, deeper in.

    It was their unnatural cold auras that managed to affect Athena-- though she still resisted their effects greatly.

    Tancred and am led the battle. Tanamar supported them with ranged attacks. Zenon ensured Athena''s safety... and the youngdy slew her first demon.

    Good for her.

    The Stormbrands elected torgely ignore Karodin, even more so than when under the scrutiny of the rest of the Brazen Guard collective.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Even with the Legionnaire''s recent breakthrough, the young man took a deep-cutting w injury fighting three Frost Demons at once. And of course, once injured, he copsed in a near-paralyzed state, affected by the subtle poison in the air.

    Karodin was going to die.

    ...But then Tycon realized he could possibly use the Legionnaire''s dying-state to his advantage.

    Immediately after the frost demons were defeated, Tycon hefted the immobile Karodin of Emberhold onto his shoulder.

    "Uh, Brother-Tycon," Zenon grimaced. "Our training dictates that the injured shouldn''t be moved so easily."

    "Oh, this?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "He''s fine."

    "The pain....." Karodin groaned.

    "Sir Tycon..." Athena pursed her lips. "Mister Karodin doesn''t sound fine. He''s... he''s bleeding all over your cloak."

    "Thank you for your concern, youngdy, but don''t worry," Tycon smiled politely. "It''s not mine."

    Athena ced her hands on her hips, "Well, that''s not very funny, Sir Tycon! Mister Karodin''s really hurt!"

    Tycon shook his head, "Nonsense, youngdy. But still, let us escort him to the infirmary tents to ensure that he lives. This is not the best he can do, after all."

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    Readjusting the human on his shoulder, Tycon turned and started towards the cavern entrance. Zenon followed without argument, surely d to leave the Stormbrands behind.

    After a short conversation between Tancred and Tanamar... it was decided that Team Athena would travel back to the Brazen Guard camp. The Stormbrands and remaining others would continue onward.

    Athena hurried after Tycon reluctantly, along with Tanamar and Victorius.

    Tycon breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that his forceful attitude had its intended effect. As much as Athena wanted to venture deeper into the caverns, the youngdy would prioritize a team escort mission when a life was theoretically at stake.

    ? Please activate the skill now, thank you. ?

    ? Activating. You''re wee. ?

    "S-sir Tycon... I think... I''m feeling... a little better," Karodin wheezed.

    As Tycon had advanced to Gold-Rank, his healing ability had increased in efficacy.

    For his situation, a fully-healed Karodin just wouldn''t do.

    "Miss Athena, did you say something?" Tycon spun around, facing the young Athena with an incredulous expression. Simultaneously, he bashed Karodin''s Iron-Rank head against the cavern wall.

    He''d live.

    He may have received a traumatic brain injury, but he''d live.

    "N-no, Sir Tycon?" Athena frowned. "But... I think you just hit Mister Karodin''s--"

    "He''s fine," Tycon insisted. "I''m going to increase my pace. Are the four of you prepared for a short run?"

    "C-can... we not?" The dazed Karodin softly pleaded.

    "No objections? Excellent. Don''tg far behind."

 Chapter 375 Golden Fortress

    ?? Frost Demon cave, several bellster. ?

    The sleepy Archer knelt down, pricking one of the fallen Brazen Guard members with his hunting knife, "This one''s dead too."

    "We called for a retreat. Look at us! We''re just fine! Har hurr hurr hurrr," Cleric am chuckled before he spat on the cold cavernous ground... "Pathetic."

    "It looks like only our guys survived..." The Stormbrand Archer yawned, casually kicking the side of a different body, "Oh, this one moved just now. She can still be saved."

    am swept his hands through his hair, "?Healing Touch?... What was that?"

    "Nevermind," The Archer shrugged. "Should we go back and get more guys? There''s no way we''re killing that demon on our own."

    "No need!" Tancred called out, "I''m pretty sure I found the artifact."

    The Stormbrand Reaver returned to the field of ughtered adventurers. A new two-handed greataxe rested on his right shoulder, its haft a ridged, skeletal spine. The heavy, dark-metal dual-des of the axe-head sprouted from a metallic snake skull, its eye sockets emitting a rust-colored smoke.

    "Ohooohhhhh!!" am stared in awe, "The Snake Spine Rod! Haha harr!! So those cultist bastards were right."

    "Tsk," The Archer clicked his tongue, "An axe, huh? I expected a staff or maybe a bow."

    Tancred draped the weapon over his shoulders, "It''s a weapon suitable for Orcus, god of battle."

    ...

    ? Several suns afterward. ?

    Having recovered proof of the White Lady''s defeat, the Brazen Guard was set to turn in their quest to the Tyrion Adventurer''s Guild. Each group in the collective received vouchers for their pay.

    The creation of the Banking Guild was one of the most wonderful inventions in the past thousand years.

    The Brazen Guard would then rotate back to Kasydon, the Stormbrands as part of their collective.

    Though Tycon had grown fond of Bannok and the other Gold-Ranks, he was more thankful to be farther away from Tancred and his goons. He was even happier to descend the Icingdeath Mountains, eventually returning to the rtive warmth of the coastal city of Silva...

    The suns of harsh training resumed without incident, until...

    "S-sir Tycon!!!!" Victorius burst into Tycon''s kitchen, his breath ragged from the rush. "There''s some people here to see you!"

    "Oh?" Tycon raised an eyebrow. He had just ced a heap of bread dough into the oven, "Thank you for... letting me know."

    "Sir Tycon!!" Victorius shouted.

    Tycon shut his eyes and breathed in deeply. Whatever the issue was, he doubted it was worth him abandoning his current mission. Baking was a process not to be taken lightly, "Yes, Mister Victorius?"

    "Th-they say they''re from Sol Invictus!!"

    Oh... Was that what this was about?

    Athena climbed into the kitchen through the outside window. Her frost-blue hair was in disarray, matted to her forehead from perspiration, "Wait wait wait-wait-wait!!! Sol Invictus hase to visit? The legendary arena guild?"

    "Yes," Tycon forced a polite smile, "My guild... and Miss Athena, please use the door like a proper human."

    The youngdy''s eyes shot open as wide as they could go, "Hold on!! S-s-s-sir Tycon?!? You''re a part of Sol Invictus? Th-the only guild that beat my brother''s arena team, Sol Invictus?!"

    Tycon gingerly removed his oven mitts. He didn''t understand what the sudden panic was about, "Yes... I believe I told you I worked with your brother, Maximus. While he was adventuring in the Kingdom, he sought me out and I signed him on."

    "Wait!! Hold on!! WAIT!! You''re the LEADER of Sol Invictus??????" Athena''s excitement somehow immediately transformed into frustration, "Why didn''t you TELL me, Sir Tycon?!?"

    Tycon frowned... "I... I just did?"

    "Why didn''t you tell me EARLIER?!?" She yelled, before pouting.

    Tycon sighed, shaking his head. He sensed that this was not an argument he would win, "Invite them in. I''ll introduce you... and we can have fresh bread and that apple butter you like."<novelnext></novelnext>

    With the promise of bread and sweet butter, the youngdy''s anger was quickly appeased.

    ...

    "Oya oya?" A woman reclined on the cheap seating in the Vanzano receiving room, "Is this the Athena Vanzano that I''ve heard so much about?"

    Tycon briefly checked his System''s information on the woman.

    ? Sorina Capulet, Bronze-Rank Human Calctor. ?

    Sorina''s appearance had changed somewhat since he''dst seen her.

    Her skin had tanned from training in the sun and her light-brown hair had grown longer, styled into a side-ponytail that was curled to resemble a drill. She wore a sleeveless white tunic, a royal blue skirt the color of the Kingdom''s g, and knee-high traveling boots. She wore an expensive-looking, thin golden chain upon her neck and golden bangles were sped onto her upper arms, befitting of her status as a wealthy merchant.

    Most interestingly, an enchanted cube the size of a fist rotated around her forehead. Tycon''s System identified it as a multi-functional spell focus. Judging by that and the fact that she had lost a healthy amount of weight and her revealed arms had some tone and definition, she had been trained well.

    "Good afternoon, Miss Capulet," Tycon lightly inclined his head. "It''s been a while, has it not?"

    "Yo," Sorina grinned. "Nice to see you, Boss."

    Athena stood, gawking at the Calctor, "By the me... she''s-- you''re so pretty!!"

    "Good afternoon, young mistress. I am Sorina Capulet, fufu fuu~" The woman chuckled, "A pleasure to meet you, girl."

    Victorius hid his crooked hand behind his back and bowed deeply, "And it''s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, mdy. My name is Victorius."

    "Sorry, Vic," Sorina winked coquettishly, "I hate men. They should all die."

    "You seem to have grown stronger," Tycon nodded.

    "Oh, for sure, Boss," Sorina''s grin widened. "I''m a peak First-Circle mage, after all."

    Tycon smirked in amusement, "Show me."

    Sorina stood up from the couch, then thrust both of her hands outward, "Maverick One!! Engage!!"

    Tycon crossed his arms, patiently waiting. Who was she talking to? Her magical cube?

    After a short start-up time, the small box that floated around Sorina''s head emitted a soft yellow glow. In a sh of light, thick brass metal armor covered Sorina from head to toe. It looked incredibly heavy and cumbersome, even thicker than Zenon''s Centurion armor, and nigh impossible for someone like the lithe Calctor to be effective in.

    It appeared that Sorina''s arms, her fists covered with thick gauntlets, were the only body parts she was capable of moving.

    ...if any.

    "Behold!!" Sorina''s voice echoed from somewhere within her clunky cage, "I am the walking GOLDEN (brass) Fortress!!"

    Tycon pursed his lips., "Walking, you say?"

    The hunk of metal shifted slightly... "Behold!! I am the not-walking GOLDEN (brass) Fortress!!"

    "So... cool..." Athena''s eyes shone.

    Tycon shook his head,menting that he had set his expectations too high for a member of his guild. He was hoping for a disy of her magic, not a fantastical change of dress, "How... much did that cost?"

    "Four lifetime contracts of cksmiths under indentured servitude," Sorina''s voice echoed. "Oh, and death doesn''t null the paperwork."

    "...Very well."

    With Sorina Capulet on the task, House Vanzano''s had the best financial advisor they could possibly hope for.

    She had a Business Degree, after all.

 Chapter 376 Crush

    ?With Sorina Capulet and Athena Vanzano conversing about... mage things... or womanly things... Tycon sought to greet two more Sol Invictus members, Corporal Horse and Private Jeremy.

    The Vanzano stables were sorely in need of repair. Tycon would see to it that the two noble and loyal steeds would have ess to some of the servants'' mattresses by evening, as well as proper food and fresh water.

    "You look well, Horse," Tycon patted hispanion reassuringly on the neck. Horse was a strong and handsome chestnut-brown stallion and one of Sol Invictus'' senior members.

    "(Snake!! Yes. We are well,)" Horse whinnied. "(I was wondering, though... Do you know where a fellow can get some cocaine? Asking for a friend.)"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "You might need to dissuade your ''friend'' from such habits... And you, Mister Jeremy, have you had any difficulties?"

    The cream-colored stallion nervously nced to his left and right, "(Oh, me? S-sorry, Boss. I''m still unused to two-legged persons talking to me.)"

    "(T-tell him that you need the good stuff,)" Horse urged. "(--and that you need it realllll bad!)"

    Tycon felt the corner of his mouth twitch, "It''s fine, Mister Jeremy. Give me a report, concerning your travels."

    The two horses turned their head to gaze at a woman standing near the stable entrance.

    Tycon followed their gaze... and approached her cautiously.

    The woman of the Kingdom wore a white blouse with dark horizontal stripes and a conservative ck skirt, her fiery red hair topped by a ck beret. She appeared to be wearing dark eyeliner and other makeup... though the scent of it was mysteriously absent.

    "Miss Seldin Korr... I almost didn''t recognize you," Tycon chuckled to himself.

    Korr was a former adventurer and one of the most powerful mercenaries he had encountered in the Kingdom. She was also the fourth and final member of Sol Invictus'' reinforcements that had arrived with Sorina Capulet.

    "Leader..." Korr whispered, her cheeks reddened. "H... hi."

    Curiously, the long scar that covered half of her face had vanished. Her blind eye was open, with a matching iris to match her opposite. Tycon utilized his System to identify the cause. The youngdy was hiding her physical imperfections with Elementary-Rank mour magic.

    That wouldn''t do.

    "I would prefer if you didn''t use such mours." He tapped a finger upon the young woman''s cheek, easily dispelling the low-rank spell, "You are beautiful as you are, Korr."

    A sudden chill ran down Tycon''s spine while conversely, the immediate area around Korr began to rise in temperature. What was going on? Was she going to attack him?

    Korr stared at him with wide eyes... her cheeks flushing to a deep crimson. She wanted something... but what?

    Did she want to fight? Tycon shifted his body weight, gaining some constion that he felt his short sword on his back. He was stronger now. He wasn''t afraid of her.

    ? Seldin Korr, Gold-Rank Human Raging me Knight. ?

    Abort mission! He was not stronger than her! He was very afraid of her!

    The woman violently thrust her arms out to the side. Was she going to charge an attack? A soul-rending sphere of obliteration? A ?Hyper Beam??

    No, that was ridiculous.

    Based on her ss, it was probably a fire-based attack.

    "H... hug..." Korr threatened in a quiet voice.

    Was she going to crush him to death?!

    She was blocking the doorway! Unable to escape, Tycon''s brain operated at its maximum calcting speed.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Was she upset that he dispelled her mour? Did she need a raise in pay? Was he supposed to have purchased a gift? He hadn''t... and that blunder was about to cost him his life.

    No... there was a chance. There had to be something he could use to appease her rage.

    Was she... hungry? Women became violent when they were hungry. It was one of the few things Tycon knew about the capricious creatures.

    "K-korr..." Though Tycon''s heart trembled in fear, he forced himself to smile, "H-how about we get something... to eat?"

    "L-leader and me?" Korr gasped. She dropped her eyes to her feet and fidgeted with her hands. "Just... the two of us?"

    "...Yes?"

    The temperature continued to rise, causing some of the hay on the stable floor to smolder and ignite. Had he miscalcted? The notion was inconceivable! The promise of food assuaged all forms of aggression!

    "Hey, you guys talkin'' about food?" Centurion Zenon popped his elevated head into the stables. "Ooh, it''s warm in here."

    Tycon was saved! "Yes! Yes, Centurion! Absolutely."

    He turned to Korr...

    The woman was gone... while unobserved, she had retreated to beside Horse and Jeremy, leaving a bit of smoking hay where she stood. Tycon casually snuffed out the me with his boot.

    Sorina popped her head in, just below Zenon''s, "You guys goin'' out to eat? I''ve always wanted to try authentic Tyrion cuisine."

    "Oh, yeah?" Zenon smiled, "I''ve got this great ce for just that! It''s only a few streets down from here."

    Tycon smiled nervously, "Wonderful. Let us leave, immediately."

    ...

    Sol Invictus and Team Athena ate ate lunch at Zenon''s favorite restaurant, Olea Garden.

    Athena and her two footmen ordered conservatively. They didn''t seem to like the restaurant much.

    Zenon ate his fill-- mostly eating theplimentary breadsticks.

    Korr looked generally unhappy until the meal was served. Then, she ate ravenously from both her own te and Tycon''s.

    Tycon was just happy to be alive, so he surrendered his meal without contest.

    Sorina Capulet suffered a case of food poisoning and needed to be carried back.

    Victorius volunteered for the task, likely forscivious reasons. After Athena beat her footman with her sheathed sword, the task was assigned to Korr. The red-haired Knightress slung Sorina over her shoulder, rear-facing-forward, allowing the Calctor to freely expel the contents of her stomach as she pleased.

    Upon returning to the estate, Athena insisted on providing Sorina Capulet and Seldin Korr guest rooms, unwilling to assign them to the servants'' quarters.

    ...which also made him realize that he and Zenon were not given the same offer.

    It was fine. There were so few servants in the estate that he had taken an entire room for his own use.

    When Tycon returned properly, he expected to work throughout the evening. He needed to request a few more favors from his associates to ensure the smoothness of House Vanzano''s reestablishment.

 Chapter 377 Popoto Politeness

    ?After discussing the matters with Athena Vanzano and Sorina Capulet over the evening meal, it was decided that Sol Invictus would focus on two major projects to elevate House Vanzano''s name.

    The first was to increase the profits from their businesses. For that, Tycondrius unreservedly trusted Sorina with the task of rooting out whatever ws she could find... And, in her words, she would subsequently administer an Armor Gauntleted ?Cross Chop of Market Equilibrium? to ensure scaling profit could be achieved.

    Sorina disyed the skill in its full glory at the dinner table, going as far as to offer to teach it to Tycon and Athena.

    Tycon refused to learn such a stupid skill and forbade her from teaching it to Athena.

    ...though he was fairly certain the two of them willfully ignored that order.

    The second was to reestablish House Vanzano''s strength through military force. Tyrion nobles were allowed a small private army, within certain size and strength parameters. While, in theory, they currently sponsored Guild Stormbrand... but no such paper contract existed, nor was there substantial funding invested to hint at such a contract.

    ording to Tyrionw, the Stormbrands were undeniably an independent adventuringpany.

    Tycon found no other hireable group in or near the city of Silva worth his investment, the Stormbrands included.

    Thus, he decided to make a new one.

    It did have the small issue in that Tanamar had wasted so much of his coin and effort in supporting his brother''s guild.

    He''d get over it.

    With the sun declining past the horizon and businesses closing around the city of Silva, Tycon finally returned to the estate. He had taken half-a-bell of time, purchasing food from a popr outdoor stall. Though he could not undervalue theplimentary breadsticks that came with a meal at Olea Garden, he needed meat in his diet, else he''d go hungry.

    He''d barely finished his own meal when a visitor arrived at the Vanzano Estate, a member of the Courier''s Guild.

    A young Popoto wearing a red uniform tunic entered Tycon''s room, holding her uniform hat in her tiny hands. Popotoes were short, humanoid creatures generally the height of Tycon''s waist. Their ears were pointed, their skin was bronze, and their noses looked like beady ck buttons.

    This particr Popoto was a brte wearing two high pigtails and a shy expression. On her back was a bag, containing a bundle of scrolls and what appeared to be a lengthy sword, wrapped in leathers.

    She introduced herself as Potata Pota, which Tycon found aesthetically pleasing. Popotoes tended to have lovely rhyming names.

    "S-sir Tycon? Right? I have... some missives for you. You''re the biggest delivery, so I get to go home after this."

    He gave her an encouraging smile, "Ah, yes. Thank you, youngdy. I have been waiting for these responses for quite some time."

    The young Popoto responded with a sudden growl... or rather, her stomach did. She blushed deeply in embarrassment, hiding her face with her oversized hat, "I apologize, Sir. I... I haven''t eaten supper yet... And it smells so good, in here."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, his gaze drifting over to the remainder of his meal. He had ordered more than he could eat, having fallen prey to a nefarious ''Buy One, Get One Free'' offer.

    It was fortunate for him, though. He would give her food instead of paying coin for Potata''s faithful delivery.

    "Here," He handed the young Popoto the bag, "I believe this is skewered, marinatedmb; tbread, chickpea paste, and a small sd. Oh, and there is a delectable garlic sauce for themb."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Oh, no, Sir, I really shouldn''t..." Potata said... even as she gazed longingly at the offered food.

    How polite.

    "Please," Tycon stood up and pulled out the chair at his desk, gesturing for her to sit, "I insist."

    "Well... okay..." She relented almost immediately.

    Potata climbed atop the chair and seated herself as Tycon pushed her seat in. She opened up her box meal, her eyes glowing greedily at its contents.

    ...

    Seated on the bed, Tycon leaned back, tossing away the first missive in frustration.

    "What''s wrong, Sir Tycon?" Popoto Potata Pota asked.

    She pouted as if she was the letter''s author.

    Tycon sighed, "I had requested the Patriarch of the Ivory Judge Hidden Sect for training advice concerning a woman with a Yin Body... a frost-mana soul, inyman''s terms."

    "H-hidden sect? F-frost-mana soul?" The youngdy''s eyes widened in confusion, "Do those things really exist?"

    "They do."

    "...Oh." Potata used a fork and knife to cut meat off of hermb-skewer. It looked like a great deal of work. She politely dabbed at the corners of her tiny mouth with a napkin, "What did he say?"

    Tycon shook his head, "Useless drivel. He suggested that Miss Athena gain experience through continuous fighting."

    The logic was sound, but woefully simplistic. If an athlete wanted to train to throw a javelin for distance, some would opt to improve by throwing hundreds and thousands of javelins. Such rote practice would also fully ingrain the athlete''s errors and bad habits.

    If he were the athlete on task, Tycon would elect to research and practice proper form, and to perform targeted exercises to strengthen the muscles involved in the throwing motion. Such a skill relied on the core muscles, legs, hips, arms, and back... Only then would he elect to practice throwing. Practicing with a fundamentally strong base would be far more beneficial than without.

    Closebat dueling also came with the high probability of injury, which would slow or even regress Athena''s development. Tycon had a healing skill he could use... but she also had no peers able to fight her evenly.

    She had a mental inability to fight Tanamar. Both Zenon and himself far outssed her in magery and physicalbat, respectively. Either she would gain no injuries or have to convalesce for several suns after she was thoroughly trounced.

    Conversely... he could reasonably find the youngdy some training partners from their guild recruitment drive. Patriarch Kimura Daigo was an idiot, but even an idiot''s advice could be useful from time to time.

    He exined his thoughts to Popoto Potata Pota. The members of the Courier''s Guild were under a magical contract of confidentiality, so he wasn''t worried about revealing the existence of Athena''s Yin Body or the fact that the Hidden Sects were more than mere myth.

    "Well..." Potata took a sip of her wine (she watered it down, herself)... "There''s the... the martial tournament in Caeruleum in a few moons?"

 Chapter 378 Lord Ranger

    ?So there was a martial tournament in the trade city of Caeruleum? That wasn''t too far from Silva. It would be a suitable goal for Athena and the others to work towards. Having both a goal and a deadline would improve the efficacy of their training.

    "Ohh?" Tycondrius raised an eyebrow, "What can you tell me about that, youngdy?"

    The young Popoto kicked her legs whimsically in her chair, "Oh, I''ve been to the arena, but I didn''t watch any of the fighting. I don''t really like to see people get hurt."

    Tycon''s mouth twitched... "Why did... you go then?"

    The youngdy bared her tiny teeth in a grin, "They have um... a horse groomingpetition?"

    Tycon crossed his arms and nodded. He could use that, as well. He had two very capable stallions that he could arm and armor to fight against other horses... orpete in whatever types of contests they held.

    Horse had ess to the skills ?Heavy m?, ??High Horsepower?, and ?Double Kick?... He could reasonably teach him ?Giga Impact? as a trump card by the time the tournament came around.

    Jeremy was not naturally as strong, but in traveling with Sol Invictus, he would certainly outss at least half of his opponents.

    Hm... Would thepetition test for illegal drugs? Tycon was not 100% certain that both of Sol Invictus'' horses would qualify, if so.

    Sensing the footsteps approaching the room, Tycon crossed over to the door to the servant''s quarters. He allowed Seldin Korr time to knock before opening it.

    The Raging me Knight, Korr, had changed into morefortable clothing from earlier in the sun. She wore afortable tunic and trousers, with her long, me-colored hair hiding her scarred eye.

    Tycon was more used to her in casual dress and met her gaze with a smile, "Good evening, Korr. Come in, I was just--"

    "Who...?" Korr''s eye narrowed suspiciously as she sniffed the air.

    Tycon pursed his lips as he gestured for Korr to enter, "This is Popoto Potata Pota, a member of the Courier''s Guild."

    "H-hello!" Potata greeted. She hurriedly ced her box meal onto the desk, stood atop her chair seat, and bowed politely.

    Immediately, Korr''s gaze softened... "Oh."

    The uniformed Popoto looked nervously to Korr, "Should I... leave, Sir Tycon? I don''t want to be a bother."

    The youngdy''s polite consideration warmed Tycon''s heart, "Nonsense. I''ll be writing another missive soon... and I insist you at least remain until you finish your meal."

    Tycon kept the door open as, soon after, the miserable Sorina Capulet trudged into the room. Seeming to match her nauseated tempo, her Armor Cube magically rotated around her head in a wobbly fashion.

    "I don''t know what makes me more sick, Boss..." She groaned, "Mister Greer''s bnce books or Olea Garden-- Oh, a member of the Courier''s Guild?"

    Tycon nodded, "This is Popoto Potata Pota."

    "H-hi," The young Popoto twisted her lips to the side, bowing again.

    "Nice to meet you, Popoto Potata Pota," Sorina greeted, lightly inclining her head, her Armor Cube matching her movement.

    "Popoto Potata Pota..." Korr whispered as she sat upon one of the beds and hugged a pillow, "Cute..."

    Potata pursed her lips, looking wronged, "Can... can you guys stop saying my name like that? Please?"

    Tycon and the other members of Sol Invictus immediately apologized.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    ? Several suns prior, in a cell in the maximum security prison, Turrim Orientem. ?

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark crossed his muscled arms as he reclined back in his chair and kicked his dirty feet up onto the nearby table.

    "The letter is to be addressed to Sir Tycon of Sol Invictus," He exined.

    The wizened old scribe with the grey beard nodded as he penned the missive''s header. It was a good beard, but Lone had gotten used to having his beard trimmed or going clean-shaven like the other members of Sol Invictus.

    Lone idly scratched at the edges of the scar on his cheek, thinking about what exactly to put into his missive... "Tell him... that I''m safe. I led a dungeon group into the sewers... where we took care of a massive rat problem."

    The scribe scratched more words onto the parchment... "How many rats were there, Lord Ranger?"

    Lone pursed his lips, "Just one. It was massive."

    The old man''s mouth twitched, "I... see."

    "Well, there were more parts of the dungeon, too. Maybe I should start from the beginn--"

    The cell door burst open as a young man entered with an arrogant grin, "Lone Shadowdark! You me-taken criminal! I knew I''d find you here."

    Lone furrowed his eyebrows as he took his feet off the table and leaned forward... "Well, yeah. I live here. Cell assignments don''t really change, Kleitos."

    "Sword!!" Kleitos shrieked as three of his goons filed in after him, each muchrger and more impressive-looking than theirnky noble charge.

    One of them handed Kleitos a sword, which he unsheathed, throwing the scabbard away, "I''ve had enough of your shite-talking, kid!"

    "What the hells did you say?" Lone stood up, offended to the core, "I''m definitely older than you are!"

    Kleitos bared his teeth in an annoyed scowl, "How about I put a few new cuts on your ugly face?"

    Lone narrowed his eyes as he circled to his opponent''s left, "How about you give me a sword? Then I can put a few new cuts on YOUR ugly MOM!"

    Yeah. Got ''em.

    The scribe trembled in fear as he retreated to the rtive safety of the corner of the room, "G-guards?! Where are the guards!?"

    "Hahaha! Shut up, scribe," Kleitos cackled. "I''ve paid off those corrupt bastards. There''ll be no one here to save you, Shadowdark."

    "Well, that goes two ways," Lone cracked his neck from side to side... The pressure was enough, as Kleitos'' three men hesitated to step forward. Everyone knew what he was capable of in the prison dungeon. It was why everyone called him the Lord Ranger.

    Lone grinned, trying to look as crazy as possible, "--the easy way and the hard way."

    "What?" Kleitos furrowed his brows.

    Lone pursed his lips. He was trying to say something impressive, but it came out wrong... Yeah. It was definitely wrong.

    "Nevermind. Let''s just fight."

 Chapter 379 Kill Switch

    ?Kleitos had a weapon and Lone did not. One would think he was at a disadvantage.

    Those people would be correct.

    But it wasn''t a 100% advantage. It was more like a... a half advantage. Or a less-than-half advantage.

    The reason for this was that Lone had a secret weapon, a trump card-- something he''d been hiding that he was very good at. That would give him an advantage. That would cancel out Kleitos'' advantage.

    So... what was really happening was Kleitos had a 0% advantage.

    Lone was a fighting genius.

    "It''s gonna feel good putting my hard steel into your soft flesh!!" Kleitos yelled, lunging forward with a two-handed sword swing.

    Lone dodged the attack easily, using the momentum to fall onto his back, "Come at me, bro!!"

    He pointed the soles of his bare feet at his opponent, ready for the next attack.

    "Lord Ranger..." The scribe looked on with worry, "What are you doing?"

    "Not now, Mister Scribe. I''m in a fight."

    Lone was supremely confident on his back. He had attained a magical item in the Kingdom that increased his power level by ten or twenty times as long as he did so.

    ...He also had stronger magic items, weapons in particr. The rope was the only magical item that the guards let him keep.

    But that didn''t matter! Lone was immortal!

    ...He should have counted that as part of his advantages, earlier.

    "How DARE you insult me!!" Kleitos screamed. Raising his sword high above his head, he charged once more...

    --just as Lone had nned.

    Lone curled up his entire body like a wound spring, then connected a full-powered kick with his opponent''s chin. Kleitos'' head snapped back and his body dropped to the cell floor like a sack of meat falling from a meat-sack tree. Rolling forward, Lone immediately mounted the downed man''s chest, even before Kleitos'' sword ttered harmlessly on the stones.

    Lone''s heart beat painfully in his chest and burning mana coursed through his body like mountain rock giving way to moltenva.

    He had fully switched from human to weapon. There were other people in the room beside him, but they didn''t matter. Nothing mattered. He couldn''t even see their faces anymore.

    The only existences that mattered were himself... and the enemy.

    "GRAHHHHH!!!" Lone roared at the top of his lungs, raining down a barrage of fists on Kleitos'' face. With his knees and feet nted on the ground, he rotated his body to maximize the force of his blows.

    He brought his fists down, again and again.

    His opponent spat blood. Then teeth. Then words... begging for mercy.

    Tears welled hot at the corners of Lone''s eyes. He wished it was that easy.

    Mercy.

    That was not something he could grant...

    A chill of terror ran down his spine... He knew the feeling intimately.

    He was being watched.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Golden eyes were watching him from behind. He wanted to turn, to face that person, to plead for mercy on behalf of his enemy. All at once, his instincts rallied together to warn him not to. If he questioned the man with the golden eyes, he would only find suffering.

    He knew better than to grant mercy to the enemies he faced. The men and women of Sol Invictus who guarded his back would not give him the same opportunity.

    "Again..." Lone whispered. He was tired... but still, he hammered his fists down at a bloody and broken human face. As tired as he was, he could still use gravity to assist his strikes.

    "Again," He used his sharp elbows to cut and batter his opponent''s face, drenched in blood.

    "AGAIN!!!!" He screamed as he mmed both hands down, furious at himself for his mounting exhaustion.

    "Is this enough?!" Lone sobbed, "Are you tired yet??"

    Lone grabbed the man by the sides of his head. Lifting him up, he smashed that person''s skull against the hard stone floor.

    "Not enough..." Tears and sweat dripped down his head and face, "I can''t... I can''t stop until I have permission. I''m sorry... I''m so... so sorry..."

    He lost track of time-- had it been seconds, minutes? Entire bells? Lone half-copsed onto whoever-it-was... and following his instincts, he beganunching knee strikes into his opponent''s side.

    "Again..." He cried. It was too much. Everything hurt, leaving only the feeling of numbness, depression, and rage. He wasn''t human, anymore.

    He was only a weapon.

    "AGAIN!!!" Lone screamed with a hoarse voice, smashing his knee as hard as he could into the unmoving sack of flesh thaty beneath him.

    "Lord Ranger... Lord Ranger!!" The old scribe cried out, "Please! That''s enough!!"

    "It''s NOT enough!!" Lone yelled helplessly, "It will NEVER be enough!!! Not until the DEATH of the enemies of SOL INVICTUS!!!"

    ...

    The Lone Shadowdark''s murderous fury was almost palpable. None of Kleitos'' men moved to stop him. It was a death sentence. The Lord Ranger was the strongest existence in Turrim Orientem.

    The old scribe stroked his beard thoughtfully, quietly watching three men carry out the lifeless body of their charge. ording to the inmate protocol, the young master''s corpse would be thrown into the dungeons below. The guards avoided the depths like the gue, assigning prisoners to delve deep below to cull the monster poption.

    No one would miss young master Kleitos. Turrim Orientem was a ce where people went to disappear.

    The Lord Ranger had attracted trouble since his first sun. Here, a man that gave off a sense of weakness would be preyed upon. Lone gave off all the signs of prey... seeming patient at first nce... polite, almost.

    Everyone had a breaking point. Lone''s was... unpredictable. When he broke... he said inexplicable things. He yelled his attacks before he brutalized his opponents. He praised the dead guild that was Sol Invictus. He adamantly believed he was immortal.

    When most people broke, they became sniveling cowards.

    When the Lord Ranger broke... people died.

    As the suns passed, both the prisoners and the guards of Turrim Orientem learned that Lone was not prey. He was a predator.

    As mentally unstable as the man known as the Lone Shadowdark was, the scribe would not seek to challenge him... he would do his duty, scribing as requested. Blood still stained Lone''s split fists as he again seated himself and continued dictating the contents of his missive.

    The Lord Ranger spoke respectfully of two things... the ominously named adventuringpany, Sol Invictus, and its leader, an existence he only referred to as ''Boss''.

    Whosoever those people were... to so brazenly tout themselves as the undefeatable diator team... they were a dangerous existence that could not be underestimated.

    The scribe shivered at the thought.

 Chapter 380 Prince Of Vralkek

    ?? Present time. ?

    Tycon finished reading the missive from Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, "It looks like Mister Lone has earned a merit in Turrim Orientem."

    "Tch," Sorina Capulet rolled her eyes. "I hope he rots in there forever."

    Tycon sighed. It seemed she hadn''t yet forgiven him, "His prison sentence has been reduced, down to twenty years."

    "Oh?" Popoto Potata Pota gasped in surprise, "That''s really good, actually! He must have gotten a lot of merits!"

    "Miss Capulet," Tycon raised an eyebrow. "You have frozen his pay, yes?"

    "Of course, Boss," Sorina responded while absentmindedly poking at her levitating Armor Cube. It responded by lighting up in a X_X design.

    Tycon opened another missive, quickly scanning over the contents.

    "The... seal of the Kingdom..." Korr whispered.

    "Correct," Tycon nodded. "This is from the Admiral of the Sea Wolf Fleet... It appears that one of their Lieutenants is headed here, via ship... Shao Ran, formerly of the Golden Crow Sect."

    "Xiao Ren..." Korr frowned, "I''d like to fight her..."

    "Shao Ran is uh... male," Tycon pursed his lips.

    "...N-nevermind," Korr turned away, returning to her pillow-hugging.

    Tycon began to unbind a folded poster, "And it appears my friend, Miss Rico, has sent us a gift."

    Korr''s gaze sharpened again, "Who is Rico?"

    Tycon revealed the poster''s contents, revealing a slop of paint on the parchment. Though misspelled, it was clearly supposed to read, ''I love you.''

    For those who could not read, the stylized ? should make the message clear enough.

    The Raging me Knight''s gaze softened once more, "Aww... How old is she?"

    "Four, I believe."

    "Cute..." Korr''s gaze dreamily drifted up, towards the ceiling.

    Whatever she was imagining, it seemed... positive.

    "Miss Potata, are there any other missives with the Kingdom''s Royal Seal?" Tycon asked.

    ? "Oh, no~ I''m sorry, Sir Tycon. There''s only the one," Potata frowned, seemingly sad that she had not met his expectations.

    Tycon forced a smile to hide his disappointment, "Do not feel troubled. Truthfully, I had not expected one."

    He had not heard back from his former lover, Princess Aur, in several moons. It was just as well, though. People move on.

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Port City Vralkek, the Free Nation. ?

    Ambassador cktooth gnawed at his wrist. It was a nervous habit he''d never grown out of, even though it marred his arms with patches of lost fur. He was old and ancient amongst his gnoll peers, nearly thirty years old. It was sometimes frustrating to deal with his long-lived non-gnoll allies, the titanbloods, the harpies, the medusae...

    Their worlds changed so slowly.

    At least Merchant Prince Droghan Ashlord belonged to thetest titanblood generation. In cktooth''s nearly three epochs of experience, the young more readily saw reason. Unfortunately, Droghan''s cruel and violent reputation preceded him, so perhaps it wouldn''t be so easy.

    The Gnoll Brotherhood had purposely never shed ideologies with the titanbloods of Vralkek. In the Free Nation, logic and reasoning often had to be reinforced by strength. If cktooth or his pack offended the prince, it would be their own fault that they were killed.

    The heavy doors to the prince''s chambers crashed open, taking cktooth by surprise and finding him yelping for cover and reaching for a crossbow he did not have.

    The Titanblood Prince was naked from the waist up, a crimson mane atop his head, impressive for his species. Though his furless body was devoid of spots, it was battle-scarred and rippled with lean muscle. The young prince was a warrior, not a wastrel-- as was ideal for War Princes in the Free Nation.

    cktooth was tall for a male gnoll... and the prince stood a full head taller. It made him slightly ufortable looking up... In his culture, exposing one''s neck was a sign of obeisance, and he had to do so involuntarily to meet the Prince''s gaze.

    Prince Droghan wiped a thin trail of blood from his nose, grinning broadly in a show of aggression, "Whoa hoh!! Someone from the Gnoll Brotherhood! What''s up, man? You''re a guy, right?"

    cktooth saluted by nodding upwards and showing his vulnerable neck, before averting his gaze out of respect. The Prince did not return the salute, as expected of his rank, "I am, Prince Droghan... I..."

    "Nope!" The Titanblood Prince smirked.

    "...Prince?"

    The red-maned titanblood sped a muscled hand onto cktooth''s shoulder. The Prince had five fingers, an alien and bothersome concept,pared to his own four-fingered hand.

    "You call me Dragan." The prince''s face loomed over cktooth, "All my friends call me that!"

    cktooth felt his mouth twitch, "Ehehe... I... I understand, Prince Dragan."

    "Walk with me," Dragan sauntered past, "I thought the Gnoll Brotherhood remained neutral in the Free Nation. Kinda weird that you''re here to talk to me... what was your name again? Blockteeth?"

    "That will be fine... Prince Dragan," cktooth did not have the social standing to contest his new given name. He followed quickly and stated his business. "I hear the whispers of my Silverstreak Pack and am here to show our concern in good faith."

    Dragan scoffed, "Tch. Good faith? I liiiiiike it! I like all you guys and gals. You''re polite. I like that."

    The titanblood stopped, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. More blood dripped down his nose, which he casually wiped away.

    A tall humanoid appeared from the shadows of one of the pce''s ornate columns, "So the Merchant Prince of Vralkek has been hiding from me to indulge in drugs, wine, and women. Really, Dragan, I''m offended."

    cktooth lips curled back to bare his fangs for the briefest of seconds. The ogre was even taller than him and Prince Dragan, wearing a thick, braided mane, as well as rich, flowing red robes. Such attire marked him as another visiting ambassador, just like himself.

    The ogre ambassador carried a gnarled wooden staff... and he reeked of demonic magic. The Gnoll Brotherhood turned away from those dark paths, generations ago. Disdain for those people had been ingrained in him since he was a cub.

    "Oh, yeah?" Prince Dragan grabbed the ogre''s magical staff and wrested it away with surprising ease from therger creature.

    The ogre mage furrowed his brows, "What do you think you are doing?"

    cktooth felt very unsafe, seeing the look in Prince Dragan''s eyes...

 Chapter 381 Looking For A Fight

    ?Prince Dragan raised the ogre mage''s staff into the air... an action that made no sense to Ambassador cktooth. The ogre wasrger and... surely stronger than the Prince-- holding the fellow''s staff away at arm''s length was pointless.

    As strong as the Vralkek Faction was, the Oni Faction was not something his own pack or any Warband would dare to offend.

    "?stback.?"

    Unable to hear cktooth''s worries, the Titanblood Prince smashed the wooden staff atop the dark mage''s skull. A peal of thunder split the air, so loud that it deafened him in both ears.

    The massive ogre dropped to the pce''s stone floor so hard, its head literally bounced.

    The Prince had used a Second-Circle magical attack using a weapon as a focus. He was an Iron-Rank... and he was at the very peak of Iron-Ranks.

    Ambassador cktooth very much wished he had not surrendered his weapon out of courtesy. Without it, he was shaking so badly that it felt he was going to shed.

    The Prince was so young! How did he grow so powerful? From what cktooth knew, only humans were capable of growing in strength in so few epochs of age...

    The Prince did not stop, mercilessly felling the staff again and again. The ogre, unable to stand, helplessly covered the back of his neck with his five-fingered hands.

    "Who!!??? THE F*CK?!?!? Do you THINK??? YOU ARRRRE???" Dragan bellowed in rage, "I did NOTTTTT!!! Be. the PRINCE. of VRALKEK. just. to be called. DRAGANNN!!!"

    cktooth gulped painfully. His mouth was so very dry. He thought fondly of his home... of his mate, his cubs, and his grandcubs. He hoped they were doing well. He wasn''t certain he''d be returning to that ce.

    Prince Dragan firmly gripped both hands upon the mage''s staff and smashed it downward with the force and fury of the titans of ages past. It was enough that the mage focus shattered, emitting a purple sh of light, a pathetic pop, and inflicting magical third-degree burns.

    Dragan kicked the unconscious ogre in the side, flipping him over with the impact... then he got to his knees and began to strangle the ambassador with his bare hands, "You. will address me. as PRINCE DROGHAN!!!"

    The sounds of boots approached rapidly. Thankfully, themotion was heard... cktooth had been too stunned to even think of calling for help.

    Eight titanbloods arrived at the scene, covered head to paw in the golden armor of Vralkek''s Elite Guard. Though they all lookedrge and powerful... each of them was smaller and weaker than the Prince they protected.

    It was like the guards were Dungeon denizens that had to be defeated in order to gain the right to challenge Prince Dragan, the Final Boss.

    The guard with thergest crest on his helmet grimaced as he approached, "Prince... is there a problem?"

    "Yeah, there''s a f*cking problem!!" Dragan stood up, cing a boot on the ogre''s face. "I want this pigf*cker hung up on my walls by his gods DAMNED entrails!!"

    A younger titanblood stepped forward, "But... Prince? This is an ogre mage from..."

    The lead guard held out his hand to stop the cub, "The wishes of the superior aremands to his subordinates."

    "Tch," Dragan stomped down with enough force to loose more than a few ogre teeth, "Get it done. I''ll take responsibility."<novelnext></novelnext>

    ""We hear you, Prince!!"" The guards saluted in tandem.

    "And hang him by his stick, while you''re at it," Dragan tossed the broken pieces of the magical staff onto the ground, "Or jam it up his arse. Whatever''s easier, I don''t care."

    One guard picked up the remains of the staff and two picked the fallen ogre up to drag him away.

    The ogre quietly epted his fate.

    cktooth''s ears ttened, hoping deep down that the mage was already dead. Being hung by one''s own entrails did not seem like a pleasant experience... nevermind the fate of their staff.

    "Sorry you had to see that, Ambassador Blockteeth," Dragan grinned innocently, almost as if he didn''t just beat arger, stronger humanoid to death. "Seven hells! Some people can be soOoo rude, y''know? Not like the gnolls! I love the gnolls!"

    cktooth voluntarily raised his head, again revealing his soft, vulnerable neck to the powerful Prince. His wrist itched terribly and his palms were slick with perspiration, "Y-yes... Ehehe..."

    ...

    Cillian, the youngest Warrior in Prince Droghan''s personal guard, hurried to the outdoor training area, keeping well ahead of the Prince and the gnoll Ambassador.

    "Brothers and sisters!" He yelled, "Look alive! The Prince will be here shortly!"

    Immediately, everyone doubled their efforts, climbing the stones, pulling themselves up onto reinforced metal bars, wrestling in the pit. The Prince was always diligent with his own training, especially in front of his men. cking off would have grave consequences... though admittedly, it wouldn''t be so bad as being made to hang from their own entrails.

    Vralkek''s elite forces were variedpared to other parts of the Free Nation. In the training gym were orcs, minotaurs, other titanbloods like himself, and even humans.

    One human, however, stood out in particr.

    A lithe girl was training, wearing rough linen trousers, her muscled chest wrapped in cloth, and with her silvery hair styled into two high-pigtails. Like the others, she had just increased her training load, lifting and carrying a rough-cut boulder above her head. While the act in itself was no cause for rm, the rock was as big as Cillian himself... which meant it weighed well over half-a-tonze.

    The human girl was a few years younger than Cillian, was barely above half his height, was far below half his weight... and was undeniably stronger than he was.

    Her name was Taree Kimura. She was a member of the legendary guild, Sol Invictus, just like the Prince, himself. And in the span of less than a year, she had solidified her status as one of the strongest hand-to-handbatants in Vralkek.

    Definitely the strongest human, though.

    Taree tossed the weighty rock aside with impunity. The sound of it and the resulting dust cloud implied that it was even heavier than Cillian had initially judged.

    "Hey, Little Cill. ''Sup?" The cheeky girl grinned, "You look like you wanna fight?"

 Chapter 382 Final Form

    ?Cillian pursed his lips and shook his head, his helmet rattling as he did so, "I''m... I''m working right now."

    Taree Kimura wiggled a tiny finger, "I''ll give you permission to take a break. Maybe a leg this time?"

    "I''ll pass," The back of Cillian''s neck was soaked in sweat. A few moons prior, he had underestimated the teenage girl''s strength.

    His arm was nearly torn out of its socket.

    Even with magical assistance, it took him over a moon to heal. Because of that incident, he had been nning his training times specifically to avoid ovepping with hers.

    Taree shrugged, her smile as bright as polished ivory, "The best way to get better is to get your butt kicked. A lot."

    Cillian grimaced, involuntarily taking a step backward.

    While the girl''s words sounded like it made sense, that was absolutely not true when the butt-kicker was Taree.

    Each time Cillian sparred against her, he''d find himself, bellster, in an infirmary bed. From frequent visits spanning the past year, he became known by face and name to the entirety of the pce''s medical staff.

    He really didn''t want to go back. There was an Orcish Shaman all too happy to measure his temperature by way of an enchanted silver sphere... rectally.

    Two double doors crashing open interrupted his line of thought. On the opposite end of the gym, over a dozen gnolls stepped in, baring their fangs in growls and sniffing at the air.

    Gnolls.

    And from the way they were posturing... they were looking to start trouble.

    Gnolls were some of the furriest creatures in the Free Nation, save maybe the Iredar. They were as tall as titanbloods, with hunched maned backs that ended in hyena-like maws, sharp teeth and all. Their legs were bent backward like a dog''s and they had vicious four-fingered ws, useful as secondary weapons inbat.

    While the Iredar were known for their loyalty, the gnolls were known for their savage and reckless battle practices. They were fierce warriors and good allies, but they were prone to being as headstrong and troublesome as humans.

    Thergest of the gnolls skulked forward, gesturing at the smallest warrior on the pce grounds... Taree Kimura.

    "What the hells is this?" She asked in disbelief, sniffing at her general direction before baring her teeth and growling aggressively.

    Gnolls were a matriarchal people, as the females were vastlyrger and more powerful than the males. The huge, hostile gnoll was likely the pack leader.

    Taree gasped and held her chest, "Seven hecks! That''s amazing!! Cillian look!!"

    Cillian furrowed his brows. He was absolutely certain Taree had seen a gnoll before. Though there were none in Prince Droghan''s Elite Guard, there were plenty in the city of Vralkek, proper, serving as mercenaries.

    Taree grinned, stepping forward to look up at the gnoll towering over her, "I found a hyena b*tch that wants to lose all of her teeth!"

    "Youuuu.... DAAAARE??" The gnoll roared. She mmed a powerful fist against the nearby boulder, nearly splitting it in two as a deep crack formed down its center.

    Such strength belonged to a Peak Bronze-Rank... maybe even Iron! Taree was going to get hurt. And Cillian was somehow going to get punished for it!

    He preemptively ced his body between Taree and the gnoll leader, "Lady Taree is under the protection of the Prince of Vralkek. Please, this is not the ce to--"

    "Out of my way, male!" The gnoll swiped a boulder-breaking w at Cillian''s face.

    This was the way of things. Cillian closed his eyes and epted that he was going to die doing his duty. Reasonably, he wouldn''t be punished for it in the afterlife.

    Hopefully.

    Death did note. When Cillian again opened his eyes, Taree had somehow found her way in front of him, her leg kicked upward in a vertical split. Her bare foot had stopped the gnoll female''s heavy strike.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Tsk tsk tsk," Taree waved a finger at Cillian. "Sorry, little Cill. I can''t have you standing up for me. I already have someone that I like."

    ...That was not why he did what he did.

    Cillian felt his cheeks grow hot as he wondered if it would have been better to have just been killed.

    The gnoll pulled back, cradling her fist, "You... you broke my hand? H-heal me! Immediately!!"

    "As youmand, Lady Stonefang," A robed gnoll waved his staff, "?Cure.? Ehehe..."

    The light green glow of the restoration spell sheathed the woman''s broken w, healing her injury.

    "You''ll pay for that, human runt," Stonefang growled, saliva dripping down her maw. "How dare you contest me with your measly size."

    Panic set into Cillian''s expression. He turned to the various warriors in the circle that formed around the altercation, "Someone? Anyone? Help me stop this!"

    He was only met with jeers and pitying chuckles.

    An old, bearded Titanblooded Sentinel shook his head, "Little Cill, you have no idea how useless you''re looking..."

    "Hue hue hue... You''s underestimatin'' da li''ul wun," An Orcish Slugger mocked.

    "HAR HAR HARRR!!" A metal gorgon cackled, "BABY CILL is STUPIDER than ME IS!!! HAR HARR!!"

    Cillian disagreed... particrly with the gorgon.

    Taree kept her bnce as she gracefully lowered her leg, "Oh, yeah. I guess you don''t know about it, Little Cill. This isn''t my final form, anymore."

    What?

    WHAAAAAAAT?!?

    Final form?! Humans only had one form!!

    Cillian didn''t... know anyone at all that had more than one form that wasn''t a Wizard or a Druid. But... Taree Kimura was a Warrior...

    Wasn''t she? Any other answer was inconceivable!!

    Taree stepped forward towards Stonefang, who eyed the young human warily. It seemed she was somewhat affected by the crowd''s musings.

    "Wh-what do you think you can do?" The gnoll snapped. Though her words were brave, her voice was uncertain.

    Taree crouched forward... "Death... to the enemies of Invictus... ?Berserker.?"

    The human girl''s back began to bulge with thick, corded muscles. Her arms grew just as thick, sculpting her muscles to definitions that would put any body-building titanblood to shame. When her body stopped transforming, she stood taller than the gnoll, with a t, barrel chest thicker than her heavy boulder, and with arms like tree trunks. She might have even been bigger than Prince Droghan...

    The surrounding circle of warriors went wild, cheering and hollering at the disy.

    "This..." Taree grinned wickedly as she loomed over the female gnoll, tiny inparison, "This is my final form."

    Stonefang pissed herself.

    Cillian might have, as well.

 Chapter 383 You Know The Rules

    ?"What-- WHAT IS THAT??!" Ambassador cktooth yelled.

    A behemoth monstrosity had appeared where a human girl once stood. It was bigger than a titanblood or a troll... it was even bigger than an ogre!

    Prince Draganzily picked the inside of his ear, "Oh, that''s Kimura Taree. She''s my human friend."

    cktooth pointed a shaky finger at the thing that was beating the living hells out of his pack''s strongest warrior, "That is NOT a human, Prince!!!"

    Dragan raised an eyebrow. The smile on his face had frozen stiff. It was the same way the Prince looked at the ogre ambassador, moments before he cracked their skull open with their own magical staff.

    "Ahem," cktooth coughed, trying his best topose himself... "N-not to question your judgment, Prince... but I find it difficult to believe."

    "Okay. That''s... reasonable," Dragan shrugged, "Taree! That''s enough!"

    "''Kayyyyy!" The human sang in response as she forcibly pulled out a bloody fang from Stonefang''s jaw.

    Prince Dragan patted Ambassador cktooth on the back, "So there you have it. Your pack was worried that there was a human not pulling her weight. That human is uh... pulling out your best girl''s teeth. Any problems, bud?"

    cktooth took a deep breath to still his beating heart, "Ehehe... N-no, Prince Dragan. No problems, at all! I will send word to the other packs that Vralkek''s strength has never been stronger."

    ...

    ? A missive addressed to Prince Tycondrius of Charm, Leader of Sol Invictus. ?

    ...So that''s how it is, bud.

    The little whelpling, Kimura Taree''s finally made her breakthrough. ording to the ss crystal in Vralkek, she''s an Iron-Rank Titan Berserker, now. Though, knowing Quay''s kid, Pale''s probably Gold by now. Taree''s doing good, though.

    The entirety of the Free Nation''s been trying to rebuild since the Lycan Purge, which is a pretty shite issue. The Holy Country''s built military bases all along the eastern side and the pressure''s made the Warbands start fighting again.

    As you know, showing weakness to upying technically-allied forces is the worst strategy ever, but hey, you can only control your own Warband, right?

    The biggest thing about that is that your sister''s made a name for herself as a War Princess. She''s got a lot of military aplishments, and even got a no-casualty victory against the minotaurs. The medusas are saying she''s the best thing since toasted bread.

    The harpies are starting to say it, too. I''m not racist, but you know how much they love toasted bread.

    Then, of course, in Bael Turath, General Raelion''s having all that trouble with the ne of Fire. We promised him and Lulu that we''d rotate north to help if things went to shite. Like a big level of shite, not a small one.

    All that said, we''re not really in a good position to help you in the Holy Country. The gnolls have promised to pray to their gods for your sess, though, so you got that going for you.

    Lulu said you gave up your weapon to her after she did unspeakable sex things with it. I sent back something that should hopefully help with whatever you''re doing.

    Give Sorina and the others my regards. And tell Horse to not do a repeat of ''Jacksonville''. He''ll know what I meant.

    Sincerely, your pal, Dragan.

    PS. If you need to break Lone out of prison, let me know. I have an Orkish Kommando with a Krew of frencers that owes me a favor.

    ...

    Tycondrius summarized the missive''s contents to his three femalepanions, Sorina Capulet, Korr, and Popoto Potata Pota.

    "So Mister Dragan''s doing well. That''s good," Sorina nodded. "I wonder what... Jacksonville means."

    Korr was wheezing rhythmically, having fallen asleep on the bed. Tycon sighed internally. Instead of sleeping in his own room, he''d likely opt to sleep in the male servants'' quarters, the same as Victorius and Zenon.

    "Wo... your sister is a Warrior Princess, Sir Tycon," Potata beamed. "That''s awesome."

    Tycon smiled politely. As Dragan had specifically mentioned the fact, it must have been significant. Unfortunately, he had no idea what that significance was. From the fragmentary memories he''d gathered of his sister, he assumed his rtionship with her was positive at best, neutral at worst.

    Throughout his adventuring, Tycon had done the best he could to avoid being tracked too closely by outside parties. He wasn''t certain... but he had an inkling that the party he wanted to avoid the most was his mother''s faction. Logically, his sister would be part of it.

    That she was growing in power and influence meant it was safer for them to move aggressively... Still, even if his sister wanted to actively sabotage his mission, she had no usible way to. She was in the Free Nation and Tycondrius was east, halfway across the continent, in the Holy Country.

    "I wish I was in an adventuring guild as cool as you guys''s," Potata sighed. She had finished her boxed meal and daintily wiping the corners of her lips with her napkin.

    Sorina Capulet leaned over, grinning at the young Popoto girl. The armor cube floating by her head shed in mana, forming a ^_^ shape in glowing lines, "How about you join my guild?"

    "Ahem," Tycon coughed, "Our guild."

    Sorina shrugged flippantly, "You say Popoto, I say Potata."

    "Oh, no, I can''t. I really shouldn''t," Potata iled her arms about in embarrassment. "I... I''m not really good at adventuring."

    "Well, I''m THE BEST!!!" Sorina dered.

    Tycon smacked the back of Sorina''s head out of reflex. She was easily the worst adventurer in the guild.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I''m PRETTY GOOD!" Sorina dered, just as confidently as earlier.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin, judgmental squints.

    "I could always be better," Sorina relented. "Anyroad, it doesn''t matter. You have to contract with us now, Miss Potata."

    Potata gasped, "I... I do?"

    Tycon pursed his lips. She does?

    "Yep," The sly Calctor nodded. "You ate our food. It''s in the rules."

    It was not.

    Potata wrung her small hands in embarrassment, "It... it was really good, though."

    That was also untrue. It was mediocre, at best.

    Sorina Capulet immediately produced a contract for the young Popoto to sign, "Here you go! As long as you''re not doing Courier Guild duties, you belong to us, now!"

    Tycon felt his lip twitch. None of that would be true unless Potata actually signed the contract.

    The Popoto courier stood up on her chair and grabbed the ink pen from the desk nearby, "Um. Okay. Where do I sign?"

    Tycon held a palm out, "Hold, if you would. Please, think about this, Miss Potata."

    "Don''t worry about it! There''s nothing to think about!" Sorina insisted, "It''s in the rules."

    The Calctor had been so insistent that Tycon began to doubt his own correctness. He didn''t remember any rule like that... but he also gave Sorina free reign to work with contracts, both mundane and magical.

    Tycon shook his head before ring at his Chief Financial Officer, "At least tell her who we are."

    Sorina shrugged, "Fine. We''re Sol Invictus, legendary Ezyrian arena guild, h h h."

    Tycon ced his face in his palms, "Please take this seriously, Miss Sorina."

    "Sol Invictus??? THE Sol Invictus?!" Potata gasped, starry-eyed.

    As the young Popoto went over the contract, Sorina pulled Tycon close, "See? Now we have a contact in the Courier''s Guild and we can get a discount on mail for the rest of forever."

    Tycon averted his gaze. He could not deny the usefulness of those advantages.

    ...

    In the mere span of a week, the Vanzano estate had transformed from an empty-furniture shell with no denizens to... an empty-furniture shell with a constant flow of business-persons and adventurers.

    Calctor Sorina Capulet was gone for most of each sun, visiting House Vanzano''s businesses... often returning, upset and unruly. Korr apanied her as her guard, though would often return with worrying signs of violence. Once, she came back with her traveling cloakpletely drenched in blood.

    The only exnation she offered was: "I fell."

    As Tycon judged the blood to not be hers, he chose to not question it.

    The visiting suppliers and contractingpanies came, eager to work with the East Charm Trading Company and House Vanzano. In Sorina''s absence, her assistant, Maeva Leserre, signed or rejected them.

    The adventurers were attracted by the promise of training and fantastic pay, especially considering the low bar of entry advertised. Tycon, with the help of Zenon and the others, screened them for character and potential.

    If the Stormbrands could recruit a ragtag group of trash and could call it a Tyrion adventuringpany, then he could do the same... And as expensive as it seemed, Tycon expected less than half of the recruits to pass his strict requirements after their training waspleted.

    Within the moon, his forces would also be padded by adventurers pulled from his other assets: Guild Staghorn in Nice and the Iron-Blooded Butchers in Merylsward.

    They were already being paid, so there wasn''t a real loss.

    Tycon also looked forward to the arrival of a particr Sea Wolf. Lieutenant Shao Ran of the Kingdom''s Royal Marines would be the head instructor of his new guild. Further, the gentleman was a Hidden Sect Martialist and could advise Athena Vanzano on cultivating her martial abilities in tandem with her Yin Body.

    Tycon had high expectations for his allies.

    ...which also meant he needed to improve himself, just as well.

    He had recently grown in power, reaching Gold-Rank... the highest established pinnacle for human adventurers.

    However... he wasn''t human. Gold was neither his limit nor was it enough to allow him to rest easy.

    This was a world of Titan Snakes and Cmity Beasts and Gorgon Idiots. If he wanted to seed, he couldn''t afford to stop growing in strength.

 Chapter 384 Kept For Amusement

    ?Tycondrius had found an interesting synergy in two of his magic items.

    The first item was the Sword of Venom.

    ? Sword of Venom. Third Circle Magical Katana. Target injured may be afflicted by severe poison damage. Soulbound to host. ?

    Sol Invictus member, Dragan, had sent a long, curved de via the Courier''s Guild, delivered by the newest member of their guild, Popoto Potata Pota.

    The weapon was originally stolen from a ver in the Kingdom over a year prior. At the time, it was enchanted with frost magic. It seemed that Dragan had the silvery de re-enchanted, as now it was coated with a waxy sheen of debilitating injury poison.

    While functionally the same, Tycon was not keen on using a sword enchanted with frost mana. Cold made him ufortable. On the opposite end of the spectrum, he had a natural disposition towards poisons.

    ...Tycon wanted to use the weapon, solely based on personal preference.

    The second item was the Sturdy Scabbard, an enchanted weapon sheath reinforced with durable adamantine. He had chosen it as a reward from his dungeon delving with the Brazen Guard.

    ? Sturdy Scabbard. Elementary Transmutation. Warning: This scabbard is inhabited by the Orcish Samurai, Garock. The weapon spirit may possess the user. Soulbound to host. ?

    He had discovered a strange phenomenon after he had ced both the sword and scabbard within his spatial item, returned to him by Sorina Capulet.

    ? Ring of Holding. Third-Circle Conjuration. Opens into a nondimensional space of 10 cubic yalms and up to 250 ponze. ?

    That was stolen, too.

    A few suns prior, Tycon had summoned the Sword of Venom, intending to perform basic maintenance. Upon doing so, he found the sword snugly sheathed inside of the scabbard.

    This was odd for two major reasons. First, he had not directed his System to perform any kind of item sorting or consolidation. Second was that the scabbard fit the de suspiciously well... which meant that the previously Orc-sized scabbard had transformed, slightly in shape and moderately in size.

    His first hypothesis for the phenomena was that the sentience within the scabbard was stronger than he''d initially given credit.

    Such would be easy enough to verify. Tycon would just ask Garock, himself.

    On a training off-sun, he asked Zenon to guard him as he... cultivated.

    In the privacy of his own room, Tycon opened his palms, mentally summoning the Sword of Venom. It appeared as before, sheathed in its scabbard, and resonating with mana.

    Holding it in his hands, Tycon felt like... the weapon wanted to be wielded.

    Tycon pulled the de out of its catch, examining its integrity. Masterful craftsmanship. Sharpened. Well-oiled and cared for.

    Beautiful.

    ? Warning: The weapon''s spirit is attempting to establishmunication. ept? Y/N? ?

    Tycon sighed, internally makingst-checks on his gear. Even if he were to be drawn into an illusion, he would treat the endeavor as if it was an actualbat scenario. Such preparations would only help and not hurt his performance within the dream-state.

    Better still, likely Garock''s spirit would be weaker than when he was empowered by the Dread Wraith. That meant he''d be vulnerable to the injury poison on his crossbow bolts.

    Tycon could not deny that he was looking forward to shooting the fellow.

    ? ept themunication. ?

    Immediately, Tycon fell into a daze... and his mind drifted elsewhere.

    ...

    Tycon discarded his overcloak, basking in the warmth of the sun.

    ? System, inquiry: This is an illusion, this time, yes? ?

    ? Affirmative. ?

    Wonderful.

    Tycon had been transported to a hot and humid swamp... likely somewhere in the Free Nation.

    The weather was overall enjoyable and the scenery was pleasant, if a bit... archaic.

    Nearby fields were nted with rice in neat rows. Orcish hovels had been erected in the distance, made from woven bamboo and roofed with thatch. Those homes rested upon stilts, implying that the area was prone to flooding.

    Most interesting was that the area underneath some of the houses were fenced in. Though the pens were empty, they were suitable for keeping livestock.

    ...Tycon would have loved to raise chickens or pigs at the Vanzano estate, as his quest was nowhere near being finished. Unfortunately, besides a stablehouse in need of repair, it was far too much work to be worthwhile.

    Anyroad, the stench of it would likely be bothersome, as the estate was deep within the city of Silva.

    Red standards were nted in the areas around the settlement. Each of them bore the image of an open-mouthed, tusked face, shoddily painted in white.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He recalled that Garock belonged to a Hidden Sect called the Screaming Silence. The wild areas of the Free Nation were unexplored enough that it was less likely they were purposely ''hidden'' but more likely... forgotten.

    And for those who were aware of the Orcish tribe''s existence, the standing faction banners would protect them from local Warbands scouting for ces to raid.

    A War Prince capturing a neutral vige would incur the wrath of a confederacy of neutral forces. Or worse... an Orcish War Chieftain could use the incident as an excuse to unite several tribes. The Blood for Blood principle was perhaps the most respected w'' in the Free Nation.

    Tycon felt the slight vibration of a heavy bipedal creature approaching from behind him.

    "Is this your home, Warrior Garock?" Tycon spoke aloud.

    Turning around, he found a stunned Samurai scratching his cheek in embarrassment.

    Garock wore a simple farmer''s tunic, wooden sandals on his feet, and a broad-brimmed bamboo hat upon his head. The grey-green and tusked orc''s massive sword hung on his side from a cloth belt. It was flipped upside down in its sheath, to make it harder to draw.

    As Tycon expected, the sheath was identical to the adamantine scabbard that he held in his own hand.

    He appeared not-so-much a fearsome warrior, but more of a... a retired adventurer, relegated to a backwater vige.

    "It is... or it was, anyroad... long, long ago." Garock smiled politely, "I, alone, remain... a single warrior who should rightfully be surrounded by a loving family and a sect of hundreds..."

    Tycon nodded. Garock was a ghost of his former self. Whatever force of will that was powering his existence was strong enough to evoke a location: rice fields and hovels, sun and sky. It was not enough to create illusorypanions...

    The Samurai sighed and shook his head... "How many years has it been since west met, Warrior Tycondrius?"

    Tycon shrugged, "It''s been a few weeks since I defeated your spirit in the Icingdeath Dungeon. I was wondering why you didn''t pass on to whatever afterlife you believe in."

    The Orc shifted ufortably, "I believe the current me is a vestige of what I once was. My sole reason for existing is to pass on my sword skills to a worthy sessor."

    "Well, that sounds... nice."

    It was an interesting concept. Samurai Garock''s peculiar defensive sword style was difficult to deal with in meleebat and had nearly gotten Tycon killed.

    As beneficial as training in the orc''s weapon arts would be, Tycon didn''t currently have any two-hand sword users in Sol Invictus on hand.

    He supposed he could gift the scabbard to Dragan... or perhaps the young Pale, the youngest human member of Sol Invictus. Pale picked up new training methods quite easily.

    Tycon pursed his lips as he turned around to leave, "I''ll be going then."

    "Wait! Wait!!" The Gold-Rank orc moved swiftly... clumsily running in front of Tycon, holding his palms out in a panic.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes at the lonely orc, "Yes, Warrior Garock?"

    "I... uh..." The orc sped his hands together, inclining his head, "Do you have any snacks?"

    Oh. Tycon had forgotten. Garock had asked for snacks when theyst met.

    Spirits, in general, go for long bouts of time without the simple pleasures that most living persons take for granted, eating and sleeping, in particr.

    Tycon summoned a small lunchbox from his spatial ring, still warm and delectably fragrant, "Fried potatoes with cheese and sour cream. It''s my charge''s favorite dish, so I made some extra for you."

    Garock took the small box, cradling it as if it were a high-rank spirit treasure, "My... deepest thanks, noble warrior."

    Was he going to cry? How droll...

    "Tss. Don''t be thankful," Tycon scoffed, "This is not treatment reserved for an honorable opponent, but more like a pet kept for my amusement."

    The orc''s eye visibly twitched... "I''d have liked it better if you hadn''t provided theparison."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "I''d prefer it better if you passed on properly."

    Garock crossed his thick arms, sighing in defeat... "Is it possible... for you to listen to this old orc''s tale?"

    "You are aware of my medusa bloodline, Warrior Garock. I am older than you are-- or were, when you were still alive."

    "It would honor me greatly," The orc bowed deeply at the waist.

    Tycon took a deep breath, "I''m very busy at the moment. Conversely, you are a spirit with little concept of time. Your personality may degrade over the years and epochs, but the skills you have to offer will remain."

    The orc lightly raised his head, grinning sheepishly, "Time flows differently in this dream. I believe it has only been a few breaths of time in the outside world."

    ? System, inquiry: How much time has passed outside? ?

    ? System response: Thirty-seven seconds. ?

    "Hm..." Tycon mulled the thought over. He supposed he could spare the orc some of his time, "Very well. Are you going to invite me into your home, or are we going to stand outside all sun?"

 Chapter 385 The Worth Of Salt (Part One)

    ?Within the moon, Lieutenant Shao Ran of the Kingdom''s Sea Wolf fleet arrived in Silva.

    In theory, Tyrion officials would not be pleased to receive a military vessel from another nation at their port. However, the Spear of Selene was... not a typical warship.

    Her deck was woefully devoid of cannons or... anything that made it war-like... The crew of thirty-something Marines and Sailors forewent their uniforms and did not at all appear as proud and noble members of an elite fighting force. They looked like degenerates and pirates.

    Besides that, the ship was in such a sordid state of disrepair that no one would believe it was part of the Kingdom''s Royal Navy. Ran could even dere it outright and not be suspected.

    ...As headstrong and straightforward as the gentleman was, he probably did.

    Shao Ran wore gaudy golden robes, carrying a long hafted halberd over his shoulders that he called Ferocity. His sandy blonde hair flowed in the sea breeze and the side of his face suffered burns from dark magic-- which only added to his wild and somewhat feral appearance.

    Ran was afflicted by what the Hidden Sects referred to as the Sea Wolf Curse, a form of lycanthrope. Like all Lycans, their strength, agility, and perception were greater than that of normal humans. Also, when exposed to seawater, Ran and his crew could recover from even critical injuries, their wounds healing at a visible pace. The strongest amongst the Sea Wolves could even transform their bodies into four-legged, four-tentacled aquatic beasts.

    Tycondrius found it amusing that their Sea Wolf transformations looked as much like wolves as the Spear of Selene looked like a warship.

    "Wee to the city of Silva, Lieutenant."

    "I hear you have some pups for me to train?" Shao Ran shook Tycon''s hand, sporting a wide grin, "Seven hells, it''s nice to hear your sweet, melodous voice, Tycon."

    Melo...dous. That wasn''t a real word. Tycon decided to ignore it, as to not spoil the mood.

    "Indeed," He nodded. "Thank you foring, Ran."

    "Gahahaha!! I''ll show these Tyrions how real men fight! Blood and thunder!!"

    "Victory at sea," Tycon smirked.

    The arrogant prick hadn''t appeared to have changed since theirst meeting.

    ? Shao Ran, Iron-Rank Human Golden Halberdier. ?

    Ran had a powerful, high-tier ss, having been raised in the Golden Crow Hidden Sect, apparently known for super-heated, fire-type skills and spells.

    Though Ran''s fiery personality found him constantly... challenging his peers, Tycon held a deep respect for the man. Shao Ran was hailed as the strongest one-on-one duelist in the fleet. Such a title afforded him arrogance, yet also had to be cultivated by hard training, determination, and a superhuman sense of stubbornness.

    The Sea Wolf Lieutenant informed Tycon of events since Sol Invictus left Port Saint Guinefort.

    Pale, the youngest human Sol Invictus member, hadpleted officer training at the top of his ss. Over thirty percent of applicants failed such training, usually by injury or death. Pale was special in that he was one of the very few who had foregone the Sea Wolf curse and thus did not have ess to a superhuman healing factor.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The young man also managed to hold the highest record for a first-year Marine or Officer on the three-malm obstacle course. At first, this didn''t seem impressive, as Pale could literally run on water.

    Shao Ran exined that the Fleet Admiral, Lang Hai, had forced Pale to run the course without his water-walking boots. Though his swim speed suffered, his target clearing speed more than made up for the loss.

    Ran alsomented that they lost Sol Invictus member Tarquin Wroe. He had mysteriously disappeared on a night of a ghost siege. Tycon assured him that Wroe was very likely not dead, more probably having gone on some sort of quest... concerning dark magic or the like.

    He was too stupid to die, so easily.

    Shao Ran agreed to train Tycon''s new guild, the Letalis Serpentia. Ran, along with the help of other instructors from his small crew, would stay for up to half-a-year, preparing the various adventurers for martialbat and to work as a cohesive unit.

    Tycon and Zenon had recruited over 200 adventurers for it. Miss Athena had vehemently argued against the wanton use of funds... not that she had a say. Guild Letalis would be supported financially by Sol Invictus until House Vanzano''s revenue could support them on their own.

    Discussing the matter with Ran, they agreed that it would be fortunate if a third of the initial 200 were capable of passing theirbined high requirements.

    The more adventurers culled, the less Tycon would have to bleed in coin.

    ...

    Cecil Salt was a nervous wreck.

    It had been over a year since he''d met his employer, Baron Tycondrius. He had a privateering vessel, once, long ago... but when that ship sank, so did his prospective career. The Baron found him and his crew of the Salty Selkie in the countryside of the Kingdom. Back then, they were living a pitiful existence, forced to highway robbery to survive.

    Instead of ughtering them and leaving their corpses for the crows, the Baron gave Cecil and his men purpose. They were sent to the city of Merylsward, where they fell under themand of Monsieur Reynard of the Iron-Blooded Butchers.

    There, they were armed, armored, and paid handsomely for imposing their wills upon weaker men. Cecil learned better how to lead... how to leverage his strength and his connections to get what he wanted. He learned how professionalism could win him respect from both his subordinates and his enemies.

    When they received word that the Baron was collecting people for a highly-trained unit of elites, Cecil immediately volunteered. He could have stayed where he was... well-paid, well-fed, and respected by all.

    But that''s not what the heroes in the legends did.

    In Cecil''s old life, he was a respected Captain, contracted by the Kingdom. At his lowest point, he was little better than a murderous thief. Reborn, he was a leader of men, feared by his enemies and praised by his allies. Over the suns of constantly having to assert his physical dominance over other Merylsward factions, he had even grown in strength... maybe even making it to Peak Bronze-Rank.

    He owed it to Baron Tycondrius for rescuing him. He owed it to himself to not settle for mediocrity. And so, he sailed to the City of Silva, hoping to pay his dues, just one of several volunteers from the Iron-Blooded Butchers.

    ...But seven gods-damned hells and angel shite in a bucket, that man was terrifying.

 Chapter 386 The Worth Of Salt (Part Two)

    ?Cecil Salt had looked forward to meeting his savior, Baron Tycondrius.

    But somehow... he''d forgotten his fear.

    The Baron was young... appearing like a youth barely in his twenties, at most... but his demeanor was like he''d walked a hundred battlefields unharmed. His medium-length, but neatly trimmed hair was colored an umon green... and his sharp, golden eyes passed over Cecil like that of a judgmental god.

    Though Cecil had once seen him in silvery Kingdom armor along with the royal blue cape of his homnd, the Baron inspected the adventurers while wearing the ornate sculpted-armor design of the Holy Country.

    Was he a Pdin, too?

    Even as strong as Cecil was, it felt like the Baron was infinitely stronger. He had to will himself to stop shaking in his boots. One wrong word... maybe even a hint of weakness would result in the Baron immediately executing him for heresy against the Tyrion god, the Eternal me.

    Baron Tycondrius approached Cecil and the other adventurers, walking alongside another fearsome existence.

    The training instructor''s reputation preceded him, whispered amongst the adventurers that had gathered for House Vanzano''s cause. Lieutenant Ran was a monster in human skin, an officer belonging to the Royal Navy''s Sea Wolf Fleet. The Sea Wolves were known for transforming into immortal god-beasts, hunting down pirates, and tearing them limb from limb.

    The worst part about the old sailor''s tales... was that they were all true. And one such being stood by the Baron with sandy hair and an arrogant sneer.

    "Ahh... Mister... Cecil," The Baron mused. "I see you''ve opted for a fresh haircut and a clean shave."

    "Tch," The Sea Wolf scoffed. "That''s a minimum requirement-- nothing to be impressed by. Ridiculous."

    Tycondrius raised an eyebrow, "Credit must be given where it is due, Brother-Lieutenant. This fine gentleman has improved in both strength and professional appearance sincest we met."

    "We''ll see..." Shao Ran red with eyes that looked like a fire burned within them. "You. Who the hells are you?"

    "Ahem," Cecil cleared his throat. "H-hello, sirs-- err... gents. My name is Cecil Salt, and I''m a--"

    "Stop," Ran ordered. "I don''t gods-damned ask for your life story, now did I?"

    The golden-eyed Baron narrowed his gaze, "You were contracted as a Privateer for the Kingdom for several years, were you not?"

    Cecil''s eyes widened. Baron Tycondrius had given him a chance... a hint... Even in social circumstances, there was a correct way to act in order to garner respect. He had been so terrified of meeting with the Baron again that he nearly forgot all of the courtesies he''d learned during his sailing suns.

    Cecil gathered his pride, straightened his back, and rendered the sharpest salute he''d ever performed in his life, "Good morning, gentlemen! Petty Officer Salt, reporting as ordered!"

    The corners of the Baron''s lips curled up in a sly smirk.

    Shao Ran raised an eyebrow, "Ho~ly. Shite. This one might be worth something, after all."

    Cecil had yet another thing to thank Baron Tycon for. That small action had earned the tiny bit of respect he sought.

    "Hm. As we are in the Holy Country, perhaps it would be more appropriate to assign him the rank of Decanus?" Tycondrius offered Lieutenant Ran.

    "Nah. That sounds stupid," Ran waved off the notion. "You''ve given me responsibility for these recruits, Lieutenant Tycon. We''ll go by Kingdom terms, the leaders as Corporals, and only those I deem capable as Sergeants."

    Cecil''s heart pounded in his chest. The Baron was an Officer of the Kingdom, too? What else was he hiding?

    Tycon nodded, "Sergeant Salt... Yes, I find the title aesthetically pleasing."

    "Hahaha... Yeah. Not bad, not bad! Not quite the level I want-- but work hard, Salt, and you''ll rate soon enough." Ran sneered, "Brother-Lieutenant, what does the scouter say about his power level?"

    The Baron shut his eyes and waved his hand. There was a magical ring on his finger. From the way Lieutenant Ran was talking, the ring was probably a ss Scanning tool. Those things were so rare and so costly to maintain, that onlyrge organizations could afford them... or someone as rich as Baron Tycondrius.

    "Iron-Rank Gunner," Tycon smiled. "Your thoughts, Brother-Lieutenant?"

    "Ah! Hahaha!!" Ran cackled in glee, "Very well! How about you introduce us to the other recruits, SERGEANT Salt!?!"

    Iron-Rank...

    His heart bursting with pride, Cecil saluted once more, "Aye aye, Sir!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    Tycondrius was pleasantly surprised by the growth of Sergeant Cecil Salt. He had lost weight, grown from Bronze to Iron-Rank, and had recovered his dignity as a professional mercenary. In order to further solidify his reintroduction, he had his hair cut to the Royal Navy''s regtions, and wore a handsome set of leather armor with two well-maintained pistols holstered onto his belt.

    Upon first meeting the former ship-Captain, Tycon had taken a chance to invest in him... which bore fruit in Merylsward. The Iron-Blooded Butcher leader, Reynard, was exceptionally grateful for Cecil''s assistance, along with the few Bronze-Ranks in his crew.

    It seemed that Cecil wanted more... whether it was out of gratitude or self-improvement, it would serve Tycon just as well. He expected great things from the Sergeant.

    Cecil introduced Tycon and Ran to the other notable personalities from Sol Invictus'' allied guild, the Iron-Blooded Butchers. He recognized a few Thieves, Ruffians, and Archers that would serve well as scouts. As they were raised on and around the rougher districts of Merylsward, they would perform especially well in urban environments.

    Therge, very polite, bruiser of a man, Mister William Lawrence hadn''t ranked up to Iron like Cecil. However, his ss had changed to Heavy Gunner. That was promising.

    He along with a number of Cecil''s former crew all had gun-rted sses, something sorely underutilized, save in the northern reaches of the Kingdom and their Royal Navy. A barrage of pistol shot and cannon fire provided a simr result as concentrated spellcasting from a cadre of same-ranked mages.

    Several elites from the Kingdom adventuringpany, Guild Staghorn, had answered the summons. As a traditional guild, many of their number came from noble or knight-lineages.

    Raphael of Cannes was one such gentleman. He had experienced Sol Invictus'' effectiveness, having suffered a defeat against Tycon and his allies in the Mosswood Wilds. The human was a curly-haired Axe Warrior that had fought alongside Maximus of Ezyria. Though he was saddened by the news of the dovahkiin''s death, he was thrilled to fight for the honor and glory of the Vanzano name.

    Though not an adventurer under Tycon''s and Ran''s purview, a youngdy named Maeva Leserre had also arrived in Silva to serve as Sorina Capulet''s assistant. The blonde woman dressed and acted professionally and respectfully... which made Tycon want to question her blood-rtion to her brother, Emilien Leserre, the leader of Guild Staghorn.

    Tycon did not. That would be rude.

    He reviewed the paperwork that Maeva hadpiled and provided to him, "Sergeant, are you familiar with the Circle Mage that Wizard Clemont had rmended to us?"

    "Ah, yes," Cecil chuckled to himself.

    The way he responded aroused Tycon''s suspicion, "Is there something amiss, Sergeant Salt?"

    "Ahaha... Her name is Radia! She''s a very attractive woman. And I believe she is not yet married," Cecil leered.

    Tycon struggled to find the reason Cecil would mention such things. An adventurer''s attractiveness was not indicative of their usefulness.

    ...It could improve morale, perhaps?

    "That''s great news!" Ran pulled Tycon close, "Let''s get you two introduced, Brother-Lieutenant! I''ll start out by telling her some war stories about how awesome I am!"

    Whatever was going through Cecil''s and Ran''s heads, Tycon waspletely oblivious.

    The trio approached a small collection of female adventurers. As the mercenary profession was male-dominated, women associated with each other to provide support and encouragement. It was a type of clique that Tycon had no issues with, as he could only see additional means of psychological support as a boon.

    At the center of the circle was a youthful girl with honey-blonde locks of hair spilling from her hood. Especially noteworthy was the fact that her hood had two triangr points atop it-- space for pointed ears.

    ording to Wizard Clemont, Radia was actually a Weretouched Fox girl. She seemed to have excellently integrated herself in with the Tyrion humans, assumedly having used mour magic to hide her ears and tail-- pointedly non-human features.

    "I mean, I just hate people who are super-entitled," Radiained. "Especially when they abuse their subordinates."

    A few of the girls responded to her positively. It made sense. Tycon also disliked such people.

    The fox girl shrugged, "Arseholes being arseholes for no reason! I hate it."

    Cecil and Ran had both abruptly stopped.

    Ran looked around... almost nervously, "Maybe we shouldn''t go over there."

    Cecil coughed, "Y-yes... How about I introduce you fine gentlemen to some of our logistics personnel?"

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Very well."

    He didn''t quite understand the shift in ns but decided not to question it.

 Chapter 387 Art Form

    ?Medousa twiddled her thumbs nervously, sitting opposite the busy woman at the desk. Lady Leserre was finishing inking something to paper and she knew that nobles hated being interrupted.

    Doe couldn''t help but be a little intimidated. They had so very little inmon.

    Her own ashen-blonde hair was cut painfully short, barely going past her ears... not that she was ever able to style it properly, anyroad. After her ''vacation stay'' in the Gnis dungeons, her hair looked like dingy, overgrown moss. It was better that it was all gone, now... even if she did cry during the haircut.

    Maeva Leserre was absolutely gorgeous. Her bright gold, healthy hair somehow managed to have the perfect amount of waviness, her makeup looked almost natural, and she used just the right amount of gloss in her lipstick.

    Even though she was now seated, Maeva wore stockings and tall heels to elevate her height. She was the perfect example of a modern, business-fashionable noblewoman.

    When Doe wore heels and stockings, she ended up just looking like a whore.

    She wore ts... and an Alizeaun maid outfit, resized to fit her.

    It was on loan from her friend, Kleio. She wasn''t 100% sure it looked good. It was, however, 100%... frilly.

    Doe had washed and dried it thrice over. Only the me knew what unspeakable acts Kleio had used it for. And even then, knowing her, even the gods might have turned a blind eye to it.

    Finally, the businesswoman returned her pen to its inkpot.

    "Miss Doe, as you might have guessed..." Maeva steepled her fingers, leaning forward, "I am originally from the nation of Alizeau and am from House Leserre of the Staghorn Crest. No one in this estate is more qualified to judge a potential maid than I am."

    Here it was. Doe gulped.

    With the help of Madame Virgil and the other girls at the Massage Parlor, Doe had bust her arse off to learn everything she could about being a maid. She learned the proper way to clean, sew... and basic repair on most everything. She found that she was really bad at cooking, so that was a bust. She did find she was a natural at speaking formally and how to appease the ego of a short-sighted noble.

    Kleio insisted that Doe brush up on pleasing men (and women) in bed.

    That was really stupid and Doe highly doubted it would be useful for anything at all... but she was always bad at saying no to her best friend. That particr subject was the only thing Kleio was really, really good at, so she was really proud of herself.

    ...Doe ended up learning a thing or three. The art of whoring was not something to underestimate.

    Who knew?

    But overall, Doe had learned to be prim, how to be proper... how to ignore the itchiness of her maid uniform... and how to not sound like a plete* idiot.<novelnext></novelnext>

    And so, she applied to House Vanzano as a maid... and was being reviewed by Maeva... a woman from the Kingdom... where being a maid was an art form.

    Doe was doomed before she even started her application process.

    It was disheartening to fail her job interview... but she immediately started making ns in her head. She''d make a stop at the good bakery and pick up some sweetbread for the girls. Then she''d go back to Kleio and have a nice long cry.

    ...Maybe instead of going back to a life of prostitution, she''d be a barista or something?

    Taking a deep breath, Doe stood up and curtsied as she was taught. She had to leave the room before she cried in front of the noble... "I understand, Lady Leserre."

    "Do you?" Maeva snatched her pen again, scratching some more lines onto her paper, "Wonderful. Do you have a ce to stay or would you like to be assigned your own quarters? I have contracts prepared for either case."

    Doe''s heart stopped... but just for a second. And she had to close her mouth because she was staring like a mushroom-brained fool, "Um. What?"

    Maeva covered her mouth with her hand to stifle augh, "Miss Doe, you are more than adequate to serve as a maid to Miss Athena."

    "I... I am?" Doe''s head was spinning so hard she had to sit back down. If she were in heels, she was sure she''d have broken her ankle or fallen on her face. That''s why she wore ts.

    ? "Indeed," Maeva smiled. "More important than your actual skill, Miss Doe, is your work ethic... your heart. We, of the East Charm Trading Company and its parent group, Sol Invictus, do not believe in mere servanthood, but in self-empowerment.

    "From what you''ve told me, you''re not here for some get-rich-quick scheme. You''re here to perform your duty respectably, honorably, and with steady pay... and, of course, to work for an employer with the same ethics until you move on or retire."

    Oh. Ohhh... Those all sounded like very nice things. Doe wanted that. Doe definitely wanted those things!

    "Y-yes! That''s right!" She eximed, clenching her fists tight. Her head was still woozy and it was hard to think straight. But... she got the job!

    Maeva giggled lightly, "And besides, you look very chic in your little maid outfit! I am stunned by your beauty, ''chere''! You''ll be working for Miss Athena, herself, and I''m positively certain she''ll be thrilled to have you."

    Warmth gushed in Doe''s heart. Some of what Maeva said was in the Alizeaunnguage... but it sounded like it was good! It was one of the best feelings in the world... to beplimented by a woman that was so much prettier than she was.

    "Thank you, Lady Leserre!" Doe stood up, curtsying again. It was so embarrassing to cry in front of her employer... but she was just so happy, "I won''t disappoint you!!"

    "Aw, little Doe... don''t cry." Maeva stood up and pulled her into a polite embrace, "Come now, dry your tears. I will show you around ze manor."

 Chapter 388 Bed, Bath...

    ?Maeva apanied Doe, catching her up on the craziness that was going on in House Vanzano.

    Apparently, Maeva''s boss was another Alizeaun woman named Sorina Capulet... which was a really Alizeaun name, if there was one. She and her guard had been quite busy going around Silva and the surrounding cities to House Vanzano''s businesses and... correcting things.

    In Doe''s previous profession... ''correction'' tended to be a dangerous and violent task. The two of them sounded really scary.

    When Doe hadst been to the estate, there was never anyone around. As of recent, it had turned into a bustling hub of adventurers looking to join the adventuringpany sponsored by the East Charm Trading Company... as well as business-persons looking for Lady Capulet.

    Maeva admitted that she was taking her time because she was tired of the wandering eyes of those rude people... more the business-persons than the adventurers, though. Maeva said something like: if they want something from me, then they will wait for me, not the other way around.

    Doe liked Maeva a lot. She had never met a woman so strong or confident. Were there more people in the East Charm Trading Company like her?

    She was introduced to Lady Athena... who was so much nicer than Doe had imagined.

    They had met briefly before, but it didn''t look like the young Mistress recognized her. Doe had changed a bit since then-- mostly because she was literally homeless and looked the part. And her hair was moss.

    Doe could tell how kind Athena was by the way she treated the adventurers in the training area-- there were lots of them, too. She returned every greeting with a radiant smile and struck up random conversations with anyone, no matter their social status and no matter how rough they looked.

    ...There were a lot of really rough-looking men. And high-level adventurer women. Scary. If House Vanzano had these kinds of adventurers a few moons ago, House Gnis would have never, not in a million years, tried to challenge them.

    From everything Doe knew about nobles, how Athena acted really didn''t seem... noble-ish... She asked Maeva about it, who told her about... the ''Pride of Nobles.'' The nobles exist to protect and serve the people. Otherwise, they wouldn''t be nobles.

    It sounded like it made sense, even if it was a bit simple. Doe had heard far too many stories of corrupt nobles than not, but the thought of it was nice. At least Athena seemed to have that pride. That was enough.

    Before Doe started her duties, she was given twost pieces of advice.

    The first was to stay away from Lord Greer.

    Doe already knew that one. The lecherous Lord Greer had a piss-poor reputation in Silva and was even banned entry from Madame Virgil''s Massage Parlor. They called it the ''Square Peg incident.'' Kleio had offered to give her the details. Back then, Doe had declined because she''d just eaten.

    The second thing Maeva advised was... that if anything was to ever go wrong, if she was ever unhappy with how she was treated... she could look for a green-haired man named Baron Tycondrius of Charm.

    It made sense... her pay wasing from the East Charm Trading Company. If she had a problem, she couldin to Maeva... or her boss, Lady Capulet... or her boss, Lord...

    ...Tychon?

    Baron Tychon? A Baron? As in a noble title from the Kingdom?

    Tycondrius of Charm?

    As in the East Charm Trading Company?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Whew. Doe had dodged a lethal arrow.

    She was actually nning on looking for Sir Tychon to thank him. But with their new change in status, he was now her boss''s boss''s boss. That would just be awkward.

    There were lots of things to clean in the Vanzano Estate. It looked like whoever was doing it before wasn''t really thorough... with a lot of dirt and grime in the corners and behind empty shelves and furniture.

    There was also an inconceivable amount of dust. There were so many adventurers that walked through the manor to the kitchens or to the training area... and even the stables. There was dust, dirt, bits of hay, and too-often, blood on the floors (and it was really suspicious finding blood in the stables!) Doe had to sweep, mop, scrub harder and faster than she ever had in her life.

    On the bright side, she''d always have something to do.

    After a few bells of doing maid-ly duties, she was dismissed to her own time. Dead-tired... but satisfied from a hard sun''s work, she skipped dinner, fully intending to head straight to bed.

    ording to Athena, it had been over a year since theirst maid left, so she had the maid quarters all to herself. In particr, there was a single-person room that was supposed to belong to the Head Maid... or the only maid. That was her.

    She had a room all to herself! Muhuahaha!

    Doe took a look at it earlier in the sun. The bedding looked so soft and everything was so tidy, like they kept it clean just for her. There was some adventuring stuff in there, too, neatly on disy, or for storage purposes.

    Before she got to bed though, footman Victorius mentioned that the servants had ess to a heated bath. Her muscles were probably going to be a bit sore from her cleaning, so that sounded perfect.

    Hot bath. Bed after.

    ...

    Doe poured a bit of a cute-looking bottle into the bathwater. Ooohhhh. It smelled so nice...

    The bath was everything Doe ever wanted... and more.

    Was that a bottle of wine? Oh. There wasn''t a cup.

    ...No one was around, though.

    That meant no one could judge her negatively for naked-wine-drinking! Straight from the bottle! It reminded her of her younger suns...

    And now... Doe was living the life of her dreams... not that she was creative enough to imagine such a high-ss life, bathing with scented oils and drinking sweet, top-shelf wine without a cup.

    She rxed in the tub, idly tracing the old scars on her inner arms.

    She hade... such a long way...

 Chapter 389 ...And Beyond

    ?**Content Warning: Descriptions of nudity**

    Doe had a good job. She had a safe ce to stay. She wasn''t worried about starving or getting robbed or having to do weird cult-y things. She didn''t have to do anything shameful or need to give herself to anyone.

    And the bath... was just lovely.

    She spent a few minutes crying. It was a good cry. She decided that the following sun, she''d take a break after work to visit Madame Virgil''s. She wanted to thank her and the girls... it was because of them that she finally got the courage to... be better.

    Most of all... she really wanted to thank Sir Tychon.

    He really was in a ss, all his own, though. Back then, he said she owed him nothing. Doe thought he was just being nice... but it turned out, it was because he already had everything he wanted. He had so many titles: Decanus, Baron, Church Official, Guild Leader... He was so important to so many people... and apparently, he was really, really rich too.

    And she''d offered to warm his bed.

    Ah.

    Ahhhhhhh! That was so embarrassing!!!

    There were probably a hundred different girls way better than she was, leaping at the chance to whore themselves out to someone that was pretty much royalty.

    If only she''d met Tychon before settling for herst ex...

    Augh! No! She couldn''t think like that!

    Doe was a strong independent woman who didn''t need no man!

    She dipped her head in the water, bubbling in frustration.

    ...She did want to thank him, though. And because he was nearby, she was sure she''d get the chance. Maybe he''d still remember her? He did before... but there were so many people in the estate.

    That nagging feeling in the depths of her heart... it was definitely her wanting to express her thankfulness.

    ...

    As Doe entered her room, the first thing she did was lock thetch behind her. If someone came to get her in the morning, they could knock.

    She tossed her clothes to the side-- it was a bit messy, but this was her room! Doe does as she pleases!

    And what she really wanted was to crawl into those nice, clean sheets, fresh from her hot bath.

    The room was dark, but not too dark with the starlight pouring through the window. Doe had spent too many suns rotting in a cage without so much as a candle, so the threat of absolute darkness made her heart race just a little bit.

    It would be fine. She just had to hurry to bed.

    Ouch! Ohhh. Ahhhh~

    Doe stubbed her toe on the room''s one and only desk chair. It was pushed into its desk, too. Doe cursed her own stupidity and clumsiness.

    Maybe it was the wine. Yeah. It wasn''t her fault, it was the wine''s. Oh, sweet, delicious wine, how could you betray me like this?

    Kneeling down and applying pressure to her smallest toe, she stared outside at the light of the mocking moon.

    Her brain was telling her the room was safe... There weren''t any other maids beside her. The door was double-locked and there was no other easy way in or out. The estate barracks had dozens of adventurers that wanted to prove their worth to House Vanzano, too! ...And it wasn''t like there was a possibility that the city guard would batter down the doors of the manor.<novelnext></novelnext>

    There was something about Doe having her own room that didn''t feel right... but she knew it was temporary. She experienced the same sensation when she slept in the back room at Madame Virgil''s. It took her only two suns to get over that... Surely, it would be the same thing, here!

    It''s not like she was out in the wilds, where a snake could get her if she chose the wrong ce to sleep.

    And so, she stood up, and immediately leaped into bed, throwing the heavy nket over herself. Nice, naked, warm. It was everything she ever w--

    "Good evening, Miss Doe."

    "AIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!!" Doe screamed at the top of her lungs, covering her chest with her arms.

    Sir Tychon sighed as he sat up in the bed. His naked upper-body clear was to see in the dim blue light and his green hair was a bit messy from lying on a pillow, "Please control yourself, youngdy. This is not the first time I''ve seen you naked."

    "YOU!!!" Doe gnashed her teeth growling, "You..."

    What was HE doing here?! Had he snuck in?? Doe should have listened to Kleio and the others! Sir Tychon couldn''t be trusted, after all!! Scum! Thief! Criminal!!

    Tychon narrowed his golden eyes, "What are you doing in my room?"

    Doe''s eyes widened as she jammed her finger into Sir Tychon''s hard chest, "YOURRR ROOM??!"

    "Mind your volume, youngdy," Tychon chided, casually brushing Doe''s finger away. "People are sleeping."

    Oh. He was right. DOE was the one being COMPLETELY INCONSIDERATE.

    She lowered her voice down to a lioness'' growl, "Grrr... what do you mean *your* room? This is *my* room."

    "...I believe I see where the misunderstanding is," Tychon sighed, shaking his head, "You must be the new maid Maeva mentioned."

    "And just because I''m the new maid doesn''t mean you can take advantage of me," Doe huffed.

    "Miss Doe..." Tychon pursed his lips. "I have been living in this room for the past several moons."

    Doe hesitated, "I... But I..."

    No! That didn''t make sense! Athena said-- oh, but the Lady of the house wouldn''t be constantly inspecting her servants'' quarters? Oh... oh, no...

    This... this exined why there were weapons and armor stands in the room... Why was it so clean, though? All men are slobs?

    "Perhaps it would be better if I lit antern," Tychon offered. "At least you would avoid injuring yourself on more furniture."

    Panic struck Doe like a carriage hitting a pothole, "N-n-n-no!! No! You can''t!"

    Even though Tychon had seen her naked before, she absolutely did not want to be seen again! Doe tugged hard on the nket, trying to cover herself up as the noble was reaching for a match.

    "Miss Doe, what are-- ah?"

    With a tumble and a crash to the wooden floor... Doe found herself on top of Sir Tychon. With the nket on the ground, the man had cushioned her fall... and he was even cradling the back of her head with a hand.

    But... the position they were in...

 Chapter 390 Taking Responsibility

    ?**Content Warning: Sexual Activity**

    Doe supported herself with her hands pressed onto Tychon''s bare, muscled pecs. She wasn''t wearing a single thing... and while Tychon only wore a very thin pair of shorts, it was the only thing between...

    Doe''s heart was beating out of her chest. The heat in her face and cheeks had started to spread to her arms and chest, too.

    Her n to not let Sir Tychon see her naked again had failed... spectacrly. All of her scars were in to see, the starlight through the window like a beacon illuminating her nakedness.

    "Are you injured?" Tychon asked. Though his words showed some concern, he looked almost annoyed.

    Doe wanted to hit him so badly. Why was she the only one embarrassed? He was technically naked too!

    Two solid knocks on the door stopped her before she physically assaulted her boss''s boss''s boss.

    "You alright in there? Sir Tycon?" A muffled voice asked.

    "Yes, everything is--"

    "Everything is FINE!!" Doe shouted... before realizing she had made a mistake.

    The voice belonged to Footman Victorius, one of the other servants.

    ...and he was asking for Sir Tychon... because... everyone else probably knew this was his room...

    "Oh, uh... sorry for bothering you two," Victorius said through the door. He audibly turned and walked away, "I''m uh... I''m leaving now."

    ...And because Doe opened her big, stupid mouth... Victorius now knew that she was also in his room...

    Doe copsed, just wanting to facent against the hard floor... but her face and damp hair plopped onto Sir Tychon''s chest instead.

    "...Have you been drinking, Miss Doe?"

    Doe rolled her head to the side, "Yes. I don''t want to talk about-- eh EHH?"

    Immediately she sat up in a panic, "Sir Tychon!! Y-you!"

    ? Tychon rolled his eyes, "I have a beautiful woman pressing her naked body against mine. This is a physiological human response."

    Doe felt her heart stop... honing in on Tychon''s words...

    Beautiful. Did he really think that? He was so... very, very wrong. She was pathetic... she had so many scars, physical and... emotional.

    But her heart made her want to believe it so badly. The wine, too, sped her thinking towards terribleness.

    She lowered her face close, staring into Tychon''s golden gaze... Feeling a bit naughty, she ground her hips, just like Kleio had taught her to. That was the wine, not her.

    "Sir Tychon... D-do you really think I''m beautiful?"

    The green-haired noble smirked. He gently pulled her close, kissing her deeply. She thought her hair was too short to grab... but Sir Tychon proved that it wasn''t.

    She liked it.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Sparks and explosions lit up in Doe''s head, leaving her in a daze. A deep second kiss... and again, a third... found her mind absolutely empty of anything except wanting more.

    "The faint sweetness of the wine remains, Miss Guardian." Tychon chuckled, "Your kiss... is so very delicious."

    Doe shivered as Tychon''s hands brushed down her lightly perspiring back, finally resting firmly upon the sides of her hips.

    With a quavering voice, she willed herself with more bravery than she knew she had, "Sir Tychon... Do... do you want to sleep with me?"

    "Tss..." The noble scoffed, "That depends. Have you found the courage to live?"

    "Yes... I think... I think I have."

    ...

    "Good morning, Monsieur le Baron," Sorina''s assistant, Maeva, greeted Tycondrius, her daily itinerary tucked beneath an arm. "I''ve noticed our newest maid had trouble sleepingst night."

    ? Maeva Leserre, Unranked Human Expert. East Charm Trading Company. ?

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded. He could still remember the faint taste of wine on Doe''s lips, "She was very insistent that ourte-night meeting be... prolonged."

    Maeva shook her head, "Forgive me, but I do not see it as proper. You are a noble of the Kingdom, Sir Baron. You cannot sample every maid I hire on."

    "I will take responsibility, should her duties suffer because of it..." Tycon pursed his lips. It was rather suspicious of him... "And I assure you that the pairing was consensual."

    The woman sighed, "Sacred gods... Just... be more private about it, will you? The female adventurers-- zhey have been submitting bothints AND requests to see you. It ''as been non-stop since early in ze sun."

    Tycon looked away from Maeva''s burning gaze. The woman''s frustration with him was almost palpable, "I... uh... I apologize. Please deny those requests."

    Maeva huffed before blowing away a lock of hair that had fallen over an eye, "I''ve already done so."

    After Maeva''s personalints, she provided her reports of the week. A number of recruits had been injured, some outright dismissed by Combat Instructor Shao Ran. Tycon agreed on Maeva''s decision to grant the dropouts theirst paychecks and send them off as soon as they were able to walk.

    The special weapons order had yet toe in. Maeva showed curiosity to the source, intending to contact the supplier. Tycon could not provide it.

    The order was from a forgemaster in Bael Turath, rmended to him by Sol Invictus member Lulu. As many demons and demon-bloods as there were in that nation, both Tycon and Sorina agreed it was best to not have the source written down on paper. If a Tyrion official or a rival of House Vanzano were to find out, the resulting line of questioning would be ufortable to answer.

    A set of custom armor hade in, shipped from the Dwarven Krakhammer n. Based on designs made by Centurion Zenon, it was the prototype basis for the armor for which he would equip his new adventuringpany, Guild Letalis Serpentis.

    The armor was made of resilient, dwarf-forged steel with a ckened metal finish. Also, there were... spikes on the shoulders and chest area, more appropriate for a diator than for a legitimate military force.

    Tycon did not like it. They were in the Holy Country, not the Dark-Spiky-Overlord Country.

    "Maeva, what... is the general consensus of our high-ranked adventurers, concerning the armor design?"

    "Overwhelmingly positive," Maeva pursed her lips. "However, I will give credit to the emblem on the shoulder."

    Tycon nodded. The symbol painted on the armor''s shoulder te was a snake skull atop a backdrop of a stylized lightning bolt. It was clear that Guild Letalis was backed by House Vanzano and their lightning crest.

    It would do.

 Chapter 391 Dreams Of Underhoof

    ?One of the most wee developments Maeva reported was receiving a letter from the Brazen Guard adventuringpany. Guild Letalis was formally invited to their collective.

    Word had traveled quickly,rgely due to the channels Sorina Capulet had used for advertising in the Holy Country. Publicly, House Vanzano was behind the guild''s development. By now, the noble houses understood that the East Charm Trading Company stood behind them.

    The Brazen Guard also had the advantage of insider knowledge-- that both Tycon and Centurion Zenon were assigned to restore House Vanzano''s name. Guild Letalis was more than a desperate noble''s attempt to regain relevance or a Kingdom organization trying to gain power in the Holy Country. It was an effort backed by Archbishop Natalya Crucis, herself.

    There was little to lose from allying with House Vanzano. In fact, Tycon was surprised that the Brazen Guard was the only guild that reached out to them. Dozens of businesspersons sought out Sorina because they had the gold-sniffing senses to recognize a good opportunity.

    ...It was doubtful they sought her out in order to win her favor.

    Tycon asked Maeva to reply formally, epting the offer, and inducting Guild Letalis into the Brazen Guard Collective.

    The most distressing of Maeva''s matters were the reports on Athena''s parents... The incidents around the manor were not few.

    Athena''s mother, Lady Marigold, was a constant visitor to Instructor Shao Ran''s training area. There, she''d spend her time unting her corset-lifted cleavage, gawking at the male adventurers, and attempting to... woo the Sea Wolf Lieutenant.

    The noblewoman had no idea how futile her attempts were. Marigold had a penchant for wearing strong perfume and thick makeup to hide her middling age. For persons with overly keen olfactory senses, her very existence was offensive. Tycon avoided breathing in the woman''s general direction. As for Ran... he had a keener sense of smell than he did.

    Athena''s father, Lord Greer, was reported to ''identally'' wander into the female servants'' area where a number of female adventurers had taken residence. There had even been multiple reports of sexual harassment and the mysterious theft of undergarments.

    The concept had initially baffled him. Why were Bronze and Iron-Rank adventurers being taken advantage of by sentient trash? Maeva exined that Lord Greer was not outright killed out of respect for their employer... which was ironic because Tycon would have absolutely no issues with Greer being killed by the first woman scorned.

    Stealingdies'' undergarments... Really... How absurd.

    Anyroad, the bothersome Lord and Lady of the estate needed to be taken care of.

    Tycon assured Maeva that he would handle it.

    ...

    By mid-sun, Tycon had equipped the two Sol Invictus horses, Corporal Horse and Private Jeremy, with a handsome carriage. The bindings that they were to pull were modified for theirfort.

    He consulted the budget with Maeva and she agreed to grant Lord Greer and his wife a stipend to spend on a short vacation. The coin involved with that along with the purchase of the better-than-average, refurbished carriage made Tycon''s heart bleed.

    Still, the temporary removal of the Vanzano Lord and Lady was a worthwhile cost.

    The cream-coated stallion, Jeremy whinnied nervously, "(Y-you sure about this, Boss? Just the two of us?)"

    The horses did not consider the two humans they''d be escorting as part of their number. That was fine. The unreliable and lecherous Greer and his extravagant strumpet of a wife were poor examples of humans.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon frowned, "Yes. You have both proven trustworthy individuals and this mission is well within your capabilities."

    "(Don''t listen to him, Snake,)" Horse huffed. "(We''ll be fine! Everything that''ll happen will happen! Nihihii...)"

    The cackling neigh of the chestnut-colored Horse was somewhat worrisome, but Tycon decided to ignore it... "Private Jeremy, state your orders."

    "(Uh...)" Jeremy fidgeted, clopping his front two hooves as he thought, "(We take Lord and Lady Vanzano to the Kingdom city of Passage. And... and we''re not allowed to let them mistreat us.)"

    "(It''s a looooonnnng way to Passage,)" Horse reared up in excitement. "(I figure we can take a detour and take them to Underhoof.)"

    Tycon grimaced at Horse''s suggestion. Escorting persons to Underfoot-- or Underhoof, as it were, was Invictus code-speak for murdering witnesses quietly and without rm.

    "By that order," Tycon insisted. "I only want them gone for a moon or three. There are too many variables affected if they were to be found dead on the side of the road."

    "(But... I want to kill again,)" Horse neighed quietly.

    Tycon sighed, mulling over the thought, "If there is an *ident*... I suppose I''d forgive it."

    He shook his head. He wasn''t going to ask a member of Sol Invictus to do something he wouldn''t do, himself, "Bah! Just bring them back in one piece!"

    "(You can count on us, Snake,)" Horse dered proudly. "(Humans have lots of pieces.)"

    "(Corporal...)" Jeremy shook inint... "(No... No, they do not...)"

    ...

    Combat Instructor Shao Ran looked forward to the sun''s training.

    As of recent, general training bothered him. Dealing with regr humans was... difficult. Part of it was due to the training areas were so... boring. Silva didn''t have ravenous, flesh-eating sea life in their waters-- even the sharks kept to the depths, far away from humans. There were rocky beaches, sure, but the rocks weren''t sharp enough to draw blood. Making the recruits run on mildly ufortable surfaces brought him no joy.

    Was Port Saint Guinefort formed into existence by a sadistic god? Or was Silva just... so incredibly soft?

    Shao Ran was also having difficulties ounting for the durability of a ''normal'' adventurer. They had a bit of First-Circle healing, but that was limited. He was ustomed to training Sea Wolves... and all of his men and women could heal from their training injuries on their own. And besides that, these adventurers were also slower and weaker in nearly all aspectspared to a proper Sea Wolf! Outrageous! Absurd, even.

    But this sun... this sun would be different!

    Ran had been tasked to train just two people: the Yin Body Frostde, Athena Vanzano, along with one of her ssmates. In six short weeks, they both set topete as a duo team in the uing Caeruleum Martial Tournament.

 Chapter 392 Hero Training

    ?As Athena was Tycon''s focus, Shao Ran had already visited her, checked her skill level, and assigned her some training exercises. He hadn''t used a hands-on approach with her, though... mostly because Tycon explicitly disallowed it.

    Anyroad, Ran figured he could be tougher on the boy.

    He was far better at training one rather than whole groups. Whole groups had to be trained ording to the median person. The weakest person often held back everyone else''s development.

    In single training, Ran only had to set the pace and goals for the one. And that one person was very strong! That person was meant to be, for all INTENSIVE purposes, a HERO of Tyrion!

    The kid looked like a Hero, too! He had bright red hair, styled upward, and carried an enchanted sword on his waist. Though it was nowhere near the strength of Ran''s heirloom halberd, Ferocity, it looked decent... maybe four or five generations old.

    Shao Ran knew everything about fighting. He was the best at it! That made him the best at training, too! Training... by FIGHTING!

    It''d be the easiest job he''d ever signed up for, since joining the Royal Fleet.

    "Alright, kid!" Shao Ran grinned, "The first step in training is... the reason. What makes your heart BURN like the sun?"

    The young hero saluted proudly, "It is my solemn wish to cleanse evil from thends of Tyrion with my own hands."

    Nice.

    "Good! But not GOOD ENOUGH!! Aha haHA!!" Ranughed, "In order to achieve that wish, you gotta be strong, pup! Like me! Ahaha!"

    "Yes, Sir!!" The hero shouted at the top of his lungs.

    Ohhh, that was good volume. Perfect!

    "Alright, now what was your name again?"

    "It''s Chaleb, Sir! The strongest malebatant in the Academy!!"

    Ran chuckled to himself. That was good. He could use that.

    It was misleading, though... The strongest warrior in the Academy was actually the young Athena Vanzano, which meant that Chaleb was the second strongest overall.

    SECOND was the FIRST-PLACE LOSER.

    Still, the kid both knew the pain of training to be strong, and at the same time, he had an almost insurmountable goal in front of him. From the way he talked, he might have had a thing for Athena, too. All in all, it meant the kid''d be able to handle Ran''s not-so-gentle style of training.

    "Ahh, I wasn''t listening!" Ran snorted, "You gotta earn my respect before I treat you better than the shite the fish puke onto the sands!"

    "Yes, Sir!! This, I swear on the name of House Moretti!!" Chaleb yelled... adopting a wide grin.

    Arrogant! Ran liked that. Thinking back on it, that''s probably why he liked that Tycon nerd, too. He did look forward to wiping the smile off this particr noble''s face, though.

    "I like your answer, kid, "Ran nted the base of his halberd into the beach sand, gesturing Chaleb forward. ??Now... show me your strongest move."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The boy was nothing but a goldfish in a pond. There were adventurers dozens of times stronger than the young pup... and even the newest crewmember on his own ship, the Spear of Selene, could trounce the boy with both hands tied behind their backs. Chaleb had to look well beyond besting Athena Vanzano. The kid had to want to be the biggest, baddest fish in the sea.

    Ran would show him that power... He''d strip him of his confidence... He''d open his eyes to the world of strength beyond human understanding... and after breaking him, Ran could re-train him from the ground up.

    Chaleb drew his sword and flourished it in an arc. It glowed with divine power, surely from his deity, the Eternal me. He was a perfect Tyrion warrior... and Ran would mold him into a warrior that could fight the heavens and hells as he saw fit.

    "Here Ie, Instructor!!" Chaleb roared as he charged. "I am VENGEANCE given FLESH!!"

    "Hah! Too slow pup!!"

    Charging mana into his legs, Ran dashed forward, spilling sand behind him with the sudden burst of speed. Chaleb was forced to attack early, swinging with the sloppiest sword swing Ran had ever seen in his life.

    Ran slipped the attack and grasped onto the fire mana in the air. With mes trailing his fist and forearm, he powered a punch deep into the boy''s abdomen.

    Weaving elemental mana into physical attacks was one of the major concepts that Lieutenant Tycon had asked him to impart to Athena Vanzano. With Chaleb Moretti''s natural talent, the boy would be able to learn it, as well-- this was the power he''d get after training!

    Shao Ran had reached the highest levels of fundamental mana maniption in his Golden Crow Hidden Sect. There was no better teacher than him!

    Ran''s strike took the kid''s breath away and sent him tumbling backward for several fulms before stopping, half-buried in the sand.

    Hah! He''d even dropped his sword! Chaleb had left himself open for his all-in attack, not a single thought going to defense. That was good-- but one wrong move against a stronger opponent was fatal.

    If Ran could train the boy''s speed and strength to even a half-step higher, he''d be able to win the Caeruleum tournament without little Athena lifting a finger.

    Shao Ran picked up the sword and walked towards his fallen opponent, "Now let me tell you where you screwed up. I, Shao Ran, your father, am the strongest single duelist in the Royal Navy!"

    Heughed aloud, "It''ll take you another hundred years to defeat me. But we''ll start you off with a new daily training regimen. I was thinkin'' a 10 klick run, 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, and 100..."

    ...Ran stared at Chaleb Moretti, face-down in the sand.

    "Hey, uh... kid."

    The young hero didn''t move... even as Ran prodded him with the end of his halberd.

    ...No. Haha...

    No.

    Kneeling over, Ran gently shook the boy, "Hey. Hey, kid... Hey!! Boy!!."

    His shaking grew more frantic as his panic steadily began to rise, "Chaleb. Hey. Get up!"

    "Lord Moretti?!" Ran flipped the boy over, cradling the body in his arms, "Sea god''s socks! Wake up, boy!! Please, wake up!"

 Chapter 393 Without Fail

    ?Lieutenant Shao Ran returned to the Vanzano Estate a few bells afterward...

    He had tried his best to resuscitate the kid, but his basic training never taught him how to un-kill a boy punched so hard, his insides exploded. He ended up burying the body in the depths, a few malms off the coast-- underneath some heavy rocks, too. No one would find him there... not unless they were able to breathe underwater like he could.

    He sterilized the kid''s heirloom sword with a burst of his Golden Crow mes and left it in a trash heap behind an Olea Garden. No fingerprints, no mana signature, no witnesses. No one would be able to track the murder back to him...

    Ran had done a lot of questionable things in his life, and this was easily in the top ten...

    The top five, at least.

    Maybe top three.

    "Lieutenant Ran!" A voice called out for him.

    Sea god''s shitebox.

    Ran resisted the urge to run away and dive back into the waters. The Sea Wolf fleet was known for their speed, having the fastest ships in the Royal Navy. He could be half-way back to Port Saint Guinefort by now...

    He could swim there without his ship if he wanted to.

    Ultimately, it didn''t matter. Either he''d be crucified in the Holy Country or he''d sail back to the Kingdom to be keelhauled by the High-Captain...

    With a reluctant heart, Ran turned to the voice. As he thought, it was Tycon, the green-haired, golden-eyed noble... and the only Lieutenant in the Fleet that was paid less than he was.

    He took a deeeeep breath.

    "Fancy seein'' you here, Ty!" Ranughed heartily, just like a normal, not-suspicious person would, "Ha ha ha! I''m so surprised that I''mughing! I''ll do it again: Laughughugh!"

    "Right..." Tycon narrowed his eyes... "And please do not call me that. I prefer my friends and close allies call me Tycon."

    "Sure, sure! Yeah! My bad! Ha! Haha!" Ran wasughing so hard and so not-suspiciously that tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

    The noble pursed his lips, "Walk with me, Brother-Lieutenant. I wish to discuss Athena''s training."

    That was fine. Athena''s training was fine. Athena was a genius. And she was alive, too.

    Shao Ran walked alongside Tycon as they headed towards the training area, "I gave her a training regimen in the morning. She''s good. She''s real good."

    The back of his neck was drenched with sweat. He thought those same, exact thoughts about Chaleb Moretti.

    "Concerning Athena... remember to train her hard, but to avoid injury." Tycon warned, "You recall that most humans do not have the regenerative capabilities of a Sea Wolf?"

    "EEEEEEyeahhhhhhh!!!" Ran spoke up... much louder than he intended.

    "Excellent," Tycon nodded. "Ensure she has a proper rest cycle, as well."

    Shao Ran clenched his eyes shut, "Y-yeah. I sent the other kid to uh... rest."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Permanently.

    "Very well..." Tycon grimaced... "As you know... Sol Invictus'' goal is to restore the name of House Vanzano. The youngdy winning the uing martial tournament is imperative to our ns. It will both boost Athena''s poprity and grant our financial officer, Sorina, a strong foothold to open new business locations. From what I''ve been told, Trade City Caeruleum''s influence is not small."

    "Y-yeah. We''ll win, for sure," Ranughed uneasily. "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus! We''re the best! Unmatched, even!"

    Tycon chuckled, shaking his head and smiling. The two walked in silence for a moment... which felt like ages to Ran.

    He was d Tycon didn''t have a heart-reading ability or anything like that. If he was facing Lieutenant Eilian, the High-Captain''s second-inmand... by now, he''d have been pierced throat-hole to other-hole by a water spear thicker than a ship mast.

    "Brother-Lieutenant, I wish for Miss Athena to not only be the best in her ss... but the greatest that both Sol Invictus and the Sea Wolf Hidden Sect are capable of producing. For all intents and purposes, I want her to be able to carry her house''s name by her own power, alone."

    Ran nodded slowly... It was what any teacher wanted for their students... to be better than they are.

    The green-haired noble sighed, "It has been very difficult to rely on anyone else..."

    Tycon stopped and abruptly turned, cing his hands on Ran''s shoulders.

    Ran''s mouth twitched. Had he been found out?

    No, there was no way. Tycon was still smiling...

    "Brother-Lieutenant, I have seen you fight. I have seen your heart. And above all, I am proud to name you as kin."

    Ran gulped as his heart pounded in pride... and thrice-harder in guilt. This situation was all wrong!

    "There are three people that I trust unreservedly in this estate..." Tycon confided, "There is Sorina Capulet, who I trust on all matters concerning business. There is Athanasius Mors, who I trust to defend Athena Vanzano with his very life..."

    Tycon grinned, cing his fist upon his chest, "And there is you, Lieutenant Shao Ran... Brother-Ran. You are the only one I can trust to train our Guild Letalis... with the honor of your sect and the professionalism of your station as an Officer of Marines."

    Ran bowed his head deeply, "Brother-Tycon... I... I...."

    He had to tell him. He just had to!

    Tycon shook his head, chuckling derisively, "Honestly, if I didn''t have at least one person I could rely on for this, I''d have considered leaping off of one of Silva''s rocky cliffs."

    "Blood and thunder..." Ran saluted crisply... though his voice quavered in uncertainty and his volume was pathetic.

    He couldn''t tell Tycon the truth-- not anymore. His eyes stung from the threat of tears. He felt like crying, he really did.

    "Victory at sea, Brother-Ran," Tycon patted Ran''s shoulder before returning the salute. "And thank you for listening to myints. Only you, I have full faith in, to execute andplete your mission without fail."

    "Y-yeah... I got''cha, Tycon." Ran averted his gaze, "Without fail. For sure..."

 Chapter 394 Throw

    ?Tycondrius led the way, Ran trailing slightly behind. The gravity of the Golden Crow''s task seemed to weigh on the fellow... but Tycon had no reason to doubt him. As difficult and... somewhat disorderly as the Sea Wolves tended to be, they took training very seriously.

    The training would transform every single member of Guild Letalis into skilled, resilient warriors... provided they survived it, of course.

    After asking for Athena''s whereabouts, the two navigated their way throughout the outdoor training area. As they walked past a weapon rack, Tycon nonchntly picked up a Tyrion pilum.

    Ran didn''t ask any questions. It seemed he already knew what it was for.

    Tycon looked off into the distance. He had a clear shot to where Athena sat in tandem with a few other female mage adventurers. They were meditating together, likely concentrating on the circting flow through their mana circuits.

    Hefting the weighted pilum into his main hand, he aimed... and threw. While he did not empower the throw with mana, he aimed at Athena''s center of mass and did not hold back in his strength.

    Immediately drawing his enchanted short sword, he sprinted forward to follow up on the attack.

    Athena''s eyes shot open, recognizing the danger. With a wave of her hand, she deflected the projectile with a chantless ?Ice Barrier?.

    ? Good. Very good.

    Tycon leapt up, sailing through the air with his sword poised to fall upon her frost-blue head. It was a straightforward attack, highly telegraphed... but very, very fast.

    Athena pped both hands together, shattering her ?Ice Barrier? and reforming it into three ?Frost des?. Thrusting a palm forward, one sword sped rapidly towards Tycon. The two remaining des levitated at her sides, ready to either follow-up or to be retracted defensively.

    Reaction speed. Concentration. Effectiveness.

    Everything was wless.

    Tycon shut his eyes, consigned to his defeat. He had no hopes of dodging the de while mid-air, "Ran."

    Golden mes wreathed Tycon''s body. As hended, oppressive wings of heat fanned out from his back. He stood up, crossing his arms and grinning...

    Shao Ran had stood in front of him, wielding his halberd, Ferocity. Ran had deflected Athena''s initial counterattack, the de impaling the dirt, mere ilms away from cutting Tycon''s thigh.

    Even with the oppressive heat of Ran''s mes of the Golden Crow, the surface of Athena''s ?Frost de? still held a semnce of its form.

    Most impressive. Her concentration on her spell effects hade a long way in a few short weeks.

    "Full marks, Miss Athena!" Tycon dered, pping his hands together. "Well done."

    Athena''s small group of adventurer friends apuded, one whistling raucously-- a grinning twin-tailed girl. Athena turned and bowed politely at the crowd, "Th-thank you."

    "Thank you, Ran," Tycon dispelled his ?me Shield?, eyeing Athena with interest. Her mana reserves had seemed to grow and stabilize... more resembling that of a Second-Circle caster than a First, "Youngdy! Have you undergone another breakthrough?"

    Athena nodded, her smile brighter than any of Ran''s fire attacks, "The wind... the water... the ice and chill... It''s all the same. And I am the same as them."<novelnext></novelnext>

    That was one of the stupidest things Tycon had ever heard.

    "Well done. Very well done." Tycon smiled, truly proud of his young charge, "As a small reward, what would you like me to make for dinner?"

    If Athena could visualize her spells and will them to do as she pleased, whatever thinking had gotten her to that point was quite eptable.

    ...

    ? Over a weekter. ?

    "Sir Tycon! Sir Tyconnn!" Athena Vanzano waved frantically as Tycondrius passed by the training area.

    "Good afternoon, youngdy." Tycon smiled politely. He drew his sword and swiped it slightly above her head.

    The young woman tapped the sword with a finger, forming a thin ?Ice Barrier? to casually deflect the attack, "Good afternoon. I was wondering about Mister Chaleb."

    Tycon was dreading this moment. Athena didn''t seem to enjoy training with males her age. Of course, Tanamar was an exception. However, her results training with that fellow were so inconsistent that he eventually forbade it.

    Shaking his head, Tycon resheathed his de, "Speak your mind, Miss Athena."

    "It''s just... I haven''t seen him for awhile?" Athena tilted her head in bemusement.

    Tycon felt his eye twitch. How bothersome.

    The young noble, Chaleb Moretti, was one of the adventurers that answered the recruitment call for Guild Letalis. Thinking objectively, Athena and the boy were excellentplements. They belonged to the same ss at the Military Academy in Silva, so were very simr in age. On the subject of martialbat, they were rated as the top two students in the academy... thus, they hadpeting levels of skill.

    Their social statuses were simr, as well. House Vanzano had fallen in favor over the past few years, while House Moretti was a noble only in name-- an ancestor a few generations past had won favor in the Church. Both had plenty to gain from attaining a victory as a Duo-Team in the Caeruleum Martial Tournament.

    It was slightly troubling that Chaleb seemed to have romantic inclinations towards Athena. It was reasonable, as she had a pleasant demeanor, and was probably attractive. However, Tycon deemed that his potential as a Bronze-Rank Duelist was worth cultivating.

    Anyroad, he doubted that the young fool''s romantic aspirations would be fulfilled. Tanamar was irreceable in Athena''s heart. With the tournament less than two moons away, he estimated there to not be enough time for Chaleb to grow resentful of it. The boy would be useful for winning the championship and, from there, would either be discarded or assigned a position too far to bother Athena.

    "I don''t see a cause for concern," Tycon shrugged. He reached out to grab the youngdy''s tunic near the neck, pulling lightly.

    Athena hooked her arm beneath Tycon''s, snugly ced her shoulder deep under his, then rotated her body to throw him over her.

    Tyconnded on his back, smacking the ground with his heels to absorb some of the impact. The youngdy''s sense of danger and reaction speed had grown to eptable levels.

    Whatever issues Athena had, she had been working hard enough that he would work to ede to her requests.

 Chapter 395 Substitute

    ?"Good," Tycondrius stretched his arms and back outward,fortable on the arena ground.

    Athena pursed her lips, offering her hand out to him... "Well... I asked Instructor Ran about him, but he said Mister Chaleb was doing super-secret training? I was just curious, I guess... and... um... Yeah."

    Tycon stood up with Athena''s help, dusting sand off of himself.

    What he''d heard thus far wasudable... and notpletely surprising. Athena''s diligence, along with her talent made her progress far faster than her peers. Tycon imagined her existence to be intimidating to normal humans. If the young man Chaleb asked Ran for ''special'' training... it would be harsh, but he would only be stronger, because of it.

    The youngdy seemed to be hesitating about something, though...

    "Did you have a suggestion, Miss Athena?" Tycon asked, rotating his waist and stretching his arms cross-body.

    Athena bared her teeth in a sheepish grin, "Can I um... can I choose a substitute?"

    "Hm. Of course," Tycon smiled politely. "I was nning on Mister Chaleb''s substitute being the most capable Letalis member around your age... but I see the benefit in you choosing a particr adventurer to work with."

    Athena beamed, "Really?!"

    "...Yes."

    As usual, Tycon was slightly taken aback by Athena''s exuberance. It seemed like she always expected him to refuse her suggestions. At least 80% of them were reasonable.

    "Um... Sir Tycon?"

    "...Yes?"

    "Is there a Lady Tycon? Like... are you romantically involved with someone?"

    Tycon stared in disbelief, decidedly not blinking as he tried to figure out why the youngdy in front of him was asking such a question.

    Athena wrung her hands as she spoke rapidly, "Asking for a friend! Not for me. I have someone I like already-- and it''s not you. S-sorry. You don''t have to answer if you don''t want to!"

    Tycon was still trying to figure out how asking about a substitute duo partner led to the current topic of discussion.

    ...Though he felt a slight tinge of annoyance at the youngdy''s straightforwardness, he tried his best to ignore it.

    If he remained in the Holy Country for a year or two longer, he''d strongly consider forcing Athena and Tanamar to wed-- just to be rid of the youngdy''s... tension around males.

    Anyroad... Tycon considered Athena a close friend. ording to their positive rtionship, he had no reason to hide information... as strange as the question was.

    ...No one knew anything about him because no one asked.

    As for whether he was in a romantic rtionship...

    He had intimate rtions with the former Gnis woman, Medousa. The interaction seemed to lift her spirits and gave her a sense of empowerment over her past life. However, he couldn''t say there was romance involved... not that he was against it.

    Still, Doe had her duties as the only maid in the Vanzano estate. Tycon was always busy overseeing Guild Letalis'' logistics or troubleshooting issues for Maeva and Sorina. After that one particr evening, Maeva assigned the young maid proper quarters. Since then, he and Doe hadn''t spent much time together, at all.

    There was another woman... But Princess Aur had not been returning his own missives. Thest he''d received of her was several moons prior... and expressed annoyance at hisck of contact. At the time, he was traipsing around the Tyrion countryside, engineering the deaths of some two-hundred humans belonging to the Gold-Rank Rhodok guild.

    "I... am not seeing anyone romantically," Tycon frowned... "Though I am in no position to pursue such an endeavor."

    If Athena was being truthful about her... ''friend''.... and he had no reason to believe otherwise, he was curious, regarding that person''s agenda.

    "Do you want some rtionship advice!?!" Athena grinned.

    Oh. Tycon discarded all his other thoughts. It was likely the empty-headed frost girl questioning his rtionship status was in order to offer her own unwarranted advice.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I do not."

    Social protocol suggested that he thank her for offering. He did not, as he was not thankful at all.

    Suddenly, Athena froze. She furrowed her brows, deep in concentration...

    Athena''s elemental perception was very high... so Tycon did the same, focusing to identify whatever the youngdy had. Though it took seconds longer, he judged Lieutenant Shao Ran to be nearby. The amount of ambient fire mana in the environment lit up the Golden Crow''s aura like a bonfire in the night... Once he knew what he was looking for, it was embarrassing that he had missed it, initially.

    "Yo!!" Ran emerged from a bush...<novelnext></novelnext>

    The hide-in-the-bush n... Tycon hated the hide-in-the-bush n.

    "Ran..." Tycon crossed his arms, "What is the meaning of this?"

    Athena gasped, both hands covering her mouth, "Oh, no! What happened to your hair, Instructor??!"

    Shao Ran had dyed his hair... a reddish color still dripping in rivulets down his brow, turning his sandy blonde into a sordid ruddy brown. Instead of his halberd, Ferocity, strapped to his back, Ran instead held a misshapen sword.

    ? Sword of the Forgotten Noble. First-Circle Magical Longsword. Warning: This weapon has been cursed by its previous owner. ?

    It was likely that the young man mistakenly thought it made him look impressive... or that it was stylish to wield a cursed weapon.

    "Ahaha... haha... I''m... I''m not... Ran." The Sea Wolf whispered, "I am... vengeance given flesh..."

    The man was being ridiculous.

    "Go back." Tycon rolled his eyes, "Just because you''re not stationed in a military base doesn''t mean you can do as you please. Guild Letalis prides itself on its professionalism, just as our Sea Wolf fleet does. Adjust yourself, Marine."

    "Haha... ha...." Ran chuckled, staring at his boots, "Aye aye..."

    ...

    Footman Victorius had no idea why Tycon wanted to see him.

    He''d been seeing both Tycon and Zenon less and less ever since they started recruiting adventurers. The training still continued, of course. Since the two had shown up, Victorius felt like he had to. He couldn''t help Athena and Tanamar fight, but he could suffer the pain of training alongside them, cheering them on the whole way.

    Anyroad, he had to do at least that much to avoid losing his job. Athena valued loyalty far too much.

    Victorius knocked and entered... and was slightly disappointed to not see that new maid, Doe, in Sir Tycon''s room. He figured there was a very small chance he''d see something spicy.

    Oh, well. Doe had recently moved into the female servants'' quarters. Maybe during the sunlight, he''d sneak in and try to steal her undergarments. Everyone would assume it was Lord Greer''s doing. It was a perfect crime... and no one got hurt, so he didn''t feel bad doing it.

    The green-haired Tactician was sitting at his writing desk but turned his attention away from his paperwork to greet him. Victorius found it slightly odd... as he actually expected to be ignored a little.

    "Good evening, Mister Victorius," Tycon nodded.

    "Good evening, Sir," Victorius responded out of habit.

    He almost saluted him, too... There was something about that man. In Tycon''s presence, he sometimes forgot that he was crippled. He liked that feeling... but loathed it, at the same time. It made him feel alive again... and it hurt so much, returning to reality.

    Tycon pushed his chair back from the desk, turning in his seat to face him, "If you had some time, I wanted to discuss your training."

    Victorius smiled wryly. He obviously had the time to talk... but there wasn''t anything to discuss? He participated in as many training activities as he could. But still... he obviously couldn''t climb a rope. He couldn''t wield a sword. Without his right hand, he sometimes felt like he was half a man.

    "Wh... what about it... Sir?" Victorius pursed his lips into a perplexed grimace.

    The noble''s mouth curled up into a suspicious smirk.

    A chill ran down Victorius'' spine. Ever since they first met, he''d always been... just a little scared of the man. There was a certain way Tycon looked at him on that first sun... Victorius got this horrifying feeling that he was about to be killed.

    Sir Tycon had his ws, yes. He wasn''t really that smart at anything besides training or fighting. He was also very rude, often for no reason.

    ...On the other side, he was a surprisingly good cook... which Victorius always considered a very feminine trait. More than scary, the man was... strange.

    He was generally private, too! He, Tanamar, and even Centurion Zenon didn''t seem to know much about him. What was this man hiding?

    Victorius couldn''t hate him, though. Tycon tried his best to help Athena and House Vanzano, as a whole-- that was his mission or something. That, alone, was more than worth Victorius'' respect.

    Still... Victorius found it insulting that Tycon kept asking him to do so much he was obviously unable to do. Some people were just useless and he was one of them. If he could train like a normal person-- if he could be the greatest Archer in the world, then he''d have done so, already! If he was just a little bit stronger... then everything would be different...

    The pain in his right hand held him back from greatness, that''s all.

    "I have an offer for you, young man," Tycon reached below his desk, cing a wrapped package upon its surface.

    Victorius furrowed his brows in wonder. He had no possible idea what the offer could be.

 Chapter 396 Illegal Magic

    ?Tycon unwrapped the bound leathers, revealing a darkwood crossbow.

    Though it was never Victorius'' preferred weapon, he couldn''t deny its masterful craftsmanship. On a whim, he picked it up, holding it in his good hand... its grip wasfortable and its weight, reassuring. Its worked wood and intricate mechanisms made it far more expensive than anything he''d ever owned... even his personal longbow, the one he''d sold off, long ago.

    There was one thing that bothered him, though... Sir Tycon was a generally private person. He wasn''t the type of person to show things off... not without reason.

    It took him entirely too long to notice that the weapon''s grip was left-handed.

    "Sir Tycon..." Victorius gulped hard, his throat dry and his heart pounding. Whenever he faced the golden-eyed Decanus... he could never remember what it was like to be brave... "I can''t wield this... with the way my hand is... I have no hope of loading it."

    Tycon brushed a strand of green away from his eyes, chuckling to himself. The man''s arrogance again shook Victorius'' psyche. He felt like a child beingughed at for his foolishness.

    "Mister Victorius, while you have correctly surmised that I am nning on gifting this to you... Would you grant me a moment to exin?"

    Victorius grimaced... The thought of him again taking up arms for House Vanzano pained him to talk about, but... he couldn''t refuse the man so easily. Tycon spent so much coin on effort on both his charge... and now, on himself.

    "Aye, Sir. Please do," As much as he wanted to leave, Victorius'' duty bound him to at least hear what Tycon had to say...

    The Decanus took back the crossbow, briefly turning it upside-down. Flicking his wrist, a carved and polished red crystal appeared in his hand... which he ced into the weapon''s base.

    With a light whine and steady hum, the crossbow began to emit an eerie red glow...

    "This switch on the side is the safety... undo it and..." Tycon depressed the switch on the bow''s side.

    With an audible click, the bowstring pulled back on its own. An ethereal, red bolt materialized, nocked in the barrel. A hairline pull of that trigger could easily end a human life.

    "--You have a bolt, ready to fire." Tycon hefted the crossbow up, aiming down its sights at the adjacent wall, "Its pull is rated at 140 librae... enough to punch through leather armor. More than enough to pierce an Iron-Rank''s skull."

    Victorius felt a sharp pain in his chest. He didn''t know how he''d done it. Tycon had found an enchanted, self-reloading crossbow that even a one-handed cripple could shoot.

    With that... he could be an Archer, again.

    He''d... have to re-train everything to his left... He was right-eye dominant, so shooting opposite would take some getting used to... But the knowledge, the thousands of bells of practice, it was all still there, in his head... waiting for him to use it again.

    But...

    Victorius gulped, pointing at the weapon and its creepy, crimson glow, "What... heresy powers this weapon?"

    "It''s not heresy, you dunce," Tycon scowled. "It''s magic."

    It was a thin line they were walking. Victorius had a mind to report the Decanus to the Church... but... the Decanus worked for the Church.

    me take it... He''d probably be the one crucified, instead...

    The noble flicked the safety switch, causing the bolt to disappear and the bowstring to reset... Still... the mysterious smell of molten iron remained in the room. The weapon itself was gorgeous and its mechanisms were fascinating, a mix of human engineering and alien magic... but there was something... off about it that he couldn''t identify.

    "Sir Tycon... you..." Victorius shook his head, "You can''t fool me, Sir. The power source is red... it''s obviously evil."

    "You can''t be serious..." Tycon ced a palm over his eyes, "You''re judging whether magic is good or... ''evil'', based on its color palette?"

    "Well... uh..."

    It did seem a bit silly, thinking on it a bit more...

    "Take the crossbow, Victorius," Clearly annoyed, Tycon loosely wrapped the weapon back up and pushed it towards him. "The Khyber Crystal burns out if you shoot more than 40 bolts within a bell, 120 max in a sun. Get some practice in."

    Victorius sucked in a breath of air through his teeth, "Khyber Crystal? That... that sounds really evil."

    "Take the damn bow!!" Tycon shouted, causing Victorius to flinch, guarding himself from an attack that never came.

    "Alright, calm down!" Victorius frowned... "By the me, I was just giving my honest opinion..."

    Logically, it wouldn''t hurt to give it a try... He was useless, but maybe he''d be a little less useless if he took up archery again.

    ...

    Lieutenant Shao Ran peeked his head above the waterline, observing the empty moonlit beach. With no one around, he dragged the body of Chaleb Moretti out of the waters and tossed it onto a tarp he had prepared beforehand.

    He wore a cloth mask over his face and borrowed clothing. He even left behind his halberd, Ferocity, just to ensure no one could identify him. He swept his hair back with his hand, checking it after. The red dye had washed off, but that was fine. Maybe he''d get a haircut, afterward... just in case.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Time was not kind to the dead noble. The corpse''s eyes and most of his face had been nibbled away by fish. He was even missing an arm. A passerby dolphin told him that a shark had nabbed it, but they''d chased it away a few suns prior.

    Only the sea god knew where the hells that had gone...

    Thankfully, it was Chaleb''s left arm. That meant he could still wield his sword...

    It was not a good sword. It was not a good sword, at all. Though Ran kept it sheathed at his waist after digging it up from a garbage heap, its very presence made it difficult for him to breathe.

    It was like someone had punched him hard in the stomach.

    ...It was cursed. Sea god''s suspenders, it was definitely cursed.

    Still, he needed to keep it on him. Once he got Chaleb raised from the dead, the sword he would wield would serve as proof of his identity.

    Thankfully, over the past few suns, he''d collected enough information to figure out where he could find a Necromancer. It was extra troublesome because magic was frowned upon in the Holy Country... dark magic, especially. Still, Ran very much needed the noble kid to be ''alive'' again... and a Necromancer''s ?Animate Corpse? spell was the way to do it.

    Ran wrapped up the corpse in the tarp, bound it tightly, and hefted it over his shoulder. Illuminated by the moonlight, he skulked into the city of Silva, proper.

    He''d worry about the details, afterward.

    ...

    "D-did you bring the... um... your friend, Sir?"

    "I did," Ran ced the wrapped body onto the table in the small hut. It stank of rotting fish, but so did everything else in the city''s eastern docks.

    ...It made him almost nostalgic for his home at Port Saint Guinefort.

    The tears of recruits being trained helped him sleep at night.

    Thenky ''Necromancer'' youth wore a skull mask to hide his face and all-ck robes to hide his other features. Still, Ran could tell how young he was by his voice and the wisp of hair on his chin.

    The boy wrung his hands in nervousness, constantly ncing outside the window, "And... and you''re sure you weren''t followed, right?"

    Followed? Who would bother following Ran? Where he was from, if you saw someone carrying what looked like a body over your shoulder, you walked the other direction. Asking questions got you killed.

    "Don''t worry about it, kid. Let''s just get this over with," Ran smiled uneasily. He didn''t know the kid''s history, but it must have been colorful to be in this type of business at his age.

    "Um... alright," The Necromancer began to unwrap the body. As a mark of his professionalism, he didn''t recoil from the stench or the body''s sea-rot.

    "How''s it look?" Ran asked, "Can you fix him up? I really need this. Really."

    The Necromancer took off his skull mask, revealing his pale youthful face, "Y-yeah. I think I can..."

    "So he can walk again, right? And be able to fight?" Ran''s heart was pounding with anxiety. If he couldn''t fix Chaleb, he felt like he wouldn''t be able to show his face to Tycon, ever again.

    The Necromancer bared his teeth, "Well... I''m only a First-Circle mage..."

    "Is... is that enough?" Ran grimaced. The shapes and numbers a mage was rated made no sense to him, whatsoever.

    "I um... I''ll need a week... and... materials. But I should be able to make him stand and walk around a bit," He exined.

    "It''ll be enough," Ran gulped. "I''ll... I''ll make it work, somehow."

    POK POK POK. An armored fist mmed on the door, "Open up!!"

    Slowly, the Necromancer turned to Ran... "Oh... oh, no. S-sir, you have to get out of here."

    "Not a chance!" Ran dered, "That''s outrageous! Cowardly, even."

    The Necromancer was his best chance at getting back into Tycon''s good graces. And not getting keelhauled.

    "Last warning!!" The voice beyond the door shouted.

    Whoever those people were, they were obviously not wee.

    Ran would show them that no one would stop him from correcting his own mistakes!

 Chapter 397 Vengeance Given Flesh

    ?Lieutenant Shao Ran kicked the door of the Necromancer''s hut, the strength granted to him by his cursed blood blowing it off of its hinges. From a scream of pain from one of the men outside, it sounded like he got one.

    No one expects the door to attack them. He was pretty proud of himself for such a genius tactical move.

    "M-my door!" The Necromancer shouted, "I... I just reced itst week."

    Ran pulled his cloth mask up and drew Chaleb''s ancestral de, "Your life is more important than a piece of wood, kid."

    Walking outside into the cool night breeze, Ran breathed in the sea salt and fish rot in the air. Because of his Sea Wolf Curse, fighting in such close proximity to the ocean allowed his ki to circte and regenerate almost effortlessly. Thatbined with his healing factor, he could shrug off sword stabs as easily as wooded splinters.

    It was still annoying to breathe deeply, though.

    Stupid cursed sword.

    Three men stood warily, waiting for Ran with swords drawn. One of them was out of the fight, already-- knocked out by the door, lying unconscious underneath it.

    Clean, dark coats, all uniform. Trimmed beards. Well-maintained weaponry.

    ...Assassins from a Dark Guild... Mercenary Witch-Hunters, maybe... Shao Ran''s organization, the Sea Wolves, specialized in hunting pirates, and these cold, murderous bastards wouldn''t be much different.

    "Who in the me are you?" One of the bearded men asked.

    "I am vengeance given flesh." Ran flourished his de. He sheathed it with his fiery ki, lighting the de ame, "I am the stain that you cannot scrub."

    Ran swallowed awkwardly... He did not mean to say that... any of that! Was this... also part of the weapons'' curse?

    The three men frowned at each other... before nodding and fanning out to surround Ran.

    "Come with us quietly, and no one but the witch gets hurt," One of the mercs growled.

    It was a threat. Ran hated threats.

    He spun his weapon as he pirouetted backward, reversing its grip and holding it behind him. Ducking down, he then leapt forward, swinging his de in a 720 degree spin...

    ...which was incredibly telegraphed and had far too much unnecessary movement. Was this the sword''s effect too?

    Double spins are stupid! Normally, he was conservative with his attacks-- one spin was okay. Two was too much!

    Thankfully, his opponent was too slow to block. Ran struck the man''s weapon out of his hand before spinning around again with a jumping kick to their head.

    What... what was he doing? He lost so much power by jumping instead of staying grounded and using the rotational force to his advantage.

    He was wasting so much energy that he struggled to breathe. Or was it because of the sword, again?

    Sea god''s socks! He HATED this sword!!

    ...But the kick struck true and the man dropped to the ground.

    It really should not have worked. These people were not very strong... or maybe they couldn''t see well in the dark?

    "We shall not falter, evildoer!" One of the bearded rogues shed his sword-- quick, clean, and straightforward...

    Both Ran''s perception and reflexes were advanced enough to see it like he was swimming in sand. All he had to do was to dodge it and counter-attack.

    Instead, he reached out to grab the de with his hand.

    Ow! Seven hells! What?! WHY, SWORD?! WHY???<novelnext></novelnext>

    Ran gripped the de hard, twisting it out of the man''s grasp. All the while, he clenched his teeth, ignoring the pain. Though his hand stung hot, he could recover in a few minutes thanks to his healing factor.

    "Wh-what are you?" The disarmed man stepped back, panic in his eyes, "Monster!!"

    The guy wasn''t too far off. He was a Sea Wolf... a creature unafraid of death! There was no way Shao Ran could die to these weaklings.

    Ran grinned, "I am... vengeance... given flesh..."

    WHY DID HE KEEP SAYING THAT?!?

    Still, Ran continued speaking... magicallypelled to do so, "I am the eyes that watch as you pee in the public bath!"

    The man''s eyes widened, his panic transforming into pure fear, "H-how did you know?"

    Ran jabbed the bath-pisser in the stomach before mming the t of his fiery de against the side of their head. Three of four, defeated.

    Thest turned and fled... but Ran was far too upset with his circumstances to give chase.

    He grabbed a vial of seawater off his belt and poured it on his injured hand. Immediately, the wounds began to close... not that it really made him feel better.

    "S-sir... You''re so brave," The Necromancer kid''s eyes were almost glowing with respect.

    "Heh... It''s no problem, kid." Ran shrugged... At least his hard work was appreciated. Something was better than nothing, "Who are these guys, anyroad?"

    The Necromancer grinned sheepishly, "Oh, they''re City Enforcers."

    Ran paused... "They''re what?"

    "Like... city guards... except they enforcews?" The boy pursed his lips, "I uh... Necromancy isn''t... exactly legal in Tyrion."

    Ran copsed to his knees, allowing Chaleb''s sword to tter against the street stones and its mes to extinguish. He held his temples with his hand and smacked his forehead to the ground.

    Sea god''s balls... He was the biggest idiot in the Fleet. He had identally assaulted officers of thew...

    "Sir! Sir? Are you okay?" The youth rushed to Ran''s side.

    Ran wanted to dive into the ocean and never return.He was in the wrong! Definitely in the wrong!

    ...

    ? On the road to Caeruleum, via carriage. ?

    "Miss Athena... I think you''ve changed a little bit," Parthenope Aldini grinned as she ced her hands on her junior''s cheeks. Her skin was pale, like a doll''s, and her bright, frosty blue hair was soft as silk.

    Some guys liked that. The littlestdy of the Military Academy at Silva was one of the more popr girls in her year... Even some of the older boys in Parthenope''s own ss looked at her withscivious eyes.

    "Y-you think so, Theno?" Athena pursed her lips out... which looked very cute with her face squished as it was. "I''m pretty sure I grew an uncia... maybe two?"

    "Nah," Parthenope sat back in her seat, cing a hand on her chin. "How can I exin it... it''s like you grew up somehow?"

    "I''m taller," Athena insisted. "I think my boobs grew a little too? Maybe?"

    That... was probably not the case. Sorry, Athena.

 Chapter 398 Cool And Calm

    ?Parthenope tapped a finger to her chin as she stared at Athena''s babyface.

    She had definitely changed a bit... personality-wise. She seemed more... mature.... cool and calm. Athena had always been a little... loud? But she was also quick to concede. She was so shy, that sometimes she''d literally run away when people tried to talk to her.

    Parthenope only grew close to Athena because she was both faster than the Vanzano was. And... when someone ran away, she wanted to chase them. Maybe it was her ss, but Theno was always great at finding Athena''s hiding spots, whether it was at the Academy or on either of their estates.

    Recently, little Athena had grown... in confidence. It seemed like it had something to do with the leave she took a few moons ago.

    Maybe she finally slept with her footman, Athanasius? Parthenope doubted that Athena initiated it... but maybe the silver-haired footman seduced her to bed. He did have those eyes...

    Men only wanted one thing, after all.

    Parthenope looked out the carriage window, reminiscing. Athena was a friend... and friends were always wee at the Aldini estate. The opposite was also true, but... Athena''s family hadn''t been doing well in recent moons.

    Something happened, though... and before Theno knew what was going on, House Vanzano was the hottest topic in the noble circle.

    It seemed a lot of gold hade out of nowhere... and the Vanzano businesses started making really powerful and wealthy allies. Their economic takeover could only be described as... domineering... and from what Theno heard, it was a little scary, too.

    Because of everything going on, Parthenope''s family encouraged her to stick close to Athena.

    Parthenope stretched her arms and half-copsed onto a fluffy cushion. It was a win-win situation, as they were already friends, anyroad. Athena was greatpany and easy to get along with-- as long as her scheming manservant, Athanasius, wasn''t around.

    Hanging around her estate, Parthenope even applied to join the new, Vanzano-sponsored adventuring guild.

    House Aldini was well off, but she had four other siblings. Having a bit of pocket money and maybe even a career after she graduated from the academy was definitely in her best interests.

    Guild Letalis... It was such a pretty name. And whoever designed their armor had a good eye for fashion. ck looked good with everything.

    They had group training that she signed up for, too-- and shortly after, she was trained as Athena''s duo partner for the uing Caeruleum Martial Tournament. It seemed like the other person she was recing wasn''t very reliable.

    ...The acquisition of businesses. A new adventuringpany made from almost nothing. An expensive andfortable carriage... Parthenope couldn''t help but be curious about Athena and her house''s secrets.

    "This carriage is muuuuch nicer than my family''s," She mused... "It doesn''t even feel like the road''s bumpy, at all... and it''s not warm like it is outside!"

    "Oh, I know! It''s so great!" Athena beamed, her teeth pearly white, "Sir Tycon modified the enchantment to make it more efficient at uh, shock absorption? --or so he said. I kinda understand it... but it''s prettyplicated..."

    Parthenope blinked, trying to register the big words that just came out of Athena''s tiny mouth.

    "Um. I have some paper-- do you want me to draw it out for you?" Athena offered.

    Parthenope bared her teeth, sucking in air, "I... haha... I don''t think I''ll get it. I''m not a Sanctified Psyker like you are, little sis."

    "Ehe..." Athena grinned, her eyes closing into cute, little, upward curves.

    Parthenope had nearly forgotten that Athena was a ''dangerous'' Psyker... not that Athena was dangerous, herself.

    Psykers were people too, some good, some not so good. It was better to judge anyone on a case-by-case basis, not on whether or not they can fire poison beams out of their eyes or light their weapons on fire.

    Athena spoke so positively about this ''Sir Tychon'', person... It was strange. In all the years Parthenope had known her, she only talked that way about Athanasius. To be perfectly honest, the first thing she assumed was that Tychon was a decrepit, hundred-year-old noble that wanted to marry Athena.

    ording to thew, little Athena could legally marry... but... the way her child-like body was, it *should* be illegal.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Some guys liked that kind of girl.

    But it was definitely wrong. Those guys were scummy.

    ...Sorry, Athena.

    Anyroad, when Parthenope firstid eyes on Tychon... well... He wasn''t old. Or ugly. In fact, she thought he was the most perfect male specimen she''d ever viewed in her life. Maybe it was the armor. Maybe it was his beautiful golden eyes. Maybe it was the way it looked like he didn''t care. Whatever it was, he was totally her type.

    He reminded her of a Prince in a story she once read.... sly, calcting, super-intelligent, slightly-unsocial... secretly super-romantic and an absolute beast in bed... ording to the story, he would have been locked away in his manor, brooding and masculine and oozing raw sex appeal...

    And then a Princess would wander into his home.

    They''d fall in love, immediately... and they''d never fight, unless it was over something silly like the color of the rugs or what to name their babies. And he''d always let her win, of course.

    The make-up sex would be fantastic, too.

    Then they''d have two kids with another on the way... a nice home in the hills overlooking the beaches.... And they''d be waited upon by a veteran butler, an easily excitable manservant-- oh, and a clumsy maid, too...

    The maid couldn''t be too pretty, though. Theno would have her fired, immediately, if so.

    Aaaanyroad, Tychon seemed to be a friend of Gian. That made a lot of sense. Athena''s brother was a really big thing for House Vanzano. Parthenope never got the chance to meet him, herself.

    Athena loved him. That much was certain.

    Gian was a sis-con, for sure.

    Slightly scummy, but forgivable.

    Parthenope rested her head on her hands, her elbows on her knees, "Atheeee~na..."

    The sweet blue-haired doll tilted her head, "Yesss?"

    "Tell me more about Mister Tychonnnn~"

    "I already told you that he''s single... I asked for you, you know!" Athena began giggling immediately, "Ehehe..."

    This girl! What is sheughing about?

    "Oh, by the me. Whaaat?" Parthenope tossed a pillow at her.

    Athena waved her hand... which deflected the pillow with a speed that Theno couldn''t follow with her eyes. Itnded on the back wall of the carriage, a few unciae away from her head... and shattered into a thousand ss-like pieces.

    Parthenope''s jaw dropped... "Eh?"

    "Oh, no! I''m so sorry! Are you okay, Theno???" Athena tugged on Theno''s hand, pulling her away from her seat.

    "What? What did you do?"

    Pillows... they don''t shatter like that.

 Chapter 399 Pairing

    ?The members of the Guild Letalis caravan rested on the outskirts of Caeruleum, setting up camp and campfires for an afternoon lunch. Dozens of other adventuringpanies had done the same. Whether it was to rest after a long journey, to save coin on inn room costs, or merely to keep their mercenaries out of trouble, it wasrgely beneficial to all groups who did so.

    That it was allowed irked Tycondrius slightly. It was an unnecessary risk to the city. If a malicious Dark Guild or worse, a coalition of them, was nning on sieging the city, its defenders would be hard-pressed to rebuff them.

    However, as frustrating as it was to see a wealthy trade city so vulnerable to a raid, Tycon could not remain upset for long.

    Lunch was lovely.

    Tyrion venison seemed to taste better than Alizeaun... which was somewhat strange, as nearly all the creatures from the Kingdom were magical or magic-sensitive.

    Creatures rich in mana tended to be powerful... and that same mana served to both enhance the meal''s taste and grant the added small benefit of mana absorption. Hidden Sects able to raise ''Spirit Beasts'' for consumption or otherwise their cores or parts into pills, would see an overall efficacy increase in their Martialists'' mana cirction.

    A more basic rule took precedence, though.

    The deer in Tyrion were fat and sedentary. The gentle creatures knew naught but prancing and sipping from peaceful, babbling brooks. Their flesh would be soft, tender, and vorful.

    A lithe, well-muscled Alizeaun stag had tough and gamey meat... nevermind that some of them had antlers sharper than daggers or could discharge bolts of electricity at unprepared hunters.

    As for the reason this was so... perhaps it was the prevalence of Magebred Stags coupling with the Alizeaun deer poption... or the not-small poption of Alizeaun Weretouched... or the social eptance of Animal-Shifting Wizards.

    Humanoid-deer pairings... how would their offspring taste? Would it change, at all?

    ...Would it be considered ethical to consume such creatures? To breed them, for the purpose of ughter?

    Such topics were not Tycon''s expertise.

    "The tournament will start with an initial melee of 256 duo teams, brought down to about 16 in the final bracket..."

    Centurion Zenon was exining the various rules of the Martial Tournament. Tycon elected not to pay attention. The Librarian''s voice was sweet, melodious, andforting... and the topic was quite dry.

    It made Tycon want to withdraw into a cool, shaded den, curl up and sleep.

    "...And that''s everything, provided nothing''s changed in the past few years." Zenon smirked, "You get all that, Optio?"

    ? Tycon had lost track of time. Had it been minutes? Bells?

    He shook his head and smiled politely, "My apologies, Brother-Zenon. My attention drifted elsewhere."

    Zenon shrugged nomittally, "I get it. The ride was pretty tiring."<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was difficult for Tycon to be interested in the mundane affairs of the Caeruleum Tournament. The Holy Country of Tyrion was a powerful military force... but it was made up of individually weak humans. Their military tactics relied on entire legions marching as one, guarded by an imprable shield wall, millions of arrows and crossbow bolts raining upon their enemies.

    A human adventurer in the Free Nation shared elbow-space at public house tables alongside ogres and gnolls. Men and women of the Sleeping Country were required by imperial edict to serve in their military for a minimum of two years, without exception. Even heroes hailing from the Eastern States had the propensity for utilizing unorthodox tactics-- as if tens of thousands of years of established military doctrine were somehow wrong.

    ...Admittedly, sometimes they were... depending on the magic and technology avable, of course. Even a hundred years prior, militarymanders never had to worry about the Kingdom''s trebuchets,unching Alchemist-crafted explosives... or a score of the Sleeping Country''s Corpse Golem''s, twenty-fulm tall abominations barreling through an army''s ranged line.

    Thankfully, Zenon was understanding... so much that Tycon sometimes felt undeserving of his loyalty.

    Parthenope leaned forward, resting her cheeks on her palms. "I wasn''t listening either... You know, Sir Tychon, you have really pretty eyes."

    Tycon narrowed them... He did not often hear positive sentiments concerning his eyes... "Thank you?"

    Parthenope of House Aldini was Athena''s senior at the Military Academy at Silva, whom thetter affectionately called ''Theno.'' She sat upon a travel stool, gazing dreamily at... the fire-roasted venison on his skewer?

    She had her own. He wasn''t going to share his, no matter how the whelpling fluttered her eyshes.

    Theno was taller than her junior (though Athena was also short for her age.) Her long, pink hair was styled into two braids. They were tied into a loose bun but otherwise would fall to her waist.

    Her weapon of choice was a Tyrion crossbow... painted in a pink and white camouge-like pattern. It was a strange choice... and not at all optimal for use in the field... but, the fact that she personalized and took great care of her own weapon wasudable.

    Tycon again asked Zenon for information on the Caeruleum Martial Tournament... a summary, anyroad. One rule in particr stood out. The tournament had two divisions: youth and regr.

    Of course, Athena and Parthenope would still be entered in the youth tournament. With that, their odds of winning the championship increased dramatically.

    Tycon had to enter two additional participants into the regr tournament. Tycon greatly desired that win... as it would fulfill most of his conditions towards his missionpletion in the Holy Country.

    He decided to enter, himself, with Athanasius as his duo.

    The young footman had power on par with a Gold-Rank and Tycon... well, he was merely... better than everyone else.

    As for the children...

    Athena and Parthenope''sbat synergy was solid, able to provide the other nigh wless, mutual support.

    Originally, Tycon had rmended one of Athena''s male ssmates as her duo... but that decision was based purely on the young man''s potential. It was better overall to field Athena with a trustworthy and supportive partner than someone that might be slightly stronger than she was otherwise unfamiliar with.

    As much time as Shao Ran had ced in training the boy, Tycon was certain he would agree...

 Chapter 400 Secure

    ?The Caeruleum Martial Tournament was the most important event for both House Vanzano and Guild Letalis Serpentis. Thus, the caravan was quiterge, consisting of nearly all active Invictus members, all the members of Team Athena, and a dozen Letalis members that had earned the right to a short reprieve from training.

    What surprised Tycondrius, however, was that Lieutenant Shao Ran of the Sea Wolves had chosen to alsoe along. As the Head Combat Instructor of Guild Letalis, the man had every right to do so.

    However, it was... odd, concerning the fact that the city of Caeruleum was hundreds of malms ind.

    "Brother-Ran..." Tycon forced a smile, "Tell me again why you are... here."

    "Ahaha... haha..." Ranughed. "Sorry, what? I wasn''t listening. You know how it is, haha... long trip! Longest voyage of my life, even."

    Tycon was fairly certain the usage of the term ''voyage'' was incorrect, there, but... he doubted that Ran would be able to retain any learning, considering his condition.

    The Sea Wolf looked miserable.His eyes darted from side to side, as if nervous, and he incessantly scratched at his dry skin and king scalp. The burn scars on his pallid face had hardened, cracked, and leaked, making him look not only pitiful, but like a carrier of a contagious disease.

    "I''m thirsty." Ran croaked, "Is anyone else here, thirsty? Let''s get a drink? Drink? ...Drink?"

    So far from the ocean, the man was essentially useless. It was also possible that Ran could not function without alcohol.

    Judging by the fact that Ran had badgered everyone around the campfire for a sip from their waterskins... subsequently emptying a half-dozen of them, Tycon decided to assume it was the former.

    Tycon pat the Sea Wolf on the shoulder, "Nevermind, Brother-Lieutenant. Zenon, myself, and the children will be going into the city. I''ll ask Victorius to stay behind and get you a... damp cloth."

    If he knew Ran wasing ahead of time, he would have packed a few barrels of seawater. It seemed the gentleman had hidden himself in the guild''s supply cart.

    Athena sensed his presence. Tycon ordered him dragged out and seated in a carriage like a proper human.

    Anyroad, without such preparations, any exposure to water mana could at least alleviate Ran''s condition.

    It wouldn''t be unreasonable to find him a cheap public bath and have him... live there for the week. Failing that, a public well or water fountain would do just as well.

    "No, I uh... nah," Ran tried to argue... "Yeah... No, that sounds good. I''ll stay here. Definitely staying here."

    He didn''t argue for very long.

    "Once you see whatever-his-name-is, send him to follow us. The signs set up in the city seem rather simple to follow." Tycon pursed his lips in a deeply set grimace... "Just let Victorius know if you need anything."

    "Yeah, sure. Right. Got it," Ran copsed against an old tree... "Go, Team Athena! Blood and... behhh..."

    ...

    As soon as Tycon and the others departed, Shao Ran stumbled away from the camp''s center, wobbling as fast as he could to the supply cart.

    Thest few weeks of his life had been aplete mess. He sacrificed his free time and sleep schedule to train a literal zombie how to fight. Zombie-Chaleb wasn''t actually any good... but it could hold a sword, swing it, and even dere in a raspy, nightmarish voice that it was the embodiment of ''vengeance, given flesh.''

    The zombie''s existence had be... necessary, almost. Ran couldn''t leave his cursed sword on the wayside... it would somehow find its way back in his pack, in his room. Once, he''d even woken up with it in his hands.

    He needed to give it to someone... and it made more sense to give it back to its previous owner than to pawn it off to Sergeant Salt. As long as the dead kid had his sword, Ran didn''t suffer any windedness, nor was he magicallypelled to say stupid shite.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Ran hated sounding stupid. That''s why he always used big words-- especially around Tycon!

    To be perfectly honest, Zombie-Chaleb was a shite idea. There was no way it''d be able to beat anything that moved faster than a brisk walk... but Ran had given it his best effort, he really did!

    Transporting the thing was an issue. Ran didn''t want the guy just... walking around. The zombie was veeeeerrry limited in talking, too... so literally anyone could figure out that something was wrong with him. They might even be able to tell that he wasn''t alive!

    He decided to wrap it up in its tarp, tossing it in with the equipment. It would stink a bit, sure, but as long as Ran made sure no one else checked on the cart, it''d be fine.

    Get to the cart. Grab the kid. Give him the sword. Hurry to follow Tycon to get the kid registered.

    Easy. Easiest thing since he''d joined the Fleet. Easiest thing since...

    Sea god''s silverware.

    Shao Ran was so thirsty, he could drink a barrel of literally anything. There had to be a water barrel in the cart...

    "Instructor Shao? I was just about to look for you?" Victorius was tending to the horses that the supply cart was attached to... probably beating them off or something. That kid had weird tastes.

    Ran ignored him, immediately climbing to the top of the cart and searching for a drink... err... no. He was looking for his personal failure.

    "Ahem..." The blonde footman coughed, "Sir? You don''t look well? Sir Tycon said that I should get you a--"

    No... no no no no NOOOO!!

    "Where is it??" Shao Ran leapt off the cart and grabbed Victorius'' cor, screaming in his face, "WHAERRE IS IT?!? It was RIGHT! HERE!!"

    Ran keeled over immediately, gasping for air and choking blood.

    Some of the other caravan guards looked over, other mercs from Guild Letalis. Aw, shite. Ran was making a scene...

    Ran moved close to Victorius to keep his voice low, "Listen, Tyrion... There was... a tarp... right on top here. I need to know... where it is... Also, a cup of water would be the tits right now."

    Victorius caressed his crippled hand in worry, "Sir? I... I don''t know? Was it secured properly?"

    "Of course, it was secured properly! I''m a gods-damned--"

    ...Ran stopped.

    Was it?

    Ohhh.... Sea god''s buttplug.

    "Instructor?" Victorius frowned.

    "...Idiot. I''m a gods-damned idiot."

 Chapter 401 Registration

    ?? Outside the Caeruleum Coliseum. ?

    Tycondrius and Zenon apanied Team Athena to the tournament registration booth, with the newest addition of the pink-haired archer, Parthenope.

    Upon speaking with one of the city officials, Tycon discovered an annoying... inconvenience.

    The two girls needed a proper, legal, Tyrion ''adult'', in order to register.

    The participation of well-known noble houses in the martial tournament provided a great influx of wealth to Caeruleum. House Vanzano and House Aldini both qualified for this.

    Both girls were the age that they could legally join the military and even legally pair with a husband. They could legally fight and die for their nation... they could legally create offspring... yet under Tyrionw, they did not qualify as ''adults.''

    Tycon did not have any official documents to prove his citizenship. He did have a boot. The attending official also had an orifice that he could shove his boot into.

    Perhaps thankfully, Centurion Zenon was present to deescte the situation. Because of the Librarian''s social status, he had the proper paperwork.

    Tycon wondered if that was Archbishop Natalya''s intent: to assign him a Centurion instead of going through the process to provide him a single piece of paper.

    Such an action both inconvenienced him and prevented her from taking on more work.

    Well yed, scheming human woman.

    Well yed...

    The Caeruleum officials measured Athena''s and Parthenope''s physical age via a Scanning Crystal. Upon verifications, they were properly signed up for the youth tournament. Once the other boy arrived, they could seek out a tournament official to have him sign in as a substitute.

    Not that Tycon particrly cared for that one. His tardiness solidified his unreliability in Tycon''s heart.

    "And I assume you will be signing up individuals for the main tournament, Master Letalis?" The city official asked.

    "Yes, of course," Tycon nodded. "My first candidate is this young gentleman."

    Tanamar, real name Athanasius Mors, stepped up. In the past several weeks of training, he''d fought and defeated nearly every single member of Shao Ran''s crew. Also, Tycon had assigned the young footman a weight-training regimen that targeted his weaker muscle groups. The Holy Lancer visibly grew in size, his muscles thick and defined underneath his dark-leather Letalis armor.

    He admitted he was in the best fighting shape he''d ever been.

    The young man had lived more than one life, as well. He deserved to be proud of his hard work.

    "Very well..." The official nodded, "ording to the Scanning Crystal, the candidate is over the age of 18 and below the age of 31. Please go to that table over there, young man, and provide the scribe with..."

    Tycon''s mind drifted off. Below the age of 31? He... was not aware of that rule. It was likely made to prevent elves and other long-lived peoples from participating in the tournament, but...

    ? System, inquiry: Is this body... below the age of 31? ?

    ? Negative. ?

    He knew this... but there was no harm in asking. He was grossly unqualified to sign up to the tournament, himself. He wouldn''t even submit himself to a scan... having his real age discovered would cause himself undue attention.

    ...Also, he did not wish to know his exact age. He liked feeling young.

    "Sir? Sir?" The official furrowed his brows as he tried to get Tycon''s attention.

    "My apologies," Tycon shook his head, "You were saying?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I was inquiring about Mister Athanasius'' duo partner?"

    Tycon pursed his lips... "It''s... that gentlemen, right there."

    Centurion Zenon looked over with a nk expression, "Huh?"

    ...

    Zenon was Tycon''s best option to field as Tanamar''s duo partner.

    Sorina was eligible for the tournament... but did not have abat ss. Nor did Popoto Potata Pota...

    Korr was the strongest Invictus member they had... but that would require him to ask a young woman what her real age was. Tycon was not the smartest gentleman in the Realm, but he at least knew not to do that.

    By age, Shao Ran was certainly qualified. At his full-strength, he was of a simr level to Korr. However, he was... not at his full strength.

    Victorius? ...Absolutely not.

    At the very least, Centurion Zenon had previously worked alongside Tanamar when they traveled to the Icingdeath Dungeons. They had often trained together, as well. They hadn''t specifically trained for duo tactics, but the few suns before the tournament started properly, they''d be able to develop and practice match-winning strategies.

    Anyroad, Tycon had seen very few Iron-Rank participants... and all that he did belong to low or standard-tier sses. Based on power alone, Holy Lancer Tanamar and Librarian Zenon had a very solid chance to win.

    There was the issue that Zenon hadn''t brought any of his Church-issued gear, including his arm-des... Still, there was a suit of leather Letalis armor that fit him. Further, the city provided blunted weaponry, specifically for the tournament, should he choose to arm himself.

    He''d probably be fine.

    Athena Vanzano. Parthenope Aldini. Athanasius Mors. Zenon Skyreaper.

    All four participants would be fighting under the name of Guild Letalis and wearing dark, spiky uniforms to match. Tycon looked forward to the snake-skull and lightning bolt crest bing a symbol of fear and domination.

    ...

    On the morning of the tournament, Tycondrius of Charm and Sorina Capulet entered the stands as observers for the junior matches. The preliminary matches for the regr matches would take ceter, after noon.

    Tycon scrutinized Sorina Capulet''s form. She had foregone business-professional attire and instead wore a white, sleeveless blouse, shorts, and knee socks with colored stripes. She still looked unmistakably feminine with her single side-ponytail, her chestnut-colored hair culminating into a curly drill.

    She also wore a short, t-topped hat, guarding her eyes against the oppressive sunlight... while the Armor Cube that levitated around her head wore an identical, but a miniature version of it.

    Just... who had spent time on crafting that?

    ...At the very least, Tycon appreciated that the youngdy was consistent.

    "Whaddya think our chances are to win, Boss?" Sorina grinned.

    "Victory or death," Tycon replied simply.

    If either Zenon or Tanamar performed less than their best, he''d ensure they wished for death.

    "Oh, good." Sorina rubbed her hands, "Because I''m ALL IN, BABY!!"

 Chapter 402 Lack Of Professionalism

    ?Sorina Capulet was easily the most important existence for Guild Invictus'' strength and prosperity. Tycondrius would be hard-pressed to find another woman (or man) of either her ss or caliber.

    She was also the weakestbatant in Sol Invictus.

    Even Popoto Potata Pota had four years of heavy sword training.

    In theory, Seldin Korr was assigned to guard Sorina against any would-be kidnappers or assassins...

    "Miss Capulet..." Tycon forced a polite smile, "Where is Korr?"

    "Oh?" Sorina tilted her head gleefully, "She''s with Popoto Potata Pota! There''s a horse-groomingpetition right behind the venue."

    "Why, then..." Tycon pursed his lips, "--are you not with them?"

    "Makin'' stacks, Boss~" She sang, fanning out a series of betting receipts as if they were ying cards.

    Oh.

    "...Very well."

    Tycon sighed and dropped the subject. In the open and public area that was the Caeruleum Coliseum, the risk for Sorina being captured was low. At any rate, Tycon could reasonably guard Sorina just as well as Korr could.

    The juniorpetition went well, with Athena and Parthenope encountering no troublesome opposition. Before the young Vanzano''s matches, Tycon advised her to focus primarily on winning through swordy, saving her frost abilities as a hidden trump card.

    On a real battlefield, Athena could utilize her abilities to incapacitate swaths of opponents, her ?Frost des? cutting down dozens at a time, her domineering ?Ice Beams? obliterating closely packed groups of shield-bearers. The more enemies she cut down, the greater the advantage her allies would have.

    The arena fights were decidedly not life-or-death situations... and they were set in a way to be reasonably ''fair.'' If she were to hide her strongest abilities, she''d also be able to gain an edge from teams underestimating her. She could afford to take each fight slowly and methodically, not fearing the casualties of dozens or hundreds of allies.

    Tycon found it surprising that Parthenope performed quite well. As she wielded a crossbow, he expected the twin-braided girl to remain on the defensive, patiently waiting for an opportunity to shoot, and taking advantage of conditions Athena set.

    In the first match, the archer smashed her weapon stock against some poor Warrior''s teeth. Then, she shot a blunted bolt into their chest from a Tyrion palm away.

    It was good. When an opponent isn''t vulnerable, the fighter can create that vulnerability.

    It reminded him of Tanamar... Though the Holy Lancer was technically a ranged ss, he was deceptively strong at closebat.

    After the junior preliminary matches ended, he met with the Athena Collective for a short lunch before returning again to watch the rest of the matches. In the afternoon, the crowd had swelled, packing the colosseum seating and putting Sorina into a frenzy as she took far more bets than earlier in the sun.

    Tanamar and Zenon did as well as the girls, before them. Their matches, however, were... more orthodox. They kept their distance and remained defensive... because that was both logical and efficient. Zenon''s sts of wind kept closebatants away and a Tanamar''s relentless barrage of magical arrows at range. It was an effective if nigh-unbeatable strategy.

    Tanamar kept yawning as he struck down his opponents. Tycon nned to scold himter for theck of professionalism.

    In one of the fighting rings, however... Tycon noticed a particr person he recognized... and one he certainly did not expect to be present. That person took a grievous injury, a deep trident stab to the upper abdomen.<novelnext></novelnext>

    As Sorina would be safe with both Athena and Parthenope, Tycon informed the group that he was leaving to investigate...

    ...

    Dorus wiped the sweat from his brow.

    He stood guard inside the diator pit entrance instead of out. He took sce that he wasn''t outside in the sweltering heat of the Tyrion sun. He almost wanted to check if it was cooler out there than in the shade. For one, it would be abandoning his post. More importantly, when he came back, he''d have to again get used to the reek of diator sweat.

    It was worse than usual, too... even though many of thepetitors had much better hygiene than the regr diators, there were literally hundreds of them in the pits... and from every part of the Realm.

    The soft steps of another unwashed fighter began to pad down the stone steps.

    Dorus stood up straight, feeling the cold and mmy stick of his sweaty tunic on his back. As miserable as he felt, at least he''d look somewhat professional with his Caeruleum armor and shiny pilum.

    It was a green-haired youth with golden eyes... which was odd because the junior matches had ended nearly two bells prior.

    "Good afternoon, young sir. This area is closed off to all but current participants."

    "I am aware," The youth narrowed his eyes, the bright gold of it gleaming in the torchlight. "Let me pass."

    Dorus coughed in embarrassment. The look was slightly intimidating... but he''d dealt with diators and their ilk for years. The tough act tended to just be bluster. Dorus would stand his ground... at least a little bit.

    "I suppose I can make an exception for you, Sir," Dorus rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

    Taking a small bribe here and there never hurt anyone.

    The young man shrugged, "Are you asking for silver or steel?"

    "I uh..."

    Was that a threat?

    "Sod off," The green-haired fellow rolled his eyes and shoved Dorus aside. The boy was far stronger than his smaller frame suggested.

    ...It was worth asking for a bribe. It always was. Dorus didn''t particrly care that he was rejected so easily. It was better than being overzealous and getting hurt.

    Coliseum guards were easy to rece... and the city had no use for injured guards.

    So what if a diator got punished for it? They''d get a p on the wrist and Dorus would get a career-ending injury. That was the way of things.

    Heimon, one of the other guards, approached. How the man could still his helmet with the body heat around baffled him, "Hey, Dorus. Who was that, just now?"

 Chapter 403 Wise Wolf

    ?The two coliseum guards stared down the hallway at the departing, green-haired figure.

    Dorus turned to Heimon, shrugging his shoulders, "Honestly? I have no idea."

    He took a seat on a nearby bench and fanned himself with his hand. "I figured it was just some rich kid. Tried to get some coin from him-- was a bust, though."

    Heimon shifted his weight, grimacing, "He''s... trespassing then? Should we do something about it?"

    "Tch," Dorus scoffed at the notion. "And do what?"

    "Eh, I dunno..." Heimon bit the corner of his lip, "Question him?"

    "Nah..." Dorus shook his head... "You don''t question people like that. Chances are, the guy knows somebody or is important enough to act like he''s invincible. The wrong guy up top throws a fit? We''re out of a job."

    Heimon frowned, "Dorus, we signed a contract..."

    "Well, yeah..."

    Dorus took a deep breath and sighed. He thought like that too, once. He was a few years older than Heimon, so he always considered himself his senior-- even if the guy wasn''t exactly a kid, "The thing is... you and me, Heimon, we''re not here for *real* security."

    Heimon crossed his arms, "How do you mean?"

    "Well..." Dorus nced from side to side... Only the two of them were in the hallway, but he still kept his voice low, "Think about it...

    "Everyone in that pit is literally a trained murderer. Everyone in the crowd up top could have weapons and all that-- it''s not like we check for ''em. Anyone at any time could go bonkers and just start killin'' people... and neither you, nor me, are going to stop that.

    "You, me, the other coliseum guards... we provide the ''illusion'' of security. The fans feel safer with us around, and that''s why our employers pay us."

    Heimon pulled his head back, as if the thought sickened him, "We have spears and shields. We can definitely do something."

    "Pff" Dorus snorted, "You''ve seen some of these fights, haven''t you? Some of these diators are Iron-Ranks, man! Those types of people can cut a man in half with an angry look-- what use would our pig-iron shields be, then, huh?"

    "Yeah... Fair enough..." Heimon dipped his head, his expression twisted... "It''s a lousy world we live in, man."

    "Just do your job and try not to think about it, friend," Dorus pped his hand on Heimon''s shoulder te. "That''s all we can do."

    ...

    Tycondrius appreciated the warmth of the underground pit where the diators prepared.

    The smell, not so much.

    The architecture of the Holy Country was sound... and venttion existed... but it was nowhere near enough to air out the sheer number of fighters within.

    The stench of piss and unwashed bodies wasparable to that of a sewer.

    Tycon navigated the various chambers, ncing into each of them... until he found the particr room he was searching for.

    Casually strolling in, he was met with over a dozen unfriendly gazes from various thieves, ruffians, and ne''er-do-wells... and one particr cheek-scarred, swordsman.

    Tycon crossed his arms, scrutinizing his loyal ally.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human Ranger. ?

    Ignoring the bloody bandages wrapped around the man''s abdomen, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, hadn''t seemed to change much. He wore a dark eyepatch... implying that he had also injured an eye. That was troublesome, but wouldn''t limit him in very-closebat.

    His skin was still bronzed and he desperately needed a haircut, his dark hair and rough-shaven beard a mess. He had grownrger, to a simr size to when they first met. It was likely he had returned to training with static weights as opposed to traipsing around in Tyrion forests.

    A set of nondescript leather armor rested on a stand beside him, as well as two blunt-edge des. They were a far cry from the quality of his signature Wolf-Hammer and enchanted sword, but Tycon surmised those were confiscated upon the man''s incarceration.

    The young ranger did still wear a particr magical rope around his waist... He must have been fond of its effects, as stupid as it looked.

    Still... as d as Tycon was to see his friend safe and *rtively* uninjured... he was supposed to be imprisoned at Turrim Orientem, not participating in a Martial Tournament.

    "I saw the injury you took in the first-round eliminations, Mister Lone," Tycon smirked. "That certainly wasn''t the best you could do."

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Go ahead, thank you. ?

    ? Activating... You''re wee. ?

    A spiky-haired Rogue stood up, sneering arrogantly, "And who in the seven hells are--"

    "B-boss?!?" Lone stood up, wearing a broad grin, "I''ve missed you so much!"

    The Ranger stood up, predictably unbothered by his injury. From the man''s bodynguage, he looked like he was going to try to embrace him. Thankfully, Lone wore a heavy ball and chain on one of his ankles that stopped him from doing so.

    Logically, the reek of the room was from the collective of exhausted fighters within. With Lone''s haggard appearance, though, it very much seemed like half of the sweat and stench came from him and only him.

    "Wow!" Lone grinned, opening his arms excitedly, "Just seeing you makes me feel like I can fight a hundred more battles!"

    ...That was because Tycon literally used a healing ability.

    Lone knew this.

    Lone had been healed by him before.

    ...But it very much sounded like he did not understand that.

    The Rogue standing nearby stared nkly like a deer caught inntern-light... Frowning quickly, he sat back down and looked away... "Oh, wee."

    Why the fellow chose to stare into a nondescript sandstone wall, Tycon had no idea.

    Tycon was slightly surprised that he hade all this way without being challenged... and when he finally was, the attempt was flimsy, at best. Just like the Rogue, the hostile gazes within the room disappearedpletely.

    It seemed that Lone hadmanded a great deal of respect. Such was the effect of being powerful.

    It was very well done. The wise wolf takesmand of their pack and leads them to survival.

    ...Even if that wolf was Lone.

 Chapter 404 Escape

    ?Lone saluted with his fist to his chest, "Great to see you, Boss. We''re doing really well! Oh, that''s Edge. Don''t mind him-- he''s just like that."

    ? Edge, Bronze-Rank Human Dark Lurker. ?

    Tycondrius nodded, giving the fellow the benefit of the doubt. ''Edge'' was Lone''s duo, and used a rapier along with a heavy gauntlet and parrying dagger... which did not sound like a weapon set his ss implied.

    Together, they were a... sloppy pair, but their individualbat ability was sound enough to find sess.

    Tycon reasoned that they had a good chance to get second ce.

    Lone grinned toothily at his duo, "Edge, I want you to meet my boss. This is--"

    Edge grimaced, shutting his eyes and rocking back and forth, "Not now, Lone... I''m having trouble... c-controlling the power sealed in my left hand."

    The spiky-haired Rogue cradled his hand dramatically.

    ...Right.

    Tycon took a deep breath through his nose... an action he regretted almost instantly. He concentrated, so as to not gag... then addressed the current situation.

    "What''s... all this?" He opened his arms, gesturing to the people in the room.

    Lone flipped up his eyepatch and scratched at his cheek, "They told us that the tournament needed more bodies... so we got to participate, I guess? If my duo wins, I might be able to get out in 15 years, instead of the 20."

    That made sense. The fact that Lone was wearing an eyepatch even though both of his eyes worked perfectly well did not.

    "Exin the eyepatch, Mister Lone."

    "It makes me look cool?"

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Remove it. Please."

    "It... it seals his power level," Edge offered from where he sat. "He can''t fight without it!"

    "If it did, then he wouldn''t randomly unseal it right here and now," Tycon countered. "Really, Mister Lone. Do you know what depth perception is?"

    "I seal my right eye because all it Percepts is Death," Lone dered.

    "That will be all, then." Tycon turned immediately, "I''m leaving."

    "W-wait, Boss!! Boss!!" Lone scrambled after him, dragging his heavy weighted ball across the sandy floor.

    "Yes?"

    "Is... is Sorina in the crowd?" Lone asked... almost hesitantly.

    That was an interesting question... Was Lone still romantically interested in the youngdy? ...No, that was highly imusible.

    Tycon tilted his head, "Did you... have a question about... your pay?"

    "Yeah!" Lone nodded, "I''m still getting paid, right? Like I''ll get everything I''m owed when I get out, right?? Boss?"

    "Farewell, Mister Lone."

    ...

    Tycon returned to the stands, seating himself beside Athena and the others. For some reason, Athena switched seats with Parthenope, the twin-braided girl close enough to rub their shoulders together. While it was slightly insulting that Athena moved away as she did, it was reasonable that he still stank of diator musk and would be unpleasant to sit beside.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He didn''t pay much attention to the remaining matches in the rest of the preliminaries. No particr duo teams stood out to him in strength or tactics.

    It was amusing to him, seeing two members of Guild Stormbrandpeting: Cleric am and Reaver Tancred... or ''Orcus'' as he was called. Per his reputation, Tancred arrived to thunderous apuse, the tournament announcer ecstatic about his appearance.

    It seemed, however, that am fought with no intention to support his partner... Their two opponents, while mediocre in strength, worked in tandem to defeat the Cleric, then turned on Reaver Tancred.

    The ''god of battle'' fell, disgraced.

    Zenon seemed to have gotten over his ''man-crush'' on the fellow.

    Tanamar offered a nomital "That''s too bad." Otherwise, he seemed unaffected by his twin brother''s loss.

    Victorius was incredibly disappointed-- almost depressed.

    As for why, Tycon could only guess... It didn''t take long for him to find out, though. It seemed he had ced arge bet that Tancred would win. Victorius then begged Sorina Capulet for a second chance... a conversation that almost suggested that the topic discussed was something other than money.

    Sorina offered the young man a double-or-nothing bet, which thetter readily agreed upon.

    The poor fool... Sorina was in charge of House Vanzano''s coffers. If he owed her money, his pay could be docked for the rest of his career...

    ...

    Corporal Horse and Private Jeremy had yet to return from Passage. It was a shame... as ording to Seldin Korr, the horses at the otherpetition could have been easily crushed in martialbat.

    All was well, though. Tycon assumed they were still on their mission to keep Lord Greer and his wife upied, to not interfere with the training of Athena and the other members of Guild Letalis.

    Lord and Lady Vanzano were well aware of the Caeruleum Tournament and what it meant for their family name... That is, if they cared, at all.

    Maybe they were dead.

    Not that it mattered.

    Both Guild Letalis teams had passed the preliminary matches, a process that took a few suns. The remaining week would be dedicated to the semi-finals, with the final matches taking ce on the sixth sun.

    In a wee turn of events, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, won alongside his duo, Edge. Their teamwork was horrible... and was what Tycon would have expected if he had decided to field Athena together with whatever-his-name-was, instead of Parthenope.

    Would Lone''s Bronze-Rank strength be enough to carry him to victory? Though Tycon was initially hopeful of their sess, their reckless, haphazard fighting styles were almost painful to watch.

    Tanamar and Zenon had fought together before and worked together well. That was to be expected.

    The best news of recent suns was that Guild Stormbrand''s team was eliminated spectacrly.

    Anyroad, on that particr evening, he wanted to avoid thepany of Letalis member, Miss Parthenope of House Aldini. The young, twin-braideddy had shown an inconvenient amount of interest in him, badgering him with personal questions for bells on end.

    Most questions, he could not answer, as he had no idea.

    Invictus member Seldin Korr was also acting strangely. Throughout the evening, she would snatch onto his arm so tightly that it hurt. He was forced to escape when she kicked him in the shin, underneath a table. Though he had a Gold-Rank physique, he stumbled to a private room and cast an ?Inspirational Surge? to heal himself.

    ...ording to his System, the woman had fractured his leg.

    He had no idea what he did to deserve it... and did not want to tempt fate by asking. His healing ability could heal a broken arm or leg, but not a shattered spine.

    Tycon snuck out through a window in his ?Small Snake Form?, then transformed back to walk thentern-lit streets of Caeruleum. To celebrate the Stormbrands'' loss and his escape from one bothersome and one terrifying woman, he sought to attain a portion of fire-cooked meat and an alcoholic beverage.

 Chapter 405 Golden Ale

    ?Lured by the delectable scent of charred pork, Tycondrius discovered a lonely outdoor food stall. It was one out of a row of several others, but he chose that one.

    ...It was the only one that had yet to close.

    There was one cook, an older male with salt-and-pepper hair and a tired face. There was one other patron, a cloaked and grey-bearded dwarf who likely thought he was hiding his identity.

    If Tycon were a physically weaker gentleman, he might have spurned the asion, fearing that he''d be robbed at knifepoint.

    He had no such concerns... and as such, patiently took a seat and ordered a meal.

    A few momentster, the human ced an ale in front of him.

    "Friend..." Tycon pursed his lips, "I did not order this."

    Tycon highly doubted that he was recognized. He wore his cloak to hide his Decanus armor and kept his hood down... However, throughout his adventures, if his identity was known, it was by name or his association with Sol Invictus-- not by face.

    He asked his System to verify that the drink wasn''tced with magic. It wasn''t. His own senses told him that the drink was not poisoned... not that a mundane poison would be able to affect him.

    If this wasn''t an assassination attempt... then Tycon reasoned there must have been some other mistake.

    The cook tended to the charcoal grill, flipping Tycon''s meal. The tantalizing sizzle of pork intensified his hunger.

    "It''splimentary, young man." The human shrugged, "Just take it."

    Tycon picked up the pint warily...

    While the thought seemed nice, he surmised there was a deeper reason. A food stall manned by a single, aging staff member did not logically have the coin to spare all their patronsplimentary drinks.

    Bowing his head out of respect, Tycon partook of the full-vored ale.

    Crisp. Clean. Cooled by the evening air.

    It was perfect.

    The cook smiled sheepishly, wiping his rough-shaven chin with the back of his wrist... "We had a daughter... Her eyes were golden-- much like yours... friend."

    Tycon nodded, processing the information. He was caught in a peculiar social situation. The human referred to his daughter in past-tense. This implied a loss. Asking about that loss would likely lead to depressing conversation.

    Reassurance, however, would be a socially eptable response. For Tycon to show his gratitude, that was a better option than silence or neutrality.

    Tycon forced himself to smile, "If ites as any constion... I can say with reasonable certainty that I did not have sexual rtions with your wife."

    His words were somewhat deceitful. He had very little memories of what he''d done more than two years prior. Tycon was quite certain that he had not slept with anyone''s wife. The-Tycon-Before could very well have.

    He was very handsome, after all. He was almost certain that he was very popr with females.

    The cook was taken aback momentarily... before rolling his eyes and chuckling, "No, haha... fool of a boy... Our daughter was near your age when we lost her... military casualty, she was."

    Tycon frowned... There was another logical conclusion that the cook was treating him so well... and it was one that he did not like.

    "Then I must insist, friend..." Tycon bit his upper lip... "My eyes are merely a coincidence. It is very unlikely that you are my father."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Admittedly, it was usible. Tycon had no memories of his body''s male parent. However, if a human had sired him, that person must be well over 100 years of age.

    The cook in front of him... did not appear even half that.

    "Hah! Hahaha! You''re a funny kid," The cook held his belly, sniggering heartily until his cheeks turned red... "Ahh... Thanks for that."

    ...Pride surged in Tycon''s heart. He had always thought he was not very good at being ''funny.''

    That he was not doing so intentionally was worrisome... but he would ept any sign of improvement as personal growth.

    If the cook was not exploring the possibility that they were rted, then Tycon could take his words at their initial value. He was given aplimentary drink because his eye color positively reminded him of histe daughter.

    Bright gold was a unique color and, to Tycon''s knowledge, belonged exclusively to non-humans. Because of it, he was often mistaken for a daeva or half-elf. They were judgments that he did not bother correcting. They were looked upon more kindly than his actual bloodline.

    As the cook did not have golden eyes, Tycon assumed that his wife did. A human and non-human coupling was difficult in the Holy Country... unless one was strong enough not to care about what others thought. The Gold-Rank leader of the Brazen Guard, Bannok of Kasydon, was such a gentleman.

    Tycon had plenty of questions. Still, he chose to say something both polite and meaningful. The ale was delicious and words cost him nothing.

    He raised his pint of ale, "Let us continue to live our best lives... as our loved ones would have wished."

    The cook paused... grimacing and gulping hard... "Aye, I''ll drink to that..."

    The patron of the small stall sighed heavily... as dwarves were oft to do. Upon Tycon thinking on it, the gentledwarf''s presence was further proof that the cook had no issues with non-humans.

    "Young''uns..." He grumbled, "Ya can''t just... toss the g out the window, like ''at."

    Tycon twisted his lips at the... colorful speech the dwarf used. The context was easy enough to understand, though.

    Forgiveness was honorable. To forget was foolish. In order to grow as a person, it was more important to learn from mistakes than to avoid mistakes entirely.

    At the same time, it was insultingly easy to dictate best-practices. The execution was never so simple...

    Tycon nodded, "I agree."

    The flustered, grey-bearded dwarf took a sip of his own ale, "And another th-- you what?"

    Tycon cleared his throat. Was he not being loud enough?

    "I said... I agree, Master Dwarf."

    Dwarves... no... all people liked terms of respect, especially when warranted. The older dwarf had thick, calloused hands, and a thick cross scar on his face. The Dwarven people were known for stubbornly pursuing a single art, stereotypically things like gem cutting, exploration, and monster hunting.

    It was an educated hypothesis that the dwarf sitting two stools away was a master at something.

    Even if he wasn''t, formal terms of address were rarely seen negatively.

    "...Oh. Well..." The dwarf stroked his beard in contemtion... "Good."

 Chapter 406 Naturally Good

    ?As the dwarf went back to his drinking. Tycondrius was served his meal. The meat was cooked perfectly-- beautiful grill marks on the pork''s outside, tender and juicy in. It was easily worth at least anotherpliment to the cook.

    As for how good it was, Tycon had established certain expectations for Tyrion cuisine. He would enjoy his te to his fullest extent... as long as its taste was superior to the dishes from Olea Garden.

    It was a fine evening, filled with good food and pleasant, idle conversation. After the dwarf''s initial surliness, the fellow became more agreeable as the night went on and the drinks continued to flow.

    "I''m diff''rent from Ector..." The dwarfined between ales, "He didn''t have a choice, gettin'' his loved ones taken from him. Sorry, Ec."

    The cook, apparently named Ector, shrugged his shoulders, "It''s in the past. The kid''s right. As long as I''m livin'', Orielle''s lookin'' down from the heavens and smiling."

    The dwarf mussed up his greying hair and ran his stubby fingers through his thick beard, "That''s what I''m saying, though... There''s no one in the skies lookin'' out for me. I mean... good for you and your Eternal me, cook... but she only smiles for you humans."

    Ector chuckled to himself, "Mind your voice, Hark. We''re still in public."

    It was a punishable crime in the Holy Country to speak ill of the Eternal me or the Church. That Chef Ector was sox about it spoke to his pragmatic nature. Not every human in Tyrion was blindly devoted to their national faith.

    The dwarf shook his head, slow and deliberate... "I''ve done a lot of things I regret in my life."

    Tycon took another deep pull from his ale before mulling over the thought... "Master Dwarf... what''s to stop you from doing things to fix that regret?"

    Regret had been amon topic in Invictus, as ofte... in particr with Centurion Zenon struggling to do more than he possibly could... and then with Footman Victorius...

    Bah. No, Tycon did not like that blonde buffoon. He was only concerned about Zenon''s issues.

    Hark the dwarf grimaced, his gaze drifting far away... "I''ve done... unforgivable things."

    Tycon shared a look with Ector, who shook his head. With no more information, which to react to, Tycon was still left with annoyance... and perhaps a bit of alcohol impaired his judgment. He decided to challenge the dwarf''s beliefs.

    "Tss..." Tycon scoffed, "I''ve never met a dwarf who''s given up so easily."

    As expected, the dwarf''s eyes opened wide... the me of anger rousing up within him. Abruptly, however, the fellow''s spirits seemed to... dete. His posture slumped, curving his back as he stared hard into his drink.

    "Yeah..." The dwarf admitted, "I''m a coward that''s abandoned my craft."

    Such. words... were a great. great taboo in Dwarven culture.

    If Tycon was a dwarf... or if he was in thepany of an allied dwarf... he would be honor-bound to physically assault Hark. From what he knew of dwarves... beating a man within ilms of death would force him to regain his confidence.

    It was simr with humans, to a point... not that he knew-well what that point was.

    Thankfully, he had no such inclinations. He was full on food and drink and did not want to jostle the contents of his stomach.

    That he knew of the dwarf''s shame did make him uneasy, though.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He''d offer some words. Words required very little effort.

    "Master Dwarf..." Tycon wore a grave expression, "No matter how many mistakes you''ve made, the bnce can always be restored."

    Hark rolled his eyes, "The bnce? You''re bringing elf shite to the table, now, kid?"

    "It''s simple quantification, friend." Tycon narrowed his eyes, exining his thoughts in a stern voice, "For every shite thing you''ve ever done, you look to fix it-- failing that, you do something beneficial to make up for it. If people didn''t do that, there''d be no such things as underground Dwarven cities and ns that prosper for generations."

    Tycon strongly believed in the collective good of people. If the denizens of the Realm did not work together for their mutual survival, then dragons might still exist.

    The dwarf turned away, "You... you don''t know the things I''ve done..."

    Of course, Tycon wouldn''t... nor did he care.

    The dwarf made a mistake. Hark''s stubbornness led to wallowing in ale and self-pity instead of trying to fight against the heavens and hells to do what he knew was right.

    The meal was good... but he needed to leave that ce, lest his frustrations get the best of him.

    With Hark preupied with his own misery and Ector looking elsewhere, Tycon took the chance to slip away.

    The dwarf would handle his bill.

    ...

    ? A few sunster... ?

    As a surprise to no one in Guild Letalis, Athena Vanzano and Parthenope Aldini dominated the juniors'' bracket. Tycon was fairly certain that Sorina Capulet had cheered for them the loudest.

    She cheered even louder than when Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, lost his match. The Ranger and his duo were battered and bruised by a Martialist with a staff. The Martialist''s duo then lost in their next match... then that duo lost, after that.

    Sorina used both her own funds and guild funds in her wagers. The profit would not be small.

    Initially, the venue did not rate Athena highly... especially as shepeted against highly favored teams trained by Military Houses and rookie adventurers from well-known Iron-Rank guilds.

    Her odds in her earlier matches were low, while conversely, the payout was amusingly high. House Vanzano without Maximus of Ezyria was sorely underestimated... which worked quite well in Sorina''s favor.

    Tycon bet some of his personal coin, too. With his meager earnings, he was nning on covering drinks during dinner for their party... everyone that was of age, anyroad.

    Hm. Zenon and Tanamar would have to win, though.

    ...Or maybe he''d just have the two of them walk back to Silva, so those that deserved it could enjoy themselves properly.

 Chapter 407 Semi-Finals

    ?Athena Vanzano had developed greatly in the events leading up to the Caeruleum Martial Tournament.

    Utilizing the Frost Stone, the girl had her Yin Body potential unlocked, ssing her from a Bronze-Rank low-tier Warrior to a high-tier Frostde.

    Then, training in the Icingdeath Mountains and cultivating under the guidance of Shao Ran solidified her ability to sustain her spellcraft. Versed in both her martial abilities and her spellcasting, she trained until she was able to use mana to empower herself inbat. With proper focus, Athena could moderately increase the weight of her attacks and greatly increase her agility.

    With the youngdy''s talents, she could easily fight opponents more skilled and at a higher rank. When she finally experienced a breakthrough to Iron-Rank, she might even be able to fight against the heavens and the hells.

    Athena did end up revealing her frost powers in the championship match. Her child-opponents sought to defeat her early on... but their attacks fell uselessly against a reflexively cast ?Ice Barrier?.

    With Athena on the defensive, Parthenope was able to take advantage of the melee. The twin-tailed girl relied on fundamental archery, loading and shooting without unnecessary flourish, easily securing their victory.

    It might have been considered... boring, but their results were undeniably effective.

    He visited Athena in the diator pits, afterward. Thankfully, she had only incurred small injuries in her final match, made trivial by the expertise of Caeruleum''s First-Circle healers.

    The young noble apologized for revealing her frost magic in her match... a notion that was ridiculous.

    Tycon had harshly trained Athena''s danger senses until her ?Ice Barrier? activation had be instinctual. If anything, the reason Tycon requested she use her powers sparingly was so she would not fatigue herself by summoning a dozen ?Frost des? each match.

    Anyroad, it was Athena''s training and diligence that won her and Parthenope the junior championship. They had performed the best they could and were rewarded with victory for their efforts.

    However, the two of them sped off soon afterward. They wanted to see the end of the horsepetition... After lunch, they''d return to the coliseum in time for Tanamar''s and Zenon''s matches.

    Tycon stayed with Sorina to ensure the money-making Calctor was safe from being kidnapped for ransom. As much as he also wanted a proper lunch, the safety of his money... err, no... the safety of his guild members was imperative.

    ...

    ? Centurion Zenon Skyreaper liked the Guild Letalis leather armor he wore. He designed it himself, after all... Not the crest on the shoulderguard, though-- Maeva did that. But still, everything else was perfect. Just like the metal version, it had spikes on it, and was dark, and imposing.

    Zenon looked undeniably awesome.

    The next opponents they faced were a male and female pair from an Iron-Rank guild, both wielding lengthy warbows, taller than they were. Even though the arrows were blunted, getting hit would leave a bruise even through their defensive leathers.

    Crossing his arms to look as imposing as possible, he smirked at his duo partner through his half-helmet, Tanamar, "What do you think, man? We should be able to beat them in a ranged match-up?"

    Tanamar shrugged, "We''ll see."

    Zenon crinkled his mustache. There was one thing about working with Tanamar as opposed to his Optio. There wasn''t as much thinking involved... not that that was a bad thing.

    When the gong rang, Tanamar rushed out towards the center of the arena, immediately firing his divine arrows at the two archers.

    Zenon''s ?Wind Sphere? spell was easy to dodge from a distance, so he held back, ready to cast a ?Wind Barrier? on his duo if necessary.

    But... the two archers were rushing forward, heedless of the danger.

    "What... are they doing?" Zenon furrowed his brows.

    Tanamar didn''t respond, instead forming ance out of mana and rushing forward to meet their opponents in closebat.

    ...

    Tycon watched from the stands, seated quietly even as the crowd around him stood up to shout their various cheers and obscenities. He felt like some of them shouted just to... shout.

    Athanasius Mors, the twin brother of diator Orcus, was favored to win... especially after word had got around that Athena Vanzano and her duo had swept the junior championships with ease.

    The Holy Lancer entered closebat with one of his archer opponents... which was a reasonable tactic. However, the Eastern States archer hooked Tanamar''s leg with the end of his longbow... then with a flourish and spin, dropped him to the sands.

    Grounded, Tanamar was hard-pressed to dodge the subsequent arrow shots, rolling around in the blood-curdled mud like a worm.

    "Trip ''em baaaack!!" Sorina yelled, "TRIP ''EM BAAAAACK!!"

    Tycon could hear the desperation in her voice. He surmised it likely that the Calctor had a substantial amount of coin riding on the duo''s win.

    He shook his head, "Ridiculous. Neither Zenon nor Tanamar have trained for such tactics. To suggest such a thing is--"

    Tycon felt his eye twitch as he continued to watch.

    Parthenope crossed her arms, mirroring Tycon''s posture, "OooOh. Athanasius tripped him back."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "That''s a good thing, right? Sir Tycon?" Athena prodded, "My Tanamar''s doing really well, right?"

    "I think... that should be okay," Victorius offered quietly.

    Tycon stood up, abruptly, "I''m going to purchase an ale. Maybe two. Would anyone like anything while I visit the food stalls?"

    "Oh, get me an ale too, Sir Tycon," The useless blonde footman asked.

    "One of the stands has grilled chicken hearts on a skewer!" The slightly less-useless twin-braided girl with good taste in food requested. "They''re great! --But they might be sold out by now."

    "Um. Aren''t you going to watch the rest of the fight?" Athena asked.

    "No," Tycon red.

    "Oh... uh... Get me some sweetbread, if it''s okay with you, Sir Tycon."

    Some ales, skewers, and sweetbread. Tycon departed toplete histest mission.

    ...

    Three alester, Tycon was better prepared to watch the remainder of the matches.

    Tanamar and Zenon had won against the archers.

    Of course, they did.

    Tycon wanted to strangle both of them for their unnecessary and ostentatious show... but they won. On the battlefield, attaining victory was more important than the methods.

    ...He would devise a training regimen to address their shameful disy... but that wouldeter.

    The Letalis duo then faced an... all Popoto team. They won easily... at the cost of appearing they were bullying children.

    "Yasss!!" Popoto Potata Pota shouted, "Die, trash!!"

    As much as the young Potata had insisted she did not enjoy the violence, she... was rather exuberant, seeing her allies win. Tycon decided not to question it.

    ...He made a mental note of it, though. It wasn''t impossible for him to cultivate her bloodlust towards developingbat skills.

    Korr held a stern expression throughout the matches. Tycon assumed she wanted to fight. Was she eligible for the tournament? He wanted to ask the veteran mercenary about her age... but he judged the risk of injury or death not to be worthwhile.

    "I want... steak for dinner," She whispered.

    ...Or she was preupied because she was hungry.

    For Tanamar and Zenon''s third match, the opposing team forfeited. That duo was reported to have incurred harsh injuries in their prior match. Otherwise, it might have been due to fear or a healthy respect for Tanamar''s and Zenon''s painful arrows and wind sts. Whatever reason behind it, Letalis was better off for it.

    As the matches were determined earlier by random lottery, Guild Letalis had beaten three of four teams, with the final bout to determine the tournament champions. The defeated would have more matches afterward, scrambling for second and third ce.

    Interestingly enough, the entire coliseum was in an uproar... as the remaining team hailed from the Free Nation.

    Nationalism was a strange concept.

    It is a mostly human trait to be so insistent upon iming ownership to a group. A family makes sense, caring for the children and the elderly. A close-knit group of families, a vige, or town... those made sense. A guild or adventuringpany... an army, even-- they banded together formon cause, which fit the family model just as well.

    A nation was different. One couldn''t choose where they were born. There was no... virtue, human or not, from being born in the Holy Country of Tyrion or in the Free Nation of Brel.

    Even still, the surrounding crowd of Tyrion men and women shouted with pride for every victorious motion made by the Tyrion Guild Letalis. Conversely, they booed and jeered the archer team from the Eastern States.

    Humans would take pride in the things they associated with. That much was given.

    Ultimately, though, Tycon was unsure of how he felt about the current circumstances. Based on his ancestry and fragmentary memories, he, himself, was Tyrion. Further, he was currently acting as a Tyrion Decanus... and had been amongst Tyrions for well over a year.

    Still, he was technically a Prince of the Free Nation. He couldn''t feelpletelyfortable about the crowd''s negative disposition towards those who were theoretically his kinsmen.

    Due to the rising raucousness, it was announced that the presiding officials would speak to address it.

 Chapter 408 Archbishopâ€™s Speech

    ?Tyrion. The Holy Country.

    The nation valued honor and righteousness. The empires of old touted the glory of humankind.

    Granted, these values also propagated the eradication of ''lesser peoples'' and an illogical sense of arrogance amongst the Tyrion people.

    Still, sportsmanship and tolerance for their fellow humans was a reasonable expectation.

    Tycondrius assumed the speaker would be someone from Caeruluem-- the Head Magistrate, perhaps. However, in the presiding official''s box, he saw the crimson-armored form of Archbishop Natalya Crucis.

    A wrenching dread roiled in his gut. That woman was very good at... inconveniencing him.

    He did notice something peculiar about Natalya''s presence. Standing at her side... shrouded in a dark cloak and hood, was a very familiar dwarf.

    Tycon knew him as ''Hark.''

    What was he doing there?

    Archbishop Crucis mmed the base of her staff against the floor where she stood in the overseer''s box, amplifying her voice to a thunderous boom, "Sons and daughters of Tyrion!! HEAR ME!!!"

    "WE HEAR YOU!!!" The crowd shouted.

    "Do you see this?" She asked, "These... *people* dare to contest us on our soil? To tread on our SACRED TYRION sands?? ...It''s a joke! I am INSULTED!!"

    ...Tycon did not like where this speech seemed to be heading.

    "Our Tyrion is the mightiest nation in the Realm! The march of our legions has melted the snow in Nemaya! Our silver swords have purged the evil Lycans in the Free Nation! The Eastern States struggle to emte OUR weapons and armor, superior to their pathetic nation for thousands of years before their savage states banded together for warmth!!

    "Our spears! Our arrows! They blot out the sun!

    "Our shields, unified, are an unstoppable wall of death, destruction, and total annihtion!!

    "We stand united in our TENS. OF. THOUSANDS!! Our WEAPONS are without END!! Our PURITY without QUESTION!!! Our very souls sing of our FAITH! Our COURAGE!!

    "Zenon Skyreaper!!! Athanasius Mors!!! GUILD LETALIS!!!! YOU WILL NOT FAIL, ON THIS SUN!!!"

    That... was not the type of speech Tycon had expected. He was assuming-- hoping for a nice, polite talk about the spirit ofpetition or fairness or honor.

    He was so, very wrong.

    The roar of the crowd was deafening. The Tyrions raised their arms, they stomped their feet, they shouted themselves hoarse.

    Popoto Potata Pota stood on her own chair, making embarrassing noises. Even Athena was cheering her loudest, screaming how much she loved Tanamar, except not ''like that'' --whatever that meant.

    Tycon began to sweat profusely as the Archbishop''s eyes met his. She was looking directly at him. She knew he was here. And she knew that Tycon knew that she knew.

    Empty. Night.

    Tycon took a deep breath to calm himself.

    He hastily scanned his surroundings for an exit. If he needed to escape quickly, he would do so before he was captured. He could get to the rest of Letalis outside the city and warn them to flee... and hopefully, Natalya wouldn''t crucify the entire guild.

    With his exit strategy formed, Tycon then analyzed Zenon and Tanamar''s opponents... a duo team hailing from the Free Nation.

    A gaunt and sickly looking adventurer stood at the side and back to hispanion. He wore only a pair of tattered trousers that went down to his knees, revealing ck runic patterns inked on all surfaces of his taut, leathery skin-- fully devoid of hair. Leather bands covered both his eyes and mouth, effectively making the gentleman blind and mute.

    The highest level of the Caeruleum Martial Tournament was no ce for a fighter to truly have such handicaps... Tycon hoped that the Letalis team would not underestimate the bald fellow.

    ? Iron-Rank Human Deathshaper. ?

    The other fighter strode up to the center of the sandy arena. The man had dark hair, stained with a streak of white. Tycon surmised it was either from a touch of death magic or... a unique style choice. The fellow wore a long red coat, his muscled chest bared to the crowd. He might have even been considered handsome...

    Tycon was not a good judge of such things.

    The man smiled, bowing towards the officials'' box before raising his voice, "Archbishop Crucis! I, Maboc of the ckroot n, have a request!!"

    ? Maboc, Iron-Rank Human Riftwalker. ?

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. The man had an illogically high level of confidence to be able to call out Natalya, as he did.

    In the Free Nation... an Iron-Rank did not approach a higher Rank adventurer without showing ample respect. There were many factors: family, adventuringpany, Warband... but personal strength was the most relevant.

    Natalya was likely the most powerful Gold-Rank currently in Ezyria. Speaking so brazenly posed him more risk than reward.

    ...What was he hiding?

    Tycon was vaguely familiar with the ckroots. They were a smaller Warband from the northern, harsher, and less popted regions of the Free Nation... Garock and the Screaming Silence Hidden Sect made their homes there.

    If he remembered correctly, they were known for practicing... darker magics. Or at the very least, their style of magic and body-transmutation would not be looked at kindly in the Holy Country.

    Natalya looked down into the arena, sneering in disgust, "And why would *I* deign to do so?"

    Maboc raised his arms, addressing the crowd, "The Free Nation sought the assistance of the Holy Country to purge the Lycanthrope gue from ournds! My nation is indebted to yours! We only wish to prove our strengths-- that your faith is not misced."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The crowd grew quiet.

    Tycon thought for certain that he''d see a human explode, based purely on how hard the Archbishop was ring.

    "Do not... EVER question the faith of a Tyrion, Maboc of the ckroot n." Natalya growled. "Speak... dog of the Free Nation."

    Maboc grinned... The shamelessness of it looked as if he''d just feasted on a bucket full of shite and was about to ask Natalya for more.

    "Archbishop! I request that I and mypanion, Gruffydd, be granted permission to utilize the Free Nation''s witchcraft!!"

    The crowd erupted into boos and shouts and mockery. Maboc was unaffected by their taunting, brazenly meeting Archbishop Crucis'' murderous gaze.

    It was troublesome, the way Maboc had performed his request so publicly. Natalya had spoken so much about her Tyrion pride that refusing the mage would be akin to admitting weakness.

    ...Maboc was ying the viin. And Tyrions had an unfortunate cultural weakness in that only they could be the heroes of their stories.

    The man was an idiot, trying to prove something to people who have no intention of listening.

    ...and if that idiot half-seeded, Tycon would be tied to a cross and paraded across Caeruleum.

    To that end, Tycon desperately hoped that Natalya would refuse.

    "Your heretical magic is *nothing* before the might of Tyrion''s finest," Natalya scoffed. "Very well, witch!! Cast your spells and know despair. Our Eternal me is superior to your tens and hundreds of pathetic gods."

    Of course, she''d ept it. That was very inconvenient.

    Maboc bowed at the waist, "Strength is proved in battle! Not by words!! Hear me, citizens of the Holy Country!! When we defeat your heroes, know that the men and women of the Free Nation are your EQUALS!!"

    The man''s speech was both honorable and righteous. Still, Tycon hoped they would lose miserably... and preferably, as quickly as possible.

    ...

    Tanamar stood a dozen paces away from Maboc... Zenon standing the same distance away from the bony and malnourished Gruffydd.

    Both of his opponents looked like trash. Still, they had been undefeated in the tournament, so far... even going as far as crippling thest team they fought against.

    And they didn''t use magic for that.

    Apparently, the two Free Nation warriors used blunt weapons provided by the coliseum.

    In this match, they were both unarmed.

    Tanamar''s System let him know their sses... Deathshaper and Riftwalker...

    It told him almost nothing. They were probably magic users, just based on the names... but even that was just a guess.

    He and Zenon were fighting with a disadvantage. They knew nothing about their opponents. Their opponents knew everything about them, just based on their previous matches.

    me take it... He wished his System''s Analysis function worked outside of Dungeons. He hated not knowing what his opponents could do.

    He almost wished he could ask Tycon. That guy always seemed to know something he didn''t... a little annoying, sometimes, but useful more often than not.

    "You sure do talk a lot..." Tanamar scowled.

    "It''s just a show, Holy Lancer Athanasius Mors," Maboc shrugged. He swept back his dark hair, allowing the white streak to fall beside an eye.

    "Our honor''s on the line," Zenon growled. "It''s not just a show to us."

    "Honor~ Righteousness... Purge, cleanse, kill," Maboc mocked,ughing quietly to himself... "Haha... You Tyrions are so boring."

    "Mmmph!!" Gruffydd added.

    "Lancer Athanasius," Maboc smirked. "Mypanion wishes to inform you that he ns to stretch out your virgin arsehole."

    Threats. They were a sign of a weaker man.

    Zenon frowned, "These guys aren''t taking us seriously, Tanamar..."

    Tanamar nodded back... "They''ll pay for their arrogance."

    Maboc pulled a suspicious red crystal from one of his side-pouches, just as his duo, Gruffydd did the same.

    "Hehehe..." Maboc chuckled, "I suppose we''ll take you seriously from hereon."

    What in the hells were those?

    ? Identify. ?

    ? Khyber Crystal: A vtile mana stone, harvested from demon-tainted creatures. ?

 Chapter 409 Volatile Match-Up

    ?Tycondrius crossed his arms, watching and brooding. As the match''s results corrted to the level of danger to his life, he had to pay attention. If the situation turned grim, he would attempt to flee.

    The ckroot fighters had unveiled two spirit stones, clearly intent on using them.

    Khyber Crystals were troublesome and vtile power sources. Mishaps with them weremon-- explosions would ur as a result of rough transport or mishandling... Sometimes even shifts in temperature or ambient mana would render the crystals inert.

    Sometimes it increased the size and lethality of the resulting explosion.

    The Artificers of the Kingdom and the Eastern States far preferred more stable mana crystals for their power cores. Still, because of their abundance and power efficiency, they weremonly used by the forces of Bael Turath-- a nation informally known as the Demon Barrens.

    As Sol Invictus had some influence there, they were able to import a reasonable amount of the red crystals at an eptable cost.

    It wasmonly understood that the Tyrion Empire was the oldest and most influential human culture in the Realm. However... demons and devils had existed for far longer than humans had. Modern Turathi magic was developed from abyssal and infernal magic, modified for use by mortal hands from spells and techniques hundreds of thousands of years old.

    With that vtility in mind... using the crystals without a focus or tool was reckless and potentially self-destructive.

    The warriors of the ckroot Warband did not want to wage a fair fight against Guild Letalis. They wanted to win.

    Archbishop Crucis'' voice resounded throughout the coliseum, "GUILD LETALIS!! By decree of the Church of the Eternal me, I ORDER you to defeat these heretics!! The GLORY and HONOR of Tyrion rests in your hands!!"

    As the match gong rang, the ckroots crushed their crystals into powder. Sprinkling the mana dust upon themselves, Maboc began to chant... and the two were covered in spheres of ck fog.

    It was dark magic, as Tycon had predicted. The dark ?Mana Ward? barriers would effectively reject both Tanamar''s holy arrows and Zenon''s divine wind spells...

    Tanamar fired three useless mana arrows at Deathshaper Gruffydd... the light of each, swallowed by the magical shields. Zenon''s condensed spinning spheres were just as ineffectual against Riftwalker Maboc.

    The mute Gruffydd moaned and screamed in pain, the sands rippling from where he stood. His inky ck tattoos glowed white through his barrier... and thick, ivory-white bones pierced outward from his flesh. Within moments, the Deathshaper had transformed into a skeletal bear, twice Tanamar''s size. Instead of meat and entrails within the bone cage, the shadowy fog of Gruffydd''s ?Mana Ward? roiled within.

    It was an interesting ability. The bear wasn''t quite undead... it was an external construct made of mana-materialized bone, with Gruffydd well-protected inside of it.

    Tycon nced over to Sorina... The Deathshaper''s style of fighting seemed to be what the Calctor was trying to do-- except Gruffydd could manipte his exoskeleton freely.

    The massive bear loosed a shrill, high-pitched shriek, the stands vibrating as the Tyrions in the crowd screamed in horror, covering their eyes and ears. With a heavy bone w, it swung a deadly blow at Tanamar.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It seemed the silver-haired footman was a half-second toote to dodge it... perhaps preupied by Gruffydd''s ear-splitting roar.

    Tanamar flew backward, hitting the sand hard, tumbling and rolling. The crowd gasped in collective fear... but Tycon had seen Tanamar drop his physical bow and form his holynce in time to block the attack''s force. Sliding upon the sand was certainly ufortable... and the Iron-Rank physique strengthening his arms might have been tested, but he was not so easily defeated...

    ...or so Tycon hoped.

    "?Wind Walk!!?" Zenon shouted, casting his movement-increasing spell on his duo.

    The Skeleton Bear crashed two heavy paws into the ground, flinging up mud and dirt... but with his agility enhanced, Tanamar was able to roll and flip out of the way. Getting to his feet, the young man formed two holy p out of mana, hurling them at his theoretically defenseless opponent.

    The spears found their marks in between the bear''s rib bones-- the shadows inside erratically swirled and twitched, as if in pain. Unfortunately, it did little to slow the bear''s movements, and another lunging w swipe took Tanamar off his feet. The footman spun backward through the air and smashed face-first into the coarse sands, causing a murky cloud to billow up and hide his form.

    Popoto Potata Pota had covered both eyes. Athena watched in horror, tears already beginning to stream down her cheeks. Sorina was shouting obscenities, tears also falling freely. Though the two in the arena could not hear her, she was desperately pleading for Tanamar to rescue her earnings.

    Tycon nced at the nearest exit. The path remained clear, enough.

    The ckroots'' ?Mana Ward? needed to be broken... either a burst of damage had to be high enough to break its hardness or Letalis needed to wait for its effectiveness to weaken over time. By then, Maboc and Gruffydd, both, would be suffering from mana fatigue-- or worse.

    If Zenon and Tanamar could hold out long enough, they would gain the advantage. They just had to survive, until then...

    ...

    Centurion Zenon Skyreaper shot his arms upward, palms to the sky. He focused his mana into a more powerful ?Wind Sphere?. He could sense Maboc''s ?Mana Ward? growing weaker... All he had to do was break it-- just one of them, either would do... Then, he and Tanamar could defeat them, one by one.

    "The me burns ETERNAL!!" Zenon''s eyes grew hot, burning blinding white with mana. He felt his head begin to ache as he pushed both himself and his faith to his limits.

    "Tch. Praise the statistically imusible bonfire!!" Maboc scoffed, "You are a JOKE, Librarian Zenon!"

    It was useless talk from someone who was about to die. Zenon had heard such things all his life. There was no reason that mere words would affect him when he was being serious.

    Zenon could feel the twitching strain on his arms and back as he muscled his sphere forward... "DIE!!! HERETIIIIIC!!!"

 Chapter 410 Time To Leave

    ?Zenon''s spell enveloped the spot where the Free Nation mage stood, and it burst with bright, domineering light. Rocks and debris struck against the magical shield guarding the crowd from the happenings inside the arena.

    The power of a single Tyrion''s faith was nothing short of awesome.

    Tycondrius was forced to narrow his eyes to thin squints, peering through the magical eruption. He''d feel much better after witnessing Maboc''s corpse.

    In the silence that ensued, Victorius gulped... "Did... did he get him?"

    Tycon sighed loudly.

    Zenon did not.

    The white glow on the sands swirled and shifted... then all at once, transformed into smoke and shadow.

    Maboc reappeared outside of the crater formed near the arena''s center... "Hmm... I''m d I saved a ?Riftwalk? for such an asion."

    ...

    "No... N-no... It can''t be." Zenon winced as his recklessness finally caught up to him. His entire body began to spasm, furiously trying to replenish all the mana he''d expended.

    In his righteous fury, he''d drawn too much power. He tried... but failed to keep standing, dropping to a knee while the witch stood over him.

    "You think yourself a hero, Librarian?" The witch sneered, thinking he had won.

    "I''m just a man... a man who has no patience for your heresy, Witch," Zenon scowled.

    Maboc pped Zenon across the face, the shock of it snapping him out of his fatigue. Before he could recover, though, Maboc''s magically-empowered kick struck Zenon''s stomach and sent him sprawling into the dirt.

    "Magic is neither good nor evil, Tyrion." Maboc shook his head as he walked, "What it is, however, is power. And that power, you must respect, ''lest it be your downfall."

    "?Aspect of the Winged Seraphim!!?" A voice called out, apanied by a magical screech, like a Tyrion hawk.

    From halfway across the arena, Tanamar burst upwards through the cloud of sand... Six glowing wings of light zed on his back and shoulders. In his hands was a glowing beam of light-- a holynce.

    Tanamar... that man was a hero.

    Zenon smirked, "You''d better respect that."

    The silver-haired angel flew high up, then plummeted down, his spear directed at the Riftwalker. Upon collision, earth and rock erupted high up into the air. Zenon shielded his eyes while controlling the wind to sweep away the clouds... and once again, Maboc was gone.

    Tanamar stood up, flourishing his spear, wings red outward.

    Hero pose. Nice.

    "Tanamar..." Zenon coughed painfully... "I already tried a big, all-in attack."

    The silver-haired youth raised an eyebrow, "I figured he wouldn''t expect a second one."

    "?Riftwalk...?" A frustrated voice emanated from a puff of shadows, a dozen paces away. Maboc stepped out of the darkness, his left sleeve dripping with blood from a deepceration.

    "So your holynce is stronger wielded rather than thrown..." Maboc wiped a rivulet of blood dripping down his nose. It looked like he suffered a bit of mana feedback from consecutive casting... "Your *trick* ismendable."

    Tanamar began to circle Maboc, "Zenon, get up, man. We only have a few seconds to nk this guy in closebat."

    Zenon swallowed hard, "I... didn''t bring my weapons. I left them all at the estate."

    Tanamar furrowed his eyebrows... slowly rotating his head to look back. His eyes widened, staring at Zenon''s empty hands.

    It really shouldn''t have been a surprise. Zenon had been unarmed for every single one of their previous matches.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Zenon..." Tanamar grimaced.

    "Yeah?"

    "Are you f*cking serious?"

    "Wh-what? YES!! Why don''t you just use that crazy cloud-splitting arrow thing??" Zenon countered.

    "What? My ?Oath? arrow? I can only use that on monsters!!" Tanamar shouted.

    "That''s a load of bull..." Zenon''s eyes widened as he looked past his duo, "SPLIT!!"

    The ground below rumbled under the pounding of massive skeletal bear ws as Gruffydd barreled towards them.

    Tanamar ducked down, then leapt skyward, pping his wings for height.

    Zenon began sprinting away before leaping to the side, whispering to the winds for a little bit of safety. With the briefest touch of magic, he barely avoided being crushed by the stampeding bear.

    Flipping onto his back, he found it was as safe as he hoped-- but not for him, "Tanamar!! Watch out!!"

    A dark blot sped into the air, rushing towards Tanamar from a blind spot... then like a raven snatching airborne prey, Maboc grabbed hold of Tanamar''s throat.

    Two winged humans levitated in the air, a mix of shadowy ink-ck feathers and soft, white down floating gently downward.

    "Angelic magic... Very impressive," The Riftwalker grinned. "Lancer Athanasius, you are aware that angels are not specific to Tyrion, yes?"

    Tanamar red hatefully, struggling to free himself from Maboc''s grip, "Oh, f*ck you."

    "Hah! Hahaha! HAHAHAHA!!!" Maboc began to charge mana through his outstretched arm. Tanamar''s body began to twist and writhe, convulsing as violent, purple-colored bolts of energy snaked his form.

    Tanamar didn''t even have the chance to scream.

    Unconscious and with his wings fading away, the silver-haired angel fell back down towards the sands... towards the waiting ws of Gruffydd.

    ...

    It was time to leave.

    Tycon pulled his hood up and began making his way through the crowd-- even going as far as to silently use ?Shadowfang Strike?''s movement effect to increase his speed.

    He had to exit the seating area, then bypass one or two more checkpoints before he would feel safe. Depending on the amount and activity of thezy, underpaid guards, he even considered finding a ce to hide within the coliseum... maybe even in the diator pits.

    ...He could use a private room, as well. As much as he wished to avoid the sewer systems, he could transform and slink through a drainage pipe.

    The walls! He could scale a wall to freedom!

    "Hold it right there, boy," A crotchety but familiar voice demanded.

    An old dwarf reached out a hand to grab him... but Tycon reflexively swayed his body to avoid it.

    "Eh? Slippery as a snake..." Hark frowned.

    The dwarf also wore his hood up... but backing him were shield-bearers wearing the armor of the Church, Bronze and Iron-Rank in strength.

    Tycon briefly considered evading capture... but that course of action would be exceedingly difficult. He would need to leave the Holy Country to evade the relentless dogs sent by the Church of the Eternal me.

 Chapter 411 Capture

    ?Tycondrius'' irritated gaze drifted over the paltry force sent to capture him. He felt pressured because they were agents of the Church... but as only two of the enforcers were Iron-Rank, he did not feel *threatened.*

    If he were to simply undim his vision, his ?Vexing Gaze? skill could cripple or kill nearly all of them.

    The dwarf did have a unique ss... but as Hark was also Bronze-Rank, he would die just as easily.

    "Mister Harkus, is this the Decanus the Archbishop wants?" An Iron-Rank enforcer asked.

    "Aye..." Harkus glowered at Tycon, holding up a clenched fist... "You... boy... You owe me forty slugs."

    That was the most preposterous statement Tycon had heard in moons.

    He pulled his hood down, ring sharply down at the unreasonable dwarf. Tycon was annoyed before, but the dwarf''s usation made him furious.

    "Forty silver pieces..." Tycon scowled, "Are you trying to rob me, Master Dwarf?"

    "What?!" Harkus stomped, pointing and shouting. "Me? You''re the thief! Triple-thief!!"

    "I. left. five." Tycon insisted through clenched teeth.

    "That barely covered gratuity, you knuckle-headed soft-skin!"

    "Tss, gratuity?!" Tycon scoffed, rolling his head back-- it was almost inconceivable, what he was hearing, "I''ll be a cold, rotten corpse before I pay gratuity for take-out food!"

    "Is there an... issue, Mister Harkus?" An aged, white-bearded man in Church robes had approached while the two were arguing.

    "Stay out of this, boy!" Harkus growled, "This is personal!"

    Tycon crossed his arms, "I''m willing to pay you back the thirty silver."

    "Forty!!" The dwarf showed four of his fingers, likely to remind himself how many tens there were in the number.

    Tycon lifted his nose in disdain, "I refuse."

    "Ahem," The robed man cleared his throat. "Mister Decanus... you are *requested* to apany us to the Officials'' seating area... you, House Vanzano, and Guild Letalis..."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "And who the h... mm..."

    ...He took a deep breath to calm himself, taking a long look at the white-bearded senior, "May I ask who you are?"

    The aged human was being a self-important prick, but he did appear to be one of Natalya''s dogs. If he was powerful... or important, then Tycon would grant him a basic level of respect.

    Unlike that contemptible dwarf...

    ? System, analysis: ss and power level. ?

    ? System response: ss and rank hidden by a magical effect. ?

    Tycon pursed his lips, mulling over the error message his System returned.

    It was not the first time his analysis function failed.

    His System could not urately assess the personal information of other transmigrators... nor could they glean information about him. After Tanamar was revealed to be a Holy Lancer, Tycon''s System did update his ssification... but as the footman still believed that he was an Iron-Rank Tactician, it appeared that at least their two Systems operated on a ''best guess'' principle.<novelnext></novelnext>

    However, Tycon had never sensed such an error before. It specified that a magical effect was nullifying his ability...

    What could be the source? A long-duration spell cast once a week or sun? No... a worn item, more likely. Such a spell would logically be enchanted to a neckpiece... Failing that, a ring or head adornment.

    The old robed man straightened his back, pushing his chest out, "I am Holy Magus Antonidus, the Head Magistrate of Caeruleum."

    Arrogant. Confident. And with the low thrum of First-Circle magical power.

    While ''Sanctified Psykers'' were intimidating to typical Tyrions... Tycon was not impressed. It was as if the Magus didn''t realize that he was close to the Iron-Rank Librarian in the ring... the one getting badly beaten in front of his friends, his peers... and his organization.

    Anyroad, Zenon was capable of consistent Second-Circle casting. The First-Circle aura that Antonidus emanated was a joke inparison.

    With the Magus'' power level, Tycon discounted the fellow''s ability to cast an anti-scrying spell with a duration thatsted more than a bell or three. Observing the human''s belongings... he noted that he wore no helm or circlet. He did wear a single expensive ring... but that was non-magical.

    Against his better judgment, Tycon tugged on the Magus'' beard, "Head Magistrate... does your station grant you power over me? A Decanus of Tyrion?"

    Underneath that beard... was a cloudy-crystal hanging from a thin chain.

    ? System, identify: The crystal around this fool''s neck. ?

    ? Amulet of Obscuration. First Circle Magical Amulet. Hides the wearer from analysis, divination, and scrying effects.?

    There it was.

    The object was interesting. Such an item wasn''t so simple to make... and brought up a more interesting question... Why would this old fogey have the need for such an item?

    Also, Tycon wanted one for himself. He didn''t like the thought of being tracked... but he did not go out of his way to craft such an item.

    "You dare..." The Magus clenched his teeth.

    From a shift in the air and Tycon''s close proximity, he sensed that the old man was silently casting a hostile spell... in the middle of a public area.

    The man was mad if he thought Tycon would allow him to do as he pleased.

    Casually raising his hand, Tycon flicked his forefinger at the very center of Antonidus'' sr plexus. The shock of it would have been simr to a solid punch, jostling the man''s organs in his ribcage. Predictably, the shock to the man''s lungs found the Holy Magus unable to breathe, awkwardly gawking with his mouth open.

    Tycon twisted his lips to the side, displeased with his execution. If he''d waited a moment longer for the Magus to muster his mana, interrupting his cast would have forced him to suffer a magical rebound.

    Seeing the fool spit blood onto his white Church robes would have been so very satisfying...

    Antonidus finally caught his breath, taking a half-step backward and coughing into a closed fist.

    Tycon smiled politely, choosing not to bring attention to it.

    Sorina wished to expand House Vanzano''s businesses into Trade City Caeruleum. The ''Head Magistrate'' was pathetically weak. Tycon could leverage Athena''s championship victory, as well as threaten the human with physical harm, in order to achieve Invictus'' goals.

    Depending on how the Magus acted in the near future, Tycon could also choose to visit him after the tournament''s conclusion. He could literally pierce a Gold-Rank knife-hand through the fellow''s chest. Then, the fool''s amulet would be his for the taking.

    All this was possible... provided that he wasn''t jailed or crucified by morning.

 Chapter 412 Righteousness

    ?"BOY!!!" Dwarf Harkus gnashed his teeth in rage, "You can''t just tug on a man''s beard like that!! It''s. Rude!!"

    It seemed that no one noticed Tycondrius'' subtle attack. He was not amongst peers with very high levels ofbat perception.

    "Hmph," Tycon rolled his eyes. "I would like to inform the lot of you that Holy Magus Antonidus'' beard is in fact, real."

    "Of course, it''s real!" Harkus insisted. "If you can''t trust a man''s beard, how can you live your life trusting anything at all?!"

    The enforcer who spoke earlier stepped forward... "Gentlemen... if I may, it would be rude to make the Archbishop wait..."

    ...

    Centurion Zenon put all of his strength into his fist, throwing it directly at Maboc''s face.

    "Gaze into the fist of the RIGHTEOUS!!!"

    Maboc swept his white-streaked ck hair back, simultaneously blocking the punch with the meat of his forearm. Sweeping his opposite hand to the side, Maboc then sshed a glob of dark magic at the Librarian''s chest.

    It was... a force spell. Zenon flew back so hard that he tumbled against the dirt and filled his mouth with arena sand. His helmet had flown off in the exchange, rolling away-- like it wanted nothing more to do with him.

    Zenon choked and spat... it tasted like blood.

    A shadow emerged from the murky dirt clouds. It was Maboc, walking slowly towards him, "Librarian Zenon... Just how long are you going to rely on your... righteousness?"

    The Riftwalker shot an arm skyward, coalescing a sphere of dark energy twice his size above him.

    Zenon''s mind sped, realizing that the witch, still covered by his shadowy barrier, would be immune to his own spell. Acting too many milliseconds slow, Zenon scrambled away, leaping for extra distance as the ck orb exploded with a wet pop.

    Propelled by the spell''s effect, he slid on the sands on his side. He''d lost a lot of skin on the outside to his right arm... but he was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

    He''d narrowly escaped death.

    Then, Maboc smashed a heavy kick into the defenseless Zenon''s gut.

    "ARRRGHH!!!" He curled his body up in pain, feeling like an absolute idiot for his carelessness.

    "Tsk tsk," Maboc ced his boot down onto Zenon''s chest. Leaning over, he wagged his finger. "Whether you are righteous or misguided... that, Tyrion, is decided by the victors."

    "Tens of thousands of Tyrions can''t be wrong," Zenon red up with clenched teeth.

    "If you were a student of history, Librarian Zenon, you''d understand that your very nation only exists because the Church of the Eternal me overthrew the royal regime. It''s not your religion that is right... or wrong. It''s all politics-- it''s control. It''s a *leash* that prevents you from thinking for your gods-damned self."

    Maboc stomped down hard onto Zenon''s gut, "Perhaps you should consider surrendering, so you can save some of your nationalist pride."

    Zenon crawled away before vomiting to the side... There was blood. That wasn''t a good sign... "I''ll... never surrender... not to you, Witch."

    Reaching his arms out to support himself... he slowly got back to his feet.

    "What can you do?" Maboc shook his head, "Your mana reserves are nearly depleted... and it''s not like you have a weapon to challenge me."

    Zenon clenched his fists so tight that he felt them bleed, "My faith is my shield... My fury is... my sword."

    "Oh, really?" Maboc raised his arms to his side, grinning in mockery, "What does that make you, then?"

    Zenon shut his eyes... What was he? Oftentimes, he thought he was nothing... He wasn''t the strongest Centurion. Sometimes it felt like no one respected him. His closest ally was only around for a single mission, and then he''d leave him too...<novelnext></novelnext>

    All he had was his identity.

    Zenon swallowed the saliva caught in his throat. He put his fists up, ready to fight with his bare, mescarred hands for what he believed in, "I am... a loyal son of Tyrion."

    "I''m sorry to say, Librarian Zenon..." Maboc grimaced, "I see nothing but a coward."

    Zenon blinked the sand out of his eyes... and Maboc was gone.

    me take him.

    A st of magical energy mmed into Zenon''s back, dropping him to his knees. His fatigue mounted, the pain in his head tightening like it was in a vice... He could barely keep his eyes open.

    But he could not fall... His Optio was counting on him. He was getting beaten up in front of all of his friends. He couldn''t even escape the eyes of Archbishop Crucis.

    He tried to will his legs to move... to get back to the standing. If he was going to die here, he''d die on his feet.

    Thick arms wrapped around his head and neck. Maboc was choking him.

    ...and through the clearing clouds of sand, Zenon saw that Tanamar was absolutely not doing any better.

    "Because of your cowardice... because of your inability..." Maboc whispered, "Gruffydd is going to snap your friend in twain."

    "N... no..." Zenon struggled... but as much as he pulled, he couldn''t loosen Maboc''s hold. He couldn''t break free...

    "No hard feelings, Librarian Zenon." Maboc''s voice was... almost apologetic, "You lost because your nation has failed you."

    "No..." Zenon felt a single tear fall, "The fault is mine and mine alone."

    It all came back to that.

    Zenon always tried his best. He always tried to be the better man... to treat people as he wanted to be treated.

    He never-- almost never got the respect he wanted. He was always told to push forward in training. He was always told to have faith. He was always told... to be patient.

    But this liar... this deceiver... this... this heretic...

    Maboc had bested him inbat, both magical and physical.

    What was he missing? What was the difference?

    Was the Witch''s faith greater than his? No... none could question the faith of a loyal son of Tyrion...

    He felt his consciousness slipping away. He felt more tired than he''d ever felt in his life.

    But more than that... he felt angry.

    How could he be so worthless?

    He was so faithful.

    Always faithful.

    Yet faith... did not save Acolyte Diantha. How could he expect faith to save him?

 Chapter 413 Hatred

    ?Athanasius Mors was getting tired of being smacked around by a giant skeleton-bear.

    He was running low on mana. It was hard to think. It was hard to breathe.

    Broken ribs, maybe.

    It was the hardest he''d ever been pushed since being reborn.

    The whole ordeal annoyed the shite out of him.

    His two opponents were a blind man hiding in a cage and a coward who was only good at flying around the arena. They weren''t even Gold-Rank.

    He and Zenon weren''t outssed or outskilled... They just had that stupid shadow barrier...

    Maybe he should have paid attention when Tycon deconstructed that seal in the mountains... Or not. That was that guy''s specialty-- and it wasn''t even especially good.

    Tanamar would stick to his own skills.

    Like timing.

    He took a quick step to the left, barely avoiding a swipe from Gruffydd''s w. The attack smashed into the sands, but allowed Tanamar to smash the de of his holynce against the bear''s ribcage.

    It was a solid hit. He''d had a few solid hits. His arrow attacks were useless on the shadow barrier and, while his holynce was stronger in his hands than thrown, it was more damaging to break bones than not work at all against Gruffydd''s ?Mana Ward?.

    The skeletal creature brought down the force and fury of its snapping maws. Tanamar absolutely did not want to get caught in that thing''s teeth.

    He brought hisnce up, jamming it into the creature''s jaws. The bear crunched down... leaving him with two broken halves of hisnce and almost biting his hands off at his wrists.

    Then the creature retracted his bear arms.

    me take him, he was an idiot.

    When he let his guard down in that brief moment, he found himself caught in a literal bear hug. His body was being crushed... and he was being bled by the sharp points of bones he''d broken himself.

    "Hurr... hur hurr.... Hahhh...." The shadows within the skeletal ribcage began to subside... revealing the cackling Gruffydd.

    The leather bindings on his eyes and mouth seemed to have fallen off... There was nothing in his eye sockets, like both eyeballs were gouged out, and ck smoke wisped out like there was nothing in his brain. As Gruffyddughed, Tanamar saw that his tongue was missing, as well.

    He strained himself, pushing, pulling-- struggling to get free. Rotating his body, he was able to breathe a bit... though he was bleeding out from the fresh stab wounds on his chest.

    He was already starting to feel a cold numbness... at this rate, he was going to lose consciousness.

    But he was confident he''d be able to go out in a ze of glory.

    Tanamar whistled, "You are one ugly motherf*cker."

    Gruffydd stoppedughing, his expression turning into a sneer... If the man could talk, he''d probably say something like ''yOu''Ve LoSt!! wHaT couLd YoU poSsSssibLy dOoOoo??''

    Trash.

    He didn''t even realize his shield had gone down.

    Tanamar clenched his right fist, "?Scatter Lance.?"

    The two halves of his broken weapon shattered into a dozen fragments of silvery mana. Frozen in time for a brief instant, Gruffydd''s raised both of his shaved eyebrows as if he saw exactly what wasing. All at once, the mana rushed through the skeletal cage, bursting in bright lights as it struck the unguarded man.

    "AHHHHH!!!" Tanamar screamed, pushing his legs off of the bear. Finally freeing himself... hended with his back against the hard sand.

    Gods damn it... He tried to struggle to his feet, but it was no use. The best he could do was lift himself up to see his staggered opponent.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He thought he could finally make something happen... but he had taken too much damage to be any use.

    ...

    Centurion Zenon Skyreaper felt the hot breath of Maboc as the Riftwalker whispered in his ear, "Do not be a *fool*, Tyrion...

    "I can feel what you are trying to do... You''re desperate... clinging to vestiges of hope..." Maboc''s voice lowered to a predatory growl... "If you ignite thest of your mana, you will die. Close your eyes. Sleep. You have lost."

    Lies. Deceit. Zenon would trust nothing that spilled from the mouth of a god-forsaken heretic.

    The only way he could prove his righteousness... was to win.

    He threw his head backward, the satisfaction of breaking of Maboc''s nose almost making the pain worthwhile. Zenon smashed his elbow into the man''s chest, allowing him to finally break free of his hold. Still weak, Zenon fell to his knees, crawling away like a wounded wolf as he gasped desperately for air.

    "You... augh..." Maboc wiped his bloody nose with his wrist, "This changes NOTHING!!"

    Turning back, Zenon struggled to his feet. His mana was so low, he was barely able to steady himself. He couldn''t think straight... he couldn''t see beyond the blur of dark mana flowing through Maboc''s body.

    But he could still stand. He could still fight.

    Something burned in his heart... it hurt. It made him yearn for something... something he so desperately wanted.

    Proof... proof that his faith was not wasted.

    "FALL!!" Maboc yelled, "?Null Sphere!!?"

    Another orb of dark energy sped towards Zenon.

    Zenon held out his palm.

    "Faith... is my shield."

    The headache went away.

    Centurion Zenon Skyreaper crushed the ball of dark magic in his hand, tossing the mana dust away like filth.

    He reached out his right hand, feeling blood and mana burning in his veins... it was like his very life force zed like a dying star.

    This... this was the power he needed. Power derived from his unforgiving god... he willed it into forming violent, cutting winds, encasing his white-knuckled fist.

    Zenon ground his teeth together, "Fury... is... my SWORD!!"

    And then the heretic knew fear.

    Maboc tossed another one of his pathetic spheres... and another...

    They struck Zenon''s body... staggered him...

    He would not fall-- his BODY may break, but his WILL would not be denied!!

    Thends could be torn asunder by fire and steel! The bodies of the screaming dead could pile into the thousands!! But sworn by the ETERNAL FLAME, a true son of Tyrion will NEVER BREAK!!!

    He pointed his left palm at Maboc''s neck... "HERESY... must be met... with HATRED!!!"

    Fueled by hate, molded by man, magic swirled around the witch, spinning him in the air and tossing him forward... into Zenon''s grasp. He lifted Maboc high above the sands, his hand a vice-grip crushing the Riftwalker''s soft, mortal throat.

    "AND MY HATRED!!! KNOWS!! NO!!! BOUNDS!!!!"

 Chapter 414 Healing Pants

    ?Tanamar lied, broken and bleeding on the arena sands. He held himself up by his elbows, helplessly watching a cripple in a cage ominously walking toward him. Even though this was a tournament... he was pretty sure he was going to die.

    It pissed him off that he was going to be killed by trash.

    It pissed him off even more that he couldn''t do anything about it.

    ...Then a st of torrential wind sent the bear tumbling backward.

    "?Soothing Winds,?" Zenon stood tall, a bleeding, half-dead mess, walking on two legs.

    Tanamar''s chest felt warm... and he felt his open wounds immediately start to knit. He shot his eyes open wide, suddenly awake, and energized.

    He could fight. He could win.

    He was so happy he could almost kiss the guy. Almost.

    Tanamar smirked, "Zenon, you beautiful son of a b*tch."

    Zenon chuckled to himself, offering a hand, "I uh... you''re wee, bud."

    Tanamar nodded, reaching up to sp his hand around the Centurion''s wrist, "Let''s end this."

    ...

    Sorina was leaning over the railing.

    ? Sorina Capulet, Bronze-Rank Human Calctor. Guild Invictus. ?

    Tycondrius watched her closely to ensure that she didn''t lose her bnce and fall into the arena. She was not the... most graceful person.

    "Boss, is Zenon wearing the healing pants you told me about?" She asked.

    Tycon nodded, "Yes, I do believe so."

    "Isn''t it kinda weird for a Wind Mage to be wearing healing pants?"

    "...He can wear what he wishes to."

    "This is great, though!" Sorina pped her hands together. "This means Invictus has a healer now, right? (We can charge the other adventurers for his services...)"

    Archbishop Natalya Crucis scowled at the drill-haired Calctor.

    ? Natalya Crucis, Gold-Rank Human Hallowed Summoner. Church of the Eternal me. ?

    Natalya''s attire was far more ostentatious than when he''d met with her in Silva several moons prior. She wore crimson red ceremonial armor that matched her hair. At her side was a staff emanating so much ambient mana, that Tycon surmised it could blow a hole through half the coliseum with a single wave.

    "Preposterous." The Archbishop narrowed her eyes, "Centurion Zenon belongs to the Church of the Eternal me, not to a lowly adventurer''s guild-- even if you are *Sol Invictus.*"

    Seldin Korr crossed her arms, her one eye ring through her me-red hair... not looking at all intimidating in her green summer dress, "What is your rtionship with Leader?"

    ? Seldin Korr, Gold-Rank Human Raging me Knight. Guild Invictus. ?

    Tycon sighed internally. Natalya Crucis was a very important person in the Holy Country... and Korr spoke to her frankly and without honorifics...

    Those two women were probably the strongest two existences in Caeruleum. Korr could probably destroy the other half of the coliseum. Why were the both of them being so hostile?

    "Ugh..." Natalya grimaced in disgust, "Do not associate me with your ''leader''. He is a tool, nothing more."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Korr turned to Tycon, clearly unhappy. She said nothing... but Tycon could assume she wanted to know his opinion on the matter.

    But... why was he being involved?

    Tycon grimaced, "My rtionship with the Archbishop is purely professional."

    "Mmmm...." Korr pursed her lips... "Suspicious."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, slightly annoyed by the conversation, "Why do you ask?"

    Korr turned away... but after a moment, squeaked in a tiny voice... "Gotta... make sure... they''re good enough."

    ...Good enough for what?

    The Archbishop ced her gauntleted hands on her armored hips, "Oh, so now you''re saying I''m not good enough?"

    ...

    The winners of the tournament were announced. Guild Letalis had won the championships in both the junior division and the main event.

    Tanamar was beaten severely, but he would recover, especially with the assistance of magical healing.

    Centurion Zenon Skyreaper had overdrawn much of his mana and was in far worse of a state.

    Tycon sat aside the bedridden Librarian. He hadn''t woken up in bells.

    The duo had performed well... to a point.

    Zenon, instead of working together with Tanamar and staying on the defensive, had stubbornly taken the fight to the... talkative Riftwalker. During the match, he had even disyed his domineering side, using his wind magic to toss around his opponent like a puppet on a string.

    Tanamar was no better, insisting that he y ''Monster Hunter'' and trying to topple the biggest thing on the field. He would have been crushed-- crippled or killed, were it not for Zenon''s intervention.

    Both of them were arrogant fools. But... these were the types of people that were his friends.

    Tycon could ask for no finer.

    ...concerning personality and loyalty, of course. He was fairly certain he could find more intelligentpanions if he picked four adventurers out of a group of ten.

    Zenon''s physical injuries were healed by Adepts of the Church, but going well past the limits of mana exhaustion, the extent of his injuries were not clearly visible.

    Admittedly, Tycon had expected the Librarian to explode. To draw so much power... both internal and external, he may have sacrificed his mind... or perhaps even his soul. In those cases, even if Zenon was capable of waking, he''d likely have fallen to Bronze-Rank and his future growth would be stifled to never surpass Iron.

    At the very least, Zenon''s mana circuits had fractured... that is, if they hadn''t shatteredpletely.

    Thankfully, Tycon had a solution... which was the only reason that Archbishop Natalya Crucis didn''t order Zenon immediately buried as a hero.

    Tycon was somewhat familiar with the cultivation techniques of Hidden Sect Martialists. They often utilized techniques to develop their mana circuits and the cirction of mana. If Zenon''s condition was salvageable, the Librarian could undergo a pseudo-rebirth.

    When a human fractured their bones, they would mend to be stronger, more resilient. In a simr manner, if Zenon could repair his mana circuits from shattered or near-broken... his potential would rise exponentially.

    As a lucky coincidence, Tycon had an expert he could rely on to aid them... one that could guide an unconscious man in the cultivation techniques of the Hidden Sects.

    If Zenon could be saved... and if he had the will to live... then Tycon would do all in his power to aid him.

 Chapter 415 Centurionâ€™s Fall

    ?Tycondrius flicked his wrist, activating his spatial ring and summoning his Sword of Venom in hand. A Gold-Rank weapon spirit inhabited its Orcish-runed scabbard... If it cooperated, Zenon would have the chance to recover.

    cing the scabbard against Zenon''s chest, Tycon gave a mental order to his System.

    ? System, establishmunication with Garock. ?

    ? Establishing connection... ?

    Tycon shut his eyes for a moment, re-opening them to find himself no longer in the Caeruleum diator pits, but instead, in the lush swamps of the Free Nation.

    ...

    Tycon found the old Orcish Samurai in his home, seated on the floor and concentrating on his craft at a low table. Just as Tycon remembered, Garock wore the simple clothes of a farmer... but the set he wore seemed... cleaner, more cared for. He sat with a straight back, focused and calm.

    It was a bit different from when Tycon had met with the spirit previously-- at the time, Garock was desperate to impart his knowledge... regretful that he died so far from his home.

    And hungry, a most terrible state.

    His clothes, his posture, the isted location they were in... everything was illusory. Still, as the surrounding conditions logically reflected Garock''s mental state, the orc was doing much better than he had been.

    Garock held a paint brush, looking tiny in his meaty hands. With it, he gracefully swept ck ink onto a roll of paper-- beautiful, flowing script worthy of being disyed on the wall of a tea shop.

    ...Perhaps even an upscale tea shop.

    "Most impressive, Samurai Garock," Tycon nodded.

    "What is, Warrior Tycon?" The orc drew a wide, gentle stroke... elegant, yet powerful and domineering, "That a brute such as myself is capable of making works of art?"

    Tycon shrugged, "I was surprised that you knew how to write."

    It was a rtively umon skill. He had forgotten that well-trained warriors even in Orcish ns were expected to be well-learned strategists, consuming books on philosophy, ethics, and the art of war... That Garock dabbled in artistry implied he was more important in his sect than Tycon had guessed-- or at least had a solid upbringing.

    Garock paused, cing his brush back onto a small ceramic te... "You are very good at making me upset, you know that?"

    Tycon chuckled to himself, sitting on a nearby stool, "I apologize, Brother-Garock. It wasn''t my intention... this time."

    Though he had a proper seat, he was barely taller than the massive grey-green orc sitting on the floor.

    Garock turned his body, frowning deeply, "I''ve already imparted all my skills to you. What more could you want?"

    "I need you to help a friend of mine restore his uh... his ki." Tycon exined, "I''m fairly certain his mana circuits... no... his meridians? are still serviceable. The fellow overdid it in hisst fight."

    "That is certainly something I am capable of..." Garock crossed his arms... "I have two questions: One, why would I do this for you?"

    "Because you''re my loyal... friend."

    Tycon had nearly said ''pet'' but decided against it. That would be rude.

    Garock tapped his bicep with a finger, "You do not treat me like a friend, Warrior Tycon."

    "I brought cheesy sandwiches for lunch."

    "...Second question: How do you propose I guide your... other friend, considering my current state as a weapon spirit?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "You bring up a solid point. Grant me a moment..."

    ? System, I''d like you to bring Zenon here, please. ?

    ? Establishing connection... Waiting for response... ?

    ? System, force connection. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Setting overridden. Establishing connection... ?

    Outside the hut, a human screamed... a familiar voice, though. It sounded as if it were falling... and ended abruptly with a loud, watery ssh.

    "That would be him," Tycon informed Garock. "Fallen into the rice fields, it sounds like."

    The orc''s mouth twitched, "So it seems..."

    ...

    Tycon and Garock strolled outside to find a naked Zenon, climbing out of the flooded soils of rice.

    "O-optio... wh... what''s going on?" The Librarian asked.

    "...Good afternoon, Brother-Zenon," Tycon greeted. "This is Warrior Garock."

    "Hello," Garock waved in greeting.

    Zenon covered his nudity the best he could. The water must have been very cold, "Wh-where are my clothes?!"

    Tycon ignored his trivial issues, "Garock is a ghost. He will be helping you repair your mana circuits-- using meditation or something."

    "A... a GHOST?!?" Zenon''s eyes shot wide open, "Optio?? AM I DEAD??!? Is this a heavenly ne?!"

    "Don''t be ridiculous," Tycon shook his head. "If you were dead, your soul would be reimed by your god. And besides, nar travel is forbidden in the Realm. You''re currently in aatose state, lying in a bed and wasting away as we speak."

    Zenon''s expression changed from concern... to anger... to horror, then finally to helplessness... "This... this sounds really serious. Why don''t you look concerned?"

    "Oh, I am." Tycon shrugged, "However, I''m certain that you, Brother-Zenon, can be concerned enough for the both of us... Garock, can you help this gentleman?"

    The Samurai grabbed Zenon''s wrist with his thick hand, using a finger to measure his pulse... "My first impression is... that it is feasible. His meridians appear to have been forcibly... widened."

    "Then the reason for hisa?" Tycon asked.

    "His spirit''s flow is weak," Garock grimaced, deep in thought... "Hmm... That can be improved with my guidance... However... he is a Tyrion. Will he ept help from me? A ''Greenskin''?"

    "Don''t be absurd." Tycon rolled his eyes, "Zenon judges people by their hearts, not the color of their skin."

    ...Tycon felt confident in stating that because Garock didn''t have any fur. Zenon seemed to have an issue against those types of people, for whatever reason.

    "Ahh, very well..." The orc rubbed his chin, looking the human up and down, "Is this true, Warrior Zenon?"

    Zenon pursed his lips, "I mean... I''ve never met a uh... greenskin before? I don''t think I''m biased."

    "The epted term is orc, Brother-Zenon," Tycon chided. "Greenskin is derogatory."

    "Oh! Sorry," Zenon grinned sheepishly, bowing his head slightly. "I didn''t know."

    "Eh, good enough," Garock shrugged. "Stand tall, Warrior. I ept your apology."

    Tycon nodded, "Does five days in the outside world sound feasible? Warrior Garock?"

    "Hmm... That''s quite long, considering that time flows slower here..." Garock crossed his arms, but then bared his teeth and tusks in a wide grin, "Very well! I ept the challenge! We shall spend the next few weeks focusing on adjusting Warrior Zenon''s spirit flow."

    "...Teach him some martial arts, too." Tycon grinned. "Closebat... He was a bit weak against hisst opponent, in that regard."

    "O-optio..." Zenon sounded as if he were wronged, "That-- that isn''t fair. Thatst person used weird witchcraft!"

    "Then you''ll learn to fight and kill your ''witches'' with your bare hands." Tycon shrugged as he turned to walk away... "Or you don''t have to wake up. The choice is yours."

 Chapter 416 Fake

    ?Holy Magus Antonidus scowled at the two diators seatedzily across from him. If he could wind back time and choose to never have invested in the Stormbrand adventuringpany, he''d have gone back and pped himself.

    So many years ago, the name ''Maximus'' had outgrown Ezyria and was known throughout all of Tyrion. Then word came around that a new diator guild had been created... following in the footsteps of the nigh forgotten guild, Sol Invictus, and was associated with Maximus'' noble house, House Vanzano.

    The most heroic amongst them was a shy, highly-skilled diator. In his arrogance, he called himself Orcus, after the legendary Tyrion hero.

    He even called himself a god.

    Since then, Antonidus had funneled money into their cause, hoping that the poprity of the Stormbrands would return a profit into his own businesses and win him powerful political allies.

    But sometimes... he felt like all he''d earned was a spoiled brat and hisckeys.

    Tancred Mors sat, cross-armed, young, silver-haired and strong-jawed... though the armor he wore implied that he was colorblind. With a devil-may-care expression on his face, it looked like he couldn''t wait to leave this ce and go back to taking opiates and seducing whores.

    His associate, am was around the same age, though the heavens did not grant him the gift of handsomeness... or decorum. He wore an eyepatch, refused to shave, and was resting his filthy spiked boots atop Antonidus'' desk.

    Antonidus red at the Cleric... hoping that he''d realize that his domineering posturing was incredibly rude to a man who was literally their patron.

    am chose not to notice.

    "Gahh..." Antonidus groaned in frustration, "Apparently, I''ve learned that my faith in you two is as worthless as your win rate."

    Tancred shrugged his shoulders nomittally, "I would have won if you''d let me use the Snake Spine Rod, you old thief."

    "Agreed. We were fighting with a handicap-- you can''t really me us for losing," am reached over to grab a random book off of a shelf, idly flipping through it with his greasy fingers.

    Antonidus mmed his hand upon the desk, "You idiots! Of course, you can''t reveal a me-taken *Snake Cult artifact* in front of Archbishop Crucis!"

    Tancred rolled his eyes, "I don''t know why you care about that hag so much. She''s outdated."

    The old Magus restrained his fury-- though he might have flipped his office table if he had the strength to... But perhaps his Stormbrand allies knew something he did not.

    Antonidus impatiently tapped his finger on his wooden desk, "Exin..."

    "She''s like a calendar..." Tancred leaned forward, grinning like a fool, "A woman can''t get a date after 31."

    "Be serious, Mister Tancred," Antonidus leaned back in his expensive chair, scowling hatefully at the diator so insistent on wasting his time.

    "I dunno..." am gazed off into the distance... "I''d p those cheeks in a heartbeat."

    The Magus spoke through clenched teeth, "The ns must be dyed due to your gross ipetence..."

    "Sounds good," Tancred stood up. "Let''s go, ."

    "Right." am stood as well, stretching and yawning, "Ahhh... Let''s make like trees and get the f*ck outta here."

    The two Stormbrands turned and began heading to the exit.

    ? am still held the Magus'' book underneath an arm.

    "You can''t just leave!" Antonidus couldn''t believe the gall of these men, "I''m not done speaking with--"

    Two knocks on his office door shocked him out of his anger...

    Tancred turned, smirking, "See you in a couple o'' moons, Magistrate."<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    Tycondrius apanied Sorina Capulet, Athena, her pink-haired duo, and footman Tanamar towards the Head Magistrate''s office.

    Athena, Theno, Athan...o. Naming senses in the Holy Country were problematic.

    Tanamar knocked politely at the old Magus'' door, which opened to reveal... the vomit-inducing colors of Reaver Tancred and the Cleric in desperate need of a haircut, am.

    ...Tycon''s two least favorite Stormbrands.

    "Thanasius," Tancred grinned. "You did well."

    Tanamar shifted his weight, showing his unease... "Thanks."

    "Athena!!" am eximed, "How *you* doin''?"

    The Cleric then not-so-subtly licked his teeth with his longer-than-average tongue.

    The youngdy held onto Parthenope''s hand, positioning herself defensively behind the braided girl, "H-hello, Mister am."

    They conversed briefly, exchanging some words, entirely ignoring the presence of Tycon and Sorina. They did interact with Parthenope... though am sparing the youngdy ascivious leer was hardly notable.

    The Stormbrands did ask about the ''Fallen Lighthouse''... a notion that was tantlycking in actual concern.

    Athena seemed a bit saddened having to exin that ''Mister Z'' had yet to wake. Tycon made a mental note to reassure her that the Centurion was either going to survive and evolve to a higher tier of power... or was already dead and did not need to be mourned.

    That should make her feel better. Certainty was moreforting than uncertainty.

    Eventually, Tanamar insisted that the members of Guild Letalis had to see the Head Magistrate... at which point in time the Stormbrands excused themselves.

    Parthenope was perturbed by the entire ordeal, muttering obscenities beneath her breath about the ''creepiness'' of Cleric am.

    Her sentiments made Tycon silently approve of the twin-braided archer.

    "Miss Athena Vanzano! Guild Letalis!" Head Magistrate Antonidus greeted their group with a smile, "Congrattions again on your victory! How can this humble old man help you?"

    It seemed Antonidus was ying the part of a doddering, friendly elder. It was much unlike the domineering greeting Tycon had received earlier in the sun.

    Tycon did not hate that. That the man was easily capable of ying two nearly opposite roles proved his capability as a politician. Even when Antonidus met his gaze, his expression didn''t show a hint of guilt or even familiarity.

    Earlier, Tycon had nearly pulled the fellow''s long white beard off. A certain level of reservation would have been logical.

    ...Maybe it was fake, after all.

    Athena smiled radiantly, greeting the Head Magistrate with unrestrained innocence and glee.

    "This is Miss Sorina Capulet, House Vanzano''s financial advisor. We were hoping the city of Caeruleum would be able to work with us and our new businesses!"

    "Ah, yes, of course!" Antonidus nodded. "Let us work together for the good of the city and for the coin in our pocket!"

    "Fu fu fu~" Sorina smirked, pounding a fist into an open palm, "And they''ll give us their coin if they know what''s good for ''em."

    Tycon pursed his lips. Head Magistrate Antonidus was good at ying his role-- whatever role he wished. If the old fool was a ve to gold, then he could be trusted. If his motives lied elsewhere, he would prove a dangerous opponent.

 Chapter 417 Oathbreaker (Part One)

    ?While Sorina was speaking to the Head Magistrate, Tycondrius attempted to quietly excuse himself. He wished to seek out Archbishop Crucis, who was likely still somewhere around the coliseum. He wanted to request the return of his Ranger.

    The worst she could do (within reason) was to refuse.

    The Archbishop was a... somewhat reasonable person.

    Athena insisted that Tycon take a guard... which made little sense, as he was easily the *strongest* person in their party.

    The youngdy volunteered Parthenope... which was ridiculous. Besides Sorina (who was a nobatant) and Zenon (who wasatose,) that girl was the *weakest* member in their party.

    Tycon took Tanamar.

    Besides him not wishing to deal with the overly excitable archer, Tycon preferred the quietpany of the young gentleman... Anyroad, he had a few things he wished to speak to him about.

    "Is Zenon going to be okay?" Tanamar asked.

    "I''ll give him 50:50 odds," Tycon pursed his lips as they walked. "It depends on him, really."

    "Won''t you get into trouble for... you know, getting your Centurion killed?"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "If he does die, he did so serving his nation. Last I checked, that''s an honor... Besides, what can I do about it now?"

    Tanamar frowned... "You could leave Tyrion. Aren''t you from Alizeau? The Fairytale Kingdom?"

    Tycon shook his head, "I have my reasons for staying... as I''m sure you have yours for staying by Miss Athena''s side."

    Tanamar''s eyes narrowed sharply... and he turned away shortly after... "Right..."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, having identified a sign of vulnerability. He decided to poke at it... for curiosity''s sake, "Are your reasons from this life or the one before?"

    The silver-haired footman sighed, "She deserves happiness... in this life and the next..."

    Poetic.

    "Hmph, there''s no shame in that." Tycon mused... "Though there was an issue I wanted to discuss, concerning--"

    Tanamar interrupted him by holding up a hand.

    Tycon immediately turned, keeping his back to Tanamar''s. The young man knew very well not to interrupt him... Whatever was around was a far greater cause of concern.

    He focused on his surroundings... searching for something hidden... something dangerous.

    The two of them were surrounded by civilians in the outer hallways of the coliseum... The loser''s division was still holding matches. Hundreds of merchants and thousands of spectators still milled about, away from the rtive safety of the immediate seating area.

    An assassination attempt in this area would have a catastrophic amount of casualties.

    "?Aspect of the Celestial Hound,?" Tanamar quietly activated a skill.

    Briefly ncing back to the silver-haired footman, Tycon observed the minuscule twitching of Tanamar''s nose, reminiscent to an Irvhir.

    ...If Tycon wasn''t so tense, adrenaline rushing and ready to fight for his life, he might have even found it amusing.

    "Show yourself!" Tanamar demanded. He reached out, willing his holynce into existence, and snatched it out of the air.

    Tycon saw the slightest hint of movement at his side... and he immediately rolled out of the way, reaching for his short sword as he tumbled on the ground.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tanamar had already swung hisnce, nging against metal and showering sparks, "You... what are YOU doing here?!?"

    The humanoid-shaped transparent blur coalesced into a heavy suit of armor, radiant silver and asrge as a titanblood. It held a suspiciously Dwarven halberd, barely able to keep Tanamar''s holynce at bay. Steam seemed to escape from the armor''s joints as the halberdier strained to hold their ground.

    ? Harkus, Bronze-Rank Dwarven Holy cksmith. ???

    On second look, the armor''s shape was somewhat dwarf-like, thick in the arms and nearly as wide as it was tall. Its proportions were 20 to 30%rger than Harkus actually was, but his new form made sense if Tycon assumed he affected by a size-enhancing transmutation spell.

    Tycon elected not to draw his sword, standing and crossing his arms instead, "Tanamar, stand down."

    Harkus was obviously not trying to fight. His posture was entirely on the defensive... and with his meager strength, the dwarf would lose very quickly if Tanamar decided to strike again.

    And besides that, the exchange had drawn a fearful crowd of people, gathering in a circle around them.

    Tanamar grit his teeth, "Not a me-taken chance! Tycon, do you know who this guy is?"

    "Ah... Not quite." Tycon ced his hand on his chin... "We did share a few drinks the other evening, though."

    The suit of armor''s helmet turned towards Tycon, "And YOU still owe me forty silver, boy!"

    Tycon shook his head and sighed, "I''ll give you twenty-five if you stop bringing it up."

    "Stand down, Athanasius Mors..." A female''s echoing voice resounded.

    A second set of full armor materialized aside Harkus, the bloody color of crimson. Tall and lithe, its curves implied both deadliness and a sleek, feminine allure.

    It seemed Natalya had dispelled her invisibility effect, so she could intervene. Concerning that they were still in the Holy Country of Tyrion, it was a rather flippant use of magic. Though magic in the public eye seemed to be nigh synonymous to witchcraft, Archbishop Crucis was using its effects merely to remain undetected in a crowd.

    Wizards were a strange lot.

    "And who in the SEVEN HELLS are you??" Tanamar shouted.

    ...Oh... Hm...

    One by one, the passersby began to kneel, each of them recognizing the crimson-armored woman from her earlier speech to the masses. The kneeling crowd was quite intimidating... and Tycon could almost feel the fear and uncertainty emanating from footman Tanamar.

    Because Tycon was acting as a Tyrion Decanus, he chose to salute. It seemed appropriate... and was preferable to kneeling, "Good afternoon, Archbishop Crucis."

    "Good afternoon, Decanus Tycon," Natalya nodded, her full helmet hiding her expression but not the ice in her voice. "I would see you and Athanasius in private. Immediately."

    ...

    The Archbishop had two mainints.

    The first was that Centurion Zenon very nearly lost, which would have embarrassed her in front of ten thousand Tyrions and countless more who would have heard of it.

    The second was that she did not like dealing with Magistrate Antonidus. She didn''t trust him-- but it was clear she didn''t trust anyone, Tycon especially.

    She made no mention of Tanamar''s rudeness. Either she had forgotten about it or didn''t think it important. Whatever the reason, the young footman was clearly regretful.

    As for the reason Natalya wasining to Tycon... he had no idea.

 Chapter 418 Oathbreaker (Part Two)

    ?Tycon assured the Archbishop that Centurion Zenon had a chance to survive. When she asked for the methods, Tycon chose to keep most of the information private. He did have to promise the woman that the power source was spiritual in nature-- specifically not necromantic or void-borne.

    Because of Tanamar''s open rejection of dwarf Harkus, Natalya exined in full... In doing so, she chose to ignore theints of both of them. The woman did as she pleased... which was probably what made her so difficult to deal with.

    Some fifty or so years ago, Harkus had something of a career, training the Tyrion elite. He would craft weapons or armor for them, and then instruct them in their use, sometimes imparting rare synergistic skills. One man, in particr, took the name Orcus-- a reference to his respected teacher. That man became the strongest Avenger known to the Church of the Eternal me since the beginning of their written history... a title only held by him and Maximus of Ezyria.

    Orcus was celebrated in public, hailed as a hero and cultural icon. A fantastical opinion at the time was that the other nations would never dare to invade, solely because of Orcus'' existence.

    And unbeknownst to the Tyrion public, that Orcus took on another title. He was the single greatest champion... of the Snake Cult.

    Orcus was a hero... and that legacy remained. As a viin, the Church called him something else... the Oathbreaker.

    Swayed by the Snake Cult''s ideals, the Oathbreaker turned against the Church, leading a violent revolt with his signature weapon, a greataxe with a haft made from a massive snake spine. In the skirmishes that followed, more Church Acolytes, Clerics, and Champions were killed than in any single event in Tyrion history. He was finally defeated by a group of Avengers, mortally wounded... but the damage had already been done.

    In the Holy Country, the dead remained dead.

    Living in shame for his student''s misdeeds, Harkus adopted two children, orphans from the Snake Cult War... their names Tancred and Athanasius.

    Trained for war... trained for righteousness and the importance of never breaking their oaths... they would eventuallye to find their teacher''s sordid past. After what was likely to be a series of wild and useless misunderstandings, Harkus chose self-exile, leaving the two young footmen abandoned to House Vanzano.

    Tension remained between Tanamar and dwarf Harkus... not that Tycon particrly cared for it.

    If anything, he was d that Tanamar''s skills were a result of training-- not something the footman was naturally talented at. Tycon was a person who valued hard work. He did not have the talent to grow quickly without it.

    ...Invictus member Pale came to mind... However, the boy remained honest, humble, and good-natured, therefore was tolerable.

    Tycon didn''t care for the history lesson, either. That had nothing to do with him.

    He asked Natalya for his Ranger back.

    As she judged Tycon to have suitably fulfilled the details of her mission, she granted him her favor.

    Tycon bid Archbishop Crucis and dwarf Harkus farewell. He was fairly pleased.

    Tanamar, not so much.

    Harkus remained furious at being owed coin... but Tycon proved far faster than the dwarf could chase.

    ...

    ? Two bellster. ?

    Tycon descended into the deepest levels of the diator pits. A few hundred years past, they were used almost exclusively for prisoners, debtors, and ves. Tycon imagined that the fights involving them were boring... but taught some sort of moral lesson.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Over the years, wanton ughter became less popr... and the advancement of healing techniques and magics reduced the likelihood of critical injury. This enabled diatorialbat to be a sport, a sensational show... The death of popr fighters became synonymous to killing living, breathing advertisements.

    Dark, disagreeably damp, and musty, Tycon saw Lone behind prisoners'' bars. He was speaking to one of the attending guards, a thin uniformed man carrying a torch and a club.

    "What''s the meaning of this?!" Lone shouted, "Why am I being jailed... again?! I didn''t do anything!!"

    The bronze-skinned gentleman rattled the rusty bars of his cell. It seemed like if he used enough force, they would break fairly easily. He was stripped down from his diator armor, wearing what appeared to be a simple cloth.

    ...It reminded him of the cloth-wrap used for small children, the purpose to retain urine and fecal matter.

    Tycon wondered if he wore that by choice.

    "That''s what they all say, bub," The guard sneered... "You''re the first to insist that you belong to the legendary Sol Invictus guild, though."

    The guard jabbed at Lone through the cell bars with his club. Lone slipped the jab reflexively.

    "But... but I am," Lone pouted.

    It appeared that the young man didn''t even notice he was attacked. That was likely a remnant of his training. Tycon would sometimes attack him mid-conversation...

    "Sure thing, ''Lord Ranger''... Ahaha..." The guard mocked, running his baton against the rails.

    Lone released the bars before his fingers were clubbed, "Just... tell me why I''m here..."

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat to reveal his presence. "You are here, Mister Lone, because ns have changed."

    The guard raised his shoulders, turning in a panic, "Who the--"

    Emerging from the shadows, Tycon met the human''s gaze... staring him down, "I''m here to im this man."

    The guard panicked. Seeming to forget that he already held a perfectly functional blunt weapon, he swiped his torch at Tycon''s face... which he did not even need to dodge. Cursing to himself, the guard then dropped his club and reached for the sword on his side.

    Tycon snatched the man''s wrist and rotated it outward. The guard''s knees buckled from the pain and he reflexively used his opposite hand to tap Tycon''s arm.

    Because Tycon was a polite gentleman, he released the fellow.

    "H-how did you get down here?" The guard spat, cradling his injured wrist.

    Tycon frowned... "I used... the stairs. I don''t understand what you''re asking."

    "I think he''s asking who let you down here, Boss," Lone offered, always willing to be helpful.

 Chapter 419 Part Of Sol Invictus

    ?"Ohhh," Tycondrius nodded in understanding.

    "Concerning *who* allowed me in this area... the fault would lie in the gentleman at the front desk... or the female warden that escorted me thus far."

    It was a small oversight, but Tycon had neglected to ask the woman her name... not that it mattered. The guard seemed confused-- unsure what to do with the information he had specifically requested.

    "Boss!!" Lone shouted, rattling the loose bars of his cage, "You gotta save me!!"

    Tycon turned, scowling, "*That* is what I am doing. Why else would I be here?"

    "...Oh. Thanks, Boss."

    "You there," Tycon pointed his chin at the injured guard. "Release this man. He belongs to my guild."

    The guard''s face twisted from confusion to... what appeared to be revulsion, "*You''re* part of Sol Invictus?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes in judgment. He did not like the attitude the guard was disying. It baffled him that it did not change after he did *not* break the fellow''s arm... or the fact that he revealed he was here legitimately.

    "Indeed... I am... Is there a *problem?*"

    "Yeah, there''s a problem." The guard grit his teeth, "You''re full o'' shite."

    Tycon nodded slowly... Judging by the timing of the negative colloquialism, he surmised that the human was questioning his integrity... "Young man... are you calling me a liar?"

    The guard shook his wrist and flexed his fingers, seeming to grow a sense of misguided courage.

    Straightening his back, he scowled, "Yeah, so what if I--"

    Tycon grabbed the side of the guard''s helmet and smashed his head against the nearby wall, crumpling the ignorant fool to the floor. Tycon then wound up a kick and struck at the fallen man''s abdomen. Then again. And again.

    "I really don''t understand why some people feel like they can say the things they want to..." Tycon shook his head, "Your thoughts, Mister Lone?"

    Lone crossed his arms, "Uh... Maybe because he''s a guard?"

    "Still..." Tycon frowned, stomping the side of the guard''s head, "Regardless of social status, why would someone speak so arrogantly to me while I am within striking distance? Is it truly so unexpected that I lose my temper andmit assault... murder, perhaps?"

    "I mean... if you say it like that, it''s not really that surprising," Lone shrugged.

    "Seven bleeding hells! What''s going on down there?" A female voice echoed from atop the stairs.

    Shortly after, a familiar female warden walked upon the scene of Tycon beating one of her guards...

    She ced her hands on her hips, observing the damages... "Decanus."

    Tycon smiled politely, "Lady Warden."

    "I''m assuming there''s a good reason for this, Sir."

    "Indeed, there is." Tycon kicked the guard in the mouth, loosening several teeth... "Is it important?"

    The Warden narrowed her eyes... briefly hesitating, "I would like to know... for my own personal benefit."

    Still keeping eye contact with the Warden, Tycon ground his boot against the back of the guard''s head, "Your man called me a liar."

    The warden pursed her lips... "Very well... I apologize, Decanus. I''ll deal with him... I''d like to request you to stop."

    "Hm. Granted." Tycon shoved the groaning guard away with a final kick, "If you would, then, I''d like you to facilitate the release of mypanion."

    "Of course, Decanus. If Archbishop Crucis wills it, I have noints."

    ...

    Centurion Zenon woke up from hisatose state... if briefly. He was still rtively useless, barely able to keep conscious and still unable to properly circte his mana. It was overall beneficial for him, though, as he became easier to feed.

    However, with how little he had eaten in the past several suns, he had to subsist on clear soups.

    Lone was more than happy to eat Zenon''s share. He had grown used to the mediocre food quality while imprisoned at Turrim Orientem. During his meal, he cried as he ate, all the while offering high praise to the chef.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon, as the self-assigned Master Chef of Guild Letalis, was honor-bound to oblige the young man with additional food. Such was the duty of an expert craftsman.

    In private conversations, Centurion Zenon confided that he could only train with Garock episodically. After a few bells of training, he would drift off into a deep sleep.

    It seemed that only Tycon could utilize the orc''s illusory world for longer periods of time. During his own training, he changed a System setting to allow uninterrupted connection over several real-time bells... a time that tranted into weeks in Garock''s world.

    While Tycon could not consider himself an expert at Garock''s style of swordsmanship, he had achieved middlepletion with his garishly named ''Demon de Technique''. He also learned how to nt and harvest rice and gainedpetence at a two-yer board game called the Game of Generals.

    He was more skilled at farming than at gaming.

    Under normal rules, Tycon lost nine of ten matches. When he introduced his pocket watch for ying with a time limit, he and Garock won an even amount of matches. It was just as important to make quick decisions as it was to think about the long-term state of the battlefield.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark got along well with the likes of Tanamar and Athena, even despite his rough exterior. His previous belongings would be sent to House Vanzano via the Courier''s Guild.

    The young man did reach a breakthrough in his arena fights... which was a surprise... though it was an unwee one.

    ording to Tycon''s System, Lone had broken through to be... an Iron-Rank Gangster.

    While Iron-Rank was a great improvement... his ss had reverted to an offshoot of his original Ruffian path.

    In order to readjust the young man, Tycon spent a rest cycle mercilessly beating him-- a process he cleverly disguised as training. It only took eleven different activations of ?Inspirational Surge? over about four bells of time for Lone to revert back to his previous ss... and rank.

    In hindsight, it was probably more beneficial and less psychologically damaging to develop him naturally. Iron-Rank was a major milestone in an adventurer''s life, after all.

    Unfortunately, the damage was already done.

    He''d develop as a Ranger or Tycon would kill him.

    ...

    Heading back to the Vanzano Estate was pleasant for everyone but Lieutenant Shao Ran.

    For the Sea Wolf''s transport, Guild Letalis purchased a barrel to store him in, as well as a few kegs of fresh water to rece the stagnated water on a daily basis. The barrel was then secured to the supply cart, but still essible in case Ran wanted to leave its confines. Tycon wondered if transporting fresh fish to market was a simr process.

    Tycon hadpleted his quest in the Holy Country. As such, he and Lone would depart for the Free Nation as soon as they returned to the manor. He nned on retrieving Invictus member Pale and, if reasonable, searching for the missing Tarquin Wroe.

    He''d leave Sorina and Korr in Silva to finish up any loose ends, business-side. Guild Letalis, of course, would also remain. In the case of a world-threatening event, Tycon could send word to Athena, asking for their assistance.

    ...Even if she refused, there were more than enough members of Letalis loyal to Sol Invictus. With direction from Tycon, they''d easily be able to mutiny.

    Zenon would return to the Church, a bit battered... but he''d recover to a stronger level than prior. Because he had won the Martial Tournament in Caeruleum, the Centurion would reasonably have more clout amongst his peers, as well as the confidence tomand respect.

    His faith had been challenged, as ofte... but in Tycon''s opinion (an opinion that did not agree with Church doctrine), questioning one''s beliefs promoted growth. Whatever he concluded, his faith in whatever-that-was would not be so easily shaken.

    Tycon would return to the Holy Country in a few moons, perhaps paying House Vanzano a visit, if convenient. He needed to visit Sasarame when her sses would briefly suspend in the springtime.

    Before he left, though, Tycon wished to have private conversations with Tanamar, Zenon, and Athena. For Zenon and Athena, he wished to thank them for their loyalty and faith. It was certainly already understood, but verbalizing such things were important to solidify their friendship. For Tanamar, there was another important issue that needed to be addressed.

    Tycon directed his horse, Anemone, closer to Athena''s moving carriage.

    He knocked upon the door, "Miss Athena, it''s me."

    "Ce in, Sir Tycon!" Athena raised her voice. It sounded a bit peculiar from outside... but Tycon was being invited in, without issue.

    Tycon opened the door, allowing a puff of frosty air to escape before hopping in... "Miss Athena, Miss Parthenope, good afternoon."

    The twin-braided archer, Parthenope, was wearing a troubled expression, "Hey, Sir Tychon... I''ll uh... I''ll leave you two alone."

    The girl opened the opposite door, acrobatically climbing atop the carriage to apany the driver.

    Tycon secured both doors and sat across from the young Athena Vanzano.

    She had been crying.

 Chapter 420 Reasonable Expectations

    ?Tycondrius quietly scrutinized the young Athena Vanzano. Her eyelids were swollen and her eyes were red... Most obviously, her teardrops had crystallized into small frozen droplets and were scattered about the inside of the carriage.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to concerned squints... Why did Parthenope leave him alone with her? He was not good with children, especially ones with Athena''s... condition.

    Was she hungry? ...No, lunch was only a bell prior.

    Injured? Also no.

    "...Would you like me to get footman Tanamar?" He offered.

    The silver-haired footman was generally useless... but Tycon had run out of ideas. Tanamar could probably... fix whatever Athena''s issues were.

    ...Unless he was the reason for whatever-this-concerned. Perhaps breaking the young man''s arm for whatever he did would bring her joy?

    "Oh, no... It''s nothing," Athena forced herself to smile... Another icy tear sparkled down her face, which she quickly wiped away.

    Tycon shook his head and sighed, "Even if you''re being polite... I believe it''s a poor habit to lie to one''s friends, youngdy."

    The frosty haired noble continued to sniffle, but shot back a grin, "Ehehe... We''re friends. Nice..."

    "May I ask what''s on your mind, Miss Athena?"

    Athena looked out the window... "I''m happy that we won... but I was just-- I really wanted mom and dad to be here."

    A deep loathing bit deep into Tycon''s heart. Greer and Marigold... those people were not qualified to have a child as talented and sessful as Athena.

    He hoped they were dead. If that were the case, their absence would be somewhat permissible.

    "Athena..."

    "I mean, it''s fine," Athena rubbed at her already raw eyes with her wrists. "It''s always fine. I''m okay."

    Tycon sighed again, reclining back into his seat. "Thinking logically... did you expect your parents to be in the crowd?"

    "Well... yeah!" Athena insisted, "That''s what parents do! They support their daughters!"

    Tycon grimaced... "Did you expect *your* parents to do so?"

    Athena opened her mouth to speak... but her words stuck in her throat... "I guess not..."

    "It is folly to dwell on what you''d already expected," Tycon gently chided. "The training was hard, was it not? You expected it to be as such... and yet, you''ve neverined."

    Athena crossed her arms and pouted... "I just... I think... maybe I just want toin, sometimes."

    "That''s fine..." Tycon chuckled, "Of course, it''s fine. You are among friends, after all."

    The youngdy began to tear up again... "I... I don''t know what I''d do... without Tanamar... without Theno... without you and Mister Z and... Ran-Ran."

    Tycon nodded, "Your allies can support you, as you support them. These are healthy rtionships that you must cultivate."

    Her rtionship with the people who called themselves her parents, not so much...

    Athena pursed her lips... "Can... can I count on your support, Sir Tycon?"

    "Tss..." Tycon scoffed, "To a point, yes. Be aware that I''vepleted my quest in the Holy Country. Lone and I will be moving on, soon."

    "Oh..." Athena immediately became crestfallen, her gaze drifting to the floor... "You''re going to leave me... just like Maximus."

    That was unfair. Tycon wasn''t nning on dying anytime soon.

    Tycon pursed his lips, slightly amused at the youngdy''s twisted logic, "Are you trying to tell me that the youngdy of House Vanzano isn''t strong enough to stand on her own?"

    Athena frowned, "I had help! Lots of help!"

    "Everything we have done... we have done to enable you. By your own hands, you can prove your worth to those who dare doubt you." Tycon ced his hand on his chin in thought... "What would your brother say of this?"

    Athena bowed her head, frozen tears dropping into herp... "H... he would tell me... to be brave. H... he told me... that... I... I''d be strong... even stronger than he was..."

    "Oh?" Tycon observed the weeping girl for a moment longer. "Would he be proud of you for your aplishments?"

    She nodded, sniffling miserably.

    "Do you truly need me..." Tycon leaned forward, steepling his fingers... "--or is it just your selfishness?"

    "I..." Athena hesitated... "It''s... it''s selfishness, Sir Tycon... You''ve done so much for me, already."

    "But..." Her eyes widened, "C-can you stay just for a little bit longer? Let''s go for a dungeon! Just one more! Please, Sir Tycon??"

    Mulling over the thought, Tycon steepled his fingers together...

    ...He supposed he could stay for a short while longer. He''d save travel time from going back and forth from the Free Nation to visiting Sasarame. Anyroad, thepletion of his three quests from Queen Rnia was not a time-sensitive matter.

    Tycon chuckled quietly to himself, "Since you asked so politely, yes. One dungeon would be fine."<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    The return trip to Silva was rtively uneventful.

    No brigands seemed foolish enough to attack a caravan of carts and a fancy carriage. Perhaps it was the ck armored riders... or maybe the dark banner of Guild Letalis dissuaded a raid.

    A group of a half-dozen goblins stole Shao Ran and his barrel one night. Tycon had to give the whelps a stern talking-to, but a lesson was learned by both parties. Ran was recovered without issue.

    Near the city proper, the caravan took a detour to drop off Parthenope at the Aldini estate. Athena and Guild Letalis were invited to stay for dinner, but Zenon had personally requested a celebratory meal at the local Olea Garden.

    In winning the championship at Caeruleum, Centurion Zenon Skyreaper had nearly died. If the man wanted Olea Garden, Tycon would ensure the man got his Olea Garden. Friendship and loyalty were disyed, not with words, but with action.

    Upon their return to the manor, however... one of Tycon''s fears hade to light.

    Athena''s parents, Lord Greer and Lady Mari-whatever had returned from Passage in the meantime. More surprising... was the fact that they were both alive. Horse and Jeremy had *not* murdered them.

    The two poor excuses for humans waxed and waned about their trip.

    They did not ask about the tournament... nor did they make mention of Caeruleum at all.

    Tycon knew that Athena would be upset... but as an awe-inspiring credit to the youngdy, she wore a patient smile and listened politely to their drivel.

    Afterward, the young Miss Athena excused herself to her room...

    Tycon did not consider himself very good at dealing with the nuances of human emotion. A few suns prior, he had spoken with the youngdy about perspective... If a negative oue is expected, an overly negative emotional response is illogical.

    Still, even though Athena handled the situation well, she was clearly unhappy about what had transpired.

    Again and again, Tycon was ced into shite situations. To fix them, he''d murder or destroy what he could... and he''d escape from what he could not. He was not immune to cursing the gods... sometimes, he would mock or berate his subordinates for their foolishness. Nheless, he would act to mitigate whatever difficulties he and Sol Invictus faced.

    The most efficient solution, concerning certain difficult situations... was to swallow one''s pride in order to focus on survival.

    As Tycon surmised that Athena would not be keen on murdering her parents, he sought to raise her morale, instead.

    He immediately sought the assistance of footman Tanamar.

    ...

    Tycon entered the door to the male servants'' quarters. Because of the awkward timing in the sun, all of the Letalis members were out training, while Victorius was elsewhere in the manor.

    Tanamar was alone, which allowed Tycon to speak freely.

    "Good afternoon, Tanamar," Tycon greeted the silver-haired footman. "Go see to Miss Athena."

    "Wait, what?" The young man furrowed his brows in confusion, "What''s going on?"

    Tycon grimaced... He was hoping for a different, more positive response.

    "I apologize. Did you need... the situation exined?"

    "Tch, yeah." Tanamar crossed his arms, remaining guarded.

    "Through the process of induction..." Tycon began, "I believe that Miss Athena may be ''upset'' because her parents are selfish, insensitive human beings that don''t care about her achievements."

    "Oh... That''s pretty rough," Tanamar uncrossed his arms, finally sharing Tycon''s look of concern.

    "So go to her, then," Tycon gestured towards the door.

    The footman averted his gaze, "I uh... I don''t think it''s a good idea."

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Please. Exin."

    Did those two get in an argument? He couldn''t think of any other reason that Tanamar wouldn''t be rushing over to the youngdy''s side like a Knight to a damsel-in-distress...

    ...or a... Tyrion Champion to a... High Priestess?

    Tanamar shrugged nomittally, "I''m not really good at cheering people up. How about we send Doe? Or Sorina?"

    Tycon resisted the urge to strike the young man out of frustration, "You told me the other sun that Athena deserves happiness. You, Athanasius Mors, are capable of bringing that to her."

    "It''s not me."

    ...Tycon felt his blood boiling in annoyance at the young man''s impotence. He unclenched his teeth and tried to keep his voice calm... "What. the hells. is that supposed to mean?"

    "Just what it sounds like..." Tanamar shook his head, staring at the filth-covered floor... "I''m not the one that''s supposed to bring her happiness."

    "You can''t be serious..." Tycon rolled his eyes so hard he feared for a moment that he might go blind, "Who in the seven hells is it supposed to be then?"

    The silver-haired footman grimaced, gulping hard... "It''s... it''s Tancred..."

 Chapter 421 Uncertain Future

    ?Tanamar, real name Athanasius Mors, dipped his head in shame... "Tancred... My brother. He''s the one that''s supposed to be--"

    "THAT? Idiot?" Tycondrius shouted in disbelief, "No. Nooo. Absolutely not. I refuse to listen to such nonsense. You can''t seriously be telling me that that.... toxic... garish ABSURDITY..."

    His heart pounded painfully in his chest. His mana had begun to circte rapidly, simr to if he were in a life-or-death battle. If he didn''t fear obliterating the servants'' quarters, he would have immediately begun strangling the fool, crashing his weak Iron-Rank body against the walls.

    The notion he proposed was ridiculous.

    Tycon''s senses for emotion were... pathetically weak. Still, the level of trust that Athena had for her footman was... exceedingly clear. And that Tanamar cared for her was obvious as well.

    On top of that, Athena openly rejected Tancred''spany-- like ANY rational female would.

    Tanamar had grown silent, receiving Tycon''s insults and shouts withoutint. Finally, the young man took a deep breath... and spoke in a small voice...

    "I''ve seen it."

    "Via your prediction ability?" Tycon growled, "Then your ability is STUPID and you can''t rely on it!!"

    "Nah..." Tanamar shook his head... "I know how Athena''s story goes... This isn''t the first time I''ve lived this life."

    The Holy Lancer''s bottom lip quivered as if he were about to cry.

    Tycon was too upset to care.

    Tycon took a deep breath, thinking over the situation. It hade to light that Tanamar was a special type of transmigrator: a reincarnator. He had previously lived a very simr life, with very simr persons... and thus had the advantage of knowing persons, personalities, and motives-- information he should not have.

    However, that knowledge was wed.

    "Tss... Hah... Hahaha!" Tycon scoffed, "You are a fool, Athanasius!!

    "Hey, I''m serious," Tanamar whispered. His voice cracked, revealing his uncertainty. "You''re the only one I''ve told about this..."

    "The future can be changed," Tycon insisted, each word dripping with annoyance.

    "It... changes, yes..." Tanamar softly admitted, "But the results don''t."

    "If that''s the case..." Tycon scowled, "How many times have you met me, prior to this life?"

    When they''d first met, the young man had acted with zero familiarity to him. Tycon had surmised that the answer to his question was ''zero.''

    Tanamar grew quiet... "That doesn''t prove anything."

    Tycon rolled his eyes.

    He was, in actuality, not the same Tycondrius of Charm that belonged to this Realm. His circumstances were so peculiar that-- though he could very easily be wrong, he assumed that they were unique.

    If Tanamar was re-living a life previously lived... then even if he had previously met ''Tycondrius'' before, that experience would be vastly different to the one in his current life.

    Tycon shrugged, "It proves your *cowardice*... Deny me all you want, but I stand in front of you. I am proof that entropy exists-- that time does not flow in a linear direction. The life you live now is different than the one prior."

    Tanamar stood, frowning... unmoving.

    "Ahem..." Tycon cleared his throat, crossing his arms. He had had more than enough of the footman''s wishy-washy impotence...

    "How about this..." Tycon took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He could barely restrain his fury... "You... Athanasius Mors... Will go to her... Or I. will. kill you."

    Tanamar''s eyes shot open... then narrowed into suspicious slits, "Tycon... are you threatening me?"

    "YES!!" Tycon shouted, allowing both his mana and his killing intent to flow outward. "Yes, I''m threatening you, you ignorant buffoon! Now, GO!!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tanamar took a step back, stunned. His jaw hung open like the fool he was-- either trying toprehend Tycon''s mana or the fact that he was going to be killed.

    Tycon pointed angrily at the door, "I''m a Gold-Rank!! Therefore I am STRONGER, SMARTER, and more HANDSOME than you are!!! NOW!! SOD!! OFF!!!!"

    "Wait--" Tanamar hesitated, "You''re a what?"

    Tycon grabbed Tanamar by the cor and screamed in his face, "GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

    Then he opened the door and tossed the grown man back into the hallway.

    ...

    Tycon, the other members of Sol Invictus, and a few choice members of Guild Letalis woke up early in the sun to see the Sea Wolves off. Lieutenant Shao Ran had performed his duty admirably, instilling basicbat training, tactics, and professionalism to Guild Letalis.

    Invictus Leader Tycon could not have asked for finer Marines and Sailors than the men and women who crewed the Spear of Selene.

    ...As the various goodbyes and well-wishing were going on, Tycon scrutinized the face and form of Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark.

    Several suns prior, Tycon had beaten him until his ss reverted from Iron-Rank Gangster back to Bronze-Rank Ranger. With magical assistance from his healing spells, he''d convalesced well, since then... but currently, the side of his broad face sported a discolored bruise.

    "Mister Lone... what... happened to your face?" Tycon inquired.

    "Oh..." Lone grinned sheepishly, "I cut myself while shaving. I really need to rece my razor."

    "Yes. Yes, you do. However, I was referring to your..." Tycon gestured at Lone''s face, "--injury."

    Out of a sadistic whim, Tycon prodded at Lone''s bruise, causing the Ranger to wince in pain.

    "Ow!" A look of realization abruptly dawned on Lone''s face, "Ohhh, this? Ooh, it''s swollen..."

    "...Yes. That."

    "I got attackedst night!" The bronze-skinned Ranger dered... He was smiling as if he were proud of it.

    "By... what, might I ask?"

    Knowing Lone, it was likely he had walked into a wall trying to find a pisspot in the evening.

    "Well..." Lone rubbed the back of his head... "I looked for Sorina the other night... I was gonna ask if... uh... she-- if she wanted to go eat or something."

    Tycon could vaguely see where the conversation was headed... "Go on..."

    Lone furrowed his brows abruptly, "She used a SKILL on me!! Boss! That''s assault!!"

    Tyconzily turned his head to see what Sorina was doing. She appeared to have... attained a myriad of knick-knacks and charms and was trying to hawk her wares to the departing Sea Wolves.

    Clever girl.

    "Miss Capulet! Come over here, please."

    Sorina waved in acknowledgment, finishing up onest transaction. Giddy and energetic, she skipped over to Tycon and Lone, her drill-shaped ponytail bobbing up and down as she did so, "Sup?"

    "Two questions, youngdy," Tycon smiled politely. "Concerning Mister Barza Keith, the--"

    "Lone ShadowDORK, right." Sorina nodded. "Go ahead, Boss!"

 Chapter 422 Unapologetic

    ?Tycondrius observed Sorina warily. The youngdy did not look guilty, at all.

    "One: Did Mister Lone deserve it?"

    "He did," Sorina answered without hesitation.

    Tycon was d he did not need to rify what exactly he was referring to.

    "Boss! I-- I did not!!" Lone insisted. His eyes had widened and sparkled, looking like a wronged pup... an ugly pup.

    "Two... Ah, this is more of a request than a question." Tycon pursed his lips... "I''d like you to... demonstrate your new skill."

    Most Bronze-Rank adventurers could not develop skills on their own. If Sorina Capulet had, it meant her development as abatant wasing along nicely.

    ? As Sol Invictus'' Chief Financial Officer, Sorina had ess to an abundance of resources. She had personal training from the Gold-Rank adventurer, Seldin Korr, the Unbreakable. She had ess to enchanted equipment. And she had the wealth to purchase medicine to elerate her convalescence from injury.

    Tycon would be more surprised if Sorina''sbat ability did not progress, at all.

    The youngdy nodded with a simple, "Mm."

    Taking two steps back, Sorina crouched... cing her palms onto the ground, she acrobatically kicked her legs up, performing a handstand.

    At that point in time, her Armor Cube... unfolded. In a bright sh of mana, the cube transformed into a thick bronze boot, which covered Sorina''s right foot up to her knee.

    "?Spinning BARZA KICK!!!?" Sorina shouted, smashing a heavy kick into the side of Lone''s thigh.

    "AUGH!!" Lone predictably crumpled to the ground in pain.

    Tycon was... vaguely impressed. The kick was a skill. It was... a stupid skill that took far too long to perform... but it *was* slightly empowered by Sorina''s Bronze-Rank mana.

    It was, however, uneptable that Lone was well-aware of the attack... knew the threat it posed... and still allowed himself to be struck by it. He would be punished for hisziness,ter.

    "Miss Capulet... How long have you been practicing that?"

    "Over a year now," The girl grinned.

    "Well done... but please develop *other* skills."

    ...

    Tycon and Shao Ran stood on the filthy Silva docks, the stench of fishrot hanging in the air. The dead body of a young man floated in the waters nearby. Even in the Holy Country of Tyrion, some ces were... horrid to live in or near.

    A thick grey mist covered the sea, ready to hide the departure of a ship full of drunkards, murderers, and all-around excellentpany.

    It was a fitting environment to bid the Sea Wolves farewell.

    "I ain''t gonna lie, I''m gonna miss you, Tycon." Lieutenant Shao Ran grimaced. "A lot, even."

    Tycon sped wrists with Shao Ran, shaking wistfully, "To improve your uracy, ensure you have proper breathing control and aren''t jerking the trigger when you pull."

    "You know..." Ran crossed his arms in thought... "The Sleeping Country''s been pretty aggressive, as ofte-- privateers preying on Kingdom ships, actually. I have a feeling that Lang Hai''s gonna send us over there."

    "Oh?" Tycon raised an eyebrow. It was always interesting to hear about the military movements of other nations... not that he nned on acting as a Warlord of that scale anytime soon.

    "Yeah. Would love to have you for another raid. Murder some folks that have iting to ''em?" Ran grinned toothily, "We did a number on those pirates awhile back, didn''t we?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Your Fleet Admiral, Lang Hai, and his three-year-old nearly died."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Ah! Hahaha!" Ranughed, "It wasn''t all that bad!"

    "I distinctly remember rinsing sand off of your literal intestines after you tried to strangle a pirate with them. How did you incur such an injury, anyroad?"

    Ran reared his head back, biting his upper lip, "I uh... haha... If I remembered, I''d tell ya."

    Tycon smiled, pping his hand on Ran''s shoulder, "Fair winds and following seas, Brother-Ran."

    Ran pulled Tycon in for a tight and a slightly painful embrace, "Blood and thunder, Brother-Tycon!"

    "V-victory at sea-- please-let-go."

    ...

    After seeing Ran''s ship, the Spear of Selene, sail off into the grey-misted waters, Tycon sought to converse in private with Tanamar.

    He still needed to discuss some of his findings with the young gentleman... and the previous sun was not the time to do it. Thankfully, Tanamar had done as Tycon had requested and went to see Athena.

    The two younger persons seemed closer than ever before, something Tycon gleaned by observing their bodynguage when bidding farewell to the Sea Wolves.

    As Tycon had no reason to remain angry at Tanamar, he took him to his favorite portside restaurant for the important conversation.

    To call it a restaurant was... somewhat of an embellishment. It served food. It had customers and seating. It had walls made of... barely better stuff than flimsy wood. There wasn''t much else.

    Tycon''s favorite meal in Silva was concocted at this location-- by a masterful female chef who hailed from the Eastern States. It was a creamy soup, heavy with ms, root vegetables, and salt pork simmered for so long that it felt like it melted when ced in his mouth.

    Tanamar spooned through the delicious mixture, "This is... m chowder?"

    "Oh?" Tycon raised an eyebrow. "Have you had this before?"

    The dish was umon in the Kingdom, and Tycon had only found it in port-side cities... He was also fairly sure it did not have widespread poprity in the Holy Country.

    "Yeah, it''s good." Tanamar nodded, taking a spoonful... "I heard you and Zenon are leaving after we do one more dungeon."

    "Indeed," Tycon chuckled. "Miss Athena specifically requested it."

    The young footman sighed, "Ah... yeah. She''s like that. Sorry, man."

    "It''s no trouble," Tycon assured him. "If you did not realize, I quite enjoy sharing herpany. The same extends to both you and Centurion Zenon, of course."

    Tanamar smirked, exhaling in amusement, "Yeah. You''re not so bad, yourself."

    It seemed the young man held no hard feelings about the previous sun. That was good. Perhaps he had realized how much of an idiot he had been.

    ...Even though he deserved an apology, Tycon did not expect it... not from someone of Tanamar''s personality. He did expect the young man to treat Athena well, though.

    The two reminisced back and forth about their experiences... group training... the Icingdeath Dungeons... Athena''s ss change... and even the recent events at Caeruluem.

    After the nostalgia, Tycon remembered his initial reason for seeking a private meeting.

    "Athanasius..."

    "Yeap?"

    "Have you had romantic rtions with Athena?"

 Chapter 423 Dual Cultivation

    ?The exact timing that Tycondrius asked his question was... unfortunate. The young, Holy Lancer, Tanamar was leisurely drinking water from his cup. In the silver-haired footman''s surprise, he abruptly expelled his drink, spewing the contents of his mouth forcibly outward.

    Toote to dodge, Tycon shot his palm forward, holding it ilms away from the young man''s mouth... which deflected the liquid. As a result, the footman''s face and hair were overly drenched.

    "Tycon? What the hells?" The youth red, wiping his face.

    Tycon retrieved a handkerchief from his spatial ring, proceeding to wipe his palm clean... "I''m assuming the answer is no, but it seemed socially correct to lead my inquiries in a... neutral manner, rather than a negative one."

    It was important to not insult a human''s ability to find a mate... a probable or true as it was. Humans were very prideful, after all.

    "None of that is socially correct!" Tanamar growled.

    "Are you nning on it?"

    "What? Wh-- no! Why are you asking?"

    Tanamar was disying clear signs of panic.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. Because of the signs of distress, he had an inkling that the young man was not being entirely truthful.

    ...Or there was a degree of regret or embarrassment in the experience.

    No matter. Tycon continued.

    "There would be... issues... if you did have such designs. If you do not, then I have no worries..." Tycon frowned, suddenly remembering a more pressing issue... "Ah, concerning the payment for the meal..."

    "Hold on..." Tanamar held his palm up... "What do you mean?"

    Tycon steepled his fingers and leaned forward. He had the conversational advantage... and he felt like quietly leveraging it in order to draw more information out of the young man.

    Tanamar finished wiping himself off to the best of his abilities. With a heavy sigh, he averted his gaze and began to speak.

    "...I was nning... after all this was over-- I don''t know... But if there''s ever a good time for it... I was going to propose to Athena. I mean, obviously, it needs to feel right..."

    Tycon assumed the proposition Tanamar spoke of referred to a legal marriage. Good for him.

    "I know nothing about ''feeling right'' with these particr circumstances," Tycon openly admitted.

    "Right... Well, Athena just needs to agree to it, that''s all," Tanamar shrugged.

    That made more sense. Why didn''t he say that to begin with?

    Tycon nodded, closing his eyes... "You are aware that I''ve had trouble gathering information concerning the young mistress'' ''Yin Body'', yes?"

    "You mean Athena''s Frost-Mana Soul?" Tanamar asked, "I thought we figured everything out about it through Shao Ran? ...By the way, I think he killed that Chail person."

    "Never met her," Tycon shrugged. "They probably deserved it. Anyroad, I met this orc that granted me some insight on her condition."

    "Condition?" Tanamar crossed his arms, "You''re making it sound like she''s sick."

    "Semantics aside, young man," Tycon sighed... "Because of Miss Athena''s Yin Body, there are possibleplications if she were to pair with a male mana-user."

    Tanamar slowly furrowed his brows... "What kind ofplications?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon briefly examined his surroundings before lowering his voice... "Her unique body type is sought after by Martialists. Coupling with her, the male will naturally absorb all of Athena''s mana... likely killing her in the process."

    Samurai Garock referred to the concept as a ''Human Cauldron.'' A female cultivator with excess frost mana would be used to refine and cultivate the mana of a male cultivator. Athena had an artificially created Frost-Mana Soul... and she legitimately cared for Tanamar. It was highly likely that, in the exchange of mana-fluids, she would grant far too much power...

    Tanamar would grow in power... enough to elevate his progress to or nigh-close-to Gold-Rank. Bereft of her life-sustaining mana, Athena would die... or quickly waste away in agony over several suns.

    Because Tycon considered himself a friend and ally to all those involved, he assumed that such a situation was not ideal.

    "Yeah, that''s not going to happen..." Tanamar took a deep breath, rocking back in his seat... "That... shouldn''t be a problem, though... There''s a way to turn off my abilities. I just have to take an injury... right here."

    He pointed to a spot on his abdomen.

    "Tss..." Tycon scoffed in disbelief, "Really? You''re proposing to forcibly break your mana circuits?"

    "I guess?" Tanamar pursed his lips, uncertain if he''d spoken correctly.

    "There''s a better way," Tycon rolled his eyes, "It''s slightly inconvenient, but it''s usible."

    "Then why didn''t you start with that?" Tanamar red back, raising his hands dramatically.

    "Let me finish, then." Tycon ordered sternly... "There is a Hidden Sect on the north side of the Sleeping Country, somewhere east of Arendelle. They''re called the Frozen Cairn sect."

    "...Then what?" Tanamar asked.

    "You find them. You tell them you''re allied to the Savior of the White Scale Sect, a Guest Elder of the Sea Wolf Sect, and thest Warrior of the Screaming Silence."

    Tanamar crossed his arms once more, head bowed in thought... "How am I going to find all those people?"

    "All of those titles belong to me." Tycon exined nonchntly, "I''ll write you a letter to vouch for you..."

    The young footman lifted his chin, his mouth set into a deep grimace, "And you''re telling me this... Hidden Sect? --will listen to me, because of that?"

    Tycon curled up his lips in a smirk, "Usually the sects value titles and honor and alliances with other powerful sects...

    "Of course..." Tycon shrugged, "--nothing is truly certain. I''m only providing you with what I know..."

    Tanamar nodded... "Yeah, that''s fair..."

    "The all-female sect will be able to... essentially perform your marriage ceremony. They can perform a ritual to ensure that your coupling will make the both of you stronger, instead of the exchange being one-sided... I''d imagine you''d have to prove yourself, of course."

    Probably with an obstacle course. Those stupid sects seemed to love obstacle courses.

    "Easy." Tanamar forced a smile, "Athena and I, we''ll... we''ll go on an adventure, just the two of us."

    "I approve of your enthusiasm." Tycon smiled politely, "However, be advised... the journey will be fraught with danger. And honestly... I could be leading you on a foolish chase for a goal that may no longer exist."

    "We''ll... we''ll figure it out." Tanamar clenched his fist, "If there''s a way, we''ll find it."

    Tycon stood up from the table, pushing in his chair, "I know you will, Mister Athanasius. I would not have given you such information, otherwise."

 Chapter 424 Fruit Ninja Training

    ?A handsome prince and a courageous maidservant stood atop a cliff overlooking Silva''s white-sand beaches.

    Tycondrius sidestepped Doe''s sloppy lunge, snatching her dagger-wielding wrist and pressing two fingers beneath her chin. If he had a weapon, her throat would be severed open, her crimson life force spilled upon the cliffside dirt.

    The girl''s maid attire restricted her motions. A member of Sol Invictus, Kimura Taree, had worn a simr outfit, before... but its material was more stic, allowing a freer range of movement. He considered offering to purchase a new set for the youngdy... but then he recalled how expensive it was and decided against it.

    Doe smirked, brushing her short ash-blonde hair out of her eyes, "Are you going to kiss me, Sir Tychon?"

    Tycon narrowed his gaze.

    The youngdy should have been far more disappointed that her attack had failed. Since she''d been training with Guild Letalis, she had improved in aggression and misdirection, but she still had wed, wasteful movements, as well as had trouble retaining her bnce.

    ? Medousa, Bronze-Rank Human Maid. ?

    Tycon sighed, rolling his eyes at Doe''sck of seriousness, "Whether it''s work, training, or y, Miss Guardian, focus on the task at h--"

    Suddenly, Doe sent a knee towards Tycon''sher-regions, forcing him to twist his body and receive the strike to his thigh. As he was struck off bnce, Doe was able to slip free from his grasp and disengage.

    "Mhm~" Doe hummed.

    "...Ah."

    Tycon had been yed for a fool. He had underestimated the youngdy''s capacity for deception.

    "Well done. You could have struck me with your dagger, just then." He chuckled to himself, "You know I won''t die with just that, don''t you?"

    "Oh, but Sir Tychonnn?" Doe sang, licking her lips and grinning. "I couldn''t *bear* seeing you get hurt."

    "Miss Doe..." Tycon gently reprimanded the flirtatious youngdy. "I don''t believe that is entirely truthful."

    Humans were strange. The youngdy was lying... but in a coquettish manner. She had literally bit him a few evenings prior. As the setting for that ''attack'' was intimate and he was unguarded, her teeth marks remained visible on his left shoulder.

    Doe smacked her lips together and leaned forward, consciously presenting a fuller view of her cleavage, "I like it better when you hurt me."

    Tycon mulled over the thought... "If that is an invitation... I would prefer to take your offer while we are unobserved."

    The youngdy gasped dramatically, "Sir Tychon... are you saying you''d be embarrassed if you were caught ravaging the *maid* against a fruit tree?"

    Tycon nced behind her at one of the fruit-bearing trees, a short distance away. She was being terribly specific.

    Shaking his head, he smiled politely, "I''m implying that one of our associates is fast approaching."

    Medousa quickly adjusted her clothing just as Centurion Zenon Skyreaper came into view.

    She sighed wistfully, looking into the distance at the beaches below, gleaming in the afternoon sun. "I''ll be returning to the manor first, Sir Tychon... Perhaps I''ll pay you a visitter, if you''re free."

    "Yourpany has been lovely, Miss Doe." Tycon bowed as Doe curtsied, "Perhaps I''ll treat you to dinner in the evening, then?"

    "You realize when you say you''ll ''treat'' me, you have to pay for my meal, too," Doe chided.

    "Uh... Right."<novelnext></novelnext>

    If Tycon was paying for two meals, then Olea Garden would be his primary option. The economic value ofplimentary breadsticks was invaluable.

    The Centurion arrived, engaging in a few moments of small talk with Doe. After the youngdy politely excused herself, Zenon greeted Tycon with a smile as bright as Silva''s sands.

    "Hey, Optio! Did I interrupt something?"

    "Not at all, Brother-Zenon," Tycon smiled warmly. "I see you''ve brought a training weapon."

    Zenon wore a training tunic and... his healing pants, with a wooden sword resting on his shoulder. After he had exhausted his mana during the Caeruleum tournament, he fell into aatose state for several suns. It took him at least thrice as long to convalesce, eating and exercising steadily to regain the weight he''d lost.

    Zenonughed to himself, "Yeah! I developed a new ability that I wanted to talk to you about."

    "Ah, so you''ve improved." Tycon nodded. "Excellent."

    With the assistance of Samurai Garock, a weapon spirit, the Centurion also had undergone specialized training-- weeks of it, with the time disparity between the illusory world and the real.

    At the time, their focus was primarily meditation and the efficient and effective cirction of mana through Zenon''s damaged circuits. Still, Tycon was fairly certain Garock would have tried to impart at least some of his de techniques... even though Zenon was a *Tyrion* human.

    "Let''s have it, then." Tycon spread his arms wide, opening himself up to attack.

    He assumed that Zenon had most likely gained proficiency with Garock''s ?Taste the Demon de?. Tycon, himself, had cultivated the technique to middlepletion... though he''d taken the equivalent of a couple of moons to do so. Still, he figured he might be able to glean something new from watching a lesser skilled person activate the skill.

    Centurion Zenon flourished his wooden training de, before channeling his mana into it with a low groan. The air blurred around him, thick with wind mana.

    Tycon sharpened his gaze, waiting...

    Waiting...

    Yet no attack came.

    Tycon took a deep breath through his nostrils....

    "Was... that the skill?"

    "Oh, no." Zenon shook his head, "I learned a defensive skill-- so... I guess, uh... yes. It is the skill."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Should I... attack you, then?"

    "Please do."

    Zenon was an excellentpanion, as well as a loyal friend and ally. Tycon wanted to be as helpful as possible... but attacking him was... difficult. He didn''t want to embarrass him.

    Or identally kill him.

    Doe''s earlier mention of fruit trees reminded him of training Invictus had developed for Invictus member Pale. He walked over to one and picked up a hard fruit, "Are you prepared?"

    Zenon nodded, "Yes, Optio, I--"

    Tycon hurled the fruit at Zenon''s mustachioed face, utilizing all of his strength.

 Chapter 425 Plans For The Future

    ?Tycondrius'' hurled fruit was fast enough to kill a normal human.

    Centurion Zenon Skyreaper was a passably handsome gentleman, only slightly less attractive than himself. But with the pride of the handsome, steps must be taken to ensure its integrity: healthful eating, proper rest, and regr exercise were the three most important. Properly defending one''s face from thrown projectiles was... somewhere in the top ten.

    As a credit to his training, Zenon deflected the fruit with supernatural crity. He also had the foresight to empower his wooden weapon with wind mana. The firm, unripe fruit might have damaged it, otherwise.

    "Whoa. I... I almost missed that," Zenon chuckled.

    He sounded slightly less confident than a few minutes prior.

    "No, that was good!" Tycon praised. He had to perk up the Centurion''s spirits as the training continued. He began picking up several more choice pieces of fruit, all equally lethal.

    "Optio..."

    "If you try to escape, it would be easier for me to hit you." Tycon warned, "Are you prepared?"

    Zenon gulped, "I uh... I''m not so--"

    "I advise you to dodge the ones you cannot deflect."

    Tycon inhaled deeply, circting his mana to speed his perception and empower his throws. In a span of a short few seconds, he threw over ten rock-hard fruits at the Librarian, three of them at his head, and one shadowing behind another.

    Zenon''s eyes sharpened-- likely realizing that he was in danger. With what appeared to be three casual swipes, his sword caught all of the projectiles, but one. The fruits burst violently against the rending wind enchantment on his weapon.

    The tenth smashed the center of the gentleman''s face, staggering him and leaving rivulets of blood dripping down both nostrils.

    "Ow!"

    Tycon chuckled, "Perhaps thatst one was a bit unfair."

    Because of the trickiness of thest shot, it was a bit weaker than the others. Zenon had survived another day-- good for him.

    "What the--" Zenon pinched the bridge of his nose to staunch the bleeding, "Was that magic?"

    "It was mana-empowered physical prowess, Brother-Zenon," Tycon grinned. "Essentially, it''s simr to your ability... not quite magical, but utilizing your understanding of magic toplement your senses."

    "Hmm..." Zenon crossed his arms, "I''ve actually had problems making this ability stronger. It seems like it''d be really useful, right?"

    Tycon smirked. Invictus member Pale had developed quite well using the same, very effective training, developing his reflexes and danger sense to almost inhuman levels. Athena had trained in a simr manner, though her focus was in strengthening her ability to simultaneously concentrate and defend herself.

    "I think, Brother-Zenon... that you''re onto something. With your permission, I''d like to... change the ''rules'' a bit."

    Zenon beamed in excitement, "Sounds good, Optio. What are you thinking?"

    Picking up another armful of fruits, he turned to Zenon with a sadistic grin, "You''re going to dodge and deflect these, as well... but this time, I want you to close your eyes."

    ...

    Half-a-bellter, Zenon had learned that his defensive skill needed to be developed further.

    In that regard, he was on a clear path to growth. With his ws pointed out, in adjusting them, he''d develop greatly over a short period of time. Since the young Centurion awakened from hisa, he became more sensitive to the mana in the world around him. Utilizing that as an additionalbat sense, Zenon would be better able to avoid taking damage inbat.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Athena had simr senses and naturally seemed to understand the concept. Zenon had to be taught, but that was not a weakness. Even though the Centurion had less natural talent than the youngdy, he could bridge the gap with diligence and focused effort.

    ...Even Tycon did not think *he* had as much natural talent as Athena... or herte brother, Maximus Vanzano, for that matter.

    "You performed admirably, my friend."

    Zenon chuckled derisively, reclining back against the soft wood of one of their fruit trees, "Doesn''t feel like it."

    "I was trying to break your teeth," Tyconughed softly.

    Also, his skull.

    "Ever heard of holding back, Optio?"

    "For the purposes of training? No," Tycon chuckled, shaking his head... "Was there anything else? Besides your newfound ability to dodge attacks with your eyes closed."

    "Ah, right." Zenon nodded, "The city of Caeruleum''s issued a dungeon quest-- issued by Holy Magus Antonidus. The Brazen Guard is rotating back to Ezyria for it."

    Tycon gazed up at the blue sky... "Yes. That will be more than fine. We''ll join up with their collective, then. I''m looking forward to working with Bannok and the others-- perhaps not so much, your ''hero'', Tancred."

    Zenon shook his head... "I don''t really like that guy, anymore. I''ve been starting to follow a different diator-- his gimmick is... that you can''t see him."

    "Hmph," Tycon pursed his lips. "Very well."

    ? It sounded silly, but he was certain that whomever Zenon spoke of was a far better role model than the Stormbrand Reaver.

    "You know, Optio..." Zenon took a deep breath and sighed... "It''s been a pleasure working with you."

    "I feel the same way," Tycon smiled, feeling the warmth of pride surge in his chest. "We''ve done well, and neither of our stories are near being finished."

    "I was thinking... even though this dungeon''s myst adventure with Sol Invictus... you''re going to the Free Nation after this, right?"

    "Correct."

    "We have some military bases over there-- I should be able to apply for a transfer?" Zenon turned, looking uncertain, "Maybe I can visit? Or you can visit me?"

    "Hahah!" Tyconughed, "Of course, Brother-Zenon. I will always wee yourpany... However..."

    "However?"

    Tycon smirked, raising an eyebrow, "There aren''t any Olea Gardens in the Free Nation."

    Zenon burst out inughter, with Tycon joining in. It was slightly more reserved, but the camaraderie between the two was apparent.

    The Librarian wiped a joyful tear from his eye... "I think I''ll manage, Brother-Tycon. Let''s get this dungeon... Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus."

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded. "For the righteousness of Tyrion and the glory of mankind."

 Chapter 426 Miss Athenaâ€™s Guild

    ?? Two weekster. ?

    Ptolema looked around the Brazen Guard war camp. She stood guard since Guild Snowy Vige was on one of the outer perimeters. It was a little lonely, but everyone else was doing more important things... weapons'' maintenance, scouting, other prep...

    It seemed everyone was being extra nice to her, insisting that she take the ''easiest'' jobs, as ofte... It was often annoying... but also... nice at the same time.

    She did like the others showing that they cared... as strict as she thought she was.

    She also liked having privacy.

    ...And she did get sore in the most bothersome ces.

    She took a quick look to ensure that no one was watching... Once she was certain, she decided to massage her tender chest.

    "Hey, Ptolema! How''s it--"

    "AIIEEEE!!" Ptolema screamed in surprise. Out of reflex, she drew her handaxe and hurriedly threw it at the ambusher... and it nged loudly against Legionnaire Karodin''s helmet. If he wasn''t wearing it, it would have split the idiot''s blue-haired skull.

    Karodin swayed, holding his head, "By the me!! What''s wrong? Are you okay?!"

    Ptolema pointed angrily, "Don''t!! DO! THAT!!!"

    "Do what?"

    "Sneak up on me, you dolt!"

    The man pursed his lips, showing a look of concern... "Ptolema... Can you uh..."

    "WHAT?!"

    "Can you calm down a little bit?" Karodin showed his palms, whispering quietly. "It might not be good... concerning your.... condition?"

    "I am. very. calm," Ptolema insisted. "It won''t. affect. the baby."

    "Our baby," The Legionnaire grinned.

    "Right," Ptolema rolled her eyes. Their baby. Plural.

    The ambiance of the war camp grew more animated, noisy with murmurs. A new caravan was approaching, an unfamiliar adventuringpany... Looking to be a medium guild of ten or twenty, they would be a noticeable presence for the most recent Gold-Rank quest.

    "ck g, green trim... white... snake skull?" Ptolema frowned... "Are they Tyrion? You don''t often see snake heraldry because... you know."

    Agathe, Snowy Vige''s medic and a no-nonsense woman one year older than her, had emerged from her tent. cing a t palm over her eyes, she squinted to look at the distant guild''s banners...

    "I recognize it. That''s the symbol of Guild Letalis. They won the tournament at Caeruleum a moon or two back."

    "The martial tournament or the one with the horses?" Ptolema asked, "I see a very handsome warhorse from here. Oh, and that yellow-ish one looks strong, too."

    "The martial one, Leader." Agathe chuckled. "Though I''m a little surprised you knew about the horse-breedingpetition."

    Ptolema rolled her eyes, "Everyone knows about the horse-breedingpetition."

    "I didn''t know you liked horses," Karodin smirked. "How about I buy you one after this mission?"

    Ptolema red at the Legionnaire, "Let''s focus on the current mission, Karodin. Then, we can think about the future."<novelnext></novelnext>

    A horse did sound nice... but if she couldn''t afford a warhorse as a leader of an adventuringpany, Karodin couldn''t either.

    "Our future," Karodin insisted.

    "Right."

    Ptolema sighed heavily, while Agathe stifled augh.

    "You two are adorable," The medic teased.

    Ptolema decided to ignore the woman''sst statement. She didn''t feel like losing her temper. She stood up, peering in the distance to observe Guild Letalis'' carriage and carts fast approaching their tents.

    "Agathe, I''m assuming you mean that that guild won the *regr* tournament at Caeruleum?"

    "Hmm..." Karodin bit his upper lip, "That''d mean they actually won against Tancred."

    Ptolema red at the Legionnaire, "I can beat Tancred, as long as I don''t let him use his stupid movement techniques. By the me-- even you can beat him if you applied yourself."

    "Aha..." Karodin scratched his cheek, "If you say so."

    Agathe nodded, "From what I''ve heard, the teams from Guild Letalis won both the regr tournament and the junior division."

    Karodin shook his head sadly, "Oh, that''s a shame. I heard Miss Athena waspeting."

    Ptolema shrugged off a sliver of jealousy. Athena was pretty, but she was far too young for Karodin... no, for any man''s tastes.

    "That''s not quite urate, Mister Karodin," Agathe smirked.

    "And what are you hiding?" Ptolema snapped in annoyance.

    "Guild Letalis is the adventuringpany representing House Vanzano."

    A gorgeous dark wooded carriage drawn by two stallions stopped near the members of Snowy Vige. As the door opened, Ptolema could swear a cloud of cool, frosty air wisped out.

    A beautiful young woman with short ice-blue hair stepped out-- no... she seemed to glide out like a slow-falling leaf. She was wearing an elegant white toga andurel leaves upon her head made from gold. Curiously levitating behind her were four hiltless Tyrion steel des, razor-sharp and gleaming in the sun.

    She looked less like a spoiled young mistress of a noble house and more like an angel descended from the heavens. If the des floating behind her were arranged like wings, she would have been perfect-- an image depicted by a mosaic on one of the Church''s temple walls.

    "Wait, hold on--" Karodin waved his arms in a childish panic, "You mean to say this is Miss ATHENA''S guild?!"

    Athena had a really good reputation in the Brazen Guard... but Ptolema was a little annoyed by Karodin''s overreaction. She had mistakenly thought she was the only woman that could put him in such a state.

    "Ahem...." Agathe coughed, "Mister Karodin, she''s literally standing in front of you."

    "Hi, Mister Karodin!!" Little Athena smiled, "Oh, and Miss Ptolema! Long time no see!"

    It was gorgeous. If Ptolema had a daughter, she wanted her to look just as angelic... But that same smile was more than capable of making the blood of foolish men run hot.

    ...Ptolema decided that she needed to keep an eye on her husband. She trusted him, but there was no harm in keeping him out of trouble.

    It was the same concept with children, keeping the cookie jar away from their grubby little hands so they couldn''t ruin their supper. And Karodin was... in many cases, more like an unreasonablyrge child than a rational adult.

    She forced a smile, "Well met, Miss Athena. This is... certainly a surprise."

 Chapter 427 Attack On Tycon

    ?Tycondrius dismounted hispanion, a chatty mare with an ivory-coat named Eos. Their conversation had been pleasant throughout the trip, but even she was looking forward to a well-deserved break.

    The young Athena Vanzano, Calctor Sorina Capulet, and Raging me Knight Seldin Korr were riding the expensive carriage, pulled by Invictus warhorses Horse and Jeremy.

    Athena exited first, providing a bubbly greeting to the members of Guild Snowy Vige. She dressed like a statue in a Tyrion metropolis: in a white, loose and flowing outer garment worn over a tunic.

    Korr emerged next, wearing her full set of dark armor. Her helmet kept her identity hidden while being both intimidating and aesthetically pleasing. She quietly scrutinized her surroundings for danger like the proper, veteran adventurer she was.

    Sorina crawled out of the carriage on her hands and knees. Even with the enchantments on the wheeled box, she incurred severe headaches and nausea when traveling over extended periods of time.

    Tycon made a mental note to try to develop a stabilization ritual that could be cast directly on... people, as opposed to inanimate objects.

    Calctor Sorina had done well in equipping Guild Letalis for the current mission, especially in facilitating the development of unique weaponry. In particr, Tycon appreciated the floating des at Athena''s back. The Dwarven Krakhammr n had crafted them-- impossible weapons to wield normally.

    Small, palm-sized frost stones were built into the des where a cross hilt would normally be installed. Where they were harvested from, Tycon had no idea... but he hoped they were from enemies of Isidor''s Faction... and not from kidnapped allies.

    Because of Athena''s frost affinity, she could telekically control her four metal des near as well as she could her mana-created weapons. The obvious benefit was that Arcanite was far more durable than the steel she was used to wielding... and of course, had more permanence than her enchanted ice weapons. Further, the youngdy required less concentration to wield them.

    As they were difficult to transport, she did need the patience to have the des trail behind her wherever she went... and the mindfulness to remember them. If she wasn''t constantly reminded of their existence, she would forget them in the most curious of ces.

    While initially, the entirety of Guild Letalis set out... Tycon ultimately chose only a handful to apany Sol Invictus and participate in the Dungeon Raid. Their remaining forces would split off, traveling to Caeruleum toplete quests for the Adventurer''s Guild there.

    Though Athena requested for Parthenope toe, Tycon denied her, as the braided archer was heavily outssed by those he selected. Sergeant Salt and five others, most of them with the Gunner ss, had explosive power that would bring a level of damage and destruction unseen by the Brazen Guard... with the exception of Tanamar''s holynce barrages, anyroad.

    Tycon had considered bringing along footman Victorius. His unique weapon could be used, just as well, to devastating effect.

    The blond buffoon proved reluctant, therefore was left behind and entrusted with the defense of the estate.

    No matter.

    Salt and his Gunners were armed with simr weaponry, no less powerful... rifles ordered from Bael Turath. They were suitably proficient in their use, having practiced with them exclusively as soon as Invictus'' Courier, Popoto Potata Pota, delivered word of their mission.

    The demon technology... ''Hextech'' as Turathi engineers referred to them, did not require their gunnery packed with Orkish Sugar. Instead, they were magically enchanted, their ammunition propelled by mana-created explosions instead of alchemical.

    Khyber Crystals locked into a slot at the base of their weapons provided more than enough power for hundreds of shots. A broken crystal had the high chance to... immte the wielder in abyssal mes, potentially damaging to a human soul. But still... the effectiveness of a working weapon outweighed the risks that Tycon did not have to personally take...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Also, it was cheaper to purchase those weapons. With normal guns, they also had to attain and transport so many kegs of ck powder.

    Tycon walked towards his chosen Guild Letalis members to inspect and ensure their professional appearances. The mixed dark leather and metal armor sets worn by his troops were clean, polished... and domineering.

    ? Salt wore a helmet marked with dark green to match his rank as tent-group leader, simr to how Tycon''s full helmet was white. Athena''s armor was markedly different-- when she decided to wear it (and she had two sets, in case she ruined one)... In a hectic situation, the colors would otherwise serve to identify who to listen to, or in Athena''s case, who to protect at all costs.

    "Sergeant Salt, set up camp alongside the Snowy Vige tents," Tycon ordered. "They''re... (How did they say it?) They''re good people."

    The helmeted Salt saluted crisply, "Aye aye, Sir."

    "That voice..." A certain blue-haired fool of a Legionnaire with a dented helmet walked over, a look of awe in his wide eyes.

    ? Karodin, Iron-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    A familiar Duelist stood at his side... intimately close to him. It looked like her dark hair had grown a bit, making her look more feminine-- and somehow, more confident... (though there could have been a different factor at y.)

    That she continued being a guild leader even after the decimation of her forces spoke volumes about herpetence.

    ? Ptolema, Iron-Rank Human Duelist. Guild Snowy Vige. ?

    Tycon chuckled to himself while removing his full-helmet, "Hello, Mister Karodin, Miss Ptolema. You look well."

    "Master Tactician..." Ptolema looked Tycon up and down before saluting respectfully. "Guild Snowy Vige still owes you and Librarian Zenon a drink."

    Tycon smiled politely, "I would love to--"

    "SIR TYCON!!" Karodin of Emberhold leapt forward and embraced him.

    The sensation was... not as unpleasant as Tycon thought it would be. But still, he regretted that he did not dodge the ''attack.''

    "Wow! You look great!" The man hugged him tighter... "Hey! I''ve got a lot of great news! I can''t wait to tell you!"

    "I uh..." Tycon gently pried the fellow off of him... even with his Gold-Rank physique, it proved difficult, "That sounds... nice. But before that, perhaps you could take me and Miss Athena to meet with Brother-Bannok?"

 Chapter 428 Dead Snake

    ?"I don''t like it," Bannok red at Tycondrius, who sat across from him at the nning table.

    ? Bannok, Gold-Rank Human Weaponmaster. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    "I gathered, Brother-Bannok," Tycon nodded. "As the name of the dungeon is the ''Halls of the Dead Serpent'', I''d imagined you would not enjoy being here."

    "I was talkin'' about your banner, guy!" Bannok scowled. "It''s got a snake on it. I hate it!"

    Tycon nced over at his left shoulder te, the one painted with the Guild Letalis snake skull... but he had a perfect excuse, prepared for the human''s suspicion, "Ah, this? Well, Brother-Bannok, a dead snake has a much different meaning than a living one."

    "Makes sense!" Ariadne pped her hands together, "Husband, be nice! You know that Mister Tactician don''t mean no harm!"

    ? Ariadne, Gold-Rank Elven Priestess. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    Ariadne... or Aria, as she preferred to be called, was a powerful Priestess and the wife of Bannok of Kasydon. Her dyed blonde hair and white rune tattoos shed against her bronze skin-- apparently an epted cultural style in the Eastern States.

    Her style of speaking was... influenced by her upbringing in that area. Tycon tried to decipher what exactly she had said... It sounded... positive? But the words she used...

    "We all know how much you prefer yer snakes dead rather ''an alive and kickin''!" Ariadne rolled her eyes before turning sharply andining in her charming drawl, "Say somethin'', Fel!"

    The reticent hooded elf, Felinus, was rubbing conditioner onto his leather arm-guards. He nced over to the war table, "Snakes have no legs, Sapling, therefore cannot kick."

    ? Felinus, Gold-Rank Elven Hunter. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    Admittedly, Tycon was thinking the same thing.

    "SOMETHIN''. ELSE. FEL!!" The Priestess scolded.

    "Very well," Felinus returned his attention to his maintenance... "Bannok, I advise you to have faith in our Tactician."

    Bannok rolled his eyes and rubbed at his bald head, "Not you too..."

    Athena shyly picked at another of Aria''s cupcakes, a guilty look in her eyes... "Um... I... I chose the final design. It''s sorta my fault?"

    The young girl bowed her head, "I''m sorry, Mister B."

    ? Athena Vanzano, Iron-Rank Frostde. Guild Letalis Serpentia. ?

    Bannok swayed back as if he''d been physically struck, "Alright, alright. It''s fine. Stop apologizing, all of you''s."

    Tycon did not apologize but chose not to call attention to that fact.

    "The Tactician did not apologize," Felinus said aloud.

    Tycon sighed, unsurprised by the elf''s sudden, but inevitable betrayal.

    "Whatever, ughhh," Bannok groaned. "So tell me about your guild, then? I hope you guyses are worth as much as your fancy ck armor."

    "He''s just jealous," Ariadne teased.

    "W-we have extra sets..." Athena offered.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat. "We technically have two armored sses, a Raging me Knight and a Heavy Gunner... as well as a half-dozen heavy-damage ranged sses."

    Bannok whistled... "A Raging me Knight... never heard of that. Is it a Knight subss?"

    Tycon frowned... "I believe it stems from the Berserker ss."

    The bald Weaponmaster blinked... "That''s... terrifying, almost... So they''ll be part of my closebat line... What rank is he?"

    "Gold. And Korr is female, though she will be wearing her full helmet to avoid discrimination."

    "Oh, I can''t wait to meet her!!" Aria giggled. "Have another cupcake, little one."

    "Korr is really nice! Kinda quiet, though? But she''s really pretty," Athena exined between nibbles of the baked goods Ariadne had provided. "These are really delicious, Ari!"

    Though Tycon did not particrly enjoy eating sweets, their scent was pleasant.

    Banana? ...How did Ariadne manage to get bananas in the Holy Country?

    Tycon addressed Felinus. The Elven Hunter was responsible for coordination amongst the ranged sses inbat, "Our gunners are trained to move and shoot as well as archers. Will you ept them under yourmand?"

    Felinus pursed his lips as he stared at one of the tent walls... "I do not like the smell of guns and cannons... but yes, if they are prepared to follow orders, I should have no issue with them."

    Tycon frowned but nodded. The Hunter would expect the sweet smell of burnt Orcish Sugar, but he would instead sense the discharge of vtile evocation magic. If he''d had any prior dealings with Bael Turath-- which was likely, due to his age... then he''d identify the source immediately. While Khyber Crystals were not inherently good or evil, Felinus would have questions that Tycon would have to answer eventually.

    "Ooh, ooh!" Athena wiggled in glee, "We have Sorina, too! She''s amazing!"

    "Oh! What ss is she?" Ariadne asked, tapping her paper fan to her chin.

    Tycon smirked, leaning forward on the table, "My Quartermaster, Sorina Capulet, is a Calctor."

    Bannok raised his eyebrows, more surprised that Guild Letalis had a Calctor than a Gold-Rank... "How good we talkin''?"

    "Bronze-Rank, but she has developed the ?Parse? skill."

    ?Parse? was one of the most powerful skills in the Realm... but as rare as it was, it was only valued by military leaders. With Bannok as a retired Pilus Prior, he would not take one lightly.

    Sorina''s skill could judge both the strength and effectiveness of anyone she observed inbat. With the information provided, she could identify efficacy ws that could then be corrected by training.

    Sorina could calcte a percentage determining whether or not an adventurer was performing to the best of their abilities. If she dered that an Iron-Rank Fighter performed in the lower 20% of all Iron-Rank Fighters or a low 10% of all closebat sses... then that person was better off performing guard duty than in the front lines. Conversely, the men and women that performed at the *top* 20% would be best protected and nurtured by the Brazen Guard.

    Doubting a Calctor''s judgments would lead to nothing but embarrassment. Their ability analyzed nearly everything inbat... amount of time spent not attacking, taking injury, rtive stamina and mana usage, willpower...

    Such things were quantified into numbers... numbers that she could provide at a moment''s notice. Numbers could not lie... and neither could Sorina, while her skill was active.

    How it worked was beyond Tycon or anyone, but the Calctor ss and its ?Parse? skill was beholden to the indisputable Laws that governed the Realm.

    Bannok snorted, "I like it. No one''s ckin'' off, this sun. Else they''ll find my foot in their arse."

 Chapter 429 Stop, Drop, & Roll

    ?Tycondrius steepled his fingers and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the nning table... "Brother-Bannok, what can you tell us about these halls?"

    Weaponmaster Bannok narrowed his eyes for a brief moment, an internal struggle clear in his eyes. He breathed a heavy sigh, his gaze focused elsewhere... "I''ve heard of them... once. Thest words on a heretic''s lips before I ended his miserable life."

    The denizens of the Command Tent grew quiet... even Felinus paused his rote maintenance, his Elven ears twitching to hear.

    "You folks know about the Oathbreaker, yeah?" Bannok''s voice practically dripped with loathing.

    Tycon nodded solemnly. Bannok spoke of a traitor of Tyrion... the greatest Champion of the Snake Cult. He was a man who led the most sessful violent revolt against the Church of the Eternal me in modern times.

    Bannok continued... "After the prick got his head separated from his neck, they buried what was left of him in the Halls of the Dead Snake-- even going as far as worshipping him like a god. Seven hells, he might be down there, f*cking off as a headless ghost."

    "I see..." Tycon shut his eyes, taking a breath. While such news was foreboding, it would not sway them from their mission. Even facing such a daunting foe, the path to victory would be paved by the bodies of their own.

    It was practically Tyrion military doctrine.

    Tycon allowed himself a smirk, "Then we are merely fighting ghosts of the past."

    Bannok nodded, still deep in thought... "And these ones deserve no mercy."

    ...

    When Tycon returned to the Guild Letalis camp, there were visitors... one wee and the others not-so-much.

    Elven Hunter Felinus had silently stalked him. He did not hide particrly well-- as an elf, the gentleman could disappear nighpletely if he wished to. Naturally stealthy, the only adventurers capable of tracking him were himself and perhaps the two mages with aura-sense, Zenon and Athena.

    As the elf was no danger, Tycon turned his attention to the others.

    Stormbrands.

    Led by the travesty of color that was Reaver Tancred and the open-coat, wispy-haired chest of Cleric am, Guild Stormbrand had created an impromptu arena out of rocks. They seemed to be holding public duels adjacent to his Letalis tents.

    "Who wants a PIECE of ORCUS! GOD OF BATTLE!!!" Tancred shouted, banging a gauntleted fist against his chestte, "Step right up and get your arse handed to you, by yours truly!!"

    The action reminded Tycon of a bird nging rocks together to attract a mate... and it appeared that none of the females in Letalis, Snowy Vige, and the other nearby guilds appeared interested.

    ...But why were they here? For what purpose? If they were trying to hold a show, every member of Letalis'' ranged line could kill a corresponding Stormbrand. Letalis'' closebat experts also had lethal, domineering abilities. The only one that might have a chance at losing was--

    "Sure, I''ll fight!"

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark stepped forward, presumably to get his arse handed to him.

    Seven hells.

    "I''ll take him!!" am sneered stepping into the ring before Tancred could, "You look pretty weak, Fish!"

    ...am was particrly observant to sense weakness... not that Tycon considered it so difficult.

    Lone pursed his lips, "My name''s not Fish, it''s Lone."

    "It''s an insult, Mister Lone!" Athena shouted.

    Was she trying to be helpful? It was a strange time to do so.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Kick his butt!" The youngdy added.

    ...Tycon would assume she meant well.

    "Oh. I''m not a fish, then," Lone opened his arms wide, tilted his head, and bared his teeth in a grin. "I''m... I''m a frog in a well, destined to be... a toad... a TOAD THAT EATS FISH!!"

    "You got a lot of talk," amughed, gesturing Lone towards him. "How about you talk with your fists, like a man?"

    "Oh, I''ve got lots more to say," Lone sneered arrogantly, pointing his chin forward. "And I''ll say it with my SWORD!"

    Lone drew his strongest weapon, the Shatterspike... a magical de capable of cutting through even Tyrion steel.

    ...The de was stolen from Seldin Korr, who was literally standing nine fulms away.

    "My blood is boiling hot!!" Lone dered.

    am took a step back, his eyes furrowed in confusion, "What the..."

    Lone was ame. Literally.

    Tyconmented the situation. He was fairly certain that Lone could have defeated am in single martialbat. Unveiling his sword led to his unfortunate loss before the fight even began.

    The young Ranger began to scream, trying desperately to pat out the fires.

    Seeming to understand the situation, am rxed his shoulders. Removing a small paper cylinder from an inner coat pocket, he ced it in his mouth and used the panicking, ming Ranger to light it.

    "Thanks."

    "Stop, drop, and roll, Mister Lone!!!" Athena shouted... "Stop, drop, and rollllll!!!"

    She turned to Duelist Ptolema at her side... "We learned that at the Academy. Never thought it''d be useful, though."

    Tycon shook his head before shouting for assistance, "Mister Lawrence!!"

    Heavy Gunner William Lawrence, the physicallyrgest member of Guild Letalis stepped into the ring, thick heavy boots clomping against the ground. The heaviest-armoredbatant amongst them, Lawrence wore thick metal tes over chainmail, and a full helmet adorned with ox-horns.

    Cleric am straightened his back, keeping his distance from Lawrence as he sauntered towards Lone. Wise.

    Unlike Tyrion sculpted muscle cuirasses, Letalis'' armor sets were made in the Dwarven style, which curved outward to deflect weapon strikes instead of guiding them into the indentations. All that together made Lawrence look less like a human exemr... but more like an unfeeling, imprable fortress of darkened steel.

    Most intimidating about him was the massive, double-barreled scattergun hanging from a strap over his chest. Its power was simr to a ship cannon, thrice its size.

    "I''m sorry, Mister Lone," Ever polite, therge gentleman apologized through the echo of his helmet.

    "Just-- just help me! Ahhhh!!!"

    Without another word, Lawrence began to mercilessly stomp out the mes covering the young Ranger-- as stopped, dropped, and rolling as he was.

    Tycon found the result eptable. If anyone was going to defeat one of his Letalis warriors, it would be... another Letalis member.

 Chapter 430 Unrelenting Fists

    ?Cleric am gazed upward at Mister Lawrence with a strange look in his eyes... as if he was deciding whether or not to antagonize therger human.

    Likely unaware that he was the target of hostility, Lawrence dragged Lone out of the rock-circle... leaving am, the fallen Shatterspike... and the armored form of Seldin Korr who had stepped into the ring to examine it.

    Shadow-ck armor with silver trim. Asymmetrical helmet that covered her non-working eye. Dark green breechcloth. Simr to the Heavy Gunner, Seldin Korr also wore a full-metal set of armor-- though her set was far more intricate and elegant than the others.

    Diamantia Krakhammer had likely figured that that particr set was to be made for a woman. Women seem to have some sort of... psychic link that made them do nice things for each other without asking.

    It was yet another reason that Tycondrius was so wary when dealing with females.

    With Lawrence away, however, the Stormbrands surrounding the ring began to shout, mocking Korr, and imploring Cleric am to defeat her quickly. They likely thought that the ck-armored Knight was the next challenger.

    Emboldened by their cheers, am stepped forward, posturing aggressively.

    Seldin Korr was far shorter than Lawrence, though her boots were lifted, making her appear long-legged. Still, her overall size was far more condensed... which was probably the reason the Stormbrands had the confidence to court death.

    ...The fools they were.

    "[THIS. BLADE. IS MINE,]" Korr dered in her echoey, metallic voice. She seemed wholly unbothered by the crowd''s taunts.

    Korr wore a magical respirator attached to her helmet. Tycon had requested the adjustment, fearing that, in low-oxygen close-quarters, Korr would pass out if she were to use her fire-based attacks. In such a situation, the enchantment would activate, providing magical air for her to breathe and granting her a few additional breaths of consciousness.

    It also had a few unintended, overall positive effects. It masked her voice and made her sound like something out of a nightmare. Also, she remarked that it helped her with her allergies.

    Cleric am crossed his arms, ring at Korr, "And who the hells are you supposed to be?"

    Korr turned her body to face Cleric am... quietly piercing the Shatterspike longsword back into the dirt. With slow, measured steps, she approached him... the shifting sound of metal on metal clear as the crowd grew quiet.

    Tycon found his throat drying from a subconscious level of fear, his heart palpitating in nervousness... The woman''s gaze was directed nowhere near him. He could only imagine how the Stormbrands felt.

    "Aha... haha..." amughed, "I ain''t scared of you. What''cha got? A magical fear aura? That ain''t sh*t!! Come on, LET''S FOIGHT!!!"

    The suit of armor tilted its head, painfully slow... "[YOU WISH... TO FIGHT?]"

    "Ohhhh," am raised an eyebrow, "Having second thoughts, huh? I should have known the members of Guild Letalis were cowards... Why don''t you--"

    Korr moved far faster than the Iron-Rank Cleric couldprehend. She lowered her center of gravity and took a leading step forward. Sheunched her right fist straight, rotating her body with the full gods-damned force of her Gold-Rank physique.

    The lethal kic energy traveled up from her grounded legs... through her rotating waist... to her arms... and into her oppressive fist.

    Cleric am was going to be killed.

    "?ONE PUNCH.?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Her closed fist struck Cleric am''s face with a deafening boom-- practically identical to that of an exploding keg of Orcish Sugar.

    Propelled by the force, the Cleric soared through the air, past the tents, into the nearby treeline. He broke a few saplings before his upper body bounced off of an aged tree, cracking the bark. He tumbled, then skidded upon the rocky ground... but was able to dig at the dirt with his hands... shortly after, losing his bnce and somersaulting backward until finally, he crashed into a rock formation.

    When the dust began to clear... am stood shakily... bruised, bleeding from the nose and mouth, and in absolutely no condition to continue fighting... "Damn... that was a good--"

    Korr crossed the distance almost instantaneously, sheathed in mes that turned the surrounding grass and leaves to dust. She forced the Cleric against the rock wall, holding him by the throat and relentlessly punching at his face and abdomen. Each strike thatnded deepened the cracks forming in the hard stone behind him.

    In an amazing disy of endurance, am woke from unconsciousness after a dozen punches andunched a single, solid counter-punch, "GOT''CHA, MOTHERF*CKER!!"

    The Cleric''s fist struck Korr in the face, forcing her helmeted head to tilt backward.

    "AHA HAHARR!!" am cackled, "NOT SO TOUGH NOW, ARE--"

    Korr interrupted him, her barrage of fists resuming with no less fervor than before.

    She grasped his wrist and smashed the Cleric into a nearby tree, twice the fellow''s width. The tree cracked in half, toppling to the side. Korr then broke a second tree. Then, a third.

    Swinging the surely dead Cleric around in a circle, she flung him skyward.

    "?WEIRD FIRE SPHERE.?"

    The woman''s hands lit aze in me. Pointing them upwards, a misshapen fireball materialized in front of her before speeding towards Cleric am.

    Another violent, leaf-dusting, ground-shaking explosion urred where am once was... leaving behind a thick cloud of dark smoke.

    Karodin of Emberhold rubbed the back of his dented helmet with concern, "Is... is he dead?"

    Ptolema whistled, "I hope so. It seems like a lot of effort went into that."

    Tycon crossed his arms, choosing not toment. He was familiar with most of Korr''s skills... and they were all named reasonably. The two she had used just now, however... were not.

    He surmised that training with her weapon spirit, Shahram, was the cause. The weapon spirit that inhabited his Sword of Venom, Garock, also had a simr, just-as-stupid naming sense.

    ...He squinted his eyes to peer in the distance as the smoke began to clear and the dust and dirt settled.

    Cleric am had fallen back to the charred forest ground... He lifted a trembling forearm up, revealing an upraised thumb... clearly broken.

    So he lived.

    Tycon wasn''t even upset. With how much punishment the Iron-Rank Cleric received without dying, he could only be impressed.

 Chapter 431 Unsafe

    ?As the crowd watched in silence, Korr calmly walked back to the circle arena. Reiming her Shatterspike longsword, she cradled it in her arms and approached Tycondrius.

    "Ahem..." Tycon cleared his throat... "Korr."

    "[YES, LEADER?]"

    Tycon spent a moment deliberating on how exactly he''d recover the weapon from the youngdy...

    He decided to just ask directly, "Can I have that?"

    Korr held her sword out, examining it quietly... then she obediently turned the hilt towards Tycon, handing it over.

    Tycon pursed his lips... "I''m... going to give it to Lone."

    She nodded in response.

    "...You can go back now."

    Korr saluted before returning to sit with Athena and the other female adventurers.

    ming Rage Knight Seldin Korr could not simultaneously wield both the Shatterspike longsword and her current weapon, the two-handed ckde of Shahram. Tycon was slightly surprised that she did not ask any questions... and had given up her old weapon so easily... but overall, it was not something he would dwell on.

    Tycon tossed the weapon back to Lone, his beaten, battered, and burnt form lying against a tree stump, "Here."

    As a credit to his reflexes, Lone caught the weapon by the hilt, "Th-thanks, Boss..."

    He still looked a bit... upset about being burnt alive.

    He''d manage.

    "ALRIGHT, you CHUCKLEF*CKS!!" Amanding voice caught the crowd''s attention, "What the SEVEN HELLS is goin'' on, here?!"

    The surrounding crowd split, allowing a single bald and bearded human through... Bannok, the leader of the Brazen Guard collective. He did not look pleased.

    Legionnaire Karodin quickly got to his feet and hurried to the irritated Weaponmaster to exin the situation.

    Once informed, Bannok rolled his eyes, groaning in annoyance, "You''s gotta be kidding me..."

    He addressed the crowd once more in his booming voice, "Alright! That''s it! Disperse! Get outta here! And ALL O'' YOU''S!! No more me-taken duels in the camp!!!"

    A round of groans and grumbles rippled through the crowd, milling about as they went off to pretend to work.

    "Yeah, yeah, SHUT IT! You''s all have work to do, don''tcha?" The Weaponmaster scowled and flung his arms up, the various adventurers of the Brazen Guard scampering off to avoid their leader''s wrath.

    "Karodin!" Bannok shouted, "Get that Stormbrand to Ari for healing... and YOU!"

    Bannok was pointing angrily towards him. From the human''s expression and tone of voice, Tycon assumed he was going to be med for the ineptitude of persons he had no direct control over.

    "TACTICIAN!" Bannok scowled, "The Hero''s said he''s found something. Go find Fel and check it out!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. That was not what he expected.

    Hunter Felinus emerged from the shadows, "I am here, Tactician. Let us inspect the Dungeon Entrance."

    Tycon nodded... "Very well."

    ...

    Tycon red at a juvenile viper. He must have thought he was clever, hiding in the shadows of a bush.

    "You there. Leave or you will be killed."

    "(Y-yes, Lord,)" It hissed, before slithering off to safety.

    ...There were many snakes in the area. Tycon found it odd... though it should have not been surprising, considering that the Dungeon was known to be a bastion of the Snake Cult.

    How did they feed? He hadn''t seen a mouse or rabbit in bells. Were his kin starving to death, with so many snakes and so little prey?

    He was beginning to think of the Snake Cult as less of an annoyance and more of a terrorist organization. If they raised snakes as pets, it was cruel to abandon so many of them into the wild.

    Felinus reset his bowstring, scanning the area for other dangers... "It is not safe here."

    Tycon walked forward, heedless of the elf''s warning, "You realize such words are redundant, concerning our profession and the task at hand?"

    "Fair points," The elf conceded. "Remain vignt, Tactician."

    "I will, thank you."

    An unassuming stone templey hidden by rocky hills, essible by a narrow, treacherous path. Untouched for years, vines and overgrowth had taken over the stone pathways, carvednterns, and a once-magnificent fountain.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Traveling by horseback, it was a mere three suns travel to Isidor''s old mountain... close enough to visit. As the Titan Snake was... ''popr'' amongst the Snake Cult, there might have been some interaction between the two locations.

    Thirteen boulders stood thrice the height of a human, their white-rock fronts worn smooth. Heavy metal chains, covered with rust were secured to each of them, arranged in X-shapes.

    Those chains once held men... something that Tycon surmised by the old blood staining the otherwise pristine white marble.

    Tycon examined the runic script etched into the sacrificial stones... and the lines carved into the rocky ground underfoot. They led to the heavy double doors of the structure... tall, magnificent doors nked by two mosaics even taller.

    Tanamar had been using a movement technique to scout the area from the sky. Supported by the wings of light on his back, he hovered in front of the mosaics staring at the single individuals depicted on each.

    "And who are they supposed to be?"

    Felinus narrowed his eyes, breathing in deeply... "Champions of the Snake Cult... I have seen the armor design before. These ones-- their names escape me."

    Tycon looked over to the Elven Hunter... "They are familiar to you?"

    The elf stared back impassively, "They are human."

    Tycon did not fault the elf for that. Some humans were difficult to tell apart. Some were difficult to remember. Even Bannok had no incredibly interesting features to identify him. Tycon was thankfully every sun that he had a System that recorded and regurgitated names via mentalmand.

    That he had no issue matching faces or voices to names allowed him to easily fit in amongst his human allies.

    Narrowing his eyes to squints... Tycon identified a pattern hidden in the lines of the mosaic arrangement. It *would* have been clever... if the formation mage that drew it had a modicum of skill.

    Felinus seemed to notice the change in Tycon''s expression, "Master Tactician, would you share what you''ve found?"

    Tycon nodded, "I''m assuming you are aware of the purpose of the stones and the carved depressions in the ground?"

    "Indeed," The elf shifted his weight uneasily. "Blood drawn from the chained sacrifices activate the formation... but that is the extent of my knowledge."

    Tanamarnded on the ground beside the two of them, holynce in hand, "So how much blood are we talkin''? If it''s just a few drops, we can get thirteen people, no problem."

    "Unlikely, Hero." Felinus spoke harshly, "None so loyal to Tyrion would be willing to offer their blood to take part in a Snake Cult Ritual... You may be more open-minded than most, to suggest as such."

    "The blood collects down here in front of the mosaics..." Tycon knelt and swept out a handful of dried foliage from one of the trenches... "Gallons of blood. Sentient blood. That is what the ritual would require us to waste if we cared to activate the doors properly."

    "me take me..." Tanamar cursed, "What, then?"

    Tycon shrugged, "ording to what I''ve observed... the doors have four possible conditions, Closed, Open, Fail-Closed, and Fail-Open."

    Both the elf and the footman stared cluelessly at Tycon.

    Tycon sighed and carried on, "We''re not opening it properly. I don''t make a point to keep thirteen humans that are worth so little."

    "We do have useless humans, Tactician..." Felinus frowned, "Unfortunately, ''murder'' is a crime in the Holy Country of Tyrion... Also, Bannok, Ariadne, and countless others would not approve."

    "...I''vee to a simr conclusion," Tycon pursed his lips.

    He would have loved to volunteer the Stormbrands for sacrifice to allow the rest of the Brazen Guard collective to raid the Dungeon... but that would be selfish of him.

    "Our guild has explosives..." Tanamar idly twirled his staff-like weapon... "Can we blow the double doors open?"

    Tycon shook his head, "Unfortunately, the barrier behind the door is strong... stronger than the formation that guards it, for whatever reason."

    The door guardians and the barrier behind the door were created by a Fourth-Circle Formation Mage, at minimum. However, the blood-activation ritual was formed by an amateur.

    Curious.

    Tycon continued... "A single mana pool governs the door''s defenses-- a barrier and the... Mosaic Guardians, we''ll call them... In certain conditions, the Guardians can reinforce the barrier and make it impossible to traverse for a time... That would be the Fail-Closed condition."

    "The doors are currently closed... We are unwilling to properly open them," Felinus gazed up at the mosaics once more... "Then we need to drain that mana pool... in order to achieve the Fail-Open state."

    Tycon nodded, "Athanasius."

    "Right," The footman nodded, shutting his eyes... "The ritual summons the Snake Cult Champions in the mosaics..."

    "Two Guardians, then?" Tycon asked. He had guessed as much.

    Tanamar opened his eyes, frowning... "Yeah."

    "Excellent." Tycon smirked, the wheels of a functional n finally turning in his head, "We activate the ritual, lure the two summoned creatures far from the doors... and defeat them both before they have a chance to reinforce the barrier."

    Tanamar whistled, "There''s gonna be a whole lot more than just the Guardians, Tycon."

    Tycon chuckled to himself, "Then it''s a good thing we don''t fight alone."

 Chapter 432 Kiting

    ?The following morning, 117 men and women of the Brazen Guard collective collected in the temple courtyard. Their effective number duringbat would be far less... as the closebatants would not be able to easily engage with the lethal sweeping attacks of the giant-sized Guardians.

    ording to Tanamar, two Adamantine-Rank creatures would be summoned out of the mosaics... in the image of Snake Cult champions, no doubt. Further, additional defenders would be summoned from the thirteen sacrificial stones, mostly Iron-Rank creatures. Thetter would be intercepted by the closebat squads, led by defensive sses such as Legionnaire Karodin and Duelist Ptolema led those tent-groups.

    Such persons, Tycon had personally identified aspetent as Decani... and though their groups consisted primarily of Bronze-Ranks, they had the advantage of numbers and teamwork, and were more than able to defeat their opponents.

    In the distance, Tanamar was briefing the collective about the uing battle. It was his second time going over the information... and he''d likely have to exin everything three or four times for learning to ur amongst the short-attention-spanned masses.

    Tycon stayed back with the Brazen Guard leaders, separate from the crowd. He stood, handsome andfortable in his ck armor, his white full-helm resting underneath his arm.

    Bannok approached him, heavy Tyrion shield on his left, his right securing the enchanted battleaxe resting over his opposite shoulder. He would be locking down one of the two Adamantine-Ranks, something that, as a Gold-Rank human, would be unthinkable if he did not have the synergistic support of both healing spells and Elven archery also at a Gold-Rank level.

    "So what was that about, earlier, green-hair guy?"

    Tycon brushed some of his green hair out of his eyes, "You''ll have to be more specific, Brother-Bannok."

    "Ah, right. I mean ah... haha..." The Weaponmaster grinned, "I wanted to ask why one of your Letalis gals beat the ever-living shite outta a Stormbrand."

    The tattooed dark elf, Ariadne, ced her hands on her hips. Though her posture was somewhat negative, she wore a smirk simr to that of her husband, "That am feller had his corn creamed, let me tell ya~ But thankfully, only the best healin'' tonics worked him right up."

    The older elf, Felinus, slowly turned his head to look over in bemusement, "Sapling... did you not assign a healer to attend to the *broken* Cleric?"

    The Priestess rolled her eyes, "Sevennnn helllllls, noooo! Not after that what he tried to do to Ba! Only service I''d give that creep''d be cancellin'' his birth certificate."

    "You cannot--" Felinus paused. "Oh. Very well."

    The nuance behind Aria''s statement took a few moments to dawn on the elf... Tycon took a simr amount of time to reach the same conclusion.

    He chose not to ask about the... Ba incident. Knowing the tendencies of Cleric am, he could surmise the gist of it. am was scum and didn''t deserve to have nice things.

    "Anyroad, dear husband~" Aria sang, "Don''t you dare punish Mister Tactician for that egg-sucker being taught a lesson he rightfully deserves!"

    Bannok snorted, "Oh, don''t worry. I''m old... I don''t give a shite about drama-- and I ain''t bendin'' over backwards to make the Stormbrands happy, of all people."

    Hunter Felinus tilted his head, "You have shown leniency to the Stormbrands on multiple asions, prior."

    "I just like the kid, that''s all," Bannok shrugged. "--and now that she''s got herself a different guild, Tancred and his goons can f*ck right off, if they want."

    "''An now... she''s gonna be in a fight with an Adamantine-Rank..." Aria crossed her arms, an expression of worry on her face. "Are y''all Letalis folks gon'' be alright? Ah mean... I heard you got yerselves a defensive-type, now?"

    "Yes. Yes, we did," Tycon nodded.

    It was him.

    Tycon was well-qualified to take the attention of the second Guardian.

    To protect his guild, he needed to always be wary of his positioning rtive to the opponent and those he defended. As for himself, his mana usage would go towards the defensive skills he learned from Garock, instead of his usual offense and support skills. Then, with the vignce of the Brazen Guard healers, as well as Zenon''s defensive wind enchantments, he was confident in both his resilience and ability to fight through injury.

    Bannok tapped his weapon against his shoulder pauldron, "You uh... gonna field the... Raging me Knight, then?"

    "...Yes."

    "So I know that''s not a *real* defensive-ss... Is she gonna be good facing off against an Adamantine-Rank? I mean, you''re gonna know the strength of yours guys best."

    "She''ll be fine," Tycon reassured the Weaponmaster.

    ...As long as Tycon could sessfully harness the creature''s attention, Korr would be just as safe from its attacks as the rest of Guild Letalis.

    Why were these people so concerned?

    "Tactician..." Felinus approached Tycon, removing his hood and facing him directly.

    It was... odd. The purple-haired Elven Hunter spoke freely, yet had chosen to address him, first. Tycon surmised that Felinus had something else on his mind-- something other than doubting his abilities in acting as a defensive ss.

    Tycon nodded in acknowledgment. If there was one good thing about elves, they did not waste effort on unnecessary words. When speaking to Felinus, Tycon did not need to offer redundant audible confirmation, when a nod or a shake of his head would do.

    "The female Knight..." Felinus whispered...

    In analyzing the context of the elf''s words... His statement seemed to be... an inquiry.

    "Her name is Korr." Tycon offered, "She''s... very strong."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon considered openly admitting that he was also terrified of her. He doubted anyone in his immediate vicinity would judge him negatively for saying so-- but as it was unnecessary information, he decided against it.

    A hint of recognition gleamed in the elf''s pale yellow eyes... "The Unbreakable."

    Tycon nodded once more.

    Korr''s reputation seemed to be known even in the Holy Country. Good for her.

    The elf reced his hood and turned to walk away... but he hesitated.

    He turned back for a moment, "Thank you."

    "Of course."

    Expressing thankfulness was redundant. But still, as a human custom, that the elf was so polite was a pleasant interaction. Felinus practiced greater courtesies than Tycon expected from most humans.

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, shook his head. Had he fallen asleep, standing up? There had to be over a hundred people in the crowd, so it was warm and... no one was really watching him.

    It sounded like it was near the end of Tanamar''s brief.

    "...So those are the group assignments. If you are a closebat ss, you are either in BANNOK''s group or the LETALIS group!" Tanamar shouted, "If you are a ranged or support ss, you will be directed by Hunter Felinus or Priestess Ariadne."

    Lone nodded. That was fine. He was part of the Letalis group! He hoped he didn''t miss anything important.

    ...Oh, but he was a Ranger. Was he part of the Ranged group? He did have a pistol, so he could serve as a Gunner if he needed to.

    "Once the fight is initiated..." Tanamar continued, "--hold attacks until the Guardians are kited back to their positions... Now, as I have exined the fight three different times... are there any. more. questions?"

    Three times? ...Lone wanted to raise his hand, but that''d only piss Tanamar off. No, it would be better if he just went with whatever was going on.

    It''d probably be fine.

    "Question, Mister Tanamar!" A female voice rose from the crowd.

    It was Sorina, the beautiful Calctor with a Business Degree. Lone didn''t know why she was around since she wasn''t really good at fighting... but Boss Tycon had insisted on it.

    "Yeap?" Tanamar gestured towards her.

    "What''s kiting?" She asked.

    Lone had the same exact question. He and Sorina were on the same wavelength! It hurt a little bit that she didn''t like him. Every time he tried to approach her-- nevermind asking her about it, he''d be chased away or hit by a skill.

    "YOU!! Hahaha! You don''t know what kiting is?!?" Someone mocked. Looking over it seemed to be someone from... the Stormbrand guild? If Lone recognized the symbol correctly, anyroad.

    It pissed him off a little to hear someone making fun of Sorina-- not that he still liked her or anything... even though he had a thing for her for... years, now.

    Maybe he did still like her a little bit...

    Lone shot his hand up into the air, using all of his Iron-Rank Physique to do so, "I DON''T KNOW WHAT KITING IS, EITHER!!!"

    The crowd grew quiet.

    Sweat dripped down the back of Lone''s neck. He was pretty sure he knew what was going to happen when he did what he did... but it didn''t feelfortable getting stared at by so many people.

    Sorina scoffed, "Pff... You don''t know what kiting is? Really? Dummy."

    Lone blinked. Had he been tricked?

    Tanamar sighed, leaning on his holynce, "When a kite on a string catches the wind, it stays a fixed distance away, right? When Fel and I engage the enemy, our goal is to not evade the Guardians, but to keep their attention and move them into position."

    "But... why is it called kiting?"

    "...Because we don''t want to release the kite or pull it too close, I guess."

    Lone nodded slowly. He didn''t understand itpletely, but from what Tanamar said, it didn''t really have anything to do with him. He just had to do whatever... someone told him to do...

    ...Whoever that someone was.

 Chapter 433 Troublesome Plan

    ?The path to the Halls of the Dead Serpent was a rocky climb. The difficulty was moderate, at worst... but it did require time to navigate.

    If the first encounter went poorly, upwards of 100 adventurers of the Brazen Guard collective would be funneled into that narrow escapeway. More likely, they would be forced off of the sheer cliff to crash into the white-water rapids below.

    Tycondrius doubted even a Gold-Rank adventurer could survive the fall... without magical assistance, of course.

    Tanamar had a skill that allowed him limited flight. Centurion Zenon Skyreaper and Athena Vanzano could levitate and (reasonably) glide with the aid of their magical abilities.

    Gold-Rank Weaponmaster Bannok and Priestess Ariadne would likely drop like rocks. Hunter Felinus would probably fall... very gracefully.

    Anyroad, the n was... Hunter Felinus and Holy Lancer Tanamar, the strongest two ranged sses in the collective, would activate the temple defenses by defacing the Snake Cult mosaics. Once the Guardians were summoned, the two of them would evade their attacks, utilizing the massive sacrifice-boulders as cover... dragging the creatures as far as reasonably possible away from the temple doors.

    There, the two separate closebat groups would converge on their enemies, engage with them, and hopefully defeat them near-simultaneously.

    The only issue was--

    "--Boss..." Lone interrupted Tycon''s thinking, in a rather rude and abrupt manner, "I uh... are you... are you okay with this n?"

    Tycon took a deep breath as he tried to hide his annoyance... "Why... wouldn''t I be okay with it?"

    "I uh... I dunno, but you look really upset," Lone grinned sheepishly.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "This is my face. I always look upset."

    "True," Lone relented. "But... this time, there''s a... reason for you to be upset, right?"

    Tycon chose not to respond.

    There was, indeed, a reason.

    Guild Letalis and the adventurers assigned to assist them were hiding in some of the greenery that grew rampant in the area.

    The attack n was deemed... the ''Hide-in-the-Bush n.''

    Tycon did not like the Hide-in-the-Bush n.

    The Guardians of the temple likely did not even operate on vision-- perhaps using mana sense, like proper magical constructs... or tremor-sense... smell, even.

    Utilizing the bushes for stealth was... stupid... Tycon highly doubted it would be effective, at all. Unfortunately, he had no alternative options to offer the Brazen Guard leadership. On top of that, such a precautionary measure had almost no drawbacks-- save Tycon''s extreme vexation.

    More troublesome was that he could not discern why that particr facet of the n upset him.

    "Sir Tycon..." On the side opposite Lone, a young woman wearing ivory-white armor nudged him with her elbow... "Do you need a hug?"

    "No." Tycon red at the blue-haired whelpling, "No, I do not."

    "Ehehe... okay," Athena giggled, falling back into quietude.

    A magically-boosted hiss resounded throughout the temple grounds, loud enough to thrum the ground beneath. Two Guardians had emerged, one following Felinus and the other, following Tanamar. The temple''s defensive formation had formed the constructs entirely of mana and they took the appearance of Champions of the Snake Cult.

    Human.

    As they were not... real, the Guardians towered over the two ranged sses in the distance. As they approached, Tycon estimated their heights at about ten fulms...

    However... their particr forms were... disturbing-- to Tycon, at least. Each Guardian was a... barefoot, scantily d woman, their breasts wrapped in cloth, and a breechcloth covering their loins. Each wore a single shoulder pad on their right, and a chestguard on the left side of their chest...

    They wielded two-handed swords that looked much toorge for their frames.

    They wore fantastic helmets, as well... interestingly, made in the design of a hooded cobra.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Hooded cobras were not native to Tyrion... the grammar and intonation of their Parseltongue was horrendous... and as much as Tycon wished to correct them for inuracy, the Guardians were not sentient beings.

    As the creatures were mana constructs, their chosen attire likely had no effect on their resilience. Still, the thought of going without indefensible armor and inefficient weaponry annoyed Tycon to no end.

    To an adventurer, a thin piece of leather could mean the difference between death and survival. Electing to go without was foolishness to the highest degree.

    A half-second longer to swing a weapon was enough for an opponent''s shorter weapon to slice a throat or stab a vital point. It was why Tycon preferred his short sword to his current weapon.

    "SHOW US YOUR TITS!!!" An adventurer from Bannok''s group shouted.

    Tycon identified that voice as belonging to Cleric am... who had apparently recovered from his previous injuries enough to take part in the battle.

    How was that man still alive?

    "Grant me a few moments, will you..." Tycon sighed, leaving the ''concealment'' of the bush.

    "[SHALL I COME WITH YOU?]" Korr''s too-loud voice echoed out of her full helmet.

    "What? No. Stay in the bush."

    "[...VERY WELL.]"

    With Korr returning to the bush, Tycon walked forward. cing his left hand against his waist, he flicked his right wrist... summoning the long curved de, the Sword of Venom and its scabbard.

    "SIR TYCON!! HOLLLD!!" Karodin of Fool-hold shouted abruptly.

    Tycon turned back with a scowl, "WHAAAAT?!"

    "Sir Tycon!!!!!" Karodin pouted, "Are-- are you going to get the monster''s attention?!"

    "What does it look like I''m doing?" He growled.

    "It looks like you''re trying to get yourself killed!!" Karodin argued.

    "Karodin, get back in the bush!" Duelist Ptolema scolded.

    "Mister Karodin, we can trust in Sir Tycon!" Athena said breathily... slightly uncertain.

    Tycon felt a vein on his forehead bulging in annoyance, "ALL OF YOU! Back in the bush!"

    Lone pursed his lips... "Boss... I thought you hated the--"

    "NOT NOW, MISTER LONE!!"

    Their group''s guardian was fast approaching, charging forward with rumbling steps... hissing inanely, like a child throwing a tantrum. Even the young Sasarame hadn''t been so disobedient.

    Tycon drew his curved sword out of the scabbard... "Now... how did this go, again?"

    Closing his eyes, he concentrated his mana to circte through the circuits he had his System map out prior. The process wasughably simple, like connecting dots on parchment with straight lines, ensuring that the flow was steady and uninterrupted. He then allowed his mana to seep outward... where it mixed in with the natural mana around him... empowering it... amplifying it... and willing it to grow violent to achieve his selfish ends.

    Tycon clenched his teeth in a grin. The skill was ready to activate.

    He shed his de forward at the oing heretic.

    "?OROCHI NO KEN WO KURAE!!!!!?"

 Chapter 434 Domineering Sword

    ?Eight snakes coalesced in front of Tycon, each of them nearly the size of himself in his snake form-- all of them together dwarfing the Snake Cult Guardian. Glowing a harsh white, they surged forward, biting and snapping.

    These were vipers.

    It was slightly annoying that he had to yell the skill''s name in a foreignnguage to achieve such a powerful effect... As he had not perfectly mastered the ?Taste the Hydra de? art enough to achieve its full power without a chant, he preferred being effective at the cost of being overly dramatic.

    "So... cool..." Athena peered out of the brush with wide eyes, "Are those... d-dragons?"

    "Psh, no," Lone answered before anyone else could. "Dragons don''t exist... um... mdy."

    The ethereal vipers crashed into the Guardian, sinking fangs into the woman''s ''flesh'' and stifling her charge. She grabbed at them, making futile efforts to pull them off, all while screaming as if she was actually a human.

    She did not make much progress.

    As the duration of the snakes would onlyst several more seconds, Tycon dashed forward, the enchantment on his boots increasing his speed despite wearing his thick armor. He ran up a nearby sacrifice-stone, bounding off and swinging his sword at the construct''s face, "?Shadowfang Strike.?"

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, watched Tycon jump at the big woman like a veritable badass, shing at her helmeted head. It cleaved a mark in it... almost like it was made out of y... which was weird, but also kinda funny.

    Maybe the fight wasn''t going to be so hard, after all. He was a little worried that they were fighting Adamantine-Rank creatures. He hadn''t even met any real Gold-Ranks, much less Adamantine-Ranks.

    Sword and mace in hand, Lone rushed forward along with everyone else, screaming as loud as he could. He had to follow everyone else, because... he wasn''t sure where he was supposed to be.

    Thankfully, everyone else was yelling along with him. He was probably in the right ce.

    "You''re Bronze-Rank, right, Lone?!" Legionnaire Karodin shouted, "I''ll protect you with my shield!!"

    "Nah!! I''m Iron-Rank!!" Lone yelled back, very proud of himself. "I think!!"

    A horn sounded from somewhere... and with a series of loud explosions, the ranged sses opened fire. The big woman reeled back, peppered by bullets, arrows, spears of light, and icicles, among other things. Sergeant Salt and his gunners were the loudest... and appeared to be doing the most damage.

    Doubt entered Lone''s fragile heart. Maybe he was supposed to be with those guys?

    With a loud ng, Boss deflected the big woman''s sword-- which was also big, in rtion to her size. It struck the ground with a loud crash, dirt and rock flying everywhere.

    ...Lone wasn''t... super-confident that an Iron-Rank like himself would be able to survive that.

    "Do you wanna be protectedddd?!!!" Karodin shouted.

    "Actually!! Yeah!!! I do!!!"

    Suddenly, the thick rusted chains on one of the huge white boulders nearby began to rattle... almost like a snake.

    That didn''t look good.

    Karodin dashed towards it, his shield at the ready... a dozen adventurers at his back.

    There was Legionnaire Karodin''s group... the ufortably attractive Duelist Ptolema''s group... and a bunch of other groups led by defensive-sses whose names Lone didn''t know.

    He decided to trust in Karodin. He seemed like a nice guy. He was probably a lonely, single loser just like he was... It was probably a stupid reason to trust him-- but he''d already decided.

    The various links of the chains snapped off, falling to the ground... at which point in time, Lone realized the chains were thicker than his thighs.

    His thighs were huge.

    Reddish ghostly figures lifted up from the floor, therge chain links transforming and wrapping around them as... smaller chains.

    Chain-ception.

    Lone could tell they were ghosts because their ribs were syed open, sticking out of their chests and it looked like their insides were missing.

    Clearly ghosts.

    Lone breathed a sigh of relief.

    They weren''t nearly asrge as the big woman... and they didn''t even have any weapons.

    Then they started whipping their chains at Karodin, denting up his shield in a bad way.

    They were using their chains as weapons... because, of course they would.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Seven hells. This would be more difficult than he thought... but he''d been through worse.

    Lone put on a confident grin and flourished his Dark Iron mace... "Let''s do this, Tres Leches."

    ...

    Korr stared at Lone''s puppy as it tore out the throat of one of the Crimson Phantoms.

    It was cute. She wanted one.

    There was a loud noise, which forced her head to tilt forcefully to the side. Something had hit her from her blind spot. It didn''t hurt, so it couldn''t have been that strong.

    ...But she really should have been paying more attention.

    Turning to face her opponent, Korr saw one of the ghosts. It was a bearded man spewing ectosm or... whatever gross stuff it was, out of its mouth.

    "Turn awayyyy from the false aaame!!!" It demanded.

    Korr pursed her lips... something that no one could see outside of her very handsome helmet.

    What was the ghost talking about? She was a Raging me Knight. She liked mes (especially raging ones.)

    ...That made the ghost wrong.

    Korr grabbed the ghost by the neck and thrust the ckde of Shahram through its belly. Charging it with mana, it burst in a gout of glorious (raging) mes.

    The ghost dissipated into mana-slime... or whatever gross stuff that was. Yep. Not strong, at all.

    Korr kicked another ghost in the groin, then strangled it with its own chain, "[FLAMES ARE GOOD!]"

    Battlecries resounded throughout their group.

    "Smite these heretics, for the glory of the ETERNAL FLAME!!!"

    "Our FAITH is ETERNAAALLLL!!!"

    "FOR THE FLAAAAME!!!"

    It was then that Korr remembered that the people of the Holy Country worshipped a literal eternally burning me.

    ...That was also probably good.

    She liked being part of a group... and these people seemed very nice. Leader associated with them, too, so they could probably be trusted-- for the most part.

    She grabbed a ghost by its lower jaw and jammed the side of her de into its mouth... hacking and sawing away until its head was severed.

    The Brazen Guard-people were... really enthusiastic, though, yelling and screaming as they were. It made her want to yell, too... but she was a little shy.

    That was fine, though. She was just happy that everyone was enjoying themselves.

    Being with adventurers made her feel warm inside.

    ...Or maybe that was just her fire mana.

    Korr walked up to the giant Guardian that Leader was fighting. Since it was time to fight, she had to help too.

    She shed her sword upward, "?SOUL SCORCHING BLADE.?"

    Her attacks had gotten stronger since she became friends with her sword... or the woman that lived inside of her sword? Or was it Shahram who could turn into a sword?

    ...Could she turn into a sword if she really tried? Eh, no. How would she sleep? Sorina would have tomission a sword-sized bed.

    Her soul-scorching deunched a fiery line of mana that was very hot. It was so hot, she was pretty sure that it actually burned people''s souls. Or scorched them, at least.

    She asked Shahram about it, once. She was told that if she killed people with that skill, they would be sent to the deepest pits of the seven hells.

    That sounded silly, though. Shahram tended to be dramatic about everything.

 Chapter 435 Unlikely Hero

    ?"?Silverwind Shield!?"

    Duelist Ptolema held her rapier up, barely activating her skill in time to block a Crimson Phantom''s chain swing.

    She and her team were having a difficult time fending off the creatures... A singlepse in judgment could prove lethal, even if she was fighting a single one.

    Thus far, she had chain-link bruises on her neck from having her throat nearly crushed and a swollen forearm. In another world, her sword-arm would have snapped in half, making her more useless than she currently felt.

    "I got it!" A ck blur leapt to her aid.

    Even though Guild Letalis wore simr dark armors, she recognized the voice. He was a Letalis Ranger that introduced himself as... the Lone Shadowdark... and he''d arrived to support her even faster than anyone in her own Snowy Vige guild.

    Lone smashed a domineering dark-metal mace into the Phantom''s legs, dropping it to the ground. Then, with his off-hand sword, he... cleaved his weapon down, through its chain-weapon, and into half of its torso.

    That thing was unbelievably sharp... The Crimson Phantoms'' chains were too durable to be cut by her own de, even if she used her skills.

    "My thanks, Ranger," Ptolema gave Lone a nod as she massaged a sore wrist.

    "Yeap!" The helmeted Ranger nodded back.

    The Ranger was out of position, well away from his own team... not that Ptolema wasining. Lone''s thoughtlessness had inadvertently eased the pressure on her and her tent-group.

    ...and then Lone dashed off again... like he was purposely trying to evade his allies. A momentter, Karodin and his troop ran past, desperately chasing.

    "HI, PTOLEMAAAA!" Karodin shouted.

    "Stay focused!!" Ptolema yelled back.

    Without her warning, Karodin would have mmed head-first into one of the sacrificial rocks.

    "I will!!! LOVE YOUUUU!!"

    Ptolema shook her head and sighed.

    "I love you too... idiot," She whispered.

    She didn''t think her being a few weeks pregnant affected her fighting prowess... so it did not feel good, at all, that she was having issues in the Dungeon''s first encounter.

    Before the fight-- before the quest, really, she decided that if her abilities deteriorated noticeably, she would take a break from adventuring for a few moons. And she wouldn''t let anyone give her shite for it, either.

    ...Karodin would be ecstatic over it. The insufferable idiot always wanted to be as helpful as he could... The Legionnaire offered time and time again to terminate his contract with the Brazen Guard to join and co-lead Snowy Vige-- to ease the burden, he said.

    She adamantly refused. The coin was too good for Karodin as one of Bannok''s Decani... coin that was almost nonexistent in Guild Snowy Vige.

    Seven hells... If it wasn''t for her nagging, he wouldn''t be able to put his trousers on correctly. Sometimes she was surprised he''d made it so far in both his military and adventuring career.

    But while Guild Snowy Vige was performing average to below... Guild Letalis was certainly putting in the work topensate.

    Tycon, the Master Tactician, was using a long curved de to fend off the 20-pedes tall Guardian. Ptolema felt more than a little stupid, seeing him in action... She recalled that she rejected his help in the Icingdeath Dungeon and nearly died for her arrogance.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The white-helmeted Tactician wielded a sword as well as a Legionnaire or Heavy Knight! How could she-- even in a thousand years, imagine something like that? But the proof was in front of her... one of Guild Letalis'' many anomalies...

    Ranger Lone and his metal wolf were wreaking havoc on the field, roving around like ravenous predators. He didn''t seem very strong... and initially, she thought he looked like a bit of a pushover.

    When Ptolema was younger, she''d go to public houses and specifically target loser-adventurers that looked and acted exactly like Lone. The desperate, socially-awkward fool would pay for her drinks the whole night... and when she left with her friends, she''d show off about how she hadn''t spent a single slug.

    But Ptolema had thought wrong. Lone was very respectable... he wielded weapons that inspired nothing short of awe... a fiery wolf-hammer and a sword that could cut through stone and steel.

    The ck armor that the members of Guild Letalis wore was definitely enchanted, too. The force of the Crimson Phantoms'' blows should have sent him crashing into the stones with cracked ribs, but he ignored the attacks as if he were a fully-armored Legionnaire.

    Then there was Miss Athena, herself...

    Ptolema had seen her fight... the little Bronze-Rank Warrior, innocent and honest to a fault.

    "Snowy Vige, let''s move!!" Seeing her about to be surrounded, Ptolema signaled for her tent-group to follow, rushing towards her position.

    "?desurge!?" The little frost-haired girl dashed forward, her four des whirling around her and devastating three Crimson Phantoms in a group. Pirouetting in a circle, she cut them all down...

    Notpletely finished, Athena locked her palms together and pointed, angled upward, "?ICE BEEEEEAAAAMU!!?"

    A whitish-blue beam of frost mana struck the Guardian in the side, staggering it back.

    Whatever she took to grow so much in strength between then and now... Ptolema wanted some of it.

    As Athena had no issues on her own, Ptolema called her group to slow... quickly scanning the battlefield for more enemies to engage with. Even though Athena could use attacks on the Guardian, she couldn''t risk her group to do the same.

    Ptolema''s eyes passed over the most impressive member of Guild Letalis... a heavy-armored knight named Korr with unique ck armor, covered in spikes and doom and gloom. Their asymmetrical helmet suggested that the warrior had one eye... or maybe it had a weird enchantment on it? It didn''t seem to hold them back one bit.

    The knight fought alone in the distance... wherever he stepped erupted in cracked earth and rising mes. Wherever he felled his ck de, the Crimson Phantoms fell to their knees, screaming in pain from beyond death. Their chains sizzled molten-orange or just melted outright.

    In a foreboding echoing voice, he even raised his sword and rallied everyone around with praises to the Eternal me.

    If Ptolema wasn''t so loyal to her reasonably handsome, unreasonably stupid husband, she would have fallen in love in a heartbeat.

    ...not that love was so easy, outside of the fairy tales.

    Ptolema vaulted over another Crimson Phantom, stabbing it in the back and kicking it forward for one of her Ruffians to finish off.

    Her husband seemed to have a good rtionship with both Athena and the Tactician. Maybe after all this was over, she''d seek a meeting with the littlest Vanzano...

    ording to Agathe, House Vanzano had gained a lot of poprity from winning the Caeruleum Martial Tournament... and they had a mysterious financial backer from outside the nation. Ptolema didn''t care where the mescarred coin came from. Working for steady pay was a far more attractive option than adventuring... especially as she was expecting a child.

    Ugh. Karodin would be so happy about it.

    But still... that stupid smile of his was the reason she fell for him, in the first ce.

    ",

 Chapter 436 Parse

    ?The longer the fight was prolonged, the more annoyed Tycondrius grew.

    The Guardian tried to... kick him.

    Its execution was embarrassingly sloppy, only threatening because of the construct''s size and rtive strength. To blunt the force of the attack, Tycon smashed his adamantine scabbard into its shin, the force easily capable of breaking half the bones in a Gold-Rank creature''s body.

    His stamina reserves were being taxed heavily... but he had the advantage of the soothing winds of Zenon''sfortable support skills and whatever healing skills that Aria''s healers were casting on him. He was free of muscle fatigue... his focus remained... and his skill activations were smooth and without the possibility of recoil.

    However... his head was beginning to ache... He felt a minute, dull, throbbing sensation just behind his brows. If it wasn''t a mana or stamina issue... then he was merely suffering from general frustration.

    "Lookin'' good, Boss," Sorina Capuletmented.

    Tycon spun his helmeted head around so hard, his neck hurt, "Sorina, what the hells are you doing this far in the front?!"

    The drill-haired girl raised an eyebrow, "Observing the front line? Like you told me to. Absolute willfulness and subservience to orders, right?"

    That was wrong.

    The Guardian raised her de to the sky, charging it with purplish, noxious energy. With a fell swoop, it plummeted down towards the two of them.

    Tycon sighed, crouching down. Springing upward, he cut his de deep into the giant construct''s wrists, stopping the attack''s momentum. Because the creature was made of mana... more an idea or a concept than an actual being, it didn''t cutpletely through. Still, it was nice that there were deep indentations left where he had struck.

    "Ooh, thanks, Boss!" Sorina squealed as Tyconnded. "We nearly died!"

    "YOU, youngdy, nearly died," Tycon chided. "Now... please withdraw to a safer ce."

    "Isn''t the safest ce where you are?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, scrutinizing Sorina Capulet''s armored form. The Calctor had initially requested metal armor... but as she had trouble moving in them, she wore Guild Letalis leathers instead. That level of defense was not nearly enough to protect her from the Guardians'' attacks.

    In theory, it was dangerous to keep the Calctor close... she could be caught in the cross-fire of skills and cleaving sword swipes. However... the fight was winding down. The construct was steadily losing mana and its attacks were growing weaker (instead of stronger-- which does inexplicably happen, sometimes.)

    "Very well," With azy swipe of Tycon''s off-hand scabbard, he deflected another of the massive, Adamantine-Rank Guardian''s sword attacks... "Report."

    "Who do you want first, Boss?"

    "Does it matter?"

    "Of course, it matters! I wanna save the best one forst!"

    Tycon groaned, dipping his sword low... "?Orochi no ken wo kurae.?"

    After activating another ?Taste the Hydra de?, the Guardian staggered back, trying to swat at the eight mana-created snakes that bit into its form.

    It allowed Tycon a moment to think...

    "Then... how are my abilities, ording to your ?Parse? skill?"

    "Oh, no! That one''sst, Boss!" Sorina grinned, "Gotta keep the SUSPENSE!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon narrowed his eyes at the young, drill-haired brte.

    "[TASTE THE POWER OF MY ?BRUTAL-ER BLADE?!!!]" Korr yelled.

    That was wrong, as well. That attack''s name should have been... ''More Brutal de.''

    Korr leapt, rocketing upward from what appeared to be an explosion. Landing on the Guardian''s shoulder, she began to batter the side of its head with her exceedingly ?Brutal de? skills.

    Her positioning was incredibly dangerous, as the archers and mages were directed to fire their attacks at the creature''s upper torso. Her armor and what appeared to be a fiery ?Mana Ward? kept her safe, though...

    "How is Korr doing, then?" Tycon inquired.

    "Korr''s in the top 20% of Gold-Rank Berserker sses!" Sorina dered proudly. "If we rate her just as a Martial ss, she''s even higher in numerical damage per minute."

    Tycon furrowed his brows. How did that skill quantify how much damage was dealt over time? The Calctor ss did remain consistent across the Realm and over the ages... but asking about the forme behind the results was useless. It was something only the gods knew.

    "?Frozen ORB!!!?" "?WIND TUNNEL!!!?"

    Thebined attacks of Athena and Zenon tore a line through the battlefield, piercing the bodies of several dozens of Crimson Phantoms. Their synergistic training over the past few weeks had reaped fantastic results.

    "Athena''s doing average, " The Calctor exined... "Top 45% of Iron-Rank Martial Caster sses... Whew. Her numbers are padded from all the area damage she''s doing, so it''s hard to quantify exactly."

    "And the Centurion?" Tycon asked, casually walking forward.

    The scantily d Guardian had fallen to a knee, its skin seeming to melt like wax. Its helmet had cracked and broken, revealing absolutely nothing inside of it. Whatever formation in ce keeping its form together was breaking down.

    "Top 10%, Boss! He might even break through to Gold-Rank soon!!"

    Tycon chuckled at the youngdy''s optimism. The leap in power from Iron-Rank to Gold was not small, especially whenpared to breaking through the lesser ranks. He judged that it would take a few more years of experience for the young Centurion to grow in both maturity and strength-- barring special circumstances, of course.

    His development was steady and solid, though. If he hadn''t had his mana circuits broken and repaired, he''d have estimated his breakthrough to take decades, instead.

    "Uh... Boss??!" Sorina called out in a panic.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, not bothering to look back, "What is it now, Capulet?"

    "Boss! Help!"

    Tycon focused for a moment, keeping his eyes on the frenzied, thrashing Guardian, but using his other senses to detect what was going on behind him. Two Crimson Phantoms were aiming for Sorina''s life... "Lone!!"

    "I''LL SAVE YOU, SORINA!!" Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark yelled at the top of his lungs.

    "No, thanks, I''m good," Sorina groaned. "I''ll wait for Boss."

    "Hi-yah! DIE!! ?Whirl Shot!!? ?Wolf-Fang Fist!!? GUOH!!! ?Face-to-foot Technique!!!?"

    Tycon sighed... If Sorina was injured, he''d break all of Lone''s limbs.

 Chapter 437 Highest Percentile

    ?"?Iron Dragon Rend.?"

    Tycondrius swung his de to the side, cleanly severing the Snake Cult Guardian''s wrists. As the skill was originally developed to cleave apart terrain, it worked well on inanimate objects and, interestingly, construct-type creatures.

    He still didn''t like using it, though. As a Gold-Rank, Tycon had the mana reserves to handle it, but it was... an ufortable skill to activate-- for whatever reason.

    The Guardian''s hands and the heavy sword it held fell to the ground, dissipating into a thick burst of fine... powdery mana dust...

    Tycon sneezed. Ugh... It was quite painful. The second sneeze was even more so.

    How annoying...

    The mana dust began collecting in a circr spinning shape along the ground... It whirled about several times over before, all at once,unching upward into the sky.

    Tycon sniffed and rubbed his nose with his wrist... "My thanks, Brother-Zenon."

    Zenon floated magically to Tycon''s side, "Not a problem, Optio."

    Nearby, Athenanded gracefully on a tiptoed foot, "Are you okay, Sir Tycon?"

    "I''m fine, thanks."

    "[I WILL BE THE ONE TO PROTECT YOU, LEADER,]" Korr offered.

    Tycon knew she was trying to be helpful, but her echoing voice made it sound more like a threat than a kindness.

    Lone walked up, both eyes swollen and blood flowing freely down his nostrils... Sorina stood behind him, crossing her arms and looking aggrieved.

    "We''re good, Boss!" The Ranger snorted ungently.

    "Oh?" Tycon nodded, pleased with Lone''s heroics.

    He gestured to the Calctor, "Miss Sorina, how are Mister Lone''s numbers?"

    The drill-haired girl stuck out her lips in defiance.

    "Rank 1 Bronze-Rank Ranger..." She whispered, too quiet for anyone to hear-- save Tycon and Zenon, of course.

    Interesting.

    "I''m what?" Lone asked.

    "You''re trash. Don''t talk to me, scum," Sorina red.

    "Oh. Sorry."

    A beam of light flew up high into the sky... as a silver-haired gentleman with glowing white wings levitated there.

    "THIS!! IS MY ?OATH!!!?" Tanamar shouted, "DEATH TO THE ENEMIES OF GUILD LETALIS!!!"

    "That''s the signal," Tycon grinned. "Friends and allies, hear me! Use your strongest skills on the Guardian, if you would!"

    "You got it, Optio!" "Yes, Sir Tycon!" "[YES, LEADER!!]" "ON IT, BOSS!!"

    Tycon sheathed his curved de... raised his arm... and snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    Cheers resounded throughout the battlefield as the Guardians fell, dissipating into heaps of mana dust.

    In the distance, the heavy temple doors rumbled and shook, sliding open... and the mosaics adjacent to them, crumbled into dust and debris.

    Tycon ced his Sword of Venom back into his spatial ring and turned to hispanions, "Well, that was nice. Shall we break for lunch?"

    "Is uh... that it?" Sorina asked. "That didn''t seem so bad. Howe you didn''t bring me on any Dungeons before?!"

    Tycon chuckled, choosing not to respond.

    The encounter was not difficult thanks to the effectiveness of the two Gold-Rank front-liners. If he and Weaponmaster Bannok were not able to easily nullify the Guardians'' attacks and restrict their movement, the battlefield would have been far more dangerous and chaotic.

    It was refreshing to be able to disy his strength so openly.

    In the Icingdeath Dungeon and when traveling with the Rhodok Guild, Tycon hid his power in order to avoid dangerous responsibilities. He had priorities at the time that had nothing to do with questpletion and his survival was paramount.

    Now that he had Guild Letalis, he could act more willfully. In any situation they encountered, no matter how difficult, Tycon estimated that he had a high chance to both survive and lead hispanions to victory.

    The powerful area-effect abilities utilized by Invictus and Letalis were integral in culling the additional summoned mana constructs... Librarian Zenon''s rending winds, Athena''s various ice spells, Korr''s raging mes. Even Lone and his Dark Iron Wolf, (as lost as they seemed to be,) kept Brazen Guard casualties to a minimum.

    Then there was the final burst window, suggested by Tanamar during the strategy meeting. The Holy Lancer''s ?Oath? skill, the focused barrage of Salt and the other gunners, and Tycon''s ?Commander''s Strike? skill ensured the Guardians would fall before activating any fail-safe measures.

    "Brother Zenon, Sister Athena," Tycon gestured to the two of them. "As you two boast the highest mana-sensitivity amongst Guild Letalis, would you assist the Brazen Guard with gathering the residual mana dust? I''ll return with the others to prepare lunch."

    "Can we have the cheesy fried potatoes?" Athena asked, practically drooling.

    "You said you had bread dough in your spatial ring, Optio?" Zenon asked, "And the cheese and the garlic?"

    Tycon sighed, turning and walking away. The two certainly deserved their choice of meal, with how much they''d improved over the past several moons.

    "Look forward to it."

    On the return trip, they''d learn the consequences. All the ingredients to their favorite dishes would have been well used up, by then.

    ...

    ? Two bells afterward. ?

    Tycondrius of Charm and Sorina Capulet arrived at the Brazen Guard Command Tent for the strategy meeting. However, Tycon was met with the incredulous stares of two elves and one of the two humans.

    Tanamar was already aware of Tycon''s ability with his curved de, the Sword of Venom. When Tycon wielded it, the defensive skills taught to him by Samurai Garock were activated as if they were at higher Completion Rates than they were.

    The others were quite insistent upon learning what had changed between the Icingdeath Dungeon and the Halls of the Dead Serpent...

    As Tycon did not want to subject himself to suspicion, he credited his massive spike in power to his weapon and the weapon spirit that inhabited it. That noble, Gold-Rank Samurai theoretically guided his de.

    The prior training he''d undertaken with Garock was a form of guidance... However, it was not the active, inbat guidance that Tycon alluded to.

    Aria and Felinus were immediately appeased, thetter admitting to having a conjecture that it was so.

    ''Wizards were at fault'' was more than enough exnation for those two.

    Bannok, as a human unfamiliar with the general tomfoolery and scumminess of said wizards, was left wanting.

 Chapter 438 Dwarven Halls

    ?Tycondrius sat patiently, listening to Sorina Capulet report to the Brazen Guard leadership. The Calctor was detailing the efficacy numbers of the various guilds in the collective.

    The results were mostly unsurprising.

    Guild Letalis boasted the highest percentile ratings of the Calctor''s ?Parse? charts. As such, Tycon allowed his mind to wander, only paying attention when familiar names were mentioned.

    Overall, other guilds performed... average to below average, with obvious outliers that were somewhat obvious to everyone in themand tent.

    The Gold-Ranks were exceptional, even amongst others sharing their rank and ss.

    Legionnaire Karodin of Emberhold stood out, even though he had ranked up only recently. Surprisingly, Duelist Ptolema had performed poorly... at which point Aria informed the table that she was a few weeks pregnant.

    Much to Tycon''s chagrin, Reaver Tancred of the Stormbrands performed well above average, garish armor be damned.

    Cleric am performed... average if he were rated as a Martial ss... and absolutely horrid, rated as a Support.

    Guild Stormbrand suffered the most casualties among their number. How they continued to recruit Bronze-Rank fodder in sufficient numbers was baffling.

    Bannok openly expressed his intention to allow their contract to expire without renewal.

    The fact pleased Tycon. He enjoyed learning about the oing difficulties of the people he did not like.

    After a half-bell of speaking on the topic, Sorina was able to identify a few members of the Brazen Guard collective that had performed extraordinarily well-- adventurers that the leaders were unaware of. In the missions to follow, they would be observed closely... possibly granted leadership positions and additional pay.

    Following that, Tanamar and Felinus reported what they and the scouts had found. (Also, the Hunterined about the stench of the Letalis'' Gunners'' Hextech... something that Bannok and Aria willfully ignored, as their effectiveness was worth the elf''s annoyance.)

    The temple entrance gave way to a descent of winding stairs, culminating into a long hallway... a dark and dangerous environment, filled with possible traps and hostile Dungeon creatures.

    Felinus provided rough sketches of the sights they''d observed... architecture, doorways, symbols etched into the stone.

    Tycon identified them as Dwarven... something he was surprised the elf was unable to glean on his own. In particr, the heraldry symbol belonged to the Krakhammer n... a piece of information that he absolutely did not volunteer.

    Diamantia Krakhammer personally crafted Athena''s Arcanite des. Their family crest was also etched into the metal armor sets worn by Raging me Knight and Heavy Gunner William Lawrence.

    That an oft-used symbol in the Halls of the Dead Serpent was also on Guild Letalis'' armor would bring about unnecessary suspicion.

    Thankfully... though the elves were known for their eyesight and other perceptive abilities... there was something in works of metallurgy that made it difficult for them to properly analyze and judge masterwork Dwarven craftsmanship.

    Further, the crests were well-hidden in the Dwarven designs, only obvious to dwarves and master cksmiths... and for normal persons, only discovered after intense and thorough scrutiny.

    Tycon reasoned that his secret would be well-kept unless the Gold-Rank Bannok chanced upon them or the information was otherwise freely offered.

    As for why the Krakhammer''s symbol was within the halls... he recalled that the n had joined with Isidor''s Faction after leaving their previous home, so many years and epochs ago. It was likely that this was that ce.

    ...Which begged a new question.

    Something within the halls was capable of ousting a Dwarven Warband... and Tycon highly doubted the Warlocks of the Snake Cult and their very human followers were capable of doing so. What else was hidden in these halls?

    "Dwarven architecture, huh?" Bannok mulled over the thought, "So it should be... sensible, logical, right?"

    Ariadne waved her paper fan, failing to hide the rolling of her eyes, "You mean ''boring'', hun."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon nodded quietly. He rather preferred the structured senses of the dwarves... as opposed to buildings shoddily built by humans or... the strange, winding, and often wooden structures coaxed into existence by the elves.

    Bannok grimaced, "Should be simple enough, clearin'' the hallways, checkin'' out each chamber, lookin'' for the Dungeon Core."

    Tycon brooded, deep in thought... he hoped it would be as simple as Bannok surmised.

    It often was not.

    ...

    Following Felinuns'' scouts into the depths of the Halls of the Dead Serpent, Tycon carried his curved de in its scabbard on his waist. It was arge, rtively ungainly weapon, much different than the short sword he preferred. Still, as the weapon spirit within it improved his defensive abilities, he could essentially perform as a different ss.

    As such, Tycon had a reason for carrying an unwieldy weapon.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, did not.

    "Mister Lone..."

    "Yeah, Boss?"

    "Why are you carrying... that?"

    The Bronze-Rank Ranger was carrying a heavy wooden maul, its head covered in spikes, its original purpose likely as a tenderizer forrge bs of meat.

    "Oh, this?" Lone idly scratched at a scar on his cheek, "This is my mimic-breaking weapon."

    "...Ah."

    It made sense...

    Lone had previous issues with mimics, a type of umon dungeon creature. Mimics secreted an adhesive that made them difficult to fight in closebat for a prolonged duration. The raised points on the weapon head reduced its surface area, simultaneously reducing the likelihood of the weapon sticking.

    However... it would make more sense to use something akin to a mining pick-- a weapon with a singr point instead of many.

    "Yeap! Spent myst paycheck on it!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... "You did what?"

    "Myst paycheck, Boss?" Lone''s bottom lip quivered as if he expected to be scolded. "I get paid. With money."

    "Mister Lone... who did... you pay for such an item?"

    "I submitted the request to Mister Cecil?"

    "Oh, very well," Tycon nodded. "Carry on."

    Lone was scammed out of his coin, as the cheap wooden weapon was certainly not worth the whole of his two-week pay. However, Sergeant Cecil Salt forwarded weapon requests to Sorina Capulet. As Lone''s coin was essentially being returned to Guild Invictus, he had no issues with the young man''s frivolous spending.

 Chapter 439 Dwarven Bridge

    ?Dwarven Bridge

    The hundred-man collective walked through the wide stone hallways, their way lit by held torches and a pathetic few Elementary Rank illumination spells. A faint touch of magic present in the atmosphere colored the Dungeon stone a deep green.

    The effect seemed intended... to match the snake motif. Squiggles left behind on faded murals looked like they could have been snakes. Minimalistic snakes were sporadically etched into the floor. Hypo-realistic snake statues lined the path, fat and unrealistically simplified exaggerations.

    "[CUTE...]" Korr remarked.

    Tycon quietly hoped that the Snake Cultists did not pay for such artistry. Korr''s opinion aside, none of it was very good.

    More troubling were the asional bouts of script scrawled into the walls and tiles. They were written in crude draconic, anguage that should have been rightfully lost. Tranted, they provided little use... inane prayers to the snake god... filled with grammatical errors and misshapen runes.

    ...Probably written by a human.

    Tycon did not particrly like the snake god. He met him once, the insufferable, arrogant prick. He tolerated the fellow for less than five minutes before punching him in the face.

    Raphael of Cannes hurried from the front of the formation, waving to Tycon to catch his attention.

    ? Raphael, Bronze-Rank Human Bravo. Guild Letalis. ?

    The curly-haired, hatchet-wielding gentleman served as their guild''s scout, boasting a practiced speed simr to one of their Iron-Ranks.

    The gentleman saluted, "Sir Tycon, word from the front."

    Tycon returned the salute, "Report."

    "Armored statues and... magical formations, Sir. Holy Lancer Tanamar said you might have something to say about it."

    "Very well, Mister Raphael. Lead the way."

    ...

    Tycon was led to a wide bridge that crossed a dark pit, ten men wide. Even with Tycon''s ability to see well through the darkness, he could not gauge the distance the depths fell. Lining the bridge, arranged in formation at the sides, were dozens of armored adventurers... petrified as white-stone statues.

    "I said we should just break the me-scarred things," Weaponmaster Bannok groaned. "But Ari said it''d be best to send for you to make sense of ''em, first."

    Even from the distance, Tycon could see the expressions the dead adventurers wore. Fear was frozen in their faces. If they were indeed guardians of the area, they were unwilling ones.

    The adventurers, frozen in time, wore hints of Tyrion weapons and armor... they were former soldiers or frugaldies and gentlemen who bought cheap, military-grade surplus. However, that meant they were likely not affiliated with the Snake Cult. On ount of their state-supported persecution, the cultists tended to shun their national heraldry.

    Tycon did have the ability to return ?Stone to Flesh?, but that would heavily tax his mana reserves for even a single person, never mind several dozen. As these people had nothing to do with him, he was unwilling to reveal such an ability.

    "At first nce, the statues seem safe to break from a distance," Tycon offered.

    Bannok nodded, "Right. Hero!!"

    Tanamar waved in acknowledgment, loading his wooden bow with a conjured,nce-sized arrow, "Got it!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Led by the Holy Lancer, the Brazen Guard forward team immediately set about breaking the statues.

    Saving adventurers who had long ago died was not in Tycon''s best interests. The Mosaic Guardians they had encountered earlier were made of solidified mana. Within reason, a simr spell could activate the lifeless white-stone statues as hostile defenders. Advising theirplete destruction was better to keep his current allies safe.

    "Master Tactician," Felinus called out.

    Tycon excused himself from his conversation with Bannok to see what Hunter Felinus had discovered... a series of alien shapes marring a corner of the stone bridge. The elf had no idea what it was, only that it seemed out-of-ce.

    Just as dwarves had difficulty appreciating Elven craft, it seemed that Dwarven masonry baffled elves.

    Upon a cursory inspection, Tycon exined that the formation seemed to be a trigger for the destruction of the bridge. The spellcraft was quiteplex, its initial and obvious effect activating earth-type magic to forcibly adjust the hardness of the stones... It would be an irreversible defensive measure.

    Also held within the formation were... personal notes left by the nameless Dwarven Formation Mage that had constructed it,zily marked off in the code as inactive script. Within that were grumblings andints concerning his thoughts on the rest of the underground structure... including a rough diagram of the various floors.

    It would take some time to parse, but it could serve useful. Tycon utilized his System to record it forter perusal.

    "Tactician, your findings?" Felinus asked.

    "Thoughts written by a dwarf..." Tycon stood up from the kneeling. "Are you interested?"

    "I am not," Felinus admitted. With a nod, he turned back, drawing his bow to join with Tanamar and the others.

    Tycon smirked as he followed suit. He didn''t think the elf would be.

    ...

    After a brief conversation, the Brazen Guard leadership decided that the various guilds would split up to explore in teams of 10 or so, meeting up in two bells after.

    Crossing the bridge, there were a myriad of Dwarven stone structures, stairways to upper and lower floors, and winding pathways that would lead deeper into the Dungeon. Reasonably, the first buildings encountered would have been primarilymercial in nature. There should be a guard barracks for defense... and merchant shops for any visitors.

    The weaker guilds would remain near the bridge for safety and the chance at enchanted equipment left behind.

    Finding even a single piece of equipment would greatly increase the overall power levels of those guilds... The already well-equipped forces of Letalis Serpentia or the Brazen Guard forward team... not so much.

    Unfortunately, finding any left-behind Dwarven goods was unlikely. The Halls of the Dead Serpent were well known for housing human Snake Cultists, after all.

    For safety purposes, if a guild near the bridge were overrun by enemies, they could withdraw there, gaining the benefit of a funneling point. Failing that, they could retreat to the stairs and to the temple entrance where the Brazen Guard collective had set up camp.

    Tycon would lead his friends and allies deeper into the Dungeon.

    Guild Letalis had not joined the collective for mindless looting, but to gain experience. In particr, Athena would grow more familiar with her role as a guild leader and working with a team ofpetent adventurers.

    As long as Tycon could keep all, if not most, of Letalis alive, they''de out of this Dungeon stronger and wiser.

 Chapter 440 Chosen Path

    ?Tycondrius sought to use Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, as their lead scout with Raphael of Cannes as his second.

    The young Ranger seemed to have a predisposition for finding traps and mimics. He would serve well to keep the other members of Letalis safe from harm. He''d be fine, too, as long as he wasn''t killed in a single attack.

    Raphael, a high-tier Bravo ss, was skilled at weaving in and out of closebat with his pair of axes. He could keep himself alive. Failing that, his death could provide ample opportunity for the others to reassess the situation and possibly withdraw.

    Besides, Lone wielded his mimic-destroying hammer and had expressed his willingness and excitement to utilize it.

    "With the gods as my witness, I will break every single suspicious looking wooden thing we see," Lone seethed. "I don''t even care."

    "Letalis! A moment, if you would!" A hooded mage in ck and silver robes approached their group, waving genially in greeting.

    ? Photios, Iron-Rank Human Silver Pyromancer. Guild Brazen Guard. ?

    The perfect diplomat, Athena rushed to greet him, "Mister Photios! Hello! What can we help you with?"

    "Miss Athena!" Photios bowed politely, "You did some good work, out there! Have you been training with Centurion Zenon?"

    "Ehehe~!" Athena giggled. "Yiss. Sir Tycon said I reached Iron-Rank!"

    "Oho!" Photios pulled his hood back, scratching at his regtion-length hair and granting the youngdy a crooked-tooth grin. "You beat me by almost ten years. You must''ve put in a lot of training."

    The arrogant Pyromancer was being... more humble than usual. As he was speaking to Athena, who was technically a noble, that was reasonable.

    Tycon nced at the Calctor at his side, "Sorina, what does the ?Parse? skill say about his power level?"

    Sorina narrowed her eyes to squints before grabbing her Armor Cube and squeezing it dramatically, "It''s over 8000..."

    "What? 8000?" Tycon grimaced.

    "Eight-thousannnnd..." She nodded, deep in thought.

    Tycon sighed, shaking his head, "What does that mean?"

    "Oh," She released her Armor Cube, allowing it to continue its orbit around her head. "He rates in the top 10% of offensive casters... with numbers above Athena, but below Zenon."

    Tycon nodded. In the previous encounter, Photios served a simr role as the Letalis mages, focusing his pyromancy spells on groups of targets, as opposed to focusing on the Guardian. It also meant that-- though the spellcaster was a veteran member of the Brazen Guard, his effectiveness was below that of Tanamar and each of the Iron-Rank members of Guild Letalis.

    He was weak... but only inparison to himself and his powerful collection of allies.

    "Ignus Cantor..." Zenon approached the Pyromancer, offering a hand in greeting. "Great to see you''re doing well."

    Photios shook the taller gentleman''s hand, his smile more honest than the one worn only moments prior, "Sanctum Librarius, you''ve grown stronger. Maybe I should join your guild?"

    "Hahaha!" Zenonughed, "Our guild''s doors are always open to new talent."

    This was true... but Tycon would advise against epting Photios'' application. An older mage would be wee in any guild, especially one at Iron-Rank... but their guild''s member poption was designed for stability and growth.

    Nearly all of the members of Guild Letalis were made of younger, (easily-brainwashed) recruits... or men and women that were nurtured from Unranked or Bronze, armed and armored high above their grade. Their loyalty was without question... and they were especially beholden to Sorina Capulet''s very, very thorough magical contracts.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Photios... who left the service of the Church of the Eternal me... and was the only mage survivor in his group of spellcasters in the Icingdeath Dungeon... was a less-than-ideal Letalis candidate.

    The Pyromancer chuckled derisively... "I was wondering if you guys needed a mage? The uh... others..."

    "What about the others?" Zenon asked.

    Photios hesitated, shaking his head... "No, nevermind. I was just hoping you guys would have me."

    Tanamar looked to Athena. Athena looked to Tycon. Tycon crossed his arms, thinking it over.

    The Letalis tent-group had trained together for several weeks and were practiced inbat formations and other esoteric tactics. Adding anotherbatant could be more problematic than helpful.

    "Well, well, welllllllllllll~! Look what we haaaaavvve heeeeeere..."

    A certain raven-haired Cleric approached their group. Slungzily over his back was his oversized hafted warscythe and flopping around in his lips as he spoke was a smoking white cylinder. The Stormbrands trailed behind him like mewling pups mindlessly following their scraggly, unhygienic mother.

    ? am, Iron-Rank Human Cleric. Guild Stormbrand. ?

    "It''s Photios, the Retardant me! And it''s the LIIIGHTHOUSE!!! Har har harrr!!" am cackled... His lips remained tight to hold onto his cylinder, making his speech sound peculiar.

    Tycon grimaced... tilting his head up to stare at the cavernous ceiling and taking a deep breath. He was having a decent sun... and then the Stormbrands arrived to ruin his mood.

    "Oh, Tactician!" am turned, his eyes widened in surprise. "That''s you in the white helmet, right? I dunno why you gotta hang out with these two numb-nut Witches. People like us, masters of THE BLAAAADE are better than that."

    Tycon hesitated.

    He was torn.

    He generally disliked the fellow... but his annoyance was somewhat alleviated with his de skills being so deservedly praised...

    "Mister am," Tycon nodded.

    "The Stormbrands are headin'' that way," The Cleric took his smoking cylinder out of his mouth, pointing down the hallway that Tycon was nning on leading Letalis. "How ''bout you guys?"

    "We were reviewing our options," Tycon admitted. "By all means, am of the Stormbrands, go right ahead."

    As the Stormbrands walked past... a tall gentleman wearing dark, spiked, half-metal, half-leather armor stood in their way. Centurion Zenon Skyreaper stood, arms crossed and wearing a deeply set grimace on his handsome, mustachioed face.

    Tycon noticed bits of dust and debris on the stone floor rising up. Zenon was passively emanating a copious amount of mana in his displeasure.

    "Ehhh?" am looked up to meet Zenon''s gaze, "You got a problem, Witch?"

    The Stormbrands at the Cleric''s back fidgeted nervously. Some dropped their hands to the hilts of their weapons.

    Conversely, every single member of Guild Letalis besides Zenon consciously reached for theirs.

 Chapter 441 Stand Off

    ?Tycondrius observed the situation, keeping his face impassive-- trying especially to hide his amusement. He was curious as to what his friend and loyal ally, Zenon Skyreaper, was nning.

    The Librarian with a regtion haircut loomed over am, more than a head taller than the Stormbrand. Zenon''s polished, professional, and spiky armor made the Cleric in his ragged faded-ck overcoat look like a vagrant inparison.

    The Centurion''s eyes glowed whitish-blue as the two wicked, serrated des attached to his armored forearms sparked with lightning magic.

    Tycon mused internally that if Zenon had chosen to wear his helmet, the intimidation factor would have been even greater. However, the Librarian went without it. Simr to Athena and Tanamar, wearing helmets slightly inhibited their skill activations and aim.

    Zenon Skyreaper had improved greatly since thest time he dealt with Guild Stormbrand, both in confidence and in power. If the gentleman decided to teach them... a lesson, Tycon would not stop him.

    Zenon''s mouth curled up into a sneer, "How about you stay the f*ck away from me, unless you want to crash against the mescarred rocks?"

    ? am''s face fell into disgust, "Why you..."

    Reaver Tancred, the circus clown, ced a hand on the raven-haired Cleric''s shoulder. He silently shook his head.

    ? Tancred Mors, Iron-Rank Human Reaver. Guild Stormbrand. ?

    am growled, appearing ready to continue his hostility... until he nced at the other members of Guild Letalis... at therge human, Heavy Gunner Lawrence, inspecting his scattergun... and the sleek-armored Korr who was having a private conversation with her two-handed ckde.

    "Whatever..." am groaned, dusted off his coat, and adjusted his direction to walk around Zenon instead of past him. The other Stormbrands followed in a disorganized gaggle, shooting various levels of angry and anxious res at the Centurion.

    "Thanasius," Tancred motioned for his twin brother to speak with him.

    Tanamar, real name Athanasius Mors, approached without a hint of caution, "Yeah?"

    The Reaver raised an eyebrow, flicking a finger to test the hardness of his brother''s ck armor... "Looks good."

    "...Thanks."

    Tycon thought the two looked nothing alike, Tancredrger and wider, Tanamar a few ilms taller and with a lithe, more athletic build. If it weren''t for their matching hair color and passably simr facial features, Tycon would have never guessed their blood rtion.

    "You guys should head back," Tancred warned... "--maybe loot the buildings near the bridge."

    "What''s it matter to you, where we go?" Tanamar shot back with an unnecessarily high level of hostility.

    The Reaver narrowed his eyes, grimacing... "You know... you''ve never been able to beat me in singlebat."

    Tanamar twisted his lips... but offered nothing in return.

    --like the fact that he won the Martial Tournament in Caeruleum while Tancred lost miserably. Or the fact that Tanamar was infinitely more useful to the Brazen Guard collective than the entire Stormbrand guild. Or that, as a part of Guild Letalis, Tanamar was armed and armored equal or better than the rainbow of enchanted misceny that Tancred shamelessly wore.

    ...Or that he was far closer to winning Athena''s heart than Tancred ever could be.

    Tycon sighed internally. Such things were not his problem.

    "You should go back, Thanasius," Tancred warned once more. He turned, walking to follow am and the rest of his group...

    "Consider it," The Reaver waved his hand in departure, his back turned.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon approached the silver-haired footman''s side... watching the greataxe on Tancred''s back as he disappeared down the dark hallway.

    Tanamar had a strange expression on his face-- one that Tycon dared to say was doubt. Tycon could surmise that, for the young man, emotions were at y over logic.

    "Raphael," Tycon gestured to the Bravo with a hand signal.

    The gentleman approached with a sly grin, his eyes gleaming red with mana... ready to fight. He spoke fluently in the Old Tongue of the Kingdom, "(I hear and obey, Lord Baron.)"

    Tycon pursed his lips... "(Are you confident in following them and remaining unseen?)"

    "(If only that, I am 100% certain,)" Brave Raphael scoffed as if such a task was beneath him.

    Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning an elongated potion bottle containing the ?Pass Without Trace? spell and offering it to the Brave. It was expensive... but with the Letalis members he chose to bring, not a single casualty was permissible if there was no great benefit.

    "There are enough for two uses in that,sting one bell each. (Go. Report back if you observe anything suspicious.)"

    Narrowing his eyes, Tycon stressed onestmand, "(Do *not* engage.)"

    "I hear you," The gentleman saluted with a closed fist to his chest. He took the potion and ced it in a belt pouch, "(Death to the enemies of Invictus.)"

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded... "Also, I want that bottle back."

    Clear ss bottles were expensive.

    ...

    Tycon advised Photios to seek out Duelist Ptolema.

    The sanctified spellcasters in her Snowy Vige Guild had suffered substantial casualties in the Icingdeath Dungeon. Silver Pyromancer Photios would be more useful attached to them. Also, Legionnaire Karodin of the Brazen Guard was with them, making it one of the safer groups to travel with.

    ...Tycon was insistent upon making the decision... and Athena epted it withoutint.

    It was a bit unfair to the youngdy, as she was theoretically the leader of Guild Letalis. Thus, he tasked her with leading the group to their next destination.

    There were dozens of pathways and doors to be explored in the once-Dwarven settlement... As the Halls of the Dead Snake was ssified as a Dungeon with a Core, there would be loot and enemies, wherever they would go. The only reliable sensibility was that the deeper they delved, the stronger the opposition would be...

    Admittedly, that wasn''t a certainty, either... especially if the Dungeon had other inhabitants other than the creatures nurtured by the Dungeon Core.

    Athena was excited to lead, though the weight of responsibility marked hermands with a bit of uncertainty. Still, everyone was supportive of her.

    Even if one or two of Sergeant Salt''s Gunners were not keen on her leadership, none of them would dare to question an Iron-Rank Frostde. Athena could thoroughly trounce any of them, their Gunner lead included... and likely all at once, if she needed to.

    And so Athena chose the pathway. Then, she chose a door.

    Then Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, and Sol Invictus'' Master Ranger kicked open the door with his mimic-smashing hammer in hand.

 Chapter 442 Immortal?

    ?Lone entered the room... and almost immediately his form blurred... It was as if he had stepped into a murky cloud.

    No... it was more like a... thickened clear soup.

    Unperturbed, Lone slowly moved forward... his movement slowed, as if he were walking through a heavy syrup. Finally, he ced his hands in front of him, fingers pointed forward... then brought his arms to the side, propelling him a fulm or so.

    "Oh, no!" Athena eximed in worry, her hands retracted against her white-armored chest, "What''s wrong with him, Sir Tycon?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "It appears he''s stepped into a... transparent slime... perhaps a dungeon creature known as a Gtinous Cube."

    ? Gtinous Cube, Bronze-Rank Ooze. ?

    Lone floated helplessly inside of the cube, the creature''s paralytic poison taking full effect.

    "[LEADER, SHALL I RESCUE HIM?]" Korr offered.

    Tycon nced over to the worried Athena before addressing Korr, "Yes, please do."

    ...

    Korr made short work of the ooze, the creature not particrly resistant to her fire-sheathed sword.

    Once Lone was resuscitated with the help of Tycon''s ?Inspirational Surge? skill, Athena chose a different room. For Lone''s peace of mind, it was a smaller room that could in no way fit another room-sized Gtinous Cube.

    ...Though a smaller ooze-type creature was quite possible.

    Lone entered warily... far more observant of his surroundings than previously.

    "Ehehe..." Athena giggled to herself quietly.

    "What''cha thinkin'' bouuuut?" Sorina asked.

    "Ohhh, nothinnnnnng," The frosty-haired noble replied yfully... "I was just thinking that maybe Mister Lone''s just as clumsy as I am."

    Tanamar averted his gaze. Tycon quietly ced his white helmet back on his head, fully hiding his expression. In a way, the youngdy''s clumsiness could be med for choosing such a hazardous room for Lone to enter.

    "Room''s clear!" Lone called out, emerging with a broad smile on his face.

    Tycon peeked into the door behind him... He hadn''t paid attention earlier, but the room wasn''t even 10 square fulms wide. Also, there was a hole in the floor...

    It was a toilet.

    "Mister Lone, what took you so long?"

    Lone turned, grinning, "Had to make sure it was safe, Boss! I even put my head in the hole in the floor to look down below. No enemies, whatsoever!"

    Tycon nced behind Lone... at the concerned expressions of Frostde Athena

    and the curious look worn by Calctor Sorina. The other members of Guild Letalis were also staring intently at Lone''s back.

    Pursing his lips, Tycon grasped onto Lone''s shoulders to restrict his movement.

    "...Boss?" Lone frowned. His eyes grew moist and he looked as if he were about to cry, "There''s something behind me, isn''t there?"

    ???Very likely," Tycon nodded. "Ah... Miss Athena, would you inform the two of us what you see?"

    "Well... they''re kinda like... pink birds?" Athena grimaced, "Six? Wings? And they''re really creepy looking!"

    "Oh, gods. Oh, gods... get them off me," Lone begged, tears forming in his eyes.

    Tycon inquired further, "And what are they doing?"

    "Their beaks are... stuck in Lone''s armor?"

    Tycon nodded, mentally reviewing the information with his System. He also noted that Lone''s face was beginning to pale.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Bloodsucking parasites... not poisonous--"

    "Ehehe..." Athena giggled nervously, "That''s a relief."

    "--but they could be diseased," Tycon finished.

    Lone began to weep openly, "Not again..."

    Tycon pursed his lips... then he asked a question that would not have an answer he liked... "How many of them?"

    "Twenty-six!" Calctor Sorina eximed, almost proudly.

    "Mister Lone..." Tycon frowned.

    "Y-y-yes... Boss...?"

    "How are you not dead?"

    ...

    The fist-sized, bird-parasites beat their wings as fast as hummingbirds. Thankfully, in Lone selflessly allowing his flesh to be pierced through his leather armor, the creatures remained immobile as they fed on his life essence. Athena, with her precise frost mana control, carefully picked them off, one by one.

    Twenty-six dead creaturester... Lone was restored to health by abination of a healing potion and Centurion Zenon''s high-mana cost ?Soothing Wind?.

    Athena apologized profusely for directing Lone into two near-death situations.

    Lone apologized for *wasting* so much of Guild Letalis'' mana.

    Sorina expressed amusement-- which Tycon had to scold her for. He was greatly annoyed at the taxing of their resources.

    As constion for his difficulties, the clever Athena offered Lone the task of decided Guild Letalis'' next destination.

    The young Ranger grew ted, oblivious to the fact that such a decision had little bearing on what their group would encounter next. It could be another Bronze-Rank Gtinous Cube. It could be a dozen Gold-Rank Undead.

    And so... Lone went down an unexplored hallway, taking his time in choosing amongst the doors and paths.

    Lone pressed his ear to the dry wood of one door... heedless to the danger. Door traps tended to be pressure or movement-activated... via a depressed te in front of it or from sensing a vibration against the frame or handle.

    He knew this. Tycon berated the young man for it.

    Still optimistic, Lone apologized sheepishly, then opened the door and entered the room.

    What the Ranger saw within... made his jaw drop.

    It was a storage room... full of lockboxes... wardrobe chests... andrge y containers.

    Tycon briefly nced back to Frostde Athena, who was looking on in wonder, and to Calctor Sorina, her eyes full of greed.

    Most adventurers would rejoice at the discovery of such a room. There was an endless amount of possible loot-- most would be useless, but the excitement of possible world-altering magical treasures within was reasonable cause for excitement.

    But Lone... no, he would not have seen it the same way.

    Raising his spiked wooden hammer above his head, the Ranger loosed a shrill battlecry and charged into the room.

    "AHHHHHHHH!!! ?WHIRL STRIIIIIIIKE!!!?" Lone mercilessly smashed a heavy barrel with his hammer, leaping with a spin and kicking a lonely y jar on a high shelf. Destroyed, both items leaked some vinegary liquid that had long-dissolved whatever it held.

    Lone grabbed his Dark Iron wolf-hammer off of his waist and hurled it at arge chest, "TRES LECHES!! I CHOOSE YOU!!"

    The chest burst open upon impact, spilling out clothing that was still in reasonable condition... until Lone''s summonedpanion emerged from the pile in a gout of me.

    The Dark-Iron wolf... ''Tres Leches'' was all too happy to join Lone in his... excitement. It immediately began to tear apart the remaining unburnt clothing scattered on the ground.

    "[PUPPY...]" Korr took the opportunity to grab a thick coat, trying to pull it away from the yfully growling wolf.

 Chapter 443 Lootbox

    ?"Should... we stop him?" Athena wrung her hands nervously, looking to Tycondrius with wide eyes... "He looks really mad."

    Tycon pursed his lips... "This is something that he must do... I suppose."

    "Oh..." The swords levitating behind her back drooped, seeming to match her mood.

    In a gratuitous disy of acrobatics, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, ran up a wall, flipped, andnded atop another wooden chest. He stood, roaring at the top of his lungs and raising his hammer high overhead.

    "DEATH TO THE ENEMIES OF INVICTUS!!"

    Lone was an unstoppable force of destruction, his hatred for storage-containers clear for all to see.

    With every strike of his hammer, the cackling Ranger sent wood splinters and articles of clothing across the room. He grabbed jars of preserved food and sent them crashing upon the Dungeon stones. He used the Shatterspike longsword to cleave apart barrels of spoiled, vinegary wine.

    In his fury, he picked up an impossibly heavy crate containing pieces of metal armor and tossed it against the wall, its contents ttering about.

    "?FLAMEWOLF RUSH!!!?"

    Lone''s wolf leapt away from Korr and into the sets of armor. Its Dark-Iron coat glowed gold, then white-hot... melting the steel around it with the extreme heat.

    Tycon took a precautionary step back from the ze. He was d that his armor provided light resistance against the mes. If he was wearing his usual hooded cloak, it would have certainly caught fire.

    Lone''s performance was nothing short of incredible. He had a clear upward spike in mana... and his skill usage was not one he was familiar with... not in name, nor in level.

    ? System, analysis: Skill level. ?

    ? System response: Second-Circle. ?

    ? ...System, analysis: Lone''s basic information. ?

    ? System response: Lone Shadowdark, Iron-Rank Idiot. ?

    ? System, change setting: Reset Lone''s species and ss to default. ?

    ? Setting changeplete. Lone Shadowdark, Iron-Rank Human Ranger. ?

    Tycon nodded in approval... sighing as he thought about how difficult it had been cultivating the young man''s growth. In the young Ranger pushing his mana and physical limits, he achieved a breakthrough in power.

    Athena and Zenon looked on in awe, cognizant of the impressive surge of mana that Lone was emitting.

    Sorina looked displeased. While the Calctor was not as mana-sensitive as the other two, her Calctor abilities could urately determine Lone''s increase in rank.

    She''d manage.

    Tanamar was the only one who did not seem impressed. He shrugged, walking forward, "I''ll go help him."

    ...

    "Athanasius!" Tyconzily followed Tanamar into a lonely corner of the storage room, "Hold-- if you would."

    The silver-haired footman had raised hisnce up in one arm, ready to spear one of the final remaining yet-undamaged containers. With Tycon''s polite request, Tanamar released his holynce, allowing it to shatter into ss-like fragments of light and dissipate into mana dust.

    "What''s up, Tycon? You think there''s somethin'' inside this thing?"

    Tycon walked over, crossing his arms, "Perhaps, but that is not the reason I stopped you..."

    The two of them stood above the miniature lockbox. It appeared indistinct and mundane, an old pale-wooden box reinforced by brass and exhibiting a tiny keyhole.

    Its size appeared useful only for storing jewelry or other equally small trinkets or baubles. That, by itself, was reason enough to treat it with care, as it had the possibility to hold one or more treasures. Tiny, enchanted items often had spectacr effects, such as his own spatial ring.

    Smirking, Tycon gestured Tanamar''s attention towards the small box, "Take a look."

    It was... trembling.

    ? System, analyze: This little one. ?

    ? System response: Mimic, Bronze-Rank Aberration. ?

    He found it interesting. Most mimics were Iron-Rank creatures.

    Tycon nced over his shoulder, looking back at Lone.

    The young Ranger was copsed against a wall, drenched in liquid, and likely suffering mana fatigue. He was like a child who''d thrown a tantrum and was ready for a nap. With him temporarily disabled, Tycon could deal with the mimic without the worry of Lone''s somewhat irrational, container-obliterating rampage.

    Tanamar knelt down, scooping the box up in his hands. It stopped shaking, bing perfectly still and lifeless.

    "Huh. Did I do something wrong?" He asked... "Oh. Weird... It feels... rough... scratchy, almost."

    Tycon flicked at the box''s metallic keyhole. Though it should have clinked like metal, it clunked as if made from stone... "You''re not fooling anyone, child."

    Immediately, the jewelry box began to shudder once more. Its lid opened minutely as it pleaded for its life, "P-p-please... d-d-d-don''t hurt me..."

    The mimic''s androgynous voice was youthful and high-pitched, supporting Tycon''s assumption on its immaturity.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "[I WANT IT.]"

    Both Tycon and Tanamar leapt away defensively, surprised by Korr''s sudden appearance beside them.

    "Aww!!" Athena squealed, "It''s just a BABY!!"

    Fearless, she immediately rushed over to Korr''s side and stared at the tiny mimic in awe.

    Though Tycon could not see Korr''s face hidden by her helmet, he could tell she was having difficulty. After a few moments of indecision, she offered the child mimic to the young Athena, who took it with care.

    "Ooh, you''re heavier than you look..." Athena cooed. "Do you have any treasure? How do I open you?"

    Tycon chuckled softly at the youngdy''s innocent disy, "Little one, do you have a name?"

    The mimic''s shaking had ceased, seeming to have calmed considerably in Athena''s arms... "I... I don''t have one, Sir..."

    "Safeway," Sorina puffed her chest out in pride.

    "Lootbox!" Athena countered.

    "Ooh, that''s pretty *crate*!" Sorina eximed... "Hum... We can stuff him with choctes and call him Life?"

    "F...firewood..." Lone groaned in the distance.

    Sorina''s Armor Cube lit up, disying two box shapes on its front. Perhaps it was trying to say, ''Box-Box,'' an admittedly endearing name.

    "...Lunchbox," Tycon offered. It had been four bells since lunch and he was growing hungry.

    "P-please don''t eat me," The mimic pleaded. "My nutritional value is... very... poor."

    It was a well-spoken mimic. That was pleasant to hear.

    "We won''t eat you, young one," Tycon assured him... "As long as you do as we say."

    ...Within minutes, Sorina Capulet drafted a magical contract, recruiting the child-mimic as the newest member of Guild Letalis... for the next hundred years. As long as he remained helpful and willing, he would be paid a modicum of coin or treasure (adjusting for intion.)

    After several more minutes of deliberation, it was decided that the mimic be named Box-tholomaeus... Boxy for short. As all mimics had the capability for limited shape-changing, Boxy transformed himself into a small, wooden, humanoid doll to be carried around.

    He could be used as a limited spatial item, Boxtholomaeus'' contents remaining constant, no matter the form he took. With the rarity of proper spatial items in the Realm, gaining the allegiance of the young mimic would be a great boon to Athena and Guild Letalis.

    ...

    "Sir Tycon..."

    Tycondrius raised an eyebrow as Sergeant Cecil Salt approached him. In doing so, Salt had distanced himself from the others in the Letalis group... likely to converse with him in private.

    "Speak your mind, Sergeant."

    Salt removed his helmet,ughing nervously... "I''m uh... just a little concerned, Sir."

    The Sergeant nced to the side, at Athena in particr.

    Boxtholomaeus was tied to the side of her adventuring pack, ttering as she walked. In his doll-form, he was only a fulm in height. The doll was ordinary if poor in appearance... augmented by his tattered and partially burnt clothing, knee-length trousers and a child-sized tunic.

    "Thing''s cursed, Sir..." Salt muttered.

    Tycon pursed his lips, recalling the superstitious natures of Salt''s previous profession as a ship captain and a sailor, both.

    "The creature is a mimic, Sergeant. It''s as cursed as a shapeshifting dog."

    Salt furrowed his eyebrows... "Like a Sea Wolf, Sir?"

    ...The gentleman had made an excellent counterpoint. The Sea Wolves were cursed with a form of lycanthrope that gave them strange traits.

    Tycon paused... "Failed analogies, aside, Mister Boxtholomaeus is not inherently cursed... Do you have any evidence to the contrary?"

    Salt nervously brushed his hand against his armored chest, "I just think... it''s unnatural, that''s all."

    "Hm..." Tycon pursed his lips in amusement, "I must remind you that the gunnery you and your team utilizes are just-as, if not more unnatural."

    Salt grimaced, his main hand idly gripping the handle of the Turathi rifle strapped to his chest... "With... with respect, Sir, these guns are technological advancements-- they''re science."

    Those were thergest words Tycon had heard out of Cecil Salt''s mouth.

    It was also... not entirely true. What was deemed as ''Hextech'' was an amalgamation of well-researched formation magic and vtile and inexact abyssal magic. The weapon engineers of Bael Turath don''t highly guard their secrets, as other nations do. Turathi weaponry is impossible to replicate without intimate knowledge of the magics and sciences avable only in that nation.

    Tycon shrugged, "Advanced science is practically the same as magic. Just because we don''t know the particrs to how it works, doesn''t mean it''s any less useful... or that it''s cursed."

    Salt nodded... "Well... if you say so, Boss..."

    "Think about it. Keep an open mind... but remain vignt, as you have been," Tycon grinned. "That''s what will keep you alive, young Sergeant."

 Chapter 444 Unknown Legion

    ?"Mister Lone... what are you waiting for?"

    Tycondrius stood with his arms crossed, impatiently tapping a finger against his bicep.

    The bronze-skinned Ranger was spending an overlong amount of time inspecting a set of ornately carved double doors. The concentrated care and cautiousness he was disying was... bizarre, particrly for him.

    He was being timid.

    "I uh... I dunno, Boss..." Lone idly scratched the scar on his cheek, "Every time I go into one of these rooms, I get really hurt..."

    The first two rooms, it was Lone''s fault that he blundered into injury. In the storeroom-- notably free of hostiles, he overdrew from his mana reserves. Each instance was his own thrice-damned fault.

    "Move," Tycon ordered, "If you won''t open the door, I''ll breach it for us."

    "I mean... if you want. But I really should be the one--"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Away, Mister Lone."

    "Aye aye, Boss..."

    Tycon smashed the center of the double-doors with his boot, the sound of a thick wooden barricade snapping behind it.

    Hm... His knee ached from the impact, but he took no substantial damage. He leisurely leaned over to stretch his leg while observing the open room. Beyond was a chapel-like area, filled with chairs and benches, with various iconography for many gods on the walls. At the end was a carved stone table elevated by a few small steps.

    There was dried blood on it-- an unsurprising feature, thus far.

    Disyed behind the stone altar was the symbol of the snake god, the most prominent of deific representations... a small venomous snake, inside of and wrapping around a broken human skull.

    Finding such a symbol in this Dungeon was... unsurprising.

    Also, the snake was not a hooded cobra. It was probably a viper.

    There was a single, roughly hewn stone statue in the chapel. A bit over ten fulms tall, it was nothing near the height of the Mosaic Guardians they encountered earlier. Thankfully, this one wore proper armor, as to not purposely offend Tycon''s senses.

    As mediocre as the craftsmanship was, the armor carried a hint of familiarity.

    "Athanasius... is that?"

    Tanamar walked to Tycon''s side, his arms crossed and wearing an expression of deep loathing, "It is. It''s *his* armor."

    Tycon nodded in thought. The human-shaped armored statue was reminiscent of that of Tanamar''s teacher, a Divine cksmith named Harkus Mors. As such, the statue was probably Harkus'' student-turned-traitor, Orcus... the Oathbreaker, the so-called ''greatest'' Champion of the Snake Cult. Tycon spotted an engraving near its base that proved his assumption correct.

    Zenon crinkled his mustache... "You think it''lle alive and attack us, Optio?"

    "Likely," Tycon shrugged nomittally.

    The Lone Shadowdark groaned as he warily entered the room... "There''s no way it''s only going to be just one enemy..."

    "Agreed," Tycon nodded, "Shall we inspect the area or get this over with? Athanasius?"

    Tanamar looked back to Athena, who raised both of her hands, lifting both thumbs and smiling radiantly. Nodding to her, the Holy Lancer pointed his left arm forward, raising his right fist adjacent to his ear. Forming ance in hand, he hurled it at the statue''s chest.

    Instead of obliterating the stone... it merely cracked, the mana-created weapon shattering and dissipating into residuum. Fragments of stone began to peel and fall off... unveiling dull metal underneath...

    --which made absolutely no sense to Tycon.

    He threw his hands up in incredulity, "What kind of MAD wizard encases a perfectly good set of armor inside hardening y?"

    Zenon pat Tycon on the shoulder, "I uh... I think you just answered your own question, Optio."

    Of course.

    As the metal construct began to break free from its prison, Tycon noted two things. First were the red, profane lines of runes that lit up around the chapel, previously not quite so apparent. Second was... the merest glimpse of moving shadows in a darkened corner.

    ? System, analyze: The first creature. ?

    ? Lesser Steel Golem, Gold-Rank Construct. ?

    Gold?

    ...Only?

    To Tycon''s memory, Steel Golems were costly, thirty-fulm tall, Adamantine-Rank city-destroyers. The golem at the opposite end of the chapel looked like it could threaten a small vige, at best. It was a glorified autonomous set of armor, rather than a ''proper'' magitech monstrosity.

    Concerning the runic script on the floors and walls... and the obvious wafting of fire and brimstone, it seemed a few small portals to one of the seven hells were opening up.

    Predictably, Sergeant Salt''s squad and the members of Guild Letalis fell into a panic. Therge gentleman that was William Lawrence was literally shaking in his boots-- he looked absurd.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone looked bored. Korr was staring at a random wall, no emotion apparent. Sorina was ying with her Armor Cube-- not noticing or caring that they would shortly be under attack.

    Tycon shook his head. He''d let hispanions deal with it... "Korr, for this encounter, help only when necessary. Ensure no one dies. The rest of you, defeat the enemies before you with great prejudice and without mercy."

    Korr nodded withoutint. It was nice that she didn''t ask where he was going. He appreciated that trust.

    "Where are you going, Sir Tycon?" Athena''s wore a sulky pout, her concern apparent.

    ...It was nice that she asked. Tycon appreciated that his frost-haired ally worried about him.

    Tycon smirked and walked off, refusing to answer.

    "Focus on the battle, youngdy. I will be back shortly."

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark set his mimic-smashing hammer against the side of the chapel double doors. He grabbed his Dark Iron wolf-hammer from his waist and casually tossed it up.A deep, chilling howl split the air as it transformed into his loyalpanion.

    Formerly known as Moon-Moon-Moon, the metal wolf covered in mes had a different name... Tres Leches.

    It meant Three Moons-- at least he was pretty sure it did.

    He drew the Shatterspike from its scabbard and began to walk forward... the chapel walls in a dozen ces began to tear away, revealing a reddish hellscape beyond. At the very end was a big, bad-ass set of metal armor, hefting its greataxe in its hands.

    "Hmm..." Lone pursed his lips, "Doesn''t look... too tough."

    Looking at it a second time... it did look... a little tough. Hm. It looked really tough. But... he had a feeling-- a weird, not quite unfamiliar feeling, that there was nothing to be afraid of... not with the allies at his back, anyroad.

    He wondered if Boss used a skill on him that took away his fear. Whatever it was, he felt a lot better than he usually did... which was generally terrified.

    "Mister Lone!" Athena shouted, "Be careful!"

    "Lord Ranger!" Cecil called out, "What should we do?"

    Lone rolled his shoulders, switching the Shatterspike to his left and rotating his wrist to spin it threateningly, "Cover me, I guess."

    He nced to the side... meeting Sorina''s gaze.

    She turned away in a huff, crossing her arms... "Don''t die."

    "I can''t, even if I wanted to," Lone smirked.

    He was immortal, after all.

    Lone knelt down... then broke into a full run, Tres Leches running by his side, ready to y-- which for him, was just another game.

    He dashed to the left around the stone altar as his wolf sped right, "?mewolf Rush.?"

    Tres Leches dashed ahead, the glow of his coat turning bright-white with searing heat. He crashed into the side of the tall metal statue, allowing Lone to leap up and bring down the Shatterspike on its neck.

    One slice! The statue''s head was severed clean off!

    Landing at the armor''s feet, Lone spun his body, smashing his shin into its heels and toppling the heavy thing onto its back.

    Seven hells, his leg hurt... but it wasn''t broken, or anything, so he''d manage. Deep in a Dungeon like this one, a broken leg would be a death sentence.

    Creatures began to spill out from the Gates on the walls... familiar, red-skinned horned creatures from the depths of the seven hells, they climbed into the world choking and gasping for air like drowned victims crawling out of ake.

    Lone knew of them... and just like the ones before, they looked really, really weak. When he encountered devils before, he nearly pissed himself. Invading warriors from the hellish nes in the stories? Just the thought of it sounded like an impossible challenge.

    But they were just like people... Err... They were people, too?

    There were strong devils... and there were incredibly weak ones. And the onesing out of the portals? They looked like they were half-dead, just from crossing through.

    Ignoring the fallen and decapitated suit of armor, Lone dashed to a Gate with a red, muscled arm reaching halfway out of it. He stabbed his sword through the meat of its forearm... then pulled the creature forward so its head and torso were just out of the magic portal.

    Red face and skin. Tusked, jagged, and misshapen yellow teeth. ck spikes and runic tattoos covering its head. All the devils were a little unique but easily identifiable as... devilish.

    It wore a surprised look in its eyes, clenching its teeth in pain... "L-legion armor...? What BATTALION is this??! Who... ARE you people?!"

    "I have no idea," Lone answered honestly.

    He drew his Hextech pistol with his right hand and jammed it into the devil''s mouth and down its throat.

    He clicked off the safety, "Requiescat in pace."

 Chapter 445 Hatchlings (Part One)

    ?With three pulls of the trigger, Lone put two bullets into the back of the devil''s throat and one into its bony forehead. He nted a solid kick into its chest, forcing it back through the Gate, to wherever the hells it came from.

    Sighing, he spun his body and put two more rounds into the chest of a devil approaching from behind. shing his sharper-than-steel sword, he cut the front half of the woman''s neck, dark blood spilling out as she dropped to the chapel floors.

    "?Whirl Shot,? ?Whirl Shot...? and... ?Whirl Shot.?"

    Lone weaved through the chapel, swiping his sword. He swayed and spun to dodge the devils'' scythe-arms, ws, and teeth. He fired his pistol another dozen times until it was far too hot to keep using.

    A four-armed devil with a snapping, vering maw on its stomach and no mouth was rushing at him out of desperation.

    Lone wondered if that was what he looked like when he was losing... Because it looked really, really dumb.

    He stabbed his longsword into its chest, avoiding its roaring stomach-mouth. Using the momentum, he flipped the devil up and over him... Then, he pressed his burning hot weapon against the pathetic creature''s eyes, melting the whites into jelly.

    Grabbing it by the horns, he mmed its face against the wall before cutting its head off. Then a leg too, just in case.

    Lone holstered his pistol to allow it to cool down... But the situation was weird. Why were there so many enemies?

    Rotating his body, he dodged a shallow thrust of a bony spear, simultaneously grasping a skinny devil by the throat.

    "GRARRHAWRRRRGH!!!" It screamed, rancid, hot saliva spilling onto his face. Gross.

    Lone pushed his sword through the devil''s belly like it was a me-hot knife through butter. Unlike what people said about him, he had be very proficient at melting butter.

    Training made everything better.

    He pulled the Shatterspike to the side, spilling the guy''s blood and insides onto the floor...

    Turning to Guild Letalis, Lone raised an eyebrow, "I could use some help?"

    Sergeant Salt and the rest of the gunners were staring, but didn''t move an ilm. Mister Lawrence didn''t even have his hands on his scattergun, both of them grasping the sides of his horned helmet like he was having a headache.

    Korr waved politely, "[YOU''RE DOING A GOOD JOB.]"

    Oh. It was kind of nice to beplimented... but Lone really didn''t want to fight all of the devils by himself.

    "Guys?" Lone asked.

    Suddenly, the green-helmeted Sergeant seemed to... wake up, "Gunners! Assist the Lord Ranger!!"

    Maybe they were affected by magic that clouded their minds? Whatever it was, it looked like they were okay, now.

    "R-r-r-right!" Athena shouted, "We have to help, too! Tanamar! Mister Z! Let''s go!!"

    "To deliver mankind from the evil of the xenos!!" Zenon shouted, "Death to the mutant and to the heretic!!"

    "Right," Tanamar nodded, "What he said."

    ...

    Azalea slithered away from the old chapel as fast as she could. She stuck to the shadows, where she knew she''d be safe... just like her bloodline memories taught her.

    "(Monty... Monty... who in the seven hells were those people? Those aren''t humans!)"

    Therger snake hissed at her in annoyance, his clear white eyes glowing in the shadows that sheathed his body.

    "(Of course, they''re humans, Izzy.)" Monty insisted, "(They''re just... dressed weird, that''s all. Like... like Legion Devils. Exactly like Legion Devils.)"

    "(Okay... okay... Just... just let me breathe...)" Izzy took a deep breath, staring, but trying not to stare too-hard at Monty''s eyes. He hated it when she stared, but it was the only thing that calmed her down.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The n was simple. They just had to get back to Lady Ananta and report that there were humans... and they... and they...

    "(WHY ARE THEY DRESSED LIKE DEVILS, MONTY??!?)" Izzy shrieked.

    Monty reared back, swaying in distress and rising in height.

    ...Oops. She was being too loud.

    "(Quiet DOWN, will you?!)" He scolded, "(How in the seven hells would I know that, you cracked egg!?)"

    "(I''m not an egg!)" Izzy hissed indignantly... "(And... and I''m not cracked, either!)"

    "(You should be nice to your juniors,)" A male voice said.

    "(YEAH!!)" Izzy wiggled happily to show her appreciation, "(You should be nice to-- oh...)"

    She and Monty looked... up.

    It was... another shadow snake, just like they were... but it was big... huge, almost. Titanic, maybe!! He was covered in thick, ck fog... which meant he was strong... maybe even Iron-Rank!! And... and his eyes weren''t white like theirs were-- but a very, very scary gold.

    Izzy wanted to slither awayyyyyyy as fast as she could. Her body didn''t let her, though-- she was so scared, she coiled up, instead.

    "(PLEASE DON''T EAT US!!!)" Izzy begged, bowing her head.

    "(PLEASE DON''T EAT ME!!)" Monty pleaded, wiggling with all of his might.

    Izzy let loose a furious hiss, pping her tail on the stones. She didn''t care how noisy she was being, she was so mad, "(We''re in this together, MONTY!!! If we get eaten right here, right now, the Lord Master has to eat BOTH OF US!!)"

    "(What?! No way! Lord Emperor, please eat Izzy first-- so I can escape!! I don''t deserve to diiiiiie!!)"

    "(YOU don''t deserve to die?!)" Izzy couldn''t believe what she was hearing, "(You''re OLDER!! It''s your DUTY to sacrifice yourself for the younger generation to live on!!!)"

    "(I''m only a few suns older than you, you cracked egg!!)"

    Izzy bared her fangs and the white inside of her mouth, "(I''m NOT a cracked egg!!!)"

    It hurt a little bit that Monty kept calling her that.

    "(Then we''ll ask the Lord God-King what HE thinks!!)"

    "(Oh yeah?! I bet you the Titan-Godyer Lord will side with ME!!!)"

    Izzy wasn''t sure if it was true... she just wanted to get thest word in. Monty was insufferable!

    The two shadow snakes turned to where therger snake was...

    And there was no one there.

    Izzy looked up, to the left and right... in a crack in the floor below her. Where had he gone?

    ...Was it an illusion? Was she being pranked?

    "I''m over here."

    "(Oh, okay... Phew,)" Izzy breathed a sigh of relief. She hated being pranked.

 Chapter 446 Hatchlings (Part Two)

    ?"(You idiot!!)" Monty whacked Azalea with his tail, flicking his tongue judgmentally, "(Now our EXIT''S blocked off!)"

    "(Sh-shut up!!)" Izzy hissed back, "(I was thinking about something important!!)"

    Yeah... That was it.

    One of the humans in the ck devil armor sat on his helmet, in front of their exit path. His green hair spilt handsomely down his brow-- not that Izzy was entirely certain what a handsome human was supposed to look like.

    He had the same golden eyes... and looked pretty scary... and he probably wasn''t going to let her and Monty past...

    "Are you two quite done?" The human asked.

    "(NO!)" "(YEAH!!)"

    Izzy and Monty shared a look of an annoyance.

    "(YES!)" "(NO!!)"

    "(Now listen here, you mushroom-brained male!)"

    "(Empty night, Izzy, can you just THINK for one gods-forsaken--)"

    "That will be enough," The humanmanded. "Answer my questions or I''ll kill you."

    "(I ain''t scared of you, human!!)" Monty hissed... thrumming his tail to the stones like a warning rattle. He had been practicing his intimidation technique-- which meant he was actually very scared.

    "(Um... Monty...)"

    "(WHAAAT?!)"

    Izzy hesitated... Something was strange about the golden-eyed human... something familiar, "(The um... the human can understand Parseltongue.)"

    "(TSS! Like I care! He''s just a-- wait... hold on!)"

    The human stood up and began walking towards Monty. Even though it looked like he was walking slowly, Monty was smoothly snatched up by the tail and held upside down before he could react.

    As quick as a sh of light, Monty shot forward and tried to sink his fangs into the human''s leg... but he couldn''t pierce through the metal.

    The human spoke in a low voice... slow, like a cold, unfeeling murderer... "When I whip you like a rope, the force will break your spine and sever your spinal cord. You will die instantaneously."

    "(WAIT! HOLD ON!! I''m sorry! I''M SORRYYYY!!!)" Monty cried, "(IZZY!! DO SOMETHING!!!)"

    Izzy quickly scanned the room for an exit... but there was nowhere she could fit through that wasn''t the way they came and the way the human was blocking, "(If you distract him, I can rush past and escape!!)"

    "(I mean-- SAVE ME!!!)"

    "(Oh! I''ming!)"

    Izzy coiled up and flung herself through the air... at the human''s unguarded neck. She was going to get it! She tried to sink her fangs into that soft, human flesh...

    ...She gnawed, trying to get her fangs to pierce into that soft, squishy...

    She steadied herself, wrapping her body around the human''s waist, "(MONTY!! It''s not working!!!)"

    "(What do you MEAN it''s not working?!)"

    "(I can''t bite him!!)"

    "(What do you mean you CAN''T BITE HIM?! You''re RIGHT there! Just-- just put your teeth into him! That''s what BITING IS!!!)"

    "(I know, but it''s like-- it''s like his skin is made of metal!! My fangs slip right off!)"

    Izzy felt cold, gauntleted hands grasp her body... It was as she''d feared.

    She was going to die. Regret filled her heart of all the things she wished she could have done!

    ...Regret filled her heart that she had no life goals to speak of!

    But she wanted to live! To LIIIIIIVE!!!

    "Name?" The human asked.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "(Azalea!! And I''ll do anything! Anything you want! Just let me liiiiiive!!!)"

    The human lifted up Monty by his tail, "And you?"

    "(Anthemon!! I''ll do anything she can do, but better!! No one in the Realm wants to live more than I do!!!!)"

    The golden-eyed human sighed... "Miss Azalea, Mister Anthemon... allow me to rephrase my earlier statement... If you answer my questions, the both of you will live."

    Monty held still, allowing himself to swing as if he were dead, "(Uh, yeah. That works for me.)"

    Izzy nodded, "(Y-yeah... That''s fine.)"

    "Now..." The human raised an eyebrow, "What can you tell me about the Snake Cult?"

    ...

    Tycondrius had followed two young shadow snakes out of the chapel area. They were very handsome individuals, with gentle wisps of dark smoke diffusing from their deep onyx scales.

    By their sizes... each longer than his arm, they should have been at least a few years old... and ironically, the female was smaller than the male... However, they acted like they were barely hatchlings.

    Initially, Tycon was nning on killing them both.

    But they were idiots... idiots that were more a danger to themselves than to anyone around them.

    Tycon decided to kill them only if they upset him... or if they proved to have no value.

    Thus, he used them as a source of information.

    After the threat of death and a subsequent offer of life, they were... surprisingly informative.

    If Mister Anthemon answered one of his questions, then Miss Azalea, not to be outdone, filled in the gaps. The same happened, with the roles reversed.

    Tycon asked about the Snake Cult... They were all dead and gone.

    He asked about the Dwarves... They disappeared, as well.

    Apparently, all that was down in the Halls of the Dead Serpent were serpents and... the dead.

    Apt.

    "(Wh... who are you, Lord? Who can transform into a human?)" Azalea tilted her tiny triangr head. Tycon appreciated her youthful curiosity.

    "(Izzy! You can''t just ask a straight question like that!?)" Anthemon snapped, "Lord... would you grace us with the honor of learning thy name?)

    Respectful courtesy. Tycon appreciated that, as well.

    Still seated on his helmet, he reclined his back against a wall... "One day, should you decide to serve me, I will grant you my name. As of now, young hatchlings, neither of you are qualified."

    The two younger snakes looked at each other incredulously...

    ...Tycon nodded, feeling proud of himself. He was a Prince among snake-kind, after all. Serving under him would be an honor.

    "(Ehh... you don''t really look all that important,") Anthemon nonchntly cleaned his eyes with his tongue.

    "(You probably enve all of your girls...)" Azalea groaned.

    Tycon sighed as he grabbed the two hatchlings by their tails.

    "(PLEASE!!! SIR LORD GRAND SERGEANT CAPTAIN!! I ONLY WISH TO SERVE!!)" Anthemon hissed in desperation, "(Use my body as you will, against THY ENEMIES!!!)"

    "(Please ENSLAVE ME, MASTER EMPEROR-ICAL LORD SIR!! I''ll serve WAYYYYY better than Monty can!! I can even do the SEX!!)"

    ...Azalea''s offer somehow managed to be even worse than herpanion''s.

    Tycon took a deep breath. Then another. He was very... very close to killing them both.

    "Listen closely, younglings... Do you see the symbol on my shoulder?"

 Chapter 447 Doubt

    ?"(I see it, Master!)" Azalea happily hissed to Tycondrius, "(It''s-- it''s... what is it?)"

    "(Eh?)" Anthemon flicked his tongue in dissatisfaction, "(It''s just a weird eye? That''s different from all the other ones.)"

    "The *other* shoulder, hatchling," Tycon sighed.

    On the Letalis Serpentia sets of armor, the left shoulder te was emzoned with their guild emblem: the snake skull atop the Vanzano lightning bolts. On Tycon''s right shoulder was his designated role, in his case and that of the Letalis Sergeants, an eye drawn in a minimalistic design.

    "(Ohhhh. Got it,)" Anthemon nodded... "(Eh... Why''s it gotta be a snake skull? Aren''t you a snake, too?)"

    "(It''s pretty... but a little scary, too...)" Azalea admitted, coiling herself around Tycon''s arm.

    "Those that wear the snake skull sigil are under my protection," Tycon warned, "Inform your peers... I trust there will be no issues?"

    Tycon had previously revealed himself as arger, stronger snake. Unless the Shadow Snakes followed a creature or group of creatures stronger than himself, his order would be followed without question.

    "(Yeah! Makes sense! We''ll let everyone know!)" Anthemon wriggled in excitement, "(And we get to live, right?)"

    "(Um... Master...)" Azalea shyly peeked out of her coils, "(What about the humans that don''t wear that?)"

    Tycon grimaced, "I do not like repeating myself, child."

    He dropped the two, Anthemon clumsily clunking onto the stone floor while Azalea had the mindfulness to disy a modicum of grace and self-respect.

    Tycon crossed his arms... "Well?"

    The two hatchlings stared nkly.

    Tycon reached for the curved de on his side.

    "(We must be GOING, Lord!!)" Anthemon slithered away at his top speed.

    "(Have a pleasant stay!!!)" Azalea hissed and bowed her head before turning to chase after the other one.

    Tycon took yet another deep breath... He even went as far as retrieving a piece of dried jerky to munch on. It improved his mood tenfold.

    Those two hatchlings were idiots... but even idiots would prove useful as long as one knew how to utilize them.

    With his snackplete and information collected, Tycon made his way back to the chapel...

    ...

    Stepping into the doorway, Tycon ced his palm over his eyes, "You lot... are you seriously not yet finished?"

    The Gates were closed. The floors were slick with devil blood. However, Athena, Tanamar, Lone, and Zenon were still battling the Lesser Iron Golem, now a headless suit of armor.

    Librarian Zenon fired a concentrated st of wind at the construct. It seeded in staggering it for a moment but didn''t seem to have much effect otherwise.

    Frostde Athena levitated a few fulms in the air, her four des rotating around her. Her frost-blue hair flowed upward as she focused her mana channeled a quick ?Ice Beam? of respectable strength. It was aimed a bit behind the construct... as if she expected her immobilized opponent to dodge in that direction.

    She turned back, grinning like a mischievous thief, "I missed, Sir Tycon... Ehehe..."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I can see that."

    Tanamar and Lone closed with the set of armor, engaging it with holynce, sword, and hammer. The suit focused on defending against Lone''s Shatterspike and ignored Tanamar''s furious spear attacks.

    While the Iron Golem''s kill-threat seemedughably low, it had proved quite resilient.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon turned to Korr, "And they haven''t asked for help?"

    "[THEY SEEM FINE,]" The dark-armored Korr shrugged.

    ? "And why are you and your men just standing about, Salt?"

    Sergeant Cecil Salt took off his green helmet, revealing a troubled expression, "Our bullets aren''t really effective on that thing like they are on flesh and blood demons, Sir."

    "Very well..." Tycon nodded, "Sergeant, be advised... those were devils. As a subsidiary of Guild Invictus, you''d best know the difference, ''lest we run into troublesome issuester on."

    "Ah... aye aye, Sir..." Salt shivered and grew quiet in contemtion.

    In the future, it wouldn''t be entirely surprising if Tycon was forced to wage war against one of the eleven heavens or seven hells. His forces weren''t quite up to par at the moment, but it was always best, looking towards the future.

    "Brother Zenon!!" Tycon shouted.

    Barring Lone and the Shatterspike, Librarian Zenon Skyreaper''s magic would be the simplest and most effective way to disable the Iron Golem.

    Zenon dashed to Tycon''s side, levitating slightly off the ground as he did so, "What''s up, Optio?"

    Tycon pointed at the construct, spinning his finger about, "Use ah... lightning-type magic on that thing."

    The Librarian crinkled his mustache... "I uh... I don''t have any lightning magic, Brother-Tycon."

    "...You''re a Wind Mage. What do you mean you don''t have lightning magic?"

    "I... dunno what to tell you, man," Zenon nted his two feet on the ground and bared his teeth, "I just don''t."

    "Your arm-des literally spark," Tycon red. "--with lightning magic."

    "I uh... yeah," The tall Centurion scratched the back of his head, "I don''t actually know why they do that."

    Tycon took a deep breath. Arguing would not bring him the results he wanted.

    "Channel a sphere of wind magic," He ordered.

    "Huh?" Zenon raised his eyebrows, "Right here?"

    Tycon nodded, shaking his wrists and stretching his fingers. For all intents and purposes, he was only an Elementary Mage-- a Half-Circle Caster at best. However, he understood the fundamentals of elemental mana enough to provide useful advice.

    Zenon held his arms forward and turned his palms up... conjuring and concentrating on a blurry sphere of gentle, flowing wind.

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Typical. A nostalgic zephyr... to soothe the wounds of the injured... to remind us of better times... Tell me, Brother-Zenon... do you still doubt?"

    Zenon shook his head, "A good Centurionmands without doubt..."

    "Doubt is natural." Tycon shrugged, "Falling prey to it is folly. In a simr vein, fear is natural."

    "Fear is a weakness," The Centurion argued. His expression betrayed his growing agitation.

    "Fear is a weapon. It can be honed and it can be wielded," Tycon smirked. "Those who respect your magic... those who fear your abilities... they do not fear your gentle breeze. They fear the unrelenting hurricane. They fear the merciless tornado. They fear catastrophe... destruction... the loss of life you leave in your wake..."

    "I... don''t understand," Zenon frowned, pursing his lips in confusion.

    Tycon took a deep breath and grinned, "You will."

 Chapter 448 Take It

    ?Tycondrius raised his hand and slowly closed his fingers, borrowing some of the mana Zenon had presented.

    A small blur of wind visibly rotated around his clenched fist... "The way I see it, Centurion... within these winds... is a spark. Within it... is something you are subconsciously aware of."

    Tycon smirked... "Something that exists... but is forbidden to speak of... against your nature to seek out..."

    He shook his head, chuckling... "--especially for you."

    A deep grimace set into Zenon''s mustachioed face... "Why especially me?"

    "Because you incorrectly believe that wind magic... is all you are capable of."

    yfully, Tycon tapped his finger on Sorina Capulet''s shoulder, causing the youngdy to jerk.

    "Ow! That came as... quite a *shock*, Boss!" The Calctor grinned toothily, rubbing the surface of her shoulder armor.

    Zenon averted his gaze, "I... I don''t know how to be more than I think I am."

    That was quite obvious.

    Tycon gestured Zenon towards the Iron Golem, "Go. Give it a try."

    Zenon turned reluctantly, taking a few steps towards the construct... He lifted a palm up, forming arger wind sphere, nearly the size of little Athena.

    A few moons ago, channeling such a spell would have cost him half his mana pool.

    "Zenon, tell me truthfully..." Tycon growled low... "Have you ever doubted yourself?"

    Tyrions do not doubt. In the doctrine of the Church of the Eternal me, doubt was... a sin. A man of the Church like Zenon would receive severe punishments for such heresy.

    The Librarian shut his eyes... "Y-yeah... all the time."

    "Have you ever felt... useless?"

    "...Too often, Optio."

    Tycon stoked the mes of uncertainty within his friend. The Centurion was... so very close to achieving a mental breakthrough. Somewhere locked in the human''s psyche was the potential for greatness... power beyond that of his ss and rank.

    Tycon had seen it when they fought against House Gnis... and at the Martial Tournament in Caeruluem.

    Somewhere hidden in the Centurion''s friendly smile was a mountain of rage... a deep sea of hopelessness. He had seen hints of it when the man cast away his own self-safety... when he grew desperate... when he had a primal need for more power, more violence.

    There was something else that Tycon knew... a fact that he would never try to teach a denizen of the Holy Country.

    Clerics and Warlocks were the same ss, their subsses included. Instruments of their gods'' agendas, they harnessed powers beyond mortal ken and willed it to change the world around them.

    In theory, Zenon''s magical prowess was a gift from his patron, the Eternal me. Such power was well within his grasp. To be stronger... he just had to ask for more.

    "Think on that..." Tycon whispered... "--your desire to improve, to grow strong... to gain... respect... You are not so foolish to think that toe without a cost?"

    The cost was his physical well-being... The cost was his sanity.

    There was a reason all powerful wizards were mad.

    Zenon opened his eyes as they glowed stark white with mana... "I am no fool."

    He seemed to have figured something out. All Tycon had to do was to give the slightest push.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "That power... it''s yours tomand." Tycon hissed softly... "Tttake ittttt."

    "Grahhhh..." Zenon growled low, the roiling wind in his palms increasing in size and growing chaotic... resentful... and violent.

    "Letalis front!!!" Tycon called out, "withhhhh-DRAW!!"

    Immediately, Tanamar, Lone, and Athena retreated backward-- such orders were drilled into those three, time and time again.

    "Is that ALL, Zenon?!?" Tycon shouted to be heard amongst the whipping winds and ttering debris. "Is this all you have to offer? All I see is FEAR!!! All you reveal is your HELPLESSNESS!!!"

    The flow of air, spinning around the room grew so strong that the stone seats in the chapel began to rumble. Starting with Athena, the members of Guild Letalis started to grab hold of each other''s arms to keep steady.

    "GRAHHHHHH!!!" Zenon was screaming... which arguably could have helped. Adrenaline tended to increase the power of spells at the cost of... finesse.

    The headless Iron Golem slowly walked forward... hafted greataxe resting steadily over its shoulder. Its weight allowed it to remain stable.

    Tycon clenched his teeth, his voice a demeaning whisper. With the storm brewing in the chapel, only the Wind Mage would be able to hear him.

    "Pathetic. Centurion... is this the extent of your hatred?"

    "MY... HATRED..." Beams of light shot out of Zenon''s eyes as he screamed... his voice cracking as he did so. He reached a palm forward, thrusting it through the ripping and tearing wind sphere.

    "KNOWS. NO. BOUUUUNDS!!!!"

    An arc of lightning... bright... bloody... red... streamed from Zenon''s fingertips, striking a score of points on the Iron Golem''s body. The construct twitched and fell to a knee, dropping its weapon as it lost control of its functions.

    "IS. THAT. ALLLLLLLL?!??!" Tycon yelled, empowering his voice with mana.

    "GRARRHRRGHHHH!!!" The glowing-eyed Centurion screamed incoherently. He pointed both palms forward, the arcing crimson bolts of lightning increasing in strength and ferocity.

    The Iron Golem copsed to the ground, writhing, whirring, and groaning.

    Tycon carefully estimated Zenon''s mana usage... The output was high but eptable. The Centurion would suffer the effects of fatigue, but not mana exhaustion... as long as he was stopped--

    "HOLD!!!" Tycon ordered.

    Obediently, Zenon retracted his hands, ceasing the flow of magic. He wobbled shakily and Tycon grasped the taller man''s arm and steadied him. It stung-- as some of the residual lightning mana sped through Tycon''s body.

    "O... optio..." Zenon groaned weakly, "What... what in the... seven... hells... was that?"

    "It was a lesson," Tycon smiled politely, gesturing towards the partially melted heap of scrap near the center of the chapel. "Take a look. You won."

    Zenon took a seat on one of the stone pews and stared at his charred leather gloves, "I... that... was that... lightning magic?"

    "Not... quite," Tycon admitted. "But it will do."

    "I''m... I''m not so sure I like that spell..." Zenon grimaced.

    His hands shook. His face had paled.

    He''d probably be fine.

    ? Tycon shrugged, "You''re a member of Sol Invictus. Our abilities are powered by hate or... rage... sheer arrogance, at times. However you choose to cultivate... know that we will fight alongside you."

    Zenon nodded as he sped his trembling hands together. His eyes were elsewhere as he fell into deep contemtion.

 Chapter 449 Missing

    ?Iron golems had a few exploitable weaknesses that Tycondrius knew well. The constructs were incredibly resilient against normal spells. However, a shock of lightning magic would disrupt their internal formations, slow their functions, and lower their level of threat. Debilitated as such, they would be far easier to defeat by an adventuring team.

    However... Zenon Skyreaper defeated the construct with magic alone.

    Tycon surmised that Zenon''s new crimson lightning skill was simr to Silver Pyromancer Photios'' mes. The spell wasn''t quite elemental in nature... instead, the effect was divine-- supernatural god-magic.

    Theories aside... the ability was certainly powerful. If Zenon could learn to harness that power reliably, he would be able to consistently challenge opponents above his rank.

    Lone approached Tycon with a troubled look on his face...

    "Boss... there''s a weird gasing out of the armor-thing."

    Tycon looked over with annoyance... scanning the noxious cloud with his System.

    Hm... That was troublesome.

    "Brother-Zenon, I''d like you to take care of that, if you would..."

    "Huh?" The Librarian snapped out of his reverie, "Oh. Sure thing, Optio.

    Tycon would have rather not tasked the gentleman immediately, hoping to grant him time to reflect. However, the cloud the Iron Golem emitted after its defeat had the potential to kill one or more Letalis members.

    A gust of windter, the deadly cloud diffused, allowing the members of Guild Letalis to safely search through the corpses for loot. When none was found, Lone, Salt, and the other Gunners began to sever body parts from the fallen, as well as recovering their Legion insignias.

    Athena had questions.

    Tycon answered her, the best he could.

    The Tyrion Adventurer''s Guild provided mary rewards for proof of Dungeon monster kills. The coin reward for devil-hunting was higher than that of the weak bird-parasites-- the wings they did not bother to collect. Also, the block of jelly that Korr had defeated a bell earlier hadn''t left any substantial evidence of its passing.

    Also, quite obviously... the Mosaic Guardians had dissipated into mana dust, which had already been collected and was worth slightly more raw, rather than converted to coin.

    It was somewhat a macabre task to collect devil parts... but Tycon assured the little Vanzano that devils don''t die. They get banished for a period of time, from a few years to hundreds, and would reincarnate afterward... often in a weaker form, depending on the nature of their death.

    Such information didn''t seem to ease herfort, for whatever reason.

    Tycon checked his pocket watch. It was time to return to the rest of the Brazen Guard collective. He looked forward to the sharing of information and discussing the overall group''s next course of action.

    ...

    Guild Letalis remained uncontested in returning to the bridge area.

    Tycon did observe a young, Iron-Rank Shadow Snake spying on them from a dark crevice. In response to a murderous re, it had the wisdom to dart away before being properly discovered. Tycon hoped that Anthemon and Azalea had properly informed their kin of his message:<novelnext></novelnext>

    Guild Letalis was not to be targeted.

    Though Tycon did not wish to, he had nopunctions againstmitting genocide against a snake-blooded faction that dared to show him tant disrespect.

    The weak must respect the strong.

    ...yet it is within their right to challenge their oppressors, to see where the bnce truly lies. Tycon would y that ''game''. He and his guild were more than strong enough to win by way of brutality, murder, and threats of the aforementioned.

    Such a social game was far moreplex amongst humans... but its core concept remained simple.

    Take what you deserve. Concede, if reasonable. When the bnce of power shifts, repeat.

    Guild Letalis had returned a quarter-bell early, a coincidental circumstance rather than an intended one. Among the few guilds that had arrived, Tycon recognized Legionnaire Karodin and Guild Snowy Vige, the Brightstars, and a few others.

    Guild Stormbrand had not yet returned... nor had Raphael of Cannes.

    He found the fact unnerving. He did not consider the Letalis Bravo azy gentleman. The fellow had a good sense of both professionalism and punctuality, as both a minor noble and a former soldier of the Kingdom. Tycon feared that Raphael had encountered a situation he could not easily withdraw from.

    "Hey, green-hair!" Weaponmaster Bannok sauntered towards Tycon with a smirk on his face. Blood had dried on his helmeted forehead from a minor injury, "You''re only fifteen minutes prior! That means you''re LATE!"

    Tycon smiled grimly. If Guild Letalis waste, so was near-half of the collective. He assumed the grinning human was poking fun at him by citing a concept drilled into military veterans.

    "Brother Bannok," He nodded. "Have you found anything of value?"

    "Eh, not really." Bannok removed his helmet, wiping blood and sweat from his bald brow, "Found a lot of ghouls and ghosts.... got a few pieces of Dwarven loot, good for coin or as minor upgrades for some of the kids. How ''bout you guyses?"

    "Mimics," Tycon shrugged, "A minor ?Summon Devil? ritual. Nothing too unusual."

    "Devils? me take me..." Bannok groaned. "We fightin'' some of those Bael Turath pukes?"

    Tycon shook his head, "The facts are inconclusive. The Gates were basic. It is probable that our enemies have or *had* a Second-Circle caster in their employ... and even that is uncertain."

    It did reinforce the fact that there were at least two different Formation Mages who had worked on the various Dungeon defenses. A Dwarven mage had crafted the powerful barrier that guarded the entrance and the defensive measures on the bridge. A lesser-skilled mage had converted the entrance barrier into a Guardian summoning and was likely responsible for the Gates and the Lesser Iron Golem that Letalis encountered.

    Bannok reced his helmet and scratched at his bearded chin... "Well... you''re the expert."

    "I feel the need to remind you that both your wife and scoutmaster are just as versed in such knowledges."

    The human looked to the floor, chuckling quietly... "Ahh... You got me there, guy."

 Chapter 450 Sudden But Inevitable

    ?Bannok informed Tycondrius of the Brazen Guard''s next actions. Once all the guilds in the collective would gather, they would share information, and then return to Dungeon delving for a few more bells-- on the current floor and higher. The lower, more dangerous floors would be explored on the following sun.

    Tycon nodded. The n was sound. However, the absence of the Stormbrands and his Bravo still bothered him.

    "Brother Bannok... have you heard anything from Guild Stormbrand?"

    "Ugh," The Weaponmaster rolled his eyes. "What is it? If it''s another sexual harassment thing, I oughta--"

    Tycon raised a hand to interrupt the gentleman, "--not quite. Earlier, I had sent one of my scouts to follow them."

    Bannok narrowed his gaze, his mouth twisted in disgust... "You suspect those cocksuckers of foul y?"

    "...Something like that," Tycon shrugged. At the time, he deemed sending Raphael to track them as a low-risk endeavor, expecting little or nothing to gain.

    "Shouldn''t bother," Bannok crossed his arms, "That lot''s just a bunch of idiots."

    "Fools can be unpredictable," Tycon warned.

    Bannok paused... sinking deep into thought... "Eh... can''t argue with that."

    Tycon grimaced, feeling the vibrations in the ground before any of his human allies could sense it.

    "Brother-Bannok, brace yourself."

    "What the hells do you mean--"

    A loud explosion shook the stone floors that nearly took Bannok off his feet, soon followed by the raucous crumbling of heavy stones.

    "By the FLAME, what in the seven gods-damned hells was that?!" Bannok roared.

    The Weaponmaster dashed off, with Tycon following close behind... and they were joined by dozens of adventurers, moring to see the source of the noise.

    The bridge had been destroyed... and through the cloud of dust, standing on the opposite side were the members of Guild Stormbrand.

    "OCCAMMM!!!!" Bannok''s voice boomed, shaking the bridge and finishing off the feeble stones desperately trying to remain intact, "What the HELLS do you think you''re doing?!"

    The raven-haired Stormbrand Cleric held out his fists forward, revealing two obscene gestures, "F*CK YOU, BANNOK!!!"

    Tycon wondered how the Stormbrands managed to cross the bridge without him or Bannok noticing. He spied a weapon he had not yet encountered... one wielded by Tancred Mors.

    The Reaver carried a second greataxe... its haft made from bones. It looked suspiciously simr to the spine of arge snake.

    ? System, analysis: Tancred''s axe. ?

    ? Snake Spine Greataxe. Third-Circle Magical Greataxe. Warning: The weapon is inhabited by the Sandstone Reaver, the Oathbreaker. The weapon spirit may possess the user. Soulbound to Tancred Mors. ?

    Empty night.

    "I know that weapon," Bannok growled. "HERETICS!!! You don''t know who or WHAT you''re f*cking with!!!"

    "FFFFF*CK!! YOU!! GUYS!!! Ha har harr!!" am replied with the most eloquent words in his minuscule vocabry, "Phew. Always wanted to say that."

    "We''re leaving," Tancred ordered.

    "WAIT!!!" A voice called out.

    Tycon and the rest of the Brazen Guard collective turned to see... Pyromancer Photios approach the edge of the broken bridge, his palm raised out towards the Stormbrands.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Ignus Cantor..." Zenon looked to his friend, doubt clouding his expression... "What''re you doing, man?"

    The slouching Pyromancer shrugged in response, grinning without shame, "You''re a frog at the bottom of the well, Librarian. You''re trash, just like I am. But I... I have a way out."

    Before anyone else could react, Photios'' body was fading into dark smoke, "?Riftwalk.?"

    The mage spell utilized crossing into the Void, effectively emting short-distance teleportation. Such a spell was not umon amongst Warlocks and dark casters from other nations... but was considered heretical by denizens of the Holy Country.

    Photios reappeared in the midst of the Stormbrands, "Take me with you! I''m good for it-- you know I am."

    "Hah! Hahaha! Hahahaharr harr!!" am cackled madly before pausing to catch his breath...

    " N o . "

    The raven-haired Cleric nted a solid boot into Photios'' chest. Screaming for his life, the Silver Pyromancer plummeted down to the depths below.

    Simultaneously, a teeth-tingling zap forced Tycon to briefly wince... an effect that drew simr reactions from Zenon and Athena, nearby. A thin, nigh-transparent magical barrier had formed between the ends of the bridge that would block the approach of any of the Brazen Guard''s flight abilities.

    Zenon appeared ready to leap over, assisted by his wind magic. In a simr vein, Tanamar summoned his wings of light, seeking to do the same.

    Tycon held out a hand to stop them, "Hold."

    With hand-crossbow in hand, he knelt down at the edge of the precipice... and delivered an urate poisoned bolt to Photios'' chest, ilms away from his heart.

    Everyone else seemed too preupied by the Stormbrands'' betrayal to ensure the mage''s death. Tycon liked being thorough.

    "Optio, why?!" Zenon growled.

    "Concerning the bolt or the chase?"

    The Centurion was furious, "The Stormbrands! They''re getting away!!!"

    Tycon shook his head, "Take a second look. There''s a Fourth-Circle barrier in the way. We must find another way to exit this ce."

    Once more, the cavernous walls began to shake and tremble. Both the mundane torches and the light enchantments of the Brazen Guard dimmed as a wave of dark magic washed over them.

    "MUHUHAHAHAHA!!!!!" An eerie voice echoed off of the walls, "As if I... the MASSSTER of these HALLSSS... would allow the enemiessss of the SSSSSSNAKE CULT to essscape!!!"

    In ackluster puff of noxious smoke, a dark-robed caster appeared behind the collective. Shirtless, scrawny, and slightly translucent, the male mage wore a tall helmet in the likeness... of a hooded cobra.

    Tycon shook his head, sighing in annoyance even as the humans around him began to panic.

    In the span of a few moments, additional bursts of smoke summoned more ghostly Snake Cult warriors, savages wearing piecemeal sets of armor, wielding shoddy spears and looted des. Dozens of Iron-Rank Shadow Snakes, too, slithered out of cracks in the floors and walls... not that Tycon was particrly wary of them.

    The Brazen Guard was surrounded by enemies.

    Such was a battlefield that Tycon''s Warlord ss thrived.

    Tycon drew the Sword of Venom out of its scabbard and raised it skyward, "Friends and allies of the Brazen Guard, rally around--"

    "DIE, HERETIC SCUM!!!" Weaponmaster Bannok dropped his shield, both hands on his battleaxe as he charged recklessly into the crowd of Snake Cult apparitions. "PURGE!!!! CLEANSE!!!! KILLLLLLLLL!!!!!"

    Tycon pointed his sword forward, "I am of the same mind."

 Chapter 451 The Usual

    ?The members of the Brazen Guard collective followed their guild leader, Bannok. Frothing at the mouth, the Gold-Rank Weaponmaster led a screaming, barbaric charge into ''glorious''bat.

    Sergeant Salt called for his Gunners to fire at will. That was fine.

    Tycondrius had other ns.

    "Avoid firing at the wizard, Sergeant."

    Salt aimed down the barrel of his rifle, and with a loud bang, melted a hole through the chest of an axe-wielding ghost, "Aye aye, Sir!!"

    "Letalis forward team," Tycon raised his offhand, signaling to his allies, "--with me."

    Lightly jogging forward, he was followed by Korr, Lone, Athena, and Tanamar. Tycon shot a not-so-subtle re at Zenon and the Centurion followed, as well.

    Lone ran alongside him, wolf-hammer and sword in hand, "The usual, Boss?"

    "Indeed," Tycon flourished his long, curved sword, pointing it directly at the cobra-helmed undead, "Geek the mage, if you would."

    ? ?Lamb to the ughter? activating... Support ability. Allies within range arepelled to simultaneously charge the user''s chosen target. ?

    "GEEK THE MAGE!!!" Lone smashed his mace into the ground, having it transform into his fiery Dark Iron wolf.

    "[GEEK. THE MAGE!]" Korr echoed. Her wicked, roiling mes sheathed her ckde, making Lone''s wolf look like a mundane torch inparison.

    "GEEK THE MAAAAGE!!!" Athena shouted in her high-pitched voice, her four floating Arcanite des pointing forward as she ran.

    "Geek the mage..." Tanamar summoned not one, but two holynces, running low to the ground with one in each hand.

    "With the Eternal me as my witness..." Zenon growled, his arm-des sparking with electricity, "--this foul WITCH shall be GEEKED!!!"

    Tycon, himself, resheathed his weapon, keeping his speed, but allowing the others to charge in first.

    ? System, analyze: Basic information. ?

    ? Gold-Rank Construct Dread Mage. ?

    The mage was defended by a quartet of Iron-Rank Ghost Warriors. They appeared to be the most elite amongst the apparitions, wearing and wielding armor and weaponry barely better than the other Snake Cult ghosts.

    They would be useless in defending their ward.

    Tycon knew it. The Dread Mage knew it. Every member of Guild Letalis knew it.

    Fight. Flight. Freeze. Such were the three responses to fear.

    The mage... he abruptly halted his actions. His helmet revealed no expression, but his fingers stopped moving.

    It was... inconceivable.

    The undead were a special kind of opponent. He recalled the war chants of the Sleeping Country and their armies, bolstered by elite undead soldiers.

    ''Never tire. Never hunger. Never fear,'' they said...

    And still... Tycon sensed fear in the Dread Mage. In that fear, the wizard halted his own spell channeling.

    He did not run. He did not ready his magical staff in a defensive manner.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He froze.

    Not that the mage had the luxury of choosing, but out of the three responses, freezing was... the most unfortunate.

    For him, anyroad.

    As their opponent had been so generous to gift Letalis with the opportunity... it would be rude if he and his team were to grant them anything less than utter annihtion.

    The fastest to engage were Lone and his wolf, Tres Leches. The Dark-Iron wolf charged forward, the Ghost Warriors'' weapons ricocheting off of its hardened spikes. Opening its smoldering maw to bite the mage''s throat... it crashed against the Dread Mage''s ?Mana Ward?, forming visible white cracks in the translucent barrier.

    The wolf... bounced, yelping in surprise. As it would only be dazed and receive nosting damage, Tycon found it humorous.

    Lone dashed through the Ghost Warriors, grabbing his wolf''s tail and, in a sh of fiery mana, wielding his hammer once more. Shatterspike and wolf-hammer in hand, he drew them in a cross, attacking the mage''s magical shield.

    With a loud and reverberating metallic crack, the barrier shattered.

    Broken in two attacks. Also unfortunate.

    The Dread Mage''s ?Mana Ward? was much weaker than Tycon had surmised. Lone was very, very strong for an Iron-Rank and the wizard was conversely very, very weak for a Gold.

    Korr left a zing trail in her wake as she ran. With the ckde in her right hand, she skidded to a stop, her metal greaves screeching on the Dungeon stones. Dipping her body low and to the left... she delivered a devastating, fire-sheathed left hook to the low-side of the mage''s abdomen.

    That was where... the kidney would be. If the mage were human, he''d be dead, in shock... and would, at the very least, be urinating blood for well over a week.

    The mage immediately keeled over, holding his side in pain.

    "KORR!!!" Athena yelled.

    The white-armored noble was running with all of her might, but as she called out, she allowed her magic to take over. She glided towards her target, her Arcanite des arrayed behind her like wings.

    Korr grabbed the injured wizard by an arm and... flung him towards Athena. Interestingly enough, the mage did not fall... but ran along with the momentum, his cobra helmet bobbing up and down like a fool.

    "?CROSS-CHOP OF MARKET EQUILIBRIUM!!!!?" Athena shrieked.

    The youngdy drew her hand across her opposite shoulder... then delivered a running, back-handed whack to the mage''s upper chest. The mana-empowered force of her strike caused the mage to flip, heels over head... twice. His head struck the ground so hard that it rebounded nearly a fulm back up.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. That was not... a Frostde skill.

    He surmised it was a skill Athena had learned from that dolt, Sorina Capulet. Tycon would have to scold her for teaching the young noble cross-ss skills.

    How much time had she *wasted* to achieve middlepletion with that??

    If Tycon wasn''t currently jogging towards their target, he would have immediately sought to beat his Calctor.

    The mage began to levitate, interrupting his thoughts.

    Six fulms above the ground, the half-transparent fellow''s helmet had fallen off. Underneath was a miserable, rough-shaven and-- honestly nondescript, curly-haired Tyrion human.

    He was iling his weak arms about, obviously not in control of himself.

    Zenon flung a hand upward, "DIE, HERETIC!!!"

 Chapter 452 Helping

    ?Tycondrius stared up at the Dread Mage, struggling in mid-air.

    With a wave of Zenon Skyreaper''s hand, the ghostly human rocketed skyward towards the tall Dungeon ceiling.

    High above, the silver-haired Holy Lancer, Tanamar, hovered on wings of light... He rotated his body, increasing in rotational speed, spinning like... a top. The mage collided with the whirling blur, struck in the shoulder by the footman''s holynce. He spiraled back downward at a sharp angle, the velocity no less than a moment prior.

    Tycon sighed internally, changing his direction... trying to judge where exactly the mage wouldnd. If the fellow wasn''t already dead, then he''d finish him off with a sh of his Sword of Venom.

    "I GOT IT!!!" Sorina Capulet yelled.

    With absolutely reckless abandon, the drill-haired girl weaved through dozens of Ghost Warriors... through the Shadow Snakes'' hail of magical bolts, and into the loud and treacherous storm of gunfire from Salt and his squad.

    Tycon.

    S C R E A M E D .

    "SORINA-WHAT-ARE-YOU-DOOIIIIIIINNNNG??!?!"

    As he watched his Calctor risk certain death for no gods-damned reason, he found it admirable that Sorina had trained her athletic ability to a reasonably high level. Earlier in her career, she was unable to run a half-malm, much less the same distance while fully sprinting through battlefield CROSSFIRE.

    However, Tycon was far more *concerned*... than he was proud.

    As a credit to her ss, the Calctor had instantly and perfectly determined the mage''s trajectory. Leaping through the air, she thrust out her left knee.

    "I''m... HELPING!!" She dered.

    With an audible and echoing crack of Bronze-Rank bone, she struck the half-transparent mage in the side of his thick head.

    The mage fell motionlessly onto the Dungeon stones.

    Sorina also fell.

    She clumsily rolled about onto the Dungeon stones, falling t onto her chest, arms outstretched. She was dazed, bleeding, and her left leg was bent at an awkward angle-- because it was BROKEN from the impact.

    Stupid. Thrice-damned. Girl.

    Did she not CALCULATE what was going to happen?

    "W-worth it..." She groaned.

    So. she. did...

    Tycon once more adjusted his running direction, quickly approaching the downed mage. Leaping up and drawing his sword, he cleaved down into the mage''s neck.

    The Dread Mage was decapitated.

    Also, Tycon had not broken any bones in doing so.

    Spinning his curved de, he stabbed its end into the human-like mana-construct for good measure.

    Keeping his attention mostly on the mage, he extended his senses to the battlefield around him.

    The members of Guild Letalis had refocused their efforts on defeating the Ghost Warriors around them, cutting them down safely and systematically.

    The Brazen Guard had sustained a few casualties... not from the undead, but from the bolts of dark magic cast by the score of Shadow Snakes.

    The clever creatures kept their distance and were difficult to hit in the shadows. Tycon particrly noted the sharp-eyed Elven Hunter, Felinus, shooting at the Snake Cultists rather than the enemy ranged units.

    Tycon considered ordering Zenon and Athena to use their area-effect spells... but that would exhaust their mana reserves quickly.

    ...It would be best to seek cover.

    "BANNOK!!" Tycon shouted to the human in the distance.

    The Weaponmaster had a Ghost Warrior held by the throat, repeatedly smashing his helmet into his opponent''s face. Tossing his unmoving opponent to the ground, he retrieved his battleaxe from the head of a different Warrior, before separating the first Ghost''s upper torso from its lower.

    "WHAAAAT?!"

    "We must withdraw!I advise we descend!! To the lower floors!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "GRARRRGH!!!" Bannok kicked at his fallen opponent before turning to observe the battlefield. His face fell in horror as he realized the casualties incurred, "me TAKE it all!!!"

    He grabbed a horn from his side and blew on it... sounding the retreat.

    "Hur... HUR HURR... HURR!!!" A pained, ghostly echo emanated from the head of the decapitated mage... where Tycon was still standing.

    "Your reTREATTTT... is imPoSSSIBLE!!!" The head coughed.

    "The F*CK is that??!!" Bannok yelled.

    "Lead our troops!" Tycon shouted back, "I''ll handle this!!"

    Tycon groaned, "Let me guess, wizard. You''re going to seal the entrances to the lower floors with your... ''formations''?"

    "HRR... HAR.... HURRR... You.... you underssstand... the folly... of--"

    Tycon shook his head. This was one of the Formation Mages that had arranged so many traps in the Dungeon. If there were only two, this one was the amateur.

    ? System, analysis: What is this creature? ?

    ? System response: The Dread Mage is a mana-construct, created by a formation. ?

    Tycon had guessed as much. Performing a hasty scan of the area, he found no sign of the mage''s main defensive formation... but it was just as well.

    It was not umon to create a formation that held a soul or spirit. For the Formation Mage to achieve his pseudo-immortality, it seemed he''d done just that.

    The moreplete the transfer was, the more memories and sentience that spirit would retain. Normally, that spirit would lose more and more of its mindfulness and ''humanity'' as the effective magic waned over time.

    Unfortunately, this particr mana-construct had a ring w.

    It was... too human.

    It retained its arrogance and sought to verbally abuse its opponents. It was capable of fear. It keeled over when struck by Korr''s left hook.

    It was capable of pain... also, it likely kept its sense of taste and other nice things.

    It was still very stupid to keep the sense of pain, though.

    Tycon lifted his knee to his chest.

    The mage''s severed head widened its eyes in realization, "Whatttt.... thattt are you doing?"

    "Shattering the formation," Tycon confided, merely loud enough for the mage to hear. "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus... you stupid idiot."

    He allowed mana to course through his body, focusing his Gold-Rank strength into his lifted leg.

    Without love. Without mercy. Without even hatred.

    Tycon stomped down on the fallen mage''s groin.

    And again.

    And... again.

    The mage opened his mouth to shriek, to scream, to cry or beg... but Tycon continued. It was not until the construct''s body began to dissipate into mana dust that he stopped.

    ? System, inquiry: Does the mage''s spirit still exist? ?

    Even if it escaped, the mage would likely be in no state to contest them.

    ? System response: The Dread Mage''s spirit has been destroyed. ?

    Pathetic.

    Tycon turned to his guild members, "Letalis! We''re retreating!! Lone, grab Sorina!!"

 Chapter 453 Champion

    ?Shadow Snakes hiding in corners and crevices continued to rain deadly bolts of shadowy magic onto the Brazen Guard collective. Though Tycondrius was fairly certain they would not directly target the members of Guild Letalis, they could still be injured in the chaos.

    He stopped near Bannok, waving for Sergeant Salt and the others to go on ahead.

    "We''re going ahead, Brother-Bannok."

    "Don''t have to tell me twice, guy." Bannok shouted, lifting up his shield to block a dark, smoky glob of mana, "Why you still standin'' around? GO!!!"

    Tycon was about to turn to leave when he sensed Hunter Felinus dropping down from a nearby building wall. The elfnded near the two of them, longbow in hand.

    "Bannok. Tactician," Felinus nodded.

    Bannok half-turned his head, scowling, "Not NOW, Fel! I''m kinda... BUSY!! GRAHH!!"

    Two more bolts burst against Bannok''s enchanted shield, with Felinus casually swaying his body to the side to dodge a third.

    "Ahem," The elf cleared his throat... "Brother Bannok..."

    Bannok''s scowl turned to shock, then twisted back into anger. He growled, deep and low... "No. Absolutely not."

    Felinus'' face remained impassive, as elves were wont to do, "I have honored my end of the bargain, friend of the elves."

    "me take you, Fel. You can''t," Bannok insisted, near shouting as he reigned in his temper, "Not here... not now."

    Felinus shook his head, "ording to our prior agreements, I have the discretion on when to terminate my contract. I am exercising that right-- effective now."

    Tycon loosened his curved de from its catch. Had Felinus also decided to betray the Brazen Guard? The danger a hostile Gold-Rank adventurer presented was far worse than an Iron-Rank guild''s defection.

    "That won''t be necessary, Tactician," the elf said nonchntly. He turned, walking away... back towards the battlefield. "Give the young hero, Athanasius, my regards. He will take my ce as Scoutmaster."

    ...It was then that Tycon understood what the conversation concerned. He removed his helmet to better burn the image of what was about to pass into his memory.

    "Master Hunter... I wish to know your reasoning."

    Felinus hesitated, turning back... "If there''s anything the snakes hate more than humans... it''s elves."

    Tycon didn''t think that was fair, but he kept his peace.

    "FEL!!" Bannok shouted, "Where in the seven GODS-DAMNED hells do you think you''re going?!"

    The elf sighed... "A ce I am doubtful I can return from."

    Felinus drew back his longbow... and aimed at a pocket of shadow.

    Tycon narrowed his gaze...

    The elf could see them.

    He hadn''t chosen to reveal that fact until now... to gather their attention, all at once.

    In the span of a few seconds, the Elven Hunter urately shot, injured, and killed a dozen shadow snakes before sprinting in the direction opposite of the Brazen Guards'' retreat.<novelnext></novelnext>

    In the elf''s airy, musicalnguage, Felinus delivered his battlecry...

    "(Foul creatures of the snake god''s brood, hear my name! I am Felinus, champion of the elf god!! My arrows I have in THOUSANDS of your kin, and you shall die THE SAME!!!)"

    Bannok ground his teeth, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath...

    "BRAZEN GUARD!!! MOVE YOUR GODS-DAMNED ARSES!!!!"

    Taking position at the Weaponmaster''s side, Tycon reced his helmet and fully drew his sword. With an arcing swipe, he cut down an errant, thrown pilum that would have speared one of the withdrawing adventurers.

    Bannok turned with an incredulous, furious look, "And why the HELLS are you still here, GUY?!"

    Tycon kept his attention on the battlefield... "Felinus'' chances of survival are increased if there are two Gold-Rank defensive sses covering the retreat, rather than one."

    "You... PAH!!" Bannok spat to the side, before cleaving his enchanted axe into a charging Ghost Warrior, "Do whatever the hells you want! I don''t give a single shite!!"

    Tycon quietly scoffed. He would do as he pleased, no matter the human''s opinion.

    ...

    Though Felinus killed over a score of Shadow Snakes on his own, he was in a battlefield full of dozens more. Besides those, tent-groups of Snake Cultists and a handful of Bronze-Rank Undead Warlocks focused their attention on the singlebatant away from the safety of a group.

    The elf took an attack from a skeletal spellcaster... a burning, green-me palm in close range. Though Felinus'' des split the Warlock''s spine and ribcage, the injury would prove fatal.

    Slowed by the magical burn, the elf took a shadowy bolt to the shoulder... then another upon his upper back. Surrounded by enemies, he defeated two undead cultists before finally sumbing to sword, spear, and axe.

    Hunter Felinus died a miserable death, his head severed from his body and dashed bloody upon the stones.

    Tycon was d he stayed behind. The normally unppable human Weaponmaster was clearly distraught by the elf''s death. Tycon grabbed onto the man''s wrist... and had to pull on his armor to physically hold him back.

    If he hadn''t done so, he was fairly certain the human would have recklessly charged into his demise.

    Tycon still needed him.

    Bannok remained silent as they withdrew with the other members of the Brazen Guard... leaving behind over a tenth of their number as corpses littering the ground. The only sounds the human made were the gnashing of teeth and curses in the old tongue.

    As the Brazen Guard descended deeper into the depths of the Halls of the Dead Serpent, the enemies halted their chase. Tycon surmised that the undead summoning ritual had a certain area or range... or perhaps the destruction of the formation mage yed some part.

    Whatever the reason, the decimated Gold-Rank guild had escaped to rtive safety...

    The buildings on the lower floor wererger, more separated from each other.

    One of the adventurers remarked on the fact. Did they belong to wealthier dwarves? More miserly, perhaps? Such buildings were prime targets for looting, but none of the guilds advocated their exploration.

    Tycon was of the same mind. He was not keen on encountering any new traps or enemies within the structures... not without the safety of a forward camp to withdraw to if the situation turned awry.

    Without an order ormand, the adventurers of the Brazen Guard chose to rest away from the buildings, against arge dungeon wall. Without tent supplies and with limited medical equipment, Priestess Ariadne and her healers set up an impromptu triage area.

 Chapter 454 Need To Rest

    ?Tycondrius had Legionnaire Karodin pass word to the other guild leaders. They would convene in two bells to discuss their next course of action.

    He doubted that Bannok was in a proper state of mind to call the order, himself.

    Centurion Zenon assisted Aria with triage. Sorina had her broken leg healed. However, in her weakened state, she could manage a slow jog at best. She seemed to grow very, slightly closer to Lone in that time... a small positive in what was generally a shite situation.

    Sergeant Salt and his gunners kept watch at the perimeter... their ranged weaponry loud enough to alert the entire camp of attack.

    Tycon asked Athena and Tanamar to guard him as he sat, cross-legged in a quiet corner and... appeared to meditate.

    The Dwarven notes he collected earlier with musings and rough sketches about the city''syout had abruptly be far more important than they originally had been. He needed a short time topile the information and parse anything useful out of it.

    There had to be another way out of the city... or failing that, they needed to find a way to break the Fourth-Circle barrier that sealed them inside of it.

    ...

    ? Brazen Guard collective meeting. ?

    Tycon narrowed his eyes upon seeing the Dark Elven Priestess, Ariadne. She hade from the triage area and had yet to put on her armor... The colorful pink tunic she wore had splotches of blood.

    She wore a haggard expression, likely from mana exhaustion... The white glow of the tattoos on her dark skin had dimmed.

    She needed to rest.

    Unfortunately, they did not have the luxury to grant her more than a few bells.

    "Aria, where is Brother Bannok?" He inquired.

    "Oh," The Priestess fanned herself with her hand, "Mah husband''s feelin'' a bit under the weather-- oh, err... He''s not feelin'' too good."

    Tycon closed his eyes and nodded quietly. The absence of the Brazen Guard''s leader surprised him. Recent events must have weighed upon the man heavily...

    While unsurprising, it was also inconvenient.

    He cleared his throat and addressed the adventurers gathered...

    "Leaders of the Brazen Guard collective... Upon analysis of some Dwarven ns I happened upon, I have reason to believe there may be an exit at the very bottom of the Dungeon."

    Tycon briefly gauged the reaction of the crowd before continuing. Morale was pitifully low with the betrayal of a dozen Stormbrands and the loss of a score of adventurers, including an Iron-Rank Silver Pyromancer and a Gold-Rank Hunter.

    He sat on the ground between Aria and Tanamar... where Bannok would sit. If the human would notmand, then as the most capable Gold-Rank amongst them, he would do so in his stead.

    In doing so, he would maximize the collective''s chance of survival...

    "There is a flowing, underground river that should lead to the outside. Guild Letalis will lead the way."

    An Iron-Rank Scout seethed in contempt, "--And why in the seven hells should we listen to you, Tactician? When your gods-damned ns got us into this situation in the first ce?!"

    That was grossly incorrect. Humans in their weakened mental states would seek to assign me to anything they could, no matter how illogical.

    ...It was rather annoying, though.

    "Now hold on fer jus'' a me-flippin'' minute!!" Aria stood up in a huff.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon held up a hand to calm the enraged Priestess... "I say again... Guild *Letalis* will be descending deeper into the Dungeon. Any and all are wee to join us. Any and all are wee to strike off on your own...

    "Though in doing so... you will most certainly die."

    Any and all that dared to bar his path, Tycon would dispatch, personally. He was not in the mood for social games. The members of Guild Letalis would survive, even if he, himself, had to drag them out of the depths of one of the seven hells.

    ...

    Tycon spent some time conversing with his guild members. As the situation had the potential to be even more difficult, their morale and mental stability were paramount as they descended deeper into the Halls of the Dead Serpent.

    Sergeant Salt and his gunners were busy performing gear maintenance, cleaning out their rifle barrels and repairing nicks and cuts in their armors. There had suffered no casualties, thus far... but their group had emptied their stock of healing potions.

    Tanamar and Athena were doing well, supporting each other as they have been. Thankfully, Tycon didn''t have to worry about those two.

    Sorina was sleeping to recover the energy spent after being magically healed. Lone quietly watched over her.

    Zenon was still upset from Photios'' betrayal... but the Centurion agreed that getting through the situation was more important than dwelling on the fact.

    Korr seemed... fine? They had a brief conversation about... archery, of all things. Either she wasn''t concerned about recent events or speaking about nonsense was her way of coping. She did express that she liked working with the Brazen Guard and that it was a shame to lose the men and women they did.

    Tycon sought to maintain his own arms and armor. He was cleaning the dust and soot off of his helm when he was sought out by Legionnaire Karodin of Emberhold. Interestingly, Duelist Ptolema of Guild Snowy Vige had apanied him.

    "M-m-master Tactician!!" Karodin was out of breath for some reason.

    "I''m really sorry about this, Tactician," the short-haired Duelist sighed. "I told him you were busy-- but he insisted."

    "It''s fine." Tycon raised an eyebrow... "Good afternoon, Miss Ptolema, Mister Karodin. I have a cross pein hammer if you''d like to remove the dent from your helmet."

    "Good afternoon," Karodin saluted, "And yes, I''d like to borrow that if-- THAT''S NOT THE POINT!!"

    Tycon pursed his lips in confusion... "Very well. May I ask what the--"

    "There''s an emergency!!" Karodin insisted, gripping his fists like a petnt child.

    "...Very... well. What is... your emergency?"

    "Bannok''s gone missing!"

    "I fail to see how that is an issue. Out of anyone in the Brazen Guard, that gentleman can take care of himself."

    "I mean-- well... I uh... err... I--" Karodin fumbled for human words, "I''m just worried about him."

    Tycon nodded. He returned his curved de to its scabbard before summoning the maintenance hammer from his spatial ring.

    "I want this returned," Tycon politely stated, as he handed it over.

    "R-right," Karodin nodded.

    "I''ll make sure of it, Tactician," Ptolema bowed politely.

    "Before I search for our gentleman friend..." Tycon hesitated... "I''d like a word in private, Miss Ptolema."

 Chapter 455 Best Laid Plans

    ?Ptolema of Guild Snowy Vige walked with Tycondrius a short distance away from the Letalis area, out of earshot of Mister Karodin.

    Her rapier was enchanted with a low-level illumination spell, and she held it out to light her path, avoiding obstacles and careful of uneven terrain. As she led the way, Tycon observed her trying and failing to hide the fact that she was wincing in pain...

    "What''s this about, Tactician?" The Duelist asked, her patience waning the further she walked.

    "You''re injured."

    It was not a question. She smelled of blood.

    The Duelist idly ced a hand over her lower abdomen... "It''s nothing."

    Tycon shifted his weight and grimaced, prompting her to continue with his silent stare.

    Ptolema averted her gaze, her lips quivering in weakness... "Just... I know. I''ll manage, somehow... Just don''t tell Karodin... please."

    Tycon pursed his lips and took a deep breath... "Is it abat injury? Or..."

    The woman crossed her arms defensively... "It''s... a girl thing."

    An unfortunate realization dawned in Tycon''s mind... "I see... Stay strong. We''ll worry about the particrs after I get you and Karodin out of this-- alive."

    Tycon donned his white helmet, quietlymenting that he could not offer the young Duelist more.

    Ptolema gave a slow nod, standing and watching Tycon as he left.

    ...

    "GRRRRAH!" Weaponmaster Bannok cleaved an undead dwarf''s head in two, dropping it to the floor of what was likely its home when it was still living.

    Tycon had followed Bannok''s footprints and a handful of defeated Unranked undead to inside one of the Dwarven buildings. He stared at the man''s armored back as the human stood over histest defeated opponent.

    "Thirty-seven years... thirty... seven... me-taken years..." Bannok growled, deep and low."--and he went out like... that.

    "You. Killed. MY. FRIEND!!!" He suddenly turned, swinging his battleaxe at Tycon''s chest.

    Tycon was ready for the attack... but the Weaponmaster was far faster than he was.

    He was barely able to bring up his adamantine scabbard to block. Receiving the forceful strike, Tycon''s back collided against a sturdy wall.

    "Augh..." He groaned, "I''m going to assume you were talking to someone else?"

    "Tactician?!" Bannok wore a surprised expression... which immediately twisted into a furious re, "What in the seven hells are you doing here?"

    Tycon stretched his back and removed his white helmet. It had saved him from a nasty lump on the back of his head, "I think it quite obvious. I was looking for you."

    "For ME?!" Bannok roared, gripping his battleax like he was going to continue his assault.

    "...Yes. For you."

    Tycon wondered if he misspoke.

    The light of a magical staff spilled into the Dwarven domicile, a certain dark elf stepping lightly over the threshold of a broken front door.

    "I thought I''d find you here, hon," Priestess Ariadne frowned, "Oh! Howdy, Mister Tactician."

    All the strength appeared to drain from Bannok''s body... "I don''t wanna talk about it, Ari. It''s not something you''d understand."

    Priestess Ariadne ced a hand on her hip, "Now you just lis''n here, Mister..."

    "Not NOW, woman!!" Bannok shouted.

    His face crumpled in regret almost immediately, "Just... not now, Ari..."

    "Of all the-- arrrrgh!!" The Priestess fumed, "Mister Tactician, could you please talk some sense into mah mushroom-brained idjit of a husband?"

    Tycon nodded... "Grant us a moment, Miss Aria."

    Ariadne stomped out, leaving the two to their silence...

    Tycon pulled up a Dwarven-carved chair, taking a seat and waiting patiently.

    Bannok stopped and stared... and finally conceded as he pulled out another chair... "She... she doesn''t understand..."

    Tycon nodded... "Very few do understand the difficulties of our positions."

    Admittedly, she very likely did-- not that Bannok wished to hear of it. Priestess Ariadne had a healing ss. With the power to literally save her allies from death, she, more than most, would sorely feel every loss in the Brazen Guard collective.

    "I already know what you''s gonna say..." Bannok wiped the grime off of his axe with his forearm, "You''re gonna tell me to suck it up. I don''t wanna hear it, guy."

    Tycon shook his head, "I was going to remind you that the time to mourn can be afforded once our mission isplete."

    "Mission?!" Bannok sat on the edge of his seat, "The mission''s a me-taken failure!! And it''s all because of those thrice-damned, no good..."

    The human took a deep breath... seething in anger and grumbling unintelligibly.

    Tycon took a deep breath to match... "The mission, Brother-Bannok... is to escape this foul ce with as many survivors as we can manage."

    Bannok grew quiet, brooding...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon stood up, walking towards the troubled human.

    "Everything I can say, you already know. Hunter Felinus acted as he thought best, at the time. You have a duty to yourself, to your wife, and to your guild to continue onward," Tycon held his hand forward. "Now,e along."

    In his frustration, Bannok pped Tycon''s gauntleted hand away.

    It hurt.

    Still, Tycon reached his hand out again, "You cannot refuse me, Bannok."

    Bannok red... "Or you''ll do what?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows in thought... "I''ll ask again, I suppose. I''m sure you are aware that I cannot defeat you in singlebat."

    ...Not without the element of surprise or deception, anyroad.

    Bannok stared at Tycon''s hand for a long moment. Suddenly, he scoffed. Chuckling derisively, he shook his head.

    "You''re a real piece of shite, Brother-Tycon," Bannok snorted as he sped and shook Tycon''s wrist.

    Tycon chose to ignore the human''s particr diction and take it as a...pliment.

    "You''re not the type to spurn your duty," Tycon smirked. "I merely saved you a few bells."

    "Of what?" Bannok groaned, "Wasting my time?"

    "Of mistakenly thinking you were alone."

    ...

    ? Two bellster. ?

    The deepest parts of the Dungeon wereposed of tall, twisting corridors, the stone walls roughly hewn, but solid. For Dwarven masonry, the quality of work was at the bare minimum.

    There were more Dwarven structures, these carved into the tall walls... though few and with long lengths of distance between. They could have been filled with treasure. They could have been filled with enemies. The Brazen Guard collective kept on alert, watching for hostile eyes and arrows in those windows.

    Tycon felt the vibrations of rushing water underneath the stone... and he led the collective downstream. He hoped there would be an opening... somewhere.

    In the notes that Tycon had parsed, the Dwarven Formation Mage had expressed the security concern the underground river presented. However, the rushing rapids underfoot would be difficult to enter the city from. Using it as an exit... should be usible.

    "You see anything, Hero?" Bannok asked. Though the goatee-wearing human was still in a surly mood, his confident andmanding presence had returned.

    "Just undead," Tanamar shut his eyes and shook his head... "Though... there''s a building we have to go through... and it''s got... metal-centaur-looking things."

    Tycon''s blood chilled with the Holy Lancer''s words...

    "Arrrgh... more of those damned constructs?" Bannokined.

    Tycon held up a shaky hand, "Athanasius... could you... describe the creatures?"

    "Huh?" Tanamar raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, sure. Human-like torso with two arms, horse-like body with four hooves... Metal scales for skin, bull''s head... maybe eight feet long, twice as tall. "

    Tycon took off his helmet to wipe off his brow... "Empty night."

    "You know these things, Mister Tactician?" Priestess Ariadne asked.

    Tycon''s eyes stung with frustration... "They... sound like gorgons."

    "Doesn''t sound so bad," Bannok frowned. "Just means ''dreadful'', don''t it?"

    "They''re typically Gold-Rank and emit a petrification gas."

    "Oh." Bannok''s eyes widened and his face paled... "F*ck."

    "My thoughts are simr," Tycon groaned.

    The one good thing about having gorgons as opponents was... they were all idiots who fought without a sense of tactics. The worst thing about fighting gorgons... was they were all idiots who fought senselessly and without tactics.

    ...

    A short nning sessionter, the Brazen Guard collective arranged in abat formation outside of arge Dwarven structure. ording to Tycon''s information, they were at the far edge of the city. The underground river should be essible somewhere through that very building.

    ording to Tanamar... it was a mausoleum where dwarves and Snake Cultists were buried. That meant there were likely hostile undead there. And apparently, it was also guarded by a cadre of gorgons.

    The Holy Lancer and current Scoutmaster of the Brazen Guard would enter with a team of scout-type sses... trying to lure the gorgons out, one by one. Defeating each of them quickly enough and relying on Zenon''s wind magic to repel their petrification breath would greatly minimize their casualties.

    "GUOHHHH!!! (I''M VERY ANGRY!!!!)" A one-horned gorgon roared in the old Tyrion tongue as it chased Tanamar out.

    The Gold-Rank Idiot fell quickly to sword and spell.

    The second pull was simr, though the gorgon ran around in a circle, ineffectively trying to dodge attacks. Tycon was d that Salt and his gunners had so many hours of practice on a range.

    Unfortunately, on the third pull, Tycon was reminded that the ns they made would not always go smoothly.

    "FOUR INCOMING!!!" Tanamar shouted, soaring out of the structure on wings of light.

    The other scouts in his team did not emerge.

 Chapter 456 Stop The Bleeding

    ?"Salt, have your gunners open fire on the first gorgon," Tycondrius ordered.

    "Aye aye, Sir!" Cecil Salt saluted, before hurrying back to his firing squad.

    "Letalis FIRST!!" Tycon shouted.

    "Guard SECOND!!" Tanamar responded, hovering overhead.

    "Brightstars THIRD!!"

    "Snowy Vige FOURTH!!"

    With their targets assigned, Tycon loosened his curved sword from his scabbard.

    Guild Letalis needed to defeat their target quickly. Only then could Zenon focus on using his wind magic to defend the other tent-groups.

    "Us before them," Tycon reminded the Centurion.

    Zenon grit his teeth, "I know, Optio... I know..."

    When the first appeared, it was greeted wholeheartedly by loud cracks of Turathi gunfire. The gorgon roared in pain and frustration, stampeding fearlessly towards Tycon and his allies.

    Tycon nodded to Korr.

    The ming Rage Knight held her sword over her head... "?SOUL-SCORCHING... BLAAAADE!!!?"

    Tycon drew his own sword, "?Orochi no ken WO KURAE!!!?"

    shing their weapons... nine mana-created snakes rushed forward, each encased in deadly, burning mana. They were likely hot enough to irreparably damage the gorgon''s soul.

    "(WHAT THE HELLS ARE THOSE THINGS??!)" The metal bull screamed in open panic.

    "PURGE!!!" Tycon shouted.

    "CLEANSE!!!! KILL!!!!!!" The Brazen Guard collective roared in response.

    Tycon sprinted at full speed towards the gorgon, his sword reared back and ready to cleave it through its body.

    The two-armed, four-hooved gorgon responded by smashing its hafted halberd into the Dungeon stones and holding a palm out.

    A spell? Gorgons were creatures of magic. Mages amongst them were unheard of-- but it wasn''t entirely impossible.

    Tycon slid to a stop, readying his curved de to block or defend...

    "(HOLD ON!!!)" The gorgon roared as he desperately swatted at the mes burning his metal hide.

    ...After a moment of confusion, Tycon''s gaze narrowed to thin, furious slits, "Why the hells would I ''hold on''?! We''re ENEMIES, you buffoon!!"

    "(Y-yeah, but-- but still... Just give me a moment,)" The gorgon huffed.

    Tycon leapt forward, slicing a deep, horizontal line into the bull-centaur''s metallic chest.

    "OW!! AUGHHH!! (Seven hells, man!! Come onnnnn!!)" The injured gorgon snorted, exhaling a pale greenish gas.

    Within seconds, the colored smoke collected and wisped up towards the ceiling-- an effect from the supporting Zenon''s wind magic.

    Athena and her Arcanite des levitated at Tycon''s side... "Sir Tycon... Why does that sound a lot like the old Tyrionnguage?"

    "Try not to think about it, youngdy," Tycon shook his head.

    Turning back to the gorgon, Tycon raised his voice, "Hurry up, YOU!!"

    "(Alright, alright... Almost...)"

    The duration for Tycon''s ?Taste the Hydra de? soon expired... and the gorgon was finally able to put out its soul-scorching mes... "Whew... (Done! NOWWWW I''m READY!)"

    Tycon had dashed to the side well before the gorgon could fully recover. He sliced upward, cutting deep into the creature''s lower abdomen, then stabbed the point of his weapon right-underneath where its lowest humanoid rib would be.

    Both subsequent attacks left more grievous wounds than the first-- and the gorgon didn''t even flinch.

    Idiot.

    Tycon side-stepped a heavy halberd m and easily dodged the kicks from bull-thing''s front hooves. The gorgon was Gold-Rank and had the speed to match... which was far slower than the Adamantine-Rank constructs the Brazen Guard had fought earlier.

    Thus far, Tycon didn''t even have to use any defensive skills.

    "(HOLD STILL, YOU... YOU-- DEVIL-GUY!!!)" The gorgon bellowed.

    "NO!!!" Tycon shouted in response.

    "(PLEASE?)"

    "ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!"

    "(Let''s just-- ergh... trade hits! One for one!!)"

    "Lay down and DIE!!"

    In the course of the next few moments, a painfulyer of frost covered the gorgon''s hind legs, holy spears stuck in its hide, and the metal on its right shoulder glowed white-hot. Still, the gorgon did not fall.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "SALT!!!" Tycon shouted, "What the HELLS are your lot doing?! Aim for its VITALS!!!"

    "I GOT IT!!!" Therge lumbering form of Mister Lawrence barreled forward, breaking from the ranged line.

    ? William Lawrence, Bronze-Rank Human Heavy Gunner. Guild Letalis. ?

    Knight armor was designed to defend againstmon weaponry-- notably longswords and crossbow bolts. As a design necessity, a proper set of armor had to allow an armored ss full mobility. A Knight or Shield Legionnaire or Heavy Gunner had to be able to leap onto a horse or dash across the battlefield to meet the enemy front line in closebat.

    Still, seeing Mister Lawrence full-on-sprinting, thick cantankerous tes nging about as he ran, was... nothing short of awe-inspiring.

    "(I-- I got it, Monsieur Baron!!)" Lawrence shouted in the Kingdom''s oldnguage. He stopped only ten fulms away from Tycon and got to a knee, aiming down the sight of his scattergun.

    With a satisfying boom, the weapon fired. Shot and shrapnelunched at fantastical speed towards the gorgon''s bull-head. In a shower of pink mist and blood, the gorgon finally loosed an agonized, high-pitched scream.

    "(I.. I CAN''T SEE!!!! THIS IS-- I CAN''T FIGHT ANYMORE!!!)"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "What do you mean, you can''t fight?!"

    "(My... MY EYES!!! AUGHHH!! IT HURTS!!!)" The gorgon wailed. It dropped its weapon and covered its face with its hands, sobbing pitifully.

    "Ugh..." Tycon groaned, "You daft cow, you have OTHER senses, don''t you? Can''t you sense our movement from vibrations in the ground?"

    "UHUHU" It cried.... "(I.... I can''t...)"

    Oh. Maybe that was just him.

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat, "Can you sense the mana fluctuations in the air?"

    "(I can''t do that NEITHER!!!)"

    "Can you... smell my general location?" Tycon offered, quietly making a hand signal to Athena.

    At his direction, the littlest Vanzano arranged her swords in front of and above her, allowing Tycon to step on the de ts as if they were stairs.

    "(Oh. Ohhhh.)" The gorgon put down its hands, clenching its fists in excitement... which unveiled its grinning face. Its eyes were ruined and blood ran freely down the torn metallic flesh that remained, "(YEAH!!! I can do that!! I CAN DO THAT!!!)"

    It tilted its head... "(Smoked venison and mint tea?)"

    Tycon leapt off the final de, smashing his adamantine scabbard into the back of the gorgon''s head. Propelled forward, the gorgon''s snout hit the stones. Grabbing the massive fool''s massive head by the bull-horns, he smashed the fellow''s face several more times against the floor.

    Korr finished it off with a ?Brutal de? stab to the back of its neck.

    One down.

    Tycon hastily observed the state of the battlefield. To the right, Guild Snowy Vige''s front line was failing... and Guild Brightstar was not doing much better. To the left, Bannok was fighting spread out and defensively, taking great care to avoid their gorgon''s petrification breath.

    This wasn''t a trap set for two Adamantine-Ranks, enacted by a hundred well-prepared adventurers. This was a filthy skirmish full of exhausted, shite-morale men and women struggling to survive.

    Tycon had a choice... to help the Brazen Guard forward team, which would free their two Gold-Rankers to rotate...

    ...or to ''stop the bleeding'' by supporting the weaker guilds.

    Protecting his stronger assets was the wiser decision. There may very well be tougher tribtions they''d encounter after this one...

    However... could the weaker members of the collective hold out until then?

    ? "Tactician!!! H-help!!" Duelist Ptolema, the leader of Guild Snowy Vige, called out to him.

    No. It was highly probable that they would all die if Tycon left them alone.

    "Wh-what do we do?" Athena asked, her voice low, a pink spray of gorgon blood marring her face.

    Tycon clenched his teeth hard... and made a decision counter to his logic... and pandering to his emotions, "LETALIS!! Assist Guild SNOWY VILLAGE!!!"

    ...

    The area was well lit where the Brazen Guard collective was fighting the gorgons. Adventurers wielded torches amplified by magic or artifice, weapons enchanted to radiate light, and weaponry made of divine light. Some of the battlefield illumination consisted of mes hot and bright enough to burn souls.

    Very few of their number could see well in the dark and shadows... The Elven Hunter, Felinus, was deceased and therefore absent. The Dark Elven Priestess, Ariadne, was quite busy in keeping her husband alive and in good adventuring condition. That left Tycon as the only one to notice a hooded figure shrouded in the shadows of the cavernous walls.

    ...and he noticed them toote.

    The lithe figure outstretched their pale hands and performed the somatic gestures of a spell Tycon was unfamiliar with.

    A triad of emerald-green globes materialized around them... that split into five and into thirteen. Raising a hand, the spheres shot up and outward, above the battlefield... where they began to diffuse green smoke. Thick and heavy, the clouds began to drift down towards the men and women Tycon very much wanted to keep alive.

    ? System, analyze: Spell effect. ?

    ? Poison Globe. Second-Circle Necromancy. Inflicts heavy poison damage to targets. ?

    It was a simple spell without extraneous effects, but effective. The Iron-Ranks amongst them would be debilitated, but the Bronze... they would all die or be rendered useless.

    "ZENON!!!" Tycon shouted, pointing upward.

    The Centurion whipped his head around, panic on his face for the briefest of moments, "I-- I got it, Optio!!"

    With a wave of his arm, Zenon''s wind magic kept the noxious fumes at bay... which also meant that he was no longer guarding against the gorgons'' petrification breath.

 Chapter 457 Loneâ€™s Desire

    ?Tycondrius needed to close with Guild Snowy Vige''s gorgon and defeat it as quickly as possible... but he could not allow the cloaked spellcaster to do as they pleased.

    "I''ll leave it to you, then."

    ? ?Venomous Shadow? activating... Reaction ability. A shadowy doppelganger appears behind the target, performing a single weapon attack. ?

    Tycon''s shadow materialized by his side. As usual, it was... nowhere near his target.

    However, he had dealt with its entricity enough times to no longer question it.

    It was equipped in spiky, shadowy armor in the Guild Letalis style. Different from his own, it was free of colored designs and heraldry and also had thin wisps of smoke drifting off the metal like steam. Its helmet, like all of its features, was smoky ck... and two piercing golden lights shone through its single-slit visor.

    The shadow nodded to Tycon before dashing off towards the mysterious mage, whipping a dark length of rope above its head, its end tied into a noose.

    Tycon pursed his lips. He had to remind himself to stop being so surprised at his own skill activations.

    ...

    Tycon defeated the second gorgon with the assistance of Letalis and Snowy Vige, finishing it off with a ?Legionbreaker? and Tanamar''s ?Oath? ability.

    Unfortunately, in the few minutes it took, Guild Brightstar''s front line was affected by their gorgon''s petrification breath. Frozen into statues, the merciless (and petty) bull-centaur shattered the humans into bits and pieces with a few swings of its hammer.

    It was an inefficient course of action. The Brightstar ranged line focused their efforts with renewed fervor... and desperation. That bought Letalis and the still-capable members of Snowy Vige time to engage with the third gorgon.

    Tycon stayed behind, taking note of the injured... Two of Salt''s gunners had fallen. A young teenage boy was beyond saving, but the other was being nursed by Mister Lawrence. Therge man had removed his helmet and was force-feeding the still-living youngdy a healing potion. It was clumsy but full of care.

    She''d live.

    Duelist Ptolema had also taken injury, if superficial. It appeared she had fallen on her face and right arm, sliding a distance across the abrasive dungeon stones. If she were to get divine healing from Aria or one of her healers within the sun, it shouldn''t scar... too badly.

    She''d manage.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark lied on the stones next to... the Shatterspike longsword, his Dark Iron wolf-hammer... and a pool of what Tycon assumed was the Ranger''s vomit.

    He somewhat regretted the choice of mushroom soup for their earlier meal.

    Tycon hurried to the young man''s side to check on him, carefully stepping around the... vomitus.

    Lone had been afflicted by the mystery mage''s Second-Circle poison. While it hadn''t killed him instantly, he was in a sorry state, his face pale and blood running freely down his nostrils.

    He''d... he''d live. Probably.

    "You uh... are you well, Mister Lone?"

    "Y-yeah..." The bronze-skinned Ranger groaned... "I''m sure I got... somethin'' in my bag... for this."

    Lone reached for a side pouch... and revealed an empty potion bottle... "N-nevermind."

    Tycon crossed his arms... "And your next n?"

    "Boss..." Lone loosed a string of agonized, hacking coughs... "Y-you... you gotta suck the poison out!!"

    Tycon took a deep breath, "1: No. 2: In what Realm would that even work? You''ve breathed in poisonous fumes, not taken injury."

    "B-boss..." Lone blinked tears out of his eyes... "I... I don''t think I''m gonna make it... Beighhhh."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Nonsense," Tycon reprimanded... though he was slightly less confident than he''d been a few moments prior, "It would be a shame if you died here."

    The Ranger had only just reached Iron-Rank. He''d finally achieved a breakthrough that made him far more useful than he''d been previously. Tycon would be... inconvenienced if the young man died.

    "L-lift me up..." Lone coughed, "I''m... not long for this world."

    Tycon nced at the bloody vomit dribbling off of the human''s chin... "I''m not going to do that."

    "Boss... please."

    "No!" Tycon red. "I can hear you just fine from here. Say what you need to say."

    "O... okay..." Lone acquiesced...

    "...Well?"

    "I''m... thinking."

    "People are still fighting and dying, I''ll have you think faster, Mister Lone."

    "Boss Tycon..." Lone grabbed at Tycon''s leg... "I... I can''t die without your permission... But... but I did well... r-right?"

    "Yes, I suppose you did," Tycon nodded.

    Throughout the sun, Lone had effectively yed the role of a troubleshooter, roving amongst the various groups and assisting ording to his own judgment. In doing so, he''d reduced the casualties not just in Guild Letalis, but in all guilds.

    "Boss..." Lone twisted his face into a pathetic grimace... "R.. requesting permission... to die."

    Tycon briefly considered his low mana reserves. He had already used his strongest attacks multiple times and had even activated his healing ability on Korr and Mister Lawrence. A third heal would overexert himself... and their escape from the Dungeon was not yet set in stone.

    "Very well," Tycon nodded solemnly, "Permission granted."

    "W-w-waaaait..." Lone cried out, "I don''t wanna diiiiiie~"

    "What?! Tycon shouted, "Then why would you ask such a thing?!?"

    "I... I don''t knooooww..." Lone sobbed pitifully.

    "Tell me, then," Tycon groaned in frustration. "What do you have to live for?"

    His ?Desire Trigger? skill could boost the young Ranger''s physical ability to resist and ovee the effects of the magical poison... and had a low mana cost. To improve the ability''s efficacy, though, Tycon needed to hone in on the young man''s desire...

    What resonated within the Lone Shadowdark''s heart? What could he believe in so strongly... that he could fend off death? Fame and fortune? The pride of a victor? Honor, perhaps.

    What was the reason he rejected death? To continue to fight at his side?

    "I..." Lone gulped... Judging by his expression, it was an action he immediately regretted... "I''ve... always wanted a girlfriend."

    Tycon crossed his arms.

    That was the stupidest desire he''d ever heard. He would have no part in it...

 Chapter 458 With Shield Or...

    ?Tycondrius considered Lone a friend... his loyalty, unquestionable. Though he was unwilling to personally assist him with... that particr endeavor, he could cheer the young man on from the sidelines.

    "Right," Tycon nodded. "Get up and... you can work on that... (on your own.)"

    "But I''m... a loser..." A tear slid down the Lone Shadowdark''s cheek... a tear that Tycon could not pity.

    "I don''t see how that''s my problem... or yours. You have plenty of redeeming qualities."

    "R-really?"

    "ording to probability, yes."

    "Boss, I''m gonna-- ughhh... I''m... gonna hrk... die!" Lone blubbered, dry heaving intermittently.

    "Oh, hush. You will not," Tycon scolded. "Just get up, before I beat you."

    "C-can you help me get a girlfriend?"

    "Why are you asking--"

    "Bossss!!"

    "Aughhhh!! ...Fine," Tycon conceded. "I will help you with... that."

    ? ?Desire Trigger? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Yes, yes... ?

    ? Activating... ?

    Within moments, Lone''s pallor changed, color flooding back into his cheeks. Just as quickly, he shut his eyes and fell asleep... snoring in his typical loud and grating wheezes.

    Tycon ungently nudged the Ranger with his boot, "GET UP, you fool!!"

    Lone shot awake, rolling to the standing position, "Whuh?!"

    "The enemy still stands!!" Tycon pointed to the gorgon Letalis had engaged with, "Will you do NOTHING?!"

    "YES, SIR!!" Lone shouted, crisply saluting. "I mean-- NO, SIR!!"

    Simultaneously, Lone''s Dark Iron hammer shed in a gout of me. The Dark Iron wolf stood up on its hind legs, barking with the same ferocity and fervor as its humanpanion.

    "Good!" Tycon returned the wolf''s salute, "Now MOVE!! Both of you!!"

    The two idiots sped off... Lone particrly leaving the Shatterspike on the Dungeon stones.

    Tycon picked it up and flung it after Lone, "Your SWORD, you FOOL!!!"

    Running at full speed and without looking, the Ranger reached his hand up, catching the whirling sword.

    "Thanks, Boss!!" He called back.

    Tycon''s mouth twitched.

    Such a skillful disy was... the smallest, most minute hint that Lone could have the potential to be great.

    He shook his head. No... it was certainly just wishful thinking.

    ...

    Tycon had spent far too long dealing with matters of his own guild.

    The oppressive mes of the Gold-Rank Rage Knight, Korr, and the protective winds of the Iron-Rank Librarian, Zenon, were enough to handle the Brightstars'' gorgon.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon turned and began to run, crossing the battlefield towards the Brazen Guard forward team.

    Weaponmaster Bannok had been locked inbat for the battle''s duration. His second, Legionnaire Karodin, could not easily take a Gold-Rank gorgon''s heavy sword-- nor could he easily avoid its petrification breath.

    Bannok had been fighting without reprieve.

    Fatigue was weighing on the human, obvious by his heaving breaths and slowed reaction speed. Priestess Ariadne was little better, trembling as she and her healers cast their healing and defensive magics.

    The bull-headed gorgon was in a simr, sorry state. A deep vertical cut had rendered his right eye useless and he''d suffered numerous bloody gashes on its metal-scale hide. But still... the magical beast was too stupid to be hindered by pain... or to grow tired from constant fighting.

    Bannok raised his shield and cleaved his battleaxe down on the gorgon''s wrist, cutting near a third of the way through... The gorgon''s massive sword fell out of its hands and ttered heavily against the stones.

    "GUHHHH..." The bull-centaur winced, groaning as if that was the first injury it had taken.

    "me-taken cow!!" Bannok shouted, "Just DIE, already!!"

    It was a deadlypse in judgment, to taunt the creature instead of immediately drawing back.

    The gorgon whipped its horns forward, smashing into Bannok''s shield,unching him back.

    The Weaponmaster''s enchanted battleaxe fell out of his hand.

    "BANNOK!!!" Aria shouted.

    With a series of desperate hand gestures, a divine golden barrier appeared around her husband... and that barrier shattered when the gorgon leapt up and tried to crush the human underneath its front right hoof.

    "(Not so tough without a weapon, are you, human?) Haaaaa...." The gorgon snorted.

    With a deep exhale, Bannok was shrouded in its pale green breath.

    Tycon and the Brazen Guard forward team watched in horror as Bannok''s skin began to pale. The human had been fighting for far too long... physically and mentally exhausted... the petrification magic quickly took effect.

    "Bannok!!!" Karodin of Emberhold ran at the gorgon from behind... but took a rear kick to the chest.

    It was a strike capable of instantly killing a Bronze-Rank... As resilient as the Legionnaire was, Tycon doubted the man was in any condition to fight after that.

    "Now hold yer GODS-DAMNED horses, you big PALOOKA!!!" Ariadne stepped forward, twirling her staff, "That''s MAH HUSBAND yer F*CKING WITH!!!"

    Tycon gulped. He had already used his strongest abilities multiple times in the encounter... but Bannok... Bannok was worth the overexertion. He activated ?Shadowfang Strike? to hide his form and drastically speed his movement.

    The gorgon stepped away, calmly approaching Aria, looming over the tiny dark elf. It crossed its muscr metal arms, sneering... "And what can you do, little elf?"

    Tears sparkled down the Priestess'' face... "I... I''ll do somethin''..."

    She was doing very well at distracting the idiot. Tycon only needed a few moments more...

    "Perhaps in the next life," The gorgon raised up a domineering fist, prepared to smash the elf into paste.

    Tycon wasn''t going to make it. His legs ached, his lungs burned, his head felt like it was being crushed in a vise. He was sprinting as fast as he could in his chain and leather armor, his movement technique and the magic in his boots pushing him far past his limits.

    "NO ONE TOUCHES MY WIFE!!!"

    The grey-skinned Bannok shoved Ariadne out of the way, his shield raised.

    The gorgon''s fist fell upon a stone shield... cracking it... shattering it, along with the arm behind it.

    "BANNOK!!!!" Ariadne screamed.

    "CENTURION!!!" Karodin shouted. The Legionnaire leapt up and shed his short sword into the creature''s side, "?Power Attack!!?"

    Cutting deep, the Dungeon stones at Karodin''s feet grew slick with gorgon blood.

 Chapter 459 Fearsome Fist

    ?The gorgon half-copsed, its front hooves kneeling onto the stones with loud metal bangs.

    "GRAHH!!" Furious, the bull-centaur swiped his thick-muscled arm out, back-handing Ariadne away and the fully-petrified Bannok statue away.

    "You... (disgusting... pink-skinned filth...)" His metallic hands wed at the ground, scraping lines into the Dungeon stone... "I''ll crush you... to PIECES!!!"

    The horned creature raised its fist up high above the defiant Karodin, snorting in a deep breath...

    The human stood his ground, shield at the ready, sword poised to strike... He was the exemr of a perfect Tyrion Legionnaire, his will unwavering, his courage beyond reason or logic.

    Tycondrius would not allow him to die this sun.

    "Stand STRONG!!!" Tycon bellowed, "Legionnaire KARODINNN!!!!"

    ? ?Jumping Knee Counter? activated. Reaction ability. Targeted ally''s physical defenses are improved against a single attack. Target ispelled to make an instantaneous unarmed strike against an enemy with increased uracy. ?

    Something felt like it snapped in Tycon''s head. His headache eased slightly and he felt a line of blood drip down his nose. It was reckless of him to activate a second skill while his movement speed was increased by his ?Shadowfang Strike?...

    The gorgon''s heavy fist mmed against Karodin''s shield, the metal-on-metal ng reverberating throughout the cavernous Dungeon. Screaming like a madman, Legionnaire Karodin thrust his sword into the gorgon''s bull-nose, then mmed his Tyrion shield into the side of the creature''s head. Holding onto his shield with both hands... Karodin thrust it upward, striking the underside of the bull-centaur''s chin and turning its gaze skyward.

    Tycon ended his stealth effect in front of the gorgon, between its front hooves... and he sank his short sword deep in its abdomen.

    Urging his body to move faster than he could think, he drew his long curved de, slicing in an arc above him. With the creature''s throat slit, he was showered in the beast''s filthy blood.

    Finally, he threw his adamantine scabbard at Karodin''s shield. The human didn''t even have time to yelp in surprise before being sent sliding across the stones from the impact... to safety.

    If he could survive a Gold-Rank rear kick from a near twenty-fulm tall magical metal bull, he... should reasonably be able to survive that, too.

    Then... the gorgon breathed itsst breath... and Tycon was shrouded in the noxious green gas...

    ...

    ? Some timeter... ?

    Karodin of Emberhold ran his hands down his sturdy tower shield. A vicious crack ran down its center from where the Tactician threw... something at it. He would abandon it in the Halls of the Dead Serpent... recing it with one of the too-many shields from the fallen.

    It felt like he lost something... lost a lot, actually.

    Felinus had died.

    He and the Elven Hunter hadn''t really spoken much... and the guy only appeared when he wanted to... and honestly, Karodin was a little creeped out that he was friends with what seemed like a ghost.

    ...but Felinus was an integral part of the Brazen Guard. And it was nice to think that an allied Gold-Rank was watching from the shadows, no matter how pointed his ears were.

    And Bannok...

    Karodin shook his head... but was suddenly ovee by a fit of coughing.

    He stifled it with his hand... opening it after. Dimly lit by the Dungeon''s luminance, his hand was covered in blood.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He had internal injuries, for sure. It had been a little hard to breathe... so that made sense.

    Was it darker than normal blood? That would be bad...

    "Karodin..." Ptolema gently cooed, approaching him from behind... "You need to see a healer."

    He silently cursed to himself. He wasn''t able to hide his injuries from his wife... That meant he could expect a few bells of her well-meaning nagging.

    "What, this?" Karodin put on a smile, hiding his hand behind his back. It was always easy to smile around her... "I''m fine, for now... There are others with more severe injuries. More importantly, how are you? Are you fine?"

    "Have you seen my face?" Ptolema sighed, betraying a soft smile, "It feels like it''s on fire. Is it starting to scab yet?"

    "Still as beautiful as the day I first saw you," Karodin bowed his head... which he wished he hadn''t, because a sharp pain jolted through his chest. He probably had a broken rib or two. He was in such a good mood, seeing Ptolema, that he''d honestly forgotten...

    The Duelist rolled her eyes, "Back then, my hair was so short, you thought I was a man."

    "Well, I mean after," Karodin bared his teeth.

    He was really no good at talking to women... especially the one woman he liked.

    "It''s fine..." Ptolema nced to her left and right... then she shyly and stealthily kissed Karodin on the cheek.

    Warmth flooded his heart. That was all the healing he needed.

    "I don''t trust that me-taken Tactician..." A too-loud voice echoed off the walls. It came from one of the guild huddles, nearby.

    Just when Karodin thought everything was going to be alright, Anger immediately welled up in his chest-- anger intermixed with the pain of his fractured ribs. Who would be so stupid to talk that way about the Brazen Guard''s best chance for survival?

    "It''s not worth it, Karodin," Ptolema hardened her gaze.

    Ahhh... Even when she was upset, she was cute.

    "It is, to me."

    Karodin swept off his armor and began walking towards where he''d heard the voice, "Hey! What are you guys talking about?!"

    The huddle opened up, allowing him in.

    Looking around, Karodin identified the voice as belonging to the guild leader of the Brightstars, a veteran Iron-Rank Scout named Pavlos.

    "Hey, Karodin-- we were just talkin'' about--"

    "And before you tell me..." Karodin took a deep breath... "I wanna know who the f*ck you think you are?"

    "What the?" The Scout''s smile fell into a confused grimace... "I''m a mescarred leader of a guild that''s been with the collective for twelve years, Karodin. You can''t talk to me like that! I have *seniority* over you."

 Chapter 460 The Shield Of Aethra

    ?Seniority. What a joke.

    Karodin jammed a thumb against his muscled chest te, "Karodin of Emerbold, rank of Decanus at 18, Tesserarius at 22, and the youngest Pilus Prior in the history of the Aethra Legion''s 2nd Cohort. If you want to y the rank game, Decanos Pavlos, I''ll bend you over my knee and fistf*ck you in the arse-- don''t. F*CK. with me!"

    Karodin clenched his jaw, gnashing his teeth. He hated talking like a Centurion... His military days were long behind him.

    Seven hells... He shouldn''t HAVE to talk like that anymore!

    He begrudgingly epted that there were times... though rare, that he had to let his military background show. Some people thought they could do or say whatever they wanted because they had rank or seniority.

    There were two types of people that survived in the Tyrion military. There were arseholes and there were people who knew how to deal with them. Karodin didn''t think he was the former... but he had learned from early on his career that sometimes, he had to throw his achievements around to gain respect.

    Eventually, his rank spoke for him. But... it seemed that some people in the Brazen Guard collective remained woefully unaware of who the f*ck he was.

    He didn''t earn the rank of Centurion... or be the Pilus Prior of an entire cohort because he was soft. He hadn''t be Bannok''s Optio because of his nice and polite personality.

    He worked his arse off. Hepleted so many me-taken missions and brought so many adventurers back alive that Bannok would have had to be deaf or blind to promote anyone else.

    "Optio..." A messy-haired Legionnaire from Guild Eagle Sentinel stepped forward, "--requesting permission to speak."

    "Go ahead," Karodin scowled.

    It hurt his cheeks to twist his face like that. A long time ago, he was told that his weird facial muscle spasms made him look like a rabid dog... so he had that going for him.

    "With respect, Sir, Pavlos raised some really good points."

    Karodin raised an eyebrow, "He did, did he? And were any of them any better ideas for getting out of this mescarred shite hole? ...Becausest I me-taking checked, only the Tactician, formerly known as DUPLICARIUS TYCON, had anything at f*cking all."

    The Eagle Sentinel gulped audibly. Unconsciously, the man had fixed his posture, his spine as straight as an iron spear... It was ridiculous. Neither of them were in the military proper, anymore... but at least with this guy ying along, everyone else should know not to talk back to him.

    Legionnaire Karodin slowly looked over the adventurers in the huddle, all of them on edge. ncing at his side, Ptolema was showing him a look of concern.

    Oh. Hm. Was he overdoing it?

    "Decanus Pavlos."

    "I hear you, Optio," The older Scout stood at attention-- granting him the basic respect he rightfully deserved.

    "I''d like to hear what you have to say."

    "Ah... Optio Karodin... I don''t know if it''s really appropriate--"

    Karodin grabbed the Brightstar guild leader by the throat, throttling him-- choking the life out of him, "Did I F*CKING ASK if it was FLAME-F*CKING APPROPRIATE???!!"

    "Karodin, no!" Ptolema hurried forward.

    The various adventurers surged forth, eventually peeling Karodin off of the weaker man.

    "Answer me, DECANUS!!!" Karodin powered his left arm forward, sending two adventurers sprawling onto the Dungeon floor. He didn''t do the same to his right, because Ptolema was there, desperately holding on.

    "N-no, Optio," Pavlos coughed, averting his gaze. Illuminated by the torchlight, his neck was already beginning to bruise.

    "Look at me, Decanus!!" Karodin shouted, spitting and vering like abat instructor, "LOOK ME IN THE EYES WHEN YOU OPEN YOUR COCKSUCKING MOUTH!!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Yes, Optio! I hear you, Optio!!" Pavlos trembled as he tried to stand straight and rigid. Rather than a leader of a guild, he looked more like a fish, freshly-recruited from his farming vige, wishing for nothing more than to go home and suck on his mother''s tit.

    "Good," Karodin rxed his shoulders, shaking the various adventurers off of him... "Now, I say again... tell me what you said."

    "I... I..."

    Karodin crossed his arms, seething... "It would *behoove* you to not test what little patience I have left."

    Pavlos gulped again... "I was jus'' sayin''... It''s weird that-- that Guild Letalis hasn''t had any casualties."

    The other adventurers murmured in reluctant agreement.

    "Decanus. Pavlos..." Karodin whispered in a hoarse voice, trying to restrain his fury... for Ptolema''s sake... "Tell me, right now... that you''re joking."

    "That, by itself, is a fact, Optio Karodin," Ptolema quietly reminded him.

    "Doesn''t. mean. SHITE!" Karodin pointed the thumb and fingers of his hand at Pavlos, "Every single member of Guild Letalis is outfitted with advanced armor and weaponry, rivaling that of our GOLD-RANK forward team. Their ranged line has put COUNTLESS bells down-range. Their sanctified psykers match every single Brazen Guard psyker AND outss them in age. And their assault line...

    "One is probably not human-- my guess is he''s a pagan god of fire. Another literally has the most awesome metal wolf I''ve ever seen in my life-- isn''t that right? Guild Metal Wolf?"

    "True..." The leader of Guild Metal Wolves chimed in, taking off his helmet. "She''s a beauty. Her name is Tres Leches-- it means Three Moons, her owner says."

    "And the Tactician," Karodin continued-- "Can shoot DRAGONS out of his mescarred sword. Can YOU, Decanus Pavlos, shoot DRAGONS out of your bow??"

    "N-no, Optio," Pavlos sniffed.

    "If you could shoot DRAGONS out of your bow... do you think you''d be a liiiiiiitttle bit stronger?"

    "Y... yes, Optio..."

    "Now..." Karodin took a deep breath, "is it a little more reasonable that Guild Letalis is in a better state than anyone else?"

    He clenched his fist on the hilt of the sword on his side. He might have drawn it... if not for Ptolema holding onto his wrist... "Or do you still think it''s some sort of mescarred conspiracy?"

    Pavlos grimaced, "I''m good, Optio... Noints."

    "Very well," Karodin turned away. "If you get a good idea to get outta here, that''s one thing. If you''re gonna doubt the people that are tryin'' their me-taken best to keep you alive, then you better have a damn. good. reason... You hear me, Decanus?"

    "I hear you, Optio!" Pavlos replied faithfully.

    "Good... Good. Let''s go, Decanus Ptolema."

    As his adrenaline was beginning to wane, the pain started to return... literally everywhere. He decided to follow his wife''s advice and see Priestess Aria''s healers...

    Ptolema sighed... "I hear you, Optio."

    As Karodin walked away, he heard Ptolema get thest word in to Pavlos... "You''d better thank the me that I was here. That could''ve gone so much worse."

    Hm. How true that was...

 Chapter 461 Stone To Flesh

    ?The dark elf''s ears twitched, sensing Tycondrius approach.

    ...He was far too tired to be overly careful of his steps. He''d activated too many skills in session, in defeating the final gorgon. It felt like his brain was roasting on hot coals... like the heat was expanding the liquid within. When it finally popped, he''d hopefully reincarnate somewhere nicer. It''d all be over for the him in this world... but at least he''d be over this sted headache.

    Aria sat alone on the empty battlefield... adjacent to the magically petrified statue of Gold-Rank Weaponmaster Bannok. Nearby, stone debrisid about, remnants of the human''s shield and shield-arm. Those were beyond saving.

    The Priestess had stripped off her light armor and tossed the pieces haphazardly around her. In naught but a bloody pink tunic... and with dark circles underneath her reddened eyes, she looked pitiable and frail.

    "I''m fine, hon..." She muttered in his general direction, "Ya don''t hafta worry ''bout li''l ol'' Ari..."

    Tycondrius did not consider himself good at determining emotions... but he could tell that the elf was being deceitful.

    ''Fine'' was subjective.

    The Priestess was in a state of mourning and was in-fact, still weeping. Her mate had just been effectively killed-- and with hisst breath, he sacrificed his body to defend her.

    Her magical tattoos, usually a stark white on her dark skin, looked mundane and blurry. Her life force was waning, such was her grief.

    Aria was not ''fine'' by any definitions Tycon knew of.

    He took off his helmet and used it as a seat to quietly sit beside her.

    ......Hm.

    He offered some of his rations, "Would you like a... dried apple slice?"

    Elves liked dried apples.

    "No... Not quite in the hankerin'' fer foodstuffs'', Mister Tactician..." Aria smiled politely... "I reckon it won''t sit well."

    It seemed that Aria was suffering from psychosomatic symptoms, so severe was her distress. Tycon''s concern grew exponentially.

    Tycon leaned forward, supporting his chin with his fist... trying to strategize his next words.

    Thankfully, the dark elf spoke first.

    "You know... my momma didn''t want me to marry a human..." She chuckled to herself... sad and somewhat derisively... "''He''s no good for you,'' she''d say. ''Humans are all no-good, unfaithful wretches that only think about one thing... Fightin'', fightin'' and more fightin''''"

    Tycon nodded, his mind still distracted... "So technically... three things?"

    He was rewarded by the elf''s light giggle, a more honest one... shortly followed by more tears silently sparkling down from her eyes.

    "Yeah... Papa was all for it, though. I like to think he could tell Bannok was a good man. I just..."

    "You just?"

    "...I didn''t think he''d leave me... not like this," The Priestess sniffed. "Ah always thought-- you know, we''d go out together. Dyin'' in a ze of glory. Big fight, spells explodin'' every which way. You know, fightin'' fer the me! Hah... and he goes off and gets put under... and he does it savin'' me from an overgrown cow."

    Tycon remained solemn and silent. He had plenty to say about their gorgon opponents... He could hail their martial prowess... or he could insult their general stupidity.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He chose to say nothing, fearing he''d worsen the woman''s mood.

    "Right after his best friend dies in front''a him..." Aria twisted her lips to each side... "Right after a buncha shites he trusted with his life turned out to be a buncha damn dirty heretics...

    "Why... jus''... why couldn''t I have saved him?" She began to cry in earnest... "Why... why couldn''t it''ve been me?"

    Tycon inhaled deeply. He was going to take a veryrge risk.

    "...Bannok can still be saved."

    Aria''s tearful face abruptly contorted into a hateful re, "Don''t you start with me, Mister. I know full well what it takes to save mah husband... and it''s a SIXTH. CIRCLE. spell. Now *I* don''t know any Sixth-Circle mages-- and even if ah did, none of ''em wouldn''t walk three STEPS to piss on a human, even if he were on FIRE."

    Tycon gulped. His mouth was quite dry... "And if I told you I had a way?"

    Aria took a deep breath to calm herself... and still, she quivered in tears and rage... "I''ll... I''d do anything to get him back."

    Her voice cracked as she spoke... Tycon''s chest grew tight, listening to his rtively attractive travelingpanion weep. He wanted to help her. More than that, he wanted to help himself by restoring a Gold-Rank ally to rtive fighting condition.

    "Help him, Mister Tactician..." Aria bowed her head, her tears dripping onto the cold, green Dungeon stones. "Anythin'' you hafta do... even if Bannok hates you for it, even if his heart don''t beat no more... I''ll take all that hate. I''ll tell him I made you do it. He can''t never be mad at me-- you know that."

    "I... will do so," Tycon grimaced... "But I am almost certain that I will regret it."

    "Please..." Aria looked up with wide, sparkling eyes... "I''m beggin'' you... Anythin'' you want that I can give-- it''s yours."

    Tycon sighed again, standing up... "Very well."

    He walked over to the Bannok statue... hatred still deeply set into the human''s face.

    It was somewhat of a shame. He ''died'' well. Tycon was bringing him back for his and Aria''s selfish purposes.

    Tycon channeled his life force into his lungs... and into his breath. Shutting his eyes... he breathed.

    The focused breath of a male from his bloodline had the magical power to undo magical petrification. Even if he wasn''t the Ivory Prince... the offspring of Rnia, the Queen of Stone, he would have had an elevated status amongst his people, based purely on the rarity of his existence.

    Flecks of stone began to fall from Bannok''s form, revealing the color of his skin and armor. So, too, did blood begin to pool onto the floor from his missing arm.

    After a few moments, the fully-fleshed, one-armed Bannok copsed into Priestess Ariadne''s arms.

    Dazed, Tycon took in a breath through his teeth... The headache only became worse, affecting his bnce and clouding his vision. He was teetering on the brink of mana exhaustion. Still... he still needed to stop the bleeding... "Aria, allow me to--"

    "Stay back, Maedar," The Priestess warned in a hard voice. She cradled her husband in her arms... almost defensively, "You''ve done enough."

    Tycon swallowed... nodding.

    She knew.

 Chapter 462 Equal Opportunity

    ?Maedar was a term lost to the ages... In Tycondrius disying his ability, Ariadne knew he was a male of the medusa bloodline.

    The Priestess cast one of her divine healing spells to heal her husband. It was somewhat foolish of her, as her mana reserves were even lower than his. She quickly descended into an agonized coughing fit after doing so...

    Tycon steadied himself, crossing his arms and trying to convince himself that the pounding in his head would eventually go away... "Priestess Ariadne... does my bloodline change your opinion of me?"

    Ariadne did not look up as she embraced her sleeping husband, pressing her face to his chest... "I... never... would have expected... the reasonin'' behind the color of your eyes."

    Tycon surmised that the answer was yes. The Priestess'' opinion of him had changed drastically.

    "Ya know..." Ariadne lifted her head but she still did not meet his gaze... "The elves will never work with you... not unless the dragons dare to return."

    "I am aware..." Tycon twisted his lips... "Then, for the favor you have promised... you will work with me until at least the Brazen Guard collective leaves this Dungeon."

    "I gave you my word... I''ll trust you thisst time, snake."

    ...

    "Sir Tycon. Got a logistics concern," Sergeant Salt waved Tycon over.

    "If this is concerning the absence of Mister Lawrence..." Tycon groaned, approaching with his helmet beneath an arm, "the gentleman is tasked with carrying and protecting the weakened Bannok-- at least until he has recovered somewhat."

    Salt swept back his wet hair, still drenched from sweat, though the battle had ended a half-bell prior, "It''s not that, Sir... I uh... was just worried about our ammunition and the power cores. Had one of ''em blow in thest fight-- I think it ran outta juice."

    "...Juice, Sergeant?"

    "Eh... magic, Sir. Whatever''s swirlin'' around in these things that make the bad guys fall down?"

    Tycon took a deep breath... "Reasonable."

    He mentally opened a System menu, detailing the contents of his spatial ring. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a crate of bullets and a half-dozen carefully wrapped Khyber crystals.

    Salt crossed his arms, frowning... "I don''t suppose you''re holdin'' out on us, Boss? This is barely enough for one more engagement."

    "I am not," Tycon shook his head. "These were my personal stores. Tell your team to conserve ammunition..."

    "We were good up until the battle on the bridge," Salt let out a heavy sigh... "Was pretty tough to conserve ammo then."

    Tycon pat the man on his shoulder te, "No need to make excuses to me, Brother-Sergeant. I do not need to berate you. You and your team are keenly aware of the consequences of your wastefulness."

    Salt brooded over his words for a moment... before suddenly perking up, "One more thing, Sir... what... should we do about the prisoner?"

    "...The prisoner?" Tycon furrowed his brows, "What prisoner? ...Did you... capture one of the gorgons?"

    A gorgon would be nothing but trouble. They don''t listen to orders and loved toin... and loudly. No, Tycon would not have that. He''d order them killed immediately.

    "The uh... girl, Sir."

    Tycon narrowed his gaze to judgmental squints, "You captured a female gorgon? We are an equal opportunity guild, Sergeant. I would have her executed just as--"

    "--Sir."

    Tycon hooked Salt''s neck with his arm and powered a knee into his side, "--don''t interrupt me, young man. Now... what was I saying? Ah, yes, equal opportunity."

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon met with Athena in Guild Letalis'' dim corner of the Dungeon.

    "Two questions," he started. "The first is-- I''m honestly curious and not trying to be rude... but why are *you* still here?"

    Athena was ying cards with Tycon''s shadow, the limbless, ck-armored, golden-eyed blur of magic. It gestured Tycon towards it. Revealing its hand of cards to him, Tycon saw that the value, if he were to y it, would be quite high.

    ...He surmised that his shadow was better at children''s card games than he was.

    "What''s the second, Sir Tycon?" Athena inquired, "Ooh, ooh. If I guess it correctly, can I have a hug?"

    "No. Where is the prisoner?"

    "Aww... (I was wrong, anyroad...)" Athena sighed. She reached to her pack beside her and revealed... her wooden doll.

    Tycon frowned... "Boxtholomaeus is a member of Guild Letalis... not... not a prisoner."

    He felt sweat forming atop his head. Had the young mimic realized that his contract was highly oppressive and unfair? There was a one week period of time that he could renege on the agreement.

    "Boxxyyy~" Athena sang. "Show him!"

    The wooden doll opened its mouth... and audibly retched, ''vomiting'' forth an impossiblyrger humanoid figure onto the ground. It was the shrouded and hooded mage that he had sent his shadow to deal with... and was currently bound in a dark rope.

    Spatial magic was strange.

    "You''re... a monster..." The hooded female coughed. "There wasn''t... any... air in there."

    "I doubt that is true, as you are still alive, youngdy," Tycon chided... "So the young Boxtholomaeus can fit an entire humanoid inside of his... inventory?"

    "Mister Lawrence doesn''t fit," Athena shrugged. "But I can, just fine."

    Tycon decided not to ask why they thought it was a good idea to test those specifics.

    "So me and Mister Ultra-Death-Shadow..." Athena continued, "--we thought it''d be best to have Boxy guard the prisoner."

    "It was a very strange experience, keeping her inside me as she wiggled about," Boxtholomaeus admitted.

    "I''d imagine it wouldn''t be," Tycon nodded.

    "I would rather not do so again, if at all possible."

    ? System, inquiry: Target status and... information. ?

    ? System response: The target is suffering mana fatigue and is suffering a light case of indigestion. Iron-Rank Shadow Snake Adept. ?

    "R-release me at once," The young human woman looked up with a re. She had short, scraggly raven hair and her pupils were red... a trait unlike that of her Shadow Snake kin. Strange.

    "Don''t you know who I am?!" She shrieked.

    Hm. It seemed the youngdy was a transformed snakeblood, simr to himself.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "No, I do not."

    "Hear my name and fear it!" The bound teenage girl wiggled, "My name is Suka! Consort of the IVORY PRINCE!!"

 Chapter 463 Sweet Prince

    ?"You''re... what?"

    Tycondrius''s jaw hung loosely as he stared at Suka. The girl defiantly returned his gaze... though the effect wasrgely muted, as she was bound like a barrel strapped to a supply cart.

    ...Her eyes were... deadly serious.

    Nervously, he nced around at his Letalispanions...

    She was supposed to be his consort? He would have no such thing-- he was decades older than the hatchling. Coupling with her would certainly be a crime! --or it should be, anyroad.

    Boxtholomaeus shook his wooden head, "I don''t know who this person is, Sir."

    Athena pursed her lips to the side, "Don''t look at *me*?! I have no clue..."

    The shadow shook its helmeted head.

    "W-well, that doesn''t matter!" Suka huffed, vigor returning to her determined wriggling, "Release me! These bindings won''t hold me forever!!"

    "I dunno," Athena frowned, exhaling deeply. She was losing in the card game against Tycon''s Shadow... "The ropes are pretty strong..."

    "No, she''s right," Tycon sighed. "The rope will prove ineffective at limiting her for long. She has the advantage of a peculiar anatomy."

    ...As for why the youngdy had not yet transformed back into her Shadow Snake form... the answer was beyond him.

    "Mhm!" Suka bobbed her head in agreement. "Now, you weird devil-armored people have no choice but to--"

    "Break her legs," Tycon ordered.

    "Break my-- NNNNO!! WAIIIIIT!" The girl frantically screamed. "No! NNNNO! NO! You will NOT DO THAT!! I ORDER you not to do that!!"

    Tycon chuckled, "Why don''t you call on your... ''Ivory Prince'' to save you?"

    "Why you... Alright! FINE!" The child took a deep breath.

    Tycon hesitated... watching warily.

    ...Was the girl actually going to call for him?

    "SISSSS!! SAVE MEEEEEEE!!!!" Suka cried, bawling her eyes out.

    "Stars and stones," Tycon ced a palm over his eyes, his dull headache resurging... "Have some self-respect, youngdy."

    Athena tapped her forefingers together... "I kinda don''t wanna break her legs anymore."

    "I would... but I don''t think I am physically capable of doing so..." Boxtholomaeusmented in his childish voice, weakly holding up his wooden doll arms.

    Tycon''s shadow-- Ultra-Death-Shadow as Athena called it, poofed out of existence.

    "That''s fine," Tycon shrugged as he grabbed his curved de, still in its adamantine scabbard. He had nopunctions against doing it himself.

    "(Stay your hand, Sweet Prince...)" An echoey hiss resounded in his mind... its location, unidentifiable.

    "Empty night," Tycon rolled his eyes, the adrenaline draining out of his system. "Whattt now?"

    Athena clenched her tiny fists tight, looking about in a panic, "G-ghost!?"

    ...It appeared that he wasn''t the only one who heard the voice.

    Tycon red at the youngdy, "The entire Dungeon is filled with ghosts and undead. Why are you panicking only now?"

    "S-snake-ghosts are different than people-ghosts!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    The little Vanzano was very insistent.

    "...In what manner? ...besides the obvious?"

    A small crowd had gathered around Guild Letalis'' area. It was no surprise, as Suka''s incessant screaming had not been a silent affair.

    Even Mister Lawrence hade to witness the spectacle. The unconscious Bannok stillid draped over his shoulders... How had he gotten away from Aria? He wasn''t the stealthiest member of Guild Letalis.

    "(So these are the humans that trespass on our territory...)" The voice mused, evidently female. "(There are far fewer than I''d imagined. Mmmmm... and youuuuu, Sweet Prince... this one has not seen you since she was hunting... lizards in the Magic Kingdom.)"

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, approached with some hesitation... looking all around at their shadowy surroundings, "B... boss... W-why can I understand the hissing??"

    Tycon thought for a moment, examining the environment... "You can tell by the magical distortion in the air-- it''s a meremunication spell."

    Lone stared nkly. He obviously could not tell. From the zed look in the surrounding humans'' eyes, the Ranger was not the only one clueless.

    Tycon pursed his lips, thinking on how best to summarize... "You''ll hear our enemy''s speech in its natural tongue, oveid with your native tongue."

    "Ohhhh..." Lone nodded, "Got it. I was... kinda hoping I somehow learned snake-speak."

    "It''s called Parseltongue," Tycon chided. "I''ll teach youter, if you''d like."

    "BIG SIS!!!" The bound Suka wiggled and writhed, "SSSSAVE MEH-PLEASE!!"

    "(Oya? And what do you think this one is doing, hatchling?)" Said the voice.

    "NOT SAVING ME!!" Suka sniffled, "They''re gonna break my legs!!"

    "Lone, break her legs," Tycon insisted.

    "(Do nottttttt break her legs~ Uhuhu~)" The voice sang.

    Lone grimaced... "Wh... who do I listen to?"

    Tycon reared his head back in incredulity, "Me! ...OBVIOUSLY!!"

    Grumbling in annoyance, Tycon shut his eyes, opening a dialogue with his System.

    ? System, disy themunication details. ?

    ? System response: Communication details with Ananta are as follows... ?

    Tycon reviewed the information in his mind...

    ? Ananta, Gold-Rank Shadow Snake Incanter. ?

    Ananta was a 60-fulm long Shadow Snake he''d met previously on his journeys in the Kingdom. There, she had shared with him a drop of her blood essence.

    Honing in on that magical connection, the woman was able to use him as a target of a long-rangemunication spell... without his permission. Either she had a spell or had the tools avable to empower that into an audible conversation... with his own mana as a medium.

    Though he could have forcibly cut the connection, he decided that it would behoove him to converse openly... with a few changes to the settings.

    Using his System, a transparent blue avatar of Ananta appeared amidst the Brazen Guard collective. She appeared in her human form, a mature human woman with dark and disheveled hair that fell to her shoulders.

    ...On further observation, Ananta''s human-form had an uncanny resemnce to Suka''s.

    Also, Tycon dressed the avatar in a simple but elegant ck dress that befit her station as a matriarch of her people. If he didn''t, he was fairly certain she would appear nude.

    "(OohHHhh... Clothes, Sweet Prince?)" Ananta coquettishly ced a finger to her lips. "(I''m quite proud of my human form... and it''s best appreciated... without.)"

 Chapter 464 Oâ€™ Sol Invictus

    ?Tycondrius rolled his eyes, "I assume you''re the master of this Dungeon, then?"

    "(In~deed,)" She nodded. Walking forward with a sultry sway, the avatar brushed the back of her see-through hand along Tycon''s cheek. "(After you destroyed the Caretaker... full control of the Dungeon Core has passed onto this one...)

    "(It is this one''s turn for a question...)" Ananta whispered into his ear. It was a symbolic action, as everyone in the Brazen Guard collective could hear her voice due to her spell, "(She has granted you... the secrets of her body... Do you still think of me? Sweet Prince?)"

    He mulled over Ananta''s question. The honest answer was a clear and emphatic no.

    However... that was almost certainly the incorrect answer.

    "...Maybe?" Tycon answered sheepishly.

    "You did WHAT?!" Suka shrieked, "With HIM???!"

    "(In... deed~)" Ananta licked her lips. "(And what I gained in return... was. a most. delectable. meal.)"

    Athena gasped audibly... then red at Tycon with clearly discernible disgust.

    Tycon turned towards her with furrowed brows, "Miss Athena... why are you looking at me like that?"

    "Y-you''re horrible, Sir Tycon!" The youngdy pouted her lips, "You slept with that woman! You just sleep with everyone, don''t you?!"

    What?

    ...OH!

    Tycon held his palms out towards Athena and the crowd, "I did NOT have sexual rtions with this woman!! Ananta, tell them!"

    "(That is correct,)" Ananta tilted her head, "(This one already has a mate. We are quite loyal, thus far.)"

    "Oh, congrattions." Tycon nodded, "Have I met them?"

    ? "(No, I don''t believe so.)"

    "ANYROAD!!!" Athena shouted, "Keep your hands off of Sir Tycon!! He already has a girlfriend! Also, it''s not me! I ALREADY HAVE SOMEONE I LIKE!!"

    "Do you?" Tanamar asked with a sly smirk. It seemed he had also joined the crowd to watch Tycon''s morality openly questioned.

    "...It''splicated," She turned away with reddened cheeks.

    Tycon crossed his arms. Athena was quite convinced that he had a girlfriend... Why was he not aware of this? He nced over at the face-nted Suka. He also had another question, concerning... his ''consort.''

    "(Tsss... Foolish humans,)" Ananta scowled. "(Away from here... to the SHADOW REALM!!)"

    With a dramatic wave of her hand, each and every single adventurer of the Brazen Guard collective blinked out of existence... besides himself.

    Suka grinned from her spot on the floor, still bound, her legs still unbroken, "Yeah! You get what you deserve!!"

    "Stars and stones, Ananta!" Tycon threw his hands up in frustration, "Really? Did you just send all mypanions to the ne of Shadow?!"

    "What? No!" Ananta furrowed her brows, "That''s ridiculous! That would be a grant vition of the Gatekeeper''sws. I sent them to a Reality Marble powered by the Dungeon Core."

    "Ah... Very well," Tycon nodded. Rxing, he stretched his arms and back... then sat on Suka''s fallen form.

    "Oof, HEY! Come on!!" Sukained.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Hispanions would be safe for the current being. Ananta was certainly not an ally... but she wasn''t exactly an enemy. If he continued being polite, he could ask her to release them... and perhaps find a way out of the Dungeon. Failing that, he was fairly certain he could find a way to enter the Reality Marble and save them... "I believe it''s your turn to ask a question."

    Ananta gestured towards her sister, "What do you think of Suka? She wishes to be your consort."

    "I wish for NO SUCH THING, SISTER!!!" Suka wailed.

    Tycon drew his boot knife, idly twirling the well-bnced weapon in his fingers, "She''s rather rude."

    "She used to be very sweet," Ananta shook her head. "Then she spent a year in the Beast Kingdoms with War Princess Cass."

    "Lady Cassiopeia is a GODDESS!!" Tycon''s seat shouted. "And her brother is the IVORY PRINCE!! One of the greatest diators EVER!! From the legendary guild of--"

    "Oh, Sol Invictus..." Tycon spoke in rhyme as he cut Suka free of her bindings and stood up, "Thou shalt sing of us in praise."

    He offered the youngdy his hand... which she refused to take.

    "Else mourn thy dead, by bullet, spell, and de." Sukapleted the song quote, standing up on her own, brushing the dust off of her dark robe... "I guess you''re worth SOMETHING, if you know at least that."

    "She doesn''t know," Tycon looked to Ananta.

    "That is how it appears," Ananta shrugged. "Your question, then, Sweet Prince."

    "I bet you''re the Prince of something stupid!" Suka crossed her arms.

    "Is there any chance I and mypanions can leave this Dungeon peaceably? Preferably, I''d like as few of them to die, as possible."

    "This one has disabled all of the Caretaker''s traps to free up the Dungeon Core''s mana..." Ananta tapped her cheek, "but unfortunately, ording to my mate''s agenda, he would have all trespassers killed... yourself included."

    A few of the Dungeon''s defenses, Tycon had observed as crafted by a Fourth-Circle spellcaster. It made sense that with its resources no longer allocated into the Dungeon traps, it could feasibly sustain a Reality Marble. However, without Ananta''s assistance, breaking hispanions free became a far more troublesome task...

    Tycon sighed in frustration... "So be it."

    "My love, what is *taking* so LONG?" A harsh male voice echoed in Tycon''s mind.

    ? System, edit connection details: Provide an avatar for additional call participants. ?

    ? Setting changeplete. ?

    A transparent blue male avatar appeared at Ananta''s side...

    He was a two legged, two armed humanoid, devoid of clothing, and with scales covering his body. Atop its shoulders however... instead of a human-like head... it was the head of a hooded snake... like... a... cobra.

    Empty night.

    The male was a Yuan-Ti, a snakeblooded species from the eastern parts of the Realm. And now... all of the hooded snake imagery made sense.

    ? Gold-Rank Yuan-Ti Malison. ?

    "I don''t approve," Tycon muttered.

    "Tss," Suka scoffed. "First time I''ll agree with you on something."

    "So this is one of the humans attacking my halls?" The Yuan-Ti flicked his forked tongue disrespectfully, "Why are you wasting your time with this man, Ananta?"

 Chapter 465 Gaze

    ?"Malik~" Ananta bowed politely, "You might be familiar with this male. His royal name is... Tycondrius."

    Suka ced her hands against the side of her head-- "wat?"

    The Yuan-Ti''s eyes narrowed, "The progeny of the Queen of Stone? ...I see."

    Malik walked towards Tycon, back straight... his head and elongated neck swaying rhythmically to the sides. Did he not know how to walk? He looked ridiculous.

    "Ivory Prince, it''s a pleasure to make your--"

    "We''re done here," Tycon grabbed the robed girl by the wrist and began to walk away.

    "We''re wha? Huh? WahhHH??" Suka let out a high-pitched squeal, but obediently allowed herself to be dragged along.

    ? System, cut the connection. ?

    Both Ananta''s and Malik''s avatars abruptly blinked out of existence.

    ? Connection terminated. ?

    "Suka," Tycon turned, cing his hands on the girl''s shoulders.

    Gazing into her red eyes, the youngdy immediately closed them... pouting her small lips and trembling lightly.

    She was passably attractive-- not that Tycon saw the hatchling in a romantic light. With his rtionship with Ananta, he could treat her as his own younger sibling... if she rid herself of her attitude problem. And took a bath.

    "...What are you doing?"

    "I-DON''T-KNOW-IT-SEEMED-APPROPRIATE!!" She snapped.

    Tycon chose to ignore it, changing the topic to the matter on-hand, "Do you have ess to your sister''s Shadow Realm?"

    The messy-haired girl couldn''t decide where to look, ncing at her surroundings, down at Tycon''s chest, down at the floor-- "I... what? You''re..."

    "The Shadow Realm, youngdy."

    "I... I... I, yes? Yes? I do? I do. Of course, I do."

    A st of hot air assaulted Tycon''s senses as his surroundings changed instantaneously.

    Where before, he and Suka stood in a dim cavern upon green-tinted Dwarven stonework... they now stood upon a cobblestone road amongst human-designed buildings in a walled town.

    And the town was burning.

    Billowing smoke clouded the air, glowing a low orange from the fires in the streets adjacent. It reeked of charred and burnt human flesh. Screams of the ughter resounded just beyond and elsewhere.

    Sensing movement, Tycon turned... Less than twenty yalms away, a Snake Cultist wearing naught but warpaint chased down a fleeing human viger. Their hapless victim was mercilessly cut down with a hand scythe, their life reaped-- almost poetically.

    Suka crossed her arms... "This is the world the Reality Marble has formed... it looks like it''s during a snake cult attack on a human vige-- probably that mushroom-brain Malik''s idea."

    "I can see that..." Tycon was about to reach for his weapon... when he realized it was no longer on his waist. His spatial ring was gone, as well. He wore only a simple tunic and trousers.

    That wasn''t fair... Suka was no longer wearing her nondescript robe, but instead wore a set of strangely familiar mercenary armor... and had a sword at her side.

    He would have liked at least that much.

    "Your *humans* should be here somewhere," Suka shrugged, still refusing to meet his gaze. "That is... if they''re not already dead."

    Tycon looked over the horizon... there were guard towers along the town''s walled fortifications. Those would be useful for locating hispanions.

    However, before he would go on his way... he would see if he could trick his youngpanion into providing assistance. She seemed to have no love for that Malik fellow... and she also seemed to have forgotten that he and she were technically enemies.

    "Suka? Do you have power over this ce?"

    The snake girl hesitated, staring at the dead human, blood pooling around the corpse. The cultist continued to scream his brainwashed dogma, hacking noisily at the still twitching body-- unaware or uncaring that he was being observed.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Excuse me, young man," Tycon raised his voice. "We are *trying* to have a conversation."

    The cultist abruptly twisted his blood-stained body, meeting Tycon''s eyes with a furious re, "wHhOo in the SEVEN HELLS aRe--?!"

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Activate. Swiftly and without mercy. ?

    Immediately, the Unranked human dropped to the road, convulsing and choking... blood flowing from his mouth and nostrils.

    ? Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    "The... the gaze... of the Ivory Prince..." Suka whispered in a hoarse voice.

    "Now, where were we? Suka?" Observing the youngdy, Tycon sensed that the young woman''s heart rate had rapidly increased. Was she afraid of blood?

    "Oh! Y-yeah. Of course I do-- have power, I mean..." She shook her head-- then nodded. "My sister gave me some limited control... but..."

    She trailed off.

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Show me."

    "You can''tugh."

    "...Very well."

    "It''s embarrassing."

    "...That''s unlikely," Tycon assured her. "Please, go ahead."

    Manipting the Laws of even a mortal-created world was difficult. Any modicum of power the young Shadow Snake could disy would be impressive.

    "Well... you promised you wouldn''tugh..." Suka pouted.

    Tycon had promised no such thing.

    The youngdy gulped, "Here goes..."

    ...

    Suka grimaced, concentrating her magic and raising her arms towards the orange sky... She only really had one ability in her sister''s Reality Marble... and the Ivory Prince had personally requested to see it.

    Was he really the Ivory Prince? He said he was... and that was reason enough. And then Ananta said it, too... He had to be. There was only one Ivory Prince among their kind.

    She wanted to tell Izzy all about him... about how chiseled his jawline was, how green and smooth and soft his hair was, how hard his... muscles were, how she could just get lost in his eyes...

    And how... very... very pushy and rude he was.

    That was nothing like in the stories!

    A couple of epochs ago, Suka had seen Sol Invictus... she''d watched them fight in the Ezyrian arenas.

    The male in front of her had... the same build? It was definitely possible that this person was the Ivory Prince...

    The Tycon in the pit was a shy, arrogant exhibitionist. This one... was different. But then again, it made sense that the Ivory Prince''s in-the-pit persona was different from the one he used in his personal life.

    Suka was torn. Was she excited to meet the man she always wanted to meet? Or was she disappointed that he wasn''t as perfect as she thought he''d be?

    She had no idea why her heart pounded so hard when he said her name.

    Was she in love? With a man she''d never even met?

    ",

 Chapter 466 Sing Of Us In Praise

    ?Tycondrius turned as a door opened from a nearby building.

    He nced at the sign outside of it... carved into the wood was a plump winged creature with... an angry or annoyed expression. It was a public house.

    First to emerge was a... frustratingly familiar elf with sandy blonde hair. Two iconic long, straight des were sheathed on his waist.

    ...It was then that Tycon realized why Suka''s armor was so familiar. The elf wore the same design.

    ? Quies, Gold-Rank Elven Pathfinder Ranger. Guild Sol Invictus. ?

    Next to exit the pub was an armored, white-furred Weretouched boy, walking with an iron staff. Following him was a pale-skinned, dark-haired elf in golden robes, far taller than an average human. Last to walk out was a child-sized humanoid wearing ck goggles and with his face wrapped in tan strips of cloth.

    ? Levi Wolfrider, Iron-Rank Weretouched Warden; Indrazeal Zuko, Iron-Rank Elven Sorcerer; Gobsuke, Iron-Rank Goblin Sharpshooter. Guild Sol Invictus. ?

    "No..." Tycon could barely hide his surprise.

    Suka let out a heavy sigh... "Y-yeah."

    "WHAT IS the MEANING of THIS???" An annoying yet... oddly charming voice shouted.

    The pub door burst open noisily and an armored gentleman in gaudy diator attire rushed out. The handsome fellow was wearing an unstrapped half-helmet, his eyes hidden by a liftable single-slit visor.

    ? Tycondrius, Iron-Rank Maedar Warlord. ?

    "Stay away from my BEAUTIFUL and KIND, LEGALLY LAWFUL WIFE, you-- you CAD!!!" Other-Tycon shrieked, pointing angrily as he stomped towards them.

    Tycon slowly turned his face to Suka... The girl''s cheeks were stained a deep, wine-red.

    "Lawful wife?" He asked, "Have we wed?"

    Earlier, the youngdy had dered she was his consort. This newest bit of information was... quite different from that.

    "N-not in real life," Suka stammered.

    Tycon jabbed with a left, striking the exceedingly handsome other-Tycon in the chin... Feeling the jab connect, he followed with a powerful right straight at the same point with meticulous uracy.

    Other-Tycon dropped like a stone. His approach had left him wide open... and he didn''t have the speed or reflexes to dodge a Gold-Rank attack. As the other-him''s head struck the road, his helm rolled off... revealing a featureless face without eyes.

    That made sense... as Suka did not recognize his face enough to recreate it. Such were the limitations of making an urate mana-construct in his likeness.

    He immediately got to work stripping the fellow of the rest of Other-Tycon''s Arcanite armor... which was his.

    "Wh-wh-wh-at are you doing?!" Suka shouted, "That''s inappropriate!! Also that''s something I wouldn''t normally do! Nope!"

    "Hmm..." Tycon pursed his lips. "Why isn''t the other me wearing a tunic underneath?"

    "S-s-s-stop~!!!! Pleaheheheeeeease stop!!" Suka begged, holding onto his arm and pulling with all her pitiful strength, "Don''t take off his breechcloth!!"

    Tycon hesitated, turning and narrowing his gaze, "Why would I do that? I only want the chestte, gloves, and sandals."

    Suka retracted her hands in distress, mumbling to herself... which allowed Tycon to finish off stripping Other-Him.

    "...You know, Suka... in my human form, I only have one--"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Sh-shut up!!!"

    "Because, like a proper snake, I noticed that your mana-construct recreation of me has two--"

    ? "I KNOW, OKAY!!!" Suka seethed, her left eye twitching.

    Tycon chuckled quietly, enjoying teasing the young Shadow Snake. He felt a sudden surge of nostalgia... was this the sort of yful rtionship he had with his sister, Cass?

    "Help me with this, youngdy."

    "WHAT? ...Oh. Sure."

    He donned his breastte with Suka''s assistance in tightening the straps. Her lithe hands were... slightly more invasive than he thought appropriate, but he decided to ignore it.

    The armor fit perfectly. He had no memories of wearing it before, but even still, it granted him a sense offort and familiarity.

    ...

    Suka gulped watching the Ivory Prince put on his armor. It fit... so well. She just wished... only a little bit... that he''d show her what was underneath his tunic. Did he have abs? He definitely had abs. ABBBBBS.

    ARRRGHHH!!!! She''d missed the opportunity! She could have checked when she put her hands on him!

    And the way that he put on his helmet... oh, when he put that visor down and went into full-battle seriousness... he''d be so, stunningly sexy...

    As Prince Tycon put on the rest of his gear, he casually pointed to the arranged members of Sol Invictus-- at Levi Wolfrider, "Swap that one out, if you would."

    "What? Why?" Suka grimaced. "Wolfrider is the most popr person in Sol Invictus! ...Next to Ranger Quies, anyroad. Those two with you are the most ''shipped couple in--"

    "--That is enough, thank you," Prince Tycon twisted his lips to the side... "Anyroad, that''s not even remotely true. Last I checked, Lulu has won all the poprity contests... followed perhaps by Quay, then by Be Sapphira, and--"

    "Alright, alright! I get it!!" Suka growled, "I know, okay! I was just..."

    She was testing him. It wasn''t right-- it really wasn''t. She somehow knew in her heart that Prince Tycon was the real deal. But there was something about him that just didn''t sit right.

    With a sweep of her hand, Levi Wolfrider disappeared into mana-dust... and the closed pub door opened once more. A behemoth of a man ducked his head low to cross the threshold and took his ce standing with the rest of Sol Invictus.

    Stretching to his full height close to nine fulms tall, the red-haired Titanblood, Droghan Ashlord waved his meaty hand, "Yo."

    "That will do," Prince Tycon nodded. "Now... give me a weapon."

    Suka''s heart raced once more. She knew a way to prove that the Ivory Prince wasn''t who he said he was! Concentrating once more... she recalled every training weapon she''d ever wielded... She trained with all of the weapons Sol Invictus used, because... because of course she would.

    They spilled out of the door of the public house in a heap... spears and greathammers and heavy-crossbows, Turathi hextech and Tyrion steel.

    Prince Tycon pursed his lips, "Above and beyond. Thank you, Suka."

    "Haha... thanks," Sukaughed nervously.

    WAIT!! That was wrong!

    Her eyes shot wide-open and she began to shout, "No, WAIT!! NO!! This is a TEST!! CHOOSE YOUR WEAPON, IVORY PRINCE!!"

 Chapter 467 Ten Thousand Years

    ?Tycondrius stared thoughtfully at the haphazard pile Suka had summoned...

    Choose a weapon? How asinine...

    He could perform effective murder with any standard military weapon.

    But still... having the freedom of choice was a luxury.

    Walking over, he began sifting through the assortment. Thankfully, when he delved through his memories with Sasarame''s help, he grew familiar with more than a few of the unique, enchanted Sol Invictus weaponry Suka provided...

    The most easily identifiable was a t, massive, and blunt weapon-- ugly and with a dull edge.

    Its name was Dread.

    Dragan called it... a sword. He was the only member of Sol Invictus with the strength to wield it as such. The Titanblood had once told him the ck, light-swallowing metal was called... ''Infant Annihtor''... supposedly the ''death-liest'' metal known to the Realm.

    With no knowledge otherwise, Tycon epted it as fact.

    He lifted the impossibly heavy sword with great difficulty, even considering his Gold-Rank physique. It was far heavier than even adamantine... and with the metal''s obvious scarcity, the junk-looking weapon was far more powerful than it seemed.

    "So you pick THAT weapon!!" Sukaughed, then forced her voice as hoarse and as deep as she could, "I... SHOULD''VE KNOWWNNN!!!"

    Tycon furrowed his brows, remembering that the girl had designated this as a test.

    ...Then he decided that he did not particrly care. He would do as he pleased.

    "Dragan. Come here."

    ? Droghan Ashlord, Iron-Rank Titanblood Berserker. ?

    "Comin''!" The Titanblood jogged towards him, taking the offered weapon... with a surprising amount of obedience. The red-headed half-giant picked it up with ease, resting it over his shoulder, "Got it."

    Tycon pursed his lips. This Dragan was clearly younger and smaller than the one he was used to... but he still stood taller than Zuko and of course, himself.

    There was something slightly... off in the way he spoke. Tycon could attribute it to the fact that, again, Suka did not know Sol Invictus well enough to faithfully instill personalities into their mana-constructed forms.

    Shaking the thought from his mind, he picked up a two-handed sword, made of a shimmering red and gold metal. Its design was far more... ornate-- bordering on ostentatious. It was an Elven sword.

    It felt much... different than it should have, but it was clearly supposed to be Zuko''s signature weapon. The real sword was instilled with a very... fickle weapon spirit. Hongyue would have never allowed Tycon to handle her without her explicit permission.

    He tossed it over to the Sorcerer, "Zuko!"

    "Got it," The pale elf caught the de.

    Finally, he picked up a long-barreled Turathi rifle, tossing it much more carefully than the previous two, "Gobsuke."

    The child-sized goblin hopped up, catching it with both hands. He did not offer a word of acknowledgment.

    ...It seemed that Suka got one personality right.

    The youngdy stomped her foot upon the Dungeon stones, fuming, "That''s-- that''s not!! Argh!! You! YOU pick a weapon!!"

    Tycon sighed, walking over to the young Shadow Snake.

    ...

    "What-- what are you doing?!" Suka took a half-step backward, "You didn''t pick yet??!"

    W-was he going to choose her?! She wasn''t a weapon!! She specifically stated he had to choose A WEAPON!!

    Her heart felt like it was about to give out as she stared into the Ivory Prince''s golden eyes. She''d experienced it so many times before... but this was-- oh noOoOo! This was the actual Ivory Prince (maybe) walking towards the actual her!

    Suka wasn''t ready! She wasn''t readyyYyyY!!

    He stood over her and leaned down to meet her gaze... just ilms away.

    He was close enough to smell her breath. He was close enough... to kiss her.

    Oh, no... she left the spearmint leaves at home...

    "You''re trembling."

    Suka gulped. She opened her mouth to argue but... no words came out.

    She felt his strong hand holding her lower back... he was going to pull her close and... and...

    "Eep!!" His other hand was touching her thigh. The feelings she was experiencing was... out of this Realm.

    "I''ll be taking this," Tycon smirked.

    Suddenly, he released her and stepped back... making Suka feel a dozen different shades of relief... and TEN THOUSAND YEARS OF DISAPPOINTMENT!!!!

    Tycon pulled the sword out of its catch, inspecting the de, "This will do."

    Suka''s eyes widened as she nced down at her side. The Ivory Prince had taken her sword!!

    That!! THAT!!!

    ...That was the right answer to her test.

    W... why did he have to choose that sword?

    "That..." Suka gulped, grimacing... her lips quivering like crazy... "That was the only weapon you weren''t allowed to pick..."

    "I like this one," Tycon smiled... a gorgeous, heart-shaking smile. He reced the de into its sheath and adjusted the weapon belt onto his own waist, "I''m assuming that mypanions will die if they are killed in your sister''s Shadow Realm?"

    "Y... yeah..." Suka responded, all of her energy whisked far, far away...

    "...Youngdy, are you crying?"

    Suka wiped at the corners of her eyes, "N... no..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tearing up a little was NOT the same as crying!

    "Last question," Tycon gestured towards the members of Sol Invictus. "Is it your mana signature that controls these... add-ons?"

    Suka nodded quietly... It was so embarrassing that the Ivory Prince now knew that she made likenesses of her heroes (besides Prince Droghan-- that meathead could burn forever in the Eternal Battlefield.)

    She felt Prince Tycon''s hand on her chin... and she looked up. Close. He was too close.

    Again, her heart started beating like it wanted out, out, OUT of her chest.

    He thumbed the front of her chin... and she opened her mouth very slightly. Oh.

    She felt a slow and steady pressure on her lower back again... but this time he did pull her close. Oh. Oh, no...

    Suka had absolutely no idea where to put her hands.

    But she did know to close her eyes.

    And then Suka was kissed by the Ivory Prince.

    ...MmMpHHh!!! ...TONGUE!!!

    AHHHH!!!!!!

    Her eyes shot open. The Ivory Prince was deep-kissing her!!!! She didn''t even go that far with-- AHHH!!!!

    She couldn''t think anymore! Her mind waspletely nk! What was happening?! Why was she here?! Her chest was thumping so painfully!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

    ...

    Tycon released his kiss... but furrowed his eyebrows upon seeing the girl''s expression.

    Her eyes were wide and her pupils were dted, staring into space.

    ...Did she... break?

    He gently wiped the corner of her lips with his thumb. She was drooling.

    Initially, he was going to apologize for forcibly kissing the youngdy. However, considering her reaction, he wondered if she would thank him for it-- or if he should have charged coin for the service.

    ...That was assuming this was a positive reaction and not a horrified one. He was very handsome, so he would assume it was the former.

    The young Shadow Snake fancied herself as his future wife. He wasn''t quite willing to wed someone he did not know well... but a simple kiss was innocent enough.

    He had his System copy the mana signature in her saliva. It was an additional advantage he could possibly utilize. He liked being thorough.

    "I''ll be going then, Suka," Tycon smirked, trying to keep his amusement in check.

    "H... have a nice trip..." She muttered.

    Tycon put the visor down on his helmet, turned, and walked towards the next battle... "Sol Invictus, with me."

    ...

    He walked quietly with the members of his guild, down a street of burning buildings. They turned a corner, finding a small group of half-a-dozen Snake Cultists killing and torturing an elderly couple.

    Tycon casually cut a man''s legs off. Dragan cleaved a man from top to bottom with Dread, damaging the road in the process. Zuko lit the rest of them on fire. Gobsuke watched in silence.

    "Oh,e on!!" Quayined, "I didn''t get to do anything!"

    "Quay, you''ll be fine," Tycon frowned... "You''ll get the chance to act soon, I''m sure."

    The sandy-blonde elf bit his words and pouted.

    Tycon crossed his arms, looking at hispanions. Theirbat prowess was solid... but the atmosphere was slightly off.

    "My gentlemenpanions... tell me your thoughts on the current situation."

    They were in a Reality Marble, ominously called the Shadow Realm. The setting was a town set aze by the Snake Cult... somewhere in the Holy Country, it seemed. Still, he wished to know their minds on the matter.

    Pathfinder Quay drew his straight des, flourishing them fantastically, "I''m an elf, a masterful master of the BLADE DANCE!!!"

    Fair.

    The young, red-headed Titanblood, Dragan, pointed a meaty thumb at his chest, "I''m an idiot that can''t cast a single spell! And I recklessly charge into every battle, because I''m stupid and it''s eventually gonna get me killed!!"

    Mostly true.

    The pale elf, Indrazeal Zuko, crossed his arms, "I act cold and aloof because I don''t want my closest friends to know that I secretly enjoy theirpany."

    urate.

    Tycon grimaced... "None of those responses addressed my question."

    He looked to Gobsuke.

    The goblin shrugged, idly inspecting his Turathi rifle, "Concerning the situation... it makes me question why I hang out with you guys."

    Tycon took a deep breath and sighed... He was going to do something he would regret. The sun seemed filled with situations of that nature.

    ? System, change settings: ...I need these mana-constructs personalities restored ording topiled data. ?

    ? System response: Settings are locked and require administrator ess. ?

    ? System, override using Suka''s mana signature. ?

    ? Overriding... Setting changesplete. ?

 Chapter 468 True Face Of Sol Invictus

    ?Tycondrius opened his eyes... and looked for a change amongst hispanions.

    Dragan shook his head, his red-mop of hair pping about. It was reminiscent of a wet dog shaking its fur, "What the hells...? OHH!! BURNING TOWN!! BOSS!! Are we the ones doin'' the BURNINATING?!?"

    "No, not this time," Tycon smirked. "Snake Cultists are attacking this human town."

    "Tch," Zuko sneered. "What trash fire mages do these losers have? I could burn down this whole street with two spells-- no survivors."

    "Ce on, Zuko! Aha..." Quayughed nervously. "Like Tycon says, we''re here to save people! To be HEROES!!"

    The Elven Pathfinder ced his hands on his hips, pushing his chest out and smiling radiantly.

    "Shut up, Quay," Zuko rolled his eyes.

    "Ahaha HAHAHAW!!" Dragan loosed augh, deep and boisterous, "Shut up, QUAYYY!"

    "Oh,e onnnn, guys!!" The sandy-blonde elf whined. "Tyconnnn! Tell ''em!!"

    Tycon shook his head, unable to hide a smile of contentment.

    This was the true face of Sol Invictus.

    "We''re here to save a human adventuringpany called the Brazen Guard. Any questions?"

    "Question!" Quay raised his hand. "What happened to your face? I mean-- where''s all your piercings and stuff?"

    "Irrelevant," Tycon waved the elf away, "This is what I look like. Next question."

    Zuko narrowed his eyes, "Yeah. I got one. What the hells is wrong with my mana? It feels like half of my gods-damned circuits are blocked off. And where he hells is that stupid kid, Hongyue?"

    "The four of you are mana-constructs in a Reality Marble," Tycon exined.

    "Ugh, this is bull," Zuko sighed, shaking his head.

    The pale elf didn''tin more than that. He was seemingly unsurprised by the situation.

    ...This was not the most ridiculous adventuring premise Tycon and his guild hade upon.

    Gobsuke crossed his arms... deep in thought.

    Tycon gestured towards him, "Did you have a question, Gobsuke?"

    "No... It all makes sense now. There were holes in my memory that I couldn''t exin... For example, I don''t recall the name of my very mundane, very normal wife."

    Tycon grimaced. He recalled being often told that Gobsuke''s wives were very attractive... and had high-tierbat sses.

    Dragan looked over, "Which one?"

    "My blonde wife."

    "Oh, I don''t remember her name, either," Dragan shrugged. "Nor the other one''s."

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch. Why did the Titanblood ask for rification then?

    Dragan raised his hand in the air, "BOSS! Is coteral damage permissible?"

    "To structures, yes. To civilians-- preferably not."

    "SOUNDS GOOD!!! GAHAHAHA!!" Dragan cackled. Like an excited child, he mmed his very, very heavy weapon against the road... forming deep, heavy cracks.

    Zuko let out a deep sigh, "Asking for permission, just so you won''t screw upter? Typical of you, Dragan."

    "Oh, PSHHHH!!! You''re one to talk, Zuko! Hohaha~" Dragan chuckled. "You''re the reason we''re not allowed back in Jacksonville!"

    "Are you kidding me? That was all you and that junkie, Horse." Zuko angrily clenched his teeth, "I''m sick and tired of always getting med for your mistakes."

    "Wait! Hold on!!" Quay pushed himself in between the tall elf and the taller Titanblood, "What happened in Jacksonville! I don''t remember anything happening when we went to Jacksonville!"

    "Shut up, Quay!" "Yeah, shut up, Quay."

    "Tyconnnnn!!!" Quay pouted. "They''re picking on me, again!"

    It had gotten much noisier... but it no longer felt out of ce. It was more like... a nostalgic memory. It was fake... his own recreation of old suns he no longer remembered. Still, he could keep the best memories and move onward, seeking to relive glories past.

    "Gobsuke!" Tycon called out. "Find us a path to one of the fortification towers."

    ...

    ? A short time and 22 dead cultistster. Dragan: 6 kills. Quay: 11 assists. ?

    Dragan pursed his lips to the side, "Iin'' friendly."

    The small form of Gobsuke dropped down from a nearby roof...

    "?Catfall...?" A half-second before he hit the ground, his movement magically slowed... and he resumed a normal walking pace, as if he hadn''t just leapt off of a two-story building.

    "Report," Tycon saluted with his fist to his chest.

    "Light resistance, cold weapons." The goblin returned the salute. He raised his ck goggles and loosened his cloth mask, revealing his green skin and pointed teeth. "Under twenty. Path to the fort has roving bands of ten each... approx. thirty cultists. Same gear."

    Gobsuke pointed down a different alleyway, "One band that way. They''re chasing someone, if Quay wants to be a hero."

    "Quay always wants to be a hero," Dragan shrugged.

    "Gotta give him a little credit," Zuko rolled his eyes. "He''s able to save someone two out of three times."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Ehhh..." Dragan tilted his head, "I''m thinkin'' more like three outta five."

    "I. TRY. MY. BEST!!" Quay pointed his finger down at the road indignantly, "Even if my best is out of four."

    "Hah! Hahaha!!" Dragan scoffed, "Aaaaand your best gets us in trouble more than Lulu and Horsebined-- no offense, Quay."

    "But not more than Dragan and anyone elsebined," Zuko smirked. "Offense intended."

    The pale elf was willfully avoiding the fact that the most troublesome duo was Dragan paired with Zuko, himself.

    "We''ll do it," Tycon nodded, "Quay, you and I: front. Dragan, Zuko: nk. Gobsuke, skyward."

    "Whoa," Quay looked stunned. "Deviating from the objective, Tycon? And you want to front-line with me?"

    Tycon shrugged, "I''m in the mood to watch you prance about."

    "It''s called the de Dance!" Quay dered proudly, "A most noble and elegantnguage of battle, which I am totally fluent-- H-hey, wait for me!!"

    Tycon sprinted ahead. Behind him, he heard the heavy steps of Dragan, the light steps of Quay and Zuko, and the climbing ws of Gobsuke.

    The current objective was to save lives... but he looked forward to seeing Sol Invictus in action.

    ...

    "RUNNNNNNNN~ GIRLIE!!!!" A Snake Cultist yelled.

    Fortuna could hear the scraping of metal along the road as she ran for her life. Her tiny legs could only move so fast... and she could barely breathe. But if she stopped...

    She couldn''t stop! She had to keep running.

    "Little bugger!" One of them yelled, "Sod it all! Throw the hatchets!!"

    She could barely see the road ahead... her nose and eyes stung from the smoke and her vision was so blurry with tears. But as hard as she tried... this was all she could do. It was all over for her...

    Suddenly, a force... a magical force swept her off her feet.

    "Whoa, calm down." A soothing musical voice whispered, "I got''cha."

    Fortuna wiped her eyes to gaze upon the face of... an elf? A pureblooded elf? She had never met her grandparents... was this one of them?

    He had picked her up in one of his arms... and a miracle happened. He spun the weapon in his opposite hand, a long, beautiful Elven sword... and he struck down every single thrown axe and p that the bad guys threw.

    "Who... who are you?" She asked.

    The elf revealed a bright smile... "A hero."

    Fortuna''s heart raced as she identified the golden sun on his diator armor... "Sol... Invictus. You''re... you''re Quay! Of Sol Invictus!!"

    "Now is not the time for romance, Mister Quay," A surly voice scolded. It belonged to another diator in shy muscle-y armor... but it had the same sun symbol and he wore a visored helmet that hid his eyes. "Are you injured, little one?"

    "T-tycon!! Th-the Tactician of Sol Invictus!!!" Fortuna screamed. Her heroes... her heroes hade to save her. It was a dream... it was definitely a dream...

    "Oh? Is that what they call me?" Tycon hmphed.

    "Well, the Hero of Sol Invictus is already taken," Quayughed as he ced Fortuna back on solid ground.

    Fortuna couldn''t help but embrace Quay around the waist, burying her face into his stomach, "Mom and dad... they... they..."

    "They were... DELICIOUS... Hur hur hurrr..." A Snake Cultist interrupted. The man had no shirt and huge muscles... and blood ran down his chin and chest.

    Fortuna wasn''t dreaming. She was having a nightmare.

    Then the nearby building exploded.

    It was a monster... a giant, nine-foot tall... red-headed person wearing animal furs... covered in brickdust andughing like he was crazy. He burst out of the wall and grabbed two Cultists by their heads like they were ragdolls... and he kept running... and smashed into another building on the opposite side of the street.

    ...

    Tycon sighed... "I specifically recall asking Mister Dragan to *nk* the enemies, not to cut through the middle of them."

    "Y-yeah," Quay scratched the back of his head. "You did."

    "D-dragan?!" The eyes of the pink-haired, half-elf child nearly bulged out of her head. "That was Dragan?! He''s so much bigger in person! Y-you guys really are Sol Invictus!"

    "In the flesh!" Quay shed his trademark smile, "--or in the mana-flesh, I think. I''m not really sure, to be honest."

    "Tss," Tycon shook his head. "So our reputation precedes us..."

    It seemed that in whatever past setting Ananta''s Shadow Realm was based in, Sol Invictus was far more easily recognizable.

    "We aren''t the number one diator guild in the Holy Country for nothin'', Ty," Quay grinned.

    "Don''t call me that."

    "Oh,e on, Tyconnnn~! You always let me call you that!"

    "Go... go do something heroic or something," Tycon shooed his guild leader away. "I will protect the whelpling."

    "I thought you''d never ask!" Quay drew his other weapon... cing them in a stylistic cross in front of him.

    Why would he think that? It seemed like a normal thing to ask for, considering Quay''s personality.

 Chapter 469 Fortuneâ€™s Favor

    ?Tycondrius always thought of the Elven de dance as... the most perplexing ofbat arts.

    Pathfinder Quay stepped forward... though he didn''t seem to step with his feet. The elf''s form shifted and swayed like a breeze... and his swords sang like a... whimsical song.

    A Cultist''s severed hands fell to the road, followed by his head. Then the jaws of two humans were sliced off. Another sprouted a fountain of blood from the top of his forehead.

    Quay was moving far too quickly for the blood to reach him. He weaved through the poorly armored Snake Cultists, like he had choreographed a dance with them beforehand. The group pushed and pulled rhythmically to the left and right until...

    Until Dragan''s building exploded. Again.

    "OHHHH, YEAHHHHH!!!"

    Tycon noted the addition of two still-bleeding human heads, tied to his belt. It appeared the heads weren''t severed with a de... but had been forcibly torn off of their bodies.

    It was suitably intimidating, if slightly unhygienic. He nned to ask Dragan to wash his hands with soap and water upon finishing the current round of enemies.

    The Titanblood sprinted towards Quay... leapt into the air and thrust out both legs, mming his boots into one of the few remaining cultists. That fellow flew a dozen fulms away-- and with such force that the man was decapitated on a sharp corner of a section of wall.

    Quay was so stunned that he allowed a ssh of blood upon his armor. Poor form, "D... DRAGANNN!!!!!"

    "NA-HA-HA-HIIIIIICE!!!!!" Dragan wasughing as he ran,ughing with his leaping double-kick, and was stillughing as he got to his feet, "Did you guys see that?! His FREAKIN'' HEAD flew off!! Ahaha! HAHA! Hahhhhh... What?"

    "Nicely done," Tycon shrugged. He''d grant credit where it was due.

    "You screwed up my steps!" Quay cried.

    "Come on, bud!" Dragan pat Quay on his back... with bloody hands that stealthily (and purposely) smeared more blood onto the elf''s normally pristine armor, "Dancing''s all about improvisation, anyroad!"

    "The BLADE DANCE!!" Quay shouted, "Is a sacred and graceful disy of swordsmanship! A celebration ofbat!! Not-- not, whatever the seven hecks you just did!!"

    "I''m thinkin'' to call it... ''The Dragan Dropkick.''" The Titanblood raised a clenched fist, "I''m gonna make it my signature move. Whaddya think? Nice, right?"

    Tycon recalled no such thing.

    "So... cool..." The small half-elf whispered in awe.

    The Titanblood''s bold (albeit reckless) disy had momentarily ceased the youngdy''s tears. Nice.

    "See?" Dragan grinned, "The whelpling gets it."

    "WhaAAAAtttt iSSSSSss THISSSSSSSSSSS??!?!!" A dark echo reverberated off of the walls of the building.

    A spellcaster had arrived.

    In a gout of green me, a hunched over pepper-haired man appeared behind the cultists, "Elvvesssss... I... HAaaAAAAaTE.... you POiNtyyy EarRRred fffREAKS..."

    "NICE! Geek the mage?" Dragan asked, still grinning like a fool.

    "Let me go first, Tycon," Quay asked, his seriousness returning.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Hold a moment," Tycon shook his head, having already sensed Indrazeal Zuko''s movement.

    The human Warlock pointed his palms forward, the Snake Cultists scrambling to his side and rear. A sickening and dirty green me surged from his form, sheathing him in corrupted power.

    Before he could attack, a magical sh of gold appeared at his side. There, stood Elven Sorcerer Zuko, his elegant red and gold sword strapped to his back, "Who the hells are you?"

    It was a sudden burst of heat, controlled perfectly... exhibiting a mastery high above that of the Warlock''s. The tall elf grabbed one of the human''s wrists and twisted it... snapping the fool''s fragile bones in a single, smooth motion.

    Chantless casting. wless execution of martial techniquesbined with elemental spellcasting. Zuko belonged to the Legendary Phoenix Hidden Sect. Such a straightforward name was... terrifically arrogant, but the gentle-elf was a peerless practitioner of his art.

    ...As powerful as he seemed, Zuko was a mana-construct constrained by the limitations of Ananta''s Shadow Realm. In the real, he had surpassed Iron-Rank well over a century prior.

    All at once, the green mes retracted as the Warlock fell to a knee in agony, "Y-youuu... I... I am... PyRAXxis... SSss...LaAAYerr... of--"

    Zuko pulled the Warlock up by his broken wrist and nted a merciless fist into his abdomen.

    Two cultists were hiding behind the spellcaster... likely for safety''s sake. They were immediately engulfed by super-heated, bone-cracking mes. They didn''t even have time to scream before they were burnt to charred meat... the fires extinguishingpletely, a mere second afterward.

    Zuko narrowed his eyes at the dying Warlock, "I didn''t say you could talk..."

    The Warlock returned the re... his gaze trembling... his teeth clenched... struggling to keep conscious through his suffering.

    "...Actually--" Dragan''s voice interrupted the deathly silence, "You asked him a question, bud. It made a whole lotta sense for him to answer."

    Zuko angrily half-turned back to the Titanblood, "Did I *ask* for your opinion, Dragan?"

    "It''s not an opinion!" Dragan argued. "When you ask a question, the other guy''s gotta answer! It''s science!"

    The elf turned away...

    "I forgot," He muttered under his breath.

    A loud, booming explosion resounded from nearby... and the Warlock''s head burst like a melon struck by a hammer. Three more shots rang out... and the remaining cultists fell, their heads cracked open just the same.

    Tycon nced up to a rooftop, some three or four hundred yalms away, where Sharpshooter Gobsuke was aiming down the sights of his Turathi rifle. The tiny speck of a goblin was performing a hand signal... pumping his fist up in the air.

    [Hurry up.]

    Zuko growled low to himself. In another quick sh of magic, fire sheathed his form for a split second, purging the blood from his face and clothing... "So everyone gets to mess around-- and when I finally do something, that''s when we have to hurry up? Typical of you guys."

    Tycon shook his head. He wanted no part of that argument.

    He knelt down to face the half-elf child that Quay had saved, "Youngdy..."

    "M-my name is Fortuna," She muttered... tears again beginning to form in her overlyrge eyes.

 Chapter 470 Half-Human Son

    ?Quay knelt down at the half-elf child''s opposite side, "Hey, hey... don''t cry. Listen, Fortuna. We''re going to need your help... to save as many people as we can. We need you to be a hero, right now."

    The young girl nodded, wiping at her eyes with her soot-covered dress, "I... Alright."

    Tycondrius breathed a sigh of relief... It was nice to have someone intelligent in their group that could deal with crying children.

    "Miss Fortuna, did you see any groups of people fighting against the Snake Cultists?"

    ...

    ? Guard Tower. First Floor. ?

    "Tyconnn!!" Quay moaned, "I cut my hand! Can I get a ?Heal???"

    "No," Tycon groaned. "My mana reserves are low and you''re not that important."

    "Is it ''cos I''m a mana-construct??" Quay cried. "Mana-constructs are people too!"

    "Yes. And no, they are not."

    "But it hurts!"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, not deigning to grant the elf a response. Quay''s young son, Pale, had never... EVER...ined as much as his father did.

    Tycon kicked open the wooden door, which swung in, to the left. The cultists appeared to be expecting the intrusion... not that they could do anything about it.

    He grabbed a nude human female by the face. mming the back of her head against the wall, her sword fell from her hand, ttering to the ground. He slid his own short sword deep underneath her armpit and into her heart, before throwing her back into another cultist-- a man suspiciously void of trousers.

    Quay had charged in, on Tycon''s left. Dancing in a circle, he severed a third human''s hands at the wrist. That human''s head slid off, falling to the side and rolling.

    Even from so close, Tycon hadn''t seen when the elf cut through the man''s neck. The de Dance was... a stupid and nonsensical art... but it was effective.

    Tycon had already stabbed thest human in the center of the throat... Thankfully, they died quietly without more of a struggle.

    "Mister Quay..." He nodded, "Yourbat prowess has not reduced, even with your injury."

    "Well!!" Quay huffed, "It DOESN''T look like YOURbat prowess has reduced-- AT ALL!! In fact, you''re WAY stronger than I remember!! (Probably because your hand isn''t cut.)"

    Tycon sighed, wiping his sword on some unbloodied clothing he found resting in a corner, "You lot are reconstructed based on my past memories."

    "And you''re saying that like it''s a good reason that you''re STRONGER?!" Quay shouted.

    The elf did have the mind to cut a strip of clothing fabric... wrapping it around his bloody hand and tying it tightly with his teeth.

    ...Tycon would have suggested the elf not do that with human underclothing... Why were Quay and Dragan such beasts of filth?

    "It... is a good reason. Technically, I''m from the future."

    "So future-you is stronger than current-me??" Quay gasped, "But you''d better watch out! I''m gonna train my arse off to defeat you!"

    "...Good for you," Tycon shrugged. It wasn''t worth arguing with Quay, mana-construct or not.

    He walked back to the doorway, "Room''s clear!!"

    "Zuko and Gobsuke are gonna check the roof!!" Dragan''s voice called back from elsewhere in the structure, "I''m-- finishin'' things up, here! Ahahah! All risk, no re--OWW!! C''MERE you son of a--"

    Dragan''s voice was drowned out by... the many cries of a group of cultists, praising the snake god and... things of that nature.

    Tycon didn''t deem it important. upying the guard tower was a low-difficulty endeavor. Rather than being actual cultists, it seemed that many of the militia and guards were under the effect of a wide-scale Domination spell. With their minds clouded by magic, their martialbat abilities suffered.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...not that anyone in the guard fort was strong enough to contest Sol Invictus. There was a single Iron-Rank in the guard tower. After that fellow met with Zuko, he was relegated to ckened scorch marks on the ceiling.

    Zuko''s absurdly powerful abilities as an Iron-Rank would probably *break* Sorina''s ?Parse? skill.

    "So... Tycon..." Quay snuck his face close, leaning over and looking up at him.

    "What?"

    "Tell me about... the FUTURE!!" The elf beamed.

    Tycon pursed his lips as he considered it... there was little harm in providing information. This Quay only existed in the Reality Marble... so it wasn''t like he could use any information given for malicious purposes. Actual time travel was much more troublesome... not to mention, highly illegal.

    "You have a half-human son. I like him more than I like you."

    "Wh-WHOA?" Quay lost his bnce... smacking the side of his head on the wooden floorboards. It was a very... atypical thing for an elf to do.

    "Is he STRONGER than me?!" The floor-elf asked.

    "Not yet," Tycon shook his head. "But he will be, soon."

    "Very well," Quay crossed his arms and nodded. "So is she Cassandra''s kid?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows... He did not actually know who Pale''s mother was... and that name was not at all familiar... "No."

    "Sophitia?" "No."

    "Lady Palutena?" "...No."

    "Sarah Rockbell!! ...Uzumaki Kushina, maybe?" Quay gasped in sudden realization... "Is he... is he Natalya Crucis'' kid?! Is he a BADASS red-haired protagonist?"

    "I certainly hope not," Tycon crossed his arms... "Have you had sexual rtions with the Archbishop?"

    "Well, no... she hates my guts. But I think that behind that cold, rocky and rough exterior, she has a heart of... meat." Quay''s eyes suddenly widened... "Wait, she''s an Archbishop now?!"

    "...Yes."

    "I GOT IT!!" Quay sat up, cing one fist into a palm. "He''s the son of Maximus, the greatest diator known to--"

    Tycon kicked Quay in the chest, grinding his sandal onto the fallen Pathfinder''s stupid face, "That''s not how babies are born, you dolt! Maximus is male and so are you!

    "...You are male, aren''t you?"

    It was difficult to tell with elves.

    "I-- I forgot what we were talking about," The sandal-faced elf muffled indignantly... "And yeah, I have a penis!"

    "...Did you have sexual rtions with--"

    "I have not."

    "..."

    "But I was hoping that beneath that cold, scaly and--"

    "--Stop there, if you would."

 Chapter 471 Destined To Die

    ?Pathfinder Quay took Tycondrius'' offered hand, standing up and dusting himself off. Sandal-print remained on his face, somewhat devaluing his heroic mien.

    "Well, he''s strong. That''s what matters, I suppose," Quay nodded in contentment... "Hey, Tycon. I''m a good dad, right? Right?"

    Tycon took a deep breath as he contemted on how to answer.

    When he''d transmigrated into the Realm, the young Pale was nine years old. At the time, no one had thought to teach the boy to defend himself. Gifted with talent and a solid work ethic, Pale''sbat skills quickly grew to Iron-Rank in only a few moons. Currently, he was ten or eleven... and the current-Quay had been missing, long before then.

    It was highly probable that he was dead.

    Tycon providing any of that information was less than ideal. He would not risk adversely affecting the Elven Pathfinder''s morale...

    "Hahaha..." Quay chuckled uneasily... "I bet I''m not. I''m not really good at anything besides fighting... and FRIENDSHIP!!!"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Worry not. Where you have failed, I willpensate."

    "Aha! That''s the Tycon I know and love!" Quay cheered, raising a fist. "I''d sure like to meet him, though..."

    That... Hm... Pale wished for the same thing.

    Tycon pushed the thought away, rolling his eyes at his loyal and... easily excitablepanion, "We''re heading to the roof. Let''s put your Elven eyes to good use."

    "Sounds gooooood, Boss!!" Quay grinned. "I''m a RANGER!"

    As Tycon turned to navigate to the top of the fortification tower, Quay happily bounced along after him.

    "Tycon! I have another question!"

    ...

    The tall town walls had walkways that connected them with the other guard towers. As an Elven Ranger, Quay''s sharpened vision surpassed that of the Elven Sorcerer, the Goblin Pathfinder, and Tycon''s own Gold-Rank perceptive abilities.

    With it, Quay identified a few pockets of human resistance still fighting against the Snake Cult.

    The Brazen Guard collective was closer to the next-tower-over.

    Tycon led Sol Invictus towards it. Upon clearing it, they would again observe the battlefield, nning their next actions from there.

    "Wh-why are you giving me a sword?!" Fortunained, "I''m just a kid!"

    The tall elf Zuko crouched over and sneered, pushing the handle of his red greatsword towards the half-elf child, "Because you have to make yourself useful, you little shite."

    "Just take it. Got nothin'' better to do, do ya?!" Dragan chuckled. "Take a look at Gobsuke! He''s carryin'' a gun three times his size! You don''t see himining!!"

    The goblin nced over, his expression hidden by his ck goggles... "It''s actually very heavy. I wish I didn''t have to carry it."

    Tycon pulled back on a longbow he''d appropriated, shooting one of the cultists on the streets below, "Mister Gobsuke... why do you wield such a long-barreled rifle?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    The goblin shrugged as he plodded along, "You guys always charge into battle faster than I can get there. You might not have noticed, but my legs aren''t very long."

    Tycon sighed. That made sense. With the exception of Pale, he was the shortest active male member of Sol Invictus. It was quite nice traveling with Quay, who was of simr height, and Gobsuke, even shorter than the half-human Pale.

    "Fortuna, take the sword to protect yourself," Quay offered a gentle smile. "It has the Mage Weapon enchantment. You''re a First-Circle caster, so it shouldn''t be a problem."

    "I... I am?" The pink-haired whelp''s eyes widened as she took hold of Zuko''s greatsword... "It... it''s not heavy at all?"

    Tycon chuckled to himself, amused by the child''s innocence. The young Fortuna swung the sword back and forth as if it were a thin tree branch. In the future, she''d grow to be a Third-Circle spellcaster. She''d also die by his hands.

    "Whoa, Zuko, for reals?" Dragan''s massive jaw hung open, baffled. "I thought you were joking??! You never let anyone touch your weapon!"

    Zuko red angrily in response, "It''s not the real Hongyue. Actually, I''m insulted to have been given such a shite imitation."

    "I mean... now, it all makes sense!" The Titanblood crossed his arms, nodding sagely... "Of course, you''d offer a little underage girl the privilege of double-fisting your BIG, FAT, MEATY--"

    Without warning, Zuko began to strike Dragan with fists sheathed in phoenix fire. Dragan cackled in glee as he blocked and counter-attacked yfully with Dread. The skirmish ''appeared'' to be heated, but Tycon paid them no mind.

    "Mister Gobsuke."

    "Got it, Boss," The goblin increased his speed. Reaching the door that led into the second tower, he hastily inspected it for traps. "Doors clear. Breach?"

    "I WANT IT!!!" Dragan shouted, peeling off from his yfight.

    Before the Titanblood could get to it, the door immediately burst into mes. Within seconds, its metal reinforcements glowed white-hot, then melted into g. Just as quickly, the smokeless fire disappeared, revealing the tower''s insides as if the door had never existed.

    "Suck my arse, Dragan," Zuko spat, obviously still frustrated.

    "Oh, son of a--" Dragan groaned before shrugging his wide shoulders... "Ya got me, bud."

    Stepping through the disintegrated door, the members of Sol Invictus entered the upper part of the tower... where they were met with a scene of carnage.

    Nearly a dozen cultists had been killed within. Their bodies were strewn across the wooden nks, bloody hack-marks on their necks and bodies. The most impressive amongst the dead was an armored ss in dark-green te, a long, wicked horse-cutting de lying by her side.

    Wielding such a lengthy de in such narrow corridors was foolish of her-- and probably allowed her murderer to stick a hatchet in her forehead.

    Amongst the dead was a single dying man... who revealed himself when he loosed a wet, wracking cough. He sat up against a wall in the corner... wearing ck armor, covered in spikes.

    "Oooh..." Dragan whistled, "Shall we put that guy outta his misery? --WITH YOUR PERMISSION, yOuNg MaSterR ZuKooOo?!"

    "Tch," Zuko scoffed. "Do what you want, Prince Arse-lord"

    "Thank you, mYy LoRrD!!"

    Tycon grimaced, "Stop that. Also, don''t kill him. He''s one of mine."

 Chapter 472 A Cityâ€™s Treachery

    ?Tycondrius gestured towards the injured man, "He belongs to an allied guild, Letalis Serpentis."

    "Lethal serpent!" Quay eximed, "I LIKE IT!!"

    "Redundant," Gobsukemented.

    Dragan chuckled, "What a stupid name-- who thought of that?"

    "I did," Tycon red.

    "Ahaha HAHAHA!!" The crimson-haired Titanblood guffawed, holding his sides, "Y''can''t dock my pay if I''m not REAL, BOSS!!!"

    "Actually..." Tycon smirked, "Yes, yes I can."

    "W-wait!" Dragan held his hands out, "That''s not fair!! The other-me is a righteous guy that''s always on his best behavior!!"

    The members of Sol Invictus stared at the half-giant with doubt in their eyes.

    "Aha... alright," Dragan chuckled. "Maybe he doesn''t. Bute on-- it was funny? Guys?"

    Tycon walked over to the wounded man''s side and lifted his visor, to inspect the man''s wounds... they were recent, but the cuts were deep. He would not survive without supernatural assistance.

    ? Raphael, Bronze-Rank Human Bravo. Guild Letalis. ?

    It seemed he had been transported to the Shadow Realm along with the rest of the Brazen Guard. That he was alive was a boon.

    Bravo Raphael looked to Tycon with shaky, unfocused eyes, "M-monsieur le Baron... is... izzat you?"

    "Mister Raphael..." Tycon started... he had a few questions for the young man... but what to start with first? Ah.

    "Do you still have the potion bottle I gave you?"

    "S-sir Baron... I... I don''t have much time... I..."

    "The bottle," Tycon insisted.

    "The Stormbrands... they..."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    Raphael hesitated... lifting a weak hand to fumble at one of his side pouches, "It''s... it is here... But ze contents are..."

    "That''s fine," Tycon nodded. "I was just checking. Refined ss is very expensive."

    "The Stormbrands... they... hrrk..." Raphael winced in pain. He was applying pressure to his bleeding side, "Zhey... released something... that... arghh..."

    "Oh,e on..." Tycon rolled his eyes, "Just that injury? Is this the best you have to offer Guild Letalis?"

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Go ahead. ?

    ? Activating. ?

    Slowly, Raphael''s eyes regained their focus... "Oh."

    "Mister Raphael, report," Tycon ordered.

    Raphael ced his hands about his body, feeling the magic take hold. The bleeding had stopped and his wounds were knitting closed... "Ah... haha... The... the Stormbrands, Monsieur le Baron, they have--"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, standing up and crossing his arms.

    Dragan sniggered right behind him, "Is this how soldiers of the Magic Kingdom report to their superiors? Sitting on their snail-sucking arses?"

    The Bravo acrobatically leapt to his feet, "Sir, non! No, Sir! ...M-monsieur Dragan?"

    "Sup?" The Titanblood grinned.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon raised his voice, "Raphael of Cannes!"

    "Ah, my apologies, messieurs," The man inclined his head politely and saluted with his fist to his chest. "Tancred and his goons have recovered a snake artifact that they call the Spinal Reaper... With it, they have released the soul of a Snake Cult champion known as Orcus... the Oathbreaker."

    Tycon returned the salute and took a deep breath. This was known to him...

    However... that Tancred had recovered what they''d sought from the Halls of the Dead Serpent implicated yet another faction.

    "So this entire mission was a front for Guild Stormbrand recovering a heretical artifact."

    "You said you''re on this quest because of those Brazen Guard chumps?" Zuko mused. "Looks like they didn''t check their sources for credibility."

    Tycon clenched his fists, trembling in mounting fury... "The quest was issued by the city of Caeruleum... and they''ve yed me for a gods... damned... fool."

    "OhohooOoOo..." Dragan chuckled, "Boss is pissed... Only interestin'' things happen when Boss is pissed."

    Quay nodded, cing a bandaged hand of reassurance on Tycon''s shoulder, "We''re with you, Tycon. Wherever you need us, just give us the word."

    "Right, we got your back, Boss! AhHahHA!" Draganughed heartily.

    "...It won''t be boring, that''s for sure," Zuko turned away.

    "As long as I get paid and my very mundane wives are doing well, I have noints," Gobsuke nodded.

    Tycon shut his eyes, letting his anger seep away.

    In the real... he didn''t have any of them.

    "Also, can I get that heal you promised me?" Quay smiled sheepishly. "Wh-what if it gets infected?"

    He promised no such thing.

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, jammed the barrel of his pistol down the throat of a half-naked muscr man.

    ...Not that the guy was anything special. Lone was far more toned! ...The other guy did have bigger thighs than he did, though. But leg day was stupid! The cultist was not just wrong-- he was stupid, too!

    Lone pulled the trigger, hearing the satisfying... click?

    He had forgotten to reload his pistol.

    "Seven hells," Lone smashed his forehead into the cultist''s nose.

    Thankfully, his wolf, Tres Leches bit and tore into the man''s belly, growling and pulling out some of his entrails.

    "Good boy," Lone grinned, holstering his weapon. "Or girl? I haven''t decided yet."

    Did his summoned wolf have a gender? If he couldn''t tell, was it politically correct to decide it on his own? He didn''t want to offend anyone and get into a stupid argument.

    "Hey, Karodin," Lone turned to the Legionnaire fighting beside him. "Ever seen a wolf weiner?"

    "I haven''t," Karodin mmed his shield into a dual-axe wielding cultist, leaping forward and stabbing down into their chest to finish them off. "Why do you ask?"

    "No reason," Lone lied.

    "FELLAS!!" Priestess Ariadne scolded, "Could y''all quit your piddlin'' and focus, please? Bannok''s fightin'' tooth ''an nail up in the front, while y''all are discussin'' doggy dick."

    Lone grimaced, feeling a bit guilty about it.

    The Brazen Guard collective was fighting their way through a city. Every street they walked on had enemies swarming at them. At first, it was just crazy screaming cultists wearing warpaint and wielding weapons covered in rust or made from bone... Then it was armored adventurers and... and ''normal'' people with butcher knives and clubs and... just whatever.

    They all had the same weird, zed-over look in their eyes. But no matter who they were, they were definitely enemies. It felt like they''d killed over a hundred heretics in less than a bell.

    ...but there were always more.

 Chapter 473 Towards The Fire

    ?The Brazen Guard collective had started with over a hundred adventurers... but after the Stormbrands defected and so many casualtiester, they were left with less than half of that. Guild Letalis and those too injured or too exhausted to fight remained in the back of the formation.

    ...as they headed deeper into the town.

    Lone thought it made *no* sense.

    The city was FULL of crazies. Wouldn''t it be better to head towards one of the outer walls? Away from the enemies instead of towards them?

    Lone took it upon himself to fight alongside Karodin, keeping Priestess Ariadne and the ranged line safe.

    That left Bannok leading two tent-groups in the front line... supported by maybe a tent-group-and-a-half of ranged support sses.

    Bannok fought with the same screaming rage and fervor the enemy had... and he was a Gold-Rank... but it was like he was fighting with one arm tied behind his back.

    --because he only had one arm.

    It was especially weird that the Elven Priestess was having a lot of trouble and hadn''t sounded a retreat or anything. Boss Tycon was always asking Zenon and Athena about their mana reserves, but... he wasn''t inmand here.

    Ariadne seemed really tired-- and none of the spells she was using were really shy. It would be a nightmare if she ran out of mana... all the other healers were barely running on empty.

    Maybe he was imagining it... all of it. Maybe Bannok and Ariadne were actually fine?

    ...They didn''t look fine, though.

    "Korr!!" Ariadne yelled, "Can I have you head to the front? They could maybe use a li''l help?"

    Korr crossed her arms, addressing the Eleven Priestess, "[MY PRIORITY IS GUILD LETALIS.]"

    "Seven hells,e onnnn!!" Ariadne shouted, "How about you, Decanus Salt? C''n we get some of your gunners ta help out?"

    The green-helmed Sergeant shook his head, "I''m sorry, Lady Priestess. We don''t have the ammunition to spare on anything lower than Gold-Rank."

    "AarrRRRGHHH!!" The Priestess growled, "Y''all are just as bad as-- ARGH!! Nevermind!!"

    Sorina limped forward to Lone''s side, "We just need to hold out. By my calctions, Boss Tycon should be arriving soon to break us out of the Reality Marble."

    Lone nodded in understanding... Sorina had informed everyone that this wasn''t an illusory world. It was an alternate dimension... (or something like that?) Dying in the burning vige would have the same effect as dying in the real world. Or this was also a real-world?

    The exnations were confusing-- but he gathered that he had to not-die... which was the same n he always generally had. That''s what had worked for him so far.

    The Priestess cast another healing spell targeting Bannok... then turned to look at Sorina, her thick Elven eyebrows furrowed in anger, "Y''all put way too much faith in your Tactician! You have NO idea who that fe really is."

    Lone gulped... "He''s... he''s a monster."

    Sergeant Salt started at the road, "The Baron is... a terrifying individual."

    Sorina looked away, "He... has a good work ethic?"

    Lone took in a deep breath of the hot and smoky air... and wished he hadn''t. After coughing a bit, he managed to choke out his intentions... "I''ll... I''ll move to the front."

    "That''s a good idea!" Legionnaire Karodin eximed. "Wh-whoa?!"

    Suddenly, Karodin ducked, blocking a randomly thrown hatchet with his shield... "Whew, that was close. Go ahead, Lone. I''ll keep watch over Priestess Aria."

    "YOU?!" The Priestess scoffed, "What can you-- ugh, don''t bother. Ah''m barely keepin'' up with tha healin'' as it is!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Ouch. That was kinda rude...

    Lone shrugged as he began to walk, drawing his longsword and summoning his wolf-hammer into his offhand. Tres Leches hurried to his side, barking yfully, "I won''t need heals... I''m immortal."

    "Don''t piss on mah leg an'' tell me it''s rainin'', Mister," Ariadne rolled her eyes. "That''s a downright lie and you know it."

    Lone turned back with a smirk, "Every member of Sol-- err... of Guild Letalis'' forward team gets a healing potion before each battle. Don''t worry about me."

    Salt spun his head towards him, reaching his hand out, "Lord Ranger, wait!!"

    The back line was well-protected with Sergeant Salt and the Letalis forward team guarding them... and it made sense to keep them there. But if he could help... he wasn''t the hero they deserved, but he was what they had.

    "Let''s go!" Lone shouted as he began to run, "TRES LECHES!!"

    The Dark-Iron wolf howled deep and low before hurrying after him.

    "BANNOK!! I''m on my way!!" Lone let mana fill his chest, flowing hot to his legs as he activated his movement technique, "?mewolf RUUSSSHH!!!?"

    ...

    Sergeant Cecil Salt put his hand down. He''d been toote to stop the Lord Ranger.

    "...Lady Korr."

    The lithe woman in ck te turned to face him wordlessly.

    Cecil gulped, scratching the back of his green helmet, "I was under the impression that Lone had already used his healing potion."

    Korr looked back to the swiftly departing Ranger... then back to Cecil as she nodded.

    The Brazen Guard Legionnaire, Karodin, yelped in surprise, "Oh NOOOO!!! Should we-- should I go help him??!"

    Cecil grimaced underneath his helmet and looked to Korr once again, "Orders?"

    "[IT''S PROBABLY FINE,]" She shrugged.

    ...

    ? A period of time prior. ?

    "Hey, Boss," Dragan dropped to the back of Invictus'' small formation to walk beside Tycon, "Got a sec?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "If you''re asking for a moment to speak in private, you have it."

    The crimson-haired Titanblood was wearing his customary grin, "I was just thinkin..."

    "A wee change, old friend."

    "Ahaha! Got me..." Therge man''s face fell into contemtion... "You know, Boss... you look at these guys diff''rent than you do me."

    Tycon took a deep breath into his nostrils... He often forgot, but Berserker ss aside, Dragan was always the most astute member of Sol Invictus, "What of it?"

    "My guess is..." Dragan took a deep breath, lowering his voice and speaking in the Titannguage... "(--in the future, I''m still here... and our friends are not.)"

 Chapter 474 Getting Into Position

    ?Tycondrius inhaled through his nostrils, grimacing. Dragan had the mind to keep their conversation private from the others-- two elves and a sharp-eared goblin. Thankfully, those three paid them no mind. They were having some sort of asinine conversation with the pink-haired whelp, Fortuna.

    "Always the analyst, Mister Dragan..." Tycon sighed, offering a polite smile, "Sometimes, I''m uncertain on whether I''m the Tactician or if you are, instead."

    "Pshh!!" Dragan scoffed, waving an open palm, "Thinking about the big-picture stuff is boring. I''ll take my ce at the front line, anysun. (I don''t suppose that''s changed in the future?)"

    "Hah," Tycon shook his head. "It has not... You do grow in size, though. Future-you can beat current-you by physical strength, alone."

    "Hur hur hurr. I sure hope so..." The Titanblood took a deep breath, his smile fading slightly... "(Is Dad in good health?)"

    "He is, though he has promised he''ll step down once you''ve decided to settle."

    "Kcshhh," Dragan snorted. "He''s told me that already on multiple asions... (And my mother?)"

    Tycon hesitated. It did not look like Dragan would allow him to dodge that question... "(You killed her with your own hands.)"

    "Hm... Yeah... that''s fine... Good," Dragan nodded. "Well-- just know that we''re with ya, Prince of Charm. Friends ''till death and past that, yeah?"

    "Hmph, I am aware," Tycon pursed his lips. "Prince of Vralkek."

    ...

    ? A short time and 12 dead cultistster. Zuko & Gobsuke: 4 kills. Tycon: 3 assists. ?

    Dragan drew his powerful arm back... and tossed Gobsuke up in a high arc. Sailing through the burning sky, the goblinnded gracefully onto a sturdy rooftop.

    [Ready,] he signaled.

    "Wait until I get into position," Tycon warned his otherpanions... "Unless you want me to get killed, that is."

    "I heard you, Boss," Zuko frowned. "I only need to hear the order once, unlike a certain red-headed idiot."

    "I got bad hearing! You know that," Dragan chuckled, picking a thick finger into his ear. "Tinnitus. It''s prettymon bein'' around-- oh, you know... FIERY EXPLOSIONS all the time!!"

    "Excuses, excuses..." Zuko shook his head, clicking his tongue. "You''d be dead a hundred times over if it weren''t for my spells covering your fat arse. And your skinny arse too, Quay."

    "What was that?" The elf looked over in surprise. He was picking his nose and identally jabbed too far, causing it to bleed. "I didn''t hear you? Was it important?"

    "Don''t worry about it," Zuko sighed.

    "Um, I''m not so sure about this..." Fortuna clutched her red greatsword to her chest.

    It looked ironic, such arge weapon in the hands of the miniature half-elf. Some mad wizard developed the magic the oversized sword was enchanted with, to be wielded as if it were lighter than an arming sword.

    Wizards.

    "Ahaha!" Draganughed, "Don''t worry, we won''t throw you if you don''t--"

    Tycon gave the Titanblood a barely perceptible nod.

    Dragan grabbed hold of the child and chucked her skyward. The pink-haired whelp didn''t even have the time to scream until mid-flight. Tycon didn''t mind it, as the blood-curdling shrieks of children were... unfortunatelymon in the current setting.

    The Titanblood''s throw was uncannily urate, with Gobsuke catching the whelp upon her descent. While generally, it was bad form to use untrained child-soldiers... if she were to thrash about with Zuko''s magical greatsword at any attackers, Gobsuke would be afforded the opportunity to defend them both.

    "Alright!" Dragan grinned at Zuko, "You''re next, bud! I can show you the world! Shining, shimmering, splendid!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I''ll pass," Zuko groaned as zing phoenix wings magically sprouted from his back. "I''ll get there on my own."

    "QuAaaAAaay!!" Dragan leered over the other, shorter elf, "That means it''s YoOoOur turnnnnn!!"

    "Dragan, no," Quay crossed his arms... pouting like a petnt child... "You know I''m afraid of heights."

    Dragan tried to grab onto the Ranger... who dodged and danced away.

    "Help! Boss!" The elf shrieked, "HeeEeelp!! Dragan''s trying to touch me inappropriately!"

    Ignoring them, Tycon put his helmet on, "Zuko."

    "Yeah, yeah." Zuko performed a few magical gestures, tapping Tycon''s armor... "This shite Reality Marble''s limited my mana, so that''s all you get."

    "I just needed the mour spell," Tycon nodded. "The lesser haste is a bonus. Thank you, friend-cultivator."

    "You can thank me by not dying," Zuko red. "You and the goblin are the only people I can stand."

    "Wh-what about me?!" Quay turned with a pitiful face.

    "I GOT''CHA!!" Dragan cheered, securing the Elven Ranger firmly in his grasp.

    "I''ll see you all shortly," Tycon turned and started towards the battlefield. "I''ll be the first of Sol Invictus to say hello."

    ...

    ? Current time. ?

    ? Megaira smashed her heavy waraxe into a Tyrion shield, splintering it into pieces. Without a metal shell to hide behind, shended her heavy boot onto the weakling''s chest.

    The defeat of the nonbelievers was inevitable. They were fools, to dare stand against the might of the Snake Cult!

    With a horizontal swing of her axe, she knocked back two more of the town''s defenders... With the shield wall broken, dozens of her faithful surged forward, reaping human lives like cutting stalks of wheat.

    Walking forward, she ced her foot on the first man''s neck, "Give praise to the snake god and you might yet live."

    If he did, she''d grant him a few moments longer, anyroad.

    There were few who could resist the effect of Orcus'' curse, their minds twisted to the snake god''s will. With overwhelming numbers on their side, Megaira''s forces swept through the town of San Ignatio in the span of a few bells, ughtering all who did not flee and some who had.

    "You... you have no ce here," The man spat, struggling to keep her foot from crushing his fragile windpipe, "These-- these are TYRION LANDS!!"

    Megaira grinned, "Only if you can defend it."

    She plunged her axe down into the man''s groin, sttering blood everywhere. She stomped down, crushing the man''s throat... and left him to die.

    Blood had sshed onto her face... sweet, delicious red, which shepped up with glee. It distracted her from the fact that she had not seen Pyraxis in over half-a-bell.

    "Where the hells is that elf-killing pervert..." She muttered to herself, "If the town isn''t taken by the time Orcus gets here, he''ll have my gods-damned hide..."

    "Scarmother!!"

    Megaira breathed a sigh of relief, hearing one of her scouts fast approaching.

 Chapter 475 As Requested

    ?**Content Warning: Sexual Activity**

    Scarmother Megaira took the moment to gaze into the eyes of the faithful scout... and at his more interesting parts.

    He looked... delicious, wearing nothing but warpaint and the blood of the me-worshippers... his excitement from the battle clear for her to see. It lit a fire within her that she could barely stifle-- something that worshipping the Eternal me never could for her.

    It was a gods-damned shame, though... She wasn''t afforded the time to partake in him.

    If Megaira wanted Orcus to reward her properly, she had to keep her focus on the mission.

    She grabbed the young man''s chin... and gently stroked his rough-shaven chin, "Spit it out, boy. Or I''ll cut the answers from your flesh."

    The man grinned for a moment... but his face quickly twisted into concern, "We''ve encountered some resistance on the southern streets-- a Tyrion mercenary guild with a Kasydonian banner."

    A tinge of fear gripped Megaira''s heart... soon reced by a burning curiosity. She and her forces had moved quickly and stealthily with the help of the Oathbreaker''s magical stone.

    Yet... a military force had responded within mere bells? How did they know?

    Could she have been betrayed by her faithful? No... After being indoctrinated, their minds were no longer entirely their own...

    Was this Orcus'' doing? Was this a test of faith? It was the only logical answer.

    If it was... then the Oathbreaker was supremely confident of their victory. The Kasydonians were simply higher-quality sacrifices for the snake god.

    Scarmother Megaira had nothing to fear.

    "Tell me of our enemies, Scout."

    "There''s about thirty of them active... with another twenty or so in reserve-- injured, with a few long-range casters."

    "Thirty?" Megaira seethed, "THIRTY?! How DARE THEY!! We have literally HUNDREDS of faithful! We number in the THOUSANDS, with so many under the thrall of the Oathbreaker''s domination curse!"

    She grabbed onto the man''s throat and mmed him to the ground... She could take him... right here. And he wouldn''t be able to do a thing about it.

    But no... it wasn''t the time.

    She mounted the scout right above his groin, licking the blood off of his naked chest as he shivered in anticipation. She was wearing armor, but wore nothing underneath her fur breechcloth...

    She''d only need a few minutes...

    "Tell me more."

    "Y-yes Scarmother," The Scout moaned as Megaira gyrated her hips. "There is... ahh... a Legionnaire with one arm... a Ranger with a metal wolf... and.... hrrgh.... and a powerful Cleric amongst their number."

    "A cripple, a dancer, and a witch? Mmm... very well." Megaira bit into the man''s shoulder, drawing both blood and a yelp of ecstasy. She felt a wetness on her rear... and a limp bit of flesh...

    Pathetic.

    She stood up, her frustrations fast-approaching a murderous rage... "Fetch the Warlock and that so-called Champion."

    The Scout sat up, shame and disappointment evident... "Y-yes, Scarmother."

    "NOW!!" Megaira sharply kicked the man on the side of his thigh.

    "YES, SCARMOTHER!!" The man stood, hurrying off with a limp.

    "Someone else!!" She shouted, "Give me someone else! A male!! No... Anyone will do!"

    Megaira turned, hearing the heavy-footed clomps of one of her armored faithful... "Ah, yes. You''re just who I needed.."

    It was Champion Narkissa, wearing her unique set of dark green, heavy-ted armor. Her visor was lifted, revealing her youthful, scarred face-- not as scarred as her own. Her horse-cleaving de rested on her shoulder, though not as heavy or as impressive as her own greataxe.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Narkissa was easily the most mushroom-brained fool she knew-- but she was useful for two things... breeding and battle.

    She could solve Megaira''s problems... both of them.

    "I have need of you, Champion..." Megaira licked her lips, "Specifically... I need your sword... inside me."

    She approached Narkissa and kissed her deeply, sucking on her sumptuous tongue. The other woman barely reacted-- braindead and confused, as always.

    No matter. The fool would always do as Megairamanded. She had participated more than once in Orcus'' brainwashing rituals. She had even ravaged Narkissa herself, whenever she was granted the privilege.

    Megairaid herself on the dirt and spread her legs, "And be quick about it, will you? We have some Kasydonians to fight, afterward."

    Narkissa held her sword forward, staring down with hesitation.

    Megaira chuckled to herself, closing her eyes and rubbing herself furiously... "Hurry up... I need it... I need it so very badly..."

    She waited... so very patiently... and she felt--

    ARGH!

    Megaira''s eyes shot open, shocked by the pain. Narkissa''s sword had prated deep into her abdomen, "AUGHHH! YOU IDIOT!!!"

    She grabbed onto the de, cutting the flesh of her hand in the process, "Wrong end!! WRONG GODS-DAMNED END!!"

    "No, I''d much rather the sharp end than otherwise."

    That was wrong. The voice did not belong to her fool Champion. It belonged to a man.

    "Y-you''re not Narkissa!"

    ...

    "Astute observation," Tycondrius mused. Applying a moderate amount of force, he twisted his lengthy de, eviscerating the scarred woman''s insides.

    He didn''t think it would be so easy. He had infiltrated his way into the heart of the enemy forces and assassinated what appeared to be their leader.

    He had chosen his mour well.

    Assuming that the green-armored individual in the tower had some influence, Zuko had volunteered to cast an illusion spell to transform into the woman''s likeness.

    It allowed him to walk confidently amongst the cultists, uncontested.

    What poor security they had.

    Then again... the cultists were too busy butchering and ravaging townsfolk to notice him.

    ''Break the strong, scatter the weak!'' They''d shout.

    ''Pige and burn! Death to the nonbelievers!'' ...That sort of thing. It was just as annoying as the battlecries of the me-obsessed Tyrions.

    At times, Tycon wondered if Zuko had cast an invisibility spell on him, instead of the illusory mour he''d requested.

    Grabbing the dead Warlord''s axe, he decapitated her with minimal effort.

    After tying the severed head to his waist by the woman''s filthy, unwashed hair, he turned to see a score of cultists surrounding him. They wielded shoddy weapons in hand and their eyes burned with a desire for vengeance.

    Briefly ncing down at his armor... it seemed that Zuko''s illusion spell had expired.

 Chapter 476 Angelic Arrival

    ?Tycondrius nced over at the long curved de that once belonged to Champion Narkissa. It was lodged firmly in the lower abdomen of the Snake Cult''s recently deceased Warlord-- whatever her name was.

    Tossing the waraxe aside, he grabbed the sword''s hilt and wrenched it out of the body, casually sshing a bit of blood and viscera onto his sandals. The long weapon would probably be better at cutting down swaths of cultists, Unranked and Bronze as they were.

    "Good afternoon," He waved. "You must all be very curious as to why I''ve gathered you all here."

    "YOU!! YOU!!!!! You''ll PAY for this, NONBELIEVER!!" One of the cultists shouted. He was frothing at the mouth, pointing threateningly with a hatchet, slick with blood...

    "Ah, about that..." Tycon nodded in thought, "Might I interest you all in a civilized discussion about tolerance and eptance of other peoples'' beliefs?"

    The usatory cultist''s hatchet was made of bone-- most of their weapons were. Those would do nothing but shatter against his Arcanite armor.

    The armor they wore was... also woefullycking. Some wore piecemeal, looted metal tes. Some wore leathers... but those that did left their necks and arms exposed.

    Most were nude. And unwashed.

    The Snake Cult''s forces had the advantage of superior numbers... which was meaningless in the current circumstances.

    Considering his opponents'' shoddy defenses, Tycon could forego some lethal uracy in exchange for speed. With their brittle weaponry and their rtively low levels of strength, he could forego some defensive considerations for... even more speed.

    To him, the cultists were clearly and utterly outmatched.

    It was a shame that they did not appear willing to negotiate...

    "No?" He tightly gripped his weapon, one hand on the handle, the other halfway up the de... He should have known his suggestion of intellectual discourse would not be entertained.

    "Very well... By the will of Eternal me, I shall purge the heretics from thisnd-- or something like that."

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark swung his Dark Iron wolf-hammer, crushing in another cultist''s skull.

    "Bannok! There''s no end to them!" He shouted.

    The one-armed Weaponmaster grunted, nodding in response as he turned his back, "I didn''t ask for your help, guy! This is my mission."

    "How about a tactical withdrawal?" Lone urged politely... as he plunged the Shatterspike through a one-eyed cultist''s... remaining eye.

    That was unintentionally cruel of him.

    As the dying cultist screamed and thrashed his arms, some blood got into Lone''s mouth-- probably one of the worst things that could happen. He paused, spitting on the floor, "Ptoo! Beh! Bleghhh!!"

    "You mean retreat?" Bannok scoffed, "Tch. Go ahead. Nothin''s stopping you, guy. As far as I??m concerned, I already died back there in those halls."

    "For a dead guy, you sure do TALK A LOT!!" Lone shouted, wiping the corner of his mouth.

    "Why I oughta..." Bannok turned, not with anger, but with wide panicked eyes, "GET DOWN!!"

    It was a verymanding, very convincing yell. It was how Boss Tycon yelled.

    Thankfully, his body reacted faster than his brain did, and he dropped to the ground... Even though it was more than -a little dangerous, he took his chances, looking up.

    Something was flying on wings of... fire. It was a little like Tanamar''s wings... except more... big. Bigger. Embiggened wings... from a fiery bird.

    Or a fire angel. Were fire angels a thing?

    And the beautiful angel that those wings carried was...

    ...Mister Dragan?

    It was a red-headed half-giant, carrying a huge, ck... sword? It was definitely Dragan!

    There was a blindingly bright sh of light... and then a loud, deafening crash. The ground rumbled and shook from Dragan''s distant impact, powerful enough to take all the surrounding cultist''s off their feet.

    That was his chance!

    Lone quickly got up, smashing and stabbing as fast as he could.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Ahahaha!!" Heughed as he murdered a dozen cultists in the span of a few seconds, "I''m IMMORTAL!!"

    His own voice sounded a bit muffled... and there was a weird, high-pitched noise in his ears.

    ...That would go away, eventually.

    Hopefully.

    Every swing of his sword and wolf-hammer, someone died. He was trying very hard, only attacking their exposed points and going for killing blows.... but still.

    When had it be so easy to kill people?

    He was cutting down cultists so much, he felt like a god of death... It was bing... almost more like a chore than a battle. These were real people... with real lives and... hopes and dreams.

    "D-die!! Nonbeliever!!" A cultist shouted, "Snake god PROTECT MEEEE!!!!"

    Lone drove his sword into the man''s screaming mouth, lifted him over his shoulders, and tossed him into a group of three others.

    No, nevermind. These were brainwashed cultists that kept running at him, too stupid to do anything else.

    Naturally, he and Bannok fought their way towards Dragan''s crater.

    "DRAGAN!!!" Lone shouted, "HEYYYY!!!"

    The red-headed giant swiped his huge ck sword through a group of five cultists, cutting through four of their torsos and putting a deep gash in the chest of the fifth. Lone took the opportunity to leap towards that one, breaking the guy''s face with his wolf-hammer.

    Dragan turned and pointed to Lone with his off-hand,, "EYYYYYY!!!"

    There he was... the big-boned brute, smiling,ughing, and covered in blood. It was just like old times. It made Lone realize just how much he missed the guy.

    Lone mirrored Dragan''s pointing, "EYYYYY!! Have you lost WEIGHT?! You look really good!!"

    "EYYYY!!! Have I?! Thanks a lot, BUD!"

    "Uh huh!! EYYYYYYYYYY!!!!"

    "You gotta be sh*ttin'' me..." Bannok''s jaw had dropped, "That''s... you''re... Dragan... of Guild Sol Invictus!"

    "EYYYY!" Dragan pointed, "That''s us! We''re here to help!!"

    "Sounds good!!" Lone shouted, "We could use it!!"

    "NAH!! You guys TOTALLY HAD IT!"

    "NAH!! We TOTALLY DIDN''T!!" Lone was grinning like a fool. Now that Dragan was here, everything was going to be okay.

    Muted gunshots rang out... He could barely hear them, but he couldn''t mistake the sound as anything else. Secondster, half-a-dozen cultists that were approaching on Bannok''s side fell down in the middle of a bloody pink mist.

    "What the HELLS was that?!" Bannok shouted, "I thought Letalis was out of ammo?!"

    "NAH!!" Dragan shouted back, "--Oh, wait, MAYBE!! That was from one of OUR guys!!"

    Lone raised his eyebrows, "W-we have another gunner?"

    He thought he was the only one in Sol Invictus who used a gun...

    "Huh?" Dragan ced a bloody hand on his chin in thought, "Oh, yeah! We got lots of guys. We got Boss, we got a Sharpshooter, there''s a ming Homo-Sorcerer, and we got--"

    "DEATH TO THE ENEMIES..."

    Lone turned aroundpletely... spotting... an elf... with sandy blonde hair.

    P... pale?

 Chapter 477 Donâ€™t Care

    ?The elf in the distance had two long, straight-des and... he moved around the battlefield like he was dancing. He swayed back and forth like waves in water. He leapt into the air, spinning in the wind. He even did a flip. And then he did ANOTHER flip! He was like a flipping GOD!!

    Every motion... Lone desperately tried to burn into his memory. He couldn''t see exactly what the elf was doing... how he was moving his sword... how he moved his body like it was to the tune of primal, yet graceful violence.

    But everything he did-- ever tiny movement he made... cultists fell. It was like... they suddenly got tired of living. And when they were stopped moving, red lines would appear on their bodies and their limbs or heads would just... split off. Blood shot out of their bodies like... they had waterspouts that shot blood instead of water. Bloodspouts.

    No... It wasn''t Pale... it was...

    Who in the seven hells was that guy?

    "me take me," Bannok cursed... "That''s... the Elven de Dance... That''s Quies... the Ranger of Sol Invictus."

    WWWWWHHHHAAAATT?

    LONE WAS THE ONLY RANGER IN SOL INVICTUS!!

    Wasn''t he?

    "Oh, yeah! HahaHA HAHAHA! HAAA HAA... hahh" Draganughed so hard he had to pause after to catch his breath... "We just call him Quay."

    WAIT!

    WWWAAAAAIT!!!

    Lone knew that name! Quay was the name of Pale''s... PALE''S DAD!!!

    Boss Tycon said he was dead!!

    ...So it turned out that Boss is a liar. What else was he lying about?

    He said that eating too much sugary bread would make his teeth turn ck and rot away! Was that a lie, too?! Was his WHOLE LIFE A LIE?!

    Lone swore in his heart that he''d stop brushing his teeth. If he couldn''t trust the establishment, he wouldn''t confine himself to theirws...

    Another sh of light forced Lone to shield his eyes... and when he put his hand down... there was a pale elf with dark hair... hovering above them on wings of fire.

    This one actually looked like an angel... and his robes... also had the mark of Sol Invictus??

    "Well, well, well... What do I see here, but a trash Titanbloodzing around on his arse..."

    "Is that a bad guy?" Lone whispered to Dragan. "He talks like a bad guy."

    Dragan turned his back to the angel, covering his mouth to whisper back to Lone, "That''s Zuko. He''s Sol Invictus'' ming Homo-Sorcerer."

    "I can still hear you, idiot," Zuko red from up high. "And it sounds like you want a ?Sudden Maximized Fireball? jammed up your arse."

    "See what I mean?" Dragan grinned, "He''s into the butt stuff."

    "We''re gonna lose the bet because of you!" Zuko roared.

    "Wh-what bet are you guys talking about?" Lone asked.

    The elf''s wings dissipated and he glided to the ground, walking gracefully towards the two of them, "We were trying to clear the humans out before Tycon showed up-- the *enemy* humans, anyroad."

    Dragan ced a thick hand behind his head and grinned, "Ahaha... yeah... about that."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone followed the big man''s gaze... to see... a Tyrion diator.

    He was holding a ridiculously long sword and wore... a really shy and revealing set of armor that didn''t cover everything? But it kinda did? And he wore a helmet that covered his eyes.

    The diator was being surrounded by over half-a-dozen cultists... With a single swipe, one naked cultist had his chest cut over halfway through. Then the diator put his hand on the middle of his sword, like it was a staff, and jammed the de forward into a cultist''s neck.

    He proceeded to stab the others to death or hit them in the head with his sword''s cross-hilt. It took him seconds to kill them all.

    Lone wasn''t even that fast-- and he was a man and a wolf! And the man had two weapons! No... the man was also a weapon. And the wolf. Literally, the wolf.

    Seven hells, how many weapons was that?

    "Unfortunate," The diator said as he approached.

    Upon closer inspection, it was definitely Tycon... though if Lone hadn''t heard his voice, he still wouldn''t have been sure.

    "B-boss?" Lone pursed his lips, "What are you wearing?"

    Tycon crossed his arms, the un-helmeted bottom part of his face showing his annoyance, "Which one of you f... fine gentlemen conceived such an asinine wager?"

    Boss was ignoring him... It was actually prettymon when he heard a question he didn''t want to answer. Lone would ask Dragan about itter.

    "Ehehe..." Dragan chuckled, "You were about to call us fools, weren''tcha, Boss? And it was probably Quay."

    "Probably Quay," Zuko nodded.

    "ARE YOU GUYS TALKIN'' ABOUT ME?!" The Elven Ranger shouted in the distance-- "THE ANSWER IS YEAH! ''COS I''M AWESOME!!"

    Bannok walked up... and he didn''t look happy... which was weird, considering that Boss Tycon and the members of Sol Invictus just saved him from dying a hundred times over... "Tactician... I got a bone to pick with you."

    "It can wait," Tycon shook his head. "We''re leaving this ce."

    "NOT A CHANCE!!" Bannok shouted, "This is... this... ce..."

    The one-armed Weaponmaster''s voice shook... "This is my home... San Ignatio di Luca... Burnt to the ground while I was in the service..."

    "Your point, Brother-Bannok?"

    "Don''t call me that!!" The man roared, "Don''t you EVER... f*cking... call me that, again... This is a chance... a chance to defend my home from these cultist bastards... a chance I never got."

    "You''re delirious..." Tycon flipped up his visor and narrowed his weird yellow eyes... it was his usual look, "Has no one told you that this is a Reality Marble? A painstakingly faithful recreation of the battle, yes, but ultimately worthless."

    Lone raised his hand, "I told him."

    "Open your eyes, Bannok!" Tycon swung his arm out, pointing a palm at the burning town.

    Cultists still fought in the distance against the Tyrion men and women that refused to give up, even against the overwhelming amount of enemies they faced... "This is the past! The only men and women you can save here are yourselves."

    "I''m. painfully. f*cking aware," Bannok growled. "But I--"

    ? "--Don''t care," Tycon reached out his hand-- glowing an ominous blue, and wrapped it around the Weaponmaster''s face.

    Bannok disappeared... the ce where he stood,pletely empty-- as if he''d never existed.

 Chapter 478 We Killed Your Boss

    ?"Boss??" Lone rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrists, "What just happened?"

    "Ah, Mister Lone..." Tycon looked over as if he hadn''t noticed him.

    "So you''re Lone!" Dragan eximed, "EYYYYY!!"

    Lone returned Dragan''s pointing, "That''s me! EYYYY!"

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "Mister Dragan, do you even know who this man is?"

    "NOT A CLUE!!"

    Wait. That didn''t make sense? Dragan definitely knew who he was?

    "Right..." Tycon turned back to him. "Mister Lone, start making your way through the catbs with Mister Raphael... and take Bannok with you, if he''s willing.

    "Find the underground river. Defend it until the rest of the Brazen Guard arrive. Escape."

    "Alright... Got it, Boss..." He nodded, clenching his fist in confidence, "But how will I get there from here?"

    Lone saw it in slow motion-- Tycon''s hand reaching out to grab his forehead. But instead of a face-crushing grip, he felt... nothing.

    He was back in that dull, green cave... standing next to Raphael. He was a bit roughed up, but alive. Sweet.

    It looked like the one-armed Bannok had copsed on the ground beside them-- still breathing, at least. Lone guessed he wouldn''t have to worry about whether or not he was willing.

    "Lord Ranger..." Raphael grinned sheepishly, "Shall we get to... the Baron''s task?"

    "Um... Yeah," Lone scratched his head, "Let''s go, I guess."

    ...

    Karodin of Emberhold breathed a sigh of relief.

    Tactician Tycon had arrived to save the Brazen Guard once again, with what appeared to be Gold-Rank reinforcements... and in a shy, new set of armor, too!

    The symbol they wore on their armor looked familiar... Karodin couldn''t ce where he''d seen it before, but it was definitely Tyrion in nature.

    With each wave of his hand, the Tactician was making members of the Brazen Guard blink out of the fiery battlefield-- assumedly returning them to the Halls of the Dead Serpent.

    Karodin trusted the guy... It did look really suspicious, though, how much enjoyment he was getting out of smacking their allies atop the head.

    "Master Tactician," Ptolema nodded. "You couldn''t havee at a better time."

    "I''m going to assume the intention behind your words is politeness rather than uracy, Miss Ptolema," The helmeted Tycon responded... "How is... your body?"

    Ptolema rolled her eyes, "Just take me back, Tactician. I''m tired of this ce."

    Tycon currently wore only a half-helmet, so Karodin could see the man purse his lips.

    "...Very well," He pressed two gloved fingers against Ptolema''s forehead and she... just disappeared.

    It was really strange that there wasn''t a magical sh of some sort. Karodin scratched the back of his helmet. That''s what he was used to.

    ALSO!! Why didn''t the Tactician hit Ptolema like he was smacking everyone else?!

    "Mister Karodin," Tycon reared his hand back for a p--

    Karodin winced, holding his shield up, reflexively, "Wait! Wait! I''ll gost!"

    "Hmm." The Tactician tilted his head, "Sensible. With Duelist Ptolema ahead, you can cover me as I send off the rest of our allies. Thank you, Mister Karodin."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "N-no problem, Sir Tycon," Karodinughed uneasily.

    When the Tactician had thrown his sword scabbard at him, earlier... it felt like he got hit by a speeding carriage. He was fine taking hits from the heretics... but he didn''t want to take another blow from Tycon if he could help it.

    ...

    ? Invictus score: 222 kills. Zuko: 92 kills. Quay: 41 assists. ?

    ? System, change setting: Add the category for highest number of solo kills to the score. ?

    ? Setting changeplete. Tycon: 38 solo kills. ?

    It took less than twenty minutes for Tycondrius to forcibly eject the various members of the Brazen Guard collective from the Shadow Realm.

    With the members of Sol Invictus keeping the Snake Cultists at bay and Karodin of Emberhold defending him from ranged fire, he worked in rtive safety.

    Priestess Ariadne seemed disinterested in speaking with him. He drew an inordinate amount of satisfaction from stealthily approaching her from behind and Shadowfang pping the woman in the side of the head.

    As soon as his enchanted hand achieved person-to-person contact, they would return to the Halls of the Dead Serpent instantaneously. However, the mere action of winding-up his arm and swinging at his foolish coworkers relieved his general frustration.

    For whatever reason, when it came Karodin''s turn, the Legionnaire actively resisted. Tycon strung together a low kick to a cor-grab, then had to open the young man''s guard with a helm-to-helm bash before he was able to send him back.

    "There???s no end to themmmm!!!" Quay yelled from nearby.

    "Why youining, bud? AhahHAHA!" Dragan cackled as he grabbed two cultists.

    The Titanblood smashed their faces together so hard, one of their eyes popped out of its socket.

    Tycon winced in disgust.

    "It''s a one-sided ughter!" Dragan grinned, tossing the corpses at yet another cadre of approaching cultists. "Have some FUN with it!"

    "It just-- it just doesn''t make any sense!" Quay whined.

    "Have you tried to reason with thesedies and gentlemen?" Tycon offered.

    Quay rushed forward, facing off against a tall, green-painted cultist wielding two axes, "Hey! HEY YOU!! Why are you still fighting?! We already KILLED YOUR BOSS!! There''s no reason to fight, any longer!!"

    The Cultist reared his head back, stunned in surprise, "You... you did?"

    "YEAH, WE DID!!" Quay grinned. He looked back to Tycon and Dragan with an arrogant, ''I have convincingly proved you wrong'' look.

    The Cultist scratched the back of his head with his handaxe, "Oh... oh, wow... I''m really sorry..."

    Quay''s smile fell, "Oh-- oh, no. It''s fine. It''s just--"

    "--that you think I GIVE A SHITE!!" The cultist roared, hacking towards the elf with his weapons.

    Quay ducked and dodged the attacks, "Wait! Hold on! Let''s talk about this!"

    "You might''ve killed my leader, but SHE AIN''T ME!!! I''ll kill YOU ALL, MYSELF!!!"

    A gunshot resounded in the distance from Gobsuke''s position. The axe-cultist fell onto his knees, leaving behind a misty spray of blood.

    He was an Unranked Warrior-- a shot from the goblin''s Turathi rifle through the skull was... excessive.

    "I-- I had it," Quay pouted, gazing mncholically in Gobsuke''s direction...

    [Pay attention,] the goblin signaled back.

 Chapter 479 Snake-Blooded Prince

    ?Tycondrius sensed that something was... off. The air had grown still. The stink of smoke and charred meat had grown stale.

    The kneeling man did not fall.

    Dragan furrowed his eyebrows, nudging the cultist over with his great-weapon, Dread.

    They slumped to the ground. Though fragments of the human''s skull were missing, and the pink fat underneath was exposed... only a tiny dribble of blood flowed from the grievous injury.

    "Huh. That''s weird," The Titanblood turned back to Tycon. "Time magic? Is there somethin'' stronger than Adamantine-Rank hidden around here?"

    Tycon scanned the battlefield... None of the cultists yet moved. They remained eerily still, religious fervor still frozen on their faces. Some even levitated in mid-air, caught in the middle of a run.

    "Unlikely, Mister Dragan," He shook his head. "More probable is that the Reality Marble''s overseer has finally had enough of our antics."

    "Hmm... maybe they got bored? I coulda been a bit shier, I guess?" Dragan sighed and dropped his weight, pomfing cross-legged on the ground, "Well, whatever. I had fun while itsted."

    A single man''s slow apuse echoed throughout the motionless battlefield...

    "You''ve done... quite... well... IVORY. PRINCCCE."

    A sickly green sh of magic heralded the appearance of a certain emerald-scaled Yuan-Ti.

    ? Malik, Gold-Rank Yuan-Ti Malison. ?

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Malik. I was wondering whether or not you would deign to show yourself here."

    "I see you still live..." The Yuan-Ti flicked his tongue, hissing as if ughtering his cultists somehow offended him... "Worry not. I have prepared an adequate challenge for a snake of your caliber."

    Once the extraneous magical smoke began to dissipate, Tycon was granted a better view of the cobra-headed fellow.

    It seemed that Malik had taken his time... dressing up.

    The Yuan-Ti had donned a set of ceremonial battle armor... preposterously thin, garishly gold, and encrusted with colorful jewelry.

    It seemed designed to be worn with a cravat, a thick piece of fabric tied around the neck to protect from cuts and stabs. Malik wore no such essory, leaving the flesh of his cor and long neck exposed.

    His average-sized biceps were also unguarded, though he did wear a series of golden bracelets on his wrists that... could possibly be defensible.

    Slung on his back was a heavy scimitar. It looked impressive-- but unless it had a Mage Weapon enchantment, it would be far too unwieldy for the spellcaster.

    Everything considered, Malik was not well-equipped for battle. He was ready to perform in a coliseum drama.

    "WARRIORS!!" The cobra shouted, "Witness my GLORY in BATTLE!!"

    Loud and ostentatious shes of magic erupted around the ruinedndscape... as dozens more scaled humanoids were summoned. Each of the newly summoned Yuan-Ti wore gold-trimmed armor... most of them, metal tes. Their weapons, unlike the cultists, were made of durable Tyrion steel, not brittle bone.

    It seemed that Malik was a proper leader, leveraging his influence and well-trained troops. Tycon expected as much. The battle would be difficult, but he was confident in resisting the Malison''s spells while whittling down groups of his soldiers.

    Malik bared a fanged grin, "I''ve been looking forward to this... a battle between the greatest snake-blooded Prince in the Realm... and. A. GOD! And in this ce, the LAWS are MINE to control as I see fit!!"

    The additional condition was... most troublesome. Tycon gripped the hilt of his weapon in anticipation... He''d always wanted to kill a god.

    "Look around you!" Malik raised an upward palm, gesturing at their surroundings, "HERE... non-royal blood cannot act. Your humans have NO power to help you here."

    Tycon frowned, narrowing his eyes. His... humans? The humans that he''d already sent away?

    "That is... Mister Malik, are you aware that you''re an idiot?"

    Malik returned the re, "Your taunts have no effect on me, Ivory Prince."

    Judging by the fellow''s impatient voice, taunts very likely *did* work on him.

    Tycon nced to Dragan, "He doesn''t know."

    "He has no idea," Dragan murmured.

    "ON. THIS. SUN!" Malik''s magically assisted voice, echoed in the minds of everyone present, "Royal blood will fight to the death... in MORTAL COMBAT!!!"

    Guilt pricked at Tycon''s conscience. He had to tell him...

    With an annoyed sigh, he crossed his arms and shifted his weight, "Besides the fact that you''ve brought all of your friends to watch you die, Mister Malik--"

    "I am a PRINCE of my kind, and I will be addressed as--"

    Tycon shifted the muscles in his eyes, undimming his vision, "I do not like being interrupted, young man."

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? activating. ?

    Malik reeled back, suddenly unable to breathe. He dropped down hard on a knee, upon the cracked human road, his face bulging and changing color, "Y... y-your... poison... does NOT... WORK... ON... MEEEE!!!!!"

    Judging by the fellow''s violent reaction, Tycon''s poison worked just fine.

    As Malik was Gold-Rank and was likely highly resistant to physical poison, Tycon''s skill activation would not kill him... and its duration would be greatly reduced.

    However, it seemed that Malik was unused to resisting such effects.

    The man''s awkward agony was most amusing.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A different magical voice echoed in Tycon''s mind, one pleasant to hear but marked with mockery... "[I bet you can''t do it again, Boss.]"

    It belonged to Zuko.

    Dragan chortled from where he was sitting, "I''ll take that bet."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, speaking aloud... "A second activation of ?Vexing Gaze? would have its effects drastically reduced from its already diminished effect. It would be a *waste* of mana."

    "CoMe oNn, BoSss~" Dragan whispered whimsically.

    "[Don''t be a coward.]"

    Sensing movement, Tycon nced over to the nearest undamaged rooftop. Gobsuke had relocated.

    [Commence fire,] The goblin signaled.

    "Fine," Tycon hmphed. "Mister Malik."

    "I am to be called, PRIN-- AH-- Hrkk..."

    The Yuan-Ti had looked into Tycon''s eyes once more... and... for whatever reason, fell prey to a second activation. Worse, this time, he copsed fully, writhing amongst the debris, wracked in pain.

    Tycon''s mind was quickly awash with Zuko''s mentalughter... and Dragan could barely contain himself, snickering and burying his face into his hands.

    He looked around to see Malik''s kin averting their gazes in shame. It appeared the Malison''s words were true. Though they all carried weapons of war and were originally postured to fight,none had rushed forward to assist their charge.

    It was unnecessarily cruel and unfair of the Yuan-Ti Prince to force his subjects to watch him fail so miserably.

    Malik stood up in a roar, clenched fists raised to the sky. His form pulsed with an emerald-green ring of energy, such was his rage.

    It looked somewhat impressive. Tycon approved.

    ...But why hadn''t he done anything like that earlier?

    "ROYAL BLOOD! MORTAL COMBAT! NOWWWWW!!!!" The Yuan-Ti shouted.

    "Welp... Here we go," Dragan stood up from the ground to his maximum height, a little over nine fulms tall. "How ya doin'', Prince Malik?"

    The Yuan-Ti''s eyes widened, "P-PRINCE DROGHAN? Wh-what are YOU doing here?!??"

    "Hm?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Do you know this man, Dragan?"

    "Nah," He shrugged. "We don''t really trade with the far side of the Eastern States."

    Dragan unstuck his heavy weapon out of the fissure in the road where''d left it, "So you''re fightin'' my buddy in a battle of Royal Blood? Count me in!"

    "I''m assuming you''re on my side, Mister Dragan," Tycon dimmed his vision to re nonlethally at the taller man.

    "Ahaha! Of... of course," Dragan looked over at a crumbled pile of building debris. "Let''s... let''s do it that way."

    A quick burst of precisely controlled mes appeared and disappeared in a sh. The tall elf, Zuko, stood by Tycon''s side.

    "I don''t appreciate you trying to leave me out of this," He sneered.

    "Friend-cultivator," Tycon smiled. "It would honor me greatly, if you were to fight by my side."

    "Right," Zuko rolled his eyes. "You there, Prince Malik. I''m joining this fight... unless you think I''m not qualified?"

    "P... prince Zuko..." Malik hung his head in shame, "Of... of course."

    Pathfinder Quay burst from a pile of rubble, "I wanna fight too!!"

    How long had he been hiding there?

    "...An... another elf? And... he can move, too?" Malik sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

    "MY NAME IS QUAY!!" The dusty elf shouted, "Seven hecks, Tycon! Howe none of your friends know me?"

    Dragan, son of Merchant-King Ashlord was a well-known personality throughout the Realm. Then, Zuko''s Hidden Sect was somewhere in the Eastern States, so it made sense that he was known to Malik, as well.

    "We belong to different social circles, Quies," Tycon shrugged. "It really shouldn''t be so surprising."

    Tycon nced over at the nearby rooftop.

    Gobsuke responded with a pair of hand signals: [Four] and [Commence fire.]

    The goblin would not be partaking in the battle. It was fine. It seemed that Tycon could defeat the Malison on his own, even without volunteered assistance.

    Malik raised his serpentine head to the sky and shouted, "ANANNNTAAAAA!!!!"

    In yet another burst of magic, this one dark and smoky... a Shadow Snake over twenty fulms in length appeared at Malik''s side.

    ? Ananta, Gold-Rank Shadow Snake Incanter. ?

    "Yyyesssss?" She sang.

 Chapter 480 Heading Out

    ?Malik pointed a shaky hand towards Tycondrius and the members of Sol Invictus, "A-ananta! I COMMAND you to... to DO something about that!!"

    Ananta coiled up her lengthy body and bowed her head deferentially, "Ivory Prince..."

    "Lady Ananta," Tycon nodded in acknowledgment.

    "Oh!" Ananta gasped, "And you''ve found my sssssister''s... toysssss!! ...Is thattttt... PRINCE DROGHAN?! Oh, I LOVVVE Prince Droghan!"

    "Hey there, prettydy," Dragan waved, shing a sparkling grin.

    Quay was pouting. Was he... jealous?

    Concerning recent events, the Ranger had easily gained the adoration of one of two females encountered. He should have been content with that.

    "ANANTA!!" Malik yelled, "Change the LAWS! IMMEDIATELY!!!"

    The Shadow Snake hissed indignantly, "Reversssal of thews requires the Sssshadow Realm''s full reimagination, Malik! Thissss one warned you as sssssuch!"

    "Oho~?" Tycon grinned. "That''s... quite interesting to hear."

    He was quite surprised that it could be done so easily. They just needed to turn it off and back on again. Unfortunately for Malik, it seemed that such knowledge would not save him from his current predicament.

    Malik turned... gulping... "Oh, empty night."

    "Sol Invictus, noble friends and glorious allies!" Tycon raised his voice. "On mymand! GEEK! THE! MAAAAGE!!!"

    ? ?Lamb to the ughter? activated. Support ability. Allies within range arepelled to simultaneously charge the user''s chosen target. ?

    "Hur hur hurrrr," Dragan pped the ''de'' of Dread into his off-hand, walking forward. "Nice to meet''cha... pRiNcE MaLLLiiiIiIik~!"

    "N-no!!" The Yuan-Ti screamed, "S-s-s-stay back!!"

    The Titanblood ran ahead. The fastest sprinter in Sol Invictus, Dragan was just as fast as Tycon remembered... even though the current-him was much younger and smaller than the one he had grown ustomed to.

    Dragan grabbed the golden Prince, flipping him upside down. With a majestic leap, he mmed the top of Malik''s head into the road hard enough to shatter the spine of a weaker man.

    BANG! A loud and instantaneous burst of me from beneath Malik forced the dazed Yuan-Ti to stagger back to his feet.

    Zuko appeared at his side in a sh... and struck the side of the cobra-headed man''s ribs with a domineering punch. Grabbing Malik''s wrist, Zuko then kicked the side of the mage''s knee. It bent into an awkward, unnatural angle, with an audible wrenching of bone and flesh.

    Quay arrived... much toote. Still, with Malik being held up by Zuko, the shorter elf hooked his forearm around the Yuan-Ti''s serpentine neck.

    The back of the man''s head underneath the elf''s armpit, Quay lifted Malik up, simultaneously falling backward. The mage''s back mmed painfully against the hard ground.

    Admittedly, it was the least devastating of the attacks, but Draganughed and cheered and apuded as if it were the greatest.

    Even Zuko pped politely.

    "?Shadowfang Strike,?" Tycon used his movement technique to cross the distance... and stabbed his short sword into Malik''s chestte. As expected, it offered little resistance... and the Malison''s heart was pierced through.

    ...Was a Yuan-Ti''s heart in the same ce as a human?

    Tycon wasn''t entirely certain... and it would be a pain to ask his System about Malik''s anatomy.

    And so... he just began to kick at and stomp upon the unconscious mage''s skull.

    He liked being thorough.

    "Uh, want some help, Boss?" Dragan offered.

    Tycon hesitated... but only for a moment, "If you''re offering, yes."

    And so... four members of Sol Invictus trampled Malik to certain death.

    ...

    "That wassss very ecciting," Ananta wiggled her snake body happily. "This one knew you would be... victoriousss, Sssssweet Prince."

    Tycon smirked, "I appreciate the assistance, Lady Endless."

    "Ohh?" Ananta flicked her tongue in feigned surprise, "This one... did nothing of praisssse."

    "Hmph, You control this ce. You watched me take advantage of your sister and utilize the members of Sol Invictus. And yet... you did nothing to stop me?" Tyconughed. "Your purposeful inaction was of great assistance."

    Malik was woefully blind to the going-ons within the Shadow Realm. Most likely, Ananta had a figurative hand in that, as well.

    "Hmmm~ Perhapsss," Ananta slithered herrge body around Tycon''s legs and waist.

    "(Then might the Ivory Prince grant this humble one... a boon?)" She said, having smoothly switched to Parseltongue.

    Tycon gently stroked the woman''s beautiful onyx scales. It was quite enjoyable dealing with Ananta, as long as he wasn''t worried about being cannibalized.

    "I was thinking of granting one to your charming younger sister... I''m certain you are aware that I could have broken out with my own power... but my recent experiences have been admittedly enjoyable."

    "Suka will be... mosssst pleased~" Ananta nodded.

    "...However, be advised: I will not entertain a binding request... nor a sexual one. Hah," Tycon scoffed. "She is still a hatchling."

    "She will gro..." Ananta rested her head over Tycon''s shoulder, "We too... (We were hatchlings once.)"

    Tycon nodded with a sigh... "From here, my Guild Letalis will seek to repair any damage the Snake Cult has wrought. May I ask of your ns?"

    A thrum emanated from the bottom of the Shadow Snake''s jaw... "(This one will... return home... and she will take Suka with her.)"

    "And if I tried to convince you to join my faction?" Tycon smirked.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "...Then thissss one would have to *beg* for forgivenesssss," Ananta sighed. "(The gods whisper to their pawns. The humans tightly grasp their weapons of war...) Malik was not the one she sought, to die ssssssooooo easily."

    "Hmm..." Tycon guided the upper half of the Shadow Snake''s smooth, shimmering body close, "There is always a world-ending prophecy, Ananta. Look at the humans. They think the end times have arrived once an epoch, if not more often."

    "Sssweeetessssst Price..." Ananta slithered full-circle around him, rubbing gently against his body, "(They appear in greater number and with much more frequency than in epochs past.) Nyctis, Queen of Shadow strengthenssss her defenses... Even Queen Rnia does the sssssame...."

    "Again," Tycon shrugged. "In times of peace, our militaries train for the war that may or may note in their service."

    "Our sssservice is eternal..." She whispered, narrowing her eyes... "The dragons will return in our lifetime, Ivory Price."

    Tycon hmphed... "They will try."

    ...

    With a heavy heart, Tycon approached the members of Sol Invictus. They were sitting about, talking about something stupid, but quieted as he approached.

    "So... you headin'' out, Boss?" Dragan grinned.

    "Yes," Tycon responded simply.

    "I''ll see you sometime," The Titanblood shrugged.

    "Don''t bother me for anything unless it''s important," Zuko muttered before turning away.

    "I won''t," Tycon chuckled.

    Gobsuke pulled down the cloth covering his mouth, revealing his pointed teeth as he spoke, "If it''s appropriate, I''d like hazard pay for what happened here."

    "Not a chance."

    "...Was worth asking," The goblin shrugged. "Take care."

    Quay wore a radiant, annoyingly-bright grin, "Tycon."

    Tycon took a deep breath, "Yes, Leader?"

    "Tell him I''ll be waiting..."

    "How ominous," Tycon hmphed... "Very well."

    ...

    ? Some time earlier. ?

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark pursed his lips as he turned to Raphael of Cannes.

    "Hey... Raphael, you''ve been an adventurer for awhile, right?"

    Raphael kept his torch high and his eyes to the shadows of the catbs.

    "Yes, Lord Ranger," He pursed his lips. "What of it?"

    "I was wondering... is it... normal? To be able to punch ghosts?"

    There were more zombies and skeletons than there were ghosts. Lone and Raphael dealt with the former two pretty easily.

    Athena, Tanamar, and Zenon were with the others... and their magic was definitely effective on ghosts. And then the gunners were with them-- and their rifles worked on the spooky, scary creatures, too, for whatever reason.

    But who they had fighting ghosts was... well...

    Korr had grabbed two different furious spirits... by the head... with her palms. They wailed in pain, the pitch so high it hurt his ears. The Knightress let out a light, metallic grunt... and both ghosts copsed with their heads crushed into shimmering glops.

    She turned towards the two scouts, as if she was going to say something...

    She didn''t. Instead, she waved lightly-- like she was shy.

    "Non," Raphael grimaced. "I do not suggest you or I try to match Lady Korr''s methods."

    "A-alright. Just checking." Lone nodded hesitantly... "Thank you, Korr."

    Korr nodded, "[LET ME KNOW IF YOU GET POSSESSED AGAIN.]"

    "...I will, thank you."

    Again? What did she mean by ''again''?

    "Seven hells," Raphael suddenly stopped, staring up at a nk wall. They had reached a dead end in the catbs. "There''s... nothing here."

    Lone furrowed his brows... "No... No! That can''t be right!

    He hurried to Raphael''s side, then dropped to the floor and pressed his ear against the cool Dungeon stone. "This is definitely the right ce... There''s running water-- right underneath us!"

    "What can we do?" The Bravo shook his head, "We must find another way. The collective is counting on us to lead them out of this ce..."

    Lone sprang up, "Nah. I got this. Sergeant Salt!"

    Salt jogged over, "Lord Ranger."

    "Give me all your Khyber crystals!"

    The Sergeant tilted his green helmet, "Eh? A-all of them, Sir?"

    "YEAH! Come on, I have an idea."

 Chapter 481 Heroes, One And All

    ?? Slightly earlier, at the mouth of the catbs. ?

    Karodin of Emberhold stumbled into the Halls of the Dead Serpent,bat-rolling onto his shield into the kneeling position. He pointed his sword forward, ready tobat whatever terrible enemies awaited him.

    Ghosts! He was surrounded by dozens-- hundreds of ghosts!

    Big ghosts! Small ghosts!

    Human ghosts and Dwarven ones!

    Wielding terrible weapons like... smithing hammers and... mining picks?

    Grimacing, he lowered his weapon and righted his posture...

    The lot of them were... civilians.

    They floated eerily in silence. It was a little unnerving, but it was nothing like Karodin had expected.

    Of all the undead the Brazen Guard had encountered in the Halls, they were all Snake Cultists and very, very angry. They''d rush all at once and try to... ghost-bite you to death, (or something like that.)

    Hearing movement, he turned to see Priestess Ariadne approaching, along with a retinue of guards. They were a wee sight... the best of the best (of what was left) of the Brazen Guard''s front line.

    "C''mon, Karodin," Ariadne gestured towards the catbs, "We gotta move faster''n green grass through a goose."

    Karodin pursed his lips in concern, "Bannok''s gone ahead, then? And my wife?"

    "Uh huh, Mister Lawrence''s carryin'' the big lug on his back-- an'' Ptolema''s safe with Letalis... for now. We was just waitin'' on you."

    Karodin gulped, pointing a thumb behind him... "What... what about these people?"

    "They''re not people, Karodin," Ariadne''s eyes narrowed, " These folks''re dead and gone. Don''t matter what happens to ''em."

    One of the ghosts stepped-- err, floated forward. It was an old dwarf in wizard robes and circle-sses, old scrolls jutting out of a bag on his side.

    Karodin cleared his throat. The dwarf seemed older than him, so he figured he should be respectful, "Good uh... good evening, Sir."

    The Dwarven Wizard smiled politely, though it could have easily been a grimace of concern, "Good evening, young Tyrion... I suggest you move quickly. When the Shadow Realm breaks open, the restless spirits of the Snake Cult will return in earnest."

    He gestured at the gaggle collected around him... "We will cover your retreat."

    Karodin furrowed his brows. These ghosts were unarmored merchants and craftsmen... children and elderly... none of them armored... and they were armed with table legs, broken bottles, and other things that weren''t really meant to be weapons.

    They wouldn''t stand a chance against the Snake Cultists.

    ...It was probably why they were dead in the first ce.

    Karodin sheathed his sword, "Um... Who... who are you people? Sir?"

    The elderly dwarf loosed a heavy sigh... which turned into a pained, echoing cough...

    "Gathering... Mining... Crafting... Marketing...

    "Long ago... we dwarves and humans... and even a few elves lived here together in harmony... then, everything changed when the Snake Cult attacked.

    "We... we are the former... and current denizens of Thrumondi''s Halls..."

    Karodin frowned... "You are all Tyrion, are you not? Your souls should have passed on and... and joined the Eternal me?"

    "The pride of being a Tyrion..." The dwarf shook his head, "I believe that is to me for keeping mypanions here. All that remains in their ghostly shells is a desire for vengeance against the heretics..."

    Ariadne growled, stepping between Karodin and the dwarf, "These folks were killed off by those cursed snakes... sacrificed for their dark rituals! They''re lookin'' for a way out and they think a final battle is what''s gonna do it for ''em-- so let''s leave ''em to it!"

    Uncertainty tugged at Karodin''s heart... "But... they''ll lose."

    "And we''ll live on!" The Priestess snapped, "Now are yain'', or not?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...He took a deep breath, "Lady Aria... enchant my weapon with ?Ghostbane?... Please."

    "Optio Karodin..." Ariadne swayed her head back in surprise... then red at him with a look sharper than a knife... "No. Absolutely not."

    The dwarf coughed to gain their attention, "You do not have the luxury of time, Optio... Lady Priestess. You must both away-- immediately."

    "Well, Lady Priestess, you heard the man-- dwarf... elder," Karodin chuckled nervously, "I''m staying to help, whether you enchant my sword or not."

    "Karodin..." Ariadne moaned helplessly. "We don''t have time for this!"

    "That''s fine! It''ll just be me!" He wore his most reassuring smile, "And I''ll be just behind you guys!"

    Ariadne stared him down... gulping hard... "Humans lie."

    ...That was slightly rude.

    It bothered Karodin... how the Priestess'' usually gentle gaze had been... not that, as ofte. Unfortunately, he knew what he had to do... and escaping immediately was not it.

    "First and foremost, I am a son of Tyrion."

    He walked past Ariadne... and half-turned his head, "MEN! Take her away!"

    "I hear you, Optio," One of the Decani saluted. It was a familiar Legionnaire from Guild Eagle Sentinel.

    "KARODIN!! NO!" Ariadne shouted. She struggled, but she couldn''t stop thebined efforts of the physically stronger Decanus and his team from dragging her away.

    "Ptolema better not even have a scratch on her, when I get there!" Karodin shouted, "Or I''ll crucify the lot of you! Don''t you PLAY GAMES with me!"

    "You heard the Optio,dies and gentlemen!" The Decanus shouted, "Move your arses! If I''m gettin'' crucified, you''ll all be staked up with me!"

    """We hear you, Decanus!!"""

    Karodin breathed a sigh of relief... when suddenly the Halls rumbled, and he had to brace himself to keep his bnce.

    "By the me, what was that?"

    "A security breach..." The dwarf coughed, clearing his throat... "--and one that I''dined about in epochs past."

    "Should I be worried?"

    The old dwarf slowly shook his head, "Your allies have secured a path of escape. Though, to be perfectly honest, it is likely that I remain because of that guilt. If only my formations and architectural nning weren''t so wed, then the Snake Cult would have never taken these halls."

    Karodin smirked in embarrassment, "It sounds like the me is not your own, Sir."

    The dwarf looked up with a polite smile, "Aye. All of our leaders can share the me for our downfall."

    "I''m a leader," Karodin shrugged... "We make some questionable decisions, sometimes. But a good leader is always willing to fix their mistakes."

    The elder nodded, "Is this one of those ''questionable decisions'',d?"

    "Yes, Sir. Yes, it is..."

    He took a deep breath, turning to face the old dwarf''s forces-- now his... "Faithful sons and daughters of Tyrion!! I am OPTIO KARODIN of the BRAZEN GUARD!! Under mymand, we will protect the living from the DEAD!

    "Heroes, one and all!! DO. YOU. HEAR ME?!"

    Every single ghost... man, woman, child, and elder... raised their voices and their weapons as one...

    """WE HEAR YOU, OPTIO!!!!!"""

    ",

 Chapter 482 Shattered Heart

    ?? Present time. ?

    The Tactician appeared where everyone else had.

    It was good to see him safe.

    It was just a shame that he arrived to a battle, long after its conclusion.

    He nced over the fallen with eyes that glowed a peculiar gold.

    There were nonterns, nor did any light-enchanted equipment remain... but it seemed his eyes cut through the darkness, all the same.

    Dozens of fleshy and skeletal undead bodiesy still, their weapons scattered upon the ground... More numerous were the sshes of ghostly essence, marking where the ghostly spirits, ally and enemy, had fallen.

    The Tactician''s gaze hovered over the single fallen Tyrion Legionnaire.

    That person lied face-down, unmoving.

    He didn''t move to inspect it.

    There were more enemies, elsewhere in the Halls. He didn''t have the time to stay... nor was there anything he could do for that person.

    The Tactician traveled through the empty catbs, quickly but warily, to where he knew the underground river would be. When he shared the news of an exit, he had given the Brazen Guard hope. He had not proven their faith unfounded.

    He encountered no more resistance... The dead in the catbs remained dead.

    The fight was over. Everything had been decided in that abandoned battlefield.

    There was a hole in the floor, as if the stones had... dissipated, revealing the water rapids rushing below. It looked... odd... and there was an unusually high level of mana in the atmosphere.

    Vtile, untamed magic.

    Dangerous, but effective.

    The Tactician checked his body, patting down his gear to ensure they were all in their correct ces. He flicked his wrist and a package appeared in his hand, which heid down in a conspicuous ce.

    They looked like some of his rations.

    An offering of some sort? Maybe some of the beef jerky he was well known for?

    He took a deep breath... and he plunged into the cool depths. Wherever the underground river would take him, it would be far away from these cursed halls.

    He hoped the Tactician would arrive safely.

    Karodin hoped... that everyone would arrive safely.

    "Is that alright,d?" The old dwarf asked.

    Karodin noticed that hispanion''s form was far more transparent than it was when they''d first met.

    The dwarf would pass on soon.

    Karodin somehow knew that... his ghostly body would fade away, just the same.

    "It''s fine, Sir... I did my duty. They''ll understand."

    ...

    ? Sunster... ?

    The Brazen Guard held a mass funeral for the fallen.

    Felinus had been killed. Karodin had not returned. Some did not survive the water rapids.

    Countless others would live on only in memory.

    Though Guild Letalis had been instrumental in the Brazen Guard''s escape from the Halls of the Dead Serpent... Tycon doubted that they would be invited to the Collective''s next outing.

    ...or if the Kasydonian guild would survive as an adventuringpany.

    Tycon found some grim amusement in the fact that he''d seen the fall of not just one, but two Gold-Rank Tyrion guilds.

    He had more important things to worry about. He and his guild needed to return with haste to the city of Silva.

    When they made their way back, the camp was still set up... with those there none-the-wiser to the Stormbrands'' betrayal. Tancred and hisckeys likely had ess to magical stealth or speed... or the Bronze-Ranks standing guard were all effectively deaf and blind.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Recovering their horses, carriages, and supply cart, Guild Letalis set off almost immediately.

    Their guild suffered a single fatality, a young man under Sergeant Cecil Salt''smand. On the subsequent evening, Centurion Zenon spoke some kind words about the fellow.

    He died inbat. It was an unfortunate casualty.

    Tycon had nothing to add.

    While traveling, footman Tanamar expressed his urge for speed... but the horses could not be hurried more than they had been.

    They, too, knew what was at stake. They pushed themselves to their limits... Tycon had to ask them all to slow down, to reduce their risk of injury.

    Otherwise, the trip back was taken in silence... idle conversation kept to a minimum.

    The militaristic Zenon, Salt, and Raphael were exhausted-- mentally and emotionally drained, more than they were physically.

    Even the normally chatty Athena had be listless. Tycon ensured Tanamar kept herpany throughout the trip back. Though her own guild had suffered minimal casualties, the psychological burden on the youngdy would not be small.

    She was no stranger to seeing men and women fall in battle... but many recent deaths were people she had known well.

    She would grow stronger from this.

    ...

    When they reached the Silva, there was a thin plume of smoke billowing from somewhere within it.

    Tycon already knew from where.

    He told Athena to stay in the carriage.

    The willful Frostde refused.

    He strongly insisted... and Tanamar urged her to heed his counsel.

    Still, Athena refused.

    Because of that stubbornness, she came across the sight of her dead parents. They were stripped naked, bloodied and crucified in front of the remains of her smoldering estate.

    Her cries of anguish at that moment would live on in the nightmares of both herself and Tanamar for moons and epochs toe.

    Those same, shattered-heart screams already haunted Tycon''s nightmares... their origins lost to memory.

    Tycon ordered Tanamar to carry Athena away-- to find an inn for them to retire to.

    Athena wanted to take down the bodies herself.

    Tycon refused.

    She may have been the official leader of Guild Letalis, but considering the circumstances, he remained their acting Commander. With the threat of martial punishment, he would not have his direct orders questioned again.

    A magical trap was set on the bodies.

    Tycon had his men take cover as he shot Greer''s bloated belly with his crossbow. The corpse burst like a boil, showering the ground with blood and rotten meat, simultaneously releasing a noxious green gas.

    Zenon''s wind magic kept them safe... and Tycon reloaded his crossbow and did the same to Lady whatever-her-name was.

    Athena only needed to know that they were dead... and that they would be avenged. She did not need to see what their corpses had be.

    Tycon, Lone, Raphael, and Zenon... Salt and his gunners... they would shoulder that burden.

    Everything that hadn''t been looted in the estate had been burnt.

    The underground passageway had been revealed.

    The Frost Stone was missing, the ice that surrounded it, forcibly broken open.

    Tycon had thought it impossible to do, so easily. It was an unfortunate oversight.

    He had not nned for his enemies to wield an unholy artifact weapon.

    Filled with an annoyingly deep sense of regret, he called for Guild Letalis to withdraw.

    There was nothing left of value in the Vanzano estate.

 Chapter 483 Concern

    ?"(Snaaaake...)" Horse whinnied as Tycondrius held an apple out for him to munch on.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I''m not in the mood for your inane and illegal requests, Corporal Horse."

    The chestnut stallion shook his head and swallowed loudly, "(Ah... I wanted to ask... how you''re doing?)"

    "It''s been a shite week," Tycon admitted.

    "(They''re just humans, Snaaaake,)" Horse snorted. "(Since when did we care so much?)"

    Tycon took a deep breath... Horse needed a bath and badly. He grabbed the stallion by the jaw and stared into his right eye, "I made a mistake that led to... far too many issues. I''d imagine the same happened in Jacksonville?"

    Horse whinnied nervously, shaking his head away... "(Jacksonville was... different. But there were no witnesses, o'' handsome and forgiving bringer-of-apples.)"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, tossing the apple core up. Horse caught it in his mouth with an audible crunch.

    "...Humans are fine," He shrugged. "My regret is that I ced my faith in the wrong ones."

    "(Maybe... don''t trust humans, then?)" The stallion suggested, "(It seems to work out for me.)"

    "Perhaps..." Tycon looked over to the other Invictus stallion.

    Jeremy was sleeping peacefully in his corner of the stable, kicking his legs. He appeared to be having a good dream. Tycon almost wanted to interrupt it... but he identified that doing so would be unnecessarily malicious.

    He was in a very poor mood.

    "Take care of the others, Horse. You''ve all earned a proper rest... and make sure that one doesn''t sleep too long. If he kicks a wall and injures himself, I''ll have Lone geld you."

    "(Snake...)"

    Tycon grimaced, his frustrations mounting, "What is it this time?"

    "(You also need to rest.)"

    "What I *need* is to take actions to alleviate the situation," Tycon growled, turning and walking to the stable exit.

    Rest?

    He didn''t deserve such a luxury.

    ...

    Sorina gave her report to Tycon, Korr standing by her side as her faithful guard.

    The Calctor had spoken to Popoto Potata Pota, the only dual-membership Sol Invictus member. Consulting her contacts in the Courier''s guild, there had been no suspicious newsing from the city of Caeruleum.

    Sorina then visited the Speaker''s Guild, finding evidence to the contrary.

    The Vanzano offices in Caeruleum had been seized, having vited some rule orw that she had yet to identify. Tycon had little hope for those who worked there. If they had not been executed outright, the odds of surviving incarceration in the Holy Country were grim.

    Sorina had the foresight to order Maeve and the Guild Letalis main body not to return to Caeruleum. They could turn in their quests and bounties at the Adventurer''s Guild in Silva-- anywhere *but* that particr city.

    Tycon felt a tinge of relief that Doe was not at the Vanzano Estate when it was attacked. She was not keen on staying in the same building as Lord Greer while Athena and all the various adventurers were absent.

    Was she safe with the others?

    ...If she died as well, it would further sour his mood.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He''d have requisitioned anothermunication ritual to Guild Letalis'' main body... however, the one that Sorina hadmissioned cost literally thousands of silver.

    Thankfully, she did not pay a gratuity fee. Instead, she left them a half-used coupon book for Olea Garden.

    Tycon could always rely on Sorina, concerning business matters.

    All in all, Guild Letalis had taken very few casualties. Still, they hade across an issue that was very detrimental to House Vanzano... and to the territory of Ezyria where they resided.

    The Snake Cult was a dominant faction in Caeruleum, their influence obviously enough to dictate the movements of the Gold-Rank guild, the Brazen Guard. Even more daunting was that the heretics had recently attained both an artifact weapon and an artifact power source.

    How in the seven hells could Athena Vanzano gain power in such an environment?

    And what could he do about it? He had no idea which humans in Caeruleum were his enemies. He''d put the entire city to the torch if it could solve his problems... but such a simplistic solution was likely infeasible.

    A heavy knocking upon Tycon''s inn room door interrupted his thoughts.

    "It''s open, Centurion."

    Zenon Skyreaper entered the room... and threw a certain blonde footman hard to the floor. Footman Victorius was miserable and filthy, covered in soot and ash.

    It was as if... he''d fled... from a... burning building.

    "Brother-Zenon, it is good to see you... and I see you''ve brought... Mister Victorius..." Tycon narrowed his eyes, but did not stand from his chair, "I trust there''s a good exnation for this."

    Zenon scowled... andnded a swift kick into Victorius'' side, causing the cripple to yelp and snivel in pain, "Tell him what you told me! The same, EXACT words!!"

    ...

    ? The following morning. ?

    Victorius was the only member of Guild Letalis that stayed behind at the Vanzano Estate.

    He opened the doors for Guild Stormbrand and allowed them in.

    Tycon, assisted by Radia and the other mages of guild Letalis, had set defensive formations on the gates and doors. All of it was rendered useless by Footman Victorius''pse in judgment.

    Why did he allow the Stormbrands into the estate with not a single member of Letalis nearby? Why did he not die with a weapon in his hand-- a weapon Tycon had custom-made solely for him, at great difficulty and cost?

    Hah. Why did he think remaining in the city of Silva was wise?

    Killing Victorius would not solve any of Tycon''s problems. However, it would make him feel much, much better.

    Tycon took in a deep breath, inhaling the cool, sea breeze and appreciating the grey and gold morning sky. He and Zenon stood atop a cliff overlooking Silva''s white-sand beaches.

    It was a lovely ce to hold an execution.

    However...

    "Brother-Zenon, I have a... concern."

    "Mhm?" The Centurion raised an eyebrow, "What''s on your mind, Optio?"

    "Crucifixions... they''re still an urrence in the Holy Country, yes?"

 Chapter 484 Execution

    ?"Huh?" Zenon was surprised, but only for a moment, "Yeah, of course. Why wouldn''t they be?"

    "Oh, good," Tycondrius smiled and nodded, "I haven''t seen any, as of recent."

    "Well, they''re notmon," Zenon shrugged. "But they do happen. It''s usually for something like... military desertion? Most major crimes are usually met with immediate execution."

    "(Comin'' riiiight up!!!)" Horse neighed as he approached. "(This''ll cure your big sad, Snaaake!!)"

    The Invictus stallion steadily climbed the incline, dragging a carttched to his sides. Within it was a single,rge wooden stake, two bundles of rope, and whimsically, a sack of iron spikes and aplementing pair of hammers.

    It was everything they needed to crucify a human properly.

    "Just one stake, Optio?" Zenon asked.

    "It seemed cheaper than binding two together," Tycon smirked.

    He crouched down over Victorius, gagged and bound... struggling with all his might. He was finding his knotted ropes quite secure.

    "You should have died with a weapon in your hand, Mister Victorius."

    The man continued to sob-- the cloth gag muting his wailing.

    He knew.

    Tycon said the words aloud for his own benefit... "Well, young man, you''d best look alive. Quite possibly, your one and only savior is fast approaching. If you wish to live, despite your guilt, your words must hold... a certain weight."

    Walking beside Horse was Holy Lancer Tanamar, who had requisitioned the crucifixion materials as Tycon had requested.

    "Athanasius!" Tycon stood, opening his arms to wee the Holy Lancer, "Thank you for making haste. How is Miss Athena faring?"

    "We dropped her off at Parthenope''s ce... Lone''s with Sorina and Korr-- and Salt and the others are at the inn."

    The silver-haired footman grimaced, pointing to the sobbing wretch on the ground, "What''s going on here?"

    "Ah, yes..." Tycon chuckled to himself. "I''d like your opinion on the matter, if you would."

    "Let him go, Tycon," Tanamar crossed his arms, "Whatever he''s done, he doesn''t deserve this."

    "Oh? What if I told you that he was the one who opened the gates, allowing the Stormbrands to torch the estate and steal the Frost Stone?"

    Tanamar dropped his arms, staring nkly with his mouth agape... "He... what?"

    Zenon nodded, crinkling his mustache, "He''s said as much, himself, the me-taken idiot."

    "In hindsight, no one else would have opened the doors," Tycon sighed. "Lord Greer and the other one never bothered."

    "But..." Tanamar had clenched his fists, seething in fury... "The defensive formations?"

    "Our extensive preparations and carefullyid ns have all been proved useless by human stupidity," Tycon shook his head.

    Tanamar stared down at Victorius. His eyes were beginning to glow white... "You mescarred son of a--"

    "We were going to crucify him," Tycon smirked. "Would you like to help?"

    Tanamar turned with a re, his unrestrained killing intent forcing Zenon to wince.

    "No one is being crucified today."

    The young man knelt by Victorius'' side and began to undo the ropes.

    "Tanamar," Zenon frowned. "You can''t just--"

    Tycon grabbed the Librarian''s cor, pulling him back and halting his words.

    A beam of concentrated light sheathed Tanamar''s form and quickly began to swell in size. As powerful as Zenon''s ?Mana Ward? was, taking injury from the Holy Lancer''s oppressive containment formation would have been troublesome.

    The taller man turned to face Tycon with troubled eyes.

    Tycon shrugged, "It''s probably fine."<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    "Seven HELLS! You came at JUST the right moment!"

    Finally free of the cloth gag on his mouth, Victorius managed a wide grin-- even despite the tears and snot still wet on his face.

    Tanamar shuddered as he sucked air into his lungs. He was trying to keep his fury in check...

    Victorius managed to get the loosened bindings off of him, cradling his crippled hand, "Those crazy bastards were gonna crucify me. Can you believe it? In this sun and age?"

    "Yeah... they were."

    That''s all he managed. He had a thousand things to say... but to say them while not *also* murdering his friend-- that''s what he was having a hard time with.

    "You gotta believe me, Tanamar... I had no idea that Tancred was gonna burn the house down. Maybe am, but... I mean, if I did, I''d have never let them in, right?"

    Tanamar spoke very... slowly... enunciating his words. "You and me, we''re going to find Athena. Then... you are going to kneel... and you are going to apologize."

    "What?" Victorius furrowed his brows, "Come on, man. It''s not my fault!"

    All of the muscles in Tanamar''s right arm were flexed... and he found himself gripping a holynce in his white-knuckled hand. With a two-handed swipe, he struck the side of Victorius'' leg, dropping him to his knees.

    Before the Archer could even react, Tanamar thrust the mana-de of his weapon through the man''s good hand, pinning him to the ground.

    "ERRGAAARGHHHH!!!! T-T-TANAMARRR!! WHAT THE FFFFFFFFUUUUUUCK!!????!"

    "We''re going back... to find Athena," Tanamar whispered, his voice harsh... "and you''re going to kneel... just like this. And you... are going to *beg* for forgiveness."

    "Fffffuck! What the... ff-- aughh..." Victorius groaned. "Ff... me, TAKE you, man! I... I already SAID... that it''s not my... ffffAULT!!!"

    Tanamar closed his eyes, searching his memories.

    Was Victorius always like this?

    ...Not exactly. But still, Tanamar wasn''t surprised by the way he acted.

    More of the man''s agonized tears dripped onto the dirt.

    Tanamar felt... nothing. It was like... something had snapped inside. He did not feel pity. He did not feel disappointment... or regret.

    He wasn''t even sure if it was anger that was swirling in his chest.

    "I can''t believe you... my... my hand..." Victorius turned his head up, his eyes red with rage, "Man, F*CK GREER!! That guy was a piece of SHITE, anyroad!! Why the hells would I have to apologize for a mescarred THING?!?"

    Tanamar wound andunched a heavy kick into the blonde man''s side. Victorius flipped onto his side, dry heaving.

    Free from guilt, he lifted his foot up and brought a mana-empowered stomp down. The bones of Victorius'' bleeding hand turned to mush.

    Void of mercy, he raised his arm and jammed his holynce downward. Victorius was pierced through the stomach, with the weapon lodging deep into the dirt.

    Yes, Athena''s parents were trash.

    Yes, they deserved to die horrifically.

    However... they also gave birth to the woman he loved.

    That... was reason enough.

    He considered saying it out loud... but deep inside of him... he knew that words wouldn''t change Victorius'' mind.

    Nothing would.

    He channeled more power into his holynce before he released it. Its form would remain solid... securing Victorius in ce, unless he wanted to tear up his insides to free himself.

    Tanamar formed a simple stool out of mana, sitting down and steepling his fingers.

    If Victorious refused to beg at Athena''s feet... then the man would bleed to death, dying at his.

 Chapter 485 Plans

    ?When Tanamar''s containment field expired, Victoriusy in a pool of blood-- also expired.

    The blonde footman appeared to have died from an open wound on his abdomen... a slow and agonizing way to die.

    Also... his ''good'' hand had been crushed and broken. Very nice.

    Tycondrius gestured towards the corpse, "If you''re quite finished, I''ll be taking the body."

    "Seven hells..." Tanamar spat... "Do whatever you want. I''m leaving."

    Tycon chuckled to himself, watching the Holy Lancer''s back as he departed.

    "Brother-Zenon... what are the chances that we can return the equipment at full price?"

    "Egh..." The Librarian frowned, "Not too good, I think."

    "I had assumed as much," Tycon swept his hair back and sighed. "Very well... Let''s hang him up. It would be a shame for the materials to go to waste."

    ...

    As the morning bells passed, the body crucified atop Silva''s cliffs attracted various passersby. Tycon appeased their curiosities, detailing Victorius''ck of honor and duty.

    Honor and duty were very important to Tyrions.

    A tent-group from the Church came by to inquire about the macabre disy. Upon discovering that the footman''s offenses were in line with the punishment, they detailed the process for obtaining a permit for a ''proper'' crucifixion.

    It was an interesting and somewhat lengthy process. An offender would be stripped naked and scourged by a professional. Then, they would be paraded through the streets while a crier announced their sins to the public. Throughout, they would be shamed, spat upon, struck by stones-- humiliated, in general.

    Tycon thanked the helpful gentlemen for the information. The price for a permit was rtively fair and he would have chosen to spend the few gold pieces for the extravaganza. Hopefully, he would not soon have the need to crucify an individual... but it was nice to have the option avable.

    Zenon volunteered to retrieve food for the two of them, along with a small jug of wine. He and Tycon held a light-hearted pic with the sparkling beach scenery as the backdrop.

    Four male younglings came by to throw rocks at the dead body.

    It was a shame that the young footman was so rude as to miss his own crucifixion.

    "So... what happens now, Optio?" Zenon asked.

    Tycon shook his head, "To be perfectly honest, I''m at a loss... I''m d Victorius showed up and gave me something to do."

    "Optio..." Zenon wore a grave expression, "You know it''s not your fault, right?"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed, averting his gaze. "I am painfully aware. If it weren''t for Guild Letalis being in that Dungeon, no one from the Brazen Guard would have made it out alive..."

    Zenon grimaced, swirling his wine cup... "No, I mean... the whole thing. We never imagined any of what happened... not the hidden motive behind the quest, nor the Stormbrands betrayal..."

    Tycon leaned back on his elbows, gazing at the cloudy sky... "I could have."

    The Centurion ced a hand on his chin... "You know... at the time, we made our decision as best as we could."

    Tycon furrowed his brows... There was a certain familiarity in those words.

    "How was it?" Zenon sighed... "A wise man once told me: in our profession, such decisions will haunt us until the end of our suns. You can have regrets, but you can''t let them stop you from moving on."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "How droll," Tycon rolled his eyes, "What fool told you that?"

    "You did, Optio," Zenon grinned.

    Tycon pursed his lips... "That is not how I speak."

    "I was paraphrasing."

    Tycon sat up, downing his cup of watered-down wine.

    ...He appreciated the calm silence. It was stained, but beautifully, with the crowing of scavenger birds and the light giggling of cruel children.

    Zenon offered his usual gentle smile, "My faith in you remains unshaken, Brother-Tycon. I''m sure the same can be said of Tanamar and Athena. It''ll be much easier if you help us get through this, than if we were on our own."

    "Hmph, you lot would do fine..." Tycon bit his upper lip in thought... "--but yes, my assistance would make our actions more... efficient."

    "Hah, that''s more like it," Zenon grinned. "So what''s the n from here, Optio?"

    "As of current? We take most of the sun off to rest. In a few bells, we''ll meet with Athena to discuss our next course of action."

    ...

    The members of Guild Letalis'' forward team met in one of Olea Garden''s private rooms.

    Lone and Zenon... Athena and Tanamar... Sorina and Korr, along with Sergeant Cecil Salt looked to Tycon with great expectation.

    They would likely be disappointed.

    "I have two different proposals," Tycon began, "a good one and... one that is less so."

    Athena Vanzano balled up her tiny fists, "Well, good! Because we have to do *something*, Sir Tycon."

    Each member of the table murmured more-or-less in agreement.

    Tycon gestured towards the youngdy, "I propose House Vanzano moving their base of operations to Kasydon."

    "Wh-wh-whaaaaaaaat?!" The girl almost screamed, cupping her hands over her mouth in embarrassment. Though they were granted a private room, the restaurant walls weren''t so thick to not be heard.

    "No, it makes sense," Sorina offered. "Almost all of our businesses go through Caeruleum, somehow. With it no longer in our control, so are our profits in Ezyria."

    "Yeah," Lone shrugged. "I mean... it''s not like we have a house anymore in Silva. It kinda... burned down."

    Tanamar shot the Ranger a re before trying to calm Athena down, "It''s a good idea. We should listen to--"

    "I can''t BELIEVE YOU, Sir Tycon!!" Athena stood up, pointing. "We''re-- we''re just giving up?! Huh?! HUHHH?!"

    Tycon inhaled through his nostrils, grimacing. This was the n with the highest rate of sess in re-establishing House Vanzano as a power...

    Unfortunately, though it was a temporary measure, it was essentially the same as running away... ''giving up'', as Athena aptly stated.

    With a few years of amassing wealth and power, they could oppose any arising Snake Cult factions both socially and politically.

 Chapter 486 Champion

    ?Tycondrius'' proposal was, above-all, safe.

    With Athena''s various aplishments and with the strength of Guild Letalis, the rual of prestige and influence was guaranteed. Biding their time was a course of action that behooved a leader of a noble house...

    It would also be excruciating and unsatisfying until the time of reckoning. Adventurers were more used to brash, emotional reactions... one that gained them immediate benefits, as opposed to long-term.

    Could the young Athena realize that? Could she trust in her abilities and in her stable support, enough to look to the future instead of the present?

    "I-- I can''t believe you!!" Athena roared again in her tiny voice... and she stomped towards the exit.

    The answer seemed to be a resounding no.

    Athena opened and closed the door politely as she left.

    He could at least appreciate that, even in her anger, she kept proper etiquette.

    ...The members of Guild Letalis looked at each other awkwardly... then at Tanamar, who was raising the hands of his fingers.

    Five. Four. He was counting down. Two...

    The blue-haired Frostde burst back into the room, the door nearly flying off of its hinges, "What was the OTHER PLAN?! The first n is stupid!!"

    ...

    The Snake Cult had infiltrated Caeruleum, thergest trade city in Ezyria, their insurgents safely in the city''s folds and framework.

    The Holy Country''s leadership had to be informed... and it would be a pain to do so.

    Tycon couldn''t trust sending a missive, magical or mundane, ciphered or not. He would travel by airship to Cersei''s Rest, where he would appeal to the High Oracle personally.

    He''d also take Lone with him. The Ranger was finepany... and he wasn''t doing anything important.

    He would volunteer Guild Letalis to siege and perhaps even purge the trade city. Church reinforcements would be a boon for the operation, if they could be granted to him.

    One of the best-case scenarios would be... if Letalis'' offer to help was rejected. Maybe the Church would send their best and brightest to deal with the Snake Cult, instead?

    It was unlikely.

    Tycon was fairly certain the High Oracle and her advisors were well informed about Guild Letalis'' potential. They had so many Iron-Ranks. They were integral to the Brazen Guard avoiding annihtion.

    The results of the Caeruleum tournament spoke volumes about Athena and Tanamar, Letalis'' leader and. for all intents and purposes, co-leader.

    He tasked the two younglings with traveling to the Sleeping Country. There, they would seek out the Frozen Cairn Hidden Sect, and appeal to them for training. Athena had a great deal to learn from theirbat arts, specializing in weaving frost magic with martial skill.

    Tanamar would likely be tried and tested. The concept of a weak male was anathema to the all-female sect. Tycon chose to hide that particr fact from the young footman.

    He''d probably be fine.

    If Athena were to reach high Iron-Rank or Tanamar, Gold, it would benefit their cause, greatly.

    Tycon was shaping Letalis to be simr to Sol Invictus. They did not have the swell of adventurers, as with therger guilds... but with sound tactics, advanced equipment, and rigorous training, they could utterly destroy forces many times their number.

    An elite forward team to deal with atypical threats... or a group that could split up to deal with such issues, greatly benefited the model.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zenon refused to return to the Church, feeling that his duty was not yetplete.

    Tycon requested that he search for a very particr individual... one with the potential to exponentially raise Letalis'' chances of sess.

    The individual''s name was Kanbrai... and he was an orange cat with a tabby patterned coat.

    The Librarian''s mustachioed face seemed like he wanted to ask if he was serious. Thankfully, he did not voice his concerns, taking the task with as much sobriety as he could manage.

    Sorina and Korr expressed their wishes to help... also not willing to return to Nice to resume their mundane work. Tycon ordered them, along with the remaining Letalis members to meet up with Maeva and the Guild Letalis main body. They would head to the Aetnian mountains, residing and training with Isidor''s Faction.

    If Tycon did manage to obtain permission to siege a human city... he could request assistance from Isidor and the groups in his faction. The movements of the non-humans would need to be hidden from the xenophobic Church, but their warring capabilities would be worth the risk.

    He just had to ensure the attack was sessful... and to never show his face in the Holy Country again.

    Natalya would try her best to crucify him, if given a reason.

    ...Tycon had done more than enough toplete the Archbishop''s quest and for House Vanzano.

    He did not need to stay in the Holy Country and aid them... and their current action could easily lead to the violent death of all involved.

    Still, he would take the chance.

    After all, Maximus was no longer around.

    No one else qualified to champion House Vanzano besides himself.

    ...

    ? Elsewhere, on an ind off the coast of the Magic Kingdom. ?

    High-Captain Lang Hai growled in contemtion as he hacked his cuss into a pirate''s unarmored neck.

    The kid had been working with him for over a year... and he''d earned himself a ce amongst the Sea Wolves, both as abatant and as a young Lieutenant.

    He was a good kid...

    He was well-liked among the crew. He could hold his own in a fight. He didn''t smoke or drink. He yed with Rico when Hai was too tired to deal with her stupidity.

    ...He was also the only person who''d survived the Sea Wolf Officer training without epting even the first level of the Sea Wolf curse.

    He was the weirdest kid...

    Hai nced up.

    Invictus Pale soared over him with an acrobatic leap... ending with his crimson spear in the chest of a fat-bodied neckbeard.

    ...It was the pirate with the biggest hat.

    Hai smirked, "Not bad, kid."

 Chapter 487 Dumb, Stupid, Clever

    ?Lang Hai drew his pistol and shot a man in the back.

    How dare that guy! They were supposed to be fighting, not fleeing! The pirates *clearly* had a numbers advantage.

    Yet, some of his prey were running in the opposite direction...

    Sea god''s socks, they were ALL running away!

    Hai was no stranger to enemies running for their lives. It just... usually... took a bit longer.

    He hadn''t even revealed his final form!!

    "COWARDS!!!" Hai shouted, shaking his fist menacingly.

    He drew his other pistols, expending his ammunition for a measly three additional kills.

    Stupid pirates...

    Casually walking forward, he inspected Pale''s most recent kill... and discovered the reason for the pirates'' sudden withdrawal.

    "Wasn''t this guy... their boss?"

    The Pirate Captain didn''t even get to deliver a super-dramatic speech or show off his domineering skills.

    He just... died.

    The boy''s damned spear caved the guy''s chestte in and blew a bloody hole through his back big enough to put a hand through.

    Hai wasn''t even sure if HE could survive the attack Pale used. And if he did survive, he was sure he''d be bedridden for... a few suns? Half-a-week, at least?

    What a weird kid... with his weird skills...

    ...The kid used a skill, right? Hai hadn''t heard him activate it, but... the battlefield *was* pretty noisy.

    Sea god''s shitebox... Lang Hai thought that HE was a monster. Pale was... definitely right up there with him and Rico.

    "Should we go after them, Cap''n?" Pale smiled politely, flinging the blood off of his weapon.

    "Nah, don''t bother," Hai groaned listlessly. "Let''s just clean up, here."

    "Aye aye, Cap''n!" Pale beamed. He immediately got to work, casually sticking the pointy end of his spear into the throats and hearts of the fallen.

    Cold, calm efficiency. It was off-puttinging from a boy so young. That was definitely a habit he got from Sol Invictus'' leader, that green-haired nerd, Tycon.

    The eastern side consisted of just him and the kid...and they were positioned there just to dissuade the Marauding Squid pirates from recklessly attacking their nk.

    Between the two of them, they wiped out over two hundred men and women... and the enemy even had over a dozen Iron-Ranks.

    The boss was at least that.

    ...Whatever.

    He and Pale did well enough-- good enough for government work. Sergeant Jacque and Rico spearheaded the frontal assault and Lieutenant Eleven of Seven led the western wing. Those guys could finish off the rest...

    Still... a hundred each? Those numbers didn''t make any sense for such a short amount of time, even for him.

    Worse... he could have just sent the kid by himself, and he was pretty sure the pirates would''ve routed, all the same.

    "Ooh, Cap''n, I found some booty!" The kid waved his weapon, smiling so wide that his eyes turned into little lines.

    "Good to hear... --but stop saying it like that."

    "It''s a pirate term, Sir! Rico taught it to me."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Rico... of course she did. Over the past few moons, Pale had be her second favorite person.

    He was the first.

    Over the past year or so, Hai had grown a little closer to Rico... For whatever reason, he no longer found her as annoying as he once did.

    "We''re not pirates, you brat," He growled. "We''re pirate *hunters.* There''s a difference."

    High-Captain Lang Hai was the greatest pirate-hunter amongst them... until Pale came along. Honestly, besides the kid being a terrifying monster in his own right, it felt a little out of ce to have someone that was almost stronger than he was in his crew.

    The field battle against the Marauding Squids was the first time he had seen Pale at full strength.

    The kid held back in training, that was for sure... but no matter how much he and the other Officers tried to piss him off, he never showed just how much he was hiding.

    It was funny... the first time that Pale seemed to go all out-- it was when no one else in the crew was watching. That meant, besides him, nobody actually knew how strong he was-- oh, and maybe Rico. Those two y-fought a lot.

    He wasn''t jealous. Not at all. Why would he be?

    Anyroad, the behavior fell in line with the kid''s usual, borderline-annoying humbleness.

    Dumb... stupid... clever pup.

    Hai wished a little bit that he could take credit for how strong Pale had be.

    Honestly, he could not... but it''d have been nice to have Tycon grovel at his feet in gratitude.

    Dumb, noble... somewhat-clever nerd.

    After a short while, Pale approached him with his arms full of looted weapons and trinkets. The kid had good eyes, his attention to detail better than even his own. It was yet another thing the kid outshone his peers in.

    "Good haul, Lieutenant," Hai nodded.

    The boy looked up with a weird, far-off look in his eyes, "Sir, it''s been... over a year."

    "Huh..." Hai pursed his lips to the side... "Yeah. Doesn''t feel like it, though."

    "I think that... that soon... Sir Tycon''s gonna call for me."

    Hai furrowed his brows, taking off his majestic Captain''s hat to scratch his head, "What in the seven hells is that supposed to mean?"

    The boy shrugged, "Just had the feeling, I guess?"

    Haiunched a half-hearted kick against Pale''s armored side, "Talk sense, kid!! You''re not an elf, you''re a person!"

    "My dad''s an elf?" Pale stumbled but regained his bnce with an acrobatic cartwheel. "So I guess it''s okay that I make half-sense?"

    "Yeah, yeah. Quay of Sol Invictus, sing his name in praise-- or whatever," Hai grumbled.

    He and Pale started arranging their plunder in a pile. It gave him time to think.

    Lieutenant Eilean told him that years ago, the legendary guild, Sol Invictus, was capable of even fighting against the seven hells and eleven heavens. From what little Hai had experienced, meeting not even half of their members, he wanted to believe it.

    When Pale rejoined them... maybe even the gods would have something to fear.

    He just hoped that... if the world was ending anytime soon, that Tycon would have the courtesy to invite him.

    "Blood and thunder, Sol Invictus," He muttered. "I hope you losers don''t die out there..."

    "You say somethin'', Cap''n?" Pale turned.

    "What?! NO! Get back to LOOTING, Lieutenant!!"

 Chapter 488 Trouble

    ?It always felt like there was trouble wherever Coraline went.

    She wondered if it was because she was good at finding it... or if she was cursed by some capricious god, for misfortune to follow her.

    She felt her ears twitch, identifying amotion by the ramp, up ahead.

    "What do you mean, SURRENDER my enchanted items?"

    "I''m sorry, young master. This is the policy set by the Windwright''s Guild."

    A green-haired youth wearing schrly robes was arguing with an airship employee.

    The pale-skinned guardswoman was professionally dressed, her diamond blonde hair in a bun, wearing dark blue brigandine and thick padded sleeves. Her furrowed brows were marked with ck reptilian scales, a dovahkiin...

    ording to folk knowledge, the blood of dragons flowed through her veins. Such people were known for feats of great strength in battle... and some could even breathe mes or small bolts of lightning. She''d never seen it, herself, but it seemed those tall tales did nothing to ward the young schr''sints.

    "I trust you lot to fly an airship--" The youth lowered his voice... but Coraline''s Elven ears could still hear him in the distance, "And that has nothing to do with whether or not I''m wearing an enchanted ring."

    The guardswoman stealthily put a hand on the hilt of her sword, her patience clearly running thin.

    Coraline did the same thing with her rapier whenever she was stressed.

    ...A part of her wished she hadn''t sold it.

    "Please, Sir," The guardswoman pleaded, her voice still stern, "You read the rules when you purchased your tickets. Weapons and enchanted items must be surrendered upon boarding."

    "Come on, Boss," The schr''spanion urged him. "We''re holding up the line."

    Beside the arms-crossed teenager was a taller, slightly older boy. While the green-haired youth had wless skin as if he''d never worked a sun in his life, his friend was tanned, and his cheek and nose had scar tissue from cuts.

    Coraline could tell that underneath the man''s dark maroon gambeson, he was fit and muscr. The fact that he had a clean shave and his hair was cut neatly implied more that he was an adventurer or guard rather than a schr.

    Gambesons *were* in-fashion, though.

    If they weren''t schr and guard... Coraline thought they could very well be con-men: a sly face and a muscled tough.

    Hm... maybe. Neither carried weapons... and rogues at least carried a dagger for defense... Therger boy did look capable in a fist-fight, though.

    She''d need to keep her eye on them...

    ...if there was any trouble.

    --which wouldn''t happen.

    ording to the numbers released by the Windwright''s Guild, there was less than a percent of a percent chance that an issue would arise while flying on one of their airships.

    If there was an issue... like a formation malfunctioning or... really bad weather, then there was still a 98% chance of survival.

    Coraline had nothing to worry about.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...But she did have to board first.

    "Excuse me-- sorry." She moved her way past an elderly Popoto couple and a gruff-looking older elf.

    "(Watch your movements, Sapling,)" The older elf red at her with ck-sclera eyes.

    Coraline panicked for a split second before responding formally in Elven, "(My apologies, Lord. I wish to assist with...) the boarding."

    He was an Ancient. Being rude to an Ancient was the biggest mistake any elf could make.

    "(Saplings... always in a hurry...)"

    The Ancient seemed to be giving her permission, so she rendered a quick bow and jogged towards the front of the line.

    "Excuse me! Sir," Coraline wore the most sincere smile she could fake, "Your items will be quite safe, I assure you. The storage lockbox will be taken to the hold, locked behind the most modern of enchantments-- and that can only be essed by the Ship Captain."

    The youth turned to address her, initially in anger Upon seeing that Coraline was just an adorable Elven girl, his gaze immediately softened.

    Coraline was not the most threatening person.

    Usually, she hated the way she looked. Her old guild leader never took her seriously... and the only type of positive attention she got was from rude, drunken old lechers who incorrectly assumed she was easy to take home. Her looks were only useful to disarm people in social situations... which thankfully, was currently appropriate.

    "In the hold, you say?" The youth narrowed his gaze... "And locked securely behind enchantments?"

    He had... the most peculiar golden eyes.

    The blonde guard nodded hurriedly and gestured towards therge wooden chest at her side, "That''s right, young master. The enchantments ced on both this lockbox and in the hold were designed by the Banker''s Guild-- impossible to break into and with only a single key. Captain Nikandros takes security very seriously."

    The guard had a very light ent... She was from Nemaya Strana, the Sleeping Country. That and her bloodline made her a very rare sight in Tyrion.

    "Tss," The youth scoffed. "Very well. I''d better get a receipt for this."

    "Of course, honored guest," The guard granted Coraline a silent nod of thanks before returning her attention to the young man and his ring. It seemed to be the only thing he and hispanion were checking in.

    What could he be hiding? The only reason Coraline could think of for the schr''s reluctance was... if he was a mage and the ring was his focus. He definitely wasn''t... She would have been able to sense a higher Circle of mana in him, if that was the case.

    It was probably nothing... maybe the lightly-enchanted trinket held sentimental value?

    She watched the two of them board the on-ramp to the airship.

    A youth with strange, golden eyes. A rough, scarred boy at his side.

    It triggered all the warning signals in Coraline''s brain that the two of them were more than they appeared.

    "Coraline Heartsong?" The guard smiled politely. Magical tool in hand, she scanned Coraline for enchantments.

    "That''s me," Coraline nodded, presenting her ticket. "Victrix to Cersei''s Rest... one way."

 Chapter 489 The Golden Eagle

    ?Coraline peeked at the boarding list while the guardswoman was upied.

    It seemed that she was the only female elf on the flight-- and her unapologetically Elven name had revealed her identity.

    "Thank you for your help, (little star.)" The woman sighed, "If you had note, maybe little lordling would have ident-- falling off pier."

    The dovahkiin guard used a term of endearment in the old Nemayannguage. Most people assumed all elves were older than they were, so it was nice that Coraline was treated her age for once.

    However... talking so casually about an ''ident'' that would result in certain death was a little jarring. She nced off the high pier-- a decision, she regretted immediately. It was a long way to the ground below... and the airship would climb far higher, in transit.

    Scary.

    She bared her teeth, trying to hide her difort, "Y-you''re wee, Miss. Can I please board the ship, now?"

    "Yes, of course, honored guest." The guard gestured towards the boarding ramp with a light bow, "Please watch your step and enjoy your stay on the Golden Eagle."

    ...

    Coraline had been on a ship once... a merchant''s vessel, rather than a passenger ship.

    That other ship was designed to sail on the water, though. Worst experience of her life, by far.

    The insides of the Golden Eagle werefortably decorated. Paintings hung on the walls and there were little tables with vases holding colored paper flowers. Glossy red-leather sitting chairs were ced in the strangest spots, as if passengers would randomly decide to sit and chat or read. The halls were also plenty spacious... not that she wasrge enough to worry about squeezing through anything.

    She found her room easily enough, a private space set up for two people that she had all to herself.

    The Golden Eagle used to be a luxury liner, pandering only to the wealthy elite. Something happened to it a few years ago-- and then it wasn''t. She spent a sun in the Victrix city archives searching for an answer, but came up with nothing.

    Still, it made her ticket cheap... as far as airship tickets went, anyroad.

    Heading back home to the Eastern States had been a mostly lonely experience. The inds that made up Cersei''s Rest would be thest stop before then.

    The prospect wasn''t really that exciting, visiting the holiest inds in Tyrion. All her coin went into travel expenses... which meant that she couldn''t afford to do anything nice.

    Maybe she could swallow her pride and flutter her pretty eyshes at a handsome, wealthy noble who''d whisk her away to see the sights? It was a rare privilege, after all, to experience the wonderful charm of ''Miss Coraline Heartsong''~

    Hmph... No way. Coraline would ''ident'' herself off the ship before she''d put herself in such a stupid situation.

    Traveling by sea would have saved her coinpurse from crying tears of injustice, but she was absolutely unwilling to sail through pirate-infested waters... again. When technology developed enough that sky pirates becamemonce, maybe she''d reconsider.

    Wouldn''t be anytime soon.

    Coraline pomf''d down on the bed. What was supposed to be a mattress turned out to be a thinyer of hopes and well-wishes...

    Maybe that was the Golden Eagle''s terrible fate? To have their bedding cursed by an evil wizard to be as ufortable as possible.

    She grabbed her bag and started to unpack. Maybeying her bedroll on top of the joke-mattress would make something half-decent?

    She doubted it.

    A rolled-up scroll fell out, rolling underneath her bunk.

    In retrieving it... her eyes caught a dark spot... a small hole bored into the section of wall.<novelnext></novelnext>

    And beside that hole... was a scattering of dark... beans.

    Great...

    Coraline sucked in air through her teeth.

    Rats.

    Even as an airship, the Golden Eagle had the failings of a seaborne ship.

    Coraline no longer looked forward to sleeping. The humans probably won''t mind, but her? She''d be kept up all night by their squeaking and scratching.

    Sighing, she unrolled her scroll. It was a letter of rmendation her previous employer had transcribed and notarized.

    The prospect of finding a new job was absolutely not something she looked forward to.

    The missive was full of velvet daggers-- words and phrases that sounded nice, but were anything but.

    ''Miss Coraline does her work when prompted'' sounded like she had to be constantly reminded to do her job.

    ''Miss Coraline often finds creative solutions to unique situations'' made her out to be an idiot.

    ''Miss Coraline has great attention to detail, though sometimes at the cost of speed and efficiency.''

    ''Miss Coraline'' was very d she left her previous guild-- even though she was pretty much forced to resign.

    ''Miss Coraline outed her stupid boss in front of the whole guild, because he was embezzling coin to fund his alcohol and drug habits!''

    But as much sleuthing work as she did... she didn''t realize half of the guild was in on it-- the more influential half, of course.

    And what ''Miss Coraline'' was absolutely *not* was everyone''s friend.

    People can''t be trusted. People lie.

    Men, especially-- but talking about that was an entirely different set ofints.

    It was probably the number one reason she didn''t want to find a new job. At least in her old guild, she knew for sure not to trust any of herpanions... and which ones she''d avoid, even at the cost of appearing rude.

    Coraline''s ears twitched, hearing footsteps in the hallway. With a heavy sigh, she rolled up the letter and put it back in her bag. She''dment her depressing, horribly mundane situationter.

    Maybe the rats woulde andugh with her.

    Ugh, no. That would be horrifying. Those things have diseases.

    The person on the other side of the door gave the wood two polite raps, "Good evening, this is Captain Nikandros. The evening meal will be served in the dining hall shortly."

    Was it that time already? She wasn''t even hungry.

    "I''ll be out in a moment! Thank you."

 Chapter 490 Dining Hall

    ?Coraline needed to eat.

    Often when she was working, she''d forget and end up passing out while reviewing documents or checking inventory. She always wondered if she''d overwork herself one sun and wake up dead.

    That''s how poor Rnd died. Poor, sweet Rnd...

    "Beighhhh..."

    She nted her face onto her pillow, searching desperately for the motivation to change out of her traveling outfit...

    ...which was a pain, because she also had absolutely no one to impress.

    Also, she didn''t own anything that even closely resembled a dinner gown. Everything nice she had, she''d sold off to reduce her carry weight and to help fund her travel.

    She''d change her tunic and put on a skirt, at least. She owed it to herself to eat a decent meal in clean clothing.

    ...

    Stepping out into the hallway, Captain Nikandros was making his way back towards both her and the dining hall.

    The Captain of the Golden Eagle was a tall and slightly plump older man with a rough shave. His ears were slightly pointed, suggesting Elven blood. As the Windwright''s Guild ran primarily on nepotism, a half-elf was nothing to be surprised about.

    Tottering behind him was the Popoto couple she''d seen earlier, dressed in proper dinner attire, if very slightly worn and old-fashioned.

    Coraline was slightly shorter than an average elf-- just shy of five fulms, but the elderly couple stood a little over three. Popotoes were a unique people, small and naturally cute, with bronze skin and button noses. They also tended to produce schrs and master Magicians... though for thetter, Coraline didn''t sense any hint of Circle-Mastery from either.

    "Ah, Miss Coraline, I presume," Nikandros waved casually. "I''d like to introduce you to Master Giorgio Castiglioni and his wife, Mistress Lucrezia."

    "Oh, hello," Coraline did her best to grab onto her skirt and curtsy, trying not to look like an unculturedmoner.

    "Ah! Thank you, thank you, youngdy!" The gentleman Popoto smiled, his tiny cheeks puffed out like a frog''s.

    "I''m so terribly sorry, Miss Coraline. You''ll have to excuse my dear husband."

    Lady Lucrezia returned the curtsy-- far more gracefully than Coraline thought she had, herself. She then stood on the tips of her toes, a hand cupped over her mouth, "He can''t handle his wine like he used to."

    Her gown was gorgeous, with tiny roses folded into the dark, lustrous fabric... and she had the cutest pair of matching gloves. Designer clothing, for sure... Alizeaun, with a Tyrion ir.

    "You must BOTH forgive me!" Giorgio chuckled, stroking his neatly trimmed silver beard, "This is our second honeymoon, you see. And wine is a MUST for a celeBRATION and MERRI-ment!!"

    "Giorgio!" Lucrezia clicked her tongue and ced her hands on her hips, "You''re embarrassing yourself."

    Judging by the woman''s subtle smirk, she wasn''t actually all that angry.

    "But... but you still love me, all the same. Don''t you, Lucrezia?" The older man pouted.

    "Oh, Giorgio, what am I going to do with you?" Lucrezia shot Coraline a look of helplessness, "Come now, Miss Coraline. I might need your help if Giorgio can''t make it up the steps."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The short-statured woman reached her gloved hand up, reminiscent of how a human child would seek to grab an adult''s hand before crossing a heavy-trafficked road.

    Against Coraline''s better judgment, she took the Popoto''s hand and allowed herself to be guided. Giorgio doddered ''merrily'' on Lucrezia''s opposite side, and swinging his wife''s arm back and forth.

    It had been years since Coraline felt anything that resembled the warmth of a family. She''d gone through a string of boyfriends while adventuring in Tyrion and Alizeau-- though none of them seemed to be able to stand her for long.

    Maybe this was the trouble she had been fearing? That she''d be taught to love again by an affectionate elderly couple celebrating their second honeymoon.

    She sensed movement behind her... unheard and unseen, but felt.

    Turning back, she saw the Ancient appear at the end of the hallway, silent as a ghost. There was magic in that man... though not a Circle-Caster. He almost certainly belonged to the Ranger ss-- or a martial ss with simr deadly potential.

    He inclined his head towards her almost imperceptibly in acknowledgment.

    ording to the boarding list, the Ancient''s name was Arod of House Svel... or in themon tongue, House Highde. It was a well known High Elven House in Alizeau, full of politicians, high-rank military officers, and even a member of the Council. Lord Arod wore an ornately patterned cloak over pristine leather armor, his wealth and status obvious even tomoners like herself.

    Curiously, jutting out from behind his cloak... were the hilts of two swords.

    But weapons weren''t allowed on-board the Golden Eagle?

    "Lord Highde, just in time," Nikandros waved. "The kitchens are preparing a special vegetarian meal, as you''ve requested."

    "(You have my thanks, Nikandros,)" Arod replied in Elven.

    " I just pray that our meager services do not insult you."

    "(A simple meal is all I require, Sky-Captain. If my priority was luxury, I would not board a ship that deigned to carrymonfolk.)"

    "Ahaha..." Nikandrosughed politely, though his expression had grown somewhat strained. "Of course, Sir. I will do what I can to ensure a safe and pleasant passage."

    ...

    Guided by Lucrezia''s hand, Coraline entered the dining hall... at which time, she hastily memorized itsyout. It was a simple room with arge receiving entrance, a hallway exit with arrows directing towards the chamber pots, and what was likely the door to the kitchens.

    She was no longer an adventurer... and it was incredibly unlikely that she would need to escape in haste... but she always mapped out a room''s dynamics in her head.

    If she didn''t, she''d be overwhelmed by paranoid delusions until she did.

    The dining hall was popted by nearly everyone on the Golden Eagle... and they upied less than a third of the space allotted.

    The green-haired young master was seated beside his cheek-scarredpanion. Coraline didn''t want to sit anywhere near the argumentative noble... There were too few passengers for it to be helped.

    Still... Coraline was determined to enjoy herself at any cost.

 Chapter 491 Char & Brimstone

    ?The crowd had directed their attention to the end of the table, where a boisterous adventurer was telling a story.

    The tall gentleman wore a heavy ck-and-white patterned coat, his arms were covered by chainmail, and... he had heavy, ram-like horns on his forehead.

    He was a tiefling... and if popr belief was true, there was demon blood in his ancestry. At second nce, his skin was tinged slightly red, as well...

    As... initially peculiar as his appearance was, unique bone structure and skin color were not indicative of a person''s nature. Such was the case for elves and humans, as well.

    ...Still, she was d for their differing heights. A forehead collision with the adventurer would probably put her in the infirmary. Or worse.

    Adjacent to the horned man was a half-Elven male, and beside him was a human woman. The elf-blood was lightly armored... though predictably, was equipped far more cheaply than Lord Arod. The woman was simply dressed: braided ponytail, conservative green blouse, soft-fabric trousers with pockets that looked incrediblyfortable and she wanted a pair for herself.

    The dragon-blooded guardswoman stood rigidly, keeping vignce from a corner of the room. At the distance, the dark scales on her forehead made it seem like she was glowering and thinking of more ''idents'' she could cause.

    Coraline excused herself from Lucrezia''s guidance, taking the empty seat next to the human woman whose clothes she liked. Predictably, Lord Arod sat beside her-- as far as possible from the rowdy tiefling storyteller.

    "...So I says to her-- I says, ''if that''s any sign of what else is under there, you''d have to pay ME for the service!! ...And guess what she says, Lone!"

    "Uh, I dunno," The bronze-skinned boy idly scratched at the scar on his cheek. He was smiling politely, but seemed more confused than excited, "What''d she say?"

    "She AGREES to it! With her husband or boyfriend or whatever in the VERY same room! What a CUCK, am I right?!" The tieflingughed as if he''d just told the funniest story in the world.

    From what little Coraline had heard, it really wasn''t.

    The human-- Mister Lone, she gathered, chuckled half-heartedly in response.

    "Mister Ramon," The green-haired youth smiled politely-- a drastic change in temper from what Coraline had seen of him prior, "Perhaps we should change the topic to something more appropriate?"

    "Ah, you right, you right," The tiefling nodded, but suddenly turned towards Coraline''s end of the table.

    "Captain NICK!! Where''ve you been hidin'' these FIIIIINEdies! You already got Maisie and Olesya! Y''can''t keep ALL OF ''EM to yourself!"

    "My apologies, good Sir!" The Popoto, Giorgio Castiglioni, yelped in an overly loud voice while holding his wife''s hand possessively, "This lovelydy already has a gentleman suitor!!"

    "Oh, Giorgio..." Lucrezia pouted, but ced her own hand atop her husband''s.

    The Captain smiled radiantly, waving his arms and re-assuming his host persona, "Mister Ramon, you wound me! I wouldn''t dare deceive the storied guild leader of the BADASS-ASSINS!"

    "AHAHA!" Ramon guffawed, flexing his thick arms, "Ah, of course! My reputation PRO-ceeds me, after all!!"

    That wasn''t... that was opposite-- oh, whatever. Coraline held her tongue, smiling politely. She was probably the only person in the room who noticed or cared.

    "OH! HOHO!! The... BADASS-ASSINS!!" Mister Giorgio put his hands together, pping vigorously and prompting a cascade of light apuse from the other passengers.

    Coraline apuded slightly louder to make up for Lord Arod''s impotence. Thest thing she wanted was to have an awkward meal.

    "Darling, do you know who those adventurers are?" Lucrezia whispered.

    "I haven''t a clue, my love." He confided, "But I do like their style!"

    "Thank you, thank you!" Ramon stood up and dipped his body in an ostentatious bow.

    Coraline was slightly disappointed to see that the adventurercked therge bat wings that she heard tieflings were supposed to have.

    "And just so you know, Mister Lone--" Ramon looked up with a wicked grin, "You got the muscles to join my guild, if yer lookin''!"

    The green-haired noble raised an eyebrow, "And what qualifications does your guild have, Mister Ramon, to be confident in your... recruiting efforts?"

    "Well! We got a HEALIN'' CLASS!" Ramon cackled, the manner of which was almost... viinous in nature, "Can''t find those, no matter how hard ya try!"

    Lone pursed his lips as if he was deliberating. "What else you got?"

    "My strikingly good looks," Ramon winked.

    "Aha... I''ll have to pass, Mister Ramon," Loneughed softly in chagrin.

    "Hurr hurr, can''t me a guy for askin''." Ramon smacked the man''s back-- a bit too hard, it looked like, "Worst y''can do is say no, am I right? That''s my philosophy when ites to women, too!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Capitaine Nikandros..." A solemn andmanding voice came from Lord Arod, slightly tinged with an Alizeaun ent, "I''d like to inquire about the timeliness of the meal."

    ...Quietly, he added in Elven, "(And I do hope it does not stink of charred flesh and brimstone.)"

    The Ancient shot a vindictive re towards the tiefling at the opposite end of the table... a gesture Coraline was d Mister Ramon did not notice.

    To the north of Alizeau was Bael Turath, a nation that boasted a moderate tiefling poption. It seemed that Lord Arod shared his countrymen''s general disdain for their neighbors.

    "Ah, yes. At once, Lord Highde," The plump Captain nodded his head like a bouncing ball."M-maisie! Is dinner almost ready, my dear?"

    "It''ll be ready when it''s ready, Cap''n!" The high-pitched voice of a woman replied from the kitchen. "Just gimme a sec''nd!"

    "(Are these the type of creatures you associate with, Sapling?)" Lord Arod asked in a low voice.

    "(Lord Highde, it is considered proper etiquette to entertain their foolishness.)"

    Arod pursed his lips, not deigning to reply to Coraline''s gentle suggestion.

    If he was going to be rude, she wouldter suggest that he request his meals be served to him privately.

    ...

    Dinner was served shortly after. Surprisingly, it was tailored to passenger preference, even at the low price Coraline had purchased her ticket for.

    She was given a lovely sd with crisp croutons, ripened cherry tomatoes, and a light vinaigrette-- no onions. Aside from that was a rich bone broth with soaked potato-flour dumplings...

    Oh, the noodle dish was wonderful, too. Its rich sauce tasted of sun-dried tomatoes and it was topped with fresh herbs and a grated, dry cheese.

    Lord Arod was served the same meal. Coraline had no idea how, but it looked inexplicably... wealthier.

    "Oh, this is GOOOODD!! MAISIE!! Your cooking are good enough to DIE FOR!!!" Ramon shouted across the table, scarfing down his meal like a savage that hadn''t eaten in suns. "How ''bout you join my guild?"

    "Oh, you!" The dark-haired human woman giggled. Her voice was light and child-like, more appropriate for Lady Lucrezia rather than that of a mature human woman. "I''m ttered, Mista Ramon-- really, I am."

    Maisie nced at Captain Nikandros sitting beside her before looking back at Ramon, "But you folks don''t need another healer-- and I have my hands full helpin'' out the Cap''n."

    "Fair enough," The tiefling shrugged as he consumed another bloody piece of beef steak. "S''really good, though."

    Ramon, Lone, and the green-haired youth had simr meals... unsurprising for the two, muscr males, but slightly out of ce for the third.

    Mister Lone''s schrlypanion had a lithe, thin build, much like an elf or half-elf. He could use a bit more bulk...

    She was never much attracted to effeminate males without hair on their chests. She''d grown up with elves... so that kind of body-type made her think of her brothers and male cousins.

    Mister Ramon had her ideal height... He was top-heavy and muscr, which she liked-- and he had a cute, slightly protruding gut.

    However, Coraline preferred a slightly more athletic physique... someone like... Mister Lone, actually.

    She once heard... that a man that could take care of himself could take care of her. She didn''t need to be protected... but the thought was nice.

    "Olesya!" Ramon turned in his seat to address the reticent guardswoman, "How ''bout youe sit and eat with us? If you don''t want to pull up a chair, you can sit on myp!"

    The blonde woman bowed her head, her expression unchanging, "My apologies, Mister Ramon. I have already eaten. Please enjoy your meal without worries."

    "Oh! Speaking of enjoyin'' ourselves, I gotta check somethin'' in the kitchen," Chef Maisie bowed, the skirt of her frilly Alizeaun maid outfit ring at the sides. "I nearly forgot about the dessert! C''mon, Cap''n!"

    "Ah, yes! The dessert!" Captain Nikandros stood up to follow, "Please excuse me as well, dear guests. Wouldn''t want the ship to burn down-- we''ve only just departed, after all."

    For the briefest of moments, Coraline saw something change in Olesya''s face. Recognition? Disgust? Anger? After the micro-expression, the guardswoman returned to her professional mien: cool, calm, and collected.

    Whatever it was had caused a visible sign of distress. But whatever it was... was also none of Coraline''s business.

    ",

 Chapter 492 Forever Lone

    ?"Dear guests!" The Captain popped his head back out of the kitchen door, "Onest thing of note: I''d like to make it known that the only passengers legally wed are Master and Mistress Castiglioni. Thus, you fine, single gentlemen may consider reintroducing yourselves to Miss Coraline and Miss Felicity."

    What kind of announcement was that?! Coraline strongly considered hiding underneath the table.

    "Eh?!" Ramon tilted his head, pointing a red, ck-nailed finger at Lord Arod, "What about that one?"

    The half-elf at Ramon''s side, Mister Edan, snatched one of the tiefling''s ram-horns, pulling him close, "That''s Master Highde, you fool-- a male... a very wealthy male."

    Ramon clumsily smacked hispanion''s hand away, "Oh. Ah. Yeah. No uh... no respect intended, Master Eyede."

    The braided woman by Coraline''s side snickered at Ramon''s verbal blunder. This was the Miss Felicity the Captain had mentioned. She was quiet and proper-- her personalityrgely overshadowed by Ramon''s.

    Coraline liked her.

    "Master HIGHBLADE! My well-meaning friend means to say: no DIS-respect intended, Sir," Edan bowed his low enough for his forehead to touch the table... "On my life, we would never dare to purposely offend a High Elven house."

    "Right! As''what I said!" Ramon insisted.

    Lord Arod gave Coraline an usatory nce... likely meaning to repeat his inquiry from earlier.

    She pretended not to notice. High Elven house aside, she and her previous guild had worked for high profile clients like Arod of Highde before. With wealth came a certain degree of entitlement.

    Coraline didn''t want to get too close to the noble... He might try to recruit her or worse-- order her around like a servant. If she refused, it would lead to a whole slew of other problems. She''d remain civil with the Ancient for the sake of peace, but would never dare to ask for more than that.

    "Alright!" Ramon pped his hands together, garnering everyone''s attention. "New conversation, then!"

    ...

    The devil-horned Ramon was straightforward and honest. Also, he was as dumb as a rock.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, found his presence... refreshing. Dealing with him, he didn''t need to watch his words or act his rank. He could essentially... just act without thinking, not worried about how anyone else thought of him.

    He''d spent time imprisoned in Turrim Orientem over false charges. After establishing his dominance, he became known as ''Lord Ranger.'' Most recently, he had joined the ranks of Letalis Serpentia as a Sergeant. There, he fought ghosts and heretics among the Brazen Guard''s very militaristic Munifices and Decani.

    The longer he spent in Guild Sol Invictus... the more important it became to speak with actions, rather than words.

    Lone got the advice from Tycon, himself... As long as he didn''t open his mouth, people wouldn''t find out that he... was barely smarter than Ramon.

    Flying over to Cersei''s Rest was a chance for him to unwind.

    It was just him and Tycon... and he was fairly sure his boss'' opinion of him couldn''t fall any lower than...

    --that time in the alley, where he...

    ...and that time with the butter... or the statue... and then the poison gas...

    Lone had made a lot of mistakes over the past several moons. But he was getting better.

    Ramon leaned forward, setting a chainmail-covered elbow over the table, "Have I mentioned that we''re recruiting?"

    "Yes, you have, Mister Ramon," Tycon said, shaking his head. "--on multiple asions."

    "Oh, haha!" Ramon sat back, snickering. He was grinning so wide his eyes closed, "You''re right! My bad!"

    Lone found himself smiling along with him... allowing his eyes to drift over the other passengers, stopping at one of them, in particr.

    If he wanted to act like a proper, stand-up gentleman, then it''d be for--

    "I have an idea!" The Popoto, Mister Giorgio, had stood atop his seat, standing as tall as the humans and elves sitting around the table.

    Lone looked across the table at the short Elven girl, a small smile on her glossy lips. She was probably the prettiest girl he''d ever seen.

    They had a connection, he was sure of it. He couldn''t point out what exactly that connection was... but it was there.

    Her name was Coraline-- a name that was surprisingly just as pretty as she was.

    And her sharp eyes were staring at... Mister Giorgio?

    Lone didn''t feelfortable calling another man cute... but that''s definitely what Giorgio was, a cute old guy.

    But why was Coraline staring at... Mister Giorgio''s... wine ss?

    It was empty. What was so special about that?

    "Giorgio, get down from there, this instant," The man''s wife pleaded through closed teeth.

    "Nonsense, Lucrezia. It''s a good idea! Just-- *hic* just hold on a sec."

    It was empty. The Popoto-- half Lone''s height and less than half his size, had downed his entire ss of wine.

    "Ladies and gentlemen-- esteemedpanions of the Golden Eagle Alliance," Giorgio began...

    "Oh, this guy''s good..." Ramon nodded, pursing his lips.

    "Ramon, shush~!" Felicity scolded in a harsh whisper.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Giorgio waved an open palm, "Think back... to the most memorable moment in your lives! To when you firstid eyes upon the most... gorgeous woman (or man) you''ve everid eyes on!

    "And let''s say-- for conversation''s sake... that you could spend the rest of your liiiiives with that fateful person! Who would it be?!"

    Lone''s mouth and throat had be drier than the dirt on his boots, as he struggled to gulp.

    Coraline had caught him staring... and she averted her gaze, wearing a hard frown.

    ...Seven hells.

    Well, he''d probably ruined his chances with her. And he didn''t even have to say a single word.

    No surprise. Lone''s sess with women could be summed up by the going-away gift he got from Sorina. She got him an iron ring to celebrate him being''Forever Alone.''

    It was supposed to be funny.

    It was... a little.... but in a sad and pathetic way.

    Lone followed the gaze of everyone at the table to find that Mister Giorgio was pointing his palm towards the male elf next to Coraline.

    Yeah, that wasn''t going to work.

    ...

    Coraline hated being stared at.

    Was there something in her hair? On her face, maybe? She dabbed her napkin at the corner of her lips like she was taught.

    Maybe she had some lettuce stuck in her teeth? She loved sds, so that sort of thing happened often...

    If Mister Lone had noticed something off about her, then it was polite to not say anything at all. Still, it meant she''d spend the rest of her time in the dining hall worrying about it.

    The table''s atmosphere had grown suspiciously quiet... and she turned to notice that Mister Giorgio was directing everyone''s attention to... Lord Arod, of all people.

    Yeah... That wasn''t going to work.

    Even the Ancient, far removed from the whims and woes ofmoners such as herself, had found himself in an embarrassing predicament. He was ring at her... likely having understood that she was his only ally.

    Coraline considered leaving the high elf to flounder in awkwardness. It''s what a typical noble would do if their roles were reversed.

    Unfortunately, her conscience got the better of her.

    "Ahem... I''ll go first," She muttered...

    Suddenly, she became very aware that all the attention had refocused on her.

    Her throat had be as dry as an arid wastnd and she struggled to swallow her saliva, "I uh..."

    "Look at her, Giorgio," Lucrezia scolded, "You''ve mortified the poor girl!"

    Her voice took on a motherly sweetness as she addressed Coraline, "Now, now, dear... you needn''t feel obligated to satisfy my fool husband''s curiosity."

    "Indeed. The contents of a youngdy''s heart are best kept secret... shared privately with a suitor of her choosing."

    Coraline raised her eyebrows as she turned towards an unlikely ally. Those words came from the green-haired youth, waxing somewhat poetically.

    He didn''t sound like a bookish mage or schr. He sounded like a con-man. The youth was dangerous and she wanted nothing to do with him-- much less be defended.

    "N-no, it''s fine," Coraline stammered. "I just need a moment to think."

    She needed a very long moment, if possible.

    "Pff... Ckkkch.... Ahaha... HAHAHA!" Ramon tried and failed to hide his loud, grating guffaws, "Yo, Tychon, what in the SeVennN HeLLs was THAT?! NO ONE talks like that!!"

    "Ramon, don''t~!" Felicity chided her ram-horned guild leader. "I thought it was sweet!"

    So the young master''s name was Tychon... If Coraline''s studies in the old Tyrionnguage served her, the root word ''tycho'' meant ''luck.''

    ...It also could be from the root word ''tynchano'' which meant to fall on deaf ears-- which was far closer to how she had initially judged him.

    "You must forgive me, Mister Ramon," Tychon inclined his head. "I don''t have the raw strength and bravado indicative of one such as yourself. In lieu of that, I must exemplify a modicum of intelligence in order to win respect from my peers."

    "Aha, no need to be formal, guy," Ramon snickered. "I was jus'' talkin'' forughs!"

    The quiet Felicity had covered her mouth... but unable to contain herself, she held her stomach in a fit of giggling, "By the godddds! Sir Tychonnnnn~!"

    "What? What''s going on?" Ramon lifted his chin, pouting like a child.

    "Congrattions, Ramon," Edan rubbed his chin in thought... "That was the most... eloquent way I''ve ever heard someone call you an idiot."

    ",

 Chapter 493 Choice Of Life-Partner

    ?The table erupted inughter... at Mister Ramon''s expense, with even Lord Arod impossibly betraying a derisive smirk.

    "Felicity!" Edan nudged the giggling human woman at his side, "Maybe our guild leader could use a heal? For that SICK BURNNNN!!!"

    ? No one liked being called a fool... and boiling hot anger rushed to Mister Ramon''s demonic eyes as he puffed out his chest indignantly.

    Feeling the danger, Coraline immediately nced at the closest exit... then at Olesya and Lord Arod, the two armed people in the dining hall.

    Thankfully, just as quickly, Ramon seemed to... dete.

    "WELL!! ...You ain''t wrong, friend," He grinned.

    "Aha! Good, good!" Giorgio pped his hands, "We''re all friends here!"

    Ramon leaned forward, palms on the table, "How about you, then, Tychon? Huh? I bet you''re just a lonely virgin, his nose stuck in the books all sun!"

    "Tss," The young master scoffed. "I''m courting a youngdy who resides in the City of Silva. I suppose that would be my choice of life-partner, as of current."

    Felicity ced her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her inteced fingers, "A... that''s too bad."

    Coraline raised her eyebrows in surprise. Maybe Miss Felicity wasn''t as quiet and proper as she''d assumed...

    "Felicity... really?" Edan grimaced, no longer amused.

    "I''m ready!" Coraline stood up, her chair scraping the wooden deck and calling all the attention to her.

    That was certainly a mistake... but standing up gave her the fake courage she needed to speak in front of a crowd.

    Or so she thought.

    Felicity smiled, gesturing to her, "Let''s hear it, Miss Coraline~"

    "Go ahead, dear," Lucrezia gently urged.

    Though Lady Lucrezia had initially said that Coraline didn''t need to share... there was a starry look of expectation in the grey-haired woman''s eyes.

    Coraline couldn''t let down the sweetest olddy she''d ever met.

    And all this... was because she wanted to downy Lord Arod''s social ineptitude.

    Bleigh.

    "I don''t... have-- anyone in mind..."

    Coraline took a deep breath. She was stammering and she had to focus to keep loud enough to be heard...

    "--but... my ideal partner is... someone strong... Maybe a little taller than I am? And it would be nice if he liked the outdoors-- hiking... maybe a little adventuring?

    "He has to be... ultimately and unfailingly loyal. He can be a little foolish, sometimes... but it''s fine-- because he always tries his best.

    "And in difficult times, he must never... ever... give up. Not on me... not on himself... not in us."

    Coraline bowed to the other passengers... and sunk down... making herself as small as possible in her chair.

    The table grew silent... and Coraline felt beads of perspiration forming on her forehead from the pressure. She was d she''d eaten something. She was certain she would have copsed if she hadn''t.

    In the field, she''d stood against kobolds and demons and undead... but nothing was as terrifying as public speaking.

    "Oh my gods... Coraline... you are the sweeeetest THING~" Felicity beamed.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "By the me," Lucrezia sighed as she took her husband''s hand and gazed lovingly into his eyes, "Miss Coraline, thank you, so much. I think because of your words... I may have fallen in love all over again."

    "(Every star in the sky has its pair, Sapling,)" Lord Arod whispered in the quietest of voices.

    "I''m REAL strong... " Ramon stood up from his chair, towering over the other passengers at his full height, "but-- other than that... I am NONE OF THOSE THINGS!!"

    "Well, that''s obvious," muttered Edan.

    "But... you know. who. is?" Ramon''s gaze drifted over each member of the table... stopping at... Mister Lone.

    Coraline''s heart skipped a beat.

    Was Ramon saying... that perhaps that... awkwardly-staring ruffian was--

    "ELL-A-DANNN!!" Ramon eximed, dragging up hispanion by his wrist. "So how ''bout it, girlie? You wanna join my guild?! We''re called the BADASS-ASSINS!! It''s abination of BADASS and ASSASSIN!! SSS!!!"

    The table loosed a collective groan, politeughter intermixed.

    "Pffff, no wayyy!" Coralineughed, her cheeks still hot. "But if I *was* going to join a guild, the Badass-assins would be at the top of my list, Mister Ramon."

    What type of list that was, she made certain not to specify.

    "Ahaha! SOUNDS GOOD!!" Ramon yelled, flexing his arms, "We''ll be recruitin'' as long as I''m a-LIVE and kickin''!"

    "L-let go of me, you brute!" Edan protested.

    "It''s a joooke! HaHA haa!" Ramon grinned, releasing his friend. "Edan''s already taken... unless?"

    "That''s a ''no, thank you,'' Mister Ramon," Coraline smiled.

    She wasn''t in the market for a new adventuring guild... not so soon after leaving her old one. But it did feel very nice to be wanted.

    "I am *quite* taken, thank you..." Edan rubbed at his wrist, scowling, "Unless my woman runs off with a certain young master."

    Felicity stuck her tongue out yfully, "And let you boys gvant across the Holy Country without anyone to keep you in check? Dream on!"

    "Ohoho. Conversing with young people makes me feel HALF my age!" Giorgio smiled, standing in his seat and swaying lightly. "Then I suppose I''ll take a turn, then...

    "My ideal woman... who I''d want to spend the rest of my life with... is my wife...''s identical twin sister."

    ...Wh... what?

    ...Coraline was. absolutely. appalled.

    The entire table was... save for the unfeeling Ancient, Lord Arod. Young master Tychon''s response was pretty tame, too, granting a mere raised-eyebrow of bemusement.

    Even Olesya standing guard in the corner had her mouth agape.

    "Oh, dear husband..." Lucrezia sighed, "I don''t have a sister, you buffoon."

    The charming Popoto took his wife''s gloved hands in his, "Then perhaps I could be granted the honor to court you, mdy?"

    "YOU!! YOOOUUU!!!" Ramon shouted from across the table, "YOU GOT ME, YOU OLD DOG!!"

    Giorgio... that sly old man had done well. Calm returned to the dining hall, apanied by good-naturedughter and the refilling of wine sses.

    "And of course, dear friends," Lucrezia inclined her head. "My answer would be the same. If given a second chance, I''d choose to be with my darling Giorgio until the end of my suns."

 Chapter 494 Blades Of The Forgotten King

    ?"You''re a lucky man, Mister Castiglioni!" Ramon roared, lifting his wine cup, "How about a toast?! To the finest Popoto I''ll ever meet in this life!"

    The toast was well received-- well enough that Coraline no longer had to worry about trying overmuch to avoid awkwardness.

    Lucrezia filled her husband''s wine cup... thankfully, not too full. Even Lord Arod seemed to be infected by the mood, lifting his wine ss to toast the happy couple.

    It *was* Elven wine. That undoubtedly influenced the Ancient''s willingness.

    Walking around the dining hall, he still stayed six fulms away from Mister Ramon, at all times. Even copious amounts of booze didn''t patch up xenophobia so easily, it seemed.

    With sses emptied, Giorgio blinked his drunken eyes as he gazed across the table... at the boisterous, red-skinned tiefling, "And you, Mister Ramon? If you could choose a woman to spend the rest of your suns with?"

    "Pff aHahaHA!" Ramon chortled, "Easiest answer ever! You all should know, don''tcha think?!"

    Coraline furrowed her brows... "Mister Ramon? Who would you choose then?"

    The tiefling downed the rest of his wine before roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "Mister Giorgio''s wife. Obviously."

    ...Coraline had never seen anyone, Popoto or otherwise, turn as red as Lady Lucrezia did in that moment.

    ...

    Even with Lady Lucrezia limiting her husband''s ''merriment'', Mister Giorgio Castiglioni had to excuse himself to his quarters. He conveniently med his old age.

    Everyone on board knew that the Popoto''s condition was due to enjoying several too-many sses of wine.

    Miss Maisie, who doubled as the ship physician, promised to deliver him a tincture to prevent an otherwise certain hangover. Even though she had a slightly rough way of speaking, she was a consummate professional.

    Coraline had a lively conversation with the adventurer, Miss Felicity, talking about hiking and camping in Kasydon-- up until Ramon had to be half-carried, half-dragged off by her and Edan.

    Coraline assumed the tiefling had never had Elven wine before. Ramon had guzzled it down as if it was watered-down ale from a public house. It was not.

    Elven drink was nothing like weak Dwarven spirits.

    The closestparison was a type of spirit from the Eastern States called moonshine. Strong and sweet alcohol was probably the strongest link between humans and elves, where Coraline was from.

    With the noisiest passengers gone, Lord Arod had found a surprising conversational partner in young master Tychon.

    They discussed a series of high topics... and were currently critiquing the most recent actions of the High Council in Alizeau.

    The schr revealed his identity as a young Baron andndowner there... and that he was mostly fluent in Elven.

    More shockingly, Lord Arod was familiar with his achievements, even if in passing.

    The green-haired noble was full of surprises.

    It made Coraline even more suspicious of him... while also making her want to give up trying to read the intent behind those golden eyes. She remained in the dining hall, sitting in and listening to their conversation, keeping herself caught up on current events.

    They were betterpany than the rats in her room.

    After Captain Nikandros and Olesya excused themselves, Coraline was left alone with the two nobles... and the awkward boy sitting across from her, Mister Lone.

    "H-hey... do you wanna get outta here?" He whispered.

    Was Lone... talking to her?

    No, he was looking away? He was probably bored of the conversation and wanted to go back to his room.

    ...If he was talking to her, then maybe he''d say it again? Coraline would love an opportunity to gather information about him and the mysterious green-haired youth.

    Tychon proved skilled at replying to Lord Arod in themon tongue... And he did it in such a way that hispanion could understand the general gist.

    He did... oversimplify certain concepts-- probably too much, but Arod didn''t seem to mind.

    When Mister Lone was not honed in on the conversation, he kept stealing... peculiar, judgmental nces at her.

    Coraline was absolutely certain there was nothing on her face. She had carefully and extensively pored over her reflection in her empty wine ss to make sure of it.

    Perhaps he''d never seen an elf before? While elves weren''t exactly rare, most humans found them to be difficultpany... Lord Arod, for example, fit that stereotype well.

    Coraline did not have that problem. She''d been exposed to both human and Elven society throughout her life, so she felt like she could fit into either.

    She did find even small crowds difficult, but that was not reason enough to actively avoid speaking to her. Even young master Tychon had asked her polite, safe questions, like where she was from and for what reason was she traveling to Cersei''s Rest.

    "Ahem," Lone cleared his throat... "Master Highde, I have a question."

    And the first person Lone addressed was not her... it was the notoriously difficult-to-talk-to Ancient.<novelnext></novelnext>

    That made her... very... disappointed-- not that she could voice herint.

    Lord Arod grimaced, directing his ck-sclera eyes towards Tychon.

    The golden-eyed noble motioned for hispanion to continue, "Speak your mind, Mister Lone. If you mince words with an elf, you''ll earn nothing."

    "R-right," The boy chuckled nervously, "I was wondering why you didn''t have to surrender your weapons. I thought only Miss Olesya was allowed to open-carry a weapon on the ship?"

    "M-master Arod is a noble of House Highde!" Coraline squeaked... far louder than she had intended.

    "Hmm..." The Ancient pursed his lips, swirling his ss of wine in contemtion.

    "But... Mister Giorgio had to surrender his jewel-encrusted dagger? --or so he said," Lone offered... sounding almost apologetic that he asked.

    It was true that... Mister Giorgio was... not a very threatening individual. Still, a sharp dagger was as deadly in the hands of a human as it was in the hands of a child-sized Popoto.

    "The family that owns the Windwright''s guild is of Elven lineage," Tychon exined. "House Highde''s wealth and time-honored status far exceed that of whatever mercantile association Mister Giorgio belongs to. Therefore... it would be a great disservice to Master Arod Highde and his kinsmen to have his heirloom weapons taken from him."

    Tychon inclined his head respectfully, "Have I guessed correctly, friend-elf?"

    "That is... not entirely correct, Monsieur le Baron," Arod admitted in Alizeaun-entedmon. He paused to take a graceful pull of wine before continuing... "The weapons I carry are not mundane... nor are they enchanted with simple magics... They are known as... the des of the Forgotten King... ancient relics from an era that was old before I was a sapling... like Miss Coraline of Heartsong."

    The des of the Forgotten King... Coraline had never heard of such artifacts.

    Then again... Ancients cannot lie. They are masters of deceit, as deadly with their words as with their de arts... but it is not in their nature to say things that are untrue.

    "House Highde has deemed that I deliver them to Tyrion''s High Oracle," Arod continued. "--zat perhaps a trustworthy outsider may offer a new perspective on their secrets..."

    "(Also, Baron Tychon...)" Arod added, revertingpletely to Elven, "(Order yourpanion to cease his lustful gaze towards the Heartsong Sapling. While onboard this ship, she is under the protection of House Highde.)"

    His what-now? Under the protection of who?

    "(Lord Highde, I do not require your *protection*,)" Coraline seethed through clenched teeth.

    While the Ancient''s audacity was to be expected, she was not a porcin doll that needed a man''s ''protection'' from anything or anyone.

    "(Sapling...) Arod furrowed his eyebrows, "(Do you... fancy this human?)"

    His expression was as if Coraline was the only sapling that ever dared to talk back to him-- much less refuse his... admittedly very generous offer. The protection of House Highde was... not something that was granted so easily... and she''d just thrown it back in the Ancient''s face.

    Still, Coraline would stand by her words...

    Wait-- did she fancy who-now?

    She looked back at the young master and hispanion.

    Tychon had disconnected himself from the conversation, focusing his full attention on a wooden puzzle box atop a shelf.

    Mister Lone, the cute but oblivious boy wore a foolish grin--pletely unaware that he was the topic they were discussing.

    Did she fancy... him?

    Absolutely not.

    Perhaps.

    No, not in a hundred lifetimes.

    But the hundred and first?

    ...Nothing was certain.

    Young master Tychon, the herald of chance, could possibly have granted her this once-in-a-hundred-and-one-lifetime opportunity.

    "(I will not take back my words...)" Coraline whispered... "(--respectfully, Lord Highde.)"

    "(Nor I, mine,)" Arod hmphed, narrowing his gaze at the golden-eyed Baron, before standing from his chair, "Thank you for the conversation. I daresay that this journey won''t be as droll as I had been expecting."

    "I am honored by your presence, Master Highde." Tycon nodded, standing to mirror Arod''s actions, "I will inform mypanion of your... gentle suggestions, in private."

    "I''d really rather you not," Coraline sighed.

    Arod shrugged as he walked off-- an unnaturally human affectation,ing from him, "You may heed the sapling''s wishes, Baron. The Ancients are destined to wither away... and the young will rise to take their ce."

 Chapter 495 Burning Curiosity

    ?"So what do you think, Boss?" Lone asked.

    Tycondrius pulled out the chair to the desk, cing his hand on his chin in thought...

    "Once we touch down at Cersei''s Rest, we need to appeal to the highest power we can manage. Archbishop Crucis'' assistance would behoove us in particr..."

    He grit his teeth in annoyance, "--if she would deign to grace us with her presence."

    Natalya wouldn''t be happy to see him... but he was confident in being persistent enough to be granted an audience.

    A dull thud rang out. Lone had struck his forehead against the bottom of Tycon''s bunk, "Ow. No, Boss, I mean... you know... what do you think about the other passengers?"

    Tycon tilted his head, pursing his lips. There were two other Iron-Ranks on the ship, Arod of House Highde and the tiefling guild leader, Ramon. No one else was powerful enough to be of consequence.

    "I advise you not to grow too close to Mister Ramon. Stupidity is contagious."

    Concerning Lone''s clumsiness, Tycon''s feared that his advice may have been given much toote.

    He turned his attention to the puzzle box he''d taken from the dining hall. It was a peculiar wooden cube with moveable panels. Something rattled inside... which would presumably be released upon discovering the puzzle''s solution.

    It didn''t seem difficult... and with so many panels moved and mechanisms activated, he believed he was nearly finished.

    Lone rubbed his forehead, grimacing... "Well, how about... a certain elf?"

    "...Arod Highde is an insufferable prick. Treat him respectfully-- as I do."

    "No, I mean--"

    "Mister Lone," Tycon growled, pushing the puzzle box away. With hisst movements, its internal mechanisms had reset... its conditions identical to when he''d first began to fiddle with it.

    "Say what you mean, young man," He sighed. "The best way for me-- or anyone to understand your intentions is to be *transparent* about them."

    "Yeah... but... but it''s not always that easy."

    Tycon took a deep breath, grabbing the box once more... pondering its weight and which possible actions he could safely eliminate...

    "By process of elimination-- and in assuming you''re not interested in either the half-elf Captain or the fellow in Ramon''s group... then you''re referring to that Coraline girl."

    "Y-yeah," Lone nodded, this time, being mindful about his avable headroom. "I just think that... me and her, we--"

    Tycon held up a palm, his attention still focused on the box, "Hold a moment. I apologize for interrupting... but before you continue on, understand that I rmend against any sort of romantic pursuit."

    "Against wh-what?" The Ranger stammered, "O-oh, you mean... the two of us? Like-- wait, what?! Why??"

    "The most obvious fact of the matter is... you''re an adventurer under contract, Mister Lone... and you have nowhere near the amount of coin required to buy your way out of service. As such, you go as the guild requires... While not impossible, you have little time to pursue a long-term romantic rtionship."

    Lone grew quiet, allowing the details of his situation to sink in. Tycon''s own situation was simr... his long-term goals taking precedence over finding a mate. Lone''s contract was finite, but Sol Invictus owned him for another three years-- outside of special circumstances, like debilitating injury or death.

    "Boss... what if... what if she joins Sol Invictus?"

    Tycon chuckled at the young man''s naivete. Judging by Miss Coraline''s social aptitude, covering for Master Arod, and based on her ss and metal-rank, she would be a fine addition to either his Guild Invictus or Athena''s Guild Letalis.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Unfortunately, I''ll have you recall how vehement the youngdy was *against* joining Mister Ramon''s guild... I suppose you could me the tiefling''s unprofessional mien or his absurd guild name, but my spection is that Miss Coraline''s unwillingness may stem from a deeper, unknown issue."

    Lone turned his body in his bed to face him... "What do you think it could be?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "I do not have such information-- hence my spection. At a certain point, little brother, *you* must be the one to seek out the answers you desire..."

    He turned to face Lone directly, "You are a Ranger, are you not?"

    "Well, yeah? What''s that got to do with it?"

    "Then such answers are your prey, so to speak... You must task yourself with the hunt, with your... burning sense of curiosity as your motivation."

    "Hmm..." Lone adjusted his body to stare at the underside of the top bunk, "You kinda make it sound like... an unfortunate condition."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "I''m not talking about your inability to wash your genitals, you oaf. Now, go to bed before I beat you within ilms of death with this puzzle box."

    Seven hells. He considered doing it, anyroad, if there were any chance it would get the thing open.

    Lone let out a heavy, overly dramatic sigh... "I just think... there''s a spark... a connection."

    "With a youngdy you haven''t spoken a single word to?" Tycon smirked.

    "It''s just a feeling, Boss..." Lone insisted, "Like you said... it''s a burning--"

    Tycon reached into the small pouch on his belt that contained daily necessities, tossing one of its contents to Lone.

    "Huh? What''s this?"

    "It''s a bar of soap. Snap off a piece of it for use, next time you wash."

    "B-boss! I don''t have crabs!"

    Tycon narrowed his gaze. His attempt at being helpful had failed... "Perhaps you should have specified your burning as figurative, as opposed to literal."

    "It was in the *scope* of conversation, Boss."

    Admittedly, it was. He certainly would have noticed, if he cared to pay attention.

    "...You are aware that I am... bad at that."

    "Yeah," Lone sighed. "I''m aware..."

    "Anyroad," Tycon smiled politely, "what is your first task from hereon, Mister Lone?"

    "I guess I have to bathe with the soap," The young man groaned listlessly.

    "I mean, concerning a certain youngdy, you dolt," Tycon sighed. "Also, you should have been doing that, already."

    "I guess? I dunno the first step, though?"

 Chapter 496 Rumbling Thrum

    ?Lone looked to him with pleading eyes. Did... he really not know?

    Tycondrius mulled the thought over.

    His advising of Lone on pursuing Coraline''s favor was counterintuitive to Arod Highde''s wishes. However, he valued the contentedness and welfare of hispanion more than he cared to impress an Elven highborne.

    He swept back his hair, deliberating on his words... "I advise you to open a dialogue with your target of affection."

    Lone sighed... but kept a thin smile, "I guess I have to be a Ranger, then."

    "Yes, Mister Lone..." Tycon rolled his eyes, "That will be your general goal in this life."

    Lone loosed a noisy yawn... "I''m tired, Boss. You goin'' to bed soon?"

    "Likely... I''d like to focus on this mystery box for a bit longer. And besides that, I might... take a walk, so to speak, to inspect the formations on the ship."

    Tycon stood up and took down a decorative, but aesthetically out-of-ce, painting on the wall. Behind it, runic lines inside of a circr spell formation were etched into the paneling.

    "Ughh," Lone narrowed his eyes, "Looking at that makes me dizzy. I dunno how you do it, Boss."

    "Mm. Amusing," Tycon pursed his lips. "Your mana sense is developing well, for this to affect you. Only a year prior, you''d have suffered no such ills."

    "Yeah, I''m done thinking about it," Lone reached for his nket. "Good luck on your mystery, Boss."

    "Hmph, thank you for the well-meaning notion... but luck does nothing for me. I''ll be satisfied when I gain an understanding."

    "I guess we''re both hunting for answers, huh, Boss?"

    "Indeed," Tycon rolled his eyes as he reached to turn off the oilmp. "Sleep well, Mister Lone."

    ...

    "Empty night," Coraline threw her covers off and sat up, bumping her head on the top bunk.

    "Ugh, just what I need. Stars and stones, you''re so duuumb, Coraline..." With tears at the corners of her eyes, she got out of bed, rubbing at the growing lump on her forehead, "I hope it doesn''t bruise..."

    Rats.

    Rats were in the walls, scratching and squeaking, just as she thought they would. They might as well havee in and put on a carnival, with how much noise they were making.

    Besides that, there was also a rumbling thrum from somewhere in the ship... like a thick tree was being sawn in half or... or a dire bear was being tortured to death. The sound was just as persistent as the rats, so it didn''t worry her as much as it annoyed her half-to-death.

    Elves didn''t need to sleep-- not really. She had grown ustomed to the habit, being part of human society for so long.

    She was still young... both by Elven standards and Human... Sleep was healthy. Young people (like her) needed sleep to grow.

    Oh, sleep... How she missed her sweet embrace...

    She lit her oilmp and began to put some real clothes on...<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...She''d grow eventually. Sleep was stupid.

    Decently dressed, she carried hermp out into the hall. The other passengers had gathered around one particr room with their ownmps... likely not for the rats as much as the other terrible grunting death rattles.

    Standing in the cramped hallway were the three members of Ramon''s guild, the Castiglioni couple, and the dovahkiin guard, Olesya.

    "I''ll have to go and wake the Captain for the keys," Olesya sighed. "He sleeps with earplugs."

    "Tch," Ramon snorted, gesturing towards Coraline as she approached. "Even the little girl''s awake. Seven hells, I ain''t above teachin'' another entitled noble a lesson if I can get some gods damned rest. Doesn''t this guy know who I am? I''m the guild leader of the--"

    "Oh, dear," Lucrezia walked towards Coraline and took her hand. She wore a gorgeous child-sized nightgown with a pair of embroidered sleep gloves. "You couldn''t sleep either, little one?"

    Coraline felt her heart warm as she gripped the Popoto woman''s tiny hand in hers, "I''m fine, Lady Lucrezia. Why are we all standing here?"

    "That''s what I''d like to know." Captain Nikandros'' voice echoed as he approached from the opposite end of the hallway... "Dear guests, have you all decided to mutiny? If so, my employers require my two-week resignation notice."

    No oneughed at the Captain''s joke.

    "Captain Nikandros," Lucrezia cleared the crowd and ced her fists on her waist. "The noise from Sir Tychon''s room is absolutely dreadful! And the rats... You *must* do something about this! Giorgio, dear, please tell him!"

    There was something strange about the way Mister Giorgio looked. The older Popoto blinked his eyes, dazed and a bit pale... likely from his earlier libations, "Y-yes, indeed. Dreadful."

    "Captain..." Olesya narrowed her eyes, "Why are you up at this time of night? ...And where is Maisie?"

    "Yeah, that''ll do," Ramon nodded. "If Miss Maisie needs help sleeping, I volunteer myself as tribute. I reckon usin'' those jugs as pillows, I''ll be sent to one of the eleven heavens."

    The half-elf, Edan, rolled his eyes, "Seven hells, Ramon. If it''s not fighting that''s on your mind, it''s f--"

    "Edan!" Felicity cut him off, "Please, there aredies present... and you too, Ramon~"

    Captain Nikandros fumbled through his coat pockets, removing a key, "Miss Maisie is... indisposed, at the moment. I was working with her uh... plotting the course, you see. I decided to make my rounds afterward-- when I noticed yourmplights in the hallways..."

    "The rats, Captain," Lucrezia red. "If you don''t give me a suitable answer, I *will* speak to your supervisor when we reach Cersei''s Rest."

    "Right, right..." Nikandros nodded, breathing an oddly-timed sigh of relief. "The rat-catcher on deck should be Petty Officer Mittens. I''ll let him know, immediately."

    "Petty Officer... Mittens?" Coraline tilted her head.

    "He is stray cat we picked up, few calls back," Olesya rolled her eyes, her words marked with a strong Nemayan ent.

    "Captain Nikandros," Lucrezia crossed her arms. "I must insist on your sobriety, concerning the matter."

    "C-can''t insist on... bein'' sober all the time, my love..." Giorgio muttered.

    "One issue at a time, dear guest," Nikandros smiled with chagrin.

    He knocked on the wood of Sir Tychon''s door with two heavy bangs, "Please excuse me, young master-- but is everything alright?"

 Chapter 497 Open Door

    ?Footsteps approached the door from the opposite side.

    With so much noise that they''d been making, Coraline found it odd that neither Tychon nor Lone had emerged until then.

    The young, green-haired noble opened the door, his yellow eyes reflecting the dimmplight, "Good evening...dies and gentlemen. Is something amiss?"

    At the same time, the groaning growls from within his room intensified and grew clear.

    "I apologize for interrupting your rest, young master," Nikandros bowed his head.

    "No... there is no trouble..." Tychon raised an eyebrow. "I have been working on a certain puzzle box... though it should be quite obvious why I would not have heard anymotion in the halls."

    "That..." The Captain put on an embarrassed smile, "Is... yourpanion, Mister Lone... in good health?"

    Mister Lone?

    Were the sounds in the room from his snoring or his death rattles?

    "I see..." Tychon opened his door wide and gestured towards the sleeping boy taking up the bottom bunk. "Mister Lone is... quite lively, as I''m sure you can tell."

    Coraline spied the most subtle of movements. The noble had flicked his wrist... as if he was a sleight of hand artist in the middle of a trick.

    ...It was incredibly suspicious.

    Tychonced his empty hand on his chin-- "I will gag him with a bundle of cloth to reduce your worries."

    "Thank you for understanding, young master," Nikandros nodded.

    "Hmph. That guy''s got some strong lungs," Ramon shrugged. "Nothing more to see here. Let''s head back. My head''s KILLIN'' me..."

    Coraline stood on her tiptoes to look into the mysterious young master''s room, the dimmplight in the halls enough for her Elven eyes to see everything clearly.

    They had no luggage... She recalled that she hadn''t seen the duo with any when they boarded. Were their belongings sent ahead to Cersei''s Rest?

    A painting on the wall had been taken down, revealing one of the ship''s spell formations... tooplex, even for her to decipher.

    As Tychon had said, there was a wooden puzzle box resting on his desk, but...

    Coraline pursed her lips, "Sir Tychon... why is yourmp off?"

    Tychon loomed over Coraline, his eyes narrowed to thin, judgmental slits. It made his pale yellow eyes look even more insidious...

    "The moon is out, Miss Coraline. The additional light would be redundant, no?"

    That would make sense... but the noble''s room was on the same side of the ship she was on.

    ...The light of the moon didn''t shine through her window.

    But why... would... he lie about that?

    A piercing scream split the night, causing Coraline to whip her head to look down the adjacent dark hallway.

    Ramon turned to Edan, his eyes serious, "Let''s move."

    "Right."

    Immediately, the two sprinted down the hallway, their third, Felicity, trailing behind them without a word.

    "Sea god''s socks," Nikandros cursed. "That was Maisie''s voice!"

    "Of course you''d recognize that whore''s screams," Olesya grumbled. Grasping her sword scabbard, she ran off in the same direction.

    Coraline quickly hurried after. Her heart thumped in anxious anticipation... she had a bad feeling about this...<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    It was strange how quiet Mister Ramon''s chain shirt was as he ran. It made more noise than Mister Lone''s gambeson, but there must have been a slight enchantment on it... not enough for Olesya''s detection tool to catch it, but still there.

    Coraline caught up to Ramon easily enough, but as expected, the half-elf Edan had quickly sped ahead of them both.

    "Oh, what the HELLS--e onnn!!" Ramon groaned.

    An oilmp had fallen onto the floor, causing a small fire, which the tiefling hurriedly stamped out with his boot.

    Edan dragged Miss Maisie away from an open door... the door to one of therger passenger rooms on the ship.

    "Oy. What''s wrong?" Edan snapped his fingers in front of the human woman''s face.

    "I... I-- I just.... he was-- I saw ''im there, an''--" Maisie was crying, choking on her sobs. She had both hands cupped over her mouth while she stared past Edan with wide eyes.

    Coraline needed to know what was in there.

    In her heart, she already knew. There was only one passenger that had not gathered toin about the noise... and that person would have most certainly resided in the most expensive of the Golden Eagle''s suites.

    But the most damning fact... was that one of Miss Maisie''s hands was covered in blood.

    Coraline slipped past Ramon and stepped towards the door to Arod Highde''s room.

    "(Do not enter, Sapling,)" Edan warned in Elven. "(We must wait for the Sky-Captain.)"

    Coraline pursed her lips, "(Lord Highde was my friend, elder brother.)"

    She used the term ''friend'' very loosely. Their rtionship was certainly positive... but she didn''t want Edan to realize that her curiosity got the better of her.

    She pushed the door open, lifting hermp to illuminate the room.

    Sure enough, Arod Highde lied face-down in a growing pool of his life essence. Blood had marked a back wall at thigh level, stained downward...

    She sensed Edan standing at her back.

    "(A tragedy has befallen the Ancient...)" He whispered in awe.

    Guilt took hold of Coraline''s heart. Lord Arod was arrogant and rude and was a generally terrible person to everyone but her. Still... he was an Elven warrior... and he didn''t deserve to die without a de in his h--

    The des of the Forgotten King!!

    They were gone!!

    This wasn''t just a murder! The Ancient was robbed!

    With wide, incredulous eyes, she turned back to Edan, the grimacing Ramon, and the hyperventting Maisie.

    Someone on the Golden Eagle was a thief... and a murderer.

    "Seven hells take the bastard," Ramon scoffed. "He''ll have all the burnt meat and brimstone he could get, down there."

    It seemed like Ramon had, in-fact, both heard and understood Lord Arod''s earlier sentiment.

    Edan ced his palm over his eyes, tilting his head back towards the ceiling, "Gods damn it, Ramon... I *told* you not to take the Ancient''s ther seriously. You only know-- what, ten words in Elven?"

    The demonblood crossed his thick arms, scowling, "Well-- shut up! You could tell by the way he said it, that the prick meant what he said!"

    ",

 Chapter 498 Control

    ?Coraline''s ears twitched. The other passengers had arrived in the hallway.

    "Maisie! Are you alright?!" Captain Nikandros voiced his concern. He was heaving, sweat pouring down his forehead from the short run. "By the gods, woman-- is that blood?"

    "C-cap''n! M-mista Highde, he-- Oh, it''s terrible!" Maisie sobbed.

    Coraline ced her oilmp on a desk and knelt down to inspect Arod''s body.

    Two wounds.

    There was a puncture wound on his lower back and the front of his throat had been slit, ensuring his death.

    "Someone attacked Master Highde from behind..." Coraline turned back towards the crowd in the doorway... "--with a ded weapon."

    "He-- he got done in by a sword!" Maisie shouted, her light voice crescendoing into a high-pitched screech, "An'' the only one that coulda done it is the dragon BITCH!!"

    "And I still *have* that sword, you stupid whore," Olesya growled back.

    "Ladies!" Nikandros shouted, "Now is not the time!"

    Coraline retrieved hermp and stepped back into the hall. She carefully observed the faces of the men and women there... Someone standing among them had murdered Lord Arod and stolen his artifact weapons.

    "Oh, dear... oh, dear....." Lucrezia fanned herself with her hand, her breathingbored. "This is the most horrible development!"

    "W-worry not, my love," Giorgio cooed, "I will protect you."

    "You two got nothin'' to worry about," Ramon groaned. "The elf died ''cuz he carried around two fat sacks of silver on his back. AND he was an insufferable DICKWAD!"

    "Gods damn it, Ramon," Edan shoved the bigger man. "Did you have something to do with this?"

    "Don''t TOUCH me, knife-ear!" The tiefling shoved hispanion in return, and the half-elf''s back struck the wall. "I may be a heartless killer, but I ain''t a THIEF!"

    "That''s it!" Edan stretched his back, "You''re dead, goat!"

    "Who you callin'' a goat?!" Ramon pointed angrily.

    Edan grabbed Ramon''s wrist and, in a single swift motion, threw the tiefling to the wooden floor with a loud crash of metal chain. He then mounted the bigger man''s chest and began to rain down a series of merciless punches onto Ramon''s red face.

    Felicity, their third guild member, hurried to Nikandros, "Captain! You have to stop them!"

    Coraline grimaced, looking at the old, slightly plump ship Captain. He wasn''t going to be of any help in a fight.

    Meanwhile, Ramon and Edan were rolling on the ground, striking each other with fists, knees, and elbows.

    The guardswoman, Olesya, averted her gaze from the fight, pretending not to see it. She wasn''t nning on breaking up the fight, either.

    Coraline didn''t me her.

    "I''m tired of your stupid face, Ramon!" Edan shouted, "?Rattling Strike!?"

    Ramon took a mana-empowered punch to the face, but the only thing it did was making him more angry.

    "GRAHRRRRRH!!!" With a crazed roar, he brute-forced Edan off of him, sending the half-elf tumbling down the hallway.

    Those two were... adventurers. And they were using Skills on each other. If Olesya were to intervene, she''d risk being heavily injured. --And if either of them managed to wrest her sword away from her...

    Nikandros smiled with chagrin... "Those two are... young. They''ll sort this out by themselves."

    "No, Captain!" Felicity yelled, "You don''t understand-- Ramon has the Berserker ss!"

    Coraline''s heart lurched into despair. If Ramon activated his ?Berserk? ability, then there wouldn''t be only a single murder on the Golden Eagle. Edan could very well die and Ramon might even turn on the other passengers.<novelnext></novelnext>

    In hertestpse of judgment, she dashed towards Ramon. He had his back turned to her, so she had a chance... She wasn''t well-trained in closebat, but if she could put him into chokehold, she could hold on for dear life.

    With almost supernatural speed, Ramon turned... towering over Coraline at his full height.

    His eyes were hazy and bloodshot, burning redder than his skin.

    They were the cold-hearted, murderous eyes of an adventurer.

    "M-mister Ramon! You must regain control!" Coraline shouted, her voice cracking in fear.

    "GRRRRGHH!!" The tiefling reached out his hands toward her.

    "Ramon, DON''T!!!!" Felicity yelled.

    Lady Lucrezia let out a shrill scream.

    In that critical moment... Coraline''s two weeks of martial training failed her.

    She flinched.

    Her eyes closed-- and the world was dark. She didn''t even put her hands up to defend herself.

    She just... stood there... and waited.

    ...But nothing came. No grab and breaking of her spine. No skull-splitting punch. She stood blindly, patiently waiting for her end toe... and was granted only silence.

    ...Until a loud smack upon the wood beside her rang in her ears.

    Opening her eyes, she turned to see Mister Lone sitting up against the wall, cradling the back of his head and groaning his pain, "O..."

    Ramon had grabbed him, instead of her...

    ...When had he arrived?

    "I AM in control..." Ramon muttered, shaking his head, "I''m always in control."

    Control. Coraline straightened her back. She needed to take control of the situation before anyone else got hurt.

    Whenever she did that back in her old guild, she was hated for it... but someone needed to do it.

    She turned to Nikandros, tilting her head up to look eye-to-eye with the ship Captain... and she put as much steel into her voice as she could manage, "Captain, have the passengers return to their rooms."

    The half-elf Captain narrowed his eyes, "Dear guest... Respectfully, this is *my* ship."

    "Do as the girl requests, Mister Nikandros."

    Coraline furrowed her brows. It was Tychon, walking nonchntly towards them... and he had, once again, lent his deep voice in support of her.

    Nikandros'' face reddened and his eyes bulged, "I beg your pardon, young master!"

    "Miss Coraline is protected by House Highde and thus, is qualified to act with their authority," Tychon exined, gesturing towards her dismissively. "Also, it''ste. I''m tired."

    "Th-that''s right!" Coraline stammered. "I want everyone isted! ...There is a murderer among us."

    Nikandros inhaled deeply through his nostrils. Of course, he wouldn''t be happy about his leadership being taken away... "Very well, young mistress...

    "Dear guests, please return to your rooms... the crew of the Golden Eagle will guarantee your safety."

 Chapter 499 Wonâ€™t Be Sleeping

    ?Coraline turned her attention to Mister Lone.

    The cheek-scarred youth had rushed to her aid... and took an injury that was meant for her.

    He''de straight from bed and hadn''t put his armor back on, so he was just dressed in the thin undershirt he wore underneath it. But... when he rubbed the back of his head, the bottom of that shirt lifted up...

    The subtle action earned her a peek at Lone''s surprising sculpted abs... and a flush in her cheeks.

    "M-mister Lone..." She gulped.

    "Huh? What''s up?"

    "I''d like you to... you''re the... Eh..." She took a deep breath, trying to get her mind off of the boy''s stupid sexy stomach and the... and the happy trail that reached his navel, "S-stay with me for awhile, will you?"

    "Huh? Me?" He pointed at himself.

    Coraline frowned. Did she misspeak?

    WAIT! YES! She did! With her phrasing, it sounded like she was inviting him to--

    "Y-you''re the only one I can trust!" She eximed. "I need you-- for... for investigating."

    Bleigh. That didn''t sound much better.

    "What?" Lone contorted his face in confusion, "Wh-why?"

    ...That was absolutely not the response she was expecting.

    She briefly exined the integrity of his alibi. His... snoring was audible in every part of the ship. Due to the ship''s formations, that sort of thing couldn''t be replicated by magic.

    Also... a simple Echo-type spell wouldn''t be able to emte that kind of sound-- like an ugly treant begging for death.

    "Oh..." Lone smiled politely... "I am so... sorry."

    Coraline pursed her lips, her frustration growing along with her confusion, "What''s that supposed to mean?"

    Was he apologizing for his snoring? ...Or was he impotent?

    "No, nevermind," Lone held out his palm. "Just give me a sec to get permission from--"

    "Enjoy your investigations," Tychon waved with his back turned. "I''m returning to my room."

    Coraline furrowed her brows, ring at the noble''s back as he departed. She didn''t like that person''s general nonchnce concerning Arod''s death. Earlier in the evening, he was conversing amicably with the Ancient... but after he died, how could his only concern be sleep?

    Sleep was stupid.

    The other passengers returned to their rooms, with Nikandros and Olesya escorting the still-frantic Maisie back to hers.

    Coraline took a nket from the bed andid it over Arod''s body.

    ''Your murderer will be found, Master Highde,'' She promised in her heart.

    "Lone,e with me to interrogate the passengers and crew..."

    The boy furrowed his brows, "I''m pretty sure B-- I mean, Tycon''s probably sleeping..."

    "I doubt anyone else will be able to," Coraline shrugged.

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? First interview: Lucrezia Castigliano. ?

    "Oh... The fireworks... They''re lovely... Just like you... my love."

    Giorgio Castiglioni was cutely muttering nonsense in his sleep.

    Lucrezia tucked her husband''s nket snugly around his shoulders before nting a kiss on his forehead. The old man''s lips curled up into a smile that melted the ice around Coraline''s cold heart.

    "Can you believe it?" The gentle Popoto turned back to Coraline, shrugging her small shoulders, "Giorgio swears on his life to protect me, but he can''t keep awake past eight o''clock."

    She held her tiny hand up expectantly.

    Lady Lucrezia had changed out of her evening dress, but her pink and purple sleepwear was no less fashionable. Also, the woman really liked to match her clothing with gloves...

    Coraline had heard that sleep gloves were a thing for older women? They retained moisture which... ording to science, prevented wrinkles.

    Science was weird. She much preferred to rely on magic, as her ancestors did.

    She wouldn''t question it aloud, of course. That would be rude.

    Obediently, Coraline ced her hand in the older woman''s and allowed herself to be led outside of the room and into the hallway.

    "I came to see how you were doing, Lady Lucrezia," Coraline whispered.

    "In all honesty, dear..." The older woman huffed, "between taking care of a drunken fool and worrying over whether or not I''ll ever make it back home... I don''t think I''ll be getting my beauty sleep, tonight..."

    She took on a sullen frown, "Miss Coraline, I must insist you stay with us. A youngdy shouldn''t be by herself-- not with a murderer on the loose."

    "I can''t, Lady Lucrezia..." Coraline inclined her head, "Mister Lone and I will be speaking to the crew and the other passengers. We''ll get to the bottom of this mystery."

    "Oh~" Lucrezia gasped, holding her hand in front of her cor, "Mister Lone?"

    Lone waved shyly, standing on his side of the hallway, "H-hello."

    Lucrezia leaned forward, lowering her voice, "You won''t get any sleep tonight either, dear... not with the way that young man snores."

    "I won''t be sleeping with him, Lady Lucrezia," Coraline pouted.

    Was everyone going to think she was nning to sleep with him? She hated being the topic of gossip... especially as her standards hadn''t yet fallen so low.

    Mister Lone was cute... but she didn''t know anything about him. Did he even have a job? He looked like he wouldn''tst a single sun in an adventuring guild.

    The older woman ced a gloved finger over her lips, "Maybe you should reconsider?

    "A young gentleman like him would have *boundless* energy to keep you awake," she beamed. "And besides... I''d feel so much better if I knew Mister Lone was by your side, protecting you."

    "I can take care of myself, Mother," Coraline groaned.

    ''Empty night...'' Coraline cursed in her mind. She hadn''t meant to let her sarcasm slip.

    "You remind me of my oldest..." Lucrezia stifled a giggle, rxing her tense shoulders... "Always headstrong... always stubborn, even as a babe... I would be *honored* if you would call me your Aunt. I have no siblings, you see... and you are the most *adorable* child, Miss Coraline."

    "Aww..." Coraline was touched, cing a hand over her heart... "Thank you, Auntie Lucrezia."

    The gentle Popoto woman squeezed Coraline''s hand, "Now, tell me what''s on your mind, dear."

    "Right..." Coraline took a deep breath and tried her best to put on a confident face, "Auntie... could you please tell me about the events before I saw you in the hallway?"

 Chapter 500 Need

    ? ?Lady Lucrezia exined that she was taking care of her drunk husband.

    Coraline had expected as much.

    The only reason she sought out Lucrezia first was out of concern. The kindly old woman was distraught... and she''d likely never encountered such a violent death. While they interviewed, her hands still shook and her voice cracked.

    Coraline''s hand holding onto hers was probably the only thing keeping her together.

    She rmended that her new Aunt keep her door locked and to not open it for anyone until morning.

    Afterward, she walked down the hallways, trying to ignore the conversational squeaking of the rats in the walls.

    Lone followed close behind her.

    "Hey, you," She frowned.

    "Y-yeah?" Lone smiled, idly rubbing the back of his head.

    Her heart softened upon seeing the boy''s innocent, naive look.

    What was she doing, dragging him around?

    Coraline had enlisted Mister Lone''s help to pursue her sleuthing endeavors...

    It was selfish of her... but...

    She trusted him. It wasn''t just because of his solid alibi, but... there was something about his presence-- maybe even from the scenting from his clothes.

    Whatever it was, it put her ever-so-slightly more at ease.

    He risked himself to protect her-- someone he didn''t even know. Despite his battle-scarred face, he must have been a good person.

    "N-nevermind," She turned away, walking ever-so-slightly faster.

    She was going to ask him to walk beside her instead of behind... but that didn''t seem appropriate, anymore.

    ...

    ? Second interview: Guardswoman Olesya. ?

    Olesya was rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, standing guard in front of the Captain''s quarters.

    "(Little star...)" She smiled warmly at Coraline''s approach, "The Golden Eagle has sent an emergency transmission to authorities at Cersei''s Rest. We can expect enforcers from the Church when wend."

    "Thank you for letting me know, Miss Olesya." Coraline nodded. "Is the Captain still awake?"

    There was a dim light from within the room-- perhaps from Nikandros perusing the maps, or whatever he said he was doing earlier.

    "No, no ''Miss''," The dragonblooded guardswoman sighed, staring at the ceiling wistfully. "My status is more... a ve than a free woman. Call me by my first name. Please. Olesya."

    "I thought very wasn''t a thing in the Holy Country?" Lone asked innocently.

    "My family... they need the coin," Olesya admitted. "The debt... The Captain-- he pays for it... and I... do things for him, when he has need for me."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Coraline felt her heart sink in her chest. She''d read an article, once, about amon plight of women in Nemaya Strana.

    The cold, harshnds could only feed so many... and poverty and hunger afflicted arger percentage of their people than in the other, smaller nations. Many Nemayans would emigrate to find jobs, more easily avable elsewhere, sending back coin to their families.

    With a uniquely higher female poption than male, some Nemayan women would be... sold, more-or-less. The lucky ones would find work in legal brothels. The less lucky would work the streets they lived on... or find themselves the personal ythings of viins with moderate wealth.

    At first nce, it seemed that Olesya had found honorable work as a guard on the Golden Eagle. With thetest information, the truth was... moreplicated than that.

    "Miss Olesya..." Coraline lowered her voice, "If you need help... I can talk to the Tyrion inquisitors for you. They won''t allow Nikandros to do as he pleases... even if he is part of the Windwright''s Guild..."

    "No, (little star)..." Olesya shook her head, "It is no trouble. I have no worth outside of my profession... If the Tyrions send me home, it will be to watch my family starve in the streets... or maybe myself."

    Lone crossed his arms, "What if you... join an adventuring guild? Maybe in a different nation?"

    The guardswoman narrowed her eyes, the dark scales on her brows furrowing menacingly... "Even if I try to escape my debts here, I cannot be protected forever. My debtors will find me... and I will gain a new master, maybe even worse than (a drunk [????] [????]... [????])"

    Olesya let out a string of curses in the Nemayan oldnguage. Coraline didn''t understand most of it, but it definitely wasn''t... nice.

    Lone averted his gaze, whispering quietly to himself-- too soft for non-Elven ears to hear... "--just need to join a strong enough guild, then..."

    Coraline grimaced at the thought. Not every adventuring guild was the Rhodoks or the Aleran Furies. Only the most exceptional guilds were considered untouchable by their host nations.

    When she first joined Brockdale Bridge, she thought her suns would y out exactly like the stories she''d heard of Sol Invictus. In her first week, she got bit by a horse and got a fungal infection from cleaning the guild bath.

    Maybe life in Sol Invictus was just as bad. Being in an adventuring guild wasn''t as glorious as it seemed.

    With Olesya having shared her circumstances... besides having a weapon, she also had a motive. Fencing the des of the Forgotten King could possibly allow her to settle her debts...

    Coraline nced back at Lone who responded with a solemn nod. If she didn''t have him by her side, she wouldn''t have had the courage to risk her next question.

    "...Olesya... I apologize, but... can I see your sword?"

    The guardswoman sighed, "I understand..."

    Slowly, she drew her arming sword from her sheath, presenting it forward in her palms.

    Coraline took it and inspected it carefully... breathing a sigh of relief when she found no evidence of blood.

    "Thank you, Olesya," she smiled.

    Unfortunately... the guard still wasn''t free of suspicion. Olesya may have had ess to the vault, after all... and there could be other weapons there. After the sword''s inspection, the guardswoman did rx a bit, though.

    "Do your duty, (little star,)" A grave expression returned to Olesya''s face as she resheathed her weapon... "As I do mine."

    The guard''s words chilled Coraline''s blood. She felt bad for the guardswoman... but she wasn''t in a position to help without also risking her livelihood.

    If she reported Nikandros for sex trafficking, she wouldn''t be thanked... and Olesya might even think of it as a betrayal of trust.

    ...At least she still had until theynded in Cersei''s Rest to decide on that.

    Coraline inclined her head, "I''d like to speak to the Captain, now."

 Chapter 501 Panicking A Little

    ?? Third interview: Nikandros, Captain of the Golden Eagle. ?

    Stepping into the Captain''s quarters, Coraline reflexively covered her nose and mouth with her hands.

    Everything. reeked. of vomit.

    ...and alcohol.

    The door closed behind her and Lone. It granted them privacy... and protected Olesya from the smell.

    Coraline nced to the wall at a venttion duct. The magic formations that circted clean air throughout the ship were not working fast enough.

    Taking a look around the room, it looked like it''d been stripped of anything nice. The most expensive things around were the maps on a table at its center, apass and some measurement tools. Nikandros'' military coat was hung up in an open wardrobe dresser, expensive and its breast heavy with achievement medals.

    Also... the bed was made.

    Who makes their bed in their own room?

    A psychopath, for sure.

    Distracted as she was, Coraline couldn''t react in time to a sudden pressure atop her head. A heavy hand pulled her down, just as the sound of ss shattering rang in her ears.

    She pieced together what had happened as she stared at sparkling green fragments showering the ground beside her...

    "G-get off of me," She shoved Lone''s arm away.

    A little bit of ss never hurt anyone.

    "Sorry," Lone bared his teeth in a grimace. "I moved out of reflex."

    "It''s fine... just... just don''t do it again," She warned in a low voice.

    Mister Lone''s hand on her head wasn''t appropriate-- not at all.

    "Oh... Dear guests," Nikandros rolled his eyes, his arm still forward from the throw.

    He was slumped in a leather chair, wearing a sheer sleeveless undershirt, stained yellow. Earlier, she thought his tummy was cute. Without his coat on, it was not.

    "F-forgive me if I don''t stand," Nikandros exined with slurred speech, "It''s... customary... for the Captain to drink... in order to deal with the SHITE he deals with every gods damned sun."

    The Captain was drunk... very drunk.

    Coraline couldn''t me him.

    Being the Captain of a prestigious luxury liner that had fallen out of favor, the murder of a high elf was thest thing he needed.

    Alcohol was a coping mechanism. It was one that she knew well, herself.

    "Captain Nikandros," Coraline grimaced as she stepped towards him, skirting around an unsavory pile of retch. "I have a few questions. It won''t take long."

    The half-elf Captain narrowed his eyes, trying to focus his unsteady gaze, "Ohhh... it''s... it''s you... the fffffucking... girl. Sea god''s.... ssssshite. You... you highbloods are the gods damned worst..."

    He belched loudly... and Coraline flinched, fearing the worst.

    Thankfully, the Captain took a long pause... and swallowed whatever was in his throat, "Ugghhh... Soooo... Come to mock my inability to keep my ship in line, have you?"

    Coraline sighed, careful to breathe through her mouth... Speaking to the Captain was going to be more difficult than she had initially judged.

    She tried to adopt the friendliest voice she could, muffled as she was through her hands-- "Not at all, Captain. I just wanted to ask you about--"

    "Sod off, wench." The Captain groaned. With an unsteady hand, he reached over to an adjacent table, grabbing a brown bottle... "The hells is the green one? Bah."

    Nikandros took in a deep breath, raising his voice, "Before you go... how about a drink? Dear guests?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Coraline grimaced beneath the hands covering her mouth, "Captain, please, I just--"

    "Come on, now!! You and the boy!!?" He poured the dark liquor into two dirty sses-- taking a swig directly from the bottle, "Trust me, it''s... it''s the only way to live... when life... is so ffffucking unFAIR. Come on, then. This is the good stuff..."

    "Don''t mind if I do," Lone cheerfully stepped forward.

    Coraline grabbed the boy''s wrist, ring as sharply as she could.

    Lone paused... then returned obediently to her side, "Uh, business first, Captain."

    "Well... fine... more for me," The Captain grinned. He grabbed one of the sses and downed its contents in a swift pull.

    "Make it quick, then," Nikandros gesturedzily. "I don''t have all sun. I have... maps to... aw, the hells with it..."

    Coraline pursed her lips. Concerning the situation, getting straight to the point was a necessity, "Captain Nikandros, where were you when Master Highde was murdered?"

    "Ugh," Nikandros bit his upper lip, making a strange smacking sound. "I was... ffffucking... the maps, you mushroom-brained whore."

    "And the key to the vault? Do you still have it?"

    "Of... of COURSE I do!"

    The Captain tilted his body to jam his hand into his trouser pocket, then mmed the key on the table. Some of the contents in the remaining ss spilled.

    Such was generally an unforgivable sin... but it wasn''t Coraline''s ce to judge.

    "What do you take me for?" Nikandros growled, "A drrrrrunk?"

    "Andstly..." Coraline hesitated.

    She wasn''t nning on asking for anything else... but she would not find a better situation to ask for liberties... "I need an exemption from the ship''s formations. I need to be able to cast spells."

    "Right, right... Sure... Ah huh..." The Captain nodded absentmindedly, reaching for the remaining ss. Instead, he clumsily knocked it to the floor, "Sea god''s codpiece... Beatrice! BEATRICE!! Where the... gods... damned..."

    Coraline shot a confused look to Lone, who returned the look in kind.

    Who was... Beatrice? That name wasn''t on the boarding list.

    Then... she felt it.

    In an instant, the air blurred around her... and she was... embraced by an invasive, sweltering warmth.

    "Coraline, what''s going on?" Lone knitted his brows.

    "I''m.... f-f-ffffine," Coraline insisted.

    She was not. Perspiration just... poured down her face and upper body. Her hair was sticking to her forehead and... everything just felt terrible. Admittedly, she was panicking-- but only a little.

    Fine was subjective.

    "Beatrice, there you are," Nikandros yawned noisily. "Clean up this mess."

    "CaptaINN!" Coraline squealed-- far more panicked than she had intended.

    "Oh, right," Nikandros put his palms on his cheeks, squeezing his face. "Beatrice, give that girl an exemption... Allow her to cast spells... not Evocation or Necromancy, though... and... not on me."

    Coraline sensed... a fwooshing sort of response... and the heat... the presence of whatever-it-was disappearedpletely.

    ",

 Chapter 502 Swords Of Truth

    ?If Coraline hadn''t felt like she''d just jumped into a warm bath with all her clothes on, she would have sworn that she''d imagined the entire ordeal.

    As the presence went away, Lone rxed his shoulders.

    She turned to scowl at him. She was fine!

    She hadn''t brought the boy along to fret over her wellbeing. The notion was practically insulting.

    Turning away from the stupid boy, she looked back to Nikandros... However, judging by his light snoring and the saliva dripping down the corner of his mouth, the Captain would no longer be entertaining more questions.

    Coraline sighed... She didn''t get much information, but... the probability of the half-elf Captain being the culprit was low.

    He had the motive and the means, but Nikandros had more to lose from Lord Arod''s death than to gain.

    "Let''s go, Lone," She gestured towards the exit.

    "...Right," He grimaced, reaching for the door handle.

    When the Captain awoke, he''d have a terrible ache in his neck from his sleeping position. It would be a subtle payback for being so rude to her...

    ...

    ? Fourth interview: Maisie, Chef and Healer. ?

    It waste.

    Thankfully, Coraline''s spellcasting abilities were unlocked with whatever Nikandros and... Beatrice had done. Once she and Lone left the Captain''s quarters and bid Olesya a good night, she spent a few moments to clean herself and her clothes with an Unranked spell.

    She could have showered in her room... but that would have invited the rats to gnaw at her naked ankles.

    Traversing the halls, Coraline spotted a lighting from underneath Miss Maisie''s door.

    She was nning to talk to her in the morning, but since she was still awake, it seemed appropriate to at least check on her.

    After two polite knocks, Maisie answered the door, opening it just enough to reveal her face.

    "Miss Coraline..." Her high-pitched voice was even higher than Coraline had heard earlier. "You scared the hells outta me...e in, quick. There''s a--"

    The dark-haired woman widened her eyes in shock, "Wh-what''s Mista Lone doin'' here? Isn''t he a suspect, too?!"

    "*I''m* a suspect?" Lone pointed at himself indignantly, then back at Maisie, "YOU''RE a suspect!"

    Coraline sighed. Mister Lone wasn''t wrong, but his wordscked a certain... tact. His noblepanion, Tychon, seemed to have a tiny bit of that. Maybe he forgot to share?

    "Mister Lone has a solid alibi, Miss Maisie," She exined, "I figured the whole ship could hear his snoring-- especially through the vents?"

    "Oh..." The mature human woman grimaced, opening her door to allow the two of them in... "I... I must''a not been payin'' attention. I w''s with the Cap''n. We was... double-checkin'' the kitchen''s inventory."

    Coraline was sleepy before, but with the rm bells ringing in her head, she regained her rity. Nikandros had said they were checking the maps in his quarters-. The kitchens were nowhere near that.

    Maisie was lying.

    She hastily scanned the contents of the woman''s room. Her Alizeaun maid outfit was hung up beside her desk. Her clothes were arranged sloppily in a corner pile. Upon her desk were small pots of makeup and hair products and a couple of painted portraits on cheap, wooden discs.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Coraline honed in on a rectangr que... upon which, detailed a Tyrion military rank and was carved with a few sentiments. It meant the weak-looking woman was, at least, basically trained in martialbat.

    "Miss Maisie..." Coraline frowned, "You served in the Tyrion military as an Immunes?"

    "Y-yeah?" The woman ced a hand in front of her cor, biting her lower lip. "I was a medic up ''till a few years back. Why? What''s it to ya?"

    Coraline sharpened her gaze, "Then I''m assuming Master Highde wasn''t the first body you''ve seen."

    "Well, no... I mean--" Her eyebrows rose with realization, then furrowed into an insulted grimace, "What ezactly you tryin'' to say, bitch?"

    Coraline subconsciously took a step back, making sure Lone was beside her... "I just think it strange... You''re perfectly qualified to deal with blood and death, especially as abat medic."

    "I left that life behind me!" Maisie huffed, "An'' ya can''t jus'' expect a MURDER six malms up in the air! AND I was TIRED, okay?!?"

    Lone crossed his arms, frowning. It seemed that he too wasn''t entirely convinced that Maisie was being truthful.

    Coraline took in a deep breath. She had a very specific First-Circle spell to get force a confession... It did have a few... Rules that made it tricky to use, but this was as good a time as any, to cast it.

    "Then you won''t have a problem if I cast a Truth spell on you."

    "Yeah?! Go aheeeaaad!" Maisie crossed her arms, wearing an ugly sneer, "I ain''t got NOTHIN'' ta hide!"

    Coraline nodded. She really shouldn''t have, but she was looking forward to making the woman regret those words.

    "?Swords of Truth!?" She made a quick series of gestures with her hands, before forming a diamond shape with her thumbs and forefingers, "Miss Maisie! Where were you before you found the corpse of Arod Highde?!"

    Glowing swords of light materialized around the woman, her pupils shaking in fear, "I-- ? I was with the Cap''n! ? I swear, I didn''t kill nobody!"

    "And where was that?!"

    "In-- in the k-- ARGH!!" She was struggling against the spell''s influence... but it was useless. Once she granted permission, she''d have to answer her question honestly.

    "? I was in the Cap''n''s quarters! ?" She screamed.

    That sounded more in line with what Nikandros was saying...

    "And what were you doing?"

    She grit her teeth, hatred in her eyes, "We-- we were F*CKING, okay?!?! I was f*cking the Cap''n, bitch! So what if I have needs, huh?! It ain''t a crime!!"

    Coraline pursed her lips in a deep, disappointed frown. Those words weren''t marked with the truthfulness of her spell... but it didn''t seem like she was lying.

    Maisie was no longer a murder suspect.

    "Don''t you f*cking look at me like that!" The woman seethed, "Like I''m just a f*cking whore!?!"

    ...And Coraline''s future meals would probably not be as nice as they were earlier in the sun. She nced to Lone, who looked back with an apologetic face.

    "That will be all, Miss Maisie," She lightly inclined her head, hiding the guilt in her eyes.

    "Get the HELLS outta my room!" Maisie shrieked, pointing at the door.

 Chapter 503 Just Standing There

    ?Lone shut the door behind the two of them.

    That could have gone better.

    Taking a deep breath, Coralineid her back against the wall... and she went over the dozens of things she could have done differently.

    Whew. There weren''t many things she could have done *worse*...

    Lone raised their shared oilmp, illuminating the naive, slightly confused expression on his face.

    "What was that? Your Truth spell?"

    "Yeah..." Coraline puffed a lock of hair away from her nose, "I''m a Circle Mage. Big surprise, huh?"

    Lone pursed his lips, hesitating for a moment, "Why didn''t you... ask if Maisie knew who the murderer was?"

    Coraline closed her eyes and shook her head, "I couldn''t... the spell''s not so easy to use. Miss Maisie''s beliefs can sway her answers. She could have just med Olesya-- even without any evidence."

    "Then... you couldhave asked if... Maisie, herself, was the murderer?"

    "That..." She pouted, "The more direct my question is, the easier it is to resist..."

    Coraline didn''t want to exin her spell... after all, it was something only she could cast. However, she didn''t like that the boy kept asking so many... good questions.

    "Honestly, I haven''t really tested my ?Swords of Truth? to their full potential...

    "It''s a derivative from the Tyrion Inquisitor ss'' ?Interrogation? spell. For sure, I can get someone''s truthful opinion... and I can ask where someone was or what they were doing at a particr time-- just those two things..."

    Lone nodded slowly. It looked like he understood a bit of her troubles... "At least you can use it on all the other passengers? We''ll just ask them all where they were at that time."

    Coraline lowered her head, feeling her ears droop slightly... "I... I can only cast it once per sun."

    Spellcasting was hard. Lone''s questions weren''t fair...

    "Wow," Lone whistled. "That ability''s kinda useless."

    Coraline immediately pped his arm, "YOU''RE kinda useless!"

    ...That was a lie. If not for him sticking by her side, Maisie would have probably tried to w her eyes out. It was really upsetting that he kept calling attention to her faults, though.

    Lone absentmindedly ran a finger along the scar on his cheek.

    ...It was something the boy often did... and she recalled she''d thought it was cute when she noticed it, before.

    WHY did she ever think *that*? It was stupid and annoying and only made her more upset!

    "Why do you call it ?Swords of Truth??" He asked.

    "Oh, just because I''m a girl, I''m not allowed to like swords?" Coraline turned away, tilting her chin up. "Haven''t you heard of ''The Unbreakable?''"

    Suddenly, her ears twitched.

    Something had moved at the end of the corridor-- and it wasn''t a sound the rats could make.

    Lone lifted hismp up, revealing the armored form of Olesya, the dovahkiin guardswoman. She was standing motionlessly at the end of the hallway.

    "Miss Olesya?" Coraline furrowed her brows... "How long have you been standing there?"

    Olesya pursed her lips for a brief moment... her eyes solemn, "Long enough."

    "That''s... a little creepy," Lone bared his teeth in a grimace... "Then... *why* ...are you just... standing there?"

    "It matters not," Olesya turned to walk off, disappearing past the corner... "I heard everything."

    ...

    Coraline walked with Lone back down the quiet hallways.

    "So Miss Maisie and the Captain aren''t suspects, anymore," Lone thought aloud.

    "Bleigh," Coraline ced a palm on her face, "Probably not. Assuming they were... ''busy'' when the murder happened."

    Coraline felt her cheeks flush a little bit. She didn''t think of herself as a prude, but she wasn''t very open to talking about that... especially with a boy.

    "How about Olesya?" Lone offered, "She has a weapon... and it wouldn''t be too hard to wipe the blood off of it. The ''Forgotten Swords'' are probably worth a lot of money..."

    "They''re called the des of the Forgotten King," Coraline frowned... "But that''s too obvious. She''d be caught for sure... Nearly everyone''s a suspect-- including me."

    "Nah," Lone shrugged nonchntly, keeping theirmp forward. "It''s not you."

    "Well, *I* know that, obviously," Coraline shot the dense boy a re, "But that''s not something you know, for sure."

    "I believe in you."

    They walked in silence for a few moments... as Coraline searched for words that would convince the scarred-cheek boy that he was wrong. And that he was also stupid.

    "Why would you believe something like that?" She muttered to herself.

    "It''s just a feeling," He answered.

    Lone didn''t sound particrly serious... but he didn''t sound like he was joking, either. It just sounded... honest, like it was a fact he didn''t have to think about.

    "Whatever..." Coraline grumbled.

    It wasn''t worth arguing with that person.

    ...It felt a little nice to be trusted, but not with an oblivious andzy reason like ''a feeling.''

    Feelings were stupid. Unreserved trust was stupid.

    Those two things were most responsible for Coraline getting hurt...

    Once upon a time, ''Miss Coraline'' had unrelenting faith in her old guild leader and in the adventurers she traveled with. However... people''s priorities change.

    People change.

    In the distant past, she was even stupid enough to believe the words ''I love you.''

    Unfortunately for her, that kind of ''love'' was only true for a few moons at most...

    Lone turned, handing the oilmp back to Coraline, "So... this is my room. Are you heading back to yours?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    She furrowed her brows, staring into themp me.

    It waste at night... Coraline was a tiny Elven girl without a Martial ss... and there was a murderer on the ship.

    ...Wasn''t it proper etiquette to at least... offer? to escort her back to her room?

    She could very well be in danger-- and Mister Lone didn''t seem to care!

    "No," She shook her head, grumbling. "I''m gonna sit in the hallway to make sure no one leaves their rooms for the rest of the night. Right there, on the deck. By myself."

    "Yeah, makes sense," Lone nodded. "Well, good night."

    Coraline felt a vein on her forehead throbbing. She didn''t know why it was affecting her so much, but Lone''s indifference was infuriating.

    She didn''t expect every boy she met to drop everything they were doing to vie for her affection-- but... but she was the only single girl on the ship! And she was cute! Really cute!

    "Why are you just standing there?" She scowled.

    "I uh... I don''t have the key," Lone bared his teeth as he knocked on the wood.

    Sir Tychon opened the door, his form illuminated by Coraline''smp against the pitch-ckness of his room, "Ah, Mister Lone. Miss Coraline, good evening."

    In that instant... Coraline forgot why she was upset... and... she almost dropped hermp.

    The young master was... or was not... he wasn''t wearing a shirt... and beneath his robes... was-- err, was not at all what she expected.

    She saw toned... very toned... pectorals... arms... nearly everything. Everything was... as perfect as a Tyrion statue carved out of marble by a horny sculptor.

    Smooth... very smooth... hard. stooooone. There wasn''t a single hair on his chest, either-- maybe he... he waxed?

    She gulped as she took in the sight. Sir Tychon''s abdominal muscles were so defined, you could set a coin in the creases. Without thinking, she began reaching towards them. Were they real? They couldn''t be an illusory spell, not with the--

    "Boss," Lone frowned. "Put on a shirt."

    The boy''s voice brought Coraline back to reality. She withdrew her hand as fast as lightning, hiding it behind her back. No one noticed.

    ...She hoped no one noticed.

    "No," Tychon grimaced... "Are you here to... report? Or...?"

    "I''m here to go back to sleep?" Lone pouted.

    "...Very well," Tychon looked displeased... but he opened the door to allow Lone past. "Take the room key with you, next time."

    "W-wait!" Coraline squeaked, "I-I-I... I..."

    Tychon and Lone stared at her as she babbled.

    Oh, gods, she hated being stared at.

    Taking a deep breath, she tried to regain her focus, "I''m-- I''m here... questions. I have them. To you. To ask. Of-- you. Sir Baron."

    "No. Go away."

    Tychon''s opinion DIDN''T MATTER. She NEEDED to KNOW!!

    "Are you-- are you two..." Coraline pointed, crossing her fingers.

    Lone''s eyes widened, "What? No! We''re not lovers!!"

    Coraline breathed a sigh of relief.

    ...She wasn''t sure why.

    Tychon rolled his eyes, "Mister Lone, I advise you to mind your volume, ''lest you wake the other passengers."

    Lone put his hands over his mouth, shrinking his head down.

    "Just a few questions, Sir Tychon!" Coraline insisted. There were many, many more things she needed to know.

    "Good evening, Miss Coraline."

    The door was shut in her face, ilms away from her nose.

    She turned her back to the door, pursing her lips.

    ...Then her face reddened.

    She had made... aplete and utter fool out of herself...

    And... it was all Tychon''s fault.

    She did not like that person.

    Stupid, sexy... abs be damned.

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, stretched his back and loosed a half-roar, half-yawn. In a sh, he stripped off his tunic, tossed it at the foot of his bunk, and crawled underneath a nket.

    Tycon had sat back down at his desk, rotating his puzzle box in his hands.

    "Haven''t figured it out yet, Boss?" Lone asked.

    "I''m not going to answer that question, young man."

    That meant the answer was no.

    Tycon spun the wooden cube on one of his fingers, "Did *you* make any progress?"

    "I have no idea who the murderer is..." Lone sighed, "We had a lot of ideas... but because it was both a murder and a robbery, nearly everyone has a good motive."

    A sudden... very ufortable thought crept into his mind, "Hey... Boss."

    "Go ahead," Tycon gestured.

    "Did... did you kill Master Highde?"

 Chapter 504 The Hero She Deserved

    ?"No, I did not," Tycon answered simply.

    "Whew..." Lone breathed a deep sigh of relief, "Just had to check..."

    Lone felt like he''d dodged a lethal attack. If Boss Tycon was the murderer that Coraline was looking for-- eh. He was just d that wasn''t the case.

    He tossed and turned in his bed, trying to getfortable... "All that thinking''s made me hungry..."

    Lone saw movement out of the corner of his eyes.

    Boss threw things at him, an awful lot. It wasn''t moving so fast that he had to use mana for it, though.

    He snatched the small package out of the air.

    Measuring its weight in its hand, he groaned, "Ugh... is this more soap, Boss?"

    "Hah. No," Tycon chuckled."It''s your share of the Gann jerky we cured a few suns back."

    "Oh, thanks," Lone''s heart warmed.

    He unbound the leather and took the thickest slice of jerky to munch on. The smoky-peppery vor was perfect for satiating his hunger.

    The vor was... nostalgic.

    "You performed much better against the three than in your first encounter against the one," Tycon mused.

    "Yeah... I''m a lot stronger now."

    Those were simpler times... It made Lone recall how strict his training had been... but also made him realize how much effort Tycon put into him and the other members of Sol Invictus.

    "Concerning the high elf''s murder..." Tycon tapped his finger on the wood of his puzzle box, "I''m assuming you didn''t kill him, either."

    "I... I don''t know?" Lone shifted the jerky in his mouth to the side of his cheek, "I might''ve? I don''t think I did... but magic is weird. You said there were spell formations on the ship, Boss?"

    "Indeed," Tycon pointed a palm at the painting he''d taken down earlier, now returned to its ce. "The formations effectively block anything with somatic and verbalponents, Domination-type spells included. Thus, none of the casters on-board can use non-martial spells unless exempted."

    "So Miss Olesya can probably breathe fire..." Lone muttered, "And Mister Ramon can... also breathe fire? What do tieflings do?"

    "Correct. Bloodline skills are both non-verbal and non-somatic," Tycon nodded. "And Turathi tieflings can activate something... fire-based, usually."

    "Wh... what if a Domination spell was cast on me before boarding?"

    "Clever, but no." Tycon rolled his slightly glowy, yellow eyes, "Nothing of the sort affects you... nor any other passenger. I would have noticed."

    "Oh... alright," Lone sighed, staring at the bottom of the bunk above him. He''d ruled out both bloodline skills and mind-control having anything to do with the murder...

    He had very few clues on who the culprit *could* be...

    It wasn''t Boss. It probably wasn''t Coraline... and the Captain and Maisie were probably not the ones, either.

    "Mister Lone."

    Lone furrowed his brows. It was useless to think about it. They''d gather more clues in the morning, "What''s up, Boss?"

    "When I inquired about your progress, earlier... I was referring to your ''dialogue'' with Miss Coraline."

    ...

    A chubby rat scampered along the side of the hallway floor, unafraid of the small Elven girl swaddled in her nket.

    Coraline sighed. She had spent nearly two bells sitting there... watching... waiting.

    She was so... very... very... tired.

    Nothing. happened.

    No one woke up. There were no signs of an obvious murderer, stalking the halls. The ship didn''t even have any ghosts! Everything would have been so much easier if Lord Arod manifested as a spirit andid out the specific details of his murder.

    It was fine, though! Coraline had done her share of nightwatch as an adventurer-- with ghosts and without.

    She was an elf, after all...

    Elves. didn''t. need. to sleep.

    She just needed... peacefulness... peaceful-minded-ness. to be at peace-- to soak in mana from the atmosphere.

    ...Something like that.

    The ''meditative state'' she needed was difficult to exin. She needed to sit still... and concentrate. After so long, she''d sense the vaguest hint of a very specific, very fleeting state of mind.

    It wasn''t something that she could... hunt and catch. But once she found it, she could... will for it?

    It woulde to her.

    It always did.

    Bleigh. Sitting cross-legged for so long made her back hurt.

    Sleep would have been... so very nice... if she could have afforded it. Maybe she just liked lying down? It was a lot morefortable.

    Her evening wouldn''t have been so bad, if she hadpany.

    --other than the rats, of course.

    Her sleepy thoughts drifted back to the awkward boy with the scar on his cheek.

    Mister Lone was...

    ...probably not the most ideal for that. He didn''t seem to talk very much. Even she talked more than Lone did-- and she generally kept her noisy thoughts to herself.

    Huh...?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Why was she thinking of *that* guy?

    Felicity would make wonderfulpany. Lady Lucrezia would have been just perfect-- but she was getting her beauty sleep. Good for her.

    Sleep was stupid~

    ...It was probably because of recent events. *That* was what made her think of that person.

    Mister Lone had a solid alibi and was... rtivelypetent.

    There was no special reason for it.

    Coraline''s ears twitched, hearing movement.

    Her heart warmed and her lips curved up into an unreserved smile.

    Her savior had turned the corner.

    She didn''t realize it until that moment... but it was exactly who she needed to see.

    "So... I finally make your acquaintance... Petty Officer Mittens..."

    The stray cat had a patchy, tri-color coat... ck, white, and brownish. Mittens'' paws looked nothing like her namesake... white fur traveling up her paws and well past her wrists.

    It was certainly a cute name, though-- and thinking about it, ''Mittens'' was much more feminine than... ''Gloves'' or... ''Sleeves''

    Coraline nodded. She would allow it.

    Mittens, merciless yer of rats, was her greatest ally on the Golden Eagle.

    She supposed that Mister Lone was a close fourth.

    Petty Officer Mittens proved to be excellentpany. She was friendly, full of meows and gentle nuzzling. The angelic purring sound she made put Coraline''s heart and soul at ease.

    The calico even listened patiently to everything she had to say...ints about her old guild leader... about how frustrating it was to stay upte... about her fourth-favorite ally.

    Five star customer service.

    So far, her flight on the Golden Eagle had been absolutely lovely-- minus the... murder.

    Unfortunately, their time was interrupted by the appearance of a dastardly rat, bigger than two of Coraline''s fists put together.

    Petty Officer Mittens boldly dashed off to face her newest foe.

    Tears pooled in the corners of Coraline''s eyes. Her savior was so, so brave.

    ''May honor guide thy ws, Petty Officer Mittens! Ne''er has a Tyrion, nobler than thee, acted in so honorable a defense of her countrymen.''

    ...Anyroad, taking too long of a break was no good.

    There were plenty of rats on-board. Mittens had a lot of work to do...

    One of the doors creaked open at about the same time... The emergent Lone slowly turned his head, watching Petty Officer Mittens chase after her foul prey, down the hall and into the darkness.

    Coraline-- in a far better mood than she was earlier, gave the boy a small wave.

    "Ya couldn''t sleep, Mista Lone?" She smirked, mimicking Maisie''s cutesy, high-pitched voice.

    "I''m exhausted," Lone shook his head. "I got two bells, though... I figured I''de out and let you get your sleep cycle."

    Coraline noddedzily, covering her mouth as she yawned. That sounded lovely... but her one-sided conversation with Petty Officer Mittens had granted her a tiny surge of energy.

    "I''m not too, too tired," She patted the deck next to her. "Want to sit and chat for a bit?"

    "Umm..." Lone hesitated, cing his hand on the back of his neck. "Yes?"

    Coraline wrapped her nket tighter around her, stifling a giggle, "Stars and stones, you''re so weeeeiird, Mister Lone."

    She pursed her lips and winked coquettishly, "Do you not like mypany?"

    "Aha..." The boy smiled in embarrassment, "I guess I can sit for awhile."

    ...

    Time passed by quickly enough with conversation. The topics were horribly mundane, but... they weren''t... boring?

    They didn''t talk about the murder or the theories they had or... the two dozen things she was worried or frustrated about...

    She simply chose to enjoy Mister Lone''spany.

    --which was... surprisingly pleasant.

    It seemed silly, but Coraline was caught off-guard by the realization.

    The awkward boy with the scar on his cheek didn''t seem all that interesting... but... he was? It was difficult to exin.

    He hid the most peculiar of details... like what his actual upation was... and pretty much anything about Sir Tychon.

    All that she could really get out of him was that Mister Lone was that person''s subordinate.

    They were probably criminals... but if that were true, the boy exuded far too much innocence and naivete.

    Or maybe Baron Tychon actually was just a traveling schr? His conversation with Lord Arod had supported that fact.

    Coraline didn''t want to believe that the answer could be simple.

    ...The two of them could very well be... very bad criminals.

 Chapter 505 Coralineâ€™s Motive

    ?Teasing the awkward boy was fun...

    Coraline put her fingers on her eyelids to force them open.

    It didn''t help.

    It was getting more and more difficult to keep awake...

    "Hey, Coraline?" Lone tilted his head up, staring at the ceiling. "Question."

    Coraline yawned... then rubbed her eyes with the back of her wrists, "Mhmmm?"

    "You said you left yourst guild..."

    "Pff..." Coraline puffed her cheeks out, "Yeah. I''m better off without ''em~"

    Lone looked to her with a strangely serious expression, "So why didn''t you ept Mister Ramon''s invitation to join his?"

    "It... it was really nice of him to do that..." Coraline pulled in her knees and rested her chin atop her forearms... "and I do want to join another adventuring guild, eventually."

    She sighed, rocking her head left and right... "I just... it''s all been so sudden... Getting kicked out of Brockdale Bridge was less like a setback and more like... an opportunity? Maybe it''s wanderlust-- like there''s something in my blood that makes the prospect of starting anew... exciting. Scary, but exciting-- does that make sense?"

    Lone looked away, sighing wistfully, "So there''s no chance you''d join mine?"

    Coraline snickered, shaking her head, "You don''t even know me, Mister Lone... not my qualifications-- not my ss or my rank. I could be the worst adventurer this side of the Realm."

    Some suns, she even felt that that was true...

    The boy looked back and... he smiled...

    It was actually kinda cute.

    He was smiling like none of that mattered.

    Hah.

    She''d fallen for that kind of smile before.

    She wouldn''t let it happen again.

    "That''s a ''no, thank you,'' Mister Lone," Coraline smirked.

    "Aw," Lone grinned. "Come onnnn?"

    "Nnnnnope," Coraline yawned, snuggling deeper into her nket... "Even if legendary guild Sol Invictus were to invite me to join, my answer would stay the same..."

    ...

    ? Morning, second sun. Twenty-eight bells until Cersei''s Rest. ?

    Coraline clenched her eyes tight. She just wanted... five... more minutes... maybe ten...

    She felt her ears twitch as sound began to return to her waking senses.

    The ship''s magical formations emitted a low steady hum, the monotony nudging her back to sleep... but also annoying her juuuuust enough to pop an eye open.

    Bleigh.

    The way she''d slept made her neck hurt terribly.

    She blinked her eyes, lifting her head and massaging her stiff neck.

    After breakfast, she figured she''d ask Miss Maisie if she could mix her a tincture for pain relief.

    ...Hopefully she wasn''t too upset about the other evening.

    Depending on what medicinal herbs the ship had, Coraline could even mash up a poultice, herself. Failing that, Felicity and Edan were adventurers from Alizeau-- they might know or have a natural remedy for sore muscles.

    "Good morning."

    "Mm..." Coraline nodded, "Good mo--"

    Too close!

    Coraline found herself face-to-face with Mister Lone.

    Tossing off her nket, Coraline immediately powered a palm-heel strike into the boy''s chin-- just like she was taught.

    The back of the boy''s skull bounced off the wood paneling and he fell onto his back. Hended with his head in an awkward position, slightly upright against the wall.

    How DARE he?!!!

    The absolute NERVE!!!

    What was he doing in her-- room?

    ...She wasn''t in her room.

    She was sitting on the wooden floorboards of the hallway outside of it.<novelnext></novelnext>

    And she had... fallen asleep on Lone''s shoulder?

    Coraline narrowed her eyes,manding her brain to work at hyper-speed to review the events of the previous night.

    She was keeping guard... watching for the other passengers'' leaving their rooms.

    And then... Mister Lone came out of his...

    And he offered to take the rest of her nightwatch?

    Why would he do that? Mister Lone was human! He needed to sleep more than she did.

    ...Maybe he wasn''t... thinking straight? Coraline was pretty clumsy when she was sleepy...

    It wasmon practice to assign a watch roster when out adventuring-- and... if Lone was an adventurer, then maybe he''d... fallen into old habits?

    After all, the other evening, she epted it without a thought.

    That was really nice...

    ...a nice way... to PERV on her while she SLEPT!

    Her hands trembled with face-punching fury. Her cheeks were as hot as a kettle.

    Mister Lone had definitely SEEN her sleeping face. That was UNFORGIVABLE!

    So she hit him! With that strike, they were even...

    He got to look at her super-cute face while she slept, thinking whatever perverted thoughts perverts think... And in exchange, Coraline got... a few bells of sleep?

    No. Ugh. Creepy pervy-ness was NOT fine.

    She should hit him again.

    Wait-- was it possible... Did he... did he *touch* her while she was sleeping?!

    She should MURDER HIM!

    No... Mister Lone didn''t seem like the type to put his hands where they don''t belong... He was... too sweet... too cowardly.

    She needed to apologize. No... first, she needed to check whether or not he was alive.

    Coraline wrapped her nket around her neck like a cape and crawled over on her palms and knees.

    "Get up, Mister Lone," She shook him. "I didn''t hit you *that* hard..."

    ...She ced her ear to his chest, listening for breathing.

    Then... her opposite ear twitched. One of the hallway doors had opened.

    It was Sir Tychon... with his robes on, this time.

    The noble''s gaze drifted from the pocket watch he had in his hand... and over to her and her coward.

    "...Good morning, Miss Coraline."

    "G-good morning," Coraline stammered.

    Slowly... calmly... she lifted her head off of Lone''s chest... and sat upright.

    "...You are aware... that the hallway is considered a public area, yes?"

    "Yyyyyesss?" Coraline tilted her head up to meet Sir Tychon''s gaze. It hurt her neck a little.

    Then... as un-suspiciously as possible, she forced herself to smile, "Wh... what a-BOUT it?"

    "I advise that..." Tychon paused, taking a breath... "For the sake of decency, you should restrict such--"

    WHAT? NO! NOPE!!

    "Wasn''t doing anything indecent, SIR!!!!" She shrieked.

    In order to prove it, she leapt up with her elbow pointed downward... and she drove her full body weight down into Lone''s crotch.

    "AUUUGGGGGH!!" The pervert shot awake, crying out in well-deserved agony, "W-w-WW--WWHYYYYyyYyy!??!?"

    A deep grimace set into Tychon''s face, "I... see. I won''t ask questions, then."

    Coraline quickly got to her feet, "Mama raised me right and proper! I''m a LADY!"

    "...Very well," Tychon snapped his watch closed, returning it to a pocket within the lining of his robe. "Would you two... like to apany me to breakfast?"

    "Yessir!" Coraline nodded frantically.

    "Excellent... and, ah... Mister Lone, do get up," Tychon chided. "You look ridiculous."

 Chapter 506 Patience & Understanding

    ?"Captain Nikandros," Lucrezia growled, looking as intimidating as a Popoto could manage. "Just why has the Golden Eagle not yetnded? Dare I remind you-- there was a *murder*st night."

    The atmosphere in the dining hall at breakfast was... awkward... guarded, really.

    Coraline didn''t even try to keep the peace. She half-listened to the conversation while munching absentmindedly on buttered toast.

    The Captain had recovered well-- especially considering how drunk he''d been the previous night. His clothes and hair were a bit disheveledpared to the first sun, but not enough for anyone but herself to notice.

    "Dear guest, I sincerely apologize," Nikandros inclined his head. "Though recent events have been somewhat worrisome, I can assure you that the crew of the Golden Eagle can guarantee your safety. I must beg for your patience and understa--"

    "*Patience* and understanding, Mister Nikandros, can be afforded when my husband and I aren''t fearing for our lives!" Lucrezia huffed.

    Baron Tychon dabbed his cloth napkin to the corners of his lips. At least *that person* seemed to be enjoying his meal.

    "Lady Lucrezia, there are no airshipnding pads between Victrix and Cersei''s Rest. If Mister Nikandros were tond the ship, we would be open to attack from seaborne dangers... I''m sure you are aware of the implications of that."

    The noble''s words caused Lucrezia''s face to nch, and she averted her gaze in troubled contemtion.

    Coraline nodded, pricking her fork into her breakfast te. She hadn''t realized that... and she felt slightly foolish that it had slipped her understanding.

    "More importantly, Captain Nikandros," Tychon leaned forward.

    "Y-yes, young master?" The half-elf gulped, trying not to directly meet the youth''s golden gaze.

    "The puzzle box."

    "I... beg your pardon?"

    "I took the puzzle box from the dining hall yesterday evening," Tychon sighed, sitting back and gesturing to the shelves behind the Captain, "I''ve been trying to decipher it, on-and-off throughout the night. Tell me about it."

    "A... ah," Nikandros chuckled nervously. He took a short moment, gathering up his energy and once again wearing his customer-service smile.

    "There are many moving panels and hidden internal mechanisms, dear guest. However, to solve it... there''s a... ''trick'' to it-- one not obvious at first nce."

    "A trick, you say..." Tychon crossed his arms, his brows furrowed in contemtion.

    "The fastest I''ve seen a guest find the solution was... two suns," Nikandros smirked. "It was a... Gnomish Arcanist, if I remember correctly."

    The noble youth furrowed his brows, "That does not sound so daunting."

    "Depending on the winds, the Golden Eagle willnd tomorrow morning or afternoon," The Captain smirked. "Time is running out, young master."

    Coraline exhaled through her nostrils. The Captain''s words were... a decidedly poor choice.

    "...I see." Tychon sat back in his seat, cradling his chin in thought.

    Nikandros pushed away his te and stood up with a troubled look, "Please excuse me, dear guests. Recent events have left me... quite fatigued."

    Coraline pursed her lips, examining the distress in the older man''s face. She''d heard that... ''professional drunks'' were very good at acting as if they... weren''t.

    "Captain..." She frowned, "I''d prefer that the passengers and crew stay together, if you would."

    Nikandros shrugged. "Being murdered is the least of my worries, Miss Coraline. There are far more terrifying things in this Realm-- and I''ll risk it all for a drink and a nap. And besides, I''m the only one on-board capable of speaking to the ship''s Elemental Spirit. Excuse me."

    Coraline sighed, returning her gaze to her barely-touched breakfast. She tried.

    After her questioning the previous evening, she''d found the probability of Nikandros having something to do with the murder to be low. It was just--

    "I will go with the Captain," Olesya began to follow after him.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Mm. Don''t bother, lizard-butt," Maisie rested her chin on the back of her hands, "I''ll go in a little bit~"

    Olesya paused, turning her head back to face the human woman, "Did you have something to say to me?"

    "HuhH? To you?" Maisie rolled her eyes, "Don''t tter y''self, Nemayan."

    Olesya hesitated for a moment... but turned and stomped off without argument.

    Coraline breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn''t sure if she''d be able to do the same thing-- take the mature choice of walking away instead of throttling the skinny, sword-less Tyrion girl.

    Maybe she was a bit biased.

    She looked back at her te... at the breakfast Maisie had ''lovingly'' prepared just for her.

    Miss Maisie very well knew that Coraline was vegetarian.

    Ham and sausage was not vegetarian.

    Beside her, Felicity leaned over to whisper into her ear, "You need to eat, Miss Coraline..."

    "Y-yeah... I''m... not really that hungry, though..."

    The eggs were ptable-- if overcooked and rubbery. The slurry mess that was supposed to be potatoes was beyond saving.

    It was as if she''d made breakfast, herself...

    She nibbled at a grilled pepper-- more for Felicity''s sake than for hers...

    The grease was so overbearing that everything on her te was soaked in it. Even looking at it made her sick.

    ...Also the pepper was stuffed with ground meat.

    Coraline frowned and lifted her gaze towards the bread basket near the center of the dining table.

    At least she could fill her empty belly with that.

    "Oh, there''s more bread!" Maisie snatched up the basket.

    Coraline didn''t even have the chance to scream.

    ...She was going to cry, though. It was never toote to cry.

    The merciless woman in a maid outfit passed it to the man sitting beside her, "Here y''go, Mista Tychon! Pass it down, if ya would!"

    "...Very well," Tychon furrowed his brows but did as he was told.

    BLEIGH!! Men were TRASH!! They''ll listen to any woman without question as long as they had bigger than a D CUP!!!

    Mister Lone was probably WORSE! That pervert! She was NEVER going to forgive him for taking her bread away!

    "Well, time for me to get ta work~!" Maisie stood up, bowing politely to the guests seated at the table. "I''m assumin'' Mista Ramon made a mess the uvva'' night?"

    Edan groaned, lightly inclining his head in apology, "Felicity and I did the best we could to clean up. Ramon''s sheets need to be washed... and we used some of our own cleaning rags as well."

    Felicity frowned, "I''d offer to help... but the formations."

    "It ain''t no trouble, dear guests," Maisie winked coquettishly. "I''m exempted from those. And I''ll be using a cleaning ritual-- quick an'' easy."

 Chapter 507 Defensive Pairs

    ?Felicity smiled with embarrassment, "Thank you so much, Miss Maisie."

    Edan nodded, "We''ll... uh... make sure that horndog doesn''t make any more trouble."

    Coraline followed Edan''s thumb, which pointed behind him at one of the unused tables.

    There, Ramonid, his breath probably still reeking of alcohol and vomit. He was lightly snoring, using the tablecloth as an improvised nket.

    Miss Maisie walked over to the unconscious man, stroking his horned forehead as if he were a child, "Don''t think ya hafta worry ''bout the big lug for tha next few bells-- at least!"

    The woman in the Alizeaun maid outfit waved energetically, before practically prancing out of the dining hall.

    She had mentioned drowsiness as a possible side effect of the tincture she mixed for Mister Ramon. It put the big man down like a battlehammer to the head.

    Coraline, despite her terribly sore neck, chose to suffer in silence. Whatever Maisie had given Ramon, she wasn''t sure she''d be able to survive.

    Still... yet another person was leaving the protection of the dining hall, even if it was the woman hell-bent on ruining her breakfast.

    But what could she do about it? She couldn''t ask for the ship functions to cease while she yed detective. The previous night, she had approached both the Captain and Miss Maisie with confidence... but left with only bitter feelings.

    "Two-man teams..." She muttered.

    "What was that, Miss Coraline?" Felicity granted her a gentle smile... and... and...

    She offered her thest quarter of bread.

    It took everything Coraline had not to embrace her, "Th-thank you, Miss Felicity."

    She tilted her head, "I''d imagine you interviewed Miss Maisiest night?"

    Coraline nodded her head up and down, her mouth full of sweet starchy goodness, "Uh huh."

    "And things didn''t go so well?"

    Audibly gulping, Coraline groaned... "Mmhm. That''s an understatement."

    "I think... for safety''s sake, we should travel in two-person teams." She liberally applied sweet butter to her still warm sustenance, "That way, everyone will be ountable for each other."

    "Right," Edan nodded. "And if someone turns up dead, we throw their pair off the ship."

    Coraline sighed. The half-elf seemed to have a tendency towards violence.

    ...or maybe adventurers in generalcked tact?

    "That''s right, Edan," Felicity smiled. "That''s why you''re going with her~"

    Edan winced at the sudden notion, "I''m what?"

    "Going with Miss Maisie," Felicity stuck her tongue out. "You can help her with the cleaning rituals just fine."

    The half-elf frowned, his pointed ears drooping slightly...

    "(My love...)" He muttered in Elven, "(You know how troubled I am with most humans.)"

    "I trust you enough not to run off with her," Felicity winked.

    "Right..." Edan sighed as he stood from his chair to follow Maisie... but suddenly, he shot a wicked re at young master Tychon, "I''m watching you, noble. Keep your hands off of my woman."

    Tychon frowned... "False. Your observation of me ends as soon as you step out of this room."

    Felicity giggled, shooing Edan away with a wave of her hand, "Go on! I promise I won''t have too much fun."

    The half-elf grumbled some choice phrases in Elven as he walked out the door. He probably had no idea that the young master could understand him perfectly...<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Miss Coraline."

    "Y-yes?!" Coraline straightened her back.

    The deep voice of Tychon caught her by surprise.

    She didn''t like dealing much with the entitled noble. In many ways, he was worse than Lord Arod. Ancients were aloof, acted in their own self-interests, and treated everyone else with disdain.

    The green-haired Baron was all that... but... more rude about it.

    She slowly turned her head (painfully) to meet that person''s gaze, "Sir Tychon?"

    "Concerning your suggestion to move in defensive pairs..." The noble smiled politely. "--you do realize that you are the only passenger traveling alone, yes?"

    That... was absolutely right.

    Beads of perspiration began to form on Coraline''s forehead. She knew she was a suspect. Everyone was. However, the fact that she was traveling alone put her in a special category of suspicion.

    She hadn''t realized that until just then...

    She opened her mouth to defend herself... but hesitated. All the excuses she could think of were flimsy and weak-- they would only make her seem more suspicious! She wasn''t the murderer, though!

    Lady Lucrezia stood on her chair, "I must object, Sir Tychon! I can personally vouch for my niece''s character!"

    The noble furrowed his brows, "Your... niece?"

    "That''s right!" Felicity grabbed onto Coraline, hugging her possessively against her squishy chest, "Miss Coraline is the absolute sweetest thing! She wouldn''t hurt a fly, much less a person!"

    Coraline generally didn''t like being touched, but... Felicity''s embrace wasn''t unpleasant. She smelled like dried herbs and flowers-- a type of scent popr amongst both elves and Alizeauns. She could have gone without her face being mashed into boobs, though.

    Also, if she had ess to her offensive spells, she had no problems zapping flies out of the air.

    Lucrezia thrust an angry finger menacingly at Tychon, "And besides, Miss Coraline''s room is the farthest from Master Highde''s. We would have certainly seen her skulking about in the hallway if she was the culprit!"

    Coraline sighed internally. Auntie Lucrezia meant well... but the hallways all connected. If she was the murderer, she could have avoided the group if she''d just gone the opposite direction...

    "The youngdy''s character aside," Tychon continued. "Perhaps it would be best if, for the remainder of this trip, Miss Coraline apanied Mister Lone..."

    ...What?

    She thought she was being ced under suspicion. This conversation... was not... that.

    Honestly, it wasn''t a terrible idea. Other than having to be mindful of falling asleep around Mister Lone, she found hispany to be... not terrible.

    She nced over to the cheek-scarred boy.

    He was wearing the most peculiar expression.

    Oh.

    Well! If he didn''t think it was a good idea, she didn''t either!

    "I don''t think so, Sir Tychon~" Felicity smirked. "Miss Coraline can stick with me and Edan-- oh, and the sleepyhead too."

    "Coraline, dear," Lucrezia ced her hands on her hips, but cooed in a motherly voice, "Stay with me and your Uncle Giorgio, won''t you?"

    It seemed that none of the other passengers trusted the youth with the golden eyes.

    Or maybe... Coraline was... popr?

    Whatever the reason, it made her chest feel warm, having people willing to protect her...

 Chapter 508 Not Interested

    ?"Hmph." Tychon crossed his arms, leaning back in his dining chair, "Do as you please."

    Giorgio stood up out of his seat, approaching the green-haired noble, "Worry not, Sir Tychon! You may have lost this battle, but this old man can keep youpany!"

    "I''d like to point out that I''ve lost nothing," Tychon furrowed his brows.

    "Ohoho, sure, sure." Giorgio grinned, "What say you to a round or five of Petteia?"

    The young noble sighed, a tinge of annoyance and defeat in his voice... "Very well."

    ...

    ? Fifth interview: Ramon, Guild Leader of the Badass-assins. ?

    Ramon downed an entire pitcher of water before wiping his mouth with the tablecloth.

    "Mister Ramon..." Felicity tilted her head, "What do you think you''re doing?"

    The tiefling gestured drunkenly to Coraline, "The uh... the interview. I''m here for the interview."

    Coraline pursed her lips. She had interviewed the crew and the few others. However, she still needed to ask Felicity and her guild members about their versions of the evening''s events.

    Ramon ced a heavy fist on the table, "Coraline!"

    The dull thump surprised her and she shot an arm up out of reflex, "Here!"

    "What would you say your biggest weakness is?"

    Coraline averted her gaze... "Um... myst employer said I had really good attention to detail? But sometimes, it slows down my report-writing? It takes time, double-checking bad handwriting."

    ...And numbers that don''t add up properly.

    "Good, good... That''s fine," Ramon nodded. Suddenly his face twisted into a grimace... and he violently shook his head. "Next question, then... If we hired you, what do you think you can bring to the Badass-assins?"

    "Hah?" Coraline tilted her head in confusion.

    Wasn''t she supposed to be the one interviewing him? And about a different topic entirely?

    "Go back to sleep, Ramon," Felicity scolded. "You''re drunk~"

    "And you''re ugly!" The tiefling shot back. "But in... in the morning, I''ll be sober... and you''ll-- you''ll still be--"

    Felicity promptly reached over and shoved Ramon''s chest. The tiefling''s chair slowly tipped over... fell... and hended with his back against the deck... where he immediately began to snore.

    "For the record, Miss Felicity," Coraline bared her teeth. "I think you''re gorgeous."

    "Aw, you''re the swee~test thing, Miss Coraline," She smiled. "Now then,dies, where were we?"

    ...

    With the exception of Mister Ramon''s brief awakening, the couple of bells, lounging in the dining hall, had passed by quickly and quietly.

    Coraline sat with Lady Lucrezia and Felicity, mostly listening to their lively conversation about perfumes, designer clothing, and gossip about well-known Tyrion personalities.

    Such topics made her realize how out-of-touch with the world she was. She''d spent the past few years adventuring... but most of that time was either in the field or stuck at a desk, filing reports and settling ounts.

    She never really dealt with women who cared for such things. She thought of those people as elitist, short-sighted airheads.

    Most of them were.

    But that didn''t mean the things they liked weren''t enjoyable to talk about.

    ? Sixth interview: Felicity of the Badass-assins. ?

    Coraline asked Felicity about the events of the previous night.

    She and Edan were taking care of their drunk-- which was to be expected.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Unfortunately, their alibi was as unsteady as most everyone else''s. Ramon could move-- and even fight while inebriated. She couldn''t rule him out as a suspect...

    She was, however, very d that Ramon didn''t have a weapon...

    Oh!

    Coraline ced her hand over her mouth, stifling a serendipitous shout.

    The des of the Forgotten King!

    If all the passengers moved together... they could search the rooms for the stolen weapons. The ship was huge... but there was a chance that the thief stowed it in his or her room. And if Miss Olesya could use her detection tool to search for it...

    Bleigh. Coraline didn''t want to upset the Captain anymore, though. Maybe she''d wait a few more bells to ask him for help... and she''d make sure to be extra polite.

    "Is there something the matter, Miss Coraline?" Felicity tilted her head.

    "You''re smiling," Lucrezia beamed. "Which one is it, then? The young master or his strong and silentpanion?"

    "What?" Coraline scoffed, "I''m not thinking of Mister Lone! He''s not even that interesting."

    Lucrezia and Felicity shared a meaningful nce.

    "I think we made a mistake rejecting Sir Tychon''s suggestion~" Felicity sighed.

    "Oh, it''s not toote for our little Coraline," Lucrezia giggled.

    Coraline felt her blood freeze. Why did she say what she said? She wasn''t even thinking about that person!

    "He''s-- he''s not!" She insisted, "I''m not interested in him, at all!"

    "Oh, dear..." Lucrezia hid a tiny smile behind a finger.

    "I''m gonna go tell him what you said," Felicity grinned as she stood from her chair. "He''s going to LOVE it!"

    "No, wait! Don''t!" Coraline snatched at her frantically, managing to grab onto the bottom of her blouse.

    Felicity giggled, yful tugging back, "Let gooo~ I''mma tell himmm!"

    "Noooooo!!" Coraline pleaded.

    She didn''t pull too hard... tearing her new friend''s blouse would be terribly rude. Thankfully, her persistence made the woman concede and Felicity sat back down, her clothes only slightly disheveled.

    Coraline pouted... but she found herself staring at the end of a familiar-looking tattoo inked upon the woman''s shoulder.

    "Oh, wanna see?" Felicity beamed. She adjusted her blouse and rolled up her sleeve, revealing a distinctly Elven design. "You should know what this is, right?"

    "It''s so pretty..." Coraline pursed her lips, thinking on it.

    It was a tribal tattoo, somewhat stylized for human hands to draw, but recognizable enough. It seemed that besides Felicity dating a half-elf, she was quite fond of Elven culture-- going as far as permanently inking some of it on her skin.

    "Oh, my," Lucrezia fanned herself with her gloved hand. "I''ve always been afraid of getting a tattoo."

    "It only hurts a little bit, Lady Lucrezia," Felicity winked.

    "Oh, no! It''s not that, dear," Lucrezia''s lips curved up into a sly smirk. "I fear my husband wouldn''t be able to keep his hands off of me."

    "--I''ve had QUITE enough of this, Mister Giorgio!"

    Tychon''s outburst caused Coraline and herpanions to turn. The young master was reclining back in his seat, staring at the ceiling with an aggrieved expression.

    Lucrezia let out a long sigh, "What has my fool husband done, this time?"

    ",

 Chapter 509 Legend Of The Forgotten King

    ?Baron Tychon, Mister Lone, and Mister Giorgio sat far off in the corner of the dining hall.

    The older Popoto had found a wooden case that unfolded into a game board for Petteia, and had taught the other two how to y.

    Over the past couple of bells, Coraline had picked up bits and pieces of their conversation... not that she meant to eavesdrop. She had Elven ears. She couldn''t help it!

    It soon became apparent that young master Tychon was... exceptionally bad-- not just at Pettaia, but... every game they yed. It seemed almost... out-of-character for that person.

    Coraline did gain some slightly vindictive amusement, seeing the noble throw a fit over something so... mundane.

    Across from the Baron, Mister Giorgio covered his mouth with his tiny hands, physically holding in hisughter... "You''ve only started ying this sun, young man. Pettaia deceptivelyplex! We can discuss strategies over bells and bells!"

    "Forgive me, Sir," Tychon grit his teeth. "Five losses is... quite difficult."

    "Oh,e on, Boss." Lone smiled politely. "Can we just take a deeeeep breath? You need to calm--"

    "Another word, Mister Lone--" Tychon cut him off, "And I will break this wooden table with your respectably durable skull."

    Ah. There it was. Coraline sighed dreamily. That was the young master Tychon she was familiar with.

    "How rude..." Lucrezia scowled, keeping her voice hushed, "Who does that young man think he is?"

    Felicity rolled her eyes, "He probably thinks he owns the world~ The more handsome a man is, the more rotten his personality."

    Coraline pursed her lips to the side, "Felicity... aren''t you romantically involved with Mister Edan?"

    In a beauty contest, Edan would score nearly as many marks as Sir Tychon. Then in the muscles department, she favored Mister Lone would be the clear winner...

    Hm... It made her wonder how he''d look with his shirt off.

    The woman raised an eyebrow, "Edan''s personality is terrible~ I took it upon myself to whip him into shape."

    Lucrezia stifled a giggle, "Oh, my. I had a simr experience, first meeting Giorgio-- he was a bit... rough, back then. To be quite honest, if he were twenty years younger, I''m certain I''d be defending him tooth and nail from you two."

    "Oh, I wouldn''t dare, Auntie Lu," Coraline smiled.

    "Whew, scary," Felicity grinned. "I''m happy with my man, thank you, very much."

    "Oh, really?" Coraline tilted her head, "You do tease him an awful lot, though."

    Felicity stuck out her tongue, "Once a man thinks the hunt''s over, they getcent."

    Coraline ced her forearms on the dining table, resting her chin on them, "Hahh... is that what it is, then?"

    Maybe that was the problem...cency.

    She''d never get anywhere with anyone if she wasn''t proactive... It was the same with the current situation.

    Felicity ced her head on her arms, mirroring her posture, "What''s~ on~ your mind? Miss Co~raline?"

    Coraline rolled her eyes. Felicity''s little rhyme was very cute, but also awe-inducingly stale.

    "I was just thinking... about Master Highde''s heirloom weapons..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Not to speak ill of the dead," Lucrezia pouted, "but I think it was terribly rude of him to carry those things on-board."

    Felicity waved her hand, "No, they''re not really weapons-- well, they are, but they aren''t. They''re Elven artifacts."

    Coraline tilted her head up, "Miss Felicity? You know about the des of the Forgotten King?"

    The woman nodded, "Mhm. Oh, I didn''t tell you, huh? Ramon and Edan are escorting me to Cersei''s Rest for a job-- I''m leading a presentation on Elven history and myth."

    "That''s quite impressive!" Lucrezia gasped, "Whose works are you presenting?"

    "Mine... and a few other younger schrs," Felicity grinned. "I have a degree in Elvennguage from the University of Arcanix."

    Coraline gulped and averted her gaze. It seemed that Miss Felicity was... better at being an elf than she was.

    "Oooh, I know what you''re thinking," Felicity giggled. "Why would a human bother studying those things?"

    "Oh, no, not at all!" Coraline quickly apologized. "I was just... hah... I didn''t know much about Elven history or artifacts. It made me feel kind of... unlearned."

    "Mm. It''s fine," Felicity smiled politely, "Most of Elven culture is passed down orally. That''s why elves around the Realm are drastically different-- with the exception of the highborne families."

    Lady Lucrezia revealed her tiny smile, "I do love a good story. Would you enlighten us, Miss Felicity?"

    Felicity swept her long braid over her shoulder, "Well... I''m not the best storyteller, but... allow me to share what I know~"

    ...

    Felicity summed up her research on the des of the Forgotten King.

    She''d pieced together some passages in ancient texts referring to a King of the Elves. Of course, if there was a proper Elven Kingdom, then it existed long before the current age, where everything was painstakingly documented.

    Coraline couldn''t imagine living in such times. She liked reading.

    She''d only be ''literate'' in recent years, when she was more-or-less forced to learn the old Tyrionnguage to decipher academic texts. But before then, she''d always enjoyed reading cheap books written inmon, sold for cheap at the local market.

    ording to Felicity''s research... the legends ''foretold'' that the Forgotten King would return to save the world from a Cmity.

    World-ending prophecies weremon in legends like that... but what was umon... was that Felicity''s Cmity was marked by... dragons.

    Dragons don''t exist.

    There was absolutely no proof that dragons *ever* existed.

    Cunning and intelligent scaled behemoths... capable of powerful, city-destroying magics-- they would be a nightmare to encounter. Skeletons and scales of giant lizards and snakes were uncovered all the time... but anything that adventurers encountered of those sizes were little more than mindless beasts.

    The fantastical children''s tales that detailed malevolent winged monsters were pure fantasy.

    And for one of those creatures to act peaceably with an elf? Coraline could see how that wasn''t a popr theory.

    If a dragon were to exist in the modern age... the nations would band together for a Realm-wide lizard hunt. Coraline liked to think that elves, as a people, would do the same-- putting their petty inter-family squabbles aside and act in defense of the Realm atrge.

    ...not relying on a single person.

 Chapter 510 Defeated

    ?What Coraline found even more controversial... was that the King of the Elves was gifted his swords by one of those nonexistent dragons.

    Not stolen. Not taken as a prize after a one-on-one battle of epic proportions. He was *gifted* those swords after what Felicity described as something like... ''meeting gazes anding to a tacitpromise.''

    Defeated with a single nce? It was difficult to believe-- even for a legend.

    "It''s just a theory," Felicity sighed with a soft, but tired smile. "And that''s not even the most controversial one I have for my presentation."

    "Mmm..." Coraline sat back and crossed her arms, "What else you got?"

    Felicity steepled her fingers, "Are youdies familiar with the name... Quies?"

    "Oh, Quies of Sol Invictus!" Lucrezia hopped up in excitement, "When I was a little girl, I saw Sol Invictus perform live in the Ezyrian arenas~!"

    "That''s the one!" Felicity beamed, "I found some evidence that the Lord Ranger might not have actually been human-- but an elf."

    "Whaaaat? No way!" Coraline furrowed her brows. "An elf as one of the most popr Tyrion heroes in thest century? You''ll get *crucified* if you try to tell people that!"

    "Mhmmm~ More than a few of my colleagues have attested that Ranger Quies'' de Dance couldn''t have been so perfect if he wasn''t."

    "So it''s pure conjecture, then," Coraline rolled her eyes.

    "It''ll be more popr than the Forgotten King theory," Felicity stuck her tongue out. "Actually, you wanna know what my Order argues about the most, with that?"

    "That dragons don''t exist?" Coraline smirked.

    "You''d think, right?" Felicityughed. "It''s actually that... in the texts, the Forgotten King is supposed toe back to save *all peoples*-- not only the elves."

    "Stars and stones!" Coraline sucked in air through her teeth, "It''s just a myth. And that''s *nice!* What''s the point in arguing about that?"

    "No idea..." Felicity sighed dreamily, "Still... every myth has some basis in truth..."

    "Six losses," Sir Tychon stood up, his chair scraping the deck, before tipping over and ttering onto the floor. "I''m done."

    "HUH?! Wha!!?" Ramon snapped awake, blinking his eyes at his surroundings, "Fight? We fightin''?"

    "Go back to sleep, Ramon," Felicity scolded.

    "Don''t mind if I do," The tiefling mumbled, turning his horned-head and again growing still.

    That person was very good at sleeping...

    "Boss," Lone bared his teeth in chagrin, "It''s just... a string of bad luck?"

    "Y-yes..." Giorgio coughed... "These... these things happen."

    Tychon rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I have been soundly defeated in Pettaia, Red Snake-ck Snake, the Game of Generals, and literally every. other. game. we have yed."

    "Yeah..." Lone dipped his head, "It''s kinda weird how you lost every single one..."

    Giorgio averted his gaze, "Never in all my years..."

    "I''m done!" Tychon shouted, "You''ve both bested me-- well done! But I''ll have NO MORE!"

    Felicity nced sideways, "Not a graceful loser, is he?"

    "Huh. Couldn''t tell," Coraline groaned sarcastically.

    Lucrezia clicked her tongue... "Oh, dear. I do hope he hasn''t the same temper with hisdyfriend..."

    Tychon turned and immediately began heading to the exit.

    "Wh-where you goin'', Boss?" Lone asked.

    Tychon stopped, letting out a heavy sigh... "I was *nning* on returning to my room."

    It was Coraline''s turn to stand up, "Y-you can''t do that!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tychon rolled his eyes, his head and upper body along with it, "And WHY in the seven--

    The noble cut himself off, coughing into a closed fist, "Ahem... Apologies. Please exin your reasoning, youngdy."

    "Um. A murderer is on the loose." Coraline frowned, "Sir?"

    Her sarcasm was slipping again-- but it was very appropriate.

    She hurried to stand in the noble''s way, blocking his path...

    The best way to prevent unnecessary deaths was to keep everyone together.

    Coraline didn''t want to speak to Sir Tychon... but if she didn''t do anything, she was certain she''d regret it.

    The noble red down at her... exhibiting a strange pressure that made her heart rate quicken... and not in the good way.

    "Your reasoning is not good enough, Miss Coraline. Out of my way," He ordered. "Please."

    Coraline gulped... it really was difficult to talk to this person.

    She decided to speak in a straightforward manner. The green-haired Baron would probably appreciate that?

    "Sir Tychon! As the representative of House Highde, I''d like you to... to not go."

    "I have heard your suggestion, Miss representative..." The noble smirked in amusement, "--but I am going to willfully ignore it."

    Coraline stuck her lips forward, pouting. That would have been much more effective if she were actually a Highde.

    She bared her teeth, "How about as a favor, then?"

    "No."

    Coraline crossed her arms, "Sir Tychon... why did you speak up for me, the other night? At the dinner table?"

    The noble twisted his lips to the side, "I don''t recall doing anything of that nature."

    ...That was fair, "Then how about ordering Captain Nikandros to listen to me?"

    "Because I was tired," Tychon''s face remained impassive. "It was a matter of convenience."

    ARRRGH!! Sleep was STUPID!

    "Sir, do you... *have* to go?"

    Tychon hesitated, furrowing his brows... "Well... no. By their definitions, there''s a clear divide between needs and wishes."

    Coraline decided to use her secret weapon! Her cuteness! The noble had softened his eyes for her once before! He would FALL, ONCE MORE!!

    "Sir Tychon... stay with us..." She fluttered her eyshes, swaying back and forth while raising the pitch of her voice to insurmountable cuteness levels, "Pwease?"

    ...Tychon narrowed his golden eyes to thin, judgmental squints... "Youngdy... are you... unwell?"

    "Sh-shut up!" Coraline shouted, stomping her foot, "Just listen to me!!"

    "Come on, Boss," Mister Lone had walked over, a goofy grin stered on his face.

    Hmph. Lone was Sir Tychon''s subordinate. There was no way the noble would deign himself to--

    "Ugh, if I must," Tychon groaned. "Miss Coraline."

    Coraline snapped to attention, "Haiee?!"

    What kind of sound did she just make?

    Tychon gestured to the boy at his side, "Mypanion, Mister Lone, is cleared of suspicion, yes?"

 Chapter 511 Sense Of Danger

    ?Coraline pursed her lips, "Well... yes, but what''s that have to do with anything?"

    Tychon let out another frustrated sigh as he turned to hispanion.

    "Mister Lone, return to the room, if you would, and retrieve my puzzle box. I''d rather be vexed by an inanimate object than..."

    The young master gestured to Mister Giorgio.

    The elder Popoto stroked his neatly trimmed beard, "You must believe in the ''Heart of the Cards'', Tychon, my boy."

    "Ah... about that," Lone hesitated... before slowly baring his teeth in a grin, full of guilt.

    Tychon stared at the ceiling before bringing his furious gaze back down.

    " W h a t ? "

    The boy nervously wrung his hands as if he were the smaller man... "I thought... you had the key? ...Sir?"

    Tychon closed his eyes... his breathing slowed... and he physically trembled with rage.

    A sudden chill ran down Coraline''s back, down her arms and legs... losing the feeling in her fingers as the blood drained elsewhere.

    Seeing the young master upset triggered her danger senses even more than when she faced Mister Ramon... and the tiefling was wearing armor, had a dangerous Martial ss, and had literal goring weapons on his forehead.

    Coraline''s fear defied all of her logic.

    Tychon wasn''t... arge person or incredibly intimidating-- as muscr as he was underneath his robes. He wasn''t a Circle Mage... and he didn''t pack nor wear adventuring gear.

    If she had to venture a guess what it was that bothered her... the noble had... an almost... predatory aura. Like... a snake in the grass... like he could strike in an instant, and there was nothing left but to die an excruciating and agonizing death.

    Coraline... did. NOT. like. that. man.

    "Ladies and gentlemen," Tychon opened his eyes, his voice eerily... neutral. "I''m going to visit the Captain to entreat for my room to be opened. Perhaps you''d all like to apany me?"

    He then turned his golden eyes down to glower at her, "Would thisss. be. cceptable? Missss. Coraline?"

    Under the man''s gaze, Coraline''s fear reached an all-time high. Beads of perspiration dripped down her forehead. Her heart thumped faster than a rabbit''s foot.

    She opened her mouth to speak... but her throat had closed up-- she couldn''t even breathe. She clenched her eyes shut, blinding herself, and she nodded as if that was the only thing that would save her pitiful life.

    ...It also gave her a sudden feeling of being very stupid.

    Wh... why? Why was she acting this way?

    She could breathe just fine. Tychon was just *looking* at her. Looks couldn''t kill-- even if she wanted them to sometimes.

    Coraline opened her eyes to look at everyone else in the dining hall. No one seemed to have noticed how much trouble she''d been having-- not even Mister Lone.

    ...Empty NIGHT!

    Was it because she was SHY?!

    Just because Sir Tychon was a TINY BIT attractive-- just because she hadn''t had a boyfriend in for-EVER-- just HOW could she freeze up like she did?!

    "Y-yes, yes!" Giorgio leaped down from his chair, "These old legs could go for a nice walkabout!"

    "L-let''s go find Miss Maisie!" Coraline added, her courage quickly returning... "--Mister Edan, too."

    "Oh, that''s a wonderful idea," Lucrezia pped her gloved hands together-- something her husband often did. "It''s almost time for lunch, anyroad."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Felicity tapped her cheek, before slowly adopting a mischievous grin, "OoOoh~ Can we split up into pairs? I want to apany the young master!"

    "I choose my husband," Lucrezia wrung her hands together, smiling lovingly. "That leaves Miss Coraline with--"

    "Reeee-jected," Coraline rolled her eyes.

    Moving in two-person teams was an act of precaution, not for setting her up to walk with Mister Lone.

    ...

    After waking up a very grumpy Ramon, the remaining passengers set off towards the Captain''s quarters.

    Tychon boldly strode ahead-- likely, expecting everyone to follow him...

    Coraline didn''t voice herints... She wanted to be the first to talk to the Captain, but she didn''t want to bother the young master with such an insignificant request. She decided to settle for walking just-behind him.

    Mister Ramonined loudly about the sloppiness of their ''marching formation''. The tiefling, himself, had trouble walking in a straight line, which made his trivialints even more so.

    Their disorganized gaggle encountered Miss Maisie and Mister Edan. They had just finished cleaning the passengers'' rooms.

    Edan had rushed over to Felicity like a puppy that hadn''t seen his master for weeks.

    It was adorable.

    After some short conversation, it was decided that Miss Maisie, Miss Felicity, and Lady Lucrezia would head to the kitchens to prepare lunch.

    Coraline was invited to the lunch-prep group... an offer she politely rejected.

    She needed to ask the Captain for permission to search the rooms and to use Olesya''s magic detection wand.

    ...Anyroad, the kitchens were a dangerous ce for her.

    For one, Coraline wasn''t thrilled about being with Miss Maisie in a small, one-exit room, surrounded by sharp knives and other improvised weaponry.

    And second... she had no skill at cooking. Whenever she tried, her concoctions wereparable to that of an evil wizard or mad alchemist.

    It was so bad, she made a metal saucepan explode, once. From that point onward, her guildmates didn''t even trust her with melting butter.

    She was fairly certain she''d be able to do at least that...

    And so, she and the gentlemen passengers continued on their quest to speak with the Captain! --and to fetch him and Olesya for lunch, of course.

    "How ya feelin'', fatty?" Edan tilted his head up at Ramon.

    "Bah. Better''n earlier," Ramon groaned. "How''s the ''cleanin'' rituals'', guy? You get to clean out Maisie''s pipes or what?"

    "Seven hells, no!" Edan growled, looking warily behind him. "And quiet down, will you? What if she hears you?"

    Ramon grinned, elbowing Lone beside him, "You should''a met this guy a year back. Realdy killer, this fe, even if he don''t look it."

    The half-elf grimaced, "It''s in the past, Ramon. I''ve been nothing but ''faithful'', as it were-- to a single rtionship."

    "What happened?" Lone asked politely.

    Ramon ced his hands on his opposite shoulders, embracing himself, "Edan fell in LooOooVe~"

 Chapter 512 Behind Closed Doors

    ?Coraline did not like the way Mister Ramon mocked his guild member for falling in love.

    It was sweet! And as rough and somewhat violent as Mister Edan was, it made her see him in a new light.

    "As if there''s something wrong with that, Mister Ramon?" She pouted.

    "Ignore him," Tychon hmphed. "There''s nothing wrong with a monogamous romantic rtionship. I would prefer the same, concerning my owndypanion."

    Coraline nodded in agreement... but she sighed in her heart. It was so difficult to fathom the young master''s motives. He flip-flopped from speaking in support of her to actively opposing her to... reassuring her?

    Was he an ally or not? She wished he would make up his mind.

    It worried her that the young master might have even murdered Master Highde based on a fickle whim...

    "Pshhh, naw!" Ramon chuckled, waving his hand. "Not me, green-hair guy! THIS handsome horned fe won''t be tied down to a single girl-- not as long as I LIVE! Ahaha!"

    "I''d like to think it''s love," Edan shrugged. "But in the interim, the fear of magical vines strangling me in the middle of the night is enough to dissuade me from pursuing other partners."

    "Is that a sex thing?" Ramon snickered immaturely, "Sounds like a sex thing."

    "It is *not* a sex thing," Edan red.

    "You''re probably missin'' out then, pal."

    ...Bleigh.

    Coraline couldn''t remember thest time she had... anything close to that. She had endured plenty of that kind of talk, listening to Felicity and Lady Lucrezia''s gossiping.

    GENTLEMEN didn''t talk about those things in front of a LADY.

    "Hey, Coraline."

    "AIIIIE!!" Coraline grabbed Lone''s wrist and the back of his neck. Rotating her body, she mmed the boy''s broad face into the nearby wall.

    Lone''s forehead clunked... and he dropped to the floor like an idental shove off of a pier.

    Edan and Ramon stopped, turning to stare with shock painted on their faces.

    Tychon took a healthy step backward from where he was standing, "Miss Coraline..."

    Coraline pulled her arms close to her chest, her hands balled up, "Y... yes?"

    "Was that... necessary?"

    Giorgio rushed to the fallen man, "Mister Lone! Are... are you dead?"

    He began to shake him frantically, "I can''t lose my second favorite Pettaia partner-- not like this!"

    "If I''m the first," Tychon groaned. "You''d best hope he lives."

    Ramon cleared his throat, "Uh... you sure you don''t wanna join our guild, girlie? You uh... you''re scarier than Edan here."

    "Really, man?" Edan looked up helplessly.

    "What?" The tiefling held out his empty palms, "She did good!"

    ...

    After Lone was resuscitated, the boys'' group (plus Coraline!) neared the Captain''s quarters.

    Olesya wasn''t standing guard outside of it, like Coraline had seen her do prior.

    Strange...

    She had hypothesized that there was some sort of romance-triangle between the Captain, Olesya, and Miss Maisie... which was even more troublesome in the fact that the dragonblooded woman was bound to the Captain by debt.

    Maybe she was influenced by recent conversations, but Coraline was terribly afraid that Olesya may have sought to ''make up'' with Nikandros...<novelnext></novelnext>

    She couldn''t judge the woman negatively. Olesya was in a deplorable position, where her livelihood relied on proving herself useful to her debtor''s perverse whims.

    If she was, in fact, taking care of Nikandros'' needs... Coraline absolutely did not want to interrupt them.

    Beh. Her mind kept drifting to... things a properdy shouldn''t be thinking of.

    "I''ll go and knock..." Coraline frowned, "But if those two are busy, I think we should just head back."

    "Tss," Tychon scoffed. "Go ahead-- but I''m not going to leave without a key."

    Coraline walked up to the door, then turned to re at Tychon... which she regretted immediately, as she looked away almost instantaneously.

    "M-miss Maisie can open your door if the Captain''s unavable..."

    "Hmph," Tychon crossed his arms. "Right. I should have asked her earlier."

    The man-child really wanted his puzzle box.

    Coraline rapped her knuckles on the door, "Captain Nikandros, we''vee to fetch you for lunch."

    "The Captain is... indisposed, (little star)," Olesya responded, her voice muted by the wooden barrier.

    "Well! Thaaaat''s that!" Coraline lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, "Llllet''s gOoOo~!"

    "Hm. I do look forward to what thedies are making for us," Giorgio muttered excitedly. "My wife makes the *best* fried foods."

    Edan grimaced, "Felicity too, but she''d never allow it. Ramon''s been gaining weight."

    "This is all muscle, guy," The tieflingined. "I don''t know why you two keep cuttin'' my rations!"

    "Because it''s not," Edan red.

    Though most of the group started to walk back towards the dining hall, Tychon... as expected, stood by the door, unmoving.

    Before Coraline could stop him, he knocked thrice-- and quite insistently.

    "Nikandros, it''s Tychon. I''ming in."

    The sound of a heavy sigh came from behind the door... "If you must."

    It was... Olesya''s voice again.

    A deep, ufortable feeling roiled in Coraline''s stomach... a strange feeling of anxiety at what lied beyond. She wasn''t worried about finding something inappropriate, anymore... she was worried it was... something else.

    The noble put his hand on the door handle... but paused and looked back to her.

    Coraline took a step towards him... gulped audibly... and nodded.

    ...

    The dovahkiin woman''s answer through the door was... most peculiar.

    Tycondrius pursed his lips and looked back to the Elven would-be detective.

    Her face was as pale as bleached parchment, even with the corridor lit by the skylights.

    She had good senses. She too sensed something... not quite right.

    Turning back to the door, he addressed a mental inquiry to his System.

    Within his mind was a neatly organized framework of information, the contents essible with a mere thought-- hence, a System. It wasn''t a revolutionary concept, though its usage was moremon amongst Rune Mages, rather than a Martial ss like himself.

    In particr, his System had the ability to execute analysis routines, tranting his superhuman senses into summarized information.

    ? System, inquiry: Who is in the room, beyond? ?

 Chapter 513 Captainâ€™s Key

    ?Tycondrius'' System allowed him to use a series of mental shortcuts, most of which he had designed himself.

    It was quite convenient.

    For any person he''d previously encountered, his System could always retrieve their names and circumstances of meeting-- without worry of possible error or memory degradation.

    For anyplex structure he''d previously visited, he could easily navigate as if he''d a map in hand.

    And Martial Skills...

    Most Martial sses only utilized a very small number of Skills. Practicing arge number was counterintuitive, especially as an unmastered skill could fail or even backfire in high-stress situations-- such as adventurers are wont to get into.

    Tycon did not have that issue, as he automated several of his. The power flowing through his circuitry, the physical motions, the verbal chants, the somatic gestures-- each execution would activate at his practiced ideal... as long as he had the mana for it.

    Because of his System, he could even activate skills mastered only to Minor Completion with perfect consistency. It was a wonderful teaching tool for the younger members of Sol Invictus.

    The most useful of his System''s capabilities was its analysis function. He could glean an adventurer''s approximate ss and Rank based on his own experiences. He could estimate a possible enemy''s hostility based on their posture, voice, and facial expression.

    ...And he could sense persons through a door, based on auditory clues, the vibrations in the ground, heat, mana sense, and whatnot...

    His System was not omniscient... and he could have gleaned the answer on his own if he bothered to focus for several moments.

    ...But why would he?

    ? System, inquiry: Who is in the room, beyond? ?

    ? System response: One result. Olesya. ?

    ...That was one less person than Tycon was expecting.

    "Hey, what''s the hold-up?!" Ramon grunted as if he were a horned bull instead of a tiefling.

    "Is there trouble?" Edan raised a thick eyebrow.

    "Doubtful," Tycon shrugged. If there was, he would deal with it. "Mister Lone, protect the girl."

    "With my life, Boss," The young man nodded.

    Tycon tried to turn the door handle. It was locked.

    That was to be expected.

    However, it was an interior door on a passenger ship, void of reinforcement.

    Taking a half-step back, he willed his mana to circte through his mana circuits... focusing on empowering his right leg.

    ...It was something he''d done quite often. He made a mental note to automate it in the near future.

    "Sir Tychon?" Coraline''s weak and pathetic voice rose in pitch. "What are you--"

    Tyconunched a front kick near the door''s locking mechanism, breaking it, and forcing the door open.

    Ignoring the stunned Elven girl, he stepped into the room, hastily scanning for danger.

    Olesya: She sat on the Captain''s bed, blood covering her hands, parts of her face, and her armored chest.

    Weaponless. Non-aggressive. She stared listlessly at Tycon-- but suddenly smiled, as if she found something humorous.

    Captain Nikandros: Dead. The still-bleeding body was seated in a luxurious leather chair.

    Two injuries. There was an open wound on his abdomen and Olesya''s arming sword had pierced through the half-elf Captain''s chest and heart.

    Blood drenched his expensive military coat.

    That was a shame.

    With no identifiable threat in the room, he inhaled deeply, rxing his shoulders. Exhaling slowly, he allowed his heart rate to steady and the surge of adrenaline to wane.

    As long as he could keep himself and hispanion, Mister Lone, alive and rtively uninjured, he didn''t care for whatever minutiae he hade across.

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Coraline shoved her way past Lone to look at the carnage in the room.

    Captain Nikandros sat in the same chair he was in the previous evening.

    Just as before, his head leaned to the side in an awkward position... but his eyes had rolled back, and blood had spilled from his mouth, staining his wispy-bearded chin.

    The hilt of Olesya''s sword gleamed in themplight... its de stuck through the Captain''s chest.

    Captain Nikandros had been murdered...

    She turned to the dragonblooded woman, Olesya...

    Without any logical reason, her vision grew blurry with her tears.

    "...Olesya..." Coraline sniffed, choking on her words... "H-how could you?"

    How... how could Olesya smile through all this?

    The blonde woman met her gaze for a brief moment... then turned down to stare at the blood pooling on the deck...

    "It... it was a mistake..."

    Coraline thrust her hand out at the body of the man the woman had murdered, "H-HOW can you SAY THAT!?"

    Olesya shook her head, closing her eyes... "No, (little star...) Falling in love with that man. That was my mistake."

    Coraline wiped her eyes, trying to catch her breath between ragged sobs...

    If only she had arrived a few minutes sooner... Maybe if she made more noise in the hallway as they approached? Maybe if she insisted... a little bit more for the Captain to stay with them... then he might still be alive.

    But she didn''t.

    She failed.

    And that rude... horrible... drunkard of a man... little better than a perverted ve-owner...

    He died for her mistakes.

    ...and the fate Olesya would suffer after this--

    Coraline''s ears twitched at the sound of footsteps. Tychon stepped around her, towards the body.

    With a sense of purpose, he ced his hand over the Nikandros'' face, closing the man''s eyelids, "Requiesce in pacem."

    Then... he began rooting through the corpse''s coat pockets.

    Coraline gripped her fists tight and screamed at the rudest noble she''d ever met in her life, "SIR!!!! What in the SEVEN HELLS are you doing?!"

    Tychon hesitated briefly to look back... and to roll his eyes at her, "That should be quite obvious, no? Mister Lone. The key."

    "Left pocket, Boss!" The boy offered obediently.

    Coraline shot him a re.

    Lone''s face immediately fell into a grimace, "S-sir Tycon? Shouldn''t we have some respect for the dead? Sir?"

    "The dead have no use for such things," The young master responded without a second thought.

    ...Then he straightened the dead man''s cor and smoothed out his set of military ribbons.

    Lone looked back to Coraline, baring his teeth helplessly.

    Coraline was in a state too stunned to voice any moreints.

    Tychon pulled back, wiping his hand free of blood on Nikandros'' coat.

    He revealed the Captain''s Key to Coraline and the others. Then, he tossed it to Lone, who skillfully snatched it out of the air.

    "Now, go get my puzzle box," Tychon ordered... "--and our room key."

 Chapter 514 Dinner

    ?? A half-bellter. Twenty-three bells until Cersei''s Rest. ?

    Coraline was granted possession of the Captain''s Key by unanimous vote. She hung it by a thin chain on her neck, lent to her by Lady Lucrezia.

    She felt a little overwhelmed by the other passengers'' trust of her... It made a little sense, as she was the only person actively trying to solve the murder and robbery. But still... she openly dered that she''d only travel in a group for ountability purposes.

    Olesya was imprisoned in the hold, in the ship''s single jail cell. Inquisitors from the Church of the Eternal me would deal with her when theynded in Cersei''s Rest. She, a Nemayan, had killed a Tyrion citizen. Incarceration would be the least of the consequences she would suffer under the Church''s draconianws.

    Miss Maisie was devastated by the news of Nikandros'' death... and she took her anger out on her. She screamed in her annoying, high-pitched voice, she cursed in everynguage she knew-- she did everything short of hitting her.

    That was fine. Coraline felt terrible, anyroad. Without anyone yelling at her for her mistakes, she would have just felt more guilty.

    Dinner... looked absolutely amazing.

    Lady Lucrezia and Felicity had put their love and care into her meal-- vegetarian, this time!

    It looked soooooo good... But... she could neither smell nor taste it.

    She figured she was suffering a physiological effect of depression.

    Food was supposed to make her feel better... but her own body seemed to be sabotaging any attempt at cheering herself up.

    Halfway through the meal, Miss Maisie excused herself.

    Coraline silently watched her go.

    Mister Lone looked to her, pouting his lips.

    It was up to her to do or say something about it... As miserable as she was, it seemed she was the only one willing to address it.

    "Someone should go with her..." She muttered, "To make sure she doesn''t do anything she regrets... or try to do something to Miss Olesya..."

    She was feeling not-so-great, herself! Coraline knew to stay in a group. Even if she didn''t have the Captain''s Key, she wouldn''t want to be alone with only her own dark thoughts keeping herpany.

    "Yeah, you right," The tiefling, Ramon, took ast,rge bite from his meal as he stood up. He thumped a heavy fist to his chest, gulping it down. "I ah... volunteer as tribute."

    Coraline pursed her lips, "That''s not funny, Mister Ramon... Miss Maisie''s hurt."

    Ramon rubbed the back of his head, "Well... yeah! I know that."

    "Someone else should go..." She grimaced.

    Tychon quietly ced his utensils down, looking over with a serious expression.

    Coraline sighed wistfully, shrinking down in her seat. She really wasn''t interested in what the young master was going to say... but she couldn''t stop him from voicing his opinion.

    Tychon tilted his head slightly upward, "Mister Ramon, you are a gentleman, are you not?"

    "Yeah," Ramon furrowed his thick, red-skinned brows, "YEAH! I am! Why? Wanna fight about it?"

    "No, I do not," Tychon turned back to her. "That should ay your fears, Miss Coraline. As a gentleman, Mister Ramon will not take advantage of Miss Maisie''s fragile mental state."

    "Oh, that?" Ramon crossed his arms, tilting his chin up, "I know not to mess around, girlie."

    Coraline fixed her seating posture and twisted her lips to the side. She still wasn''t entirely certain-- could she really trust Mister Ramon?

    She put her faith in Olesya... That was a mistake.

    It didn''t seem like Olesya was the one who murdered Lord Highde... so that somehow made the situation even worse.

    "(The demonblood knows honor,)" A voice in Elven reassured her. "(What he speaks wille to pass.)"

    The half-elf, Edan, had spoken in support of hispanion. That... was unexpected.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "H-hey! I can-- I can kinda understand what you guys are sayin''!" Ramon grumbled. "Quit it!"

    Edan rolled his eyes, "(Trust not his looks. I know no man more honorable.)"

    Coraline nodded, her spirits very-slightly lifted... "Very well, Mister Edan..."

    Ramon pped his palms on the table, leaning over and blocking Coraline''s vision of hispanion, "I''m gonna cream your corn if ya don''t stop talkin'' smack, tree-hugger!"

    Across the table, Tychon audibly sighed. Sitting beside her, Felicity giggled.

    "Lone! Felicity! Green-hair guy?" Ramon yelped, "You guys gotta back me up!! I''m a good person! Hey,e onnnn!"

    Coraline steeled her heart once more... Just as Edan could vouch for hispanion, she could at least trust in hers.

    ...Even if it was Mister Lone.

    Together, they''d get through this... somehow.

    ...

    Coraline got her sense of taste back around dessert time.

    She silently thanked the heavens for that...

    Lady Lucrezia had baked a chocte cake.

    It was... so, so sweet... but oh, so wonderful...

    There was something about the cooking of a sweet old, Auntie-typedy-- it always tasted good, for some reason.

    All that love and affection found its way to Coraline''s heart. Also, her no-longer-t tummy... and eventually, her thighs.

    Cake was evil.

    But evil... was necessary in order for good to exist.

    Coraline had no regrets.

    "Coraline, dear..."

    After dinner and dessert, Lady Lucrezia approached her, looking up with a troubled expression.

    "Oh? Auntie Lu, thank you so much for the cake," Coraline smiled, expressing as much joy and gratitude as she could. "It was absolutely lovely."

    "Oh, I''m d, dear..." Lucrezia smiled, folding her gloved hands in front of her cor... but that smile didn''t reach her eyes. "Could youe with me, please?"

    Coraline immediately grew worried... "Y-yes, of course."

    She ced her hand in her Auntie''s and allowed herself to be led towards a side corridor.

    "Oh, are you two going on an adventure?" Mister Giorgio nearly leapt off his chair. It was a spritely action that, for a moment, Coraline was deathly afraid would find him injured.

    He was fine, though. Phew.

    "Can Ie along, too?" Giorgio raised an eyebrow.

    Usually, Mister Giorgio doted on his wife like a devoted puppy. But currently, he wasn''t so much curious and yful-- but more... insistent.

    "Oh, Giorgio," Lucrezia gently shook her head. "We''re going to the powder room. Unless you''d like to stand guard?"

    "Oh, haha," Mister Giorgioughed politely, cing his hands behind his head, "Maybe not, then."

 Chapter 515 Confrontation

    ?Coraline was led by Lucrezia into the adjacent corridor... Once they were far enough away from the denizens of the dining hall, the Popoto woman halted her steps. Then... her tears began to fall in earnest.

    Lucrezia dabbed a handkerchief to the corner of her eye, "Oh, Coraline... I don''t know what to do."

    "What''s wrong, Auntie Lu?" Coraline rubbed the back of her tiny Aunt''s hand, cooing softly, "Hey, it''s okay. I''m here. Talk to me."

    Coraline red at Lone, who was standing at the side. He was pursing his lips, looking generally lost.

    "What-are-you-doing-here?" She whispered harshly.

    Lone scratched the side of his head. "I uh... I''m standing guard?" He whispered back.

    "No, it''s fine..." Lucrezia forced a smile and turned towards the boy who couldn''t read the mood. "Thank you for taking care of Miss Coraline. You must keep her safe, Mister Lone. I''m counting on you."

    Lone smiled. "As long as I can protect her smile, I''ll be happy."

    That was ridiculous. Coraline didn''t need anyone''s protection. She was an adventurer!

    ...She mentally reviewed the ways she could teach the boy a lesson...

    ?Electric Grasp?, maybe? No... Miss Maisie might not be able to heal that kind of injury-- and the smell would be terrible.

    ?me Wheel?? Err... Casting a fire spell while aboard a ship made of wood would be stupidity at the highest level.

    ?Force Punch? should be fine, though. It would just rearrange the stupid boy''s insides.

    Oh, but the formations would still prevent her from casting offensive spells. None of those would work...

    "It''s... it''s my husband," Lucrezia choked on a sob.

    Oh... no.

    Coraline took both of Lucrezia''s hands in hers, "Stay calm, Auntie... Just... take a deep breath and talk to me."

    "He''s... just..." She sniffed, "He''s a terrible drunk, you know..."

    "Does... does he hit you?" Coraline asked.

    She wouldmit murder for this woman.

    ...Or at least beat up an old man.

    Lucrezia gasped, "Oh! Eleven heavens, no! ...Giorgio would never, ever hurt me. But... others... I''m not so certain."

    Coraline led her Auntie to a pair of seats in the hallway. She sat by her, patiently keeping hold of the older woman''s hand... Lucrezia steadied her breathing... but each tear that fell from her eyes stoked the mes of fury in Coraline''s heart.

    "Take your time, Auntie Lu... I''m here..."

    Lucrezia nodded, her mouth twisted in distress... "Sometimes... when hees home after drinking with his coworkers... Giorgio... he has the guiltiest look in his eyes. I always know these things-- we''ve been married for so many years..."

    Coraline frowned, "You think... that maybe... Mister Giorgio is cheating on you?"

    "No..." Lucrezia grimaced, shaking her head, "It''s not that... but there''s something else... He''s hiding... a terrible secret, I''m sure. You know, terrible things...

    "My husband is a businessman... a ruthless one. He''s had his share of bad partners over the years... he''s had to cut costs, forcing dozens, if not hundreds of people out of work... then he''s had to deal withpetitors... and not all of them on friendly terms."

    Coraline nodded, closing her eyes... her mind racing through endless possibilities. Hiring assassins was not an umon practice for wealthy businessmen... Some Dark Guilds even specialized in it.

    But... she had a terrible gut feeling that... that was not the reason Lucrezia was crying.

    "Auntie Lu..." She ced her hands on Lucrezia''s small shoulders, "Tell me what''s really wrong..."

    Honestly, Coraline didn''t want to hear the answer... She was afraid of the secret of Lucrezia''s tears.

    "When Giorgio and I-- when we went back to our room to change for dinner... I... I saw it..." Lucrezia''s eyes betrayed her pain-- and every word she spoke seemed to hurt her more and more.

    "In our room... I... I found..." Slowly... she looked up... round beads of tears dripping down her cheeks, "--the weapon used to kill... M-master Highde."

    Coraline''s heart fell into the pit of her stomach. She stared past Lucrezia, her eyes out of focus.

    No... no, that was impossible. Mister Giorgio... was the murderer?

    No! She couldn''t believe it! "Th-there must be... some kind of mistake?"

    The friendly old man in the dining hall? The man who wanted nothing more than to enjoy his second honeymoon with his sweet old wife? Mister Giorgio had MURDERED an Ancient in cold blood? And for what? To steal his heirloom weapons?!

    Lucrezia shook her head, wiping at her eyes, "I... I found Giorgio''s jeweled dagger underneath the bed... still covered in blood. He... he hid it right away, but... I know what I saw...

    "Giorgio... he bought it for this trip... to protect us, he said..." The womanughed derisively... "I argued against it... I do hate weapons... But my husband-- he wouldn''t take no for an answer.

    "I never thought... that he..." Lucrezia ced her gloved palms against her face, "I just can''t believe it, Coraline... What should I do?"

    Coraline pulled her Aunt close into an embrace. The older woman, hurt and distraught, cried into her chest without reservation.

    A dagger... that fit the profile of the weapon used to kill Arod Highde...

    She looked over to Lone, who nodded solemnly.

    "I''ll take care of it, Auntie..." Coraline whispered, "Don''t you worry..."

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, led Coraline and Lady Lucrezia back into the dining room.

    Mister Edan and Mister Giorgio were ying their board game. Boss was working on his puzzle box.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Ramon, Felicity, and Maisie weren''t around, but they were all together... and Olesya was locked in the hold...

    Everyone was ounted for.

    He needed to ensure Coraline''s safety as she confronted Mister Giorgio about his crime.

    The Popoto wasn''t a veryrge or intimidating person... but Lone knew not to underestimate anyone based on their looks. His sworn brother, Pale, was half his size and about half his age. That guy was one of the strongest people he knew.

    Lone didn''t know Giorgio''s ss... or whether or not he had a Metal-Rank. But still... it sounded like he''d killed an Elven Warrior in one-on-onebat.

    That kind of skill, Lone had to respect.

    Mister Giorgio was dangerous.

    So... in order to bepletely, entirely, absolutely certain he could handle the situation... he needed to ask Tycon to back him up.

    He walked quickly over to the leather chair Boss where Boss was sitting. Straightening his back, he pounded his chest with his fist, rendering the sharpest, strongest salute he''d ever performed in his life, "Sir Tycon!"

    "No."

    "I humbly-- wait, what?"

    Tycon waved dismissively, "I''m busy... so whatever you were going to ask me, the answer is no. Come backter."

    Boss Tycon''s concentration was fully focused on his dumb puzzle box!

    "But... but Boss!" Lone bared his teeth, anxiety rumbling in his gut, "Y-you''ve been working on that thing non-stop for bells! Nearly a whole sun!"

    Put it down just for a few minutes and HELP me!

    "Indeed," Tycon took a deep breath, rolling his eyes to stare at the ceiling."And it''s quite frustrating that I have yet to find its solution."

    "Boss, please!" Lone bowed his head.

    "What does it concern?"

    "Protecting the love of my life from danger and death."

    "Not my problem," Tycon didn''t even bother looking up. "Do it yourself."

    Lone turned his back, his head dipped in shame.

    He had failed.

    He forgot to ount for the fact that Boss was... really, really into that puzzle box. And when he''d made up his mind, he was impossible to convince otherwise.

    ARRRGH!

    It didn''t matter! He was strong enough to protect both himself and Coraline from danger, anyroad!

    He didn''t need any help!

    He was an Iron-Rank Ranger!

    That ss was really strong and really rare! Probably!

    There weren''t more than TWO in Sol Invictus, after all!

    He marched straight back to Coraline and ced his hands on her shoulders, "Don''t worry. I''ll protect you."

    The girl narrowed her eyes and... frowned.

    ...Oh. Maybe... he was overreacting? He removed his hands, keeping his empty palms forward, "S-sorry."

    Coraline sighed. "Just... just stand over there."

    "Y-yeah. I will."

    "Mister Giorgio Castiglioni!" Coraline raised her voice.

    The Popoto immediately seemed to sense that something was different.

    Slowly, he slid down from his chair. He adjusted his cor and straightened his coat and trousers. cing his hands behind his back, he strode confidently towards the three of them.

    Edan quietly stood, as well, his face marked with worry. The mood was... strange...

    Confrontation was inevitable.

    Mister Giorgio raised an eyebrow, "You called for me, Miss Coraline?"

    He was getting too close. Lone took a step forward, standing tall... his senses focused to a keen edge. If there were any sign of hostility, he''d put his life on the line to protect the woman he l-- liked.

    Coraline crossed her arms, shifting her weight to the side, "You have a confession to make, Mister Giorgio."

    The older Popoto narrowed his eyes, "Oh... I see..."

    Giorgio took in a deep breath, turning and pacing to the side...

    It was impossible for the man to get away. The three of them were between Giorgio and the first exit. Edan had circled around, blocking the second. Thest door led to the kitchen... and the old man couldn''t escape through there.

    But when people knew they were trapped... they became desperate. And when they became desperate... they''d be unpredictable. That was what Lone worried about the most... a crazed, final stand, from a man with nothing left to lose.

 Chapter 516 Access

    ?"You know..." Giorgio slowly turned back to face them... "Everything I''ve done... was for you, Lucrezia."

    The old Popoto''s voice grew deep, dark... it was almost... evil.

    Lone clenched his fists... He really wished had his weapon... or his wolfpanion.

    "F-for me?" Lucrezia choked on a sob, "The lies... the secrets, Giorgio... Just why would you hide the truth from me?"

    The Popoto swiped his arm to the side, "You deserve... the absolute best, my love. And without my troublesome dealings... I would scarcely be able to afford it on my own."

    "No, dear..." Lucrezia gasped. "You didn''t..."

    "I hope..." Giorgio gulped, cing a palm over his heart, "that somesun... you''ll be able to forgive me."

    "Giorgio!" The older woman screamed, "Tell me you didn''t!! We... you... you make more than enough money for us to--"

    "I! Lied!" Giorgio grit his teeth. "There. I said it... I lied to you, my love. I''m... I''m not a wealthy president of a mercantile association... I''m... I''m just a fraud."

    "Eh?" Lone looked to Coraline. Did she understand what was going on?

    Coraline''s jaw was unhinged, "Hah?"

    ...She was supposed to be the smart one. If she didn''t get it, Lone wasn''t even going to try.

    Tears began to fall from Giorgio''s wide eyes, wetting his tiny Popoto mustache and beard... "I... I took a loan from a friend to afford this trip. It''s our second honeymoon... It had to be... perfect."

    He tilted his head up, "I''ll pay it back, for sure! I''ve always paid back my loans! My credit is as solid as Tyrion steel!"

    "Oh... Oh, Giorgio..." Lucrezia shook her head, "I... I also have a confession to make."

    Coraline turned to Lone, pursing her lips. Lone responded by wearing a wide grimace.

    The older Popoto woman took off her embroidered gloves... "All of the jewelry I wear... I borrow from my friends. All of the clothes... I make, myself."

    She chuckled to herself, "I know the designers, certainly...

    "But these terrible hands..." She raised her ungloved hands, her fingers covered in bandages, "This is the result of being poked and pricked with pins all sun."

    Lucrezia raised her crying face, "I only ever wanted to be beautiful for you, Giorgio."

    "Oh, Lucrezia..." Giorgio sighed, approaching her. "You only grow more beautiful, each sun."

    "Oh, Giorgio..."

    "Lucrezia, my love..."

    Coraline loudly slumped down into one of the dining chairs, cing her hands over her eyes, "The dagger, Mister Giorgio?"

    "The dagger?" Giorgio turned to the side, furrowing his brows.

    "...OH!!!" The Popoto leaped up, nearly half his height, "THE DAGGER!!"

    Speeding towards Lone, the child-sized gentlemantched onto his gambeson.

    "I was FRAMED, SIR!!!" Giorgio shouted.

    Lone frowned. It seemed like the Popoto was trying to shake him... but that''s not how moving a bigger person worked. Mister Giorgio was essentially alternating between pushing away and pulling towards him...

    Coraline sighed, "Please... exin, Mister Giorgio."

    "Someone used my DAGGER to stab SOMEONE!!" Giorgio wailed, "Maybe... maybe it was even the MURDER WEAPON!!"

    Lone gently peeled Giorgio''s hands off of him... "Was it... you? Sir?"

    "ELEVEN HEAVENS, NOOOOO!!" Giorgio sat on the floor, choking and sobbing into his tiny palms. "I... I turned in the dagger to Olesya! It was in the vaults! I would never, ever do such a thing!"

    Coraline sighed, looking over to Lone with a half-hearted smile, "I don''t... think it''s worth using my truth-finding skill on Mister Giorgio."

    "Y-yeah..." He sighed. "I don''t think so, either."

    ...

    ? Afternoon, second sun. Twenty bells until Cersei''s Rest. ?

    "So... you think the murderer nted the weapon in the Popoto''s room?" Edan offered.

    Coraline shrugged. That was the best exnation she coulde up with.

    "He''s still a suspect..." She admitted... "and unfortunately, the evidence is against him."

    "What I don''t get..." Lone rubbed his chin, "is how the dagger could have made its way there?"

    Coraline sighed... "I don''t want to say it, but... it would make the most sense if Mister Giorgio ced it there, himself..."

    She reclined in her chair and put her palms forward.

    "It''s like this... Let''s say... he went into Master Highde''s room. He gets behind him, (somehow)... he stabs him in the lower back, he slits his throat." She made a cutting motion across her neck... "He heads back to his room. He hides the dagger... changes out of his clothes..."

    Coraline paused to catch her breath, "--and then... meets up with everyone in the hallway."

    Edan bared his teeth, discontent, "Why... would a high elf... answer the door for a Popoto merchant?"

    "I have no idea," Coraline groaned...

    Lone leaned back, resting on his folded palms, "And don''t forget how much wine Mister Giorgio had..."

    "Right... he certainly didn''t have the faculties to... murder a high elf Warrior..." Coraline ced her hands on the sides of her temples... "And Lady Lucrezia would have seen all of that..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Edan shook his head, "Maybe... Lady Lucrezia is... a damn good actress...?"

    Coraline sighed. It didn''t sound like Edan believed his own theory.

    She looked over to Mister Lone... who was... staring at her... chest?

    "...Key," Lone dered.

    Coraline tilted her head, "Key?"

    Oh. She was wearing the Captain''s Key on a thin chain on her neck. Right.

    "Right, ess," The half-elf nodded. "Who has ess to... the dagger-- it should have been in the vaults, right? And who can get into Mister Giorgio''s room?"

    Lone took in a breath through his nostrils, "That''d be... Mister Giorgio, his wife... and Coraline-- but she''s always stayed in a group and hasn''t been anywhere near the rooms."

    "Right," Coraline held up the Captain''s Key... "Oh, and also, Miss Maisie can open the doors to clean."

    Lone raised an eyebrow, "Oh. That makes sense. Does she have a key, too?"

    "She does not," Edan shook his head, "When I went with her to clean, the doors... just seemed to open for her."

    "They what?" Coraline''s eyes widened, "Oh... I see. There''s... someone else with ess to the rooms... and the vault."

    Edan and Lone shared a look of confusion.

    The cheek-scarred boy leaned forward, "Who is it, Coraline?"

    Coraline bit her upper lip... She was going to sound stupid.

    "Beatrice..."

    Edan narrowed his eyes... "Who is... Bee-uh... treechay?"

    "She''s... she''s the spirit of the Golden Eagle," Coraline frowned.

    The half-elf sucked in air through his teeth... "You can''t be serious, Sapling,"

    "Hah... haa..." Coralineughed-sighed in response...

    Edan rolled his eyes, "That *really* doesn''t tell us anything new."

    "It''s relevant information!" Coraline mmed her fist on the table... the sound it made wasn''t nearly as loud as she hoped, for how much it hurt her hand.

    "So the most likely murderer is thete ship Captain-- the only person who can speak with the Elemental Spirit," Edan shrugged. "Which again, only reinforces the fact that, in a few suns, Mister Giorgio''s going to be renting out his throat in a Tyrion prison."

    Coraline nced over her shoulder. The elderly Popoto couple were sitting together at the other end of the dining hall, holding hands and talking about nonsense.

    It was very likely that they knew their fate. Even though the evidence against Mister Giorgio was weak... it would be enough for the Church''s inquisitors to incarcerate him.

    "YOoooo!" A certain big, burly tiefling sauntered into the dining hall. Ramon''s thick, ck and white coat of tes should have made more noise but wasrgely muted by whatever enchantment had been cast on it.

    A sullen and somber Maisie followed him wordlessly. She looked like she was dead on her feet, her eyes puffy from tears and shambling like an Undead zombie rather than a human.

    "Why are y''all lookin'' so... saaad?" The tiefling crossed his arms.

    Coraline immediately spotted something she did not like.

    Resting on the big man''s waist was Olesya''s sword.

    "Mister Ramon..." Coraline bit her upper lip, "Why do you have that?"

    "Eh? This thing?" Ramon patted the sheathed weapon, "Oh. Yeah. I use a sword, myself-- a two-hander, though. This arming sword''ll do. Gotta protect Miss Maisie from the bad guy! Ain''t that right, babe?"

    Maisie let out a long, depressed sigh, "I don''t really care..."

    "See?" Ramon grinned, "What she means to say is ''I appreciate my strong and handsome protector very much.''"

    Edan groaned, rolling his eyes, "Ramon, really. Two people have literally died."

    "Come on, Squinty," the big man bared his jagged teeth. "We''re adventurers-- we deal with blood and death and vengeful spirits every damned sun."

    The half-elf took in a deep breath and sighed... but then narrowed his eyes to thin squints as hispanion suggested.

    "Ramon..."

    "Yeap?"

    "...Where is Felicity?"

    The tiefling furrowed his brows, "It''s just been me an'' Maisie-- I''ve been tellin'' her about all our good deeds. She might even join us after all this is over."

    Edan stood up, "Ramon. I''m not going to ask again. Where. Is. My. Woman?"

    "Seven hells, man. I dunno?" Ramon shrugged. "Thought she was wit'' you?"

    The half-elf stomped towards the exit, literally growling, "If I can''t find her in the next ten minutes, I swear to the gods, I''m going to *kill* you."

    "Hah! I''d like to see ya try!" The tieflingughed.

    Coraline stood up, pointing at the door Edan exited, "E-everyone! We have to search the ship!"

    She pointed to Tychon, specifically, "You too, Sir!"

    The young master stood up with a sigh, still holding his puzzle box, "Right..."

 Chapter 517 Fight

    ?Coraline dreaded the passage of each and every minute. It felt like the more time that went by... the less likely they''d find Felicity alive.

    The passengers and single crewmember of the Golden Eagle faithfully searched the ship-- and for well over the ten-minute time limit that Edan had proposed.

    They kept in groups... their ountability, perfect, even amidst the chaos. Coraline kicked and screamed and very nearly cried in order to aplish that...

    Felicity wasn''t in the hold. She wasn''t in any of the rooms... They even checked the two with the bodies. The dead men were still present, which was a very slight reassurance.

    Besides the engine room, there was one ce left to explore.

    It was the top deck.

    Coraline felt a deep pain in the depths of her stomach... like her anxiety was tearing a tiny hole in her insides. If Felicity couldn''t be found on the ship... then she may have very well been... *off.*

    An ''ident'', Olesya called it. If Felicity had an ident, then...

    "Coraline..." Lone whispered softly into her ear... "You have to calm down."

    Calm? Absolutely not! There was nothing to be calm about-- not when someone was MISSING so many malms up in the sky!

    Coraline clenched her teeth so hard that her jaw hurt, "I am calm, you-- you... dummy. I''m... I''m just worried. What if Felicity-- what if she''s d--"

    "She''s not DEAD!" Edan shouted from the far side of the deck.

    Right. He had Elven ears, too.

    Coraline shut her eyes... squeezing the tears out. Edan wouldn''t give up on Felicity. Neither should she.

    "Maybe she''s in the engine room?" Lone offered.

    "Improbable," Tychon approached the two of them, shaking his head, "The engine room is off-limits. On airships belonging to the Windwright''s Guild, the Elemental Spirits are hostile and dangerous to normal sentients, save the ship''s Captain."

    Coraline nodded in agreement. Thest thing she wanted was to aggravate a Metal-Rank elemental...

    "We''ve... we''ve looked everywhere, though!" Giorgio wheezed, wiping his sweat upon his sleeve.

    With all the rushing around, the older Popoto struggled to catch his breath. His greying hair was matted to his forehead and he looked generally miserable. His wife was in a better condition, but only slightly.

    Coraline gulped... they couldn''t keep searching for much longer. But... at least *she* had to keep going! She couldn''t give up on Felicity!

    She... she trusted her.

    Lone held her hand... and held it tight, "Hey. I''m here..."

    Without thinking, Coraline buried her face into the boy''s broad chest, "We... we have to keep looking... You have to help me..."

    "I know..." Lone whispered.

    "Gahhhh..." Ramon groaned, "We looked everywhere. We gotta head back! Let me go calm down my elf-friend, alright?"

    The tiefling moved-- but not towards Edan. First, he stepped near Tychon, confiding something in quiet whispers.

    Though the cold, cutting winds on the deck made it difficult, Coraline could hear Ramon clearly as long as she focused...

    "--to watch Maisie, will ya? She ain''t in the right mind. Don''t want her to, uh... jump ship, yea?"

    Tychon narrowed his eyes, "I''m assuming you''re requesting that I prevent any... potentially self-harmful actions."

    "Yeah. Just until I get back," The tiefling smirked, "Can you do that for me, guy?"

    "I will do so," Tychon nodded. "Go about your business."

    "Be back in a sec. Might get ugly, but I''m sure it''ll be fine," Ramon waved.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The horned man turned and began jogging towards the half-elf.

    "EYYY!" He shouted, "Let''s go back, man! Yo girl-- she ain''t up here!!"

    A sudden gust of wind buffeted against the ship, causing Coraline to reflexively grab onto Lone''s arm and shield her eyes.

    It was... so very strange seeing Tychon move... or rather, how she didn''t see him move. Closing her eyes for that brief moment, the golden-eyed noble had stepped adjacent to both her and Miss Maisie.

    ...A movement technique? The weak-looking youth could use a movement technique? That was something only high-level adventurers were capable of doing.

    No... It made sense. She knew what the young master looked like underneath his robes. That kind of body didn''t belong to a simple, studious schr.

    No one else seemed to notice the green-haired noble''s... repositioning?

    Oh, Mister Lone did. The cheek-scarred boy gave Tychon a nod of acknowledgment.

    Everyone else was focused on Ramon and Edan in the distance.

    "Goat..." Edan took in a deep breath, "Tell me you didn''t have anything to do with this."

    "Uh. Sure?" Ramon scratched his cheek, ??I didn''t have anything to do with this?"

    "...My Felicity... she..."

    "Hey, man," Ramon held his palms out, "She''s my guild member, too, in case you forgot."

    "Felicity..." The half-elf''s eye twitched, "--is... Mine."

    "Uh huh?" Ramon shrugged, "Well, the fact o'' th'' matter is: I found her first. I found both of you''s. In fact... you should be THANKIN'' me for intra-ducin'' you''s! ...So let''s just-- you know? calm down... and head back. You and me. Together."

    Edan didn''t budge... "I''ve seen the way you look at her, Goat."

    Ramon took in a deep breath, a deep grimace set in his face, "Y''know, I''d... really... REALLY appreciate if ya stopped callin'' me that."

    "The ''fact OF THE matter'' is..." Edan tightened the muscles in his jaw, "--you''ve always been jealous of me and her! How about you just straight up admit it? Goat!?"

    The tiefling bared his sharp, pointed teeth. His tone of voice grew very solemn... his words, spaced and measured... "You better calm down, knife-ear... or I''m gonna *put* you down..."

    Edan walked up to Ramon, sneering defiantly, "I''ve been f*cking her so good, she doesn''t give a rat''s arse about you, anymore."

    The half-elf jabbed a finger into the tiefling''s armored chest, "So, f*ck. You. You pointy-toothed. Mushroom-brained. G O A T ."

    Coraline blinked at the wrong moment. By the time she realized Ramon had attacked, the bigger man had already swung his fist.

    That heavy red-skinned fist... it connected with Edan''s chin... and the impact shook the half-elf''s entire body.

    Edan copsed backward onto the deck. The back of his head mmed upon the wood... and his arms and legs syed out awkwardly.

    The fight was decided in a single move... quick, precise, and without any unnecessary motion. It was a honed strike that was a result of a hundred thousand strikes before it...

    "ERRRARGH!!!" Ramon kicked the unconscious half-elf in the side.

    Then... he stomped on the back of hispanion''s head.

    The fight was over-- but he wasn''t stopping.

    Coraline''s eyes widened.

    He wasn''t going to stop.

 Chapter 518 Berserk State

    ?"R-RAMONNN!!!" She shouted.

    No one else!

    She couldn''t let anyone else die!

    That was the only thing in Coraline''s mind as she sprinted towards Ramon as fast as her Elven legs could carry her.

    "RAMON! You have to STOPPP!!"

    Foolish... silly ''Miss Coraline.'' Little... physically unfit ''Miss Coraline''...

    What could she do, by herself? Ramon was a Metal-Rank adventurer, tried and tested inbat. She was... a paper-pusher who liked to study magic.

    Why did she always insist on trying?

    It''s not like anyone ever wanted her help...

    Tyrants ruled... criminals ran amok.

    Injustice... happened, regardless of whether or not anyone realized it... regardless of whether anyone took a stand, against it.

    Her world had fallen apart too many times while she stood by and watched.

    She didn''t want that-- not anymore.

    She didn''t want to quietly lose her job again... her paycheck withheld each week... false promises keeping hering back.

    Never again did she want a man she loved to... just vanish. Promising her the sun and the moon... a marriage and a move to the countryside... but ending with him never speaking to her again... just hoping that she''d... just forget.

    She wanted to fight.

    Even if it was stupid. Even if she was useless.

    Even if there was no possible way she''d seed.

    She had to do something.

    "GRRRRARRRRRRGH!!!" Ramon roared like a madman, raising his fists up to the sky. He was lost in his bloodlust. He was... unstoppable.

    Coraline leaped up and grabbed at the tiefling''s chainmail covered arm... a useless weight on the man''s bicep.

    Ramon shook, rotating his body... once-- and then again. Coraline lost her grip, and she rolled towards the edge of the deck.

    The side of her ribs impacted the wood of the ship''s railing, a shock of pain shooting throughout her entire body. It hurt... it hurt... so, so much... Wracked with pain, she struggled to breathe.

    She stared at the grey clouds all around the ship... If she... if she fell off, that pain would stop. Everything would end.

    And... maybe when she stopped falling... she''d find Felicity?

    "I''LL KILL YOOUUUU, GOOOAAAAAT!!!"

    Somehow, Edan had gotten up. He hooked his legs onto Ramon''s ankles, dropping the bigger man to the deck...

    The half-elf half-flipped up, straddling the bigger man. With one hand wrapped around Ramon''s thick neck, he raised his other to strike him.

    One strike. Two. Again and again. There was hatred in those fists... and blood to cover them. Something had split-- either Edan''s hands or his former ally''s bony face.

    But Ramon... that man was impossibly strong. The tiefling Berserker pushed off of the deck with a single arm. It was all it took to reverse their positions, Ramon as the aggressor, Edan as the battered victim.

    Ramon turned his gaze up to the heavens... then snapped his neck downward, plowing his two ram-horns into Edan''s chest.

    Bones broke. Coraline could hear the dull crunch, muted as it was by flesh.

    Coraline crawled... dragging herself towards them... Her side ached terribly-- it was so hard to breathe... blood was welling up into her own mouth.

    "R-ramon..." She begged... with all of her heart, "N-no! Ssstop... Please!"

    Ramon drew his sword...

    No.

    She had to stop him.

    Ramon ced both hands on the hilt.

    No... Please, no...

    Ramon plunged the weapon into Edan''s stomach. The half-elf''s leather armor was as good as parchment paper...

    Tears fell hot down Coraline''s cheeks. She... she was powerless to stop him.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Everything she''d done... everything was useless.

    Ramon turned... his eyes bloodshot... his sword wet with the blood of yet another murder.

    He stepped towards her...

    ?Berserk?...

    Ramon was... invincible... unstoppable...

    They... they were all going to die... and Coraline... she would be next.

    She wanted to shut her eyes... even with everything that''s happened, she was still afraid of death. It was going to hurt. Her whole body was hurting, already.

    But... Coraline needed to see it. She needed to look death in the eyes.

    She tried... She tried so very hard to save everyone she could.

    ...But she couldn''t even save herself.

    "?Whirl Strike!?"

    A blur of maroon red entered Coraline''s vision.

    She stared at Mister Lone''s broad back as he''d dashed between her and the tiefling.

    The bravest man she''d ever seen... swung his heavy fists, striking Ramon in the side, then in the face.

    Those fists... staggered Ramon.

    That... that was impossible! The tiefling was definitely in his ?Berserk? state! Human fists were useless against that?!

    Ramon swung his sword-- almost faster than Coraline could see. A scream caught in her throat. She didn''t want to die-- but even more than that, she didn''t want to see Lone sacrifice himself for her!

    He had no reason to protect her! They didn''t even know each other!

    She had selfishly dragged him around, trying her best to help. He hadn''t evenined once! He didn''t deserve to die!

    ...She did.

    Lone stepped to the side, dodging the sh with impossible speed.

    "?Whirl Strike!!?" Lone snatched one of Ramon''s horns, then powered his knee into the man''s gut... He reared his leg back, striking again in the same spot.

    Realization struck Coraline''s senses. Lone was using a Skill! He was a Metal-Ranker!

    "GRAAAIIIEEEEE!" The tiefling roared turned to a high-pitched shriek as his body was sheathed in a burst of... supernatural green mes.

    Coraline shielded her eyes, feeling the licks of its sweltering heat upon the back of her hands...

    She heard a body hit the deck... and she heard it tumble and roll.

    She looked to the side... it was Lone. The force of Mister Ramon''s bloodline ability had knocked him back... and thankfully not off the ship.

    But without her savior to protect her... Ramon walked slowly towards her.

    Coraline stared at his feet... her eyes drifting up to the massive tiefling who towered over her.

    Ramon lifted Olesya''s arming sword to the sky.

    Then... her ears twitched.

    Clearer than anything she''d ever heard... something... snapped... It echoed in her mind.

    What... what did it mean?

    "GRAHHHHHHAHHHH!!"

    Lone... it was impossible... but that man... stood up. His eyes were bloodshot, he was gnashing his teeth... it was like all the mana in his body had be as berserk as the tiefling''s?

    He rushed back towards Ramon... and struck him in the side with his shoulder.

    Behind the tiefling, the railing broke.

    Ramon... and Olesya''s sword... tumbled off of the Golden Eagle... and into the clouds.

    ...with Lone after him.

 Chapter 519 Last Question

    ?It felt like a jagged spear had been stabbed into Coraline''s chest. With every strained breath she took, it bored deeper into her lungs and scattered the pieces of her fractured ribs throughout her insides.

    She could barely feel her cold, white-knuckled hands as she grabbed Lone''s wrist and held on in desperation. Her hair whipped all around as the merciless winds battered the boy against the side of the ship, threatening to tear him away from her grasp.

    "LOOONNE!!" Coraline screamed, "Don''t let gooo!!!!"

    "I''m NOT letting go!" The boy screamed back, "Just-- quit moving!"

    "I''m not moving!!"

    "Well, you''re not holding STILL!!"

    Tychon leaned one arm over a still-intact railing, "Are you having trouble, youngdy?!"

    Coraline angrily turned her head. She was tired. She was depressed. Her whole body hurt.

    The green-haired noble... his hair somehow still-perfect even... an arrogant smirk on his face... he hadn''t done a damned thing throughout the skirmish.

    "I''m a LITTLE busy here, young master!!" She seethed.

    "Haha... Really?" The noble leaned forward, ilms away from her face...

    "Is this the best you can do?" He whispered.

    Oh. No. He. Didn''t.

    "NO. IT. IS. NOT!"

    With a burst of mana-empowered strength... strength that Coraline honestly did not think she had, she dragged Mister Lone onto the rtive safety of the deck.

    She copsed onto her back, wheezing hard. Her lungs were burning. The muscles in her legs and butt spasmed and ached. Her heart pounded crazily in her chest... but... the pain was fading away.

    Lone was already on his feet. He approached Tychon and inclined his head, "Thanks for that, Boss."

    "For which?"

    "Both."

    "Tss," Tychon scoffed. "We''ll speak of itter."

    What were they talking about?

    Blinking the tears out of her eyes, she grabbed Lone''s offered arm, allowing him to help her up.

    "Hey," He smirked. "You alright?"

    "Y-yeah... somehow..." Coraline muttered as she rubbed her side. The aching had dulled, leaving behind a peculiar sensation of... warmth... She was fairly certain it was going to bruise.

    She shook her head in sudden realization-- "Mister Edan! Oh, no... MAISIE! MISS MAISIE!!!"

    She turned to address the woman at Tychon''s side. The noble was gripping her arm... and not gently.

    "Miss Maisie..." Coraline frowned, trying not to cry, "Can... can you cast a healing spell on Mister Edan?"

    The human woman grimaced... "Let me go."

    "Do as the girl asks," Tychon narrowed his eyes, releasing his hold. "I''m certain you realize I am fast enough to prevent any more attempts at foolishness."

    Coraline noticed that Maisie''s arm was bruised where Tychon had held her. She could vaguely piece together that the woman was... unwilling... but a life was at stake.

    "Please, Miss Maisie..." Coraline pleaded, "I don''t want anyone else to die."

    The human woman let out an exasperated sigh... "Fine."

    ...

    ? Early evening, second sun. Eighteen bells until Cersei''s Rest. ?

    "Seven... hells..." Edan rasped.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The half-elf began to hack and cough. Sweat poured down his forehead and tears down his cheeks. Agony wracked his broken body, as he grasped at his bandaged stomach.

    Coraline watched him patiently... solemnly.

    The injured Edan had been moved to a bed in the infirmary. For the past couple of bells, she had sat beside him, contemting everything that had happened.

    Recent events had torn her apart... it made her doubt... everything.

    She...

    She begged...

    It hurt her pride... so, so much... but she asked for Lone and Tychon to apany her... to protect her.

    Mister Lone agreed withoutint. He was... so very sweet to her. He stood by her side like a loyal pup... a steady rock she could rely on.

    For some reason... Tychon acquiesced, as well, following them in silence. He stood by the door, quietly shifting the wooden tiles on his puzzle box, back and forth... back and forth.

    Miss Maisie, the human woman, had fallen unconscious after casting her healing spells on the bloodied Edan. He had taken a grievous stomach wound and he only needed enough healing to be treated at Cersei''s Rest.

    She went above and beyond... while also overdrawing her mana in the process.

    It was purposeful... inflicting herself with mana fatigue in the process. As she wouldn''t wake up anytime soon, Tychon carried her to her bed.

    Mister Giorgio and Lady Lucrezia were shaken by recent events as well. They chose not to stray too far, staying in the hall just outside of Edan''s room.

    There were so very few of them left...

    The bedridden Edan turned to meet Coraline''s gaze...

    "Where''s... the goat?"

    Coraline shook her head...

    Edan closed his eyes... "Bet the bastard... wished he had wings..."

    He took another deep, pained breath... groaning to stave off another coughing fit... "Is... is that it, then?"

    Coraline bared her teeth in a grimace... and she shook her head once more, "I... I have a question for you, Mister Edan."

    The half-elf opened one eye, "Yeah? ...Go ahead, then."

    She looked back to Lone... and he nodded in understanding. If she didn''t have him... Coraline wasn''t sure if she would''ve had the courage to continue on.

    She moved her hands as she had memorized... a series of intricate gestures that opened her mana circuits. Finally, she shaped her fingers into a diamond... "?Swords of Truth...?"

    ? Edan furrowed his eyebrows... "Sapling..."

    "Mister Edan..." Coraline gulped... "Where were you when Arod Highde was killed?"

    The half-elf closed his eyes and took abored breath... "I see..."

    "...Please," Coraline whispered... "Just answer the question..."

    Edan nodded quietly... "? I was in the Ancient''s room ? ...putting a knife in his back."

    Coraline grit her teeth, trying not to cry... "The only reason the Ancient would let someone in his room... was if they had Elven blood... and... because of Felicity... who had studied the des of the Forgotten King..."

    Edan closed his eyes... not agreeing or disagreeing.

    "And... your ss is Thief, isn''t it? ...Only someone with the Thief ss could have nted the dagger in Mister Giorgio''s room without being seen."

    "Seven hells..." Edan chuckled... groaning in pain, because of it... "That damned goat... he just couldn''t keep his f*cking mouth shut, huh?"

    Coraline nodded as she stood from her chair... "Thank you for your cooperation, Mister Edan. We''ll leave you to recuperate..."

 Chapter 520 Useless

    ?? Evening, second sun. Seventeen bells until Cersei''s Rest. ?

    "Doesn''t seem right, Boss..."

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark stared at the bottle of jam with healthy skepticism.

    Tycon applied the stuff to a slice of cured meat using a weird knife (he called it a... spreading knife?)

    "It''s good," The green-haired noble pushed the bottle towards him, "Try it."

    Lone tried it.

    ...It was good.

    Without Maisie, dinner was a simple fare of cured meats, cheeses, and some fresh bread. It was a good meal... not quite... ''Golden Eagle'' luxurious, but... it''s not like Lone couldin to the Captain about it.

    It was just him and Tycon in the dining hall. With Edan confessing to the murder and confined to a bed, there wasn''t a reason to stay together, anymore.

    "Boss, what''s gonna happen to Mister Edan?"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "With his recent injury, his adventuring career is likely over... I doubt he''d be able to afford Third-Circle healing."

    "I mean..." Lone bit his lower lip, trying to think about what exactly he was trying to say... "He''s probably going to prison, right? Maybe Turrim Orientem? I still have some friends there..."

    Tycon nodded, chewing and gulping down a bite, "Mister Edan has murdered a High Elf in cold blood. If he is imprisoned by the Holy Country, it won''t be for long. House Highde wille for him."

    Lone grimaced, "They''ll... take care of him, then?"

    "The elves do... everything." Tycon rolled his eyes, "They dabble in art and archery... spells and swordsmanship-- not with great focus, which is my mainint... but over the course of hundreds of years, their experience rues to levels that can be considered... mastery."

    He paused to take a sip of Tyrion wine, "The torture the half-blood is set to endure will be... most unpleasant. Pass the eggs, if you would, Mister Lone."

    "Sure," Lone pushed a bowl of boiled eggs to the opposite side of the table... "I can''t believe Maisie died, too..."

    "Dying of strangtion in her room was... troublesome. She could have hopped off the deck for at least one less inconvenience." Tycon groaned, "It''s frustrating enough without anyone onboard that cannd the ship."

    "Ehhh... At the time, Mister Giorgio and Lady Lucrezia were in the hall. She couldn''t have gone out so--" Lone hesitated, furrowing his brows.

    Something... bothered him.

    Greatly.

    "Boss... why do you eat eggs like that?"

    He had... swallowed an entire egg whole... like a snake.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Am I doing something... incorrectly?"

    ...He seemed fine, though?

    "No, I guess not." Lone shook his head... "Wait, what?"

    "What?"

    "What do you mean?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Be more specific."

    "Should I be worried?"

    "I''m the one worried about my eating habits," Tycon grimaced. "Is there... a sauce or... jam that I should be using? With the eggs?"

    "No, Boss!" Lone took in a deep breath, "About the ship not being able tond?"

    "Oh," Tycon breathed a sigh of relief. "No. We have plenty of time until it bes a pressing issue. I''ll inspect the formations and attempt a dialogue with the ship''s Elemental Spirit soon enough.

    "In the interim..." He flicked his wrist, his puzzle box appearing in his empty palm, "--I''m going to spend a few more bells on this."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You really like that thing," Lone grinned.

    "I''m very close to solving it," Tycon smirked. "I found the ''trick'' thete Captain mentioned. It won''t be long, from there."

    "Wanna show me?"

    "No."

    "Aw... alright," Lone pushed his empty te away and stood up to stretch. "I''m gonna head back to start my sleep cycle, Boss. Could you wake me up, just like the other night? I should be fine after two bells."

    "Take four," Tycon advised, his attention still focused on his cube. "Your faculties will suffer otherwise. Six bells in two suns is your limit, ording to my observations."

    "That''ll be fine," Lone nodded.

    He turned to walk away... but with a new thought in mind, he turned back.

    "Hey, uh... Brother-Tycon?"

    "Yes?" Tycon nced up.

    Lone scratched at the back of his head, "Thanks for always backing me up. I know I''ve been a bit selfish, recently."

    "I can generally say the same of myself, to you," Tycon rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself, "Good night, Brother-Lone."

    ...

    ? A few bellster... ?

    Coraline hoped that everything would wind down after Edan confessed to having murdered Lord Arod.

    Olesya was notified-- she didn''t particrly care.

    Mister Giorgio and Lady Lucrezia found some relief in it.

    Miss Maisie... when they entered her room, they found her dead.

    She had hung herself on the top part of her bunk... long enough for her face to turn a grim, bluish-purple. Sir Tychon cut her down andid a nket atop her with as much care as snapping a branch off of a tree.

    The bells after that didn''t get much better.

    Miserable grey clouds formed outside the ship and it started to rain.

    The winds didn''t seem very strong, but sometimes... the Golden Eagle rocked erratically to a side. Sometimes it dropped a few fulms, giving a very ufortable feeling of weightlessness for that split second.

    There was thunder, too... and the lightning shes would brighten the inside of the halls from the portholes in the ceiling.

    The few remaining passengers ate a somber, simple dinner.

    Lady Lucrezia baked some bread that had been prepared earlier. They had that, cured slices of meat, and some fresh lettuce. Without a proper cook, it was a very good meal without too much work.

    Coraline ate quickly and excused herself.

    Using the Captain''s key, she searched the rooms with the ''great attention to detail'' she was known for... also using Olesya''s magic-detection wand to aid her...

    It was useless.

    She couldn''t find any sign of the des of the Forgotten King... not even a sliver of its magical signature. She did find a weapon-- Mister Giorgio''s gaudy, nonmagical dagger. That wasn''t any help.

    She searched the rooms thrice over... even the rooms that were unused. She even checked the vault! She looked everywhere but the Engine Room...

    She wanted to give up. People died... one of them, Felicity, she even cared about. And even as hard as she tried... it was useless.

    *She* was useless.

 Chapter 521 Go Back

    ?A st of wind made the Golden Eagle tilt to the side, forcing Coraline off bnce. Even though she was a master of Elven grace and beauty, she earned herself a bruised knee when she struck it against the floor.

    Bleigh.

    Coraline didn''t want to look for the swords anymore. She was as miserable as the gloomy atmosphere outside...

    What she really needed... was a friend. Someone she could talk to... without bias... who''d listen patiently to herints... maybe nuzzle her a little bit.

    She needed Petty Officer Mittens.

    Her ears twitched, hearing movement... Unfortunately, it was the clumsy clomping of human feet-- not the soft pads of the savior she so greatly desired.

    She hurriedly rushed out of the corridor, keeping quiet underneath a set of stairs. She was an elf... her footsteps weren''t quite lighter than snow, but she was confident enough to avoid detection from human senses.

    Curled up in the dark corner, she pulled her knees in and hid her crying face.

    The steps grew closer... and she identified them as belonging to thest person she wanted to see her. Mister Lone lifted hismp, illuminating her through the ts of the stairs.

    Stars and stones... Coraline was even useless at being an elf...

    "Hey," Lone waved, frustratingly innocent.

    "H-hey..."

    The boy puffed out his chest, looking irrationally proud of himself, "You can''t hide from the Ranger of Sol Invictus."

    "Ughhh..." Coraline rolled her eyes.

    Was he trying to impress her? With a lie? That was the most pathetic thing she''d ever heard.

    "First, Mister Lone: the only Ranger in Sol Invictus is named Quiet. And *that* is not *you.*"

    Lone scratched the scar on his cheek, "But uh..."

    "And second!" Coraline grit her teeth. Her chest hurt... but more than feeling sorry for herself, this boy made her so mad... "I''m not *prey* to be hunted... nor am I a prize to be won. I''m a person."

    Lone rubbed the back of his head, "Oh... Hey, that came out wrong. Can... I try again?"

    Coraline sighed, ring at the boy on the other side of the stairs, "Do I have a choice?"

    "Can... youe out of there? It feels kind of weird with you hiding like that."

    "No, you''re a pervert..." She muttered.

    "I''m a what?" Lone furrowed his brows.

    "Nevermind..." Coraline groaned... She wiped her eyes and got to her feet, rubbing her pained knee. She emerged from her hiding ce... so her face could be seen clearly by Lone''smplight.

    She just wanted him to go away...

    The boy stared at her... his stupid smile turning into a frown. Without a word he reached towards her cheek.

    Coraline reflexively pped his hand away.

    She didn''t want to beforted-- not by him.

    Lone slowly drew his hand back,his expression crushed. If she didn''t know better, she''d have thought he looked heartbroken.

    She almost felt sorry for him.

    But it shouldn''t have meant anything. It didn''t mean anything. They didn''t... have a rtionship? They worked together for a short time-- that''s all.

    Mister Lone didn''t need to care about her.

    ...Not that she had been kicked out of her guild. Not that she was jobless and technically homeless... nor about the fact that she had been crying for over a bell and looked like an absolute carriage wreck.

    She didn''t care about *him*, at all...

    "Wh... what do you want?" She whispered.

    Lone sucked in air through his teeth... "I wanted to ask... if you found any clues on where the swords are?"

    She red back at him defiantly, "None."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Well... you have the Captain''s Key, right?" Lone instilled a little more energy into his voice, "Let''s go look for them? Together?"

    Coraline crossed her arms... and she tried to not sound as depressed as she actually was, "We *already* searched the rooms when we were looking for Felicity..."

    ...And she''d searched those same rooms several times over, before Lone arrived.

    "So..." Lone gulped, "The swords weren''t on Edan, then?"

    "No SHITE!!" Coraline shouted, "GODS! You''re SO DUMB, Lone!!"

    Lone bared his teeth in a stupid, clueless grin, not even bothering to shrink back from her outburst, "How about... we beat him up until he talks?"

    "UGH!!" Coraline threw her hands up, "NO! That''s a CRIME, Mister Lone! And torture doesn''t work, anyroad... Let''s... let''s just wait. The Church Inquisitors will take care of it...

    "It''s useless..." She turned her back... "I''m useless..."

    She was sick and tired of looking at that stupid boy... with his stupid cute smile... and... his big, fat head.

    "Well, maybe YOU''RE part of the problem!" Lone shouted at her back.

    Yeah...

    Obviously, that was true.

    Hearing it aloud still hurt... very much...

    She closed her eyes, letting two thick tears drop down her cheeks as she heard Lone stomp off.

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, hated that kind of talk.

    Coraline was giving up.

    Fine!

    He''d find the missing swords by himself! He didn''t want to deal with that girl anymore... not when she was like that.

    He turned a hallway corner and winced as thunder boomed in his ears. He reached for his weapons, and cursed in his mind, realizing he didn''t have them...

    The corridor lit up with a sh of lightning.

    A man with a sword stood there... and after darkness nketed his path once more, golden eyes remained, coldly staring him down.

    Lone froze stiff with fear, his heart thumping painfully in his chest, unable to move, barely able to breathe. An icy chill washed over him... and his entire body was covered by a thin film of sweat.

    It felt like he was about to die.

    ...It wasn''t anything new, of course. It was almost impressive how familiar he was with that shite feeling.

    As his eyes adjusted to themplight by his side... he was able to make out Tycon''s form at the end of the hallway. His superior was blocking his path, standing motionlessly, Shatterspike in hand.

    [Go back,] Tycon mouthed.

    What?! No!

    Lone really didn''t want to! He didn''t even know the girl that well! And she didn''t even want him around!

    He shook his head indignantly.

    [Go back, or I''ll *kill* you,] Tycon drew his thumb across his neck.

    Lone clenched his teeth, trying not to cry. This wasn''t fair!

    [What do I do??] Lone mouthed back.

    Thunder resounded and lightning struck once more, illuminating Tycon''s sword-wielding form.

    The noble angrily pointed again, back the way Lone came, [Go!]

    That meant that Lone just... had to figure it out.

 Chapter 522 Not Useless

    ?With a reluctant heart, Lone turned and trudged back to Coraline''s stairs...

    There was no arguing with Boss when he started threatening violence...

    Coraline was where he''d left her... She had crouched down and... was crying into her knees.

    ...It made Lone feel a little guilty.

    Maybe he had overreacted? Coraline obviously wasn''t in the best state of mind. It would have made more sense to... be nice to her?

    Even though she was never really nice to him? It really wasn''t fair...

    "Hey..."

    "G... go away..." Coraline muttered through her sniffling, "I don''t want your pity..."

    Ignoring her, he approached and... sat beside her.

    He made sure not to sit so close that he couldn''t defend himself.

    Coraline was stronger than she looked-- or at least her smaller hands and elbows hurt more? The Elven girl had... a small surface area? So the force was concentrated?

    Egh. It made sense in his head, but not so much when he thought about it more.

    What could he say to... fix the situation? The situation that... might have been mostly his fault...

    He took a deep breath through his nostrils...

    All he could do... was try his best.

    "You''re not useless..."

    ...

    Coraline could scarcely believe that the cheek-scarred boy had the nerve to walk away from her... and when he came back, the only thing he had to offer was another meaningless lie.

    She took a deep, calm breath... and lunged forward with a palm-heel strike... just like before... right at Lone''s dumb face.

    It didn''t connect.

    Lone-- he caught her by the wrist...

    Of course, he would.

    He was an adventurer with a martial ss... That meant... all the times she hit him before... he was only PRETENDING to be hurt!

    "What would YOU know about being USELESS?!" She shouted, her eyes brimming with hot tears.

    "I''ve been there," The half-hearted smile that the boy wore gave Coraline pause...

    That look of hurtfulness wasn''t something anyone could fake.

    "When I first met Tycon... my boss..." Lone sighed as he released his grip... "He almost killed me."

    "He... what?" Coraline rubbed her wrist, trying to think of a response... "That''s... not really surprising, I guess. He is... a little scary."

    Those golden eyes in the darkness were something out of her nightmares... If there was anything she liked less than rats, it was snakes.

    "I know, right?" Lone chuckled softly, "We''ve... been through a lot. I started training as an adventurer... and I''ve almost died... maybe a dozen times.

    "But... one of Boss Tycon''s rules always stuck with me.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "In the beginning... he refused to let me give up on myself. Thebat drills... the weapons training... even dodging halberd swings and crossbow bolts... It took me a while to understand it-- and I guess I still don''t get some of it. The entire guild used to throw hard fruits at me and the other trainee."

    "That''s called hazing," Coraline narrowed her eyes. "That''s illegal."

    "...Oh. Yeahhhh... it seemed kinda illegal, at the time." Lone bit his upper lip... "Anyroad... there was one unbreakable rule we had during training. We aren''t allowed to die."

    "That''s ridiculous..." Coraline shook her head, her chest tight with emotion... "People die all the time..."

    "Not me," Lone turned to face her with a gentle smile. "I''m immortal."

    "Wh-what?" Coraline couldn''t help but lean back, giggling into her palms.

    It was... just how serious the awkward boy looked. It was weird. But... it made her want to forget about all her logic and... just believe in him.

    Lone grinned, "We can''t give up, Coraline. And if ites down to it, I won''t let you give up on yourself."

    Coraline gulped hard, averting her gaze... stubbornly holding onto her sadness... "You... never told me you were an adventurer."

    "Oh, I didn''t?" Heughed nervously, scratching the back of his head, "Sorry?"

    "It''s fine..." She stared at her feet... at the wall... anywhere but him.

    She... wanted to thank him. Lone''s words, as clumsy as they were, gave her that tiny boost of confidence she needed.

    She was still a little mad, though. She''d thank himter... if he deserved it.

    "Hey, Coraline," Lone bared his teeth. "I''ve been thinkin''."

    "Oh, CoNgrAtuLatioNs!" Coraline rolled her eyes, but she found herself smiling.

    "Ha. You''re so funny," The boy groaned sarcastically. "How does this ship fly without a Captain?"

    Coraline scoffed, "WoOoOowW!!! You don''t even know that!? It''s because of the ship''s Elemental Spirit."

    "Huh..." Lone tilted his head, "What kind of elemental is it? Can it be... any? Or does it have to be a uh... sky elemental?"

    Coralineughed so hard she snorted-- forcing her to cover her mouth and nose in embarrassment, "Y-you mean a wind elemental. It''s usually a fire or wind Elemental Spirit, due to their abundance. And if it wasn''t obvious, an earth elemental wouldn''t work well at keeping us... *off* the ground."

    "Oh... makes sense," Lone nodded. "But I haven''t seen any elementals on the ship?"

    "Whaaat?" Coraline shoved Lone yfully, "You saw her! We both did. I think the Captain said her name was Beatrice?"

    Lone nudged her back with his elbow, baring his teeth in a grimace, "We did?"

    "You have a martial ss-- so you probably didn''t see her clearly," Coraline teasingly stuck her tongue out. "The ship formations keep us in the air, but Beatrice powers those formations from the Engine Room."

    Lone shifted his legs to sit morefortably... he was a little close, but Coraline didn''t think he was doing it on purpose. She decided to allow it.

    The boy ced a hand on his chin, "Would... Beatrice know more about the ship, then? Maybe we could ask her to find the swords for us? Assuming it''s here, somewhere?"

    "Stars and stones, if only it were that easy." Coraline rolled her eyes, puffing out a breath, "There''s obviously restrictions in ce to prevent people other than the Captain frommunicating directly to the Elemental Spirit-- normal people, anyroad."

    "So it''s impossible, then?"

    "Bleigh," Coraline groaned... "Not necessarily..."

    ",

 Chapter 523 Letâ€™s Get One

    ?Coraline looked up in thought, "If... we had a Formation Mage... they might be able to craft a ritual to find the des. Maybe we could even use Beatrice as a power source!"

    "Alright!" Lone nodded confidently, "Let''s get one, then?"

    "Yeah... like that''ll ever happen..." Coraline let out a deeply sarcastic sigh, rolling her eyes to entuate Mister Lone''s stupidity.

    "Wait, what? Why not?" Lone looked thoroughly confused.

    She shook her head,ughing derisively... "Formation Mages are absurdly rare! Even rarer than a Calctor... Maybe we can get a formation expert... but they''ll be a different ss, for sure-- and a hundred-thousand times LESS effective.

    "And thus," Coraline gestured her hand in a circle, "even if we DID find that... they could take suns or even WEEKS to craft a unique ritual, Mister Lone."

    "I don''t get--"

    "We have barely HALF A SUN before the Golden Eaglends!" She shouted.

    Lone raised an eyebrow, "Well... that won''t be a problem? I have a way to handle the formations."

    Hah.

    Wait, what?

    Excitement surged in Coraline''s heart... but that was WRONG! Lone was WRONG! He was also STUPID! She immediately mushed those feelings down!

    What could he possibly know about formations? He wasn''t even a Circle Mage!

    She spoke haltingly to convey her annoyance, "I''m - very - doubtful - that that is true."

    B l e i g h .

    The boy smiled... a gentle smile that, despite her best efforts, put Coraline''s heart at ease, "You said you trusted me, right?"

    She''d nearly forgotten. Lone was the only person on the ship with that privilege...

    Which meant... there was A WAY!!

    If Lone wasn''t lying, finding the des of the Forgotten King was no longer an impossible task! She''d be able to fulfill her obligation to Master Highde and not feel so useless about herself!

    Coraline was so happy, she could almost kiss the boy! She grabbed onto Lone''s shoulders and gazed dreamily into his deep, brown eyes.

    Oh. OH, NO! What was she doing?!

    *PAP!*

    She pped the side of the boy''s face, knocking him to the side. His durable skull thumped on the sharp corner of one of the stairs.

    "W...whyyyYYy..." The boy groaned in pain, clutching the side of his head.

    Coraline bit her upper lip, her mind racing to think of an excuse... "It was... a happy p."

    ...Stars and stones. That was the dumbest thing she''d ever said in her life.

    "Yeah?" Lone righted himself, sitting with his legs syed out, "Can... I hit you back, then?"

    "Yes! Of course!" Coraline nodded.

    That was... fair. She believed in fairness. She sat up and obediently closed her eyes, "Go on, then! You only get one!"

    She was a bit nervous. It made her feel very... vulnerable.

    It was... a test of faith, she supposed-- of that trust she put in herpanion. Even if he hit her, she couldn''t be upset about it... She hit him plenty of times before.

    It made her think back to the time she fell asleep on Lone''s shoulder. What she was doing now was basically giving him permission to do... whatever he did back then.

    Maybe... maybe he''d even try to kiss her?

    Should she let him?

    ...He deserved that much.<novelnext></novelnext>

    --But she''d definitely p him again if he did! ''Miss Coraline'' was not an easy woman!

    "Yeah, I''m not gonna do that," Lone sighed.

    Coraline opened her eyes, grinning victoriously. Of course, he wouldn''t! He was a coward, after all!

    "Well, you could have! It''s not just because I''m a girl, right? Don''t look down on me!"

    "I uh... just don''t feel like it?" Lone shrugged.

    Grinning, Coraline grabbed the gullible coward''s hands and pulled, "Come on! Let''s go check out the ship''s formations!"

    "Sounds good," Lone nodded, getting to his feet, "We just have to go ask Tycon about it."

    "W...wait..." Coraline hesitated... all the excitement bubbled up draining immediately to critical levels... "W...what do you mean?"

    "Tycon. My boss." Lone pursed his lips, "He''s the one who can read formations."

    Coraline caught herself on the wall before she could copse and fall into the depths of despair... "I should have known..."

    Lone crossed his arms, "Don''t we need him, anyroad? Since we don''t have the Captain tond the ship?"

    She gasped, "Wait-- what?"

    "What?"

    EmPty NiGhTtT~~~ Coraline had forgotten that the Captain said HE was the only one who could negotiate with the ship''s Elemental Spirit... In order to survive... she''d need to ask Sir Tychon for help...

    He... he hated her, though. And she didn''t like him, either! It was the LAW of equivalent eXcHaAaNgE~!

    "I''m fine with letting the ship crash..." Coraline rested her forehead against the wood paneling, "We''ll all die in a fiery ze together..."

    "Come on," Lone took her hand... "I''m not letting you give up. We literally just had this talk."

    Coraline gulped... She''d grabbed his hands to pull him up, earlier, but in that moment... his hand felt... different, somehow... "O... okay. Fine."

    She didn''t hate that feeling.

    ...

    Tycondrius smiled in satisfaction as he reclined in the desk chair of his room. He lifted up an iron talisman in his hand, examining its mediocre craftsmanship.

    It was a mere, inexpensive bauble-- the likes of which he could find sold at any market, unique but simr. However, it symbolized the culmination of several bells of critical thinking and puzzle-solving skills.

    It was his prize, released upon solving the Captain''s puzzle box.

    The process was more difficult than it could have been.

    He could have threatened Nikandros with physical violence to get the answer he wanted.

    He could have used his System to analyze the various mechanisms, likely granting him a greater understanding of its functions. (He did so after he gleaned the solution, and not before.)

    Puzzles were made to be solved.

    Every clue hidden in its form, every observable shift... everything was designed by its creator to reward its solver for a satisfying final victory.

    An investigator takes all the clues they''d painstakingly gathered... and uses it to paint a picture.

    ...Tycon was somewhat surprised that Lone hadn''t asked him to assist him and his Elven friend with their murder mystery. To him, the culprits were quite obvious.

    That was their ''puzzle box'', as it were.

    If the answers were granted to them without any effort expended...

    ...Well, that wasn''t useful to think about.

    If they were at an impasse, perhaps he''d advise them to review what knowledges they had.

 Chapter 524 Agreeable Request

    ?Tycondrius sensed motion in the hallway outside-- Lone''s unquiet clomps and Coraline''s light, Elven steps. They were walking with purpose, as opposed to merely wandering.

    He lit the room''s oilmp, as to not appear suspicious and faced the doorway.

    Lone knocked-- politely, as he was taught, "Boss, we''reing in."

    "Go ahead."

    Coraline used the Captain''s Key to unlock the door of the room... and Lone entered before his femalepanion.

    ...From what Tycon knew of human culture, it was considered polite to allow females to enter first-- unless rank was a factor, of course. He made a mental note to advise the young man on that,ter.

    Lone was wearing a strange grin on his face-- as if he''d found some sess in his romantic endeavors, "Good evening, Boss."

    Tycon stood to greet them, nodding in approval, "Good evening, Miss Coraline, Mister Lone."

    "Good evening, Sir Tychon..." Coraline bowed her head.

    The youngdy was... pouting shyly, looking everywhere else in the room but at him. Perhaps he intimidated her?

    Good. He didn''t care for fostering positive feelings with the youngdy. That was for his Rangerpanion to pursue.

    "Have you twoe to report?" He smirked.

    Perhaps another passenger had been killed. That seemed to be rathermon in recent bells.

    "Ohhh," Lone''s mouth hung agape in realization, his gaze upon the unlocked box on the room''s desk, "You solved it, Boss?"

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded, picking up the cube. He tapped a few buttons, resetting the mechanisms into ce...

    "This is the puzzle unsolved..." He shifted a few panels, tapped a spot with a fingernail, and most importantly, instilled the tiniest sliver of mana into the device... cing a finger on the side he''d determined was the puzzle''s base... he then spun the cube three full rotations.

    The two young persons'' eyes widened in awe, watching the box transform from a simple eight-cornered cube to a truncated dodecahedron.

    "And this..." Tycon smirked. "--is the ''trick'' thete Captain had alluded to."

    Lone crossed his arms, a look of bemusement on his face, "So... the secret was... a spin-move?"

    "Not quite," Tycon chuckled. "There are magical formations within the puzzle box''s panels. In order to release its contents, I had to solve bothyers, physical and magical."

    "Y... you really-- you are... you''re... a Formation Mage?" Coraline babbled... rather inelegantly. "I... can''t-- I mean... Lone... you weren''t lying?"

    "Mypanion is a very poor liar," Tycon furrowed his brows, but kept his polite smile, "Your trust in him would be well-founded."

    Admittedly, the girl''s conjecture was somewhat wed. Tycon was not a proper ''Formation Mage'', nor was his ss magical in nature. However, for all intents and purposes, he was an expert with well over a hundred years of experience.

    ...He''d even dare to say he was as good as an elf.

    "S-sir Tychon..." Coraline inclined her head, "I... I need your help."

    "Oh..." Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?"

    The Elven girl had requested him for help... concerning the ship''s formations?

    He was nning to deal with the issue of the Captain-less ship on his own volition. However, as the youngdy had given him a formal request... it would be rude not to take every advantage that came with it.

    "Very well, Miss Coraline," He nodded. "In exchange, I have a simple request of my own-- and one I hope you''d find agreeable."

    The blonde elf fidgeted nervously, "Wh-what is it, Sir?"

    "I will assist you..." Tycon gestured to Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, "If you were to consider mypanion as a romantic suitor."

    The girl''s eyes shot open so wide that Tycon feared they''d bulge out of her childish face.

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I-- what? Mister L-- what? WHAT?"

    Coraline was ready to hear something lewd.

    It wouldn''t have been the first time a wealthy, degenerate young master requested to sleep with her. She was also ready to reject him wholeheartedly. But Sir Tychon''s request--

    Her? With HIM?!

    NO! Absolutely not! Never in a hundred years!

    That wasn''t the type of thing to be FORCED! She wanted to fall in love like in the cheap books at the market! Pics in fields of flowers! Dancing in the moonlight to festival music! Facing Iron-Rank monsters together in the field!

    Lone lunged forward, grabbing his superior and half-escorting, half-dragging the green-haired noble to the opposite side of the small room.

    "Boss!" He whispered through clenched teeth, "What do you think you''re doing?!"

    Sir Tychon narrowed his eyes, "A few moons prior, you requested my assistance in finding you a ''girlfriend.'' I recall at the time, you were *quite* insistent."

    "Boss, this is *not* the time," Lone growled. "People are going to *die.*"

    "Irrelevant. I''ll ensure the both of us survive, regardless of that girl''s actions," Tychon groaned. "I am *honoring* your request to the best of my ability-- whether you like it or not. Take this seriously, will you?"

    "I *am* taking this seriously, *Sir.*"

    Coraline pursed her lips.

    She was... still in the room, literally three fulms away from either of them.

    She could easily hear their conversation, even without her sensitive Elven hearing.

    It was... very rude. This entire ordeal was incredibly rude!

    She stamped her foot down, shouting at the top of her lungs, "My name is CORALINE HEARTSONG!! And I am NOT a WHORE!!"

    "Empty night," Tychon groaned, shoving Lone away. "Nor did I use you as such, youngdy! I advise you to not always assume the worst in your social rtionships."

    "Then why would you--" Coraline pointed, "He-- Mister Lone doesn''t even--"

    Tychon grabbed hispanion''s arm, throwing him forward. Out of reflex-- and not wanting to fall over, she caught him, steadying him with her hands on his muscr chest.

    "You two obviously work well together," Tychon rolled his eyes. "I am merely requesting you keep an open mind when ites to my gentlemanpanion."

    Lone was wearing... that strange expression, again. It was the same one at the dinner table on the first night. He obviously wasn''t interested in her.

    Coraline snatched her hands back, dropping her gaze to stare at the floor.

    She gulped...

    Unless... she had been misinterpreting that look, all along?

    Did he actually like her?

    There was no way...

    As if such a perfect situation could exist...

    It was just Sir Tychon trying to fulfill a request. She was probably the first girl they''d encountered. It didn''t matter who she was, or what her feelings were... or Mister Lone''s feelings, for that matter.

    There wasn''t any meaning behind it.

    "Fine," She muttered. "I''ll... consider it."

    Coraline closed her eyes, thinking back... trying to figure out how exactly she got into the mess she was in.

 Chapter 525 Audacity

    ?Tycondrius observed Miss Coraline''s reaction.

    Her distress was obvious. Was it because she abhorred Lone''s presence or... was she just... shy?

    The physical signs to either were... simr.

    He greatly hoped that he was identifying more nervousness than anger and outrage. The former was positive. Thetter two turned his well-meaning wishes into sexual harassment.

    Tycon did not consider himself a very good judge when it came to the feelings and fickle hearts of youngdies... He doubted anyone was.

    His request to Coraline on Lone''s behalf was, by its very nature, ambiguous-- its results, difficult to evaluate.

    At its core, all he asked for was an open mind. Opinions are ever-changing... Further, he specified no time limit, nor a duration for her requested open-mindedness.

    As the youngdy seemed to be in a state of shock, Tycon decided to press his luck.

    He''d solidify his request by asking for something more substantial. The tactic also utilized a psychological ''trick.'' If he could have Coraline ept even a single facet of his proposed deal, in theory, she''d be more agreeable to subsequent... amendments.

    It would be ideal if he could have the two enter an informal contract, as monogamous lovers. It would fulfill Lone''s initial wishes of attaining the ''girlfriend'' he so desired. Coraline was ideal, as Lone was attracted to her physically and mentally, and the two had obvious personal synergy.

    Tycon ultimately wished for his friends and allies to seed in their endeavors. However, if his Rangerpanion were to utterly fail... he would have still upheld his end of the bargain.

    He gestured openly towards the young Elvendy, "Once we touch down at Cersei''s Rest, you will go on a private outing-- *just* the two of you."

    "B-b-b-boss?!" Lone gulped, "J-just the two of us?"

    Tycon twisted his lips in confusion. Had he stuttered? Why was Lone panicking? Just the other evening, the young man had nothing but good things to say of the target of his affection. .

    He nodded slowly... "Indeed... Mister Lone, you will be taking Miss Coraline out to dinner."

    "I will?" Lone asked.

    Was the fool even paying attention!? Perhaps he should have allowed the young man to die in those halls... At the moment, it seemed the hassle of keeping Lone''s spirits up was outweighing the benefit of him as an Iron-Rank Ranger.

    In Tycon''s peripheral vision, he saw the corner of Coraline''s lips curve upward into a sly smirk. The elf girl ced a hand on her hip, confidently pointing her opposite palm towards the ceiling.

    "Not gonna work! Because..." She pointed her thumb at herself, "*I* don''t have any MONEY!"

    "Irrelevant," Tycon waved dismissively. "Your gentlemanpanion will be paying for that particr expense."

    Lone sighed in defeat,??I always pay for the meal, though..."

    "Hmph!" Coraline crossed her arms, turning away from Lone, "That''s... grr... Fine! I get to pick the restaurant, though!"

    "Now HOLD ON!!" Lone yelped, "Boss?! I''M the one paying for the meal! I should be the one that gets to choose!!"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Why are you looking at *me*? That''s not my problem."

    ...

    Coraline clenched her teeth. This was a battle that she absolutely could not lose.

    Lone turned to face her, "What do you mean by *you* get to pick the restaurant?!"

    "Exactly what I said, dummy!" She shouted back, "And I get to n the rest of the itinerary too!"

    Sir Tychon''s request was actually not so terrible.

    So what if she had to agree to going out at Cersei''s Rest? She wasn''t nning on staying in an inn room all sun, anyroad! If someone was going with her, then so be it!

    HOWEVER! It wasn''t going to be romantic-- not at all! She''d be going out on her OWN terms!

    Even if everything did work out...

    --which wouldn''t happen.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Any ''date'' she''d go on with Mister Lone-- no, with ANYONE, would be a massive fail.

    THUS, since failure was an inevitability, Coraline was going to make sure she''d have fun no matter what~!

    ...Anyroad, there wasn''t enough time for her to forge a meaningful connection with Lone. She''d already purchased her second ticket from Cersei''s Rest to Archangel... which meant she had less than two suns to spend in the city proper.

    Falling in love... takes time-- more than they had.

    The entire time she and Lone DID spend together... they''d just been running around, trying to figure out all the terrible things that had been happening. They barely knew anything about each other. And for the emotional connection, it''s...

    It''s not like she... trusted--

    Coraline hesitated... and turned to look at her stupid, trustworthypanion...

    ...Empty night.

    She did.

    She did trust him.

    They did have an emotional connection.

    She even thought he was a tiny bit attractive-- an insignificant, meaningless amount of attraction, which wasn''t at all important, so she had no reason to think about it.

    "We''re going..." She jabbed her finger into Mister Lone''s padded-armor pectorals, "--ROCK CLIMBING!!"

    "Oh, really?" Lone rolled his eyes, "*You* think you can climb rocks?"

    "Yes. I. Can," Coraline wiggled left and right, drawing circles on Lone''s chest with her finger, "I. LOVE. CLIMBING ROCKS!"

    Lone crossed his arms, his chin lifted up arrogantly, "Well, I''ve climbed rocks for three MOONS in the Mosswood Wilds!"

    "Doesn''t mean anything!" Coraline sighed in exasperation, "I''ve been climbing rocks and... and TREES since I was a SAPLING!!"

    "You''re STILL a sapling!??

    That was technically true. Coraline was still a baby in Elven years-- she wasn''t even very old by human standards.

    HOWEVER, she did NOT like the way Lone was talking down to her!

    "I want to go to the--"

    Lone pressed his finger to Coraline''s mouth, surprising her into silence.

    "Shh!" Lone pursed his lips, "Add ''going to the beach'' on our schedule."

    Coraline pped his hand away. How dare he?!

    "Why?!" She red, "So you can PERV at women in their swimsuits??!"

    "What?!" Lone drew his head back, pretending to be insulted. "No! I just like to swim-- also, swimsuits are nice..."

    Whaaaaaaat?!

    This... this guy, he really--

    Coraline couldn''t believe Lone''s AUDACITY.

    "So you ADMIT IT!!" Coraline fumed, "Well, TOO BAD! Because I packed a REALLY cute one-piece swimsuit! No one-- I mean NO ONE will go DARE go near you as long as I stick closeby!"

    "Y-you''d RUIN me like that?!" Lone growled. "FINE! Then since YOU''RE picking the restaurant, I''m ORDERING for you!"

    "You''re going to order something STUPID!" Coraline gnashed her teeth, "Well, FINE! I''m ordering FOR YOU, THEN!"

 Chapter 526 Heartsong

    ?? Later... ?

    Tycondrius opened his eyes. He''d just finished designing a Martial Skill. He called it ?Lock Tap?. He''d automated its mana activation and maximized its efficiency to an eptable degree, considering the amount of time he''d spent.

    He reached for the pocket watch on his desk and clicked it open. His two children, Lone and Coraline, had been bickering without breaks for thirty-seven minutes.

    "--and THEN!" Coraline shouted, "we''ll sit together and watch the FIREWORKS! And everyone around will think we''re a COUPLE!!"

    Tycon frowned. The current nature of their argument was already very... couple-like.

    "PSH, fine! I wanted to watch the fireworks, ANYROAD!" Lone crossed his arms, looking far too unnerved for the conversational topic. "I heard they''re the best free thing to see on the ind-- next to the NATURE TRAIL!"

    "I told you we''ll TRY to get to the nature trail," The elf girl groaned. "But our schedule''s already full. We decided to allot more time to the koi ponds, or did YOU FORGET?!"

    "I didn''t forget!" Lone scowled. "We already talked about that! And I already AGREED!"

    "Because you finally saw how smart my idea was," The girl hmphed.

    "Because I got to the SAME conclusion!" Lone insisted.

    ...Did he, really?

    "Fine!" Coraline crossed her arms, turning her nose up, "We agree to disagree!"

    "FINE, THEN!" Lone... mirrored the youngdy''s movements-- turning in the opposite direction.

    "FFFFINE!" Coraline growled, "AaaAARGH!! FINE! I''ll see you THEN!!"

    She turned towards the door and began to walk away.

    "Okay, GREAT!!" Lone shot back.

    The young flustered elf opened the door and walked out of their room.

    Lone let out an aggravated sigh... "Boss, I don''t think I''m ever going to agree with Coraline on-- on anything!"

    Tycon pursed his lips, deciding not to respond. Their back-and-forth conversation was... very *loud*. However, contrary to Lone''s words, the two had very obviously reached a conclusion satisfactory to both parties.

    However, Tycon kept his eyes on the door... "The youngdy seemed to have forgotten her original purpose."

    "Original... purpose?" Lone raised an eyebrow. "Oh! The formations!"

    It seemed that Mister Lone... also forgot.

    It was... baffling how well those two got along.

    ...

    Stars and stones!

    Coraline cursed in her mind as she fumbled with Sir Tychon''s door lock. She was just so mad! That boy was infuriating!

    She stomped back into the room, her face twisted in rekindled fury, "I just think it''s funny, that--"

    OW!! She hit her hand on the door... ARGH!! She was so CLUMSY!!!

    Coraline cradled her reddening knuckles, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

    "Hey, are you alright?" Lone frowned, "Let me see."

    Without asking for permission, the cheek-scarred boy took her hand in his.

    ...He was... so... uncharacteristically gentle.

    His hands were rough and calloused-- maybe from the rock climbing he said he did... or from wielding whatever weapons he used.

    Coraline spent more time with a pen or casting spells than carrying a sword... and honestly, she neglected practice with her rapier for overlong periods of time. She needed stronger wrist muscles...

    She looked into Lone''s eyes... and was surprised to see how much... care she saw.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Her heart... was beating so quickly. It didn''t make sense. It made NO sense. This had NEVER happened before.

    LONE?! Making her heart beat the way it did?!

    Why did it feel so nice? To have someone by her side... just asking if everything was okay?

    She... wanted it tost just a bit longer.

    Maybe... everything would be alright? Maybe she just had to give Lone a chance-- keep an open mind, like Sir Tychon was saying.

    The boy held onto the tips of her fingers and lifted his gaze to meet hers... "You''re..."

    Yes?

    "--really stupid."

    Coraline spotted a blur of movement. Lone... copsed to the ground.

    Sir Tychon had struck the boy in the side of the neck with the t of his forearm. He was also looking very upset... on her behalf, maybe?

    "Oops," Tychon said in a neutral voice, "It looks like I slipped and precisely struck Mister Lone''s carotid artery."

    "Y-yeah," Coraline shook out her hurt hand and stood up straight. "S... slipped."

    "I''m going to the ship''s hold to check out the formations. Would you like to apany me, youngdy?"

    Coraline frowned, looking to the groaning boy on the floor, "What about Mister Lone?"

    Tychon nudged him with his boot, "Of course, he''ll being as well. Get up, you."

    ...

    "Young master... the Elemental Spirit is not to be trifled with," Olesya warned through the iron bars of her cell.

    Coraline had apanied Baron Tychon and Mister Lone to the ship''s hold, where the blonde guardswoman was imprisoned. In the rooms adjacent were the vault and... the Engine Room.

    "Noted. Thank you," Tychon nodded. He walked past the dragonblooded woman with barely a nce.

    Olesya furrowed her scaled eyebrows in worry... "(Little star), the noble is going to get himself killed."

    Coraline pursed her lips, "Yeah... That''s what it looks like, doesn''t it?"

    "Youngdy," Tychon called to her.

    Grimacing, she waved to Olesya before hurrying to catch up, "Why do you keep calling me that? You can''t be that much older than me."

    "I am," Tychon rolled his eyes. "I find the term more respectful than ''sapling.''"

    "...Fair."

    She could appreciate that.

    Sir Tychon was standing in front of a broad wood-paneled wall, upon which was a painted outline of the Engine Room beyond. It was a dizzying mess of diagrams and minuscule text, the paint faded and scratched away with age.

    "This is the main anti-magic formation on the Golden Eagle," The noble exined. "Repeater formations are spread throughout the ship that essentially ry the functions of this one."

    "Sir..." Coraline crossed her arms, "This is... a diagram of the ship''s mana engine."

    Tychon nced up, "Oh."

    "I can''t believe this..." Coraline sighed, shaking her head.

    Why did she think it was wise to put so much of her faith in this infuriating man?

    "There. You should be able to see it now."

 Chapter 527 Yet

    ?Coraline had looked away for... maybe five seconds, max.

    When she looked back, the diagram on the wall had undergone aplete transformation. What was once a series of neat lines and precisely measured curves was now a dizzying mess of skewed circles, spiraling script, and jagged runic lines.

    The longer she stared, the more her skull squeezed her brain. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. The room began to spin.

    "A-ah... hh..." Her throat... it closed.

    Air...

    She needed air.

    Lone grabbed her arm, keeping her steady... "It''s okay. I got you. Just breathe..."

    That... was the stupidest advice she''d ever heard.

    She wanted to push him away, but... she also didn''t want to fall on her face. She swallowed hard, clenched her eyes shut, and focused.

    That way, she could breathe... slow... steady... breaths...

    --and not because she was told to! But because she didn''t want to pass out!

    "Boss," Lone raised his voice, "Change it back, please."

    "Mm. Just wait a moment... and... there."

    Coraline blinked her eyes... looking up at the wall again. It was back to how it was before...

    Ahaha! She LIVED! She pushed Lone away, "S-sir Tychon. How... did you do that?"

    "Weak illusion," Tychon exined simply... "Single line disrupt."

    The noble''s words were... painfully short for something that came out of his mouth.

    He was... chewing on something?

    "That doesn''t make any sense!" Coraline shook her head, approaching Tychon and scowling up at him, "You-- you''re not a Circle Mage! How can *you* do something like that?"

    Tychon raised an eyebrow, "I''m an Unranked Caster. Doesn''t stop me from using mana. Even children can cast spells in the Kingdom, you know."

    ...Coraline knew that. But... she had zero idea what that implied! Magic was *hard*! And formation magic was not something normal people studied!

    "Um. What does that mean, Boss?" Lone bared his teeth.

    Yes! Please exin in full to us lowly plebeians!

    The noble shrugged as he gulped down a bite, "I don''t have to use a sword to disturb the surface of a pool-- a small pebble will do."

    "Anyroad," Tychon continued, "--this formation prevents the activation of most all types of spells. However, there are two major loopholes that have been added afterward. Persistent items are allowed-- as the engine in the room needs to function... Then, there are two spell types exempt: transformative and illusory."

    "Whaaaat?" Lone furrowed his eyebrows. "Why those two?"

    "Likely for certain guests who use magic to hide their identities," Tychon mused, "Any effective spells from those schools are Second Circle-- and quite expensive to lengthen the duration or make permanent. The Windwright''s Guild would not easily offend a passenger of such wealth."

    The noble then took another bite of something in-hand. It looked like... meat jerky?

    Utilizing her Elven powers of quickness and crity, Coraline grabbed at Tychon''s wrist.

    He DODGED!

    BLEIGH!

    "Wh-why do you have that?!" She yelped.

    Tychon half-turned away, possessively guarding his snacks, "I was hungry. Get your own."

    Lone sighed, staring at the deck... "You... you want some of mine?"

    "Sir! WHY do you have that?!" Coraline insisted.

    The noble raised an eyebrow, "The rules allow food to be brought on-board. I honestly don''t know what exactly you''re asking..."

    "WHERRRE WAS IT?!"

    Tychon''s eyebrow twitched... "I... kept it with my travel gear. Where else would I keep it?"

    "You... you didn''t bring travel gear," Coraline fumed as she clenched her fists... "All you brought is..."

    She took a step back, crossing her arms... "The ring... You have it... Don''t you?"

    Tychon pursed his lips for a moment... then reached into the lining of his robe. Upon removing his hand, he revealed a familiar-looking item, "I do."

    Coraline sighed. She should have known. The noble threw a tantrum nearly every single time things didn''t go his way.

    She sharpened her re to daggers, "Tell me how you got your ring back... and tell me now."

    "Tss," The noble scoffed. "I''m starting to dislike your tone of voice, youngdy."

    "Boss,e on. Please?" Lone hurried to Tychon''s side, lowering his voice to a soft whisper... "Don''t be mean to my girlfriend."

    "Your WHAT?" Coraline stared in disbelief at Lone''s dumb face, "Y-you, shut up! I''m not your girlfriend yet!"

    Lone frowned... "You weren''t supposed to hear that."

    "I''m an ELF, stupid!!" She shouted, "I can hear pretty much everything!!

    "And YOU!!" Coraline pointed to Tychon angrily, "Why are *you* SMILING?!"

    Tychon wasn''t really smiling-- he was wearing a subtle smirk, which might as well have been a smileing from him.

    He pursed his lips, "Hm. I was amused by your artful usage of the word ''yet.''"

    Oh.

    AHHHHHHHHHH!!! WHY DID SHE SAY THAAAAAAT?!<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Boss!" Lone pleaded, "You promised to help."

    "Fine," Tychon sighed.

    ...

    ? shback: Tycondrius'' room, evening of the first sun on the Golden Eagle. ?

    Tycon ced his puzzle box down on the desk.

    He was defeated by an inanimate object.

    It didn''t help that Lone''s arrhythmic snoring made him want tomit murder.

    It was time to take a break. It waste enough in the evening, after all. A brief escape would be appropriate.

    Standing up from his chair, he stretched his back, then his arms and legs.

    ? System, activate Snake Form. ?

    ? Small Shadow Snake Form Activating... ?

    Allowing his System to guide him, the transformation magic shifted his muscles, shrunk his bones, had his soft skin hardening to something more defensible.

    The noise his internal organs made as the magic took effect was... unsettling. The feeling of it twisting andpressing was... nightmarish... It would be even worse when he eventually shifted back to his disguise.

    He sighed internally, realizing that he''d have to get used to being human again. It took a few bells for everything to feelfortable in his bipedal form.

    Tychon took a moment to appreciate his body... shadowy, with dark smoke wisping from his scales like steam...

    The evening''s stealthy work would be most efficient in his Shadow Form.

    His natural form wasrger, white-scaled, and armored. He used it sparingly, as his enemies did not need to know the whereabouts of the Ivory Prince of Charm.

    Besides, murdering witnesses was a pain and carried a degree of risk.

    Moving forward, his scales gripped easily to the wooden floors, allowing him to scale the wall and slither into the air vent.

    ...It was cold, up there-- which was to be expected.

    Using the System''s mapping functions, he gained a general understanding of the Golden Eagle''syout. He traversed his way over and down... dropping into the hold.

    The ship''s security was terrible.

    In the hold was a single prison cell-- the bars flimsy and its cleanliness questionable.

    The ship''s main formation was stered on a wall behind a thin illusion spell. Tycon had his System record the information forter perusal.

    Therge lockbox containing the passengers'' contraband was out in the open, its only defenses a physical lock and a magical formation.

    Re-assuming his human form, Tycon sat cross-legged in front of it.

    Something took notice of him.

    It came from the Engine Room... but that wasn''t important.

    The lockbox''s defensive formation was hidden in the paint upon its wooden face... and were constructed by the Banker''s Guild, as the guardswoman had stated a few bells prior.

    The Dwarves... they released ''new'' formations each year, allowing them to charge their customers annually. However, its core remained practically unchanged. Likely, the cost and effort of aplete rewrite was deemed inefficient.

    It was yet another security oversight-- this one, not the fault of the Windwright''s Guild.

    The Banker''s Guild was thergest and most recognizable authority on locks. Any respectable locksmith in the Realm would seek to familiarize themselves with their very formations.

    That included himself. Why or how he had such knowledge, he had no idea.

    It was convenient, though.

    ? go away ?

    Tycon ignored the oundish thought in his head, tapping therge chest with his finger... modifying the formation, as he pleased.

    ? g o . a w a y ?

    A presence was adjacent to him, not a fulm away... ''staring'' intently. It wasn''t veryrge, simr to a Popoto in height. Tycon could even describe it as ''cute.''

    With how horrible security had been thus far, he didn''t have much respect for whatever-it-was. If he hadn''t transformed into a human, he doubted it would have noticed him, at all.

    As he worked, the air around him grew warm-- perhaps a precursor of hostility.

    Tycon found itfortable.

    On that ount alone, he decided to address the Elemental Spirit with reasonable politeness, "I''ll be just a moment, little one."

    ? no stealing ?

    "I won''t be," He assured. "I only seek to reim what is mine."

    Flipping the box lid open, Tycon retrieved his spatial ring. Nothing else in the box looked expensive or was worth stealing, anyroad.

    The blur pranced over to the opposite side of the chest, and using one of its ''arms'', pushed the lid closed.

    ? go away or burn ?

    Tycon rolled his eyes as he stood up. As dangerous a threat as the Elemental Spirit posed, he didn''t feel like taking it seriously, "Right."

    ...He patted the formless warmth on its ''head,'' "Thank you for your patience, little one."

    ? stop ?

    Chuckling to himself, Tycon shifted back to his snake form and slithered back up into the vents.

 Chapter 528 Engine Room

    ?? Present time. ?

    "I dropped back into my room just as Nikandros threatened to enter," Sir Tychon casually exined.

    "That''s why yourmp was off..." Coraline pursed her lips, "You can see in the dark, because of your... bloodline."

    "Correct," The noble frowned, narrowing his golden eyes as if confirming her suspicions was a tant insult.

    Coraline sighed... Conversing with this man made her feel like an idiot.

    Tychon''s starkly-colored eyes were a rarity-- unheard of amongst humans. The fact that he wasn''t...

    Well... that solved that mystery. It also gave a usible reason to why the noble had an unnerving predatory aura about him.

    He *was* a predator. Literally.

    ...a predator with a transformation ability.

    "Oof," The thought made her shiver. Being in the presence of snakes made her uneasy.

    "Now, then..." Tychon loomed over her, wearing an insidious smirk, "Aren''t you going to thank me?"

    Coraline''s face twisted into a deep grimace. She did *not* like this person... not at all...

    "Th-thank you, Sir Tychon. That''s... that''s the final piece of the puzzle."

    "Hah. So you''ve figured it out," The young master nodded. "Well done."

    Was he being sarcastic? Coraline sighed once again...

    "All that''s left..." She closed her eyes... "is to deal with the Inquisitors from the Church."

    "First, we have to ensure the shipnds in Cersei''s Rest." Tychon gestured towards the Engine Room, "The door, Miss Coraline-- if you would."

    "R-right..."

    Coraline took the chain off of her neck and approached the door, key in hand.

    And because she was the dumbest person in the room and because the eleven heavens conspired against her... it slipped out of her hand, clinging onto the wooden deck.

    She very much wanted to go upstairs and hide underneath her covers and never wake up.

    Nothing was going well for her.

    But UNFORTUNATELY, two people were essentially BLOCKING her escape-- and both of them had some sort of expectations for her which she DID NOT ASK FOR. But it was FINE.

    It. was. fine.

    With her cheeks and neck as hot as a teacup, she bent over to pick up hertest mistake-- only to be stopped by Lone grabbing onto her wrist.

    "...Ummmm. Let go?" Coraline bit her lower lip, "You guys can trust me to at least open a door, right?"

    "Take a look, youngdy," Tychon warned from behind.

    Coraline ced her attention on the grounded key... and retreated a slow step backward.

    It had changed color... into a reddish gold.

    The silvery chain it was attached to was the same-- and was quickly melting, darkening the wood underneath.

    The entire room began to stink of burning wood.

    With Lone still gripping her wrist, she grabbed onto the boy''s arm.

    She no longer wished to be on door-opening duty.

    Tychon stepped past the two of them and raised his voice, "Open the door, little one!"

    Coraline reared her head back in confusion. What... was the young master doing?

    "I''m going to break it, if you don''t," Tychon spoke aloud. He was... trying to intimidate the Engine Room door?

    With a resounding click... it slowly crept open, a sweltering heat wafting out from within.

    ...Uhhhh...?

    Coraline had learned... threeeee things~!

    One: the path to the Engine Room was clear.

    Two: It seemed very hot and unweing in there.

    And... three: Sir Tychon couldmunicate with inanimate objects.

    Sure.

    Why not?

    "Thank you," The noble inclined his head politely before calmly striding into the heated room beyond.

    ...

    Tycondrius hastily scanned the Engine Room.

    At its center was arge crystalline formation connected to several smaller power sources, adjoined with metal tubes and various inserts. Runic script was painted on the floor, ceiling, and walls-- with bits on the central machine, as well.

    At first nce, much of it was redundant-- excellent engineering. If one facet of the formation were to fail, the ship would remain airborne.

    A vague ''figure'' was coalesced in the corner, just out of sight. Its ''body'' was made of many ''arms'' and it was ''staring'' intently-- at him, in particr.

    It was the Golden Eagle''s Elemental Spirit... and from its figuratively cold reception, it was not at all happy to see him.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Thankfully, Tycon knew how to best facilitate a dialogue with an ill-tempered spirit: beating it into submission.

    "Hey, uh... Boss?" Lone crossed his arms, "Is my armor fireproof?"

    "What? No," Tycon furrowed his brows, "Why would it be?"

    "Is yours?"

    "Also no."

    With implicit agreement, Tycon began unbuttoning his robe while Lone began to strip off his gambeson.

    Tycon put his ring on, appreciating the dry heat of the atmosphere against his bare skin.

    He tossed his robe and shirt to the rtive safety of ''outside'' the Engine Room... and grimaced at Lone''s Elvenpanion, "And what do you think *you* are doing, youngdy?"

    Coraline was in the middle of taking her own tunic off, "Wh... what?"

    Did she think she was going to help? That was absurd. He quietly red at the girl, intent on making her reconsider.

    "F-fine!" Coraline yelped, fixing her attire. "I didn''t want to help, anyroad!"

    Tycon turned away so the youngdy couldn''t see him roll his eyes. Flicking his wrist and summoning a waterskin from his spatial ring, he tossed it over to Lone.

    "Wait, what was that?!" Coraline asked from behind, "Y-your ring? Your ring!! It-- it stores things!!"

    Tycon winced in disbelief...

    He''d thought that was obvious. Perhaps the young detective was not as clever as he assumed.

    He decided to mentally file the interaction away as an endearing trait. The more imbecile she was, the more likely she''d ignore Lone''s multitudinous ws. Perhaps their rtionship might even work out.

    "Weapons, Boss?" Lone asked.

    "It''s Iron-Rank," Tycon shrugged.

    "IRON-RANK?!" Coraline echoed in a panic, "Oh, no! Ohhhh no... W...we need reinforcements. Olesya! Olesya can help! And-- and I need some time to prepare my spells!"

    Tycon felt his eyebrow twitch at the Elven girl''s noisiness. That was... a decidedly not-so-endearing trait. However, his own opinions of the youngdy were irrelevant.

    "Alright," Lone smirked. "Hand to handbat, then?"

    "If you''re confident," Tycon chuckled.

    "wat?" Coraline''s jaw was unhinged, her eyes near-bulging out of her face.

    Amusing.

    The young Ranger unstoppered his waterskin, emptying its contents to drench his hair and skin. It would provide a thinyer of defense against bursts of me. If the fight was prolonged and the film of water began to boil, the pain would be immense-- but that was none of Tycon''s concern.

    ...The Elven girl''s confusion had dissipated as she stared at Lone''s half-naked body... almost hungrily. Mister Lone did have an impressive physique.

    Lone stepped towards the blurry Elemental Spirit, "Can I go first, Boss?"

    Was he trying to impress hisdy-friend?

    "Hm. Go ahead."

    "WaAAaAit!" Coraline shouted, "Wha-wha-whaaaaat?!"

    "Engaging the enemy," Lone raised his clenched fists in front of his face-- a traditional boxing stance.

    In response, the Elemental Spirit materialized... a zing fiery illusion with an orange hue. It seemed to take the form simr to that of thete Captain, a medium height humanoid with smooth, uncertain features, wearing a wispy, golden military coat.

    Approaching his opponent in measured steps, Lone quickly jabbed his off-hand, then his main... In doing so, the young man had sheathed his arms in mana. The additional barrier would further protect his flesh as he pummeled the amorphous entity.

    Tycon had no idea when the young man had learned to do such a thing... and he doubted he''d done it consciously.

    Still... he approved.

    "?Whirl Strike!!?" Lone opened with a quick series of double-strike punches. He was treating the spirit as if he were fighting a normal two-armed, two-legged humanoid.

    It worked.

    The spirit may have been Iron-Rank, but it seemed to have been ''raised'' in captivity and was unused to fighting. Lone''s physical attacks began to overwhelm his opponent''s fiery form as it tried to defend itself with its own clumsy appendages.

    Tycon wondered if it was... taught to not use bursts of fire, as it could irrevocably damage its surroundings.

    Lone picked the spirit up by its ''legs'' and mmed it against the hull, briefly illuminating the Engine Room with a bright sh. ckened char marks and bits of embers remained on the wood.

    "This thing''s reeeeeally HOT!" Lone yelped.

    "Then stop grappling it, you fool!" Tycon shouted as he began smudging the lines on the hull, improvising repairs to the protective formations. "Quick strikes! Keep AWAY from the walls!!"

    "Sorry!!!" He replied, guilt in his voice.

    Coraline grabbed onto Tycon''s arm and shook him, "Is... is Mister Lone going to be alright?!"

    For whatever reason, she had also ced a hand on his own unclothed abdomen.

    "It''s... probably fine?" He shrugged, gently prying her hand off.

    The Ranger was not currently disadvantaged... but allbat carried a degree of risk and possible death.

    "It doesn''t look fine!" Coraline insisted.

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Stand back and watch. If you won''t believe in him-- I always have."

 Chapter 529 Burn

    ?Tycondrius grit his teeth, as his fool Ranger retreated three paces backward.

    Not twenty seconds prior, he had spoken well of him. In typical Lone fashion, the young man was resolute in proving him wrong.

    The Elemental Spirit had discovered that it was not constrained by its form. Lone was forced back, defending against its elongated, superheated ''arms''... and far more than two of them, at that.

    "Mister Lone!" Tycon roared, "COUNTER it!"

    "It''s not that easy, Sir!" Coraline snapped.

    Tycon shot a displeased re at the young girl adjacent to him, "You''re serious? You can say that of anything."

    ? ?Jumping Knee Counter? activating... ?

    ? Reaction ability. Targeted ally''s physical defenses are improved against a single attack. Target ispelled to make an instantaneous unarmed strike against an enemy with increased uracy. ?

    Lone slipped two of the Elemental Spirit''s appendages, allowing him to get close. The fool boy hooked his arms around its ''body'' and powered a brutal knee into its core. The creature shook, its form pulsated in pain, and its light grew visibly dimmer.

    Coraline, yet again, was baffled beyond belief.

    Her reaction amused Tycon greatly.

    Lone was an excellentbatant. He''d even dare to say that inbat, he was at his most professional...

    That is... if he hadn''t burnt his hands and arms terribly from thest exchange.

    The young man was blowing air into his palms, tears brimming from the corners of his eyes while mewling like a neglected child... "Ow! Oww! Ow!"

    "*What* did I *just* say, Mister Lone?!" Tycon growled. "Do not TOUCH the Fire Elemental."

    "Sorry, Boss!" Lone turned with a pained grin, "I got caught in the moment!"

    The Elemental Spirit was focusing its energies for arger attack. Tycon needed to do something about it. He flicked his hand to the side to summon his own waterskin, pouring its contents on himself.

    "Sir Tychon!" Coraline shook him, "You HAVE to do something!!"

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch. What did it look like he was doing?

    "I''m fine!" Lone shouted, flexing his arms and shing a grin of white teeth.

    Behind him, glowing and rotating offensive formations lit up in front of the Elemental Spirit.

    ...The light from it was enough to make Lone turn back, "O... oh. I''m not fine."

    "?Shadowfang,?" Tycon dashed away from the elf as the spirit''s spell castpleted.

    Intercepting the ?Scorching Ray? spell, he crossed his arms to guard himself. Quickly circting his mana, he shaped it to disperse the attack-- and protect both Lone and his hair from the concentrated mes. Still, he took the brunt of it...

    It wasn''t pleasant.

    "AIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" A certain elf shrieked. She even went as far as dramatically copsing onto the deck.

    Tycon nced back to Coraline. Why was she screaming? Lone was safe? And the mes were nowhere near her.

    "Tss..." He scoffed in amusement, "Youngdy, was that a scream for me?"

    "Sir Tychon..." Coraline cried, "You... you..."

    "Boss," Lone grimaced... "Can you not? You already have a girlfriend."

    Tycon stretched, inspecting his body. He''d suffered some burns... but it looked and smelled worse than it was, "Do not worry, Miss Coraline. This isn''t the best I can do."

    "What does that MEAAANNNN?!?!?" The elf wailed.

    Hm. The more Tycon suffered the youngdy''s presence, the more foolish she seemed to sound.

    Maybe he was at fault? Perhaps by associating with certain Rangers, their intelligence would take a turn for the worst...

    ...Why were both of Sol Invictus'' Rangers idiots?

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Go ahead, please. ?

    ? Activating... ?

    The burns on his arms and parts of his chest began to heal, the skin repairing itself. If he didn''t use magic, his injuries would itch terribly and even peel after a few suns.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The level of fire attack, ultimately... was trivial.

    Though the Elemental Spirit was an Iron-Rank, it only had the offensive level of a Bronze. It posed very little kill threat to him and his Ranger.

    He hoped his arrogant disy made it understand that.

    Tycon stepped forward, his arms outstretched... "Now then, little one, are you ready to be obedient?"

    The spirit ''trembled'' as if in fear...

    ? stop . no fighting ?

    ...

    Coraline couldn''t believe it.

    ...not that she had a choice. She watched everything literally happen in front of her.

    Lone and Sir Tychon had defeated an Iron-Rank elemental with their bare hands.

    And... and the young master didn''t even attack it!

    These two were the most powerful beings on the Golden Eagle! The whole time!!

    "Coraline, are you alright?" Lone''s perfect pectorals asked her.

    "Y-you guys... who... WHO ARE YOU?!??!" Coraline shouted at his sweat-covered abs.

    "We''re uh... we''re adventurers?" Lone responded.

    "Well, OBVIOUSLY!!!"

    "Miss Coraline," Tychon sighed.

    "I DON''T WANNA JOIN YOUR GUILD I DON''T CARE HOW HOT YOU GUYS ARE!!!!!!!"

    "...Nor was I asking," The unfairly attractive noble frowned.

    "Aww..." Lone''s abs sighed...

    "Youngdy," Tychon groaned. "I believe you''d be the best candidate for speaking with the Elemental Spirit."

    "Huh?" Coraline took a deep breath of hot air to calm herself down... "What do you mean, Sir? You want me to speak with Beatrice?"

    "Hm. You know her name," Tychon pursed his lips. "That will make things easier. Miss ''Beatrice'' has willfully stated that she refuses to work with me."

    "So... she''ll talk to an elf?" Coraline pursed her lips.

    "That is my hope."

    Coraline gulped. She could give it a try.

    If she couldn''t establish a dialogue with the ship spirit, there would be a whole slew ofplications, though.

    "No pressure, right?" She bared her teeth.

    "Your ''Beatrice'' is threatening to set the Golden Eagle alight," Tychon frowned. "Should you fail, we''ll all die in a fiery ze as we crash into the ocean."

    Lovely.

    She stood up and approached the... ''throbbing'' blur of air, "H... hello... Miss... Beatrice?"

    A whoosh of air surrounded her, observing her, whispering in her ear, squeezing the sweat from her pores.

    ? we know you ?

    "Y-yes... You do."

    It was so strange, sensing... the spirit''s thoughts in her head. Beatrice wasn''t speaking to her using anynguage she knew, but she still understood it intimately... and she somehow knew that Beatrice understood her.

    ? wish to burn ?

    ? boat will burn ?

    ? all will burn ?

 Chapter 530 Friend

    ?Coraline bit her upper lip as she looked around her. There wasn''t really a good ce to focus on. Beatrice was... not in any... particr fixed location.

    "Uh... can we... not burn? The boat? It''s a nice boat."

    "It''s a ship," Tychon scolded, "It''s literally in the name: air-ship."

    Was that really important right now?!

    The spirit seemed to hesitate... flitting about her like a fairy...

    It didn''t seem unhappy, though... It was more like it was... excited?

    ? no burn? ?

    Coralineughed nervously, "I''d really... like for the ship tond safely-- you know, with all the passengers still alive?"

    ? gone ?

    ? nikandros gone ?

    ? no friend ?

    "Aww..." Coraline pursed her lips... She sounded lonely, "You know me, though!"

    ? you are all we know ?

    ? no friend ?

    ? you .friend? ?

    The spirit''s innocence made Coraline smile from the heart, "Of course, I''ll be your friend. My name is Coraline!"

    ? friend ?

    ? beatrice greets you ?

    ? friend coraline ?

    ? no burn ?

    "Th... thank you, Beatrice..." Coraline grinned, relieved that she wasn''t going to be immted to death in the next few moments.

    That... was actually quite nice. Through that short, sweet exchange, she gained an Iron-Rank Elemental Spirit as a friend. Maybe she could even kidnap her and be a Fire Elementalist?

    As for why she could so easily establish a connection with Beatrice?

    It was because she was cute!

    Why two particr individuals kept disrespecting that unnerved her greatly-- but it was FINE! Beatrice understood! That was enough!

    Tychon turned and began heading to the door, "Sounds like you''ve everything in control."

    "Y...yeah..." Coraline stared at the floor, even as Beatrice ''danced'' around her in celebration. "I got it."

    "Wonderful," Tychon waved. "I''m going back to my room to get some rest."

    He left immediately, not giving anyone a chance for a counterargument. She and Lone (and Beatrice!) watched his departing back.

    What a fickle person...

    She still didn''t like him. But he wasn''t... terrible. She just didn''t prefer hispany.

    She turned towards the steadypanion at her side, Mister Lone. He still had a look of concern on his face.

    It wasn''t really a surprise, as it seemed that he was nearly killed by Beatrice. If it wasn''t for Sir Tychon, Lone might have really died just then...

    As friendly as Beatrice was, she was still technically a dangerous, untameable force of nature.

    "H...hey," She muttered quietly.

    "Hey," He smiled.

    ...That smile. Coraline swore she''d never get tricked by that. It seemed... she failed, though.

    "You... you wanna talk? ...Just for a little bit?"

    "Yeah," Lone nodded. "I do. Just you and me, right?"

    ? beatrice also ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    ? Before noon, third sun. Cersei''s Rest. ?

    "I still don''t understand Boss'' puzzle box," Lone groaned as he stepped onto the off-boarding ramp.

    "You wouldn''t," Coraline giggled. "Only a Circle-Mage or... or Sir Tychon would be able to. It was designed for people who had a good sense for magic."

    "But... he exined it! And more than once!" Lone idly scratched the scar on his cheek.

    Cute.

    "Whoa," He held his hand out, blocking her way, "Watch your step."

    "Give me your arm, then," Coraline rolled her eyes as shetched onto his outstretched arm.

    The ramp had a sturdy wooden railing to prevent any idents. However, if he was going to fuss over her, she was going to take advantage of it.

    "Aha, right."

    "Dummy."

    Lone led her down the ramp, allowing Coraline to enjoy the ''safety'' he provided. It made her feel like a princess being attended by a knight.

    Four men from the Church were waiting for them in the receiving area. They immediately moved to intercept them-- odd, because they didn''t have any reason to run.

    Also, escaping Cersei''s Rest was impossible. Besides being the capital and most defended city in Tyrion, it was also... a veryrge ind.

    "Hold," Their leader called out, "You, there-- the gentleman with the elf girl."

    By his attire, he was a Church Inquisitor, wearing a dark, fitted gambeson, a matching wide-brimmed hat, and a draping cloth mask covering his nose and mouth.

    He also looked big enough to snap Coraline in half... and was a little taller than Lone, though that might have been because he was wearing boots?

    "Hey, how''s it goin''?" Lone asked cheerfully.

    ...That was the strangest way Coraline had EVER heard anyone talk to a Church Inquisitor! How could he be so rxed?! Inquisitors could literally order someone to death if they even LOOKED at them wrong!

    "I''m well, thank you," The Inquisitor nodded. His voice was deep and gravelly through his mask, and it sounded like he was speaking out of the side of his mouth. "My name is Inquisitor Sagonis. And you are?"

    "Lone," The boy saluted... which Sagonis promptly returned. "What''s the mask for, Inquisitor? Are you sick?"

    "Axe to the teeth, over a decade back. Wicked scar."

    "Can I see?"

    Sagonis raised an eyebrow... "Sure."

    The Inquisitor briefly took off his mask, causing Coraline to avert her gaze. What she saw underneath it made her want to puke...

    Her male friend had... strange tastes.

    Lone filled the Inquisitor in on the situation... and after he put his cloth mask back on, he approached her.

    "Miss Coraline, I presume?" Sagonis narrowed his eyes, sizing her up... "Decanus Tychon did not mention you were an elf..."

    Coraline smiled politely. Xenophobia ran deep in Tyrion culture, even for elves. Admittedly, this was the best reception she could have hoped for.

    She inclined her head in respect, "That''s correct, Inquisitor."

    "I will have you answer my questions, concerning the murder of your Ambassador, the... gentleman from House Highde."

    "The person responsible is confined to a bed on the ship," Coraline nodded. "I''ll take you to see them."

    If the Church enforcers misbehaved, she''d consider having Beatrice teach them a lesson.

    "Very well," Sagonis nodded. "And the Elven relics?"

    "That..."

    Coraline turned back at the off-boarding ramp.

    Atop it was a certain green-haired noble (who was also a Decanus, it seemed.)

    She smiled politely, "The young master is bringing them now."

 Chapter 531 Avoiding Crucifixion

    ?Tycondrius descended the ramp with a sense of purpose, a bup sack heaved over his shoulder.

    He had contacted the authorities in Cersei''s Rest using the ship''smunication device... and he''d dered his rank as Decanus. It was technically true, as he had been granted a battlefield promotion while he worked for the now-defunct Rhodok adventuring guild.

    For authenticity, he wore a set of Tyrion Decanus armor he''d looted from their forward team''s remains. The sword on his side once belonged to a young, bright-eyed Avenger-- one he killed personally. He hoped he wouldn''t have to kill any more Tyrions, this sun.

    Tycon approached his twopanions and the group of Church enforcers, with whom they were conversing.

    He quickly identified the gentleman with thergest hat, rendering a salute, "Good morning, Inquisitor. Decanus Tycon reporting as ordered."

    "Good morning, Decanus," The cloth-masked Inquisitor returned his own sharpened salute. "My name is Inquisitor Sagonis... And my first inquiry is: where... is... your helmet?"

    "Forgive me. It was lost in honorable battle, fighting against heretics in Ezyria."

    "Mm. Granted," Sagonis nodded. "I trust you''ll amend that before reporting to your... Centurion?"

    "Of course," Tycon sighed... "It seems I''m never more than a single mistake away from crucifixion."

    "Decanus... Tychon... admittedly, I am unfamiliar with your name," The Inquisitor took a few steps to the side... keeping vignt, "I''d think I''d have remembered such... peculiar eyes."

    "*I''d* like to think I''ve been promoted for my skill, rather than my handsome appearance."

    "Hm. I hope the same of me," Sagonis adjusted his cloth mask, briefly revealing a wicked scar... "And who exactly, may I ask... is your superior?

    Tycon took care not to roll his eyes.

    It was an unspoken rule amongst current and former military members to informally ''test'' their peers. It was a social game... They wouldpare their time in service, their achievements, the prestige of their Legion... and sometimes, even their legitimacy.

    As Sagonis'' Munifices were not-so-subtly dispersing, positioning better to block off any avenue of escape, Tycon judged it was thetter.

    "I work for Archbishop Natalya Crucis," Tycon sneered defiantly, "You might have heard of her."

    The Inquisitor subconsciously straightened his own back upon hearing the name... "I see."

    "Is that a look of pity, Brother-Inquisitor?"

    "Something like that," Sagonis shook his head, "She is... difficult to work with, from what I''m told."

    With that, Tycon was fairly certain he''d passed the Inquisitor''s test.

    ...However, he wasn''t entirely certain that was something to be pleased about.

    From there, they exchanged some mundane pleasantries. Tycon was introduced to Sagonis'' three subordinates and informed of a popr local eatery called the ck-Tailed Gull (it had had opened up in thest half-year.) Most importantly, he was given a rmendation on where to purchase regtion equipment for a reasonable price.

    Inquisitor Sagonis, despite his viinous voice and rough exterior, proved to be a very conversational, if hard-working gentleman. Tycon respected that.

    The young elf, Coraline, led the Inquisitor''s men back onto the Golden Eagle to recover Edan and Olesya. Both were charged with murder.

    The Church enforcers were well equipped to deal with resistance. They admitted to hoping for it.

    "Decanus," Sagonis addressed him. "Your elf has informed me that you have the Elven artifacts."

    "Indeed. Though, with all due respect," Tycon grimaced, "she''s not *my* elf."

    The Inquisitor sighed, "If you''re going to reprimand me, Tychon..."

    "--Oh, no. Don''t misunderstand," Tycon chuckled. "She is the romantic partner of my mercenarypanion."

    "Hmph. The scarred boy?" Sagonis narrowed his eyes... "He''s a fine young man. Guide him well."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I try," Tycon shrugged.

    "The artifacts?"

    He lifted up his bup sack and reached in, firmly gripping a cat by the loose skin on the back of its neck. The ck, white, and brown calico hissed, violently scratching at his hand.

    "This... is a Druid from Alizeau," Tycon presented it forward. "Are you familiar with the ss?"

    "I am, Decanus. Vile transformation magic, for certain," The Inquisitor groaned as he unstrapped a metal cor from his belt, "Reveal thyself, Witch... and perhaps I may be merciful."

    Tycon rolled his eyes and groaned, "Brother-Inquisitor,e now. Mercy is not in the Church''s doctrine."

    "The Witch doesn''t know that."

    "If she does not, she will," Tycon smirked. "Release your transformation, Miss Felicity, or I will break your legs on the Inquisitor''s behalf."

    "Oh, please, Decanus," Sagonis chuckled, "There is no greater joy amongst our faithful, than the *breaking* of Witches."

    "Hm," Tycon pursed his lips as he grabbed hold of the cat''s hind paw, "Sound logic. I''ll begin, then--"

    Before Tycon could be granted such ''joy'', he felt the Druid begin to transform. In a sh of magic and a puff of smoke, Miss Felicity returned to her human form.

    An adult woman, she wore proper adventuring gear, padded armor, a sword on her side... and two familiar des on her back.

    Tycon tossed her to the ground, kicking her hard in the abdomen. Quickly mounting her back, he locked her arm in a painful hold.

    Arm control. Neck control. Those were most important in subduing a difficult individual.

    "AUGH! L-let go of me!!" She screamed, struggling desperately.

    Tycon dislocated her shoulder, prompting an ear-splitting shriek. Arm control.

    "Impressive," The Inquisitor nodded as hetched the null-magic cor tight around her neck. "That isn''t the first time you''ve done that."

    "Indeed," Tycon chuckled, releasing his grip and rolling off of the Druid. "There is a magical tool on the ship to verify the swords'' authenticity."

    "Very good," The Inquisitor grabbed the human woman by the hair and dragged her to the standing, "That will be all then."

    Felicity seemed to have some choice words to say on the matter... "HAhhhhhHH! Harrghhckkk!"

    Thankfully, it seemed her magical cor also prevented her from speaking.

    Tycon gestured to the woman, "I''d like a receipt for this."

    The taller man red in response, "You can trust my word, Decanus. I am an Inquisitor who answers only to the High Oracle."

    Tycon bared his teeth in chagrin, "Forgive my rudeness, Inquisitor Sagonis, but... you know my superior."

    He removed a rolled-up parchment from a pouch, offering it forward.

    The Inquisitor stared for a moment... but relented with a sigh.

    "I do not envy you, Brother-Decanus," He retrieved his pen and inkpot, "Very well. Let us ensure one of our finest avoids crucifixion, this sun."

    "I appreciate it," Tycon chuckled derisively, "I hear and obey... for the glory of the Eternal me."

    ",

 Chapter 532 Dinner Invitation

    ?Coraline breathed a sigh of relief, watching the Church''s men walk off with their captives: Felicity, Edan, and Olesya.

    The three of them had survived the events on the Golden Eagle... but with three counts of murder and two counts of grand theft.

    They would not have long lives...

    "It''s so unnerving dealing with the Church of the Eternal me," She groaned, shaking her head. "It''s like... they''re always looking for signs of heresy."

    The green-haired Decanus frowned, "That is... essentially an Inquisitor''s job description."

    "Coraline..." Lone bit his upper lip, "How did you know? That it was Felicity, I mean?"

    Coraline puffed out her cheeks in contemtion... "I recognized her tattoos... they''re distinctly Elven-- and they mark her as belonging to a Druidic Order. Druids can turn into animals... and during their transformations, their gear gets melded with them."

    "Ohhh," Lone grinned. "You''re pretty smart Coraline."

    "Hah, right..." Coraline smiled politely.

    She actually felt very stupid. Sir Tychon knew about it, the whole time... If she hadn''t learned about the loopholes in the ship formations, she might not have figured it out, at all.

    It was... blind luck that she''d met the two of them.

    Lone had absolute trust in his superior... and admittedly, he was reliable in the worst of situations.

    It made her reconsider joining their guild...

    Bleigh. She''d have to think about that in the future. She couldn''t waste her airship ticket to the Eastern States. It was expensive.

    "Coraliiiiiiine!!!!!"

    She turned abruptly to see two approaching Popotoes, one of them waving like a madwoman. Coraline waved back, trying not to mind the harsh looks of the various Tyrion passersby.

    Empty night, she haaaaated being stared at...

    "So d we found you!" Mister Giorgio huffed, "We''d thought you''d already left?"

    A tearful Lucrezia rushed to Coraline and embraced her at the waist, "Oh, Coraline! I''m so d that all that dreadful business is behind us!"

    Coraline hugged Lucrezia back, "Me too, Auntie Lu... Oh, I''m so sorry about your chain. It was so beautiful..."

    "It''s fine, dear," Lucrezia held her hand, gently smiling. "As long as you''re safe, everything is fine~!"

    Lone wore a troubled smile, "Wh... what are you guys wearing?"

    The two Popotoes had forgone their usual wealthy-middle ss attire. Auntie Lucrezia was wearing a multi-colored dress and wide-brimmed sun-hat (and was without her gloves.) Mister Giorgio was wearing a gaudy striped shirt, half-trousers, and a small pack where his belt buckle would be.

    "After everything that happened... I just wanted to wear something simple," Lucrezia smiled.

    "It looks great on you, Auntie," Coraline beamed.

    "This is my *adventuring* gear! --so to speak," Giorgio chuckled. "Especially this lightweight, leather kangaroo pouch! It''s very convenient for touring to see the sights."

    Lone nodded in awe, "I... I want one."

    "I forbid you from wearing that in my presence," Tychon whispered harshly.

    "Miss Coraline, have you finally decided to travel with Mister Lone?" The older woman smiled, her eyes shining radiantly in the afternoon sun.

    Giorgio put an arm around his wife, "Oh! You two are a wonderful match!! And Sir Tychon, you would be their protective older brother!!"

    "I feel like an exasperated parent," The noble rolled his eyes.

    "Nonsense, my boy! You''re far too young for that!" Giorgio insisted, "Don''t be in such a hurry to grow up! Enjoy it! It won''tst forever!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Y-yes," Coraline admitted. "Tomorrow evening, I''m leaving for the Archangel... but Mister Lone and I will... will be going on an... an outing in the morning."

    "It''s a date!" Lone grinned.

    Coraline chopped the idiot boy in the throat. He bent over, holding his neck and coughing painfully.

    "Oh, wonderful! Absolutely lovely!" Giorgio cheered.

    Lucrezia put her palms together, "Dearest Coraline... is your boyfriend quite alright?"

    "He''ll be fine," Tychon answered for her. "Now... if you''ll excuse us, Mister Giorgio, Lady Lucrezia, we must be off to arrange a ce to stay."

    "How about we travel just a little bit longer!" Giorgio pouted, "Dinner! On me! How about it?!"

    Coraline bowed her head... then grabbed the back of Lone''s head and forced him to bow with her, "I''m sorry, Mister Giorgio. We really must be going."

    Tychon took a step forward... "Where do you propose?"

    Coraline reached up to snatch at the noble''s ear, "What do you think you''re doing *Sir*?"

    With a smooth grab and twist, Tychon removed her hand, "Mister Lone."

    As the noble rotated Coraline''s arm over her head, she found herself spinning-- and terrifyingly fast... "Eee!!"

    "I got you!" Lone caught her by the waist and dipped her as if they were dance partners.

    ...Dazed as she was, whatever had just happened was nothing short of impressive.

    Tychon smoothed out the folds on his robe, "I''ve... found thepany of the Castiglioni''s to be... nice. Let''s travel together, another sun longer."

    "Oh, that would be wonderful!" Lucrezia pped her hands together in excitement.

    Giorgio bobbed his head up and down, "I met a town crier earlier that absolutely RAVED about a restaurant called the ck-Tailed Gull!"

    "We ept your invitation," The young master dered.

    "Aha..." Lone chuckled... rubbing at his neck, "Boss'' biggest weakness is food."

    Coraline pursed her lips. That could be useful information... "Well, I suppose it''ll be fine."

    ...

    ? Later that evening. ?

    Dinner with the Castiglioni''s was excellent-- even though Tycondrius did have to suffer nearly two bells of Pettaia history and stratagems.

    During which, they discussed the following sun''s ns.

    In the morning, Tycon would pay a visit to the Basilica. Though simply named, it was thergest and most defensible Church structure in the nation, erected in the near-center of Cersei''s Rest.

    Lone and Coraline would be going on their outing, which wouldst until the early evening. At that time, they''d see her off on her airship to the Eastern States.

    After dinner, Tycon was happy to withdraw to thefort of his inn room. He was looking forward to taking inventory of his and Lone''s gear.

    As for the two children, they''d split off from the group to visit a nature trail... or something of that design.

    However, after a few bells... he heard a knock on his door.

    Opening it... he beheld the sight of Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark.

 Chapter 533 Nuance

    ?Tycondrius reclined in his room''sfortable chair, listening to Lone detail the minutiae of after-dinner adventures.

    "--and the nature trail was really nice! And we got to see the fireworks with the Basilica in the background, too! It''s like-- a magical castle!"

    "That is correct," Tycon mused. "The Basilica is a fortified structure, with magical formations guarding its walls."

    "Fair enough," Lone chuckled.

    Tres Leches let out azy yawn as the young Ranger stroked its metal coat. He was lying in his bedroll... prepared to sleep on the floor.

    That was technically fine. The room only had a single bed and Tycon was not nning on sharing.

    However, he found the very presence of the young man and wolf... baffling.

    "Mister Lone..." Tycon pursed his lips... thinking carefully on his next words.

    "Yes, Boss?"

    "I recall... you used your own coin to purchase the use of an inn room."

    "Well... yeah," Lone sighed wistfully. "It was really nice!"

    So he''d... been to his room. Tycon paused, inhaling through his nostrils... "Then I must ask: why... are you here? In... *my* room?"

    "I mean... is it okay?" Lone sat up, frowning, "I didn''t want to sleep outside?"

    "Well... yes. I would be a disservice to make you sleep outside if we have indoor lodging," Tycon pursed his lips, "I mean to say... why are you *not* in the room you paid for?"

    "Oh," Lone sat up. "Coraline came to my room and... and we sat up and talked for a while. You know, we talked a little more about what we''d do tomorrow... like which beach we were going to? And we might go to a war museum?"

    "...Go on."

    "Well, Coraline said she wanted to sleep in a bed? So... I told her she could sleep in mine. So... I came here."

    Tycon''s eye twitched... it sounded... correct, but something seemed... off? Like there was a nuance either he or Lone was missing, "Very well... That was rather polite of you."

    "Yeah," Lone shrugged, lying back down. "I just wanted to be a gentleman, y''know? I''m not... a noble or anything. But I tried to think... what would a noble do?"

    That was not at all what an entitled noble would do. Tycon decided not to inform him of that.

    "I asked her if she''d join our guild..." Lone sighed, "She uh... she didn''t believe me when I said I was part of Sol Invictus."

    "Ah, a shame," Tycon shook his head.

    Coraline would have been an excellent addition to Sol Invictus, and it seemed she had a unique interrogation skill that would be useful for internal affairs. Sorina Capulet would be able to utilize her.

    Unfortunately, Mister Lone''s persuasive abilities were... unrefined. Also, their guild, Sol Invictus, had a certain reputation for being a very elitebat force. Tycon hypothesized that the youngdy might have been intimidated.

    "She said she wasn''t ready to join a guild." Lone blew out an exasperated puff of air... "I mean, I didn''t want to be pushy-- or to guilt her about it."

    "Right..." Tycon averted his gaze.

    Guilt and entrapment were strategies often used by Sol Invictus'' Chief Financial Officer, Sorina Capulet. Using it, she recruited a number of excellent talents, including Maeva Leserre, Popoto Potata Pota, and Boxtholomaeus.

    "I just wish..." Lone took in a deep breath... "That... I could just drop everything and go? Not that I''d want to... but, I guess I''d like the ability to. Does that make sense, Boss?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Don''t be daft," Tycon chuckled lightly, "There are rules in ce that would allow you to annul your contract."

    Lone groaned, "Right... The only way is to buy my way out, right? And that''ll take... a zillion years."

    "Hah, no, you dolt," Tycon shook his head. "Why does no one read the terms and conditions of their service?"

    "Boss, the contract was written in thenguage of the Holy Country!"

    "Yes," Tycon furrowed his brows. "Is there... an issue with that?"

    Lone bared his teeth, "That''s not something normal people can read."

    "...Fair point," Tycon conceded. "Very well. Outside of any legality loopholes-- unjust treatment and the like... you can contest your contract by way of Trial by Combat."

    "Huh?" Lone furrowed his brows... "Who would I have to beat?"

    "Abatant of my choosing," Tycon smirked. "Which would be me. I was the one who personally enlisted you, after all. As a side, the young Pale has the same conditions for properly earning the mantle of Invictus'' Leader."

    "Don''t suppose you''d... let me win, Boss?" Lone grinned, "Or Pale, for that matter?"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Not a chance... but take heart. That is yet another reason for you to train harder."

    Lone chuckled softly, "Yeah... I''m getting there, though. Any advice?"

    "A proper sleep cycle, for one," Tycon smirked. "You''re going out with Miss Coraline tomorrow morning, are you not?"

    "Hah, yeah. I am," Lone sighed contentedly. "I''mma go ahead and get some rest then, Boss. Turn off themp light, please."

    "Very well," Tycon reached for the knob on the deskmp. "Good night, Mister Lone."

    ...

    ? The following evening... ?

    Coraline took a deep breath of the cold wind atop the airship docks. The passenger airship she was going to board was a normal one, its passenger list in the hundreds. There wasn''t going to be any small, intimate murder mystery on this trip-- or so she hoped.

    "So what guild are you *really* from?" Coraline jabbed Lone in the side with her elbow.

    "I told you, before," He grinned. "I''m from Sol Invictus."

    She looked at the somewhat handsome cheek-scarred boy at her side. He was always ying the fool. His words were so sweet, so pure... yet the drivel that came out of his mouth couldn''t possibly be true.

    "Such a LIARRRR!!" Coraline giggled, rolling her eyes. "And then you''ll tell me you trained under Lord Ranger Quies, himself?"

    "I met him, once," Lone scratched his head, that broad smile of his never fading. "He seemed nice?"

    "Hah?" The boy''s absolute confidence made her hesitate briefly... "Was he really an elf?"

    "Um. Yes?"

    "Please form a single-file queue!" The airship guardsman announcement interrupted her thoughts. "Cersei''s Rest to the City of Archangel! No stops to the Eastern States!"

 Chapter 534 Promise

    ?Reality washed over Coraline as she gazed into Lone''s eyes.

    She... made a mistake.

    She actually had fun... on her date.

    She''d said that it would never happen.

    She even promised herself...

    She utilized the power of DETERMINATION to make it so!

    But... in sharing Lone''spany... in dealing with his honesty and protectiveness and... his cute metal wolf... she let her guard down.

    And now... everything hade to an end. She was going to board that airship... and go home.

    "Hey, uh..." Lone idly scratched at his cheek. "I want you to have this."

    Coraline''s eyes lit up, staring at the dull metal circle in Lone''s offered hand.

    He. was giving her. a ring.

    "H''yah!!" Coralineunched a palm-heel strike at Lone''s face-- which he unfairly dodged.

    She quickly followed up with a dozen normal-consecutive-punches. He couldn''t dodge those!

    "Wh-wh-wh-wwhaaat is thisSSssSs?!?" Coraline roared.

    "It''s! Ow! Ow!" Lone defended himself with one arm-- and poorly, "It''s-- it''s something to remember me by!?! Come on! Stop!"

    Coraline snatched the ring out of the boy''s still open palm. It was cheap, but something like that came to no surprise. It was Lone she was dealing with, after all.

    "You can''t take it back!" She growled angrily, "This is mine now! PRECIOUS!!"

    Lone rubbed the side of his reddening face, "Th-that''s fine."

    ...Coraline''s hand hurt from punching and pping him. But more than that... her chest felt warm... and it felt like tiny confused fish were swimming around in her stomach. This person... this boy... he actually cared about her enough to give her... to give her a...

    Bleighhhhh.

    "So this... this is... a promise ring, right?" She asked nervously, "That we''ll meet again? Right?"

    "Um. Sure?"

    She smacked him again, "Could you THINK about what this MEANS?! Just for a moment?!"

    "I did! It is!" Lone insisted, "So, could you stop hitting me? Please?"

    Coraline held the ring possessively against her chest... "You''re... you''re my boyfriend now. You can''t fool around with anyone else..."

    "Oh," Lone''s eyes widened.

    "What''s with that RESPONSE??! Aren''t you HAPPY?!?"

    The beating resumed.

    "I''m happy! Thank you! I''m sorry?! Please stop!" Lone pleaded.

    Coraline took a deep breath and wiped a bead of perspiration off of her forehead... (Also, she canceled her activation of ?Force Punch?...)

    This... this boy really made her mad... but...

    He...

    He made her happy.

    "H...hey," She muttered...

    "...Hey," Lone grinned.

    That kind of response made her want to hit him again...

    "Ahem..." She coughed into her closed fist and straightened her back, "Mister Lone! Can I... can I ask you a question?"

    "Huh?" The boy raised his eyebrows, "You uh... never asked for permission before?"

    "It''s important," Coraline red. "Just say yes."

    "Y...yes."

    Biting her lip, she performed the gestures in her memory... Everything was just as she practiced... everything felt right... The mana flowed through her circuits, her hands flowed with the gentle movements, and she formed a diamond-shape with her fingers.

    "?Swords of Truth...?"

    She felt tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She... she didn''t want to use her magic. But... it was part of her nature. She was hurt too many times before to trust blindly.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She wanted to believe him so badly. Everything in her heart was telling her that it was okay... that he was too stupid to betray her trust.

    But still... she doubted. That was the way she lived her life... by doubting everything... by asking questions.

    So... Coraline took the easy way out... with a truth spell.

    It wasn''t healthy for a rtionship.

    It was insulting, really.

    But... she really wanted to know the truth. She needed it.

    Could she trust this boy-- trust in the ring he gave her? Or was it another meaningless lie?

    Even faced with her oppressive and rude magic spell...

    Lone smiled... "Ask away."

    Coraline felt her lips tremble...

    She hated that smile.

    She... fell in love with that smile.

    It was a dangerous smile... belonging to an infuriating individual... a fool who sought to protect her, no matter what.

    ...The dummy even thought he was immortal.

    She looked up to meet his gaze... "Lone... where were you when you first started liking me?"

    Lone sighed... "Seeing you yell at my boss on the docks at Rixus? No..."

    "Try again," Coraline grimaced. She did *not* yell, back then. She wanted to, but she didn''t!

    "Sitting across from you at the table in the Golden Eagle''s dining hall?"

    "No way!!!" Coraline fumed. All Lone did at that table was stare at her judgmentally-- like she was a clown!

    "Oh, I remember," Lone smirked. "? I liked you from the first moment I saw you. ?"

    Coraline felt her cheeks burn red hot as if Beatrice just punched her in the face.

    "Y-y-y-y-you IDIOT!!!"

    "Hey! Ow! Stop hitting me! Please?!" Lone cried.

    "STUPID! STUPID BOYFRIEND!!!" Coraline shouted, "How DARE you be SWEET to me just as I''m LEAVINNNNGGGG!!!!!"

    Her ears twitched.

    There was a sound in the air... so very faint. She''d heard it before-- but couldn''t remember why it was important.

    It was a finger-snap... and it resounded through the air.

    What did it mean?

    Before she knew it, Lone had taken hold of her hand... and his lips were pressed against hers.

    ...In a panic, Coraline closed her eyes.

    She had to. Kisses were weird if you didn''t close your eyes.

    Her strength left her. Her anger left her. Embarrassment-- that was gone, too.

    --No, nevermind. That was still there. But it wasn''t so bad.

    She pushed up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around her boyfriend and kissed him back.

    It made her want to cry.

    It also made her want to throw him off of the docks, (but only a little.)

    She sighed and nted her feet back down on the floor... "That... that wasn''t fair, you know."

    Lone... he smiled. That was it. That was fine.

    ...That was aggravating.

    If he didn''t say anything back, it was harder for her to yell at him.

    She reached up to nt ast kiss on her boyfriend''s cheek... "I''ll see you."

    "Yeah," Lone nodded. "See you."

 Chapter 535 The Basilica

    ?? The following morning... ?

    Tycondrius took a deep breath to calm his anxiety.

    He and Lone were infiltrating the Basilica, the nigh-imprable fortress where the Holy Country''s High Oracle resided.

    Using his true form to sneak in was not a viable option. The risk of triggering the formations, entering as a non-human, were too great. Worse, there were likely additional and more dangerous formations within the grounds.

    ...And besides, snakes were not looked upon kindly as of recent centuries.

    Entering the Basilica using proper channels would have him waiting for several suns, if not weeks-- longer if his unseen enemies were to act against him.

    Those enemies had been an unrelenting hindrance to him in past moons.

    Athena Vanzano''s holdings in Caeruleum had been lost. Worshippers of the Snake Cult within the city''s leadership had twisted their humanws to oppress him.

    It was a grievous insult to him. It was infuriating.

    He didn''t particrly care for the men and women sacrificed. He didn''t even know their names.

    However... they belonged to Athena. And most things that belonged to Athena, belonged to him. Those hidden enemies took his assets, his coin. They spat upon his well-meaning efforts to bring goods and services to the people of the Holy Country forpetitive prices.

    Tycon would have hispensation.

    Only death awaited the enemies of Sol Invictus.

    If he were operating in the Free Nation, he''d have immediately gathered a gods-damned army, and whipped them into a bloodrage to demand rpense.

    If he were to get his way in the Holy Country... he''d do the exact same.

    He''d raze the city... burn it to its skeletal remains... ughter both the heretics and those that chose ignorance over patriotism. He''d drive his enemies out of hiding, tear out their still-beating hearts, and spout some drivel about justice and righteousness.

    The irony was admittedly enjoyable on the giving end-- rather than on the receiving.

    Maybe he just wanted to murder people. For once, he had decent reasons for it.

    Tycon raised the visor of his helmet and turned to re at the Ranger following close behind, "Look alive, Mister Lone."

    The Lone Shadowdark was dragging his feet, looking as if he were half-dead, "I''ming, Boss..."

    Though the young man hadn''t explicitly stated so, he was in a state of... loss since the previous evening-- after Miss Coraline''s departure.

    He''d get over it.

    ...Maybe.

    Tycon ced a reassuring hand on hispanion''s shoulder, "We''ll get you a pen and parchment to use in a few suns."

    The Ranger let out an exaggerated sigh, "Why would I want that?"

    "You can write your girlfriend a letter," Tycon narrowed his eyes. "Or had you not realized she might want to hear from you?"

    "Mm..." Lone perked up, "Yeah... alright. Alright!! ...Yeah!"

    "Once is enough, Mister Lone," Tycon groaned. "Now... I''ll have your thoughts on this ce."

    Lone nced up and all around him, at the high columns, wall and ceiling murals, and geometric tile designs of the Basilica, "It''s uh... big."

    Tycon was hoping Lone would have... possible battle tactics in mind, or at the very least, something relevant.

    Still, general observations were fair.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Anything else?" Tycon gestured.

    "I... I''m not sure we should be doing this," He mumbled underneath his breath. "Didn''t you say we were supposed to wait to see the Archbishop?"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "The wait to see Natalya Crucis properly is *criminal*, to use Tyrion diction. Worry not. I memorized theyout, the other sun, while you were out gallivanting."

    "But... thatdy''s like... a Church noble? And we''re kinda--"

    Before he could finish, Lone''s shoulder was clipped by a passing Munifex. Unable to keep his bnce, the young man mmed his elbow awkwardly and painfully against one of the many marble columns, "O..."

    "me take you, man! Watch where you''re goin''!" The armored human red.

    "I advise *you* to watch yournguage, Munifex," Tycon growled. "And open your mescarred eyes..."

    The offending whelp looked Tycon up and down before inclining his head, "My apologies, Decanus."

    "How about you apologize to my subordinate? He outranks you, as well."

    The Munifex cursed underneath his breath but rendered a crisp salute, "I apologize, gentlemen."

    "Y-yeah!" Lone barked back indignantly.

    "You too," Tycon red. "Respect goes both ways."

    "Aha..." Lone rubbed the back of his head, "My bad, man."

    The Munifex looked stunned for a moment, but nodded respectfully, "N-no problem, Sir."

    "You look like you have some time, young man," Tycon pursed his lips. "Direct us to Archbishop Crucis'' office, if you would."

    ...

    Tycon pushed open the heavy door with slight difficulty. He needed to circte his mana in order to do so with one arm.

    He expected no less from Archbishop Natalya Crucis, for even her doors to be so... oppressively burdensome.

    Taking up most of the Archbishop''s personal office was arge nning table at the opposite end. It held arge map of the Holy Country, various pawns and pieces shoved about it. It seemed her own forces were marked in red-- her favored color, it seemed.

    Everything else in the room was overlyrge, bordering on tyrannical. The walls disyed crimson-red battle gs and the furniture was made of looming darkwoods, tipped with sharp ornamentation.

    ...Tycon thought this was the Holy Country, not the... Dark, Spiky-Overlord Country.

    The stylistic choices of the Archbishop matched quite well to that of her Centurion, Zenon Skyreaper. Perhaps that was why she wanted that fellow to seed.

    The room was also cold... frigid... matching the character Natalya preferred to convey.

    Tycon would have liked to think it was because she knew he''d be arriving.

    He doubted that was the case.

    Natalya Crucis was seated at her desk, diligently reading some official-looking documentation. Even working on mundane paperwork, she wore a ceremonial suit of blood-red armor, mostly functional in that it was both padded and warm.

    "Get the f*ck out or be crucified at dawn," She said... not even bothering to identify the two handsome gentlemen that had just entered herir.

    ...By her words, Tycon knew the woman did not actually realize it was him.

    Crucifixion at dawn was too polite of a threat.

    Tycon bowed politely, "Good morning, Natalya."

 Chapter 536 Bearing Gifts

    ?"?Lux et VERITAS!!?" The Archbishop thrust her palm forward, a golden orb of radiant mana condensed in her hand.

    Tycondrius nodded in appreciation. It looked quite dangerous.

    Lone immediately dove out of the way, sliding clumsily on the waxed and polished floor and hiding underneath a bench.

    Ignoring his Ranger, Tycon seated himself on the hardwood chair opposite Natalya. There was no seat cushion and the Archbishop''s high-backed chair was raisedpared to his... but he was used to sitting on stone to converse with far more... intimidating allies.

    "Did you get my message?" Tycon smirked.

    The Archbishop growled, mming her palm into her desk. She forcibly quenched her offensive spell. That was quite nice of her, as it was very capable of severely injuring Tycon and obliterating her very nice door.

    "Tycondrius..." Natalya''s voice dripped with displeasure. "Had I known you wereing, I''d have arranged to crucify you before sundown."

    Tycon bared his teeth in a grin, "I''d like to apply to *not* be crucified, if at all possible."

    "To be seen," Natalya rolled her eyes as she pushed away her stack of papers. "Perhaps I just want to see you stripped, yed, and paraded around the capital?"

    "I consider myself a modest gentleman, Lady Crucis," Tycon leaned forward, steepling his fingers, "Perhaps I can entertain you in private?"

    The Archbishop crossed her arms, clearly not amused, "What did you bring me?"

    Ah. He was ready for this. He produced a small booklet and ced it on the woman''s desk.

    Natalya eyed it suspiciously, "This is?"

    "Coupons for Olea Garden."

    "Not good enough."

    Tycon pursed his lips in a grimace. He was really hoping it would be... He reached forward to take it back-- but the Archbishop greedily snatched it away. He was left with his empty hand extended awkwardly.

    Natalya sneered at his difort, "What *else* did you bring me, Ivory Prince?"

    Tycon let out a light sigh. He didn''t like Olea Garden... but there was a ''Buy One Get One Free'' offer he could have used.

    He stood and flicked his wrist to summon his other gift from his spatial ring. Bowing ostentatiously, he presented the Archbishop a thick bouquet of freshly picked roses. The color perfectly matched her general decor and had the luck of also matching her chosen attire.

    "Really?" Natalya groaned, "How dare you use your... parlor tricks here. Don''t you know that magic is synonymous with heresy in--"

    The woman stood to snatch the bouquet out of Tycon''s hands... and hesitated, "Oh... These are real?"

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded. "I pray sleight of hand isn''t so serious an offense."

    He was far more reliant on the flowers than the coupon book. They were expensive. To haggle the price down, he''d expended no small amount of time and effort, as well as hard work and healthy sweat. Thetter, of course, was provided by Lone spending two bells splitting firewood for that stingy florist.

    By the look of wonder in Natalya''s eyes, the woman seemed properly mollified.

    Tycon decided to press his advantage, "Perhaps that rates a dy in my execution?"

    Natalya returned her expression to a fierce scowl, "Again, that is to be seen."

    Tycon pursed his lips. Perhaps a different avenue of attack would prove more effective...

    "Then would it rate us holding our intimate affairs behind closed doors?"

    "Brazen talk,ing from you." The woman ced the bouquet back on her desk, "I would love to wipe that arrogant smirk off your face."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, grinning, "And I''d love to hear you scream."

    Natalya scoffed, her voice raising in pitch, "Are you threatening *me*? An Archbishop?"

    "With a good time-- yes, I suppose."

    The woman took a deep breath, twisting her lips and closing her eyes... "Are you aware of the meaning of roses in thenguage of flowers?"

    Tycon briefly reviewed his knowledge... and that was not in his repertoire. Thus, he formed his next words of his preferrednguage: deception and false praise.

    "I do not. I found them appropriate because I found them the most beautiful. They suit you."

    Women liked flowers. They also liked being called beautiful. Beauty is subjective, therefore it was not a lie.

    He very much hoped that those two things were as constant as his memories told him. The threat of death by crucifixion was very real.

    "Mmm~" Natalya hummed as she sat on the edge of her desk, half-turned away. It was a pose that entuated her overlyrge pair of buttocks, "Roses... they do have thorns. Are you trying to say something of me, Prince Tycondrius?"

    Tycon hesitated.

    That... was a trick question. He did not want to answer it.

    His best bet was to deflect it awkwardly-- which unfortunately, would make him appear weak.

    "Right!" Lone stood up from wherever the hells he was hiding, "Boss means to say that thorns cause bleeding if a guy were to fall in your bush!"

    Tycon grabbed the man by the cor and pulled him close to growl in his ear, "Really, Mister Lone?"

    "Boss!" He whispered harshly, "You guys were talkin'' about sex! It was clever! Give me some credit!"

    "Why is *he* here?" Natalya gestured dismissively.

    Tycon gulped. He wanted to thank hispanion for the artful save, but it was not the time.

    He shoved Lone away and adjusted the young man''s mussed clothing... "Why *are* you here, Mister Lone? Perhaps you should leave."

    "Aha... r-right," Lone bowed,bat-rolled to the door, and let himself out with respectable speed.

    "My apologies, Archbishop," Tycon turned with a... with an admittedly nervous grin.

    "Why are *you* here?" Natalya winked coquettishly, "Perhaps *you* should leave."

    ...Damn. Tycon could not win against this woman.

    She gestured towards the bouquet, "The roses, Prince."

    Grimacing, Tycon picked them back up... "If they aren''t to your liking, I''ll get rid of them."

    He intended to ce them back in his spatial ring where they''d keep fresh. It shouldn''t be too difficult, hawking them in the streets afterward.

    "There is a vase on the shelf behind you," She waved. "Remove the oleanders. Rece them with the roses."

    ...So she did like them.

    Tycondrius of Charm, Gold-Rank Holy-Room-Decorator, performed his assigned task.

 Chapter 537 Bluff

    ?The Archbishop had circled around her desk, sitting on its edge in front of Tycondrius. She crossed her long legs while she brandished a sharpened dagger.

    She seemed determined to make him feel as unsafe as possible, alone in her presence.

    "Tell me why you''re here," She said. "And if you say it''s to bed me, I will execute you immediately."

    Tycon tilted his head, "I suppose that''s because you already knew?"

    Natalya casually flipped the dagger forward.

    Dangerous.

    He carefully caught the rotating de with his thumb and forefinger. Having sessfully protected his vulnerable genitals, Tycon then tossed it aside.

    The woman followed the de with her eyes, watching it sink into the wood of her nning table... It marked a certain Ezyrian trade hub.

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat. "The Brazen Guard were recently assigned a mission that furthered the agenda of the Snake Cult."

    "From the city of Caeruleum?" She ced a finger to her lips. "They had issued a statement damning the Kasydonian guild as heretics."

    "Do you believe them, Lady Crucis?" Tycon smirked.

    "Do you have any evidence, Ivory Prince?" Natalya rolled her eyes.

    "The surviving members of the Brazen Guard Collective, including the members of Athena''s Guild Letalis, can testify under a ?Zone of Truth?."

    Natalya shook her head, "You know magic doesn''t hold in awful trial, especially in Tyrion. You have no heretical relics, there was no reportable structural damage-- you couldn''t even bring back any corpses! You have nothing."

    Tycon leaned forward. It was a dangerous risk, as he was well within the woman''s striking range, "Do you believe *me,* Natalya?"

    Natalya leaned back, looking up in thought, "Most of the Senate seems convinced."

    "Ridiculous..." Tycon seethed through clenched teeth.

    "Despite the reports, there are enough that doubt the Brazen Guard''s sudden treachery..." Natalya pursed her lips... "Many have taken sides, allowing me to better separate my allies from my enemies. For that, you have my thanks..."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "However?"

    "However... I need a proper cause in order to act against the city proper. All I have are my suspicions."

    "The sword of the Eternal me has fallen for less," Tycon offered politely.

    "For non-humans and Witches, yes," Natalya clicked her tongue. "It shames me to say, but I need more than that to sentence my people to death."

    Tycon ced his hand on his chin... "What do you need from me?"

    Natalya smirked as she looked him over.

    ...He held an impassive gaze, keeping his calm under the Gold-Rank woman''s scrutiny. It made him very ufortable. Tycon rather preferred being predator than prey.

    "I need..." Natalya paused... "Something. Anything. I need physical evidence of Caeruleum''s affiliation with the Snake Cult-- even if you have to fabricate it."

    "Hmph," Tycon crossed his arms. "How reliable are your Scryers?"

    The Archbishop nodded, "Any item you can produce, I can track down their owners in less than a bell."

    Scrying magic was considered ''divine guidance,'' allowing the Church''s sanctified psykers to identify heretics for violent interrogations. That scrying was not considered as heretical as other, less mundane magics, was yet another of the Holy Country''s hypocrisies.

    "I have something to show you," Tycon averted his gaze. "Something you can crucify me for."

    Natalya waved her hand, aglow with magic. The heavy doors to her chambers locked with a suitably heavy bolt.

    "I''ll have it, then," The woman licked her lips. "Now."

    A bead of sweat had formed on Tycon''s forehead. Reaching into the lining of his robe, he activated his spatial ring... and removed a small coin.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was a favor of the Snake Cult. He had earned it from one of their heretical members in the city of Silva.

    Natalya''s lips curved up in amusement, "I was expecting something... bigger."

    "You wound me, Lady Crucis," Tycon rolled his eyes as he held it up between his fingers. "I retrieved this from a heretic. I daresay your Scryers might be able to find simr identifying items."

    The woman''s eyes lit up, "Oh? So you can use your tools skillfully, despite their shorings?"

    To entuate her point, she not-so-subtly brushed her heeled boot against his inner thigh.

    Tycon exhaled through his nostrils, "Your assistance with the matter is imperative."

    "Of course~" Natalya cooed, "Give it to me."

    "You''ll have to be more specific."

    "The coin, Tycondrius," Natalya gestured towards him. "It will be in good hands with my Scryers."

    Tycon chuckled, shaking his head, "Disappointing."

    Natalya furrowed her brows into a re, "I beg your pardon?"

    Tycon rxed in his chair, tilting his chin up, "And what will *your* hands be doing?"

    The Archbishop pressed her boot against Tycon''s abdomen, "Not what you were hoping for."

    "Hm. Very well," Behind the mask of Tycon''s arrogance, he internally breathed a sigh of relief. He was sessfully unnerving the Archbishop... but he feared the facade would fail if he pushed her too far.

    "Is there tracking magic on it?" She asked.

    "Not on the coin, itself," Tycon shook his head. "But again, it''s very unique."

    "A double-edged sword, then," Natalya groaned.

    She stood and held up two fingers of her off-hand. The coin drifted from Tycon''s palm, levitating in the air in front of her, "I''ll have my Scryerspile a list of suspicious individuals, then... which would hopefully aid me in my pest problems..."

    Natalya heaved in a deep breath and sighed, "And what would you like for your troubles, dear Prince?"

    Wonderful. Tycon had been waiting to hear those sweet words.

    "I want my forces to lead the Purge of Caeruleum," He dered.

    "Oh?" Natalya raised an eyebrow, "Disappointing. I had thought for certain you''d ask for where in the Basilica I resided."

    Tycon grimaced in a sudden panic. It would be problematic if Natalya were to call his bluff. He did not actually want to be the woman''s ything. He''d certainly be yed if he were trapped in her quarters.

    "I had thought mdy was... not so interested in my... tools?"

    "Oya?" Natalya giggled ominously, "Do you have more than one?"

    Tycon averted his gaze for the briefest moment. He only had the one. Snakes tended to have two. He found it peculiar that the topic hade up twice within only thest few weeks.

    "Would you like to see?" Tycon offered.

    Natalya leaned in, her hot breath smelling of sweet herbs, "You y a dangerous game, Ivory Prince."

    Tycon smirked, "What do I get if I win?"

    ...He desperately hoped his confidence would scare the woman off. Sleeping with the Archbishop would be nothing short of disastrous.

    "Get out," Natalya stood up abruptly... "Pervert."

    ",

 Chapter 538 Sly Rogue

    ?? The Basilica, Inner Courtyard. ?

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, mulled about the outdoor temple grounds, walking with as much confidence as he could manage.

    If the members of the Church found out he was trespassing, he''d either get thrown back in prison or get crucified. Either would be... really bad.

    Being around so many armed and armored enforcers was nerve-wracking. It seemed he''d arrived while most of them were taking part in mid-sun martial training.

    A Centurion challenged him. Barely able to keep hisposure, Lone stated that he worked for Decanus Tycon, who worked for Archbishop Crucis.

    He was left alone after that. The Archbishop seemed to have a frightening... reputation. It made him slightly worry about his boss... but if anyone he knew could survive against her, it would be Sir Tycon.

    Stepping out into the grass, Lone breathed in the fresh air. It was much cleaner than he was used to... and slightly salted by how close they were to the ocean.

    He''d gone to so many different ces in the past couple of years... the Mosswood Wilds, the ind of Saint Guinefort, the hills where the Halls of the Dead Snake were hidden... and of course, that stupid prison, Turrim Orientem.

    He''d fought and killed many enemies... undead heretics, giant pig-beasts, moving statues... mimics, demons, and even a few gorgons.

    He''d served with many allies... a Titanblood Swordmage and an Elven Ranger, a noble Fisherman and a hero of the Holy Country... and even a sly Rogue.

    And that sly Rogue... was scaling the wall in the courtyard.

    Lone blinked his eyes. Spiky blonde hair... wearing a unique glove on his left hand. That was undoubtedly Edge, his arena partner from his time participating in the tournament at Caeruleum.

    What. Was. He. Doing. In CERSEI''S. REST?!?!

    He was still supposed to be serving time in Turrim Orientem!!

    Lone nced all around and ensured no one was watching. As fast as he could, he slipped away, dashing from column to training rack... and scaled the brick wall with his bare hands.

    Pulling himself up, he projected his voice in a loud whisper, "Edge! What the *hells* are you doing here?"

    The Rogue turned with a scowl, "A, me take me."

    Then he drew his rapier.

    Lone didn''t want to fight... but they were somewhat safe atop the palisades. With all the training below, no one would be able to hear the sounds of their duel.

    "Edge! Snap out of it, it''s me!" He drew the Shatterspike longsword-- it was too dangerous to risk the howls of Tres Leches.

    "The Lone Shadowdark..." Edge grimaced, his voice sounding hurt, "I''m sorry it''se to this. ?Flourishing Strike!?"

    The Rogue dashed forward in a dark blur, a lethal rapier thrust aimed at Lone''s heart.

    Lone deflected the lunge with the base of his sword-- just barely. With his opponent unbnced, he sessfully struck his elbow against the side of his friend''s head... and quickly followed with a sword-pommel smash aimed at his nose.

    The Rogue swayed his head back to dodge, rolling backward on the stones, and getting back to his feet.

    "Lone..." He growled... "Where''s your eyepatch?"

    Lone clenched his jaw shut, trying to think of an excuse.

    Edge was referring to the eyepatch he wore during the tournament. Back then, Lone told him it was to keep his power level in check.

    It didn''t, actually... so Boss Tycon made him get rid of it. He felt terrible for lying-- this misunderstanding was all his fault! He just wanted to have a cool backstory!<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Won''t answer, huh?" Edge shut his eyes, shaking his head. Was he... crying? "I''ll end you, then. It''s the least I can do-- I won''t let the darkness take over, old friend!"

    "Wait!" Lone yelped-- but not quick enough.

    Edge lunged forward once more, sweeping his de low.

    Lone took a step back and to the side, then with both hands on Shatterspike''s hilt, he swung from overhead.

    The strike hit Edge''s rapier guard.

    Lone was in trouble.

    The Rogue twisted his sword around, deflecting the Shatterspike away... while simultaneously shing down towards Lone''s left forearm.

    It was going to hit. It was going to hurt.

    He couldn''t afford to hold back anymore. Igniting his mana, it circted quickly through his body as he activated a skill in desperation, "?Rush!?"

    Lone dashed forward with mana-empowered speed before the swing could hit him-- and nted his elbow into Edge''s sr plexus, knocking him to the ground.

    Lone ced the cold steel of his sword against his opponent''s neck, "Edge, stop! It''s me!"

    "It can''t be! You--" Edge''s eyes opened wide in surprise, "Y-you learned to control your power?"

    "Whew. Yeah," Lone nodded, breathing a sigh of relief and rxing his guard.

    Finally, the hostility in the Rogue''s eyes lifted... He wiped at his moist eyes and brushed aside the hair matted to his forehead, "Whew... Shite... Haha... Always gettin'' ahead of me, aren''tcha? Lord Ranger?"

    Lone offered his hand, pulling Edge back onto his feet.

    "It''s a hundred years too soon for you to challenge me," He grinned.

    "Right," Edge nodded. "Hey, it''s good to have you, man, but listen. Follow me-- we don''t have much time."

    "Wait, what? Wh--"

    Before Lone could stop him, the Rogue had already turned his back and began climbing to the next level of palisades.

    Why? Where was he going? Why in the seven hells was that guy sneaking around in the most guarded structure in the Holy Country?

    Lone wouldn''t get any answers by doing nothing... so he immediately went up after him.

    Edge was fast... but he was faster. He''d even gotten some practice in, the other sun, hanging out with his hot girlfriend. (Coraline was not as good as she thought she was.)

    He reached the top before Edge did, pulling himself up with one arm-- just to show off how strong he was.

    "Hey! You''re not supposed to be here!"

    Eleven heavens and Seven HELLLLLS!!!!!

    A Church guard was approaching with his weapon drawn, while Lone was caught on his hands and knees.

 Chapter 539 Exotics

    ?Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, was supremely confident on the ground. He could even say he excelled at ground-fighting!

    He wore an enchanted item on his waist-- so good it was probably a legendary item. While his knees were on the ground or he was lying on his back, his reflexes were like a tiger''s and his slipperiness was like a snake''s!

    Also, while he wore it, he didn''t have a gag reflex. He tried not to think about that.

    Lone tumbled over his head, curling his body in... and rolling towards the armed guard, he shot both feet up like a bolt from a crossbow.

    POP! Hended a perfect shot against the man''s chin and he crumpled to the ground like a stack of swords.

    "mescarred shite..." Edge let out a long whistle. "Nice work, Lord Ranger."

    He offered his hand to Lone, helping him up.

    Lone grimaced at his partner, then at the unfortunate guard.

    Yes, he had knocked a man unconscious with a single strike. Yes, it was a very skillful disy that made him look very cool. BUT it was like he''d leapt out of a fiery-hot pan into the fiery-er depths of the seven hells.

    He''d just assaulted a member of the Church... in a Church temple... in THE Church-liest temple of all the Church-ly temples!

    Lone was an aplice... and there was no taking that back.

    "Edge..." He looked over at the Rogue, holding in his tears... "Now, will you finally tell me what''s going on?"

    "R-right..." Edge picked up the guard''s fallen sword, "But before that, should I...?"

    "Let''s not," Lone shook his head. "No killing."

    They were in enough shite as it was.

    "...Yeah," Edge nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. "Too risky."

    Edge dropped the sword, took a bundle of rope off his pack, and tossed it to Lone. Then he took out some cloth, getting to work, gagging the guard.

    "It was supposed to be a quick in and out," He grimaced, "--but it looks like I''m not good enough to do this solo."

    "And we''re too far in to bail," Lone exhaled through his nostrils as he tightly bound the guard''s wrists and arms.

    Edge turned to him, his eyes unusually serious, "Will you help me, Lone? Just like you saved me below Turrim Orientem against the Cataclysmic Rat-Beast?"

    Lone shuddered involuntarily, "Yeah, I''ll help you, man... I still can''t believe that thing was a Circle Mage..."

    Edge grinned, nodding, "Hopefully, I won''t let you down, this time."

    "Hah. You''ve never let me down."

    Edge had always had low self-esteem issues. Thankfully, Lone never had that. Ever.

    Still, to try and cheer his friend up, he decided to change the subject, "So... what''s my cut?"

    The Rogueughed, smiling and averting his gaze... "50-50, but after the profits, yeah? --I gotta pay off a few other parties involved..."

    Lone slowly pursed his lisp to the side. 50-50 was far too good of a deal. Edge wasn''t the type to lie to him, though. The guy was seriously just too nice!

    The thought of it reminded him of one of Boss Tycon''s ominous sayings...

    In their profession... good people are always the first to die.

    ...

    The two dashed down the hallway, then hid to avoid the eyes of two wandering Church Acolytes. The wing of the Basilica they were in was packed full of doors. It made Lone feel uneasy.

    From the look of the people they saw, behind those doors would be... living quarters.

    Lone steadied his breathing, his back to the cold stone wall, "What are we looking for?"

    "Set of items. The owner won''t miss ''em..." Edge whispered. "Only problem''s that working in the Basilica has a ten thousand percent increased chance of crucifixion."

    "What kind of items?" Lone frowned, "Drugs?" Magic?"

    "Neither. We''re looking for exotics," The Rogue shrugged.

    "Seven hells, Edge... what kind of person are you working for?"

    "Not something I wanted to ask... Even considering the risks, the coin''s too good to pass up."

    Lone grimaced, "That''s pretty suspicious..."

    "I''m tired of hurting people, Lone," Edge let out a defeated sigh. "Thankfully, borrowing things is just as lucrative."

    "That''s called *stealing,* Edge."

    Edge chuckled quietly to himself, "Things go missing all the time... It''d be a waste if no one made a profit off it."

    Lone peeked down the hallway... and seeing that it was clear, he waved his partner-in-crime forward. Sprinting past dozens of nearly identical-looking doors, Edge slowed his pace near one it looked like he picked at random.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "This is the one," He pointed.

    Lone was lost inside of buildings-- not like in the wilds. He figured it was probably a downside of being a Ranger.

    Still, he had a trick or two-- one of them, he''d learned only recently.

    "Let me give it a try," Lone smirked.

    "Really?" Edge nced nervously down either side of the hall, "You pick up some Rogue skills, Lone? If your ss has been Hero, all this time, I''m gonna kick your arse, y''know."

    "You wouldn''t be the first to try, nor thest to fail," Lone stepped past his friend and gently pressed his hand against the wood... "Open the door, little one..."

    He closed his eyes, regted his breathing, and opened up his senses to the world of mana. There, he searched for ''life''... hoping to find the presence of the Door Spirit.

    He couldn''t find anything, though. Unlike in the forests, everything around was just dull stone.

    Wherever the Door Spirit was, he wasn''t skilled enough to find it. Or maybe... there wasn''t one?

    ...Tycon made the whole process of Door-Whispering look easier than it actually was.

    "Uh..." Edge prodded him, "Is it working?"

    Lone retracted his hand, cing it on the back of his head, "N-nah. Go ahead."

    "Um... alright. Watch me while I take care of this."

    Taking Lone''s ce, Edge took his glove off his left hand, and held it over the door''s locking mechanism. His eyes glowed with mana as he channeled his skill, "?Unseal.?"

    Lone carefully watched their surroundings... but twice as carefully, he watched his partner.

    There was a reason Edge kept his left hand gloved. He held a forbidden curse inside of his body. He''d only seen glimpses of it... but what little he''d seen made him d that he wore a set of enchanted Never-Soil Trousers.

    It was also why most people were smart enough to avoid working with the guy.

    Lone was different, though. He was immortal.

    That uneasiness didn''t leave him, though-- and he watched beads of sweat form and drip down the blonde Rogue''s face...

    "Can you handle it?" He asked.

    "I''m stronger than you remember," Edge growled.

    He sounded more confident than he looked. Lone watched him for several more moments... his entire hand turned pale... and then his entire body began to tremble.

    "Don''t push yourself too hard," He whispered.

    "I can control the-- ARGHHH!!" Suddenly Edge''s eyes turned ink ck. A thick liquid of the same color streamed out of his mouth as if he''d bit his tongue.

    Lone narrowed his eyes, slowly and calmly drawing his sword... "If you lose control for even a second... I''ve got to put you down."

    "Wouldn''t... ergh... have it... any other way... GrrrraARRgH!!" Edge''s hand glowed bright with mana... and finally, the door gave way, pushing wide open.

    Grabbing Edge underneath his arms, Lone dragged the man into the room. After he closed the door behind them, the Rogue dropped to his hands and knees, desperately gasping for breath.

    Lone took a quick look at his friend. His eyes had returned to normal and he''d wiped off the bile on chin with his sleeve. It looked like whatever was sealed inside of him hadn''t won... not yet.

    "Looks like you figured it out?"

    "Y... yeah," Edge nodded.

    He reluctantly swallowed whatever was in his mouth before shaking his head and getting back to his feet, "I only dare to use all my power, with you keeping me in check. Not many people can defeat me, you know."

    "We got wrecked in the Martial Tournament," Lone reminded him.

    "I''m not gonna use my full power in a coliseum full of a hundred thousand people," Edge shrugged. "I''ve at least that much sense."

    Loneughed... then paused to examine their surroundings... "Uh... Edge?"

    "Yeap?"

    Large wardrobe dresser. Expensive mirror. Small pots of hair products. Makeup trays. Colored sheets and luxurious pillows. And most damning of all, the room smelled... nice.

    Lone gulped... "Why... are we in... a woman''s room?"

    The blonde Rogue had his back turned and was rifling through what appeared to be... a hamper for dirty clothes, "Aha... not what I expected."

    Turning dramatically, he revealed his prize stretched between his two hands, "We''re lookin'' for these."

    Lone''s eyes widened, as he stared in disbelief at a triangle of ckce... "Please... please don''t tell me that''s what we''re looking for."

    "Behold," Edge smirked. "These are the used undergarments of Archbishop Natalya Crucis."

 Chapter 540 Ghost?

    ?Tycondrius had no idea where his Rangerpanion had gone off to.

    After escaping their of the Archbishop, he wandered about the Basilica grounds, asking for a young, cheek-scarred male.

    He found multiple witnesses who recalled a wandering young gentleman-- one who looked rather gullible or easy to take advantage of. That was undoubtedly Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark.

    In theory, Lone should be able to take care of himself. He was a grown man, after all... and he''d survived worse odds over the past two or so years.

    ...It still worried him.

    The Basilica was an immense and impressive castle-type structure with multiple courtyards and various lines of defense.

    The design was intentionally confusing for would-be attackers. It was very usible to be lost within its walls for several bells. It also had many sensitive areas to avoid and too many personalities to possibly and usibly offend.

    Mister Lone... had the uncanny ability to encounter life-or-death situations... and did so with an unsettling level of regrity.

    Tycon''s search brought him to a massive empty room with stained ss windows and a sky-scraping ceiling. It was spacious enough tofortably fit a century formation... as well as an attachment of cavalry-- and a small host of winged angels, hovering overhead.

    Other than the several dozen marble statues arranged about, he hadn''t encountered any living and breathing persons for the past twenty or so minutes.

    He might have been... in a ce considered ''sensitive''.

    He... may have willfully ignored a mundane barrier or three.

    Theoretically, he was worried for his trouble-seeking Ranger.

    Factually... he had grown bored of waiting.

    The ce he found sated his curiosity.

    He walked about leisurely, admiring the collection of Tyrion art and architecture. It was rather rxing, enjoying himself while free of the discordant noise that humans tended to make in groups.

    Then... he sensed something behind him. It stopped moving at roughly the same time he noticed it.

    Tycon restrained himself from drawing his de-whip.

    The Basilica was the safest ce in the Holy Country. Any hostile creatures that dared to show themselves would be utterly destroyed by the half-dozen or so powerful Gold-Ranks within the capital.

    Drawing a weapon would make *him* that hostile creature.

    Instead, he instilled mana into his form and turned as fast as he could, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever ghost was haunting him.

    There, he saw a girl.

    ? Unranked Human. ?

    Not a ghost-- at first observation, anyroad.

    Tycon furrowed his brows and rxed his posture. A mere human girl was nothing to worry about.

    She was young-- maybe about Athena''s age, petite and slightly shorter than he was. She had shoulder-length, light purple hair and wore the in robes of a simple acolyte.

    Tycon approached the youngdy, his echoing steps the only sound in the spacious, high-roofed room.

    Looking her over, he noted the particr subtle smile she wore. She looked amused, as if she knew something that he did not.

    ...It made him want to tease her.

    Tycon lightly flicked her forehead, eliciting a surprised gasp that broke the silence.

    Not a ghost-- or the probability was low, that she was.

    The girl put her palms on her head, shutting her eyes.

    It was a gross overreaction. He hadn''t hit the girl hard enough to leave a mark.

    The young girl recovered, pouting as if offended.

    She poked him back.

    Tycon allowed it. It was an equivalent exchange.

    ...After that, their ''conversation'' came to a halt.

    He wondered who this strange girl was... and why she wasn''t speaking.

    ...She was probably wondering the same thing, of him.

    However, the rules for the ''game'' had be established. If he could keep his silence for longer than his mysterious opponent, he would be the ''winner.''

    Smiling politely, he turned his attention back to the Tyrion statues, hoping to bait a reaction.

    He got one... a ringing sound.

    It was reminiscent of a bell... a small, ss bell, smaller than a palm... lightly shaken.

    Tycon slowly turned back towards where he heard the noise...

    The young girl was covering her mouth with her hands.

    Hm...

    If she wasn''t a ghostly spirit, with that sound... one particr bloodline came to mind.

    Celestial.

    If that assumption was true, the young woman could speak... but it would sound nothing like that of amonnguage.

    What was strange... was that his System ssified her as human. In order to fool Tycon''s senses, the youngdy either had a very high level of illusory or transformative skill... or had a very specific, very rare ability.

    Thankfully, she did not seem to be an enemy.

    The acolyte lifted her hands up and began to sh a series of gestures, [Why are you angry?]

    Tycon frowned. He wasn''t upset. He was just--<novelnext></novelnext>

    He had a naturally upset-looking face.

    Trying to twist his face into a more agreeable expression, Tycon signed back, [I''m not angry.]

    [You look angry.]

    [I''m not.]

    The conversation stopped there. Tycon was fully expecting some sort of... challenge, asking why he was present. Nothing came. He waited several more silent moments until he finally gave in to his curiosity.

    [Did you have a question?] He signed.

    The purple-haired girl smiled and nodded... [What is your name?]

    Tycon hesitated. He much preferred to speak his name than to sign it.

    If the youngdy had the blood of angels coursing through her veins, she could easily be older than he was. An Ancient who resided in the Holy Country had a strong likelihood to recognize his name... and that of his family.

    ...Also, it was troublesome to sign all the letters in ''Tycondrius of Charm.''

    "My name is Tycon," He bowed graciously. "Might I ask for yours, youngdy?"

    The acolyte took on a look of panic-- which hinted that she may not have been an Ancient, after all.

    She performed a somewhat clumsy curtsy, then signed, [My name is ¦³ - ¦± - ¦¯ - I - ¦¡.]

    Tycon nodded. It was a fine, aesthetically pleasing name, "Hello, Miss Troia."

    [Hello.]

    "...Would you like some pork jerky?"

    ...

    Tycon and the quiet girl browsed the art and statue gallery while snacking on pork jerky. She kept by him, asking mundane questions, and over time, overcame her initial shyness.

    Troia had a pet named Scar.

    Tycon''s favorite color was... green?

    Troia''s favorite diator was Ranger Quies, on the ount that he was dashing and brave.

    His was... himself-- for the same reasons, of course.

    It was... the most pleasant afternoon he''d had, as of recent. The quiet atmosphere of the empty room was... serene and safe... thoughtful and somewhat nostalgic.

    The topic of food came about.

    They talked about only that for nearly a bell. The youngdy professed a love for cooking-- but admitted that she was a terrible baker.

    That was reasonable. Cooking was... an art, with improvisation able to yield excellent, if varying results. Baking was a practice in precision and building upon long-established rules.

    If Tycon didn''t have his System for timing and temperature measurement, his baking would suffer tremendously.

    After a lighthearted (but somehow fierce) debate over the merits of different types of pastries, the youngdy stared at the ceiling with starry eyes.

    ...Slowly turning to him, she signed, [What is your quest?]

    Tycon sighed... thinking back on how to answer.

    He woke up in this world without his memories. The only major clue to his motivations was that he was indebted to someone... his blood-rted mother. Delving into his past, he learned that he needed to perform three tasks in order to repay that debt.

    One such task was to restore the honorable name of House Vanzano and its mistress, the young Athena. Initially, he''d nned to do so with heartless calction. Over time, he grew fond of the youngdy''s smile.

    As long as Athena was ced on the road to sess, his task would beplete. However, with the friendship he''d developed, he sought to support her with all his power.

    Athena''s enemies were his.

    He would lead the charge into Caeruleum by himself, if he had to. House Vanzano would gain influence and respect through overwhelming military and personal strength.

    That.... was all far tooplicated to exin, especially through signnguage.

    Instead, he signed the ''correct'' answer, [I wish to kill viins...]

    Troia nodded wistfully... then signed, [Why do you journey?]

    He hadn''t thought much on why. He had allies... some he lost along the way, some he gained.

    He used them.

    Granted, he sought a fair exchange. He would instill into his friends and allies, strength or coin or honor-- whatever was desirable. They, in turn, would help him achieve his goals.

    [I wish to repay my debts,] Tycon signed.

    The young woman took a deep breath... her hands moving almost reluctantly, [Why do you kill?]

    Tyconughed. That was easy.

    [Because I enjoy it.]

    [That''s not true!] Troia puffed her cheeks, signing angrily, [Don''t lie!]

    [I''m very good at killing,] Tycon chuckled, signing whimsically.

    [You''re a good person!]

    What? Tycon couldn''t help butugh aloud... [You''re mistaken.]

    Troia pouted... [You are a kind and just Prince.]

    A cold chill washed over Tycon as he narrowed his eyes...

    She knew who he was.

 Chapter 541 Offering A Hero

    ?Troia dipped her head, bringing her hands up in a panic, [Why are you angry?]

    "I''m *not* angry," Tycondrius pursed his lips.

    [You''re a little angry,] The youngdy stressed motioning her palms together as if squeezing Tycon''s supposed emotions.

    He groaned, averting his gaze away and to the side. He wasn''t angry-- he was... frustrated. And the source of his frustrations were the... hand signals from a frail teenage girl.

    Troia circled around to stand in front of him, again wearing her smug, know-it-all smile, [I will help you.]

    Tycon grimaced as he inhaled deeply through his nostrils. While it was nice of the young woman, he was very doubtful she was as useful as she thought.

    "Hmph," He crossed his arms, "And how are you nning on aplishing that?"

    [I will call a hero to aid you in your quest,] She signed.

    "A hero..." Tycon shook his head, chuckling derisively. Hero was easily the rarest ss in the Realm, and the appearance of which was portentous to threats that could destabilize or destroy the entire Realm.

    He absolutely did not want the aid of an actual Hero.

    Still... a figurative hero wouldn''t be so bad.

    Tycon pursed his lips... "The only person in this ce capable of helping me would be... the High Oracle."

    The High Oracle was the only person in the Holy Country that ranked above Archbishop Crucis. With a word from her, the process of getting his request approved would be expedited greatly.

    However, from what Tycon had gathered, that person was notoriously difficult to talk to. Though she was reputed to be an Oracle to her deity, the Eternal me, in actuality, she was treated more like a goddess.

    If Tycon wanted an audience with her, he''d likely have to literally fight through dozens of the Church''s most zealous defenders... including the Archbishop. But if this youngdy had connections...

    Troia pointed to herself.

    Tycon raised a hand.... and also pointed at her.

    She pointed at herself again, smiling radiantly.

    ...Oh.

    Of course.

    "Troia..." Tycon twisted his lips to the side, "are you, by chance... the High Oracle?"

    She nodded.

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes and sneered, "You don''t look like one."

    The youngdy opened her mouth wide in shock-- but quicklyposed herself... [Is it because I''m a girl?]

    "What? No," Tycon red.

    Doubt does not always rte to gender discrimination. In fact, he thought it was sexist of the youngdy to assume so.

    "Everyone knows the High Oracle is a girl," Tycon argued.

    [Is it because I''m short?]

    She was a little bit taller than Athena-- maybe matching Sasarame''s height in her dark elf form.

    "Negative. You''re about... average height for a youngdy, are you not?"

    The youngdy puffed out her cheeks. Her eyes lost focus as she lost herself in thought, but brightened with another short-sighted usation...

    [Is it because I''m pretty?]

    "Sure," Tycon shrugged. "Let''s go with that."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Sasarame was much prettier than Troia was. However, beauty was subjective. Saying she was attractive without context was not a lie.

    High Oracle Troia grinned with a smile so bright it probably utilized a bit of radiant mana.

    Tycon had to squint to prevent his eyes from hurting.

    ...

    ? The Owlbar Inn,te that evening. ?

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, heard the whistle of a crossbow bolt and felt it thunk into the table he was taking cover behind.

    Undeterred, he bound a strip of cloth tightly over his injured bicep. He didn''t want to use his healing potion for just the arrow wound. He and Edge were being attacked by a gaggle of thugs and undead.

    With the way the night was going, it was only going to get worse.

    "REALLY, EDGE?!" He turned to scream at his partner, "Did you not CHECK who the buyer was??!"

    Edge ducked his head down-- a thrown hatchet had bounced off of the top of the wood. A few ilms down, and it could have been in the man''s skull, "Come ON, Lone! How in the SEVEN HELLS would I know we were dealing with the mescarred NEMAYANS!!"

    Lone drew his pistol and rolled out of cover. Two well-ced shots dropped two Sleeping Country gangsters, but a green bolt from a mage''s wand forced him to jump for cover behind the bar.

    A skeleton had crawled its way over the counter. Lone grabbed its skull and smashed his own skull against it, turning it into bone powder.

    ...Breathing it in, he was ovee with a coughing fit.

    "You good, Lone?!" Edge shouted.

    "NO!!" Lone replied, "The buyer''s name was DIMITRI!! You can''t get MORE NEMAYAN than THAT!!!"

    "FIIIINE!!" Edge half-groaned and fully-yelled. "I made a mis-TAKE!!"

    "YES!!" Lone roared, hocking phlegm and spitting to the side, "Yes, you did!!"

    Lone watched Edge roll onto his back, kicking the table forward with both feet. It crashed into an approaching skeleton and it ttered apart into inanimate bones.

    The undead the Nemayans had raised weren''t too resilient, but, there were a lot of them. Also, they were supported by people who were still alive... which really wasn''t fair.

    Lone began to haphazardly throw half-empty bottles of alcohol over the bar at their attackers. Maybe if he was lucky, one of them would get hurt?

    "Is that your big n, Lone?!" Edge yelled, "Think of ANOTHER ONE!!"

    "Geek the mage?!" He shouted, "Maybe!?"

    "Got it!!" Edge flipped onto his feet, simultaneously drawing two handfuls of throwing spikes, "?Fan of Knives!!?"

    This was their best n, yet.

    Lone emerged from cover, his pistol steadied in both hands.

    The Sleeping Country gangsters were all screaming as Edge''s skill sent eight sharp des straight at the robed mage. All eight stuck into the man''s eyes, mouth, neck, chest, and arms.

    That was a *really* good Skill.

    The distraction allowed Lone to ce two well-ced shots into the chests of the remaining two living-- and a head-shot into thest not-so-living.

    "Clear!" He called out, holstering his smoking weapon.

    Edge sank a dagger de into one of the Nemayan''s throats, before wiping it on their clothes.

    "All clear," The Rogue confirmed.

    "Seven hells," Lone furrowed his brows, "Where''s the Necromancer?"

 Chapter 542 Dimitri

    ?"Doesn''t matter where Dimitri is," Edge walked to the door, smashing it open with a heavy kick. "We gotta get outta here before the Church enforcers investigate the noise."

    "P-please leave, already!" An armored Champion yelped from underneath a downed bar table, "I''ll tell them you escaped!"

    "Good enough for me!" Edge rushed out of the building, into the streets.

    "Tell ''em heretics did it!" Lone kindly suggested.

    "Just GO!!!!"

    Rushing after his partner, Lone caught up quickly enough... and their sprint slowed to a steady jog.

    "What do you think they want with... y''know... the items?" Lone asked.

    "Hells if I know, Lord Ranger," Edge growled. "But I ain''t betraying my country for a few silver slugs."

    "[Then How About... Your Life?!]" A raspy voice cut through the night...

    Lone threw himself off the road to the right, Edge backflipping to the left-- and both of them barely dodged a brilliant eruption of green me.

    The path was on fire. There was a hidden enemy that could cast magic.

    Lone nodded as he got to his feet. At least he wasn''t surprised.

    A suit of dark metal armor stepped out the glowing green, holding a wicked, two-handed halberd sheathed in the stuff. It flipped up its visor, revealing a sunken undead face.

    "[Hand Over the Items and You May Live,]" It spoke... with Dimitri''s voice, echoey and tainted with Nemayan magic.

    "Nah," Edge drew his rapier. "That''s what the viins say in the stories. That''s obviously a lie!"

    "Again, this is all your fault, Edge," Lone rolled his eyes. "I mean-- look at this guy!! He''s clearly evil!"

    "I already said I was wrong!" The Rogue snapped, "What more do you want?!"

    "Say it again," Lone smirked. "I just like hearing it."

    "[SHUT UP AND DIE, TYRION SCUMMMM!!]" Zombie-Dimitri roared.

    With supernatural speed, the armored zombie leapt up, and it brought its domineering halberd down onto Edge.

    Edge reached up to block-- but his rapier''s caged hilt was useless. The weapon was sent tumbling away, the metal ame, and when itnded it was twisted and distorted from the brief contact with the dark magic.

    Lone unloaded shot after shot into the undead''s back-- but each bullet was stopped by a wall of screaming ghostly skulls.

    "AIIEAAAAAEEEEGHHH!!!!" The spirits rushed towards him.

    ...which was something Lone really should have expected.

    Thinking quickly, he grabbed the Dark Iron wolf-hammer on his waist, "?me On!?"

    Tres Leches lit ame, and swinging it upward, he managed to scatter the ghostly wall into... over a dozen ghost skulls, flying independently of each other.

    Shite.

    Edge was dipping, ducking, and dodging the undead''s quick halberd swipes, "Little help?!"

    "Use your dagger!" Lone shouted back.

    Edge dropped down and rolled backward to barely avoid a magical halberd smash that obliterated a building wall, "UsE yOuR DaGgEr, EdGe! How can I use a dagger against an ARMORED CLASS?!"

    Lone swung his wolf-hammer, dissipating exactly one of the many ghost-skulls flitting around him, "What, you wanna switch?!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Edge retreated to beside Lone, trusting him with his back, "Yeah, I do!!"

    The ghost-skulls withdrew, spinning around Dimitri''s armored form like a swarm of fat, ugly seagulls. The Nemayan spun his halberd, sprinting towards them, "[Not Even Death Will Be the End for You!!!!]"

    ""SWITCH!!"" Lone had turned to Edge, screaming at the top of his lungs. Edge had done the same.

    Lone wanted to say it was because they worked well together... but in his heart, he just knew they both really, really didn''t want to die.

    The screaming skulls spiraled towards them, but Edge was ready to intercept. He drew his dagger and started to spin with the force and fury of a children''s toy, "?Spinniiiiiiiiiing SLAAAASH!!!!?"

    Edge''s stark, glowing de cut through the night, destroying a very decent four skulls. He had to dive away from a fifth one, though.

    "Shite!" He screamed.

    Lone grit his teeth and widened his stance. Any way he looked at the situation, his job was far worse. He took in a deep breath, circted his mana, and swunghis wolf-hammer, "?aaame ONNN!!!!?"

    Dimitri skidded in the dirt, repositioning his halberd to deflect the strike.

    BANG!! Impact!!

    The armored zombie was forced to step back...

    "Shhhiiite!" Lone echoed...

    His strength was enough. He just needed to get past Dimitri''s defenses andnd a single, solid hit...

    Suddenly, an ice-cold shock of pain traveled up his left leg-- the rest of his body chilled, while that leg burned hot, like it was trying to reject whatever was attacking it.

    "Got it!" Edge kicked one of the skulls away.

    Lone knelt down, wincing in pain, and rubbing at where he was bit, "ArrrrRRRGH! That HURRRTS!"

    "Yeah, why didn''t you dodge?" Edge rolled his eyes.

    "Shut up," Lone groaned loudly... "Using magic isn''t fair..."

    "Necromancy spells''re no joke," Edge spat. "Listen, Lone, I can''t fight off so many fliers with just my dagger."

    Lone drew the Shatterspike off of his back, offering his partner the hilt, "You know how to use this thing?"

    "Psh," He took it. "Do I know how to use this thing..."

    "Well, do you?" Lone stared.

    "Just watch," Edge flourished the sword, testing its weight in his hands... "?Spinning sh.?"

    The Rogue steadied himself, then spun in a circle, the Shatterspike arcing around him,shing out at over a dozen skulls. Once he stopped, not a single one was left. He shed the air, cleaning the spirit goo off the de.

    Lone clenched his eyes shut, rubbing at his hurt leg. Unfortunately, Dimitri didn''t want to let him rest-- even for a moment. Lone brought up Tres Leches to block a green-med halberd strike, and then he had tobat-roll away as another weird green geyser erupted from where he was.

    He speed-crawled towards the safety of Edge...

    Looking up with an angry re, he began to shout, "And WHY don''t you ALWAYS use two-handed weapons? HUH?!"

    "One-handed weapons look cooler," The Rogue shrugged as he helped Lone back to his feet.

    "Hey, Dimitri!!!" Edge shouted, "You me-taken son of a b*tch!!! All this?! For an Archbishop''s dirty underwear?!"

 Chapter 543 Feeling Pain

    ?Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark stepped away from a suspicious-looking mound of earth. A momentter, it burst open and began to wheeze bursts of noxious green smoke.

    Zombie-Dimitri mmed the end of his halberd into the ground. The nightmps illuminating the streets dimmed... and several more holes opened in the ground surrounding the Rogue-Ranger team.

    "Hey, Edge," Lone frowned.

    "Yah?"

    "In the Holy Country... can uh... making holes in the roads get you executed?"

    Edge grimaced as he surveyed the area, "M...aybe. But I think the uh... Necromancy''s a more executable offense."

    "Oh. Right," Lone nodded, "Necromancy''s illegal here..."

    "[You...]" Dimitri growled, deep and echoey... "[Once My Order ims the Essence of an Archbishop, Master Dunzis Will Cleanse This Realm of Your Holy Country... Nay... of ALL THE LIVING!!!!]"

    "Makes sense," Edge scratched his head... "if a little... confusing. Doesn''t... blood make more sense as a magical reagent?"

    "He''s got the spirit, though..." Lone tilted his head up, grimacing, "I''m just d we got an answer to why exactly that guy needed panties."

    "High-Low?" Edge whispered.

    "I''ll take the high..." Lone nodded.

    "[SUBMIT!!!!]" Dimitri roared, "[OR!!! DIIIIIE!!!!]"

    The open earth began to geyser concentrated streams of green me, crackling and roaring like vomiting bears. Spectral humanoid shapes began to crawl out of them, adding pained wails and shrieking. The cries of the dead were loud, annoying, and made it hard to think.

    Fear tugged at Lone''s heart-- but that wasn''t anything new. He rated it a... three out of ten, where he''d shite himself at about seven or eight.

    Chuckling to himself, he stepped forward, twirling his wolf-hammer by the handle, "Excuse me, Necromancer-guy! I''ll take the THIRD option!!!"

    "By the me," Edge raised an eyebrow. "Really, Lone?"

    "Come on, Edge. We always do this," Lone insisted.

    "Yeah, I know-- but considering the circumstances..." The Rogue shook his head, "No. You''re right. Go ahead."

    "Thank you," Lone groaned.

    Dimitri pointed his halberd forward, standing tall and domineering, "[And. What... Option. Is. That??]"

    Lone showed the Necromancer an offensive gesture, grinning like a maniac, "YOURRRRRR MOMMMMMM!!"

    The armored zombie froze still... stunned... angry... INTIMIDATED by Lone''s arrogance!

    "[MY! MOTHERRRR!!]" Dimitri sprinted forward, heedless of defense, "[IS A NIIIIICE LADYYYY!!!!]"

    "Yeahhh," Lone muttered... "Got him."

    "Not so fast, heretic!" Edge dropped his body, swinging the Shatterspike low.

    "[USELESS!!!]" Dimitri mmed the haft of his magical halberd down, blocking the strike.

    "And take this!!" Lone raised his wolf-hammer overhead, ready to smash it down.

    "[I Will Not Allow It!! ]" Dimitri quickly swiped his halberd horizontally.

    The de smashed into Lone''s side, cutting into his gambeson... but thankfully not sinking in too deeply. It hurt like hells and the magic burned cold against his skin... but he ignored the pain and hooked the halberd haft with his right arm.

    He was definitely going to need a healing potion... and hopefully, he''d be able to do so before his adrenaline wore off-- or before he died, anyroad.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zombie-Dimitri tilted his head, "[Your... Weapon?]"

    "Oh?" Lone grinned. Still holding the Necromancer''s halberd tight, he showed off his empty palms, "So you''ve figured out my genius n?"

    The growls of a Dark Iron wolf made Dimitri turn his head, but it was toote to react. Tres Leches bit into the back of the zombie''s right heel.

    "[Aa-aarrgh!!]"

    That was Lone''s chance. He leapt up with both feet, nting a double-drop kick into Dimitri''s armored chest. The zombie lost grip of his halberd, flying onto his back with a noisy crash of metal tes.

    Edge immediately fell upon him, drawing his dagger and lifting up Dimitri''s visor. He ced two quick stabs in both eyes, then twice in the throat.

    "Quick!" He shouted, "The Necromancer is controlling this thing from a distance! We have to destroy the body before he recovers!"

    "Right! Get the balls, Tres Leches!" Lonemanded.

    "GrrrRAWRR," The loyal wolf savaged the zombie''s crotch.

    Lone stood back up, willfully ignoring the burning pain in his arm, his leg, and the right side... and started hacking the halberd into Dimitri''s right elbow.

    "[WHYYYYYYYYYY THE BALLLLLSSS?!?!?]" Dimitri wailed.

    "He can feel pain!" Edge shouted, "Don''t stop!!!"

    ...

    ? The Basilica, following morning. ?

    Tycondrius found the High Oracle''s ritual hall to be... unorthodox. It turned out to be therge, high-ceiling room he had found the previous sun.

    It was well lit by way of the tall, stained-ss windows and the colonnades seemed to be enchanted with a touch of radiant magic. The statues were moved, relocated to its edges, and most interestingly, arge wooden stage had been erected at the far end.

    "I... don''t really understand," Tycon admitted.

    "The High Oracle works in mysterious ways," Archbishop Crucis rolled her eyes.

    That... that meant absolutely nothing.

    When Tycon previously worked withrge-scale rituals, he was used to expensive candles mixed with mana dust. The hall had none.

    He was also used to borate drawn formations... and smaller redundancies of those formations-- those were not present or... were hidden.

    Most of all, ritual rooms were typically quiet spaces, far isted from passersby.

    Despite that, hundreds, if not thousands of chairs and benches had been moved into the hall. The once empty area was full of Champions, Acolytes, Priests, and the like-- all devout members of the Church of the Eternal me.

    As the number of open seats dwindled, more visitors elected to stand... and soon, the ce was packed tighter than cargo in a ship hold.

    So... many... people were impossible to keep even remotely quiet. A hero summoning was a supremely powerful ritual... If any of the assisting casters suffered apse in concentration, they risked a catastrophic spell failure that could easily wipe out 90% of the room, living and not.

    Tycon was absolutely baffled that the lead caster, the High Oracle herself, could undertake such great risk.

    "What kind of... ritual is this?" He asked Natalya, his voice incredulous, "What are itsponents? Synchronized chanting? ...Life essence?"

    Natalya groaned, "Tyrion rituals are several cuts above the backwater spells of your nonbelievers in the Beast Kingdoms."

    Tycon rolled his eyes. The Free Nation was sometimes derogatorily called the Beast Kingdoms. It was a gross exaggeration, as humans still imed the highest poption.

    "You can''t tell me that these thousands of people are necessary for it?"

 Chapter 544 Hero Summoning

    ?"Of course not," Natalya red as if Tycondrius was the idiot. "The faithful are here to bear witness to the Eternal me''s greatness. The High Oracle doesn''t perform rituals for just *anyone.* Thest time she did was resurrecting the Hero of Passage."

    Tycon grimaced... "You told me you can''t resurrect worshippers of the Eternal me."

    "Special circumstances," The woman pressed her finger against Tycon''s cheek, turning him away. "And that person was trapped in the City of Iron."

    "Very well..." Tycon rolled his eyes.

    Natalya was referring to one of the seven hells... It made sense, but he remained unhappy about it.

    Crossing his arms, Tycon watched the happenings on-stage. There were a number of Metal-Ranked Priestesses and Acolytes assisting the High Oracle with preparations. It was thergest collection of Iron-Rank casters he''d ever seen... and there were even two Gold-Ranks.

    There was a section of musical instruments and what appeared to be a full orchestra... and their conductor was even an Iron-Rank Pianist. They were setting up in a curved corner of the room, designed to naturally project sound.

    Since Natalya was being an inadequate source of information, Tycon turned his attention to the whisperings of the crowd. After several minutes, he identified the most trending topic.

    An extraordinarily handsome, unknown Decanus was sitting beside Archbishop Natalya Crucis.

    Tycon leaned over, cupping his hand over his femalepanion''s ear...

    "Natalya~" He whispered.

    She sat up as if jolted by electricity, before turning towards him with a furious expression, "W-what is it?"

    He blew softly onto Natalya''s neck, "Do you not often speak so intimately to male members of your Church?"

    Natalya''s eye twitched with annoyance, "By the me, no! I would never be so unprofessional."

    "Well..." Tycon''s lips curved upward into a sly smile, "Are you aware of the implications of acting so close with me?"

    Natalya''s eyes lit up with realization... then anger. She grabbed the edges of her chair and hopped a few ilms away...

    "Y-you''ll pay for this, Decanus," She growled.

    Tycon chuckled to himself, basking in his social dominance.

    The Archbishop couldn''t touch him, so long as he remained favored by the Holy Country''s High Oracle.

    ...

    Troia took the stage, dressed in light makeup, colorful ribbons in her hair, and a flowing ''ceremonial'' half-robe.

    Her attire was aesthetically pleasing, entuating the young Oracle''s age and femininity, while still being conservative.

    Tycon thought it was... nice.

    If he had to venture a guess, the outfit was designed by a... teenage girl. If Troia did so herself, she was very talented.

    The High Oracle''s appearance was met with a round of thunderous apuse. Tycon stood with the crowd, joining in, pping hard enough to make his hands sore.

    If participation was part of the ritual, he would p just as hard as everyone present. He very much wanted to survive.

    One of the Gold-Rank Priestesses announced the ritual name... ''Head in the Clouds.''

    That... didn''t sound like the name of a ritual. It sounded more like the name of a bardic song.

    Ritual casters were an odd bunch. Perhaps they were the Holy Country''s version of ''Mad Wizards'' from other nations.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Then the music began.

    On stage, Troia and her entourage began... to dance.

    Tycon was impressed... "This is... actually very nice."

    "See?" Natalya sneered, "Now you understand."

    The choreography was excellent. The High Oracle and her Priestesses were in near perfect synchronization... actively moving and moderately acrobatic. If he and Sol Invictus were to emte their physically demanding movements, it would take several bells of practice and would be greatly fatiguing.

    The High Oracle began to sing, as well. Her voice sounded like the ringing of a ss bell, just as he expected. She sang in Celestial, thenguage of angels and gods. He had his System trante the lyrics'' meaning, but it was mostly nonsense.

    They... also sounded like they were written by a teenage girl.

    Radiant mana flowed throughout the room, swelling as the performance continued. Bursts of light, as if from fireworks sparkled in the air above them. Troia was glowing-- literally... and upon the ritual''s conclusion, she bowed deeply, eliciting cheers and a round of deafening apuse.

    Tycon pped just as loud. He couldn''t shake the fear that his life depended on it.

    The Fourth Circle ritual required incredibly exact coordination of physical and magical skill... and it was performed to perfection.

    The melody was... simple, yet aesthetically pleasing. Whoever had arranged the score masterfully expressed the minutiae in the various instruments-- yful and courageous, soft and mncholic at times. The band was a perfect apaniment to Troia''s performance.

    ...Tycon expected the tune to haunt him for the next several suns, if not longer.

    The collective crowd gasped as a glowing sphere of light began to descend from the ceiling.

    Tycon had never bore witness to the summoning of a Hero... the powerful, confident, and somewhat... gentle mana swirling in the air undoubtedly belonged to one.

    At first, the light was norger than the size of a fist... then grew asrge as a person... then as the magical haze lifted, that person''s features grew clear.

    One of the Gold-Rank Priestesses on the stage announced the obvious result, "High Oracle Troia has sessfully summoned the Hero!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... and let out a deep sigh.

    "Why did you stop pping?" Natalya scowled. "Are you not entertained?"

    Tycon shook his head, "Ah... it''s of no consequence."

    That person''s majestic battle-garb glowed a divine white.

    Long, sandy blonde hair rested upon the frame of a handsome, young male.

    In his right hand, he carried a powerful, enchanted... crimson... spear.

    "Your face is really pissing me off, Tycondrius," The woman red.

    ...How was that his problem?

    He grimaced, "This is the way I look, Natalya."

    "The High Oracle is summoning a hero to help YOU on YOUR quest," She growled, emphatically pointing up at the levitating Hero. "You should be a LITTLE more thankful, don''t you think?! Especially if you''re to convince him to help you!"

    "My quest is honorable and righteous," Tycon groaned as he nced up again... "Your ''Hero'' will surely assist me in my cause."

    ? Pale, Gold-Rank Half-Elven Spear Hero. ?

 Chapter 545 Star-Fury

    ?Natalya turned her nose up, "You really should be taking this all more seriously!"

    Tycondrius gave her a sidelong nce, "Do you realize that you''re nagging me as if we''re wed?"

    Natalya was thest person that should be scolding him. Tycon was only in the Holy Country as a favor to her.

    However... he decided to allow it. It was amusing to see the woman scrunch up her face as she did.

    "Ohhh, I get it. You''re upset!" She crossed her arms. "Now that we have a proper Hero, I no longer have to suffer an arrogant phnderer from a forgotten adventurer''s guild. That''s you, by the way."

    "Hm, very well," Tycon gestured dismissively.

    "What~?" The woman squinted her eyes and leaned forward with a smug smile, "Nothing witty to say in response?"

    Tycon sighed internally. Natalya had an unquenchable need for getting thest word in an argument. When he previously relied on her favor, he gave in to her whims. Thankfully, she no longer had that luxury.

    "Natalya, you wound me," Tycon feigned offense, "You used different words to describe me,st we were alone~"

    His words caused a surge of murmuring from the nearby acolytes and soldiers. As expected, Archbishop Natalya Crucis'' face turned as red as her robes.

    Tycon found that particr expression to be... endearing.

    As thetent magic from the summoning ritual began to diminish, the glow around the floating Pale began to fade. His radiant armor shell cracked... and burst harmlessly, spreading glittering sparkles wondrously across the room.

    The young boy was wearing a handsome, pristine military coat and trousers-- but without any markings of his rank. Such was done, in order to publicly act without direct affiliation to the Alizeaun military.

    His attire was curious. It was as if he knew he was going to be teleported against his will to a foreign country.

    "Ohhh, he looks like a young Prince!" A female acolyte whispered.

    "I ship him with the High Oracle," Another said.

    That would be dangerous. Tycon made a mental note to warn Pale to keep a respectful distance away from reasonably attractive women that wielded the power of an entire nation.

    He''d... exin such to the young man in... simpler terms, once he''d thought of them.

    Still levitating, the boy moved his legs and found himself unable to walk normally.

    That was normal. Tycon initially hypothesized that the young man was not in control of his flight capabilities.

    But as usual, the boy confounded his expectations. After a few moments of testing, he began to fly about, performing a few acrobatic flips and soaring high above. The assembly apuded.

    ...Ever the exhibitionist, that boy. Though the thought was troubling, his father was the same way.

    It was fine. The more attention that Pale garnered, the easier it was for Tycon to remain inconspicuous... That was even more important, considering he was the only gentleman who dared to sexually harass the Archbishop.

    High Oracle Troia began to form a series of hand signals and the Priestess beside her tranted: "Young Hero from farawaynds! You have been summoned to save our world from dire peril!"

    "Oh!" Pale grinned in embarrassment, "A-alright. I''ming down, now."

    The young man began his slow descent towards the High Oracle. However, his timing was... unfortunate.

    Pale''s summoning was a Fourth-Circle ritual. Any apanying spell effects, such as flight, would be logically weaker than the base spell. A flight spell, if cast only at Third-Circle, onlysted minutes.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Several had passed.

    As Tycon expected, the flight enchantment''s duration expired. Pale plummeted down towards the stage.

    Tycon nced towards the closest exit.

    Thest time he tried to escape a crowded event was at the Caeruleum coliseum. There, he failed to evade capture by Natalya.

    This time, his chances were excellent. He was wearing a set of Decanus armor-- and there were plenty of Decani in the hall. He could also wear his helmet to hide his umon hair color.

    Pale, in true Sol Invictus fashion, crashed down on top of the High Oracle.

    "Th-th-th-the HIGH ORACLE''S FIRST KISS?!?!?" A certain Gold-Rank Priestess screamed.

    This prompted roars of indignation from the crowd.

    Tycon took a deep breath as he circted his mana. He was preparing to run for his pitiful life.

    "HHHWHAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTT?!?!?!" Natalya Crucis screamed. With mana instilled into her voice, everyone in her immediate vicinity was knocked aside.

    Tycon leapt aside, emting the effect on the lower-Rankeddies and gentlemen-- though he was a quarter-second slow. Wiggling his body like the snake he actually was, he burrowed into the pile of bodies, trying to blend in.

    Tyrion steel was drawn from their sheaths. Tyrions were openly weeping. There was screaming and... gnashing of teeth. Several powerful persons were channeling mana, making animalistic noises.

    Tycon ignored it, the best he could, quickly and methodically low-crawling away.

    A pulse of mana, more domineering than the others, blew Tycon''s helmet off. He grabbed it before it could roll away, though. It was expensive.

    "I will not STAND FOR THIS!!!" Natalya screamed, "I don''t care whether or not you''re a HERO!! No one, I mean NO ONE! TOUCHES! THE! HIGH! ORACLLLLLLE!!!""

    The band started ying again... which was a nice touch. Either such madness was frequent in the Basilica or the professionalism of those musicians was outstanding.

    "The HEAVENS SCREAM FOR VENGEANCE!!" Natalya went on. Her mana was almost going berserk and she was emitting a swirling red-pink light. The tiles beneath her were cracking apart from the pressure, and bits of debris were beginning to levitate.

    That was a bit overdramatic. All this for a simple mistake? Pale''s fall was obviously an ident-- to Tycon, anyroad.

    Also, the boy was younger than the High Oracle. He didn''t understand why everyone was so offended.

    Religion was strange.

    Natalya raised her arms and screamed to the heavens, "?STAAAAR-FURYYYYY!!!!!?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. That sounded like a skill... a very powerful skill. He paused... and turned back to look.

    A sixty-fulm tall, crimson-red suit of armor had coalesced into the hall, reaching nearly halfway up to the ceiling.

    That was probably Star-Fury.

    It seemed that Pale was going to be killed.

    ...which was a shame.

 Chapter 546 Dawnbringer

    ?The Tyrions in attendance were running towards the exits in a crazed panic.

    Hidden in the chaos, Tycondrius got to his hands and knees, greatly increasing his crawling speed.

    There was no proper way to fight an armored suit over ten times one''s height.

    ''Requiescat in pace, young friend,'' Tycon whispered in his heart. ''I don''t n on seeking to avenge you, but we''ll say some nice things about you, tonight over dinner.''

    Pale''s certain death was a sore loss. Training a recement would be a necessity.

    Lone was a possible candidate, though his development was... rather mundane. He would be useless if he didn''t have an excellent work ethic and high degree of loyalty to offset hisck of talent. However, the Ranger still needed time to grow.

    He recalled that Invictus member Kimura Taree had some potential. If she survived her training in the Free Nation with Dragan, she''d be a half-decent recement. With her talent, she should be a Peak-Iron or Gold-Rank Fire Martialist... unless Dragan developed her in a different path.

    Tycon could also... recruit someone new into Sol Invictus.

    A decent healer would be good-- as Tycon''s own abilities were limited at healing higher-level injury. An Armored ss would be useful, as well, for when he didn''t have ess to either Dragan or Korr.

    ?? I Will Allow No Harm to Befall My Hero. ??

    A voice resounded in Tycon''s head, reminiscent of a ringing ss bell. It was Troia''s voice... *speaking* through magic.

    "[You Would Wield the ?Dawnbringer?, the Greatest Weapon of Our Holy Country, Against Me?]" Natalya responded, her voice amplified and echoed by whatever strange giant-armor-suit magics she was using.

    ?? Yes. What Threatens Our Realm is Greater Than Even Us, Dear Sister. ??

    ...Though he did not want to, Tycon again turned his head to look back. There was a second gargantuan suit of armor in the hall-- a few fulms shorter and colored in whites and golds.

    That was probably the Dawnbringer.

    He didn''t see where Pale or Troia had gone off to.

    He had... the most terrible suspicion that they were both inside the second mana-construct.

    "[I Will Not Allow My Innocent and Cute Little Sister to be Tainted by an OUTSIDER!!]"

    ?? The Hero Will Save This World. Stand Down, Sister Natalya. ??

    "[I Would Rather the World BURN Than Surrender to THAT CHILD!!!!]"

    "[Um...]" Pale''s shy voice echoed from the white suit of armor, "[Can we... not? fight? Please?]"

    Two zing red swords appeared in the Star-Fury armor''s hands. Erratic mana, very dangerous, high chance to explode, "[I''LL KILL HIM!! THEN I''LL KILL THAT PRINCE!! THEN I''LL KILL MYSELLLLLLLFFFFFFFF!!!!!!!!]"

    Tycon got to his feet and began to run in earnest.

    ...

    After making his way half-way across the Basilica grounds, Tycon finally felt safe enough to stop running. As no one in that particr area was panicking, he judged the giant armor duel he''d left behind had been... contained. It may have even concluded.

    He decided to wait for a few bells before asking for Pale. If Tycon chanced into Natalya, he feared she would try to inflict physical harm upon him, heedless of the High Oracle''s protection.

    He followed a small trail of signs carved into the stones... and was led to a small, out-of-ce library. The Basilica had an entire structure devoted to housing books, only a fifteen-minute walk away. Thus, the ssroom-sized library was a curious existence.

    He allowed himself in and openly announced his presence, "Good afternoon."

    There was no immediate response... and there was no bookkeeper in attendance.<novelnext></novelnext>

    That was a shame. Tycon wanted to ask if lightning ws were standard-equipment for Tyrion Librarians... among other things.

    He shut the door behind him and began to observe his surroundings.

    It seemed that the library was vacated only recently. There were a few books stacked up on a table. One was open, its pages detailing a Second-Circle spell formation. Besides that were several used pieces of parchment.

    The author had penned excellent notes, especially for such a difficult ritual. Their core understanding was good... but there issues with the modifiers'' notation.

    The organization of the transcript was...cking. The runes were mashed into a single spell circle-- it was functional, but troubleshooting any errors would be a pain.

    ...Also, their handwriting was atrocious.

    Tycon took a graphite stick and circled two particr points of interest in the book. That was his good deed for the sun.

    As he''d just lost a member of Sol Invictus, he was in the market for another recruit. If the formation mage was nearby, he''d strongly consider recruiting them... if they proved agreeable, anyroad.

    That person''s effects were still present: a bag to hold their books, writing utensils, a scroll tube...

    There was a strong bow that was well cared for... and a quiver full of decently-crafted arrows...

    ...and there was an open leather wrapping that contained venison jerky.

    The spices were uniquely familiar.

    ...It was something he''d made.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... breathed in deeply and kept his senses vignt.

    He didn''t sense any mana fluctuations... and the scent from the jerky clouded his immediate sense of smell. But he sensed... a very... very slight tinge of movement.

    It was as if someone was watching him... and fearing discovery, they twitched in panic.

    ? System, inquiry: Who is in the room with me? ?

    ? System response: One result. Sasarame. ?

    His... daughter was in the library?

    He sighed and shook his head. Why was she hiding?

    ...She should very well know that hiding was useless against him?

    He strode past the few bookcases... looked underneath a potted nt... looked beneath the tables.

    It took him a few minutes, but he finally found a young white-robed acolyte curled up underneath the front desk.

    It was his daughter, Sasarame, in her humanoid form. Her stark white hair peeked out from underneath her hood, draped gently over her sleeping face.

    Why had she dozed off in such a peculiar ce?

    Was she not getting enough rest? ...Was she being bullied? He was determined to speak to Natalya about his daughter''s learning conditions! Star-Fury or not, he would have answers!

    ",

 Chapter 547 Ashes & Broken Dreams

    ?"Come. This is no ce to sleep," Tycondrius knelt down and picked Sasha up from underneath the table.

    The library had a wooden bench with some pillows. That would be at least slightly morefortable than the floor.

    Her stark white hair had fallen out of her white hood, revealing her dark Elven ears. He quietly pulled her hood down to cover them.

    This was the way Tycon chose to live.

    He hid his true nature. He never revealed the extent of his abilities.

    He eschewed glory for the safety of being underestimated. Those were the lessons he''d impart to his daughter.

    She shot awake. She fussed and struggled. The youngdy more or less slithered out of his arms.

    ...It left Tycon slightly disheartened. Less than two years prior, his daughter was small enough to carry around in his cloak.

    "Sasha, I--"

    Before he could finish, she dashed off, leaping and sliding over a table... and she hid behind a bookcase.

    Tycon was left standing with a hand awkwardly outstretched.

    ...What was that about?

    The chocte elf peeked out from her hiding spot-- then immediately hid again.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    Did... did she not know him?

    She''d been studying at the Academy in Cersei''s Rest for moons. The indoctrination... had it altered her mind?

    Natalya!

    Had Natalya and the Church of the Eternal me BRAINWASHED his beloved daughter?!

    Take her memories, will they?! He would take THEIR LIVES!! EVERYTHING and EVERYONE they have EVER LOVED!!! He would raise their BROKEN bodies as UNDEAD and REND their ETERNAL SOULS with CHAOS MAGIC!!!

    The Basilica would be reduced to naught but ASHES and BROKEN DREAMS!! STAR-FURY OR NOT!!!!!

    The chocte elf again peeked out from the bookcase.

    "S-sasha?" Tycon gulped.

    She waved her hand-- then returned to hiding.

    Tycon pursed his lips...

    What in the seven hells was going on?

    "Youngdy... is everything... quite alright?"

    Sasha peeked out again... and nodded her head, ''yes.'' Then she shook it, ''no.''

    ...Which was it, then?

    Tycon crossed his arms, "Youngdy, I can''t know your troubles unless you use... words."

    Sasha trudged out into full view, sighing heavily... "I''m... I''m not done yet."

    The dark-skinned girl pointed sadly at her books on the table.

    It seemed she wasmenting over her after-ss studies.

    "...Would you like some help?" Tycon offered.

    The girl gasped, bobbing her head up and down energetically.

    Tycon shook his head, chuckling derisively, "If you would like my help, you need only ask."

    He moved to the table, pulled out a seat, and gestured for his lovely daughter to sit, "Shall we?"

    The youngdy pattered over swiftly and obediently, a subtle smile on her face.

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    It took less than a bell toplete Sasha''s work. She''d avoided eye contact with Tycon all the while but listened to his instruction withoutint.

    "Th... thank you, Master," She muttered quietly, closing her book.

    Tycon very much wanted to ruffle the youngdy''s hair, but he wouldn''t risk removing her hood anywhere in the Basilica. Even speaking Parseltongue was something he''d avoid.

    "How is your life in the Academy?" Tycon inquired, "Is anyone bullying you?"

    "N...no," She shook her head... "Everyone is... nice to m-- to Sasha."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, ncing around the library, "Have you made any friends? I notice this ce is suspiciously empty."

    The chocte elf nodded quietly... "Ie to this ce... to hide. No onees here... so I-- err... so Sasha made it her own."

    Tycon sighed, shaking his head... "You may speak normally, youngdy. I know you missed me."

    The little young teenage girl pouted, turning her head in the opposite direction.

    "I didn''t say I missed you," She whispered.

    Tycon took her hand in his... and she gripped it subconsciously-- before snatching it away and crossing her arms.

    Interesting...

    "Well, I suppose I could leave you to your devices, then," He stood up and took a few steps towards the door.

    After pausing dramatically, he turned back.

    As he''d guessed, Sasha was holding hand outstretched towards him.

    Then she realized she''d been tricked. The youngdy raised her hands to her chest in a panic, babbling "um''s" and "ah''s," trying to find an excuse.

    Tycon was more amused by her contrary actions than he was insulted.

    A certain amount of rebelliousness was permissible for children.

    "Y...you cannot leave," Sasha pouted. "Master... only just arrived."

    Tycon felt his heart soften as he allowed himself to be dragged back to the table.

    "Very well, youngdy. I''ll keep youpany for awhile." He gestured to her wooden bow, "But first, let me inspect your gear and your grade sheet."

    ...

    Sasha had done well in the several moons she''d been going to school.

    Her ranking wasfortably within the middle of her ss. She performed surprisingly well atnguage studies. She excelled at magical practice, while performing below average at magical theory.

    ...That was likely Tycon''s fault. The Holy Country taught magic in a very particr way. While Sasha could obtain results, it wouldn''t be in the way the Church dictated.

    Sasha had joined the archery club and wasuded by her upperssmen for her skills.

    Tycon asked if there were any boys that were interested in her.

    The youngdy then revealed that her archery club was only open to female students. That fact provided Tycon some relief-- though he couldn''t quite understand why.

    "Do you have a ce to stay, Master?" The youngdy asked, tilting her head.

    "We do," Tycon nodded. "Did you want to stay with us for the evening? I suppose we''ll need to apply for permission for you to leave the Basilica grounds."

    "Oh. Okay," Sasha nodded quietly, "Is it just... Master and Lone?"

    "And the young Pale, I''d imagine," Tycon mused.

    Sasha''s lips curved into a small pout, "I''ll stay here."

    Tycon hesitated... furrowing his brows, "Youngdy?"

    "...Sasha will stay."

    "Ah," Tycon bared his teeth, "No-- I didn''t have an issue with your diction. Is there something wrong with Pale?"

 Chapter 548 In His Fatherâ€™s Footsteps

    ?Sasha frowned, as if upset... "N-nothing is wrong with Pale."

    Tycondrius felt his eye twitch, "Did you two... have a disagreement?"

    The youngdy shook her head.

    Tycon pursed his lips... "You dislike him."

    "Not... exactly?"

    How mysterious. Tycon poked at his daughter''s cheek, "What is it, then?"

    "He is... a flirt."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "He''s a what?"

    Instead of answering, Sasha hid her face behind a thick book.

    Tycon let out a deep sigh. That his daughter was bing more willful was not a problem he could fix. That Pale was a flirt like his father, Quay, was not surprising, but was something he''d need to watch out for.

    He did find it peculiar that he hadn''t noticed it... but he trusted Sasha''s opinion over his own. She was exceptionally sensitive to people and their natures.

    Anyroad, it was fine that she stayed away from boys.

    "Well,e along, youngdy," Tycon stood up and began neatly packing Sasha''s school materials. "You''ll apany me to dinner, won''t you?"

    Sasha offered her book, which Tycon took and put into her bag.

    "Is... is Paleing?" She asked.

    "Yes," Tycon rolled his eyes. "Pale will be present."

    "...Th... that depends on where we are going?"

    Tycon sighed... then lightly tapped his daughter on the nose, "You can choose."

    ...

    Reasonably, Sasha could use one of her powerful Oracle abilities to search for their Ranger, the Lone Shadowdark.

    She used a minor one.

    She cryptically stated that Mister Lone was fighting against a great evil... therefore would not make it to dinner.

    He probably could use their assistance... but Tycon considered a proper meal a greater priority.

    As the two were leaving the Basilica, Pale emerged from the greenery. He''d been hiding from the High Oracle, the Archbishop, and entire teams of Church enforcers for the past several bells.

    ...It seemed Natalya''s scryers weren''t as good as she thought.

    Pale politely requested to be smuggled out of the Basilica. Tycon arranged a path for the young man to follow, to do just that.

    Dinner was wonderful.

    Seafood was cheaper thannd fare, as was to be expected for an ind territory. However, as it was a meal celebrating their reunification, spending a bit of extra coin was appropriate.

    Tycon ordered on the Archbishop''s tab. Natalya would understand.

    ...

    ? The following sun. ?

    "G-good morning, Hero!" "Good morning!" "Notice me, Hero!"

    A massive gaggle of mostly young female students stood at the entrance of the Basilica... and they greeted Pale as he and Tycon approached.

    Pale waved shyly, "Um, hello."

    They showered Pale with gifts: letters, small bags of sweets, and crafted trinkets among other things...

    Tycon was nothing but impressed by their devotion... though he did wonder how long exactly they had been waiting around.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It took several minutes of the Hero taking part in awkward conversation before a group of instructors came to herd the students back to their ssrooms.

    "S-sorry about that, Sir," Pale bowed his head.

    "In theory, I am used to such things," Tycon shook his head. "I''d imagine your father received a simr reception."

    He wasn''t 100% certain. Memory loss.

    "Hmm..." Pale twisted his lips to the side as they walked, "Boss, do you think I''m strong enough? To find my dad, at least?"

    Tycon looked up in thought. Searching for a man long dead? Gold-Rank was a minimum prerequisite for such a dangerous quest.

    Pale had attained a high-tier ss... and Hero was one of the strongest known to the Realm. Admittedly, his chances were decent if he were to set out on his own.

    However... what he wanted was stupid.

    Tycon would have Pale assist him in taking Caeruleum, not searching for a fool who didn''t deserve to be found.

    Pale averted his gaze, seeming to have taken Tycon''s silence as his response... "I knew it... I''m not strong enough, then."

    Tycon patted his youngpanion''s back, "You''re almost there. We''ll train for a moon or three, we''ll run a campaign of genocide-- just one. Then from there, I''m certain you''ll have gained enough power to strike off on your own."

    The boy''s breakthrough was recent-- within the past few moons. He needed training to solidify his power. Sasha could help with that.

    "What''s genocide?" Pale asked.

    Tycon pursed his lips, ignoring the question... "For your personal quest, you''ll probably need your own adventuring party..."

    The boy''s expression brightened immediately, "I can get Taree!"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes. You can get the whelpling."

    Kimura Taree was a Martialist, only a year or two older than Pale. She''d been training with the Titanblood Swordmage Dragan in the Free Nation.

    She was certain to grow strong... but Tycon hoped that Dragan''s delinquent personality wouldn''t influence her too negatively...

    Those hopes were not high.

    Pale bit his lower lip, hesitant... "Maybe... I can ask Sasha to be our healer?"

    Tycon chuckled to himself, "You can try."

    The young man''s first two choices of party members were young women. As Tycon was aware of Pale''s true nature as a ''flirt'', evidence of it becameughably easy to identify.

    The two made their way through the Basilica, quietly and nonchntly dodging the patrols assigned to capturing Pale. Tycon''s ?Shadowfang? movement skill had proved indispensable.Also, Pale''s ?Misty Step? had improved greatly sincest they met.

    Upon reaching Sasha''s library, she and a few students (Pale''s admirers, it seemed) had pushed aside the tables and chairs, allowing the floor to be used as a ritual surface. Chalk lines and holy objects were spread about the room, forming an intricate web of twenty vertices.

    Tycon hastily inspected the work. It was... functional.

    He gave his daughter, Sasha, a proud smile, "You''ve worked hard on it, youngdy."

    "...Had to fix it... after the instructor left," She quietly muttered.

    Pale stepped into the formation first... which surprised Tycon slightly. The young man knew exactly how to enter it and where he was meant to stand.

    "Have you been studying ritual circles, Mister Pale?"

    "No, Sir," Pale bared his teeth in embarrassment, "But um... Sasha''s rituals are easier to read than yours."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes for a brief moment... but such a thing was not something to be angry about, "Well done, Sasha."

    "P... pale is stupid," She whispered.

    "I... I can hear you," Pale frowned.

    "Pale is stupid," She repeated.

    Tycon pursed his lips. He was absolutely not going to interfere in whatever was going on.

 Chapter 549 New Challengers

    ?Tycondrius stepped into the ritual formation, allowing the concentrated mana to wash over him.

    The mana flow was good-- in particr, the pressure of the stream. The purification circles were working perfectly, it felt good breathing it and against his bare skin. Where Sasha''s rune work was admittedly average, she excelled at precisely measuring the requisite amount of mana for the formation to function, and maximizing its purity.

    Tycon instilled mana down his arm, to the very tip of his finger... and drew a sigil in the air. Inpleting the inner seal, the mana lines began to light up, shrouding the room in a dim, golden glow.

    "Youngdy, if you would," He nodded to his daughter.

    "Aye aye," She knelt down, cing her hands into the activation circle. "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus."

    ...

    It was dark... but there were torches enough for Pale to see.

    The boy had inherited Elven eyes from his father. Where a human could peer into the far distance with a focusedntern, Pale needed but a single candle.

    Tycon could see just as well-- even without.

    They were underground, in a narrow passageway surrounded by stone walls, cold and damp. It stank of blood, sweat... and shite.

    It was unpleasant... but familiar.

    He nudged the boy at his side, "We''re here."

    Pale blinked, rubbing at his eyes, "Huh... are we in... a Dungeon?"

    Tycon smirked, "Something like that."

    "So this is where we''re going to be training..." Pale pouted and shifted his weight.

    Suddenly, he tensed up, grabbing himself in confusion, "H-hold on?! Where''s my armor? M-my spear?!"

    The young man was without his personal effects, wearing a mere simple tunic. Tycon was the same.

    He recalled being in a near-identical simr situation only recently. Much to his embarrassment, a young admirer of his named Suka bore witness to his distress at not having his luxuries: his spatial ring, in particr.

    Spatial items were damned difficult to find.

    "They won''t be necessary," Tycon shook his head. "I''ll have you armed decently when we arrive at our assigned room."

    "At our... assigned room?" Pale dipped his head, deep in thought. It seemed he was having trouble making sense of his situation.

    ...Admittedly, it was a bit ridiculous.

    "Why are you two here?" Tycon asked the gentlemen behind Pale.

    A massive orc with a tight-fitting shirt stood behind the boy, barely able to fit in the narrow hall. In front of that fellow was a transparent shadow in aparatively baggy tunic.

    The shadow shrugged with open palms, not betraying any particr emotion.

    Garock smiled with chagrin, "Your Reality Marble is an extension of your memories... It seems that the two of us can take form, here."

    The orc was a Gold-Rank weapon spirit that inhabited one of Tycon''s swords. The shadow was a summoned spirit of his that always acted with sentience. It wasn''t supposed to be sentient, but Tycon had stopped trying to make sense of its actions, long ago.

    "Hm. Granted. Garock, Shadow, go entertain yourselves," Tycon waved dismissively.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Very well," The orc inclined his head. "Do well in your training, young elf."

    The shadow gave the boy a thumbs-up gesture.

    "Um. Thanks?" Pale smiled politely.

    "Pale, with me." Tycon turned and began down the torchlit corridor. The young man''s light footsteps soon followed close behind...

    Tycon had visited below the arenas at Caeruleum several moons prior. At that time, there were plenty of painted arrows on the walls and floor.

    But even without such guidance... Tycon found that he already knew where to go. He walked confidently, stepping around uneven flooring and even pointing out the location of amusing works of graffiti.

    Conversely, the nervous boy at his back was... troubled. Despite his excellent eyesight, he stepped into questionable puddles. He flinched as the crowd aboveground roared as a whole, pounding their feet as they cheered and booed for their diators. The boy even lost his bnce and skinned his elbow on a wall-- surprised as a wild direbeast''s death cry reverberated throughout thebyrinth.

    "Sir Tycon?" The boy yelped, "You still haven''t told me what kind of training this is?"

    "Have patience, young friend," Tycon gently chided. "I don''t want to spoil the surprise."

    He stopped in front of one particr door, "?Lock Tap.?"

    The door crashed in under the strength of Tycon''s kick, its locking mechanism irreparably broken.

    "Wh-what?! Who?!" A handsome voice inside shouted.

    Pale turned to him with incredulous eyes, "B-boss? That voice is...?"

    Without answering, Tycon entered the room... where he found a young male taking inventory of weapons and armor, "Good morning."

    That fellow was a very attractive individual... though his face was marked by a number of piercings on his nose and brows that detracted from his professionalism.

    "Oh... it''s you," The young man pursed his lips and took in a slow breath... He had a sword held out in a neutral stance. It was reasonable, considering the circumstances, "Identifier, please."

    "Qui audet adipiscitur," Tycon answered, speaking in the Holy Country''s oldnguage.

    "Qui audet vincet," The man shook his head, sheathing his sword. "You''re the one person I never expected to have to challenge."

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "I find that doubtful. It was you who developed our system of code words, after all."

    "Wha-wha-what''s going on, Sir?!" Pale asked, "Why are there two of you!?"

    Other-Tycon reared his head back in disgust, ring at the boy, "And who in the seven hells is this... whelpling?"

    "Quay''s kid," Tycon shrugged. "And believe it or not, he''s stronger than you are."

    "Tss... is he now?" Other-Tycon rolled his eyes, sweeping back his luxurious green hair. "Granted. Then the question is: who''s the mom?"

    "No idea. And neither does Quay," Tycon shook his head. "Give me your armor. The boy and I are looking to participate in the duo match."

    "Grr... That''s the next one. Ugh, the Titanblood''s gonna be pissed." Other-Tycon growled as he started taking off his armor."You gonna help me out with these straps, or what?"

    Tycon made a mental note topliment his daughter. The ritual she crafted had excellent uracy, in regard to its timing.

    ",

 Chapter 550 Performance Anxiety

    ?The Tycon with the pierced face raised an eyebrow... "Are you two uh... from the future? Somethin'' happen that you had to break the Laws? Or ''sit something else?"

    "BOSS??!?" Pale ced his hands on his cheeks, yelling in a panic, "We''re in the PAST??"

    "Less questions, more listening, young man," Tycondrius scolded before again addressing his other-self, "We''re in a Reality Marble, a recreation of past memories-- a simtion, if you will. As no timelines can be changed, I can sate your curiosities, if you wish."

    "Makes sense," Other-Tycon tilted his head up. "First time in the sim, then? Since you don''t look like you''re sick of me, just yet."

    "Yes, it is. And no, I''ve grown beyond all forms of mundane pettiness."

    "In the future..." Other-Tycon furrowed his brows, continuing in Parseltongue, "(can I believe my little sister can be this cute?)"

    "Your question is stupid. Ask a different one."

    "Aha, just... just testing," The handsome, if slightly-less-knowledgeable gentleman averted his gaze, "It looks like piercings have gone out of style?"

    "Correct," Tycon nodded solemnly. "You look like an arse."

    Other-Tycon scoffed, "Can''t change the past, Ty."

    Tycon frowned... "Hm. For whatever reason, I don''t like being called that, anymore."

    "Huh. Weird," Other-Tycon shrugged. "But things change, I guess. At least I''m still a handsome motherf*cker."

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded. "But change isn''t always a negative oue."

    "Catch," Other-Tycon tossed him a modified Decanus helmet-- the eye-visor wasposed of green, enchanted ss. It felt good in his hands... as if he''d reunited with a long-lost friend.

    "Appreciated," Tycon nodded. "Pale, you may speak your thoughts, now."

    Pale gulped... "We''re... we''re in the past... back when Sol Invictus reigned supreme in the Ezyrian arenas."

    "Nice," Other-Tycon nodded. "Actually, we were supposed to fight against--"

    Tycon raised his palm.

    Other-Tycon''s lips curved upward into a scheming smirk, "Actually... it''ll be best as a surprise."

    "Aww," Pale pouted.

    "Ahaha! Don''t worry about it, whelpling! --Pail, was it? It''ll be a good one!" Other-Tycon grinned... "Honestly, I wasn''t sure we was gonna win."

    "I did," Tycon pursed his lips. "We did, rather... We do."

    "Hah, right. Obviously," Other-Tycon rolled his eyes, "Anyroad... did that dummy Quay really name his kid Bucket?"

    Tycon scoffed, deciding not to answer. He had no idea of the specifics, "I''ll ask you to inform the other members of Sol Invictus. It''s too early for Pale to meet with Quay and I daresay Mister Dragan has to be... properly mollified."

    Pale looked up, clearly unhappy... "I have to do really good to see my dad, huh?"

    Tycon shrugged, "I suppose I''ll allow it if you perform well enough."

    He didn''t see any value in having the boy meet a dead man... but if that was his motivation, that was fine.

    "What... the... hells?" Other-Tycon furrowed his handsome brows, "He lets you call him Dragan?"

    Tycon didn''t answer. That question was also stupid. Instead, he gently pushed Pale forward, "Armor up. Your training begins soon."

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Sir Tycon! What weapon should I use?!"

    Pale was fretting, staring at the weapon racks. Many members of Sol Invictus were skilled with different weaponry... and would change their weapon tactics based on the scale ofbat or if there were any unique rules in certain matches.

    The two of them were set to participate in a two-on-two match-- standard ruleset.

    Nothing heretical. ''Honor'' was preferred, but not necessary.

    Such a thing was impossible to enforce. Nowhere in the Realm was such a term defined byw-- even in the heart of the Holy Country of Tyrion.

    "Young man, I believe you would be best with... a spear," Tycon patted the young man on the shoulder.

    His ss was... Spear Hero. Unless there were dire... extraordinary circumstances, the boy should... always default to a spear.

    "Well... Y-yeah," Pale pouted. "But... but I can use a sword-- or... a polearm? Are we fighting really tall opponents? Or like... short ones? Do they use magic? Or...?"

    Tycon smiled politely as he grabbed a spear off the rack and thrust it (not-so-politely) into the boy''s hands, "What are you most confident in using?"

    "...A spear, Sir." Pale hugged the haft close. It wasn''t enchanted, but it was made of a sturdy and weighty darkwood... a bit more refined than something a beginner would opt for.

    "Turn around," Tycon gestured. "I''ll double-check your straps."

    Pale sighed as he turned, slouching and rxing his shoulders, "Boss... I''m just... Ahh... I don''t know."

    The straps were fine. Tycon patted the boy on the shoulder to signal everything was in good order, "Are you nervous?"

    "Y-yeah... It''s... I dunno, Boss," Pale turned, looking up with a worried expression.

    "Are you afraid of taking injury?" Tycon offered.

    "No, that''s not it... It''s just... dad will be watching, right?"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Is that different from me watching? Or Mister Dragan or Mister Wroe?"

    "Well..." Pale gulped, "No? But it... it *feels* different. Should I... be trying to use my strongest Skills? Or should I try to be extra shy, since we''re going to be fighting in the arena?"

    "What? No," Tycon shook his head. "You should be trying to win."

    "What would... what would my dad do?" Pale pouted.

    "Something foolish, I''m sure," Tycon shrugged.

    "R-really?" Pale furrowed his eyebrows, "That doesn''t sound right? My dad is super strong, though?"

    "He is," Tycon chuckled. "In the arenas, he would enjoy himself to the fullest, performing whatever gaudy Skill or spin-move that fit his whims."

    "So... what should I do, then?"

    "Do what you''d like. Nothing exists, spoken or written, dictating that you have to copy your father."

    "Well... I know that, but... what should I do to... make him proud, I guess?" Pale frowned.

    The young man was full of a great deal of doubt... and more than Tycon thought appropriate. However, it was... permissible. The boy''s worries were... normal, considering his young age.

    Tycon pursed his lips in thought. The proper answer to such a question was...plex. He''d oversimplify it for the young man''s benefit.

    "If I know that fellow... he''d be proud, as long as you try your best. Quay never gave less than his all."

 Chapter 551 Elevator Thoughts (Part One)

    ?"That..." Pale frowned.

    Tycondrius took a deep breath, shaking his head. The boy wasn''t content with his previous answer... as true as it was.

    The former leader of Sol Invictus was an Elven Pathfinder Ranger named Quies.

    Such a name was far too magnificent for the likes of that fellow... He and the rest of the guild merely called him Quay.

    The elf was a simple and generally carefree fellow. He didn''t particrly care for the negative opinions of others.

    He waspetitive. He craved attention. He was prone to whining about insignificant things... often.

    No matter the task, Quay performed it to the best of his ability... be it training, fighting... ying children''s card games.

    He was incapable of doing otherwise.

    To speak well of him, he was optimistic and unfaltering, as well as clever when it came tobat and swordy.

    To speak more inly, Quay was the most effective idiot he knew.

    As for his son... Pale wanted to prove himself worthy of his father''s recognition.

    The difficulty of the task wasughably low. Quay was impressed by cicadas molting and slugs being able to climb vertically.

    Conversely, Pale was an existence of awe-inspiring anomalies-- each proving him far more capable than a mundane insect or gastropod.

    The boy had at least a Peak-Iron level of martial skill. He had arge repertoire of powerful skills: offensive, movement-type, and even healing-- all trained to Middle Completion. He had a high-tier ss and his reflexes and reaction speed were incredibly high.

    Quay would be impressed by anything the boy did.

    ...He would also see his son as his greatest rival.

    Tycon sighed... "That fellow told me... he''d be waiting."

    "He... he said that?" Pale bit his upper lip, "Waiting... for me?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows, ncing around the room. The two of them were its only inhabitants... "Yes."

    Pale nodded solemnly... "Then... I have to get stronger."

    "I advise you to win," Tycon smiled politely.

    Winning the favor of a dead man was an honorable idealization. Attaining victory in a match was far more distinct of a goal. Tycon would guide his youngpanion towards smaller achievements. His overall growth would be inevitable.

    The two of them turned just as the door at the end of the room swung open. A certain green-haired gentleman swaggered in, favoring his left leg and with one eye swollen shut.

    "It''sh avout time," Other-Tycon slurred.

    "Wh... what happened?" Pale asked, wide-eyed... "Uh... Sir?"

    Other-Tycon narrowed the brow over his good eye, "Prince Droghan bent me over a table... and ''e tried ta f*ck me. Now''re you two gonna move, or what?"

    ...

    Tycon fell into quiet contemtion, waiting for the lift to rise to the arena floor.

    He was worried... but not about the uing match. He was worried about the boy.

    Pale stood by his side, hugging his spear and keeping to his own thoughts.

    Whether he realized it or not, much was expected of him.

    He had recently gained a new ss: Spear Hero.

    As powerful as it was... it ced him in a troublesome position.

    Hero-type sses were the rarest in the Realm. They were created by fate... if that was to be believed. Or perhaps the gods made them-- as if the gods gave a shite about the livelihood of mortals.

    Regardless of who or what was at fault, the creation of a Hero ss corrted with the birth of a threat capable of destroying the world.

    When the threat appeared, the Hero was destined to sacrifice everything in order to... defeat it or... seal it-- something fantastical, for sure.

    It was-- or would be a thankless endeavor.

    Tycon wanted no part of it.

    He hoped to train the boy for a bit and utilize him in subjugating Caeruleum. Then, he would dismiss him in time to do ''hero things'' as he pleased.

    However, as ofte, Tycon was encountering... troublesome situations with rming regrity.

    In the Kingdom, he had uncovered an invasion plot by the ne of Fire. When he punched the snake god in the face, he became privy to unrest amongst the divine pantheon. When he shared information with Ananta the Endless, he discovered that giant lizards were nning on existing, within his lifetime.

    Each threat could feasibly destabilize and destroy the Realm.

    A Hero would be appropriate to deal with any and all of them.

    Tycon could reasonably assist that Hero... or... group of Heroes.

    He didn''t want to. It would be pointless.

    Pale''s training had been excellent. He learned and developed strength at unprecedented speed. He was honest and honorable...but was capable of ruthlessness, when necessary. He was agreeable and polite-- probably his most important traits.

    The boy was, for all intents and purposes, an excellent Hero-in-training... but not yet a Hero proper.

    Pale had been adventuring for less than two years. Regardless of his level of power and martial skill, he hadn''t undergone enough hardships in that short amount of time.

    He was an Officer in the Alizeaun military, leading troops into battle... but for not long enough.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He had killed great beasts, grown men, veterans ofbat... but the numbers only ran in the dozens-- maybe hundreds.

    He was still a boy. If they''d never met, he''d be a squire to some Knight or... performing low-rank quests for an Adventurer''s Guild.

    Tycon needed his power... so he treated him as an adult mercenary. The boy was shown how to arm and armor himself once, then left to his own designs. If he failed or spoke out of line, he would be punished. His training was adjusted for his size and strength... but was no easier than that of his adult peers.

    It wasn''t fair to him... to be forced to grow up so quickly.

    The boy was untrained when Sol Invictus recovered him in the city of Nice. Perhaps Quay never intended for the boy to follow in his footsteps... instead, to get a basic education or enter a trade...

    With that, he could support Sol Invictus, through profit and paperwork. Sorina Capulet and her ability to bnce the guild''s coffers was easily more effective at growing their brand than Tycon was, leading them into battle.

    But in following the path of the mercenary... Pale became a Hero.

    It left a sour taste in Tycon''s mouth.

    The unfortunate truth about Heroes... was that their sess was not guaranteed.

    No worldsted forever.

    In theory, Tycon shouldn''t have to care.

    If the Realm was destroyed, he would die along with most everyone else. The heavens would fall. The hells would be torn... even more asunder. The particrs were unimportant. It would be unpleasant.

    However... Tycon had a direct hand in the boy''s growth.

    That fact alone meant he carried some responsibility in whether or not the Realm would burn.

    ...Ultimately, nothing changed.

    Hero or not, he would train the boy to the best of his ability.

    Son of his good friend or not... the boy was ountable for his own actions.

    It was just... that tiny errant thought existed in the back of Tycon''s mind...

    If his young friend challenged that which made the gods tremble in fear... and he faltered...

    ...would his final thought be... ''Tycon failed me''?

    ...

    Pale wiped his sweaty palms on his skirt before gripping the haft of his wooden spear.

    He''d gotten used to wearing trousers, so wearing a Holy Country battle-skirt felt weird. It was hot and sweaty in the underground corridors, though. Maybe that''s why all the diators liked to wear skirts?

    Why did they call it a battle-skirt? It was... still a skirt?

    Were they different?

    ...If they were, he needed to request a set of battle-armor-- oh, and a battle-spear, too.

    The elevator was slowly rising to the arena floor, slowly nking away... but not nearly fast enough. Pale''s heart was beating way faster, for sure.

    Sir Tycon was wearing a mysterious-looking green-visored helmet, staring at the doors. Once it reached the top, they would open up... and Pale would have to fight the most important match in his life.

    Boss didn''t look nervous at all...

    He was really strong! Invincible, for sure!

    And besides that, they were in Sir Tycon''s past-- he''d already lived through it, risking his life sun after sun in the arena. That''s what all of Sol Invictus did...

    It made Pale wish that he''d been a bit older, so he could have experienced it, too. But then again, he was experiencing it currently? Time travel was weird.

    "Boss?"

    "Mhm?"

    "What... what would you do if Other-You didn''t want to help?"

    "I''d have killed him," Sir Tycon responded casually.

    ...That made sense. Pale felt dumb for asking. For whatever reason, he always forgot that murder was usually a very good way to solve problems.

    It wasn''t... usually a good answer? But then again, he couldn''t think of an example where it wouldn''t make everything easier.

    Pale yed with his cheeks, making popping noises... He was ufortable in the cramped elevator. Boss could probably tell how nervous he was. He wished he had a helmet that covered his eyes, too... The one he wore just covered his pointy ears.

    Finally, the lift reached a halt. Pale held his breath... but the doors didn''t open.

    "Boss...?"

    "Go ahead."

    "Why didn''t the doors open?"

    Sir Tycon twisted his lips, "The previous match hasn''t ended yet. We''re in ce to enter the arena immediately, so the crowd doesn''t have to wait."

    "Oh..." Pale fidgeted... "H...hey... Boss."

    Tycon crossed his arms... "Is there an issue?"

    "I... I have to pee."

 Chapter 552 Elevator Thoughts (Part Two)

    ?Pale gave Boss Tycon the best smile he could.

    It was embarrassing, but he was in trouble.

    The Sir red down at him. His green visor made him look a little more intimidating than usual... but his mouth was twisted in the same expression he usually wore.

    "I told you to go before we boarded the lift."

    "I did! Haa~" Paleughed uneasily, "I just... I have to go again?"

    "Go on the wall," Tyconmanded.

    "I... what? I can''t!" Pale shook his head, "This is a public area?!"

    He didn''t want to... not that he had any real options, since they were crammed together in a small room.

    "Rx," Tycon shook his head. "Hundreds, if not thousands of diators before you have urinated on these walls."

    The way Boss said that made it sound like it was something to be proud of? It was still peeing on a wall. That really didn''t sound right...

    Pale stared at the packed earth on the tform they were standing on. He thought it was squishy because of... blood. When thinking about diators, he first thought of shy skills and a loud crowd and-- and spilled blood! But because of what Boss said...

    ...It probably wasn''t blood in the dirt.

    "Did... my dad also pee here?" Pale gulped, "Like when he was fighting alongside you, Sir?"

    "...Probably," Tycon frowned. Beneath his visor, he was probably furrowing his eyebrows, too. He always did that, "Cease your staring, young man. Be quick about your business..."

    Pale went to a wall... circted his mana... and willed himself to pee...

    "Boss."

    "What?"

    "It''s noting out."

    Pale wanted to cry. This had never happened before! He forgot how to pee!

    "That..." Tycon paused to take a breath... "is a problem that only you can solve, young man."

    "Bosssss~" Pale rested his helmet on the wall, "Don''t you have... a skill for this?"

    "Stars and stones, boy, my ss is Warlord, not... Urination-Assistant."

    "Boss,e on!" Pale turned his head, pouting, "Can''t you-- y''know... snap your fingers and make me pee?"

    "You can''t be serious," Tycon tilted his head up, (probably rolling his eyes.) "Even If I use my ?Commander''s Strike? skill on you *sessfully*, then you''ll PISS yourself every time I do so in the future! Is that what you want?"

    "N... no," Pale sighed.

    "Now stopining and... go."

    Boss sounded really upset. It made Pale feel a little guilty.

    He was right... He always was? ''I''m never wrong, don''t question me again'' was one of Boss'' favorite sayings.

    Pale took in a deep breath and he tried to focus. Some things, he just couldn''t ask anyone to do for him. Peeing was one of them.

    "...Did you finish, young man?" Tycon asked.

    Pale adjusted himself while staring at his feet and the mucky pee dirt... "I don''t have to go anymore..."

    ...

    Theo stretched his back, leaning to the left... then to the right... then rotated at the waist with his elbows red, "Yo, Maximus, you gonna warm up?"

    The dragonblood didn''t react-- as if he hadn''t heard him at all. He stared up at the ceiling of the elevator shaft...

    The ascent to the arena floor was painfully slow.

    Maximus was the perfect, ever-professional diator. ording to the rumors, his muscles were carved out of stone by the Eternal me, herself.

    ...As rude as the guy was, Theo was inclined to believe the tales.

    The Sanctum Parmrius stood a head above most men, could tear apart leather armor with his bare hands, and was so well versed with lightning-magic that he could probably shite it out his other end.

    The man always kept his silver cuirass in pristine condition-- and nearly had a literal glow because of it. His shield was thick, half-a-man''s weight, and his spear was custom-made by the finest craftsmen in Tyrion.

    What was unnerving about him was... he rarely spoke. He... acted.

    Theo and the rest of their guild, Noctis Umbra, had to find everything about Maximus through trial-and-error.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Training with him was fine-- though he mostly trained alone.

    He drank and ate like a normal man-- he didn''t care for the particrs.

    He quietly yed card games when requested. He bet conservatively and... wasn''t particrly good or bad.

    He didn''t go whoring. Whores came to him... and they probably paid for the service.

    There was... one thing they learned, though.

    Maximus was not to be provoked, not even in jest.

    The old leader of Noctis Umbra-- the one that was around before Theo took over... he said something about Maximus'' sister once.

    Theo didn''t remember the exact phrasing, but by the end of the night, there were over twenty diators with injuries that required magical healing. For the diatorial careers of eight men and women, magical healing wasn''t enough.

    As for Maximus? He hadn''t taken a mescarred scratch... not to his person, not to his reputation... not during the ordeal-- nor after.

    No one was stupid enough to give him any trouble, the Church included.

    A dragonblood-- a non-f*cking-human injured Tyrion citizens. He literally broke them with knees and fists. The hypocritical bastards came by to check the structural damages... they carried the charred bodies out of that ce, honored to be doing the work of the Eternal me. Then, they asked Maximus if there was anyone else they needed to arrest.

    They would have licked his criminal arsehole if he told them to.

    Maximus was the best mescarred thing to ever happen to Ezyria. Those men and women of the Church... they were Ezyrian too.

    The old guild leader said he was the one at fault... and the man couldn''t walk two steps without soiling himself. Maybe he realized the error of his ways-- that no one should disrespect the man and his child-sister. Maybe he didn''t want Maximus to finish him off.

    After that, Theo was ced in charge of Noctis Umbra.

    What he really wanted... was to remove Maximus from their roster... or dissolve the guild and reform without him-- maybe move to Rixus.

    In returning to their roots, all they had to do was win in the arenas.

    For a normal guild, winning meant profit. Profit meant they could maintain their equipment. It meant everyone could sleep under a roof...

    But they had Maximus. And he was damn good at what he did.

    Fighting in the arena, he''d do anything to win. He didn''t give a shite. He''d throw sand. He''d go for the testicles. One of the guys, a Warrior ss --he swore he got *bit* during a wrestling match.

    He got bit. By Maximus'' mescarred teeth. It was like he wasn''t a Tyrion-- he was more like... a savage from the Beast Kingdom.

    It wasn''t a popr fact... that the greatest diator in Ezyria was also its filthiest fighter.

    But more than undefeatable... that Maximus was considered a Tyrion hero. He was just that good at winning-- especially against fighters from the other nations.

    With him in their guild, winning meant... riches. Riches meant being invited to drug-filled parties with the wealthy elite, with high-ranked bishops and members of the senate. It meant that everyone in Noctis Umbra could live a life of hedonistic luxuries.

    If Theo tried to kick Maximus out... his ''friends'' would band together and hang him off the tallest tree they could find. They''d evenugh at it, trying to get in the criminal''s good graces.

    ...When the lift reached the top, he and Maximus were set to fight the fastest rising diator guild in Tyrion.

    They also hailed from Ezyria. They were called Sol Invictus.

    It was funny-- night and sun. The posters around Caeruleum advertising the match yed on the shing names well.

    Theo shifted around uneasily. He checked the straps on his shield and he tightened the buckle on his helmet... "You nervous, Maximus?"

    As nervous as he was?

    "Shut the f*ck up," The dragonblood muttered, his gaze never straying from the lift''s doors.

    Theo grimaced. With that reaction, he probably was.

    "We should make a n," He said aloud. Even if Maximus didn''t want to talk, they needed at least a basic strategy, "Invictus'' roster''s got a lot of threats. Ranger Quies is probably gonna be something to watch out for... and the criers have been saying they''ll probably send out their own Sanctified Psyker for you-- Zuko, I think his name was..."

    "Wrong."

    ...Maximus'' reply was short and direct.

    Theo inhaled the stink of the cramped lift in, trying and failing to reign in his annoyance... "Who do *you* think they''re sending, then?"

    "Invictus'' only chance of winning against me is using the Berserker and the Tactician."

    ...Theo slowly grimaced over the dragonblood''s choice of words. He made it sound like he was fighting alone.

    "me take that," Theo spat, "The Berserker? You mean Dragan? I''ve seen some of his matches. The fat criminal''s all show-- he''s just a big, barrel-chested fool with an oversized sword."

    Maximus said nothing... which Theo took as permission to go on, "And the Tactician? That guy''s probably the weakest diator in Sol Invictus! I don''t even know his name! Do you?"

 Chapter 553 Start Of The Match

    ?Maximus lightly shook his head, "It''s Tycondrius."

    "Huh?" Theo furrowed his brows.

    "The Tactician''s name... It''s Tycon."

    Theo opened his mouth to argue... but the words stuck in his throat. He wasn''t familiar with any current or former diators named ''Tychon''... but there was something in Maximus'' seriousness that gave him pause.

    "That man," Maximus turned to him with a grave expression... "is worth more than your entire f*cking guildbined."

    "You... you''re... joking, right?" Theo forced a strainedugh.

    The dragonblood did not respond, once more returning his gaze to the doors.

    ...Maybe it was a joke. Theo hoped it was a joke.

    Ha ha.

    It wasn''t very funny, though...

    The doors opened abruptly, the scraping of metal-on-metal nearly making Theo piss himself. Two attendants from within the arena grunted noisily, straining to push the heavy doors open.

    "We''re here," Maximus muttered through clenched teeth.

    Theo could swear the man emitted a low, bestial growl as he spoke.

    By the me...

    He swore to himself he''d never partner with Maximus, again... provided he survived the next bout.

    The audience chanted as they walked onto the sands.

    "Maximus," they said. "Maximus. Maximus."

    The voices of tens of thousands of people... screamed his name.

    The dragonblood arrogantly strode forward, raising his warspear skyward.

    The crowd... went... wild. They lusted for blood... and for the sanctified magic wielded by the strongest diator in Ezyria.

    They wanted the wafting of burnt meat. They wanted to red flesh torn, bones wrench, break, and shatter. They wanted the screams of dying men as their crying wives covered the eyes of their children.

    With the magical sound amplification in the arena, they''d get their wish.

    Theo gulped hard... "This is a mescarred madhouse."

    "Ignore them," Maximus said as he flourished his warspear. "They''re not here for you."

    Then... the overseer announced Sol Invictus.

    The crowd rose in a frenzy, stomping their feet, cheering at the top of their lungs, booing and screaming epithets... They demanded that their favored champions win them their wagers. They demanded blood... and all the other things with it.

    The first of their two opponents strode forward. On his head was a peculiar helmet with a green-colored visor that hid his eyes. ss reinforced with magic, perhaps?

    His armor design was t, mundane-- though it did have a strange bluish gleam. His arms were uncovered, wiry and muscly... smaller than those of Theo and Maximus, both.

    On his waist was a single sword... in hand, a single pilum. He carried no shield. Nothing about the Tactician was intimidating.

    Invictus''st match was an even 5-on-5... against challengers from a small Kasydonian guild. Their strategy was in eliminating the Tactician. They must have figured that the green-visored fellow was their weak point.

    The Tactician defended himself with sword and shield, all while hurling taunts and retreating like a coward.

    To their critics, it was the biggest mockery ever seen in Ezyria. To their admirers, it was a fantastical disy of finesse and showmanship. To Caeruleum, it was the most talked-about match in recent history.

    The guild from Kasydon was destroyed on that very sun. Every single diator was either killed or took a career-ending injury.<novelnext></novelnext>

    To fight against Sol Invictus... it wasn''t possible to ignore their front line: Berserker Dragan and Ranger Quies. Their back-line was criminal. They had not one, but two Sanctified Psykers, Zuko and Lulu.

    Each and every member of Sol Invictus was a superhuman monster-- why would Tychon be any different?

    Theo didn''t want to believe that Maximus was telling the truth. The truth did not bode well for the two of them.

    The second Invictus diator... he followed close behind the Tactician, as if he was hiding his presence.

    It was... just a boy.

    He was young... too young to join the army, even. His helmet looked almost too big for him... and it was the same for the strange bluish armor he wore.

    Theo had heard of a short-statured Sharpshooter named Koskae... but a Ranged ss would be wielding a crossbow. The boy... he carried a spear-- a beginner''s weapon. He had no shield, like the Tactician... but he didn''t have a sidearm.

    "Tell me that''s a f*cking joke..." Theo narrowed his eyes.

    The Caeruleum arena was no ce for a child.

    Maximus ignored him, walking forward.

    ...and he was gnashing his teeth in rage.

    ...

    Pale spun in a circle, awestruck by the chaos of the crowd all around him, "Whoaaa..."

    Tycondrius smirked, seeing the wonder in his youngpanion''s eyes, "Look alive, young man. The dovahkiin appears to be upset."

    Pale stuck out his lips in a pout, "Y... yeah. He does... and Maximus is a lot bigger than we are!"

    "Size is a non-factor," Tycon chuckled, tapping the side of the boy''s helmet, "Are you confident that the spear of a Hero canpete against that of Sanctum Parmrius Maximus?"

    "Wh... wha?" Pale furrowed his brows, "Wait! This? THIS is the training, Sir?! A 2-on-2 match? But... but one of them''s Mister Maximus?!"

    "Not.. quiiiite..." Tycon mused.

    He twirled about his pilum and hefted it up... to the adoration of the screaming crowd.

    "Sir?" Pale bit his upper lip, "They haven''t announced the start of the match yet?"

    "Indeed," Tycon grinned. "I shall do the honors, then."

    "...With a throwing spear?"

    "Correct."

    Admittedly, it was a bit rude to most-everyone involved... but Tycon had no obligation to follow the rules. What would Caeruleum do? Fine him?

    He took a fewfortable steps forward... then broke into a sudden sprint, "?Shadowfang.?"

    Mana coursed through his meridians and his movement blurred, steadying himself while skidding on the sands, he activated a second-skill, "?Eviscerate.?"

    Tycon''s mana-empowered throw sent his pilum spiraling towards Maximus.

    The dark-haired dovahkiin reflexively lifted his circr shield... but quickly realizing the danger, he dove out of the way.

    There was a substantial amount of Gold-Rank mana channeled into the attack-- he''dbined two skills to get the effect, after all. It wasn''t something a mundane piece of metal could block-- even one made of Tyrion steel.

    Maximus was a Warmage, a hybrid Martial-Caster-- and one that focused on offense. A ?Mana Ward? to defend himself would be highly taxing... and might not even be wholly sessful.

    Avoidance was his best option.

    Avoidance was what Tycon expected.

 Chapter 554 Can You Continue?

    ?The pilum sped past Maximus... and cleanly pierced the dovahkiin''s arena partner''s abdomen. The human flew off of his feet, and the bloody end stuck deep into the sands.

    Tycondrius grinned. That person was finished. ?Eviscerate? was not a normal Skill.

    The crowd roared. They jeered, they booed. Whatever it was, Tycon decided to take it as apliment. He waved politely to his many admirers, whipping them into an even greater frenzy.

    "Boss...?" Pale grimaced, "Wh... what happens now?"

    Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Young man... I believe you already know the answer. This is *your* training, not mine."

    "Boss..." Pale sniffed like he was about to cry, "You... you want me to fight Maximus by myself, don''t you?"

    ? "Very astute, Spear Hero," Tycon sneered. "Now, go. Show me the pride of Sol Invictus."

    ...

    "FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK!!!!" Theo tried to hold it in, but he loosed a scream of agony.

    He held on to the bloody pilum in his stomach... His mouth tasted of iron, sweat poured down his face like heavy rain. His body shook and spasmed as pain wracked his body.

    It didn''t make sense! There was so... so much pain. He''d been a diator for YEARS! He''d been burned, cut, and stabbed DOZENS of times before...

    But those wounds... the pain was never so quick! It felt like... he''d been stuck, his insides twisted around a cold fork, left to rot and fester for bells! Nothing in his life had ever hurt so much!

    He needed to unpin himself, to cut the ends off... to stand and KEEP FIGHTING! But all he could do was vomit blood and bile, sending aftershocks of pain up and down his spine.

    He was a GLADIATOR! He was an entertainer and a me-taken good Fighter! AND he was a thrice-damned IRON-RANK! If he fell to a single strike, his reputation would be ruined!

    It wasn''t possible. Why did it hurt? WHY? Was the speartip poisoned? Was it enchanted?! Did the Tactician pay the inspectors to overlook his weaponry?!?

    Maximus stood over him, glowering with unfeeling eyes.

    "GGGgghhhhh!!" Theo groaned. He coughed at the taller man''s feet, spitting a gob of blood, "Don''t just stand there! I''m dying, you mescarred lizard!"

    "Don''t bother getting up," Maximus spat. His eyes glowed an electric blue as he turned to face the two members of Sol Invictus.

    "I''m your... guhh... me-taken guild leader!!" Theo roared, wincing from the pain, "Listen to me!! MAXIMUS!!!"

    It was no use. He couldn''t move. He couldn''t feel the tips of his feet, but he could feel that he''d pissed and soiled himself.

    "You underestimated the Tactician," Maximus glowered over him, "That was the price."

    He turned and began walking away, "Now... stay the f*ck down."

    "You... you can''t be serious," Theo called out after him. His entire body shook-- and with another painful heave, he added to the pool of fresh blood beside him, "Y... you can''t fight both of them alone."

    Maximus stopped... and half-turned his head. He wasn''t angry. He wasn''t disappointed. Those glowing eyes held nothing but disdain.

    "I expected to fight alone, ever since our opponents were decided."

    Theo''s eyes widened in realization.

    Maximus... he knew.

    The Caeruleum Coliseum was the diatorial holnd.

    It was full of monsters: giants that could tear men''s arms from their torsos, iron-skinned maniacs that could take twenty bolts to the chest andugh, sadistic murderers that took glee in carving a thousand cuts onto their victims as the crowds cheered them on.

    It was not a ce for the men and women of Noctis Umbra.

    They were a shite guild.<novelnext></novelnext>

    They were fakes.

    Maximus carried their guild into glory on his armored back.

    Theo shut his eyes... blinking away his tears and praying to the me that he would either survive... or die faster.

    The pounding of sandals on sand quickly approached him... a team of arena medics.

    "Can you continue, diator?" Their leader asked.

    Theo forced his eyes open... He stared at Maximus, who stood ten paces away from two men from Ezyria''s actual strongest guild.

    And his heart swelled with shame.

    "...I submit."

    ...

    Tycon smirked, observing Maximus from the short distance away.

    The man was younger... angrier and more vigorous than he remembered. When he met him in the Kingdom, Maximus had a mncholy and fatigued look about him. His current face better behooved his reputation.

    ? Maximus, Gold-Rank Dovahkiin Stormwalker ?

    He was obscenely strong... and had a high-tier ss. However, the Warmage was far different from the other Gold-Ranks he''d met... Samurai Garock and Hallowed Summoner Natalya, in particr.

    His actual level was simr to... Pale''s.

    ording to the timeline, the current Maximus had only recently reached Gold-Rank. Neither he nor the boy had abilities developed enough to be true monsters. It was good enough to dominate the Ezyrian arena scene... but nearly everybat member of Sol Invictus was more-or-less his equal.

    Of course, Tycon''s previous self would be trounced if facing him alone... but he was not that person.

    After the dovahkiin''s defeat, he would go off and work for the Church... bing one of their Avengers. There, he would solidify his Metal-Rank. He would be the proper hero his people celebrated. He would throw his honor away... and soon after, he would join Sol Invictus only to die far from his home, without a burial.

    But that was a different Maximus. The current one was merely a construct in a magical simtion...

    He was nothing more than training fodder.

    "I am Maximus of Umbra Noctis!" The dovahkiin roared, nging his spear against his shield.

    "Good afternoon," Tycon waved.

    Maximus'' face crumpled into disappointment... then his eyes sparked blue with anger, "Name yourselves!! You who would fight me in honorable battle!!!"

    "Ah, right," Tycon reached behind him and grabbed Pale''s wrist. He pulled the boy to in-front of him. "Go ahead, young man."

    "G-good afternoon," Pale saluted obediently... "My name is Pale... of Sol Invictus."

    Maximus pointed the tip of his spear at Tycon, "And you? Draw your weapon and tell me *your* name."

    Tycon shrugged, "I''m not going to bother, Maximus of *Umbra Noctis.*"

    The dovahkiin''s entire body, from his blue-scaled arms to his muscr legs, shook in what Tycon judged to be barely-contained fury.

    Though he wasn''t initially nning on agitating the fellow, his reaction was... amusing.

    How far he could push Maximus off the edge? --For training purposes, of course.

 Chapter 555 Lord Vanzano

    ?Maximus raised his arms high, jutting out his chest, "You... *dare* disrespect me, Tactician?"

    "Not quite," Tycondrius held his chin in thought. "You''re a decent enough fellow. It''s just that your guild is useless-- I''m sure you know this."

    The tall dovahkiin paused, slowly raising an eyebrow... "We diators fight under our guild''s name."

    Tycon nodded in understanding. Solo diators did not achieve the same level of fame as organized teams. The practice likely had something to do with the way various organizations invested in them. diatorial guilds were living, breathing, advertisements.

    However, to anyone with basic diator knowledge... there was no Noctis Umbra. There was only Maximus.

    "Tss... Technically correct," Tycon scoffed, pacing around him dramatically. "But that is not where your loyalties lie. Isn''t that right... Lord Vanzano?"

    Maximus narrowed his eyes to hateful slits, "What. in. the seven hells. are you trying to say?"

    Hmmm. So the Vanzano was trying to y the part of the fool? A noble could not avoid association with their House... regardless of how shite his parents were.

    Tycon decided to press the issue-- to see where it went.

    "Ohh?" Tycon crossed his arms, "Are you ashamed, then? Of championing your younger sister?"

    The crowd had gone deathly quiet. Insulting one''s close-family was typical diator fare--and often considered low. However, it always elicited a response. The dovahkiin could not resist the pressure of fifty thousand sets of eyes.

    Maximus was stunned into silence, gnashing his teeth, circting his mana, and trying his best to look very intimidating.

    It seemed to work on Pale. Tycon couldn''t see the expression of the boy at his side... but the hands grasping his spear were turning white.

    "I''m warning you..." Maximus muttered... "You''d best watch your mescarred mouth."

    "Maximus of House Vanzano~" Tycon shook his head... then adopted a slow, mocking grin... "You''re a worthless f*cking human being... for making Athena cry."

    A feeling of vindictive satisfaction washed over him.

    Those were words he''d always wanted to say-- even if they were to a man long dead.

    ...

    Theo couldn''t believe his me-taken ears. Tactician Tychon had crossed Maximus'' bottom line.

    There were two rules in Noctis Umbra... and both rules were ''Don''t talk about Maximus'' sister.''

    The attack was instantaneous. Theo couldn''t follow it.

    He was only human.

    A blue bolt of divine lightning had surged out of Maximus'' outstretched hand.

    And... the impossible happened.

    The boy... the mescarred boy had leapt in front of the Tactician. With a swing of his spear... he deflected the attack.

    Deflected. The bolt of me-f*cking lightning.

    The arc shot skyward, spiraling and crackling out of control... until it hit the magical shield at the opposite end of the arena. The ss-like barrier shed white, then the glow slowly dulled. A white, smoldering mark remained hanging in the air, attesting to Maximus'' power.

    The crowd gasped... and grew silent... then all at once, roared, drowning out Theo''s pained thoughts.

    "SILEEEENNNCE!" Maximus roared, "Shut your me-taken mouth and DRAW YOUR WEAPON!!!!"

    "Ah, my sword~ You mean this?" Tychon grabbed the Tyrion de off of his belt... sheath and all. Then... he tossed it unceremoniously onto the sands.

    The crowd began to shout and scream at the audacity.

    Tychon faced the raging crowd with his arms outstretched, "I submit! This will be a one-on-one fight! Maximus of HOUSE VANZANO against PALE, the youngest member of SOL INVICTUS!!"

    Theo''s eyes were bulging out of his head. The Tactician had surrendered his me-taken WEAPON?! He left the BOY to fight the greatest diator of all time?!?<novelnext></novelnext>

    The visored man then turned to sneer at the dragonblood, "And when you lose here, I will be Athena''s champion-- not you."

    One of the medics kneeled down beside Theo, "We need to evacuate you back into the pits, diator."

    Theo bared his teeth in an embarrassed grin, "I uh... how about we watch from here?"

    ...

    Tycon took a step back, feeling rather smug. One of hismandments to Pale was to intercept any projectiles meant for him. He was d the boy remembered.

    It was not the first time he was struck by lightning magic, and thest instance of it was rather unpleasant.

    ...Also, it was the boy''s fault.

    ncing to his youngpanion, Tycon''s assured smirk fell to a disappointed grimace.

    "Pale."

    "...Boss?" Pale responded with a high-pitched voice. Tears were streaming down his face-- too small for the crowd to see, but pathetic all the same.

    "Why are you crying?"

    "Boss, I think I''m gonna die," He frowned. "Mister Maximus is emitting so much mana..."

    "Nonsense, this is training." Tycon exined matter-of-factly, "During training you''re immortal. Did you forget?"

    "Bosssss~"

    "Engage with the enemy," Tycon waved him off. "Go on."

    "But BosSS?~~"

    "Now!" Tycon groaned.

    Pale nodded obediently, wiping at his eyes...

    He lowered his stance... and sprinted towards the enraged dovahkiin.

    The boy''s speed was good, surprising Maximus and forcing the adult diator to block and deflect the tearful barrage of spear strikes.

    Unfortunately for Pale, his opponent took him seriously. Maximus kept a solid shield defense, jabbing out with his own weapon to disrupt Pale''s rhythm.

    The bnce changed when Maximus abruptly deflected one of Pale''s heavier strikes away,promising the boy''s bnce.

    The dovahkiin surged forward... and his offensive began.

    Maximus'' spear crackled with lightning energy, loud, dangerous, and oppressive. The boy expertly slipped, dodged, and parried.

    "You''re not my enemy," He spat. "Stand down!"

    "I can''t!" Pale cried. "I have to win too!"

    "I have to prove my conviction to your Tactician... to Ezyria... to ALL of TYRION!" Maximus shouted, a burst of offensive energy flowing outward.

    The impactunched Pale back... and he hit the sand, rolling for a few fulms, but back to his feet.

    The boy brushed sand off of his face and looked back to Tycon with uncertainty.

    Tycon red at him and made the hand signal for [Engage].

    Why was he looking for guidance? The fool boy was in a fight. Hesitation did not behoove the future leader of Sol Invictus...

    ",

 Chapter 556 Signature Spell

    ?"Ahhhhh!" Pale scrambled back towards Maximus with an eptably loud warcry.

    Tycondrius gave him full marks for the effort.

    The boy used a variety of attacks-- all with a pathetic face. He even hopped backward, utilizing his ?Misty Step? movement skill, trying to be clever.

    The point of his spear sparked against Maximus'' shield, "I have something to prove too!"

    Keeping calm, Maximus countered with a flurry of stabs, "I doubt your Tactician gives a shite about you, boy."

    ...That was a rather unfair assumption.

    "Well, besides that," Pale bit his lip. "I have to win to make my dad proud!"

    "Then you''ll have to do better than THAT!"

    Exhaling loudly, Maximus mmed his shield into Pale''s abdomen.

    "Hrk," The boy staggered back from the shock-- his armor was made of Arcanite, so the impact should have been greatly diminished.

    He still had his reflexes about him, so he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a cut to the neck.

    Pale rebounded upward, spinning his spear and smashing the haft solidly into Maximus'' thigh.

    The dovahkiin buckled, grunting in pain-- but he swiped his shield-arm at the boy''s face.

    Pale managed to block, but the force againunched him across the arena sands.

    Tycon was disappointed. The boy consistently fought threats that wererger than him --and Maximus was only a head or two taller than most humans. Why was he being bullied?

    The boy tumbled until plopping onto his back, only a few fulms away from Tycon. He spent a dazed moment blinking his eyes before flipping back onto his feet.

    "What are you doing, young man?" Tycon frowned.

    "Losing..." Pale whimpered.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Right. I''ll be more specific: why aren''t you using your offensive Skills?"

    "Wait, what?" Pale looked back with wide eyes. "Am I allowed to?"

    "You already used a movement technique. Maximus threw a thrice-damned lightning bolt at me," Tycon groaned. "Yes! Yes, you can use your Skills!"

    Pale tensed up, pointing his spear offensively towards his opponent, "Got it!!! I''ll use them!"

    Tycon crossed his arms... "You don''t... need to inform me of the fact. Just-- just go."

    Pale hesitated... and slowly turned to face him again, "I um... I don''t have any Skills to get past his shield."

    "Yes, you do."

    "I do?" Pale blinked, "OH! I do!!"

    "GO!" Tyconmanded, quite annoyed.

    There was something... off about how the boy had been fighting.

    If it was due to the pressure, that did not bode well for him. Fifty thousand coliseum goers watched him fight... but none of them were real. How would he fare when the fate of the Realm was at stake?

    Pale straightened his back and dashed off, leaving a cone-shaped depression in the sand.

    ...

    Training.

    This was just training.

    Pale didn''t need to be scared.

    Maximus was really scary-- but not during training? He shouldn''t be?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Pale put mana into his legs and leapt up high into the sky, "?Legionbreaker!!!?"

    He focused more mana into the tip of his spear, forming a glowing white, extra-sharp tip! His arms felt strong and powerful-- and he jammed his weapon forward. It went into Maximus'' shield with a loud crack... and the metal split open!

    He did it! He defeated Maximus'' shield!

    Palended onto the sand, drawing his spear back.

    "You broke my shield," Maximus sighed, unstrapping it and tossing it away.

    "I did!" Pale grinned, "You can''t defend yourself now!"

    Maximus twirled his spear, spinning it from hand to hand.

    And then... Pale realized that it was... a full-length spear. It was even longer than his... and was topped with a scarier de. Boss Tycon would ssify it as a warspear...

    He nced back to his boss... but he was crossing his arms and frowning.

    ...That meant... no more advice.

    Pale puffed out his chest, trying to fake his bravery, "S-so you can still defend yourself."

    "I can," Maximus nodded.

    He cracked his neck to the left and right before again flourishing his spear to the cheers of the crowd.

    Pale felt cold sweat drip down his helmeted forehead and down his back...

    "But... I''m... I''m better at spear techniques than you!" He yelped. "My name is Pale! Spear Warrior of Sol Invictus!!"

    This was the pride of his guild! Each and every one of their members was the best at what they did!

    He wasn''t 100% certain if he was a better spear-user than Maximus... but it would make sense if he did! His ss was Spear Hero! And it came from Spear Warrior! It had ''spear'' in the name! It meant he was automatically better at spear-ing!

    "And my name..." Maximus retracted a fist... and it began to spark with bluish energy, "is ?Maximus?."

    Oh... Pale felt very stupid for forgetting what Mister Maximus was best at.

    When he thrust his open palm forward, a crazy-strong bolt of lightning came out of it.

    Pale quickly sheathed his weapon with mana and spiraled his spear in front of him, dissipating the energy, then redirecting it to shoot into the sky. He lost feeling in his hands and his arms had a weird... tingle. He couldn''t let go of his spear-- but that was good. He''d be beaten if he dropped it.

    Maximus hadn''t put his hand down, though...

    Pale didn''t like that... he didn''t like that at all, "Can... can we... just fight with weapons, please? Sir?"

    Mister Maximus'' face didn''t change.

    "?Maximus!?"

    Pale hopped to the side, dodging the electric arc. The sand where it struck turned into weird white rocks. It was really interesting and he wanted to take a look, but--

    "?Maximus!!!?"

    Pale spun his spear, deflecting another bolt away.

    "?MAXIMUS!!!!!!?"

    "Staaaaahhhhpp!!!" Pale cried, hopping away and rolling. Hopping away and rolling...

    He couldn''t dodge forever! he had to force Mister Maximus back into closebat. He turned quickly-- it hurt his ankle a little bit, but he chose to ignore it.

    Mana circted through his body, focused on his legs. He couldn''t refine it well, so the execution was really bad, but the speed was what he needed.

    He ran... he ran so fast that-- not just his legs, but his entire body hurt.

    Screaming at the top of his lungs, he reared his spear back, ready to thrust it forward, "Shadowfang Str--"

 Chapter 557 Flawed Judgment

    ?Tycondrius took a deep breath, taking in the scents of the sun-warmed sand. He was growing bored, watching his youngpanion so thoroughly trounced in front of fifty-thousand-odd people.

    Maximus of Ezyria was a grown man, twice the boy''s age and near twice his size. In terms ofbat, Tycon had initially deemed their abilities to be about equal.

    The longer he watched them fight, the more he realized how wed his judgment was.

    Pale needed more training.

    Tycon still had plenty he could teach the boy. Even ounting for the difference in mass, their force output was simr. However, he could win byparing technical skill.

    Lone was the boy''s usual training partner. The Ranger had greater physical strength butgged slightly in reflexes and moderately in mana control. Both would improve from sparring matches, especially with Tycon to observe and advise.

    Pale disyed a highpletion rating with several Skills-- far more than any mundane diator would bother with. However, his Skill activations were... extravagant, both visually and concerning energy expenditure.

    The boy was... far too much like his father.

    Rather than a monstrous mana pool, though, Quay had practiced the de Dance and effortlessly weaving Skills with striking for over a hundred years.

    ording to legend, Heroes often adoptedplex fighting styles, bastardizing and elevating them beyondmonly understood limits. Pale had a long road ahead of him, to get to that level. Admittedly, following his father''s footsteps was a decent enough goal to start with.

    ...But was too much expected of him? Especially considering that he was only a fraction of Quay''s age.

    The boy undoubtedly had the potential. The considerable mana reserves of a Spear Hero allowed him to activate consecutive skills with ease. With his innatebat genius, he mastered a wide variety of Skills... and at an rming rate.

    Tycon had nothing more to teach the boy about the spear. Pale''s proficiency had vastly exceeded his own. He could teach him the basics of the de Dance-- but that would be a future lesson.

    The greatest critique he could provide... concerned the boy''s Skill usage.

    Pale''s mana formation of ?Legionbreaker? was clean, perfectly executed... though the efficiency was sorelycking. The Skill was designed to pierce rather than to overpower.

    His ?Misty Step? was agile and effortless. He was likely aspetent with it as Mister Wroe, from whom he''d learned the movement technique.

    Pale''s timing for ?Shadowfang Strike? was... appropriate. Unfortunately, it was rushed due to his circumstances.

    The failure cost him an electrified uppercut to the abdominal area, several kicks to the side, and a spear stab to his unarmored thigh. To top it off, Maximus effortlessly picked the boy up and hurled him several fulms away.

    Palended rtively near Tycon... probably to prove a point.

    It was exceedingly polite, considering the usible lethality in diatorial bouts. Maximus may have had a soft spot for children.

    Tycon walked over to the defeated Hero and nudged him with his foot, "Pale. Do you submit?"

    The boy got to his hands and knees, coughed violently, then rolled on his elbow to pomf onto his back. A bit of blood marked the sand beside him. Moderate to severe internal injuries.

    A lesser diator would have surrendered long before reaching that point.

    "Um... BosSs?" Pale sputtered, his voice as weak and pathetic as he looked, "Aren''t you gonna ask me... ah... if this is the best I can do?"

    "I wasn''t nning to," Tycon rolled his eyes underneath his visor. "I think the answer, quite obvious."

    "This... this isn''t the best I can do!" Pale shouted, struggling but failing to sit up.

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    Tycon frowned, sensing his System''s offer to heal the boy. It was... quite strange. In theory, his System should only respond to his own verbal or mentalmands.

    ? Negative. ?

    The boy would be on his own until the fight concluded.

    Tycon certainly preferred the boy not be killed... but the match was just too strange. The boy was certainly capable before he ss-changed to Spear Hero.

    In his current match against Maximus, something was missing. Conviction...bat creativity... daring and bravado, Tycon had seen none of it. He was activating Skills one after the other with little thought or nning.

    Pale plopped back onto the ground, billowing a light cloud of sand, "It''s no use... I took... too much damage, Boss..."

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded. "I advise magical healing."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Boss... can... can I get a heal?"

    "What?" Tycon furrowed his brows, "No..."

    "But... it really hurts."

    "If you can whine about it, then you''re not in dire straits, just yet."

    "Bossssss~!"

    Tycon crossed his arms and red down. He did not like repeating himself.

    Pale blinked several times, his gaze focusing slightly... "Should... should I just heal myself?"

    "Yes. You should."

    Pale looked to his side... gathered up a clump of sand... then poured it over his thigh injury, his bruised ankle, and even inside his chest te... "?Healing Sands...?"

    Tycon nodded, seeing the effects of the boy''s rare ability. It seemed to tax him greatly, but his open wound sealed just as well as if he''d used his own ?Inspirational Surge?.

    It baffled him that the boy had to be reminded to heal himself.

    Also, that he put sand underneath his armor. It was going to chafe.

    "Can you continue?" He asked.

    Pale slowly got to his feet...

    He said nothing.

    Tycon felt his eye twitch as he uncrossed his arms, "Young man..."

    The boy wiped at his eyes before looking up to him.

    He was supposed to be a Hero. Tycon saw nothing but a hurt and crying child.

    Grimacing and taking a deep breath, Tycon ced his hand on the boy''s shoulder... "I once told you... how Sol Invictus operates. Do you remember?"

    "Y-yes, Sir," The boy sniffed, "It was when Miss Seldin kidnapped me... I can''t... give up. I haven''t kicked... or struggled... or even tried to bite Mister Maximus yet."

    So he did remember.

    "I need you to fight... to the best of your ability. I will not ask for more... and I hope to ept no less. Your words... I believe them, as well. This... is not the best you can do."

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions-- ?

    ? --not now. ?

    "If you feel overwhelmed..." Tycon continued, "there is no shame in admitting it."

    "Has... my father ever given up?" Pale asked with trembling lips.

    Going on about that fool, again? Tycon bared his teeth, "I think you know the answer."

    Pale gulped hard, nodding slowly... "I want to continue."

    "Very well," Tycon wiped the tears from the boy''s eyes-- it was more efficient than him rubbing more sand into them. "Move quickly. Act with intelligence. Strike to kill. The training concludes after one more exchange."

    "...Y... yes, Sir."

    "Your volume," Tycon groaned. "--It''scking."

    "Yes, Sir!"

 Chapter 558 Heroes Never Lose

    ?Pale stood a dozen paces from Maximus. The pain had gone away somewhat... but it was going to get worseter. He needed to sleep it off... or maybe ask Troia to heal him.

    She was a healer... even if she was a little... huggy? She liked to hug people. He didn''t mind it too much? But she was supposed to be really important-- and it made Lady Natalya really mad?

    Maximus twirled his spear to the sides and above his head, then locked it pointing forward, "You really should have stayed down, kid!"

    The greatest diator of Ezyria began to walk towards him...

    His steps were really slow... and he was watching closely... being really careful...

    Was he tired? He didn''t look tired. He didn''t look hurt, at all, actually.

    Pale was very tired... his body was telling him that it needed to rest. He was hurt too... a lot-- physically.

    It didn''t feel good fighting someone so strong after getting used to winning all the time.

    He was so excited after training with the Sea Wolves. He''d dueled and beaten all the other Officer recruits... and all the enlisted in his squad... And together, they''d won engagement after engagement...

    Because of them, Pale had be so much stronger!

    But... all of his friends had the same goal. They were all training, too... just as hard as he was.

    He... hadn''t taken the training as seriously as he should have.

    He yed around too much. It was fun to win against the bad guys. He felt warm when he helped out the Sea Wolves in his squad. He fought hard, because he was praised for killing so many pirates or being brave or saving lives... He liked tough at their dirty jokes and to y spades and... and argue over who had to scuzz the decks.

    He forgot that his number one reason for bing a Lieutenant... was to grow strong... to earn the right to be the next guild leader of Sol Invictus... to follow the path his dad took.

    Boss Tycon was just as strong as Pale had remembered. It felt like he''d never catch up.

    He''d heard that Lone had gone up in both Rank and ss. Boss said that Taree was training with Mister Dragan. And Sasha had learned to do high-level formations...

    Pale had done a lot with Captain Lang Hai... and he''d even sparred with him a few times-- the other Officers, too. No one was as strong as anyone in Sol Invictus. No one was as strong as Maximus...

    It wasn''t fair... but it was.

    Troia said he was a Hero. It meant a lot of responsibilities... but only because the Hero ss was the most powerful ss in the Realm.

    Boss was watching. His dad was in the crowd somewhere... watching him fail.

    "I can''t give up, Mister Maximus," Pale inclined his head.

    "Tch... because the Tactician ordered you to?"

    Pale gripped his spear and tried not to let his voice shake... "Because I have to. You wouldn''t get it."

    He began side-stepping to the right... and Maximus copied him, circling in the other direction.

    "You said you''re fighting for pride," Maximus said, wearing a serious expression. "My pride... is no less than yours."

    "Yeah... I know..."

    Mister Maximus was fighting for his sister. Pale had never met her, but she seemed nice. He was fighting for Ezyria... and for his own guild. He was fighting not just to be strong... but the strongest.

    Pale was tired, he was hurt... but he was confident. He''d practiced his spear for so many bells... every sun, every week. He practiced his Skills until he puked... until Captain Lang Hai threatened to keelhaul him-- whatever that meant.

    He could have practiced more...

    But... he''d practiced enough. It had to be enough!!

    Troia said... that Heroes are born to be the saviors of their worlds.

    That meant... he couldn''t fail. Heroes don''t lose. They can''t.

    Pale took in a deep breath... tilted his head back... and he screamed. It was just like he''d practiced... words he''d yelled a hundred times before, with his voice and his heart.

    It was his battlecry.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "DEATH!!!! To The Enemies!!! OF SOL INVICTUUUUSS!!!"

    He ran forward, his body burning hot. His mana flowed through every single part of his body like a hundred-thousand-fulm waterfall! He stabbed, he swiped, he shed... he used ?Misty Step? and ?Shadowfang Strike? hoping-- praying Maximus would be a half-second too slow.

    Maximus went on the defensive. It wasn''t panicked... it wasn''t weak... but he couldn''t find a window to fight back! He wasn''t as fast as he was before! Maybe that was why Maximus didn''t attack him when he was down. He needed time to recover, too!

    Something... something just felt right. He had the advantage! Pale swung his spear low, then stabbed the de into the ground and swung on it for a double-kick. The mana surging through his legs made them feel heavier than a thousand ponze of steel!

    BAM!!

    It hit Maximus'' arm! He staggered to the side.

    Pale smacked his spear haft into Mister Maximus'' chest, then he stabbed at his leg.

    Maximus barely deflected it, but that let Pale batter him twice more in the chest with the other side of his spear.

    Bam! Bam! Maximus countered with a wide diagonal swing-- Pale ducked under it.

    That was it! He could finish the fight with a single move!!

    "?aaastBAAACK!!!?" He concentrated mana into his spear, then swung it like a club.

    BOOOOOMMMMM! The explosion from the impact rang in his ears, but Maximus flew up into the sky.

    Yes! He did it! He sessfully injured his opponent!

    And his opponent... stretched big blue scaly wings out, and started hovering in the air.

    AWWWWW!!! AAHHHRRGH!!!

    Aw... BUTT!!

    "?Maximus?!" More magic attacks rained down from the sky.

    Pale ran, dodging and spinning and deflecting lightning bolts. They weren''t as many of them-- and there was a longer duration between bolts. But... Maximus was in the air? Unless he ran out of mana, he could stay up there forever.

    "Your pride is NOT ENOUGH!!" Maximus shouted.

    "I know it''s not!" Pale yelled back.

    His flying opponent tucked in his wings, plummeting down, his spear sparking and crackling as bright as the sun, "Then SHOW ME your CONVICTION!!!"

    Pale steadied his stance. There was no point in meeting him in the air-- Boss said so. If he had both feet on the ground, his attacks would be stronger.

    He braced his spear... waiting for that moment.

    Maximus was getting close. There was a lot of mana...

    It scared him.

    If it hit him, he was going to get really, really hurt... or maybe even get really close to dying.

    "I just-- I JUST!!!" Pale cried, "I don''t wanna be LEFT BEHIND!!!"

    He''d made so many friends... Sorina and Miss Korr and Mister Dragan and Mister Wroe... Sasha... Troia...

    ...Taree.

    Lone...

    Boss...

    He didn''t want them to leave... like his dad did.

 Chapter 559 Teenage Girl

    ?It was done.

    Tycondrius shut his eyes and focused on a single thought.

    ? SASARAME!!!!!! ?

    Crossing between worlds applied a strange pressure inside his ears-- like he was dunked into water or lifted high in the air.

    Tycon shot his eyes open-- they had returned to Sasha''s library. A horizontal swipe of his hand dispelled the sigil sealing him and Pale in.

    The residual impact from Maximus'' strike propelled the boy across the room, through the air.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, caught the boy-- and the two of them mmed into a nearby bookcase. The explosion of wooden debris was... not small.

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch. ss-like mana shards twinkled down all around him. Dust and wood chips and splinters rained all throughout. And... two more bookcases toppled over, the aged wood bending and cracking.

    In theory... it was safer for Pale to collide with a body and a bookcase than against a merciless mana-constructed wall.

    As for the damages to the library... Tycon would ask Natalya to cover it.

    The dozen or so academy students were in an uproar, bleating like concerned sheep.

    "Oh, no!" "What happened in the Ritual Circle?!" "This is terrible!!" "The Hero! Is he dead?!"

    Tycon was worried about... so he walked over to her, "Are you alright, Sasha?"

    The youngdy nodded shyly.

    Tycon took her small hand in his and checked her pulse, to better examine her mana. Her condition was stable... and he detected no signs of mana fatigue.

    Sustaining a Reality Marble was heavily taxing even for a Gold-Rank caster ss. Sasha had many spell-formations and mana-filled focuses to ease the ritual''s burden... but she was still only a Bronze-Rank Oracle.

    That the youngdy seemed untroubled was a testament to her skill with formations... and perhaps a bit of talent that surpassed the limits of her Rank.

    Still... it would be better to have her rest.

    "How long has it been?" He asked.

    The youngdy tugged at her hand, "H... half a bell, Master."

    Only?

    Tycon tilted his head up in thought... "The time conversion is eptable."

    He turned to the entangled bodies covered in books and bookshelf debris, "Mister Lone, d you could join us. Status of the boy?"

    Lone stood up, Pale in his arms. The boy was spasming, coughing blood onto his chest. Lone had a nasty splinter in his neck, but he hadn''t seemed to notice.

    "He''s breathing, Boss?" Lone replied with uncertainty.

    "That will do," Tycon nodded. "Administer a healing potion and let''s get him to an infirmary."

    "Boss..." The half-dead child muttered, reaching out a trembling hand... "Wait..."

    "Quickly, Mister Lone," Tycon insisted.

    The Ranger nodded and began to fumble with the ps of his belt pouches.

    "Boss!!" Pale cried out with a sense of urgency.

    "Seven hells, boy, what is it?!"

    "Boss..." Pale''s voice grew quiet... and he began to sniffle and whimper.

    The Tyrion students emitted another round of harsh whispers...

    "Decanus Tychon must be the Hero''s teacher..." "He''s heartless!" "Doesn''t he kinda remind you of Instructor Severus?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon strode forward, grabbed the boy''s jaw, and force-fed him a magical potion summoned from his spatial ring.

    The boy choked it down, rivulets of pain streaming from his eyes.

    "Now what is so important, young man--" Tycon fumed, "That you''d dy treatment of your injuries?"

    "Boss?" Lone grimaced, "Maybe you should... calm down a little?"

    "You, I''ll deal with shortly," Tycon red at the taller man until he looked away.

    "Boss..." Pale whispered... "I... I don''t want to be kicked out of Sol Invictus..."

    Tycon furrowed his brows. The boy was speaking nonsense. He was in shock.

    "I''m... I''m sorry I failed..." The boy sobbed, "Please don''t kick me out."

    ...

    ? High Oracle''s Living Quarters. A few bells after. ?

    Tycon knocked on the door to the High Oracle''s room.

    Lone was looking around fearfully, "Boss? We... we shouldn''t be doing this."

    "(If we die, we die,)" Tres Leches offered. The wolfzily twisted his head back, checking their nk.

    "Oh, shut up," Tycon groaned. "The both of you."

    An Acolyte opened the door-- one of Troia''s attendants, and Tycon exined why they''d arrived. They were let in graciously and led to the High Oracle''s bed where Pale was resting.

    With respectable timing, a ss window on the opposite end of the room was opened... and a certain High Oracle hopped in. She was holding what appeared to be a baker''s tray.

    Tycon nced past Lady Troia, confirming that her personal summon, the 60-fulm tall Dawnbringer, was outside. It seemed she had used it for transport from one of the first-floor kitchens to her third-floor quarters.

    It was yet another flippant use of magic in a nation that, as a whole, shunned its general usage.

    Troia ced the tray on the bedside table and began to gesture excitedly, [Wee, Prince and everyone! I made (delicious)!]

    She emphasized the tastiness of her baked... items by rubbing her belly.

    Even with the window fully open, the scent of smoke lingered in the air.

    Tycon nced over at the tray, which carried ck and teal(?) clumps of slightly varied shapes and grossly varied sizes.

    [It''s (health food) for Pale!] Lady Troia happily signed.

    "Ah, very well." Tycon smiled politely, "Youngdy... we were hoping for a moment with your Hero? Would that be permissible?"

    Troia gasped, then bared her teeth in embarrassment, [I understand. Take as long as you need.]

    After a few more exchanges of niceties, Troia and her attendant left... allowing Lone and Tres Leches to breathe relieved sighs.

    Lone whistled, "Boss, I dunno how you can just speak to the High Oracle like that."

    "(She smells very strong,)" Tres Leches added, "(like... death, incarnate.)"

    "Troia is a teenage girl," Tycon raised an eyebrow, "just as Sasha is. I don''t see a need to treat either of them particrly different."

    "But Boss?" Lone tilted his head, "Is that really how that works?"

    "...Well, I haven''t been crucified just yet," Tycon shrugged.

    Lone frowned... "That''s fair."

    "Pale, get up," Tycon urged. "It''s quite obvious you''re awake."

 Chapter 560 Assassination Attempt

    ?Pale opened an eye, looking around, before sitting up in his bed and exhaling deeply. He sounded exhausted, "Whew."

    Tycondrius rolled his eyes, "How long were you nning on pretending to sleep?"

    "Ehehe..." Pale grinned and looked down at his hands, "Until Troia left? And uh... why does it smell like... burning?"

    Lone nced at the small table near the bed, "I think your girlfriend baked you cookies."

    "She''s... not my girlfriend?" Pale tilted his head.

    "Can I have one, then?"

    "Sure?"

    Suddenly, a sharp sense of unease washed over Tycon.

    He nced over at the tray that Troia had brought in.

    ? System, analysis: Tray of... items? ?

    He couldn''t rightfully call them biscuits... or even consumables.

    ? System response: Tray of Dry Bricks. Mundane projectile weapon. If consumed, inflicts nausea, vomiting, diarrhea. Low probability to inflict death-effect. ?

    Tycon held his hand out, just in time to stop Lone from killing himself, "Hold."

    Lone furrowed his brows, his eyes immediately alert, "Boss, is there danger?"

    "They''re poisoned," Tycon exined. "Someone has made an attempt on the High Oracle''s life. I''ll inform the kitchens, afterward."

    "(Fangs and ws do not have eyes,)" Tres Leches softly growled. "(The killer does not care who his victims are.)"

    "...Scary," Lone grimaced, crossing his arms. "It must be hard being a High Oracle."

    "Mister Pale," Tycon decided to change the topic. "You were in a troublesome state, earlier, young man."

    Pale dipped his head, ashamed, "I''m sorry, Sir... I just... I dunno if I wanna talk about it."

    "What''s wrong, man?" Lone nudged his young friend.

    Tres Leches put his paws up on the bed with a wisdomous gaze, "(You stared death in the face... and you lived.)"

    Pale chuckled softly to himself, "I don''t know. It bothers me, I guess? I really like being in Sol Invictus."

    "You''re on contract," Tycon crossed his arms. "You will remain guilded until your resignation or your violent and probablypletely-avoidable demise."

    "Boss..." Pale''s eyes grew wide and he stuck out a quivering lip, "You... you won''t leave me behind?"

    ...Was that what this was about?

    "Of course, I''d leave you behind," Tycon groaned. "Granted, I''d need a very good reason to do so."

    Lone cleared his throat, "Boss... I think he means, y''know... in general."

    Tycon pursed his lips. Why were hispanions being so difficult?

    "In that case... no. In fact, I am willing to expend a great amount of resources to ensure you are *not* left behind."

    Pale nodded, wiping at his tears... "I guess that makes sense."

    "Anyroad..." Tycon tapped his foot impatiently. "Even if a forceful separation were to ur, you are obligated to find a way to rejoin the main force."

    "But... that''s not the same?" Pale whined.

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "Why not?"

    The boy blinked in confusion, "...Uh. Isn''t it?"

    "It''s the same," Tycon insisted.

    "Don''t worry about it, bro," Lone grinned. "I''m in the same boat!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "We are nowhere near a boat," Tycon argued.

    "A figurative boat, Boss."

    Tycon took a deep breath and sighed... "Very well. As you were, then."

    Lone nodded, "I mean... I got separated from Boss when I got sent to prison. And then I got pulled away for a heist!"

    Pale''s eyes opened wide in shock, "A prison?"

    Tycon eyes narrowed sharply in disappointment, "A heist, Mister Lone?"

    Lone''s inclined his head, "It''s...plicated. I''ll tell you guys about it after evening training."

    "Is that... so?" Tycon tilted his chin up. "You must think the physical training I''ve nned, akin to a rxing stroll on the beach. Very. Well."

    "Boss!" Lone cried out, "Wait! That''s... that''s not what I..."

    "Do not fret, Mister Lone!" Tycon eximed, "The difficulty will be adjusted ordingly."

    "S-seven hells," Lone cursed.

    "Aww, butt," Pale winced.

    "(Pain is what makes us feel alive,)" Tres Leches barked.

    "You''reing too, wolf."

    "(F*ck.)"

    ...

    ? shback: Cersei''s Rest, Northern Docks. The morning of that sun. ?

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark took in a deep breath of salty fog.

    He was sitting on a hefty rock, a rowboat tied to it. There, he waited. There, he watched.

    The wavespped against the wooden pier. The gulls squawked away, living their lives as they pleased. He wished he could be like those majestic creatures... but he had a job to do.

    No one else was around-- it was just him and old man Simonides. The ugly old man in the uglier yellow hood sat in his rowboat, smoking a pipe. He was the one who suggested this spot... an unused dock, fallen into disrepair.

    He didn''t have to worry about Outsiders seeing anything they shouldn''t.

    Even amongst the ambient noise, Lone could hear Edge approach. The man was a Rogue-- a good one, too. But it didn''t matter how quiet he was.

    Lone was a Ranger.

    He knew those steps... knew what to listen for. He could identify the pads of a field mouse in a mouse field. Tracking another human was as easy as melting butter in a pan.

    "You made it," He waved, not bothering to look.

    "Lone..." The blonde, spiky-haired Rogue approached from the side. "I got your message, man... So yeah. I''m here."

    He had his arms crossed defensively... and he kept looking around. Edge had a good sense of preservation. It''s what had kept him alive all this time.

    They were a lot alike. That meant he probably knew what wasing.

    "Yeah..." Lone nodded.

    He took in another deep breath, taking in all the little things. He wanted to remember it all... burn the moment into his memory.

    He could smell the sweat from his own filthy clothing. Fish had washed up by the tide, dying or dead, trapped in the rocks below.

    Cersei''s Rest was supposed to be a bastion of humanity, a big white-rock Basilica in the middle, the home of the holiest of the holy. To him, it was just another beach that stank of fish rot.

    Lone was a Ranger. He could take a single whiff of bear shite, figure out where she lived, track it down, murder her, and eat all of her babies-- all within half a bell.

 Chapter 561 You Were My Brother

    ?"Hey, what''s the deal, Lone?" Edge whispered, "You in trouble? We were s''pposed to split afterst night?"

    "Yeah," Lone dropped off of his rock and straightened his back, "There''s trouble..."

    His hand itched... and his heart pounded in his chest. Everything he was about to do was dangerous... and he hated being forced to do it.

    "Talk to me, Lone," There was a tinge of panic in Edge''s voice, "And who''s that old man? This is weird, even for you, guy!"

    Lone gulped hard, leaving a lump stuck in his throat, "Simon''s here to row your body out to sea."

    He drew his de... the Shatterspike longsword.

    Edge''s eyes widened, his pupils shrinking to tiny ck balls... "What the hells do you think you''re doin'', Lone? This isn''t funny."

    "It''s you... or both of us," Lone grimaced. "I''m sorry."

    Edge clenched his teeth... "Is that you, Lone? Did you lose control?"

    "I haven''t," Lone shook his head... "This is my choice."

    "I see..." The Rogue grew silent... even his hair seemed to droop, maybe ruined by the sea breeze... "The Church put you up to this, didn''t they?"

    "You can''t escape the hand of the Church, Edge... Neither of us can."

    "You think I don''t know that?" Edge scowled. "Those bastards put me away in Turrim Orientem-- just like they did you! I would''ve died in those me-taken tunnels... if you weren''t there to save me, Lone."

    "Yeah..." Lone took in a slow, deep breath, "We''ve always had each other''s backs."

    "We ate together... we slept together, we shat together in a single brass pot, Lone!" Edge shouted, "You were my BROTHER!!!"

    "Yeah. And we''re still brothers..." Lone gripped the handle of his sword tight, holding the de low, "That''s why it''s gotta be me-- not the dogs of the Church."

    "...I won''t go without a fight, you know," The Rogue began to reach for his dagger.

    "--Don''t," Lonemanded.

    Edge might have had a chance with his rapier, but that was long gone. He had a deadly disadvantage, dagger versus longsword...

    "You know you can''t win against me," Lone warned... "Not unless you rely on *that.*"

    "I... I have to try," Edge shut his eyes and lowered his shoulders... His gloved hand-- his cursed hand was shaking uncontrobly, "You can''t just kill me like this."

    There was one thing the Rogue could fall back on... but the price was too steep. He could allow his curse to take over. He could sacrifice his humanity and maybe... just maybe escape this foul ce.

    Lone wouldn''t let him.

    He swung his de upwards, quick and clean.

    Blood sprayed up and into the air.

    Edge''s body fell backward... thumping into old man Simonides'' boat.

    Lone turned his head and red towards one of the distant rooftops. Two Church representatives waited there, watching through a ss tool.

    They were far... but he could see them, see their faces of grim satisfaction.

    Lone was a Ranger. Nothing escaped his eyes.

    They knew he was watching... and the two nodded in turn.

    The job was done.

    ...

    ? ck-Tailed Gull Restaurant & Inn, Private Room. After evening training, present time. ?

    "Wait-wait-wait," Pale held out both his palms, "Did you... did you KILL him?"

    "Edge... Huh..." Tycon muttered. The name sounded familiar. He inquired his System to where he''d heard it, "Ah, your arena partner?"

    "Lone!" Pale shouted indignantly.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Shh!" Lone hushed him, "Not so loud, Pale. No, I didn''t kill him. I had to cut my arm to fake the blood. Used a potion to heal it, too..."

    "Oh..." The boy breathed a sigh of relief, "That''s good."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Why didn''t you have a potion to use for Pale? You had two when we disembarked the Golden Eagle."

    "Ugh..." Lone averted his gaze, "We fought a Necromancer."

    "Just one?" Tycon scowled.

    "We... we got caught by surprise, alright?" Lone bowed his head, "Sorry. I''ll do better next time."

    "You''d better," Tycon groaned before taking a pull from his cup of wine. "You and Dragan are the best equipped to fight undead, you know."

    "Blunt weapons!" Pale added cheerfully.

    "Ah, Boss..." Lone not-so-subtly directed Tycon''s attention towards Sasha.

    His daughter was pouting. She held her palms over herp, ying with a glowing ball of radiant energy.

    "Don''t sulk, youngdy." Tycon patted her on her hooded head, "You are the most effective *caster* against undead. The other two are effective as martial sses."

    "I''m fine, Master," Sasha looked appeased-- but shot an angry look at the Ranger, "Stop being gross, Lone."

    "Huh?" Lone winced, "What I do?"

    "Girls are hard to understand," Pale whispered... a sentiment that Sasha did not take kindly to. The boy stuck his head under the dining table to avoid her displeased re.

    "They''re not so bad," Lone straightened his back. "By the way, Pale-- I have a girlfriend now!"

    "Whaaaat?" Pale''s eyes lit up... then immediately dimmed, "Is that something to be proud of?"

    "It is!" Lone insisted, banging on the table, "She''s really hot, too!"

    "Well... alright," Pale smiled. "Congrattions!"

    Lone bowed his head, "Thanks! I''m really proud of it."

    "Where is she?" Pale asked, "Can I meet her?"

    "Ah... that," Lone''s gaze faltered and he looked away. "She''s in... uh... the Eastern States."

    "She is? Um... where in the Eastern States, then?"

    "I''m... not really sure."

    Paleughed quietly, "That''s... that''s cool, Lone."

    "She''s... she''s real," Lone muttered-- as if he wasn''t entirely certain.

    "I... um..." Pale looked away, "If you say so."

    "PAAALE!" Lone was on the verge of tears, "You have to believe me!"

    "It''s not that I don''t believe you, Lone," Pale bared his teeth in chagrin, "It''s just... kinda... unbelievable?"

    Lone fell forward, his forehead clinking on the table and jostling everyone''s after-dinner drinks, "That''s the same thing as not believing in me! Tell ''em, Tres Leches!"

    "(She exists,)" The Dark-Iron wolf answered curtly... "(But love is a fleeting emotion.)"

    "I... I see," Pale pursed his lips.

    "See? SEE?!" Lone raised his voice, "Tres Leches will always support me! One HUNDRED percent!!"

    "(I don''t think he can understand me,)" The wolf yawned.

    "Oh, haha," Pale giggled. "Got it~"

 Chapter 562 Another Chance

    ?Tycondrius chuckled, listening to Lone''s and Pale''s conversation.

    It was likely that the Tyrion wine made him more agreeable.

    He was d for theirpany... and for their loyalty. They brought with them the spirit of Sol Invictus in friendly banter and camaraderie. Even Sasha seemed to be enjoying herself, as she was smiling more than she ever had in the past.

    "Lady and gentlemen," Tycon called the table to silence, "Tomorrow, we shall train again... and we''ll continue to do so until we hear word from either Sorina or House Vanzano."

    "We''re not leaving immediately, Boss?" Lone asked.

    "Master has to stay..." Sasha pouted.

    Pale tilted his head up, his gaze far away, "I... was sorta hoping we could get away from Troia. The sooner, the better."

    "Cersei''s Rest has excellent training facilities... and even a few Gold-Ranks we might borrow, to test your mettle," Tycon exined. "And you, Pale, can still very well benefit from training in Sasha''s Reality Marble."

    Pale''s eyes lit up, "Y-you mean I get another chance?!"

    "Well, yes," Tycon furrowed his brows. "Did you think theprehensive spell formation we crafted was single-use?"

    "Pale is stupid," Sasha added with a mischievous smirk.

    "Keep your spirits high," Tycon raised his winecup for a toast, "for during training, Sol Invictus, and even beyond... I need you to be immortal."

    "To Invictus!" Pale grinned.

    "Death to our enemies!" Lone cheered.

    "Yiss," Sasha quietly raised her small cup.

    "Gararrrrr!" Tres Leches whined, carrying his water bowl in his mouth.

    ...

    With Sasha''s safety and wellbeing in mind, Tycon only allowed her to activate her Reality Marble once per sun.

    The ritual took ce each morning, and created an interpretation of the Caeruleum coliseum, on that one particr sun, many years prior.

    Tycon was the ritual''s main focus. His System, with its ability to wlessly ess his memories, ensured the Reality Marble''s urate detail.

    Usually Pale would fight against Maximus... and afterward, they would hijack other diators'' matches.

    They''d sometimes fight dozens of diators at a time. At other times, they''d battle to subdue starved wild beasts-- or to murder their captors, depending on their whims. They even dabbled in recreated military engagements for a change of pace, exposing Pale and Lone to Tyrion shield walls, mock naval battles, even a bit of mountedbat.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone was especially skilled at defeating shield-bearers. He used abination of his Dark-Iron wolfhammer while coordinating with his summonedpanion, Tres Leches.

    Pale was surprisingly poor at mountedbat. It wasn''t quite a weakness, though. He performed just as well fighting side-by-side with whatever horse or quadruped he befriended.

    The Gold-Rank weapon spirit, Garock, was a wee boon. If Pale and Lone went off on their own, Tycon could spar with the orc fairly evenly. Sometimes the Orcish Samurai would lead some or all of them into diatorialbat. It allowed Tycon to act as support as he preferred, rather than focus on holding the front line.

    Both Pale and Lone were instructed on fightingrger and stronger humanoids, with the orc as a very effective opponent. With so much muscle mass and weight, Garock''s natural ability to bully, shove, and push made dealing with him a troublesome challenge. The two young men grew far more versed in ground-fighting, as well as armed and empty-handed grappling.

    Eventually, Pale defeated Maximus on his own... with no small help from techniques he''d practiced while sparring with Garock. In less than a week after that, the boy proved able to win against the dovahkiin consistently.

    As an unfortunate discovery, the other members of Sol Invictus were not present in the Reality Marble. Tycon hypothesized that the Reality Marble could not support so many Gold-Ranks present, at once.

    When the ritual was crafted, it was designed as a training environment tobat Maximus of Ezyria. As Sasha was only Bronze-Rank, Tycon urged Pale to be thankful that a single Gold-Rank could be emted, at all.

    While Pale''s greatest recent training achievement was besting Maximus, Lone achieved measured sess-- but in a surprising category.

    When Tycon imparted the basics of the Elven de Dance... it was the Ranger, not Pale, who took to the movements naturally. Of course, the boy, being his father''s son, spent no small amount of effort in challenging Lone. They both grew exponentially faster from de-sparringbined with Tycon''s instruction than without guidance. .

    To Garock''s dismay, neither of the whelps wished to learn his curved de techniques-- neither were they suited for it. On the suns he was free, he and Shadow left the coliseum and visited Caeruleum''s public houses.

    Over time, Tycon found he could no longer best Pale in martialbat without the use of Skills. He could fight him to a draw, utilizing Garock''s unique de techniques... but that fleeting advantage would surely wane over the next few moons.

    A substantial amount of Pale''s and Lone''s motivation came from trying to defeat stronger opponents, himself in particr. With the speed of their development, they would surpass him... and Pale sooner than the other one.

    When that happened... he''d need to motivate them some other way.

    Concerning that...Tycon had no idea where to start. He decided to ignore it and worry about it at ater date.

    Besides the two whelps, Sasha had improved her abilities as an Oracle. With her daily ritual casting, her mana reserves had grown substantially, and she was nearing ever closer to a breakthrough to Iron-Rank. Her physical abilities had improved, as well-- easily able to best Sorina Capulet in both strength and endurance.

    Tycon deemed her archerybat-ready. She had grown ustomed to a new longbow with a draw weight of 100-ponze. She did have to use a small amount of mana to operate it, but the shot''s speed and lethality were easily worth the trade-off. She was urate and precise at 200 yalms, even under pressure... but she still had issues with shooting several arrows in session.

    Most importantly, she did very well in her sses, finishing the school year at third in her year. This was in addition to her two-a-sun training sessions with her guild.

    Interestingly, Sasha became a bit more outspoken. At times, she was somewhat possessive of his attention.

    Ultimately, that was more than eptable.

    Children were allowed to be a little selfish.

    Tycon was proud of all of them for meeting and exceeding his expectations.

 Chapter 563 First

    ?In other news, Pale and Troia had been getting along nicely. Tycon liked the Oracle well enough-- though he had the suspicion that Invictus member Kimura Taree might be displeased to learn of the young man''s interactions with her.

    Natalya had oftene to visit Tycon or vice versa. Most of their conversation was her venting about her coworkers or subordinates. Sasha seemed to not like that... but Tycon assumed there was a deeper meaning behind it-- likely that she was a rather strict instructor.

    Lone continued mail correspondence with his romantic interest, Coraline Heartsong. She found a job in the city of Archangel as a researcher for a prestigious Mage Order. Tycon looked forward to visiting and discussing her published papers-- all interesting, if a bit esoteric to magicalmunity in the Eastern States.

    Tyconmented not being able to send word to his own pursuit, Medousa of Silva. The Snake Cult undoubtedly tracked his movements in the Holy Country... as too did enemies from his muddled past. He would not risk his more vulnerable associates being targeted by kidnappers-- if only to assuage his loneliness.

    After a few moons... a missive came via the Courier''s Guild, marked for Sol Invictus.

    It was from Athena Vanzano. She and her... boyfriend(?) Tanamar seeded in earning the trust of the Frozen Cairn sect and were undergoing Martialist training. She suggested meeting after theing winter.

    Tycon responded with a confirmation... and sent out a series of his own summons to various factions.

    After the winter, they would fight the Snake Cult.

    The city of Caeruleum would fall.

    ...

    ? The personal office of Archbishop Natalya Crucis. ?

    "--and can you believe it? This FISH shows up without a fresh haircut and shave!" Natalya fanned herself, she was so angry. "Two of his Decani were there, looking twenty shades of pathetic! His Centurion was there, red in the face! His PILUS PRIOR was there!! And he LAUGHED!!!"

    Tycon uncrossed and recrossed his legs, repositioning the te of take-out food on hisp, "Mhm? Any uing crucifixions, then?"

    "By the Eternal me, I... WISH!!" Natalya pomf''d back down into her seat, leaning back with her hands on her face, "Back when I was a Decanus, before all the reformations, the whole LOT of them would have been crucified!!"

    "And where are they now?" Tycon munched on a piece of fatty chicken. After so many times of ordering food from Olea Garden, he knew what he liked.

    "The Munifex is in the stockades," Natalya exined. "The Centurion and the Decani are probably still running on the beach."

    "The Pilus Prior?"

    "In the hospital," Natalya shrugged, "wearing a me-taken diaper, from what I''m told."

    Tycon tapped his teeth, "There''s... a mint leaf, it looks like."

    The woman rolled her eyes and took a cloth to her mouth... "Mm. Thank you."

    With a heavy sigh, she picked at her own te-- some sort of sd... "You said you had something to discuss with me?"

    "Two things, actually," Tycon nodded. "First, I wanted to know the color of your undergarments."

    "Sod off, Decanus," Natalya rolled her eyes.

    Tycon furrowed his eyebrows, "Could it be... that you aren''t wearing any?"

    The Archbishopughed so loud she snorted, "me take it, Tycondrius. You are the most insubordinate man I have ever met."

    "Tss," Tycon shook his head, grinning. "I must have misunderstood when I heard I''d be working ''under'' you."

    The woman threw her fork-- powered with a bit of mana. Tycon shifted so the metal prongs stuck into the back of his wooden chair, "Natalya-- I''m sure you know this, but I much prefer *I* do the--"

    "--Yes, Ivory Prince! I''ve heard!" Natalya snickered, "You have a penis and you''re not afraid to use it!"

    Tycon took a sheet of parchment from a tube on his belt and ced it on Natalya''s desk, "I''d like to discuss our final arrangements, concerning... that ce."

    Natalya looked over the writing and nodded, "Most everything''s been discussed... Though I must remind you that, should you fail, the Church will brand you as rogues acting without orders."

    "Granted," Tycon took no offense. That was how any business operated, always prepared to cut their losses in the event of disaster.

    He ced his hand under his chin, tapping on his cheek, "You mentioned a moon prior that you could supply me with reinforcements?"

    "Indeed," Natalya gestured to her nning table, "I''ve spread word to two different centuries, urging them to finish their campaigns in Sterngate and the Sleeping Country''s Chaos Scar, respectively..."

    "Hm... and for the other urge?"

    "I''m sorry?" Natalya raised her eyebrows, "What was that?"

    "Rather than spreading word, Lady Crucis, I was wondering when you''d spread your legs for me?"

    She threw her half-finished te.

    Tycon carefully caught it... and unsticking her fork, carefully caught the errant bits of food and greenery in the air. The woman would throw a tantrum if there was a mess in her office-- even if she was at fault.

    "Is that a no?" Tycon teased.

    "Yooooouuu!!" Natalya shouted, tensing her entire body... And then, she began tough. She was ovee by it, clutching at her stomach and wheezing to catch her breath.

    Tycon shared in her mirth,ughing unapologetically over her absurd actions. Over the past several weeks and moons, the initially cold Archbishop had warmed to him tremendously.

    After calming down, Natalya took in a deep breath... and revealed a full, gorgeous smile, no less radiant than that of the angel-blood, Troia.

    "The short answer is... I can''t promise any reinforcements."

    "And the long and passionate answer?" Tycon smirked.

    "A moreprehensive answer..." Natalya paused... "we''ll discuss... over dinner. Tomorrow evening. I''ve made reservations-- I expect you to free your schedule."

    Domineering as always. That was fine, though. That was the way Natalya was and he''d expect at least that much.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Excellent," Tycon rxed. "Did you book a seat for my daughter? And if we''re bringing Pale and the High Oracle, I must ask you to also invite Lone."

    Natalya shook her head lightly, "It will be just the two of us. It''ll be at the... the... Masquerade. Very exclusive, you know. Not just anyone can get in."

    Her voice cracked as she spoke. Something was amiss.

    Tycon had apanied Natalya in public before, sometimes in a group, and sometimes by themselves. The nature of their rtionship was a popr topic in Cersei''s Rest.

    He''d had heard of the Masquerade. It was exclusive, as Natalya said... It was expensive and catered only to the highest ss of persons, Tyrion and not.

    It was called as such, as all guests were required to wear masks to hide their identities. The inn and associated dining hall undertook several steps, both magical and mundane, to ensure absolute privacy.

    On the surface, it was a ce where the rich and famous visited to hold private meetings with their associates.

    As far as its reputation... it was where illicit dealings took ce behind closed doors... where strictured men and women could give in to their hedonistic desires... and where individuals belonging to high stations could discretely engage in sexual rtions.

    ...Tycon had made a mistake.

    He''d thought of his and Natalya''s flirtatious exchanges as harmless banter.

    She... may have thought differently. Her invitation... was an indirect request that he sleep with her.

    "Well?" Natalya red, "How long are you just going to sit there? Have you gone impotent?"

    "Natalya," Tycon pursed his lips.

    "Wipe that stupid look off your face, Tycondrius!" Natalya groaned, still chuckling. "I''ll ensure you get fed! I know how you are."

    Tycon grimaced... "Lady Crucis..."

    Realization seemed to strike the woman... She sharpened her gaze... but she swallowed hard, "Wh-what is it?"

    "I feel the need to inform you... that I cannot pursue you romantically."

    "What?! Preposterous!!!" Natalyaughed-- obviously forced, "Ah! Hahaha! That''s-- that''s not... AND WHY THE F*CK NOT?!"

    Tycon nearly flinched. The outburst was unexpected.

    Natalya stood, throwing her hands outward, "Is it because of our stations?! As an Archbishop of the Holy Country of Tyrion, my status is EQUAL to yours, not below!"

    "No," Tycon twisted his lips, "it''s... it''s not that."

    "Is it my age? Because I''m not a ripe, twenty-year-old woman, fresh out of recruiting!!??"

    "What? No!" Tycon shot back, confused.

    Natalya mmed her palms on her desk, "What is it then?!?"

    Tycon breathed in through his nostrils... "I''m courting a young woman from Silva."

    The woman was stunned... "You... is... is she stronger than I am?"

    "She is not."

    "Prettier?"

    "No."

    "WELL!??" Natalya raised her arms, "What makes her BETTER than I am?!?"

    "Nothing," Tycon shook his head.

    "Then... why?" Natalya''s lips trembled, "Why is it then, that it''s her and not me?"

    "She..." Tycon took a deep breath... "I met her first."

    "WHHHATTTT???!" Natalya shrieked, "So NOWWWW you pretend to have honor and loyalty?? I don''t believe you, Tycondrius."

    She paced around her desk, screaming and shouting. Her eyes glowed white as her mana red. She turned abruptly, pointing at him, "You! I know who you are! You''re the IVORY PRINCE! You''re a LITERAL snake! You''ve never been LOYAL to anyone or anything in your LIFE!!"

    Tycon inclined his head, "I''m sorry."

    "You know what?! It''s FINE! Everything is FINE!!" She insisted.

    She sat back down in her chair... She crossed her arms... and she grew deathly quiet.

    Tycon stood up, "Natalya..."

    "It''s fine... I''m used to it..." A single tear fell hot down her cheek... "I''m never the first."

    Tycon stood quietly... nothinging to mind on what he could say to mollify her anger... "Natalya, I--"

    "Get out," She muttered.

    With a heavy heart, Tycon nodded solemnly, "Thank you for everything, Lady Crucis."

    "...Just go."

 Chapter 564 Snakes On An Airship

    ?? Several moonster. ?

    Tycondrius leaned over the bow of the Endurance. The airship had recently lifted off from the air docks at Cersei''s Rest and they were en route to Rixus.

    Below, the Dawnbringer was stomping across the Basilica grounds, going from building to building and peering into the various windows. Tycon could imagine the shrieks of surprise from the various Tyrion faithful.

    The High Oracle was the only person in Tyrion capable of piloting the 60-fulm tall suit of armor. She was searching for something.

    And that something was probably on his airship.

    Tycon turned to a conspicuous-looking barrel, "Pale... did you remember to tell Troia that you were leaving?"

    The boy peeked out, the barrel lid resting atop his head, "Um. I... forgot to?"

    Tycon granted his youngpanion a polite smile, "Are you well young man? You''re not feeling nauseous, are you?"

    The boy was visibly... pale-- as if he were sick. While sailing on the high seas, he had been strongly affected by motion sickness, and Tycon feared he''d suffer simrly on an aircraft.

    "Just a little tired, Boss, that''s all," Barrel-Pale sighed. "I''m happy to be flying. Usually, I just have to run."

    Tycon leaned in and examined the boy''s eyes, "Light mana fatigue. Get some rest and I''ll wake you for dinner."

    "Nn. Aye aye, Sir," Pale withdrew back into his hiding spot, the barrel lid lodging into ce.

    After ensuring that the barrel had a breathing hole, Tycon returned to watching the havoc hundreds of fulms below.

    Lone leaned over, close enough to whisper, "Did Sasha cry when you left, Boss?"

    Tycon red at him, lightly pushing the Ranger back to a respectable distance, "Don''t be absurd."

    She did. It almost made Tycon not want to leave.

    However, she still had her schooling... and Tycon had plenty to do, elsewhere.

    "Absurd..." A blonde gentleman muttered, sitting cross-legged atop Pale''s barrel and brooding, "What would you know about being absurd?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows. What did that mean? Was that something he was supposed to respond to?

    He looked over to the man on his opposite side... and tried to remember just where he''d seen him prior. Taking a brief moment to review his System''s notes, he identified him as Lone''s former arena partner.

    ? Edge, Iron-Rank Human Dark Lurker. ?

    "Mister Edge. You look... spiky," Tycon smiled.

    Besides the roguish gentleman''s hair, Tycon struggled to find something about him topliment.

    "Forgive me, Young Master," Edge dramatically threw his hood on and pulled it down, "I no longer go by that name."

    "Hey, Edge," Lone waved. "Wanna go y spades below deck?"

    Edge visibly winced as if he was hurt-- and nearly fell off of his seat, "I *said*... I don''t go by that name, anymore."

    "Oh," Lone raised an eyebrow, "Did you decide on a new name yet?"

    "...Nah," The blonde fellow sighed. "You got any ideas, man?"

    Tycon rolled his eyes. He had a strong suspicion that Lone''s friend was an idiot, just like he was.

    "Sorry. Don''t have any," Lone shook his head. "Oh, Edge, this is my other friend, Pale."

    "You''re friends with a barrel?" Edge frowned.

    "Kinda. And this is my Boss, Sir Tycon."

    "Oh, yeah I remember--" Edge fell off the barrel fully, but quickly got to his feet, "Wait! Y-you''re the current leader of Sol Invictus?"

    Tycon grimaced, taking in a deep breath. Having just recently left a tearful and slightly spoiled daughter, his tolerance for disrespect had fallen dangerously low.

    "...I am," He groaned, pursing his lips. "What of it?"

    "Can... I join your guild?" Edge wrung his hands nervously.

    Oh.

    That was fine.

    "Mister Lone, will you vouch for this gentleman''s character?"

    "Yeah," Lone nodded. "He''s a good person-- really skilled... he''s a good Rogue but not... a *good* Rogue, though?"

    "Thank you for being honest," Tycon scoffed.

    The Lone Shadowdark was many things: a Ranger, a fool, and a known attractant for pubic lice... but he was not a liar.

    "Lone..." Edge crossed his arms, "That was kinda criminal of you, guy."

    Tycon turned his back to the railing, using it to rest his elbows, "I ept."

    From what he''d seen of the Rogue fighting the Caeruleum arenas, he was an averagebatant. He wasn''t particrly strong, nor was he grossly ipetent.

    Most of their duo team''s effectiveness came from the reckless-- if effective, synergy he had with Lone. That, by itself, would make Edge a tolerable addition to Guild Letalis''bat line.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Are you aware of our current mission, Mister Edge?"

    "Wait, what?" Edge''s eyes widened in disbelief, "That easy?"

    "Should it not be?" Tycon frowned.

    Though a bit presumptuous, he doubted that the Rogue could pass a written evaluation.

    "Well..." Edge rubbed the back of his hooded head, "You guys kinda have a reputation as a... legendary arena guild?"

    "Worry not," Tycon chuckled. "I''ll assign you a practical test before sun''s end."

    "I... alright," The Rogue nodded with shining eyes, "So what''s the deal, Boss-man?"

    Tycon steadied his emotions and hardened his gaze, "We''re engineering an attack on a Snake Cult bastion in Ezyria. We have a few hundred insurgents-- a number of them within the city proper... and the attack will take ce within six moons."

    Lone furrowed his brows as if he''d understood something.

    "The Snake Cult, huh?" Edge whistled. "It''ll feel good fighting for the good guys, this time around. Fair but without mercy! Just like the Church teaches, yeah?"

    "Don''t be mistaken, Mister Edge," Tycon shook his head at the youth''s optimism. "Our reasons are just and honorable-- as the Church teaches. However, it would be folly to wage a ''fair'' war against a city known for its diatorial arenas and popted by 25,000 people."

    "Well... alright," Edge nodded hesitantly. "I suppose I can work with that."

    Tycon flicked his wrist and stealthily passed the Rogue three crossbow bolts.

    Edge quietly hid them away in a pouch, the subtle movement indicative of expert skill.

    He kept his voice low, but a novice''s uncertainty shone in his eyes... "These what I think they are?"

    "Avoid skin contact with the poison," Tycon warned. "Mister Lone, have you identified them?"

    Lone kept his voice muffled behind his hand, "The bearded guy with a sword sheath on his right side and the woman wearing green-- she just walked off, though."

    Edge narrowed his gaze, "What''re you guys talkin'' about?"

    Tycon merely smiled and changed the topic. Slowly, the passengers on the deck left to pursue more interesting sights. Harder to justify their reason for loitering, the Snake Cultists hidden among them also withdrew.

    Once Tycon was sure it was safe to do so, he continued his exnation to the Rogue.

    "The Snake Cult is everywhere, it seems," He shrugged. "I want their spies dead, Mister Edge. I advise piercing the neck to hasten the poison''s travel through the bloodstream."

    The blonde Rogue grimaced... but nodded, "Boss... you gave me three?"

    "Adult gentleman," Tycon replied. "Brown gambeson, grey cloak."

    Lone had carelessly overlooked the third target, as he relied overmuch on his eyes. The grey-cloaked man was a Bronze-Rank warrior who radiated hostile intent towards him, which did not wane until he descended belowdecks. Snake Cultist or not, Tycon would have that man in agonizing pain, choking to death on his own blood.

    It was very well possible that he was innocent-- merely jealous of Tycon''s handsome face.

    He decided not to alert Edge to that fact.

    "I''ll take care of it," The Rogue nodded. "Still... we only got a few hundred against a big city like that?"

    Tycon patted the young man on the shoulder, "The Snake Cultists will be reporting to their leadership... that we are a fraction of our number, that there are a multitude of spies in the city to hunt, and that they have several moons to prepare."

    Edge''s eyes widened in realization, "You mean..."

    "We''re sieging the city as soon as we arrive."

    ...

    ? Thousands of malms away, a few weekster. ?

    "No, really, Agathe," Ptolema forced herself to smile. It made her scarred cheeks ache terribly. "I''m happy for you."

    "I''m so sorry, Leader," Agathe bowed her head. "I was... I was just excited. I didn''t mean..."

    "By the me, Agathe," Ptolema rolled her eyes. "I said it was fine!"

    "But Leader..."

    "Just stop with the ''Leader''," Ptolema sighed... "Guild Snowy Vige disbanded moons ago."

    It was still a sensitive topic for her... having a guild... trying to make it work for years... then being forced to disband.

    For the longest time, guild Snowy Vige was part of the Brazen Guard Collective, a loose confederacy of adventuringpanies that took on A and S-Rank quests.

    Then... after a shitestorm of a Dungeon, it turned out that nearly the entire higher echelon of the Collective was actually part of the Snake Cult.

    Ptolema nearly lost her mind when she found out. She and her husband had been working with them for so long that it hurt... so, so much to be betrayed like that.

    It also meant... because of the selfish actions of a few, she and everyone else in the Collective could bebeled guilty of heresy by association.

    She disbanded her guild without a second thought. It was the best thing she could do to protect herself-- and to protect her allies.

    That was in the past. And it would stay in the past.

    "Immunes Agathe," Ptolema leaned over her nning table, "You will refer to me as Scarmother Talon."

 Chapter 565 Life After Death

    ?Silence reigned inside of Ptolema''s war tent.

    She pursed her lips, staring at Agathe as she smiled back awkwardly.

    This girl...

    "...Anyroad, don''t call me Leader anymore," Ptolema sighed, shaking her head.

    "Right... Sorry," Agathe bowed again. "It''s a force of habit. But real talk? I hate the naming sense. ''Sons'' of Qotal.'' ''Scarmother.''"

    "The reports, woman?" Ptolema tapped her finger against the nning table.

    If she didn''t stop her, she''d babble until morning.

    "Yes, Scarmother," Agathe smiled with chagrin.

    Ptolema nced through the pieces of parchment. She felt an oing headache, trying to read them. Their scouts were technically illiterate, so it was a pain to parse the mashed up, phically-spelled words.

    Agathe had been her closest friend and greatest support since she first registered Snowy Vige with the Adventurer''s Guild. Even after disbanding it, they joined the Sons of Qotal at about the same time-- and by sheer luck, were even assigned to the same century.

    That wonderful and infuriating woman... had gotten pregnant.

    She and her husband had been trying to conceive for at least half a year.

    Ptolema was happy for her-- she really was.

    It wasn''t her fault that the news reminded her of how f*cked her life was.

    She''d gone to the healers, a few weeks aftering back from the Halls of the Dead Serpent. They told her... that with her symptoms, she was probably barren.

    She was hurt-- devastated, really.

    It didn''t make much sense that it did... It''s not like she was nning on remarrying.

    It was like... a crucial part of being a woman was... just gone. It was like the heavens were saying she no longer had the right to be a mother.

    The feeling... of something important, something taken for granted, but integral to being a person? Taken away?

    She wouldn''t wish that on anyone.

    It felt like ages ago... when guild Snowy Vige went to that me-taken ce.

    Back then... she was pregnant with her husband''s child. They were nning on saving for a horse.

    Then everything started to spiral out of control. She suffered a miscarriage. Karodin never came back.

    She was starting to forget his scent... what hisugh sounded like... even how he looked like.

    The more she thought about him, the worse she felt.

    No, she''d never get married again.

    Even thinking about romance felt like she was insulting him... like it would make his ghost cry.

    The big baby...

    "Here you go, Scarmother."

    Ptolema looked up.

    Agathe was offering a clean cloth, "Take it, sister. Dry your tears."

    "Get the HELLS out!" Ptolema snapped, pointing at the entrance.

    The woman ran off-- as ordered. She left her cloth on the table, but Ptolema ignored it, wiping her eyes with her wrist.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...She''d have to remember to return itter.

    "I am the heir of ash and fire," She muttered to herself. "By the dragon''s mes, my sins are purged. By the dragon''s mes, I am born again..."

    It didn''t seem like much-- just lip service... but repeating the mantra put her mind at ease.

    The Sons and Daughters of Qotal were led by an armored man they called The Exarch. He was a fanatic, that was for sure... but he was a good man, crusading for the Eternal me... against the heretics and the xeno''s and *especially* the mescarred source of all her problems, the Snake Cult.

    After her life fell apart... Ptolema was lost and without purpose.

    Without direction, she was forced to remember just how shite her life was. The guild she led was ruined. Her face was hideous, scarred beyond recognition. The only man she''d ever loved was dead. The proof of their marriage, their child-- she never saw the light of the sun.

    The Exarch gave her something to believe in... something that she could work tirelessly towards.

    It was a reason to keep living. It was a reason to work her arse off. It was a crusade-- one she never knew she needed.

    At first, she was terrified of being found out when she joined the Sons of Qotal. Thankfully, it turned out that The Exarch was a decent human being. When she confided her past as a guild leader to him, she wasn''t executed on the spot. Instead, she was offered an officer position.

    She took it.

    She excelled at it.

    In a few short moons, she earned the rank of Centurion-- as well as a new name and title:

    Scarmother Talon.

    It wasn''t particrly pointed at her-- the other female Centurions were called Scarmothers too. It was just strange that-- not ironically, she had the most scars among them, both physical and otherwise.

    Just like in the mantra, taking up the new name was a rebirth of sorts. It was like a gift from the me, herself.

    She didn''t want to be known as Ptolema anymore. Ptolema was weak. Ptolema cried every night over her useless, dead husband.

    Scarmother Talon was a badass b*tch that didn''t take shite from anyone.

    The promotion was a trap, of course.

    Being a Centurion meant she was also given a century. All the waking bells of each sun was spent dealing with the b*tching and moaning of entitled Decani and their piscine subordinates.

    F*ck those criminal bastards.

    ...

    Ptolema awoke to the whistle of the icy wind outside her tent.

    ...She''d fallen asleep reading reports.

    As for how long she was out... the sun had gone down and themp on her table had gone out.

    She''d been tiredtely... and had mentioned the fact to Agathe. It was probably her fault that no one came to wake her.

    "...At least wake me for lunch," Ptolema muttered as she rubbed the outsides of her forearms.

    She sped her hands together... and concentrated, ''listening'' carefully for the ''sound'' that fire made. She''d heard some of the other faithful call it ''circting mana.'' Whatever it was, it warmed her body and fended off the cold.

    Gently separating her palms, she looked into the dancing ball of fire she''d summoned.

    Itforted her.

    This was the gift The Exarch gave her... a gift granted to all the Sons and Daughters of Qotal.

    The gift of dragonfire.

 Chapter 566 Fire Stone

    ?The Exarch had a strange divine relic. He called it the Fire Stone.

    It was an incredibly boring name for a guild that called their centurions ''Scarmothers'' and their elite troops, ''The Branded.''

    It was a roughly hewn, dull-colored crystal a bit bigger than her fist. Nothing about it looked particrly impressive. If she squinted her eyes, she could make out a vague Z-shaped rune inside of it-- but that didn''t exactly scream ''holy artifact.''

    The following night, Ptolema''s life changed.

    She had something... that she could only describe as a religious experience.

    She dreamt of the Eternal me.

    Kind. Warm. Evesting. It was everything a deity was supposed to be.

    ? But it was also... more than that.

    Inside of the me... there was a dragon. It had scales and teeth and great, majestic wings that shot up into the heavens... It had gentle eyes that peered into her soul and saw all the hurt and pain and suffering.

    And its voice...

    It spoke to her. It offered her rebirth... to shed her old life and to be born anew. And when Ptolema epted, the dragon taught her the words that she engraved in her heart.

    ''I am the heir of ash and fire.''

    She woke from her dream under the starry sky, upon a bed of smoldering embers. Some time during the night, her bedroll and tent had gone up in mes.

    She suffered almost no injuries... only minor burns. At the time, she thought it nothing less than a miracle.

    ...she was toldter that it happened all the time.

    From that sun onward, Ptolema found she could summon literal fire from her hands.

    Once she got over her initial shock, she also found that she was shite at it. Agathe once joked that maybe they should change her title to''Burnmother.''

    That girl...

    Ptolema continued to hear the voice of the dragon near every night.

    She didn''t learn anything new, as far as doctrine went... Heretics bad. Humans good.

    However, with each passing week, the voice taught her more about her gift... and her aptitude grew. Eventually, she became confident of manipting the dragonfire without worrying she''d burn the rest of her face off.

    ...A year prior, she would have dismissed it all as heretical nonsense.

    Talking to religious figures in her sleep? Throwing fireballs at painted stones in a field? That''s not something normal human beings do. It wasn''t something Ptolema ever could have imagined herself doing.

    In her guild, however... it wasmonce. Some of the strongest mercenaries they had were faithful Priests and Champions, all who could wield mes. She also recalled having worked with a Silver Pyromancer trained by the Church.

    Fire was a good thing. Why wouldn''t it be? They all worshipped a literal me, and no one thought that was weird.

    What was weird, though...

    The voice in her dreams... it made her believe in dragons. Those unstoppable beings of destruction that only children believed in? They were real.

    There was a dragon in the me. She had seen it.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...and she wasn''t alone.

    Hundreds of faithful had joined the Sons of Qotal, with dozens more recruited each week... and all of them were convinced that dragons exist.

    ...It gave Ptolema plenty of work, mostly administrative in nature. She was good at it, so she didn''t mind too much.

    Releasing the fire orb in her hand, she willed it to levitate above her. The usefulness of her magic in day-to-day tasks made her wonder why it was so hated in Tyrion...

    Refocusing on her work, she quickly read through the rest of her reports.

    ...

    A bellter, Scarmother Talon stepped out of her tent, her hot breaths forming wisps of white in the cool night air.

    It wasn''t toote yet. She wondered if she had missed dinner, too.

    She nced over to the vige on the horizon. Smoke plumed up into the sky from when their forces raided it. She hoped that none of her men were hurt-- unless they deserved it.

    She approached the noisiest part of the camp, her path lit by evening braziers. Whispers amongst the Sons and Daughters of Qotal, her peers and subordinates, heralded her arrival.

    "What''s this, then?" Talon asked.

    There were three captives tightly bound to heavy wooden stakes, a young woman, a boy, and an older man. They were arranged atop arge assortment of dried branches and split logs-- all very mmable.

    It seemed her subordinates were fairly convinced they were guilty. She hoped it wasn''t because the first two had the ''sin'' of having pointed ears.

    "Scarmother," A Decanus approached her and saluted. "The vige was hiding these three heretics. Praise the me they were discovered."

    "Oh?" Talon narrowed her eyes at the youthful fellow. He was a Church enforcer from Caeruleum, one faithful to their cause. Still, it didn''t feel right that he was so energetic, concerning the topic.

    She tore the blindfold off of the closest person-- the woman, then ripped the gag out of her mouth, "Is what this man says true?"

    "Release me, at once!" The viger screamed, "Just because I have Elven blood doesn''t mean I''m a heretic!!"

    Talon silenced her with a backhand across the face, "Calm yourself. If you are innocent, then you should be able to defend yourself with words-- not just volume."

    The xeno slowly turned back with a face of indignation, clenching her teeth and ring her nostrils.

    Her eyes were still arrogant... as if she had nothing to apologize for. It was as if she was wholly ignorant to the way things worked in the Holy Country.

    Talon had seen those eyes before... in the Gold-Rank Elven Priestess, Ariadne. She too had practiced heretical magic. That Snake Cult whore deserved nothing less than burning in dragonfire.

    "The only thing I am guilty of... is being a half-elf in the Holy Country," The girl dered.

    "Elf or not," Talon grimaced, "I can see through your lies, b*tch."

    "What PROOF do you have, you mescarred whore?" The Witch shouted back.

    Talon shut her eyes and shook her head. As her own abilities developed, she was better able to sense magic in other beings. Being so close to the half-human, the reek of heresy almost made her sick.

    "Let me speak in terms you can understand, then," Talon hardened her gaze. "*You* are an unsanctioned psyker."

 Chapter 567 Old Sage

    ?"Filthy elf-bloods... we should just execute the lot of them," The Decanus turned his head and spat.

    Itnded beside Scarmother Talon''s feet.

    Talon narrowed her eyes, "Don''t be so quick to judge. We Tyrions have a sworn duty to punish the wicked-- not to ughter the innocent."

    "But Scarmother?" The man frowned, puffing out his chest like a petnt child, "This one''s obviously a Witch!"

    "me take it, man," Talon shook her head. She pointed at an Armored Champion, "You there. Take this fish and give him 20shes for insubordination."

    "Yes, Scarmother!" The gentleman drew his sword and moved forward. He gripped the first Decanus by the elbow and whispered some choice phrases into his ear. Finally realizing his disrespect, the idiot kept his mouth shut as he was escorted away.

    For that, Talon was thankful. ording to wartime protocols, 20shes was the maximum non-lethal punishment she could assign... and she didn''t really want to order him executed.

    "Now, then..." She turned back to the Witch, "Where were we?"

    "Let us free..." The girl muttered, "We haven''t done anything to hurt anyone."

    "Ideas can do more harm than sword and spell," Talon paced in front of her... "Who taught you how to use magic?"

    The Witch held her tongue and averted her gaze.

    She was hiding something.

    Talon grasped onto the half-human''s soot-covered hair and pulled her head up, "Where are you hiding her? Speak!"

    The girl''s panicked eyes betrayed her. Shehad nced to the side, at the other captives.

    Talon raised an eyebrow and pointed in the direction she briefly looked, "One of these two, then?"

    "NO!" The Witch screamed, "My teacher did nothing wrong! Please! I''m telling the truth!"

    "The man with the grey beard," Talon gestured towards the captive at the far end, "Remove his gag and blindfold."

    Invoker Agathe hurried forward, "Aye, Scarmother."

    She removed the blindfold of the older man. His grey hair and beard were marked with streaks of white and sharp lines were cut deeply on his face. He had dark circles underneath his eyes, as well as cuts and swells.

    He had not gone quite peaceably.

    Talon walked to him and met his gaze... the same rebellious eyes as that of his student.

    "What''s your story, then, old timer?"

    The man pursed his lips... and when spoke, it was with measured words, "It was I who taught these two half-elves Alizeaun magic. It is my fault for deceiving them and mine alone."

    "Teacher, NO!!" The Witch screamed.

    The old man was not a very good liar.

    He then inclined his head, wearing a disgustingly fake smile, "Please, Centurion. I submit to yourws and request execution for my sins."

    "Very well," Talon saluted. "By the me, you shall be purged. By dragonfire, you will be born anew."

    Taking a step back, she summoned a cute, energetic ball of the fire in her hand-- the dragon''s gift.

    "Wait!" The old man''s eyes shot open, horrified. "What-- that''s IMPOSSIBLE!"

    "Behold, Tyrion mes," Talon smiled warmly, "It''s a step above anything your nation can produce-- but really shouldn''t be *too* surprising."

    "No!!!" He screamed, straining his voice to do so, "Dragons! DON''T! EXIST!"

    "Ohhhh, is that what this is about?" Talon shook her head... then sneered arrogantly, "I''m pleased to inform you that actually, they do. And when they return, the Sons and Daughters of Qotal will march on your so-called ''Magic Kingdom'' and burn your capital to the ground."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "YOU!!" The man shouted, "You''re the ones being fooled!! The dragons must NEVER return to thisnd!! Not just the Holy Country, but the entire Realm will burn to ASH!!!"

    "Right," Talon shrugged. "And from the ashes, all will be born anew. Weren''t you paying attention?"

    With a gentle breath, the ball of fire happily leapt from her palm and lit the old man''s pyre aze.

    "TEACHERRRRR!!!!" The Witch shrieked, trying but failing to be louder than the old man''s cries of agony.

    "C-centurion!! Please!!" She begged, "The mes! My brother''s going to die!!"

    It was obvious that her brother, the still-blindfolded captive, was keenly aware of his chance in circumstances. Sweat poured down his face, he struggled desperately against his bindings. As the mes rose, so did the volume of his muffled screams.

    "...Yes, I am aware," Talon twisted her lips to the side. "And you will share in his fate."

    Regardless of who was at fault, heresy was punishable by death. It was a basicmand of all Tyrion''s citizens.

    Talon felt a tinge of guilt that the Witch didn''t seem to understand that. The girl should have known. She had no right toin.

    "Wh-what?" Realization dawned in the Witch''s eyes, her earlier arrogance, entirely absent.

    She looked how she should have, sorrowful and repentant.

    Talon patted the girl on the cheek, "Don''t worry. The cycle continues neverending. Fire. Ash. Rebirth."

    "How... how can you do this? You''re... you''re a mage too, aren''t you?"

    "Not quite. We all serve the Eternal me."

    "A... all of you?" Realization slowly dawned in the Witch''s eyes, "All of you... are... are Circle Mages? That''s... but how?"

    Talon took a deep breath... "I know it''s hard to understand, girl... but I''ve seen the dragon in the me. I''ve heard its voice... we all have. There''s a better life for you and for all of us, whether or not you choose to believe it."

    "You''re-- you''re just killing innocent people!!" The Witch cried, "Please... at least my brother... he''s still just a boy! You CAN''T DO THIS!!"

    Talon turned her back to the witch, "Gag her. She''ll spend herst few moments in quiet prayer-- and perhaps a bit of dignity."

    "Right away, Scarmother," Agathe immediately got to work, tearing off a strip of cloth from the girl''s tunic and tying it tightly around her mouth.

    "Is there anything else?" Talon raised an eyebrow.

    "There is," Agathe nodded. "What shall we do about the vige?"

    "A vige that breeds heresy doesn''t need to stand," Talon crossed her arms. "Burn it."

    The woman furrowed her brows, "But... the vigers, Scarmother?"

    "What about them?" Talon furrowed her brows, "Oh... We''ll bring them to The Exarch. Those who can hear the dragon''s voice will be inducted to the Sons of Qotal."

    "R-right," Agathe breathed a sigh of relief.

    "Did you think I was going to order them all killed?" Talon squeezed her friend''s cheek. "You''re pregnant, Agathe, not stupid."

    "C-can you not, Scarmother?" Embarrassed, Agathe brushed Talon''s hand away. "My husband doesn''t know yet."

    "Haha! I apologize, sister," Talon grinned. "But really, you should let him--"

    "Scarmother! Scarmother Talon!!"

    The crowd of faithful split, allowing a beleaguered Scout to pass through, "Scarmother! We''ve found signs of invaders in the Caeruleum hills!"

 Chapter 568 Youâ€™ll Do What? (Part One)

    ?? shback: Kasydon countryside. Six suns prior ?

    Ariadne looked out the window, careful not to be seen.

    More hade.

    She gave silent thanks to the gods. Thankfully, the ones that came didn''t look like they were from the Church.

    ...She didn''t want to have to move again.

    Adventurers came once or twice a moon... all of them wanting the same thing, to recruit two Gold-Rank adventurers to their cause.

    It didn''t matter how much gold they offered or whatever ''honor'' they had on the line. She rejected elves and humans alike, Holy Invokers and Darkmages, Nemayans and folks from the Eastern States...

    She kept her courtesies, as she was raised as a properdy. However, there were more than a few times she had to roll up her sleeves and reveal just how powerful a Gold-Rank actually was.

    All Ariadne wanted to do was to live a mundane life with her husband... free of war and politics, thanklessness and betrayal. Free of any of that adventuring bullshite, really.

    They had enough coin saved up for it-- at least for just the two of them. The harvest season wasing quick... and then they''d all be busy enough, working with the other families in the vige.

    To do that, all she had to do was oust the folks who kept calling for them. As the years went by, she and Bannok would be forgotten. After enough time... they''d get that life of peace...

    She grabbed her broom and headed to the door. She had to defend that dream any way she could. It wasn''t just for her sake-- she had to protect her husband too. The gods knew he''d suffered enough.

    "You goin'' somewhere, wife?" Bannok shouted from the bedroom.

    "Jus'' out for a minute, darlin''." She called back, "Gotta get me a breath o'' fresh air."

    "Alright! If yer goin'' to the neighbors--"

    "Nope!" She yelled back, her impatience rising in her voice, "Ya''ve had more''n enough whiskey, ya drunk!"

    A series of inaudible grumbles signaled that her husband had heard but did not agree.

    She shook her head. Her dear husband hade into a little bit of a drinking problem. She''d never let it get too bad if she could help it, though.

    Steadying her heart and putting a practiced scowl on her face, Ariadne opened the door, "Now lissen up, if y''all''re here for--"

    Her heart jumped up, sticking in her throat and making it hard to breathe.

    A man in ck armor stood at her doorstep. He had a shining white helmet underneath his arm, a head full of green hair, and eyes as deceitful and yellow as a snake''s.

    "Hello, Priestess Ariadne," Tycon hissed.

    "Get the f*ck out of my house," Aria scowled.

    "Or you''ll do what?" Tycon tilted his head, "Hit me with a broomstick?"

    "I''mma stick this where tha sun don''t shine, mister, if *you* don''t f--"

    "Ari!" Bannok called, "Is someone at the door?"

    "No one in partic-uler, hon!" Aria shouted back.

    This was bad. Thest person her husband needed to see was--<novelnext></novelnext>

    When she turned back, the Tactician had disappeared... "Slicker than owl sh*t, you--"

    She swung her broomstick in an arc behind her. She didn''t belong to a martial ss, but any decent strike from a Gold-Rank would give the fe a nasty lump.

    Her weapon stopped.

    It was blocked... by the haft of a crimson spear-- and it didn''t make a me-taken sound. She didn''t feel any magic that blocked the impact... or enchantment that silenced the noise. The spearwielder had someone managed to... catch her strike, and ease it back.

    He was good. Real good.

    The Tactician was inside her embarrassingly tiny home, looking at an old painting on the wall... something she whipped up to cover one of the many big holes in the wood paneling.

    Standing beside him was a young boy with sandy blonde hair-- he couldn''t have been older than twelve or thirteen. That boy-- that impossibly young child was a Gold-Rank... just like she was.

    He wore custom-molded armor... bright blue, all of it Tyrion steel. On his shoulder was the only known sigil of the forbidden holy spell ?Ultima?.

    Only one ss of person could wear that symbol in the Holy Country... the personal guard of the High Oracle.

    But where did hee from? He wasn''t there when she opened the door.

    Putting her angry face back on, she kept as quiet as Elvenly possible, trying to get this snake to leave, "Y''all are *not* wee here, I don''t care who--"

    "We''re not here for you," Tycon interrupted her.

    Ariadne furrowed her eyebrows, "What in the seven hells and eleven heavens do ya mean, by that?"

    "Stand down. We''re here to speak with... ''Mister'' Ariadne," Tycon gestured flippantly. "So to speak."

    "You an'' what army, bub?" She scoffed.

    Tycon nodded towards the boy, "Pale."

    Ariadne turned to look and everything... stopped. All the tiny hairs on her neck and arms, all of them were standing. Her heart had stopped pumping. Something dreadful was rumbling in her gut and making her sick. Bells and whistles were going crazy in her head, like she was staring in the eyes of a direbeast and she was a thirty-year-old Sapling again.

    All she could see... was white... and the boy.

    There was... so much mana radiating out of the child... and it washed over her like a flood. Her knees buckled and she was about to fall when the Tactician caught her by the arm.

    "That''s enough," The Tactician whispered.

    And all at once... everything was normal again.

    The clock on the wall, it was ticking. Her heart was beating. Sweat dripped out of every pore on her body. Blood was trickling down her nose... and dripped onto the floor.

    "Elves tend to have a very acute perception of mana," Tycon exined. "Any more and Lady Ariadne was at risk of injury."

    "Ohhhh, got it, Boss," Pale nodded and bowed politely, "I''m sorry, um... Mdy."

    "Tactician..." Ariadne gulped, "You recruited... a Hero? To Guild Letalis?"

    "Oh, is it that obvious?" Tycon mused.

 Chapter 569 Youâ€™ll Do What? (Part Two)

    ?The Tactician was grinning wider than a shite-eating possum, "Now, can we sit and converse peaceably? Do you have some chairs, or--"

    "Won''t be necessary, guy."

    Bannok trudged out from his room... but even before Tactician Tycon turned to look at him, his face twisted into a grimace and he wrinkled his nose.

    Ariadne felt her entire face flush hot with shame.

    Her husband hadn''t shaved or bathed in weeks... and the unwashed clothing he wore reeked of alcohol. She made sure to change out the bandages on his severed arm every sun-- she didn''t want it to get infected... but he didn''t let her wash anything else.

    "You two''s," Bannok shed his secondhand sword through the air, a slow and sloppy swing, even for a human, "Get out... I don''t wanna talk to ya''s."

    "Or you''ll do what?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Hit me with that pig iron sword?"

    "Boss," The boy, Pale, tugged at the Tactician''s arm, "We should go. We''re not wee here."

    Tycon tilted his head up and groaned, "Don''t worry about it, young man. These two are probably casting me on me for their own inadequacies."

    "Oh. F*ck. You. Ssssnake," Bannok growled.

    "Tss..." Tycon scoffed, "Really, Bannok? No matter the species, wallowing in alcohol and self-pity is just as pathetic."

    "Yeahhh?" Bannok reeled back, blinking his his bleary drunken eyes, "How ''bout you say that to my face, guy?"

    The snake stepped forward, unafraid of the bigger man, "I came looking for a proud former guild leader, his heart filled with courage and his will made of Tyrion steel."

    He grabbed Bannok''s shirt and pulled him down, staring into his eyes, "But all I see is an old drunk who''s convinced himself he''s a failure."

    Bannok shook the Tactician off but he lost his bnce. His shoulder caught the doorway before he fell... and he leaned on it while ring at Tycon''s chest, "Yeah... You got that right, guy. I''m a failure. So what?"

    Tycon raised his arms, "How long are you going to mourn, then? There must be a breaking point! You''ve fallen to THIS!? You''ve hidden away in a literal HOVEL!"

    The more the Tactician talked, the more Ariadne felt her heart wrench. They''d sold near everything of value to help with their travel expenses, including Bannok''s old enchanted battleaxe. They''d moved twice before, too, to avoid the ufortable eyes of the Church on their witch hunt. That was why two Gold-Rank adventurers were living in squalor.

    If Bannok was even a few years younger... if he still had both arms... he''d never have even considered running away with his tail tucked between his legs.

    "Bannok..." Tycon''s gaze softened, "Tell me truthfully... Is this eptable to you?"

    "F*CK OFF, Tactician!!" Bannok shouted, "You''re the one that got us into this shite! We never would''ve gotten into those me-taken Halls if it weren''t for you!"

    "I may have led you humans into those Halls..." Tycon seethed... "but I did my gods-damned best to get as many of you out. Don''t you dare me your weakness on me."

    "me TAKE YOUUUU!!!" Bannok raised his sword arm.

    "Bannok, NO!!!" Ariadne shouted.

    The snake may have been rude... and untrustworthy... but she knew the truth. It wasn''t his fault. It wasn''t anyone''s fault. That''s why the whole ordeal was so infuriating.<novelnext></novelnext>

    If it weren''t for the Tactician... everyone would have died in those halls.

    Bannok had killed hundreds of people-- it was in the job description, campaigning for Tyrion, monster subjugation, Dungeon delving. But... he''d never murdered anyone. And murdering the Tactician in a drunken rage? It wouldn''t be right!

    She reached out, rushing forward to stop him... but she was toote.

    Her husband swung his sword... but the Tactician caught it with his bare hand.

    Blood flowed down his palm and dripped down his arm. He grabbed the de, wrenched it away, and tossed it to the floor... like an adult taking a toy away from a spoiled child.

    Ariadne couldn''t believe it. It had been less than a year''s time... and he was stronger than Bannok?

    "Not a f*cking onze of killing intent, Bannok," Tycon sneered. "If you thought you could kill me with that level of attack-- honestly, I''m insulted."

    Bannok sighed... like all the strength had left his body, "Don''t gotta be so surprised, guy... You''s can see it now, yeah? I''m a f*cking failure..."

    "You''ve merely lost your way, Brother-Bannok," Tycon said quietly. It was like the words hurt when he said them.

    Bannok stood up and straightened his spine... but he couldn''t bring himself to meet the Tactician''s gaze anymore, "Say what you came to say..."

    "Look at me, Brother-Bannok."

    Grimacing, Bannok slowly looked up.

    "You''re lost right now," Tycon hesitated... "I am here to offer you guidance back."

    "Come with us, Sir..." The boy offered. "You know Boss Tycon means the best for you."

    ...Bannok took a deep breath and shook his head, "No can do... I ain''t half the man I used to be without my shield arm."

    He lifted what was left of his arm. It was nothing but a bandaged stump, ending just underneath the shoulder.

    Ariadne had tried her best to heal it-- to at least seal the wound so it wouldn''t fester and ooze. It always felt like there was something stopping the magic from working fully. It wasn''t poison. It didn''t seem to be curse magic.

    She had a terrible feeling that the fault lied with her husband. That maybe... it was his refusal to let go of the past... That because of his rejection of any form of redemption, that it affected his physical capacity to heal.

    Bannok tilted his head up in a shameless grin, "Besides, the wife''d kill me if I go."

    Ariadne winced at the words. Her husband... had never before used her as a shield. He was the unyielding shield. He was the unstoppable force.

    She... couldn''t let it go on.

    She didn''t want to say what she had to say. She couldn''t get over her hate of the Tactician... for being who he was. But if he had a way to cure her husband''s heart where she could not...

 Chapter 570 Reason To Fight

    ?No matter what happened, Ariadne loved Bannok with all her heart. She''d do anything to get him back... even cooperate with a snake.

    "I think it''s a good idea..."

    "Say wha?" Her fool husband furrowed his brows.

    "You heard me, hon!" Ariadne red, "You''ve been in a rut, there''s no denyin'' that... An'' if the Tactician''s got a way ta put you back on the saddle, I think he''s worth a talkin'' to."

    "Of all the--" Bannok turned away, as he started to curse up a storm in the oldnguage.

    "Caeruleum," Tycon dered.

    "Those scum-sucking bastards that assigned us that me-taken quest in the first ce..." Bannok spat, "What about ''em?"

    "I''m going to burn the city down," The Tactician turned away... and just like that, he walked out of the door.

    Pale looked confused... as if he wasn''t sure whether to follow his leader or not.

    "Um... Sir?" He asked.

    "Whaddya want, kid?" Bannok grimaced.

    "I think Boss means to say... you shoulde with us... to Caeruleum."

    Bannok grew quiet in contemtion.

    The snake was right. Her husband was lost. He wanted revenge... but he didn''t pursue it. Fighting against an entire Tyrion city to get it was just too much of an undertaking-- even if Ariadne fought at his side.

    The Tactician didn''t give a rat''s arse about any of that. From the way he looked, he''d fight against the city all by himself, if he had to.

    The boy cleared his throat, "Sir Tycon said... we have two reasons to fight. We fight to protect the people we want to protect."

    Bannok took a deep breath in and sighed... "Yeah? Well, I don''t got a lot of people I care to protect anymore."

    Ariadne leaned down to face the short blonde boy, "An'' what''d he say the other reason was, bub?"

    Pale nodded bashfully... "To honor the memories of those that came before us."

    ...

    "Lone! Edge!" Tycondrius shouted as he approached his travelingpanions.

    Lone dropped down from a tree branch where he was doing pull-ups. He''d rued a healthy sweat on his brow, "Oh, here hees Boss, now."

    "Boss, what''s the word?" Edge was bncing himself atop a fence, his arms stretched horizontally to either side. His spiky golden hair bobbed in the breeze.

    "Tie two of our horses to that post, over there," Tycon directed. "Leave a bag of feed, as well."

    "We got feed, Tactician," Ariadne''s voice called from behind. "Horses, too. We don''t need your charity."

    Tycon felt his eye twitch. The conversation was over. Why did the dark elf chase after him?

    "Edge, Lone... Grant us a moment, if you would."

    "Got it, Boss." "Aye, Boss."

    After they walked a distance away, Tycon inclined his head, "Thank you for your assistance, Lady Priestess."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I ain''t doin'' this for you, Snake," Ariadne scoffed. "I''m doin'' this for mah husband."

    The woman still had blood smeared on her nose, having suffered a mental shock from Pale releasing his Gold-Rank mana in full. Even after that, she marched out of her house-- probably leaving her husband to dwell on his thoughts. Tycon couldn''t believe the lengths this woman had taken in order to get thest word.

    "I feel a lot of misced anger here, Ariadne," He frowned. "The choice to apany me belongs to both you and Brother-Bannok... But as you implied, your husband needs this chance."

    "Just thisst job," Ariadne swiped her hand to the side, "Just this, an'' no more. I never want you botherin'' us again, Snake."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I don''t think you understand."

    "Yeah? About what?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "I don''t need you... nor do I need him."

    Ariadne''s eyes shot wide open-- in shock, in realization... in horror and shame. Her face kept twisting, as if she didn''t know how to feel.

    "I don''t even care that you''re Gold-Rank," Tycon continued. "This is Bannok''s chance for vengeance-- and as a man I once respected, he deserves at least the offer. And just now... I''vemunicated my *gratitude* to you in good faith.

    "What is your goal,ing out here?" Tycon raised his arms, incredulous, "What do you have to gain from antagonizing me?"

    The woman''s eyes dropped to the ground. In that moment, she was no longer a proud dark elf... nor a powerful Gold-Rank adventurer. She was a sapling being guilted by the scolding of a rational adult.

    "I''m... I''m sorry," She muttered, "I just--"

    "We''re in a hurry," Tycon shook his head, "Take care of my horses, Aria."

    ...

    ? The Caeruleum countryside. Six sunster, present time. ?

    "I am the heir of ash and fire," Alea whispered to herself. "I am chosen by the me to enact her will... and enact her will, I shall."

    She turned, whipping the end of her braided red ponytail, "What say you, Son of Qotal?"

    One of her faithful, a hooded Scout, had emerged from the brush. He approached warily, but rendered a strong salute.

    "Scarmother Alea, we''ve identified several cookfires-- and from their locations, we think we know where the invaders'' main camp is."

    Alea pointed at a path into the hills, drawing a line upwards, "My intuition tells me that it''s that way. Does that match your reports?"

    The man took down his hood, rubbing at his fluffy dark hair, "It does, Scarmother. By chance... did someonee by, before me?"

    "I know these things," Alea smirked, "I hear the dragon''s voice a bit more clearly than most-- or did you think I was babbling religious nonsense?"

    "Well, uh... no, Scarmother," The Scout inclined his head. "I meant no disrespect."

    "You must be new," Alea chuckled. "Your name?"

    "Yes, Scarmother," He admitted. "My name is Iaison... and It''s my first week since... the dreams, I guess."

    "Immunes Jason, then?" Alea smiled, "We, the Sons and Daughters of Qotal are gifted. You can agree on at least that much, yes?"

    "Y-yes, Scarmother. It''s just..." Scout Jason hesitated, "It still doesn''t feel real... having so much power."

    ",

 Chapter 571 Reaper

    ?"I understand," Scarmother Alea nodded. "Think of it this way: how did you feel when you were first issued your sword and armor?"

    Jason mulled the thought over... "I felt invincible."

    Invincible. Alea had to cover her mouth as she burst into high-pitchedughter... "Wow. Really..."

    The Scout looked away, scratching the back of his head.

    Ah, to be young~

    Alea allowed herself a reassuring smile.

    "Anyroad, it''s the same thing. We have been gifted by the dragon in the me. And like any issued piece of gear, we still have to train with it-- to respect its power...

    "Incidentally," She smirked, "that is also why I asked if my intuition matched your reports. I''m human. Humans err."

    "But..." Jason was still hesitant, "The voice we hear... it''s... it''s a dragon? Since Tyrion''s inception, we''ve always had a High Oracle to interpret the will of the me... Why has a dragon suddenly appeared... thousands of yearster?"

    "Have faith, Son of Qotal," Alea drew her sword and rested it on her shoulder. "The dragonmands no less than ismanded to all of Tyrion. Defend humankind. Destroy its enemies. Doesn''t it make your blood run hot?"

    Jason nodded... "Yes, Scarmother..."

    Alea gave the young Immunes a wink, "We just use a bit more dragonfire, right, sweetie?"

    Jason''s spine straightened immediately, "Y-YES, Scarmother!!"

    A flush of red stained his cheeks, perhaps from the cold-- or maybe from Alea''s teasing.

    That would do.

    "Sons and daughters of Qotal!" Alea shouted.

    She raised her sword and turned to her century of nearly a hundred faithful mercenaries. "We''re moving out!!"

    They raised their fists and weapons to the sky, shouting in affirmation.

    """We hear you, Scarmother!!!"""

    ? ...

    Alea rubbed at the warpaint on her face. It provided a bit of protection from the cold winds, but her lips were painfully dry. A few moons prior, she would have been miserable... but with the dragon''s gift, she kept warm even throughout the recent winter.

    Steadily trekking up the rocky hills, she followed her intuition to lead her century. Though the path winded slightly and was treacherous at certain points, they made good progress.

    Then... her forward team reported a suspicious individual blocking the path.

    Just one.

    She first assumed it was a hermit living in the mountains... an entric retired adventurer, perhaps. However, they were in Tyrion. If the old man found out about heretics settling on his mountain, he''d probably offer to assist any way he could.

    He might even be able to teach her Scouts a lesson or two.

    Ascending a ridge several men wide, Alea came across that person.

    ...and he was nothing like she was hoping for.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He was tall-- nearing seven feet... and underneath his thick cloak were heavy tes of ckened steel armor. Hateful spikes jutted out of his shoulders and he wore a dark helmet. The way his eyeholes were cut, it looked like he was judging her-- and she could swear the eyes hidden underneath glowed with danger.

    Most worrisome were his te gauntlets. Each had three long ws of Tyrion steel. From the distance, Alea thought they looked like an umon weapon issued to Church Centurions... but she couldn''t be certain.

    The armored figure spoke with an echoey male voice, "[You are not wee here.]"

    Alea stepped forward and cleared her throat. If it were a few moons prior, she would have been terrified... but she was the heir of ash and fire. She was an honorable and just Daughter of Qotal. She had nothing to fear.

    "Honored Sir, I am Centurion Alea from the guild, Sons of Qotal. If you''d allow me to exin--"

    "[How many are you?]" The man interrupted her, "[I expected more.]"

    Alea took a deep breath, trying not to lose her patience. She was the heir of ash and fire. She was above losing her temper just because of the rudeness of a single mortal man, "I have with me a full century. Please allow us to pass, so we may investigate the--"

    "[You. Shall. Not. Pass,]" The man said with finality.

    "I... see..." Alea turned back to her Scouts... and to the rest of herpany. They had been marching for less than a bell, so everyone was still in good spirits. And those spirits were quickly turning to indignant frustration.

    They could reasonably find another path... and Alea''s intuition was telling her that it was probably better to...

    She had a choice to make.

    She could avoid the armored man, directing herpany to do the same... but she''d lose a bit of face with her subordinates in the process.

    Or... she could challenge the man.

    If he didn''tply, they could subdue him and tie him up. They''d exin the situation by presenting a few severed heretic heads... or apologize profusely if they didn''t find anything. As long as they set him free before he froze or starved to death, it wouldn''t weigh heavily on her conscience.

    "We need to ascend these hills," Alea dered. "And we were nning on going this way--"

    She furrowed her brows in sudden realization, "unless there''s a better path?"

    There was a tiny hope in Alea''s heart, believing in the goodness of all humans. Maybe the armored man was advising them out of good will?

    "[This...]" The armored man''s deep voice shunted Alea back to reality, "[Is the only path... that humans can safely ascend.]"

    "Thank you," Alea nodded with a heavy heart, "Then we will be going through here.

    "Step aside, honorable sir..." She inclined her head deeply, "I don''t want to have to hurt you."

    The armored man moved... walking slowly, his heavy boots clomping on the cold, hard-packed dirt.

    Alea tensed up, watching... wary of an attack... her Scouts all drew swords and arrows, as well.

    The man passed by without a word... just walking away.

    Alea looked up to the sky and breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the dragon in her heart.

    "GRARRRGHHH!!!"

    Her eyes shot open, hearing the shout of immense pain.

    Turning her body, she saw that six w des of Tyrion steel pierced through Jason''s back.

 Chapter 572 Reaper (Part Two)

    ?Scarmother Alea watched with horror as Immunes Jason''s body fell limp.

    "[Oops,]" The armored figure shrugged his spiked shoulders.

    He picked up the Scout and without so much as a grunt, flung his body off the rocky hillside, "[Was that one of yours? Alea?]"

    Alea felt her heart break... and her entire body shake with rage.

    "HHHHERETICCCCCCC!!!!" She screamed, drawing her longsword.

    At once, her faithful drew their weapons and fell upon the armored man.

    They struck with spears and de. They screamed. They used dragonfire.

    All were useless. All attacks bounced harmlessly off either the man''s ws or his full te.

    "M-metal rank!!" A Munifex shouted-- just as the tri-de of Tyrion steel cleaved into his skull.

    "I-Iron faithful!" Alea yelled, "To the front! Everyone else, stay back!!"

    Hermand only bade the armored man wade deeper into her allies. Each effortless swing of his metal-covered arms rent limbs and body parts of her allies.

    More of her faithful flooded forward to fill the gaps. They fought without fear...

    But their loyalty cut off Alea''s path.

    "Die, heretic!!" They screamed.

    "You won''t touch the Scarmother!"

    "Protect Alea!!"

    "No, you daft fools! Stop!!" Alea begged, "You can''t fight him!!!! Let me through!"

    "[This is the power of faith,]" The armored man mocked, "[Sending good men to their deaths as all who watch pray for salvation.]"

    Finally, six of Alea''s Iron-Ranks surrounded the heretic, shields up and ready. She wasn''t sure where the rest of them went, but it meant she had a chance to end the fight.

    "Focus on your defenses!" Alea roared, "I''ll strike him down when--"

    The armored man swiped an open palm to the side... and five of her six were pushed by an invisible force. They screamed as they plummeted down the hillside, breaking their bones against the rocks.

    "[I''m done with faith,]" The man clenched a shaking fist. "[I''m tired of the empty promises. I''m tired of praying for the strength to endure... when the POWER has ALWAYS been MINE TO CONTROL!!!!"]

    He thrust his palm forward.

    Alea could swear she heard the dragon''s voice.

    ''Flee,'' it said, ''or all will be naught.''

    She stretched her arms to the sky and screamed its warnings at the top of her lungs, "STOP HIM!!!"

    Lightning. Dark. Evil. As red as blood.

    The heretic''s spell radiated a power Alea had never before seen or felt. It was... pure... weaponized... hate.

    It flowed out of the man''s palm. It arced to one of her troops... it was Agathe... then in a sh, thrice more behind her... and more... and more. With unerring uracy, the magic struck the hearts of her faithful.

    And they died.

    In a single attack, over half of Alea''s centuryy dead on the cold ground.

    "[Heresy... must be met with hatred,]" The man tilted his head up... and his cold words echoed in Alea''s mind... "[Witch.]"

    He raised his hand once more... and lightning again flowed through, cutting down another score.

    Alea snapped out of her reverie. Her inaction resulted in tremendous casualties-- all loyal men and women, all Sons and Daughters of Qotal, all faithful to the dragon and the me!!!<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I!! am the HEIR of ASH and FIIIIRE!!" She shouted, tears brimming from her eyes. mes sheathed her Centurion armor and surged through her white-hot sword.

    She leapt forward, heedless of the danger, and swung her sword down empowered by her faith-- empowered by DRAGONFIRE!!

    "?me Dragon BLAAAADE!!!?"

    The man turned, blocking her strongest attack with crossed-ws.

    That was impossible! Even the other Scarmothers couldn''t block her attack so easily!

    Undeterred, she pulled her sword back and cut at his side, "?Rising mes!!?"

    "[Pathetic,]" The armored man deflected her sword, a wave of magical mes washing harmlessly over his armor. He casually moved his arms, blocking another two blows, "[This... this is the extent of your faith.]"

    He waved his hand again.

    Expecting the worst, Alea knelt, jamming her sword into the dirt and tightly holding on. In the next instant, she was buffeted by a gust of wind, pushing her several feet back-- her sword cutting a deep line through the cold, hard earth.

    "[Faith without strength. Words without conviction,]" He waved his hand to the side once more.

    Lightning.

    More of Alea''s faithful died without even being able to scream. Their bodies violently convulsed, they fell, and lied still... their corpses charred and steaming.

    Alea exhaled sharply... then took a slow breath in.

    The heretic was trying to enrage her... He was a deceiver, his hurtful words designed to make her doubt.

    "My name is Alea." She growled. Drawing her sword from the ground, she pointed it forward, lowering her stance, "Iron-Rank Sentinel of the Sons of Qotal."

    The armored warrior stretched his arms low to his sides, "[Zenon. Iron-Rank Librarian of the Church of the Eternal me.]"

    A sanctioned psyker? Of the Church? Alea''s knees buckled as her heart shook.

    This didn''t make any sense! This Librarian was guarding the-- No! But the invading force? Was the Church behind the attack on Caeruleum?

    She needed to leave. She needed to report back to Scarmother Talon-- to The Exarch, even! This was all just a misunderstanding!

    "GRARRGHHHHHH!!!" She shrieked in pain as a crimson arc surged through her body.

    It struck her heart.

    Alea fell to her hands and knees as she struggled to breathe...

    She couldn''t feel her fingers. She was blinded by tears.

    ...and she could no longer hear the dragon''s voice.

    ''No!'' She wanted to say.

    ''This is a mistake!'' She wanted to plead.

    She gasped for air but found none. The muscles in her throat were convulsing.

    Zenon''s heavy metal boots approached her... even as she struggled to move... to at least have her eyes meet his.

    Then... she felt an unnatural pressure, all around her. It squeezed all the parts of her body painfully, like jagged nails piercing all of her flesh. She felt herself rising... her longsword slipping out of the grip she couldn''t control.

    She looked down to the Librarian below her, the magic in his empty palm holding her aloft.

    He spoke in the same cold, unfeeling tone he had amidst ughtering nearly a hundred men.

    "[Practicing witchcraft in the Holy Country of Tyrion... is punishable by death.]"

 Chapter 573 Blood & Feathers

    ?Siren Virgilianded adjacent to a pool of guts and gore. Librarian Zenon''s strange Tyrion magic cracked one of the enemymanders open like a heated egg, spilling out the tasty insides.

    She twisted her head around, looking over the carnage. All the humans in the immediate area had been killed... roasted from the insides, their throats crushed, limbs twisted.

    It was a shame.

    Virgilia held a small hope that she''d find an injured, but still-living man or two she could take back. Her flight was running low on humanoid breeding stock. Harpies needed them toy eggs...

    Thankfully, with the ns set in motion, she and her sisters would have plenty of male ves to choose from, soon enough...

    Making no effort to mask her presence, Virgilia stretched out her wings as she cooed gently, "Well done, human."

    Zenon spun on his heel, walking towards her. He stopped within wing and biting distance... not that Virgilia was capable of hurting him with her bare ws or teeth.

    His size and bodynguage was somewhat worrisome... and Virgilia subconsciously pulled her feathers closer together. The human was one of the Ivory Prince''s closest confidants... but his temper was worse than that of thete Manticore.

    "[It''s you...]" Zenon''s eyes glowed inside the metal cage on his face, "[Report.]"

    "Good evening, L-librarian," Virgilia tittered... "The Krakhammers have sent teams down the hills. They''ll be picking off stragglers."

    "[They... what?]" Zenon''s voice shook with rage.

    Virgilia nodded... and she began to preen her wings out of nervousness, "No survivors. That''s what I was told."

    "[I. Let. Them. Go...]" The human took a mana-empowered step forward, cracks forming in the ground beneath him, "[I SPARED their pathetic lives.]"

    Virgilia hopped backward out of reflex. It was useless, though... The Librarian raised his palm, and his wind magic spun around her, sending her surging towards him.

    A metal fist grasped onto one of her wings, causing her to wince in pain... A little bit more force and it would be broken. Just another ponze of force and she''d no longer be fit to be the matriarch of her flight.

    "Librarian..." As uneasy as she was, Virgilia forced herself to smile, "You''re hurting me."

    "[Whose orders?]" Zenon demanded, "[Speak. Now!]"

    "Th-the Ivory Prince," Virgilia responded with a brave face. "He-- he gave the order."

    "[Tycon has returned?]"

    "That''s right," Virgilia squawked, "Librarian Zenon... I''d like to be released, please."

    He dropped her. She caught herself before she fell, favoring her hurt wing.

    "[Very well...]" The human''s voice echoed in his helmet, "[I suppose he knows better than me.]"

    Virgilia quicklyposed herself, stretching her arms. Thankfully, she was still confident in flying. She wanted to be well away from the male before he could change his mind.

    She hopped to the edge of the cliff and spun her head around, "I''ll be going ahead, Librarian."

    Before Zenon had a chance to respond, she leapt off. Catching the wind beneath her wings, she began to fly back to the camp.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Virgilia''s Darkfeather Flight acted as Prince Tycon''s eyes and thus imed some strategic importance. Still, she had no wish to inconvenience the Ivory Prince with her needless death... nor riskining about being mistreated.

    A situation where the Prince had to choose between her and any of his allies would not benefit her. If she were to press the case, it was more than possible that both her and Zenon would be strung up on trees, poisoned daggers sticking out of their throats.

    The Librarian''s temper was ultimately a mere annoyance.

    Prince Tycondrius was unpredictable, his wrath immediate and without mercy.

    He had hundreds of soldiers to fight his war-- maybe thousands. Even as the eldest harpy in her flight, she could be reced. Her sisters would be forced to ept it, smiles on their faces, praise in their songs.

    ording to the stories of the previous generation... the flights who flew with the Ivory Prince shed much blood and many feathers, but in exchange, were granted riches and glory.

    Those who refused him...

    Prince Tycon was going to destroy a human city bigger than any nest Virgilia had ever seen. What had they done to deserve it? From what she''d heard, the humans broke one of his satellite nests.

    It had less than ten of his associates.

    He didn''t even know them by name.

    It made sense... in a cruel sort of way.

    When a medusae nest was attacked... entire warbands were wiped out, its people enved, petrified in brittle rock, or outright killed.

    But the Ivory Prince... was perhaps the only War Prince in the history of the Free Nation-- maybe in all of the Realm who considered all of his soldiers as part of his flight.

    Even before Tycondrius'' rise, the medusa faction was powerful. No War Prince or Princess could challenge Rnia, the Queen of Stone, without severe risk of debilitating injury or death.

    However, the medusae were never an oppressive force. Even with their wealth and natural resources, their poption remained low. True heirs were rare offspring of non-medusae breeding stock. Male medusae were even rarer.

    The Ivory Prince changed the bnce of power.

    His influence was not limited to medusae, mercenaries, and ves.

    He gathered an army, all under the banner of Charm.

    He gathered together some of the strongest heroes in the Free Nation and beyond... the men and women who eventually became known as Sol Invictus.

    With rare ss Skills to lead hundreds and thousands into battle... the name ''Ivory Prince'' became known to warbands across the Free Nation, to the Pdin-Tyrants of the Holy Country, to the Witch-King of the Sleeping Country... and other ces, she was sure.

    It didn''t matter how much pride Virgilia had to swallow or indignation she had to suffer... nor how many sisters she had to sacrifice, nevermind blood and feathers.

    Virgilia''s fate and that of her flight were intimately entwined with Prince Tycon''s will. By his grace, they would soar to glory... or by hismand, they would crash in a heap of broken bones and torn flesh.

    She would remain loyal to that man... even if he was to war against the seven hells and eleven heavens.

    She''d remain loyal... even if the dragons dared to return.

 Chapter 574 Every Possible Advantage (Part One)

    ?? Letalis Serpentia Encampments, Outskirts. ?

    Tycondrius smoothed out the folds of his thick cloak, thankful for the warmth it provided against the hillside wind. Far in the distance below, the city of Caeruleum glowed by the light of their nighttimemps.

    He didn''t like fair fights.

    His ns to siege the city had been set in motion. They were anything but fair.

    He was the leader of Sol Invictus, an arena guild full of Gold-Ranks that fought against Bronze and Irons. He was the Warlord of Charm, a territory that fielded thousands of mixed-species formations against indignant ancients who preferred tradition to victory.

    Tycon had ns. He had contingency ns.

    He had allies. He brought as many as he could, promising them honor and glory... wealth and ves.

    Caeruleum would fall.

    It was inevitable.

    Complications would arise. They, too, were inevitable.

    Maybe Holy Magus Antonidus had hidden away troops... Or maybe he had a team of Gold-Ranks he could summon. It wasn''t impossible for them to have hidden away a Warlord or Commander ss-- something perfect for countering a siege.

    Or maybe... all would go as nned?

    Tycon stretched his arms and back, looking over to his silver-hairedpanion.

    "Athanasius, Siren Virgilia told me you were the one in charge of scouting affairs."

    Tanamar, real name Athanasius Mors, was the personal attendant of Athena Vanzano. He was also a Holy Lancer and a fellow transmigrator, and thus had the potential to be the strongest adventurer in the Realm.

    He served as the Scoutmaster for guild Letalis Serpentia, a role he was highly experienced with. Besides having an excellent scouting ss, the young man had also experienced Caeruleum''s treachery against the Brazen Guard Collective and Athena''s allied businesses.

    He, too, would have the city razed to the ground.

    "No changes on the walls," Tanamar pursed his lips, "Even the number of guards haven''t changed in the past three weeks."

    "Excellent," Tycon nodded.

    "They don''t seem to have any idea," Tanamar shook his head. "It''s a mescarred joke. There are hundreds camped here-- and the Guild Letalis main body is arriving over the next few bells."

    Tycon shrugged, "Our forces can move across hilly terrain that other armies wouldn''t dare. Then there''s the fact that over half of our forces can see in the dark..."

    He turned to grin at the footman, "And I assume our movements might have included the ''removal'' of human patrols?"

    "They didn''t," Tanamar narrowed his gaze. "I had a bunch of Iredar scouts. The patrols, we avoided. No one has any idea we''re here."

    "Then it''s thanks to you we''ve gone undetected," Tycon chuckled. "Have some faith in your own abilities."

    Taking in a deep breath, Tycon looked over Tanamar. He, too, wore his dark Letalis armor, made of an Arcanite alloy. He carried no weapon but the young gentleman could summon beams of light that he could literally use asnces.

    It had been a year or so since theyst met-- and the youth had trained with the Frozen Cairn sect for the past several moons. Logically, his power and prowess had increased substantially.

    How exactly he''d improved was not apparent.

    Tycon usually estimated an adventurer''s strength by the quality of their mana. However, that was far easier inbat situations, as warriors willfully circted their mana to sustain a state of elevatedbat prowess.

    If Tycon couldn''t tell by the quality of a person''s mana, he relied on his System to measure their changes in Metal-Rank and ss. However, he could not ?Scan? other transmigrators. It was a peculiar limitation.<novelnext></novelnext>

    And thus, he had to ask politely... like a normal person.

    "Athanasius, have you grown stronger?"

    "Maybe," Tanamar replied, his expression unchanging.

    "I''m being serious, arse," Tycon red. "Have you met with Harkus?"

    "That old man?" Tanamar sneered.

    "Well? Did you?" Tycon furrowed his brows, his irritation steadily growing.

    Besides possessing infallible loyalty and a high proficiency with martial weapons, Tanamar was also one of the most arrogant and headstrong individuals Tycon had ever met.

    When he was younger, he was well-trained by his adoptive father. The Tyrion dwarf, Harkus Mors, was a Divine cksmith... and a former Gold-Rank. However, their rtionship had soured and they were no longer on speaking terms.

    Still, there was great value in coordinating with a person belonging to a powerful support ss.

    Tanamar looked away, grimacing... "Yeah, I talked to him... but only because you asked me to."

    "You did?" Tycon stared back in disbelief, "Honestly, I''m a bit surprised."

    The Holy Lancer let out an aggrieved sigh, "I just... want to win. I mean... even without all the points you brought up in your letter, you weren''t wrong."

    "I''m always right," Tycon nodded contentedly. "Never question me again."

    "Anyroad," Tanamar rolled his eyes, "this isn''t about me. My pride? Worthless. This is for Athena. And with everything you''ve done for her-- for us, the least I can do is listen to you... to get every possible advantage."

    ...The young man had indeed grown. If not in strength, then certainly in maturity and will.

    Tanamar was a lowly footman who fell in love with his noble mistress, Athena Vanzano. Even when her family lost their prestige, he remained with her... and grew to be her strongest and most loyal defender. It was enough for the youngdy to return his feelings in triplicate.

    "I''m d to hear it," Tycon smiled, pride in his heart. "Speaking of the youngdy, have you had sexual rtions with her yet?"

    The Holy Lancer stumbled. Tycon nced down... but there wasn''t any uneven ground or debris. Tanamar had tripped on his own feet.

    "I''m-- I''m not at liberty to say," Tanamar averted his gaze... looking somewhat guilty.

    Tycon decided to press on, "Did you use protection?"

    "Of course we--" Tanamar caught his words in his throat... "You''re a mescarred criminal, Tycon."

    So they did have rtions.

    Athena Vanzano''s Yin Body made it potentially lethal for her to have intercourse with other cultivators, as her mana would transfer in full to her male partner.

    The Frozen Cairn sect had a way to solve that issue... something called Dual Cultivation, a ritual that synergized their mana signatures, allowing them to refine and strengthen each others'' cultivations.

    Both Tanamar and Athena were powerful individuals prior to the Hidden Sect training.

    After Dual Cultivation, Athena''s soul would hold some of Tanamar''s radiant energies. Likewise, Tanamar would have frost mana coursing through his meridians.

    Tycon was pleased. He had not one, but another two monsters he could rely on to aplish his goals.

    ",

 Chapter 575 Every Possible Advantage (Part Two)

    ?"Congrattions, Brother-Athanasius," Tycondrius chuckled.

    He was happy for his two youngpanions. They had a healthy rtionship and he was pleased that Tanamar was doing his best at nurturing it.

    "There''s... uh," Tanamar hesitated. He rubbed the back of his silver-haired head, looking overall uncertain.

    "Go ahead," Tycon gestured.

    "Something''s been bothering me-- us, really... Apparently the Frozen Cairn sect wants her-- us back, after this mission."

    "Ah, of course," Tycon nodded. "Standard procedure. Athena is a rare and valuable anomaly. Did you bring reinforcements from the sect, then?"

    Tanamar looked off into the distance, gazing wistfully at Caeruleum below.

    "...Athanasius," Tycon cleared his throat. "You... must have brought reinforcements."

    Still, the silver-haired Holy Lancer kept his silence.

    Tycon crossed his arms, "You did not ask."

    It wasn''t a question. He spoke the words aloud to confirm it.

    "I did not," Tanamar replied softly.

    "Did they offer?"

    "...They did."

    "You rejected them."

    "...I did."

    Tycon sucked in air through his teeth... "You evaded their best attempts to follow you."

    Tanamar turned to meet Tycon''s gaze, wearing a troubled smile, "Ahh... yeap."

    ...Tycon forced a smile of his own, breathing deeply through his nostrils.

    It wouldn''t affect their ns greatly, but... depending on who the Frozen Cairn sect would have sent, Caeruleum might have fallen to their forces alone.

    "Athanasius... I recall you mentioning... wishing to achieve every possible advantage?"

    "Hey, man," Tanamar raised his palms. "I didn''t wanna owe them anything!"

    Tycon groaned and stared up into the starry night sky.

    The young man''s defense was absurd. He and Athena were very much indebted to the Frozen Cairn sect, having received assistance with their cultivation issues, as well as being granted esoteric sect training.

    Tanamar summoned one of his holy spears and crouched down, using the weapon to steady himself... "Because of the way Athena got her powers over the course of years... and because of me, I guess-- she''s capable of bearing children."

    Tycon sighed, but nodded in understanding.

    Athena''s Yin Body was an artificial one, produced by the well-meaning meddling of her older brother and a mana-emanating artifact he''d stolen. The members of the Frozen Cairn sect, practicing so many Yin Body techniques since childhood would naturally have difficulty to ept non-Yin energies without severeplications.

    However...

    "You''re too young for that..." Tycon red. "Both of you are."

    "Well, yeah," Tanamarughed, slowly getting back to his feet. "I know that... but... you know, maybe in the future? We''ve talked about it... and Tycon-- would you be the godparent of--"

    "You''re too young for that!" Tycon repeated, his voice raised.

    "Damn it, Tycon!" Tanamar raised his voice to match. "Just say yes!"

    "Fine, fine!" Tycon waved dismissively. "Your child will be under the protection of House Charm."

    "Come on, man. Look at me," Tanamar raised his arms to the side. "I wasn''t born under any house or whatever. I''m just a me-taken footman. I want *your* word-- not the protection of some house I don''t know."

    Tycon was taken aback... Tanamar had very well known all the resources his name had put into House Vanzano. Coin was far more useful than the loyalty of a single person.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Maybe he was just stupid.

    ...But it was more likely that there was an emotional reason behind the choice.

    "You''re aplicated human, you know," Tycon sighed in defeat.

    "So are you," Tanamar smirked.

    "...Hmph. Very well, I agree," Tycon crossed his arms. "But I implore you once more: no children-- not anytime soon."

    "Right," The Holy Lance grinned.

    "Anyroad," Tycon pointed out towards the doomed city in the distance, "Does your ability tell us anything about Caeruleum?"

    Tanamar, as a transmigrator, had a strange ability that allowed him to predict encountering dangerous individuals. It was one of the secrets behind the Dungeon-clearing power of the Brazen Guard Collective, allowing them to make pointed and effective ns against Gold and Adamantine-Rank threats.

    The young man shook his head, "It only works in Dungeons, Tycon. You know that."

    "Humor me," Tycon shrugged. "We might be surprised."

    "Well, alright..."

    Tanamar faced the city. He shut his eyes. He began to concentrate.

    A low, pained groan emanated from his lips... "Ah... ahhhh..."

    His eyebrows furrowed and his face twisted... Suddenly, he twisted his neck to look away, clutching at his eyes, "HAHH!! ARRRRRRRGHHHH!!!"

    Tycon immediately shoved Tanamar to the ground, shocking him out of his trance. The wide-eyed youth rolled on the rocky ground as he convulsed, blood dripping down both of his nostrils.

    "Stars and stones!!" Tycon knelt down, shaking him, "Snap out of it, man! ?Desire Trigger!!?"

    ? ?Desire Trigger? activating... Support ability. Targeted ally ispelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target''s ability to resist detrimental effects. ?

    It took a few moments for Tanamar to calm himself... regaining the ability to breathe on his own volition... "F... f*ck... that f*cking hurt."

    "What... in... the seven hells... did you see?" Tycon grimaced.

    Tanamar blinked his eyes, shaking his head, "I... haha... I don''t think you''ll f*cking believe me."

    "Humor me."

    ...

    ? Letalis Serpentia Command Tent, some timeter... ?

    Tycon ced his wooden bowl on the edge of the nning table as he reviewed the drawn maps. Over a bell prior, he''d coordinated with the camp cooks to faithfully recreate one of Zenon Skyreaper''s favorite meals.

    It was a popr noodle dish from Olea Garden.

    ...Tycon needed to keep busy. He didn''t want to think about... certain things.

    "This tastes better than usual, Brother-Tycon!" Zenon grinned between bites.

    Tycon looked up to smile warmly at his friend, "I certainly hope so. It was a hassle to get everything into my spatial ring for transport-- especially the fresh noodles."

    "Yep," Zenon nodded. "But also, there''s something about eating Olea Garden that''s... nostalgic? Is that the right word for it?"

    "It will do. The journey has been rough..." Tycon raised his winecup, "and it should end tomorrow... in bloody, fiery battle."

    "O'' Sol Invictus," Zenon chuckled as he raised his own cup, "Sing our name in praise."

    The wine was sweet... the feeling of intoxication, wee.

    It was a wonderful distraction from his troubles... the troubles he kept to himself.

    The threat of dragonsong was not something regr people needed to worry about.

 Chapter 576 Optimism

    ?Tycondrius took a moment to look over his elevatedpanion.

    Librarian Zenon Skyreaper''s appearance hadn''t changed much. His skin was lighter, either from the sunless winter moons or from the consistent use of his Letalis-issued full helmet. The lines on his face had been etched deeper, as if he''d grown a habit of scowling and furrowing his brows. His handsome mustache was still full and luxurious.

    It was a good mustache.

    The gentleman exuded a strong aura of confidence-- perhaps because he was in good spirits, concerning thepany and the meal. Certainly, he was apletely different person than the always-smiling pushover Tycon had initially met.

    Zenon ced his winecup back on the table and leaned back... "Optio, I must admit I was looking forward to talking to you about battlefield tactics."

    Tycon raised his eyebrows in amusement, "You sound like you have some experience."

    "Well, I wouldn''t say that," Zenonughed with chagrin, "but you know how I''m big on history? I''ve studied a fair amount of Tyrion military engagements. Shield walls... cavalry charges, archers on elevated ground, infantry formations-- that sort of thing."

    Tycon chuckled, "You certainly rate as an above-average tactician with just that. Admittedly, my peers tend to not be so studied."

    It was aplex topic... and from what Zenon was implying, it seemed he fell into the unfortunatelymon notion that unit-types were... unique to themselves.

    The most foolish subsequent theory was that the various battlefield units had a rtionship triangle. Cavalry defeated archers, infantry to cavalry, and archers to infantry...

    The logic fell apart with just a modicum of thought.

    Archers didn''t always defeat infantry. Arrow volleys were mostly useless againstrge formations of infantry shield walls.

    It was the same with infantry defeating cavalry. If a formation of footmen was broken, light cavalry could inflict massive casualties as they retreated.

    Then, of course, modern battle strategy utilized Gold-Ranks, either individuals or synergistic Iron-Rank teams. They were fielded to shore up defenses or to crack open ring holes in the enemy line.

    Battlefield studies were difficult in that there were so many factors to consider... from training, morale, and fatigue, to armor and weapon-types.

    "Eh..." Zenon shrugged, "You''re the expert though, Brother-Tycon. Your base ss is Warlord, isn''t it? The higher tier of Tactician?"

    "Indeed," Tycon pursed his lips. "What of it?"

    "As long as you''re leading us, taking Caeruleum''s gonna be a breeze!" Zenon happily dered, shoveling a healthy portion of food into his mouth.

    "Well, yes," Tycon hesitated... "But be advised, theing battle is not something my ss excels in."

    Zenon almost choked and he grabbed his winecup to clear his throat-- "Wait, what? Why not?"

    "As you mentioned, Warlords excel inrge-scale battles... but with thousands of troops on either side." Tycon smiled politely, "We have hundreds... and we''ll be fighting through a series of skirmishes, rather than a single chaotic melee."

    "Oh," Zenon mulled over the thought... "Yeah, that makes sense. So we''ll be focused on hit-and-run tactics to steadily hack away at their number and bleed their morale?"

    "I like the way you think, Brother-Zenon," Tycon nodded with pride. "However, the answer is more basic. We have a number of unique troops-- harpies, dwarves, a gorgon Idiot, a gunnery squad... and the Letalis Gold and Iron-Rank frontlines..."

    Tycon felt his eye twitch. Zenon sensed it, as well.<novelnext></novelnext>

    An unwee visitor had entered the war tent...

    However, upon ncing at the dark-clothed Assassin in his peripheral vision, Tycon decided not to worry about it and continue.

    "In theory, Caeruleum forces will be unable to adapt to our tactics, especially if we strategically field our forces ording to their strengths."

    Zenon crossed his arms, his gaze drifting over the shadowy area where the Assassin hid, "I mean-- I get what you''re saying, but... isn''t the best strategy the Tyrion one? Charge in through the front? Rotate the front lines so our troops never get tired? Every single one of our people should be superior to the enemy''s, no?"

    "Oh, that will work, most definitely," Tycon groaned, "However, I am not a kindmander. That is why we have siege weaponry parked outside; the fat roons are within the city-proper, wreaking havoc; and I have literally entreated a young man with the Hero ss to aid us-- have you met Pale, by the way?"

    "I have," Zenon nodded, crinkling his mustache. "He''s a good kid. What should we do about the..."

    "The Assassin?" Tycon chuckled.

    From the corner of the tent, Tycon saw the young person visibly shiver then growpletely still.

    He could respect the Assassin''s optimism.

    "I''m not worried about it," Tycon lightly shrugged.

    He reached over to grab the bottle of wine, refilling his and Zenon''s cup, "Perhaps we can keep them around for a light-hearted prank?"

    "Like tearing out his insides and having the Spider-Breeders feed on them?" Zenon offered.

    Tycon grimaced. Was that a prank? It seemed rather pointed and not at all light-hearted, as he''d suggested.

    "No?" Zenon furrowed his eyebrows, "Cutting offyers of his skin, then? My ?Soothing Winds? spell should ensure they die as slowly as possible."

    "...Do not do that," Tycon frowned.

    "How about using fire?" Zenon offered, "Oh. I recently had to take care of a bunch of unsanctioned psykers-- a lot of them, too... all of them capable of using Unranked or First-Circle fire magic."

    "The Sons of Qotal," Tycon shook his head... "I''ve heard. And unfortunately, they are indeed sanctioned... and by the city of Caeruleum, no less."

    Zenon reeled back in surprise, "They are? ...Shite. I feel stupid, then."

    "It was an honest mistake," Tycon chuckled to himself. "Miss Virgilia has ensured that no survivors remain from the century you encountered. Worry not about anyone questioning your integrity."

    The Assassin in the corner... his or her heart rate had spiked dramatically.

    "Commander Tycon!" A deep voice boomed from outside the tent, "Warrior Cillian of Overlook requests permission to enter!"

    "It''s about time for the leaders to report in, isn''t it..." Tycon grinned.

    He hoped that Cillian fellow would provide an amusing show.

 Chapter 577 Blade Of The Wolf

    ?Tycondrius looked over to the tent entrance, "Warrior Cillian is..."

    "He''s from the Free Nation," Zenon answered. "He''s acting as an assistant to Quartermaster Sorina."

    "Ah, very well," Tycon nodded. "One of Prince Dragan''s men from Vralkek, then..."

    Themand tent was built for Tyrion humans of regtion height.

    Zenon Skyreaper was not that, towering over Tycon at over 6-fulms tall. Thus, he had to watch his head in many Tyrion structures, themand tent included.

    From the shadowy outline of Warrior Cillian outside, however, he stood two heads taller than the Librarian. He was a Titanblood, like Dragan-- and admittedly was of only average height.

    "Permission to enter granted, Warrior!" Tycon called out.

    Cillian crouched down dramatically, nearly having to crawl in, "Good evening, gent..."

    Therge, but youthful man hesitated... and with a broad grimace, he stared at the tent corner.

    The horrified Assassin stared back.

    Slowly... carefully... the Assassin began reaching for their weapon-- a dagger of some sort. Suddenly, their hands grasped at their throat, as if trying to pry away an unseen force. The fellow began to loudly choke, trying to gasp for air.

    In a frenzied panic, the Titanblood drew his longsword, nearly taking out the tent''s supports, "A-assassin!! There''s an Assassin!!"

    The cloaked figure dropped to their knees, subsequently copsing face-first on the tent flooring. Cillian, hurriedly-- if not calmly, stabbed his sword into their back.

    "What the-- what the HELLS is going on?!" He shouted.

    Zenon had his palm outstretched, undoubtedly the reason behind the Assassin''s violent death, "You''d think that someone woulde in, with all the noise he''s making."

    "Not necessarily," Tycon smiled politely, "If an actual skirmish urred within themand tent... as both you and I are present, any additionalbatants would be needlessly risking their lives."

    "...Fair," Zenon nodded, sipping at his wine.

    "Mister Cillian," Tycon smirked. "You''ve made a mess."

    The Titanblood immediately began to babble, "I... I did what? I... he--"

    "After your report, I''ll have you clean that up. It''s only fair, no?"

    "But I... I... h-wha?"

    Zenon cleared his throat, "Report."

    "I... I... right," Cillian stood as tall as the tent ceiling allowed... though he kept ncing at the Assassin''s corpse as he spoke...

    "The uh... the Dark Iron armor has been distributed to the first sixpanies."

    "How did the testing go?"

    "The fire resistance proves effective against Prince Droghan''s Fire Slimes, within a certain radius, Ivory Prince," Cillian said with furrowed brows.

    "Very well," Tycon nodded. "And the siege weaponry?"

    "The Iredar engineers have elected to build catapults instead of trebuchets-- and the fire-resistant enchantments have been tested with the slimes... However..."

    The young Titanblood''s face twisted in hesitation.

    "Your Prince has chosen you as his representative, has he not?" Tycon rolled his eyes. "Honor his name by speaking with confidence."

    "I... I hear you, Ivory Prince," Cillian gulped, but nodded vigorously. "The Iredar are wondering when we''re nning on moving the siege weaponry into position? For uh... calibration? They said."

    "Don''t bother," Tycon waved dismissively. "We have a Calctor. She''ll be responsible for the catapult cement. Inform the Iredar to set the catapults to simr standards, to ease adjustment en masse."

    "...Oh," Cillian ced a meaty hand on the back of his thick neck. "Makes sense."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Thank you, Warrior Cillian," Tycon nodded. "Send the next representative in, if you would."

    ...

    Tycon met with more of the various leaders allied to Guild Letalis. The leader of the fat roon gang reported that they''d been terrorizing various guard houses. The Spider-Breeder matriarch reported on her kin, who took it upon themselves to haunt the city''s dark alleyways. The elven couple reported their confidence in the synergy between their gryphons and Guild Letalis'' secondpany.

    Next to enter themand tent was arge, grey-furred wolf. On its four legs, its ears reached Tycon''s chest, and it was approximately as tall as Zenon, measured lengthwise.

    The wolf''s name was Tres Leches... and over the past several moons, he''d gained a more wolf-like form, though his coat was still as imprable as Dark Iron.

    "(Good evening. Tres Leches, reporting as ordered,)" The wolf lifted his head, baring his neck.

    It was how wolves saluted.

    "At ease, Tres Leches," Tycon pursed his lips, ncing around the gentle-wolf... "Where is your Ranger?"

    "(In the sweet embrace of a death-like sleep, sir,)" The wolf yawned.

    "Dereliction of duty, then? Perhaps I should dock his pay," Tycon offered, "Perhaps I''ll divert some of his wages to you."

    "(No, it''s fine,)" The wolf shook his head, a very human-like behavior. "(He feeds me.)"

    "He does... what?" Tycon frowned. "What do you eat?"

    "(Mana, mostly.)"

    "...Seems like a very sad way to live your life."

    "(I''ve sampled my handler''s cooking,)" The wolf looked up with a solemn gaze, "(Death is preferable.)"

    Tycon summoned a container venison jerky out of his spatial ring, opening it and passing a serving to Zenon, "Give him this."

    "What?" Zenon looked at the meat incredulously, "D-does he bite?"

    "Of course, he bites," Tycon furrowed his eyebrows. "I''d imagine he''d be far less effective as abatant, if he did not."

    That was a stupid question.

    "That... ah, nevermind," The Librarian shook his head and offered the gift to Tres Leches. "Nice wolf... good wolf... don''t bite my hand off, please."

    The wolf snatched it up in its entirety, chewing... judging... "(I''d like to be paid in food, if eptable.)"

    "Granted," Tycon chuckled. "And how has your personal development been?"

    "(I''ve learned a few Skills...)" Tres Leches'' tail began to wag happily, "(I''m confident in using ?Tackle? attack, ?methrower?, and ?Crunch?.)"

    "That will do," Tycon slowly nodded.

    The first Skill was somewhat weak and the second generally required a higher level of mana to be effective. Thankfully, the third was an excellent and effective mana-empowered physical attack.

    "(I''ve been having a lot of trouble learning ?Giga Drain?, though...)"

    Tycon furrowed his brows... ?Giga Drain?? That was a Skill almost exclusively used by Druids-- either by sses that had a Primal power source or had a high affinity for vampiric magic.

    Teaching it to Tres Leches was a waste of time and energy.

    "Who... who has been training you?" He asked.

    "(Sorina has,)" The wolf tilted his head, his tail motionless, "(Tycon... is there something wrong?)"

    Tycon took in a deep, haggard breath... "Bring her to me. Immediately."

    ",

 Chapter 578 Honorable Duel (Part One)

    ?"Wee back, Boss!" Sorina greeted Tycondrius upon entering the tent.

    She strode in arrogantly, sitting in the seat Zenon had vacated since the kobolds carted him off to the infirmary.

    "Not to be rude, youngdy," Tycon twisted his lips to the side... "but what took you so long?"

    Calctor Sorina Capulet leaned back, crossing her legs. Though she was dressed in her ck Letalis armor, it differed in that she also wore enchanted brass gauntlets that went up to her elbows. Added to her gear was a flowing royal blue sash... probably to mark her as important.

    Unlike the others... she didn''t look or seem particrly stronger. He hoped that at least her Armor Cube-- her enchanted gauntlets, had been improved upon over the past several moons.

    She shrugged while loosing an uncouth yawn, "The kobolds kept asking about calibrating the catapults."

    The young woman had been busy for most of the sun, coordinating various facets of theing battle. She wouldn''t be participating in the assault, so Tycon directed her to work without rest until they departed.

    "Granted," Tycon sighed... "Have you received word from the rest of Invictus?"

    "Yep," Sorina stretched and leaned over the table, "Mister Dragan said he was busy. Somethin'' about revolting ogres."

    ...So the ogres were revolting. Perhaps that had something to do with the ogre mage emissary that Dragan killed several moons prior.

    "Understood," Tycon pursed his lips, nodding. "I''ve already met Mister Cillian..."

    "Heins a lot for his size, doesn''t he?" Sorina mused. "I mean-- how hard can herding Fire Slimes be?"

    Tycon elected not to answer her, deciding to change the topic instead, "Anyone else?"

    Sorina grabbed a wooden doll off of her waist, one-fulm-tall. Jamming her hand down its throat, she retrieved a sealed envelope and slid it across the nning table, "From Mister Wroe."

    "Thank you," Tycon opened the missive but turned his attention to Sorina and her spatial... item, "Mister Boxtholomaeus, have you been well?"

    "Yessir," The doll responded quietly. "Any... any orders for me?"

    "I think I''ll have you apany the riflemen to carry ammunition and Khyber crystals. They''ll be far less susceptible to... idents as long as you carry them."

    "I... I obey your will, Ivory Prince," Boxtholomaeus whispered.

    Sorina leaned over the table on her elbows, resting her chin on her palms, "What''s the letter say, Boss?"

    Tycon skimmed over its contents once more before taking a moment to summarize it... "This is an official letter from the city of Whitehearth in the Eastern States."

    "So... not from Wroe, himself?"

    "Correct. They''re requesting assistance from Sol Invictus... though the details are vague."

    "Do we care?" Sorina grinned mischievously.

    "It can wait," Tycon admitted...

    He tapped the nning table in deliberation... Should he ask? It wouldn''t hurt to...

    "One more thing, Sorina."

    "Ara ara~" The youngdy perked up, "Were you wondering about Korr?"

    Seldin Korr? Tycon furrowed his brows. Why would he be worried about her? There was nothing in the reports implying anything was amiss.

    "I was not. I was wondering if there had been any developments concerning one of Guild Letalis'' members... Miss Doe."

    "Oh..." Sorina crossed her arms, "Her..."

    Her face was twisted in... disappointment? "You two were pretty close, huh?"

    "I''d like to think so," Tycon nodded. "Is she well?"

    Sorina smiled-- a bit forcefully, "You should ask her, yourself. I received an ountability report for the Guild Letalis main body, maybe half-a-bell ago. Everyone''s arrived: Sergeant Salt, Raphael of Cannes, Maeva Leserre-- oh, and even her brother, Emilien."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon considered meeting with his lover... but decided it would be unwise.

    He shook his head, "No, they need their rest. We attack a bell before dawn-- a time fast approaching."

    "CoMMANDer TYCHONNN!!!" An idiotic voice bellowed from outside the tent.

    ? Stephanos, Gold-Rank Gorgon Idiot. ?

    "Stephanos!!" Tycon yelled back, "Quiet down and get in here!"

    A massive, metal bull-head peeked into the tent, easily the size of Tycon''s entire torso.

    It was Stephanos... the Fierce Knight.

    In full, he was a two-tonze, four-legged, bull-centaur-beast made of metal. While he had arrogance in excess, the gods saw fit for him to suffer a severe deficit in brainpower.

    "Good evening, Commander," The buffoon tried his best to whisper.

    The volume was still at the level of a normal person''s screaming death rattle.

    It was probably the best Tycon was going to get.

    "What do you want, Brother-Stephanos?" Tycon groaned.

    "I wanted... uh... y''know..." The bull grinned, "Request an honorable duel?"

    "With me, I''m assuming?"

    Stephanos, the Fierce Knight, nodded egregiously.

    "After the siege," Tycon rolled his eyes.

    "You don''t look busy now, Commander?" The Idiot pouted.

    Tycon grimaced, trying to think of a usible excuse. He was fairly certain he could beat Stephanos in a one-on-one duel using his curved de techniques... but it would be such an incredible hassle.

    He didn''t want to hear Stephanos sniffling and sobbing all sun.

    The bull-centaur would find something to cry about after losing. The most obvious would beining about some type of inequality, he''d take issue with.

    Tycon adopted a wide grimace. Concerning his recent surge in strength, Stephanos might even attempt to take credit for it... crying tears of ''pride.''

    "Soe on!" Stephanos sneered, "Let''s get craAAAAHHHHWWW???!!"

    Thankfully, a powerful magic spell interrupted the bull. His eyes grew wide and he was forcibly ejected from the tent. A loud, prolonged, ''moo'' reverberated throughout the camp.

    Out of the tent p, Tycon spied the massive gorgon''s body colliding against arge rock... where he became encased in frost and ice.

    A lithe teenager in white armor stepped into themand tent. Her frost-blue hair was cut short and neat, but was still feminine... and she wore an expression of extreme displeasure.

    ? Athena Vanzano, Iron-Rank Human Frostde. ?

    It was most impressive. Though the youngdy was still Iron-Rank, she had solidified her abilities enough to defeat the Gold-Rank Gorgon Idiot with a single spell.

    Further, the temperature within themand tent had dropped painfully low. Sorina began to rub her arms, her teeth chattering.

    Tycon nodded, keeping his calm... and doing his best to ignore the desire to shiver like his Calctor.

    "Miss Athena. You look well."

    The youngdy shot back a literally icy re, the mana in it chilling and numbing his face.

    "Not in the mood, Sir Tycon," Athena growled. "I challenge you to trial bybat."

 Chapter 579 Honorable Duel (Part Two)

    ?? Letalis Serpentia War Camp, Improvised Dueling Arena. ?

    If a subordinate did not agree to amand, they could advise against it to their direct superior. Granted, that superior had the right to ignore any and all helpful advice. Tyoncdrius hoped that was constant, everywhere in the Realm-- maybe in all worlds.

    The various factions in the camp all submitted to the generally unspoken rules followed by the warbands in the Free Nation. There, ''friendly advisory'' was synonymous with ''challenging authority.''

    Depending on the challenger, the response from the superior would differ. At one end, Tycon could calmly take Zenon Skyreaper''s words into consideration, revising hismands at his leisure. At the opposite extreme, he could use his strongest de technique on Sorina Capulet.

    In theory, there was no shame in submitting to a stronger party. The dwarves submitted to their patriarch, Thrumondi Krakhammer. Thrumondi followed Isidor''s requests withoutints. Isidor, in turn, surrendered to his hunger and general indolence.

    In the cases where strength was difficult to measure, the aggrieved party had the right to trial bybat. The winner would have their request honored... or in the case of the loser''s demise, the winner would seed their position.

    Such was the matter with Athena Vanzano challenging his order to raze Caeruleum.

    She found the potential loss of life uneptable on a moral level.

    Tycon saw it as necessary. It would reduce the casualties taken by his forces and prevent the snake cult from collecting in meaningful numbers in the near future.

    The young Frostde was certainly powerful, at the peak of Iron-Rank... but Tycon could not carelessly dispatch her. Besides dealing a fatal strike to the snake cult as vengeance for damaging Tycon''s fragile ego, the true goal of the mission was to destroy Athena''s most troublesome opponent in the Holy Country.

    When they seeded, his East Charm Trading Company would continue to positively influence House Vanzano''s businesses... and the Church would ensure Athena''s holdings remain protected.

    ...Minor issues would certainly arise, but that was a problem to be considered in the future.

    Tycon shook his head and sighed...

    "If I had a silver piece for every time I was challenged to a duel before a major battle took ce..."

    Tanamar, real name Athanasius Mors, tilted his head, "Yeah? How much y''think?"

    Tycon pursed his lips... "I''d have two silver."

    "That''s not a lot, Tycon."

    "It is not," Tycon frowned. "But it''s rather strange that it''s happened twice, no?"

    Tanamar crossed his arms, "Hey... Tycon, listen. I don''t suppose you could go easy on Athena, would you?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes into a re, "Are you trying to get me killed, Athanasius?"

    "Nah... I mean... Athena''s gotten a lot stronger... but she''s... you know."

    "What?" Tycon groaned, "Stubborn? Naive? Overall unreasonable?"

    "...Uh," Tanamar scratched his head. "She means well. She just... doesn''t understand."

    "This is going to hurt me a lot more than it''s going to hurt her," Tycon rolled his eyes.

    "Tycon, don''t," Tanamar frowned, his gaze suddenly sharp.

    Tycon sighed and pped Tanamar on his shoulder pauldron, "I won''t hurt her. If you''ve forgotten, this entire operation is for her benefit. I just wanted to go home."

    Tanamar rxed his shoulders and sighed... "Yeah, I know. Sorry about all this, man."

    "Apology epted," Tycon shook his head as he turned and walked away.

    He stepped into the makeshift arena, drawn into the dirt.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Less than a hundred troops came to watch the duel-- most of the factions still had their preparations or were trying to get a few bells of rest before dawn.

    Most of the fat roon gang hade to watch the festivities, carrying with them glowing stones that lit up the edge of the arena. Besides them, there were a few harpies, some of Vralkek''s Titanbloods, some gnolls and Iredar.

    There was a troll amidst the crowd wearing spectacles that kept looking around, as if he was lost. He wasn''t a suspicious person. Tycon had seen him before-- he was a friend of Isidor''s.

    But why was he here? What purpose did he serve? Was he aware that the city was going to be on *fire*, the trolls'' natural weakness?

    Of Sol Invictus, only Tres Leches came to watch. While Pale, Zenon, and Korr expressed their intent to attend, Tycon refused, tasking Sorina to ensure that they and the others were resting properly.

    cing his whitemander''s full-helm on, he approached Athena until he was six paces away, "I''m ready."

    Athena stood in her custom-made white suit of armor, her arms crossed, wisps of white snowkes swirling around her feet. Her four hiltless Arcanite des levitated over her shoulders, menacingly pointed forward.

    She didn''t wear her helmet. Tycon nned on scolding her for that,ter.

    "Draw your weapon," Athena pursed her lips, annoyance in her voice.

    ...Tycon measured the seriousness in the youngdy''s eyes.

    Though he initially nned on not doing so, he summoned his curved de in its Adamantium scabbard. Gripping it with both hands, he held it in a neutral stance in front of his waist.

    "Go ahead."

    Athena raised her arms, her des rotating and rising. She spun around, punching at the air in a dance-like kata as her weapons stabbed and retracted alongside them.

    They were so fast, they made high-pitched whistles.

    Tycon gulped, grimacing hard beneath his helmet. Her skillful disy had sessfully shaken Tycon''s confidence.

    Athena was a hybrid ss... but it seemed her martial ability was equal or greater to his.

    ...The young Frostde had both a hard work ethic and natural talent.

    Conversely, Tycon... had lived for a very long time.

    "I''ll begin," Athena muttered.

    He really wished she wouldn''t.

    Athena arranged her levitating des in front of her as tforms, running up them to rise in the air.

    It was a technique that Tycon had taught her.

    Was she going to start with an explosive airborne attack? That would be dangerous.

    Tycon lifted up his sheathed weapon, ready to deflect or block.

    Athena shot her arms forward, palms pointed down towards him.

    "Winds of the frozen north!" She shouted, "Spirits of wind and sky! Come to my aid-- so I can pay back this stupid instructor for throwing sand in my faaaace!!!!"

    ...How long was she going to be upset about that?

    ",

 Chapter 580 Honorable Duel (Part Three)

    ?Athena hovered in the air above, high above Tycondrius, her shoulder-length hair rising and fanning out as if she was underwater. The icy-blue radiance from the mana gathered in her palms outshone and drowned out the arena''s surrounding lights.

    Empty niiiiiight. Memories of Tycon''s past began shing through his mind... trying toprehend how exactly he got into this situation.

    "?IIIIIIICE BEAAAAAMUUUU!!!!?"

    Tycon threw himself out of the way of the concentrated beam, rolling roughly on the ground. Standing and pumping his arms with crity, if not grace, he ran counter-clockwise in the limited space he had.

    Athenanded in a kneeling crouch, frozen stgmites jutting out from the earth around her. Reaching her left arm up and clenching her fist, the ice formations burst. Her four Arcanite des shot towards him... as well as a torrent of icy shrapnel.

    Tycon felt a cold sweat dripping down his forehead and back.

    He was battered by the ice, thankful for the protection provided by his Arcanite armor and full helmet. The pain was substantial, however, the real threat he was wary of were Athena''s swords. The youngdy could control them from a distance, as they had frost mana crystals embedded where their hilts would be.

    ...Tycon had ordered them made that way, a decision he was deeply regretting.

    He swayed his body to avoid the two inner swords, barely slipped the third, and deflected the fourth downward with his Adamantine scabbard. Reaching his gauntleted hand out, he pulled that sword out of the frosty dirt, gripping it tightly.

    The other three des spiraled upwards around him, then simultaneously halted and turned inward, one aimed to pierce him in the chest, and two behind.

    Sharply aware of the danger to his life, Tycon felt a sudden, ironic pride, that his young student had grown so powerful. However... it made him curse his choice of remaining in the Holy Country.

    He used the Arcanite de to deflect the first attack, his sheathed sword to deflect a second, then fell clumsily to the ground to dodge the third. Sighing loudly, he activated his ?Tumble? skill to roll backward to avoid being pierced by all three.

    The des flew back to Athena, who spun around and reset her stance.

    "Draw your weapon, Sir Tycon! I don''t wanna hurt you!"

    "Youngdy," Tycon stood up, dusting himself off, "I have determined that to be a lie."

    Athena growled as she waved a palm towards him, then shifted her body forward while raising it. Her swords shot forward in a line, cutting into the earth... flinging up dirt and debris and effectively blinding him, "Take this! Sand-attack!"

    Seven gods-damned hells!!! How much did he need to apologize to get her to forgive him for that?!

    Tycon shut his eyes... Thankfully, training with Garock had prepared him for fighting without vision or tremorsense to abat-usible degree.

    He dodged. He deflected.

    He heard Athena yell, "?Frostde!?"

    ...He cursed the seven hells and the eleven heavens.

    He dodged and deflected more Arcanite de strikes. He cowered and leapt away from seven-fulm long, exploding, frost swords. He crawled out of the cloud of dust and dirt until he could no longer-- finding the edge of the glowstone arena.

    Tanamar was crouching down, meeting his eyes, "You... you gonna be okay, Tycon?"

    "I''m not quite sure," Tycon groaned, quite annoyed.

    Tanamar''s eyes drifted up, towards the starry sky, "Watch for the ?Icicle Fall?."

    "My thanks," Tycon curled up and rolled backward, reactivating ?Tumble? to avoid the massive falling and shattering icicles Athena had summoned.

    Back in the mist, he continued to suffer light plinks and heavy ponks of ice fragments against his helm and armor.

    He couldn''t see... and it was cold.

    And then... Athena appeared.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She was fast... Her fists struck against his chest armor, the shock thankfully dispersing throughout his body. Tycon didn''t think it would bruise, but it was still terribly ufortable.

    Too fast for him to block, the t of one of her Arcanite des smashed into his side, sending him tumbling into the rocky dirt.

    With his off-hand, he thrust his fingers into the ground, digging a line in the dirt to ensure he wasn''tunched out of the ring...

    His body hurt. His fingers were numb.

    The inside of his mouth tasted metallic. Either he had internal bleeding or he bit his tongue-- hopefully thetter.

    He stood up... feeling old, tired... and moderately humiliated.

    All in all... he was f*cking miserable.

    "Y... you''ve improved," Tycon forced a smile underneath his helmet.

    Athena emerged from the dissipating mists, "I''m holding back. Draw your sword."

    The girl''s mana-control was deathly precise... but in exchange, she consciously limited her power. It showed.

    Tycon raised his arms, pushing his chest forward with bravado, "Make me."

    In a sh, Athena was in front of him, her des poised to strike at the space underneath his helmet... all four through his neck, "Draw. your. sword. Sir..."

    "...Shite," Tycon cursed.

    It didn''t feel good having his bluff called.

    "I will not," He dered.

    "Then..." Athena''s eyes shed whitish-blue with mana, "Submit."

    He paused and caught his breath to ensure his voice did not shake...

    "I will not," He repeated.

    Athena grit her teeth, "You''re... you''re really good, Sir Tycon."

    "Thank you."

    "I can definitely take you out of the ring... but I might really hurt you... especially if you don''t draw your weapon."

    She noticed. Clever girl.

    "I''m not drawing my sword, youngdy," Tycon shook his head.

    "You can''t kill all those people, Sir Tycon," Athena grimaced, her face twisted as if she were going to cry, "That''s a lot of snake cultists in Caeruleum-- I understand that! But there''re so many innocent people, too!"

    "The option is in front of you," Tycon gulped... and hoped the whelpling didn''t hear it... "Defeat me. Lead my armies to your satisfaction."

    "All I have to do..." Athena steeled her gaze, "is take you out of the ring. Then you''ll have to listen to me."

    "Correct. However..." Tycon tilted his head, "can you do so without critically injuring or killing me?"

 Chapter 581 Good Boy (Part One)

    ?Using a single finger, Tycondrius pushed one of Athena''s weapons away. It immediately returned to its position, pressing against the skin of his neck... but not drawing blood.

    The girl''s mana control was precise, as always.

    "I know I can''t defeat you just like this, Sir Tycon," Athena growled. "I know you have a buttload of defensive Skills... I''d have to go all out..."

    "Go on, then," Tycon leaned forward. The two des pressed into his neck gave way-- still not cutting him. "Even without me, you''ll win with the forces we''ve gathered."

    "You mean the forces *you''ve* gathered," Athena grimaced... "Isidor''s Faction is only loyal to you... The Vralkek Faction, all yours... and the same with Mister Emilien''s guild.

    "I just... I don''t understand, Sir Tycon," The youngdy shouted as her frustrated tears began to fall. "We''re so strong... Why do we have to do this? Why do we have tomit GENOCIDE?!"

    Tycon shut his eyes and he nodded solemnly in thought.

    There were plenty of answers he could give.

    He liked killing people, for one. However, in most situations, that was usually not something he liked to admit.

    If he did as Athena asked, having their forces only target obviousbatants, his forces would suffer grave casualties. The cultists hidden among the civilian popce would attack at their option... and only when advantageous.

    Then... if enough snake cultists were to survive and escape, they could spread their propaganda, inciting the Tyrion masses to a frenzy against House Vanzano. If the political opinion against them was too strong, both Archbishop Natalya and High Oracle Troia would have their hands tied.

    Tycon considered refusing to answer... or perhaps he could me his own selfishness. He could have Athena direct her hate and shame at himself... to protect her from the guilt.

    He had done something simr when her parents were killed. He refused Athena the privilege of witnessing them buried... so she would not see their defiled and desecrated corpses.

    "Youngdy..." Tycon took a deep breath... "Mercy is a gift... only granted to those who can be redeemed."

    The snake cult was coiled too deeply in Caeruleum. The entire city was infected by their lies. They were all beyond conceivable redemption.

    He reached his arms up, Athena''s des withdrawing as he did. Taking off his helmet, he swept his sweat-drenched green hair back and looked into the Iron-Rank Frostde''s eyes...

    "Only death awaits the enemies of Sol Invictus."

    "Sir Tycon..."

    "Stand down, Athena," He whispered. "Stand down and let Caeruleum fall as you know it must."

    He turned to the surrounding observers... "and the rest of you... prepare for battle. We attack just before dawn."

    ...

    ? A bell before dawnbreak. ?

    All things died. Death was inevitable.

    However, death would befall the enemies of Sol Invictus before all other parties involved.

    Tres Leches, the wolf formerly known as Moon-Moon-Moon, crawled out of the freshly dug dirt, emerging in the city of Caeruleum proper. As he was in his grey-furred form, he shook his coat free of dust and debris.

    "(This is as far as the Bloodpaws can take you, Brother Three-Moon,)" Lady whined.

    The blue-furred Iredar girl was panting from the heat, and she wiped a paw over her sweaty forehead.

    While the smoke and fire of the burning city felt like home to Tres, it was ufortable for most, including those that belonged to the Bloodpaw tribe. The other members of the Guild Letalis assaultpanies wore Dark Iron skin, so werergely resistant to the heat.

    As the Iredar attached to the assault were only tasked to dig them into the city, they were not granted the luxury.

    Still, they''d done their part, and admirably.

    "(Thank you, Lady,)" Tres saluted. "(You''re the best digger I''ve ever known. You''re a good girl.)"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "(You honor me, Sol Invictus,)" Lady returned the salute, then ced her paw to her heart while closing her eyes, "(I only wish we had more warriors to assist you...)"

    Tres nodded, nudging her face, "(All members of the pack pull their weight.)"

    Lady''s tail began to wag furiously, her eyes widened in surprise, "(B-brother Three-Moon! You... you... you''re a good boy... the good-est of boys.)"

    She turned back to the hole, helping pull a dirt-covered Lone Shadowdark to the surface, "(Come on, human! The dwarves and fat roons have already gone ahead!)"

    Lone tousled his hair, allowing the dirt to fall, "Th-thanks, man!"

    "(I''m a girl,)" Lady whined, shooting Tres Leches an ufortable look.

    "Don''t worry, bro!" Lone grinned, "Me and Tres Leches here will kill all the bad guys!"

    "(Why''s he baring his teeth at me?)" Lady asked.

    "(He does that. The fault in training him is mine,)" Tres sighed as he pawed at Lone''s chest, "(Bad human. Be polite.)"

    "Ow! Sorry! Right! Let''s go!"

    ...

    Tres and his partner jogged through the streets.

    People were running away, screaming. They feared death, as folly as it was.

    It was a shame. It was a good sun to die.

    There was smoke and dust and embers in the air. They passed by a Fire Slime the size of gorgon Stephanos-- one of the big ones.

    "(You good, Fire Slime?)"

    The creature shrieked, making loud gloppy sounds as it rolled into a small shop, breaking down its walls, parts of it lighting aze.

    "What''d it say, Tres Leches?" Lone asked.

    "(No idea. I don''t speak slime.)" Tres whined... "(Can you understand me, yet?)"

    "Ah, I see," The human nodded sagely-- "Oh, herees trouble."

    A gaggle of adventurers appeared in the distance, dressed in differently-colored diator armors and wielding a variety of weapons.

    They were not afraid.

    Tres crouched low to the ground, like a snake ready to strike.

    He and Lone would strike fear into their hearts.

    "(Shall we, Lone Shadowdark?)"

    "You ready to do our part to fight the heretics, Tres Leches?!" Lone grinned.

    ...Tres took a hot breath and sighed.

    Having anguage barrier was somewhat troublesome. It made him wish he had opposable thumbs so he could learn the handnguage that Boss Tycon used... or that he had the vocal capacity to speak... human.

    Then... metal began to rain down from the heavens.

 Chapter 582 Good Boy (Part Two)

    ?Looking skyward, Tres Leches watched a trio of harpies fly overhead, scattering metal spikes they spilled from torn pouches.

    Looking back to the Caeruleum diators, they screamed in horror, then in agony, as the shrapnel stuck into their flesh and bit into their bones.

    "What the... eleven-- HELLS!!??!" Lone shouted.

    "(Seven hells, Lone,)" Tres corrected. "(There''s seven hells, eleven heavens.)"

    "TRES LECHES, can you believe this?!? Those guys stole my kills!!"

    After the barrage, only two avoided death''s embrace-- the stubborn ones wise enough to raise their shields.

    Also, the harpies were all female... but Tres didn''t want to correct his human twice in a row.

    "(Well... those two should be enough for us,)" Tres offered.

    Unfortunately, before he and Lone could act, a team of fat roons rushed out of an alleyway-- closer to the humans than they were. They used... ?Tackle? attacks on their knees, then fell upon them with picks and clubs.

    "(Loot!!)" One yelled.

    "(Yaaay, loot!!)" The others responded.

    Tres bounded forward, "(Come on, Lone, we have to--)"

    ...He stopped, sensing that his human was not following him. Turning back, he saw Lone silently watching the carnage with quivering lips.

    He was absolutely devastated...

    It made Tres feel sorry for his sad human.

    "(...Do you want me to bark the fat roons away? You can tear out at least one enemy throat?)"

    Lone tried his best to smile, "Let''s... let''s keep going? There''s gotta be a good fight somewhere in this city..."

    "(A... alright,)" Tres Leches barked sympathetically. "(Don''t worry, Lone. We''ll... we''ll find something.)"

    ...

    "There!" Lone shouted, "That''s a group of Church enforcers!"

    Tres Leches shook the ash and dust off of his coat, "(Ah, that''s the Dwarven patriarch... Thrumondi Krakhammer, I think his name was.)"

    The squad of dwarves collided with the other armored fellows... but they made short work of them with hammers and blunted axes.

    ...As was expected.

    "(Lone...)" The wolf whined. His human looked so angry that he was worried he''d froth at the mouth, "(You need to calm down.)"

    "We''ll KEEP GOING!!!" The furious Lone began to sprint, "Follow me!!"

    ...

    Tres'' human nced behind the building side, quickly ducking his head back.

    "There''s like... at least fifty guys over there," He grinned.

    "(That''s too many, Lone,)" Tres Leches chided. "(We have to be careful.)"

    The humans were closely packed together, all of them carrying shields and wearing metal skins. If he and Lone attacked with surprise and with a ?Dual mewolf Rush?, they could incapacitate at least the front line.

    However, the other humans would surround them, nipping at their heels and tiring them until they could strike a lethal blow.

    It was basic pack tactics.

    Lone peeked over again, drawing his longsword and hammer, "We can take ''em... You and me, Tres Leches... On the count of three... One. Two... Thr--"

    "?MAGNUUMMMMM CRAAAAASHHHH!!!!?"

    A small, blue, human-shaped figure plummeted out of the sky in a streak of gold. It struck the center of the formation with a sh of light.

    The humans surrounding the st were scattered, fallen and lying still or moaning while covering their eyes or ears. There were also... *less* humans than before.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? ...Those gone probably had no idea how they died.

    Magic, probably.

    The boy with the spear shed his weapon twice more,unching crescent-shaped projectiles of mana that cut down those that remained.

    "(Oh, it''s Pale,)" Tres barked. He put his paw on Lone''s thigh, "(Look! We know that human.)"

    Lone looked heartbroken as he watched Pale running about, finishing off the survivors with quick stabs.

    After several moments, the boy jogged up to the two of them, an innocent smile on his face.

    "(Hello, Pale,)" Tres yipped, wagging his tail, "(Where''d youe from? I request head pats.)"

    "Hey, guys! I just jumped off that building over there," Pale grinned while fluffing the fur on Tres'' neck. "Cool, right?"

    "(I live for two reasons: meat jerky and head pats.)"

    Pale looked over to the taller human, "What''s up?"

    Lone took a deep breath and sighed... "Nothing..."

    "(We''ve been having trouble finding enemies,)" Tres Leches exined, before turning to nudge his partner. "(Come on. Let''s... let''s keep looking.)"

    "O... oh," The boy scratched the back of his head, looking guilty, "Um. Maybe check that way?"

    "Thanks, Pale," Lone nodded quietly.

    "(Thank you, Pale,)" Tres Leches barked.

    ...

    "(Watch out, Lone,)" Tres sniffed the air, "(That group over there smells like fire mana... And... there''s a lot of them?)"

    There were too many. He''d never smelled so many, at once. Were they fire elementals? No-- their scent was unmistakably human.

    "Wow! Those guys look strong!" Lone cheered giddily, "Finally, I get a chance to use my new Ski-- OH, COME ON!!!!!"

    A round of explosions rang through the air, causing Tres to lower his body and tten his ears.

    "(That scent... the gunnery squad?)"

    Amidst a falling flurry of feathers, a flock of harpies began to circle while descending to the ground... and they carried a squad of humans in their talons. Cecil Salt was among them-- the human wearing the green Sergeant helmet. The Heavy Gunner, Mister Lawrence, was carried by three.

    "Ahaha! I heard those bastards can cast fire magic!" Salt cackled gleefully, shouting to his cheeringrades, "Looks like we outrange ''em with our Turathi rifles, boys and girls!"

    Salt put his feet on the road and began to wave to the ascending harpies, "Thank you,dies!"

    "''Tis a pleasure, Sergeant!" One of the birds squawked.

    "Do well, boys!" "Survive and I''ll be sure to thank you~!" "CAW! CAW CAW!!!"

    "Eh?" Salt looked over to Tres and gestured to his human, "What''s wrong with him?"

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, was on his hands and knees, openly weeping.

    "(Don''t worry about it,)" Tres reassured the Sergeant.

    Salt tilted his helmed head, "H-hello to you too, Mister Wolf."

    "(Hello.)"

    "Sergeant Lone," Salt knelt down. "You still have your pistol, yes?"

    "I... I do," Lone wiped his tears.

    "Come along, then," Salt patted the sad human on the back. "Rejoin the gunnery squad for the time being. We could use your help."

    "Alright..."

 Chapter 583 Rude Awakening

    ?? Head Magistrate''s Residence. ?

    A heavy fist pounded on the door to Antonidus'' bedchambers, "Head Magistrate! Head Magistrate. Are you still there?"

    Ignoring the voice, Antonidus stretched his arms and back... only to have to creak, crack, and pop-- grimly reminding him of his old age. Shaking his head, he unhurriedly put on his Magistrate robe.

    An earlier series of knocks had awoken him-- and rather rudely. This set of knocks was urging him to hurry.

    Hebed his long white beard thoughtfully, wondering what terrible thing had befallen his city this time... Likely, another merchant''s son had been ''wrongfully'' imprisoned or the Church enforcers were trying to shut down a bishop''s favorite brothel.

    Maybe an important building was on fire? mescarred Sons of Qotal... He had ordered them all to reside outside of the city. They were all so f... mmable.

    Regardless, it was probably something that could wait until after breakfast... but, then again... if whoever was at his door got past so many rounds of guards, they were probably worth pretending to listen to.

    He grabbed the satchel containing his pen, ink, and reference materials, but suddenly... his chest began to spasm, his throat blocked. He doubled over, ovee by a painful, coughing fit.

    A pale-faced Decanus Philippos burst into the room, dark circles underneath his eyes and his wispy brows furrowed, "Head Magistrate! Are you alright?!"

    "Yes, yes," Antonidus rolled his eyes, taking out a clean cloth and wiping his mouth.

    Blood. Again. The cold of the winter had been in the air, as of recent... and it affected him more than in years past.

    Righting his posture, he walked out of his room, past the young Decanus, "Walk and talk, boy. Walk and talk."

    He casually nced out the window of the second-story hallway and noticed the dim orange glow. He''d thought he''d woken up before dawn, but it seemed it was muchter than that.

    me take it. He had plenty of work to do...

    "Sir!" Philippos shouted, "Th-the city! It''s under attack!"

    "The city''s under ''attack'' every sun," Antonidus groaned. "What is the outrage about now? Was another diator caught f*cking something they shouldn''t have? I told them that statue in the eastern square had too me-taken much sex appeal."

    "Sir... no, that''s--"

    "Wait, don''t tell me--" Antonidus stopped abruptly, holding up a palm, "It''s another rally about inequality amongst the social sses, isn''t it?"

    "Harpies! There are harpies, sir!"

    "BAH!! Will it NEVERRR ennnnd?!?!" Antonidus threw his hands up in disgust, turning away, "If it were up to me, Decanus, women wouldn''t HAVE rights! But that''s not something that gets decided by me, now is it? Have them write a mescarred letter to their senator!"

    "Head Magistrate, sir..." Philippos frowned, "I mean... literal harpies, sir... with wings and talons."

    Antonidus stopped... "Is that so?"

    "It is, sir."

    ...The two of them slowly turned towards the nearby window.

    The tinted ss shattered immediately, a naked woman with sagging breasts and grey-feathered wings for arms crashing to the floor. She loosed a croaking shriek, wing at the space around her with long-legged talons.

    "By the me!" Antonidus cursed, "It''s a mescarred HARPY!"

    "Stupid overgrown PIDGEON!!" Philippos grabbed a broom that had been left nearby and began to swat at the woman, "Get the hells out of here! Shoo!"

    The creature shrieked in indignation before flying out of the broken window from whence she came.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "So there are harpies in my city..." Antonidus stroked his long beard.

    Philippos narrowed his eyes, "That''s what I''ve been trying to tell you, sir."

    "Well, that''s nothing to worry about. Mobilize the militia-- hm... and post a bounty for the diators topete over. When those overgrown chickens swoop down, they''ll be met by Tyrion shields and spears."

    "Sir... they''re dropping... arrows and stones from the skies."

    "Ughhh..." Antonidus sighed. So the savages had some intelligence... "Send word to the Sons of Qotal. Their sanctioned Fire Clerics can roast, what-- a dozen of the sinful creatures with each cast? There can''t be more than two-hundred of them."

    "Sir..." The Decanus stared at the floor, "some of them are carrying squads of gunners."

    "...Crossbow gunners?"

    "Our reports say they''re using guns from Bael Turath."

    "Fine!" Antonidus grimaced, "You were right to call me, then. I''ll handle it, myself."

    Head Magistrate Antonidus was more than just a city leader, he was a sanctioned psyker-- and a mescarred good one. He clenched his fist, circting the mana throughout his body.

    He was often praised for his Divine ss, Holy Magus... but the paltry radiant spells hemanded back then were nowhere near enough for him. He was the Head Magistrate of the wealthiest city in Tyrion! To defend it, he needed power far greater.

    So harpies threatened to attack his people? And outsiders with heretic weaponry? With the powers vested in him, granted by his new ss, he would lead the people of Caeruleum in defending her walls to the death!

    Antonidus walked over to the window and looked down upon the beautiful territory he governed.

    It was on fire. Everything was on fire. Plumes of smoke filled the skies, with a garish rainbow of harpies and other beasts of flight amidst them.

    ...Even at first nce, there were far more than he''d imagined, nevermind two-hundred.

    He slowly turned back to the reporting Decanus... "Y... you, there. Philippos."

    "Yes, Head Magistrate?" The Decanus grimaced.

    "...Is that a... fire slime in the streets?"

    "They are, sir. More than one, sir."

    "...How did they even get into the city?"

    "They were catapulted over the walls, sir."

    Siege weaponry?! The enemy had set up siege weaponry in the night? Those USELESS Sons of Qotal!! How could they let something so catastrophic happen on their watch?!

    Antonidus stroked his beard in thought, trying to calm himself... "And they''re... howrge?"

    Philippos pursed his lips, "The smaller ones are the size of a carriage, sir."

    "Very well..." Antonidus straightened his back, cing a fist to his mouth as he cleared his throat, "Ahem... Decanus! Deploy the Faithful!"

    The savages'' uprising wouldn''tst much longer.

 Chapter 584 Champion Of Qotal (Part One)

    ?Besides the Sons of Qotal, there were hundreds of Tyrions amongst the Caeruleum popce who heard the dragon''s whispers.

    Those that had a Metal-Rank were simply referred to as ''The Faithful.'' Veteran adventurers, popr diators, men of the Church, theyprised the most powerful secret army in the nation.

    It was bothersome for Antonidus, having to reveal his hand... but after over a decade of ruing forces, the Senate-- no, not even High Oracle Troia would be able to challenge his iron rule over Caeruleum.

    "Well?!" Antonidus waved his arm, his official robe billowing majestically, "What are you waiting for, Decanus?"

    Decanus Philippos'' expression didn''t change, "There are several dozen of the fire slimes burning the city, sir."

    "S... several dozen, you say?"

    "That''s right, sir."

    Antonidus gulped... "Then the uh... the Faithful... have the Faithful alert... The Branded."

    Amongst the Faithful, there was a small group of infinitely powerful adventurers within the Sons of Qotal. They were called The Branded and ording to the rumors, every single one of them were Iron-Rank or higher.

    Confident in hismand, Antonidus turned sharply and increased his walking pace down the corridor.

    "Sir!" Phillipos chased after him, "Where are you going? The stairs to the front door are that way?"

    Antonidus felt sweat drip down the back of his head. This fool still wanted him to fight against insurmountable odds? That''s what The Branded were for!

    "I uh... I left my... stove unattended."

    The Decanus looked unconvinced, "Is... is that so, sir?"

    "It is so. Now... go see to your duties, Decanus."

    ...

    Tycondriusfortably strolled down the streets with the members of his team in tow.

    Broken bodies were littered everywhere, covered in fresh blood and ayer of soot.

    Everything stank of smoke. Errant screams sang sporadically. It was a beautiful, burning hellscape reminiscent of a nightmare.

    Tycon remained unbothered. His own nightmares were worse.

    He figured that, with Dragan''s fire slimes, he could wipe out at least 90% of Caeruleum''s poption. It was a severe enough culling that whatever snake cultists hid amongst the survivors would be hard-pressed to bite back within the next decade or so.

    It was eptable.

    It was somewhat disheartening to kill so many innocents. Tycon found the act mostly annoying. He knew the dwarves and elves and the mostly-human members of guild Letalis weren''t so keen on the idea, either.

    Still, he had enough allies who had no issues with the order.

    The harpies needed their breeding stock. The spider-breeders preferred meat-corpses to... breed spiders. The fat roons had no issues with consuming the flesh of sentients and were more concerned about looting than they were about morality.

    Then the fire slimes... they were essentially natural disasters that did as they pleased.

    ...Tycon would leave some of them in the city, even after his forces withdrew. He''d need the Titanbloods to advise him on the matter... They would know best on the number to leave, ensuring enough of them to procreate but not enough that they''d terrorize the surrounding areas.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Dawn had broken through the morning clouds only recently, lighting up the alley ahead. Wet, glistening grey spiderwebs were serenely draped along the walls, untouched by the fires.

    "[LEADER,]" Seldin Korr''s metallic voice echoed through her emotionless helmet, "[THERE ARE BODIES IN THOSE COCOONS.]"

    Tycon nodded, "I can see that. Wait here."

    "[YES, LEADER,]" Korr stood up straight and saluted.

    ...Her greaves were raised, artificially emphasizing her long legs and making her taller than he was. It annoyed him slightly... but as she was fond of them, he decided to allow it.

    "[Eyes open, Optio,]" Zenon warned.

    ? Seldin Korr, Gold-Rank Human ming Rage Knight; Zenon Skyreaper, Iron-Rank Human Librarian. ?

    Korr stood watch at the alley entrance along with Centurion Zenon Skyreaper. Any of the three of them were enough to deal with any difficult issues, but the teams had been decided the evening prior.

    Stephanos, Pale, and the Lone Shadowdark were acting independently. With their superior mobility, they were able to engage with any targets at-will, withdrawing if necessary.

    Holy Lancer Tanamar and Frostde Athena formed a unit. Obviously.

    Tanamar was a lethal force at range and was difficult to defeat in closebat, especially guarded by Athena''s ?Frost Shield?. Then Athena... any of her incanted abilities could wreak havoc on anything that Tanamar couldn''t defeat in a short exchange-- and she wouldn''t be interrupted, as long as her footman still breathed.

    Sorina Capulet was somewhere in the city with Corporal Horse and Private First ss Jeremy... with Private Edge assigned to keep them alive and out of trouble. Tycon decided not to worry about them, for the sake of his sanity.

    With the other teams focused on wreaking havoc, Tycon was to act as a general troubleshooter, assessing and assisting the various Letalispanies. Zenon and Korr insisted upon apanying him.

    Thus far, they''d checked on the dwarves and two of the six Letalis fieldedpanies. It seemed that with the webs and various arachnids crawling about, Tycon hade across where the spider-breeders had been.

    He walked into the alley, examining the human-sized cocoons of thick, soot-covered silk. Men, women, children-- warriors and not, all were bound, all were equal. Some still writhed in difort. Most did not, having epted their fate.

    Tycon removed his helmet and raised his voice, "Is anyone here?"

    He sought a report from the spider-breeders, if not from Matriarch Feverbite, herself.

    "T-tactician?" A woman''s voice whimpered, "Is... is that you?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows as he directed his gaze upward. A dying woman was suspended by the webbing above him, her arms outstretched like a captive angel.

    ? Ptolema, Iron-Rank Human Champion of Qotal. ?

    He didn''t recognize her at first with the scars on her face... but he knew her.

    Still, he could not help her.

    In the Brazen Guard collective, they were allies. In the short time since, she had be an enemy.

    Only one thing awaited the enemies of Sol Invictus.

    He remained silent, wondering how he should kill her.

    "Tactician... please help me," Ptolema begged... "I can''t... I can''t see..."

 Chapter 585 Champion Of Qotal (Part Two)

    ?Ptolema''s voice tugged at Tycondrius'' conscience. As the spider-breeders'' venom clouded the woman''s mind, Tycon''s voice should have been nothing more than a fever dream.

    Her pleading was an act of desperation, grasping at the faintest glimmer of hope, regardless of whether it was real or not... It was the only thing she could do in her pitiful state.

    In better times, Duelist Ptolema was the guild leader of Snowy Vige. From what Tycon knew, she was its sole founder and her ranks and reputation had grown steadily over several years. Most recently, she wed Karodin of Emberhold, the most loyal Legionnaire that Tycon had ever known. The loving rtionship even resulted in her carrying the gentleman''s child.

    Tycon was nning on inviting both the young guild leader and her husband into guild Letalis Serpentia as officers, such was their strength andpetence. Of course, that depended on the wages they would ept...

    Then... the Brazen Guard collective epted a dungeon quest...and they traveled to the Halls of the Dead Serpent. Tancred and guild Stormbrand stole a snake cult artifact and effectively sealed the entrance. Subsequently, the collective was forced to delve deeper into hostile territory, eventually finding an alternate exit.

    Many died... not the least of which was Ptolema''s husband. Sometime during the skirmishes, Ptolema had also suffered a miscarriage.

    Suffering two deaths of her closest kin in that ce had likely heavily damaged her psyche... enough to join a gods-damned cult.

    The entrapped Champion, Ptolema, wore the unmistakable armor of her new guild... the Sons of Qotal. From the markings on her shoulder, she had excelled in their ranks and was even promoted to Centurion.

    More and more, Tycon was growing suspicious of the mysterious guild.

    The mercenarypany was the size of a small army, their numbers having swollen only in the past several moons, recruiting from the Ezyrian and Kasydonian countryside.

    It seemed they were acting under Caeruleum''s orders, as his Letalis forces had eliminated a number of scout teams, wearing their markings.

    ...Those two factsbined meant the city had collected a militant force toorge to be legal under Tyrionw. Were they trying to rebel against High Oracle Troia?

    Then... there was the fact that far too many Sons of Qotal were sanctioned psykers.

    From the faint essence of fire mana that Ptolema emitted... she was one of them.

    Reaching up, Tycon tore a glob of webbing out of the woman''s eyes...

    He held his breath, annoyed but not surprised by what he saw.

    "T... tactician?" Ptolema''s voice rose in pitch, "The mescarred shite in my eyes... there''s so much of it. I still... can''t see."

    "Yes..." Tycon grimaced, shaking his head, "It can''t be helped."

    Spiders were crawling out of Ptolema''s eye sockets, some of them with chunks of white in their mandibles. The young woman would not be seeing anything for the rest of her life.

    "I''m... I''m so d you''re here, Tactician..." Ptolema whispered hoarsely, before sumbing to a series of wet, body-wracking coughs... "The city... it''s been overrun by monsters."

    Tactician nodded solemnly, "Indeed... it has."

    The youngdy spat and breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank... thank the dragon."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes into a furious re, his heart-rate spiking dramatically, "The... what?"

    "The dragon..." Ptolema whispered, "He sent you to save us..."

    "I recall no such thing," Tycon crossed his arms.

    Ptolema shook her head... "I had faith. I always had faith."

    "Your faith is..."

    Tycon hesitated. He wanted to tell the woman her faith was misced. However, it was an unnecessary cruelty that would only serve to protect his fragile pride.

    Ptolema smiled, even as more tiny ck arachnids crawled about her scarred face... even as theypped at the sweat pouring down her reddened forehead. Whatever poison she was afflicted with seemed to dull her senses.

    "I am Tyrion... just like you, Sir Tychon. What kind of woman would I be if I didn''t have faith?"

    Tycon swallowed hard... but voiced the words in his heart, "Dragons... don''t exist."

    "I am the..." Ptolema''s voice trailed off, but the corner of her mouth curved upward... "No... maybe you''re right. But look at me, guy. I don''t really have much going for me, now do I?"

    Tycon nced at the series of cocoons in the alleyway. Many of them had body parts revealing armor simr to Ptolema''s. Matriarch Feverbite and her spider-breeders had done well.

    There was little he could do for the girl.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He could end her life as mercy...

    ...but the longer her blood stayed warm, the healthier Feverbite''s children and grandchildren would be.

    He spun on his heel and began to leave.

    "T... tactician?" Ptolema called out.

    Tycon paused... "Yes?"

    "You''re going to get help? Right?"

    Tycon grimaced... "I''m thinking to see if this dragon of yours might answer your prayers."

    Ptolema sighed... "A-alright... Hurry back. I don''t know when the monsters will be returning."

    "I''ll see you... Ptolema."

    "Farewell, Tactician."

    Tycon emerged from the alleyway, cing his helmet back on.

    "[Is all well, Brother-Tycon?]" Zenon asked.

    Korr tilted her head expectantly.

    Tycon nodded slowly, "Let''s move on. I feel like killing something."

    Zenon clenched his fist, his Tyrion ws sparking with electricity, "[Then the ughter shall continue.]"

    ...

    ? Two streetster. ?

    "[What about that tall building over there?]" Zenon offered.

    Tycon red up at the tall Librarian, "That''s a hospital, Centurion. No."

    "[Oh... how about... that one, then?]"

    "The orphanage?" Tycon crossed his arms, "Seven hells, Zenon! No!"

    "[Don''t you think you''re being a little unreasonable, Optio?]" Zenon sighed.

    Tycon''s voice was caught in his throat.

    ...Was he?

    He looked to Korr for affirmation. She responded with an upraised thumb.

    Without a reference, the gesture meant absolutely nothing to him.

    At the very least, the woman didn''t seem to have any strong opinions on who or what they were killing.

    ...No. Tycon shook his head. He was the one that was right. Everyone else was wrong.

    "I don''t care," He snapped. "Choose something different."

    "[Th...at one, then,]" Zenon pointed at an ornate building adjacent to a four-way road.

    "That is... a Church temple?"

    That seemed... slightly more permissible than the other options. There would be plenty of innocents inside, but a Champion or a Cleric or two protecting them would prove to be good exercise.

 Chapter 586 Fake Scars (Part One)

    ?Before Tycondrius and hispanions could burn down the Church temple, an adventuringpany walked out from an adjacent road. There were dozens of them, all wearing military Tyrion armor and carrying long, rectangr shields.

    However... one of their number flew a strange banner with a familiar symbol. He''d seen it before on Ptolema''s armor... a stylized dragon''s head on a red backdrop.

    "Sons of Qotal," Tycon remarked.

    "[They reek of heresy,]" Zenon added.

    "[LEADER. I REQUEST GROUND-BEEF PATTIES WITH BREAD FOR LUNCH,]" Korr boldly dered.

    The three of them were about to engage in lethalbat and she was thinking of her next hot, delicious, expertly-cooked meal.

    "Stay on topic, youngdy," Tycon chided.

    "[...I WOULD COMMIT GENOCIDE FOR GROUND-BEEF PATTIES WITH BREAD FOR LUNCH.]"

    At least she was consistent.

    "Halt!" One of the adventurers shouted. "We are The Branded! Loyal Sons and Daughters of Qotal! State thy allegiances or DIE!"

    "Is it just me or do all human Tyrions sound the same?" Tycon muttered.

    Korr responded with a light shrug.

    Zenon leaned forward, his tri-de ws were crackling menacingly, "[Same n, Optio?]"

    He was referring to ming Rage Knight Korr crashing into the group, Tycon covering her with either de-whip or curved sword, and Zenon supporting with his magic.

    However, Tycon was still in a poor mood. The dozen or so city-defenders they''d murdered since leaving Ptolema''s alleyway had yet to sate his bloodlust.

    "Negative," He shook his head. "We dance."

    Zenon shrugged, "[Hm, very well. Let the dancingmence.]"

    Korr tilted her head, "[ACTUAL DANCE BATTLE OR THE CODEWORD?]"

    "The codeword," Tycon assured her.

    The tall, dark-armored woman nodded quietly. While Tycon couldn''t see her expression, she seemed somehow... disappointed.

    "I''ll see you two shortly," Tycon stepped forward, expediting the mana circting through his body... focusing on his legs, "?Shadowfang.?"

    Tycon appeared in the midst of the Sons of Qotal, stepping down gracefully upon the road.

    As a credit to their training, the humans took a step back, shields up, weapons ready. They wore heavier sets of Tyrion armor and armaments, leathers and metal bands, highly resistant against cuts.

    "By the me, what do you think you''re doing?" A woman scowled behind her tower shield, her sword pointed over it.

    Tycon looked her over... she wore red war-paint on her face reminiscent of stylistic scars, but frivolously wore no helmet-- allowing her brown ponytail to swing freely. ording to the markings on her armor, though, she held the same rank as Ptolema, that of Centurion.

    He waved in greeting before cing his handsfortably behind his back, "Do you have some time to talk about your lord and savior?"

    The Centurion twisted her lips in confusion, "The Eternal me, you mean?"

    Tycon cracked his neck left and right. That was the ''correct'' answer... but it wasn''t what he was looking for.

    "Ah, so fellow faithful," He smirked beneath his full helm, "I was just curious. Can''t be too careful, you know."

    The Centurion rxed her shoulders and sheathed her weapon... "Stand down, men. This isn''t one of the heretics we''re looking for.

    "You too, adventurer," She pointed, "Find your way to safety... unless you can direct us to the xeno''s attacking the city."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tyconughed internally at the woman''s naivete. It seemed they hadn''t yet encountered any Guild Letalis members. Though he wore the white helmet of amanding officer, the ckened armor of Letalis Serpentia was easily identifiable.

    "And what makes you think you can make a difference? Centurion?"

    The woman''s eyes in annoyance, "We have to, adventurer. The Branded are the strongest members in the Sons of Qotal, blessed by the..."

    Her words caught in her throat and she swallowed awkwardly.

    Tycon gestured for her to continue, "Blessed. by. the...?"

    "By the me," The woman growled... "The city burns all around us. Every able-bodied Tyrion is honor-bound to do *something.*

    "Sons and daughters of Qotal!" She raised her voice, "We''re moving!"

    Tycon watched their backs as they dropped their guards and began to walk away. While he could respect their hopes and dreams... their ignorance was unforgivable. The Sons of Qotal thought they were the heroes of their stories. In fact, they were little more than blind fools, clinging to their false faith.

    The corruption of Caeruleum ran deep. Tycon had initially thought he was only hunting after the snake cult. But instead, he found... dragon cultists. Or perhaps they were the same, all along?

    Though it annoyed him greatly to do so, he decided to quote a particr dragon prophecy.

    "Sons of Qotal!" Tycon called out after them, "Have you heard of a song... of which legends are sung?"

    He had to know...

    How far had Caeruleum fallen?

    The Centurion stopped walking... and soon her troops stopped as well.

    Tycon wanted to be pleased, but instead, he grew more anxious... "It is a song... of ash and fire."

    The female Centurion stomped her way back to Tycon, staring at him eye-to-eye... "Where... the hells... did you hear that?"

    Wonderful. Unfortunate... How... gods-damned annoying it was for his worries to be confirmed.

    "What''s wrong, Centurion?" He teased, "Have you been hearing... voices?"

    "You..."

    She was at a loss for words. She just needed... a little push.

    "Come now," Tycon turned his palms up and tilted his head. "You can trust me."

    The Centurion stood up straight and shook her head... "Why would I trust a man who hides his face?"

    "Hah!" Tycon tilted his head back tough, "This is a helmet, Centurion! Are the Sons of Qotal so destitute that they could not afford to issue you one?"

    The woman grimaced, crossing her arms, "My title, sir... is Scarmother."

    Tycon stoppedughing.

    Scarmother... It was the same title the snake cultists'' leaders used in the past... the ones led by Snake Champion Orcus.

    But why... in the seven gods-damned hells... were the snake cultists in league with--

    The snake god.

    The snake god was working with the dragons.

    It was an incredibly specific coincidence that Tycon did not want to believe.

 Chapter 587 Fake Scars (Part Two)

    ?The woman eschewed the use of her helmet, as if her rank of Scarmother ced her above her country''s military doctrine. Everyone wore helmets, from rank-and-file Munifices to the Pilus Priori in charge.

    Tycondrius wore a helmet! He was the gods-damned Commander of an army!

    The audacity made his blood boil.

    He reached his gauntleted hand forward, gripping the sides of the so-called Scarmother''s face.

    "And what use are your fake scars, WHELP?!" He shouted in her ear, "Can they protect you from ME?!"

    "Wh-what are you doing?!" One of her helmeted Munifices shouted.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, still squeezing the woman''s face as she struggled. What did it look like he was doing?

    "Unhand her, you fiend!" "Heretic!" "Let go of her!"

    "Out of the GOODNESS of my heart!" Tycon roared at her subordinates, "I''m showing your fool of a Scarmother how USEFUL a helmet can be!"

    "Y-you''re hurting me!" The woman shrieked, cowardice and fear dripping from her words.

    Tycon leaned forward... whispering sweetly into her ear... "I know."

    Groaning in pain, the Scarmother reached her hands up-- and Tycon swayed his head back, reflexively, to dodge. Instead, she grabbed onto his forearm.

    It grew hot... impossibly hot. Red and gold mes rose from her hands... ever-burning.

    It hurt. He was a rank above the woman, but still, the skin underneath his metal armguards blistered and boiled. Tycon ced his opposite hand on his forward arm, concentrating... circting more mana to empower his straining muscles.

    ? System, analysis: The Scarmother. ?

    ? System response: Iron-Rank Human Dragonfire Adept. ?

    What kind of CLASS was that?!?!

    He. WOULD. NOT. TOLERATE. ITS EXISTENCE!!!!!

    "GRRRAHHHHHH!!" Tycon screamed.

    Something crunched, wet and meaty. The pressure in his hand was relieved.

    He''d broken the woman''s skull. Blood spilled down her nostrils and from her still-wide eyes.

    He shoved her back, her lifeless body falling to the road.

    The other Sons of Qotal watched it all happen, awe or horror in their eyes, their mouths agape like frightened children.

    Their surprise... their fear... it did nothing to diminish Tycon''s rage.

    He breathed in... and exhaled... slowly. He needed calm. He needed focus.

    Tycon was a Gold-Rank Warlord wearing Arcanite-alloy armor... but he was mortal. He was surrounded by enemies... not just Bronze-Ranks, but Iron, as well.

    If he made a mistake, their weapons would fall upon him... and he would die.

    The time for civil discussion had ended. He needed to be fast... efficient... and merciless.

    Tycon grabbed his sword on his waist, "?Iron Warlord REND!!!?"

    Drawing his de, he shed it at the ground. The road tore open in a deep pit, sending stones and dirt flying all around-- but, most importantly, cleaving the immediate area in two.

    Dust obscured the humans'' vision. The attack was loud, deafening. The men and women beside him were covering their ears-- some even crouching down in panic.

    Weak! Hearts not of steel, but of brittle bone!

    These were supposed to be Tyrions, unfaltering in their faith. Yet with only burst eardrums and the breaking of a single woman''s skull, they turned into sniveling wretches, one and all!

    He grabbed the nearest man''s arm and sank his sword into their throat.

    "Die. in. SHAME!!!" He twisted the de for good measure, kicking the body in the chest.

    Turning around, he hacked his weapon into the side of another man''s neck. Their eyes shot open, knowing their death was inevitable.

    "ROT in the seven hells!!" He mmed his sword''s side with his metal-covered palm, half-decapitating the fellow.

    A third came, their weapon raised to strike downward.

    Tycon grabbed their falling wrist, then wrenched it around, breaking or dislocating it.

    He hacked his sword onto the screaming man''s shoulder. And again. The third time cleaved the arm off in its entirety, a gout of blood erupting onto theirpanions.

    The blood loss would lead to shock, then death.

    He briefly lifted up his helmet and spat on the corpse.

    "DIE HERETIIIIIC!!!" A lithe, Iron-Rank Legionnaire charged with shield and ming spear.

    Tycon swayed to the side, then swung the severed arm at the Legionnaire''s jaw. The angle was perfect. The amount of force was more than was necessary. The Legionnaire''s head violently snapped to the side-- turning too far, too quickly.

    That would do.

    He battered the arm he was wielding into a woman''s shield, then into her unguarded chest. As she staggered back, Tycon hopped forward and stabbed his sword just-above her sr plexus.

    "I hear her voice!!" A man screamed. He''d shot his arms out to the side and spheres of fire were roiling in his palms.

    Tycon pulled his sword out, charging it with mana to segment it into a ded whip. Swinging it at the fire mage, his weapon constricted around their throat.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You hear naught but LIES!" Tycon shouted. He pulled his hilt, interrupting the mage''s spell and tossing him into a group of his allies.

    With a loud boom a short ways away, a whirling cyclone of fire burnt the dust, sending a st of me towards the heavens. When it dissipated, a thick-muscled helmed Son of Qotal was revealed, the base of his halberd mmed against the dirt.

    He pointed his weapon at Tycon, roaring mes enveloping his person, "The Sons and Daughters of Qotal are the dragon''s chosen!"

    ? Iron-Rank Human Burning Halberdier. ?

    Another Iron-Rank! Another hybrid martial-caster! The strength of the Sons of Qotal was absurd! He would die! ALL OF THEM WOULD DIE!!

    "Dragons!" Tycon shouted. He dropped his de-whip and summoned his curved de and scabbard in hand.

    "Don''t!" He grabbed the hilt, his mana rushing through his weak, useless, Gold-Rank body like a storming ocean against a river dam.

    "EXIST!!!"

    Tycon unsheathed his de, releasing eight massive, golden snakes-- all born of his hatred! One bit into the Halberdier''s torso, its head as tall as its prey. The snake then twisted violently to the side, breaking the fool''s spine.

    The other snakes surged forward, each enveloping more cultists-- devouring them, leaving nothing behind but ash and dust.

    "?Taste the Hydra de,?" Tycon growled...

    The cultists, they screamed in fear. The mortals, they wailed in desperation.

    "Forgive us!" They pleaded.

    "Dragon save me!!" They cried.

    Tycon raised his arms, willing the hydra heads to heed hismand... and he thrust his hands downward with the force and fury of the heavens crashing to the Realm.

    "What the F*CK DID I JUST SAY?!?!?"

    ? ...

    Tycon hopped over the small crevasse with a mana-empowered leap, back to where hispanions were waiting. Korr and Zenon had handily defeated the cultists that were separated from their main group, strewn about haphazardly with charred corpses, the air still heavy with static electricity.

    An echoey whistle came out of Zenon''s helmet, "[Remind me not to piss you off, Optio... Did you beat like... three people to death with some guy''s arm?]"

    "Two or three-- I lost count," Tycon shrugged. "The Sons of Qotal are snake cultists, by the way."

    Korr tilted her head up, then nodded in understanding.

    "[Makes sense,]" Zenon inclined his head. "[Told you they reeked of heresy.]"

    "WELL, WELLLLLLL, WELLLLLLLLLL!!!!!" A familiar voice shouted.

    Over a dozen gouts of me erupted from the ground, each unveiling another Son of Qotal. All of them Iron-Rank... steam wisping off of their armor tes.

    They stood in a half-circle around Tycon and hispanions... and at their center was an arrogant, rough-shaven bastard, sneering in arrogance.

    "It seems you found out our LITTLE SECRET!! Hurr hurr hurr!!" Cleric am cackled.

    Tycon sighed in annoyance. am was one of the Stormbrands, the treacherous guild that took advantage of the Brazen Guard Collective to recover a snake cult artifact in the Halls of the Dead Serpent.

    As a Divine ss, he was one of the greatest enablers for the snake cult''s current dominance in Caeruleum.

    "[It''s... you...]" Zenon growled.

    Korr straightened her back and cracked her knuckles.

    "[Stand down!]" Zenon shouted in his dark, echoing voice, "[We''ve already defeated your Branded, am!]"

    "HARR HARR HARR!!" amughed, sweeping back his dark-silver hair. He had foregone his Cleric robes and was dressed in Heavy Legionnaire te. However, he still retained his slovenly appearance, as it was covered in blood glops of ash and dirt.

    "So you''ve sided with those filthy non-humans!! Hurr hurr..." am chuckled. "Well, you might have defeated that slut, Cipriana, but you''ll find that--"

    Tycon drew his hand-crosssbow and fired.

    am swung his heavy warscythe, a trail of wicked greenish energies following the sharpened de.

    ...He smirked, spinning the weapon until the haft was behind his back, the scythe head downward, "HARR HARR HARR... Hrr hrr... hrr..."

    The Cleric copsed, the metal of his armor thunking on the stones. The poison from the bolt in his neck seemed to have spread quickly enough.

    Tycon tilted his head, slightly surprised. That fellow was notoriously robust, so he was fairly certain that his poison''s effect would bergely muted.

    ...Just to be certain, he threw his short sword with moderate force. It pierced into am''s neck and into the road.

    The other Branded looked on, their faces twisted. Tycon recognized some of their number-- more former Stormbrands.

    Ah. Branded. Stormbrands. He felt foolish for not realizing the link sooner.

    Zenon slowly turned his head towards him, "[Usual n, Optio?]"

    "Usual n," Tycon nodded.

    Ever silent, ever loyal, Korr drew her two-handed ckde and charged.

    "[Face my HATRED!!!]" Zenon shouted, crimson bolts of lightning arcing from his hands.

    "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus," Tycon groaned as he knelt down to pick up a dropped pilum.

 Chapter 588 Promise

    ?Tanamar soared high above the city on wings of light, looking down upon the death and destruction wrought by Letalis Serpentia and her allies. There had been less than two bells of fighting, but Caeruleum''s fate was sealed.

    On the ground, over half of the city had been consumed by me. Some of the rampaging fire slimes were big enough to see, even so many thousands of feet away.

    In the sky, flying amongst the plumes of smoke were harpies, gryphons, and even a group of Letalis-armored adventurers with raven-like heads. They dropped arrows, sharpened bits of metal-- literal junk onto any pockets of resistance... and from a distance too high to retaliate against.

    This was all thanks to Tycon.

    The guy didn''t even want to siege Caeruleum... but he pulled out all the stops when essentially, Athena refused to run away to a different territory.

    Tanamar spotted a glint of white-- that was where he needed to be. It was at the foot of one of the tallest buildings... a building that was miraculously still standing.

    Forming ance made of thick, crackling radiant energy, he tilted his body down to speed his descent.

    "?Heaven Dive.?"

    He knew his helmet and armor were growing hot as he dove, but whatever it was made of protected him well. The spear punctured a hole through an armored Legionnaire''s chest, and when he hit the ground, the ten-foot shockwave took the dozen or so Munifices off of their feet.

    Trash.

    Garbage.

    Pathetic weaklings.

    Tanamar stood tall, wisps of radiant energy steaming off of his dark armor. He was surrounded by people from a guild called Sons of Qotal... impossibly strong fire caster and martial sses, every one.

    But though they all wielded some type of fire magic... and the city they protected had been reduced to burning rubble, the ground was coated with a light sheen of ice.

    Athena was somewhere nearby. He had to find her.

    The Branded charged forward. They came with shields. They came with enchanted weaponry.

    Tanamar willed another holynce to materialize in his hands... and the Branded gave pause.

    It was like they thought he could only make one.

    Leaping forward, he stabbed at a man''s head over his shield, his brain exploding out of the back of his skull. With the haft of his spear, he smacked away another warrior''s shield, then stabbed that woman in the heart.

    Tanamar staggered forward, feeling someone strike him in the back.

    It hurt-- it would probably bruise, too, but his armor was damned good. ncing behind him, there was a Legionnaire, looking dumber than a mushroom that his fire-enchanted sword didn''t do shite.

    Back-stepping towards the guy, Tanamar jabbed the base of his spear against their foot.

    Their leg broke at the ankle. When they copsed, Tanamar spun hisnce around and stabbed the downed man through the eye socket.

    They were just trash. He didn''t even need to use Skills.

    A year ago, he''d have to... Half-a-year, maybe.

    Tycon had asked him if he''d reached Gold-Rank. That was impossible for a normal person, and he''d told him as such.

    ...Tanamar felt a little guilty for lying.

    The Branded began to shout, finally forming a half-decent shield wall-- something that wouldn''t prevent, but would slow the ughter.

    Grinning, Tanamar squeezed and bent his manance. He forced its shape into a curve... then, with his finger, he created a taut line between its ends.

    He had a gift on his wrist... a talisman from his bastard of an adoptive father, Harkus. It regted the mana usage on his creation skills, which allowed him to reshape hisnce as he pleased. With it, he no longer needed to carry a physical bow.

    It was useful.

    He still wouldn''t forgive the man, but he didn''t hate him so much anymore.

    Maybe being with Athena dulled his old hatreds. Maybe he was growing more mature, influenced by a certain green-haired Tactician.

    Maybe he was growing soft?

    ...Nah.

    Tanamar fired a spear-sized arrow upward... one glowing blue andposed of frost mana, "?Scatter.?"

    The crystalline arrow burst... raining death upon the Sons and Daughters of Qotal all around him. Heavy icicles battered their raised shields, denting the metal.

    He fired another shot skyward, this one made of light capable of better-piercing through his enemies'' weakened guards, "?Scatter.?"

    "Stand together, men!! Our shields will stay strong!!" One of them shouted.

    Tanamar chuckled to himself, nocking another arrow.

    He could do this all sun.

    ...

    Using his ?Aspect of the Celestial Hound,? Tanamar was able to locate Athena after only a few minutes.

    She was sitting on the steps to the Head Magistrate''s residence, quietly regenerating her mana.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Athena was the most beautiful woman he''d ever known, her custom-made silvery-white armor entuating her subtle, but perfect curves. She still had her frosty-blue hair cut short, but it was longer than before, falling slightly past her shoulders.

    She told him that she wanted to grow her hair out... that it made her more feminine? He said it looked fine-- that he fell in love with her because she was who she was, not how she looked.

    He got yelled at.

    ...He was probably going to get yelled at again.

    Tanamar twisted his mouth into a frown, "You should really wear your helmet, Athena."

    Athena popped one eye open, smiling coyly, "It''s so stuffy, though~"

    "Still..."

    "Don''t worry," She stuck her tongue out. "I had it on while taking care of these guys."

    Tanamar looked around. Armored Legionnaires littered the area, frozen into bluish-white, vaguely-humanoid statues. Many of them were cracked, body parts broken off-- blood seeping pink and pooling onto the icy ground.

    There were probably over a hundred of them, too. It was no wonder that she felt confident in going ahead of him.

    His girlfriend was still Iron-Rank, ording to Tycon.

    Whatever System that guy had was broken-- in a bad way. He''d never met an Iron-Rank who could do what she did.

    Athena stood up to stretch, holding her helmet but still reluctant to put it on, "All done! Let''s go, Tanamar!"

    "We can still rest," Tanamar grimaced. "No one''s going anywhere."

    "I''m fine," Athena insisted. "The sooner we can get the Head Magistrate to surrender, the sooner we can stop fighting!"

    Tanamar took in a deep breath, the cold air stinging his nose. He was suspicious as to why Athena was in such a hurry... and her words confirmed them. In her selfishness, she thought that she could save people by defeating the city''s leader.

    That''s not how the world works.

    He attended the strategy meeting with Tycon, Sorina, and Zenon. Besides being a bed of snake cultists, Caeruleum was a collection of a thousand different parties, not an entity loyal to a single individual.

    Forcing the Head Magistrate to submit wouldn''t stop the siege. The siege wouldn''t stop until the city was purged in its entirety.

    Besides that, Tanamar was worried about Athena pushing herself too hard.

    The Sons of Qotal were a powerful force defending Caeruleum. Their elites were called The Branded... and they were intermixed with the regr militia and adventurers and dumber-than-mushroom diators.

    He''d dealt with them easily enough. Athena did too. However... they''d been fighting for a couple of bells. The Branded weren''t getting stronger-- but he and Athena weren''t exactly well-rested.

    Tanamar had taken a few hits. Athena''s once-pristine armor was scuffed in a few spots.

    All it took was one mistake, one shite judgment... and either of them would be dead. Resurrection magic didn''t exist in this world, not to his knowledge. And thest thing he wanted was to beg Tycon for another favor.

    ording to Calctor Sorina''s reports, the leader of the Sons of Qotal made The Branded look like glue-eating children. He was someme bastard called The Exarch.

    Stupid me-taken name.

    Probably strong enough to rate.

    That wasn''t even what Tanamar was worried about.

    Tycon had him use his ability... to see the future. He didn''t see shite, not really. He got a mescarred headache and a bloody nose for his troubles, too.

    He saw mes. That was a given-- Tycon had the Iredar catapult fire slimes over the city walls. Those things split into more slimes sometimes, too. There were less ces *not* on-fire than were.

    In those mes... Tanamar saw something.

    And whatever it was... it looked back at him.

    It wasn''t shaped like a person... or any beast he knew. If he had to venture a guess, it looked like a me-taken dragon.

    But dragons didn''t exist in this world.

    Tycon nearly had an aneurysm when he mentioned it.

    That guy really didn''t like the thought of it, for whatever reason.

    Whatever it was... Tanamar didn''t want to encounter it, not without the other members of Sol Invictus. Seven hells, even if he had apany of Guild Letalis-- maybe the assault rifle squad, he''d be more confident.

    Tanamar took a deep breath. The problem, then, was convincing Athena.

    "Athena... we should wait for reinforcements."

    The woman shook her head... "We have to keep going, Tanamar."

    She reached her hand out... sparkling tears brimming out of her eyes, "Will you protect me?"

    Shite. He could never say no to this woman. She was going to be the death of them both.

    Tanamar held her small hand, nodding, "Of course, I will... in this world and the next."

 Chapter 589 Prayer

    ?? Head Magistrate''s Residence, Underground Level. ?

    Antonidus ced his handkerchief to his mouth, coughing wetly as his chest convulsed with pain. There was more blood than usual...

    It was the damned smoke in the air... or the fluctuating weather... or maybe... allergies? ...Arena sand? Maybe when that damned Decanus assaulted him in the coliseum stands a year prior...

    There were dozens of people in his home.

    For years he''d been criticized for having so manymoners in his employ... or for the nepotism amongst his administrative staff. It was ''flippant'' usage of city taxes, they''d say.

    Several high personalities were noted to frequent the administration building, as well. In Antonidus'' time as a politican, he''d made plenty of powerful allies... veteran merchants, aged guild leaders, corrupt bishops. Many of them sought sanctuary in the walls of his home.

    He deserved a full staff who catered to his every whim. He deserved the adtion and obeisance of powerful men and women. The wealthiest city in Tyrion had only prospered for the past thirty years because of his contributions-- and his, alone.

    Admittedly, he couldn''t give less of a shite about those servants... nor for supplying room and board to his subordinates. He wasn''t attached to any of his so-called ''friends''... the ones who scoffed at any mention of the dragon''s voice.

    They were not Faithful. They were fools... deaf and blind to the truth.

    He kept them around for such a case as was current. Those mushroom-brained idiots would finally be useful, for once.

    "Wrrghhh.... ArrrghhhhHGH..."

    The City Treasurer was the next to die. Sensing his fate, his mouth lolled open as he tried to voice his useless opinion. The poison he''d been injected with had taken away most of his facilities, but not the sense of pain... and apparently, he could still faintly protest.

    Antonidus nced over to the corner of the panic room underneath the kitchens. Some forty bodies had been arranged haphazardly in a pile, lit by too-expensive candles, a gold-alloy brazier, and a magical focus suspended in the center of the room.

    "Cease your struggling, old ''friend''," He pat the fellow''s round, sweat-covered cheek, "You approved the purchase of this very nice Tyrion steel dagger-- as well as most of the ritualponents, here."

    "Humu humu... hrrrrnnn..." The chubby man began to blubber and cry, not in full control of his tongue.

    "Do not be afraid, your death shall bring about something greater," Antonidus exined... sarcasm tinging his voice, "h h hhh~"

    "Hummmm mmmmgh~!" The fellow''s eyes looked towards the pile of bodies.

    "Oh, those?" Antonidus shook his head, "''They haven''t worked so far,'' you say? Well, I''ve never performed ritual summoning before... so there is a necessary degree of trial-and-error."

    He plunged the dagger through the treasurer''s ribs and into his heart. He held it there for several seconds until the man stopped twitching, "Voice in the me... or the Snake God-- whoever can hear me, I beseech you: take this... forty-second sacrifice."

    "Forty-fourth, this sun, actually," A voice chuckled. "I understand missing one, but two? I don''t think you''re taking this seriously, Head Magistrate."

    Any icy chill ran down Antonidus'' back, irrespective of the dozens of sources of warm lighting in the smoky room.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Slowly turning, he saw... himself... an identical, long-bearded doppelganger of himself. Instead of magistrate''s robes, he wore a simple tunic and trousers, a darker ck than the surrounding shadows.

    "Come to mock me, Zehr?" He spat. "When you''ve brought your enemies to my city gates?"

    "My enemies are your enemies," The Snake God shrugged, stroking his long white beard in mockery. "Your Snake Cult was going to attract trouble, somesun, regardless of my interference."

    "MY Snake Cult!?" Antonidus fumed, "Everything I''ve done, I''ve done FOR YOU!!"

    "Yes, yes, I know. Congrattions. Well done," Zehr apuded politely, but all while wearing an ignoble sneer. "You''ve been rewarded for it. Your ss has changed from Holy Magus to Void Summoner, has it not?"

    "That!" Antonidus raised his voice, his frustration mounting, "was because of the sacrifices I have made for POWER!"

    "Well... yes," Zehr furrowed his bushy white eyebrows...

    "That is how your ritual sacrifices work," He casually exined. "There is always... a price."

    Antonidus furrowed his own brows, drew the dagger from the dead man and stabbed him again in frustration.

    mes burst from out of the corpse''s chest... to be absorbed by the clear white crystal appeared levitating in the room''s center. The stylized lightning bolt within the magical focus glowed for a brief moment... then again fell inert.

    "Then the price I pay with these bodies, Zehr? With this... this Fire Stone as the ritual focus! Is it not enough for you?!"

    Zehr stretched his wrinkled mouth into a too-wide grin, then licked his lips with a thin, forked tongue, "Perhaps you''ve been praying to the wrong god?"

    "Wrong god?!" Antonidus roared, gritting his teeth, "WRONG GOD?!?"

    What else was left? He told all his Faithful that the voices they were hearing belonged to some... mythical creature speaking for the me... but it was all a fantastical LIE!

    In the distant past, he was a devout practitioner of the Tyrion religion. Those suns... were long gone. The current him had been practicing heretical magic for decades under Zehr''s guidance. He didn''t dare pray to the Eternal me anymore... out of guilt... and out of fear.

    "You''re right, f*cking here, you shite-filled Snake God!!" He shouted, again stabbing the fat man''s chest for emphasis. "Now, activate my damned summoning ritual!"

    "Hey, hey," The aging doppelganger lifted his empty palms, "I hear your prayers, just fiiiine. And I''ve ryed your hopes and dreams to that... that other one, as we''ve discussed."

    "What is it, then?" Antonidus seethed... "How do I save my city from this me-taken-- whatever the hells is outside right now!?"

    ? Zehr smiled... the same, insidious smile Antonidus had seen all those years ago, when he was little more than a low-level Snake Cult neophyte.

    "A simple fix, Head Magistrate. Direct your sacrifices... to the Dragon God."

 Chapter 590 Divine Armor

    ?? Head Magistrate''s Residence, Ground Floor. ?

    A shy mumble broke the silence, seeming much louder against the contrast.

    "Excuse me, sir?"

    Tanamar looked over to the creepy doll walking rigidly at his side, "What is it? Did you notice something?"

    "I just... I just wanted to say..." Boxy muttered, "it''s... been eerily quiet, sir."

    Twisting his lips to the side, Tanamar nodded in agreement.

    They were in one of thergest structures in Caeruleum, and it should have been full of civil servants. It was discussed in the strategy meeting... it was the most logical ce for the most important persons of power within the city to gather. With them, the city''s strongest defenders should be present, as well...

    The estate was empty and devoid of life.

    The only people they''d encountered was a single group of guards in the courtyard.

    Athena took care of them.

    She called it a mercy. With a quick incantation, she used her ?Ice Beam? spell... The guards didn''t evenst a second.

    They weren''t Branded... or even Sons of Qotal. They were just a bunch of unlucky bastards that should have tried to flee the city when they had the chance.

    It was how Athena was. She set a goal... and shemitted her all to it. A gagglef*ck of Bronze-Ranks wouldn''t be able to stop her.

    Athena was out for blood... and she wouldn''t stop until the Head Magistrate was dead.

    Before Tycon arrived and began training them, Athena never had the power to be so... forceful. Ultimately, Tanamar was d for it. The stronger she was, the less he had to worry about her being hurt in an ident or falling prey to assassins from rival houses.

    His role had changed slightly, which was fine. Instead of functioning primarily as her protector, Tanamar had to focus on ensuring she wasn''t pushing herself too hard.

    He still couldn''t ck off with his own training, though. Athena was used to hitting him yfully if she was upset or annoyed... or if she was surprised or embarrassed... or sometimes, when she was happy.

    If he didn''t block or dodge her attacks, it''d hurt... not that he''d ever admit it. If Athena thought for even a second that she actually hurt him, she''d probably cry-- full-on weeping tears, too.

    Tanamar walked back into the hallway, "Athena! Did you find anyone?"

    Athena emerged from a different room, shaking her head, "There''s no one in these rooms, either."

    Her eyes suddenly widened and she pursed her lips, "Oh! Mister Boxy''s with you? I thought you were supposed to be with Sergeant Salt''s rifle squad?"

    Boxtholomaeus allowed his head to fall limply in a bow, "Change of ns, mdy. Sir Tycon has requested me to apany you in looting the administration building."

    "L-looting?" Athena grimaced, "Wait!! You mean he knew I-- whaaaat?!"

    She thought she was clever. With the way she acted at the strategy meeting, overly insisting on which sector the two of them would upy, it was obvious there was something there that she found important.

    The Head Magistrate''s residence was the most obvious target.

    Tanamar shook his head, "We all knew you''d deviate from the n and march directly here."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Athena squinted her eyes and looked away, trying to look innocent, "I... maybe..."

    Suddenly, she turned back, pouting, "WHATEVER! We''re here, already! And Sir Tycon''s really smart! Of course, he''d figure it out!!"

    Tanamar smiled as gently as he could. He was the one that knew her best... and he was the one that volunteered the specific information at the discussion table.

    However, she didn''t have to know that.

    He''d give Tycon that little victory. Tanamar felt that, because of his and Athena''s rtionship, there was no point in being jealous of the Tactician. Anyroad, she would probably get some petty revenge on the guy that ''outsmarted'' her.

    ...It wasn''t all malicious though. It''d be easier for him to calm his girlfriend down so long as he wasn''t also the target of her anger.

    Boxy walked up to a wall and pointed with a limp wooden arm, "Excuse me... what does that say?"

    Tanamar stood by Athena as the wall in front of them began to crumble away... mes began to appear on the wood, fiery runic script that formed a single word.

    [Outside.]

    The burning didn''t stop. As the smoke rose up and the entire wall caught fire, the script remained, ringly bright and unmistakable.

    The sanctioned psyker that cast it... he was strong. And that person was waiting for them outside the vi.

    ...

    Tanamar led Athena and Boxy out of the burning vi.

    The luxurious fountain in the front had evaporated in its entirety. The frozen statues that Athena had left were nothing more than charred corpses.

    Surrounded by ckened trees and amidst the still-smoldering bushes and grass... was a twenty-foot tall suit of red armor.

    Athena''s voice shook underneath her helmet, "That... that looks like one of Uncle''s Divine Armors?"

    Tanamar crossed his arms, quietly brooding. His girlfriend''s instincts were on point. Though Holy cksmith Harkus made dozens of Divine Armor suits in his lifetime, the one he and Athena were looking at was one of his first works.

    ...One of his greatest.

    Before Harkus built the Dawnbringer and the Star-Fury, he remarked that even though they wererger in size, their power paled inparison to his originals.

    Athena looked to Tanamar, her fists balled up in front of her chest, "Sh-should be easy to beat, right? We saw something like that in the Halls of the Dead Serpent!!"

    Though it had a simr shape, it was nothing like that shite, dull-metal automaton they found back then. This one was bigger, coated in a shining crimson red, and lined with a deep ck that absorbed the light of the mes around it. Faint gold-glowing runes were carved into its thick, metal tes... dozens of enchantments, allyered on top of each other.

    Worse still, the inside of that thing had formations that made it move as fast, if not faster than its pilot.

    It was probably enough for that formation-loving freak, Tycon, to masturbate to.

    ",

 Chapter 591 Orcus (Part One)

    ?Tanamar tried to curb his annoyance, but it definitely showed in his voice... "Athena, take a look at its right hand."

    His girlfriend leaned forward, as if she was squinting her eyes underneath her helmet... "Is that... a lizard head on its arm?"

    Close enough. Old Man Harkus said that he''d built the armor suit''s forearm to resemble a dragon''s head.

    "That..." Tanamar pointed, "is the defining characteristic of Divine Armor Orcus."

    He turned to Athena, crossing his arms... "The rest of Tyrion knows it by a different name: The Oathbreaker."

    "The OATHBREAKER?! Wait-wait-wait!" Athena cradled her head in her hands-- "That doesn''t make any sense! Orcus is supposed to be a Champion of the me! AND that''s the same as Tancred''s diator name!"

    Tanamar shook his head, "Orcus isn''t a person. It''s a title."

    "[That''s why I chose the name,]" An echoing voice from the massive suit of armor rumbled, powerful enough that the ground began to tremble. "[There''s no one better than me to wield Father''s greatest achievement.]"

    The set of armor reached its arms forward... and with a blinding sh of smokeless fire, a double-ded poleaxe appeared in its hands. Its haft looked like it was made from a bony spinal column and the full-metal de head made it look too heavy to wield effectively.

    Tanamar almost forgot to breathe, trying to ce where he''d seen the weapon before.

    ...It was in the Halls of the Dead Serpent. It was the Snake Cult artifact that Tancred had taken before he left the Brazen Guard collective to die.

    The axe.

    Everything... fell... into... ce.

    The axe was the key to Divine Armor Orcus... and his twin brother was inside of it.

    "Tancred?!" Athena shouted, "That''s Tancred''s voice! Tancred! What are you doing in there?!?"

    "[Building a new world, Athena... one guided by the voice of the dragon,]" Tancred chuckled, his voice echoing across the courtyard, "[Maybe in your next life, you''ll choose me instead of my mescarred brother.]"

    "Um, ew?" Athena swayed her head back, "I don''t think of you like that, Tancred. You''re just my boyfriend''s sibling."

    "[Your... what?]" Tancred did not sound pleased.

    "She''s mine, Tancred," Tanamar stepped forward. "And I''ll do my damnedest to keep her away from you--no matter which world we''re in."

    "You tell ''em!" Athena squealed... while shuffling not so subtly behind him.

    "[Actually...]" Tancred held out a massive metal gauntlet, "[They call me The Exarch, now... The Exarch of the Dragon God.]"

    "WAIT!" Athena shouted over Tanamar''s shoulder, "YOU''RE the leader of the Sons of Qotal?!?? You''re-- you''re the one that gave them all fire powers?! TANCRED!! You''re being controlled by an evil force or something!! Snap out of it!!"

    "[Nope,]" Tancred shrugged. "[It''s all me. Didn''t you know? I''m a certified badass. That''s why the Snake Cult chose me to recover the Orcus. That''s why the Dragon God saw fit to give my followers gifts of ash and fire. That''s why I''m the me-taken EXARCH!!]"

    "Tancred..." Athena''s voice shook... "How... could you?"

    Tanamar chuckled to himself. He and Athena may have been up against one of Harkus'' most powerful weapons, but its wielder-- he was absolute garbage. If Tanamar were blind and had both hands tied behind his back, he was still confident in defending both himself and Athena as they withdrew.

    "Yeah, Tancred," Tanamar grinned underneath his helmet as he summoned a holynce into his hands, "How could you?"

    Once they regrouped with the other members of Sol Invictus, they''d be able to take out Divine Armor Orcus without any casualties.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Tanamarrrr!!!" Athena blubbered, "Can you-- can you BELIEVE this?!?"

    Tanamar nodded in response, d that his woman couldn''t see his expression, "Oh, I''m *devastated.*"

    "Mister Tanamar," Boxy looked up at him, "I cannot tell if you are serious."

    He leaned over to whisper to the wooden doll, "I''m devastated because I should have killed him sooner."

    "...Oh."

    Athena walked forward, icy blue mana emanating from her white armor, "So if I take care of the leader of the Sons of Qotal... the battle will be over, right?"

    "Athena..."

    Tanamar struggled to find the words to convince her otherwise.

    The Exarch was probably the real power behind the forces defending Caeruleum... but during the strategy meeting, it was unanimously agreed that that person was not to be engaged by a single team. From all the information they''d gathered on him, it wasn''t worth the risk.

    That was before they knew it was Tancred, though...

    me take it, that meant The Branded were probably all former Stormbrands, too... If am and the others showed up, Athena''s conscience might get in the way of ending them.

    ...well, maybe not am-- but it was probably true for the others.

    The worst-case scenario was Athena feeling personally responsible for Tancred''s betrayal. It wouldn''t make any sense. If he asked her about it, she wouldn''t be able to exin her logic.

    That''s how Athena was. She always took the me... with whatever logic that her brain operated on. It was something Tanamar had always known about her.

    And it showed... in how she half-sprinted, half-flew towards Divine Armor Orcus.

    "me take me," Tanamar cursed beneath his breath.

    Athena leapt up, soaring twenty feet skyward with a palm raised to the smoke-filled sky, "?Icicle FALL!!?"

    "[Useless!]" Tancred cackled, "[I am the chosen exarch... of ASH!!! AND!! FIRE!!]"

    He shed his giant greataxe above his head, an arc of mes melting the falling icicles before they formed fully. Bringing his weapon down, a curve of fire surged towards Tanamar like a crashing wave.

    Tanamar spun his mana-charged weapon in front of him to dissipate the attack. The mes licked at him, his hands and chest bing scalding hot, even despite his enchanted armor.

    Athena was in trouble. Ice magic wasn''t going to work against Tred''s fire abilities. Though she could instill radiant mana into her attacks, her affinity with frost magic was so high that she had trouble using anything else... and that was when she was fully rested.

    Tanamar had to intervene-- and quickly.

    Athenanded in a kneel, pressing her palms in the ground in front of her, "?Frosssstttt tor-NADO!!!?"

    Her four Arcanite des shed forward, kicking up a whirling cyclone, twice as tall as her metal opponent.

    Tancred crossed his arms over his chest, then leapt through the rending winds and ice, "[?Charging Bull!?]"

    ...and he was upon her in an instant.

 Chapter 592 Orcus (Part Two)

    ?"ATHENA!!!" Tanamar screamed.

    Divine Armor Orcus was nearly four times his height... but with its movement empowered, it was almost faster than he couldprehend.

    He''d already activated his own movement technique, ?Aspect of the Winged Seraphim,? and he was speeding towards his girlfriend and twin brother. His mana was circting inside his body so fast, it felt like his skin was going to burst open.

    The Snake Cult greataxe was crashing downward towards Athena,

    Sensing the danger of Tancred''s attack, Athena raised her arms and formed a ?Double Mana Ward?, two several-inch-thick walls of ice.

    Both cracked. Both broke apart.

    Tanamar couldn''t believe it.

    Even his strongest attacks couldn''t break her ice barriers...

    Had Tancred be that much stronger? No... Tanamar had no issues following his movement.

    Did Athena not think Tancred would use his full power? ...But even when he dueled his supposed teammates, he never... ever... ever held back.

    ...Had Athena had used too much mana, defeating the city''s defenders?

    Maybe... in her trying so gods-damned hard... the world saw fit to tell her... that she wasn''t invincible.

    As Tanamar charged, he aimed his weapon at the side of the Divine Armor''s chest. It was aimed at his shite brother-- a bastard who wrongly thought he was safe behind so manyyers of enchanted Tyrion steel.

    Tancred whirled his ming greataxe above his head, "?RAVAGER''S!!! STRIIIIKE!!!!?"

    Once more, the weapon fell upon Athena.

    It struck her four crossed Arcanite des... but they were scattered by the force.

    The huge axede struck her in the cor. It cut into her Arcanite armor. The defensive enchantments on it shattered, and with it came a high-pitched whine and a pulse of silvery light.

    Her back and helmet mmed into the floor, a deafening CRACK echoing in Tanamar''s ears... and creating a web of broken stone beneath her.

    "ATHENAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!" Tanamar screamed his voice hoarse, plunging his spear into the Divine Armor''s chest.

    "[?Earth Shield.?]"

    Tanamar''s blood ran cold, hearing his brother''s Skill activation...

    Tancred... was a dual-element caster... just like he was.

    A barrier of stone formed in front of the Divine Armor, softening hisnce strike.

    Tanamar felt the tip of his de barely scratch the metal. It didn''t pierce.

    The attack was a failure.

    Steeling his will, he roared with fury as he withdrew his weapon for another attack.

    "My spear in hand will ?PIERCE THE HEAVENS!!!?

    "[Whoa! Careful now!]"

    Tancred hopped back, forming anotheryer of ?Earth Shield?, and another behind that. The force of Tanamar''s holynce was harmlessly absorbed by the dirt shield... and shattered into mana-dust.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "[I''ve always wanted to do this, Athanasius!]" Tancred taunted, "[?Earth Dragon m!?]"

    Tanamar''s eyes grew wide, realizing he had diverted all of his mana to offense. Toote to cast a ?Mana Ward? of his own, he grit his teeth as he took the impact of the greataxe to his side.

    His entire body shook. The whole of his torso felt numb. He flew through the air... the first time in a long while, not of his own volition.

    He struggled to control the wings of light on his back... but he''d taken too much damage. He crashed into a burnt tree, shattering it and sending wooden splinters everywhere.

    The still-smoldering leaves fell on him, enveloping him in smoke and taking away his breath. He crawled out on his elbows and knees like a dying dog, hacking and coughing dirty blood.

    He clenched his hand full of ash and dirt... and mmed the ground in anger. This was not the time to show weakness! Everything was on the line!

    Ignoring his pain and fatigue, holding desperately onto his anger and indignation, Tanamar willed himself to stand...

    The tall suit of armor began slowly stomping towards him, its arms raised to the sides, "[Athanasius, Athanasius... dear brother... Always thinking you''re the shite. Not so f*cking tough now, crawling in the mescarred dirt where you belong.]"

    ''Yeah, keep f*cking talking'' Tanamar thought.

    He cleared his throat and again spat to the side. There was probably blood in it. He didn''t look to check.

    The longer his shite twin brother talked, the more time he had to condense his mana into another attack.

    Steam began to wheeze and whistle from the Divine Armor''s shoulders and near its waist. Its chestte split open from the center, opening like window shutters to reveal Tancred sitting inside, wearing a form-fitting red gambeson.

    "How does it feel, Athanasius?" He grinned, "--knowing that I''ve finally surpassed you."

    Tanamar furrowed his brows in thought. His brother''sints made no me-taken sense.

    Back when Tancred worked with him at the Vanzano manor, he was the one who made friends with all the other servants. Then when he left for the Caeruleum arenas, he was the face on their posters, a living legend! Seven hells, making the Stormbrand adventuringpany was his idea!

    It didn''t make sense to respond... Tancred could think whatever he wanted. It was all bullshite, but it wouldn''t weigh on his conscience.

    Tanamar needed to end him. The thought of killing his blood-rted brother bothered him even less than hearing the shiteing out of his mouth.

    He needed to use his strongest attack. He needed to use Harkus'' ?Oath? shot...

    It was something he never used on humans. It didn''t work on them, an illogical rule made by whatever powers governed the Realm.

    However... his brother didn''t ssify as human, anymore. His instincts told him so...

    Tancred was just... The Oathbreaker.

    As a transmigrator to this strange but simr world, Tanamar carried knowledge coveted by gods and ancients, alike... secrets that took literal decades to unravel. Taking a deep breath, he searched his soul for words he did not know the meaning of... but were forbidden to speak.

    He whispered the first.

    A circr st of mana extinguished the smoldering grass and trees around him, flinging dust and debris outward.

    He whispered the second.

    Light from the sun broke through the ck-clouded sky, shining only upon him.

    He struggled to remember what he knew... whispering syble by syble of praise not uttered in tens of centuries.

    Beginning to panic, Tancred hurriedly closed the doors to his armor suit, hiding like a coward in his shell.

 Chapter 593 Divine Armorsmith (Part One)

    ?At the edge of Tanamar''s mana formation, the cool winds swirled about, curious to his call. The mes just-outside, they rose and fell, bowing out of respect.

    The ground shook, its crackling roars praising his name. The spirits of water and ice heeded his demands, forming a protective barrier upon his one true love, Athena.

    Tanamar raised his hand forward, grasping a mana longbow-- a gift from the heavens, themselves.

    He finished speaking that which was forbidden... and the world grew still.

    Slowly... deliberately... he created a holy arrow, nocking it in his bow.

    "This is my ?Oath?: Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus."

    Loosening his grip, a beam of concentrated light shot forward... bright enough to burn a human''s soul into nothingness.

    "[Hah! HAHAHAH!!]" Tancred cackled, "[I''ve already seen that attack a DOZEN times!!!]"

    The crimson armor emitted a low, ear-splitting roar, "?Dragonscale WAAALLLL!!!!?"

    Tanamar''s heart shook and his stomach roiled, affected by a deep, primal fear. He fell to his knees and covered his ears, trying to shut out the hellish noise, to reduce the vise-like pressure crushing his head.

    Transparent scale-wings of rocks and earth formed around Divine Armor Orcus, tiny particles at first, then globs of dirt and mud, then entire chunks of stones and crystal debris. It dispersed the force of Tanamar''s ?Oath? shot... the stones and grass beside the armor disappearing into theher.

    Tanamar looked up, clenching his teeth. The wings dissipated into a rain of heavy fine sand, and fell to the earth, coating his surroundings a pale grey.

    Tancred was fine.

    He lived.

    Safe in his armor, he stared down at the kneeling and weakened Tanamar...

    "[...That all you got, b*tch?]"

    ...

    ? shback: Caeruleum Hills, one week prior. ?

    Tanamar banged on the log cabin door, "Come out, old man. I know you''re in there!"

    "Tanamar!" Athena scolded, her hands on her hips, "Don''t be ruUude!"

    She tried to dress discreetly, a decision she made on her own. Though she opted for a thick cloak, a sleeved shirt, and trousers, her small, cute face was unmistakably feminine... though made her look younger than she was.

    Athena reached forward and grabbed onto Tanamar''s hand... and he felt his anger melt away.

    ...most of it, anyroad.

    "It''s what he deserves," He shrugged.

    "You should forgive him, you know," Athena pouted. "I''m sure he feels bad about it, too! That''s probably why he took you and Tancred in, in the first ce!"

    "Yeah, and you should forgive Tycon for that sand-attack on the beach," Tanamar replied sarcastically.

    Athena turned her nose up and away, "That''s different!"

    The door opened up to reveal a surly, grey-bearded dwarf with deep lines etched onto his mouth and a permanent cross-scar above his nose.

    "Athanasius," He scowled... "What the hells do ye--"

    "UNCLE!!!" Athena shouted.

    In an instant, she tackled the old dwarf to the ground in a hug. If he wasn''t a retired adventurer, the impact would have probably put him into a bed.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Young mistress! Ah! Ow! Quit it!" Harkus groaned.

    "Oh! Ehehe~!" The embarrassed Athena helped the old dwarf back up, dusting him off. "When''s thest time you took a bath, Uncle?! You smell like socks."

    "None o'' yer business,ss," He growled, crossing his thick Dwarven arms.

    Tanamar had originallye to ask Harkus for a favor... but he''d forgotten that Athena missed her ''uncle'' very much. Maybe it had to do with the fact that the old dwarf was the closest thing Tanamar had to a father. It was probably because Harkus, with all his ws, was still a more reliable adult than either of Athena''s actual parents.

    "Uncle!" Athena grinned, "I''m marrying Tanamar!"

    The dwarf''s jaw dropped, "Yer what, now?"

    Athena''s tactless admission warmed Tanamar''s heart. She''d grown so much over the past few years. She''d always had good morals, but before, she was a shy girl who only confided in him. Around the time she reached Bronze-Rank, she stopped holding back whenever she felt strongly about anything... leading to a speechless and confused dwarf.

    Athena nodded, flexing one of her arms and holding her bicep, "Yep! So you have to give us your blessing!"

    Harkus looked over to Tanamar in confusion, "Boy?"

    Tanamar bared his teeth in chagrin, "Ah... yep. That''s the way it is."

    "You have to," Athena insisted, leaning forward on the tips of her toes, mere inches from Harkus'' face.

    Harkus turned away, wrinkling his beard and mustache, "Well... I uh... I have no problems with it."

    "I would have done it without your blessing, old man," Tanamar groaned.

    "TANAMAR!!!" Athena yelped, "Be nice! I''m the one asking, not you!"

    Tanamar felt his eye twitch in annoyance. His girlfriend seemed to have forgotten that it was HIS idea to visit the old goat.

    "Come on, Uncle!" Athena hopped up and down in excitement, "You have toe live with us, too. We''re gonna build a new estate... oh, and I have a guild now! We''re called Letalis, and-- and--"

    "A new estate?" Harkus raised his furry eyebrows, then as if remembering something, resigned to a grimacing nod, "I... I see."

    The Vanzano estate in Silva was burnt to the ground by Tancred and his Stormbrands... the Snake Cult bastards. It was not a well-kept secret.

    "So pack your things, Uncle!" Athena grinned, "We''lle get you after we do one more quest."

    "I uh..." Harkus looked around at his log cabin, grimacing as if he was hurt, "I built this by meself. I build things. It''s... what I do."

    "Well, it sucks," Athena pouted. "You have to move."

    Tanamar rolled his eyes as he nudged Athena with his elbow. What happened to being nice?

    "I MEAN!!!" Athena shrieked, "It''s gorgeous! Very rustic! ssic architecture."

    Harkus'' entire fuzzy face seemed to droop.

    "--But you can do better," Athena grinned. "Come on, you can build a new one when we move!"

    Harkus sighed, shaking his head, "This... this cabin took me o''er three months to..."

    "Ahem," Tanamar cleared his throat. "Athena, I have something to talk to Master about."

    "Eh?" Harkus'' eyes opened wide in shock... then narrowed in suspicion, "Haven''t heard ya call me that''n years, boy."

    "How ''bout you shut it, old man?" Tanamar whispered, "--before I jam ance down your throat?"

    "''At''s more like it," Harkus scoffed.

 Chapter 594 Divine Armorsmith (Part Two)

    ?"Athena," Tanamar smiled. "I thought I saw a cat out back. Could you give me and Master a moment, please?"

    "Well..." Athena ced a finger on her chin, "Alright... but no fighting, okay? Promise me."

    "I... I promise," Tanamar smiled politely.

    Damn.

    Athena happily bid her ''uncle'' farewell, before running off to pursue Harkus'' cat.

    The squat dwarf shifted uneasily, "The uh... tha Mistress still absolute shite with animals?"

    "She is," Tanamar conceded, crossing his arms.

    Harkus nodded quietly. He gestured for Tanamar to enter the cabin and they tacitly took seats at a small table with two chairs.

    Several moments of staring passed... all while Tanamar struggled to find the words to say to his adoptive father.

    Harkus broke the silence first... "A shame what happened to Greer."

    "Yeah," Tanamar pursed his lips. "May they burn in the seven hells."

    "Aye," Harkus nodded... "You uh... you been takin'' care o'' tha girl?"

    "Yeah..."

    "...She serious?" Harkus leaned forward, "Are you two of marriageable age, already?"

    "Yeah," Tanamar grimaced.

    Harkus twisted his lips to the side... "Y''should at least grow a beard. Ye still look like yer balls ''aven''t dropped."

    "I''ll think about it..."

    Another several moments of staring passed. Tanamar closed his eyes and sighed. He was having a staring contest with a stone-stubborn dwarf... and the dwarf was the one trying to make conversation.

    "Tell me why yer here, boy," The dwarf sighed. "Ye''ve avoided me fer years. The girl''d visit me outta good will, but you... you want somethin''."

    ? Tanamar tapped his finger impatiently on the table... "Teach me... that."

    "No."

    Harkus tly declined him.

    Tanamar wasn''t even allowed a word of exnation.

    ...Frustrated began to mount in his heart, "I need it to fight the snake--"

    "No means no, boy," The dwarf raised his gruff voice... but not enough for Athena to hear it outside..." Thest human I taught that skill to was that bastard of a student Pontius... and what does he do? Takes m''best suit of Divine Armor and starts killin'' every two-legged f*cker ''e knows."

    "I''m different..." Tanamar grumbled.

    "How do ya think?" The dwarf huffed.

    Tanamar stared his old man down... "Because I have someone to protect."

    Harkus rolled his eyes, nearly falling off of his chair, "And ye don''t care tae think Pontius was any different? ''E had friends too-- a lover whose name I didn''t care to remember, ''an he even had a nightmare of a dog... pissed in me boots-- ''an more an'' once!"

    "That''s not the point," Tanamar interjected.

    "Bah!" Harkus waved dismissively, "That cunt stood fer your ''Church of the aAme'' like all the rest of yer Holy Country.

    "What did it f*cking matter, huh?" The dwarf gulped, his brows furrowed... "What did it matter... He still did what he did, in the end...

    "It''s... it''s been half a gods-damned century, boy... and I still can''t tellmonfolk my gods-given name... not so long as I wanna avoid bein'' pinned up on a cross."

    Harkus grumbled curses under his breath... then fixed his sitting posture... "You want some tea?"

    Tanamar shook his head, "Water, please."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Harkus stood up, grabbing a pitcher of water. Pouring into wooden cups, he ced one in front of Tanamar.

    Sitting back down, Harkus loosed a long sigh, "Power corrupts, Athanasius. Or somethin''... Hells if I know-- I ain''t a gods-damned philosopher."

    "...I need it, Master."

    Harkus drained his cup in a single pull, then took a long look at Tanamar''s face...

    "Ye don''t need anything else I have to offer. You can protect yer little wife on your own, without my help... as ye always have."

    Tanamar pursed his lips, "I know better, now. I can''t do everything by myself..."

    He grit his teeth... forcing words he didn''t want to admit... "Even my current strength... I couldn''t have achieved without your training."

    Harkus narrowed his eyes... "Where in the seven hells did you learn humility? Are ye tryin'' ta make me puke? With yer soft, pink-skin feelings? If ye grow pointy ears, too, consider yerself disowned."

    "It''s not about me, Master," Tanamar shook his head. "I need every advantage I can get."

    Harkus leaned forward, his expression grave, "Tell me, then, boy... and tell me honestly... Summoning a set of Divine Armor... can you honestly tell me you deserve that kind of power?"

    Tanamar shut his eyes in quiet contemtion. He felt the spirits around him... the wind, the air, the water in his cup... He could hear their wishes. He could bend them to his will.

    He searched his heart for the answer.

    Power... he needed power to protect Athena.

    He needed it to protect himself, too. If he was killed, she''d cry.

    He needed the power to fight against the heavens and hells-- he''d allow nothing to take away her smile.

    His ss was Holy Lancer... but... The Church... the Eternal me... he was never truly loyal to them.

    His master, Harkus, was asking if he''d abuse the power granted to him...

    He wouldn''t hesitate for a second.

    Tanamar quietly shook his head, "I don''t."

    "Well, then," Harkus put on a smug grin, "Now, would ya kindly get the hells out of m--"

    "I''ll learn it on my own," Tanamar stood out of his chair, draining his cup of well water. Smacking his lips, it felt like he''d lifted a heavy weight off of his heart.

    "Now HOLD ON fer just a gods-damned minute!!" Harkus yelled. "I''m tellin'' ye, that ye shouldn''t mess with that kinda power, boy!!"

    Tanamar shrugged, "I''ve already mastered ?Oath? shot to highpletion, anyroad."

    "You''ve WHAAAAT!?!? That-- that Skill took me TWENTY gods-damned YEARS to get just to MIDDLEpletion!!!"

    Athena opened the panels of a nearby window, peeking her head in, "HeyYy~! You guys fiiiiiighting?"

    As expected, there were light cat scratches on her face.

    Harkus pointed at Tanamar, his face turning red from indignation, "Young Mistress! Talk some sense to this boy!!"

    "Oh! Uncle!" Athena beamed, "Could you teach him that thing?"

    "WhAaaAAAt?!!"

    "The thing! He wants to learn the thing, so you should teach him." Athena bared her teeth in a grin, before looking to Tanamar, "Uncle can never say no to me-- isn''t that right, Uncle?"

    Tanamar crossed his arms and chuckled to himself, watching the old dwarf''s face change from furious to heartbroken to confused... to pathetic.

    The dwarf sighed. "Come out back to the clearing when ye''re ready..."

    ",

 Chapter 595 Heaven Creation

    ?? Head Magistrate''s Courtyard, Present time. ?

    "[That all you got, b*tch?]"

    The twenty-foot tall Orcus towered over Tanamar, resting its enchanted greataxe on its pauldron.

    Tanamar tried to stand... but he was barely able to get to a knee. Since his failed ?Oath? attack, he needed to rest a few more minutes and clear his mind before he could activate any useful Skills...

    He needed help... or both he and Athena would die.

    He mmed his palms into the sandy dirt. The fingers he used to draw his bow were bleeding.

    Lovely.

    "C... creation is a noble charge," He whispered, shaping his fingers into a diamond.

    "[WhaAaaAt''s thisss?!]" Tancredughed, "[I know FLAME. TAKEN. WELL that you''re outta mana, ''Thanasius. You have any idea how pathetic you look, right now?]"

    ''Just let it happen, Tancred,'' Tanamar thought to himself. His twin brother always talked too damned much.

    "Earth, wind, sky and... me..." He whispered, "I am unworthy of thy praise."

    The talisman bound to his wrist began to glow... if faintly. Though his mana reserves were dangerously low, they were enough to light a spark within the artifact Harkus had given him.

    "[Do it, ''Thanasius. Gimme what you got. Kill yourself,]" Orcus mmed the base of its greataxe into the ground, creating a shockwave of sand that washed over Tanamar''s armor.

    "[You always thought you were better than me,]" The Divine Armor angrily clenched its fists, the sound of metal on metal scraping together grating to the ears... "[First... your lies got Bannok practically sucking you off. Then you got all buddy-buddy with that noble guy. me take you-- you even brought a Calctor to make the rest of your FRIENDS look like trash!]"

    Tanamar forced himself to stand, borrowed mana raging in his body. When he spoke, his voice was empowered into a thunderous echo, "My light... reaps the lives of the faithless."

    The spell circle he stood in erupted in light, the beam shooting up through the sky and splitting the ck smoke clouds. He just needed... a little more time.

    "[I bet you think you still have hope, huh? I bet you''re still grinning like an idiot underneath that helmet...]" The massive suit of Divine Armor grabbed hold of its greataxe, rearing it back for a telegraphed swing.

    Tanamar snatched the glowing talisman off of his wrist. It was cool to the touch, even through his metal gloves. He felt... safe...fortable... like he was in the presence of an old friend.

    An errant thought went through his head. Did it feel like this... training with Harkus? ...long before he knew that his adoptive father built the Oathbreaker.

    Tancred''s metallic voice was amplified loud enough for the entire city to hear, "[WELL, I''m SICK and TIRED of your smug. f*cking. FAAAAACE!! ?Ravager''s STRIKE!!?]"

    Tanamar could think about itter.

    The ritual wasplete.

    He thrust the talisman towards the gargantuan greataxe about to crash into him.

    "?Divine Armor Summon: Apollonius.?"

    ...

    Tanamar opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by creation mana. He was taller... the same height as Divine Armor Orcus. It was swinging an axe at him... slowly... so very slowly.

    He lifted his hand forward... but his hand didn''t budge... it was Apollonius that moved as he willed.

    "?Heaven Creation: Shield.?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tanamar formed an eight-pointed shield on his arm and braced himself to take the impact. His arm and body shook from the force, but it was tolerable. The wielder of the Spinal Reaper might have been slow, but taking a direct hit would causesting damage.

    ...He shook his head lightly. Spinal Reaper? How did hee to know that name?

    "[What... what the f*ck IS THAT?!]" Orcus screamed.

    Tanamar nced down at his-- no, Apollonius'' body, white and gold metal, thrumming with Adamantine-Rank mana. He looked back up, meeting Orcus'' eyes, "It''s death. Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus."

    "[Sol... Invictus?]"

    Tanamar could hear the magnified sound of his brother gnashing his teeth. He sighed in disbelief. It wasn''t the first time he''d openly dered the name of his guild.

    "?Heaven Creation: Lance,?" Apollonius changed his shield into his weapon of choice, grabbing onto the haft. Smacking it down into Orcus'' wrist, he forced the greataxe downward, then cracked the opposite end of his mana weapon against his brother''s ankle.

    "[ARRRRGHHH!!!]" Orcus shrieked in pain, stumbling to the side, "[What the F*CK!!??!]"

    Apollonius scoffed. Pathetic.

    Quick and clean, he thrust his spear forward.

    "[Gahhh! No, you don''t!]" Orcus roared, "?Earth Shield!!?]"

    The heretic quickly erected a wall of earth and stone in front of its chest. Apollonius'' spear struck the barrier, but the tip pierced through easily enough, cutting into the red of Orcus'' armor.

    "[me TAAAKE YOU, ATHANASIUS!!! FUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK!!!!]"

    It sounded like it hurt.

    It was disappointing. Apollonius would have preferred that Orcus died and said nothing at all.

    "[Errrgh... This is nothing,]" Orcus grabbed the spear haft, "[You''re just using Father''s used garbage. You can''t beat me and Divine Armor Orcus.]"

    Apollonius tried to pull hisnce away... then to push it deeper. It wouldn''t budge. Orcus was physically stronger than he was... or was it because Tancred was always stronger than Tanamar?

    ...Whoever he was, it didn''t matter.

    He and the other both grinned as they chuckled to themselves, "You seem to be forgetting that we just f*cking cut you."

    "[You''ll PAY FOR THAAAAATTT!!!!]" Orcus tucked the spear de underneath his arm, then began to rotate his body.

    Apollonius released his weapon so he wouldn''t fall... then thrust out his palms, "?Heaven Creation: Trash Bin.?"

    Thence dissipated into mana dust... and reformed as a giant, mana-created bin atop Divine Armor Orcus'' head.

    Orcus righted his posture... "[The f*ck is this?]"

    "It''s a trash bin," Apollonius answered. "Because you''re garbage."

    Orcus smashed a fist into the side of his head, shattering the mana creation... "[I''m done messing around, Athanasius.]"

    "?Heaven Creation: Chamber Pot.?"

    The Divine Armor with the chamber pot helmet roared, lunging forward and swinging his greataxe.

 Chapter 596 Apollonius

    ?Apollonius smirked, calmly dodging the attacks or deflecting them by manipting Orcus'' wrists. Though he would have enjoyed making his brother look like a fool for the rest of the sun, he also knew his mana wouldn''tst forever.

    "?Heaven Creation: Greathammer,?" He swung a weighty mana-weapon at Orcus'' side.

    Orcus formed another ?Earth Shield?, blocking the attack. However, it could not stop the force and he staggered to the side, cradling his arm.

    Holding onto his advantage, Apollonius continued. He rushed forward, his greathammer crashing down upon Orcus from above. The red suit of armor held his greataxe haft up to block the barrage of attacks, constantly stepping backward.

    Finally, Apollonius stepped forward and to the side, rotating his body with a horizontal swing. Even through his brother''s ?Earth Shield? and greataxe, the traitor wasunched backward.

    He tumbled into the dirt and earth, crashing into trees. Great swaths of red paint were scraped off of his skin. Eventually, Orcus tumbled over, his momentum stopping with his face and chest sliding across the ground.

    Apollonius walked forward, slowly and vigntly. Using overwhelming strength was Orcus''-- no, Tancred''s fighting style... but it seemed they had no idea how to fight against it.

    Orcus steadily got to a knee, "[How the f*ck did you get so strong, ''Thanasius?]"

    Apollonius gave a casual shrug, "I don''t wanna tell you."

    "[Then I''ll MAKE YOU!! ?CHARGING BULLLLL!!!!?]" From the kneeling position, Orcus sprinted forward.

    Still, it was too slow, Apollonius put his hands forward, "?Heaven Creation: Twin Lightfrost des.?"

    He grabbed the two swords, made from frost and radiant mana, holding them in a cross guard. Orcus'' greataxe smashed them into pieces, but Apollonius danced away before they could do any real damage.

    "[Haha!! HA HAHAHA!!!]" Orcus cackled victoriously, "[Your weapons are--"]"

    Apollonius clenched his raised fist, "?Scatter.?"

    "[Oh, me take me.]"

    Shattered fragments of ice and beams of light began to batter and cut through Orcus'' armor. Orcus iled his arms, activating ?Earth Shield? after ?Earth Shield?... But no matter how defensive Skills he activated, he was being overwhelmed.

    "Alright, Apollonius," Tanamar whispered. "Let''s finish this."

    ...

    Apollonius'' eyes glowed bright with power.

    "[Hear my name and tremble in fear... for I am Apollonius... The Oathkeeper.]"

    His eyes glowed bright with power as he grabbed the heretical weapon that Orcus wielded. He wrested away the foul greataxe, still burning with hatred and dark magics, and tossed it aside.

    It was just a mana-weapon... and its true form was far smaller. However, Apollonius held the advantage with his brother disarmed. Orcus had always been too stubborn to master ?Mana Creation? to highpletion.

    "[Your name means NOTHING to me!!]" Orcus yelled, "[For I-- I am the Oath-BREAKER!!!]"

    Apollonius was struck in the head, a loud ng echoing across his metal body.

    It did not hurt. Apollonius had forgotten what pain felt like.

    Once more, The Oathbreaker shot his right fist forward.

    He was Father''s masterpiece... his pride and joy. The formations that powered him amplified his energy tenfold... and his materials were extravagantly dense and resilient against attack.

    However, Father had built Apollonius first... and though he was lighter, he''d always been faster.

    Apollonius ducked down to dodge the punch, returning a right of his own.

    It struck. Hard. It felt right... it felt good. This was what pleasure felt like.

    "[How dare you show yourself before me, Brother.]" He powered a left hook into Orcus'' side. Then again, satisfied by the crack of metal.

    "[...after what. You Did!]" He leapt up and smashed his right elbow atop Orcus'' thick head.

    The red-metal heretic had enough. He draped his arms around Apollonius like a lover begging for mercy.

    "[If you seek redemption,]" Apollonius reached his right knee back... and powered it into Orcus'' side, "[You''ll find none from me.]"

    He heard a human screaming, like their bones were broken. It was a scream of pain.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "[I have nothing to apologize for, Apollonius.]"

    Apollonius'' confidence shook. His brother''s voice had changed... His entire aura had changed.

    Orcus reached his hand forward, thick white steam spewed out of the dragon head on his arm.

    Apollonius tried to break away, unable to see through the sandy clouds.

    ...Something was wrong. His brother wasn''t letting go.

    They were falling... and they struck the ground together. Orcus scrambled atop him.

    "[Everything! I! Did!]" Fists rained down as Apollonius struggled to block, each leaden strike nging against his guard. "[Was! For!! HER!!!!!]

    That was right... Pontius-- no, Orcus... he had a wife. He loved her. But was reason enough to turn his back on the Eternal me?

    A fist found its way past, striking him again in the face.

    The heretic''s fist... it was heavy.

    Apollonius felt something... something unpleasant. Was it pain?

    No. It was shame. It was disgust.

    Tens of thousands of Tyrions looked up to Orcus, Hero of Tyrion.

    Those same people suffered his betrayal... their lives reaped by The Oathbreaker, Champion of the Snake Cult.

    All those Faithful... they were worth more than one human woman! They were worth more than one man''s selfish quest for revenge!!

    Bringing dishonor to their Father, forcing him to live in shame... even if it were his only sin, Orcus did not deserve to live.

    Apollonius popped his hips upward, forcing his brother off of his chest.

    Orcus was unbnced and had caught himself on his palms.

    Apollonius shoved the stronger Divine Armor away... and tried to get to his feet.

    It was... so hard to move.

    Orcus had grabbed onto the sides of his head with both hands.

    It rang. Something felt wrong... bent. Orcus had struck him with his knee.

    What was he feeling?

    This was pain.

    This was what pain felt like.

    Apollonius put his arms up... trying to defend himself.

    ...They had grown slow. His entire body had be slow. His arms... they moved... but the speed... was wrong.

    ? Run System Diagnostics, Quick Scan. ?

    ? Mana is corrupted in the following locations... ?

    ...Apollonius was afflicted by the heretic''s magic. He needed to reboot... he needed to repair the faulty processes.

    Orcus had widened his stance, his fist reared back. He moved forward, rotating his body.

    That fist was aimed at Apollonius'' face.

    It struck true.

    ...and everything grew dark.

 Chapter 597 Not Quite Dead

    ?The mana Tanamar expended shaped his vtile ''arrow'' into something aerodynamic.

    First word. Second word.

    The ground he stood on lit up like a holiday tree. He felt his silver hair stand up like he was some sort of legendary Tyrion hero.

    Tanamar grimaced upon realizing how upset Tycon would be if he were around to sense his mana output. Even without Apollonius'' assistance, he was obviously and unapologetically Gold-Rank.

    Third word... fourth word-- Tancred looked over, probably having figured out that he wasn''t actually winning.

    "[What the-- why are you OVER THERE?!]" The oversized set of scuffed armor bellowed.

    "I ejected out of Apollonius like five minutes ago, guy."

    The mana flowing through Tanamar''s body and through the surroundings echoed his words... but he didn''t particrly care if Tancred heard him.

    "[Your ?Oath? shot ain''t SHITE, Athanasius!]" Tancred shouted, uncertainty clear in his cracking voice, "[It can''t get through my ?Earth Shield?!!]"

    Tanamar sighed... That was obvious. He wouldn''t be so stupid to use the exact same attack twice.

    Furrowing his brows, he mentally went through his list of Skills...

    "?Aspect of the Vengeful Archon,?" He began. It was the most powerful aspect of his Holy Lancer ss.

    "?Divine Weapon,?" It was a basic enchantment that Harkus put on everything.

    "?Frost Enchantment,?" He had Athena''s frost mana coursing through his veins. Using it was a given.

    "?Sharpened Steel,?" That''d add a bit of piercing power to get through Tancred''s ?Earth Shield.?

    "[EY!! QUITE THAT SHITE!!!!!]" Tancred roared. The massive suit of armor began charging towards his position-- fast, too. That ?Charging Bull? Skill was no joke.

    "?Pinning Strike? ?Murderous Aim? ?Biting Volley...? What else..." Tanamar mused.

    His head was feeling light. If he was only operating on logic, he was dangerously low on mana... but it felt like he had so much more to give.

    "?Split Arrow?... ?Triple Arrow?..."

    He drew back his bow, a gargantuan, crackling mana-arrow nocked and ready to fire.

    Blood was streaming down his nose, his head was filled with clouds, and his entire body felt numb. That probably meant he should stop.

    Nah. He couldn''t hold back... Athena was still in danger. He couldn''t afford to fail.

    "?Sudden Shot.? ?Maximize Shot?..." Blood welled up into his mouth and he coughed it out.

    Damn. He wanted to cast ?Vorpal Shot? too, but that was definitely too much.

    He aimed down his weapon, his arrow pointed directly at Divine Armor Orcus'' center of mass, "This is my ?Oath?: Eat shite and die, Tancred."

    ...

    ? shback: Twenty minutes prior, Market District. ?

    "[You feel that, Brother-Tycon?]" The armored Librarian, Zenon Skyreaper looked up into the sky... at a very lost-looking troll mounted on arge gryphon, struggling to remain airborne.

    "I do," Tycondrius followed his gaze and nodded. "If our troll friend were to fall on the three of us, we would sustain severe injuries."

    "[No, not that,]" Zenon shook his head. "[I mean the mana... something Gold-Rank-- maybe Adamantine... and it''s headed towards the Administration District."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "The enemy seeks to intercept Athena and her footman, then."

    "[Yeah, feels strong,]" Zenon tilted his head downward... "[Maybe it''s that Exarch guy we keep hearing about?]"

    Korr nodded eagerly, gripping her two-handed ckde, "[HOW DARE HE.]"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon pursed his lips underneath his helmet. ''How dare he'' what? He wanted to ask the youngdy to exin herself, but... he surmised the resulting story wouldn''te close to answering the question.

    "[Whoa! Hold on!]" Zenon raised his voice, "[I just felt Athena use a huge attack... the incantation ?Ice Beam?, I think.]"

    "[THE ENEMY IS LIKELY ALREADY DEAD,]" Korr dered.

    Tycon grimaced and shook his head, "Nheless, we should hurry... I''d rather not underestimate a Gold-Rank power. Brother-Zenon, if you could cast your--"

    "HARR HARR HARR HARR!!!!! HARRRRRR!!!!" A chilling voice echoed in Tycon''s mind...

    "Seven hells, what is it, now?" He sighed.

    The ghost of an armored Cleric rose out of the roadstones, translucent and glowing green, "YaAAaRRrr!! I hAve aRiSen from BeYoonNdd the GrAaaaAve ta PaY ye BACK for my UnJuSt DeaAaaAthhHhh!!!"

    "...Who are you again?" Tycon crossed his arms.

    The levitating ghost summoned an oversized, wicked-looking warscythe, and held it out menacingly.

    "GHOST OCCAM!!!!"

    "Of all the people you could choose to haunt," Tycon groaned, "you chose the three of us? Really?"

    "ReAAAaaAaLLLyYYyyY!!! ooOoOooOooOoh!!!" am moaned, "Harr harr HARR!!!"

    Tycon took another deep breath before turning to the dark-armored woman at his side, "Korr."

    Korr stepped forward, clinking a metal fist against her palm, "[YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD.]"

    am''s jaw dropped, "Ah. F*ck."

    Korr grabbed Ghost-am by the ghost-cor and began to beat him, "[I SHALL RELEASE THEE FROM THY MORTAL COIL!!!]"

    Zenon tilted his head, "[I''ve always found it weird that Korr could literally punch apparitions.]"

    "It''s a useful ability," Tycon shrugged. "I try not to think about it."

    Taking a deep breath, he reached up to pat his Librarian-friend on the shoulder, "Zenon, I''ll be moving ahead. Cast your movement spell on me, if you would."

    "[Sure thing, Optio.]"

    ...

    ? Current time. ?

    Tanamar dragged himself back to the front of the Head Magistrate''s estate. He was tired... beyond tired.

    He''d vomited until the contents of his stomach were empty, and his insides still rumbled... but he was alive.

    "We did it..." Tanamar tossed his helmet to the ground and copsed at his girlfriend''s feet, "Athena, we did it."

    With Apollonius'' help... he saved her. Athena lived. He had changed her future. Their future.

    Athena lied with her back against the stone steps, wearing a defeated smile. Her frosty blue hair was strewn over her face like she''d just woken up from a gentle summer nap.

    "Tanamar... I knew you could do it."

    Her armor was still on, but she''d ced her helmet on the steps beside her. On her left arm and shoulder, she''d made a makeshift cast out of ice with her gloved hand sticking out.

    Besides that, her Arcanite swords were scattered on the ground beside her. She didn''t have the mana left to control them.

    She wouldn''t be fighting anytime soon-- not without both rest and magical healing.

 Chapter 598 Too Late

    ?Athena thrust her good arm forward, offering a half-emptied healing potion, "Want the rest? I managed to stop the bleeding..."

    Tanamar propped himself up, lying beside her with his back on the hard steps, "Nah. I used mine. I''ll be alright."

    "You look terrible, Tanamar," She giggled lightly before downing the bottle''s contents.

    "I''m not the one who almost got her arm cut off," Tanamarughed to himself.

    "Yeah, well... You could only beat Tancred because I attacked him first," She smirked.

    That was... incredibly wrong. Still, Tanamar didn''t feel like correcting her, "Yeah. I could only win because of you..."

    The sounds of fighting elsewhere in the city had seemed to calm down. They were left with the peaceful crackling of the Head Magistrate''s residence, the symbol of Caeruleum''s power, wholly engulfed in me.

    Athena stared up at the smoky sky... "Hey, Tanamar..."

    "Yeah?"

    "It''s over, right?" She asked.

    "Yeah, it is..." Tanamar nodded.

    "We... we just have to go tell Sir Tycon the good news..."

    "Yeah. We do."

    The corner of Athena''s mouth curved upward... like it took all of her effort to do so, "I''m... so d..."

    Tanamar cursed himself quietly for lying. The city still needed to be purged... and Antonidus was still alive. The leader of Caeruleum undoubtedly had hands as dirty as Tancred''s.

    Suddenly, Tanamar felt his anger spike. He remembered seeing the two bastards meet with each other after the Martial Tournament. If only he''d noticed it back then, he could have killed them both... It would have saved them all a lot of trouble.

    "Hey... Tanamar..." Athena whispered.

    ...Tanamar furrowed his brows, his anger drained in an instant. Something had changed.

    "Y... yeah?"

    "I love you... You know that, right?"

    "...I love you too, Athena," Tanamar sat up, worry blossoming in his heart, "What''s... this about?"

    Athena sighed... "I wanted to make sure you knew."

    "I knew..." Tanamar raised his voice... "I''ve always known."

    "Yeah," Athena rolled her eyes. "You''ve always been smarter than me... but..."

    "But?"

    "I''m... I''m not sure," Athena''s voice cracked... "if it matters, this time..."

    "Athena? Athena!!" Tanamar scrambled over to her, "What''s wrong?"

    Tears were streaming down Athena''s face, "My... my left hand..."

    Carefully... but quickly, Tanamar removed the leather glove.

    Her skin had grown white... smooth, polished white... immobile... stone.

    Tanamar looked up to meet her eyes, "What... what''s going on?"

    "Tancred... He... he used... a Skill," Athena sobbed, her words interspersed with pained hics... "He called it... ?Petrifying Cloud?."

    Tanamar''s heart shook. It was one of Divine Armor Orcus'' abilities... the strongest Skill belonging to Pontius'' Sandstone Reaver ss.

    "No... no... not again..." He shouted, "I promised to protect you, Athena! It hasn''t changed! That''ll NEVER CHANGE!!"

    He got to his knees and began to beg, "Stay with me, Athena... Just... just hold on. The Holy Magus-- he can cure your condition. I''ll tear his heart outta his chest if he DARES refuse!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Athena smiled... She was dying, but still, she smiled.

    "Tanamar... you can''t fall in love with anyone else."

    Tanamar grabbed onto her other hand... It was rigid... also frozen in stone. Peeking out of her armor, the bottom of her neck was beginning to change color, too.

    "I won''t, Athena," He dered. "I''ve always been in love with you... and no one else... for literal lifetimes before this one."

    "Good," Athena sighed. "I''ll... I''ll be jealous otherwise. You have... you have to be miserable without me."

    "It''s not over, Athena," Tanamar urged. "Keep your mana circting. Hold off as long as you can."

    "It''s... already toote," She shook her head. "I... I love you... Tan..."

    "ATHANASIUS!!!"

    A piercing shout caused Tanamar to turn towards it. In an instant he was on his feet, holynce in hand.

    It was Tycon.

    ...The anomaly.

    And he''d arrived toote...

    "n''s changed, Tycon!" Tanamar shouted, "I need to have a little chat with the Head Magistrate."

    "Hah, really?" Tycon tilted his white-helmed head up, as if he was rolling his eyes, "Are you thinking of switching sides, thiste in the siege?"

    "If I have to," Tanamar spat.

    Tycon halted his steps, ten paces away... "That was certainly not the answer I expected...

    "Boxtholomaeus," He snapped his fingers, "execute n B."

    Tanamar furrowed his brows as turned his head... where he saw the wooden doll, Boxy, halfway through with sticking the petrified Athena in his mouth.

    "What the HELLS are you doing?!?" Tanamar yelled.

    "I''m ''erribry sorry, hir!" Boxy responded before swallowing, "I''m only following orders!"

    Tanamar heard the sound of something big-- something heavy moving through the air at him. He turned back to Tycon and stabbed his radiant spearpoint into it...

    Tycon had... thrown a greataxe at him?

    The weapon shattered, greenish mana dust scattering all around him... The distraction had allowed Boxy to escape, retreating to safety besides Tycon.

    "Huh," The Tactician tilted his head. "I expected a violent explosion. Whatever you did to the Spinal Reaper drained the rest of its mana..."

    "You..." Tanamar stared back in disbelief... "You just tried... to kill me?"

    "Yes, I did," Tycon chuckled. "That was for lying to me about still being Iron-Rank. Did you think I wouldn''t find out?"

    The white-helmed Tacticianzily stretched his arms, "I cut off your brother''s head, by the way-- I wanted to be thorough. No need to thank me."

    Tanamar grit his teeth and tightened the grip on hisnce, "You. just. tried. to kill. me..."

    "Yes, I literally *just* confirmed that," Tycon shook his head, "Now, as I''m assuming you were joking about joining the Snake Cult, let''s share information."

    Tanamar didn''t know where the strength came from... but as his anger rose, his mana circted twice as clear... thrice as fast... enough that his entire body glowed in radiant power.

    "Give... her... back," He growled. "Now."

    Tycon crossed his arms, "What are you going on about? Miss Athena is afflicted by petrification. That''s not something you can fix."

    Tanamar pointed his spear forward, "When I present your head to Antonidus, he''ll give me anything I want."

 Chapter 599 Danger To Oneâ€™s Self

    ?Tycondrius narrowed his eyes beneath his helmet. Tanamar was poised to strike... looking as threatening as a half-dead man could look.

    The footman was suffering a temporary bout of insanity from recent events. Tanamar had expended a great deal of mana in what Tycon assumed was a clumsy shouting match with his evil twin brother. Thatpounded with the fact that his girlfriend was in a near-death state.

    The most mature response was to advocate peaceable discussion... to elucidate the young man on the ws in his decision-making.

    It was true that he was openly challenged. It was insulting to have a deadly weapon pointed at his face.

    Still... logic trumped emotion and Tycon prided himself on being a man of high ideals.

    "Athanasius, you''re delirious from mana-fatigue," He impatiently patted the de on his waist... "As you are a danger not only to--"

    Tanamar blinked.

    How. Dare. He.

    Interrupting himself, Tycon unsheathed andshed out with his whip sword, entangling it around Tanamar''s leg. With a swift pull, the young man was off his feet, the back of his head bouncing off the stone steps.

    Tanamar''s mind was too hazed, his reflexes too slow, and his body too weak to respond. It was his own damned fault that Tycon was forced to attack!

    "--?Shadowfang?."

    Activating his movement technique, he dashed forward andnded a running kick to the youth''s side. Rearing back, he kicked again. Tanamar curled up, covering his body. Tycon began alternating feet, continuing to kick the downed youth in the chest and stomach.

    "Let me show you all the reasons you are WRONG!!!" Tycon yelled.

    If Tanamar wanted to survive, he was doing a very poor job of it.

    After being granted so many ''reasons'', the Holy Lancer grabbed hold of Tycon''s boot, "W-wait..."

    In response, Tycon dropped down, his knee striking the side of Tanamar''s ribs. Leaning over, he began to strike the boy in the side of his silver-haired head. Still in hand was the hilt of the de-whip, undoubtedly making his fist that much heavier.

    "Boss Tycon, sir?" Boxtholomaeus murmured.

    The humanoid-shaped doll stepped into view, wringing his fingerless, wooden hands.

    Tycon stood and flipped Tanamar onto his front with an un-gentle boot, "Go ahead."

    He sat on the youth''s back, cing one hand on his head, with the other hooking onto his right bicep. The boy would be far less of a threat with a broken or dislocated shoulder.

    "Sir... doesn''t this seem a rather strong response, concerning the circumstances?" The doll asked.

    "Nonsense, Mister Boxtholomaeus," Tycon shrugged. "Mister Athanasius has threatened my life. I have responded out of fear for my own safety."

    "But sir?" Boxtholomaeus tilted his head, "Mister Tanamar doesn''t seem to be fighting back anymore.

    "A shame," Tycon scoffed.

    Applying slow and steady pressure, he dislocated Tanamar''s shoulder. The youth screamed in agony-- as if he had no idea that Tycon would respond to death threats with open violence.

    "But... but sir?" The doll continued toin.

    Tycon would have none of it. He wasn''t in the mood for games.

    He reached his arm back, snapping his de-whip back into sword-form, "It was nice working with you, Athanasius."

    "...Miss Athena would be sad."

    Tycon stabbed his sword... into the dirt next to Tanamar''s neck.

    ? ...Then he turned to growl at Boxtholomaeus, "Must you, child?"

    The wooden doll nodded shyly, "Yes, sir... Sorry, sir."

    Tycon took a deep breath... "No apology necessary... You raised a valid point..."

    He pped the side of Tanamar''s face to wake him, "Exin what''s going on. Depending on what you say, I may or may not jam a poisoned bolt into your neck."

    "Tycon..." He groaned, trying to turn his head, "What the f*ck, man?"

    Tycon grabbed Tanamar''s hair and twisted his de in the dirt. The edge bled the surface of the boy''s neck, "Understand that my actions are a professional courtesy. Were you not so dangerous, we might have spoken amicably."

    Tanamar shut his eyes... seeming to have resigned to his situation.

    "...You told me that the future can be changed."

    Tycon rolled his eyes. The weeping young fool with the bleeding neck was more than a transmigrator, like himself. He was a reincarnator... and had seen a different future from the present they were living-- multiple futures, if he were to be believed.

    "I did," Tycon twisted his lips. "What of it?"

    He felt his eye twitch, sensing Tanamar suddenly increasing the cirction rate of his mana.

    "Well, it CAN''T!!!" He shouted, "?Sr re!!?"

    Tycon activated his ?Tumble? skill, rolling backward and shielding his eyes from a fantastically bright light. Whipping his sword to the side, ready to defend himself, he focused his concentration on the ground, sensing for the footman''s movement.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...Yet, no attack came.

    Tanamar stood up slowly, a holynce in his left hand... his right arm still dangling uselessly.

    "I tried to change it... even killing my brother to do so... but still... ATHENA DIED!!"

    "That''s ridiculous," Tycon got to his feet, casually stretching his back, and cracking his neck left and right, "The girl lives-- she''s merely affected by a ?Flesh to Stone? spell."

    Tanamar''s mana-weapon began to glow brighter with power. The boy was expending some of his soul energy in order to empower his almost nonexistent mana pool. Whether the attack seeded or failed, the damage he''d incur would be difficult to heal.

    "The ONLY spell capable of healing her... is a ?Holy Blessing,?" He growled. "I need... Holy Magus Antonidus... the me-taken Head Magistrate of Caeruleum."

    Suddenly, strength seemed to leave his body as he copsed to his knees. His mana-weapon dissipated and he reabsorbed the energy, as well. Good for him.

    Tycon tried to walk forward to finish him off... but Boxtholomaeus was holding onto his leg.

    "In myst life..." Tanamar muttered... "Athena and Tancred went to a dungeon... and..."

    Tycon''s attention drifted away, listening to the boy drone on. He performed some mental calctions of when and how he would signal his forces to withdraw from the city. Two bells, perhaps. Whatever it was, it would be best, soon.

    Zenon and Korr would be arriving shortly... and the sts of energy from Tanamar''s fight with Tancred would attract Pale-- maybe Stephanos, too, if his mana-senses were half-way decent.

    From the bits and pieces of Tanamar''s story... it seemed that the young man had won the Caeruleum tournament in hisst life, as well, and was owed a favor. He bought Athena to be healed, but Head Magistrate Antonidus dodged him for several suns. The end result was Athena dying... and Tanamar attacking the city by himself, eventually being in by Champions of the Church.

    Sensing that the Holy Lancer''s overlong story was finished, Tycon cleared his throat to speak, "Are you done?"

    "Have you heard a single me-taken word I''ve said?" Tanamar seethed.

    "Did you know I can cast ?Stone to Flesh??" Tycon sighed.

    "You can what?" Tanamar''s jaw hung agape, like the fool he was.

    "We fought gorgons in the Halls of the Dead Serpent, young man," Tycon''s annoyance seeped into his voice as he spoke, "Bannok was among the petrified. I healed him."

    "But... but Priestess Ariadne..."

    Tycon took a deep breath and groaned... his annoyance painfully obvious, "Egh... ?Flesh to Stone? is a spell belonging to a higher Spell-Circle than Aria is capable of."

    It seemed not every transmigrator was as familiar with spells and their effects as he was.

    "Tycon... please," Tanamar bowed with his forehead to the ground. "I know I don''t deserve it-- but please... Heal Ath--"

    "Get up, idiot," Tycon waved dismissively. "Of course, I''ll--"

    Boxtholomaeus pushed at Tycon''s leg with his flimsy wooden arms, "Um, Sir Tycon?"

    The doll was pointing up at the sky.

    "Don''t interrupt, child," Tycon scolded... "Be polite and wait your turn."

    "...Y... yes, sir..."

    The daylight skies began to darken as if the sun had chosen to hide. An unnatural sphereposed of pale white light appeared in the distance, consuming the clouds of smoke and sending harpies and gryphons screeching in terror.

    Tycon ignored it.

    "Ahem. Of course, I''ll heal the girl, Athanasius."

    ...

    ? Half-a-bellter. ?

    Tycon helped pop the youth''s shoulder back into ce-- a painful ordeal, but one the young gentleman weathered with little more than a pained grunt. He then used his ?Inspirational Surge? on the Holy Lancer, fully expecting it to fail.

    It was effective.

    Having only a modicum of his mana and being beaten half-to-death was certainly not the best Tanamar could do.

    The young man refused to withdraw with Boxtholomaeus, insisting Athena be restored immediately.

    It was a sound decision that Tycon (begrudgingly) could not fault him for. As the siege had not yet ended, it was still possible for him to be severely injured or even killed before sun''s end.

    Athena was affected by a Sixth-Circle petrification spell... normally impossible for a normal Gold-Rank healing ss to cure.

    It made no difference to Tycon. He was a Maedar, a rare male born with the medusa bloodline... and by his breath, he could undo the effects of petrification, regardless of the caster''s Circle mastery.

    It was also why Maedari were both revered and feared amongst his kin.

    After Tycon had restored Athena, she was still physically weak and in an advanced stage of mana fatigue. She''d live... and she elected to nap on her cated lover''s shoulder while the four of them waited for support to arrive.

    As for Boxtholomaeus, he kept looking up at the strange, grey sky-sphere, but decided not to broach the topic. Whatever was going on, neither he nor any ally present had the means to stop it.

    ",

 Chapter 600 Angel Bane (Part One)

    ?"[Hey! Sorry we took so long,]" Librarian Zenon waved as he and Raging me Knight Korr approached.

    He paused, looking down at Tanamar-- "[Whoa! What happened to you?]"

    It was no surprise that Zenon was concerned. The entire side of the footman''s face was discolored and bruised.

    The Holy Lancer''s gaze hardened as he looked up at the tall, dark-armored Librarian.

    "...I fell."

    "A mistake was made," Tycon shrugged. He would not cast the me on his young friend. He was partly to me for losing his temper.

    Korr pointed wordlessly at the sleeping Athena, likely inquiring about her condition, as well.

    "Athena was injured and is out of mana," Tycon exined. "I expect her to make a full recovery."

    He cleared his throat, standing straight and saluting with his fist to his chest, "Report, if you would."

    Korr saluted before flexing an arm, "[I PUNCHED A GHOST TO DEATH.]"

    The woman''s deration was... wrong, somehow. However, Tycon understood the point she was trying to make, "Thank you, Korr."

    Zenon rendered a Tyrion salute before pointing at the sky, "[Whatever''s causing that is probably around this area. The mana around here is simr.]

    Tycon nodded, looking up and squinting up at the foreboding ball, "It doesn''t seem to be a harmful evocation spell... Any thoughts?"

    The Librarian took off his helmet, wrinkling his mustache... "I sense otherworldly energies. I don''t think I''ve ever felt them before..."

    Tycon took a deep breath and exhaled through his teeth, "...Brother-Zenon, think carefully about those words... Are you certain?"

    Zenon grimaced, but nodded gravely... "Yeah... I''m sure. Do you know what it is, Brother-Tycon?"

    "Unfortunately, yes. It''s a spell connected to another ne... a summoning ritual, most likely."

    This was not the first time Tycon had experienced the threat of an otherworldly invasion. When he was adventuring in the Kingdom, he encountered something simr-- an attack by a rogue warlord from the ne of Fire.

    He hoped this was just a simple summon, not the opening of a permanent rift. Either way, the situation had be far moreplicated than he was hoping for.

    He just wanted to raze a city to the ground and kill all of its inhabitants! Why was that so difficult?!

    Suddenly, the door to the still-burning Head Magistrate''s residence burst open. Out walked a soot-covered old man, his long white beard nearly burntpletely off. He bent over, coughing ash and blood in between bouts of manicughter.

    "It''s toote, heroes..." He hacked, "It''s FAR TOO LATE!!! The summoning CANNOT be STOPPED!!"

    "Hm. It''s the Head Magistrate," Tycon mused. "Tanamar, did you have something to ask him?"

    "No, I do not," Tanamar sighed. "And f*ck you, sir."

    "Granted," Tycon smirked.

    While somewhat disrespectful, he had been the first to taunt the young man. He would punish the insubordination at ater date.

    "SOON!!!" Antonidus shrieked, "My new ARMY will swoop down and your pithy rebellion will be ENDED in BLOOD AND FIRE!!"

    "Optio," Zenon leaned over to whisper, "That guy''s the ritual caster. Same mana signature."

    "Makes sense," Tycon nodded. "Well, if we can''t stop the summoning, we can at least kill the old fool. Which of you wants him?"

    Tanamar rolled his eyes, "I''d do it, but... you know."

    He gestured at his recently dislocated arm, careful not to jostle his lover,ying her head on his shoulder.

    From his words, it seemed that the young man was going to hold a grudge over the sun''s events. The thought did not bother Tycon, at all.

    Korr raised her hand... using mana to empower the movement.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "If this is about dinner, youngdy, the answer is yes. I''ll make whatever you''d like if we can manage the ingredients."

    That was provided they both survive... but Tycon'' didn''t think that needed mention.

    Korr put her hand back down... but then pointed towards Zenon.

    "Centurion Zenon Skyreaper," Tycon smiled. "Would you do the honors?"

    Zenon ced his dark helmet back on, "[My hatred will make the mountains bleed.]"

    "...Don''t do that," Tycon frowned.

    "Hah... hahah.... Hahaha!!!" Antonidus was beside himself, cackling like a madman, "I was granted gifts FAR beyond your imagination, Church dog! Taaaake THISSS!!!!"

    The wrinkled old man, filthy from fire and dust, directed his palms forward, gathering his mana.

    Boxtholomaeus nudged at Tycon''s leg, "Sir... sir... perhaps we should all attack him together?"

    "For tactical purposes, I agree with you, young mimic," Tycon nodded. "However, I''ll ask you to have faith in our stalwart, vertically-advantagedpanion."

    Antonidus began to glow with power as he shouted in a shrill voice, "With the powers bestowed upon me... by the DRAGON GOD, HIMSELF!!! Suffer my WRATH!!!! ?PEEEEAAAAK IRONNNNN FIREBAAAAALLLLLLL?"

    "Peak Iron?" Tanamar furrowed his brows.

    Tycon pursed his lips, "That... is what he said."

    Boxtholomaeus looked at his tiny wooden feet, "Oh."

    Korr had crossed her arms and was tilting her head.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Head Magistrate Antonidus'' ?Fireball? washed harmlessly over Zenon''s Arcanite armor.

    Zenon reached his open hand forward and made a fist.

    Antonidus'' throat visibly copsed inward.

    He reached to grasp at his throat-- a useless affectation, considering.

    The ?Fireball? activated from his palms, engulfing his neck and above in a quick st of magical me.

    The old man tumbled down the steps, leaving blood and crisped bits of skin on the white stones.

    While most everyone looked on in horror, Tycon walked over and looted the Amulet of Obscuration off of the corpse''s neck.

    He''d always wanted one, and the Head Magistrate no longer needed his.

    ...

    Creatures began to spill out of the rift in the sky... several dozens of them. They flew on a variable number of wings and they wielded weapons of war. Some glowed blindingly radiant, with beauteous white-marble skin and sets of golden armor. Some were hideous and a terror to look at, their mass an amalgamation of limbs, many-pointed metallic rings, and fiery eyes.

    "By... the... me," Zenon cursed. "What in the seven hells are those?"

    Tycon sighed in frustration, "They''re from the eleven heavens, actually. Athanasius, please exin."

    The Holy Lancer looked up, his eyes wide in realization... then he grit his teeth hard... "They''re... they''re angels."

    "A... angels?!" Zenon furrowed his brows, before pointing up again, "That one-- that one''s just a bunch of wings! How is that an angel?!"

    Tycon shrugged, "It is. ''How'' is a moot point. Zenon, use your wind magic to call for our main forces to withdraw."

    Zenon frowned, "There''s only... a few dozen of them, Optio. Are you sure we can''t band together and defeat them? So what if they can fly?"

    A small barrage of arrows was quickly towards their location. Zenon seemed unconcerned.

    ? "Most of them are hiding their power level," Tycon exined.

    Zenon clenched his fist, "I''m confident in my abilities to sense their true power."

    The angel-fired projectiles bounced harmlessly off of Zenon''s passive ?Wind Barrier?. It seemed he had improved his ability to stop attacks without breaking his concentration.

    "Don''t," Tycon warned. "Do not underestimate the angels, Brother-Zenon. You might literally die, seeing their true forms. Some of those creatures are peak Adamantine-Rank."

    Zenon''s mustache drooped, crestfallen, "Then... we can only run? With our me-taken tails tucked between our legs?"

    "I specifically stated order our *main* forces to withdraw," He turned away from his friend, smiling at a young man who was jogging towards them, "All ablebatants of Sol Invictus will remain."

    "Hey, guys!" The blue-armored Spear Hero waved. "There''s flying baddies in the sky! What do we do?!"

    "Good morning, Pale," Tycon nodded. "Athanasius, do you have enough mana to cast your flight spell on our young friend?"

    Tanamar twisted his lips with uncertainty, "I do... but... it won''t work. I can only cast ?Aspect of the Winged Seraphim? on myself."

    "Humor me, if you would, little brother," Tycon smiled politely... "Just try it."

    Baring his teeth, Tanamar nodded and did as Tycon asked.

    The boy sprouted wings of light.

    Everyone seemed to be surprised, save Tycon and Korr.

    "I owe you one, Tanamar!" Pale grinned, rendering a clean salute. The young boy then crouched down and leapt skyward with a heavy p of his glowing wings.

    Tanamar was still unconvinced... "Isn''t the kid a spear user, simr to me? Can he shoot spear-arrows too?"

    Tycon gestured to the sky, "Something like that."

    The winged Pale pointed an empty palm towards one of the angels in flight, "?MAXIMUS!!!!?"

    Magical lightning arced from his hand to the winged fellow. The angel squawked simr to an oversized chicken and immediately began plummeting towards the ground.

    The skill activation was easily heard... unmistakable, despite the distance, such was its power.

    Tanamar stared in disbelief, "He... did he just... Pale just..."

    Ignoring him, Tycon turned to Zenon, "The withdrawal order."

    "Right away, Optio," Zenon began to channel his mana, to empower his voice.

    Tycon turned to Korr, "Defend our forces as we withdraw."

    "[I HEAR YOU, LEADER!]" She shouted as she bolted off, her metal boots leaving a fiery trail.

    Tycon then turned to Tanamar, "Wake Athena."

    A still-groggy Athena opened her eyes, "I''m... I''m awake."

    She slowly got to her feet, her worried footman carefully supporting her.

    Athena smiled warmly... "Sir Tycon... I... I dreamed of my brother, just now... Haha... can you believe it?"

    ",

 Chapter 601 Angel Bane (Part Two)

    ?Tycondrius decided to ignore Athena''s ramblings. Her brother was long dead and his influence, more-or-less nonexistent.

    "Youngdy," He gestured towards the burning building behind them, "I want the Head Magistrate''s residence scoured for valuables."

    "Oh... okay?" Athena pursed her lips. It seemed she''d forgotten that, in sieging Caeruleum, Letalis Serpentia was operating on a loss. Looting was the only way they''d hope to recoup those losses.

    Tanamar frowned, "Shouldn''t we... withdraw with the others? The ce is in ruins."

    Tycon twisted his lips, "You''ll... find something, I''m sure... Sculptures, metal trinkets... Ah, I did notice some very nice tiles in the front hallway."

    "Tiles, Tycon?" Tanamar grimaced.

    "I... I can use my Arcanite swords to pry them off the floor," Athena offered.

    "Creative thinking, I approve," Tycon smiled to her, "Do your best while not overstressing yourself, youngdy. Once Boxtholomaeus is full or your confidence wanes, withdraw to safety..."

    He sped his hand on Tanamar''s shoulder, "Athanasius, I trust you''ll keep the Vanzano mistress safe?"

    "In this life and the next..." Tanamar groaned, shaking his head...

    As Tycon turned to leave, the young man called out to him.

    "Hey... Tycon."

    ...Pausing, Tycon turned his head back, raising an eyebrow, "Yes?"

    Tanamar rendered a crisp salute, a steady fist to his chest, "Don''t die out there, man."

    "Tss..." Scoffing, Tycon ced his helmet back on and continued on his way, "That is my general goal in this life."

    ...

    Priestess Ariadne''s chest tightened in anticipation, watching a host of angels descend from the ck sky. They fell or flew through the smoky haze... some forms passably resembling humans, and some... far from it.

    It made her question who was worse... her enemies... or her allies.

    The Tactician had bid her and her husband, Bannok, to travel from their hovel to the city of Caeruleum.

    Upon arrival, they found that the snake had an army of monsters with mouths of flesh-rending teeth, wings for arms, and skins of thick steel.

    She argued and argued with Bannok for bells on end... to no avail. Bannok still wanted to participate in the siege... to get revenge on the city that killed his best friend and forced him to disband his guild.

    Deep inside... Aria was still angry... at everything. She hoped that the monsters would try to antagonize them... to have some spark of conflict. She needed a reason to bite back... to convince her husband that they weren''t as wee as they seemed.

    Maybe she just wanted a way to cause problems for Tycon.

    It didn''t happen... nothing close to it.

    In passing, she asked an Elven member of Guild Letalis about why they seemed to be avoided. She learned that the monsters were warned to keep away from the Gold-Rank humans. Those without rank that did not were to be executed.

    Also... the order was given before Ariadne and Bannok arrived.

    It was annoying-- infuriating, almost, thinking that Tycon knew they wereing without a doubt.

    Still... it didn''t change anything.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The only reason Ariadne was in Caeruleum... was to keep her husband out of trouble.

    ...Only a few suns prior, avoiding ''trouble'' meant keeping Bannok from drinking himself stupid.

    Tycon changed that. He gave him hope for redemption... and a reason to avoid the bottle. It was something that Ariadne did not want to thank him for.

    Instead of cheap whiskey, she now had to keep her husband away from pissed off heavenly beings.

    And with what? All Bannok wore a cheap iron helmet, a thick gambeson, and grumpy old polecat scowl.

    The Calctor, Sorina, had offered them both a full set of armor worn by Athena''s Letalis Serpentia. Bannok declined... as if arrogance and cloth were somehow better than steel te.

    She nced over to Bannok... an old... old... angry human. This was the man she fell in love with all those years ago. This is the man she still loved with all of her heart, regardless of the lines etched in his face... even though he could only embrace her with one arm.

    Without a shield arm, Bannok carried a looted longsword over his shoulder.

    Obviously, he''d be fine. He had the Weaponmaster ss, after all. But still... using such arge, unwieldy weapon wasn''t like him.

    It just felt like... neglecting heavy armor... prioritizing offense... seven hells, evening to the gods-damned city in the first ce...

    It felt like... maybe Bannok was tired of living.

    The thought of it broke her heart.

    He never showed weakness around her. When she''d ask about it, he''dugh and smile... even though she knew he left the bed in the middle of the night to cry... Traveling over, he swore up and down that he wouldn''t needlessly risk himself...

    And even though she hated herself for thinking the way she did...

    Bannok was human.

    Humans are natural-born liars.

    ...Almost as bad as snakes.

    "You best be careful, hon," Ariadne warned. "I can''t heal you if yer dead."

    "I know, wife," Bannok grumbled. "That''s not even the first time you''ve told me that this sun."

    "I''m jus'' worried," She huffed. "Tha''s all..."

    ? "Well..." Her husband winked as he wore an unapologetic smirk, "How ''bout you worry a little quieter?"

    Ariadne shook her head, too fed up with the circumstances to argue. If things were different, she''d have offered to shove her enchanted quarterstaff up his rear.

    A short distance away was an angel, but nothing like she''d ever seen or heard about. Its body was a gorgeous, marble white... and that was where the beauty ended.

    It was a huge mass of flesh, twenty feet tall and wider than four gorgons around. It crawled around by undting its body and dragging itself forward on massive, three-fingers ws. It had no face, but had a huge, stretching maw of jagged flesh that resembled teeth.

    With an otherworldly roar, it shot a beam of radiant energy... disintegrating a troop of fleeing humans.

    They weren''t even part of guild Letalis. They were just adventurers.

    Aria knew that angels did not care for mortals. She had the feeling that whatever mage brought them to this world also knew.

 Chapter 602 Angel Bane (Part Three)

    ?"I''m goin'', wife," Bannok muttered. "Take care of me, will ya?"

    "Pff, go on," She groaned. "Git."

    "Love you too," He scoffed before turning away and breaking into a jog.

    One of the flying angels dove towards him with spear in hand, this one with a myriad of wings and aze with holy fire.

    "?Crimson Stride?," Bannok swatted it away like a horsefly, a red trail following his weapon. The male angel smashed into a building, its wings broken, a cut on its chest, and with another blood-red sh of energy cleaving the creature into top and bottom.

    A sh and magical after-effect?

    That... wasn''t a skill Ariadne was familiar with. It wasn''t the first time Bannok had hid her abilities from her... but it was inconceivable to her that he was drunk-training in the fields behind her back.

    In an instant, Bannok was engaged with the tentacle-thing, dodging beams of light and its pounding ws.

    Keeping her eye on him, Ariadne turned to face another angel.

    She wore a helm that hid her eyes, from which pale blonde hair spilled down her back. Her eight wings glowed on her back as she hovered with her bare feet not touching the filthy, blood-mucked ground.

    The angel was above and not equal to the mortals she faced.

    [Lay down thy weapons... and allow thy actions to speak for thy sins,] She said.

    Her words echoed in Ariadne''s mind... the power in them threatening to tear apart not just her mind, but dismantle her entire physical form.

    "Not gonna happen, b*tch," Aria grit her teeth, expelling mana outward to reject the mind-effect. "Y''all are just tryin'' ta get me got!"

    Two long swords appeared in the angel''s thin, uncalloused hands, sheathed in holy mes... [I will ask but once, mortal.]

    Ariadne spun her heavy wooden quarterstaff in her hands, locking it beneath her right shoulder, "An'' I''mma tell you to stuff it as many times as you want, ho!!"

    She shot her left hand forward, "?Bind Outsider!?"

    Glowing silver chains erupted from the ground, wrapping around the sword angel''s arms and wrists.

    [You are making a grave mistake,] The emotionless angel stated.

    "Yea, I reckon I''ve made a lot of mistakes in my life," Ariadne growled. "But marryin'' mah husband AIN''T ONE OF ''EM!"

    She whirled her quarterstaff over her head, smashing it into the angel''s helm. The angel tried to move her arms-- and failed. Ariadne smashed her staff into the woman''s vicle, copsing the holy whore to her knees. The chains withdrew deeper in the ground, severely limiting her opponent''s movement.

    "?Lance of Faith,?" Ariadne sted the woman in the face from less than a foot away.

    ...and it didn''t do shite.

    She groaned in frustration, "?Lance of Faith.? ?Lance of Faith.? ?Lance. of. Faith!?"

    The angel was injured severely, her hair a mess, her majestic robes torn. But still... she lived.

    [You... are making...]<novelnext></novelnext>

    Ariadne sighed as she drew her utility knife and shed the angel''s throat. The rest of the creature''s sentence devolved into wet gargles... still echoing magically in her mind.

    She clicked her tongue, "Stars above, this don''t feel right."

    Suddenly, she winced, feeling three more powerful creatures quickly approaching.

    Three more angels had descended... and they had her surrounded.

    Ariadne cast her fear away and put on a brave smirk... "Appreciatin'' youdies waitin'' yer turns."

    She pointed her staff forward like a spear, "Now which o'' y''all''s next?"

    She had to stand her ground... not letting them past. Out of her peripheral vision, Bannok was desperately fighting his way toward her... and she didn''t like their chances if her angels turned to her husband.

    "ARI!!!!" Her loyal and faithful Centurion shouted her name as he cut down another faceless angel with four arms and oliphant hooves.

    Thankfully, the angels surrounding Ariadne had humanoid forms and weren''t weird, white, tentacle monstrosities like Bannok was fighting.

    The first looked the most powerful... golden-armored, golden-winged, and with glowing golden hair and eyes of golden light.

    The second was a lithe, silver-haired woman with a subtle smirk on her face. Instead of wings, long translucent and sparkly fabrics floated around her sheer robes.

    The thirdnded on the ground with two heavy clunks, a tall woman, her skin a gleaming metallic bronze and her armor seamlessly melding with her body. She crossed her muscled arms, grimacing.

    Just by their presence, Ariadne was struck by the powerful urge to kneel... to beg for mercy... to give praise to some god she didn''t care for.

    A dragon?

    Bull shite. She wouldn''t have any of that.

    The golden one opened her mouth to speak, [Lay down thy--]

    "Oh, hush yer mouth!" Ariadne stepped forward and jammed her quarterstaff at the back of the hovering angel''s throat. Shifting her weight, she mmed the woman''s head into the road.

    She took a quick nce behind her-- the other two hadn''t acted yet. The silver one''s mouth was so wide she could ride a horse into it. The metal girl had uncrossed her arms, leaning forward and staring.

    Were they surprised? And they were supposed to be high and mighty, no-nonsense angels. They were mescarred jokes.

    Ariadne stomped on the golden angel''s chest with her sandaled foot. Her divine spells werergely ineffective against these things... which made sense-- them being divine beings and all... but she had a little something for that.

    She pulled on the strap around her chest, grabbing the weapon she had on her back.

    Though, like her husband, she declined Calctor Sorina''s offer of armor... she did take a weapon from their armory.

    She pointed the barrel of the hextech shotgun at the angel''s head, its wooden stock resting against her shoulder pocket. She''d heard the guns made in the Eastern States were based off of designs made in Bael Turath... and from the familiar way the Letalis weapon fit in her hands, she feared it might''ve been true.

    "Betch''all were thinkin'' I''m jus'' a helpless belle with a pretty face, huh?!" She shouted. "WELL, I AIN''T!!"

 Chapter 603 Angel Bane (Part Four)

    ?Ariadne willed her Gold-Rank ?Mana Ward? to thicken around her ears-- she knew the thing in her hands was louder than all git-out.

    She clicked off the safety.

    She pulled the trigger.

    The loud bang reverberated throughout her entire body. Her shoulder hurt. Even her ears hurt! The shotgun packed a bigger punch than she''d remembered.

    There wasn''t much left of the angel''s head... just a bottom jaw and some teeth. Everything else of her was sttered onto the stones, a mess of crimson red and a patch of sopping wet hair.

    She turned to the other angels, sweeping a blonde bang out of her eye, "Only reason ah''m here''s ta keep mah idjit husband breathin''-- even if I hafta pull him outta the depths of the seven hells with mah BARE HANDS!!"

    The metal feet of the bronze-angel began to quickly clunk towards her. The hands at the ends of her muscr arms had transformed into long metal spikes.

    [You are making a GRAVE--]

    Ariadne rolled her eyes. Turning the barrel of her shotgun at the soon-to-be carriage wreck.

    "Go back to yer maker, b*tch," She pulled the trigger once more. "An'' tell ''em Ari sent ya."

    The angel copsed onto her knees, her chest thudding against the ground. A hole the size of her head had opened up in her chest, bent in like metal and bleeding a dark, oily substance instead of blood.

    Bannok had finally reached her... walking quietly and keeping a weird amount of distance away, "Hey... Ari...?"

    "WHAT?" Ariadne growled.

    She kept her attention on the third, silver-haired angel with the flowy scarf. The b*tch had just turned to fly away.

    "Oh, no, you don''t! ?Bind!?"

    Grasping her fist, silver chains sped up from the road, coiled around the angel''s ankles, and pulled her down to the ground where mortals tread.

    "I uh... I''m here, now," Bannok grinned sheepishly. "You uh... you look like you got it, though."

    "No shite," Ariadne rolled her eyes as she popped her shotgun open, ejecting the two spent shells. "You change your ss to Investigator, hon?"

    She loaded two fresh ones with practiced hands, closed the chamber, and cocked the weapon back.

    Aiming down the sight of her barrel, the flighty strumpet had made it near 50 feet in a matter of seconds.

    Close enough.

    Ariadne pulled the trigger, pink-misting her target. The angel flopped to the ground, part of her head and shoulder having up and disappeared.

    "me take me, that''s loud," Bannok cursed, "Where uh... where''d you learn to shoot like that, wife?"

    "Turkey huntin'' with pa," Ariadne gave her husband a grin, "Why''d youe back in such a fuss, hon?"

    "Well, I uh... I was worried about you''s..." Bannok averted his gaze.

    "Of all the..." Aria sighed, "Ah''m fine, darlin''. It''s you who I gotta worry about."

    Suddenly, Bannok grabbed hold of her and kissed her deeply. While surprised, Aria returned the passionate kiss... parting only reluctantly.

    She smirked, shoving him yfully. "We''re in a me-takenbat zone, bub. Yer not exactly pridin'' professionalism, are ya?"

    Bannok turned away, "I just... this life isn''t worth living without you, Ari."

    He turned back, meeting her gaze, "Thanks for dealin'' with my selfishness, alright?"

    Ariadne chuckled at her husband''s sudden shyness, "Oh, Bannok... I ain''t never been surprised by you. I''ve always loved you despite yer stubbornness."

    "You''re kinda makin'' me sound like the bad guy, wife," Bannok grimaced.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Well..." She chuckled derisively, "we''re offin'' angels, darlin''. It sure don''t feel make me feel like a hero."

    Bannok grinned, his spirits returned. He walked a bit away, readying his sword as another half-dozen angels began to descend around them.

    "Hey, Ari," He called out. "How ''bout we work for the snake after this? Who knows? He might be the next demon king!"

    Ariadne red in response as she aimed her weapon at her next target, "You''d best be joking, husband."

    ...

    ? System, analysis: ss and rank of those two... ?

    ? Ariadne, Gold-Rank Elven Priestess; Bannok, Gold-Rank Human Avenger. ?

    From where Tycondrius was observing them, they seemed to be holding out well enough. Bannok had ss-changed from Weaponmaster to Avenger, his offensive power growing exponentially.

    It suited him, considering the circumstances.

    However... the enemy''s swelling number did not bode well for them.

    Tycon wrapped his enchanted de whip on one of the guard tower''s crions. Leaping off, he focused his mana-control on his weapon to steady his descent, allowing him to safelynd on the ground.

    "We''re being overrun," He muttered. "Brother-Zenon, contact Pale and tell him to support Bannok and Ariadne."

    Librarian Zenon Skyreaper nodded, "[me take these bastards... the stream of ''em''s neverending...]"

    He then turned away and walked off to send his ?Wind Whisper.?

    Tycon crossed his arms, staring expectantly at an adjacent building.

    A generous section of the wall burst open... and a huge, four-legged, two-armed creature emerged. It was a gorgon... a metal-skinned, bull-bodied, humanoid-torso''d, bull-headed, fish-brained Idiot.

    ? Stephanos, Gold-Rank Gorgon Idiot. ?

    He was also blissfully unaware of an armored adventurer still gored on his horn.

    Tycon gestured at his own head.

    "Oh, thanks," Stephanos tilted his head, jostling the dangling corpse... and wiped off the opposite, corpse-less horn.

    Tycon nced at the building the gorgon had emerged from. It was one of the Church temples he hadn''t gone through. It seemed that Stephanos, though generally unreliable at everything, was somewhat diligent in ughtering humans.

    "GOT ''EM!!" Stephanos guffawed, "Got all the Pdins! Left the women and children, jus'' like you said, Commander!!"

    Tycon ced his palm on his face. He had ordered *all* of the humans killed.

    "...Very well," He sighed. "Good job, you."

    There was no point in berating him... or alerting him to his head-ornament a second time. At least praising him would keep his spirits up.

    "Good job?!" Stephanos allowed his hafted axe to rest against his shoulder as he ced his hands on his torso''s hips, "GREAT JOB, I''D SAY!! AHAHA HAAA!!! So what say you and me, Commander, we get on to that HONORABLE DUEL!!"

    Tycon pointed skyward, "After we deal with that."

    "Aha! Hahaha!" Stephanosughed. "HAHAHA!! HAHA!"

    He looked up, "Ha... haa..."

    He stoppedughing... "Hmm..."

 Chapter 604 Dreaming Of Home

    ?"HMMMM," Stephanos crossed his heavy metal arms, "Those don''t look like birds. They don''t look like birds, AT ALL!!"

    Tycon took a deep breath. Then he took another. Still, the urge to pick up fallen debris and smash it against the Idiot''s horned head abated only slightly.

    "Correct," He grumbled.

    He feared that, in trying to say more, he would act in a manner atypical of a gentleman.

    "Say... Brother-Tycon," The gorgon mumbled.

    "What is it, Brother-Stephanos?" Responded the snake.

    "I don''t feel like fighting anymore."

    "Granted."

    Tycon began walking back to his Centurion, "Come, Brother-Zenon. The three of us must away, lest the forces of heaven decide to grace us with their presence."

    "Tycon!" Stephanos shouted, "What... the HELLS is that?!"

    Tycon felt his eye twitch again. Yes, some angels were nothing but magical elements and a wide assortment of body parts from arger assortment of mundane creatures, but Stephanos had surely seen...

    Oh.

    Looking up, Tycon saw the skybound angels falling to the ground, one by one.

    "Zenon..."

    The human had taken off his helmet and was also looking up, "Yeah, Optio?"

    "You neglected to mention you got in contact with Mister Kanbrai."

    Kanbrai was an adventuring Tyrion house cat... an orange tabby, in particr. He was also one of Tycon''s strongest trump cards... another transmigrator simr to Tanamar and himself... who seemed to be far stronger than either of them.

    Zenon nodded... "Y-yeah... I did. But I didn''t report it because I wasn''t sure if he was going to show up."

    "Well," Tycon smirked. "It looks like he''s more than paid me back for that favor."

    "That... that cat," Stephanos muttered with a shaky voice.

    "Yep," Zenon answered. "He does."

    "It... it has wings, doesn''t it?" The bull-centaur bellowed, "Seven hells, it''s... some sort of freak!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes and red towards the gorgon, "Stephanos, you do realize you''re a bull-human-centaur-fish-scorpion?"

    "Fish?" Zenon asked.

    "Well, YEAH!" Stephanos crossed his arms. "But the difference is that I''m REAL... not a mythical Gaelicat!!"

    Tycon shook his head, electing not to argue.

    Kanbrai''s presence had lifted much of the pressure on the Letalis main body as they escaped. Still, the city was ruined. The operation was an overall sess. Tycon would ask Zenon to order a full withdrawal.

    ...

    Tycon shot awake, sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes.

    He was in the middle of something... in whatever dream he was having. It seemed important.

    He tossed off his silk covers and stood up, stretching. He wasn''t wearing any clothes, as he was in the safety of his own home-- not out adventuring in the field.

    It was the mostfortable way to sleep, considering the generally warm weather.

    ...Tycon furrowed his brows.

    Something was wrong.

    He sharpened his senses and looked about his room.

    Near the door was his bookcase full of military doctrine, most of them in the Tyrionnguage. On the walls were tattered banners and knickknacks he had taken from defeated warbands. In the corner of his room was a neglected string instrument that he never cared to learn.

    Nothing *seemed* amiss. Everything was as he remembered it. Everything was... normal... and painfully so.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He walked to the open balcony and looked upon his mother''s territory... Charm. The pebble beaches were as he remembered. The scent of the salty sea air filled him with nostalgia. The familiar buildings below were all built with light-colored stones, roofed with red tiles... reminiscent of how his people lived hundreds of years ago, in the Holy Country.

    He was home.

    That was wrong.

    It was a ce he had only been in his memories...

    ? System, inquiry: Where the hells am I? ?

    ? System response: The host is in a Reality Marble, a recreation of the capital city of Charm. ?

    ? ...Thank you. ?

    ? You''re wee. ?

    Seven hells.

    Another Reality Marble.

    It seemed everywhere Tycon had gone had a new mage capable of creating one. Maybe that was amon urrence in this Realm? From what he knew, it should not have been.

    ? System, I''d like to leave this ce. ?

    ? Exiting... ess denied. ?

    Tycon sighed and shook his head. Of course, it wouldn''t be that easy.

    ? System, change settings: ...Recreate my spatial ring and its contents. ?

    ? System response: Settings are locked and require administrator ess. ?

    That... would not do. That would not do, at all.

    ? ...System, brute-force whatever user-input sequence is necessary to get me ess. ?

    ? Activating brute-force protocol in the background... ?

    Anxiety filled Tycon''s cold, reptilian heart. He needed his equipment... his swords, his Arcanite armor, his speed-increasing boots, his crossbow and poisoned bolts...

    ? System, prioritize the protocol. ?

    ? Understood. Diverting mana towards process. ?

    With the abrupt change, Tycon found it more difficult to breathe. He spent a moment catching his breath, readjusting to so much of his passive mana being redirected.

    He felt vibrations at the door... someone was about to enter. He quickly righted his posture, crossed his arms, and wore a scowl to mask the dull pain in his head.

    A maidservant with a light-brown ponytail entered his room, light blue scales on her neck and the outside of her arms. Upon meeting Tycon''s gaze, her jaw dropped and she nearly released her weapon of choice-- a wooden broom.

    If she were human, he would have judged her to be just-over twenty years of age.

    She was not.

    "P-p-prince Tycondrius!" The woman ced her hand below her neck as she sighed in relief... then she furrowed her brows and red, "So you''ve returned."

    The woman was familiar to him... her scent, her stern voice, and her judgmental eyes.

    Still... she was different than in Tycon''s memories.

    Her dress was covered with fine embroidery, the material not at all durable, as would be expected of a servant. Though medusae age gracefully, she wore scentless makeup to hide her imperfections. Further, she wore painted nails and golden jewelry on her neck, ears, and wrists.

    Tycon was in his home territory... in his mother''s estate, that was certain.

    However, If his hypothesis was correct... he was not in a recreation of the past... but a recreation of the present.

    He felt a chill run down the length of his spine.

    If this woman was here... who else was in the pce?

    ",

 Chapter 605 Atusa (Part One)

    ?Some years prior, Tycondrius had transmigrated to his current Realm without memories of his personal history. Using the Oracle powers of his adopted daughter, Sasarame, he was able to review many of his forgotten life events... if as an outside observer.

    The woman''s name was Atusa... and in theory, she had known him for several decades.

    Initially, she acted as his surrogate mother. At the time, Queen Rnia was embroiled in the politics of the Free Nation, establishing dominance amongst the other warbands, and coborating secretly with agents of the Holy Country.

    As Tycon aged, Atusa''s role changed to that of his primary instructor, specializing in finer subjects such as etiquette and history.

    Each passing year, either her discontent with him grew or he gained more cognizance as to her true nature.

    Atusa was a cruel woman.

    Though she had no martial training, she used open-palm ps to punish him as a child. Soon after, she graduated to closed fists.

    When Tycon''s body and bloodline grew stronger, so too did his ability to endure injury before requiring healing magic.

    Atusa beat him with switches until his skin split open. She''d stab him with knives, deep enough to cause pain, but not inflictsting muscle damage. She even burnt him with an iron rod she kept heated in a brazier.

    Other-Tycon was terrified of her.

    He was also physically attracted to her, epting her excessive abuse as... deserved.

    Atusa was a shite teacher... for even with her great efforts, the Other-Him was uneptably weak at the subjects she taught.

    The current Tycon had no such weaknesses... nor was he the same submissive weakling of suns long past.

    The previous-him carried with him vindictive fantasies of forcing himself upon her. With his current level of strength, it would be effortless.

    ...It was tempting, as the mature woman''s modest curvature well-suited his personal tastes in a sexual partner.

    No...

    He would not hold Atusa''s past sins against her.

    She was his subordinate.

    He would treat her with respect... unless she chose to act unreasonably.

    Tycon inclined his head lightly, "Good morning, Atusa."

    The woman''s face twisted in disgust, her light-brown bangs writhing menacingly to match, "Nudity is unbing for a man of your station."

    Not two minutes into the conversation and Atusa had deliberately and unreservedly insulted him.

    Tycon scoffed at the thought. If she was toin about impropriety, then her failure to knock certainly trumped the fact that he was undressed in his private quarters.

    "I''m not trying to bed you, Atusa," He rolled his eyes. "Calm yourself, shut the door, and assist me in getting dressed, if you would."

    There wasn''t an obvious wardrobe or storage chest in his room. It was an annoyance, but Tycon would need at least that much help.

    The servant mmed the door behind her, but made no move towards him, "You can''t be serious, Tycondrius. I haven''t dressed you since you were--"

    Tycon inhaled sharply through his nostrils, "*That*... is part of your duties, is it not?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    From her tone, her mien, and the way she had not even once referred to him by his title as Prince, his patience was quickly wearing thin.

    "Well, yes," Atusa frowned, cing her hands on her hips, "but I don''t see why--"

    "?Atusa,?" Tycon whispered.

    The servant''s eyes widened and her hair grew still. Slowly... she moved her hands to her throat, grasping, wing... trying to release the pressure that Tycon had magically applied around her throat.

    A glowing sigil shone on Atusa''s left breast through the fabric of her clothes. The ve Brand ensured her loyalty to Tycon and his kin.

    A certain faction of Ice Snakes was defeated by Queen Rnia near a century prior. Instead of putting them to the ughter, their royal family was taken hostage... Princess Atusa, included.

    The younger Tycon knew of her lineage but did not realize her position. Underneath a veneer of arrogance, typical of a noblewoman... Atusa was nothing more than a well-dressed ve.

    ? Tycon waved his hand, dispelling the magical stranglehold.

    The woman bent over, gasping for air, tears brimming from her eyes... "H... how... dare you..."

    Atusa had undimmed her vision. If Tycon were human, he''d have been frozen into a block of ice. Regardless of his immunity to her petrifying gaze, it was unpleasant to receive so much disrespect in his own home.

    Tycon''s request was in no way inappropriate. It was certainly not the first time Atusa had seen him naked.

    By Queen Rnia''s decree, his servant had one more title: his royal concubine. Atusa was Other-Tycon''s first sexual experience, and he was hers. From what Tycon had seen in his memories, it was awkward and forced, at best.

    For decades, Other-Tycon allowed Atusa to physically and mentally abuse him, never once speaking up for himself. In exchange, all he received was subpar intercourse at irregr intervals.

    Tycon exhaled in frustration. He could not know what his logic was at that time. Ultimately, he was d he knew better.

    He red down at the teary-eyed woman, crawling on her hands and knees... "Perform your duty... as requested."

    "...I hear you," She growled.

    Tycon shook his head. It was the correct answer... but delivered incorrectly.

    "I changed my mind," He expended a sliver of his mana to draw a few sigils in the air.

    The indignation drained out of Atusa''s expression, reced with surprise and confusion, "Is that... a spell formation?"

    Tycon didn''t have arge functional mana pool, with so much of it going to his System. However, he had the advantage of Atusa''s ve Brand as his magical focus.

    He would impose his will upon Atusa, using her own life-essence to make it so.

    Uponpleting the small spell circle, the woman dropped hard to her blue-scaled knees on a too-thin rug.

    "T... Ty... con..." She gasped, short of breath, "What..."

    Tycon began to walk around his room, searching for a container that would feasibly hold clothing. He passed by an expensive, full-length mirror, and upon inspecting himself, deemed he was his well-muscled Gold-Rank self... not a recreation of the heavily-pierced past-him.

    In the mirror''s reflection, Atusa was dragging herself towards him, heaving furiously and drooling at the corners of her mouth.

    He continued his search for clothes, speaking his thoughts aloud for his maidservant''s benefit,"Atusa, do you know what having your nails ripped out feels like?"

 Chapter 606 Atusa (Part Two)

    ?**Content Warning: Explicit Depictions of Torture.**

    With a casual drop of Tycondrius'' hand, Atusa''s right wrist thunked onto the floor.

    Torture tended to be useless for most things. Positive reinforcement was nigh always a more efficient and effective teaching strategy.

    It did, however, instill fear. Establishing a reason to fear him would afford him basic respect... at least in the short-term.

    "T... ycon..." Atusa managed to groan... "What... the hells..."

    She had yet to fully grasp her situation.

    Out of the goodness of his heart, Tycon elected to remind her.

    He flicked his wrist, "?Rip and Tear.?"

    Atusa''s entire body tensed up, her eyes widened as she felt an unfamiliar pain in her hand.

    Tycon squeezed two of his fingers together, just as the woman experienced the crescendo of pain. She moaned in agony, the noisergely muted. As best as she could, she curled her body around her immobilized arm... weeping silently, applying pressure to the hand suffering the invisible pain.

    Through Atusa''s ve Brand, Tycon could instill basic emotions-- something useful for dealing with ves despite anguage barrier.

    With his knowledge in magical formations, he could also instill a very realistic sense of pain.

    He did not know why, exactly, he was familiar with that particr feeling. However, he decided it as an appropriate way to punish a sheltered princess without injuring her physically.

    Atusa had painted her nails with intricate designs only recently... and Tycon was a benevolent master.

    Finally, Tycon found a t storage container underneath his bed. From within, he recovered a set of clothing: undergarments, clean trousers, and a simple, long-sleeved linen shirt.

    He tossed them onto the ground in front of Atusa.

    She stared at the pile in disbelief, biting at her lip...

    "You... you''re serious... you really expect me... to dress you?"

    Tycon took in a deep breath. The pain had made her stupid.

    "?Yes.?"

    A thought and a word of power caused Atusa''s body to freeze. She groaned-- almost erotically, as she struggled against the magic... but in the end, her opposite hand mmed onto the floor at his feet.

    Tycon shut his eyes... recalling an intimate pain locked in his memories. He envisioned the cold, metal tool, crafted purposefully to tightly secure onto a humanoid''s fingernail. He remembered the inevitable pressure... wrenching upward... steady... unhurried.

    "No! Stop! Prince! I beg of you!!" Atusa pleaded, her face pale.

    Tycon opened one eye and pursed his lips, "Your Prince does not like to repeat himself, Atusa."

    As the spell finished, he pressed his two fingers together, once more. No one outside of his room would hear her scream.

    The pulling. The tugging. The tearing of flesh.

    And finally... the nail was released...

    One of the difficulties of a professional torturer was to ensure their clients did not grow ustomed to the pain. A novice might rely on uncertainty... ensuring the torture recipient a period of time between sessions and keeping the appointment times sporadic and unpredictable.

    Tycon preferred being creative.

    Within seconds, Atusa felt a resurgence of pain... the feeling of natural acid poured onto her illusory wound.

    She rolled and writhed around in pain as she sobbed, her hair disheveled, her body drenched in sweat, her jaw clenched shut by magic.

    Would only that be enough to make her obedient?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon gestured again at the clothes on the floor, then at his naked body.

    Still a quivering, crying mess, Atusa got to her feet and began to dress him.

    He tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. Thin lines of dark eyeliner streamed down her face.

    "I understand you don''t have to be pleased with your situation, Princess Atusa... but I expect a certain level of professionalism."

    "...I hear you."

    Tycon frowned, " ''I hear you, Prince.'' "

    He kept his tone even. He did not raise his voice. He merely stated his expectations, "Say it."

    "I... I hear you... Prince..."

    ...

    Tycon spent the next two bells conditioning his ve before inquiring about the situation in Charm.

    From the interrogation, he grew confident in his earlier theory. He and Atusa were not in the past... but a mirror of the present.

    It had been years since Tycon had departed from his mother''s territory.

    The crusade against the lycanthropic gue had beenrgely sessful. Warprince Dragan had been warring with the Ogre Faction for the past several moons. His sister, War Princess Cass, had recently returned victorious from a long campaign, gaining control of two different warbands, one controlled by a rogue demonic gargoyle, and another by a human wizard.

    Tycon was hundreds of malms away from his actual location, trapped in a Reality Marble against his wishes... However, he was pleased to at least gain something of value.

    ? System, inquiry: Status of the brute-force protocol. ?

    ? System response: 79.4 quadrillion sequences checked... ?

    Tycon furrowed his brows. That... was a veryrge number. It was troublesome that his System did not give him an estimated time ofpletion... but that could not be helped.

    "Atusa."

    The woman perked up, her eyes practically glowing with anticipation, "Anything you ask of me, Prince."

    Tycon twisted his lips. He was experienced in working with ves and ve Brands... but he hadn''t used one in years. It was to be expected that his utilization of Atusa''s would be... imperfect.

    During her conditioning, the pain would only subside when she acted with respect and dignity.

    Further... he supplemented those actions with positive reinforcement... magically transferred emotions.

    Comfort. Certainty. The pride of having loyalpanions.

    The warmth of a sentient being that gives freely without expectation.

    She was unable to resist. She didn''t even try.

    While it was certain that the ve Brand catalyzed Atusa''s drastic shift in personality, it took mere bells for what should have taken moons of brainwashing to achieve.

    Atusa''s domineering arrogance had all but left her, going as far as removing her expensive earrings, ne, and bangles of her own ''free'' will. She offered to disrobe, as well, but Tycon heartily refused.

    In a way... she had be broken. The way she begged while on her knees, offering her body to be used like a toy, was all too simr to a drug-addicted wastrel.

    It was disheartening that a woman so close to him had such low tolerance to simple, positive emotions, so often taken for granted.

    When hepleted his quest for Queen Rnia and returned to Charm in the real world, he would advocate for Atusa''s amicable release.

 Chapter 607 War Princess

    ?Ultimately, Tycondrius'' conditioning of Atusa had been sessful.

    The information she''d provided about the going-ons in the Free Nation had been most useful. Thus, his inquiries segued towards his personal curiosities.

    He gently brushed his loyal servant''s cheek, "Atusa, where is my sister?"

    The fair-haired woman closed her eyes and shivered at his touch, but ced her hand over his. Circting her mana, she mouthed several inaudible words...

    Tycon tilted his head... "Atusa?"

    "My liege," She opened her eyes, smiling warmly, "I sent the Princess a ?Message? spell informing her of your return."

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch, "Is... is that so?"

    "Prince?" She pouted her lips coquettishly, "Have I done something wrong? I''ll make it right, I swear to you! Please... p... punish me."

    "No, no," Tycon ced a palm on Atusa''s face, pushing her to arm''s length, "That won''t be necessary."

    He could already feel faint bursts of mana, from the hallway... ending with the door to his room exploding in a burst of wooden shrapnel.

    "WHERE IS HE?!" Cass yelled.

    Tycon''s blood-rted sister, Cass, was a young, olive-skinned woman with deep ck hair. One errant green lock of it stood out, the color identical to Tycon''s own.

    With the way her lively hair struggled to unstick to the perspiration on her forehead, Atusa''s summon had interrupted a training session.

    Cass was a War Princesss, recently returned from a victorious war campaign. However, she gave off the air of a novice swordswoman in her neat, dainty gambeson, and the sword on her waist-- a few ilms too lengthy for her height.

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat, "I believe the words you meant to say are: ''Wee home, dear brother.''"

    Cass whipped her head around to face him, nearly foaming at the mouth, "YYYOOUUU!!!"

    Just as quickly, her face turned a violent shade of red, "P-p-p-put on some clothes! YOU!"

    Tycon nced down. He *was* wearing clothes. If Cass was referring to anything of him being less than proper, it was his yet unbuttoned sleeved shirt.

    He tapped the cheek of the woman resting her head in hisp, "Atusa."

    She shot up immediately, "Yes, Prince!"

    "KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OF HIM, SSSSLUT!!!" Cass shouted.

    The angry War Princess began marching towards them, her vision undimmed, her hair raised, and her mana surging recklessly.

    Atusa shrunk away, bowing her head, and nearly crawling on the ground. With the difference in power between them, while she wouldn''t be petrified by Cass'' ocr magic, she''d still grow ill if she chose to meet her gaze.

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "What... is this about? Are you a spoiled Princess or a jealous lover?"

    "Sh-shut up!" Cass barked. "You''re an adult, Big Brother! Why is-- I don''t... I-- love... No-- I... don''t..."

    Tycon stood up from his chair, turning towards the youngdy with open arms, "Did you want to be the one to attend me?"

    The girl''s reddened face paled to white in an instant, "I... I what-- no... I... You can-- you... I..."

    It was... amusing.

    "Calm down, Cass," Tycon buttoned his shirt, chuckling to himself, "I''m pleased to see you. You look well."

    As... vociferous as his sister was being, she seemed healthy and in good spirits. He''d forgive her slight belligerence-- he did not sense any actual malice in it.

    "PERVERT!"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Pardon?"

    A whimpering Atusa was hiding behind Tycon, "Forgive her, Prince. Every sun, without fail, the Princess has beenmenting your--"

    "SH-SHUT UP, ATUSA!!" Cass yelled, her fists balled up at her sides.

    Tycon sighed, "Atusa, go watch the door. Thank you for your assistance."

    "I... I hear you, Prince," Atusa quickly hurried past the younger and stronger medusa Princess, bowing several times as she went.

    Cass watched her go... and she turned to face him with an awkward expression, "Um... B-big Brother... I... I..."

    Interrupting her, Tycon pulled his sister into a full embrace. Her face burned hot against his chest, but she stayed surprisingly silent, nuzzling him with her nose.

    After a moment, she shoved him away-- using much less force than he knew she was capable of. He didn''t want to take processing power away from his System to analyze Cass'' rank, but he estimated it to be Iron.

    "Wh... what... what was that for?" She muttered, her eyes on the floor.

    Tycon held up the weapon belt he''d stolen from her, unsheathing the sword from its scabbard, "This looks familiar."

    "That! I can exin!!!" Cass shouted, "It''s not what it looks like!!"

    Tycon pursed his lips in thought as he rotated the de,fortable in his hand... forged at a length that matched his height-- not hers. He''d used the exact same weapon... and somewhat recently.

    Back then... it was a mana-creation of the Shadow Snake Princess, Suka.

    As it was being carried by Cass... he realized its significance.

    It was his. The Other-Him had gifted it to his sister... and she held great importance in it.

    "How... amusing," He grinned.

    "G-give it back!"

    Cass lunged forward, but Tycon turned his body to keep it away.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She jumped again, oblivious to her bnce. To prevent her from falling, Tycon grabbed her wrist and pulled her so she''dnd uninjured on his bed.

    "This," Tycon sheathed the de, "is mine, youngdy. I figured you''d have it reced, by now."

    Cass hid her face behind a pillow, her eyes peeking over, "I did! I did rece it... but that weapon broke. Your sword is just a back-up!!"

    "Is that so?" Tycon cooed as he buckled the weapon belt to his waist.

    "B-b-b-besides!" Cass growled, "You would''ve cried if I threw it away! Crybaby!"

    "Mhmm~," Tycon hummed, gesturing for her to continue.

    "I w''s... I was just saving it!! --t-t-t-to show you when you got back!! See? It''s in perfect condition! I had the ves grind out the scuffs and marks justst week!!"

    "Right," Tycon chuckled.

    He sat down on the bed beside her. She turned away with a ''hmph'', but made no motion to move away.

    Admittedly, he was afraid that his sister was possibly working against him as an agent of her mother.

    It seemed, however, that Cass had a different agenda... and her ns did not include outward hostility towards him.

    "Wh... what are we gonna do on the bed?" She murmured.

    Tycon flicked her between the eyebrows, "We''re going to converse."

    "Wah!" Cass covered her face.

    Tycon reached over, snatching her ear and pulling her towards him, "What kind of impure thoughts has my little sister been having?"

    "ME?! IMPURE?!?" Cass gasped indignantly, smacking Tycon''s hand away, "Stars and stones, YOU''RE the impure one, Big Brother! You''re the one who had his concubine lying on hisp with your shirt unbuttoned after you danced around her erotically!!"

    She had run out of breath, illuminating what exactly had gone through her mind.

    ...Though when she came in, he was the one seated-- not Atusa. Would it not be more sensible if he was on the receiving end of an ''erotic dance''?

    "I... see," Tycon had to concentrate to keep a straight face.

    There was no value in insisting that she was mistaken.

    It was his sister''s right to be jealous of her handsome older brother.

    "...Where have you been, anyroad?" She asked, her eyes peeking over his pillow.

    "Where did you think I was?" Tycon smirked.

    "You''re *supposed* to be in the Holy Country! Cersei''s Rest!" Cass pouted, "Or... or... somewhere in Ezyria with your forces!"

    "Oho, *my* forces?" Tycon chuckled quietly.

    The girl was correct... but he was enjoying himself, ying coy.

    She smacked Tycon with the pillow in hand, "You''re so dumb, Big Brother! Why would you name a guild Letalis Serpentia?! That''s obviously your doing! And of course we''d find out your movements from Prince Landris'' Arcanite crystal suppliers."

    ...Clever girl.

    "So... dear sister," Tycon leaned his face closer to hers... "who else is interested in me?"

    "Well..." Cass scrunched up her face in thought... "There''s a wizard from the Sleeping Country."

    "And you."

    "Well, of course I''m interested in..."

    Being so close, Tycon could feel Cass'' heart rate rapidly spike. Her face again changed color.

    ...Was she a snake or a chameleon?

    "YOU! TRICKED! MEEEEEE!!!" Cass cried out.

    In an attempt to flee from the conversation, she dove away, buried her face in the pillows, and covered herself in his sheets.

    Tycon sighed, "I didn''t mean it in that way."

    He could see how the girl might have misconstrued his intentions, though.

    In an attempt tofort her, Tycon gently rubbed his sister''s back as she wept dramatically. It took well over a minute before she was calm enough to speak.

    "Big Brother..."

    "Yes, (Beautiful Child?)" He whispered in Parseltongue.

    She hit him with her pillow, "Stahhhp..."

    Tyconughed aloud, not bothering to hide his amusement, "Go ahead, dear sister."

    "Are you... back for good?" She asked.

    Tycon shook his head, "Unfortunately, that is not the case."

    Though he felt a twinge of pain, seeing Cass'' crestfallen expression, he continued.

    "To put it bluntly, dear sister... you''re not real."

 Chapter 608 Snake God

    ?"...Eh?" Cass tilted her head... "Wh... what?"

    "When I looked outside earlier," Tycondrius gestured behind him, "There were no people in the streets."

    Cass immediately rolled out of bed onto her feet and dashed to the balcony, "What the-- what''s going on?! Where is everyone?!?"

    It sounded like she was going to cry... again.

    Tycon slowed his speech and softened his tone, hoping not to agitate her.

    "Don''t be rmed, dear sister... but you and Atusa... you may be mana-constructs in a Reality Marble."

    Cass turned, her face twisted in confusion, "B-but why?! Why would someone trap you in a-- WAIT! WHY ME?!?"

    "Because this," Tycon stood up and gestured to his surroundings, "is my dream. I want my quest to beplete. I want to be done with it all.

    "No more trying to relive the glories of my past... with allies that pale inparison to the old members of Sol Invictus.

    "No more doing favors for people who don''t give a shite whether I live or die... embroiling myself in shite situations-- and for what? Because I foolishly cling to my dated ideals of honor and chivalry...

    "I suppose... I want the safety and security of being... here, the closest concept of ''home'' I can achieve in this life."

    Tycon paused thoughtfully to poke at Cass'' cheek, "with my favorite sister."

    "Oy," Cass red. "There''s something wrong with what you''re saying."

    Tycon shrugged.

    "I believe that whoever... or whatever wants to keep me here hopes for the illusion tost... that rather than struggling with the obligations in my actual life, I''d choose to live a peaceful, illusory life with my cute sister."

    "There''s lots of things wrong with what you''re saying, right now, Big Brother," The blushing Princess mumbled.

    "Can you reach anyone else via ?Message??" Tycon asked.

    Cass shut her eyes for several moments... then shook her head, "I just tried Mom... No luck."

    Tycon approved of his sister''s logical processes. However, if the creator of the Reality Marble couldn''t recreate the citizens of Charm, it was highly imusible that they''d recreate Queen Rnia.

    Still... it bothered him that there were so few people.

    In the Halls of the Dead Serpent, Adamantine-Rank formations held together a Reality Marble of thousands of Bronze-Ranks, as well as dozens of Iron-Ranks.

    In Cersei''s Rest, the Gold-Rank Reality Marble he and Sasarame created managed a single Gold-Rank Dovahkiin Warmage, as well as varied forces of Bronze-Rank diators.

    Thus far, Tycon had only encountered a single Iron-Rank Medusa Princess... and he very much doubted he was trapped in an Iron-Rank Reality Marble.

    --Movement. Just outside the room, Atusa had fallen. He and his sister immediately snapped their heads towards the door... watching it gnarl and wither and rot.

    A handsome green-haired gentleman in a white cloak kicked down what was left of the rotten barrier.

    "Tycon, Tycon, Tycon..." He shook his head... "my not so faithful servant."

    Ah. That was the mana-construct the rest of the formation was powering.

    Cass pointed usingly... not at the bloodied man at the door, but at him.

    "WHY ARE THERE TWO OF YOU?!" She shrieked.

    Tycon frowned, "Why are you asking me as if it''s my fault?"

    "I don''t know HOW, but you''re DEFINITELY at fault!" Cass retorted.

    That was an unfair judgment... but it wasn''t entirely false.

    Zehr was wearing Tycon''s face, as well as his charming smirk. He wore Tycon''s usual cloak with the hood pulled back, save its color was bleached white, as opposed to a functional dark.

    The chainshirt underneath clinked as he walked forward and the arming sword in his hand was wet with fresh blood. Atusay dead in the hallway, her eyes rolled back and her dress from the neck down newly colored crimson.

    "Good morning, Zehr," Tycon nodded. "To what do I owe this visit?"

    "Don''t start with me, Tycondrius," Zehr growled. "Youpleted your quest in the Holy Country. You should have left when you had the chance."

    Cass shouted in frustration, stamping her foot on the ground, "Big Brother?! Who in the seven hells is that?! And why does he have the same name as the Snake God?!"

    Tycon pursed his lips, slightly amused by his sister''s overly serious face.

    "Because... he *is* the snake god."

    "Cassiopeia, first daughter of Rnia," Zehr growled. "Kill this traitor."

    The willful girl stomped over to Tycon, grabbed his shirt cor, and ced a glowing hand against his chest.

    Tycon sharpened his gaze, hoping he looked more annoyed than concerned. In his weakened state, he doubted his ability to pry himself free of his sister''s grasp. Worse still, Cass was channeling a Second-Circle evocation spell at an intimate range.

    He was in a potentially lethal situation.

    Cass pointed a finger of her still-glowing hand towards Tycon''s cloaked doppelganger, "You pissed off the SNAKE GOD?!?!"

    "Apparently," Tycon grimaced.<novelnext></novelnext>

    That much was obvious.

    "END HIM!!" Zehr roared, "He is a TRAITOR to our people!"

    Cass ced her hand against Tycon''s chest once more, "Empty NIGHT! Why?! What reason could you possibly have for betraying us like this?!?"

    Tycon shrugged, "The snake god is in league with the dragons."

    Cass'' eyes widened in shock, "Dragons?! Don''t!! EXIST!!!"

    She abruptly turned her hand back to Zehr, "?Rending Cyclone!!?"

    A terrific burst of cutting winds forced the doppelganger to cross his arms in front of him, barely able to stand his ground.

    "Run, Big Brother!!" Cass shoved him away, towards the balcony.

    Tycon smoothed out the wrinkles on his shirt and ced a hand on his sword, "I don''t feel like it."

    Cass undimmed her vision, ring hatefully, "I''m a mana-construct, Brother. I can''t ?Message? Mom. I can''t contact any of my lieutenants. I can''t remember what I had for breakfast or the name of my best friend."

    "It''s Suka," Tycon offered. "Curly ck hair. Red eyes?"

    ...Also, her favorite breakfast food was runny eggs, topped with chives, and atop tbread.

    "GO!!" Cass shouted.

    She waved her opposite hand, sting Tycon with a chantless gust of wind... and he promptly tripped over the balcony''s metal railing.

    Sighing in his heart, he curled his body inward and allowed himself to rotate as he fell. Hended on one of the t-roofed buildings, rolling with the momentum.

    He felt somewhat guilty for leaving his sister to fight with an actual god... but she insisted. Anyroad, he was rtively useless in his current state.

    ? System, inquiry: Status of the brute-force protocol. ?

    ? System response: 79.6 quadrillion sequences checked... ?

    ...and he''d be useless for a while longer.

    In his memories from ages past... he and his sister would evade their guards and their lessons, rxing all sun on the pebbled beaches. They''d run the alleyways, stealing food and trinkets from their citizens. They''d escape by climbing walls and running the rooftops.

    It seemed that his body was still familiar with the movements, and he vaulted across the buildings of Charm with ease and crity.

    He ran. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop. The fake sun disappeared and the sky took on a shade of ck and green.

    He continued to run.

    A massive white snake burst out from roofing in his path, battering him with the red tiles. The exceedingly handsome creature lunged at him, faster than a normal human could blink.

    Tycon threw himself to the side, rolling and sliding downward... then leaping to the next roof.

    The snake sprung across the distance,nding a short distance away... and dissipated into mana dust, leaving behind the humanoid Zehr.

    "I''m a god, Tycondriusss," Zehr hissed, drawing his arming sword. "You can''ttt run from me."

    Tycon took a deep breath as he drew his sister''s sword. He''d literally been running for the past several minutes.

    A spatter of blood-stained Zehr''s face and white cloak... probably belonging to Cass. Even though all he''d done was kill a mere mana-construct...

    --seeing the result of violence on his dear sister made him want to kill a god.

    "You seem upset," Tycon teased, mentally weighing his possible avenues of attack.

    "SSSSEVEN HELLS, YES, I''m upset, you in-ssssufferable mortal!!" Zehr screamed.

    "I''ve murdered a few of your cultists before? That Saltspray pirate... that Warlock in Silva..."

    "TWO! You killed two! In Caeruleum, you engineered the death of THOUSANDSSSS!!!"

    Tycon scoffed as he began to circle clockwise, his weapon pointed forward, "You threw your lot in with the dragons, you worthless god."

    Zehr stepped forward and swung his weapon wide-- an attack easy enough to dodge.

    Tycon counterattacked-- which Zehr deflected effortlessly. Tycon tried to cut his opponent''s sword-arm, but his doppelganger pulled back and hopped away.

    "Do you have any idea how impossible it is to maintain neutrality, Tycondrius?" Zehr groaned. "I did what I had to do."

    "Our people don''t deal peaceably with dragons, Zehr," Tycon spat. "It''s in our gods-damned bloodline memories!"

    "The dragons made this world," Zehr shrugged indifferently. "It is inevitable they take it back."

    He pursed his lips, gesturing with his hand... "I advise you... operate on intelligent rationale over ancestral knowledge."

    Tycon frowned. It was sound advice... but it implied that being born a certain way made him stupid.

    The concept annoyed him greatly.

 Chapter 609 No More Running

    ?Tycondrius lunged forward with a thrust, then cut upwards as Zehr dodged.

    Zehr swayed sidewards, moving as if his spine were made of gtin, then reared his arm back for a horizontal strike.

    Quickly stepping forward, Tycon blocked the iplete swing. With the advantage, he shoved the snake god back-- but he took a solid kick to his thigh in the exchange.

    Zehr sighed as he stretched and rotated his right shoulder, "Seven hells, having a mortal body is shite... You''ll have to take my word on that, though."

    "Granted..." Tycon groaned as he rubbed his leg, "What''s changed, Zehr? Why choose this generation to stand with the dragon god?"

    "The Dragon God bares his teeth, Tycondrius." Zehr clinked his sword against his shoulder, "He spreads his wings, preparing to take flight."

    "If you think you''re being cryptic," Tycon rolled his eyes, "it''sing off as pretentious."

    "Anyroad," Zehr shook his head, "My involvement ensures that my people-- your people survive theing conflict."

    "And, most importantly, yourself," Tycon offered.

    "And myself," Zehr smirked, flourishing his de, "Now, let us fight. The least I can do is grant you an honorable death."

    "Which you''ve been forced to do, as your other servants are shite."

    "Granted," Zehr sighed... "You would do the same thing."

    It sounded like the snake god could not be convinced to stand down-- Tycon wouldn''t, in the same situation.

    It wasn''t a fair fight. Zehr controlled the Reality Marble... and likely had the culmination of several centuries of experience, drawn from his worshippers. On top of that, Tycon was still diverting most of his mana towards...

    ? System, inquiry: Status of the brute-force protocol. ?

    ? System response: 80.2 quadrillion sequences checked... ?

    "So you say I can''t run, snake god..." Tycon quietly sheathed his sword.

    "Oh? Giving up, Tycondrius?" Zehr chuckled. "I''m d you''ve realized that you can''t--"

    Tycon turned and ran.

    "I don''t believe in you!" He yelled aloud.

    "YOU!! YOU COWARD!!!" Zehr shouted as he pounded tiles, running after him.

    "It''s a perfectly viable strategy!"

    "You''re only prolonging the inevitable!!"

    Tycon turned, running backward, "You would do the same thing!"

    "That''s not the point!!" Zehr yelled, "?Iron Dragon REND!!?"

    It was disheartening for Tycon to hear one of his own Skills used against him... but he expected as much.

    He made a quick mental calction as he nced behind him at the oing line of exploding roof tiles.

    ...Unlike his own usage of the Skill, it looked Zehr''s might kill him.

    He didn''t have the mana to activate his ?Tumble? skill, so he was trying to be as careful as possible. Stopping briefly to crouch, he flipped backward off the rooftop.

    Rotating once in the air, Tycon caught himself on a balcony railing. Looking down, instead of trash-covered roadstones, there was... nothing to catch his fall. Everything in Charm that wasn''t a building had turned into an ominously deep pit.

    Zehr had administrator ess to the Reality Marble''s creative functions... and he had... deleted the ground.

    "Seven hells," With an exasperated curse, Tycon kicked off from his current balcony onto a different one, then barreled through the adjacent door.

    Inside, he found white walls-- painfully bare, no rugs or furniture... and no light sources. What should have been a two-story home was just an empty shell. It was likely that, with the exception of his mother''s estate, all the structures in the Reality Marble were the same.

    Sensing movement from above, he dove away. Zehr broke through the ceiling, stabbing downward in a fantastic shower of red-tile and cream-colored debris.

    As fast as he could manage, Tycon drew his short sword, shing at Zehr''s head.

    "Too slow," His doppelganger deflected and countered-- far faster than before.

    Gritting his teeth, Tycon moved his left arm to block... and the arming sword bit deep into his forearm.

    It was a chance.

    He cut his short sword at Zehr''s undefended side, bashing into the handsome gentleman''s chain shirt. It cut... but not deep.

    ...Having his strength reduced to merely Iron-Rank meant he couldn''t ignore even mundane armor. While he was trained to do so, anyroad, it was disheartening to see his opportunistic attack mostly nullified.

    While he wasmenting his situation, Zehr jabbed him in the face.

    Tycon reeled back, his fingers squeezing the bridge of his bloodied nose... "I suppose I deserved that."

    "You did," The snake god grinned. "Seeking vengeance is one of my ts, you know."

    Tycon wiped the blood away with his sleeve, "Petty revenge, too, then?"

    "Still counts," Zehr shrugged.

    The walls began to vibrate... crumbling and dissipating. Tycon''s beautiful city of Charm and its hundreds of buildings and thousands of inhabitants-- gone in an instant. Only the white tform he stood upon remained, all else the ck-green sky of the void.

    Empty night.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon nced at his left forearm. It was still bleeding... and profusely.

    "No more running, then?" He mused.

    The injury stung and detracted from his overallbat power. He wanted to heal himself with an ?Inspirational Surge?... but it was still too soon. His System was still working tirelessly towards attaining ess to the Reality Marble.

    "No more running, Ivory Prince," Zehr confirmed. "Just you... and me. One on one. Final destination."

    He held his de up in a salute and in an instant, it was sheathed with brilliant white piercing mana, "?Legionbreaker.?"

    "You seem to enjoy using my Skills," Tycon rolled his eyes... but rendered a return salute out of politeness.

    "Though Rnia is stronger than you, your skillset suits me more," Zehr rxed his stance, the glowing sword still at his side, "Believe it or not, you''re the strongest male cultivator among my faithful... and what better skill to end your life than this, your strongest Skill."

    Tycon smirked, having realized something. Unbeknownst to the snake god, ?Legionbreaker? was not his strongest Skill...

    ...He just needed to survive long enough to prove it otherwise.

    "I don''t suppose you''d allow me to--"

    "?Shadowfang Strike,?" Zehr plunged his white glowing arming sword into Tycon''s chest.

    Tycon dropped his sword, first pping his palms onto Zehr''s de, then gripping it tightly with his fingers. Fresh blood pumped out of the injury on his left forearm.

    But more than that... he. hated. being interrupted.

    Thankfully, he had managed to twist his body, so the sword went through his outer pectoral instead of his heart. It still hurt... immensely... but he lived.

    "Don''t you have a healing Skill?" Zehr asked. "Do you have enough mana to use it? Or did you waste it all in The Real?"

    Tycon gave a grim smile despite the pain.

    "Nevermind," Zehr grinned. "I don''t need an answer."

    With a surge of mana, Zehr pushed the weapon in deeper, the friction making Tycon''s fingers bleed.

    His blood intermixed with that of Atusa''s... and that of his sister.

    Tycon grabbed onto Zehr''s cor and smashed his forehead into the god''s nose, "Sod off, dragon f*cker."

    Zehr staggered backward, releasing the grip on his sword-- leaving it lodged in Tycon''s flesh.

    Still-- the snake god was a shitebatant to relinquish his weapon so easily in a life or deathbat.

    "Ah! Gods DAMN it!!" Zehr cursed, wiping the blood on his face with his wrist... "MY MISTAKE! Well yed, arse."

    "Thank you," Tycon sighed.

    He grimaced, looking at the sword stuck in him.

    The injury was hot. It itched. Other parts of his body were growing cold as his blood was redirected towards it. He had to force away the instinct to pull it out... but without using a healing Skill, he feared he''d go into shock from the blood loss.

    Zehr raised his arms... and a familiar greataxe coalesced into his hands.

    There was no fanfare... no shy Mana-Creation Spell. He merely summoned the Spinal Reaper into being.

    "I probably should have used this from the beginning... the weapon of my greatest champion, Sandstone Reaver Pontius." Zehr pursed his lips, "He was far more likable than you are, by the way."

    "That thing''s been destroyed," Tycon frowned. "Athanasius broke it."

    "I am the master of this ce, Tycondrius," Zehrughed. "Here... reality can be whatever I want."

    ? Brute-force protocolplete. Granting ess to host... ess granted. ?

    It seemed that Zehr''s previous statement was no longer true.

    Tycon took in a deep breath as he felt his self-imposed mana limiter release... the cool resurgence of life force renewing his spirits and making the pain slightly more manageable.

    ? System, change ess code. Randomize an extended hash... 20 characters should do. ?

    ? ...Setting changeplete. ?

    Trying not to show his glee, Tycon settled for a light smirk as he removed the sword in his chest and tossed it to the ground.

    "Oh?" Zehr grinned, "Is that not the best you can do?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "It is not."

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Please and thank you. ?

    ? Activating... You''re wee. ?

    Tycon''s injuries grew scalding hot... the outer skin closing as the wounds knitted closed.

    Zehr tilted his chin forward, his greataxe resting on his shoulder, "Go on, then. As I am a benevolent god, I shall allow you to use both your current sword and my previous one."

    "Kind of you," Tycon grinned. "I think we''ll take you up on your offer."

    ",

 Chapter 610 Goodbye

    ?Zehr gestured towards himself... quite rudely, at that.

    "Let us continue, then."

    "I have a proposal," Tycondrius smirked arrogantly, "Shall we use our strongest attacks?"

    "It pains me... but if you are *so* eager to die," Zehr mused, "Then I can only acquiesce."

    He casually lifted the Spinal Reaper over his head, "?Colossal Strike.?"

    The Skill made the oversized greataxe glow with a dizzying amount of sparkling light. The ground began to tremble. White sands whirled about him.

    It *looked* quite strong.

    ...Tycon wasn''t impressed. He could do better.

    Step one:

    ? System, summon: Spatial ring. ?

    The sturdy iron band materialized around his finger. He had been so ufortable with its absence.

    Step two:

    With a casual flick of his wrist, he summoned his curved sword in hand.

    And... step three:

    "?Taste the Hydra de,?" With the draw, he released nine, giant mana-created snakes, snapping forth with violent fervor.

    It took most of his remaining mana reserves... but he still had enough mana to use his lower tier Skills without suffering the effects of mana exhaustion.

    Zehr furrowed his eyebrows, "Hm. You used that Skill... at the Halls..."

    The god interrupted his Skill channeling, smashing his axe into the first of the ethereal snakes...

    "?Tumble,?" He hopped, ducked, and dodged away. He grabbed one of the surging snakes and crushed it into mana dust-- repeating the grab-and-crush with a second.

    "Full marks for attack strength," Zehr sneered. "But really, I''m the Snake God, using snakes on me is--"

    Tycon snapped his fingers, summoning his ?Venomous Shadow? behind Zehr. It wielded two swords in its vaguely defined hands. One was Tycon''s. The other should have been a very familiar god-enchanted arming sword.

    Zehr spun on his heel, battering the first attack with a displeased face. The second sh, he took to the chest, sessfully drawing blood. Finally, the remaining snakes bit into his form-- though they dissipated after a single bite.

    "GODSSSS DAMN ITTTT!!!" He hissed.

    The man was absolutely livid.

    The furious god swung his Spinal Reaper downward, cleaving the shadow into two.

    As it dissipated, the shadow managed to form two, identical obscene gestures with its hands.

    It was somewhat unprofessional, but it was the perfect distraction Tycon needed to move into Zehr''s blind spot, "?Shadowfang.?"

    Tycon raked his curved sword down the snake god''s back, cutting his cloak and chain armor open-- blood spraying out like a fountain.

    Zehr staggered away like a drunkard, then turned while gnashing his teeth, "Oh, you think this is the best I can--"

    "--?Legionbreaker,?" Tycon stabbed him through the stomach.

    The snake god undimmed his vision, ring in hatred.

    ...It was as if he''d forgotten about that Skill.

    Fatigued as he was, Tycon took great joy in swinging his adamantine scabbard at Zehr''s jaw, dislodging at least two perfect teeth and sending them flying.

    Damaging his doppelganger''s dashing appearance made him feel a slight pang of guilt... but he would notpromise efficiency for mere aesthetics. He was a professional, after all.

    "YOUUU!!!" Zehr managed a double-handed swing as a quick counter-attack.

    Tycon mmed the base of his hilt against the huge greataxe de, rejecting the attack in its entirety. Then, he chopped his scabbard into Zehr''s neck because breathing properly was not a luxury that fellow deserved.

    As Tycon''s shadow had so politely opened Zehr''s chest armor, he drew his own sword along the same line.

    It was a satisfyingly deep cut, a lethal injury to any mortal body.

    The god fell to his knees.

    But... despite the copious amount of blood spilled onto the white-stone floor... he did not yet die.

    Tycon stabbed Zehr through the chest, eliciting a pained hiss, but no other dramatic movements.

    It seemed that the severe injuries had weakened him tremendously.

    That would do.

    He leapt forward, pinned the injured god to the ground, and began to savagely smash his scabbard against the god''s sword elbow.

    The miserable god tried to desperately block with the haft of his greataxe... and his armor was still quite strong. It was likely that Zehr had used his powers over the Reality Marble to empower his item enchantments.

    As it would have been a pain to have his System reverse-engineer and remove those enchantments, Tycon elected to prioritize brute force over urate attacks.

    It didn''t matter how enchanted the Spinal Reaper or his chain armor were. ording to basic physics, as long as he kept beating Zehr with heavy attacks, his mana-created body would continue to take damage.

    "E... ENOUGHHH!!!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zehr''s mana-empowered yellunched Tycon away. He hit the ground with his back, but activated ?Tumble? to roll to safety...

    Because he was an intelligent fighter, he also kept hold of both his curved de and his heavy scabbard.

    Zehr stood up, his axe arm hanging awkwardly from the elbow down, "Where... in the SEVEN HELLS did you learn CURVED BLADE TECHNIQUES?!"

    "From a friend," Tycon shrugged, "You wouldn''t know him, though. Don''t think he believes in you."

    "Whatever," Zehr spat. "This ends now."

    Another tooth. Tycon grimaced as he apologized in his heart for despoiling such a beautiful gentleman.

    The god lifted his Spinal Reaper up towards the nightmarish sky, "?Divine Armor Summon: OATHBREAKER!!!?"

    Tycon looked up in amusement as Zehr was encased in white swirling sands... quickly hardening and turning red. In seconds, a twenty-fulm tall suit of armor stood over him.

    It was the Oathbreaker... the original Divine Armor... and the weapon wielded by the strongest Snake Cult Champion in modern history.

    The Spinal Reaper transformed with it,rge enough to break apart buildings with a gentle shove.

    Bright brick red, like a children''s toy. Trimmed with ck, like burnt coal. Overall annoying to behold, in all its glory. That was the prototype for the Divine Armors used by the highest echelons of the Church of the Eternal me.

    The Oathbreaker held its axe over Tycon like an executioner, "[Counter this.]"

    "Very well," Tycon sheathed his sword and raised his open right hand.

    ? System, add Divine Armor Starfury to the Reality Marble.?

    Without a sound, an all-red suit of armor materialized behind The Oathbreaker. Deep, blood-colored crimson metal. Easily thrice its size. Without an injured pilot to inhibit its movements.

    There were no shadows cast on the tform... but Zehr seemed to notice something was off. Slowly... Divine Armor Oathbreaker turned its head... and took a step backward to take the Star-Fury in full view.

    "[You... you took control of the Reality Marble while you were running away, didn''t you?]"

    Tycon''s face broke into a grin... and he answered by snapping his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    "[Tycondrius... you are, without a doubt, my worst... f*cking--]"

    The Star-Fury grabbed onto the Oathbreaker''s head. Though the Oathbreaker attempted to peel off therger armor''s grip with its single good arm, it was quickly mmed into the ground like a petnt child.

    Tycon''s entire body shook from the impact...

    ? System... um... extend the current tform tenfold, if you would. ?

    ? Extending tform... ?

    Tycon snapped his fingers a few more times, watching Natalya Crucis'' Divine Armor stomp on the smaller, older set of armor.

    Something was missing, though. Something important...

    It irked him.

    ? System... go ahead and add Divine Armor Dawnbringer, as well. ?

    A white and gold set of Divine Armor, only a few fulms shorter than the Star-Fury appeared beside it.

    "[Sister, please allow me to assist,]" It offered in a high-pitched metallic voice.

    "[Of course, Sister,]" The Star-Fury replied, its voice more mature, but still echoey and artificial.

    That''s what it was... Tycon''s heart filled with satisfaction. The real Dawnbringer was wielded by High Oracle Troia. As she and Natalya were as inseparable as real siblings, it was only proper that the two Divine Armors acted in tandem.

    "[I''m sorry, Eldest Brother!]" Dawnbringer cried as it began sting beam after beam of radiant energy on the downed armor, a third of their sizes...

    "[Don''t apologize, Sister!]" Star-Fury roared, forming two long swords of erratic fire mana in its hands, "[This is for FATHER!!!]"

    ...

    Tycon changed the Reality Marble''s location settings into the warm, sandy beaches of his territory... There was no point being miserable and cold when he had the ability to make reality whatever he wanted.

    A broken bodyy on the beach... a sorry sight that should have looked exactly like him. Unfortunately, that person''s face was severely burnt off and his form, twisted and broken by the Divine Armors Star-Fury and Dawnbringer.

    Tycon gently kicked the body in the side, "You still alive, snake god?"

    Zehr turned, coughing and spitting blood...

    His arm shot up... as if he was inviting help.

    Tycon pretended not to notice.

    After a short while, the snake god finally managed to sit up.

    "You can''t kill me, Tycondrius," Heughed bitterly. "Despite your feeble protests, you believe in the concept of me as a god... and have epted that I have power over you."

    "That''s a stupid rule," Tycon remarked.

    "It is... Hah..." Zehr spat out another glob of dark blood before falling back into the sand...

    "You''d best leave, then... while you still can," He smirked. "I''ll get control of my Reality Marble back eventually... and you know that this isn''t the best I can do."

 Chapter 611 Last Samurai (Part One)

    ?Tycondrius let out a sigh as he red down at the broken god.

    ...Some of his more critical wounds were beginning to heal.

    He was tempted to test the veracity of Zehr''s ims... that the god could not be killed by one of his ''followers''. Instinctively, however... Tycon felt that it was true.

    "I''m assuming... you''re going to try to kill me as soon as you recover?"

    "I will... but when you least expect it," Zehr chuckled-- though his voice grew hoarse and he let out a hacking cough...

    "Or... or that''s the idea, anyroad..." He muttered. "Might be tomorrow. Might be half-a-century from now. Remain ever vignt for the enemies that lie wait, Tycondrius... as I hope all my faithful do."

    Tycon inhaled deeply through his nostrils... "You''re an infuriating god, you know that?"

    "Ahaha... I''m just trying to do what''s best... for our people."

    "For yourself, first, of course."

    "Of course... Of course, Ivory Prince..."

    Tycon inclined his head... "Goodbye, then, snake god."

    "Heh... hehe..." Zehr wore a wide grin, his teeth covered in blood, "Don''t you mean to say... ''Until next time''?"

    Tycon grimaced...

    ? System, inquiry: What is the status of Garock Heartrender? ?

    ? System response: Garock is standing by and awaiting contact. Establish connection? Y/N? ?

    ? Yes. ?

    ? Establishing connection...?

    ...

    Tycon opened his eyes to find himself, once more, in the lush swamps of the Free Nation. He was in an illusion inside of a Reality Marble.

    ...A dream within a dream... the concept was jarring.

    Standing in front of him was a tall, orc with grey-green skin, his wide, tusked face set into a grave expression...

    ? Garock Heartrender, Gold-Rank Orcish Samurai. ?

    He was not in his usual attire of simple robes, but instead wore an old, but well-maintained set of brigandine armor. His hair had been washed... tied into a high ponytail... and he wore two curved des on his waist.

    "Brother-Garock..." Tycon gulped.

    "Brother-Tycon," The orc nodded.

    "You know why I''m here, then?"

    Garock loosed a long, thoughtful sigh... rxing his shoulders and rubbing the back of his head.

    "Honestly, I was hoping you''d find me a few more students to impart my techniques to..."

    "I wanted simr," Tycon smiled weakly... "Circumstances have dictated otherwise."

    He flicked his wrist, summoning a bottle of distilled spirits. It was expensive-- but the asion called for better than the usual swill.

    "Shall we?" He offered.

    "Indeed," Garock nodded slowly. He retrieved something from one of his side pouches-- two ceramic cups.

    The orc offered them forward, "In my culture... usually the younger pours."

    "That''s fair. I am asking a favor, after all," Tycon nodded.

    He opened the bottle with great care and poured into both cups, circting his mana to ensure not a single drop spilled.

    Garock lifted his full cup, grimacing.

    Tycon raised his, to match.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "All warriors wish to die with honor," Garock drank deeply.

    Tycon, too, drank his fill... "You''re wee, old orc."

    The orc shattered his cup onto the ground...

    "...You''re a good man, Warrior Tycon... even despite your snake tongue."

    Tycon dropped his own empty cup, allowing it to crack into pieces on its own... "I am not. Fulfilling your life wish just happens to coincide with my best chance of survival."

    The orc allowed himself a chuckle, shaking his head, "Take care of that Zenon kid... and it''d be nice if you started a Sect to teach my de art."

    "Not gonna do that," Tycon grinned.

    Garock grinned... wide and wicked, "You probably will. My sword techniques are superior to your White Raven school."

    Tycon rolled his eyes... "I''ll grant you that much."

    Garock''s Demon de techniques required several years of training before it would be effective... but once mastered to a moderatepletion, it was superior to his other learned sword arts at murdering swaths of lightly-armored enemies.

    In that way, it was simr to that trash art, the Elven de Dance... which needed decades of training before even being usable.

    ? System, temporarily suspend activity. Allow Garock to take control of all functions. ?

    ? Understood. Entering hibernation... ?

    He reached his hand forward, "Garock... take care of my body."

    "I will," Garock reached forward, sping his meaty fist around Tycon''s wrist, "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus."

    ...

    The first thing that Garock noticed when he opened his eyes... was how low to the ground he was.

    The warm sun shone high upon the rocky sands and gentle waves, as far as he could see. He clenched his pink-skinned hand... tiny and weak.

    It was no useining. Warrior Tycon had performed miraculous feats of agility and strength, regardless of his seemingly feeble body. There was no reason Garock should not be able to do the same.

    The body with the burnt face slowly got to its feet... eyeing him warily. The waves washed over the greataxe stuck in the sands.

    ...That was careless of him. It was going to rust.

    "You... who in the seven gods-damned hells are you?"

    The snake god had noticed something was different. The corners of Garock''s tuskless lips curled upward as he reached for the sword on his belt.

    "Who or... what are you?" The snake god snarled as he heaved his weapon up, "ANSWER ME!!"

    Garock raised an eyebrow, "I am... Samurai."

    He would not im his own name. That... would live on in the de techniques that Warrior Tycon would bestow to future generations. Currently... he was only a weapon... the finest weapon produced by his n.

    He grabbed his sword... afortable curved de. It wasn''t nearly as good as his old one, but the Warrior was more than merely his steel.

    "?As the Swallow Flies,?" He shed twice, the first deflecting the snake god''s initial axe strike... the second opening a new gash on their chest.

    Undeterred by the critical injury, the snake god held a palm forward-- to cast a Spell, most likely.

    "?Gentle Water''s Reflection,?" Garock dashed to the side, one mana-reflection dashing opposite, while a second mana-reflection remained and struck down with his de.

    "?Earth Spike!?" A pointed protrusion of hardened sand pierced through the immobile clone, making it dissipate into bubbling seawater.

    The remaining reflection struck at the snake god''s neck, staggering him as the de burst into water. Garock aimed... and with a quick swipe of his real sword, severed four fingers off of the snake god''s left hand.

    "T... tycon," The man coughed... "Stop this. You... you can''t do this. I... I am a god."

    "Your pitiful cries for mercy are useless, godling," Garock smirked. "He cannot hear you, now."

    ",

 Chapter 612 Last Samurai (Part Two)

    ?Samurai Garock Heartrender flourished his sword and sheathed it...

    His eyes glowed white... his muscles surged with power... and he performed the practiced movements of his kata''s final form.

    His most powerful attack.

    The pride of thest Samurai of the Screaming Silence.

    "?Taste the Demon de.?"

    He drew his katana.

    The sword was more than tempered steel. It was powered by most of his remaining soul-essence. Within it was the hopes and dreams of his nigh forgotten n. It was the plight of suffering mortalsshing out at their uncaring gods.

    It was his will... his greatest wish... to... be a hero.

    One.st. time.

    He cleaved down through the de and haft of the snake god''s enchanted axe... cutting deep into their side...

    The god''s right wrist fell to the beach, and his intestines into the clear waters, staining it red.

    Garock kicked the dying god away with a vicious kick... as its body began to metamorphosize.

    The flesh twisted, the bones cracked and groaned... Within moments a massive sand-scaled snake towered over him, dwarfing even his orc form.

    "I... cannotttttt... BE SSSSLAINNN!!!!" The gargantuan monstrosity hissed.

    Garock grimaced, looking down at his minuscule sword. He had just used three of his most powerful Skills. There was precious little mana left within Warrior Tycon''s body... and his own soul force was quickly waning.

    If he could not defeat the snake god by then... Tycon would be left to die.

    ? System suspension: Complete. ?

    Strange words of power echoed in Garock''s mind...

    He did not know their meaning... but a flood of mana surged through his body.

    His eyes widened in sudden fear. There was... so much of it. This was Warrior Tycon''s true strength.

    A sliver of shame wormed its way into his heart. When they had fought... hundreds if not thousands of times before... he had been toying with him.

    Yet... at the same time, he was overwhelmed by a sense of pride... to be the teacher of such a humble student.

    The coiling snake struck out, its fangs seeping gallons of milky venom.

    Garock grabbed its jaw with the tips of his fingers, rotating his body to m the snake head into the sands.

    He stabbed his sword into its eye, pinning it down... and he tore a white fang out of the beast''s mouth.

    With the everflowing power coursing through his meridians, he didn''t even need to use a Skill.

    Garock reached forward, reaching his thin arms around the snake''s body, away from its three fanged maw. It didn''t even reach half of the way, but he was certain his grip was secure.

    Activating the muscles in his legs... and still feeling the heavy strain on his back, he lifted the snake... several dozen fulms long, and cracked the length of its body like a whip.

    The impossibly long creature tumbled over, the loud dulled sounds of bone snapping emitting from within its scaled flesh... its spine obliterated by Garock''s feat of strength.

    He unstuck the sword in the god''s eye... and chuckled to himself.

    The god had grown silent... and that silence was more beautiful than any song he''d ever heard.

    He stretched his back and flourished his sword, ready for the admittedly mundane work of skinning a snake.

    ...

    ? System online. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon opened his eyes to find himself on a crimson beach, thered with gore and viscera.

    The stench was incredible... and as ustomed to bloody battlefields as he was, he had to focus, in order to not retch.

    A loud, long whistle came from behind him... apanied by heavy, sinking footsteps in the sand.

    In his heart... he knew there was no danger.

    When he turned... and looked up, he wondered if his senses had failed him.

    "I like what you''ve done with the ce."

    A grinning orc was waving affably as he approached.

    At first nce, Tycon hoped it was Garock... but that was impossible. He could no longer sense the old Samurai''s spirit. The stubborn brute had finally passed on...

    The orc nonchntly plodding towards him was... bigger, his height easily over nine fulms tall. He was more muscr, as well... which was somewhat opposite of his attire. Through his long oily hair, his eyes had a dull red glow of a caster ss, and he wore leathery traveling robes, weathered and torn.

    "Thank... you," Tycon smiled politely.

    He still had control of the Reality Marble... but as he was frantically trying not to die, he had neglected to reject any new connections.

    This meddling orc was probably another all-powerful being. Logic dictated that Tycon escape immediately... but his curiosity bid him to remain.

    "Have... we met?"

    The orc''s eyes widened, "Tyrael! You don''t recognize me?!"

    Tycon''s smile fell, "I..."

    "I *have* been working out," Therge fellow mused...

    "No," Tycon twisted his lips, "It''s not that..."

    "Memory loss? Did the wizards get ya?" The orc offered.

    Ah... That was always the easiest excuse.

    Tycon nodded thoughtfully, "Something like that."

    The orc nodded, hisrge, gnarled hands resting on his thick torso, "Yep. That''ll do it."

    ? System, inquiry: Who is this fine gentle-orc? ?

    ? System response: Orcus, Adamantine-Rank Orcish Abyssal Necromancer. ?

    Tycon coughed into a closed fist, "I do have... some memories. You are... Orcus, are you not? Praise to thy name..."

    "Ahaha!!" The orcughed heartily, "Yeah!! No need to be formal-- we''re about equal, anyroad. I do go by Hades now, though."

    "Hades, then," Tycon furrowed his brows. "And the reason you''re here...?"

    He stretched out his wide arms, gesturing at the surrounding carnage, "I''m the god of death and the dead. Nice to meet''cha-- again, anyroad... and it looks like you just-about killed the snake god."

    "The job has yet to be done?" Tycon grimaced.

    He had asked his friend, Samurai Garock, to burn the rest of his waning soul force in order to do the impossible... That the sacrifice was futile weighed heavily upon his conscience.

    Hades pointed at a pulsating chunk of flesh, half-buried in the sand, washed over by the saltwater, "Check it out, that''s the snake god''s heart, right there. It''s regenerating, too."

    Tycon reached for his sword... "I suppose I''ll... continue the fight."

    The prospect daunted him. Did he have to do battle with the snake god forever, locked in this Reality Marble? He wasn''t even certain he couldst another bell, much less several years.

    "Nah, I got it," Hades grinned.

 Chapter 613 Apollonia (Part One)

    ?Hades lifted his heavy forearm... then violently clenched his fist shut, "?Quit it.?"

    With two mundane words, what was left of the snake god''s heart turned ck with rot... and a gaseous burst rent it into pieces.

    Tycon pursed his lips...

    He''d just witnessed the god of his people die.

    It seemed... terribly mundane.

    But then again... a literal god performed the deed. It shouldn''t have been as surprising as it was.

    "I uh... thank you," Tycon smiled with chagrin.

    "No problem, man. That''s what friends are for, right?"

    ...Tycon tilted his head, "May I ask why you''re grinning?"

    "Ehehe... I took the god essence, too," Hades chuckled, "You can call dibs on the next one."

    "Nheless... I am in your debt," Tycon inclined his head in respect, "Hades, god of death and the dead."

    The towering orc shrugged, "Don''t actually remember who owes who, at this point in time. Don''t worry about it, Tyrael."

    Tycon reached his hand out, "I go by Tycondrius now-- it seems. I ask that my friends call me Tycon."

    Hades shook his hand, sping at the wrist, the Tyrion way, "Good to go! Tycon, it is! ...Wanna go get a beer?"

    Taking a deep breath, Tycon shook his head, "I''m in the middle of something, Brother-Hades. Forgive me."

    "Whaaaat?!" Hades opened his arms, "Come on! Whatever it is can wait! Haven''t seen you in epochs, man!"

    Tycon shrugged, "I need to ensure my forces escape the city of Caeruleum... and then we need to reduce the number of survivors to prevent word from spreading."

    "Ah, yeah. I get it," The orc grinned toothily, "Big battle-- you''re pretty good at that."

    Tycon raised his hand, prepared to order his System to shut down the Reality Marble... but he hesitated.

    "Was there something else, old friend?"

    "Since you probably killed a lot of guys already... It''d probably be pretty easy for me to take form in The Real."

    "Can you avoid killing my current livingpanions?" Tycon pursed his lips.

    "Most of ''em. You want me to raise ghouls? Banshees? Ooh, I know you like those superpowered Nemayan-style uber-zombies."

    "I have fire slimes burning the city," Tycon offered.

    "ming skeletons!!" The orc cackled. "This is gonna be good!!"

    Tycon scoffed, "I would greatly appreciate your assistance, Brother-Hades."

    "Ehehehe..." The orc chuckled, wringing his hands in anticipation, "And then we''ll get smashed after, yeah?"

    "I''d like that," Tycon nodded.

    "Bring the horse."

    ...

    ? Six sunster. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Caeruleum fell, as Tycon knew it would.

    An entire city had fallen to swarths of monsters. The dead rose, human and not, and their flesh burst into mes, leaving ckened bone.

    If that wasn''t terrifying enough, they followed themand of a handsome Tactician... and an orc as tall as a small building, whose manic cackling could be heard for malms around.

    With the number of troops in and allied to Letalis Serpentia, rumors were certain to surface.

    The Church made an official deration concerning the city... that it was subject to the order, Exterminatio. The city itself was already dealt with. However, any Tyrion who dared to speak the ingenuous truth about its fall would bewfully imprisoned... or also condemned to a torturous death.

    Unbeknownst to Athena, certain members of Guild Letalis were under order to permanently silence any persons who worked against them. Tycon had asked them to only act if there existed evidence beyond reasonable doubt... but as he had appointed each agent personally, he kept faith in their judgments.

    In other news... Tycon wrote a missive to be delivered to his sister, Cass. He could not know for certain how much his actual sister resembled the one he met in Zehr''s Reality Marble... but he hoped the gesture could be appreciated.

    In the missive, he assured Cass that he was well... but it would still be a while longer before his return to the Free Nation.

    He hadpleted two of the three quests given to him by Rnia, the Queen of Stone... with the third and final one being in Vralkek, near his home territory of Charm.

    However, Tycon needed to report to High Oracle Troia in Cersei''s Rest... and to return the Hero he ''borrowed,'' as per a previous agreement.

    The Titanblood, Cillian, would deliver Tycon''s missive-- and was also granted a letteruding his service, for when he returned to Prince Dragan.

    He seemed rather appreciative of it... as useless as it was to him. It was likely that his War Prince would skim the message''s contents, discern it contained nothing of value, then immediately discard it.

    With Sorina''s rmendation, Athena chose to rebuild the Vanzano estate in a small, developing city named Apollonia... one of many cities with the same name.

    Her reason for fighting was to remain in Ezyria, thend where she and her brother were raised. Once the battle was concluded... she openly wept tears of joy.

    Isidor''s Mountain Faction were within a week''s travel of that ce, should Athena ever require their assistance for materials, mercenaries, and the asional karaoke night.

    It seemed the innocent youngdy made many friends amongst them.

    She was good at that.

    Both Bannok of Kasydon and his Elven wife, Ariadne, survived the battle-- which was slightly surprising. They politely declined joining Athena''s guild... but agreed to settle in the Apollonian hills.

    Tycon did not know what that meant... but it was beneficial to Athena to have two friendly Gold-Ranks within a few bells'' travel.

    One of Letalis'' most powerful allies, Kanbrai the cat, disappeared amidst the chaos. He left a written message informing Tycon that the debt has been paid.

    Tycon was not insulted, as Kanbrai seemed to be a shy fellow. He did, however, ponder overlong on how a cat without opposable thumbs penned him a letter.

    Zenon Skyreaper returned to the Church, also opting to work in Apollonia. With so much experience gained and having amassed so much power, Tycon was certain the Librarian would serve the rest of his contract well... without his honor and integrity questioned.

    Else... the mountains would bleed.

    Tanamar was counseled for insubordination. They went out for training... and it was more than either of them bargained for.

    The harder the youth pushed himself, so too was Tycon forced to keep the pressure.

    They sparred, they climbed vertical cliffs, they sprinted on the rocky beaches... and even coordinated to defeat an Adamantine-Rank sea giant. After a full sun, Tycon finally felt confident in tacitlymunicating what he needed to be understood.

    Respect and trust.

    Both ways.

    Afterward, both Tycon and the Holy Lancer required bed rest for exhaustion and moderate injuries.

    Tycon decided that if he were ever to meet another person as stubborn as Tanamar... he would just kill him to avoid the trouble.

 Chapter 614 Apollonia (Part Two)

    ?Tycondrius informed Holy Lancer Tanamar that Sol Invictus was leaving Apollonia... without Athena''s approval.

    The youngdy would be sure to guilt him into staying.

    She was... very good at that.

    They''d be missing the wedding ceremony... a city-wide celebration. There would be nobles and merchants and adventurers from throughout Ezyria... and manymon folk from Apollonia proper. All would seek favor with House Vanzano... and some, even apply to serve under them.

    They would lift their wine cups in praise to Tanamar... Athanasius Mors. Though he was not of noble birth, none would question Athena Vanzano''s choice to wed a Gold-Rank Holy Lancer... and the wielder of Divine Armor Apollonius.

    Guild Letalis would be granted a much deserved warrior''s banquet and enough wine to forget the men and women lost and hardships endured. Tycon advised that they keep away from the crowds, to stifle the inebriated confessions of murderers.

    Sergeant Salt, Corporal Raphael of Cannes, and Private Edge were to loyally remain with Athena and Guild Letalis. Boxtholomaeus was also officially transferred to fall under Athena''smand.

    Maeva and Emilien Leserre would return to Nice in the Kingdom, to continue running the East Charm Trading Company. Maeva was more than capable... and as long as the profits continued to swell, their loyalty would remain.

    Tycon would travel via airship back to Cersei''s Rest, apanied by...

    Gold-Rank Spear Hero Pale,

    Iron-Rank Corporal Horse,

    Iron-Rank Ranger Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark;

    Iron-Rank Calctor Sorina Capulet,

    Gold-Rank Raging me Knight Seldin Korr,

    Bronze-Rank Private First-ss Jeremy,

    and the Iron-Rank Dark Iron Wolf, Tres Leches.

    However... Tycon hoped for one other...

    "It''s been awhile, Miss Doe," Tycon smiled politely.

    ? Medousa, Bronze-Rank Human Battle-Maid.?

    He had summoned the young woman to speak with him in a semi-private setting. They stood upon a grassy knoll within city bounds, the area dotted with trees blossoming pink flowers.

    Doe swept a lock of her ash-blonde hair behind an ear as she pouted coquettishly, "It has, Sir Tychon~"

    She spun around gleefully in her frilly maid outfit, plopping down with her back into the grass and flowers.

    "I love this ce... Apollonia. I can barely believe that over a year ago, I was still working for that scumbag, Gnis..."

    The young woman opened her arms, pointing towards him as if inviting him to embrace her, "I have you to thank for that, Sir Tychon... to be able to live a life I never thought possible."

    Tycon took a deep breath, spying Doe''s long white legs beneath her skirt. He could not deny that he wanted her physically, even despite her apprehension of the physical and mental scars she''d endured over the years.

    In different circumstances, he would have given in... perhaps whisked her away to a more intimate setting to have his way with her.

    ...It was why he chose to speak with her on the sun of his scheduled departure.

    He did not want to prolong the conversation.

    "I''m leaving," Tycon dered. "Sol Invictus will be departing within the bell."

    "Sir Tychon?" Doe furrowed her eyebrows, "But... Miss Athena''s wedding?"

    "Athanasius has been informed," Tycon shook his head... "Athena will understand."

    Eventually.

    "But... I didn''t expect... You... you''re... you''re really leaving?" Doe asked, blinking her wide eyes.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon gulped as his heart palpitated in nervousness... "Will you...e with me?"

    A shadow crept over Doe''s gaze... "I... I''m contracted to serve House Vanzano."

    Tycon remained silent... staring... waiting.

    "I..." Doe inclined her head, "I want to stay here."

    "With your boyfriend, then?" Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    "Y... yes," She averted her gaze... her earlier smile nowhere to be found.

    "...I see," Tycon sighed. It was as he expected.

    "He''s... a good man, Sir."

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "I am aware. You realize I have a Calctor under my payroll."

    He had asked for Sorina topile a list detailing the human in question. ording to the report, the man courting Doe was a well-mannered gentleman of good ethics, an even temper, and no unjustifiable faults...

    ...But it wasn''t him.

    "So you found out..." Doe nodded to herself in thought.

    Tycon shut his eyes, brooding.

    He wanted to hate that man.

    He was stronger, wealthier, and far more handsome... than him... or anyone in Letalis.

    However, that other man did not routinely fight Adamantine-Rank threats... nor did he have a quest that bade him travel the Realm.

    That man could keep Doe as his priority. They could see each other every sun, live in the peace andfort of mundanity... and start a family without worry of highborne politics and assassination attempts.

    He briefly thought of Natalya Crucis... If Tycon had chosen to start a rtionship with her, the problems that came with their positions would be even worse.

    "Sir Baron?"

    Tycon opened his eyes to watch the Doe stand... approaching while still refusing to meet his gaze. Her sweet, natural, pleasant scent... annoyed him greatly.

    Tilting his head down, Tycon kept his expression solemn, "Go ahead, youngdy."

    "Did you... really like me? Romantically?" She whispered, "Wasn''t I just... a passing fancy?"

    Tycon had never openly admitted to Doe that he saw her as a potential, monogamous life-partner. In retrospect, he had taken her for granted.

    Though they were fond of each other... though their bodies were mutuallypatible, it had be obvious that Doe did not see him as her future.

    Tycon took a slow, deep breath... "I rescued you below the streets of Silva because it was convenient. You owe me nothing."

    Doe frowned, her eyes furrowed... frustrated... perhaps hurt... "That''s not what I was asking."

    Tycon ced his thumb on her chin... and ced a soft kiss on her forehead. It was all he would allow himself.

    "Goodbye, Miss Doe."

    Though she did not choose to be with him... he wished her to find the life shebored for... a life she deserved.

    But if that other man dared to hurt her... he had plenty of contacts in Guild Letalis willing tomit violent, torturous murder to get into his good graces.

    ",

 Chapter 615 Lost Upon The Shores

    ?Tarquin Wroe wandered the banks of the winding, ck-soiled river. The rushing water washed over his bare feet... only making him thirstier.

    He couldn''t remember thest time he had taken a drink... just that he couldn''t...

    Just why-- he could not remember.

    He stared at the river waters... and at his torn trousers. His cloak and armor were in equally sordid states. He had worn his best clothes... in order to meet with... someone.

    No... He was sure he looked fine. He wielded the sword she gifted him. He dressed up in his best, stiff-necked princely attire, just to impress her.

    He had done everything she asked for... and more.

    She wouldn''t mind his appearance. She wouldn''t mind howte he was. She loved him... and he loved her. Still, he was a Prince. It wouldn''t be proper to keep her waiting. She had waited long enough...

    Still... he''d lost his way, somehow. He was given the simplest of directions... and even that, he''d managed to screw up.

    Tarquin was starting to regret not telling Tycondrius about his trip. The Ivory Prince was always good with directions. It was supposed to take only a short while... but Tarquin felt like he''d been lost for... years? Moons? Suns? Bells?

    ...Maybe a drink would jog his memory?

    His eyes widened as he made out a silhouette of a person in the distance! Someone! Anyone! He needed direction-- even the smallest hint of it, to find whatever the hells it was he was searching for.

    He activated his ?Misty Step,? traveling through the void to reach him in an instant... a gentleman with blue, translucent skin and a zed look in his eyes.

    "Excuse me, kind sir... my name is Prince Landris Wyndham... and I''m searching for... ah... forgive me. I can''t seem to recall who."

    The man looked to him... past him, focused on something in the far distance.

    Tarquin furrowed his brows in frustration. It was difficult to verbalize who... or what, exactly, he sought.

    "She''s... beautiful, the most beautiful being ever to exist, I think... She has many pale white hands... and the most loving embrace."

    He reached down, dipping his hands into the river waters... and he drew a long sword, made of pearl and moonlight, "See? This? This is her gift to me... I am her loyal champion... her knight... her Prince."

    The man mumbled something inaudibly... but it was not the answer that Tarquin wanted.

    "Answer me!" He shouted... he begged, he pleaded... "I need to know! Where is my goddess?!"

    Without hesitation, Tarquin plunged his sword through the man''s abdomen, a white light filling his form. Tears in his eyes, he ced both hands on the de, tearing the hole in the clear man''s flesh even wider... spilling his luminescent blood into the river waters.

    "I''m so close to her! I can FEEL IT!! She''s HERE!! Tell me where she is!!!"

    He needed to find her! To rescue her! To take her away from this ce! To promise his heart to her, to tear it out of his mortal flesh to prove it. To grant her his soul... rent out of his body with forbidden magics. To be with her forever... and ever... to waste away in her many-armed embrace.

    To love and be loved.

    He stared off into the cool, flowing river. Was he just speaking to someone? He couldn''t remember.

    But he did know... that he was thirsty.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A simple drink from the river would grant him the strength to continue his search.

    ...

    ? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX ?

    ? Dying from thirst? Check. Starving? Check. Mildly ufortable? F*ck yeah, I am. ?

    ? Sand. There''s gods-damned sand in my gods-damned mouth. ?

    ? ? Stuck in the corner of my eyes, and every time I wipe it away, there''s more of the stuff. ?

    ? ...Rubbing on my junk as I walk, barefoot, with nothing but a pistol and a single round. ?

    ? So there I was, on a deserted ind... ?

    "Sea god''s socks, I hate my life," Krysaos cursed.

    He shielded his eyes as he gazed at the clear blue waters of the beach... without a ship in sight.

    There were seagulls though. A lot of seagulls... the toothy kind, too. Two of them were fighting over a dead fish.

    He picked up a sharp shell and chucked it at the nearest one, "F*ck you, flying water rat!!"

    It smacked it in the head, forcing it to release its rotten meal back onto the sand.

    He dashed over and nabbed it, "Aha HA!! No one f*cks with the Captain of the Sugar-Titted Siren!!!"

    Krysaos bit into it... the slimy... bony thing... with only the barest slivers of meat. He sucked its eyeball out, not giving a single shite about how sick it was going to make him.

    He had to survive... just as--

    There was a person! The ind wasn''t so deserted after all!

    He spat the fish eye out and ran towards him, waving his arms like a madman.

    "Hey! HEY! Don''t shoot!" Krysaos yelled, "I''ve been stuck here for... for moons!!"

    It had only been half a sun, but he was trying to y the pity card.

    The guy Krysaos had approached was a young, shirtless man with green hair and sharp eyes. He looked like he might''ve had non-human blood, his eyes being a weird gold hue... but Krysaos wasn''t a racist. Being a privateer for so long, he hated everyone equally, regardless of skin or eye color.

    The guy''s trousers were clean and whole, if sopping wet. He even wore a sword on his waist-- the hilt of it looked Tyrion, too. That meant he probably had coin! ...Or at least was richer than Krysaos, with his worth of zero.

    "Good... morning," The youth frowned, "And you are?"

    His voice was deeper than Krysaos thought it would be. Maybe the kid wasn''t as young as he looked. That and the way that he took a vignt half-step backward meant that he was someone to befriend, not to rob.

 Chapter 616 Chosen One

    ?Krysaos grinned and pointed a thumb at himself, "Name''s Krysaos, Captain of the... of... the.... nevermind. Just call me Krysaos!!"

    The guy managed a polite smile as he offered forward a waterskin, "My name is Tycon... As a greeting gift, would you like some--"

    Krysaos snatched the skin out of his hand, unstoppered it, and drank greedily, "Mmmhh... Ohhhhh... Mmmm... YES! I haven''t had clean water to drink in entire SUNS, guy!"

    Tycon furrowed his brows... "Right... and yourpanions couldn''t have helped you in your search for a drinking source?"

    Krysaos felt his blood run as cold as the biting waves... "What...panions?"

    ...

    During Tycondrius'' scouting of the area, he came across what appeared to be a shipwreck survivor. The moderately tall human had short, salt-encrusted hair and a strong jaw, covered in developing stubble.

    He said he was a Captain... presumably of a sailing vessel. With the way the gentleman seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice, he more resembled a traveling salesman or con artist.

    Judging by the fact that all he carried was a single pistol... a mercy from his former crew, he was likely thetter.

    ? System, analyze: Captain Krysaos. ?

    ? Krysaos, Bronze-Rank Aquatic-Human Baneer. ?

    A human with an elemental bloodline? It wasn''t physically obvious... and the ambient mana from the ocean waters did well to mask his mana-signature. However, Krysaos did look like he had been swimming for a period of time impossible for a regr human to withstand.

    Tycon wasn''t familiar with Krysaos'' ss... but it sounded passably decent at martialbat...

    It was especially fortuitous, considering the group of approaching sentients did not appear to have the best of intentions in mind.

    Eight merfolk had emerged from the waters, blue-green skinned humanoids wielding an assortment of weapons. Most of them held coral tridents... but one had a cuss surprisingly free of rust. They didn''t seem to need them, as their aquatic bloodlines earned them razor-sharp fins on their backs and arms. Their heads resembled predatory fish, each with maws of jagged teeth.

    It made Tycon almost wish he''d met them before Krysaos.

    "They... they aren''t with you, Ty?" The ''Captain'' asked, grasping for hope, no matter how small.

    Tycon turned to re at his newpanion, "No, they are not. And don''t call me that."

    "Hey, man," Krysaos made a show of his empty palms, "Just askin''. No need to get all upset about it."

    "I''m not upset," Tycon narrowed his eyes further.

    Krysaos grinned wider, "You look upset."

    "This is my face."

    One of the merfolk,rger than his or her six-fulm tall peers, hissed loudly while shielding its eyes from the sun...

    It looked down with hatred and gargled a name: "KRYSSSAOSSSSSSSSS!!!"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, taking care not to smirk, "Krysaos, are these fine... people with you?"

    "Looks like they''re looking for me, Krysaos, Captain of the Sugar-titted Siren," The man grinned, taking the jab in stride. "I''m famous, y''know."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Right..."

    The corners of Krysaos'' lips curving upward as he walked towards them, "Hey, listen. I''ll go and talk to ''em. It''s the least I can do."

    Admittedly, running away seemed to be the wiser decision. The sun-blinded, web-footed creatures were probably not very fast onnd.

    The human turned towards the merfolk and raised his voice, "Oh, heyyyy guys! What brings you finedies and gentlemen to this particr beach?"

    Tycon nodded quietly, impressed that Krysaos was capable of identifying a mer-person''s gender. It was nice to see that even the aquatic kingdoms were progressive in their recruiting, employing both males and females in their scouting forces.

    "If it''s for thedies, well, I gotta say..." Krysaos continued, "me and my buddy, here-- we already met with ''em. Got dinner dates and sexytimes nned for tonight, back at the resort hotel!"

    Tycon steadily grew less impressed as the gentleman spoke.

    The merfolk leader emitted a series of clicks and thrums, "(We require the Chosen One.)"

    "Hey, Tycon," Krysaos called back. "You a Chosen One?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows. The human could understand Aquan... which was not at all easy for a regr person to pick up. It meant his bloodline was particrly strong... though if he could sprout fins and sharp teeth, he had not yet done so.

    "I don''t... believe I am," He admitted.

    Krysaos'' eyes widened and he shuddered... "I get it, then."

    He turned away dramatically, looking up to the tallest mer-person, "They want ME, Tycon! You escape! I''ll handle this!!!"

    "Thank you," Tycon smiled, crossing his arms and quietly analyzing his opponents'' strengths.

    ? Scout Leader, Bronze-Rank Sahuagin Fighter. ?

    Their leader had a mid-tier ss... but considering their Metal-Rank, Tycon was in very little physical danger. Krysaos, however, was greatly at risk of critical injury and death.

    He patiently watched the bedraggled sailor, curious as to what exactly he was trying to do.

    "TAKE MY HEAD!!" Krysaos demanded, grabbing the merperson''s trident and pointing it at his neck. "I''m tired of swimming around in the ocean, living off of sea cucumbers!! The sea god HATES ME!!!"

    The sahuagin leader tried to pull his trident back, simultaneously pushing Krysaos'' head away, "(Release me, at once!)"

    "I was once the GREATEST Captain of the sixteen seas! Then my crew... my HATEFUL and JEALOUS crew! They threw me off my ship! Can you believe it?! The ship I''ve lived on all my life! MY SHIP!!?!"

    Tycon wasn''t even sure he believed it. The ''Sugar-Titted Siren'' sounded like a made-up ship name.

    "Her name was the SUGAR-TITTED SIREN!!" Krysaos wailed, full-on weeping while embracing the mer-person''s chest.

    ...If anything, ''Captain'' Krysaos was a passionate human. It made Tycon... want to believe him. Almost.

    The haft of a coral trident swept the man off his feet and he fell clumsily to the sands with a ssh. The tall sahuagin brought a vicious web-footed stomp on Krysaos'' stomach, then stabbed the end of his trident just shy of the human''s head.

    "(You will give us answers, human! And only THEN will you die as the SEA GOD DEMANDS!!)"

 Chapter 617 Children Of The Sea God

    ?That was enough for Tycondrius to intervene. Thus far in this Realm, he''d only met a single god he liked... and the sea god was not Hades.

    Anyroad, he doubted that killing these few sahuagin would incur the sea god''s wrath... as he or she didn''t seem like a particrly caring individual.

    He preferred it that way... as when time was not a factor, he preferred cheaply traveling by sea rather than by air.

    Tycon snatched up a hard-shell crab who was crawling by.

    ''I apologize, Mister Krabs,'' He whispered.

    "Do it, coward!!" Krysaos shouted to the sahuagin leader with a face covered in tears and sand, "Are you a man or NOT?! I BET YOU WON''T!!"

    Tycon tried not to roll his eyes as he pitched the unlucky crab at Krysaos'' captor. It struck the fellow in the head and sent him crashing back into the waves.

    ...The crab righted itself and escaped into the waters, confused but unhurt.

    Krysaos stood up and immediately jabbed a finger out towards Tycon, "AHA! See guys?! HE is the CHOSEN ONE! Now go get him!!!"

    Tycon tilted his head. He sensed no... malice in Krysaos'' words, as contrary as they seemed. What was he trying to do?

    ...He wondered if there was a subtle magic in the man''s speech that he wasn''t sensing.

    "(How dare you attack us, human!)" One of the sahuagin clicked angrily.

    "(Children of the Sea God! ATTAAAACK!!!!)" Another shrieked.

    That was the one with the cuss... and he was pointing it at Tycon. He decided he would break that one''s arm.

    "(DO NOTTTTTT!!!!!)" The tall one emerged from the waters, arms raised in a gurgling roar, "(The human with kelp-colored hair is NOT the Chosen One!!!)"

    Krysaos whipped around to face the sahuagin leader, unafraid, "You callin'' me a liar, you dickless motherf*cker?"

    "?Shadowfang,?" Tycon sped his movement to reappear at Krysaos'' side. He grabbed and twisted a certain sahuagin''s wrist, disarming them of their cuss.

    Tycon offered the hilt of the stolen weapon towards his fickle humanpanion, Krysaos, "Your integrity is at question, friend. How will you respond?"

    The supposed ship Captain took it without hesitation, "Oh, these f*cks are in for it, now."

    "(DIIIIIEE!!!)" The sahuagin leader screamed, lifting his trident above his head and stabbing it down at Krysaos'' head.

    Tycon lowered his body, grabbing the hilt of his own sword. With a clean draw, he cut off the trident head to prevent Krysaos'' anticlimactic death. Redirecting his de, he then chopped it into the sahuagin leader''s neck.

    Simultaneously, Krysaos stabbed his sword through the leader''s crotch, "Call me a liar, again!! I DARE YA!!"

    Krysaos twisted his body to barely avoid another trident stab, wrenching his de free and swinging it recklessly at a different sahuagin, "COME ONNNNN!!!"

    Two sahuagin came at Tycon from different sides, attacking but at different intervals. Raising an eyebrow in amusement, he dodged one thrust. Grabbing the second trident, he used some strength to guide its tines into the first sahuagin''s wide eye.

    Krysaos ducked a trident stab, sloshing away through the water before gutting its wielder, "I''ve picked scabs off my CROTCH scalier than you!!!"

    "Was that supposed to be an insult?" Tycon asked aloud.

    His humanpanion didn''t seem to have heard him, continuing to yell obscenities and absurd sailor-esque curses.

    Tycon liked the way Krysaos moved. He was dodging attacks using basic, natural movements... forms very simr to the ones taught ording to the White Raven sword manual.

    --Then he was struck in the side by a swung trident, sending him sprawling into the shallow waves.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...He was doing so well, before that... so it was slightly disappointing.

    "ALRIGHT! Which one of you f*cks did that?!?" He got to his feet quickly enough, but seemed slightly dazed.

    Tycon casually grabbed a sahuagin''s neck and crushed its throat as he sheathed his sword. Briefly running the tips of his fingers on his opposite arm, he snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    Krysaos shed his sword, cleaving off a lunging sahuagin''s arms just below the wrists, "SCREW YOU, LADY!"

    Tycon hesitated, quizzically looking at his hand. It seemed his ?Commander''s Strike? had grown stronger to be able to instill his ally with such strength.

    One of the sahuagin emerged from the waters behind Krysaos, trying to grab him with webbed ws.

    "Sorry! I don''t like to be embraced--" The human reflexively threw himself backward, smashing into the taller creature''s chest.

    He grabbed onto its arm, rotated his body, and threw it to the ground, "By DUDES!!!"

    The movement was so fast, the throw so perfect, that Tycon had forgotten to snap his fingers.

    ...Thus, he snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    With mana-empowered speed, Krysaos grabbed his dropped sword, then jammed it through the fallen sahuagin''s open mouth.

    He slowly righted his posture, looking towards Tycon with a guilty look on his stubbled face... "Not that being with men is wrong or anything-- that''s just not me."

    "That''s fair," Tycon nodded.

    "I''m jus'' sayin''," Krysaos shrugged.

    "No, no-- I agree with you," Tycon chuckled as he again snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    Krysaos lunged forward jamming his cuss into thestbative sahuagin''s belly. Releasing his sword, he lifted them onto his back, then fell backward, mming them into the waters.

    Tycon sighed, staring at the sealine... at the eighth sahuagin frantically swimming away. He briefly considered summoning his crossbow and shooting at it... but the water''s surface wouldrgely reduce the effectiveness of any projectile.

    "Krysaos, perhaps we should question thest--"

    Tycon turned to find the gentleman two-handing his sword into the remaining sahuagin''s eye.

    Krysaos walked over, bloodied sword resting on his shoulder, "Nah. These guys are just mooks. They wouldn''t know anything."

    Tycon massaged the bridge of his nose... "Perhaps they could have at least provided a description of their so-called Chosen One? Or the specifics of the orders they were given to carry out?"

    Krysaos'' jaw dropped in shock, "W-wait! I think one might still be alive! The leader! The leader looked like a pretty strong guy!"

    "You stabbed him in the crotch."

    Krysaos hurried over to the leader''s body-- "What the... I stabbed him so hard, he bled from the neck?!"

    Tycon shook his head and sighed.

 Chapter 618 Against The World

    ?With no enemies to interrogate, Tycondrius began back towards his camp. He was looking forward to a somewhatte lunch.

    As a matter of course, Krysaos tagged along, talking aloud the whole way-- mostly to himself.

    "--so what I guess I''m trying to say is... I''min'' with you, guy!"

    ...Tycon had to take a moment to realize that Krysaos was speaking directly to him.

    It wasn''t a question.

    Krysaos had no shame-- of that, he was certain.

    Tycon was tempted to take offense on a matter of principle... but in hisst quest, his short temper had found him beating one of his close allies to a near-death state.

    ...When the event was brought to his attention, he realized he had... anger issues. Such a w had the potential to undermine his professionalism, and thus, he wanted to practice calm and understanding.

    At any rate, everything had worked out in the end.

    The former Captain of the... Sugar-titted Siren may have attempted to redirect the sahuagin''s ire against him... but Tycon was never in any danger to begin with.

    He did, however, want the man to provide an exnation for his actions.

    "You tried to get me killed," Tycon smirked.

    "It was all ording to n!" Krysaos grinned, "They let down their guards, didn''t they? I''m a gods-damned genius."

    "Oh?" Tycon pursed his lips, mulling over the recent situation, "We were outnumbered. You, yourself, only survived by the skin of your teeth."

    Krysaos absentmindedly rubbed his side, wincing at the pain. It was likely the injury would bruise.

    "Hey,e on, Tycon! Don''t be like that!"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "And if I say no?"

    Krysaos dramatically threw himself onto the sand, folding his hands together and begging on his knees.

    "Hey, listen-- I did it because I believed in us, man!"

    He jammed a thumb at his chest, "You and me, against the world, Tycon! Two honorable men of the sea, raging against the constructs of society! Rebels! Heroes, even!! Allies until the end of time!"

    Tycon chuckled at the sheer absurdity of it. That sounded nothing like an apology, "Get up, Krysaos."

    "So whaddya say?" Krysaos stood heroically... and as he smiled fully and unabashedly.

    His white-pearl teeth gleamed in the sun as if to emphasize his trustworthiness.

    He offered his hand forward, still wet with sahuagin blood, "We square?"

    There was something about that man''s smile... perhapsced with a peculiar brand of subtle magic, that made him difficult to dislike.

    "Hah!" Tycon loosed augh and he sped Krysaos'' wrist, "Very well. Friends, then."

    "Us against the world," Krysaos shook.

    "Indeed. Us against the world," Tycon agreed.

    His new friend''s words struck a familiar chord. It did sometimes feel that the fates worked against him, throwing him into one horrid situation after another.

    No matter what the future had in store, it was useless to lie down, cover his eyes, and bemoan his situation. He would rise up, weapon in hand, and defy the heavens and hells themselves if he was forced to.

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX ?

    ? So there I was, stranded on a deserted ind with some guy I just met.?

    ? And then... the minions of the Sea God emerged from the ck depths. They came for me and my poor, terrified sidekick. ?

    ? We were surrounded. ?

    ? That meant the poor bastards had nowhere to run. ?

    ? I told the new guy to shut the hells up and fight until thest drop of blood was drained from his slightly effeminate body. ?

    ? Me and Tycon, we fought side-by-side, back-to-back, MANO E MANO, until thest of them were in! ?

    ? I, Krysaos, the scourge of the eastern seas, raised my stolen sword, the victor amongst the dozens and dozens of creatures who dared question me.?

    ? My sidekick survived too-- so that was a plus. ?

    ? I may have lost my ship and my crew... but f*ck those guys. I''ll get another ship. I''ll get a better crew! I''ll get my title back as the most dreaded Captain of the twenty-two seas... starting with Tycon as my second-inmand! ?

    Krysaos looked over to the green-haired youth with sharp, yellow eyes.

    The guy didn''t seem to be a pushover by any means... and it took a bit of coaxing to get him toe along.

    But he was useful. Really useful.

    He was calm under pressure, an admittedly decent fighter... and he probably had a way to get off the ind.

    "I''ll tell you what, friend," He grinned, "You can be part of my crew! I''m a Captain, after all, known all across the Eastern States-- lived my whole life there!"

    "Your name is Krysaos," Tycon mused. "That is a decidedly Tyrion name... as is mine."

    Krysaos felt his mouth twitch. It seemed like the guy needed a bit more convincing.

    "Aha!" His grin fell to a grimace... but only for a moment, "I meant to say... I lived my whole life at sea! The seas around the Eastern States and the Holy Country!"

    Tycon wasn''t an idiot-- but that didn''t dissuade Krysaos in the least.

    He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together, readying himself for telling the most pathetic story Tycon''d ever heard... the story of his life.

    ...

    Tycon had never met a man who, upon their initial meeting, opted to detail their entire life story.

    Krysaos spoke of how he was kidnapped as a child and forced into very on a privateering vessel. He fought back against his masters, took control of the ship and its crew, and by his own words, became known as the scourge of a varying number of seas.

    Out of... jealousy, the sea god engineered his crew''s mutiny. They threw him off the ship, though due to macabre tradition, they granted him a sea-logged pistol, a small watertight barrel of Orkish sugar, and a single bullet.

    An excessive portion of Krysaos'' tales were giarized... made up of old sea legends he''d previously heard serving with the Marines and Sailors of the Kingdom''s Royal Navy.

    Tycon considered alerting the gentleman that he had heard those stories before...

    However, it was moderately interesting... and Krysaos was enjoying himself.

    His infectious mirth, along with his foolish, wide grin, made the mundane trek back to camp far more pleasant.

    ...Tycon had had worse travelingpanions.

 Chapter 619 Troiaâ€™s Quest

    ?One of Krysaos'' stories, in particr, was strongly influenced by a well-known tale of the Kingdom''s current Fleet Admiral, Grand-Capitaine Chantal De Croix.

    In it, Krysaos (actually Sea Wolf Sect Leader Lang Hai) made a futile attempt tomandeer the ship of Guiume De Croix, Chantal''s father and her predecessor. However, in Krysaos'' version, he was sessful, reducing Guiume to a caricature of the storied hero he was.

    The mutiny resulted in exuberant worship from Chantal... and he described her oversized breasts in fantastic detail.

    He also strongly implied that heid with her and that her sexual prowess was only, by his words, ''so-so''.

    Krysaos then went on to boast that he had used guile and superior swordsmanship to defeat and kill all the old, monstrous High-Captains under Guiume''smand... eventually banishing the Fleet Admiral to live the rest of his short life ashore and in shame.

    In actuality, Guiume was assassinated... and the High-Captains were killed while attempting to hunt down the most likely culprit, High-Captain Liang Qiang.

    "Blood and thunder," Tycon whispered.

    From what he knew, Chantal still had yet to find her father''s murderer. If Tycon chanced upon that plot, he could appreciate having a favor from a Fleet Admiral in his pocket...

    "Niiiiice," Upon reaching the camp, Krysaos grabbed a bedroll, unrolled it, and made himselffortable.

    He just...id there... still covered in the perspiration, blood, and muck from the previous battle... allowing it all to... soak into the cloth.

    In the not-so-distant future, the stench would be abhorrent.

    ...Tycon was d that he kept his own bedroll in his spatial ring.

    "So you''re an adventurer... and you''re on some kinda quest?" Krysaos asked.

    "That''s the gist of it, yes."

    "And what''s the deal with that guy?" The stubble-chinned human gestured to the unconscious fellow lying against a tree. "He dead?"

    "That," Tycon looked over, "is a gentlemanpanion of... ours."

    "Our crew, you mean," Krysaos added.

    "Right. Also, he is still breathing, so perhaps..."

    Krysaos had gotten off of the bedroll and was rifling through the pockets of Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark. He looked back to Tycon with his usual grin-- "Aha. Sorry. Old habits."

    Was he a Baneer or a Thief?

    "There''s nothing good, anyroad," Krysaos shrugged.

    He was a Thief.

    Krysaos leaned over, examining the bronze-skinned human with greater interest, "What did him in?"

    "Curse magic. Elven artifact," Tycon shook his head, "And the quest is to bring said artifact to safety, while also discovering the way to dispel the curse."

    Krysaos suddenly jerked away, confusion on his face... "H-hey, Tycon. I think I just saw his skin move-- like on his face."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "I have reason to believe this young gentleman is metamorphosing into an elf."

    "Like... a grub into a roach?" Krysaos clicked his tongue... "Why''s he got one long ear and a normal one?"

    "The curse magic is vtile," Tycon exined. "The magic will even out eventually."

    That is what he hoped, anyroad.

    "Sounds like a good story," Krysaos grinned. "Care to tell me about it, First Mate Tycon?"

    Tycon pursed his lips. It seemed he had gained a new title.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I''ll try to summarize..."

    ...

    ? Cersei''s Rest, High Oracle Troia''s Office, six suns prior. ?

    "With all due respect, youngdy, I wholeheartedly refuse!"

    Decanus Tychon raised his voice as he abruptly stood out of his seat, causing Croesa to flinch.

    Serving as High Oracle Troia''s interpreter, she was used to dealing with wealthy, entitled Bishops and Centurions. But still... being in the office of the High Oracle... not to mention the presence of Lady Troia herself was usually enough to keep them calm... to keep them professional.

    The man they were dealing with, though...

    He was different.

    Decanus Tychon didn''t carry himself like a military leader... or even a self-serving merchant. He spoke to Lady Troia like an equal...

    Croesa always wore pigtails in her hair, so people told her she looked young... and most Decani were at least over twenty. That meant... she and Tychon should be about the same age!

    Why was he so rude?!

    She didn''t understand this man... not at all.

    The green-haired man across from Troia''s desk sat back down, his arms crossed... "Troia," you are already taking one of the strongest members of my Sol Invictus away."

    The young boy in blue armor at Tychon''s side raised his hand, smiling sheepishly... "Boss... I volunteered to go."

    Croesa sighed and shook her head. Spear Hero Pale was only a few years younger than she was... but he was far more reasonable and respectable than most adults.

    It made no sense to how he could be so polite, when his superior was so... not that.

    "Not now, young man," Tychon waved Pale silent, "And don''t forget, youngdy-- you are already holding my daughter hostage!"

    Croesa frowned.

    If anything, that was a reason for Decanus Tychon to acquiesce to Lady Troia''s quest. Instead, he was trying to leverage that fact in his argument.

    A flustered High Oracle shed several gestures in rapid-fire, defending herself.

    Croesa tranted-- that was her job, "But... Miss Sasha is... she''s studying to be a sanctified Oracle."

    She wrung her hands nervously, refusing to meet Tychon''s gaze-- even hiding behind Lady Troia''s chair for extra security, "Y... you submitted her application, yourself... Sir."

    The Decanus was seething, and Croesa could swear he could hear him gnashing his teeth, "Youngdy, you are asking me to deliver a dangerous set of artifacts to the Eastern States. That... is directly opposite of where I need to go."

    High Oracle Troia sighed, leaning forward in her seat.

    Croesa whispered her trantion... "The Swords of the Forgotten King must be sealed by Elven magics... or else..."

    "--Yes, yes. Else some terrible prophecy will be fulfilled," Tychon interrupted. "Fire. Brimstone. Giant lizards..."

    The frustrated Decanus groaned like a spoiled child before burying his face in his hands.

    Most Tyrions found it an honor to work for the High Oracle... especially for something so high-profile like one of her prophecies.

    If anything... they should at least be terrified of her. No one in Tyrion was stronger than High Oracle Troia, the wielder of Divine Armor Dawnbringer.

 Chapter 620 So Much Trouble

    ?Croesa bit her bottom lip, fidgeting nervously.

    Decanus Tychon was being more childish than the actual-child he was seated beside... and with the shamed look on Pale''s face, it was making him feel terrible...

    Lady Troia was a nice, polite, and sweet girl. She was stubborn, at times, especially when trying to pursue Pale-- who she seemed to have a crush on.

    Even against the Senate, she was unyielding when it came to ethics and protecting the best interests of the Tyrion people.

    However, it seemed that Lady Troia wasn''t going to do anything about this Decanus'' attitude... and probably because Pale always spoke of him so highly. If anything, it seemed the High Oracle was trying to get in Tychon''s good graces.

    "Get someone else to do it," Tychon dered. "Perhaps someone from one of your legions or special forces-- or at the very least, send someone you''re *paying*."

    Lady Troia began gesturing, her motions slightly hurried... as if she was panicking, and she inclined her head.

    "P... please, Sir Tychon," Croesa tranted, bowing as well... "You''re my only hope."

    Tychon narrowed his eyes, not seeming to care that the highest power in all of Tyrion was bowing her head to him...

    "...Where is Natalya?" He grumbled. "I''ll speak to her. She''ll see reason."

    Croesa bared her teeth in confusion. That sounded... wrong.

    That was definitely wrong.

    Archbishop Natalya Crucis was notoriously difficult to deal with.

    When Lady Troia was too kind... the Archbishop was known as a heartless leader, perfectlyplementing her charge.

    Oftentimes, Lady Crucis would advise the High Oracle on state matters... and would often dismiss the requests of even her most battle-hardened Pilus Priorii as frivolous and unpatriotic.

    Decanus Tychon... a Decanus-- not even a Centurion, referred to Lady Crucis by her first name.

    The High Oracle''s quest was one of great import... and had to do with the safety of the Realm atrge. In theory, Lady Crucis should have been present... as she was absent, Croesa was her pitiful recement.

    But the reason for that...

    [That...] Lady Troia signaled... but her hands hesitated... struggling to find a polite excuse.

    Unable to bear seeing her charge so troubled, Croesa bared her teeth... "The... Archbishop is... indisposed at the moment."

    "She is... what?" Tychon asked.

    He tapped his fingers impatiently, his eerie gaze for the first time in the meeting, focused on her.

    He... had the Decanus'' eyes always been such a striking gold color? It gave her chills, even as she tried to look anywhere but.

    "Miss Croesa..."

    "Y...yes? Sir?" Croesa mumbled.

    "Boss," Pale looked over with a frown, "You''re getting kinda mad."

    Tychon twisted his lips, "I''m not upset-- this is my face."

    "Anyroad, can you be nice, Boss?" Pale smiled gently, "It''s not Croesa''s fault."

    A sense of relief washed over Croesa''s heart. Having a Tyrion Hero speak in her defense made her heart thump quickly. His voice... was warm... and pleasant... and made her feel safe.

    Troia looked to her, smiling as if she understood... and almost like she was... proud? Croesa understood a little bit easier why the High Oracle was so infatuated with him... not that she would ever say such a thing aloud.

    ...There would be so much trouble if anyone heard it.

    The High Oracle was essentially the protected princess of the Holy Country. If the people had heard news of her looking upon a boy with such kind, lovey-dovey eyes... there''d probably be some sort of war.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tychon made a show of sighing loudly, "Miss Croesa! If you would."

    Croesa gulped... but with a new sense of courage from Pale''s words, she stood up straight and spoke, "Yes, Decanus!"

    "Tell me what Natalya told you."

    Croesa felt her knees buckle. That was not what she expected.

    "I... I-- but... I don''t know what you''re... talking aBoUT??"

    She tried to smile... but had a terrible feeling that it only made her look more suspicious.

    Troia tried to gently reassure her with a touch to the arm.

    The tiny act of kindness only made Croesa want to cry...

    Tychon leaned forward, steepling his fingers, "I highly doubt Natalya would tell Miss Troia her... issues with me. You, however, Miss Croesa... seem like a very intelligent youngdy."

    Croesa felt sweat dripping down her braided hair. She did not like the feeling of being interrogated... especially by that person. She didn''t want to answer him... but she couldn''t stop her stupid mouth from babbling.

    "The Archbishop... she..."

    "She... what?" Tychon red.

    "She... doesn''t want to see you, Sir."

    Tychon reeled back as if the news struck him like a shield bash to the skull, "I... beg. Your. Pardon?!"

    "I... err... No-- I meant to say..." Croesa was so stressed, she began to cry, "Ahhh!"

    High Oracle Troia looked to him, pouting with disappointment...

    "Boss, you made a girl cry," Pale grimaced.

    "Not the first time--" Tychon rolled his eyes, "nor will it be thest.

    "NATALYA!!" He stood up, his chair ttering to the floor, "I know you''re listening! Come out and speak with me!"

    Croesa whipped around her head in shock as the tall side door to the High Oracle''s office violently burst open.

    Immediately, Spear Hero Pale got to his feet. He dashed in front of High Oracle Troia and began whirling his crimson spear in his hands-- deflecting the wooden debris away.

    "Are you okay, Troia?" He asked. "Croesa?"

    Troia nodded excitedly.

    Croesa tearfully looked over to the entranceway. Archbishop Crucis had broken yet another door with her domineering power.

    It was the third time, this moon.

    Lady Crucis thrust a mana-wrapped hand forward, her long crimson robes and long crimson hair flowing as she walked towards Decanus Tychon, "How DARE you show your face around here, Tycondrius!!!"

    "What''s this about not wanting to see me, Natalya?" The Decanus asked.

    He began walking with a purpose towards the Archbishop, his chest forward, unafraid.

    Croesa''s eyes widened. Unlike the Decanus, she had be very, very afraid. High Oracle Troia was the sweetest person in all of Tyrion. Conversely, her attendant, Lady Crucis was the most terrifying.

    She... she was a Gold-Rank Hallowed Summoner... and was nearly as strong as the High Oracle, herself... but had morebat experience. In wielding Divine Armor Star-Fury, her wrath could fell small armies without support.

    And this... this Tycondrius person was raising his voice at her.

 Chapter 621 You Should Know

    ?Scared as she was, Croesa looked towards High Oracle Troia... her rock, her protector, the girl revered by all the me-fearing peoples of the Holy Country.

    [Fear not,] Lady Troia signed, [Our Hero will protect us.]

    "I''m... really sorry about this, guys," Pale smiled with chagrin, "But don''t worry. I won''t let either of you get hurt, for sure."

    His words almost made Croesa cry again...

    The legendary Hero of Tyrion swore an oath to protect the High Oracle with his life. But... the best thing about Pale is that he was... a good person.

    He''d even promised to protect her-- and she was only a nameless acolyte, only good for tranting signnguage.

    "Talk to me, Natalya," Decanus Tycon growled.

    "Talk? You had your chance, Tycondrius," Lady Crucis sneered in disgust, "The time for talk is OVER!! me ETERNAL, may this ?Lance of Faith? cut through the heart of this NONBELIEVER!!"

    Croesa ducked down in fear, screaming at the top of her lungs. The divine spell Lady Crucis was casting was a blindingly bright holynce capable of demolishing a building... and it was aimed a single Decanus.

    Though it went against all reason, Tycon dashed and slid to the side, keeping his head just shy from being obliterated.

    Pale hopped and skipped away, impossibly deflecting the bolt with his crimson spear. The redirected projectile shattered a window and part of the Basilica''s walls.

    "Um... I hope the window doesn''t cost too much to rece?" He bared his teeth.

    [Don''t worry, Hero,] Lady Troia signed, [I only ask you to be safe.]

    Croesa felt terrible-- the High Oracle was only being polite. The tall stained ss windows were hundreds of years old and it would cost thousands of silver tomission new ones.

    It was certainly better than a full section of wall being destroyed, though...

    Tycon dodged two more simrly sized ?Lances of Faith,? closing the distance to Lady Crucis.

    He snatched her wrist, "Natalya..."

    "Don''t. TOUCH ME!!!" Lady Crucis shouted, "?Aura of Heavenly Grace!?"

    A thin film of radiant energy covered the Archbishop... but even though Tycon''s hand seemed to sizzle and burn, he kept hold... his expression unchanging, "If you tell me what''s wrong, I can apologize."

    "You... should... KNOW!!!" Lady Crucis snarled back.

    She pulled her arm away from his grip, then immediately began throwing a flurry of violent punches.

    Croesa had never... ever seen Lady Crucis so upset... nor did she realize how good at hand-to-handbat she was. But even with her mind-blowingly fast punches, the Decanus blocked and dodged EVERYTHING!

    Finally, he caught her fist in his palm, then the other. It must have hurt, as he was gritting his teeth and the light on Lady Crucis'' hands was burning even brighter-- "That is quite enough, Miss Crucis."

    "I''LL SKIN YOU ALIVE, SNAKE!!! AND THEN I''LL CRUCIFY YOUR BONES!!!"

    "Listen to yourself, Natalya," Tycon chided. "That doesn''t even make s--"

    Lady Crucis spun, a heavy kick striking against Tycon''s cross-arm block. Though the Decanus kept his feet on the floor, he was pushed back over ten feet!

    Lady Troia turned to her, still extraordinarily calm, [Croesa... we need to make a barrier.]

    Croesa gulped as she nodded and joined hands with her... and they quickly erected a ?Sanctified Barrier? around the three of them. The bubble of hazy light would protect them-- or at least make it easier for Pale to.

    "?GRASPING CHAINS OF THE JUSTICIAR!!!? ?TRUMPETS OF CELESTIA!!!? ?FIVEFOLD INVOCATION OF JUDGMENT!!!?"

    Archbishop Crucis was firing off... impossibly high-tier spells, one after the other.

    Croesa was shaking so hard she couldn''t feel her feet or her hands... and the ground was shaking so much that she was pretty sure she peed a little.

    "WHAT IS GOING ON IN--"

    Looking to the door, Croesa spotted the unmistakable blue armor of Lady Troia''s elite guard. It was impossible to ignore the noise Tycon and Lady Crucis were causing. Surely, a team of Metal-Rank Champions and Clerics would be able to calm them both down!

    "...Carry on," The head Centurion bowed her head as she shut the heavy door.

    Then... the door began to glow, divine sigils appearing upon the wood. The group on the opposite side were reinforcing the door...

    Croesa sobbed quietly, feeling sorry for herself.

    As disappointing as it was... it made sense.

    From how angry Lady Crucis was and how hard she was fighting... it was only a matter of time until she summoned Divine Armor Star-Fury. Once that happened, no one in the Basilica, save Lady Troia, would be able to stop her.

    The Archbishop-Decanus rumors were going to get so much worse, too...

    Croesa had heard a little bit about Lady Crucis'' rtionship with Decanus Tycon... and from the fact that the Archbishop never chose to address it made everyone believe it was true.

    They were... supposed to be close? But... they seemed to have gotten into a fight? And that fight was destroying Lady Troia''s office?

    AND WHO WAS THIS SUPER-STRONG DECANUS, ANYROAD?!??!

    "Lady Troia, please..." Croesa cried, "tell me what''s going on..."

    [This much is to be expected,] Troia signed calmly.

    Croesa''s tears only flowed more freely.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ''High Oracle, please open your eyes to the truth,'' She begged in her heart. ''This is not normal!''

    "Isn''t... this how adults take care of arguments?" Pale asked, wearing an expression of honest worry...

    "No! No, it is not!" Croesa bowed her head, "That''s not true, at all, Hero Pale... Someone''s going to die!!!"

    "Nah," Pale grinned. "Boss might get beat up a little bit, but he won''t die."

    "Then-- then, Lady Crucis?!?"

    "It''s not a real fight, though?" The young boy tilted his head cutely, "Boss hasn''t hit Miss Natalya even once."

    Nodding his head, he looked back to his superior in awe... "Whatever he did must''ve made her really mad..."

    [He''s gotten so much stronger,] Lady Troia grinned.

    "Yeah," Pale nodded happily, "Boss has been practicing. I still can''t beat him, even when he spar!"

    The High Oracle ced a hand to her cor and sighed dreamily... [If Tycon does not wish to ept my quest, I''ll need to send you, my Hero.]

    "No, it''s better this way," Pale bit his lip... "You and I have to go to the Sleeping Country after this, right? Boss hates the cold-- like, really hates it."

    Croesa frowned. They were ''talking'' as if it was certain the Decanus was going to ept a quest, one way or the other.

    "Stop running, Natalya," Tycon said in a firm voice, "?Legionbreaker.?"

    While Croesa wasn''t looking, somehow the Decanus had taken out a curved de. He used some kind of divine skill on it that made it glow a radiant white... and he stabbed at the Archbishop.

    The tip of the de cut into her ?Aura of Heavenly Grace?... stopping just short of her throat. The magic dissipated with a loud crack and a bright sh... leaving her undefended.

    Lady Crucis was still gnashing her teeth in anger, though her breathing had bebored, and perspiration streamed down her face.

    "How.... dare... you... attack me within Basilica grounds," She growled.

    Tycon shook his head and sighed, "If this is the only way I can get you to listen, I''ll do it again... Are we done? Can we converse now?"

    A loud PAP sound reverberated throughout the room... the Centurion-Pdin and her Munifices outside the door could probably hear it too.

    The movement was so quick, Croesa didn''t see it... but it seemed that Lady Crucis had pped Tycon across the face.

    And... and he''d let her do it.

    The Decanus slowly turned his head back to face her... wearing the red handprint on his cheek, "Natalya Crucis... why are you avoiding me?"

    "Do the quest," Lady Crucis turned her nose up, "Just as Lady Troia asks."

    Tycon''s gaze suddenly hardened, "I asked you a question."

    Even at the distance, and even though she wasn''t Decanus Tycon''s focus... Croesa''s blood ran cold seeing those golden eyes.

    "Do the quest, you useless snake," Lady Crucis seethed... "Or... or I''ll convince Lady Troia to allow my boyfriend to do it, instead."

    Croesa''s eyes suddenly widened.

    What?

    That was impossible.

    Everyone in the Basilica knew that Lady Crucis didn''t have any male suitors-- not beside the Decanus, anyroad. What was going on?

    "Your... what?" Tycon was caught by surprise, but narrowed his eyes in displeasure.

    "I know you have exceptional hearing, Tycondrius... so get it through your thick skull and into your pathetic lizard brain... I. have. a boyfriend."

    Tycon stood and stared for several moments... but still Lady Crucis didn''t take back her obvious lie.

    He spun on his heel.

    He marched over to the lockbox on the side of the room... where the Swords of the Forgotten King were sealed.

    He flung the chest lid open with so much force, the hinges broke off.

    "...I apologize," The Decanus muttered. "Please bill my mercenarypany for the damage to your wooden chest."

    Lady Troia sighed and dispelled their ?Sanctified Barrier.?

    [Don''t worry about it, Prince,] She signed. [Please take care of yourself.]

    "And you, as well," Tycon nodded as he grabbed the long wooden box and walked to the room''s exit.

    ...whereupon he broke the protective enchantments on it with a swipe of a single finger.

    Croesa furrowed her brows. Wait... Prince? Prince of what?!

    ...And the Decanus could understand the High Oracle''s signnguage?! WHY WAS SHE EVEN HERE?!??!

 Chapter 622 What Do You Think Of Him?

    ?? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX ?

    ? So there we were... two handsome fes on a beach with a buff, half-dead guy. While I would have preferred thepany of a buxom youngss for... personal reasons, having the start-up kids for my new crew was ultimately in my better interests. ?

    ? Now, Petty Officer Tycon, the guy was pretty weird. ?

    ? Bright green hair-- rare but not unheard of. Bright golden eyes-- really rare, never heard of it. Good with a sword-- not as good as me, but good enough to rate. ?

    ? Kinda short. He had some muscle to him, so he wasn''t scrawny. He looked real young... and didn''t even have a shadow of facial hair... but the way he acted made it feel like he was even older than I was. ?

    ? He didn''t show off about it, though. Really good guy, altogether. ?

    ? He said he was good at cooking. He could make salt and peppere out of his hands. It was, without-a-doubt, the dumbest magic ability I''ve seen in my life... ?

    ? Also really gods-damned useful. It meant I didn''t have to hire another guy just to feed the crew. ?

    ? I''m sure Tycon wouldn''t mind having extra duties, as long as I gave him a little bit of praise... maybe a promotion. ?

    ? Anyroad, the guy was pretty quiet during the downtime. He talked quite a bit when prompted, though. I asked him to share his story while we were waiting for the meat to cook over the fire. ?

    ? The story he was telling... it sounded made up. ?

    ? I wanted to ask Seaman Shadowdark about how true it all was... but didn''t seem to have much to add besides snoring so loud he could wake the dead. ?

    ? It was fine, though. Most of the story I said was mine wasplete fiction-- not that he could tell the difference. ?

    ? But really... He didn''t get the girl in his own story? 7 points out of 10. ?

    "So... did you bang her?" Krysaos nudged the guy with his elbow.

    "I did not sleep with Natalya," Tycon furrowed his brows. "Why?"

    "Kinda seemed like you did. Come onnnn, y''can''t keep that kinda secret from your Captain," Krysaos grinned.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, keeping his gaze up at the sky, "I did not. Stop asking."

    "So after you left the uh... the High Oracle''s ce... Tell me she''s as hot as they say she is."

    "Seldin Korr and Sorina Capulet have gone ahead, their goal, to reach the city of Archangel," Tycon continued-- tantly ignoring the most important question...

    "To Archangel?" Kryasos asked. "You said the quest was to bring the Swords of the Forbidden King to Whitehearth?"

    "The Swords of the Forgotten... whatever," Tycon sighed-- "We have a contact in the Sapphire Tower, a young Elven Arcanist."

    "Whoa hohhhh~!" Krysaos chuckled, "Sapphire Tower? The big mage guild? Very nice... She single?"

    "She is not," Tycon shook his head. "Unless the situation has changed, Miss Coraline is Mister Lone''s romanticpanion. As such, she has a personal stake in researching the cure for her boyfriend''s curse."

    "Fair, fair," Kryaos nodded. "You know... I''m something of a caster, myself."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "You''re interested in magecraft, Brother-Krysaos? I do have more than one contact in the Sapphire Tower, should you require their services."

    Krysaos chuckled to himself. That was practically impossible. The Sapphire Tower was the wealthiest and most powerful mage guild in the Free Nation, founded by Sol Invictus member Be Sapphira.

    "Yeah, speakin'' of mage services..." He grinned smugly, "Let me tell you about this Half-Elven Earth Shaman I knew... Now, she had the biggest... all-natural..."

    ...

    ? Onboard the Marlin Monroe, one sun after the events at Cersei''s Rest. ?

    Tres Leches, the Dark Iron Wolf, sat on his haunches, belowdecks of the sailing ship. It smelled like old, wet wood, smelly fish, and human sweat.

    While it wasn''t a... nice smell, it at least reminded him that he was alive.

    There were rats, too. Lots of rats. He would have sped off, seeking to tear his metal teeth into their dingy coats... but one of his partner''s friends told him to sit.

    ...So he sat.

    The human female named Sorina Capulet always smelled like coins, so it was easy to tell her apart from the other humans.

    She pushed a wooden piece forward on a wooden board.

    It was a game, she said... and it was called... Pettaia?

    It was... moreplicated than ''fetch the thing''... but Tres liked learning new games.

    Whenever the fates decreed that he be taken by the sweet embrace of death, there wouldn''t be any more fetching... and certainly no more Pettaia.

    The other human female was leaning against a wooden post, crossing her arms.

    More than Sorina, Korr always changed her clothes... and she was wearing... light leather trousers, a white sleeved shirt, and a cloth on her head.

    Tres could always identify her by the color of her dark red hair and the sweet scent of wood smoke.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "What do you think about... him?" She asked.

    Tres always found her soft, low voice pleasant to listen to, so he found himself wagging his tail...

    Ah.

    It was his ''turn''. He nudged one of the game pieces forward with his nose.

    Sorina looked over, tilting her head.

    Korr pouted... and it smelled like she was feeling a little hurt, "What?"

    "Oh, sorry, sorry!" Sorina waved. "It''s just-- you don''t usually talk first. I was just surprised, is all.

    "ANY-road... He''s trash." The coin-woman firmly dered, "Terrible, absolute trash-- bottom-of-the-trash-heap trash."

    Sorina pushed one of her wooden pieces forward, taking one of Tres'' off the board. "Don''t talk to him. Don''t you dare."

    ...Why did she take his piece? Tres stared at the board, trying to make sense of it.

    Korr stared back quietly... her scent changing through all sorts of different emotions. Upset. Confused. Sad. In heat. Sad. Aggressive. Hungry. Content. Hungry again.

    Tres turned his attention back at the game board. What should he do next?

    "I mean... he might be hot," Sorina whined... "And I guess he''s hardworking... and he''s mostly honest. He''s mature and reliable? And I mean, he is a Ranger now... but overall, he''s trash."

    She started to grow more agitated as she went on, "He snores, he smells funny, he''s gross and hairy, clumsy and forgetful. He can''t cook to save his life and... and he''ll let you down when you need him the most.

    "Nope!" She twisted her lips to the side. "Don''t like him. And neither should you."

    Tres Leches started to wag his tail. Sorina was talking about his partner, the Lone Shadowdark. It sounded like she was highlighting his faults-- but she was missing a few.

    "I was talking about Baron Tycon," Korr said tly.

    Oh!

    Tres Leches liked that person, even though he smelled like a snake.

    Most everyone called him ''Boss,'' his partner, Lone, included. He was the leader of their pack and took the responsibility of gathering everyone together and ensuring everyone was healthy and well fed.

    He always had tasty meat on him-- and he''d always offer some if one of their pack members did well.

    Also, he was also old and wise. ording to him, Tres'' bloodline was continuously evolving because Lone continued to walk the path of the Ranger.

    It was convenient, since Tres always did his best to keep his partner safe. Lone had themon sense of a young pup... but that just made him more endearing.

    "Oh," Sorina looked up in thought, "Right. Well... he''s rich. He''s no Tarquin, so I can only give him a 9 out of 10 in the looks department..."

    Korr nodded along, listening attentively.

    "But he''s got a huge problem," Sorina grimaced. "in that he doesn''t appreciate that which is Truly Awesome... I mean... ?Market Crash? is a top-tier finishing Skill, isn''t it? Triple S-Rank, for sure."

    "Yeah..." Korr agreed. "Double, at least..."

    "I suppose the fact that he''s rich makes up for it," Sorina shrugged. "Oh, did I mention that?"

    She turned to Tres Leches, "And what are you looking at? It''s your turn."

    It was? Tres looked at the table. Two of Sorina''s pieces had moved when he wasn''t looking. He''d thought, ording to the rules, she could move only one piece... but maybe there was a different rule he didn''t know about.

    "(You kicked my partner in the genitals earlier this sun,)" Tres whined, "(You said all males are trash.)"

    Sorina shrugged, "I think it''s a Lone-only thing."

    Tres looked up, furrowing his brows, "(Y...you can understand me?)"

    "My Armor Cube trantes it for me," Sorina winked.

    Tres looked at the metal box resting underneath the table. It hadn''t moved in bells. Was it really doing... anything at all?

    He moved one of the pieces on the Pettaia board, "(I did it.)"

    Korr folded her hands in front of her waist... "I think... Leader... is lonely."

    Lone? Tres began to wag his tail.

    "Well, yeah," Sorina shrugged. "He got his heart crushed. Of course, he''s gonna mope around for a few suns... it is weird that it doesn''t seem he''s broken anything, though."

    ",

 Chapter 623 The Look

    ?Sorina ced her elbows on the table and rested her chin on the back of her hands.

    "Hm hmmm~ I knoWw that look," She smirked, "What''cha thinkin'' bout?"

    Korr looked back at the coin-woman through her red hair, her one good eye unfocused... "What... what do I do?"

    "You''re... worried, then?" Sorina shook her head-- "I really don''t know why. In all honesty, Boss is probably the most mature person in Sol Invictus. He can take care of himself."

    "...Y..yeah. But I think even Leader can be hurt too..." Korr sighed...

    "Was that really what you were thinking?" Sorina gestured towards herself, "Ssssssay it~"

    "I think..." Korr bit her lips, "I should tell him that I love him and want to bear his children?"

    Puppies? Tres'' tail continued to wag. It would not stop.

    A few weeks ago, he had the opportunity to keep the pups of the Bloodpaw tribepany. The tribe females told him he''d be a very good uncle.

    "Pshhh! Fufufu~" Sorinaughed out loud.

    It made her curly ponytails jiggle... and made Tres want to nip at them.

    He held back, though.

    "I don''t think you should," Sorina leered, "A man won''t betray you until you actually make your feelings known."

    "I... I believe in Leader," Korr dered.

    "Alright, alright," Sorina shrugged. She reached for one of Tres'' wooden pieces and reced it with one of hers. "I''ll be taking this, doggo."

    Tres stared at the board... trying to make sense of it... "(Don''t... humans have a courtship ritual before mating?)"

    Korr pursed her lips and looked away... staring nkly at a wall.

    Tres whipped his head back to Sorina.

    "(Am... am I wrong?)" He whined.

    "Well... no," Sorina frowned.

    "(I think I broke her.)"

    Sorina stretched her arms, yawning, "Korr... hey listen, girl. I''ll take care of it, ''kay?"

    "Y... you will?" Korr looked up, pouting.

    Tres Leches tilted his head, one of his fuzzy ears flopping over. As vulnerable as she looked... he had seen Korr rip the top of a man''s head off of his lower jaw.

    ...It was nice to be able to rely on others.

    "Yeah, I feel a little guilty talking so much smack about him," Sorina shrugged. "And the happier Boss is, the easier it''ll be to convince him to buy me a Divine Armor."

    "(Can you get a wolf?)"

    "I''m thinking... like five wolves... that transform into one bigger wolf."

    Korr began to fidget... and she gave off the unmistakable scent of nervousness, "How..."

    "The first step in winning Boss Tycon''s favor," Sorina grinned... "is kicking Lone in the balls as hard as possible."

    "(That''s... that''s my friend!)" Tres Leches narrowed his eyes, squinting at the woman... "(What does assaulting my partner achieve?)"

    "Got it," Korr lifted a leg and pped the front of her knee.

    It made... a very loud, very scary sound...

    "And... then what?" She asked.

    "Don''t question it," Sorina shrugged. "I''m a Calctor. Just trust in my calctions. Now Korr, head out there and fight the pirates about to siege the ship."

    ...Tres Leches sniffed at the air. There were new scents above deck... many new scents, "(How did...)"

    "Calcting!" Sorina dered as she balled up her fist.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Korr nodded, picked up her two-handed ckde and jogged up the stairs.

    "Also," Sorina continued, "getting onboard the Marlin Monroe was cheap because the Captain has a deal with the pirates on this route."

    "(Calcting, then,)" Tres nodded thoughtfully.

    "Your move."

    "(Shouldn''t we... help the other members of the pack?)"

    "Do you surrender?" Sorina smirked, gesturing at the board between them.

    Tres let out a slight whine as he thought it over...

    The scents atop the deck didn''t seem too threatening...

    He nudged another piece forward with his paw, "(If they die, they die.)"

    ...

    ? Top deck of the Marlin Monroe. ?

    A panicked cream-color horse trotted towards Tycondrius, suddenly appearing through the thick fog.

    "(BOSS! BOSS! The ship is under attack!)"

    That was quite obvious. Though Tycon''s vision was abhorrent, the sounds of screaming and swords nging together were quite unmistakable.

    "Private First ss Jeremy... how did you get up here from your quarters?" Tycon asked.

    "(I used the STAIRS, BAWSS!!)"

    Tycon was referring to the fact that to open the door to the hold, a circr knob had to be turned. PFC Jeremy had his hooves... and not opposable thumbs.

    He shook his head. It didn''t matter, "Shut up. Open your mouth."

    Tycon stuck his sword''s handle in the horse''s maw andmanded him to mp down, "Now go. We''ll promote you to Lance Corporal if you can get a kill."

    "RRrrhhhmrrrrhh!!" The horse neighed before sprinting off towards, hopefully, the enemy.

    "And you," Tycon turned around. "Corporal Horse."

    One of his guild Invictus'' most senior members, Horse, the chestnut-coated stallion had... somehow equipped his Letalis armor, covered in Arcanite tes and sharpened spikes. A t, slicing implement on his head was designed to deliver painful cuts while being dull enough to avoid sticking into wood.

    Corporal Horse bucked up on its hind legs, whinnying loudly, "(I thirst for BLOOD AND COCAINE!!!)"

    "You''ll have to settle for blood and spoils," Tycon rolled his eyes.

    "(TO USE TO BUY COCAINE!!!)"

    "Empty night, Horse... Just... just keep the rookie alive. Go."

    As Horse sped off towards Jeremy, Tycon made his way towards the back of the ship... where, in theory, the Captain should have been.

    From the sounds in the waves and the number of unwee visitors, there was likely an enemy vessel somewhere in the fog.

    Tycon grabbed a human by the throat-- a pirate. He crushed his throat and threw him off the ship.

    Retrieving his curved de and adamantine scabbard from his spatial ring, he swung twice more as he walked, crushing pirate bones and continuing onward.

    They wore interesting symbols... painted silhouettes of a white raven on a ck background. Yet... they did not use White Raven swordsmanship, which Tycon was an expert in.

    It must have been a coincidence...

    The ship Captain was on the defensive with his cuss, surrounded by four enemies. There was a deep cut on his left coat sleeve and he smelled like fear.

    ...He''d soiled himself.

    "A-adventurer!" The bleeding human screamed, "Save me! I''ll do anythin'' ya ask!"

    Tycon sighed and shook his head, "Have some self-respect, Captain."

 Chapter 624 Trapmaster

    ?Tycondrius smashed his scabbard into the back of one pirate''s neck, kicked the body into a second pirate, and stared directly into the eyes of the third.

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Go ahead. ?

    ? Activating. ?

    The pirate fell to her knees, having fallen prey to his illusory poison. As she was choking on the blood pooling in her throat, Tycon snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    With a desperate scream, the ship Captain lunged towards the final pirate, whereupon he ran his sword through their abdomen.

    The pirate stared down... and allowed their weapon to drop out of their hands to tter upon the deck.

    ...It was a waste, really. Even if they were to go into shock and die of an abdominal wound, that fellow still had several seconds of consciousness to counterattack.

    The Captain wiped his brow underneath his forehead, "Thanks fer that, adventurer. Thought I was a goner."

    "Report," Tycon didn''t care to mince words... especially not with a gentleman of that person''s caliber.

    If he could not regain control of the situation, the multitudinous amount of pirates would ughter the crew of the Marlin Monroe.

    ...and he did not know how to pilot a ship.

    "Pirates, sir!" The Captain shouted, nursing his injured arm.

    "Obviously."

    "And someone''s set traps all over the deck! Walking around in this fog is a death sentence!"

    "...Traps, you say?"

    The enemy had a Trapmaster? That was foreboding...

    Tycon needed to get into contact with Sol Invictus member Sorina Capulet. As a Calctor, she was more than a match for any trap-user, and would be able to disable any traps with cunning and... math-e-magical prowess.

    "Sea god''s socks... this wasn''t part of the deal," The Captain mumbled under his breath.

    "The deal?" Tycon furrowed his brows. "Very well."

    There were certain risks with entrusting Sorina Capulet with gaining passage via ship at the lowest possible price. Thus, he was neither angry nor surprised that the ship Captain had dealings with pirates... and that they had turned on him.

    ...He was, however, quite disappointed.

    "S-sir?"

    "We''ll converseter," Tycon grabbed the Captain by the cor and dragged him off, "For now, crawl down to safety, belowdecks."

    "SIR! WHAT ARE YOU DOI--"

    Tycon mmed the human''s face into a ship mast, freeing a number of teeth he did not deserve to have.

    After he judged that the traitorous creature was still well-enough to crawl, he vaulted over the railway, from where the ship''s steering wheel was, down to the main body of the deck.

    He felt several dozen footsteps in the thick fog around him... and one pair, fast approaching.

    "Nondlubber''s gonna get the BEST''A ME!!!" The one-eyed pirate shouted, brandishing a two-handed falchion, "YAR HARR HARRRRRR!!!"

    The fellow probably thought he was being intimidating. Tycon thought the disy farcical.

    Tycon opened his arms, inviting attack. If the pirate dared look into his eyes, they would die a painful death.

    The pirate''s steps triggered a trap-- a floorboard sprung up, and his chest and head were covered in a reddish powder, "SEA GOD''S SUSPENDERS!!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...Tycon had to refocus some of his protective mana to his eyes and face. The one-eyed fellow was blinded by... pepper powder. His condition was possibly worse than being killed outright.

    Was it just a matter of luck? Had the pirate not memorized where his crew set their traps? That seemed like a horrible oversight.

    As the pirate stumbled backward, he bumped into the ship''s side railing and... triggered another trap.

    The wooden nk Tycon stood uponunched him forward and to the side.

    Sighing, he reached his arm out, battering into the blinded pirate''s top half and sending him careening overboard.

    Holding onto the guardrail, he looked into the distance and saw the silhouette of the enemy pirate ship... one muchrger than their own.

    ...Arger ship had caught up to their smaller, passenger ship. Their ship was either better engineered or had their speed improved by magic.

    "?Really Brutal de!?"

    Tycon turned as he heard Korr activate one of her Skills. He immediately dropped prone on the deck as a pirate tumbled over him, breaking the railing and plummeting down into the drink.

    Korr''s naming sense had always been... peculiar, but he appreciated the help. He couldn''t see her through the cloudy white, but he could sense her steps.

    "Thank you for arriving so quickly, Korr," Tycon spoke aloud, ignoring a series of loud nks and clunks from the rope and pulley rigging above. "I need someone to take care of the enemy ship, and Lone--"

    He was interrupted by a swinging bucket... a literal bucket on a rope had struck him in the back, sending him tumbling forward.

    It didn''t hurt... but he found himself face-to-face with Korr, who caught him in her arms.

    "H-hello, Leader," She blushed.

    "...Hello," Tycon tried to pry himself away... but she pulled him into a full embrace.

    Even though he and Korr were both Gold-Rank adventurers, Tycon was a Warlord... a branch of the Tactician ss. He had no chance of winning a battle of strength against a ming Rage Knight.

    "Korr..."

    "Yes, Leader?"

    "...What are you doing?"

    "Oh..." The youngdy half-dragged, half-carried him a few steps away.

    Tycon stared at the deck... at some very familiar writing in ck paint.

    It read... ''Stand here.''

    It looked... very... very familiar... to Sorina Capulet''s writing... but he could not be certain.

    BOOM BOOM BOOM!!!

    Cannonfire resounded in his ears... sending Korr and Tycon smashing hard onto the deck... with Tycon on the bottom.

    Had... Korr been struck by a cannonball?

    "KORR! Answer me!" He brushed the red hair on her face to the side in order to look into her eye, "Are you alright?"

    "Y... yeah," She smiled... a thin trail of blood dripping down her mouth... which she licked. "I... protected you."

    She seemed fine... with no outward signs of shock or a concussion. She might have been a bit delirious... but, as he did not understand the woman, she could have very well been acting normal.

    It would have brought him great frustration if she were to be severely injured or killed.

    Seldin Korr had a special ce in his heart... as one of his physically strongest allies.

 Chapter 625 Soul Burn

    ?Tycondrius furrowed his brows as he looked at where he and Korr were standing only moments ago.

    Hispanion had protected the ship''s main mast with her unarmored body. Without it, the Marlin Monroe''s sailing speed would have slowed to little faster than a turtle''s crawl.

    However... besides Korr''s choice of defense being horribly reckless... it was inefficient.

    Also, it was stupid.

    Either of them had the requisite reflexes and strength to deflect the cannonball with a weapon attack. Korr''s ckde was strong enough to resist damage-- as well as Tycon''s adamantine scabbard.

    Even with a mundane weapon, sacrificing a metal item worth two dozen silver was better than risking bodily harm.

    Tycon was frugal with most everything... with the notable exception of expenses concerningbat arms and armor. Most adventurers were unable to fight after being killed.

    "That''s not the best you can do, youngdy...."

    He whispered gentle words into Korr''s ear to activate his ?Inspirational Surge? healing Skill on her.

    Even without wearing armor, her Gold-Rank physique allowed her to take a cannonball to the back. Since she''d survived, she''d eventually convalesce well-enough with magical healing.

    Still... the attractive woman was on top of him, her hips mounted over his... Then there was the fact that she wasn''t wearing armor leggings, but cloth trousers. It was a highly improper position for a superior and subordinate.

    "Korr... can you... get off, please?"

    The woman blushed furiously.

    The sounds of nks and turns continued from high above the mast... and suddenly... they stopped.

    And... a fishing fell upon them.

    Before Tycon could act to cut them free, he spied a piece of parchment tied to one of its corners. It had a message written upon it... and he easily discerned that it was in the Capulet''s scriptwriting.

    ''Don''t worry and have fun. Sincerely, Sorina.''

    Tycon exhaled deeply, trying to control his rising anger.

    He was going to kill that woman... in a violent and fantastic manner.

    ...or maybe he''d forbid her from usingpany credit to pay for her meals. That would probably hurt her more.

    "It looks like we are trapped," Korr spoke stiltedly... before snuggling into his chest.

    "Right," Tycon rolled his eyes.

    "We''ll get you out of thoses, adventurers!!" A sailor yelled.

    Tycon breathed a sigh of relief. A team of three veteran sailors was approaching, armed with swords and pistols.

    "Sea god''s shoulderpads, a?" A sailor with a clean shave and pink hair whistled, "These traps are vicious!"

    "Looks like the mast is safe." The thick-muscled one nodded, "You have our thanks, adventurers, but we could still use your help."

    "You two GETTIN'' IT ON while there''s a battle about? Yar harr har harr!!"

    The third sailor looked and sounded mentally incapacitated... but Tycon could appreciate the progressiveness of the ship Captain in hiring differently-abled gentlemen.

    Tycon waved as best as he could, while the blushing Korr hid her face with her hands, "Don''t mind it. Please, just get us out--"

    --A spring trapunched the three sailors overboard.

    Sorina.

    She did this.

    Tycon was going to kill her... raise her from the dead using illegal magic... and kill her again.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Then he''d force her to pay for the ordeal.

    "Well, well, well," A group of pirates slowly approached... carefully stepping around the spring trap.

    "Yar har harrrrr! Look at this, Cap''n!" A tall, gangly pirate chuckled, "It looks like we found a coupl''a sea rats, stuck in a sea rat trap!!"

    Tycon grit his teeth. He was strongly considering using his alternate form.

    ? "Whoa, hold on, what do you mean alternate form? ?

    ? I''m not human. Are you surprised, Krysaos? ?

    ? Well, yeah... a little bit. ?

    ? You''re not either. ?

    ? WHAAAAT?! What do you mean? ?

    ? ...I''d like to finish the story, if you''d allow it. ?

    ? Oh, right. My bad. Go ahead, Tycon. ?

    Tycon was a Maedar-- a male of the medusa bloodline. One of his bloodline abilities allowed him to metamorphose into a snake... and to a different-sized, differently-abled snake at his discretion.

    His small-form transformation would allow him to slip free, but hisrge-form could easily break the and free them both.

    Further, his white, armored scales would blend in well with the fog and be an absolute terror to the pirates... and the sailors, but they seemed generally useless with all of Sorina''s traps littering the deck.

    ? Do not even consider escaping, Snake. ?

    Tycon sighed in his mind. He sensed the intent of an outside consciousness in the recesses of his mind... and he was fairly certain who it was.

    ? Shahram, I presume. ?

    ? Indeed. Though I loathe you, just as I loathe all mortals... my charge desires you physically and emotionally. ?

    Shahram was the Adamantine-Rank weapon spirit residing within Korr''s ck-ded greatsword...

    ? I noticed... You do realize there are social and professional constructs in ce that would prevent a sessful rtionship between her and I, yes? ?

    ? If you refuse my request, I will burn your soul into nothingness. ?

    ? ...And you do realize that, so inconvenienced, it is very possible that we may both be killed, yes? ?

    ? If you escape the and survive, I will burn your soul into nothingness. ?

    ...It seemed Shahram was not to be bargained with.

    Transformation was no longer an option, then.

    "What''ll we do with ''em?" One of the pirates mused, a weak-looking scoundrel picking at his ear, "What... to do..."

    The dark-skinned Pirate Captain leered over the two of them, stroking his trimmed beard, "The green-hairedd will fetch a handsome price when we get him to the ve auction."

    The thought insulted Tycon greatly.

    "I will NOT be amon ve to be auctioned in PUBLIC!!"

    He dropped Korr to the deck, her rear still against his crotch and her legs syed over his hips... and managed to summon his crossbow out of his spatial ring.

    Though he had limited space to move, he aimed and pulled the trigger.

    The bolt struck the Captain in the heart, and he died nigh instantly as the paralysis poison coursed through his system.

 Chapter 626 Five Minutes

    ?"If I''m not to be ransomed," Tycondrius growled, "then I would at least like to be sold by private channels, only to be afforded by the wealthy elite."

    "Leader..."

    He turned down to look at furiously blushing Korr, "Never ept anything less than the best, youngdy."

    "...Got it."

    The two remaining pirates yelled a battlecry of sailors'' curses, one pointing a pistol and the other rushing forward with a shield and waraxe.

    Tycondrius snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    Korr suddenly tightened her legs around Tycon''s waist. Sitting up, she embraced him, stuffing his face into her modest cleavage.

    ...It wasn''t an unpleasant feeling, but he did not have the time to enjoy the situation. He was furiously winding up his crossbow, trying to load another poisoned bolt.

    With a questionable grunt, Korr spun her body to the side. With the momentum, they tumbled into the nearest pirate''s shins, knocking them down.

    A gunshot rang in Tycon''s ears... but he felt no pain, which was worrying. It meant that Korr had probably received another injury.

    Again on his back, Tycon hurriedly scooted backward enough to allow Korr to stab the downed pirate in the throat with her ckde.

    The remaining pirate aimed down the iron sights of his pistol, "Aha ahaharrr!! Spit out yerst words, ya bastards! It''s the end for the both of ye!"

    Tycon hadn''t yet finished winding his crossbow... and Korr could barely turn her head to see that fellow, much less do anything about it.

    "Leader..." Korr whispered, "I... I... lo--..."

    "Not the time, youngdy," Tycon groaned.

    Grabbing her, he spun her around to have his back to the gun-toting fellow.

    "Leader!!" Korr shouted, "What are you--?!!"

    "I am wearing armor and you are not," Tycon scolded.

    He was tired of her getting shot on his behalf.

    The gun went off. He winced in pain from the impact to his back. He didn''t feel the wetness of blood, though... so it seemed the chainmail had performed well enough.

    ...He chuckled to himself as he half-turned his head back to the pirate who was frantically trying to reload his pistol, "You should have gone for the head. ?Venomous Shadow.?"

    A dark shadow climbed up the nearby railing, a cuss in his vaguely shaped ''mouth.''

    With its right hand, it pointed another pistol at the remaining pirate while making an offensive gesture with its left.

    Bang.

    The pirate fell to the deck, bleeding from the forehead.

    "Well done," Tycon waved, "Thank you."

    The shadow stopped to stare at him and Korr, entangled as they were...

    Scratching its shadowy chin, it turned to half-walk, half-float away.

    "COME BACK AND HELP US!!!" Tycon shouted.

    ...

    ? On an unknown beach in the Free Nation, present time. ?

    Krysaos had his hand cradling his stubble-covered chin, "So you''re telling me... this chick wants to nail you."

    Tycon nodded, "I believe Korr is infatuated with me. It may have something to do with seeing me as a recement for her previous, deceased guild leader."

    "Y''should do it," Krysaos grinned. "Add another notch to your belt, man. From the way you described her, she sounds hot!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Utilizing her weapon spirit, she can wield mes as hot as the fiery hell of Phlegethos."

    "How big are her tits?" Krysaos asked.

    ...They weren''t overlyrge, which was as Tycon preferred, but he wasn''t going to admit that to the lecherous Captain.

    "Having a romantic rtionship with a subordinate is highly unprofessional," He chided.

    "Fire her, bed her," Krysaos suggested with a shrug. "Sounds easy to me."

    "Seldin Korr is a Gold-Rank ming Rage Knight."

    "AhHhhh~" Krysaos nodded in thought... "Can we add her to the crew?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, choosing to ignore the question, "Seldin Korr and Sorina Capulet have been sent ahead to Archangel... to find our Arcanist, as previously mentioned."

    Sorina would also be seeking to expand the East Charm Trading Company to that area, to further strengthen her economic hold on the Realm.

    ...However, the Captain did not need to know that Tycon''s worth was in the hundreds of thousands. He figured the gentleman-Captain would beg him to purchase an entire ship.

    Though he liked the man... he did not like him that much.

    "Oh, yeahhh." Krysaos smirked, "The curse-- right. I got''cha... so the rest of the story?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "I was getting to that."

    "--but sum it up," Krysaos lifted one of the sticks, a roasting cut of steak. "These are almost done... Five minutes sound good?"

    "Yes..." Tycon nodded as he observed the meat''s color and pliability, weighing it against the thickness and marbling... "Five more minutes should get them to medium-rare, throughout..."

    "I mean for the story."

    Tycon looked back with incredulity... "You want me to finish the story in five minutes?"

    "Why? You don''t think you can do it?" Krysaos raised a thick, mocking eyebrow.

    ...

    ? Top deck of the Marlin Monroe, so many suns ago. ?

    "I will defend you with my life, Leader!! ?Rain of Hellfire!!?"

    Korr defeated thest of the pirates with fire and sword.

    Using the power of her ckde, supernatural mes rained down from the heavens and onto the enemy ship. With the help of the fog, the pirates with the white raven g were cooked alive with superheated steam.

    ? What happened to the horses? ?

    ...Corporal Horse trotted about the top deck, thered in blood and entrails, ughtering as he went.

    "(I am the drug-addicted god of death and dismemberment!!)" He neighed.

    "(Please keep me out of trouble!)" PFC Jeremy whinnied, "(I am a coward that will never see promotion!!)"

    ? And the other guy? Lone, you said his name was? ?

    ? Stars and stones, Krysaos. Allow me to speak. ?

    ? Ohhh. My bad. Sorry, I got excited. Story''s pretty good! ?

    ...By that time, most of the pirates that had boarded the ship had been defeated. With the fall of their gship, they fought even more desperately, despite two Gold-Ranks on the ship.

    ? Besides the hot chick, who''s the other one? ?

    ? Brother-Captain... ?

    ? Sorry, sorry... Go ahead. ?

 Chapter 627 Return

    ?Tycondrius had light mana exhaustion from repeated activation of his support Skills... and he was mentally fatigued from avoiding Sorina''s traps. As such, he entrusted the rest of his team and the crew of the Marlin Monroe to deal with the remaining enemies.

    Korr had taken a cannonball to the back and, not one, but two gunshot wounds. Tycon expressly forbade her from further participation in the battle.

    She could very well have been killed... which was not something he would allow. He used his ?Inspirational Surge? skill to increase the youngdy''s healing factor temporarily... but once her adrenaline drained away, it was likely she''d be immobilized.

    And thus... the task of defeating the remaining pirates fell to thest reliablebat member of Sol Invictus...

    That was... Corporal Horse.

    Tycon looked at the other end of the ship... where he was assisting Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, against thest of their attackers.

    Bronze-Rank pirates, the lot of them were... and not all low-tier sses.

    Horse was using charge and trample attacks on the pitifully small deck, but the enemy seemed to have realized not to underestimate him.

    Instead, they focused on surrounding Lone.

    If the Ranger were to fall-- besides being killed, Horse had the potential to be surrounded and injured, as well.

    The enemy could also choose to inflict massive casualties to the remaining crewmen of the Marlin Monroe, as a dying act of vengeance.

    Either way, he or Korr would be forced to intervene and put themselves at risk.

    Though Lone was abat veteran and an Iron-Rank Ranger... his eyes were bloodshot. His tears ran freely as reddish spice powder congealed on his cheeks.

    He looked overall pathetic, with his clothes torn from one of Sorina''s spinning de traps...

    ...Further, Tycon observed that his gait was awkward. He continually stepped backward defensively, barely able to defend himself with his longsword.

    Sorina Capulet did have a penchant for aiming blunt force at Lone''s crotch... Thus, it was likely she designed a trap for that sole purpose.

    Admittedly, it wouldn''t have surprised Tycon if the young man had be impotent from the consistent abuse.

    Lone fell prey to traps as often as he pissed himself... which wasn''t too often, but often enough that it was baffling.

    While the young Ranger held his sword in one hand, his other hand clutched onto the box containing the Swords of the Forgotten King.

    ...In retrospect, it was foolish to allow him to carry it.

    At the time of choosing, he had the least seniority, save for Korr and his wolf, Tres Leches. However, Lone could not refuse Korr, who was a rank of strength above him... and his Dark Iron wolf did not have opposable thumbs.

    The young man heavily swung his sword, knocking an axe-pirate backward before thrusting the tip through a thin pirate''s throat.

    He took a deep long-de sh to his undefended back... something he really should have blocked or dodged.

    It seemed he was going to die.

    Tycon cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled to him, "Is that the best you can do??!"

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? It might be a waste, but yes. ?

    ? Activating. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was thest support Skill he had the mana for. It would be a bell or longer of rest before he could heal anyone else.

    Lone grit his teeth, spinning all around him with his sword and forcing his opponents back...

    "I can''t fall here..." Lone wiped the blood off his mouth, some of his stamina restored by the healing Skill, "Coraline... she''s waiting for me."

    Tycon heard a crack... but not as sound traveling through the air... but deep in the recesses of his mind. It was an ugly sound... of something broken that should not break.

    He saw Lone drop his weapon... the Shatterspike longsword... one of the worst inbat taboos a professional warrior couldmit.

    Tycon had punished the young man for that, time and time again... but then, he saw Lone''s reason for doing so.

    Two halves of a particr boxid on the deck. It should have been impossible... The container was sealed by High Oracle Troia, herself.

    In the young Ranger''s hands... he wielded the twin Swords of the Forgotten King.

    "My people await my return," Lone muttered.

    ...Those words sent a chill down Tycon''s back.

    Moving forward, Lone met with the first pirate, blocking a downward sh with his crossed twindes.

    He lifted his leg for a kick,slow... but with excellent form...

    With only that speed, the pirate brought their elbow down to block.

    At the distance and with Tycon''s improved hearing, he could hear the pirate''s arm break.

    Lone... generally eschewed the usage of kicks. It was one of his many weaknesses. That he used one so effectively was somewhat peculiar... but permissible.

    The Ranger spun to block a diagonal sh, and then... he flipped. Simultaneously, he''d cleanly sliced through another pirate''s throat.

    That... movement...

    ...was indicative of the Elven de Dance.

    Tycon had taught Lone the basics of the particr sword art... but the young gentleman progressed only slightly faster than a normal elf or human. That is... he still required decades of training and peak physical fitness to be able to pull off such a move in the heat ofbat.

    But... the reckless whelpling did it...

    The thought upset Tycon greatly. Though his execution was nigh-perfect, a life-or-death battle was not the time to practice high-level maneuvers that carried such a high risk of personal injury.

    Lone brought his sword from low to hie and he pirouetted to dodge a counter-attack. The pirate that was standing in front of him fell to the deck, missing his leg below the knee.

    The Ranger dipped impossibly low for a man of his muscr frame, swaying his body with perfect bnce... and he swung his swords down casually at his sides.

    Two more pirates'' throats erupted in gouts of blood as they fell to their knees.

    Tycon grimaced.

    Who was the cold, efficient killer he was watching? ...and what had be of the foolish, desperatepanion he traveled with?

 Chapter 628 Neat Trick

    ?Lone was still using the de Dance... but he was using forms that Tycondrius absolutely did not impart to him. He had a sinking feeling that the young man had an even higher proficiency with the sword art than former Sol Invictus leader, Quay.

    ...Tycon could not be certain of it, though. The sword art was known for its subtlety, as the highest level of practitioners used natural, flowing movements that seemed no more threatening than a dancer''s stage performance.

    Lone leapt forward, smashing the pommels of his sword hilt onto arge male pirate''s shoulders, then powered a knee into his sr plexus. The pirate opened his mouth to scream... but the strike to below the lungs left him stunned and unable to convey his agony.

    Then, Lone... with yet another spin and a flourish, cleanly decapitated the fellow. He was showered in blood as he turned to the remaining pirates-- still another half-dozen left.

    The Elven de Dance was... a graceful, flowing... inefficient sword art. However, the techniques Lone were using... bordered on... murderous... raw... relentless and unforgiving.

    "H-he... he just killed like ten of our guys!" One of the pirates shouted.

    "He''s gotta be TIRED!!" Another yelled back, "Let''s attack him TOGETHER!!!"

    Lone whirled his des in a circr motion, ending with his wrists touching and thrusting his fists forward, "?Wind, heed my call.?"

    A roaring tunnel of wind erupted from the twin swords, shaving off parts of the deck, spinning with dust and splinters of wood. The pirates caught in the tunnel... they bled, as the rapidly spinning debris rended away their skin.

    The bloody bodies were ejected off of the ship... and into the saltwater.

    Tycon gulped.

    Whatever that was... was a Third-Circle spell...

    ...

    ? On an unknown beach in the Free Nation, present time. ?

    "After that," Tycon exined, "Lone fainted from mana exhaustion... and he has yet to wake..."

    "So it''s a no-brainer that he''s cursed," Krysaos gestured towards the unmoving Lone, "He''s got funny looking ears, after all... but why do ya think you gotta go all the way to Archangel to figure it out? Can''t we just stop at any city with a hexo-mancer or whatever?"

    The Captain looked up in thought... "I got cursed, once-- but I had this Witch I used to rail, so I got that taken care of, no problem."

    Tycon assumed Krysaos was referring to the curse-breaking and not to the ''railing'' of Witches.

    He sighed and shook his head, "We tried a normal ?Remove Curse? ritual. It did not work."

    Sol Invictus member Seldin Korr had... a peculiar supernatural effect in her fists that allowed her to interact with incorporeal entities, set free any individuals afflicted by possession, and on one asion, even break curses.

    After Tycon wrapped her fists with cloth, she beat Lone for several minutes... which admittedly may have been rted as to why he had yet to wake.

    ...Also, shended a particrly vicious knee to the crotch that seemed quite out of ce. It probably had something to do with Sorina''s meddling.

    Still, Lone was not freed from his mind control. Thankfully, the process did not cost as much as a proper ritual.

    "So in order to rescue Lone, our third crew member, we gotta take the guy to Archangel," Krysaos nodded. "Got it."

    "The swords," Tycon sighed. "The swords must eventually be taken to Whitehearth. Archangel is along the way... rtively."

    "I''m assuming the curse is also one of those hand-holdy ones?"

    ? "...I''m sorry, what?" Tycon furrowed his brows. "The swords violently reject any wielder trying to move them so far away from Mister Lone''s person, if that''s what you were trying to imply."

    "So... we gotta take the guy to Archangel," Krysaos repeated, wearing his usual shite-eating grin.

    "The swords," Tycon corrected.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "--which are attached to the guy."

    Tycon pursed his lips... "You do not like being wrong, do you, Captain?"

    Krysaos managed to grin even wider, "But I''m not."

    ...

    ? Captain''s Log, Second entry. Afternoon-ish. ?

    Tycon made lunch.

    It was nothing short of amazing.

    He called it simple... just mushrooms and some pork steak, but it was so much more than that.

    The guy had some kind of... supernatural sense to sear the outside of the meat, LOCKING the moistness and tenderness inside.

    Then there were fire-roasted mushrooms-- you can''t have those, usually, since most of the things are poisonous... but they were huge and juicy and all-around tasty.

    Also, the guy even had salt AND spices! He was... it was... the best meal a half-starved guy on a deserted ind could ever have.

    "You know," Krysaos spoke with his mouth full-- it was just so good, "Pretty good stuff... but should we really be eatin'' like kings? Being on a deserted ind, and all."

    "We''re not," Tycon responded simply.

    "Oh, no, we are," Krysaos argued. "Best meal I''ve had in my life!"

    "Thank you," Tycon nodded with a subtle smirk.

    All people were weak to praise... and for once, Krysaos wasn''t exaggerating about the food.

    "However," The guy continued... "We are on the coastline."

    He flicked his wrist... a really weird and specific motion... and a rolled-up parchment appeared in his hand.

    Magic.

    "Neat trick," Krysaos nodded, impressed... "That uh... what I think it is?"

    He took the map and unrolled it...

    "We should be about here," Tycon pointed... "And Coughing Fish Bay is within two suns'' travel... taking ount of the fact that we''ll be dragging Mister Lone''s unconscious body along with us."

    Krysaos whistled, "You must be a real good adventurer to have one of those."

    "A map?" Tycon frowned, "They may be expensive, but they are somewhat necessary for adventuring."

    "I mean... the infinity bag," Krysaos chuckled.

    Magic items that held things inside of them were both ridiculously rare and ludicrously expensive. It further cemented the fact that First Mate Tycon was probably as rich as an Archmage.

    "Ah, my spatial ring," Tycon lifted his hand, the simple iron band on his finger clear to see. "I must admit... that I am the leader of guild Sol Invictus. I pray that won''t be an issue."

    ",

 Chapter 629 Best Girl (Part One)

    ?Krysaos, former Captain of the Sugar-Titted Siren, scoffed openly.

    Tycon? Part of Sol Invictus? That was the biggest lie he''d ever heard in his life.

    The guy was so full of shite... and his balls were so... painfully gods-damned huge... that he didn''t just im to be part of the legendary Ezyrian arena guild.

    He said he was its gods-damned leader.

    Sea god''s motherf*cking codpiece.

    "You know, Tycon," Krysaos pped his hand on the green-haired guy''s shoulder, "I think we''re gonna get along just fine. Don''t worry about being part of both an adventuring guild and my crew. You''re good for it!"

    "My thanks, Brother-Captain," Tycon smiled.

    It was a good, honest smile. If Krysaos didn''t know any better, he''d think the guy was telling the truth.

    "And since you got the experience, I''m promoting you to Lieutenant!!" He dered... "I''m the Captain, though. Don''t get that twisted, y''hear?"

    Tycon''s smile fell... but only slightly, "I uh... I appreciate it."

    That was a normal reaction.

    Being an adventurer, he probably wasn''t too familiar with naval rank structure. Lieutenant did sound mighty impressive, though, and the more impressive Krysaos'' crew was, the better it''d reflected positively on him.

    Tycon looked over and past him... staring intently at something.

    Krysaos heard it before he turned... low chittering and clicking... along with gurgling sounds and wet, web-footed feet on the sands.

    He put his wooden te down, drank a few gulps from a waterskin, and stood up, sword in hand.

    "Well, well, well... Look what we have here," He grinned.

    Tycon looked over. It was subtle, but he pushed his sword hilt out with his left thumb, "Brother-Captain... from anecdotal experience, such things are usually stated by the viinous party."

    "I''m the scourge of the seventeen seas, LT," Krysaos shrugged, "Me and my crew-- we''re not supposed to be the good guys."

    "Fair."

    The sahuagin came... no less than fifteen of them... and one of their guys in the back had a ck g with a white crow on it. Krysaos knew it... because of course he did.

    "I''ve seen that g before..." Tycon twisted his lips, "The pirates who attacked the Marlin Monroe flew the same."

    "The ck Crow pirates," He chuckled. "Small fries. Nothing to worry about."

    "That is a decidedly white bird..." Tycon frowned, "Also, the silhouette is that of a raven, not a crow."

    "Oh yeah, you mean like the sword art..." Krysaos shrugged. "Pirates ain''t the smartest bunch."

    Tycon stared back... for a few seconds too long before nodding.

    ...Oh.

    It made Krysaos realize he just insulted himself, "--not me, though. I''m smarter than your average pirate."

    "Granted," Tycon replied with a straight face.

    Krysaos pointed his stolen cuss at the sahuagin that most looked like a leader, "Alright, ALRIIIGHT!! All you cunts should know who the f*ck I am... so why don''t you all just f*ck right back into the ocean."

    The biggest, baddest web-foot hissed at him... and his skin bubbled and popped as his entire form was covered in steam.

    When the transformation magic wasplete, he was a naked, muscr human male with a thick beard and long, sea damaged hair that went down to his shoulders.

    And it had looked like the water was cold.

    "Krysaosss..."He spoke in a deep voice that sounded like he gargled rocks. "We are not here for you. Give usss the Chosen One. That iss your only option."

    "Yeah, no chance in the seven hells, I''mma do that!" Krysaos shouted, tightly gripping the handle of his sword, "That guy''s part of my crew! And NOBODY f*cks with my crew!!"

    Krysaos gestured at his Lieutenant, "Alright, Tycon, go get ''em."

    The green-haired guy sighed and shook his head, looking at the beach.

    "...What''s wrong, guy?"

    "The concept of having options denotes having multiple choices," He muttered... "There is no such thing as an ''only'' option. Options either exist or do not."

    Krysaos pursed his lips. It was something he''d never really thought about before.

    He turned again to the transformed sahuagin leader, "You''re making us pirates look bad, you fish-eyed cunts!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "...Common is not my firstnguage," The naked man growled.

    "Well, you should KNOW IT!!" Krysaos shouted, "You''re standing on confederacy sands, right now. So GO BACK AND STUDY!!!"

    Another of the sahuagin-- a female looked towards the leader with guilt in herrge eyes, "I say, Anaru... you very, very, very... study!"

    The others murmured along with herints...

    "(Yeah, Anaru. Your Common is shite.)"

    "(Why''d we elect you to be the one to talk, anyroad?)"

    "(He was the only option...)"

    "ENOUGHHHH!!" Anaru yelled, mming the base of his trident against the beach, the ground cracking with Iron-Rank force, "I''m the leader, because I can transform into a HUMAN!!"

    "That''s really not all that impressive," Tycon shook his head. "I can do it, too."

    "AND SO CAN I!!" Krysaos pointed his thumb at himself.

    "...Do you have a different form, Krysaos?" Tycon whispered.

    "No, but I''m pretty good at being human, aren''t I?"

    "I''ve noints."

    "STOP IGNORING ME!!" Anaru jutted his massive head between the two of them.

    "You still here?" Krysaos grimaced.

    "Shall I kill him?" Tycon offered.

    "Yeah, go ahead."

    Tycon forcefully took hold of Anaru''s thick human hair... and smashed his face into the still-smoldering cookfire.

    He held him still with a wiry, muscled arm as he mounted his back.

    "Going for the arm, LT?" Krysaos smirked.

    "Would you advise it?" Tycon looked up, "It seems unnecessary. The sahuagin leader seems to be in enough pain, being burnt on the coals."

    "ARAARRGGHHHHGRGHLHLLLRRRGH!!!!"

    Tycon made a good point.

    "Dealer''s choice," Krysaos shrugged lightly.

    He gestured towards the other sahuagin, "Which one of you seafolkds andsses have the best Common, then?"

    The group erupted in a cacophony of Aquan.

    "(You... Anaru is...)"

    "(That''s supposed to be our leader! You can''t just--)"

    The female that spoke earlier stepped forward, "I have... the-- BEST-o Common!"

    "Tight," Krysaos nodded thoughtfully, "You''re the new leader."

    "YES!!" She balled up a webbed fist, "Very YESS!!! I am BEST GIRL!!"

    Easy enough.

    "Alright, tell me your name," Krysaos grinned.

    "Eh?"

    "(...Uh, what''s your name?)"

    The sahuagin female bubbled a series of clicks and pops.

    Krysaos raised his head, nodding slowly as if he understood... "Your uh... your human name is Becky."

    "BECKY IS BEST GIRL!!" She grinned, revealing a maw of sharp, spiky teeth.

 Chapter 630 Best Girl (Part Two)

    ?Becky turned to her peers, sticking the base of her trident in the sand and cing her opposite webbed fist on her waist.

    "(See? I told you studying under the Priestess was super useful!)" She gurgled gleefully, "(I just got a battlefield promotion!)"

    "(Leader Becky,)" Another sahuagin clicked in worry, "(Anaru was defeated in an instant. Maybe we should... leave?)"

    "Speak... in COMMON!" Becky bared her teeth in what was probably a smile.

    "I dare-sssay that these two gentlemen are beyondd our meanss to engaage," The male sahuagin crossed his arms. "Perhapssss we should take our chancess apologizing... to the ck Crowsss... rather than take a rissky confrontationn?"

    "That''s a pretty smart idea," Krysaos agreed, hoping the lot were as stupid as they looked. "Y''know, live to fight another sun."

    "WRONG!" Becky dered, papping the base of her trident once more against the sand.

    Thankfully, it didn''t make the same boom sound like when that Anaru guy did it.

    "Wrong?" Krysaos grimaced.

    "...Wrong?" The male sahuagin tilted his head.

    "Your ent is BAD! SO VERY BAD!" Becky scolded.

    "...It bringsss me... great diss-honor..." The guy looked away in shame.

    Becky crossed her arms in thought... but not two secondster, her entire fish-eyed face brightened all at once,"(We can pray to the Sea God for help. The Sea God hates Krysaos!")

    She wrung her webbed hands as she turned back to Krysaos, "(Um. No disrespect intended, Captain Krysaos.)"

    Krysaos revealed his open palms, "No off--"

    "SEA GOD''S TROUSERS!!!!! WHYYYYYY?!?" Anaru screamed in pain.

    It sounded like Tycon had chosen to break the arm, after all.

    Tight.

    Krysaos smiled politely, "No offense taken, Miss."

    He was honestly still a little upset about his crew''s mutiny, the sea god stealing his ship, and the lot of them leaving him for dead.

    ...It''s not like he could change the fact, though.

    "It is what it is," He sighed.

    Tycon shot a re at him.

    ...It was probably something he said incorrectly, but Krysaos didn''t care about it too much.

    Becky waddled over to the sealine, some thirty feet away... and she raised her hands high above her head, "(O'' Sea God! Hear this one''s prayers! Help us recover the Chosen One!!)"

    "(Ask him to save Anaru, too,)" One of herpanions shouted towards her-- probably trying to be helpful.

    "(And please, o'' Sea God, save the previous leader!)" Becky added, "(--who is dumb. Because he is STUPID! I, Becky, am a lot better than he is!)"

    "Should we be worried about that?" Tycon asked.

    He was still seated upon Anaru, who seemed to have finally epted his fate.

    "Nah, don''t worry about it," Krysaos waved. "That shitty sea god doesn''t listen to just anyone..."

    He frowned as he gestured at the sahuagin leader, "Uh... that guy dead?"

    "Unconscious, either from pain or asphyxiation from the smoke," Tycon responded. "If he were deceased, I''d expect him to transform back into his natural state."

    Before Krysaos went on about how weak that Anaru guy was... he realized that everything had gone quiet. All the bushes and vegetation... had be eerily silent. The gulls had gone away, too.

    The sea rats never go away.

    Tycon''s eyes had drifted upward and past him.

    ...Krysaos did absolutely not want to turn around.<novelnext></novelnext>

    His voice cracked with fear as he spoke in a hushed tone... "There''s something big and scary yer lookin'' at, huh?"

    "I would say so," Tycon nodded gravely.

    "...Becky''s ritual worked, didn''t it?"

    "That seems to be the case, Brother-Captain."

    Krysaos took a deep breath... then spun around immediately.

    Forming just off the coast was a... twenty-- no, fifty... maybe a five-hundred-foot wave! Becky was dancing around like an idiot, pumping her trident up and down over her head.

    "Shall we start running?" Tycon suggested.

    "N-nah," Krysaos coughed. "I... I got this. I''ve gotten back some of my mana, since lunch... so I... so I can..."

    "A dy will cause us undue harm, Captain," Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    "Don''t rush me!" Krysaos snapped back, "I just... I... AH! I got it!! ?Water SPHERE!!!?"

    Channeling his Skill, he directed the mana in the air to form a big watery bubble that encased him and Tycon both.

    "Ahaha!! I''m a GENIUS!!" Heughed.

    "And this does... what, exactly?" Tycon crossed his arms.

    "It''ll protect you and me from the big crashing wave. And we can breathe underwater with this spell, too," Krysaos boasted. "It''s super useful. Trust me."

    "...then you must also realize that Mister Lone is not protected by this same spell."

    Krysaos'' eyes widened, "Oh sh--"

    ...

    The slow march back towards the camp was ufortably silent.

    ...It wasn''t the silence that bothered Tycondrius as much as the moping from the obviously depressed Sea Captain Krysaos.

    The two of them had been washed a bothersome distance away... near twenty minutes of travel time, by Tycon''s estimate.

    Upon reaching the location and searching for half-a-bell, Lone''s corpse was nowhere to be found.

    "It seems the sahuagin have taken Mister Lone... and the swords," Tycon remarked... the first words spoken since the event.

    "Ya don''t say," Krysaos muttered...

    "Krysaos..." Tycon frowned, "speak your mind, if you would. Matters of the sea are your expertise, are they not?"

    The gentleman was staring off into the distance, towards the sun setting over the watery horizon.

    ? Tycon stood by him... "Captain."

    "Eh..." Krysaos rubbed the back of his head, "Don''t call me that... I... I ain''t a Captain, Tycon."

    ...Tycon took great care not tough. Krysaos admitting to his earlier lies wouldn''t help the situation.

    He gestured calmly towards him, "How do you mean?"

    "I ain''t a Cap''n without a ship..." Krysaos shook his head as he plopped down on the sands... "And my crew? I''m now missing literally half of ''em."

    "I think it safe to assume Mister Lone is dead," Tycon offered.

    New crewmembers didn''t seem so difficult to find. Lone would be a pain to rece. The Swords of the Forgotten King would need to be recovered. An Iron-Rank Ranger''s corpse, not so much.

    Krysaos ced his palms on his face as he groaned towards the sky... "Nah, man... I... I really f*cked it up. I gotta say... life''s been shite. Sea god hates me. Don''t have a ship. My best friend''s quest is royally f*cked in the arse."

    Tycon assumed that ''best friend'' was him. It was a pleasant title that warmed his heart.

    "Yet... we live," He shrugged.

 Chapter 631 Three-Legged Mare

    ?"Were it not for your ?Water Sphere,? Captain, it''s likely we would have drowned."

    Tycondrius had a Gold-Rank physique, but he was by no means invincible.

    He could hold his breath longer than a regr person, but he still needed to breathe. His body was resistant but not immune to blunt trauma.

    If the summoned wave were to m his head against a rock... or several rocks, he would lose consciousness and drown to death, just as an ordinary human would.

    For an adventurer that mostly travels bynd, it would have been somewhat ironic.

    Krysaos rubbed his hairy hands against his weathered face, "F*ck, man... maybe it''ll be better if I just... stay onnd for the rest of my gods-damned life."

    Tycon sat on a rock across from him, "It may not be my ce... but it is my firm belief that a Captain should not--"

    "I said not to--"

    "Krysaos," Tycon red... "Please don''t interrupt."

    The defeated sailor pursed his lips... and nodded for Tycon to continue...

    "I have faith in you, Krysaos. That means... your crew wholeheartedly believes in you."

    The young, unshaven gentleman pursed his lips... but did not reject the words.

    Tycon reached over, cing his hand on the Captain''s shoulder, "From what I know, the scourge of the Eastern Seas is not a man that gives up so easily."

    "...Y... yeah. He ain''t," Krysaos gulped... nodding slowly.

    He turned his head up... "I''ll... I''ll make it up to you, Tycon."

    "I''ll be in your care, Captain," Tycon reached his hand forward. "Us against the world."

    "Yeah..." Krysaos sped Tycon''s offered hand at the wrist. "Us against the world."

    ...

    ? Port Coughing Fish, Three Legged Mare Inn & Tavern, a sun and a halfter... ?

    "You know what''ll make me feel better?" Krysaos grinned, "Ale and whores!"

    It didn''t take long for the shameless gentleman to be cured of his mncholy-- on the surface. Tycon had caught a glimpse of the personal thoughts behind his Captain''s overall debauchery... a general sense of helplessness with a dash of an inferiorityplex.

    Krysaos-- that is, a human with an aquatic bloodline was exactly the resource Tycon hoped to utilize to assist him with recovering the Swords of the Forgotten King.

    Though he hadn''t wanted to ept Troia''s quest... he had. Thus, he wouldplete it to the best of his abilities.

    He was a professional.

    "Captain, I''d like you to requisition a ship."

    "Eh?" Krysaos'' eyes widened in shock. "Oh, yeah! We gotta save our third crewmember!"

    ...It seemed the prospect of drunken debauchery and utilization of well-used goods had distracted him from the task on hand.

    "The swords," Tycon reminded. "We need to recover them."

    "And the guy-- if possible."

    "If possible, very well," Tycon conceded.

    He summoned a small bag of coin and pushed it across the pub table, "I pray this will be enough."

    Krysaos checked the bag''s contents-- silver, and weighed it in his hand, "Yeah... I can make this work."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon had purposely given the Captain approximately half of what he''d expected to be used. With Krysaos'' silver tongue, it was quite possible for the man to make do with that... or at least use it as a down payment.

    ...He trusted the man enough not to run away with it, but not enough to spend on frivolous pursuits-- in particr, the ones he''d previously mentioned.

    "So I was thinkin''..."

    "An excellent start," Tycon quipped.

    "We make contact with some merfolk... sahuagin or sea elves or... somethin''," Krysaos continued, "They''ll be able to direct us to wherever the ck Crow base is... or at least where Becky and her tribe is."

    "Sound n," Tycon nodded.

    "The only issue is..." Krysaos took a deep breath and sighed, "I dunno how to find the artifacts."

    "The High Oracle has provided a magical item to aid us, for this very situation."

    Tycon had specifically requested it, before departing from Cersei''s Rest.

    He flicked his wrist, summoning a starburst-shaped leaf that he held carefully between his fingers, "As the seal has been broken on the swords, I will be able to discern their location... or, at least, direct us towards them."

    "W-wait," Krysaos held his palms out... "you really met with the High Oracle?"

    "Cap''n Krysaos, izzat you?"

    A buxom waitress had wandered over to their table. It was a busy weekend evening, covered in fog, so the public house was filled to capacity.

    Tycon appreciated that he had a well-knownpanion that could achieve them more exceptional service.

    ...It made him want to believe even more that Krysaos was a real Captain.

    "Sandpaper Sally!" Krysaos dered, "You look... GREAT!!"

    The man was staring unapologetically at her chest, "Your tits get bigger or what?"

    "Cap''n, you''re such a perv," Sally winked coquettishly before lifting up herrge bosom with her hands, "You can give it a weigh-- but only if yer a payin'' customer."

    "Good evening," Tycon smiled.

    "OoooOooh!" Sally swooned, taking a seat beside him, "Who''s this handsome young gentleman, Cap''n?"

    Tycon noticed a subtle movement... of the woman licking her lips. She had what he assumed was... hunger in her eyes.

    "I''m starting a new crew," Krysaos grinned. "This guy''s a Metal-Rank adventurer."

    "Ohhh my," Sally fanned herself with her hand, "Well, here at the Wonky Donkey, I c''n get you anything you need, Mister Adventurer."

    Wonky... what? The tavern sign was of a three-legged horse wearing exaggerated, painted lipstick.

    Also, it looked nothing like a donkey.

    "An ale and the chef''s special for myself and the Captain," Tycon smiled politely.

    "Ahaha!" Sallyughed, a pleasant, if nasal sound. "I''ll take care of you, now, then... but jus'' let me know if you need to be taken care of... tonight."

    The girl sprung out of her seat and headed back towards the kitchen.

    "Mhm... That girl''s somethin'' else," Krysaos chuckled, watching the woman''s swaying rear as she walked off. "You gonna enlist her services tonight, or what?"

    "Brother-Captain..." Tycon leaned forward to whisper... "Why exactly did you call her... ''Sandpaper Sally''?"

    "Well..." Krysaos''s mouth widened into his shameless, shite-eating grin, "Once she picks the scabs outta her cunt, she feels just like a virgin!"

 Chapter 632 Midnight Departure

    ?Tycondrius was nearly finished with inventorying the contents of his spatial ring when Krysaos entered the door of their private inn room.

    "Oh, my bad," Krysaos bared his teeth in a not-so-apologetic grin, "Should I have knocked?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows... "That would have been polite, yes."

    "You look like you''re enjoying yourself," Krysaos grimaced as he looked around the room.

    Tycon gestured at the ordered stacks of rations and the few articles of clothing and weaponry, "I like being prepared."

    "So this is how you spend your nights..." Krysaos muttered. "I was hoping to run into... you-know-who. I might''ve offered to join in."

    "I''d much rather do inventory, thank you."

    "AaAAanyroad," The human proudly puffed his chest out, "*I* got a ship! It''s leavin'' at midnight, though."

    Tycon peeled his attention away from his inventory check to look at his Captain.

    The gentleman had eschewed his ragged trousers for new ones and was wearing a loose, sleeved linen shirt. It seemed he''d purchased a scabbard for his sword, strapped to a new belt... and he had even had his face shaved and his hair trimmed, short and neat.

    Krysaos had requisitioned a ship... and attained a professional look... for a practically insulting amount of silver.

    Tycon was nothing short of impressed.

    "Well... done, Captain," He nodded... "To be quite honest, I can scarcely believe it."

    "Ahaha! Yeah!" Krysaos grinned, "Wasn''t easy. You won''t believe how much they tried to charge me for this. Then I told ''em--"

    Tycon tuned out what his Captain was saying, nodding asionally. He sessfullypleted his gear check, then began to orderly return everything to his spatial ring.

    "--but anyroad! The guy couldn''t stop tryin'' to give me stuff! I had to tell ''em that I couldn''t take ALL of it. He''s got a family to feed, am I right?"

    "Magnanimous of you, Brother-Captain," Tycon nodded. "Shall we check out of the inn and head to the ship, then?"

    It seemed somewhat dangerous to sail away from port sote at night... and under the cover of heavy fog. At the same time, he reasoned that if Krysaos was able to afford passage, the ship might belong to pirates or smugglers... with a captain and crew that would prefer a ndestine departure.

    That was more than eptable.

    "Aha! Yeah," Krysaos bared his teeth-- "But before that, I''m thinkin'' to use the coin left over to get stupid-drunk!!"

    Tycon mulled over the thought.

    It wouldn''t hurt.

    He had already considered the coin he''d given Krysaos to be used and the man deserved a reward for a job well done.

    "With your permission, Brother-Captain, I would love to join you."

    ...

    Captain Krysaos could drink... and the amount of which was nigh unfathomable.

    Tycon had a physiquergely resistant to poison... and yet, he could not drink as much as that man, due to having a smaller stomach capacity.

    Krysaos was near a fulm taller than he was... but it seemed his gullet was bottomless when it came to alcohol intake.

    Tycon was called a coward... for refusing to drink past his fill? He chose to take no offense from a drunkard''s ramblings.

    The Captain also admitted to him that he loved him-- then backtracked as he went off into a slightly homophobic rant. The point was made that Krysaos greatly appreciated Tycon''s faith...

    At ater date, Tycon would gently counsel hispanion about political correctness, to avoid any future problems amongst arger variety of crew members.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Everything said and done, Captain Krysaos was certain to regret most of the night''s events upon morning... as a hangover was inevitable.

    ...And it was not impossible for him to have contracted a debilitating affliction after bedding a particr whore.

    With Krysaos'' direction, Tycon helped him drunkenly stumble towards the ship... they boarded and entered their private quarters

    And thus, their quest would continue...

    To recover the Swords of the Forgotten King.

    To restore the great name of Captain Krysaos.

    And to get a ship and gather a crew worthy of his name.

    ...

    ? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX ?

    ? So there i was, surrounded by gorgeous women of all shapes and sizes. Warm. Safe. In thefort of my ship. ?

    ? There was this orc girl with criminally huge thighs and her rear was... firm, yet pliable. Had a frog-girl... didn''t need lubrication, even for the hardest-to-fit ces. And oh... man, this dwarf chick-- the best way I could describe her is... creative. ?

    ? All in all, best dream I ever had. ?

    Krysaos woke up atop a moldy sheet, stuck by bits of old straw poking through.

    The morning sun shone grey through the fog of the porthole... attached to dingy, water damaged walls.

    He was on a ship, that was for sure... and in a small cabin. From the gentle motion affecting the room, and theck of gull noises, they were out on the ocean blue.

    Krysaos shut his eyes and stretched his arms, yawning heartily. He had a dull headache from the previous night, but it wasn''t too bad. Nothing a sip from the ship''s grog wouldn''t cure.

    Then, something moved.

    There was... a shadow standing over his bed, looking down at him.

    He narrowed his eyes... and held his breath.

    The thing kept still... unnaturally still.

    The room was pretty dark... but ording to where the porthole was, the shadow should... not have been where it was. And it shouldn''t have been standing next to him!

    It... was definitely there.

    Krysaos couldn''t pretend it wasn''t, even for a second.

    He swiped his hand at it, "Get away!!!"

    It swayed its head back to dodge the strike.

    Krysaos didn''t know how, but he''d leapt to his feet from the lying position. Then he knelt down to pick up his cuss, pointing the sheathed sword forward, "Bring it on!"

    The shadow... stared at him... with a strange, slightly yellowish glow appearing where its eyes should have been.

    ...It was a whole lot creepier than if it started attacking him.

    "Hey... hey, guy," Krysaos whispered loudly, hoping Tycon would hear. "Wake up."

 Chapter 633 Is It Bad?

    ?Krysaos was walking a fine line between screaming like a little girl and trying not to make hostile movements so as to not get himself killed.

    He kept his attention towards the shadowy creature... but looked towards Tycon out the corner of his eye.

    The green-haired Lieutenant was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the room, cradling a long sheathed sword in his arms.

    And somehow... he was still asleep!

    "Tycon!" He raised his voice-- but just a little bit.

    One of the guy''s eyes shot open immediately-- "What?"

    ...He looked angry. BUT THAT WASN''T IMPORTANT!

    Krysaos stealthily gestured his thumb towards the shadow, "There''s a... a thing here."

    "Mm..." Tycon casually stretched his back. With a finger, he gently rubbed the sand out of the corners of his eyes, "Have you never seen a shadow before?"

    Krysaos grit his teeth... "Course I have, guy."

    "Then there should be no cause for rm," Tycon shook his head. "He''s with us, anyroad."

    ...Oh.

    Krysaos furrowed his brows as he re-sheathed his sword...

    The shadow waved.

    "Good morning... Shadow-guy."

    The shadow nodded... and its golden eyes seemed to glow bright, for a moment.

    "Can I recruit him into the crew?" Krysaos asked.

    "...I don''t see why not."

    "Wee to the crew, Shadow," Krysaos grinned...

    He was still trying toe to terms that he was speaking to a... sentient shadow creature. Admittedly, he shouldn''t have found it so strange.

    The shadow saluted in agreement.

    ...Nice. Krysaos could live with that.

    "Hey Tycon, you awake?"

    "I am now," Tycon got to his feet, smiling politely. "Good morning, Captain."

    "Good morning," Krysaos began smoothing out his linen shirt, "Sea god''s socks... what''s with this ce, though?"

    "Years of neglect, it seems," Tycon casually looked over the cramped cabin, "I''d imagine it''s how you attained passage for the two of us for so cheap."

    Krysaos felt beads of sweat start to form on his forehead... This... this was somehow his fault.

    He whipped his head around, hearing a foreboding clicking noise... and his eyes widened as he realized the lever to the door was... moving.

    Someone... or some... thing was trying to get in.

    He again fumbled for his sword, drawing it clumsily. Years of training in White Raven swordsmanship... and he was about to piss himself.

    "T-tycon... the door..."

    "They won''t be able to get in," Tycon shrugged. "nor us, out. The mechanism is jammed."

    "Y-you don''t say," Krysaos frowned...

    Soon enough, the motion stopped... leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

    Krysaos hurried to the door and peered at the key lock, "What the... is this... human... hair?! This is FREAKIN'' CREEPY!!"

    "It''s effective," Tycon replied. "And cheap. There''s a razor on the hook near the door for easy exit."

    "H-how did they lock us in from this side?!" Krysaos nced to the side... at the red-stained razorde, "and... is that... BLOOD?!"

    "Rust, most likely."

    "...Oh. Still gross."

    "Slightly unprofessional, I agree," Tycon nodded.

    "And what is THAT!?" Krysaos pointed to a book the creepy shadow guy was holding.

    The shadow pointed back to the writing desk-- probably where he found it.

    Krysaos took the book and flipped it open to a random page. The spelling was terrible, but it was written as if spoken, so he could read it.

    ? XXX days since I died. I got stuck on swabbing duty again. Being dead sucks, but I wish I didn''t die at such a low rank. ?

    He tossed the journal to the deck, "A-- a dead person wrote this!!! Isn''t that really frickin'' CREEPY??!"

    "To reiterate, I''d imagine this is exactly what we paid for, Captain," Tycon smiled politely.

    "I mean, YEAH!" Krysaos grit his teeth... "I thought I got a good deal, too! But... the ship looked nothing like this when I checked it out the other sun..."

    "Ah. You''re referring to the thin veil of illusory magic," The guy mused. "The spell expired during the night."

    Krysaos nearly shouted, he was so mad, "And you didn''t think that was important?!"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Obviously, I did not..."

    He cleared his throat... then paused to summon a waterskin out of his spatial ring.

    Krysaos held his hand out, hoping Tycon would hand him the waterskin after. Water would alleviate his headache.

    He did. Great guy, that Tycon-- when he wasn''t purposely withholding information just to watch him squirm.

    "The ship sails, regardless of its appearance," Tycon exined. "The dark energies suffused in the air keep it afloat."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos nearly spat out his drink, "Wh-wh-wha? What-- dark... energies?"

    "...Yes," Tycon nodded... "I apologize, did I misspeak?"

    This guy!! THIS GUY!!!

    Tycon was DEFINITELY as much as fault for their situation as HE WAS!

    "I dunno ANYTHING ''bout no dark energies?!" Krysaos raised his voice, "It sounds bad! Is it bad? It''s bad, isn''t it?!"

    "You can''t sense it?" The green-haired Lieutenant gestured calmly at their surroundings, "We''re surrounded by a thick miasma of dark mana, shadow and undeath. They''re simr to begin with... and in this ce, they''re melded together."

    "Normal people can''t sense that sort of thing!" Krysaos insisted.

    "...Oh. That''s fair," Tycon nodded-- looking far less concerned than he should have been.

    Krysaos ced his face into his palms... "I shoulda known something was suspicious when the girl said we didn''t have to pay for passage."

    He felt someone patting his back to calm him down. As Tycon was in front of him, it was probably the shadow.

    ...He hoped it was the shadow.

    "If that''s the case..." Tycon ced his hand on his chin... "do you have any leftover coin?"

    "I do not," Krysaos lied.

    "Anyroad, from your panic, Captain, I''m assuming we''re in some sort of predicament."

    "Not sure yet," Krysaos gulped. "Gotta see for m''self."

    He strode over to the room''s exit and went out the door... greeted by a shadowy hallway, pale light sifting through the holes in the poorly maintained top deck.

    "Yep, see that?" Krysaos grimaced as he pointed down the hallway, "We''re on a ghost ship."

    "Makes sense," Tycon said from behind him.

    From Krysaos'' peripheral vision, the shadow had... phased into the hallway to beside him. It shrugged its shoulders as if it was confused.

    "A ghost ship," Krysaos exined, "is a busted ship, filled with undead... sailing around and terrorizing port towns, sometimes kidnapping them to join their ghostly crew!"

    "You make them sound rather intimidating..." Tycon peered down the hall, "However, that ghost appears to be mopping the deck."

    "Everyone swabs the deck," Krysaos groaned. "That''s just something that has to be done."

    "Eh?" The ghost suddenly ceased her swabbing... and her translucent figure seemed to... invert. Her face appeared through the back of her head, then the rest of her body faced towards them.

    "A... a man on the Jade Rabbit?!"

    Tycon pointed casually, "She seems to have noticed us."

    "Ya don''t say?" Krysaos narrowed his eyes.

    Ghostly green, with short and sea-damaged hair, t as a nk, the ghost stared at him with cold, lifeless eyes.

    "A man?! A LiivVinNg MaNNnn?!?" She moaned. "YooOUuu don''t beLoonNngg HEEEEERE!!!"

    "It sounds like she''s going to try to kill you," Tycon chuckled.

    "Ya DON''T SAY?!" Kryasos red.

    The ghost dropped her ghostly mop and drew a ghostly dagger as she drifted closer... "This... is a sAAacrEd women''s garden!! A man... can''t be here... you''ll... impregnate us all!!"

    Krysaos twisted his lips to the side... "Given enough time and hydration, yeah... I guess I''m up for the challenge."

    "I think it was veiled threat, Captain," Tycon remarked... "not an invitation."

    The shadow nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

    "You got a n, Tycon?" Krysaos asked, "You said you were a Tactician the other night, right?"

    "I also told you that Elven wine was not to be underestimated, especially after all those shots of Nemayan vodka."

    The ghost came towards him with her dagger and he deflected a predictable lunge with his sword.

    "Get me a PLAN, Tycon!!!"

    "Interesting," Tycon rested his weapon upon a nearby wall as he ced his hand on his chin. "The ghost appears to be more corporeal than immaterial. Combat is a viable option."

    "I mean OVERALL, guy!!" Krysaos snarled. He managed a shallow sh on the ghost woman''s chest, but it only seemed to make her angrier.

    The ghost stretched her mouth to scream, far wider than a living person would, "DiIiIiie!! MaAAAaLe!!"

    Tycon snatched the dagger out of the woman''s hand with his left, then kept his right palm gripped on her face to keep her away.

    "G-give it baAaaCkkK!!!" She wailed.

    Tycon looked up in thought,pletely ignoring the ghost. "Perhaps we should speak to the ship''s Captain to see if they can help us?"

    "You can''t negotiate with ghosts, Tycon!" Krysaos shouted. "They only want one thing!!"

    "...And what is that?" He stared at the ghost as she iled her arms, trying to recover her weapon.

    Krysaos furrowed his brows... "Attaining their final wishes..."

    "...I''d imagine that would be different for each ghost we encounter," Tycon shook his head.

    "Wait, what do you mean?" Krysaos shouted. "There''s more than one ghost?!"

    "...Yes," Tycon frowned as he shoved the female ghost back. "This being a ghost ship implies a ghostly crew, does it not?"

    The girl fell upon her arse and thunked the back of her head against a wall. Then... she curled up and began to sob... "P-please don''t kill me... I don''t... I don''t wanna die a virgin."

    "Tycon... you gotta be nicer to women," Krysaos frowned.

    "So I''ve been told..."

 Chapter 634 A Crime

    ?Tycondrius groaned and shook his head, leaning his back against a wooden wall.

    Captain Krysaos was seated on the deck,forting the crying ghost woman lying her head on hisp. He whispered gentle words to her with a radiant smile that was probably attractive to the opposite gender.

    "This is deplorable!" Krysaos dered, "This ship is full of half-naked ghost girls!"

    The shadow crossed its arms, looking disappointed.

    Tycon agreed with the sentiment.

    "Respectfully, Captain," He grimaced, "the condition of the youngdy''s attire is due to your earlier attempt to cut her down."

    The ghost began to sob loudly, as if just remembering, "Y-you tRiiiIied to KillllLLLL mmeeeeeeee..."

    Tycon furrowed his brows. She was also at fault, as she initiated the hostility. Retaliation was something to be expected.

    "Hey, listen," Krysaos cooed. "I didn''t mean it like that."

    "R-really?"

    Krysaos turned back to Tycon as he gently stroked the female ghost''s head... while also not-so-subtly rubbing her thigh.

    "During the sunlight, the crew seemed to be all chicks," Krysaos exined. "Partly why I picked it."

    Silently observing the ghost, Tycon ced his chin on his hand in thought.

    ? Jade Rabbit Sailor, Bronze-Rank Ghost Martialist. ?

    If Krysaos words were true... the exclusively female crew could be part of a Yin-Type sect. It was simr to the Frozen Cairn sect, of which one of his powerful allies, Athena Vanzano, was being groomed to be the next matriarch.

    Tycon could faintly sense a single martial practitioner onboard... one more powerful than the others. Conversely, the remaining seawomen of the Jade Rabbit didn''t seem particrly threatening.

    On a personal note, he hoped they were betterbatants than the clumsy girl eagerly consuming the honeyed words Krysaos pulled out of his arse.

    Less than a proper Martialist, she wasn''t even an effective ghost.

    Proper ghosts did not allow themselves to be struck by mundane, non-magical attacks... much less allow themselves to be charmed by a living human.

    Though the girl emitted a greenish glow, her form was clear... far unlike even his ?Venomous Shadow,? whose arms and legs ended in wispy smoke.

    ...And Krysaos did not seem to have any Ghost-Hunting traits, like Sol Invictus member Seldin Korr.

    It was likely... that the spirit had a powerful connection to The Real.

    That... required a focus... or perhaps a powerful enchanted entity.

    Hy hypothesized that the Ghost Ship was kept afloat by a Dungeon Core. Further, its unique power to bridge the gap between a spiritual ne and their current, material ne, subsequently allowed the ghosts aboard the ship to sustain corporeal forms as they chose.

    "It''s crazy, though," Krysaos bared his teeth. "They''re all just as sexy as they were in life! Can you believe that kinda nerve!?"

    Though his words wereints, he sounded more excited or anxious than upset.

    It was true. Female Martialists sought peak physical conditioning... and a Yin-Type sect produced exceptionally feminine and cultivators with unparalleled beauty.

    However, Krysaos'' words had a strange implication to them.

    "Captain..." Tycon took a deep breath... "are you... sexually attracted to ghosts?"

    While Tycon generally did not like to judge others for what they did during their personal time... there were... issues with that particr pursuit.

    "PSHH, what?!" Krysaos waved his hand, "No! Necrophilia is a crime, Tycon."

    Tycon inclined his head in apology... "I felt it relevant to ask."

    "Apology epted, guy," Krysaos nodded... "Now, let''s go find one we can talk to instead of ones that just attack on sight."

    Tycon frowned, sharing an incredulous look with his shadow... "Captain... you do realize how rare sentient ghosts are?"

    "This one''s sentient!" Krysaos argued.

    "I''ll... I''ll kill you..." The ghost huped as she sobbed, "Death... to the living."

    "If anything," Tycon continued, "they have to at least be Iron-Rank to keep something of their personality and intelligence."

    The shadow nodded in agreement.

    "BUT!" Krysaos grinned... his wide... ugly grin... as if he''d shamelessly just eaten an entire stolen cake... "it''s not IMPOSSIBLE! I''ll promote you if you can find me a hot one, Lieutenant!"

    "W... we''re not allowed to use makeup..." The ghost pouted. "and I was on swabbing duty!"

    Krysaos shushed her with a finger to her lips, "Not now, sweetie."

    "Captain..." Tycon shook his head, "necrophilia is a crime."

    "They''re not really dead!" Krysaos insisted, "They''re undead! It''s different!"

    "Even in the Sleeping Country, who use undead in their standing armies... necrophilia is *still* a crime."

    "We''re under thews of the open seas, LT! Lighten up a bit!"

    Tycon sighed... They weren''t too far from the shores of the Eastern States... which meant they should technically still be under their maritimews.

    However, little woulde of arguing with the stubborn and shameless human.

    "Anyroad," Krysaos continued, "I have an idea... You see... ghosts, to make ''em pass on, you gotta give ''em their desires they had in life."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You mentioned as such," Tycon nodded slowly...

    Captain Krysaos seeking to grant each individual ghostly crew member''s final wishes to the best of his ability was an honorable quest... and an unexpected development.

    It sounded like a waste of time, but it was nice to think about.

    "Most magnanimous of you, Captain," Tycon smiled politely.

    "And for the women on this ship," Krysaos ced his thumb on the young ghost-woman''s chin.

    "Y-yes?" She looked up expectantly.

    "I, Captain Krysaos, can satisfy your every desire!"

    There it was.

    Tycon kept his face solemn, "I take back my earlier statement."

    "ESPECIALLY if they''re HOT!" The Captain added.

    "Wh.. what the hells?" The ghost whispered... "Why are you being so mean?"

    "You''re cute, not hot," Krysaos chided. "There''s a difference."

    Tycon took a deep breath... it was an... awkward n of action, but if Krysaos was sessful, sending ghosts off to rest was still theoretically a goodly pursuit... "And if there are any men?"

    "I''ll cut ''em down with my White Raven swordsmanship!" Krysaos grinned.

    "...Isn''t that a bit... sexist, Brother-Captain?"

    "It''s called Equal Opportunity!"

    "That does not mean what you think it means..."

    "ANYROAD, it''s a good n!!" Krysaos twisted his lips, "What, you got a better idea, LT?"

    "I hypothesize that the ship is a Dungeon... and is powered by either an artifact or particrly strong spirit."

    "Yeah, so?"

    "I advise we find it, attack with surprise, and force it to do our bidding."

    Fast. Ruthless. Efficient. If Tycon did not have the luxury of time and preparation, those were the traits he strived for in a n of action.

    As he''d mentioned to Krysaos earlier, finding the Ghost Ship''s former Captain would do well in expediting their victory.

    "Tiiight!" Kryasos stood up and pped Tycon on the shoulder, "Good thinking, Lieutenant."

    "Thank you, Captain."

    "That''s an excellent n B."

    "...Very well, Captain," Tycon shook his head.

    "You and Shadow go... hang out or whatever. I''m gonna escort this girl back to her room..."

    ...

    Tycon did not have much to do while Krysaos was out... exorcising.

    The shadow seemed to grow bored soon after, so he disappeared... returning to the ne of Shadow to do whatever bored shadows do.

    Without anything meaningful to upy him, and inventorypleted a night prior, Tycon explored the haunted ship.

    He encountered the crewmembers of the Jade Rabbit-- all female, confirming Krysaos'' conjectures. They would shriek or draw weapons upon seeing him.

    As Tycon continued to solidify his Gold-Rank physique and Skills, his ocr ability, ?Vexing Gaze,? had achieved a certain level of power.

    With a nce and a modicum of mana expended, his would-be attackers were immediately pacified. They put away their weapons, bowing their heads in apology. Some would flee through walls, in terror.

    Admittedly, it made Tycon feel slightly lonely, to be so feared... but it was better than being attacked every several minutes.

    He found the kitchen. It was in disrepair, all of its food stores rotten. Even the barrels of pickled vegetables seemed to have been affected by the withering energies in the air.

    ...The stove remained structurally sound, if nketed in rust, and he had some burning material in his spatial ring. He and Krysaos wouldn''t starve during their trip-- and would eatfortably if they reached their destination in less than two weeks.

    With the most important resource discovered, he refocused his efforts on searching for the ship''s Captain.

    In theory, Krysaos should have sought her out... as he was a ''Captain'' and Tycon only a ''Lieutenant.''

    However, Krysaos seemed to have upied himself... and Tycon was bored.

    He found what he''d hoped was the Captain''s personal quarters and politely rapped on the door.

    "Announce yourself!" A deep, echoey female voice shouted, "and zis better be good..."

    Tycon furrowed his brows... Whoever was behind the door was a believer in proper customs and courtesies... and had a light ent of the Kingdom''s Old Language.

    He cleared his throat and spoke in a clear, firm voice... as was expected of a military Officer, "(Lieutenant Tycon, requesting permission to enter!)"

    In preparation, he ced his dark cloak into his spatial ring... and summoned a different set of clothes-- the professional attire of The Kingdom''s Royal Navy.

 Chapter 635 Jade Arrow (Part One)

    ?Besides being a Lieutenant under Captain Krysaos, Tycondrius was a Lieutenant of the Sea Wolf Marine Fleet. Considering that he was speaking to a woman of the Kingdom, as well as the fact that she was observing proper military decorum... thetter title had substantially more weight.

    Tycon waited through several moments of silence.

    He did not mind. It was likely the woman beyond was perplexed as to why an unfamiliar male was requesting to speak with her.

    The extra preparation time allowed him to smooth out his coat and trousers with his hands.

    The voice finally beckoned, in the Kingdom''s Old Language, "(Permission granted.)"

    Upon entering the room, Tycon tried not to grimace at the effects in the Ship Captain''s room so decayed. Proud gs, discolored and full of holes. Expensive maps, yellowed and cracked. With the general undeath magic suffusing everything about them, it was something that couldn''t be helped.

    A lithe woman wearing two swords on her waist turned away from a map on the opposite wall. The coat she wore belonged to that of the Kingdom''s Royal Navy-- hers, fully decorated with ribbons and medals.

    She wore the rank of High-Captain... amander of a full fleet.

    Tycon might have mistakenly assumed she was living by her skin tone-- pale and pink as opposed to the slightly transparent greens and blues of her crew.

    ...Then there was the fact that she cradled her severed head in her hands. From her face, she was young... and her hair was cut short, slicked-back, and rebellious. Her expression was set into a militant scowl, entuating a sword-scar on her mouth that ran down her chin.

    If her head was actually on her neck, she might have been taller than Tycon... and if that wasn''t enough, the boots she wore were also slightly raised.

    The High-Captain did not seem to take kindly to being looked down upon.

    "Good morning, Madam," Tycon inclined his head, hoping the action wasn''t insulting, "(I''m looking for the Captain of this vessel.)"

    "Good morning," The woman pursed her lips... "Lieutenant... am I so simple a Grand-Capitaine zat I do not rate a salute?"

    "I apologize, Captain," Tycon pursed his lips. "Marines do not salute indoors."

    It was a peculiar rule... but all militaries had odd traditions, usually stemming from functionality. Still, Tycon would not vite a rule he had promised to obey-- unless he had good reason.

    "This is my ship..." The woman shut her eyes, a tinge of frustration in her voice... "And I am ze highest ranking Officer here."

    Tycon kept his face serious and his voice cool and collected, "With respect, Madam, Royal Marine protocol is signed off by the Fleet Admiral... Requesting me to salute ces me in a difficult situation."

    The High-Captain remained quiet, scrutinizing him with her haunting, sea-green eyes for nearly a minute.

    Tycon was unbothered. He kept his back straight, chest out, and chin slightly tilted down... as was expected of a professional military gentleman.

    "...I understand," The head sighed... "Your attire... it is familiar, yet it is not. (I was not aware of such a difference between our branches.)"

    The woman strode forward, tucking her head beneath her left arm and offering her right, "(I am High-Captain Ho Byul of the Jade Arrow Fleet, themander of the fastest ships in the Royal Navy...)"

    Tycon shook the woman''s hand. Her grip was firm, but not overbearing. Her touch was surprisingly soft but left a magical, tingling sensation upon his skin.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...If touching the other undead on the ship had simr effects... Captain Krysaos was likely having the time of his life.

    "(I''d imagine there is a faster fleet faster now...)" Byul mused.

    Tycon elected not to tell her that her title had indeed been lost. It now belonged to the Sea Wolf Fleet, which he, himself, imed membership in. It was something High-Captain Lang Hai took great pride in.

    The woman closed her eyes, ending her suspicious stare. Taking in a deep breath, she let out an exhausted sigh, "Forgive me, Lieutenant. How many years... (How long have I been dead?)"

    Tycon cradled his chin in his hand... "The current Fleet Admiral is Grand-Capitaine Chantal De Croix... and she is near thirty years of age."

    "(Sacred gods,)" Byul cursed, "Ze girl has grown... fifteen or twenty years, then... I serve... non... I previously served under Fleet Admiral Guiume De Croix, ze little starling''s father."

    She turned on her heel and gestured towards a desk... and the two took their ces seated across from each other.

    Byul ced her head upon the t surface while her body steepled her fingers, leaning forward, "Now zen, Lieutenant... as you have note to free me from zis ghostly curse, I assume you have a different request."

    "I''d like to share information," Tycon nodded... but suddenly, he grew curious about a different topic, "Before my main point... have you heard of the name... the Sugar-Titted Siren? I''d imagine the topic is a fairly recent one."

    "Dead as I am, I am not deaf to ze tales of dead men," Byul red...

    "...Capitaine... Krysaos, I believe his name was," The woman shut her eyes while her body leaned back and crossed its arms, "(He is... what we call... a Reef Shark.)"

    That sounded somewhat intimidating.

    "Zat is to say," Byul continued... "He is... an opportunist... a vulture, zey say... Ze shameless scoundrel was known for picking off poorly defended merchant and passenger ships, fleeing at ze mere sight of arger vessel..."

    Tycon nodded in understanding. That sounded very much like his Brother-Captain.

    "Do you associate wis zis man? Zat... Capitaine?" Byul raised an eyebrow, "(Forgive me, Lieutenant, but you have given me reason to doubt your character.)"

    Her body had ced its hands in herp... close to the hilts of her swords.

    Tycon pursed his lips. He... technically did associate with Krysaos... but that was the wrong answer. An altercation was not in his best interests, as he still had much information to glean from the woman.

    "Should it ay your misgivings..." Tycon pursed his lips, "I was formerly an agent of the Crown, working for King Adal''s daughter, Princess Aur Wyndham."

    "Zat is true of every Marine and Sailor in the Royal Navy," Byul scoffed. "(And from your words... that is in the past.)

    "(If that is all,)" The bodiless head red, her sea-green eyes glowing eerily in the dim cabin, "(I will not be entertaining you any longer.)"

    ",

 Chapter 636 Jade Arrow (Part Two)

    ?? Ho Byul, Iron-Rank Headless Ghost Martialist. ?

    The High-Captain seemed to be more than just a Fleet Admiral.

    If Tycondrius guessed correctly, the woman was also the leader of a Hidden Sect... which meant that she and her crew were only beholden to the King-- in life, anyroad.

    Even though he was an Officer in the same Royal Navy that Byul served, she was afflicted by a particr arrogance suffered by all cultivators raised in a Hidden Sect. In her mind, she and her crew were... above regr humans.

    Besides the fact that Tycon was not actually human... he had attained enough achievements in the past few years to achieve at least basic respect.

    If there was one thing Sect Martialists respected, it was titles.

    He took a deep breath as he dug into his memory. He had collected quite a few in recent years...

    "I am... the savior of House Kimura, the Patriarch family of the White Scale sect and their Guardian Beast.

    "I am the sole sessor of Garock Heartrender, thest Samurai of the Screaming Silence sect and inheritor of their curved de techniques.

    "I am blood brothers with Shao Ran, the strongest warrior of the Golden Crow sect.

    "I am one of thebat instructors of Athena Vanzano, the next matriarch of the Frozen Cairn sect.

    "...and probably most importantly, I am a Lieutenant of the Sea Wolf Fleet... also known as the Sea Wolf Hidden Sect-- led by Sect Master and Grand-Capitaine Lang Hai, sole sessor of Grand-Capitaine Liang Qiang."

    Byul pursed her lips, confusion on her face.

    Being polite, Tycon did not press the issue, and he waited patiently for her to rpose herself.

    "Liang... Qiang," She muttered, "Zat is... impossible."

    "Care to test my strength, Grande-Capitaine?" Tycon inclined his head, trying his best to remain as respectful as possible. At the same time, he stared into Byul''s eyes-- not undimming his vision, but allowing his mana to circte enough for her to sense clearly.

    If he chose to, he could annihte her with a single de technique. Such was the difference in strength between a solidified Gold-Rank and a middle-to-peak Iron-Rank.

    However, touting his strength... and that most of her ribbons and medals were patheticpared to his achievements-- that would be rude

    "No," Byul took a deep breath, her body''s chest heaving in, "Forgive me... I had not noticed before, but you do have ze strength to back your ims..."

    The strong had no reason to lie. Truth was highly valued amongst the Hidden Sects.

    "(Thank you for your praise, High-Captain,)" Tycon smiled warmly.

    "I mustmend you for so skillfully hiding your power level... (I feel like a fool for speaking to you so rudely...)"

    "I''ve been practicing," Tycon smiled politely. "Do not be troubled, Capitaine. Perhaps we should speak more casually... and over some tea?"

    ...

    ? A short timeter... ?

    Tycondrius sat patiently on a tattered mat through what High-Captain Ho Byul called a... tea rite.

    Though it was not something he was familiar with, the concept wasmonce. The ritual was performed as a respectful wee to foreign guests, to solidify agreements, and for other, generally-special asions.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Byulmented the fact that she did not have proper ceremony attire... as all her clothes beside her military attire were damaged by sea rot due to the dark magic that kept her ''alive''.

    "(Thank you for this gift from thend of the living, Lieutenant Tycon,)" Byul closed her eyes as her body bowed forward. "(This is the most wonderful tea I have ever tasted...)"

    "Think nothing of it," Tycon returned the bow, just as low.

    Being polite cost him nothing.

    ...Also, the jar of tea leaves he gifted her was purchased in a buy-one-get-one-free deal.

    If anything, the real reason Byul was thanking him was for the mana formation he crafted for her personal use. Using a carving knife, Tycon etched a simple five-spell circle on the deck of her room, attuned it to Byul''s ghostly mana, and instructed her on its activation.

    The formation allowed the ghost-woman to regain strength in most of her bodily senses, as death had done much in dulling them.

    She did not seem to be lying when she implied the tea was delicious. Her sense of taste was drastically different with and without the ritual circle.

    "I must admit, Lieutenant," Byul frowned... "We of ze Jade Arrow sect have little to offer you. I cannot even take you to your destination..."

    It seemed that the Dungeon Core was the Jade Rabbit, itself... and it operated autonomously. In a few suns, they would reach their destination... an ind of sorts, then immediately sail to their next destination.

    As Captain Byul was intrinsically linked to her cursed ship, she was unable to even walk the ind''s shores. Shemented that she could provide no information about that ce, other than it had a dormant volcano at its center.

    Tycon did not need anything of the woman... as he''d already learned all he cared for.

    However, Byul''s voice dripped with guilt... perhaps feeling that the paltry information she provided was not equal to the ritual formation he expertly designed.

    It was not... but Tycon was attempting to be nicer to females.

    To that end, he decided to request a minor favor from her... something she could grant without much effort.

    His thoughts drifted back to Krysaos and the fact that he was probably defiling the denizens of the Jade Rabbit.

    "Perhaps you''d allow me to... mingle with your crew?" Tycon offered.

    "I... cannot grant you this," Byul sighed in frustration, "My crew knows not ze touch of a man... and I shall allow none to sully zem... even if zey are long dead."

    It seemed Krysaos was going to be killed... which was a shame. Tycon had grown fond of his selfish personality and self-serving antics.

    Tycon tapped his chin in thought... "Captain Byul..."

    "Byul is fine, Lieutenant..."

    "Lady Byul..."

    "What did I just say?" The head scowled... as if it would leap off the floor mat and bite him.

    Tycon sighed and shook his head.

    He never considered himself skilled at dealing with beautiful women... and their fickle natures.

 Chapter 637 Selfish Request

    ?"Not to be rude... Byul," Tycondrius cleared his throat, "but do you know why you are still beholden to this Realm?"

    "I''ve no idea," Byul''s body shrugged its shoulders, "At first, I believed... it was a sense of honor... of loyalty to my Jade Arrow sect... or to ze Kingdom.

    "But... for all of my crew to remain?" She half-turned her body, and she stared out of a nearby porthole, "It is impossi-bel~ I am no fool, Tycon... not all of my sisters are of a single heart."

    Tycon pursed his lips and gestured towards her... "How did you die?"

    Byul turned her head back to face him, a helpless look in her eyes, "I was defeated in honorablebat... by your previous Sect Master... Liang Qiang."

    Tycon nodded gravely. The news did not surprise him.

    As Byul was killed only twenty years prior, she was one of the High-Captains under Fleet Admiral Guiume De Croix. Thus, she was one of the many casualties incurred when the other High-Captains, lusting for vengeance, mistakenly went after the strongest Sea Wolf.

    "I know of him," Tycon grimaced... "You do not seem to be upset over the fact?"

    "We were fools... we were all fools," Byul sighed. "Ze Sea Wolf sect has never gotten along with my Jade Arrow sect... and it was likely my insistence that resulted in mypanions ughtered like sheep.

    "Qiang... he is a murderer.... and he did not like Guiume," She sucked in air through her teeth... "but he is not responsible for his death. I learned as much when we fought."

    Tycon nodded in thought, "Martialbat is the purest form of truth."

    "So you are a poet, as well, Monsieur," Byul chuckled to herself... "I... have never been good wis words."

    She stood up and walked over to her favorite staring porthole... "Fighting... zat is all zis foolish woman can do... So ze Jade Rabbit will continue to sail... and I will fight until I no longer rise again."

    Byul turned about, her sea-green eyes suddenly serious... "Lieutenant Tycon... I have... anozher selfish request of you."

    Tycon stood up, crossing his arms. He did not like Byul''s sudden change in tone, "I shall consider it, Mademoiselle-Capitaine."

    The woman ced her head back on her shoulders... and drew the swords on her waist... short, straight des with green crystals embedded into their hilts.

    They were enchanted spirit weapons, befitting the leader of a sect.

    "Fight me," She said in a hoarse voice. "Kill me. End my suffering."

    Tycon snorted in incredulity, "No."

    She lunged forward towards him, swinging at the right side of his neck.

    Raising an eyebrow, Tycon shot his hand out at her wrist, halting the attack.

    Byul swiped her other sword, faster... but like the other, without much force.

    Tycon lifted his arm to meet the strike, then pulled back with the momentum to prevent it from cutting through the fabric of his coat.

    "You''re insulting both me and yourself, Byul," Tycon scolded.

    He spun his arms upward, outward, and under hers, then applied pressure to her elbows until she dropped her weapons.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Then, he swiftly kneed her in the abdomen... and caught her head before it fell to the deck. With Byul''s body unbnced, he pulled its arm to the left while blocking her foot, dropping her to the floor.

    "Pathetic," Tycon held Byul''s head in front of him as he spoke to her. "There''s no killing intent, whatsoever, in your so-called ''attacks.''"

    "This curse..." Byul winced in pain... as her body writhed in pain, holding her stomach, "I just want it to end. Twenty years... non, even a single sun is too long to suffer LIKE THIS!!"

    The pinned woman''s body rolled forward... then sprung towards him, legs first. She wrapped her thighs around the sides of Tycon''s head, then whipped her body weight around.

    A normal person would have been mmed to the ground, their advantage ceded.

    However, Tycon did not feel like losing. He focused mana on his legs and back to keep steady.

    He calmly ced Byul''s head at the edge of her desk... then grabbing hold of her back, he ungently mmed her body down at the center of it.

    The sudden impact caused her legs to tense up and further pull Tycon''s nose and mouth deeper into an... intimate location. It elicited a clearly erotic moan out of the woman''s mouth.

    Byul''s face was a furious red as she grit her teeth and tightened her leg lock further.

    It made Tycon question as to whether Byul was trying to suffocate him... or seduce him?

    He forcibly shoved one of Byul''s legs aside and reached forward to wrap his hands around what remained of her neck.

    ...He wasn''t certain if that was going to work... but by the sound of Byul''s pained choking, and her feeble attempts to push him away, it was effective.

    Tycon turned to stare into Byul''s eyes... "True death is not the answer... else you would not have held back..."

    ...If Byul had been serious, Tycon would have still elected not to kill her. It wasn''t impossible for the Jade Rabbit to dissipate without its Captain.

    He lowered his voice into a soft whisper as he gently loosened his stranglehold... "What is it you truly wish for, Byul?"

    "(I... don''t know,)" Byul bit her lip... and ethereal, greenish-blue ''blood'' dripped down her mouth.

    "Then," Tycon took a deep breath... "you must live on until you find that..."

    "I... live no longer," Tears began to form at the corners of the Captain''s eyes... "I am a dead woman, both in body and in spirit."

    Tycon rolled his eyes as he stood straight. Byul was no longer struggling... and she clearly was no threat.

    "You know what I mean, Byul. Even in undeath, you can search for a purpose... so you can pass on without regrets."

    Byul''s head stared in disbelief at him...

    "Are... you flirting with me?"

    Tycon had the same question. Though the woman''s legs were no longer on his shoulders, they were instead wrapped around his waist.

 Chapter 638 Criminal

    ?**Content Warning: Sexual Activity**

    Tycondrius pursed his lips as he mulled over Byul''s words.

    What was the correct answer?

    ...He decided to allow her to make her own conclusion.

    Byul looked away... "I don''t prefer zepany of men."

    Tycon smiled politely, patiently waiting for her to continue...

    Byul''s legs released her grip on his waist... and she lied there listlessly, "Y-you may leave. I... I can pass on, now."

    "Don''t be so careless," Tycon rolled his eyes.

    "...A-alright."

    "...and stop crying."

    "I''m not crying."

    Tycon sighed as he turned to walk away. As of recent, it seemed there had been an rming increase of regrity... in him making grown women cry.

    It was bothersome.

    He took the kettle and poured the still warm-water into a tea bowl and whisked the tea without ceremony.

    Returning to the desk, he helped Byul''s body sit up. Taking her uncertain hands, he guided them to take hold of the ceramic cup.

    ...Then he ced her head back on her body.

    "Drink," He said.

    "(It''s still hot...)" She muttered.

    "Do as I say, youngdy."

    She took a small sip... then turned her bodypletely around, sitting cross-legged and facing away from him... "(I can make my own tea...)"

    Tycon gently rubbed the teary-eyed woman''s back, "I know."

    "(I''m... I''m a High-Captain of the Royal Navy...) I do not... need your help."

    That was interesting. Byul was not rejecting his forcefulness... or insisting that he leave. The way she spoke... made Tycon believe it was best to remain.

    ...He quietly kept herpany as she cried to herself.

    From what he knew, military leaders were often prone to dark thoughts... and Byul had been worse off, as she had no support system of simrly-ranked individuals to share her worries with... and for so many years.

    He appreciated the fact that she was peaceable.

    Had Byul been a violent and angry apparition, the conversation would have certainly ended in her defeat and dissipation. Then, he and Krysaos could very well have been floating in the middle of the ocean, relying on his paltry mana pool to keep them both alive.

    Or rather, knowing Krysaos... he would have kept himself alive. Tycon would likely be ejected from his ?Water Sphere?, and forced to chance his luck swimming in a single direction before drowning to death.

    Tycon reminisced of Sol Invictus'' second-inmand... Dragan Ashlord. The Titanblood was always willing to listen to his gripes... and his brutal honesty was always refreshing.

    He thought of High-Captain Lang Hai, the Sect Master of the Sea Wolf sect. The brash young gentleman was the same... incredibly rude, but ultimately understanding ofints and mental insecurities.

    Then, he thought of Archbishop Natalya Crucis.

    They shared many things. They had be closepanions.

    Even still... he had rejected her... and she had not forgiven him for it, even going as far as finding a different lover soon after.

    A proper rtionship between them would be toxic and problematic. If presented with simr circumstances, he would again refuse.

    He cared for Natalya for more than just her body.

    ...and he did not intend to purposely hurt her.

    After so many minutes of whimpering, Byul''s shy voice returned him to his current circumstances, "I... have anozher request."

    Tycon smoothed his hands on her back before standing up and stretching his back, "I pray it''s not as foolish as yourst one, Byul."

    "(I want you...)" She whispered... too low for a normal human to hear, "(to embrace me.)"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    Did she mean that... literally? Or figuratively?

    He assumed she meant it in a literal sense. A warm embrace wasforting... even if the impropriety of the action, especially in a woman''s private quarters, was somewhat daunting.

    He embraced Byul from behind to chase away her dark thoughts... and he took special care not to jostle her so her head would fall off.

    "Is this alright?" Tycon spoke softly.

    "Mm..." She crossed her hands over his arms... and they sat still.

    A consenting embrace was always pleasant.

    However... he found Byul''s natural sea-touched scent attractive and had to concentrate as to not rm her with his body''s physical reaction.

    "Tycon..." Byul turned around to face him, a look of uncertainty in her sea-green gaze... "I have... (I''ve never... been with a man before... sexually.)"

    Tycon''s eyes widened in shock for the briefest of moments.

    It was figurative. She was asking him to bed her.

    She reached her hands forward... and Tycon reflexively took them in his.

    Empty night.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "You mentioned you don''t prefer thepany of men."

    If the woman still thought she owed him, he would refuse. He crafted a ritual circle for her out of goodwill and sheer boredom. He did not require nor would ask for Byul to open his legs for him, as payment.

    ...Also, necrophilia was a crime.

    "(Your touch... it''s made things difficult,)" Byul frowned... but spoke with a firm voice, "(I... need... to be taken... to feel the warmth of a man inside of me... and I want it to be you.)"

    Tycon gulped hard-- having nearly choked on his saliva.

    "(I don''t want a rtionship,)" Byul added. "(I have to keep appearances with my crew, after all... but you won''t refuse, will you?)"

    Tycon did not particrly enjoy the concept of sexual rtions without the intent of a monogamous rtionship.

    However... it was a mutually beneficial request.

    He found both Byul''s demeanor and physical body attractive...

    He approved of the fact that a woman-- no, any person, could be so confident in their sexuality to request intercourse without emotional attachment.

    ...Also, their rtionship would surely sour if he were to refuse.

    And thus, Tycon epted Byul''s invitation... and ravaged her atop her desk.

    ...

    Tycon spent most of his remaining time on the Jade Rabbit in thepany of High-Captain Byul... and hade to know her body in intimate detail.

    However... he had a sneaking suspicion that she enjoyed herself more than he did.

    Her loud, unapologetic moaning attested to that fact.

    ...He wondered if he over-tuned the spell formation that increased her sensitivity... or if Byul''s body was naturally receptive to pleasure and pain.

    She pleaded in a small voice, asking to be punished... to be pped with open palms hard enough to leave marks... for the sharp edge of a de to cut the outeryer of her skin and draw her ghostly blood.

    She cried out, demanding that Tycon asphyxiate her. At first, it was eptable to wrap his hands tenderly around her small neck. As the suns and nights went by, she requested more forceful means... and Tycon did so by her air passageways.

    Byul was very knowledgeable about her own body and her physical desires.

    ...It made Tycon doubt Byul''s insistence on having neverid with a man.

    Martialists did not lie... but lying about one''s virginity might have been permissible in her culture.

    In those suns, Tyconmitted repeated criminal offenses...

    He would just have to live with the ''guilt''.

 Chapter 639 Debarkation

    ?? Three sunster... ?

    The Jade Rabbit anchored near the shore of a dismal, grey-clouded beach, its sands dotted by flecks of obsidian.

    Tycondriuis had the ''pleasure'' of being rowed ashore by one of High-Captain Ho Byul''s Martialists.

    She refused to look him in the eyes, much less speak with him. She and her Jade Arrow sisters treated him just as coldly.

    Tycon had encountered over a dozen Martialists prior to meeting Byul. Those young women were cowed by the threat of his ocr ability, ?Vexing Gaze.?

    As for the others, including histestpanion... he had heard their whisperings.

    That morning, Tycon was witnessed exiting their Sect Master''s private quarters. Word passed quickly amongst the crew, as scandalous spection tends to do.

    Byul had expressed her frustration with the discovery. She wished for her crew''s image of her to remain... pure. She was the dignified leader of a sect, after all.

    In the next two bells that followed, Byul demonstrated the image she wished for Tycon to have: filthy, licentious, and with her disembodied head used as an object for pleasure.

    Before he''d disembarked, he bid farewell to Byul and gained a kiss on the cheek in front of her crew for his... services.

    As Tycon had hoped, it seemed the High-Captain had formed no unreasonable emotional attachment to him. However, he doubted she would forget him. Particr statements Byul made during and between endurance training supported that fact.

    Landing on the beach, the young, flush-faced Martialist quickly bowed her head in acknowledgment.

    She rowed back to the Jade Rabbit much more leisurely than in dropping him off.

    The young woman worked hard. Tycon appreciated it.

    After having practiced mind-numbing hedonism for the past few suns, he felt more refreshed than in moons. He was ready to continue adventuring, avenge his assuredly deadpanion, Lone, and recover two useless Elven artifacts.

    The small isle seemed... inhospitable, if not uninhabitable. Itcked themon cries of sea birds and there were a sparse few sad, pale nts growing amongst gnarled and dying trees. In the distance, through the fog, was a small mountain.

    He hoped more lively nts and creatures would exist nearer to that... though Tycon remained skeptical.

    Wreckages of various watercraft littered the sharp-rocked beach, from small fishing boats to a snapped-in-two juggernaut resting upon a rocky outcropping.

    With therge selection of ships, likely around the whole ind, it didn''t seem impossible to find one seaworthy.

    It was unfortunate, however, that nautical navigation was not in his skillset.

    He wondered if Krysaos was dead, having seen no sign of the silver-tongued Captain since they separated a few suns prior.

    Tycon had faithfully distracted Byul throughout the voyage... mostly because it was enjoyable, but partly in order to prevent Krysaos'' otherwise certain execution.

    He didn''t have to wait long for an answer.

    A dark shadow emerged silently from the waters.

    It was... his shadow. Tycon greeted him with a wave.

    After it waved back, it then noisily pulled a body out and plopped him into the shallows.

    Ah, there he was.

    Tycon walked over and the two of them dragged the waterlogged Captain to rtive safety, on the beach.

    Krysaos coughed loudly, having taken in some seawater, "Th... thanks, Tycon... Ishmael... I''m... I''m good, now."

    Ishmael?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon looked over the shadow, who nodded in return.

    Ishmael, then.

    "You have a Skill that allows you to breathe underwater," Tycon raised an eyebrow. "Did you not use it?"

    Ishmael crossed his arms. Something had happened.

    "I''m... outta mana... the girls... they took everyst bit of it," Krysaos groaned. "I''m... I''m f*cking exhausted, guy. Been busy tryin'' to rescue as many of the crew''s I could."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... "From what?"

    "From living the rest of their undead life as virgins."

    Though the deration sounded absurd, Krysaos looked quite serious.

    His and Tycon''s priorities were quite different... but the man attacked his goals with confidence and determination. Those traits alone, alone, made him respectable.

    Krysaos scratched his face-- it seemed he had shaved recently, but a shadow of his facial hair was already beginning to grow.

    "I think the Jade Rabbit''s done for," He shook his head. "One of the girls said that the ship floats because the crew were all virgins when they died."

    "That is a lie," Tycon assured him.

    With how Krysaos presented the fact, it made him out as a viin trying to sink an enemy ship. Tycon decided not to call attention to the fact.

    "I dunno," The human shrugged, "I figured as long as I didn''t touch their Captain, everything''d be fine."

    Tycon grimaced. He had done just that... and more. However, as the ship in the distance was sailing well enough, it was likely that the rumor Krysaos heard was merely Byul''s propaganda, as opposed to truth.

    "I didn''t bother, ''cuz I heard she was into men," Krysaos added.

    "That..." Tycon shut his eyes, "is also a lie."

    "Oh?" Krysaos grinned, eyeing Tycon suspiciously, "How was it? Please tell me you did the deed."

    "...I''d rather not divulge such information in detail," Tycon opened one eye... "--but I can assure you it was enjoyable for both parties."

    "Fair ''nough, guy," Krysaosughed. "Fair enough."

    ...

    Tycon apanied Krysaos in searching one of the nearby wrecks, a corvette-ss ship that seemed to have sustained little outside damage.

    They came under attack by skeletons and water-bloated zombies. Such opponents were simple to defeat by Tycon''s casual attacks and Krysaos'' strategic use of his ?Sovereign Strike? attack Skill.

    Afterwards, they split up to search the previous ship owners'' quarters.

    ...When they met up with Krysaos once more, he was crouched over arge storage container.

    The Captain had his hands on his temples... and was practically screaming, "AuuaaaAAGHHHHH!!!! A hole! A hole in the bottom of the gods-damned hull! This thing belongs in a ship graveyard!"

    Tycon and his shadow tacitly and simultaneously crossed their arms.

    The ind was essentially just that.

    While it was disappointing that the first ship they explored wouldn''t sail... it was to be expected that the vessels around the isle had some reason as to why their crews were unable to escape.

 Chapter 640 In Need Of A Sacrifice

    ?"Look at this, LT! Ishmael!" Krysaos seethed, "This... this ce! We should all be wealthy men!"

    Tycondrius sighed. It seemed the real reason for the Captain''s frustration stemmed from his greed.

    Ishmael tilted his head and gestured for the Captain to continue.

    Krysaos gnashed his teeth in frustration, "All these ships belong to pirates and merchants from all across the twelve seas!"

    He kicked the lockbox away, toppling it and spilling its contents. Sea-decayed clothing, rusted and chipped weaponry, brittle coins, and dull gems that had lost their luster-- everything scattered on the deck was worthless.

    "There''s NNNNOTHING!!" Krysaos shouted, "It''s all ROTTED and RUSTED to OBLIVION!!"

    "It''s quite natural," Tycon nodded... then shook his head, "Or unnatural, as it were-- but logical. The ind is shrouded in death energy simr to the Jade Rabbit. As such, items decay at a faster rate in this ce."

    "This mana-sensitive shite AGAIN, Tycon?!?" Krysaos groaned, "Look, man. My mana sense isn''t as good as yours. You gotta tell me these things."

    "That''s... an unreasonable demand," Tycon frowned, "I refuse."

    "Oh,e onnnnn~!" Krysaos rolled his eyes.

    "It''s generallymon sense-- at least for an adventurer," Tycon calmly gestured to the nearby wall. The ind sands could be seen below, through a human-sized hole in the hull.

    "Water and earth-type spells are easier to cast on a beach attuned to both the seawater and the sands. A raging volcano, inhabited by smanders and fire slimes, is full of fire-type mana."

    "And thus..." He took a breath, "an ind with withered nts, the trees with viinous faces in the bark, and so-littered with broken ships and dead men... is rife with undeath."

    "Sea god''s pants pocket..." Krysaos allowed himself to copse backward onto the canted deck floor, "I can''t believe this shite..."

    Ishmael looked to Tycon and gestured towards the Captain.

    ...Tycon twisted his lips to the side, "Speaking of deathly energies... are you well, Captain?"

    "Huh?" The gentleman propped himself up... "Let me check."

    Krysaos coughed, loudly and... wetly into his hand.

    "Ayep, that''s blood," He groaned... "We need to get the f*ck out of here... this ce is gonna kill us."

    "Just you, actually," Tycon smirked.

    Ishmael shrugged but nodded in agreement.

    "Yeah, whatever," Getting to his feet, Krysaos ced a hand on his growling stomach, "LT, how much more food do we have? I''m outta the jerky I stole from you the other sun."

    "I was wondering where that went," Tycon frowned. "The answer is: not enough."

    "Any ideas? Tycon? Ishmael?"

    Contrary to Krysaos'' words, the two of them both stared at Tycon expectantly.

    ...It was something he was used to, doing the ''thinking'' during adventuring.

    "I have a n to at least provide us some direction," He gestured at the hole in the wall. "Let us descend to the beach, first."

    Ishmael walked over to the hole and leapt out, dropping some eight fulms below.

    Tycon followed him out, the sand dispersing the shock from the fall, decently enough.

    ...It took Krysaos several minutes to walk to where they had entered from, then he jogged over to reach them.

    "I uh... I got bad knees," He muttered an excuse-- not that one was necessary.

    It seemed Krysaos, the Bronze-Rank Baneer, was somewhat weak at feats of athleticismpared to a more martial ss.

    Tycon made a mental note of it.

    Flicking his wrist, he summoned and assembled two Tyrion p.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Since the sha-- no, since Ishmael is a shadow, unaffected by the water, and you, Captain, are likely undetectable by small marine life with your ?Water Sphere,? I''d like the two of you to hunt for fish."

    "Whoa-hoh!!!" Krysaos took a pilum while wearing his signature grin, "Nice thinking, LT! Now we won''t starve, for sure."

    ...

    Ishmael floated out of the water, his shoulders sagging and looking generally defeated.

    "No luck, then?" Tycon asked.

    The shadow heaved with an exaggerated sigh and shook his head.

    Sea life... or something that resembled it. That''s what Tycon needed.

    The two of them made their way to where Krysaos was diving.

    At initial nce, it seemed he''d found some sess, and had arranged a score of fish in a small pile.

    "Check. it. out!!" Krysaos grinned, "I''m pretty good at spear fishin'', if I do say so, myself."

    Tycon grimaced as he picked up and observed one of the ''creatures.''

    "These are undead fish... not even fit for human consumption," He remarked... "Most of these are literal skeletons without an onze of meat."

    "Well, yeah," Krysaos pursed his lips to the side. "Knowing you, you have some kind of weird n or something you''re not telling us."

    He raised an eyebrow, "Or were you actually trying to feed us?"

    The shadow waved his hands.

    "Tyin'' to feed me," Krysaos corrected himself. "And you, LT. You need food to live too, right?"

    ...It seemed in only so few suns, Krysaos had urately gauged his thought processes.

    Tycon was not offended.

    "I need a strong source of death for a ritual I''d like to craft," He admitted. "I was hoping to find a medium-torge-sized creature that could be killed, in order to release a burst of death mana."

    There was a surprising amount of potential energy to be had from ritual sacrifice. It was the reason they were so... popr. However, the practice was considered savage by modern ounts... and was mostly used superficially, by small viges with livestock... or poorly, by viins attempting a ritual beyond their ability.

    Krysaos covered his chest defensively, "Not gonna be me, guy."

    For conscientious reasons, Tycon hoped to avoid using a sentient creature... and he was fairly certain if he botched the summoning, whatever he called would not be able to threaten him.

    "Granted," He chuckled. "Your mana is integral to the operation."

    Though the Captain did not have a caster ss, he was capable of Circle Magic, as previously disyed by his ?Water Sphere? spell. He was more than capable of activating and supplying a ritual with his mana equivalent to a First-Circle spell... so long as Tycon modeled the spell circles with efficiency in mind.

    "Well... I am something of a magic-caster," Krysaos mumbled.

    He was still remaining vignt, as was expected.

    [More?] Ishmael signed, [orrger?]

    "Thetter," Tycon smiled politely. "If we cannot gather enough life energy to convert into the opposite, then we can search for a particrly powerful undead and utilize its essence."

    He pointed deeper ind, at the imposing, dark-colored mountain, hazy through the fog, "We''ll begin our search there."

    "Y''know, this all sounds real f*ckin'' shady, LT," Krysaos frowned.

    "Brother-Captain," Tycon chuckled... "I''m a Lieutenant serving under the scourge of the Eastern Seas."

    "HAH!" Krysaos pped his thigh, "That''s right. We''re not supposed to be the good guys, after all."

 Chapter 641 What Remained

    ?Humans had taken over this Realm.

    Naught more than a disease... a blight.

    Multiplying...

    Breeding... out of control... a gods-damned infestation of tiny creatures-- all acting as one.

    They reminded Revek Rexeris of... the insects... parasites borne of an infected wound... causing fever... sickness...

    Tiny... insignificant things... capable of weakening the wings of the strong... and binding them to walk the earth.

    Humans... they were filthy creatures that tamed thends out ofziness... domesticating animals to grow fat off their meat... using alchemy to drink poisons for pleasure.

    Consuming all... until each were fat, weak mockeries of their ancestors.

    And humans... were responsible for his downfall...

    ? Him.

    Revek Rexeris.

    For years... epochs... centuries...

    He would kill.

    He would sleep.

    Then he would wake, again.

    ...His terrible breath would burn thousands of their kin. They would die, some instantly, far more... twitching... struggling-- desperately clinging to lives they did not deserve.

    However...

    For every single, scaleless, pile of flesh he burnt to ash... ten more would take their ce.

    No matter how many he killed... no matter how many viges and settlements... thousands upon thousands dead... weeping... praying to their whelpling gods...

    Where one or twenty knew fear...

    ...a thousand... knew none.

    Ten thousand-- they would attack en masse...y siege to his domicile... seeking his gold... his jewels... everything he held dear...

    A hundred thousand...

    ...And they refused to believe that he existed.

    They built... more than viges. Cities, they called them-- Kingdoms... as if they deserved such titles. Try as they might... nothing built by the human lords held a wisp of me to the Dragon Kings in his distant memory...

    Then... they came... in numbers impossible to count... carrying with them, weapons of war.

    ...and not only for him... but his mate, Ran Ravell.

    They sailed... great, wooden ships... so heavy, their hulls were half sunken in the sea. And from them... they fired metal spheres... hundreds and thousands... riddling his body with holes... boring into his flesh...

    Theyunched greats made of metal chains... they bound his wings and brought him crashing to the earth... and heid there... helpless... waiting to die.

    Swords andnces of great and powerful magics... they fell upon him. They dug underneath his ruby scales... ten thousand painful cuts... ten thousand fountains of life essence spilling upon the dirt.

    Then... the hammers...

    Pounding.

    Pounding...

    Every part of his body remembered pain.

    Only pain.

    He still heard the echoes of that battle... a cry, not so different from the harsh whine that constantly filled his mind...

    It was her voice... screaming his name.

    How she pleaded. How she begged...

    Yet he... could not answer her call...

    Her ghost... she haunted him, still.

    Dead... gone... with but one question yet unanswered...

    Why?

    ? Why, Revek Rexeris... are you not surrounded by great piles of gold and treasure? ?

    The miserable dragon looked about his cave... at the dust and debris... of worthless trash.

    "I tried... I... tried so hard..." He whispered, his voice raspy... echoing in the darkness...

    The coins he gathered... they all turned to stone.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The jewels... pale... colorless... turning into... ck coal.

    The great fabrics and... tapestries... and fineries that Ran Ravell always enjoyed...

    Frayed.

    Picked apart by ravenous insects. By the cruelty of time.

    Rotten.

    Everything on his ind was shrouded in death...

    Even him.

    Dead. But refusing to rest.

    ? Why, Revek Rexeris... do you not seek vengeance? ?

    "Because... I..." His voice cracked in pain... in old age... in regret... "am afraid..."

    It... hurt... so much to say those words...

    Not just this time... but every time he remembered his past failures... how his greatest achievements were centuries past... how everything he''d ever loved... was taken from him in a single sun.

    ? You fear... a human, my love? ...A single man, no less? ?

    Revek Rexeris exhaled... green... rancid smoke wafting from his skeletal jaws... He no longer needed to breathe... but he... had been dragon for so long, he did not know how to stop.

    "Yes, my love. I fear one... and so I must fear them all..."

    He remembered that man''s eyes.

    That impossible man.

    His name... Guiume De Croix...

    Fleet Admiral of the Magic Kingdom''s Royal Navy.

    By his hand... a creature of the depths... it rose from the sea.

    Greater than any dragon.

    Unflinching against Ran Ravell''s mes.

    Its dozens of ck appendages... they grabbed her legs... syed them apart...

    Her powerful ws... were dull against its hide. Her teeth... shattered like ss...

    Her mana... now matter how easily it flowed through her blood... that creature... tore her wings off of her body, one by one.

    Like a whelpling would chew the wings off an insect.

    ''Flee, my love,'' She so desperately. ''By the dragon god above... one of us must escape! One of us must survive. The dragons-- they must return to this Realm.''

    Those were herst words... when she yet lived.

    For the Leviathan... under that human''smand... its white-toothed maw engulfed her beautiful neck... and crunched through scale and bone.

    He could not prevail against such a great and powerful foe... not when the fates had so conspired against him.

    Yet still... he tried.

    He prayed to the heavens... for just... a little more strength... strength undeserved.

    And the Dragon God answered.

    He slew many in his rage.

    But not enough.

    Guiume... though injured... he lived.

    The humans... they were too strong. Their weapons of war... the creatures theymanded... too great.

    Even for a dragon.

    Revek Rexeris could not achieve vengeance, even if he bartered his own life.

    And so... he fled... away from the so-called Magic Kingdom... to an isle off the coast of the eastern shores.

    Yet... the curse of the Leviathan... was not so easily ignored.

    He died there... curled up into his tail... alone.

    Yet still... he woke. Still, he walked the Realm.

    He watched as his scales peeled and fell in great swaths... His skin... tightened... and cracked... desating into a thin pelt of shriveled leather. He felt millions of creatures... biting his flesh as it died and fell to rot...

    And what remained... was... dragon, no longer.

 Chapter 642 Mockery

    ?Revek Rexeris dragged his body across the cavern floor, scraping the rocks with his skeletal ribs... and he stared into the pool of white fish... at his reflection.

    Instead of magnificent red scales and powerful curvature of his horns... he saw... the skull of a defeated dragon.

    Green mes in the ck sockets of his eyes... weathered bone, yellowed by age... marred with cracks from the crushing blows of the Leviathan''s heavy limbs. His left horn... sawed off... by men... with naught but evil and greed in their hearts.

    Revek Rexeris was no longer fit to call himself a dragon... not even a pathetic excuse for one.

    He was... undead... a dracolich. A cursed existence to both men and his kin, alike.

    Her ghost stood behind him... her green eyes sparkling in the pool''s reflection... still as beauteous as he''d remembered. She... was the greatest treasure he''d ever known.

    ? Why, then Revek Rexeris... have you not yet moved on? ?

    Stepping away from the pool, he ced his head down upon the stones and covered his ws over his skull...

    "Don''t, my love..." He pleaded hoarsely... "Please... it is far too cruel."

    ? Revek Rexeris... I have loved you for all of my life... and even now... but I remain no longer. You, my love... still live... ?

    "This... this is not life, Ran Ravell!!" He roared.

    The cave shook with his fury... and he stood up, seething... the stone below cracking and groaning underneath his weight.

    ? Run away, my love... Live the rest of your life in peace. Our kin may not ept you as you are, but you may still hide away... to learn of the ever-changing world... to enjoy the pleasures life still has to offer... ?

    "I... CAN... not..." Revek Rexerisid his heavy head on the ground... "I refuse..."

    He felt his eyes burn hot with soulfire... yet no tears came... "Not... not without you... my love. I care not for another... not for a mate... not even for a friend..."

    ? You cannot live the rest of your life, alone. ?

    "You are wrong, my love," He whispered.

    With his death... the Dragon God gave him... sight... beyond sight.

    A power... he''d thought was only granted to the descendants of Neerin Neelia... the Sage of the Draconic Court from ancient times.

    He dreamed... of his past love... of his present self... a mockery of life...

    ...He dreamed of future suns... of things that woulde to be.

    Inevitable things.

    The Dragon God... he would soon awaken.

    Within the century... perhaps in epochs... perhaps in one.

    Revek Rexeris... he needed not act in haste.

    His... vengeance... still burned...

    The longer... he slept... the stronger he''d be. The more that came to his ind of death and forgotten memories... the greater his power would grow.

    All he needed to do... was bide his time.

    "I... was once... a great... and mighty dragon," Hemented...

    "So still... I know... how to wait. So... here... I lie... until the roar of the Dragon God bid me wake..."

    And when that sun came... and he, Revek Rexeris... would finally achieve his revenge.

    Only then... would he choose to rest.

    A torch lit aze in the darkness... and he winced, covering his eyes with his skeletal ws, out of reflex.

    "Who... dares... trespass..."

    "Cool story, Bro. Tell it again."

    A man... a human male... he carried a feeble branch, the acrid reek of cloth and oil filling his cave.

    Though his sense of smell had decayed long ago... he could sense his pathetic mana... one with the shadows.

    Cunning. Guile. Only by subterfuge could a human prowl so close, undetected.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Shadow mana or not... the man... he was... just like them. The men... and women... that belonged to Guiume De Croix.

    Sailors... and their cusses... their white sleeves... and the light touch of water mana...

    Revek Rexeris'' cold, unbeaten heart brimmed with rage... of fire... and destruction.

    He stood... towering over the mortal creature. Greater. Above. Still as he was... he was nothing like them.

    "You... tarnish... my cave... with your presence..."

    "Whoa, you''re pretty heavy there, guy," The human quipped. "Wouldn''t think of it, since you''re all skin and bones. Been eating too much?"

    "I consume the SOULS OF THE DAAAAMNED!!!" Revek Rexeris roared. "Your PEOPLE!!! Your KINNN!!! My power grows every moment of every sun, until I am called to END YOU ALLLLLLL!!!!!!!!"

    He mmed his right w adjacent to the man.

    He demanded... obeisance. He demanded... fear.

    He wanted... the human to piss himself... to cry out... to beg for mercy.

    And what he''d find then... would be slow... and painful torture... his limbs... torn from his body...

    Like... like his love... lost her wings.

    Like him... his horn...

    Revek Rexeris'' dreams. His life... all were taken from him.

    The human would suffer THE SAME!

    "BOWWW DOWNNN IN FEARRR!" He bellowed.

    "Whew," The sailor waved his hand in front of his face, "s''that what the stories call dragon breath? I''veid with whores with worse... and more''n one at a time."

    "You... MOCK ME?!?!?"

    "I was sorta... expecting you to look different," The human shook his head. "Say, are you a boy lizard skeleton or a girl lizard skeleton? Y''see, if you''re a girl lizard--"

    "Before you, stands A DRRRRRAGONN!!!!!" Revek Rexeris mmed a heavy fist against the wall.

    When the rumbling slowed and stopped...

    The cave was filled... withughter?

    "Haha ha! Hahahaa!"

    The squeaking noise was... unpleasant... disgusting to the senses. The sound was as... the creature was choking on his own saliva.

    "That''s funny," The man scoffed. "Dragons don''t exist."

    One human.

    Not an army.

    Not a Beast Contractor with a Leviathan in tow.

    It was... a single... fat... and ugly human male.

    Some dragons... they sought... to speak with that which interested them... to learn... like his mate once loved to do.

    But not Revek Rexeris.

    He had nothing... but hate... contempt... unwillingness to bear the sight of the vile creatures.

    He reared his head back... gathering all that hemanded... of death... of pain... and suffering... and ever... flowing... HATRED.

    And he breathed.

    Vicious... green mes... that turned his piles of trash to dust... that melted the stone... that turned the shadow man in front of him to nothing but a memory...

    ...and of mockingughter he''d hear in his nightmares... forevermore.

    The man... he did not even scream.

 Chapter 643 Bloodline Hatred

    ?"Whew, almost got me."

    Revek Rexeris was shocked upon hearing the voice in the darkness... and the feeling quickly burned away, leaving naught but indignation.

    It was impossible. His deadly breath weapon... had failed to kill a single Bronze-Rank human?

    Trying to keep his cold, undead heart calm, he searched for the mana in his surroundings...

    The human... he lived...

    But he felt... different...

    That creature was... a Circle Mage?

    Peering through the watery veil of invisibility magic, Revek Rexeris saw him... the same broad face... the same... mocking grin.

    ...And he saw his cowardly back as he sprinted towards the cave exit.

    Then the creature destroyed was... a mere shadow? An illusion?

    ...Revek Rexeris... had been... TRICKED?!

    He... a Dragon Prince... had been made a FOOL?!?!

    "Hear me, HUMANNNN!!" I, REVEK REXERIS, will hunt you down to the ends of the Realm! To the eleven heavens above!! To the DEPTHS OF THE SEVEN HELLS IF I MUST!!!!"

    ...

    Tycondrius readjusted the strap on his metal gauntlets.

    Prioritizing defense over speed and flexibility, he wore the Dwarven-crafted armor made for guild Letalis, all ck, save for the whitemander''s helmet he had tucked underneath an arm. The Arcanite tes could withstand normal mes well enough... but would only provide a modicum of resistance against lizardfire.

    Still, it was the best he had... and would provide protection enough against the creature''s physical weapons.

    Hispanion emerged from the cave, pale-faced and with his heart pounding noisily like an insistent rap upon a door.

    "You''re quite fast, Krysaos," Tycon smirked.

    The man was sweating profusely, easily enough to fill a winecup.

    "Tycon," He spoke between gasps for air, "There''s a. big f*cking lizard. in the cave. Gods-damned huge!! Almost as big as my d--"

    "Thank you, Captain," Tycon waved to stop Krysaos from going further into detail. "Are you not overreacting? You seem terrified of what-- a mere lizard?"

    "It''s... a really... f*cking big lizard," Krysaos countered.

    "...Granted," Tycon pursed his lips to the side before gesturing the Bronze-Rank Baneer away, "Captain, please withdraw to safety."

    "W-wait," Kryasos looked up, his teeth bared, and uncertainty in his eyes.

    "Go ahead."

    "I-ishmael... he... he''s toast!" Krysaos grimaced.

    It was likely that the man thought he''d lost another crewmember-- a great blow to his psyche.

    Tycon closed his eyes for a moment, searching for his spiritual link to his ?Venomous Shadow.? Thankfully, Krysaos was incorrect. His summonablepanion was fine, though his link to The Real was in temporary remittance.

    "Mister Ishmael cannot die," Tycon assured him. "Once his form is disrupted, he returns to the ne of Shadow to recuperate."

    "I''m... promoting him. after we. survive."

    "Very well," Tycon chuckled as he ced his white helmet on. "You can tell him in a bell or two when I have the mana to summon him again."

    Krysaos ran off into the gnarled, petrified trees, just as arge skeletal creature stomped out of the cave.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...It seemed the Captain''s worries were reasonable. It was a much bigger lizard than he expected-- though Tycon had admittedly expected it to be more... lively.

    ? Revek Rexeris, Adamantine-Rank Dracolich. ?

    "Good morning," Tycon waved. "F*ck you."

    "And who in the gods-damned seven hells are YOOUUUUUU?!?!?!" It shrieked-- like a spurned lover in the act of being cuckolded.

    "My response to that is... f*ck you," Tycon repeated casually.

    He did not know why he hated lizards so much. Logically, it was due to his bloodline... but even after rejecting his beliefs... even after the death of the snake god, the hatred remained.

    It had be a personal vendetta.

    Dragons don''t exist. He would not allow it.

    Tycon drew his curved de from its sheath... and began to speak his mind.

    "I hope you died unfairly... with everything you''ve ever loved taken from you.

    "If you have any kin, I hope they were summarily harvested for their materials while their hearts still beat.

    "If you''ve sired any children, I pray they are ravaged and tortured, their minds broken, their bodies, soulless shells.

    "But ultimately... f*ck you, lizard. F*ck your family. F*ck your god. F*ck everything you''ve ever stood for. I will stab my sword into your head and relieve myself on your f*cking remains."

    The time was enough for the lizard''s breath weapon to recharge.

    Thoroughly enraged, it breathed... a gout of green mes that adhered to and corroded everything it touched.

    Noxious death magic. Decay and rot. Slightly poisonous, too.

    It was what Tycon was waiting for.

    "?As the swallow flies,?" He shed his curved de, cleaving through the lizardfire.

    He wasn''t worried about the sword-- it was enchanted with a touch of poison magic and would withstand the simr-affinity breath attack.

    The smell was horrendous and it burnt the insides of his nostrils.

    ? Warning: The host is affected with a Third-Circle death effect. ?

    ? Warning: The host is affected with a Fourth-Circle poison. ?

    ? System, reject the death effect. I''d imagine the poison won''t affect me. ?

    ? System response: Circting mana to bolster the host''s fortitude. The host is immune to the effects of the Fourth-Circle poison. ?

    With the second part of Tycon''s Skill, he dashed forward and chopped his sword into the creature''s jaw-- the de sticking half into it.

    The undead creature-- the lizardolich, he believed they were called, it reared back as if it felt pain.

    Tycon kept hold of his sword... going high up into the air with its head.

    "You lot are so predictable," He scolded. "Always the breath attack first. And that was likely your second, as I''m certain you used a first on my agilepanion."

    cing his boots upon the lizard''s snout, he smashed his adamantine scabbard against the side of the creature''s head. With a heavy crack of bone breaking, the creature toppled over onto the marshy sands.

    Tycon unstuck his sword... and with the falling momentum, delivered a heavy chop atop the skeleton''s neck.

    Unfortunately, the creature''s defensive mana prevented the attack from separating its head from its body.

    ...It made him wish he had a bloodline hatred for a creature that was easier to kill.

 Chapter 644 Predictable

    ?"Is this how you lost your pathetic life? Lying on your side like a virgin patiently waiting to be bedded? Humans crawling over your body like ravenous animals in heat?"

    Tycondrius ground the sole of his boot over the lizard''s eye socket... making certain he knew how exactly he was being insulted, "Open your legs for me, slut. I''ll ensure your vition quick and painless."

    "I will NOTTTT TOLERATE YOUR INSULLLTS!!!" The lizard roared...

    The mana in its voice threw Tycon off and away... and he grabbed onto a thick tree branch to steady himself. It was loud enough that his head began to ache-- even through the mana protecting his ears.

    The creature came at him... with tooth and w.

    That''s what lizards did. First, they breathed. If the battle continued, they threw a tantrum, iling about with their body.

    The creatures were supposed to be intelligent... but when it came to martialbat, their arrogance led them to believe they were naturally unstoppable killing machines.

    Generally, they were. The massive lizards were capable of demolishing a guild with their wings, cutting down armies with a single breath attack, razing entire cities...

    However... if theirbat ability were to be examined without consideration of their size and mana pools, their tactics were...

    Brutish. Savage.

    Insultingly simple.

    Predictable.

    "?Silent Shadow in the Dark,?" Tycon activated the second form of the Screaming Silence''s strongest de techniques.

    Two illusions of himself coalesced out of the shadows.

    One dashed forward to attack the lizard''s mouth.

    "Lizards," It groaned in contempt, "Biting and scratching like a disobedient child."

    Its attack struck true, but its form was dissipated by a w swipe.

    "This is why you fall to mere humans," The second illusion dodged its bony tail, its shadowy de sparking along the length of it.

    At the rear of the dragon, it spun and cut its de into its back right heel, "No armor. No weaponry."

    Tycon deflected a stomping w with his adamantine scabbard, then shed deeply into the lizard''s side, "Even a human child seeks clothing and protection from the elements. All you have... is this."

    Cutting aside a p of leathery skin... as well as three rib bones, the shriveled glowing heart of the creature was revealed.

    Then... Tycon found himself flying backward.

    It took a moment to realize he''d been struck by a quick whip of the lizard''s tail over its shoulder.

    His back struck a tree, which broke... then another tree. Then, he tumbled along the dirt until he wasunched up by a jagged rock hitting his side.

    "It is... im... possible to defeat me," The lizard snarled as he whipped his tail into Tycon''sst remaining reflection... "Without flesh... my mana... circtes not through my meridians... but through the entire ind. All the power of death in this ce... is MINE TO COMMAND!"

    Tycon sat up.

    His mouth tastes of iron... and he swallowed.

    He was bleeding internally... He felt the left side of his face swelling up, but he had no intention of removing his helmet.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It wasn''t the best he could do.

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? ...Yes, thank you. ?

    ? Activating... You''re wee. ?

    "?Rapid Casting? ?Twin Spell? ?Magic Bolt,?" The lizardolich waved a w... and nine spell circles appeared in the air in front of it. Dozens of magical bolts at a time began to fire at him at odd intervals.

    Tycon sighed as he got to a knee. Then, upon standing, he began to defend himself... cutting through the spells with his magical sword.

    It wasn''t enough. Over half of the bolts struck his Arcanite armor... He felt his metal shell being ruined... bones creaking from impact after impact... his insides turning to gravy.

    "Persistennnnttttt..." The lizard growled as its spell circles faded, "Lie down... and DIE!!!!"

    It surged forward, wings outstretched... and Tycon ducked down, shing his sword. He made a superficial cut on the surface of the lizard''s shrunken heart-- he had erred in judging his sword''s length and the creature''s trajectory...

    The creature roared in pain, gripped its ws into the earth and whipped at him with its tail.

    Tycon avoided the sharpened tip piercing the sands by throwing himself aside, striking his shoulder hard against the ground and rolling with the momentum.

    ...It was sloppy. His bnce had been affected by his heavy armor and the level of damage he''d taken.

    Through sheer force of will, hemanded his body to stand. As long as adrenaline continued to course through his veins, he had to perform at his body''s limits if he wanted to seed.

    The dragon whipped its tail once more, which Tycon slipped underneath while dashing forward. Its wings twitched-- the subtle motion distracting him in his hyper-aware state... and he saw the creature''s the end of the creature''s bony tail rocketing towards his chest.

    Gritting his teeth, he sheathed his sword and ced both hands on his adamantine scabbard to block.

    He flew backward from the impact... again striking the dirt... his armor again scuffed by rolling in the rocks, pulling up entire bushes by the roots.

    He grunted in pain as he struggled again to his feet... even more difficult through the numbing pain.

    His left arm hung loosely at his side...

    The angle of the lizard''s attack hade at the perfect angle to break his elbow.

    "Tss," He scoffed. "Good hit."

    "You... are doomed," The lizard raised its head in undeserved pride, "Each... passing sun... my power only grows. My magic... my undead body... is great and powerful, gifted by the Dragon God."

    "You must be quite proud of yourself," Tycon tore off his helmet and spat out the blood. He unstrapped his left gauntlet as well-- his arm was beginning to swell.

    "And... youuuu..." The lizard pointed one of its disgusting ws at him, "are only... human."

    Tycon took in a deep breath, circting his mana, and flicking his thumb to remove the de from its catch, "Incorrect."

    Drawing his sword, he activated the third and final skill of the Screaming Silence de techniques, "?Orochi no Ken wo KURAE!!?"

    Taste the Hydra''s de.

 Chapter 645 Die Alone

    ?Nine mana-created snakes surged out of Tycondrius'' sword... biting... snapping... and entangling their ethereal bodies around the lizardolich. Hissing furiously, they worked in tandem to crush theparably smaller creature''s bones... causing them to creak under the force... to fracture... to snap.

    "Ah... hahaha... HAHAHA!!! What''s this??" The lizard guffawed, "I cannot be defeated by THIS. These broken bones... will regenerate in minutes..."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, the sweat on his brow, dripping cold... and he calmly observed the situation.

    The poisonous bite of his mana-created snakes were ineffective... It was to be expected, considering the lizard''s particr... condition.

    As it was reasonably safe, Tycon carefully went down to a knee, sticking his de into the hard-packed dirt.

    It changed nothing.

    "They can keep you immobilized," He spat, before wiping the blood spilling down his mouth. .

    "And whatttt will THAT DO?!?" The lizard shrugged-- trying but failing to break free from his writhing bonds.

    From the way his soulfire eyes burned so brightly, he was using no small amount of mana and effort. The Final Technique taught to him by Samurai Garock Heartrender was not a simple one.

    "Once I am free," The lizard snarled... "you will live the rest of your pathetically short life as you lived... ALONE!!"

    "You arrogant, piteous fool," Tycon shook his head, "As expected, you havepletely forgotten that I am not, in-fact, alone."

    ...

    ? shback, several bells prior. ?

    ? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX ?

    ? So there I was... in the middle of a weird, swampy marsh area... smack dab in the center of a haunted ind. ?

    ? We''d been surrounded more times than I could count... by skeletal swordsman, ghoulish ghosts, and... zombies. Big, fat, water-bloated zombies. ?

    ? Each one fell to my de... my White Raven swordsmanship. ?

    ? The LT was there too. And knowing he had my back let me fight even harder. ?

    ? Good guy, that Tycon. ?

    ? Us against the world. That''s the promise we made to each other. Thought of it, myself. ?

    ? Then... I saw something that made me think the world was specifically out to f*ck us. ?

    Krysaos gulped as he looked up at a t rock wall adjacent to a humongous cave entrance. Impossiblyrge script had been carved into it... words in anguage that looked primitive and... savage.

    "Sea god''s b*tch-tits," He cursed. "The hells does it mean?"

    Lieutenant Tycon stroked his chin as his green-hair flowed in the light breeze.

    The guy didn''t even have a drop of sweat on him.

    Was the guy invincible, or what?

    "It''s a warning," He rolled his eyes. "We''re going to be ignoring it."

    "Oh, no you don''t," Krysaos waved his hands. "I need you to quit the secrecy around me, LT. I''m sick of it."

    Tycon nced to Ishmael for support. He shrugged.

    "SEE?" Krysaos scoffed, "Even Ishmael agrees."

    "None of it is relevant," Tycon shook his head.

    "WHATEVER!!" Krysaos pointed at the wall, "I wanna know exactly what that thing says!"

    "Are you certain?" Tycon pursed his lips.

    "YEAH, I''m certain!"

    "...Very well," The guy smiled, his golden eyes twinkling.

    It was kinda girly. It made Krysaos feel weird.

    "This is the territory of Revek Rexeris," Tycon read, "--the great and terrible... lizard prince."

    "You hesitated just now, guy."

    "I''m tranting between twonguages," Tycon twisted his lips to the side. "A mere moment to parse is eptable, is it not?"

    "...Yeah, fair."

    Tycon really didn''t like to be interrupted... and sometimes when he was questioned, he gave Krysaos a look that made him feel like a gigantic idiot.

    There was no helping it, though. If Krysaos didn''t know what was up, he had to ask, "Can you keep reading, LT? I appreciate it, guy."

    "Of course," Tycon cleared his throat and continued...

    "My wings have blot out the sun as Iid waste to Oakenshield.

    "My terrible roar has fallen mountains upon the Bastille.

    "My scales have withstood ten thousand spears and arrows at Valencia.

    "My ws have crushed and rent the armies of men assembled at Saint Benoit."

    Tycon turned to Krysaos with a half-hearted smile, "Enter at your own peril... for no human can cross a lizard Prince and hope to survive."

    Wings? Roar? Scales and ws?

    Krysaos crossed his arms... "What manner of creature is this?"

    "... ... ...A lizard."

    "...Right."

    Krysaos gulped. He knew of Bastille and Saint Benoit, two cities in the Magic Kingdom.

    In the first, some sort of freak ident crushed the fort city and killed most of its inhabitants. And in the second... an entire standing army disappeared while they were out doing training exercises-- there nothing left but a smoldering battlefield.

    ...Those ces were hundreds of miles away, though.

    "I propose we spend the next few bells setting up traps near the entrance," Tycon nodded.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Yeah... sounds good," Krysaos agreed.

    "--And I''d like you and Mister Ishmael to lure the creature out."

    "Yeah-- no," Krysaos strongly disagreed. "That''s not how this works. I''m the Captain! I make the ns!"

    "I''d like to remind you that you asked me for a n, Captain Krysaos."

    "I''m the Captain!" Krysaos repeated, "And I can also ask you to make the ns! --which are my ns! They''re OUR ns!"

    "There is magic in your tongue, Captain," Tycon raised an eyebrow, "is there not?"

    "Uh huh? Some of the girls talk to ya ''bout that, huh?" Krysaos grinned smugly.

    "As such, dealing with whatever sentient lizard is inside that cave... I''m certain you''ll be able to convince him or her toe outside-- preferably peaceably, as to be caught unaware."

    Sea god''s socks. The guy knew him pretty well. Krysaos could charm the pants off of anything.

    "WELL, THEN!" Krysaos crossed his arms, "I''m sure it''s a good n, but I''m still notpletely sold on the idea of MY arse on the line!

    "You''re tellin'' me to go in there and go talk to whatever f*ck-huge thing is in that cave..."

    "It''s only Adamantine-Rank," Tycon assured. "You''ll be fine."

    "THOSE DON''T EXIST!!!" Krysaos argued.

    "...Think of it as a very strong Gold-Rank."

    "That is F*CKED UP, LT!" Kryaos shouted, "I am a BRONZE-RANK!"

    "Hasn''t seemed to dissuade you, before," Tycon smirked.

    "Why don''t YOU do it?! HUH??"

    "Because of my heritage, I may be attacked indiscriminately," Tycon pursed his lips. "And should a surprise attack be necessary, it would behoove us that Iy in wait, rather than you or Ishmael."

    ...It made a little bit of sense. Tycon''s offensive power was just a tad bit higher than his... especially if they weren''t fighting against two-legged opponents.

    "I''m sure you have Skills that can protect yourself, no?" Tycon asked.

    Krysaos sighed loudly... "I GUESSSS I can use my ?Misty Reflection? spell to make Ishmael look like me."

    Ishmael nodded eagerly as he ced a hand on his opposite bicep.

    "Wonderful," Tycon smirked. "Now, pray tell, Brother-Captain. How many working ship cannons and kegs of Orkish sugar can we procure before nightfall?"

    ...

    ? Present time. ?

    With his good arm, Tycon grabbed hold of the lizardolich''s bottom jaw.

    Though the creature tried to rail against his fate, it remained fully immobilized.

    "Release me!! I DEMAND IT!!" It screeched, small gouts of green me erupting from its nostrils.

    Some of the clinging substance burned into Tycon''s ruined armor, but he ignored it.

    The positioning had to be perfect.

    He dragged the creature to the marked X on the hill, then mmed the creature''s head into the ground.

    "Burn in the depths of the seven hells," Tycon stomped upon its face, "That is my demand."

    "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

    A dozen cannons firing simultaneously drowned out the creature''s pitiful screaming.

    Tycon dropped prone to the ground, dragging himself away as the second set of cannons fired.

    "C-CLEARRRRR!!!" Krysaos shouted from behind the powdery fog.

    He sounded... hurt.

    It could wait.

    Tycon lifted himself up and went to check on the lizard. He gathered the bits and pieces that remained of its shriveled heart. He also recovered its skull, notably absent of its soulfire.

    For good measure, he pissed on its remains.

    He''d been holding it in for some time, just for the asion.

    With his promises fulfilled, he made his way towards Krysaos'' location.

    ...The man was pinned underneath a medium-sized tree.

    "H-hey, LT," He coughed. "You good?"

    "The lizard has been defeated," He nodded. "As for me..."

    Holes had been corroded into several parts of Tycon''s expensive Arcanite armor. His left arm was broken. His head pounded with mana fatigue.

    "I''ll live," He remarked.

    Adrenaline still coursed through his veins... and having recently relieved himself, his spirits were high.

    It could have been worse.

    Krysaos coughed... and he tried to struggle out of his entrapment... but to no avail... "It... it fell on me when the dragon used its breath attack..."

    "Lizard," Tycon corrected.

    "Right, lizard," Krysaos chuckled... then abruptly quieted... "LT... I''m... I''m not long for this world."

    Tycon was worried... but not for the mewling gentleman in front of him.

    He had enough mana to use on a healing Skill, but he was hoping to use it on himself.

 Chapter 646 Summoning

    ?Captain Krysaos had done quite well in dragging the enraged creature out of its cage.

    It was stronger than Tycondrius had initially estimated... and they only seeded with so little injury due to good fortune and adequate preparations.

    cing his effects beside him, he knelt down to grab the tree by its end. He lifted it off the man with a strained grunt... and managed to move it a few fulms to the side.

    ...It would have been much easier had he had both arms to work with.

    "Th-thanks," Krysaos muttered... "But my insides are done for, guy. Mushed up like sailor slop..."

    Tycon took a deep breath in contemtion.

    He still needed to get off the ind. Krysaos would greatly expedite that process, so keeping the man alive was a priority.

    However... he was trying to discern just how severe the man''s injuries were, as to properly allocate his mana usage.

    Krysaos did not show signs of a concussion... nor did he seem to have inhaled the creature''s Fourth-Circle poison.

    Nothing seemed broken, either.

    The damage to him seemed to have been limited to minor abrasions and a patch of wooden splinters.

    ...However, the gentleman was acting as if he were mere ilms away from death.

    Tycon was worried there was some hidden mdy he was unaware of.

    "Tell Ishmael... I''m sorry," Krysaos pleaded.

    "I will do so," Tycon shrugged. That was a simple task.

    "And tell... Sandpaper Sally... I love her."

    "I do not n on returning to that ce," Tycon furrowed his brows.

    "Tell.. my mom... I..."

    "I don''t know who that woman is," Tycon shook his head.

    "Then... then tell--"

    "Brother-Captain..." Tycon gently interrupted hispanion, "please tell me that is not the best you can do."

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? System, use about... half the mana necessary-- no, a third should do. ?

    ? Activating. ?

    Krysaos began to cough with vigor... The healing Skill seemed to be effective.

    "Nah... it ain''t, LT... It ain''t..."

    He crawled forward and began digging in the soft dirt with his hands... tossing it haphazardly upon his back, "I''m gonna diiiiiie!! Bury me right here! And bury me with my treasure!!"

    Tycon crossed his arms... "You don''t have any treasure."

    "I have... an amulet... on my neck," Krysaos sniffed... "I wear it to protect me... from venereal diseases."

    "That''s an incredibly specific magic item," Tycon mused.

    "Totally... worth the price."

    "...Did you purchase it?"

    "Nah," Krysaos mushed his face against the marshy dirt. "Stole it."

    "Granted."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "I''d imagine your mutinied crew would have taken such a valuable item before abandoning you on the beaches."

    Krysaos scoffed, chuckling... "No way. Those guys are all idiots... I have it right--"

    ...The man got to his knees, grabbing at his chest and flinging dirt about.

    "Those SONS OF B*TCHES!!!" He screamed.

    Tycon took care not to show his exasperation, "You seem well enough, Captain."

    "M-my need for VENGEANCE has healed me to full!"

    Tycon sat on his rear and gestured to the lizard skull and heart with his head, "Let''s head back to the beach, rest, and empower the ritual in the morning, then."

    "Yeap," Krysaos brushed the dirt off his sleeves, "Sounds good, LT."

    ...

    ? The next sun... two bells before dawn.?

    Tycon awoke with the moon and stars still hanging overhead. The time would allow a greater sess rate for a dark ritual... the purpose of which was to open a temporary rift to the ne of the Dead.

    His arm was swollen and still pounded in pain when he jostled it. Even with his healing Skill, it would be useless for a week or so.

    All battles entailed a certain degree of risk. It was bothersome to have been injured, the other sun... but he had performed to the best of his abilities.

    A nonlethal injury taken to thoroughly defeat a bloodline enemy was worthwhile.

    He shook Captain Krysaos awake.

    "Huh, wha? Ghosts? Piss off, ghost!" He mumbled.

    Ishmael materialized out of the darkness in front of Krysaos... and without Tycon needed to expend mana to summon him. That was convenient.

    Interestingly, the shadow''s left arm dangled uselessly at his side.

    The fact reminded Tycon that Ishmael was still a shadow of himself... and at least retained the same general appearances.

    The shadow faced Krysaos and gestured the shape of a time-keeping ss with his ''hands''.

    "Damn straight," The Captain nodded. "We make exceptions only for hot ghosts."

    ...It seemed that, even with all of Ishmael''s ghostly traits, Krysaos thought of ''ghost'' and ''shadow'' aspletely different entities.

    "The spirits won''t detect us while we rest in the protective spell circle," Tycon exined.

    "Oh, right..." Krysaos grimaced. "I''m still a little mad that you couldn''t make it only hide us from the ugly ghosts."

    "It was an unreasonable demand, Brother-Captain."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos'' eyes widened, "Wait, can you really do that?"

    Ignoring him, Tycon exited the circle, and started towards the rocky area where they erected the summoning ritual.

    Krysaos followed in a hurry... mumbling something about fearing nighttime encounters in which he couldn''t easily see his partner''s face.

    Upon reaching the ritual circle, Tycon adjusted theponents with the lizard skull as the focus... and directed Krysaos to empower it.

    After chanting in Abyssal for a short time, Tycon redirected the formation''s mana into the focus... shattering it.

    "Uh..." Krysaos frowned, "was that supposed to happen?"

    Tycon shook his head, "It seems the skull of an Adamantine-Rank undead cannot handle being the focus of a god-summoning ritual."

    "A what now?"

    "Sorry, did I misspeak?"

    The air chilled, the winds whistled... and a deep... low... viinous cackle thrummed along the far reaches of his senses.

    Tycon nced up with a smile.

    It seemed the summoning was a sess.

    A nine-fulm tall orc in tattered leather robes towered behind Krysaos... in his hands, an oversized warscythe that perfectly fit his oversized build... "Hehe... heh..."

    "Wh-where''s Ishmael?" Krysaos whispered, his voice cracking as he did.

    The shadow, standing adjacent to Tycon, revealed its golden eyes before closing them again.

    "Th-thought so," Krysaos gulped... "It''s uh... it''s standing right behind me, isn''t it?"

    "Indeed," Tycon chuckled.

    Krysaos spun around... then fell on his rear as he looked up-- crawling backward with surprising agility, "Whahahahahahaaaaatt are youuuuuuu?!?!?"

    "Sup?" Hades, god of death and the dead, waved a meaty hand.

    "This is an old friend of mine," Tycon smirked. "It is nice to see you, Brother-Hades."

    "Ahaha... Hey, Tycon," Hades grinned toothily, before sitting down on arge rock.

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "Are you quite alright?"

    "Wait," Krysaos held up his hand, "Hades? God of death and the dead?"

    "Sup?" The orc waved again, "I''m actually... really, really drunk right now."

    Tycon raised his eyebrows. Something was off about his massive, Orcishpanion-- but he couldn''t exactly tell what it was without Hades having explicitly stated as such.

    Hades casually twisted his head, scratching at his long unkempt hair as he looked around, "Looks like you killed one o'' my-- oh."

    "Your what?" Tycon crossed his good arm over his immobile one.

    "Nah," The orc shook his head. "Thought it was one o'' mine. That kinda thing belongs to the uh... Lizard God, though. You know I don''t f*ck with those things, Tycon."

    "Granted," Tycon sighed. "I apologize for doubting you."

    "It''s cool," The orc scoffed. "What''s with that pile of dead fish?"

    "I collected it," Krysaos grinned. "Hey, big guy, y''wanna join my crew?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Brother-Captain, Hades is a very busy individ--"

    "--Sure," The orc answered with a wide grin.

    "HELLS YEAH!!" Krysaos pumped his fist victoriously, "Got an ORC!!"

    Tycon wanted to correct the gentleman-Captain, that Hades was not just an orc-- he was a literal God-Rank being...

    But... since Hades had epted, Tycon''s worries were meaningless.

    "I''d like a favor, Brother-Hades. We''re trying to leave this ce..."

    "Want a ghost-ship? I could turn the two of you into ghosts or somethin''? Give you powers to raise one yourself."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "I''d rather you point us towards any living creatures. I''d assume any recenters to this ind might still have a working ship."

    The orc snickered to himself, "What the hells? Bro, that''spletely opposite of what I can do."

    Tycon ced his hand on his chin, "Really..."

    He was grasping at minute chances for a way off of the ind... but it didn''t ur to him that the avatar of the death god he summoned would be of limited help.

    "Ahahaha! Nah, jus'' yin''," The orcughed unapologetically. "Whole ind''s covered in undeath. ''Course I can see where the pockets of life are."

    He drew a line in the sand to direct them to their new destination, "I gotta go, though. Havin'' a party with some Nemayans. Vodka for SUNNNS, man."

    "It''s nearly dawn," Tycon frowned.

    "Is it? Seven hells, we''d better get goin'' then... You guys wanna teleport over?"

    It was admittedly a perfectly viable option for leaving the ind... and since Hades offered, it was likely he had ess to the spell.

    However... it would not be helpful.

    "Teleportation is illegal," Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    Krysaos'' excited face immediately fell into despair.

    "So?" The death god asked.

    "I''ll consider it," Tycon smiled politely.

    He wasn''t going to consider it seriously. Hades might not have had to worry about the Gatekeeper''s Laws, but Tycon did not wish to make yet another powerful enemy.

    "Suit yourself," Hades shrugged before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

    A god appeared in their midst with little fanfare and disappeared with even less.

    It was something Tycon appreciated about his Orcish friend... not overly dramatic about his divine nature... living his life as he pleased.

    If only the other gods he''d encountered were so agreeable... then he wouldn''t have sought to kill them.

 Chapter 647 The Neptunia

    ?The lizardolich''s existence was the origin of the deathly fog that nketed the ind. With the creature defeated, its heart rended to scraps, and its skull turned to powder, Captain Krysaos no longer suffered obvious ill effects.

    However, the undead denizens of the isle remained. Even without its master, the magic suffused in the environment would continue to reanimate the dead.

    ...and unless they found a way off, Krysaos would join their ranks within the week.

    Throughout the next bell, Tycondrius followed Captain Krysaos and Ishmael to the beaches opposite of where theynded. With every undead being encountered, Tycon chose not to participate inbat directly, but would activate his support Skills to reduce the likelihood of hispanion''s injury or death.

    Earlier, he had enlisted the two''s assistance to bind his arm. It draped from his neck with linen cloth and was wrapped snugly to counter the swelling.

    So inconvenienced, Tycon was not easily able to utilize his strongest martial Skills, the curved de techniques of the Screaming Silence.

    He could still fight if he wished. Hisbat power was simr to an Iron-Rank... However, it remained ufortable to move normally-- and would be much more so, to swing a steel de.

    He decided that, as he convalesced, he would concentrate on honing his nonbat Skills... particrly his ocr and support abilities.

    After so many snaps of his fingers and subsequent ?Commander''s Strike? executions, Krysaos finally realized that his abilities were boosted greatly by Tycon''s presence.

    The man was intelligent enough about most things... but he had an amazing ability to overestimate his own expertise.

    "Ooh!!" Krysaos squeaked excitedly-- a sound too high-pitched in contrast to his usually deep voice, "That ship looks decent!"

    "The crew of that ship look... lively," Tycon remarked.

    "Yeah, but the SHIP!!" Krysaos moaned... almost erotically, "Look at where it''s anchored."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "You mean how its hull rests on the sands?"

    "Yeah, but it''s LOW TIDE right now!" Krysaos raised his nose smugly, "Good chances that that thing''ll float! And if it floats, it sails!"

    ...Though Tycon wasn''t exactly certain that Krysaos was speaking sensibly concerning the tides, the man''s optimism was infectious.

    The corvette-ss ship flying the g of the Kingdom was beached upon the shallows, and it was... swarming withbatants. The crew fought bravely against a horde of undead, in particr, against zombified Titanblood sailors with long, scraggly beards and putrefied green skin.

    The crew themselves were also... not quite human. They were... for want of a better term, stone-men. Interestingly, their faces and unarmored portions of their bodies looked to be made of porous, rock-like material.

    They looked more like... sentient golems-- a project of a mad wizard, rather than species of the Realm.

    Krysaos led his two loyal crew members up a rocky hill to get a better vantage point before holding a t palm over his eyes and squinting in the distance...

    "I can almost make out the ship name from here!"

    "It''s... the Neptunia," Tycon answered.

    Krysaos ced his hands on his hips and furrowed his brows, "You got pretty good eyesight for a snake, don''tcha? Aren''t snakes supposed to be shite at that?"

    "I am a Maedar, Brother-Captain. I have no such weaknesses," Tycon answered with a smirk. "As an Aquatic Human, should I be surprised you do not asphyxiate above water?"

    "Your point sucks, but I think I get''cha," Krysaos shrugged. "The Neptune, you said?"

    "The Neptunia, Captain."

    "Ehh... Sounds weeb," Krysaos snorted. "I don''t like it."

    "You can rename the ship after we take it over," Tycon offered politely.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Yeah..." Krysaos nodded. "Oh! I just had a great idea! I''m gonna rename the ship after we take it over!!"

    ...Tycon shared a dubious look with Ishmael... who gave a nomittal shrug in response.

    Quietly sighing to himself, Tycon observed the battle in the distance.

    ...Everything about it was worse than he''d hoped.

    The stone-men fought the Titanbloods on the beach... with the ship in rtive safety.

    However, the ship''s top deck was in disrepair. Few of its side railings remained unbroken and the sails were heavily patched with various materials.

    There were a total of two cannons above deck-- one obviously defunct, the other with one stone-fellow staring into its barrel while simultaneously trying to light the fuse.

    It didn''t look like a regr ship from a regr Kingdom fleet.

    ...It looked like a ship from the Kingdom''s Sea Wolf Marine Fleet, their most destitute military branch.

    The Titanbloods hailed from the Free Nation... and were fighting with military arms and armors.

    However, the stone-men fought wearing piecemeal armor and wielded a variety of weapons. Tycon saw Sleeping Country furs, a chainmail shirt with Kingdom colors, an Eastern States'' knight helmet, and a Holy Country legionnaire shield... all on a singlebatant.

    "How... long have they been fighting?" Tycon asked aloud.

    "However long it''s been," Krysaos grinned. "Let''s make sure it ends."

    ...

    "Nevermind," Krysaos grimaced. "This''ll go on forever."

    Tycon, Krysaos, and Ishmael stood surrounded by the melee of near two-dozen stone-men and nearly double their number in Titanbloods.

    Both sides ignored thempletely.

    Though Tycon had not noticed earlier... the stone-men were quite tall, each of them of simr height to the seven-to-eight fulm tall Titanbloods they fought against.

    The beach was littered with weapons and fallen undead from the various nations.

    "Coral Boys..." Krysaos muttered, "Heard of ''em. Never seen ''em before, though."

    "Coral... Boys?" Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    "Yeah, they''re called Korallions-- or uh... Corallidae," The Captain shrugged. "No one calls ''em that, though. They''re just Coral Boys."

    "Hey you!" He shouted at the closest one, "Who''s in charge here?!"

    One of the... Coral Boys-- a brightly-colored, lime-green fellow, whipped his head around at a particrly hazardous moment, "Whazzat?!"

    Thepse in concentration resulted in a Titanblood zombie''s warhammer clunking the stone gentleman in the temple. The Coral Boy''s head twisted to the side as he fell. His neck-- if he had one, was certainly broken.

    Tycon looked to Krysaos and smiled half-heartedly, "I pray it wasn''t that one."

 Chapter 648 Stolen Valor

    ?Ishmael picked up a Tyrion pilum and casually hurled it, spearing the offending Titanblood through the mouth.

    Not even granted a chance to scream, the body copsed onto the sands.

    "Nicely done," Tycondrius nodded.

    The shadow waved as if to say it wasn''t anything worthy of praise.

    Tycon looked on in amusement as the lime-green Coral Boy began to drag his body towards the ship.

    "Sea god''s... socks," Krysaos cursed. "What the hells is that guy doing?"

    "Refusing to die," Tycon answered. "Respectable."

    Another of the creatures, shirtless and with dozens of holes pockmarking his rocky, peach-colored skin was running towards them. He iled his arms, carrying an axe and a military pick-- "MOVE OUTTA DA WAYYYYY!!!"

    Tycon and hispanions obediently moved, allowing the screaming monstrosity to run past. The fellow ran over the injured gentleman, stomping his back as he ran with unnecessary cruelty.

    "WE''Z NEED A BOOOOST!!!!" The runner screamed-- assumedly to hispanions.

    One of his peers immediately dropped to his knees. The running Coral Boy bounded off of the kneeling gentleman''s shoulder... and crashed into a group of half-a-dozen Titanbloods, hacking, smashing, and cursing.

    The disy was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

    Tycon turned back to the injured Coral Boy.

    Undeterred, he was continuing his long and arduous crawl to the ship.

    Krysaos jogged over, "Hey guy... need some help?"

    "NAH!!" The Coral Boy shouted, "WE''Z GOT IT!!"

    Pushing himself forward, he sshed into the shallows.

    ...and grew still.

    Krysaos turned back with a frown, "He looks like he offed himself, didn''t he?"

    Tycon pursed his lips. He had a sinking feeling that there was a better reason for the Coral Boy seeking to submerge himself.

    After a few seconds, the Coral Boy stood up... and wrenched his own head to face it forward.

    "WE''Z GONNA GIVE IT ANUVVER GO!!!!" He screamed-- his volume drowning out the horrified, slightly feminine scream of Captain Krysaos.

    ...Ishmael picked up a fallen weapon.

    It wasn''t a sword. It was... a t hunk of steel, leathers wrapped at the bottom for a grip. It looked like it was designed to have an edge... but with the way the Coral Boys swung their weapons so haphazardly, that wasrgely unnecessary.

    The shadow handed it to Krysaos. Krysaos offered the hilt to the Coral Boy. The Coral Boy took it and sprinted full speed back towards where the fighting was.

    "He didn''t answer your initial question," Tycon mused.

    "These guys... are immortal," Krysaos muttered.

    "It appears each ''Coral Boy'' has increased regenerative abilities when directly exposed to sea water."

    Tycon had seen a simr effect... one shared by cultivators of the Sea Wolf Hidden Sect.

    It was very usible that these creatures... also... belonged to that organization?

    They weren''t cursed humans that could transform into Abyssal Sea Wolves... but High-Captain Langhai was open to recruiting non-human seafolk-- especially ones with regenerative abilities.

    Ishmael pointed at another injured Coral Boy attempting to move towards the waters.

    "Ooh, yeah," Krysaos whistled. "That guy''s f*cked up."

    The de of an axe stuck in its back, the haft broken off... and somehow both of its arms were broken. It was digging the tips of its feet into the sands, and pushing forward-- making distance at a pathetic pace.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "That one should be able to answer your questions, Captain," Tycon offered, while Ishmael nodded eagerly.

    "Oh, right."

    Krysaos jogged half-heartedly towards the critically injured Coral Boy. As he maneuvered around the battlefield, he had to dodge two Coral Boys that ran past him holding what appeared to be a loaded ballista... and he had to dispatch a greatsword-wielding Titanblood with the help of Tycon''s ?Commander''s Strike.?

    Finally, he made it... "Hey, you!"

    "If... if''n ye wanna get yer cunt kicked in," The Coral Boy grunted... "Ya''ll hafta wait in a queue!! ...but only after we''z get new set o'' armor."

    "Wow," Krysaos recoiled his head. "F*ckin'' rude, guy."

    Tycon cupped a hand over his mouth to shout across the distance, "Ask him who''s in charge!"

    "Oh, right," Krysaos gently tapped the Coral Boy with his foot, "Who''s in charge o'' ya''s?"

    "In charj''ve us?!" The Coral Boy snorted... and spat... what appeared to be a small jellyfish, "Dat''d be TWELVE O'' TWELVE!!"

    Tycon took a deep breath.

    The name was... very familiar. One of the Sea Wolf Lieutenants under High-Captain Lang Hai was named Eleven of Seven.

    They were introduced as a sentient Coral Golem that wore a skin of metal armor... but it seemed more likely that he was the same species as the Coral Boys.

    With the naming sense, they could have been rted?

    ...Tycon vaguely remembered hearing that Eleven of Seven had rtions with a sea parasite that had attached itself to the hull of The Unfortunate.

    Had that coupling produced... offspring?

    He shook his head. He''d askter.

    "Captain," Tycon shouted, "Let us board the Neptunia!"

    ...

    It did not take long for the trio to find the Captain of the Neptunia... or former Captain, anyroad.

    The corpse was showing advanced signs of decay-- though with the undead magic about the ind, Tycon could not discern when exactly he perished.

    The young gentleman had been run through by a spear, a thick, curved de was stuck in his shoulder, and he had been disemboweled by a ded weapon.

    It was just enough to kill a Sea Wolf.

    As a credit to his training, he still tightly held onto the hilt of a heavy saber-- its de snapped near its base.

    Unless Tycon was proved otherwise, he would assume he died well.

    "Requiescere in pacem," He whispered a prayer in the Holy Country''s old tongue as he thumbed the Marine Officer''s eyes closed.

    "Nice," Krysaos propped the body up and began to remove his clothing, "Gonna wear this-- gotta find the hat, though."

    For a second, Tycon was taken aback at the Captain''s callousness... then he realized that the dead man''s thick military coat would provide the man better protection than his current attire.

    "Have you heard of the concept of ''stolen valor,'' Captain?" He asked.

    "Nah, what''s that?"

    "No, nevermind," Tycon smirked.

    To that end, he removed the insignias that would have marked Krysaos as a Sea Wolf Lieutenant.

    ",

 Chapter 649 Green Hat

    ?The color of Captain Krysaos'' coat jacket was stained a deep green, so affected by the magic of the haunted isle. Without any additional effects, it would not be easily recognizable, even by another member of the Kingdom''s Royal Navy.

    ...Tycondrius nodded in approval, pleased that Krysaos was beginning to look like an actual ship Captain.

    "Oy! Oo'' do you think you aaaarre?"

    Krysaos turned to the voice as he was fitting his arms into his new coat''s sleeves... then looked up at the copper-skinned Coral Boy standing over him.

    He scoffed, looking to Tycon, "Get a load o'' this guy. He doesn''t look so tough."

    Ishmael crossed his arms. It seemed that he, too, was not in agreement with Krysaos'' arrogance.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    The Coral Boy looming over Krysaos wasrger and taller than his peers, and he wore wooden tes of armor fashioned from bent nks of wood. His wide face featured a heavy underbite, like an exaggerated caricature of an orc... and simr to an orc, he carried arge axe in one hand, covered in ck, rotten blood. Toplete his armored-warrior look, he also carried what appeared to be a wooden door strapped to his opposite arm.

    ..plete with a reinforced porthole.

    ? System, analysis. ?

    ? System response: Iron-Rank Korallion ck Shield. ?

    A defensive ss. That was interesting.

    Tycon assumed the warlike Coral Boys preferred more offensive sses like Fighter and Berserker. Still, this particr ck Shield was likely to fight more recklessly than a human or dwarf with the same skill set.

    "Eh? You seen tougher ''an me?" The yellow orc-- no, the coppery Coral Boy snarled.

    He banged his axe against his wooden shield in an attempt to show dominance. "I''z da biggest and baddest Coral Boy on dis ship, ''umie."

    Krysaos was staring at the Coral Boy''s hat. It wasn''t a Sea Wolf cover... but looked like something looted from one of the defeated undead privateers.

    "We seen bigger," The small-byparison human chortled, "Ain''t that right, LT? This guy''ll piss himself when he meets Hades."

    "Hades, Brother-Captain, is an orc," Tycon grimaced. "These creatures are not that."

    "Orcs, Orkallions-- same difference," Krysaos shrugged.

    That was not how species worked.

    Ishmael tilted his head back, as if to groan, the golden spheres he had in ce of eyes looking skyward.

    The Coral Boy red down at Krysaos, its eyes glowing blue as his mana simmered and boiled, "I''z Twelve of Twelve... and I''m da Cap''n of ''is ship. And if you''z ain''t fightin... I''z gonna ask you''z real polite... to sod off."

    Calm... but brimming with killing intent, Twelve of Twelve rested hisrge axe on his shoulder, his restless fingers dancing on the grip.

    A strong voice. Clear and concise diction with the inclusion of an introduction. Setting reasonable expectations. Tycon appreciated the Coral Boy''s professionalism.

    "Look at me," Kryaos pointed up at the Twelve of Twelve, then two fingers at his eyes, "I''m the Captain, now."

    Tycon rolled his eyes.

    If this was how his crew mutinied against him, he no longer pitied him for it.

    "NOOOO YOUUU AINNNN''TTTTT!!!" The Coral Boy... roared, the force from his Iron-Rank voice causing Krysaos to rear his head back and wrinkle his nose.

    He didn''t flinch-- he merely had his brow raised in surprise.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon sighed and shared a tacit look with Ishmael. With a nod, Tycon ced his hand beneath his cloak on the hilt of his sword. He was certain his shadow was mirroring him.

    "Wait, hold on," Krysaos grinned.

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes. He... was fairly certain he saw his Captain''s teeth sparkle, even with the weak amount of sunlight breaking through the grey clouds overhead.

    "I''z waitin''," The Coral Boy''s surge of hostility suddenly abated... which was absurd.

    Krysaos had not expended a modicum of mana to activate any sort of spell... But still... Tycon had observed the gentleman''s particr disy enough to know he was utilizing... some sort of witchery.

    "So what makes you the Captain?" Krysaos asked.

    Twelve of Twelve nced aside, his earlier confidence absent, "Well, I uh... the old Cap''n... he said we''z gotta listen to whoever''s wearin'' da most green."

    Tycon grimaced upon the admission.

    Sea Wolves weremonly the target of mean-spirited jokes and stereotypes, insinuating that they were ipetent buffoons.

    ...Granted, most were.

    High-Captain Lang Hai had to draw simple diagrams more appropriate for young children and spend an unreasonable amount of time exining battle ns to his crew.

    However... ''The Captain wears green'' was... remarkably simple and had great potential for mutinous disaster.

    The Coral Boy was wearing... a leathery, green-colored hat, but due to Krysaos'' earlier looting of an entire coat, it better behooved the unshaven human to be Captain-- as his earlier deration.

    "Yep," Krysaos nodded. "Thought so."

    Ishmael made the motions for an exaggerated sigh before turning around. He unstuck the curved sword out of the dead Officer''s body, then leapt off of the ship... likely to join the battle below.

    "Gimme that," Krysaos pointed at the hat the Coral Boy wore.

    "Here y''go, Cap''n," Twelve of Twelve did as requested, even dusting it off as a matter of politeness.

    "Also, your new name is Bob," Krysaos mused as he adjusted his new Captain''s hat. "Because you look yellow-ish... and you got holes in ya."

    Tycon thought the Coral Boy looked more a... dark copper or... gold, even. But... if the Captain said it to be so, it was not something worth arguing.

    "Aye aye, Cap''n."

    All that and... Bob didn''t even look upset.

    Tycon would daresay he even looked... proud, pushing out his chest as he was.

    He made a mental note to never underestimate whatever the hells the fates had gifted to Captain Krysaos.

    With that particr ability, the man had the potential to be Tycon''s most powerful ally... though he would have to keep him away from the female members of Sol Invictus.

    "Instant and willing obedience to orders," Tycon patted the Coral Boy''s shield arm. "Well done, Sea Wolf."

    "Gehehe..." Twelve of Twelve''s eyes shone with intelligence... and his mouth widened to a grin of jagged coral ''teeth'', "Ain''t nobody can f*ck wiv da Coral Boy Marines."

    "Blood and thunder," Tycon grinned, offering his closed fist forward.

    "Vict''ry at sea," Bob tapped his meaty fist against Tycon''s knuckles.

 Chapter 650 A New Fight

    ?Krysaos stood tall, wearing his usual shite-eating grin, "Tell me the ship''s seaworthy, Bob."

    "Da ship ''azn''t taken any damage from da skelly-folk," Bob pointed his thumb at himself, "I''z made sure of it-- was da previous Cap''n final orda."

    "Good to hear," Krysaos nodded.

    "Mister Bob..." Tycon cleared his throat, "I''m curious as to the current goals of the-- of our crew."

    Bob gestured towards the battle on the sands, "Da boyz... we''z fightin... and we''z winnin''."

    "...And how long have you been doing that, exactly?"

    "Li''ul more''n a week, I fink."

    Tycon sucked in air through his teeth, "Very well."

    Krysaos mouth twitched, "Tight. Tell our forces to withdraw to the ship."

    Bob furrowed his stony brows, "We... we runnin'' away, Cap''n?"

    "Well, yeah?" Krysaos twisted his lips to the side, "That''s... why we''re fighting, aren''t we? To secure an escape?"

    "We''z fightin'' to win," Bob insisted.

    ...In that moment, the Coral Boy known as Bob sounded more like a whiny child, rather than a hardenedbatant.

    Krysaos ced his hand on his chin in thought... "We''s... we''re withdrawing... to fight on distant shores."

    "Anuvver fight?" Bob was taken aback, "Why didn''t ya SAY SO, CAP''N?!?"

    He leaned over the ship railing and raised his voice, "BOYZZZZ!!!! WIF-DRAW TO DA SHIP!! WE''Z HEADIN'' TO A NEW FOIGHHHT!!!!!!"

    """DEFF!! DESTRUCTION!! TOTAL ANNIHILATIONNNNN!!!""" The Coral Boys resounded.

    The chorus of deep voices ignited Tycon''s desire to take part in battle. It also made his still-healing arm throb in pain, his body warning him to... not do that.

    "Dey''zin'', Cap''n," Bob smiled. "Awaitin'' yer orders."

    "Hoist the anchor," Krysaos adjusted his hat, "We''re setting sail."

    ...

    It took another bell for the tide to rise high enough to sail away... and another thirty minutes to forcibly drag thest Coral Boy aboard.

    The easily excitable fellows kept charging back onto the beach...

    It was likely that they left one or four... but Captain Krysaos said that the twenty-two they had was enough to man the ship.

    The Captain used red paint to write over the ship''s name disyed on her side. What was once Neptunia was now Neptune''s Revenge.

    After the withdrawal, the Coral Boys were in an overall state of mncholy... which was to be expected. It was even worse, considering the fact that the dark-green, blue, and gold gentlemen had the single-mindedness of dwarves and the maturity of elves.

    They moped about the ship, halfheartedly performing their duties... One had been swabbing the deck, stopping to sigh and look back at the undead ind every few minutes. Another bundled rope around his arm at a snail''s pace.

    Even Bob, likely the most intelligent Coral Boy in his generation, was slow in the sharpening of his axe on a whetstone.

    Admittedly, Tycon expected no less from Sea Wolves.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The men and women that served under High-Captain Lang Hai... very much liked to fight.

    Tycon conversed with the former Twelve of Twelve on his origins, confirming that he was indeed sired by Seven of Eleven.

    Previously, the Neptunia had sacked Nemayan settlements in the north, as well as preyed on their merchant and privateering vessels. Ever seeking battle and spoils, theynded on the haunted isle hoping to loot the abandoned ships, before theirmanding Officer was killed by the undead.

    Most interestingly, Tycon discovered that Lang Hai was neither paying the Coral Boys, nor did he swear them into service.

    He trained them-- which was obvious by their ruthless and roughshod methods, but it seemed permissible for Krysaos to borrow them for a time.

    Tycon would write a letter to High-Captain Lang Hai to exin the situation. The young Sea Wolf Admiral might throw a fit, but as long as the Coral Boys acted against the enemies of The Kingdom, he would eventually ept it.

    He didn''t have the coin to keep themwfully employed, anyroad.

    Krysaos mentioned that he''d likely avoid any confrontation with Kingdom forces. The man might have been a shameless lech... but he was not a fool, to challenge his crew members'' loyalties.

    Not ten minutes after Tycon reorganized the ship''s armory and supplies, the ship began to buzz with activity. At first, was a wave of excited murmurs and gargles, then yelling and shouting.

    A peach-colored Coral Boy with dark seaweed hair ran down from the top deck, past him and Bob, and began to pound on the Captain''s cabin door.

    "Cap''n, Cap''n!! Dere''s trouble in da wa''ers! Big trouble!!"

    Krysaos burst out of the door to his quarters, knocking the Coral Boy onto his rear.

    ...which shouldn''t have happened, as the fellow weighed nearly twice the Captain.

    "WHADDYA WANT?!?!" Krysaos groaned.

    "Dere''s a monsta, Cap''n!! A monsta!!! An'' it''s ''UUUUGE!!" The Coral Boy got to his knees, then whispered quietly, "We fink... it''s da ghosties and da skellyboyzin'' ta foight again."

    Bob nodded, getting to his feet and pounding his fist against his wood-ted chest, "Let''s crack some skulls, Bosun."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, but nodded in appreciation. He had gained yet another title.

    "Very well," He turned back to Krysaos, "Captain?"

    "Yeah, I''min''," The man grumbled.

    ...

    "We''z see it now, Cap''n!" The peach-colored Coral Boy, Catshit, pointed over the railing.

    Captain Krysaos had assigned names to the Coral Boys, depending on their luck... or misfortune. As for why he named that particr one Catshit-- Tycon was not privy to that information.

    There was a gigantic creature underneath the water''s surface, easily the size of the Neptune''s Revenge.

    ...It didn''t look particrly hostile... Tycon thought it looked... ponderous. It was heading in the same direction as their ship, and it was possible it was following them.

    Also, whatever it was, it likely had nothing to do with the denizens of the haunted ind. Catshit and the other Coral Boys had corrted the current enemy with their previous in false hope.

    "I figured we''d have to deal with this sorta thing," Krysaos shook his head. "With a ship of our size, we''ll probably get these things a few times each week."

    Catshit shook the stoic Bob excitedly, "Hear ''at? OoOoh, ''is gonna be gooOood!!!"

    ",

 Chapter 651 Hardened Enemy

    ?"Captain," Tycondrius grimaced, "The previous times I sailed on waterborne vessels, I hadn''t encountered any such creatures."

    "Yeah, that''s a given," Krysaos shrugged. "Most ships either have expensive enchantments on ''em or have a Sea Witch that the beasties know not to f*ck with."

    Tycon nodded in understanding. The Sea Wolf fleet didn''t have much coin for enchantments... or metallic eating utensils, for that matter. However, they did have Sea Witch Lieutenant Eilean in their employ. At Port Saint Guinefort, she was also responsible for training neophyte water mages-- likely to protect their other ships.

    "Even a bunch''a charms to appease the sea god can get ''em to leave you alone," Krysaos sighed... "and we got... none o'' the abooove~"

    "Charms, you say?" Tycon grimaced.

    "Trinkets, baubles, lucky bones..."

    Tycon shook his head. Krysaos was telling him there was a reason for the sailors he associated with to carry a plethora of superstitious junk.

    "Your sea god is stupid."

    "You''re tellin'' me," Krysaos scoffed. "Don''t worry, though. I''ll take him out if I get the chance."

    He patted the pistol holstered on his hip. It was the weapon he had when Tycon had originally found him, washed ashore, half-naked and battered by the elements.

    "Got a single shot," The Captain exined. "The sea god, himself, gave it to me... and I n to give it back... right between his stupid sea god brows."

    "Hm, very well," Tycon pursed his lips and nodded.

    The pistol and bulletbination were granted by a divine power. Tycon hypothesized... that such a weapon was capable of ying at least the sea god they were created by.

    ...If Krysaos wished to pursue that quest, Tycon would have very much liked to be on his side, rather than not.

    Of course, he couldn''t neglect his own quest... or his safety.

    "Should we be worried about... that?" Tycon gestured towards the water.

    "W''can see it''s ''ead!" Catshit screeched, "It''s peekin'' outta da drink!"

    A serpentine neck of sorts rose up from the ocean waters... logically connected to the massive form below. Tycon knew a great many things... but the denizens of the deep ocean and their natures remained a mystery to him.

    "That... doesn''t look like a creature I''ve ever seen," He frowned... "--not with a head like that."

    "Well," Krysaos crossed his arms, smirking... "It''s a head, alright. Just not what you''re thinking."

    "What are you--" Tycon furrowed his brows, "Knowing that grin, it must be something overtly offensive."

    "Ayep," The Captain nodded. "That, right there, is a Leviathan''s wang."

    Tycon''s face twisted in revulsion, "I beg your pardon?"

    "See the big guy below the surface?" Krysaos pointed, "That''s that thing''s wang."

    Tycon peered over one of the few unbroken railings to take a better look. The creature might have beenrger than the ship... but it was certainly smaller than the Leviathans he''d heard detailed in stories.

    It was said that the previous Fleet Admiral of the Royal Navy, Guiume De Croixmanded such a Leviathan... yet the height of his contracted beast waspared to rocky hills and castle walls.

    Then again... sailors did enjoy exaggerations in their stories.

    "That..." Tycon''s face twisted in revulsion... "is a Leviathan''s--"

    "It''s a Leviathan''s wang!" Bob yelled, pounding his axe against his shield.

    "Leviafan''s wang?" "Anuvver Leviafan wang!!" "Leviafan WANG!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Another one?" Tycon questioned.

    "Levia-FAN''S WAANNNNNNG!" Catshit pointed his blunted sword, "Let''s GET ''EM, BOYZ!!"

    And with that... the peach-colored Coral Boy jumped off the ship, kersplunking into the waters below.

    "Wait, no!" Krysaos held his hand out, "Stop!"

    More and more Coral Boys began to join the suicidal leap. Many ran off. One made a clumsy attempt to somersault backwards. A barrel-- likely with the barrel-loving Coral Boy inside of it rolled off the ship, breaking yet another one of her railings.

    "Dat WANG''ll learn to mess wit da crew of da NEPTUNE''S REVENGE!!" Bob snarled before he, too, leapt into the wang-infested waters.

    Krysaos had his palms covering his face, too shocked to even make an attempt at dissuading thest Coral Boy.

    Tycon pursed his lips... "They do have... spirit."

    Each Coral Boy was extraordinarily reckless and had powerful builds. Much like the other Sea Wolves, each of them could easily fight creatures and persons above their ranks-- mostly Bronze.

    Krysaos had a small toon of them... but rather than order them inbat, he could only gently guide them towards objectives.

    And so... the Coral Boys did battle against the Leviathan and its wang. When it began its counterattack, the stone-men wereunched back with force, hard enough--

    ...powerful enough to break bones.

    However, once the defeated Coral Boys sank into the depths, momentster, they would resurface and rejoin the fight.

    After a particrly valiant charge that was far more serious than the situation should have been... Bob chopped down the Leviathan''s wang with his axe, felling it simr to a mighty tree.

    With the wang defeated, the Coral Boys hacked, chopped, stabbed and even bit the Leviathan below.

    "Sea god''s sh*tstinkin'' pants," Krysaos cursed... "Those sons of bitches did it."

    "DERE''S MORE A'' DEMMM!!" One of the Coral Boys shouted.

    It was Catshit. He had good senses.

    Two more Leviathans began to surface... then a third, all at least asrge as the first.

    "BLOOD AND THUNDER!!" Bob cried out.

    The powerful voices of the Coral Boys came together for their warcry, """VICT''RY AT SEEEEAAAA!!"""

    Krysaos was crouching on the deck, face buried in his palms. If he were crying, Tycon would not judge him negatively.

    "Captain..." He nudged the man with his good arm, "Our crew has the possibility of being overrun."

    "Quit it, LT! I''m thinkin''!! Arrrrgh!" Krysaos growled as he rubbed his temples.

    Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he got to his feet, "I got it!"

    He got to his hands and knees, peering over the portside of the Neptune''s Revenge.

    "Coral boys!!" He shouted, "This isn''t a fight!!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... but decided not to intervene. No matter how dire, if Krysaos was trying to talk his way out of a situation, it was best if he were allowed to do as he pleased.

 Chapter 652 Not A Fight

    ?One of the Coral boys standing on one of the Leviathans spun around and shouted back, "Whaddya mean dis ain''t a foight, Cap''n!!??"

    Tycondrius identified that one as... Wonderboy.

    A half-secondter, he was whipped in the side of the head by one of the new Leviathan''s... appendages.

    The response from his peers were simr: "Yeahh!!" "Seems like a foight!!!" "Sea god''s socks, it''s bleedin'' it''s bleedin''!!!"

    "It ain''t a fight!" Krysaos repeated... "It''s a RACE!! And we''re tryin'' to outswim those things!"

    "A RACE?!?!" Bob roared with power, "Well, WHY DIN''CHA YA SAY SO?!?!?!?!"

    "I don''t quite see how that makes a difference, Krysaos," Tycon confided.

    Krysaos got to his feet, his gaze continuing to watch his bumbling crew, "Best I coulde up with on short notice. I''m open to suggestions, though."

    Tycon grimaced as he mulled it over... "I''ve none, currently."

    The unpredictable and fickle natures of his fellow crewmates baffled him. It did seem they were riled up by potentialpetition... so presenting them with the idea of a contest of speed should have been a sound idea.

    The ship suddenly rocked, unbncing Krysaos. If it weren''t for Ishmael grabbing onto his cor, the man would have been thrown off his own ship.

    It wouldn''t have been the first time.

    Tycon looked below... and saw the multitudinous Coral Boys... pushing the Neptune''s Revenge, kicking their legs with furious fervor.

    ...He made some mental calctions,paring the overall weight of the ship, the increase in nautical speed, and the force being generated by the crew.

    The result was illogical.

    Were the Leviathans so terribly slow? Had they conceded? Within minutes the ship was a moderate distance away and the Leviathans had submerged into the depths.

    "Crisis averted," Krysaos loosed a weary sigh. "I think I''m gonna goy down."

    Tycon twisted his lips, still trying to make sense of the situation... "I... suppose I''ll have lunch ready by the time you wake."

    "Yeap, sounds good. Ishmael, you watch the Coral Boys and keep ''em out of trouble."

    ...

    ? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX ?

    ? So there I was... on my new ship. It was a fine piece of work, the Neptune''s Revenge. ?

    ? Got me a new crew, too-- a full crew, a nice upgrade from a Lieutenant and a corpse. ?

    ? Didn''t have any females yet, not that I n to touch anyone useful. Lots of problems to be had if a sailor girl gets pregnant at sea. ?

    ? Still... it''d be good to get a doc or two. We got one Coral Boy that said he was good at patchin'' the boys up. ?

    ? Doc... I don''t think he actually has a medical degree as he keeps iming. The Coral Boys seem to think he''s alright. But each of them keeps insisting that they''re healthy and don''t need surgery. ?

    ? As for the others... Bob seems pretty good at herding up the rest of ''em and Ishmael''s got a good eye for trouble. Catshit''s both a crazy bastard and a coward. Barrel Boy goes where Barrel Boy pleases. ?

    ? My most useful recruit''s probably the LT. With everything fate''s been throwing at metely, I''m d to at least have that one. Good guy, that LT. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? They''d do, for now, but I hope to get some human crewmembers too... ?

    "What''s for lunch, guy?" Krysaos asked. "Hope you don''t have trouble casting your food magic with just one arm."

    "I do not employ the use of magic in cooking," Lieutenant Tycon chuckled, "But if that is apliment, I''m d to hear it."

    The meat sizzled in the copper pan as the green-haired guy flipped it over. There were bits of herbs or... something else in the oil, too. He said it wasn''t magic, but it definitely looked like it.

    "You cookin'' that?"

    "A type of swordfish," Tycon exined. "It''srge enough that its texture and appearance resembles that of meat from and animal."

    Krysaos scoffed, "I know what it is, LT. I just figured... I dunno."

    He gestured vaguely towards his green-haired Lieutenant, "You seem like you like your fish... raw?"

    "Larger, predatory fish are rife with parasites," Tycon grimaced. "They must be cooked to a certain temperature before safe for human consumption."

    They were?

    ...That would exin more than one instance of him bing violently ill as a younger sailor.

    "So you do know something about the ocean," Krysaos pped his hands. "Y''know, you made it sound like you didn''t know shite."

    "Cooking is one of my strongest skills," Tycon smiled politely, "For everything else nautical, I''ll be relying on you, Captain."

    He ted the fish with his one arm. He was dextrous enough, so it didn''t take as long as Krysaos would have expected.

    "Here," The guy said, "I ask that you allow it to rest for at least a minute before eating."

    Krysaos nodded his head, appreciating the smell and visual appeal. Sea god''s socks, it was served with some buttered potatoes, too... There was some green stuff that wasn''t as good, but it had a vinaigrette or somethin'' to make it alright.

    He might have had his own ship and his own crew... but the way he ate was what Krysaos actually feel like he''d made it in life.

    "The Coral Boys already eat?"

    Tycon shook his head, "I conversed with Petty Officer Bob on the topic. While I did not receive a straight answer, I eventually discerned that the Coral Boys can feed themselves."

    "Makes sense," Krysaos nodded as he began his meal. "They''re... made of coral. They eat fish poop or somethin''."

    Tycon''s eye twitched... "That is... an unpleasant visual."

    Krysaos chuckled, "The boys are a good lot, though. Strong. Loyal. Not interested in whores..."

    "More for you, I suppose," The Lieutenant scoffed.

    "What can I say?" Krysaos grinned. "I''m an optimist. Let''s go hang out with the crew after we eat."

    Tycon hesitated... and then his face twisted into a weird smile that wasn''t a smile.

    "Be advised, Mister Ishmael returned recently... and he emanated the general sense of having been defeated."

    Krysaos waved his hand, "I''m sure it''s fine. Probably unrted to the situation top deck."

 Chapter 653 First Good Look

    ?? So, back on my old ship, the Sugar-Titted Siren, everything was always clean. ?

    ? Always. ?

    ? Personally, I hate cleaning. Now, I''m not one for leaving a mess, but a personal space is a personal space. Obviously, you don''t want anything growing on your shite-- but anything before that''s good enough. ?

    ? Once upon a time, my idiot crewmen said they had nothing to do. ?

    ? I gave them something to do. Lots of things to do. ?

    ? ...Maybe that''s why those bastards mutinied a few weekster. ?

    ? Filthy gods-damned pirates. ?

    ? Stupid sea god. ?

    ? Anyroad, me and the crew, we hadn''t had a good moment to rest and... just figure shite out, until... this sun. Recently, the priorities had been keeping a lookout for undead in the fog, Leviathan wangs... or those gods-damned toothbirds. ?

    ? Hate those things. Birds aren''t supposed to have teeth. The Coral Boys kept throwing their weapons off the deck, trying to hit them. Gotta get us some crossbows or something. ?

    ? So this ship of mine... it was the first time I got a good look at her, mytest and greatest pride and joy... the Neptune''s Revenge. ?

    "It''s like... I didn''t get a full ship," Krysaos shook his head. "I got... half o'' one."

    "...It sails, Captain," Lieutenant Tycon offered a smile that was clearly out of pity.

    "Probably the only good thing about it..."

    The deck looked horrendous.... and that was besides the wooden debris, fragments of bone, and chunks of zombie flesh.

    There were obvious holes in the nks, to make walking a chore and running a guaranteed visit to Doc. The railings were in total disrepair... with maybe a quarter of them still fully intact.

    The sails had as many holes in them as a Coral Boy... and were patched with various clothing, with sets of underpants being the number one patch of choice.

    ...And then, for some reason, someone had gone over the whole thing with red paint.

    Not colored dye.

    Paint.

    ...It was the same stuff he''d used to go over the ship''s old name.

    But why? Why would anyone do that?

    Then... there were a total of two cannons on a ship that should have at least had one or two dozen...

    And one had a tentacle growing out of it!

    "You see that, LT?!" Krysaos pointed.

    "I advise you ignore that one, Brother-Captain," Tycon lowered his head, hiding his eyes beneath the brim of his sailor''s cap... "As long as it doesn''t notice you, it should go away."

    "We can''t just run away from our problems, Tycon."

    "For that particr one, yes, we can. If we can avoid the creature imprinting onto either of us, it should lose interest and return to the ocean."

    "Isn''t this supposed to be a ship from the Magic Kingdom?" Krysaos crossed his arms, "Aren''t they supposed to be... I dunno, a clean people?"

    "That is a baffling stereotype," Tycon scolded. "Anyroad, this isn''t just a Kingdom ship... it formerly belonged to... the Royal Marines."

    "...Those guys," Krysaos gulped... "They didn''t have a lot of funding, did they?"

    "This," Tycon gestured around him, "is, unfortunately, quite normal for one of their vessels."

    Krysaos grit his teeth... "I should check the hull."

    Tycon grabbed onto his shoulder before he could go.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I advise against it," He shook his head. "We''re malms away fromnd and do not have the supplies to make emergency repairs."

    A chill ran down Krysaos spine as he nodded slowly... "Yeah... no use finding out we''re f*cked if we can''t do anything about it."

    Shaking Tycon''s hand off, he approached the nearest Coral Boy, "Hey, Wonderboy. Report."

    "Wonderboy?" Tycon asked.

    "This one used to be One of Twelve," Krysaos shrugged.

    "G-good MORNIN'', BAWSSSS!!!" The Coral Boy saluted... Tycon.

    Tycon grimaced... and returned the salute as protocol dictated, but he looked back to Krysaos for guidance.

    It was... ridiculous. The highest ranking officer was the one that was supposed to be saluted first. Krysaos obviously had a bigger, cooler looking hat than Tycon did-- even if he was the Bosun and interacted with the crew ten times more than he did.

    He cleared his throat, hoping that the green, rocky fellow would realize his mistake.

    "YOUUUU IDIOTTTTTTT!!" Another crewman shouted.

    It was Catshit. That was good-- he was decently smart.

    The peach Coral Boy stomped over and smacked Wonderboy in the back of the head, "It''s AFTERNOON, rock-brain!!!"

    "Oh, sea god''s-- ahhhHHH!!"

    ""GOOD AFTERNOON, BAWSSSS!!!"" The two shouted in tandem.

    "Nevermind," Krysaos shook his head, "The Lieutenant''s told me you guys''ve been workin'' the fishings."

    "Yessir," Wonderboy nodded.

    "''At''s right, Cap''n," Catshit grinned. "Da boys are haulin'' in das now. Wanna take a look-see?"

    ...

    "IT''S A BIG ONE, BOYZZZZ!!!!" Bob shouted, "HEEEEAVE!!!"

    """HOOOOOOOOHHHHH!!!!!""" They shouted in unison.

    "Cap''n!!" Bob waved to Krysaos, "Me and the boys''ve almost got it!!"

    "I''ll go help," Krysaos looked over to Tycon... "You... you can stay."

    Tycondrius nced down at his injured arm. Admittedly, he could probably assist well enough, as he was... but it was nice to be exempt from mundane physicalbor.

    "Thank you for your kindness, Captain."

    Krysaos pushed aside one of the weaker looking boys and started to pull, "Whoa, it''s a big one!! Maybe we caught a hot-ass mermaid??!"

    Ishmael, who was adjacent to the Captain, briefly stopped pulling in order to stare at the Captain with incredulity.

    Captain Krysaos was an enemy to women across the Realm... but at least he was consistent.

    "Maybe it''s an ENEMY!!" Catshit grinned. "Den we''z can kill it!!"

    "And EAT it!!" Wonderboy cackled.

    ...Tycon had previously thought the Coral Boys did not eat living creatures. Perhaps they were omnivorous? Or perhaps it depended on the Coral Boy.

    With a final heave, Captain Krysaos and the crew dragged the huge fishing onboard, spilling a copious amount of fish onto the deck... as well as arge barrel.

    "Barrel Boy, what the F*CK are you doin'' in there?!" Krysaos shouted.

    A Coral Boy popped his head out of the barrel, "S-sorry, Cap''n. We was hungry."

 Chapter 654 Pure Of Heart

    ?Though Tycon remained unsurprised by Barrel Boy''s unexpected appearance, it seemed that the Captain still beheld his crew to logic.

    The sooner he epted it, the easier it would be for him in the future...

    Krysaos booted the barrel away in exasperation. It rolled off the deck and back into the ocean with arge ssh.

    "Unbelievable!" He shouted, "All that work and not a single hot mermaid girl!"

    Tycon pursed his lips to the side, "I''d imagine that type of creature isn''t... asmon as you make it seem. The ocean is a ratherrge ce, is it not?"

    "Hey, LT, I don''t think you mean to insult me-- but quit it," Krysaos sneered in response. "This ain''t my first voyage. I been all across the fifteen seas, guy."

    Tycondrius did not bother to point out that the number of Krysaos'' seas had changed once again.

    THNK.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes and turned towards the forward of the ship. He had felt a vibration... of something small impacting the hull.

    Krysaos followed his vision, "G-get thes, boys!! We got a fish to catch!!!"

    Over a dozen Coral Boys followed the Captain as they ran across the treacherous deck.

    After the brief run... eight remained. One of the casualties was the Captain, broken through the nks, with his upper torso still above deck and his arms scrambling for a hold.

    "Sea god''s stupid hat, I hate my life," He muttered.

    Tycon sighed as he made his way over to the Captain to help him.

    ...

    "We''z caught a fish, Cap''n," Catshit dered, his ck sclera eyes brimming with pride.

    "Y-yeah, good job, boys," Krysaos nodded.

    The Coral Boys began to congratte themselves, shaking hands, bumping chests, and striking each other upon the face with glee.

    Tycon didn''t quite understand the reason to celebrate. It was not the first time the Coral Boys had entangled a fish in theirs. Lunch was a perfect example of such.

    Also, ''fish'' was not... particrly urate for theirtest catch.

    The unconscious girl appeared to be the age of a young adult human, her naked torso thin and lithe, and her bosom moderatelyrge inparison to her frame.

    Upon her head of purple hair, she wore a small tiara of mediocre craftsmanship. She was royalty, perhaps... but of a small, unimportant kingdom, if at all.

    From her waist, downward, was not the legs of a humanoid, but instead, was a shimmer-scaled fish-tail, also purple.

    She was showing signs of a concussion, having likely bashed her head against the forward bow of the Neptune''s Revenge. The Coral Boys had dragged a bathing tub to the top deck and filled it with seawater for the mermaid girl to rest and recover in.

    Or rather... to keep her fresh until dinner, ording to Bob.

    Ishmael gestured towards the young woman.

    Krysaos shook his head, "Nah, I don''t touch girls when they''re unconscious."

    Tycon coughed into his hand, "I believe Ishmael means to inquire... does this youngdy suit your tastes, considering your desire for a... ''hot mermaid girl''?"

    Krysaos nodded in understanding, "Ohhh, that. Actually, I prefer when the bottom-half of a mermaid is human-ish, versus the top half."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Ishmael narrowed his golden spheres for eyes, as if disappointed.

    Krysaos looked over the horizon, "I was actually just jokin'' around... about the whole findin'' a mermaid thing. The fates are real weird, aren''t they? I mean... the ocean''s a big ce... but sometimes, it seems real small, huh?"

    "Please don''t joke about such things so lightly, Captain," Tycon chided.

    If the cruel Fates were to be believed in, they were always listening.

    ...and they very much enjoyed dramatic irony.

    "Wait, wha--" The young woman began to stir... "I feel... like my head-- like I got hit by a whole ship."

    "Ya don''t say," Krysaos mused.

    In an icy blue sh of magic, the mermaid girl rose out of the tub... levitating in the air. Cool, bluish rock armor sheathed her chest and arms, and she wielded a mana-created sword of whirling water.

    "(Who dares attack Mina, Guardian of the Amphitrite Reefs?!)" She demanded in Aquan.

    Tycon pursed his lips as he observed the quality of the youngdy''s mana.

    ? Mina, Iron-Rank Weapon Spirit Sea Witch. ?

    "Hey, LT, check it out," Krysaos pointed his thumb at the young mermaid, "A Sea Witch."

    "Of that, I gathered," Tycon smiled politely.

    "I dare!!" Bob stepped forward, tapping the back of his axe against one of his wooden shoulderpads.

    "We dare..." Catshit grinned, cracking his stony, peach-colored knuckles.

    "We dare..." "We''z dare, too..." "Oh, we''z definitely dare."

    Wonderboy, the Coral Boy with the barrel, Doc, Mayonnaise, and a dozen other Coral Boys chimed in, as well.

    Unafraid of herrger and stronger opponents, Mina flourished her sword and gestured the Coral Boys forward, "(Come! If you are pure of heart, you may yet defeat me!)"

    "If you''re a virgin?" Krysaos muttered, "That''s pretty specific."

    Tycon shook his head, "I believe it trantes better as ''pure of heart'', Brother-Captain. However, If this is some sort of test, neither you, nor I have the qualifications."

    "I... sorta agree," Krysaos crossed his arms and tilted his head... "But doesn''t it look like that Mina girl is gonna lose? And hard?"

    Tycon nodded slowly... "It does, doesn''t it?"

    The floating, purple-haired mermaid girl tilted her head, "(What... might I ask are you all doing?)"

    "Da boys are setting up da ring," Bob casually exined.

    The Coral Boys had jammed wooden posts into holes in the deck and tied ropes to make an almost square arena... which in no way resembled a ring. Then, they arranged a table and a foldingdder near its center.

    As they milled about, one of the Coral Boys had pilfered Mina''s tiara-- a pale-colored gentleman who had earned the name Stickyfingers, if Tycon remembered correctly. The stolen head-ornament was suspended above the square, but within reach if one were to stand on the precariously bnceddder.

    ...Which should not have been an issue for the mermaid Weapon Spirit, as she could levitate.

 Chapter 655 Tested

    ?Bob began to exin the rules of the ''match'' to Mina. Though the mermaid initially protested, her voice grew quiet... then nonexistent. Eventually, she unsummoned her weapon, dismissed her levitation effect, and ''knelt'' down on the deck to listen obediently.

    "Inter-esting," Krysaos rubbed his chin, devious thoughts surely racing through the gentleman''s mind.

    Tycondrius shook his head. Mina had disyed a ring weakness... one that gave Captain Krysaos great advantage.

    She was... easy to bully into submission by persons with... insistent characters.

    ...Nearly every crewmember of the Neptune''s Revenge, including her Captain, spoke without neither tact nor care for a secondary party''s willingness.

    "She''s a pushover," Krysaos exined. He wore his customary shite-eating grin-- even wider than usual.

    "...Aptly stated," Tycon nodded.

    Mina levitated over to the improvised arena square, "You''re saying that... should I require assistance... I would go to my corner... and tag? my partner?"

    "Dat''s roight!" Catshit shouted, flexing his stony muscles, "Once ya git gud and bloodied, you tag ME in! And den we''ll give ''em a thumpin'' dey''z never ''ad in their loife!!"

    "An'' don''t worry yer pre''ty li''ul ''ead ''bout gettin'' ''urt," Doc reassured her. "We''ll patch you''z up real nice, if''n anyfing breaks in-- or breaks off, hurr hurr hrrr~"

    "I... I am not so certain about... these rules," Mina grimaced. "Would not singlebat be more ap--"

    One of the Coral Boys began to ring a metal triangle-- one that Tycon thought had been lost. It was the signal to start the match.

    "Give ''em SEVEN ''ELLS, GIRLIE!!" Catshit pped Mina on the back, propelling her forward against her opponent... Wonderboy.

    Mina summoned her mana weapon, but still had a look of uncertainty about her. The crowd shouted at her to fight... and though Wonderboy was one of the smallest Coral Boys, he still outmatched her in both size and strength.

    The young woman grit her teeth and clenched her opposite fist, "I... I will not falter in my quest."

    Bravery, however, was no substitute forbat prowess.

    Wonderboy mmed his meaty forearm in the woman''s face, dropping her to the deck.

    ...The attack was slow enough that it might have been staged. Yet... the way the youngdy''s head bounced ensured it was real.

    The clunk was loud enough to make Tycon take a deep breath and Krysaos visibly wince.

    The ordeal was a one-sided beatdown.

    After Mina fell, she could not regain the concentration to keep her mana-weapon''s form. Her closebat abilities might have been decent... but dazed as she was, and against multiple,rger, heartier opponents, she was unable to cause any meaningful damage with her tiny fists.

    Thankfully, the Coral Boys were... horrible at hand-to-handbat. Their maneuvers were garish and spectacr... and painful, butcked lethality.

    Wonderboy and his team were consecutively tagged in, performing great feats of agility and showmanship... spinning, leaping and belly-flopping atop the youngdy... taking the girl and lifting her over a shoulder forplicated angle ms.

    Bob suplexed the woman through the rotten table... the rotten table that Tycon had previously seen in the Captain''s private quarters.

    Catshit was so excited that when Mina finally dragged herself to her corner... the peach-colored Coral Boy began to beat his partner.

    After Captain Krysaos dered the... ''match'' over... Tycon and Ishmael dragged Mina to safety.

    Her face was swollen severely and she''d dislocated both arms.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Nothing seemed to be broken... which, at first nce, seemed nothing short of miraculous.

    Tycon nearly believed that the Coral Boys knew Mina was not a threat. If that was so... they purposely did not act with the same lethal intent they previously disyed in cutting down a Leviathan wang.

    However, that would mean the Coral Boys'' logical processes were far moreplex than merely ''fight and kill.''

    That thought was... troublesome.

    "I... I could not retrieve my tiara," Mina pouted... as she groaned in pain, "I... I have failed. And with that... the Amphitrite Reef Tribe is doomed."

    Tycon ced the t of one of the Coral Boys'' dull iron des against her bruised face. To reduce the swelling, the cool metal was the best he had ess to.

    As for her tiara... Catshit had imed it as his own. Mina had lost the right to wear it.

    "Youngdy, for what reason do you need abatant so... pure of heart?" Tycon asked.

    "It''s... for my tribe..." The mermaid squeaked, "I was sent... to seek help... but we have nothing to offer. The Priestess... she prophesied the Chosen One woulde to save us... and all Chosen Ones are pure of heart... Right?"

    Tycon twisted his lips, "Being prophesied as a savior and being pure of heart do not necessarily corrte."

    "I got what''cha need!!" Krysaos raised his voice.

    As the Captain walked towards Mina, he tried to shove his way past the kneeling Tycon.

    However, Tycon was quite steady and did not budge. Krysaos stumbled slightly but otherwise took the blunder in stride before crouching in front of his newest victim.

    "I''m pure of heart," Krysaos lied. "Tell me what I can do to you."

    Mina''s eyes shot open in shock and a tinge of fear, "(You... dare?)"

    "I believe he means to say... ''for you''," Tycon exined.

    "Right, s''what I said," Krysaos lied. Again.

    "Is this true?" Mina whispered... "You do not seem-- no, nevermind. I cannot discern if your words are true without testing you in martialbat."

    "You are in no condition to fight, youngdy," Tycon scolded.

    "Weeeeellllll~" Krysaos took a deep breath, "I''m the Captain of this ship... and you fought my crew..."

    "Each Corallidae, of the purest of hearts," Mina nodded.

    Tycon averted his gaze, taking a deep breath. That seemed... wrong, somehow.

    "So by proxy, I am also pure of heart," Krysaos grinned. "Else why would they all listen to me?"

    His teeth sparkled in the sunlight-- whatever magic in them likely affecting Mina.

    The mermaid tried to meet the Captain''s gaze, but looked away, "Well... alright... If you say so."

    "If you got a whole tribe of hot fish girls," Krysaos grabbed her hands, "I will do everything in my power to SAVE THEM."

 Chapter 656 Black Crow (Part One)

    ?Tycondrius was familiar with what exactly Krysaos was trying to ''save'' such females from.

    Knowing that the Captain was not as selfless as he might have seemed, Tycon could not condone such a tremendous waste of time.

    "Ahem," He cleared his throat, "Brother-Captain, the artifacts."

    "Oh, right," Krysaos narrowed his eyebrows. "Sorry, girlie. We gotta find a friend of ours before we can help you... we''re looking for the uh... Swords of the Forgotten King."

    Mina pursed her lips... "Did you say... the Swords of the Forgotten King?"

    "See, LT?" Krysaos grinned. "Everything''ll work out."

    "The outsider with the metal swords!" Mina squealed, "My tribe has them!"

    Even though her earlier tone had been calm and even, it seemed she was easily excitable.

    ...That would make it easier for her to be fooled.

    "Patience, Captain Krysaos," Tycon held his hand out to stop hispanion from speaking... "Miss Mina... what terrible evil has befallen your tribe?"

    "A human tribe threatens us withpliance or annihtion..." Mina recounted coolly, "terrible humans called the ck Crow Pirates."

    "Ya don''t say," Krysaos scoffed.

    "They have shown us their power once before..." Mina gulped... "They hold a terrible god-artifact called the Idol of the Aqua Dragon."

    "You don''t say..." Tycon grimaced.

    "The pirates seek the swords..." Mina shut her eyes and sighed... her shoulders drooping with weariness... "For what reason... we do not know."

    She looked up, a confident fire lit in her eyes, "Priestess Antea knew to hide them away. She has protected the outsider for that very reason!"

    "Told you that Lone guy was alive," Krysaos smirked.

    "You don''t s-- err... Hm. You did," Tycon conceded. "I should have kept faith."

    "Please," Mina begged... "Save... the Amphitrite Reef Tribe..."

    Krysaos stood up and pointed his thumb at his chest, "By my name as Captain Krysaos, Scourge of the Eastern Seas, I ept your qu-- hey!"

    Before he could finish, the mermaid girl dissipated into froth and bubbles.

    "Did... did I kill her?" Krysaos turned to Tycon.

    "WE DEFEATED HERRRR!!" The Coral Boys began to celebrate.

    Tycon shook his head... but confided his words to Krysaos quietly, as to allow the Coral Boys their victory.

    "The youngdy is a summoned spirit, much like Ishmael."

    "So you''re tellin'' me we can save her, good as new, when we raid her vige?"

    "Yes... but I''m assuming you mean... defeating the ck Crow Pirates that hold her people hostage?"

    "Yeah, s''what I said," Krysaosughed. "Well, she can''t be far from here. Get out your scryin'' leaf thing and let''s figure out the artifacts'' locations."

    "A sound n, Captain," Tycon smirked as he flicked his wrist.

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? On board the ck Crow gship, second half of night watch. ?

    It was always cold at sea.

    That didn''t bother Harvald as much as it did ten years ago. Anchoring by the ind, though... it was always covered in a thick fog... so thick it clung to his skin underneath his shirt.

    As of recent... it had been pissing rain, too-- near every damned sun.

    Harvald put away his tobo pipe. The one vice he clung on to religiously-- and the rain mucked his chance to enjoy it.

    "Sea god''s breechcloth..." He cursed... "F*ck that Nemayan."

    "What ''bout him?" Rallen asked. He lifted his lit torch high with one hand, while scratching his scab-covered chin with the other, "''Sit ''bout the way he looks at''cha, that Dunzis guy? Leerin'' at everyone like they''s girls on a stage."

    "Nah, ''sides ''at," Harvald shook his head. He rested his arms on the ship railing, thick from pulling rope all sun long... "Don''t like what ''e did to the Cap''n."

    "Pff," Rallen scoffed as he gazed down at the serene seawater, nketed by thick fog. "You say it like the two shared a bed. The Nemayan''s an alright guy. Gave us a treasure map, he did-- and with somethin'' actually buried at the X."

    "''At''s what I''m sayin," Harvald sighed. "The map was supposed to bring riches to the ''ole crew."

    "We''ll get our cut when the idol sells... and it''ll be good coin, too!" Rallen argued. "Exotic lookin'' as it is, the rich folk''ll be morin'' to pick it up and jam it up their arses."

    Harvald scowled at his gaunt, bawdry piratepanion.

    That man really needed to getid...

    "When''s thest time you seen the Cap''n?"

    "I dunno," Rallen narrowed his eyes and grimaced... "Just the other sun? No-- ''at can''t be right..."

    "It''s been nearly three suns since the Cap''n''s been holed up in his cabin..."

    "Prolly whackin'' it to the magic fing, ''en?"

    "Whatever the Cap''n''s doin'', he''s only beenin'' out for food-- if even that," Harvald grit his teeth... "The man looks dead on his feet... prolly ain''t sleepin'', either."

    "Powerful magic shite, or somethin''..." Rallen whistled... "Maybe the fing turns into a girl? Sucks him off and jams her thumb in his--"

    "Shut up, ya idjit," Harvald rolled his eyes. "The Cap''n''s courtin'' somethin'' cursed, whether it sticks its thumb up his arse or not."

    "Yeah. Shouldn''t be a surprise, though," Rallen shrugged.

    "How d''ya mean? You mean ''ow he usually''s got a stick up his arse?"

    "S''like anything else we dredge up from the feggin'' sea floor," Rallen chuckled. "S''bound to be cursed s''all get out."

    "Yeah..." Harvald let out a heavy sigh, "No arguin'' that..."

    Rallen held onto the railing, leaning over it and holding his torch over the waters... It gave Harvald the chills, imagining the dozens or hundreds of tooth-filled finned bastards, each wanting to take a bite out of him.

    "Sure wish it could do somefin'' about this fog, though," Rallen groaned. "Can''t see shite. Could be anything down below."

    "Yeh..." Harvald ced his hand in his coat, fingering his pipe... not that the rain had let up, any... "I prolly wouldn''t be in such a shite mood if the Cap''n''s new toy could make it stop pissin'' o''er our heads..."

    He grit his teeth and shook his head, "I''m gonna head in for a smoke. Where in the seven hells is Philman?"

    "That f*cktard?" Rallen stretched and yawned, "Maybe he disappeared inta the fog?"

 Chapter 657 Black Crow (Part Two)

    ?Usually, there were only two guys assigned to keep watch after the sun went down.

    Then, there was Philman.

    Philman pissed off the Captain... f*cked up some knots or some rookie shite-- Harvald had no idea...

    It was a grand f*cking achievement, as the Captain''d been so f*cked in the head, as of recent.

    Anyroad, the kid was assigned to nightwatch as punishment.

    Didn''t make a difference. The idiot couldn''t be trusted to keep both his eyes open, by sun or starlight.

    That meant the kid''s punishment was more like it was aimed at him and Rallen.

    ...What should''ve been a night of spades and sleeping in shifts turned into babysitting a gods-damned fish.

    "Not. f*cking. funny," Harvald growled. "Now where is he?"

    "''E said he needed ta take a piss," Rallen sneered, "Uvver side o'' the ship, I s''pose."

    The pained scream of a man cut through the foggy night... followed by a loud ssh.

    "That him?" Harvald asked.

    "Eughh," Rallen bared his teeth in a groan, "sure sounded like it."

    Harvald remained calm, but raised his voice, "Man overboooaaaard!!"

    Rallen beside him snickered like he''d heard a joke, "Funny. Like anyone''ll give a shite about a fish fallin'' int''the drink. ''E can swim, just as good''s the rest of us... and the icy chill''ll make sure he won''t do it again."

    "Or whatever''s in the deep''ll show him," Harvald rolled his eyes. "Permanent-like."

    "Face it, Harv," Rallen yfully punched Harvald''s arm, "It''s just you an'' me here on nightwatch. Just us to fight off the beasties. Just us to decide whether the fish is worth savin''."

    "Yeah, that''s what I''m afraid of," Harvald grimaced... "Hey... you hear that?"

    "What, I don''t hear nothin''?"

    "It''s the kid," Harvald exined with a grimace... "He ain''t kickin''."

    Rallen finally seemed to understand how shite the situation actually was... and he led the way to the port side... "Sea god''s socks... ''ere''s no sign of ''im."

    "You got a spyss, don''t you? Hand it over."

    "Yeah, yeah... don''t break it, though. You know how expensive crystal is..."

    The bastard stole the thing... yet he still had the nerve toin about its cost.

    Bloody idiot.

    Harvald took the spyss and peered through the fog. Couldn''t see a damn thing... until he did.

    That something looked big... magnified five times over, anyroad. A shadowy creature in the water... something that looked like it could''ve had two arms and two legs.

    "You see somethin'' Harv?" Rallen asked, "Leviathan wang or what?"

    "Saw a guy... treadin'' water, I think," Harvald returned the tool to Rallen.

    "The fish?" The guy grabbed at his shoulder, "Was it Philman?"

    It seemed Rallen was starting to panic, too. If only the ship anchored a bit closer to their ind base, he might have opened all the sails, himself, to get to shore...

    "Can''t be sure," Harvald brushed Rallen''s hand away, "But jus'' to be safe, I''m gonna go wake the crew."

    Rallen''s worried face turned into an incredulous scowl, "Seven hells, Harv. Keep yer trousers on. S''almost dawn-- and then we''ll be able to see jus'' fine. Don''t try to f*ck it up for e''ryone else, wakin'' em before."

    Harvald grit his teeth and shook his head, "You make it sound like I give a shite about your opinion, Rallen-- or anyone else''s for that matter."

    "Anyroad," Rallen growled, "Wakin'' up the crew won''t do shite. Best you''ll get is a pissed off Cap''n and sixshes when the sunes up proper."

    Harvald groaned as he turned and began to walk away. Like Rallen was saying, slivers of light broke through the fog, the sun trying its damnedest to break through the thick fog.

    It gave him... a little bit of confidence... and a tinge of guilt.

    Rallen was his friend... and he at least deserved an honest exnation. He stopped and half-turned his head.

    "Listen, Rallen. I know we''re adults-- we ain''t supposed to be scared o'' shite... but I''m creeped the hells out. It''s dark, even with the sun breakin''. Pissin'' rain. Fog''s out. And I swear by the sea god''s gods-damned suspenders that I saw a man in the drink that don''t look like no man."

    Hoping for an answer, Harvald instead heard... something tear.

    It sounded like... the sound of a cleaver, cutting through a fish. And shortly after... was a slosh of something spilling onto the deck.

    He hoped it was a high wave of water... and not blood.

    Harvald turned to where Rallen was standing... absent of the glow of a torch... absent of a shadow or silhouette.

    "Rallen? You there? Y''cunt?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...Harvald stepped forward, his hands grasping at nothing in front of him. The fog felt... thicker. The sound of the rain falling upon the deck had be deafening.

    "This isn''t funny, you dogf*cking bastard!"

    Another ssh.

    Something had fallen off the side of the ship, kersplunking into the drink.

    Against his better judgment, Harvald hurried to the railing and peered over.

    Nothing. He couldn''t see two fulms past his head, much less into the waters below.

    He could see the end of the deck, though.

    Blood.

    As he feared.

    ...But no Rallen.

    Harvald tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. His whole body felt as cold as a dead fish. He needed to get the hells below deck and wake the crew-- he''d take theshings dly, if this was all just a bad dream.

    He tried to turn back--

    ...but something was holding onto him.

    Peering down... it was... a hand, the color of skin... but it was with tiny ck holes, each like there could be eyes or sharp teeth hiding inside of them.

    And... it was huge... easily wrapping around his ankle in a crushing grip.

    "What the..."

    Another hand... this one connected to an arm, reached up to the wooden railing... and tore the wood apart as easy as if it were parchment.

    Then, the rest of the creature climbed onto the deck.

    It... was the man he saw earlier, treading in the water... but it wasn''t human.

    It was a rocky creature, its jagged ''teeth'' jutting forward and widened into an eternal grin.

    Harvald soiled himself, then and there...

    He wished he had a sword... Seven hells, he wished he had a gods-damned carving knife.

    He wished he had a voice-- a good strong, sailor''s voice... As it was, he was too scared to even scream...

    "Y-you... you killed..."

    "Hush now, boyo," The creature had a deep, wet voice, straight out of Harvald''s nightmares... like it had been gargling sea slugs.

    It reached a stony hand over to cover Harvald''s mouth... "Or don''t. We can do ''is da hard way or da easy way-- it don''t matter none, really."

    The creature lunged forward, taking Harvald off his feet, keeping hold of his jaw as he was pinned to the deck underneath its weight.

    Dazed, confused, and gods-damned terrified, Harvaldid still... staring at the creature that was going to end his life.

    "Y''see... da funny fing about us Coral Boys... All sorts of folk-- two-legged pinkskins... sailors ''at should know betta... dey''z fink we''re nuffin'' but ''ulking brutes... dat alls we can do... is foight... ''n foight good..."

    The creature leaned his head in close... enough for Harvald to smell its breath, rancid and stinking of rotting fish...

    "Mmph!! MMmhh!!" Harvald tried to struggle... but there was more strength in the creature''s porous stone arm than in Harvald''s entire body.

    "Dey''z right, ''f course... We''z real good at fightin''... Hurr hurr..." The creature continued. It licked its lips... revealing an eel-like appendage that looked nothing like a tongue... "Real good at muuuurderin''... but... we''z can be sneaky too... Cunnin''... Can fink real real f*ckin'' good. Gooder an'' anyone finks..."

    Harvald felt hot tears running down his face. His fingernails had broken off, trying to grab onto the creature''s skin. It was as hard as it looked... but more rough... jagged. It cut into his fingers and palms, barely brushing it.

    "Ain''t no one expected dis, ah?" The creature sneered... "Comin right up in the middle o'' the night... fog coverin'' the stars. Gettin'' right inta bed wiv ya''s... close enough ta be f*cking you''z as you sleep."

    The creature''s maw came even closer... and he whispered into Harvald''s ear... "S''long as we kill the lot of you... don''t matter if it''s a fair foight... or jus'' like ''is, eh?"

    "MMHHHH!!!" Harvald''s eyes widened as he felt cold metal bite deep into his leg... quickly reced by the burning heat of a fresh wound.

    Blood flowed freely-- and his trousers were wet with blood and piss.

    He was quickly losing consciousness...

    "Guess wot I''m tryin'' ta say... is if''n you''z want da mission done pre''ty or clean-like... or fair, even-- da sailors''re good. Da army. Da horse boys," The creature chuckled... "But if''n you''z want a job done good... well... you know ''ow it is, boyo."

    "Oyyyy..." A deeper, gravelly voice in the fog bellowed... "Quit yer f*ckin'' yappin'', Catshit. We''z got a ''ole ship ta murder."

    The silhouette in the fog... it was an even bigger creature than the one jamming a de in Harvald''s leg.

    "Kehehe... you''z got it, Twelve o'' Twelve..." The creature sighed and looked back to Harvald... "Say ''ello to da sharks for me, boyo-- oh, an'' in da next life... don''t f*ck wiv da Coral Boy Marines."

 Chapter 658 FTO2

    ?Assaulting the ck Crow ind base was a daunting proposition.

    Besides having a juggernaut-ss ship and three other ships anchored off the coast, the ind itself had a wooden fort that likely housed several hundred.

    Captain Krysaos had the Neptune''s Revenge anchored adjacent to the pirates'' single juggernaut... a ship amusingly named the F*ck The Ocean II.

    Bncing across a long nk, Tycondrius followed Krysaos onto her deck.

    "Captain, with all due respect, I have yet to see why you requested my presence."

    "Oh, you''ll see, Tycon," Krysaos chuckled to himself.

    Casually observing the deck, no living enemies remained. There were, however, dozens of corpses strewn about-- the ones with intact faces having died with fear in their eyes and unvoiced agony on their lips.

    Tycon had to care for where he stepped, as the top deck was slick with fresh blood in more ces than not.

    The likelihood pointed to one or more Coral Boys spilling blood about, on purpose.

    He made a mental note to hold a ss for his fellow crew members, with the topic of instruction being proper hygiene.

    ...Or at least coerce them into washing their hands with soap after every engagement.

    In theory, the massive vessel would have easily been crewed by at least two hundred strong.

    ...The Coral Boy force just shy of two dozen would have had to dispatch over ten hostels each.

    While impressive, admittedly, the numbers fielded and the mission scope was standard for a force of Sea Wolf raiders.

    "Is there perhaps... a strong enemy, still undefeated?" Tycon asked... holding onto what little hope he had.

    While it was reasonable for him to be summoned to assist withbat, Krysaos had a sense of pride in his self-sufficiency.

    As the Captain was speaking with an even tone and not openly crying tears of panic, Tycon felt it probable that he was being summoned for something stupid.

    "Nah," Krysaos waved. "The crew took care of ''em. I wanted to show you somethin'' else."

    The man led Tycon to a gaggle of Coral Boys. There on the deck, thick ropes ran across the ship, dropping off either side. Tied off the end was a gagged human, stripped of any identifying rank and... clothes, and with his arms and legs bound tightly.

    "The rope goes along the end o'' the ship and goes underneath," Krysaos grinned. "This here Pirate Cap''n''s gonna inspect the bottom of the hull-- and all the barnacles growin'' on the underside!"

    The captive pirate''s eyes widened in fear. He struggled uselessly against his bindings, making as much noise as he could despite the rope gag.

    "Ah, the keelhauling process," Tycon nodded in approval. "A ssic and often lethal punishment."

    Krysaos'' face fell in disappointment, "Ah... You know about it, already?"

    "Indeed," Tycon smiled politely, "and it marks you, Captain, as a well-learned gentleman endowed with both ss and creativity."

    "...Yeah," Krysaos nodded... "Yeaahh! Right! That''s me-- exactly!"

    He tittered to himself before clenching his fist, "Mister Pirate, you may begin the inspection!"

    "PULL DA ROPE, BOYZ!!!!" Bob shouted.

    "You''z got it!!!!" "Aye aye!!" "Blood and f''under!!" The Coral Boys shouted.

    At once, they began to pull-- and the Pirate Captain went down and sshed into the waters below.

    "Did you recover the artifact, Brother-Captain?" Tycon inquired.

    "What?" Krysaos pursed his lips, "The swords are with the fish girl tribe, aren''t they?"

    "The Aqua Lizard Idol," Tycon reminded him. "The ck Crow Pirates were threatening the Amphitrite Reef Tribe with it. They have it."

    "Wait," Krysaos'' eyes widened, "HOLD ON!! Coral Boys, bring him back up!! Reverse!! GO BACK!!!"

    "Pull DA UVVER WAYYYY!!" Bob shouted.

    "Aye aye!!" "You''z got it!" "Which way''s da uvver way?!?"

    ...There were only two ways the rope could be pulled.

    The pirate was dragged back onto the deck, his legs and torso covered in bloody cuts and stone-like debris.

    Krysaos knelt down in front of him and tore off the gag, "Gonna need you to talk, boyo. Then we can talk about whether you live or--"

    "It''s in my lockbox!" The pitiful pirate yelled-- "In my cabin... in my lockbox... please, Captain Krysaos... don''t do this to me."

    Krysaos stood and turned back to Tycon, "I dunno if we can trust him. I didn''t even tell him what I was looking for."

    Tycon smiled half-heartedly, "Did you not check the Pirate Captain''s effects, Brother-Captain?"

    "...Not yet."

    "I recall at the haunted isle, you checked for loot in each ship we searched."

    Krysaos smiled with chagrin, "I uh-- I forgot, alright?"

    "Please... let me go..." The pirate sobbed.

    One of the Coral Boys prodded at the Pirate Captain, aggravating a particrlyrge chestceration with the sheath of a sword. It was... Doc, if Tycon remembered correctly... the self-proimed medical practitioner.

    "We''z could stitch ''em up, eheHEhe," Doc giggled, "make ''imst longa! We''z got a rusty needle and some twine, ah?"

    The Captain had previously confided to Tycon that the crew still needed... proper medical personnel. With the way Doc practiced medicine, he understood why.<novelnext></novelnext>

    As Krysaos was willfully ignoring Doc''s offer, Tycon decided to pay it no mind.

    "Alright, boyo. I''ll bite." Krysaos grinned at the broken pirate, "What else can ya do for me?"

    "I... I''ll tell my men to leave you alone..." The man pleaded hoarsely.

    Krysaos rubbed his unshaven chin as if thinking it over...

    "Nah."

    Before the pirate could question the decision, the green-coated Captain swiftly kicked the downed fellow in the abdomen.

    "Haha!" Krysaosughed, "Like anyone would listen to a lying, womanizing, sack o'' shite like you! Ain''t that right, LT?"

    "...Indeed," Tycon shook his head.

    There was arge amount of hypocrisy in the Captain''s words... but there were other priorities that needed to be addressed.

    He gestured towards the nearby ind with his good hand, "Brother-Captain... I know the fog is quite thick-- but you are quite aware that there is a fort on the ind, yes?"

    "There''s a what?" Krysaos furrowed his brows.

    "A fort," Tycon frowned, "which is likely full of pirates. I advise we recover the idol and withdraw... perhaps in haste."

    The Coral Boys began to murmur to each other in disagreement.

    Tycon turned back to them, "Apologies. I advise that we fight our way out..."

    The Coral Boys began to nod, somewhat cowed...

    "--causing as much damage to structures and enemy casualties as possible," Tycon finished.

    A round of ''oohs'' and ''aahs'' came from the gaggle of colorful rock-men, with Catshit in particr gesturing with an upwards thumb.

    "Nah," Krysaos smirked. "I''m not worried about it. Hades took a coupl''a the boys with him to take care of the stuff onnd."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow in surprise... but nodded. He hadn''t seen Hades arrive, but if that gentleman took on a mission, he''dplete it.

    ...There were over twenty Coral Boys on board, though. He assumed that the Abyssal Necromancer, Hades, raised a team of undead to ughter the enemy.

    A sudden cloud of dark smoke materialized at the end of the ship... with Hades leading a group of... another ten Coral Boys out.

    Some of the orc''s team were familiar to him... Doc, Wonderboy, and the Coral Boy wearing the barrel, in particr. Ishmael was in that group, as well.

    ...But the Coral Boys... were they multiplying?

    And if they were... how were they doing so?

    "Job''s done," Hades grinned toothily. "Everything left on the ind''s dead as f*ck. Hey, Tycon."

    "Well met, Brother-Hades," Tycon narrowed his eyes. "I''m assuming you mean everyone is dead-- or at least is no longer alive."

    "Yeap. That exins it pretty good."

    "What''re YOUUUUUUUUU?!?!" The Pirate Captain screamed in disbelief.

    Tycon turned to the panicking fellow. He had forgotten that he was still alive.

    ...By the look on Krysaos'' face, he was just as surprised.

    "This is one of my crewmembers," Krysaos stated nonchntly.

    "Sup?" Hades waved.

    Therge orc then walked over to the keelhauling rope... and with thick-muscled arms, returned the Pirate Captain to his inspection duties.

    "Alright," Krysaos dusted off his palms-- though he hadn''t actually done any manualbor. "Now all that''s left is to snag the idol... then we''llmandeer this ship!"

    Tycon nodded in agreement. The FTO would certainly be more difficult to crew, but with its size and the weaponry it had avable, it was suitable for a fearsome scourge of the eastern seas as Krysaos imed of himself.

    However... Bob had his hand raised, like a student in a ss patiently waiting to ask a question.

    Krysaos grimaced... "What is it?"

    "...Dere''s holes in dis ship and da uvver ones, Cap''n," Bob exined in his deep, rumbling voice.

    "What the fff-- since when?!"

    "Since WE DID IT DONE!!" Catshit cackled, "GahahAHAH!!"

    "Yeh, we''z did good." "Co''eral damage." "Jus'' made holes from da outside~"

    "I HELPED!!" Wonderboy raised his voice to be heard over his peers.

    "Since Catshit," Bob nodded, rapping his fist to his wooden chestte with pride.

    Tycon nced over to the other pirate ships. They each looked... deeper in the water than they should have been, with one ship''s bow beginning to precariously tip upward.

    "Gods... damn it, Catshit," Krysaos sighed.

    ",

 Chapter 659 Veiled Insults

    ?? Two sunster... ?

    ? So there we were at the bottom of the ocean. ?

    ? We had some magic pearls that let us breathe underwater-- talk too, enough to understand. Lieutenant Tycon made the spell circles out of some chalk. Wonderboy supplied the pearls by losing them in a game of spades. And because I am a caster of great power and stunningly good looks, I provided all the heavy mana work. ?

    ? Each pearl essentially had my ?Water Sphere? on them andsted a whole lot longer-- which led to this whole underwater expedition. ?

    ? I learn something new about myself, every sun. Especially about how badass I am. ?

    ? Anyroad, It was nice to be back on the sea floor, having chosen to be there instead of just waking up, floating around. Tall strands of kelp obscured our vision. Reef formations grew on everything-- which admittedly made it easy to lose sight of the Coral Boys. It wouldn''t be impossible to lose one or two of them, if they wandered off. ?

    ? There were fish everywhere, most of them smart enough to mind their own business. There were a few curious predators, of course, looking to see if we could be f*cked with. ?

    ? The answer to that, of course, was a big fat no. ?

    ? This sun, I also learned that I can literally knock out sharks with my powerful fists. ?

    ? Lieutenant Tycon helped. ?

    "Did you bring the idol?" Tycon asked.

    "Nah, you said it was dangerous as hells," Krysaos smirked. "Hades offered to get rid of it."

    "Brother-Hades certainly has the power level required to destroy an artifact," Tycon mused.

    "He ate it."

    "I beg your pardon?"

    "Yeah," Krysaos shrugged. "He just... swallowed it. He''s still on the Neptune''s Revenge-- an'' he''d been pissing off the end of the deck for like two bells when we left."

    "That exins... much," Tycon nodded listlessly.

    ? There I was... at the bottom of the ocean... having a full conversation with my Lieutenant about an orc''s pissing habits. ?

    Krysaos, Tycon, and a squad of Coral Boys navigated the depths... following Tycon''s magic leaf towards the figurative pot of gold at the end of the figurative sea rainbow.

    "Cap''n," Catshit pointed at a bull shark with wicked ck stripes. "Dere''s anuvver shark-- big, too."

    "Yeah, so?"

    "Can we fight it?" The Coral Boy blinked his eyes-- which would have fluttered his eyshes if he had any. It didn''t change Krysaos'' mind in the least.

    "No, don''t f*ck with it," Krysaos waved. "It''ll make a mess."

    Knowing the Coral Boys, it wouldn''t be a one-shot knockout. There''d be a lot of blood. Then the blood would attract more sharks. Eventually, there''d probably attract the attention of more than just those.

    The Water Pearls they had were good for a few bells, but they couldn''t afford to spend the whole sun fighting.

    He shook his head... "These guys... they''re like children, LT. Can''t get ''em to focus on one thing, y''know?"

    Tycon nodded... "As I know their sire... each Coral Boy is less than two years old."

    "...Oh," Krysaos furrowed his brows. "Seven hells, that''s f*ckin'' weird."

    "Hey, Cap''n," Came a different voice.

    "WhaAAt?" Krysaos groaned.

    The pale Coral Boy, Stickyfingers, approached from the opposite side. In his arms he carried a m the size of his torso, "We''z got a fing."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Oh, it''s you. No, you can''t keep it as a pet."

    "...Very well, Cap''n," The Coral Boy shrugged before chucking it through the waters like a ball.

    "Brother-Captain," Tycon grimaced, "The enchanted pearls we holde from... such shelled creatures, no? Is there no value in one sorge?"

    Krysaos shook his head, "Stickyfingers had it. If there was a pearl, it''s already looted."

    "We''z looted it," Stickyfingers grinned. "Finders keepers, eh?"

    "Personal loot stays personal," Krysaos walked onward. "When we raid the mermaid vige-- that stuff gets divvied up."

    "I believe you mean to say ''save'' the vige, Captain," Tycon suggested.

    "We''ll figure out which to do when we get there."

    "Fair enough."

    "Ehhhhhh... Cap''n," Bob tapped Krysaos on the shoulder and pointed at the unluckiest Coral Boy, Wonderboy.

    He had an eight-legged devilbeast twice his size wrapped its tentacles around his head and torso-- probably sticking his skull with its beak.

    "Ignore him," Krysaos waved. "We''re moving."

    Following Tycon''s magic leaf, Krysaos andpany figured out the general location of the ce. Then, after another ten minutes, they came upon two... sahuagin. They were guarding the entrance of what appeared to be an underwater cave.

    ...and one was a real big, real familiar guy.

    "Anaru! You sonuva b*tch! Nice to see you!!" Krysaos opened his arms.

    The scales on the sahuagin''s face had burnt off and left him with a terrifying scar. As Krysaos knew how he got it, he didn''t mind it too much.

    "HhhhWhAAAatt!?!" Anaru gurgled menacingly.

    "The Captain is insulting you," Tycon exined. "I advise you to be offended."

    "Krysaossssss!!" Anaru seethed through long, pointed teeth... "(The Amphitrite Reef Tribe does NOT wee you!!)"

    "Hey, LT," Krysaos looked over to Tycon, "why''s that name sound familiar?"

    "It''s the tribe we''re trying to..." The Lieutenant pursed his lips... "decide a course of action for."

    Krysaos felt his heart fall to the depths of his stomach. He was hoping to find a tribe full of reasonably attractive mermaids... or at least partly filled with them. Instead, they''d just found... Becky''s tribe.

    In hindsight, it sounded like he should have been paying more attention.

    "Judging by the look in your eyes," Tycon crossed his good arm over his chest, "you are... disappointed."

    "Nah... I... I just... my hopes and dreams... they blinded me from the truth, LT."

    "I''d imagine that happens with regrity, Brother-Captain."

    ...Krysaos got the sense that it was his turn to be insulted.

    It was true, though.

    The other sahuagin stepped forward, trident in hand, "Captain Krysaoss... and esteemed ssir, I advise you... nott to do anything rassh."

    "Oh, yeah?" Krysaos scoffed. "You mind exining what exactly you mean by... rash?"

 Chapter 660 Rash

    ?As if to entuate Krysaos'' point, Catshit had grabbed onto Anaru''s legs and lifted him above his head. Wonderboy had swum up tond two broad feet against the sahuagin''s face. While beingunched back-- real slow, due to the water resistance... Bob had grabbed the guy and piledrove his head into a rock.

    He spun while he did it, too

    That Bob-- good guy, he was.

    Krysaos waved for the other sahuagin to continue, "You were saying, guy?"

    The fish-man shook his head and bubbled a sigh, "I advise you nott to do anything *else* rassshh."

    "And what''s stoppin'' me from..."

    Krysaos hesitated.

    He wasn''t actually able to direct his crew with any kind of certainty... and that was something he didn''t want to admit to openly.

    The Coral Boys, as shown just in the past several seconds, would attack with little to no provocation and with zero warning.

    If Krysaos ordered them specifically to *not* attack, they were more likely to only hear the word ''attack'' and act immediately.

    ...He could probably tell them to wait, though. If luck was on his side, it''d give him and Tycon enough time to get what they came for... and hopefully something in the way of a reward for all their trouble.

    Krysaos cleared his throat, "What''s stopping me from letting my Coral Boys do whatever they want?"

    The sahuagin looked over to the group of Coral Boys as they continued to pummel Anaru in amusing and creative ways... "Aaaas Anaru hass alluded to... our tribe is not wemme... of human outsidersss... The general sssentiment... is that all humansss... are akin to the piratesss who rule over ussss..."

    "Negative stereotyping," Tycon shook his head, "in this sun and age? Rather small-minded of your people."

    "Sssuch judgments are unfortunattte," The sahuaginmented... "Howeverrr... they exissst. Of thattt, you must ccept."

    "We killed... like... all of the ck Crows at their base, nearby. You''re free," Krysaos waved the sahuagin away. "Go on. Get outta here."

    The sahuagin red his gills and clicked in surprise... "I will.... reportttt this... If thisss is true... our tribe is deeply... indebted to you, aptain..."

    "Uggghhh," Krysaos rolled his eyes. "I don''t wanna wait that lonnnng!!"

    He turned to Tycon, "Whaddya think LT? Let''s just kick this guy''s arse and whoever else gets in our way?"

    "I''d imagine fighting through the crowds of merfolk would take just as much time as waiting patiently for our sahuagin friend to report to his superiors."

    "Yesss..." The sahuagin bowed his head, "Guard Leader Becky will becertain to odate you..."

    Krysaos felt a chill go down his back. He was probably sweating, too--- but he was in the ocean, so that wasn''t exactly a thing he could tell.

    "I... I don''t really wanna deal with that girl."

    Tycon ced his unbound hand on his chin-- he did that a lot when he was thinking, "Perhaps you can leverage the fact that Miss Mina requested your assistance, Captain."

    "YEAH!" Krysaos shouted, "Let us in! We gotta see Mina!"

    "...No sssuch sahuagin existsss... in the Amphitrite Reef Tribe..."

    "You''re LYIN''!!!" Krysaos shouted, "Why the hells would a RANDOM hot mermaid girl literally BEG ON HER KNEES for her to save your DUMBARSE tribe?!?!"

    "She did not do that," Tycon scolded quietly. "And I''m not certain Miss Mina has... knees."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Jus'' let me have this one, LT," Krysaos groaned.

    "Very well."

    "Thattt..." The sahuagin hesitated, "Aas for why... I do notttt know... but I ssspeak the truth."

    Tycon continued rubbing his chin... "Mina is a weapon spirit... so perhaps we should instead be inquiring about her... summoner."

    "Alright, tough guy," Krysaos puffed his chest out and squared himself in front of the taller sahuagin. "You guys got a magic weapon. A big one."

    "With respect, I question your diction on the matter, Brother-Captain," Tycon muttered.

    "You havve businesses with the Priestesss Antea, Krysaosss?" The sahuagin tilted his head, "Of whattt nature?"

    "Should be obvious, guy. I''m gonna save her from her--"

    "The Priestess--" Tycon red... "is the one who requested we deal with the ck Crow pirates. We act on her behalf."

    "Is she hot?" Krysaos asked, "By human standards, anyroad?"

    "Stars and stones, Captain," Tycon sighed... "Must you?"

    "I mean-- it''s not really important, but it should be fine if it''s just asking, right?"

    "I will sssumon the Priestesss immediately," The sahuagin nodded. "I will be able to better convice my peerss, if you are emissariesss of the Lake Goddessss..."

    ...

    Tycondrius and Krysaos were summoned to meet the sahuagin Priestess... and were led through the deep ocean settlement by an armed escort.

    They carried enchanted weaponry... barreled rifles of a sort, each loaded with a harpoon. Their designs were simr to Turathi hextech, their power source a glowing blue crystal at their bases.

    It made him d that Krysaos did not order an attack.

    The Amphitrite Reefmunity wasn''t a fifty or hundredrge tribe of sahuagin.

    It was a sprawling city, rife with hundreds, if not thousands, of sentient sea-dwelling species.

    The buildings'' materials were made from white stone, sparkling gems, and were decorated by trimmings of colorful coral. They looked sturdy enough to stand against a siege... not that the ballista and trebuchet of the surface would be useful, as deep underwater as they were.

    He imagined the sentient denizens of the ocean had differentrge-scale weapons of war.

    Most of the citizens were sahuagin... and the ones that wandered into Tycon''s view looked upon him and hispanion with fear and trepidation.

    Still... the city had turtle-men, fish-folk, tritons, scrags, and even a single sea giant going about their business peaceably. A human duo should not have been so... ill-received.

    "Brother-Captain... we were told we are to meet with a Priestess of... the Lake Goddess?"

    "Yeah," Krysaos shrugged. "Most folks down here pay respects to that ass-sucker sea god."

    One of the armed escorts eyed Krysaos with suspicion. The Captain didn''t seem to care that he could achieve half-a-dozen harpoons impaling his person in the blink of an eye.

    ...Or that therge sharks the sahuagin used as mounts could tear him apart in roughly the same period of time.

 Chapter 661 Sea Elf

    ?"If ya didn''t know, then yeah-- there''skes down here." Krysaos exined, "Usually hafta go a lot deeper than we are for ''em, though. S''made up of saltier water that''s heavier than the rest of it. They''re mystical-lookin'', so obviously there''s a god to ''em."

    Tycon scoffed at the concept... though he could not argue against it.

    Since time immemorial, people of the Realm have worshipped that which they could not exin. The everpresent sun and the twinkling stars were shining examples.

    ...The Holy Country founded a religion based on a sentient ming brazier that had burned for centuries.

    If an entire nation could rally behind that, it wasn''t difficult for Tycon to believe people worshipping anything else.

    After swimming over a ridge, he peered over and down, a fantastic underwaterke filling his vision. It easily made up three-quarters of the humongous cavern, was lined with various structures and teemed with more life and vigor than the rest of the city.

    He even spied a dock, where some fishfolk were utilizing what appeared to be... fishing rods.

    ...Thinking on it deeply was giving Tycon a dull headache, so he decided to focus on kicking his legs to keep up with hispany.

    The group approached a white-rock building, presumably a temple of sorts. The settlement wasrge enough to have multiple of such structures, throughout, but this one was... smaller-- more humble.

    Tycon spied a peculiar, pearlescent rock formation near the entrance, and swum close to inspect it.

    It was... a sword, its hilt emergent from the bedrock and with edges sharp enough to draw blood, if one were careless. Nearby, were simr swords arranged in a haphazard row, ranging in height from six to eight fulms.

    Krysaos swam beside him, treading water in ce, "What''cha lookin'' at, LT?"

    Tycon twisted his lips... "I''ve seen these before."

    ...They bore a striking resemnce to those in the courtyard of the East Charm Trading Company headquarters in Nice.

    "It''s the symbol of the Lake Goddess," Krysaos exined with a shrug.

    "Again... I''m not familiar with such a god," Tycon frowned. "However... seeing this particr symbol again is... baffling."

    "Maybe she''s got a different name on the surface?" The Captain suggested.

    "...Perhaps," Tycon nodded slowly.

    That would exin much.

    "Let''s head inside," Krysaos gestured towards the coral archways of the temple entrance. "Our babysitters don''t look like they''re gonna leave anytime soon."

    Tycon nced back at their armed escort. Some had posted around the temple, while the mounted sahuagin circled their sharks around the perimeter.

    If he had thought they were here to guard them, the notion would have beenforting. However, the finned and web-footed humanoids kept vignt, eyeing them with great suspicion just shy of open hostility.

    Upon entering the white-rock temple, Krysaos yawned and stretched his arms.

    ...which colored Tycon with a tinge of envy that the fellow had retained such mobility.

    "Water mana''s pretty good in here," Krysaos smirked. "Won''t need to worry about the Water Pearls runnin'' outta juice."

    "Practicing your mana sense, I see," Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    The Captain scoffed and chuckled to himself, "Ah haha. Shut up, LT."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The temple was filled with more religious imagery... and all were likewise too familiar to him.

    Five fingered hands were etched into various surfaces, notably different from the webbed hands of a sahuagin...

    Images of the Lake Goddess depicted her as a faceless elf with white, elongated arms, eyes and runes etched on her various appendages.

    Eyes.

    The images of them weremonce, as well. It made Tycon slightly uneasy... as they were carved in a way that made it appear he was under constant surveince from more than just the reef guardians outside.

    [Has the chosen one appeared?] A light voice echoed in his head, [And not just one, but two?]

    A young woman floated down from above them, her upper torso that of a nude sea elf, and her lower, of a green mermaid tail, simr to Mina''s. She had shaved parts of her head and the dark green hair that remained resembled a tri-ded fin simr to some of her sahuagin peers.

    As there were no other temple-goers in their immediate vicinity, he presumed the voice in his head belonged to her.

    ? Antea, Bronze-Rank Malenti Oracle. ?

    That she had the form of an elf was not surprising. The former sahuagin scout leader, Anaru, had the same transformation ability.

    However, the young woman did have a third eye on her forehead, which remained closed. After observing so many sentient seafolk, Tycon judged that to be an umon trait.

    He straightened his back and cleared his throat-- causing an awkward bubble due to his environment.

    Yet after several seconds... Captain Krysaos had yet to introduce himself, as rank dictated.

    He nced to the side... to see the human gawking at the mermaid girl''s ample breasts.

    "Brother-Captain," Tycon muttered quietly. "I advise you to direct your eyes to the Priestess'' face."

    "I''ve made my choice," Krysaos mumbled.

    Trying not to let his frustration show, Tycon performed the introductions:

    "Good afternoon. My name is Lieutenant Tycondrius and this is mypanion, Krysaos, Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge."

    [Perhaps you are the answer to my prayers? The savior I saw in my dreams?] The mermaid smiled, [Would you refer to this one as... Antea?]

    "Very well," Tycon nodded... before nudging Krysaos in the side with his knee.

    "Oh, yeah. Yeah..." The Captain grinned... like an old lech. "I can fulfill your fantasies,"

    Tycon made a mental note that Krysaos wasrgely useless when speaking to attractive females in power.

    "Oracle Antea, the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge has decimated the ck Crow Pirate base on the eastern ind," He exined.

    He was being modest. In truth, the force of the ck Crow Pirates have beenrgely annihted.

    Their hundreds were reduced to single-digit survivors. Each of their ships in port had been sunk. Their ind fort had be a haven for ravenous undead and was no longer inhabitable by any living sentients.

    ",

 Chapter 662 Armed For War

    ?[Is that so?] Antea bowed her head, [Would you ept my gratitude? It pains me... but you should be treated as heroes amongst the Amphitrite Reef Tribe. The treatment you have endured thus far...]

    "--is incredibly insulting," Tycondrius agreed.

    The bluntness shocked Krysaos back to reality, "Whoa. Hold on. It ain''t so bad."

    Tycon groaned in frustration, "The sahuagin have literally pointed weapons at us, every step-- every... ilm swum..."

    "Take your time, LT."

    Tycon chose to change the subject, "Antea... your people seem to have amassed a great deal of resources to be armed so... thoroughly."

    The enchanted arms and sturdy sets of armor wielded by the Amphitrite Reef Tribe were simr in strength and quality to that of Guild Letalis Serpentia... and in a muchrger scale.

    Besides a powerful military force, the settlement had disyed great wealth with their trade districts and the sheer amount of sentients loitering the waterways.

    The crew of the Neptune''s Revenge deserved some sort ofpensation... in military equipment or valuable goods. If Krysaos was too distracted by Antea''s shapely breasts to lobby for it, then Tycon would do so as a matter of principle.

    ...It was also possible that the Coral Boys would not request a substantial share of loot, as they sawbat as its own reward. Any financial gain they would forfeit could go towards repairing their ramshackle ship... or strengthening it against the crew''s antics.

    Antea grimaced as she crossed her arms... to Krysaos'' disappointment.

    [The Amphitrite Reef Tribe prepares for war... Perhaps they have heard the Sea God''s whispers louder than that of other gods?]

    ...That was logical. Underwater, there was certainly more... sea than there werekes.

    Tycon ced his good arm behind his head, rubbing on his neck, "I''d imagine wars are asmonce here as they are on the surface."

    The Oracle pursed her lips as she folded her hands together... [And if this one told you... that my tribe prepares to war against the surface kingdoms?]

    "Psh, fat chance o'' that," Krysaos scoffed. "The Eastern Kingdoms are pretty well defended."

    "The Eastern *States* are a confederacy, Brother-Captain," Tycon corrected.

    "It''s a democracy, ain''t it?" Krysaos furrowed his brows.

    "The nation isposed of several allied city-states," Tycon exined. "It is a confederacy."

    "But... everyone gets a vote? And... everyone over there always talks about freedom o'' speech?"

    All of the Eastern State cities have adopted a simr election system for their leaders... but each was still beholden to their own esotericws.

    ...but why was Krysaos even arguing with him?

    Tycon twisted his lips to the side, "Aren''t you from the Holy Country, Krysaos?"

    "YEAH!!" Krysaos ced a fist into an open palm, "You guys can attack the Kingdom of Tyrion!"

    [Is Tyrion not a theocracy?] Antea hummed, [A nation led by the Church of the Eternal me?]

    "Oh? You''re well informed, Antea," Tycon nodded with a smile.

    [Is that... praise, Outsider?] The mermaid girl averted her gaze, her cheeks reddening slightly.

    "Intelligence is a quality I find attractive," Tycon admitted.

    "WHATEVER!!" Krysaos swam between him and Antea, "I live by thew of the open sea!"

    "Such a thing is an oxymoron," Tycon rolled his eyes.

    "You''re an oxymoron," Krysaos shot back.

    Antea swam beside the two of them, again creating an even triangle.<novelnext></novelnext>

    [The Sea God seeks to recover the Swords of the Forgotten King... but for what reason? This one... is uncertain... afraid of the dangers the artifact may bring.]

    Tycon pursed his lips. The swords did have a great power to them... and could be utilized to great effect by whatever potential enemy knew their secrets.

    In the Holy Country, he had used the Frost Stone to empower Athena Vanzano. The Sons of Qotal had used the very same relic to raise their own army of caster sses.

    Most recently, the ck Crow Pirates had ckmailed Antea''s tribe with the Aqua Lizard Idol-- and it seemed she was reluctant to allow her people to hold the same power with the Elven artifacts.

    "You would act against your people, Antea?" Tycon asked.

    The womanzily drifted backward, her body facing the temple ceiling. With her gentle breathing and the gills on her neck opening and closing, so too did her bosom rise and fall... [I follow the Goddess of the Lake... If there is to be war... many lives will be lost.]

    Tycon closed his eyes in thought... "Indeed, such casualties are inevitable... on either side."

    [How much pain would be had?] Antea asked, [Women losing their husbands... Children without fathers?]

    Tycon furrowed his brows... "Are females not allied to join the military?"

    "I think she''s being dramatic, guy," Krysaos offered.

    "It''s foolish to recruitbatants from only half the poption," Tycon rolled his eyes.

    "Becky''s a girl," Krysaos argued. "Don''t worry about it, LT."

    [I might have been exaggerating... just a little?] Antea offered shyly.

    "...Very well," Tycon averted his gaze. "Carry on."

    The Oracle pped her hands together as she whispered a prayer. Then, upon twisting her palms and pulling them apart, she formed a whirling mana-sword that lit the room in a silvery blue glow.

    The ability was remarkably simr to Mina''s process of creating a mana-weapon, though Antea was considerably less skilled at it.

    All at once, the mana in the sword dissipated... and as the blue glow faded, a hexagonal opening appeared in the stone flooring.

    It was a room hidden away from Antea''s sahuagin peers.

    Clever.

    He liked that.

    Tycon and Krysaos tacitly followed her as she swam below.

    ...

    The secret room was dimly lit by phosphorescent moss covering the walls, a phenomenon seemingly in abundant supply in the depths.

    Tycon pursed his lips as he gestured, "This is..."

    "An oyster," Krysaos answered... "A big one, but uh... not really an... outside... thing."

    [Have you considered... that what you seek may be safely hidden inside?] Antea fluttered her eyshes.

    "Hot mermaid girl?" Krysaos asked. "I''ve seen a painting of this before! It''s a thing."

    Antea crossed her arms.

    "A half-decent meal?" Tycon chuckled. "And perhaps thepany of a beautiful woman for a spell."

    He had been trying to remain professional, but in Antea''s temple and with the Oracle''s presence, the duo were safe enough that humor seemed permissible.

    [Perhaps that can be arranged?] Antea fiddled with a lock of her hair, smiling shyly.

 Chapter 663 Mundane

    ?Antea performed another one of her rituals, bidding therge oyster before Tycondrius and Krysaos to open.

    Revealed within... was a bronze-skinned humanoid.

    The short, dark hair was familiar to him... as well as the powerful build. However, the gentleman''s body was more... lithe, its defined muscles morepact.

    He was not human. The fellow''s tapered ears were undeniable proof of that. Just as strange, his facial hair had not yet grown back, though it had been several suns since he''dst shaved.

    The shape of his face was different than Tycon knew. However, abat scar remained on his cheek-- one that he had personally seen the gentleman earn.

    The oystered man was... Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark-ened... Elf.

    Without armor... without clothing... he tightly held the twinned Swords of the Forgotten King in his hands.

    "Huh," Krysaos crossed his arms... "Those... don''t look like swords.

    "They are... swords of a sort, Brother-Captain," Tycon assured him... "They look as they do because they are... Elven."

    Elves preferred materials that could be worked naturally... or twisted with magic, rather than forged by hardbor, as only humans could, and how dwarves preferred.

    The swords in Lone''s hands were not made out of metal... but were instead formed of a type of ivory. Regardless of the make, the artifacts seemed to have retained a honed edge-- not that he dared to test that by hand.

    He was certain he could resist Fourth-Circle domination effects due to the Mark of Pride inscribed on his soul. However... he feared the effect taking hold of Lone was closer to God-Rank magic than to Gold or Adamantine.

    "He dead?" Krysaos asked, pressing his finger against the gaunt elf''s cheekbone. "Was kinda hopin'' for-- y''know... not dead."

    "Mister Lone is under the effect of a six-pointed, dualyer seal," Tycon exined. "He is effectively in stasis, the power source of which seems to be the ambient water mana in the surroundings."

    [Do you know everything about me?] Antea teased, pursing her lips coquettishly.

    "Not as much as I''d like," Tycon winked.

    Krysaos groaned and rolled his eyes, "Aaanyroad... when we take this guy to the surface, the seal should wear off, yeah?"

    "Correct, Brother-Captain," Tycon smiled with pride. "I daresay you''re getting better at this."

    Tycon could, of course, break the seal forcefully without issue. However, they risked not being able to activate one of Krysaos'' Water Pearls before Lone drowned.

    ...Granted, he would ensure that the gentleman would live, but it was an unnecessary cruelty.

    "Was pullin'' it outta my arse, but alright," Krysaos picked at his ear, "Makes enough sense."

    The Captain looked over to Antea-- who immediately crossed her arms defensively.

    "Why''s he naked?" He asked.

    Tycon bared his teeth, "Admittedly, I have the same question."

    [The outsider...] Antea began... [I might have hoped for... more?]

    "His thing''s pretty small," Krysaos shrugged.

    "The waters--" Tycon red, "are cold."

    "So he''s a grower, then?" Krysaos scoffed.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...If Tycon understood what Krysaos was asking... then he did not know the answer. He only argued the first point because it was unpleasant to hear his unconsciouspanion so insulted.

    [The Chosen One I saw in my dreams could breathe under the waters as we do,] Antea ''sighed'' wistfully, fluttering her eyshes... [But you... you swim freely. Are you, perhaps, my Chosen One?]

    "Yes," Krysaos responded without hesitation-- even though the Oracle was clearly not directing her question to him.

    "I am doubtful of such a thing," Tycon grimaced... "and I answer for both of us."

    [The question still remains...] Antea pursed her lips... her voice mncholic, but still retaining a spark of hope. [What my third eye sees alwayses to pass... but perhaps this one will have to wait years or epochs for it...]

    Tycon sighed and closed his eyes.

    He did not consider his life a particrly auspicious one.

    Sol Invictus member Pale was exemry of such.

    His father, Quay, was an Elven Prince, a powerful practitioner of the de Dance, and the guild leader of the legendary diatorial guild-- one known throughout the Realm.

    Besides having a strong bloodline, the boy was also naturally talented atbat, soaked knowledge like water to a sponge, and had the requisite creativity and adaptability to survive his various courses of instruction.

    With such advantages... he grew exponentially under guidance from experts in their crafts.

    Tycondrius, Warlord Prince of Charm.

    Dragan Ashlord, Swordmage Prince of Vralkek.

    Tarquin Wroe, Hexde Prince of Arcanite.

    ...Then there was Martialist Patriarch Kimura Daigo of the Ivory Judge sect and High-Captain Lang Hai of the Sea Wolf sect.

    Maximus of Ezyria. Avenger.

    Pale''s diligence and hard work earned him the high tier martial ss, Spear Hero. It wasn''t impossible that he was or would be the most powerful mortal in the Realm.

    Tycon had his own advantages.

    He was a Prince like his closepanions, born to the reasonably powerful War Queen Rnia.

    He excelled with the White Raven school of swordsmanship, a simplistic and general sword style, effective in any setting and against any humanoid opponent.

    He had approximate knowledge on many things, specializing in things of magical nature, and excelling in regards to spell circles.

    He had an umon ss... but not a particrly powerful one like Spear Hero Pale or me Raging Knight Korr or Hallowed Summoner Natalya.

    The fates certainly enjoyed threatening him with catastrophic events... but he passed those off to the relevant powers.

    A rogue warlord from the ne of Fire was attempting to invade via a rift in the Kingdom. The Gatekeepers were notified.

    The Sons of Qotal, loyal to the dragon god and heavily influenced by the snake god, they attempted to create an army of fire mages in the Holy Country. Tobat that, Tycon borrowed the power of thest Samurai of the Screaming Silence and Hades, god of death and the dead.

    Everything else he''d encountered had been rtively mundane and could be handled by utilizing his resources and personal strength.

    ...or did not exist.

 Chapter 664 Real Good Thing

    ?Tycondrius scoffed once more at the absurdity of the thought.

    Him? A Chosen One? A being capable of changing the Realm, saving it from whatever cmity might otherwise befall hundreds of thousands of sentients?

    Besides being unqualified, he had no interest in it.

    As for Krysaos...

    If the fates decreed that Krysaos was a Chosen One for... literally anything, it was likely that the Realm would be destroyed in full, during Tycon''s lifetime.

    Ugh.

    Then again, the fates did enjoy their dramatic irony.

    [One more question remains to be answered...] Antea closed her eyes... the third eye on her forehead opening and staring deeply.

    ...Tycon was slightly surprised, as he had assumed the mutation was vestigial.

    [And only you, Tycondrius...] Antea smiled... [and you, Krysaos... can answer.]

    Tycon shared a look of uncertainty with hispanion...

    "Is it a sex thing?" Krysaos asked with a lecherous leer.

    [No.]

    "Damn."

    Tycon twisted his lips to the side, "Go ahead, Antea."

    [Are you two... hungry?]

    Tycon chuckled to himself.

    He had mentioned food earlier, but it was in jest. Food was plentiful upon the Neptune''s Revenge, and Tycon was certain that Captain Krysaos would wish to return as--

    "I''m FAMISHED!" Krysaos shouted.

    "...Brother-Captain," Tycon ced his hand on his chin. "Our crewmates are waiting for us, just outside the city."

    That was where he had hoped they had returned to, anyroad...

    "They eat poop!" The man insisted, "They''ll be fiiiiine."

    [Has this one ever been so honored?] Antea giggled, [Would you allow me to lead you back to the receiving hall? And perhaps you, Tycondrius, would like to assist me in... preparation for your meal?]

    Tycon sighed and shook his head. Though he wished to continue his quest as soon as possible, with Krysaos'' insistence on staying, he would at least be able to entertain himself in the meantime.

    ...

    ? So there I was... in the damn near center of a fortified sea base. ?

    ? In theory, I was surrounded by hot mermaid girls, just waiting for me to rescue them. ?

    ? In truth, there was no getting away from the slug suckers posted outside. ?

    ? ...which made it all the weirder, seeing just who I saw. ?

    "That you, Stickyfingers?" Krysaos asked.

    A very familiar ghost-pale Coral Boy was swimming by, a bup sack bulging with loot slung over a shoulder.

    "Oh, heEyy, Cap''n," Stickyfingers waved, his stony brows raised. "Don''t mind us. Jus'' pickin'' up a few fings for da ship while we''re ''ere."

    Krysaos pursed his lips, "How''d you get past the guards?"

    "Oh, you know ''ow it iz. Me and da boyz-- we''z real sneaky-like."

    ...More than Stickyfingers were in the city? It shouldn''t have surprised him as much as it did.

    "Just... keep to the shadows, boyo," Krysaos shook his head.

    "No worries, Cap''n, hurr hurr hurr..." The Coral Boy chuckled. "We won''t leave no witnesses, we''z promise."

    Stickyfingers began to swim away, but he suddenly swirled around with a devious grin on his broad, porous face-- "Oh, Cap''n. Dere is one fing."

    "Yeah, what''s that?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "''Ad some trouble lootin'' da inner sanctum-- one fing, really, an'' it''s a real good fing. Door''s open for you an'' da LT."

    "Right," Krysaos crossed his arms... "See you back at the ship, then."

    "Blood and f''under, Cap''n."

    "Yeah, yeah. Victory at sea," Krysaos waved the Coral Boy off.

    Swimming back towards the receiving room... he found Tycon waiting patiently, "You finish screwin'' the fish girl?"

    "...There are multiple ways I can answer that question," the LT frowned.

    "Oh,e onnnn!" Krysaos groaned. "Screwin'' fish girls ain''t illegal!!"

    "A gentleman doesn''t divulge such information," Tycon teased with a smirk.

    Yeah. They f*cked.

    "Whatever, guy," Krysaos shook his head.

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Besides that, if you are inquiring about the status of the meal, Antea still needs time to prepare."

    "Tight," Krysaos nodded. "Come with me. We''re goin'' on an adventure."

    "...Very well."

    ...

    With Ishmael summoned and disguised as a handsome ship Captain, Krysaos and Tycon made their way through the temple.

    They arrived at what he was pretty sure was the inner sanctum after dodging a few temple acolytes who weren''t particrly paying a lot of attention.

    "Security here is... horrid," Tycon remarked.

    "I figure temples aren''t really ces that get raided a lot," Krysaos shrugged.

    "Brother-Captain," Tycon frowned. "You are a pirate."

    "I," Krysaos gestured towards himself, "am a professional. And professionals have standards."

    "Are you saying you''re above looting a temple-- even one belonging to an ally?"

    "No. No, I am not," Krysaos pushed the door open.

    The ce was more-or-less bare... but there were a few statues that looked like they should have had gems or something in their eyes... and some probably used to wear clothes. Krysaos could tell, because they instead wore therge pairs of underpants he knew the Coral Boys wore.

    Tycon gestured with his good hand, "Are those..."

    "Ayep."

    "How did they..."

    "I dunno."

    There was one thing the Coral Boys didn''t take... and it looked like a sword stuck in a pedestal.

    "Check it out," Krysaos swam over to it, "The Master Sword. Once I draw it, I can be the Hero of Time."

    It was a blue-steel rapier with a golden hilt... perfect for a Pirate Captain such as himself.

    Tycon frowned as he inspected it... "That... is not the weapon''s name."

    Krysaos tugged at the hilt, "Once I im it, I can name it whatever I want, LT-- ooh, this thing''s stuck. Wanna give it a go?"

    The green-haired Lieutenant took over... and pulled out the sword with surprising ease. He immediately took hold of the de and offered the hilt over.

    The guy was probably Iron-Rank. Strong as hells, that LT.

    "Aha!" Krysaos eximed, "Thanks, Tycon."

    "Of course, Brother-Captain."

    Krysaos felt a surge of cool water mana flowing through his body. The thing was enchanted, for sure. It''d be useful, as long as they could get it away from the temple-- no one was using it, anyroad.

    He''d just have to ask Tycon to put it away in his storage ring.

 Chapter 665 Confess Your Trick

    ?Krysaos felt the rapier thrumming with power and he held it high above his head

    "I have the powerrrrr!!"

    It glowed almost blindingly blue, shrouding the whole of the inner sanctum in its light.

    ...It didn''t shoot out a beam of energy like he''d hoped though.

    More than a little disappointing.

    "Krysaos," Lieutenant Tycon frowned.

    "Yeah?"

    "What, may I ask... are you doing?"

    "The Master Sword''s choosing me as its rightful owner," Krysaos grinned.

    "That... does not answer my question, Brother-Captain."

    "(The CHOSEN ONE has appeared!!)" A clear voice rang out in Aquan, echoing in the chamber... "(One with a pure heart, capable of saving all the Realm!!)"

    It was a woman''s voice... and it belonged to a girl that Krysaos and Tycon both knew.

    "Sea god''s socks..." "Stars and stones..."

    They cursed simultaneously.

    "(Hark, Chosen One, for--)" The blue-armored mermaid girl, Mina, cut her speech in the middle of it, her eyes wide in surprise.

    Slowly... and still-keeping-it-together, she drifted down closer... "It... is you."

    She was looking right at him.

    "It''s me," He smiled.

    All at once, her usual kind and clueless face twisted with fury. Also, a spinning sword of vtile mana formed in her right hand-- because of course she would still be able to do that.

    "Why are YOU here?!" She screamed.

    "Hey, Mina," Krysaos waved. "Long time no see, girlie."

    "UGHHH!!" Mina groaned, holding onto her head of purple hair, "I haveined to Priestess Antea, time and time again, that security is an utmost priority!!"

    "Yeah..." Krysaos shrugged, "Security here kinda sucks, not gonna lie."

    "The worst has happened..." Mina spun around, flipping her tail... "A human has entered the temple-- and one so... No, Mina, concentrate... you have to report this..."

    Krysaos grit his teeth and mumbled to Tycon, "A n, LT?"

    This was why he brought Tycon. If Krysaos was at a loss, then Tycon was real good at making a n B.

    Tycon ced his hand on Krysaos'' shoulder, "I have full faith that you will survive."

    ...Krysaos gulped, feeling his chest tighten, "LT... what''s that supposed ta--"

    "I shall check with Antea. Farewell. ?Shadowfang.?"

    In an explosion of ck ink, Lieutenant Tycon, not-so-loyal Officer of the Neptune''s Revenge, disappeared from sight.

    Krysaos had his hand held out towards the double doors... which promptly closed.

    Women.

    They brought out the worst in people-- not that he could me the guy.

    The sound caused Mina to whirl around and stared like Krysaos had just shot her sea puppy, "Is... IS THAT THE HEART OF THE OCEAN?!?!"

    Fury of a woman scorned shed in her eyes as she pointed at the Master Sword. Before, Mina was definitely a pushover... but it seemed that in her home and taking what she called the Heart of the Ocean had turned her into an entirely different person.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos hid his new sword behind his back. He had a feeling if he surrendered it to her, she''d run him through-- "We uh... we saved your tribe, by the way."

    "How did you do that?" Mina screamed.

    "Oh, you know... we found their base. We charged in like badasses. Sadly, I was killed in battle-- but I lived."

    "No! Not that!!" Mina shouted, "THAT!"

    She pointed at the pedestal where Tycon pulled the thing out in the first ce.

    "Oh, haha. That. I uh... it just-- fell out, y''know? And I picked it up to... to look at it," He bared his teeth... cursing himself for having lost all his confidence.

    "You are lying," Mina scowled. "The Heart of the Ocean did not *just* fall out. It was drawn from the pedestal... by a *Chosen One.*"

    Ooh. Wrong answer.

    "Okay, you got me," Krysaos took a deep breath... trying to stay calm. "I''m the guy! I pulled out. I''m the rightful wielder of the Master Sword, so uh... deal with it."

    Krysaos never thought he''d have to admit to pulling out of anything. However, there was some sort of significance in being that guy... even though that guy was actually Tycon.

    He was pretty sure he had to take the credit, though. He really didn''t feel like dying anytime soon.

    "Oh," Mina pursed her lips...

    The mermaid girl''s anger seemed to dissipate... much to Krysaos'' relief. It meant he was safe from being stabbed to death for at least another few minutes.

    "We uh... we good?" He asked hopefully.

    "(Noble adventurer--)"

    "Captain, actually."

    "(Noble Captain... pure of heart by proxy... you have my thanks forpleting my quest.)"

    "Yeah, sure. No problem," Krysaos waved it off, "But really, I gotta go. So I''m gonna go ahead an--"

    "Now, GIVE IT BACK!" Mina thrust her left palm out demandingly... the mana-sword in her right whirling with even more whirliness.

    "Sure, sure. Fine..."

    No one lives forever.

    Krysaos offered the blue rapier, hilt forward, ready to ept his quick and painful death.

    Mina snatched it away... and then tried to reinsert it into the pedestal.

    It didn''t stick... at all. Gravity was obviously pulling it back down to the temple floor.

    "Mina..."

    Krysaos whispered... trying not to make the girl mad, but... also trying to find a good opportunity to leave.

    "GIVE IT A SECOND!" The girl shrieked, "Seven hecks, are all humans so impatient?!"

    "Okay, okay! I''ll wait."

    Krysaos rocked back and forth on his feet as Mina kept trying to rece the sword... Unfortunately for her, no matter how much force she used and no matter the angle she tried to stick it-- the thing wasn''t staying.

    "The Heart of the Ocean..." She whimpered, "it''s... it''s a sacred sword. You shouldn''t have been able to pull it out... not... not unless you have disyed the courage to save innocents... the power to defeat the minions of evil gods... the will over thousands of warriors of a hundred different tribes..."

    She turned with a crying face... "Or... you''re actually the Chosen One."

    Krysaos wore his best Chosen One smile, "Maybe... I am?"

    "CONFESS YOUR TRICK!!"

    "I lifted with my legs and not my back?"

 Chapter 666 Selfishness

    ?After an exquisitely-prepared, yet humble meal of exotic raw fish, Tycondrius and Krysaos bid farewell to Oracle Antea. Leaving the temple of the Lake Goddess, they met with their armed escort and informed them of their intent to leave the city.

    Their travel was quick enough... but after so many bells had passed, word of two humans having sullied the waters of the Amphitrite Reef Tribe had seemed to spread.

    As they swam along the waterways, both Tycon and Krysaos were subject to... the civilian poption of the city. They directed jeers and insults towards them in Aquan. Children pelted them with sharp shells, pointing in disgust or running in fear.

    "I can''t f*cking believe this," Krysaos grumbled under his breath.

    "That we are treated so poorly, considering what we''ve done in their favor, is incredible, I agree," Tycon sighed.

    "Hey, Mina," Krysaos whispered, "Say something, will ya?"

    Mina, the purple-haired mermaid, swam alongside the Captain, keeping her head down and her eyes dark. In Tycon''s absence, it seemed that Krysaos had managed to convince her to join his crew.

    "They do not know of your achievements." The reticent girl offered meekly... "They only know that you are human."

    Simr to how the sahuagin at the city''s entrance were unfamiliar with the weapon spirit, the presence of a mermaid in theirpany did little or nothing to mitigate the crowd''s obvious hatred.

    ...It may have even catalyzed it.

    The Captain bade her swim between himself and Tycon to reduce the likelihood of her being struck by projectiles.

    "This is bull shite," Krysaos seethed. "We''re not even human."

    "The belief that we are is enough," Tycon exined in an even tone. "Humans are not well-liked in many more ces besides this one."

    "We saved their gods-damned tribe from like... a thousand pirates, LT," Krysaos groaned. "And this is supposed to be thanks?"

    "Let it go, Brother-Captain," Tycon shook his head as the guards continued to watch them-- waiting for an excuse to fire their weapons. "This is not the time, nor the ce to speak freely."

    "This sucks, Tycon," Krysaos spoke through clenched teeth. "This really f*cking sucks. F*ck all that shite I said about wanting to bang mermaid chicks-- I just wanted to be the good guy, for once. Do something good, y''know?"

    Regardless of whether or not Krysaos'' goal was physical pleasure, Tycon could not deny that the Captain''s decision in attacking the ck Crow pirates had no small amount of good will.

    Krysaos shook his head, "It sucks being a good guy, LT. Now I know why they''re so gods-damned rare..."

    Once Tycon was certain Krysaos would not act rashly, he focused on swimming while keeping vignt for any harmful projectiles thrown his way.

    Silence reigned for the remainder of the trip to the city''s cavernous exit... and few words were exchanged until Tycon, Krysaos, Mina, and the squad of Coral Boys had safely boarded the Neptune''s Revenge.

    Tycon removed the formation-protected Lone Shadowdark from his storage ring, spilling out the crumpled body onto the deck. As the seal would naturally and quickly decay without the temple''s rich water mana, Krysaos bid the crew to confine the human-elf to a bed, below deck, until the time he awoke.

    The levitating mermaid, Mina, imed a different private cabin as her own, locking herself in to... brood or whatever mermaids do.

    Afterward, Tycon met with the Captain in his private quarters, where he conversed for a spell with both him and Hades.

    Helping others is a natural human instinct.

    At base, there is a great selfishness to it.

    In helping a powerful ally, the debt would be repaid by the allied party lending their power.

    The same is true for at all levels of society.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A king may entreat another nation for assistance or condition their whelplings as the next subsequent ruler.

    Simrly, a baker may seek to befriend the farmer that supplies them wheat flour. A thief would be dissuaded from stealing from said baker, if he or she knew they were friends with an Officer from the militia.

    The only difference between the king and the peasant was... the scale.

    ? A man amasses power to protect his family. The family grows into a tribe.

    A tribe seeks a safe ce to live... fresh water... weapons and clothing to protect themselves from the elements.

    So many tribes develop into a city... into a nation.

    The king seeks to protect or solidify his reign... to continue living the life he has be ustomed to.

    Somewhere along that line, the concept changed... especially where humans were concerned.

    The children-- the subsequent generations, they are taught... pride in one''s family... in one''s home.

    To one''s sovereign.

    ''The tribe has sheltered you, raised you, cultivated you. You owe the tribe your service... and there is... honor in that.''

    It was simpler to brainwash the young to seek honor than to tell them that the various nations have developed out of greed.

    But still... it falls to each single man... to that same selfishness.

    A man fights to protect themselves... to protect those they care for... to live asfortably as they can manage.

    In theory, fighting on behalf of the Amphitrite Reef tribe should have yielded some sort of... reward.

    Treasure or mary gain from such work would have been reasonable.

    The tribe''s favor would be invaluable. The seafolk and their military force would be an excellent ally.

    Gratitude... was to be expected.

    Captain Krysaos of the Neptune''s Revenge received none of these.

    His frustration was warranted.

    They retrieved Mister Lone, his artifacts, and a stolen rapier. However, none of them granted by the tribe itself, but by a single Oracle who merely wished for less blood to be shed by sentient beings.

    ...and to warn against a prophesied return of an Elven King.

    The same could be achieved had the crew taken them by force or guile... without having needed to spend the effort and resources to defeat the ck Crow pirates in full.

    Even Tycon sampling the Oracle''s body-- he could have easily overpowered the woman and taken her, had he wished. Failing that, he could have seduced her... or even negotiated for intercourse in exchange for epting her quest, whether or not he chose toplete it.

    Most all these thoughts, save for those concerning Antea, he shared with Krysaos and Hades, both.

 Chapter 667 A Visit

    ?"Got it," Hades nodded. "I''ll take some of the boys and pay the fishfolk a visit."

    The Orcish necromancer stood up as best he could. Unfortunately, due to the gentleman''s unreasonable size, he was forced to crouch in the Captain''s human-sized quarters.

    Tycondrius leaned over to look past him, taking note of theparably tiny stool that had been sessfully supporting the fellow''s weight for the length of the conversation.

    While every other piece of furniture on the Neptune''s Revenge was cheap and flimsy... the stools and chairs were of magnificent craftsmanship.

    "Yeah... alright," Krysaos nodded.

    "Hold, Brother-Hades," Tycon held out his hand. "Please detail your n to the Captain, as he likely does not realize its ramifications."

    "Huh? Oh, that''s easy ''nough," Hades smirked. "The whole city, down there-- it''s called the Amphitrite Reef, right?"

    "What ''bout it?" Krysaos raised an eyebrow.

    "It''s in the name. The ce is a whole ecosystem, guy. If any part of it dies... like-- oh, I dunno, the reefs themselves, so does everything else."

    The orc began to wiggle his fingers, a touch of sickly green magic dancing on the tips, "The fish''ll stop showing up. If there''s natural resources like oil or minerals, I''ll make sure those dry up, too. When the merchants go, so do the rich folk. When they go, the people that work for ''em will be left without jobs. Crime''ll spike. People will starve. The wholemunity''ll copse."

    He scoffed... and snorted augh, "Kch.. hehe. Whole lotta folk are gonna die... lots of ''em sooner rather thanter. I''m sure you guys probably know this, but death and deadening is what I do best."

    Hades turned a red-eyed grin to Tycon, "That sum it up good enough?"

    ...Tycon was fairly certain ''deadening'' was not the correct word for Hades'' purposes-- but that wasn''t important.

    "I expect no less," He nodded contentedly. "Bring back something nice, if you would."

    "Hah! Gimme some credit, man!" Hadesughed. "That''s why I''m bringing the crew. Can''t carry back all the loot, myself... Stickyfingers s''got an eye for the good shite, if ya didn''t know."

    "Really, Tycon?" Krysaos looked to him with a confused expression. "You''re... okay with that?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "Of course. Why would I not be? It would be different if the Amphitrite Reef Tribe could feasibly lend us their power."

    He rubbed his chin in thought... "Unless, perhaps... Krysaos? Would you be confident in silver-tonguing an alliance between us and them?"

    "...N-nah," Krysaos shook his head, "not when most of ''em can''t stand to look at me."

    "Then you understand," Tycon pursed his lips. "Such an effort would be unreasonable. As it stands, Brother-Captain, the Amphitrite Reef Tribe provides no benefit to either of us."

    "That Oracle girl, Antea," Krysaos pursed his lips... "You f*cked her."

    "I did," Tycon agreed. "Other than that, we have no rtionship. What she does from now on, or whether she lives or dies has nothing to do with me."

    "You''re... you''re serious," Krysaos spoke softly, his gaze distant... as if he was having trouble understanding the concept.

    "You''re a cold-blooded bastard, Tycon," Hades chuckled.

    "Brother-Hades..." Tycon frowned.

    "Or cold-blooded, at least," The orc grinned as he raised his open palms. "Anyroad, I won''t be messin'' anyone belongin'' to the Goddess of the Well. Bad juju, that one. She''s imprisoned close to where I live-- her godflesh''s in Letherna, I think."

    As the orc turned to leave, Krysaos looked down at his table... "Hades... hold on a sec."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Yeap? What''s up, man?" The gentleman turned his head, still wearing his devious grin.

    "I... nah," Krysaos gulped. "Nah. Don''t do it."

    "Can ya be more specific, Cap''n?" Hades smiled.

    His broad, tusked face may have been one that children saw in their nightmares, but Tycon sensed benevolence in it.

    "Don''t kill ''em," Krysaos muttered... "Try not to kill any of ''em, if you can."

    Hades nodded without an onze of surprise in his expression, "Okay."

    "I mean... it''s Mina''s tribe. I don''t think I could do that to her," Krysaos made an excuse-- not that one was requested of him.

    "S''fine," Hades waved before continuing to the exit.

    ...After cing his hand on the door lever, he turned back, "Oh, yeah. I should be back before tomorrow by dawn."

    Tycon looked to Krysaos, but he still seemed to be preupied with his thoughts. As such, he waved politely, "Very well. Take care, old friend."

    "If I''m not back by then... wait longer."

    After the god of death, the dead, and stale jokes left the cabin, Krysaos chuckled to himself and let out an exasperated sigh.

    "She seems like the type to mope around when she''s depressed. Think she''s doin'' that now... I don''t think I''d be able to stand lookin'' at her face if we told her we annihted her entire tribe, you know?"

    It seemed he was still speaking about the mermaid girl, Mina.

    Tycon pped the gentleman on the shoulder, "Worry not, Brother-Captain. No one will judge you negatively for your decisions, this sun-- that is to include both myself and our mutual Orcish friend."

    "...Why the f*ck does it feel so bad, LT..." Krysaos lowered his head, "tryin'' to be the better man?"

    It was a question Tycon could not answer.

    After a moment of silence, he changed the topic to other relevant ship matters. Rather than allow Krysaos to dwell on the gravity of his decisions, discussing the present and future seemed appropriate.

    ...

    ? The following sun, approximately noon. ?

    The Coral Boy perched atop the crow''s nest cupped his hands over his mouth to yell to the crew below, "Dey''z back! ''Ades and da resta da boyz''re back!!"

    "Let''s check it out," Krysaos nodded to Tycon as they crossed over to the ship''s starboard side.

    "I have high hopes," The green-haired LT hid his eyes with the brim of his Officer''s cap, "yet am prepared for them to be dashed... Also, is the Coral Boy on the crow''s nest wearing... eye patches over both eyes?"

    "That''s Sockets. I try not to think about it," Krysaos pursed his lips.

    The more he did, the more upset he got.

    "AaAnyroad, I''m sure the boys''ll bring somethin'' useful," He snickered. "If ya sift through so much trash, there''s bound to be treasure, right?"

 Chapter 668 Basically Trained

    ?Hades climbed the ropedder and onto the deck. It was big enough to support the Coral Boys, but it looked ridiculous for the biggest orc he''d ever seen to have to smoosh his arms together to climb it.

    Slung over his back was a huge bup sack, made up of maybe three or four sacks stitched together.

    "Sup?" He grinned, tossing his bag of loot onto the deck, spilling its contents.

    "Wee back, big guy," Krysaos grinned.

    The other Coral Boys boarded the ship and emptied their own sacks into the pile.

    The haul was... actually pretty good. At any rate, it was better than Krysaos could have hoped for.

    They brought weapons made of stone, coral, and precious metals; armor that looked to be made from turtles and crabs and ms. They even brought ranged weaponry like their harpoonunchers, throwing p, and a heap of ammo, too.

    "Fascinating..." Tycon picked up a crossbow, "These are enchanted against the ocean''s corrosion."

    The LT was looking at the loot like a proper pirate would look at a whore.

    It could all sell for some good coin, too. Krysaos found himself grinning madly, thinking of how wealthy he had be-- or the crew had be, anyroad.

    "?Venomous Shadow Ishmael?!" Tycon yelled, "Petty Officer Bob!"

    The shadowy Ishmael appeared at his side with a nod.

    Bob swaggered forward with a salute, "You called, Bosun?"

    "You two," Tycon grinned, "are going to assist me with inventory."

    The guy untied the sling on his bum arm and started to organize the piles... like an absolute madman.

    "Oof," Krysaos sucked in air through his teeth... "That guy... really likes his inventory."

    "It''s actually pretty f*ckin''me," Hades chuckled to himself. "But I mean... I don''t kink-shame, y''know?"

    "Yeah," Krysaos nodded. "I guess it''s fine, s''long as it makes him happy, right? Probably healthier than booze, drugs, and whoring."

    "Hasn''t killed me yet," Hades shrugged.

    "...You mean you''re not? Dead, I mean?"

    Hades furrowed his thick Orcish brows... "Honestly, I dunno. Maybe?"

    ...

    "Watch carefully, gentlemen. I will perform a practice demonstration, but once."

    Before he began, Tycondrius scanned the crowd of Coral Boys.

    Hismanding voice garnered as much attention as he expected. Considering that the topic was war and the bettering of each individual Coral Boy, most of them were listening and watching attentively.

    One of his would-be students, however, was not.

    "?Shadowfang,?" Tycon crossed the distance to Wonderboy in an instant. Raising his knee, he locked it into ce, then spun the rest of his body, using the momentum tond a solid kick against the Coral Boy''s side.

    It probably hurt Tycon more than it did his opponent. Choosing a less painful subsequent attack, he then nted the sole of his boot on Wonderboy''s chest,unching him off of the railless deck and into the waters.

    "The demonstration begins now," Tycon exined.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He took the crossbow Ishmael offered and, holding it with his still-weak arm, he used the reload tool to lock a bolt into ce.

    ...He winced in pain as he did so. His arm was healing well enough to function for mundane tasks... but participating in activebat remained a daunting proposition.

    As Tycon walked over to the side of the ship, the Coral Boys followed him, leaning over what side railings were still intact.

    "Best practice dictates cing the crossbow stock in your shoulder pocket. Line the shot with the iron sights, adjusting for distance. Pull the trigger with a slow and steady squeeze."

    He was shooting left-handed to reduce the strain on his arm, but Wonderboy''s range was too close for him to miss.

    The crossbow bolt sailed through the air... and struck something meaty.

    The Coral Boy emerged from the waters, embracing arge tuna... looking at the bolt with wide eyes.

    The other Coral Boys apuded politely.

    "I will now be handing out crossbows and quivers." Tycon passed the unloaded crossbow to Petty Officer Bob, "I want-- no, I *demand* that each and every Coral Boy be basically trained with these. The highest rated sharpshooters will be awarded personal weaponry."

    Those that did not meet his expectations would be rewarded with violence done to their persons until either the lessons were learned or they expired.

    He would, however, not inform them of that. He preferred to influence his students to seek sess rather than to avoid the consequences of failure.

    ...He raised an eyebrow, "What the hells are you all looking at?"

    Doc giggled to himself, "Kehehe... Bosun, Wonderboy, ''e got eaten by a shark."

    "That is not our problem. Now... line up, Marines-- and be quick about it! BLOOD AND THUNDER!!"

    """VICT''RY AT SEA!!"""

    ...

    "So ''ow was it, big guy?" Krysaos looked up at his bigpanion.

    He didn''t know how to deal with an orc, really... nor a god.

    Thankfully, Hades seemed... more like a regr guy than anything else. He drank. He did hard drugs. He talked about f*cking.

    There was no weird air of godhood about him... or Orcishness, for that matter. He was physically intimidating, sure. Krysaos could see how normal folk could be a bit put off by just that.

    But then again, a lot of folks wouldn''t be okay with the guy just having different colored skin.

    All in all, Hades was a good guy. Krysaos treated him like... any good guy, and it seemed to work out just fine.

    Still... besides being a god, Hades was the strongest guy Krysaos had ever met. Probably stronger than Tycon, even if the LT didn''t have a f*cked up arm.

    When Hades said he could wipe out a tribe of thousands of seafolk as easy as he could piss... Krysaos believed him.

    If he were being honest with himself... he was a little afraid that he did just that.

    "Didn''t kill anyone," The orc shrugged. "Well-- not anyone relevant. Reaped an old guy that was gonna die in a few bells. Saved their Reaper like five minutes. Cute, pink-haired chick, but she''s f*ckin'' a phoenix or somethin''."

    "Sounds about right," Krysaos nodded in thought.

    In truth, none of that sounded right. Getting insider information from the god of death was probably something he wasn''t supposed to hear about.

 Chapter 669 Krysaos, The Coward (Part One)

    ?"Ah, yeah," The Orcish god of death and the dead scratched at his mangy head of oily hair. "Probably should let you know that if you like living and breathing... don''t die."

    "...Well, I wasn''t nning on it," Krysaos shrugged.

    "I might be the god of death," Hades exined-- "and I can turn you *un*dead, if you want. But if you''re too far gone, I gotta let a Reaper take you... or guide you to the beyond, myself."

    "Good enough deal," Krysaos nodded. "But uh... am I goin'' to one of the seven hells for sure? Or can you take me to somece where there''s nothin'' but whores and drugs for the rest of my eternal suns?"

    "Eh, yeah," Hades nodded hesitantly. "My ce is kinda a mess, though-- so I hope you don''t care about that too much."

    Krysaos felt pretty good about securing a decent ce in the afterlife. All he had to worry about, then, was living his best life in the present.

    "Appreciate it, big guy," He grinned. "Now how ''bout you tell me about the stuff you and the boys picked up."

    "It seemed like the Sea God was runnin'' some sorta super-armory, down there," Hades smirked, his long tusks jutting out and making him look like an actual bad guy. "We pretty much crashed the ce. The boys beat up and crippled a bunch o'' sahuagin cksmiths, ruined their forges, graffiti''d their walls..."

    "Some of the Coral Boys know how to write?" Krysaos raised his eyebrows.

    "Nah. They just drew pictures of wangs everywhere."

    That made more sense.

    ...It also exined why there were so many wang carvings in random ces on the ship.

    "We couldn''t take everything," Hades continued, "Didn''t think we''d head back, though, so we f*cked up everything we couldn''t steal. The Sea God''s gonna be pissed."

    "Hells yeah," Krysaos smirked.

    It was great news that that shite god''s forces got so busted.

    ...But then a strange thought urred to him.

    Krysaos twisted his lips to the side-- "This uh... you gonna be alright? Didn''t you kinda just dere war against the sea god?"

    "Psh. I ain''t worried about it," Therge orc scoffed, "No one likes that guy-- the current him, anyroad. And even though I was there, the crew did all the actual work."

    "Alright. That''ll do, big guy," Krysaos offered his fist forward.

    Hades tapped his knuckles to Krysaos'', "They got what wasin'' to ''em."

    "CAP''N!!!" From high above, the Coral Boy in the crow''s nest was pointing and shouting, "We''z spotted an ENEMY SHIP!!!"

    "That so?" Krysaos grinned. "Come on, Hades. Let''s show a few more sons of b*tches what''sin'' to ''em."

    "Keh hehehe..." Hades rumbled a deepugh, "Death, destruction..."

    "Total annihtion."

    ...

    Tycon grabbed a Coral Boy''s lower jaw and pulled him close to shout into his auditory hole.

    "Utilize the proper BREATHING TECHNIQUE!! That''s why you''re WASTING my gods-damned AMMUNITION" He shouted, just before he mmed the gentleman''s head into the deck. "Yes, SIR?!?!"

    "Yessir," The Coral Boy winced as he curled up defensively, "We''z sorry, sir."

    "Now reload," Tycon demanded through clenched teeth, "And do it. properly."

    "Aye aye, sir," The boy muttered, "We''ll do it good-er, sir."

    "Take your gods-damned time," Tycon seethed. "Breathe..."

    "Aye, sir," The fellow whispered.

    Despite the ngs of weaponry, thunks of firing crossbows, and the rumbling roars of cannonfire... the Coral Boy took a deep breath... and exhaled as he lined up his shot.

    Good.

    The crew operated well under pressure. In high-stressbat situations, they performed admirably, heeding his battlemands.

    If only they were so obedient in nonbat zones, they''d be perfect Marines.

    Still, it would do. He''d instructed groups of students, far less astute.

    "Lieutenant Tycon!!" Krysaos walked over at a rapid pace, "Report."

    "Privateers hailing from the Sleeping Country, Captain," Tycon gestured his hand at the ck g ship nigh-adjacent to the Neptune''s Revenge. "The boys are proving... so-so at rangedbat, but the figurative hailstorm of crossbow bolts have dissuaded our enemies from meaningful retaliation."

    "Nemayans?" Fear shed through the Captain''s eyes, "Then we''re fighting undead?"

    "Negative," Tycon shook his head. "The Nemayans have yet to field their undead elites, if they have any."

    "Oh, they got ''em, alright," Hades chuckled. He shifted his warscythe, its de blocking a crossbow bolt that would have found the Captain''s neck. "I sense two squads in that ship-- lesser necromancers too. What''cha wanna do ''bout ''em?"

    "Sea god''s f*ckin piss pot," Krysaos cursed. "They''re... they''re f*ckin'' Navy? We''re fightin'' actual Nemayan sailors?"

    Tycon furrowed his eyebrows.

    It was rare to see Captain Krysaos so lost for words, especially since the situation concerned his expertise: a naval engagement.<novelnext></novelnext>

    On the Haunted Isle, the human Ship Captain had acted with bravery-- bordering on recklessness against the Free Nation Titanblood zombies. He didn''t flinch when they were assailed by multiple Leviathans. Even surrounded by hostile, armed sahuagin forces, he acted as if he were untouchable.

    Tycon recalled what High-Captain Ho Byul said about the man... that the Captain of the Sugar-Titted Siren was known for fleeing from any ships with even a modicum of military might.

    "Captain, make the call," Tycon urged. "Us against the gods-damned world-- and your crew stands with you."

    "R-right... I... we should..." Krysaos gulped and clenched his fists, "Hades... Tycon... I want that ship. Take no prisoners."

    Tycon stepped forward, "CORAL BOY MARINES!!!!"

    """WE''Z HEAR YOU, BOSUNNN!!!!"""

    "We have our orders! Take that gods-damned ship!! ughter ALL Who stand before you! BLOOD! AND! THUNDERRRR!!!!"

    """VICT''RY AT SEAAAAAAA!!!!"

    Tycon hoped that his example was something hispanion could learn from.

    It wasn''t difficult. He chuckled to himself as he patted Krysaos on the shoulder.

    "Thanks, LT," Krysaos grinned sheepishly.

    "You''re not done yet, Brother-Captain," Tycon smirked.

    "I''m not? I uh... the Coral Boys got it, though? And Hades can take care of the undead?"

    Tycon shook his head, still smiling, and gestured to the rapier the man wore on his side, "A good leader leads from the front."

    "You''re tellin''... me? To go out there? Against fully trained Nemayan sailors?"

    "Basically trained sailors," Tycon corrected, "but yes. That is what I am strongly advising you to do."

    "I uh... Well-- I know it... it sounds like an excuse, LT," The Captain stammered... "but you know..? I don''t have anybat spells-- that means I shouldn''t... have to... y''know?"

    "This information does not change your duty, Brother-Captain," Tycon chided. "And besides, would it not lengthen our voyage considerably, if we were to be routed?"

    "Can we talk about this?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Were you, perhaps, thinking of a different course of action?"

    "...We could... sail away?" Krysaos wrung his hands, "Maybe get the Coral Boys to push the ship again?"

    Tycon shook his head, wishing he had not asked, "We will not be doing that."

    "Well, f*ck."

    ...

    ? Below deck, present time. ?

    "There we are..."

    Mina tied another seashell to the wall of her cabin using the twine that Sir Tycon provided her.

    Using her magic to levitate, she swished her tail to move backward, distancing herself from the decorated wall for a better view.

    She didn''t have any personal effects... and her clothes were just mana creations, but collecting gadgets and gizmos aplenty was her coping mechanism.

    But even though she had collected who''sits and what''sits galore, she still felt... empty inside.

    She was the Heart of the Ocean. Though she had a mana-created mermaid form, separate from the rapier, itself... she was bound to it.

    She... was a weapon... one made of precious bluesteel... of astounding beauty and craftsmanship... and blessed with a touch of divinity from the Lake Goddess.

    It was why she needed its wielder to be a man or woman with a pure heart. She had hoped for a hero of a sort. She expected, at the very least, a logical, even-tempered person.

    Instead, the Chosen One who came for her was... Krysaos.

    Mina was not stupid.

    She conversed at length to the Coral Boys. She spoke amicably to Lord Hades. Sir Tycon was surprisingly helpful when he wasn''t performing his duties as a quartermaster-- but there were more than a few questions he dodged or outright refused to answer.

    All the evidence she gathered indicated that Krysaos... was not pure of heart. He wasn''t even a good person.

    When she requested their help, she did not think much of the fact that he was human.

    The concept was not something that deserved her consideration.

    Humans can be pure of heart. From what she knew, the urrence was rare... but humans were people too. Just as sahuagin and their allies are prone to vice and selfishness, goodly humans must exist.

    Krysaos was a liar, a cheat, and a scoundrel. He drank in excess. He yed with women''s bodies and hearts.

    He was a coward.

    Why the Coral Boys heeded hismands... Mina could not understand.

    She could not convince them to do otherwise... but she could refuse Krysaos until his bitter end... or hers.

 Chapter 670 Krysaos, The Coward (Part Two)

    ?The human, Krysaos... he stole the Heart of the Ocean away from the temple.

    Mina''s previous caretaker, Antea had no say.

    The fates had spoken.

    Krysaos drew the sword.

    Since then, Mina had spent her time locked away in her cabin... staring through a dingy porthole at the open waters.

    She would emerge a few times to refresh herself with a swim... to collect trinkets from the depths... and for Sir Tycon''s cooking.

    But even though she could do all the things a free woman could do... she was a ve to a duty she had no interest in fulfilling.

    She was a sword... created by the Lake Goddess to be wielded against her summoner''s enemies.

    Krysaos'' enemies...

    She''d been avoiding that man. There was no helping it. She wanted nothing to do with him.

    If she could, she''d unsummon herself andy dormant until Krysaos died of old age. She hoped that, in another epoch... in another age, she''d be passed onto a Chosen One far more deserving...

    Mina ced her hand on her chest as the mana within swelled, near bursting...

    The Heart of the Ocean had been drawn.

    Through the thin floorboards above her, she heard yelling and screaming... the nging of swords and the twangs of crossbows.

    The Coral Boys were fighting.

    Hades... Mister Ishmael... Sir Tycon were certainly fighting, as well.

    But for a coward like Krysaos? Why would he draw a weapon?

    Mina''s thoughts raced wildly through her mind...

    Was Krysaos directing his loyal crew into battle?

    No... That was what a good, brave man would do.

    Mina winced, curling up her body... The call to battle came again-- stronger than before.

    Fight.

    Seek out honorablebat.

    Kill all who threaten those you love.

    Mina could sense the whispers of the Lake Goddess... bidding her to fulfill her duties.

    Free the good peoples of the Realm from tyranny.

    Ensure their freedom.

    Mina grit her teeth and shook her head, trying to resist the voice in her heart.

    Freedom was the Lake Goddess'' most desperate wish. She, herself, was trapped beneath waters not even gods dared to swim... ced there by the unjust games of her divine peers.

    Like her... Mina, too, was trapped. She was a ve, contracted to a man she did not wish to serve.

    Her mana surged once more, nearing her peak. Her chest grew tight. Her mana was circting rapidly. Purple light spilled from her eyes, illuminating her cabin, reflecting off of the glinting shells and fragments of ss...

    To defend her charge... to do battle against his enemies... that was the calling inscribed upon her soul.

    Try as she might, Mina could not reject itpletely.

    She clenched her fists, forcibly reigning in her power. The light dimmed, the painful throbbing in her chest weakened and slowed... and she breathed a sigh of relief.

    "Seven hecks, what is going on, up there?"

    ...

    Flipping her fins, Mina levitated up the stairs to the top deck.

    The crew of the Neptune''s Revenge was embroiled in a bloody battle, the Coral Boys frantically reloading their crossbows as they fired upon an adjacent ship.

    She hadn''t felt the other ship''s presence-- but there it was. They probably had another Sea Witch veiling them from her senses.

    It seemed that her allies had the advantage. Ropes and grappling hooks hadtched onto the other ship, where a majority of both crews were fighting in a hazardous melee.

    First, she saw Lord Hades.

    The grey-skinned, hooded orc towered above the human sailors and the Coral Boys, both. He cackled menacingly as he swung his massive warscythe, cleaving through a sailor''s gambeson, cutting them from the neck to halfway into his torso. Reaching his hand forward, green tendrils of energy seeped from the dying human''s open mouth and were gathered in the orc''s grasp.

    Hades was a good person... pure of heart. His words were rough, but he spoke as he acted, freely and without deceit.

    Then she saw the handsome, green-haired Sir Tycon and his shadow, Ishmael. They fought side by side, one arm casually resting behind each of their backs.

    Tycon gracefully deflected a pirate''s cuss before redirecting his de to slice open their neck. It was beautiful... andcked excess movement and frivolity.

    He, too, was a good person. Calm. Even-tempered. Always seeking order and efficiency. Like Hades, he disdained lies. He cut down his opponents quickly and quietly... as if he were culling the weak from a school of farmed fish.

    Then... Minaid her eyes upon... him.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos.

    The man that was her rotten destiny.

    He was there... on the front lines, no less mired by enemies than hispanions.

    But... why?

    Why would he risk himself, fighting at the front with his crew?

    Wasn''t he supposed to be a coward that hid behind his men?

    Wasn''t he supposed to have lied, cheated, and stolen his way to be Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge?

    Mina clenched her teeth in worry as she saw a pirate dash to the side of Tycon''s injured arm.

    The Lieutenant ducked down as if he had eyes on the side of his head-- barely dodging the swing of a sword. Whirling his body around, he cut into the back of his attacker''s ankle and rammed into them with his shoulder.

    As Sir Tycon stabbed his sword through their throat, arger human had leapt forward, a heavy wooden maul high above their head. Ishmael lunged to intercept, his own shadowy sword cutting through the front of the pirate''s neck, before striking his elbow against their chest to repel them.

    ...It left Tycon''s back open to attack from another pirate-- one aiming down the sights of a crossbow.

    Mina felt the call for battle again... but... she fought to resist it.

    This wasn''t her fight.

    Krysaos did not deserve her power... nor did his crew. He was akin to Antea... not a wielder, but a caretaker of the Heart of the Ocean.

    "Ain''t NOBODY f*cks with my crew, BOYO!!!!" Krysaos yelled.

    Frantically charging through the melee, he lunged forward with the Heart of the Ocean in hand, stabbing at the aiming pirate''s chest. The pirate deflected the crazed attack with his wooden crossbow, then smashed the stock of it against Krysaos'' perfect teeth.

    Mina''s heart twisted with vindictive glee, seeing the man she disliked get what he deserved. Then, the dark feeling of guilt washed over her.

    Deserved of her or not, she was a worse person for wishing harm upon any sentient being.

    Krysaos managed to seed, running the Heart of the Ocean through the pirate''s chest... but a crossbow bolt had pierced through his coat just below his right breast.

    The injury wasn''t a fatal one... but he couldn''t fight any longer. If the bolt pierced a lung, he might have difficulty breathing.

    ...He could even die.

    It... was what Mina wanted... She was sure of it. But her heart pounded... and tears threatened to spill from her eyes, watching it happen.

    She had done nothing to stop it.

    Tycon and Ishmael fought their way to Krysaos'' side-- most definitely to take their Captain to safety.

    "Brother-Captain," The man said... "is that the best you can do?"

    Of course, it was.

    A coward doesn''t belong in the front lines. A person doesn''t change because of a single choice-- a single instance in a life led in vice and infamy.

    Krysaos might have charged with his men... trying to be a better man, but he paid the price for it.

    His injury was a sign from the fates... that he had to concede... that he didn''t belong there.

    ...It was the same as Krysaos drawing the Heart of the Ocean. The fates were telling her that she did not belong in this sun and age. It was a bad dream... and one she wanted to sleep through...

    Krysaos sat on the deck, sweat on his brow, his chest heaving... his whole body writhing in pain. Blood from the bolt in his coat soaked through the cloth.

    ''Give up, Krysaos,'' Mina pleaded in her heart. ''You are not my Chosen One.''

    "F*ck. That," Krysaos seethed. He grabbed the crossbow bolt and used the Heart of the Ocean to cut off its back end.

    No.

    Stop that.

    Give up, Krysaos.

    You can''t do this!

    The man stood up and puffed out his chest. Tears of pain pooled at the corner of his reddened eyes. Blood trailed down his lips as he gnashed his teeth.

    "Don''t F*CK WITH ME, Nemayan scum!!" He shouted, "My name is KRYSAOS, Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge!! And I refuse to F*CKING DIE!! Not before the motherf*cking sea god LIES DEAD AT MY F*CKING FEET!!!"

    Mina felt her heart pound in her chest... and her will to fight surging, once again.

    Those... crass, terrible, heretical words... they were not the ramblings of a coward.

    There Krysaos stood... surrounded by enemies that wished him death... and allies that looked to him for guidance.

    There he fought... even with such a grievous injury.

    There on the battlefield... nothing could hide his true nature.

    Mina was wrong.

    Krysaos was no coward.

 Chapter 671 The Name Of Krysaos

    ?Mina, the Heart of the Ocean, swiped her arm to the side.

    The Divine Spark within her soul pulsed with power... and the purest water mana in the Eastern Seas washed over her.

    Her coral god-armor covered her form... glowing blue. It was suffused with magic bestowed by the Lake Goddess, herself.

    Thrashing her powerful tail, she swam upward through the air, high above the two ships below.

    "(Praise to the Goddess of the Lake!)" Mina sang, "(Praise be the beauty of her thousand vignt eyes! Strength to her thousand hands, each wielding a SWORD!!)"

    She held out her hands... and a hundred and thirteen mana-created swords of rending wind and water appeared in her midst.

    The fates had not been wrong.

    Krysaos deserved her power...

    As for his enemies...

    They deserved death.

    "I am the Heart of the Ocean! And by my name, no harm shall befall my master!"

    ...

    ? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX. ?

    ? There I was, in my own personal cabin. The Captain''s cabin-- probably the only intact cabin on the Neptune''s Revenge. ?

    ? That almost made up for the fact that getting up hurt all the muscles in my chest... some of them, I didn''t even know I had. ?

    ? Honestly, it didn''t hurt as bad as the other sun. The current pain''s about the level of a hangover and that''s something I''ve been used to for years. ?

    ? Whatever magic that the LT used on me seemed to work decent. It made more sense how he could move his arm well-enough, even though the week prior it got snapped in two or three by that bone lizard. ?

    ? The previous sun... was an interesting one. ?

    ? I survived a crazy f*cking battle against privateers from Nemaya Strana. Military trained, military armed sailors from the gods-damned Sleeping Country. ?

    ? Me. Krysaos, the former Captain of the Sugar-Titted Siren. A guy who only got through in life raiding folks that honestly couldn''t defend themselves. ?

    ? I fought like a gods-damned hero. ?

    ? Like I always wanted to be, I guess. ?

    ? Thought it was impossible, before. ?

    ? But I guess things are different, seeing it from the other side, I guess. ?

    ? The old crew was made up of street-raised orphans, scoundrels, and slug suckers that couldn''t make it doing actual hard work for a sun''s wages. It was obvious that that kind of crew would never have a chance against sailors from an actual Navy. ?

    ? Now... I literally have Marines from the Kingdom. I have a guy that''s made out of shadows. Got an LT that loves to f*ck with inventory. ?

    ? I work with the god of death. ?

    ? That guy. Good guy. ?

    ? But if I told him to swab the deck and he said ''no, you do it,'' I''d just say ''well, shite, very well,'' and I''d be the only Captain in the thirteen seas to be swabbing with a smile on my face. ?

    ? Then I had... the Master Sword. ?

    ? Don''t know what the hells Mina was doing fighting against the Coral Boys in their stupiddder match. The girlie could actually fight if she put her mind to it. ?

    ? You know what, though... things are looking up. ?

    ? This is the best me, leading from the front. Still scary as shite... but the crew didn''t need to know that I was about to piss myself every step of the way. ?

    ? Honestly, I don''t want to do that shite again... but with the way the crew is... and the way my dumb arse openly told f*cking everyone that I want to kill the sea god with my own hands... ?

    ? I''ll probably be leading from the front until it kills me. ?

    ? This is my legend. This is what the name of Krysaos means, now. ?

    ? That sort of name is what I''ve always wanted. I just never had the means to do it. ?

    ? Or maybe, back then, I just didn''t have the balls to act as big as I talked. ?

    ...

    Tycondrius oversaw Krysaos'' practice with his new rapier, the Heart of the Ocean.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...or as he called it, the Master Sword. It was a name that managed to be even more pretentious than its actual.

    A few changes had to be made to his admittedly solid understanding of White Raven Swordsmanship. The training primarily ounted for the fact that a rapier was weighted closer to the wrist rather than distributed evenly throughout the de.

    With Tycon''s guidance, Krysaos was able to grip the sword more efficiently, keep his stamina for longer while fighting, and would hopefully prevent the man from fracturing his wrist by his own fault.

    "This thing''s pretty weird," The Captain groaned. "But all things from the Magic Kingdom are weird, aren''t they? More fashion than effectiveness, I''d say."

    "The sword''s design originates from Bael Turath," Tycon exined. "The guarded hilt and de were developed as qualities for a personal defense weapon."

    Tycon telegraphed a backhanded swing. The Captain expertly parried and thrust in response, forcing him backward.

    "Whoa, the devilfolk?" Krysaos eximed. "That''s kinda hard to swallow, ain''t it?"

    The man lunged forward for a quick stab, the Heart of the Ocean glowing blue with power. Tycon''s weapon, an enchanted sword previously used by the Amphitrite Reef Tribe, glowed in kind-- but much less dramatically. It proved effective at deflecting Krysaos'' initial thrust and the two quick cuts that followed.

    "From Bael Turath," Tycon continued... "the sword was adopted by the Holy Country. The design found use in the hands of nobles and merchants, as carrying a Tyrion shield for sun-to-sun activities proved unwieldy."

    Tycon swiped a shallow cut at Krysaos'' face, which the man caught with a thick-gloved hand. Unwilling to release his weapon, Tycon grit his teeth as he took a boot to the chest and staggered backward.

    He took a deep breath and rxed his stance... "Excellent strike, Brother-Captain."

    "Thanks, LT," Krysaos saluted with his sword before sheathing it, "Why is it, then, that I only really see rapiersing from the Kingdom? ...And pirates, I guess."

    "The Kingdom then adopted the weapon from the Holy Country," Tycon shrugged, "There, the sword flourished, poprized as a dueling weapon rather than a military one."

    He flourished his own weapon before sheathing it. "I''d imagine it took so many epochs, due to the Alizeauns'' general disdain for their northern neighbors."

    "Yeah... I guess that makes sense," Krysaos pursed his lips as he took hold of his wrist, gently stretching it from side to side.

    Tycon nodded to the clean-shaven, slightly perspiring Captain, "Due to your general swordsmanship mastery, I''m confident in your abilities with your newfound weapon."

    It was one of the few things that the Captain boasted of that Tycon did not doubt.

    "Thanks, LT. You''re not so bad, yourself... but anyroad," Krysaos grinned. "I''m pretty excited to meet that Lone guy."

    Bob had reported the Lone Shadowdark having awoken recently.

    It was bittersweet news, considering the temporary absence of Hades and Mina.

    Hadesmented that the mana supporting his physical form was beginning to wane. Using the lizardolich skull to summon him to the material ne could onlyst so long.

    Mina had exhausted her mana during the previous engagement. She was confined to her room, in the ship''s only bathing tub, in order to convalesce.

    Tycon smiled politely, "I''d imagine Mister Lone will be more useful awake than not."

    "Hah! That''s what I''m hopin'' for," The Captainughed. "What ss did you say he was? Ranger, right? Twin swords? Blends in with the dirt and the grass and gets ya in the blink of an eye?"

    "Something of the sort," Tycon scoffed.

    He flicked his wrist, summoning Lone''s favored weapon, a Dark Iron mace fashioned in the shape of a wolf''s head.

    Tycon had taken it from the armories of a traitorous Duke in the Kingdom city of Merylsward and soon after rewarded it to the Lone Shadowdark.

    "Nice," Krysaos took the offered mace and weighed it in his hands. "Ooh, heavy. Just one weapon, though? I thought Rangers were all dual wielders or uh... archers?"

    Tycon snatched at the weapon''s hilt. Instilling a modicum of mana in his grip, he pulled back a second identical wolf-hammer, the original still in Krysaos'' hands.

    The Captain furrowed his brows, "What the...?"

    "Paired weapon enchantment," Tycon exined. "The wolf-hammer can also activate a minor fire enchantment and can transform into a sentient wolf, its fur as sturdy as its material."

    "No shite?" Krysaos raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Metal f*cking wolf. That is f*ckin'' awesome."

    Tycon chuckled to himself. It was rather impressive, the weapon having such a bond with its wielder, "The weapon spirit can only be summoned properly by Mister Lone. I''d imagine, at that time, that particr gentle-wolf would be more than willing to join your crew, Brother-Captain."

    "Hells yeah," Krysaos grinned. "We can have the wolf lead a charge into a fight, soaking up all the crossbow bolts!"

    Tycon bared his teeth in chagrin... "Yes. That would be... an effective tactic."

    The young wolf, Tres Leches, might not be so keen on the idea. As a mana-construct, he would recover from injuries faster than the other members of Sol Invictus... but it would undoubtedly be unpleasant for him or anyone to be used primarily as a target for bolts and arrows.

    Krysaos handed back the wolf-hammer and started towards the stairs, "Alright, let''s head down, LT."

    ",

 Chapter 672 King

    ?Krysaos allowed Tycondrius into the room first, as politeness and rank dictated. The junior officer was first to enter and the senior, first to exit.

    The Lone Shadowdark had attained a set of trousers, belonging to the cabin''s previous inhabitant. Cross-legged, he levitated in the air... flowing Elven sigils of mana glowing on his naked chest.

    It was... something that the elves did.

    While they could choose to sleep, the practice was disdained by the more traditional elves. Instead, they chose to meditate, recovering their energies by absorbing the mana in their surroundings.

    The levitation was unnecessary... and like foregoing sleep, the Elven Lone had chosen to sit, not on the deck where his less-magically adeptpanions were bound, but above it.

    Tycon spoke in a firm voice to wake the young Ranger, "Mister Lone."

    He waited patiently for several moments... but there was no response.

    If his voice was heard, the elf betrayed no indication of it.

    "Is that really that guy''s name?" Krysaos asked.

    "It is what he generally answers to," Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    Barza Keith chose the Lone Shadowdark moniker on his own. As Tycon feared Krysaos would find that fact as absurd as he did, he elected to answer the Captain''s question indirectly.

    "Mister Lone, I am speaking to you," Tycon took a step forward.

    Suddenly, a jolt of danger rattled Tycon''s senses, like an arrow hurtling towards his chest. He narrowed his eyes and subtly lowered his stance, ready to fight or flee.

    Krysaos had leapt three fulms back, his hand on the hilt of the Heart of the Ocean.

    It was... killing intent... for the briefest of moments, so pure and unfiltered that even Krysaos reacted to it.

    ? Its origin was Lone... a gentleman that had neither the ability to direct his killing intent with precision nor dissipate it sopletely in seconds.

    Lone had opened a single eye... absent of a human''s iris and pupil. A white sclera, suffused with a glow of magic red at him intently.

    "I am not the Lone you speak of, Tycondrius."

    Tycon grimaced. The situation was different than he had realized.

    Before him was not the Lone Shadowdark. The weapon spirit within the Swords of the Forgotten King hadpletely taken control of his mind and body.

    The question, then... was how much of the original Lone remained in that shell?

    The levitating elf stated his true name-- something that Lone knew, but did not often speak.

    Did the weapon share Lone''s memories?

    ...Or was Tycon known from elsewhere?

    The elf calmly unfolded his legs, the glowing runes on his chest fading into his skin. He stood tall upon the deck, looking down upon him.

    "Yes, I know of you, Maedar," He spoke in a firm voice...

    Tycon looked up to meet his gaze, much to his irritation.

    It was jarring to hear Lone speak with such... certainty. In different circumstances, Tycon would have been proud of such a development...

    "Good morning."

    "The goodly beings of this Realm celebrate the rising of each morning sun..." The elf inclined his head with a slight nod, "Thou art qualified to speak with me, if barely. Thus, I grant my permission to thee... to forego kneeling before my presence."

    Tycon felt his eye twitch with displeasure. Never before had his royal bloodline only earned him base qualification... "You have... my gratitude."

    It was not certainty in the elf''s voice, as he''d thought.

    It was arrogance.

    Tycon had seen the same in the words and actions, shared by all the so-called Elven Ancients he''d met.

    "What the f*ck do we call him, then?" Krysaos asked.

    As expected, the elf in Lone''s body acted as if the human Captain had gone unheard.

    Tycon cleared his throat... "And how, may I ask, would you prefer to be addressed?"

    He felt it would behoove him to speak in an Elven dialect... but being so obeisant was an annoyance he did not wish to subject himself to.

    The elf''s white, glowing eyes shed radiantly with a surge of mana, "I am... Sovereign... the savior of my people. I have heard their desperate cries for help... and havee to this Realm to save them... and the other, lesser beings, hopeless to save themselves."

    Krysaos nodded-- with the situation appearing more as a fool than as a respectable Captain of a ship, "So... some sort of king?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You understand," The elf nodded. "You may refer to me, then, as King."

    Krysaos scoffed to himself and bubbled in Aquan, "(I''m not doing that...)"

    Tycon was not keen on the idea, either. However, referring to the elf as ''Lone'' was clearly no longer appropriate.

    He flicked his wrist and summoned Lone''s former effects... a cloak, the dark red gambeson he preferred, as well as his mace and sword.

    "These were used previously by your host, master elf," Tycon offered them forward.

    As he feared, the eyes of the wolf-headed hammer did not glow. Tres Leches did not acknowledge this King as his wielder. There was little to no sign of Lone remaining...

    King took the clothes... "They stink of blood."

    "Earned in honorablebat," Tycon assured him.

    "They are suitable," The elf nodded.

    ...Tycon raised an eyebrow in surprise. That was not an answer he expected from an Elven sovereign.

    The weapon spirit was unlike the Ancient elves of the current generation. Those elves excelled in archery and the de Dance only as an art... a pastime of pleasure from a forgotten era. They, in turn, looked down upon the violent skirmishes waged by the various nations in power.

    The Swords of the Forgotten King were spirits of war... thriving in closebat, ustomed to the blood and sweat of the battlefield.

    But would those spirits adapt to the current state of the Realm? To crossbows, the force of which were matchless to even the strongest bow archers? To Turathi weapons powered by Orkish Sugar? To the Sleeping Country who fielded swarths of undead in battle formations or to the Kingdom and their cadres of Circle Mages?

    Or would they hold onto their primitive traditions?

    "I have no use for the human-made weapons, Tycondrius," King stated coolly as he slipped on a sleeved shirt and the gambeson over it. His twin des hovered by his side, suspended in the air by magic.

    "Sea god''s socks, this guy is nuts," Krysaos groaned. "Well, if you''re not gonna use ''em, I''ll take ''em off your hands."

    "You already have a powerful enchanted weapon, Brother-Captain," Tycon shook his head, against storing the wolf-hammer and the Shatterspike longsword in his spatial ring.

    "Ehe... Oh, yeah. I forgot," The gentleman smiled with chagrin. "Anyroad, let''s get this chucklef*ck back to Archangel so we can fix whatever''s wrong with his head."

    "Archangel?" The elf sneered, "You speak of... a city built by human hands, named for creatures they could only dream of?"

    Tycon and Krysaos shared a frustrated look.

    "...Yes," Tycon answered.

    "How useless," King growled. "No, you will bring me to an Elven city, where I shall gather noble Elven warriors to my cause."

    "Hold on. Hold the f*ck on, tough guy," Krysaos yelled in disbelief, "This is my ship and I''m the Captain here!"

    "Are you, then?" The elf raised an eyebrow. "Very well. Though the quality of thy ship is sorelycking, you may yet serve me."

    "This... this guy," Krysaos shook his head, finally realizing that arguing against the sovereign''s arrogance was useless. "Nevermind. I really don''t wanna deal with this right now."

    He turned to Tycon, "The sooner we can fix this guy the better... or maybe we should just take the swords to where they need to go..."

    "Either option will be fine," Tycon nodded. "If we change course to go directly to Whitehearth, the city is governed by elves and would suit our Elvenpanion''s needs..."

    However, in that case... Tycon would have to apologize to Coraline Heartsongter. Her romanticpanion, Lone, was dead... and he doubted she would have any interest in what had be of him.

    Despite the sour mood, Krysaos adopted a sly grin, "And since you''re a passenger and not part of the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge, I''ll have to ask you ta surrender your weapons."

    He was... talking to King?

    The unsuspecting Captain reached for the hilts of the floating swords...

    Stunned by the human''s brazenness, Tycon watched in horror, unable to stop him.

    "(INSOLENCE!!!)" King roared, Ancient Elven words of power lighting up the tiny cabin in blinding radiance.

    In Krysaos'' foolish bid for social dominance, he dared to offend an Elven Ancient. A lethal response was the likely oue.

    King wasunching a knife-hand aimed at Krysaos'' chest, sheathed with an enchantment that would impale the man through the heart.

    Tycon clenched his teeth as adrenaline and mana coursed through his body.

    Moving his body as quickly as he could, he shot his hand towards King''s arm, hoping to stop or deflect the deadly attack.

    ? System, activate ?Jumping Knee Counter.? ?

    ? ?Jumping Knee Counter.? Reaction ability. Targeted ally''s physical defenses are improved against a single attack. Target ispelled to make an instantaneous unarmed strike against an enemy with increased uracy. ?

 Chapter 673 You Lie

    ?There were plenty of reasons for Tycondrius to prevent Krysaos from dying.

    Due to his nautical expertise, the gentleman-Captain remained Tycon''s most reliable resource in reaching Archangel safely and in good time.

    On a personal level, Krysaos was a pleasure to converse and interact with.

    ...And admittedly, Tycon was still somewhat annoyed that his foolpanion, the Lone Shadowdark, was so-affected by the domination spell-effect of the Swords of the Forgotten King.

    Grabbing hold of the Elven sovereign''s wrist, he redirected the piercing strike away from Krysaos'' chest.

    It was enough to keep the man alive but not to keep him unharmed. King''s hand grazed the Captain''s shoulder, cleaving through the thick material and drawing blood.

    Tycon''s body surged with mana as the second-half of his Skill began to activate. As he was in an awkward position tounch a knee-strike, he was forced to improvise. Lowering his body, he circted his mana to his right arm and powered his elbow towards King''s sr plexus.

    "(So fast,)" The elf sneered as he held out his opposite hand.

    King blocked it... far too easily. He redirected the momentum downward, forcing Tycon to fall to a single knee.

    Reacting quickly, Tycon rolled backward and got to his feet. Though he did not use his left arm for any major movements... it ached terribly.

    ...It was greatly inconvenient to have a broken arm.

    King rejected the attack with minimal effort... yet he did not make a subsequent attack when Tycon was caught in a disadvantageous position.

    That fellow was either a fool... or had done so purposefully.

    Which... was it?

    Standing straight while remaining vignt, Tycon narrowed his eyes at the elf... who returned a nod with a stern stare.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, was once one of his greatest allies. Besides his physical form and personality being nigh unrecognizable, so was his ability as a martialbatant.

    King''s reaction speed was fast... faster than Lone ever was.

    Upon first touching the swords, Lone performed the movements of the de Dance on the deck of the Marlin Monroe. There, he disyed confidence bordering on arrogance, technical skill at martialbat, and a baffling mastery of Circle magic.

    Though Tycon suspected as much, earlier... he was not a match for the Elven sovereign in his injured state.

    If the elf had not shown even half of his potential in the shortbat against the ck Crow pirates... then even at full strength, Tycon feared he could not defeat the current Lone.

    "These des..." King whirled his des about in a graceful flourish... "were a gift."

    Tycon swiped his hand, "Master elf, though you may be sovereign elsewhere... on the Neptune''s Revenge, you are a guest. Here, Captain Krysaos'' rule isw."

    "Tch," The elf clicked his tongue, releasing his swords and allowing them to levitate behind his back. "Regardless, do *not* darey thy hands on what is *mine*. I pray thou art gracious for the Maedar''s intervention, Captain... Krysaos."

    "Yeah. Sure thing, guy," Krysaos whispered through clenched teeth.

    Sweat rolled down the Captain''s brow, his body still quivering. He hade closer to death than when he had fought against the lizardolich and against the Nemayans.

    King straightened his back, standing tall and proud, "Dost thou know of the origins of these des?"

    "Obviously not," Krysaos groaned.

    Though the Captain''s tone and bodynguage clearly conveyed his disinterest, the elf did not seem to notice.

    "Ten thousand years ago, I was the most powerful Elven hero of my generation... nay, since time immemorial," The elf recalled with a fond smirk... "The most feared dragon in all the Realm, Zaer Nar, was to be my opponent."

    ...Tycon''s mouth soured upon hearing the fellow speak of that which did not exist. However, if the elf was a lizardyer-- or believed himself to be, that was not something he could hate.

    Elves do not record their histories as dwarves and humans do, nor are specifics imprinted in their bloodlines like in each and all minotaur and medusae.

    Instead, elves pass on the tales of their ancestors by words of mouth. Over the course of ten thousand years, such tales were... unreliable, at best.

    Whatever happened, elves were taught to hate lizards, simr, but to a lesser extent, to how medusae and their allies were born to do so.

    "I stared into the magnificent creature''s eyes..." King took a deep breath, "and into his soul. And there... we did battle."

    He did... what?

    Tycon was... vaguely familiar with the concept. Though a slight stretch, he believed King was describing a phenomena referred to as a Reality Marble. Powerful Circle Mages could create self-contained nes of existence, where they could manipte the Laws therein as their skill dictated.

    A lizard certainly wouldn''t craft a Reality Marble for merebat-- so arrogant in the destructive power of their bodies.

    For King to do so, however... would mark him as a specialized Fourth-Circle Caster or higher.

    The thought was... not credible.

    The elf breathed a nostalgic sigh, "For suns and moons and years we fought... without rest... our only sustenance, honorable battle. And when the noble Zaer Nar so judged that he could not best me without incurring great, nigh-mortal injury... we settled upon a mutual agreement."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, anger creeping into his voice, "You did... what?"

    The elf continued, ignorant of Tycon''s displeasure.

    "I granted the dragon my love for beauty. For grace, found in the stalking lion and in the swiftest swallow. For art, found in the steadfast trees and in blood spilled in the snow by the wounded stag.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "In exchange, Zaer Nar gifted me with war and battle.

    "He gifted me an untrodden heart, to stand tall-- to never ept being treated as an equal where I should stand supreme.

    "He gifted me righteous rage... fury upon those who dare doubt my words... my kin... my... own undeniable honor, ten thousand years of just deeds."

    The elf pped his hands together, his two swords levitating to his sides. Grabbing their hilts, he whirled them about before crossing his arms, the t of his des resting on his shoulders.

    "And the dragon so gifted me... two of his fangs, fashioned into des... sturdier than any forged metal known to the lesser races."

    Tycon squinted his eyes in incredulity... in bemusement... and in teeth-gnashing irritation...

    The swords were made of lizardbone.

    They were not... taken from its corpse... but gifted... peaceably?

    Tycon was beginning to doubt the elf''s story.

    Even if it were true, the mere thought of it made his blood run hot.

    In theory, Elven Ancients were unable to lie. They were masters of sowing discord, twisting words and meanings, omitting important truths, and nigh weaponizing implications.

    If such things were true... how much of it could be trusted?

    From what Tycon understood, the Lone Shadowdark was possessed by the spirit in the des of the Forgotten King.

    On the surface... it appeared that the swords held an Ancient Elven spirit...

    Was the spirit''s memory degraded by so many thousands of years of age?

    Was it not an elf at all, but sentience achieved by the weapons, its memories a best-guess replication?

    ...Were things so different in the age the Elven sovereign reigned?

    Tycon crossed his arms-- trying not to show his difort from moving his left.

    It was also possible... that the spirit may be lying.

    If it wasn''t Elven... perhaps it was a different type of spirit-- a trickster spirit, perhaps?

    The source could even be a geas cast by a mad wizard. In such a case, Lone might only strongly believe that was an Elven king, allowing his human rationale to fill in the logical gaps.

    Whatever it was, Tycon understood in his heart that King''s words had absolutely no credibility to them. What truth existed-- it was meaningless, so mired in exaggerant diction.

    Krysaos covered his mouth.

    The action was... disconcerting, but Tycon''s worries were quickly abated.

    The Captain was... stifling...ughter.

    "Psh... Hah... Hahaha! HAH!" Krysaos pped his thigh, coughing and wheezing as he cackled.

    The elf lowered his swords and raised his eyebrows quizzically, "You...ugh?"

    "Yeah, man," Krysaos snickered. "CooOool story, bro."

    "It is *not* a story," King grimaced. "''Tis a recounting of events that happened in truth."

    Tycon averted his gaze. That still qualified as a story.

    "Yeahhhhh, wellllll~" The Captain hummed-- "Dragons don''t exist."

    At first, the elf was taken aback, gritting his teeth in anger.

    Then... he realized that Krysaos'' face showed no sign of deceit... which was admittedly somewhat rare.

    It was also possible he realized that Tycon was nodding in agreement.

    King''s furious gaze cooled-- and was frozen in disbelief.

    "You... you lie," He whispered, his earlier arrogance fully reced by uncertainty.

    "Nope!" Krysaos grinned. "It''s the truth! Haven''t existed for centuries, tough guy!"

    King swaggered over to the cabin''s chair, sitting down with a confused look on his face... "I... I refuse to believe this."

    "Believe what you want," Krysaos spun on his heel and began towards the door. "I''m outta here."

    As Tycon turned to follow him out, he heard King whisper to himself in Lone''s voice... the words in the Ancient Elven tongue.

    "(How much has changed in this Realm...? Have I truly been gone for so long?)"

 Chapter 674 Disappearance

    ?? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX. ?

    ? My entire crew is made up of idiots. ?

    Lieutenant Tycon removed his Officer''s cap and swept back his annoyingly perfect green hair before recing it, "I feel the need to remind you, Brother-Captain... that best practice dictates that we work with what is provided to us."

    "Yeah, man... I get it," Krysaos heaved a sigh. "No use cryin'' over tossed loot and shite... but seriously-- sea god''s f*cking suspenders, this is ridiculous."

    He gestured upward at the main mast, "Our sails are made of patchwork and... and underpants. And they''re RED."

    Tycon ced his hand on his chin, "I thought it strange, the red paint... I''m assuming the order to paint them was not yours."

    "It most definitely was NOT," Krysaos narrowed his eyes. "And look at the deck! Dozens of holes-- can''t fix those, either. Remember the other sun where I almost fell through and you had to help me out?"

    "The first sun, I believe," Tycon hummed, "but I recall no such instances in the past several."

    "Well, I trip on a per-sun basis," Krysaos grimaced.

    "By this point, we''ve memorized the ship''s mostmon pitfalls, have we not?"

    "Me and Wonderboy''re real good at finding new ones..." Krysaos twisted his lips, "or the others at makin'' em..."

    "Granted."

    Tycon just... nodded, like nothing could really be done about it.

    Krysaos couldn''t think of anything either... but he was honestly hoping for some sort of solution.

    When the Tactician didn''t have anything meaningful to add... that showed just how f*cked everything was.

    "Then..." Krysaos shut his eyes, "there''s the railings..."

    "Yes... of course..." Tycon nodded gravely, "The railings..."

    "We don''t have f*cking railings, LT," Krysaos growled.

    "We have..." Tycon pursed his lips, gesturing forward, "that one."

    The LT was pointing at a single portion of railing-- one gods-damned section of it that remained on the starboard side. It was all alone... and it wasn''t even five feet wide.

    "I ain''t even gonna say anything about that," Krysaos shook his head. "I think... honest-- I wanna move to the other ship, the Nemayan one. But... you know."

    "I believe I do," Tycon smiled politely. "You fear it only a matter of time until your second ship falls to the same state as the Neptune''s Revenge."

    Krysaos tilted his head back, cing his hands on his face, "Aaaargh... The Sugar-Titted Siren II doesn''t deserve that kind of mistreatment."

    He was feeling a headacheing on... After taking his hat off and scratching his head, he massaged the spot above his nose, "I get that it''s not all bad, though. We f*cked up the sea god''s armories, thanks to Hades and the boys. We picked up a Sea Witch so the nasties below stop screwing with us so bad..."

    Tycon nodded in agreement, "There is great value to our achievements, especially considering the short period of time they urred within."

    "But I''m at my wits f*cking end, LT!" Krysaos rolled his head in exasperation. "I swear... if the fates f*ck even one more thing up, this sun, I might put my gods-damned godying bullet into a not-god''s brain housing group."

    A certain Coral Boy''s wooden armor clunked noisily as he swaggered up the steps to the top deck. Without hesitation, he spun in a perfect 180 and began to go right back down.

    "Petty Officer Bob is a keen gentleman to know his concerns are unwanted," Tycon quipped.

    "That guy..." Krysaos raised his voice after him, "Hold on a second, boyo!"

    Bob... previously Twelve of Twelve or somethin''... was the biggest Coral Boy in the crew. He was easily the smartest too. The big guy froze like a statue-- not movin'' a single rocky muscle.

    Then... he ran.

    The fates were DEFINITELY out to f*ck him!!

    "Not so fast, you yellow-bellied scwag!!" Krysaos immediately began to sprint after him, "BOB!!! C''MEEERE!!!"

    He ran down the treacherous steps, probably putting too much trust in the side rails, and began chasing the Coral Boy down the corridor.

    Bob grabbed a storage barrel, tossed Barrel Boy right out of it, and hopped in. Then, he began to roll away...

    "The speed of which that gentleman moves is... surprising," Tycon remarked.

    Even at Krysaos'' top speed, it seemed that Tycon could keep up without even a mark of sweat. He was probably even faster, too...

    That was good. Krysaos could use that.

    He pointed at the fleeing Coral Boy, "LT, I''ll let you inventory the Captain-al quarters if you stop that guy."

    For just the asion, Krysaos ensured that no one else got in his room when he wasn''t around. Tycon didn''t like to sleep around. He wasn''t moved by food or alcohol, either-- since he provided most of that, himself.

    He could be tempted, however, by the offer of... counting things.

    "You are the Captain of this ship, Krysaos," Tycon chided, gesturing with his good hand. "You can give me orders without the promise of a reward. Also, ''Captain-al'' is not a word."

    "You gonna do it or not?"

    "?Shadowfang.?"

    The green-haired guy disappeared in a puff of smoke. Krysaos looked over to the other end of the hall expectantly-- and Tycon reappeared, stopping the rolling barrel with his boot.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The way he moved was definitely a lot faster than if Krysaos had made the request normally.

    Bob the Coral Boy crawled out of the barrel... and proceeded to vomit all over Krysaos'' floors.

    ...which was to be expected, really.

    "Well, well, well..." Krysaos walked over to him, "Why ya tryin'' to run away? Tryin'' to hide somethin'' from yer Captain, boyo?"

    Bob stood up straight, wiping his mouth, "Sorry, Cap''n. Was just uh... havin'' a bit of fun, eh?"

    Tycon took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket... because of course he''d have something like that.

    "No thanks, Bosun. I''z uh... I''m good," Bob waved it away.

    "Take the damn cloth, Marine," Tycon frowned.

    "Aye aye, Sir. Sorry, Sir."

    "Now, then," Krysaos made sure he wasn''t standing in bile and began to tap his foot impatiently, "Would you kindly exin to me... what the F*CK is goin'' on?"

    Therger man grimaced as he wrung his hands in OBVIOUS GUILT, "I uh... it''s uh... nuffin'' of int''rest, Cap''n. Maybe I can uh... discuss ''is wiv da Bosun? Nuffin'' important, really."

    "Nootttttt gonna work, boyo!" Krysaos rolled his eyes, "What''s the problem this time, huh? Is it the poop closet? Did the elf and his stupid swords fall through the hull, or what?"

    Tycon ced his hand on Krysaos'' shoulder, "Brother-Captain..."

    There was something in the guy''s voice that chilled Krysaos'' blood... "Y-yeah?"

    "Perhaps you might inquire... about the location of Petty Officer Bob''s Coral Boy peers?"

    Krysaos'' eyes widened as he realized just what his Lieutenant was implying.

    The crew.

    He hadn''t seen most of them in the better part of the bell.

    Sockets was in the Crow''s Nest-- probably because he didn''t know how to get down. And then there was Petty Officer Bob, who had juste on deck...

    Oh, and Barrel Boy. There were a lot of barrels on the ship and a lot of Coral Boys, so Krysaos never put that one in his crew count.

    Tycon was ounted for-- he was never an issue. Mina was back in her room, not going anywhere, anytime soon.

    Krysaos judged where the light wasing through from the top deck and nced back to check on his and Tycon''s shadow. One of them waved in acknowledgment.

    Ishmael was ounted for... good ol'' Ishmael.

    But everyone else...

    Why wasn''t Wonderboy swabbing his deck? Why wasn''t Catshit repairing the riggings? Doc-- why wasn''t he suturing the holes in the sails?

    Where in the gods damned seven hells was Stickyfingers?

    "Bob," Krysaos crossed his arms. "Where is my crew?"

    "I uh..." Bob sighed wistfully, "Prolly best if I''z just show you, Cap''n."

    ...

    "What the f*ck is this?" Krysaos asked.

    Over thirty Coral Boys were on the bottom-most floor of the Neptune''s Revenge. Bilgewater reached up to their ankles... looted supply boxes were strewn about.

    The condition of the hull and its contents was consistent with the rest of the ship... but it was weird as hells to see them all... just standing there. They didn''t stand in one ce, either... but were scattered with a weird dispersion.

    "So uh... nuffin'' ta see here, Cap''n," Bob smiled with chagrin. "Ain''t at right, boys? NUFFING TA SEE HERE, ROIGHT?!?!?!"

    "Oh, yeah, Cap''n. Nuffin'' to see," One of the Coral Boys shouted.

    "Nuffin! Nuffin'' at all!!" "Yeah, s''right!" "Everyfing''s good, Cap''n!!"

    "Quite suspicious," Tycon remarked.

    "Ya don''t say..." Krysaos muttered.

    Bob''s rocky grin wasn''t fooling anyone.

    One of the Coral Boys, Doc, was tittering nervously as he bnced atop of another Coral Boy-- that one lying face down in the bilge.

    "Doc," Krysaos grimaced.

    "AYE, CAP''N!" Doc shouted, "Roight ''ere Cap''n! We''z been good! No uncalled for surg''ries as requested!!"

    Well... that was good. Some of the other Coral Boys were looking at him like he was a liar-- but what Doc likely meant that there were no *major* surgeries, as of recent.

    "Doc... why are you standing on Wonderboy?"

 Chapter 675 Crabs

    ?"I uh... err... ah. Ehehaha..." Doc giggled to himself nervously, unable to keep his hands in one ce. "About ''at, Ca''tnnn..."

    "''E fell," Bob insisted, ring angrily towards Doc. "Tripped on his own feet, din''cha?"

    "Oh, yeah! Right!" Doc barked obediently, "Wonderboy fell! ''Ats''all!"

    The collective of Coral Boys murmured general agreements to the same disharmonic tune. Petty Officer Bob stuck his chest out, betting his everything that his confidence would make everyone else overlook the fact that he was lying through his rocky teeth.

    Honestly, Krysaos wasn''t even mad. It''s what sailors do-- stick together.

    "Doc," He took a deep breath. "Step away... from my deck swab."

    The Coral Boy folded his hands in front of his chest as if he was trying to beg, "I uh... I ain''t so sure ''at''s a good idea, Cap''n."

    "Brother-Captain," Lieutenant Tycon whispered in a low voice... "Perhaps... we should let this go?"

    Krysaos hesitated... but shook his head, "At this rate, I... I have to know, LT... even if it kills me."

    "I feel the need to remind you that... that is not an impossible oue."

    "Yeah, I do," Krysaos sighed.

    No one lives forever.

    "Doc, I am the Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge," Krysaos raised his voice. "And I gave you a direct order."

    "Sure fing, Cap''n. Sure fing..." Doc mumbled as he stepped off of Wonderboy.

    The face-down Coral Boy... scrunched-- sticking his arse in the air, before plopping it down into the bilge with a ssh. Sitting up, he rubbed the back of his lime-green head and looked around like he was lost.

    "Oh!" Wonderboy''s eyes shot open, "HEY, Cap''n! You''z ''ere for da fight?!"

    The LT ced a hand on his chin. Doc started to giggle like a madman. Bob covered his yellow face with a thick palm.

    That was it. That was the big secret.

    "Fight?" Krysaos raised his eyebrows, "I don''t see no--"

    A vicious crack resounded through the air as fresh seawater drenched his coat and trousers.

    That... was something he never wanted to hear on his own ship: the sound of his gods-damned hull being broken open.

    He was going to die. Everyone on the ship that needed to breathe air to live was going to die.

    Not just one, but a half-dozen giant tentacles had burst through holes in the hull.

    "BLOOD AND F''UNDERRRR!!" Bob raised his battleaxe.

    """VICT''RY AT SEAAAAA!!!""" The Coral Boys resounded.

    Whipped into a frenzy, the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge began to do battle.

    Everything started flying in the air... bloody chunks of blubber, blunted iron des, axes, and tridents... the Coral Boys, themselves...

    There was a lot of screaming... but not from Krysaos.

    He''d already epted his fate. He and Tycon were going to die aboard the Neptune''s Revenge.

    That elf twat too... probably.

    Tycon calmly wiped water off his face, "These are..."

    "Yep," Krysaos nodded, "Leviathan wangs. We... could really use a Sea Witch, right now..."

    "Shall I attempt to resuscitate Miss Mina?"

    "Nah, don''t bother," Krysaos sighed. He was on the verge of a mental breakdown. "Actually-- do whatever. I''m... I''m going to my room. You mind if I tap into the rum?"

    "We haven''t the rum to spare, Brother-Captain."

    "Sea god''s piss-ridden pants..." Krysaos sighed louder and with more emphasis... "There still bread from breakfast?"

    "That can be arranged."

    Tycon gave that little half-hearted smile that was kinda patronizing-- but Krysaos was used to it.

    It was going to be a huge pain figuring out how to die properly while sober... but having a full belly would help a little bit.

    ...

    ? Neptune''s Revenge, the galley. ?

    Tycondrius ted Captain Krysaos a simplebination of cold roast beef and rye bread.

    "Perhaps we can entreat the... elf for assistance against the... creatures?" He offered.

    The Captain took to the dish gratefully, taking two quick bites as if he were starving.

    "Yeah, uh huh?" Krysaos responded-- his mouth half-full, "like that arrogant cunt''ll help us with anything."

    Due to the potentially disastrous situation happening belowdecks, Tycon chose not to chastise the Captain for his table manners.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon pursed his lips, "I suppose I''ll head down, then, in an attempt to reduce the damage."

    Krysaos washed down a gulp with some heavily watered ale... "I mean, if we die, we die, Tycon. But yeah, go ahead."

    As Tycon turned to the door, he spotted movement in the nearby porthole.

    Krysaos saw it too. He vaulted over his eating table and glued his face to the recently cleaned ss.

    ...He did so before Tycon could stop him, "Stars and stones, Captain, must you?"

    "What... what the f*ck is going on?" He turned to Tycon, "What... are those?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes in perplexity.

    Anything sighted on the eastern seas was Krysaos'' expertise. If he was uncertain as to what he was looking at, then Tycon doubted he had much to offer.

    He calmly strode out the door... and though it may not have been the best judgment, he headed to the top deck in order to sate his curiosity.

    Looking out onto the water, he saw...

    Elves.

    Sea elves, perhaps-- and they were fast approaching the ship.

    They numbered over a dozen, armed and armored for war. They skimmed the surface of the water, riding what appeared to be... blue-shelled crabs, eachrge enough to support two or three riders.

    Tycon adjusted his slung arm and crossed his good arm over it, "I was not aware that crabs could swim."

    "Yeah," Krysaos had emerged from the stairs just behind him. "Some have these weird paddle-fin things on their back legs."

    "You know of these creatures, then?" Tycon asked.

    "I do," Krysaos'' gaze hardened. "They''re elves."

    "The giant crabs, Brother-Captain."

    "Megapediculosis Pubis," The Captain whispered hoarsely... "I''ve experienced ''em more''n a few times... it ain''t pretty, LT."

    "The creatures the elves are riding, Brother-Captain," Tycon rified.

    "Oh, those?" Krysaos furrowed his thick brows, "Karkinii, I think. Haven''t seen ''em before, though. Pretty sure some of the sahuagin armor we looted''s made out of their chitin."

    Before reaching the ship, the crabs and crab-riders submerged below the waves. Within minutes, the churning waters began to turn red with blood.

    If Tycon had assumed correctly, the elves were attacking the Leviathans. With enough damage taken, their... wangs should also withdraw.

    "If all is well, this sun shall not be ourst," Tycon remarked.

    "Yeah... that''s still to be seen, LT."

    If Tycon''s assumption was incorrect... then it was of no great consequence. So far away fromnd, he wasn''t expecting to survive if the ship were to sink.

    ...

    The loud clicks and cks of the elves'' mounts climbed onto the deck.

    Sixteen elves dismounted, covered in chitinous armor and carrying spears. Nine extraordinarilyrge crabs, the karkinii, kept by them. Bubbles frothed at their ''mouths'' and each of their ws could easily grab hold of a regr human and crush their insides into paste.

    Long, spike-shelled ws reached over the side of the ship, belonging to a different,rger karkinos. It crawled onto the main deck with six elongated legs, their ends tapered as sharp as spears, leaving new holes in the wood that... unfortunately, did not look out of ce on the weathered Sea Wolf ship.

    The two arms on its front were even longer than the others and ended with ws smaller than that of its kin. However, the karkinos'' agility belied its size, leading Tycon to believe it was the most dangerous of the creatures.

    Its body seemed small inparison to its elongated limbs, but matched the size of the other, lesser karkinii... yet it held a single rider.

    It was an Elven woman... with sea-glistened, dark grey skin and silver hair, tightly braided to her scalp.

    Tycon recalled a people deep in his memories... an ancient Elven tribe called the drow, the chosen sons and daughters of the Scorpion God.

    ...He examined each karkinos for a poisonous tail and was slightly disappointed to find none.

    The Elven whelpling leapt off of hers with an acrobatic flip andnded in front of Captain Krysaos. Though she had to look up to meet his gaze, her nose and chin were turned up in a pathetic attempt to appear more important than she did.

    With her unique mount and attire, she seemed to have a position greater than that of the other elves.

    However, whenpared to her subordinates, the female elf wore... the least armor. Notably, she did not wear an armor chest te, her small bosom guarded merely by light-colored cloth and string.

    Her intent was likely to... appear attractive to the opposite gender. Tycon found the half-armor, half-beachwear to be... unprofessional.

    It was unfortunate, but Captain Krysaos did not appear as the prideful ''scourge of the eastern seas'' as he often touted himself to be.

    The previous sun, his coat sleeve had been cut and had yet to be resewn.

    Where the elves'' sets of shell armor were designed to be used in and out of water, Krysaos'' was not... and he was still drenched from their recent foray belowdecks.

    Worse still, Krysaos was still chewing on thest bite of his lunch.

    It made Tycon wish he had spent a short time preparing a spell circle for the gentleman to at least clean his coat... or at least inspect his appearance before meeting with their... saviors.

    ",

 Chapter 676 Sassy... Lost Child

    ?Tycondrius recalled that Krysaos had difficulty speaking sinctly in the presence of Oracle Antea.

    The silver-braided dark elf was a reasonably attractive female who seemed tomand a moderate amount of power. Thus, he took a half-step forward, prepared to speak for his Captain.

    "Who the f*ck are you, cutting board?" Krysaos growled.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. That... was not the attitude he expected.

    The elf rolled her purple eyes in disdain, "How about you *thank* me for saving your pitiful, half-broken boat, you dis-*gusting* human?"

    She had a light voice, but spoke an octave or two deeper, as if to garner more respect. Her words dripped with the arrogance of an Elven Ancient... yet as an elf, she could not be more than fifty years of age.

    If she were human, a bartender at a public house would likely refuse her.

    A child speaking with scorn and condescension was not the most effective way to garner respect.

    Considering who she was speaking to, it was far more likely she would receive a verbal or physicalshing in retaliation.

    "...What''d you say about my *ship*, girlie?" Krysaos squeezed his eyes into thin, furious slits.

    Tycon sighed and shook his head. Sailors tended to be very particr about what ssified as a boat versus a proper ship.

    If the youngdy had insulted Krysaos on purpose, Tycon would have been impressed.

    ...He did not think so well of her.

    "YARRRGHHHHHHHH!!!"

    ...Tycon nced up, at the direction of the vicious warcry.

    The elf woman stepped to the side without bothering to look. The Coral Boy that fell off of the crow''s nest crashed onto the spot she recently vacated.

    The impact created yet more damage upon the top deck. The fantastic web of cracks would surely degrade into another hazardous pitfall in the near future.

    Sockets stood up with a scowl, blunted sword in hand and ck eyepatches covering both eyes, "''Oo do you think you aaaarre, girlie... ta talk to our Cap''n ''at waaAAYYYY?!"

    "Brother-Captain," Tycon grimaced, "why is it that Mister Sockets is assigned as our lookout?"

    "I didn''t put ''im there," Krysaos muttered. "An'' neither did Bob."

    ...So it was a mystery.

    The woman swiped her hand in front of Sockets'' face-- a sh of movement, absent of hostile intent.

    The eyepatches fell off of the Coral Boy''s eyes, revealing... perfectly formed eyeballs. As Sockets'' pupils dted upon their exposure to sunlight, it seemed they were functional, as well.

    It was yet another revtion that caught Tycon by surprise... and reminded him why he purposely tried to ignore logic and reasoning when dealing with his fellow crewmates.

    The woman nced up to meet the Coral Boy''s re, pursing her full lips in irritation, "You, Corallidus... are not fit to speak to me as such."

    Sockets squinted and leaned in close to her, "Maybe we''z jus'' need ta clean out yer knife-ears, b*tch? Wiv my fick... hard..."

    Blunted iron sword?

    "?Kneel,?" The Elven woman''s gaze glowed with magic power.

    The Coral Boy clenched his teeth... and dropped hard enough to crack his rocky knee-caps. He grunted and groaned as he struggled to move... but he was entrapped by unseen bindings.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. The woman used an ocr art... a rare Skill, usually only cultivated by Hidden Sect Martialists.

    "This..." The elf smirked, "is how you speak to me..."

    Reactivating her ocr art, Sockets'' head smashed into the wooden deck...

    "--on your knees," She cooed... "your head *bowed* in my presence."

    No matter how Sockets'' thick, stony muscles strained with power, his efforts were futile. The youngdy''s ocr art was developed enough to disable a Bronze-Rank martial sspletely.

    Tycon was impressed. The woman deserved to be the leader of her squad, with that power alone.

    The elf nted her bare foot atop the back of Sockets'' head, revealing her scrawny thighs while gesturing at Krysaos, "Disrespectful human... you may call me Imperia."

    ? Imperia, Iron-Rank Elven Storm Cleric. ?

    "Tch. Yeah?" Krysaos scoffed and shrugged, not intimidated in the least. "Well, my name is Captain K--"

    "Captain Krysaos," Imperia interrupted with a sneer," --formerly of the *crassly* named Sugar-Titted Siren. I know you and your... reputation, human."

    "So you''ve heard of me?" Krysaos'' lips twisted into a sly smirk.

    "--the most spineless pirate ever to sail the eastern seas." Imperia giggled... a high-pitched tittering sound, unpleasant to hear.

    "Uh huh? Well... things are different now." Krysaos crossed his arms, "Now I appreciate you takin'' care of the leviathans... but y''mind taking your foot off of my crewman?"

    "This one belongs... to your crew?" Imperia scoffed as her eyes scanned the deck.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Her purple gaze focused on Tycon... as she revealed a bright-toothed grin, "All... I... see... before me... are cripples."

    "Oooooh..." Krysaos nced back at Tycon... "You gonna take that, LT?"

    "Grant me a moment to consider it," Tycon pursed his lips...

    Taking a deep breath, his mind raced with the logic and reasoning he so valued.

    The elf was a child. Children, especially ones raised poorly,cked tact.

    Tycon was an adult. Adults were socially expected to act with maturity and benevolence towards children.

    Children should be forgiven more easily than adults for impropriety... They should be taught... and teaching was more effective with positive reinforcement, rather than with punishment.

    Concerning him being insulted-- called a cripple... he effectively was. His left arm still required at least another week before most of its functionality was returned.

    However...

    Tycon had a very... very poor temper.

    He recognized that of himself. He strove to be better... a moreplete warrior, sound in both mind and body.

    Being more mature... being lenient... choosing to correct rather than to retaliate... that would be his most ideal choice of action.

    "No," Tycon sighed... "I choose to take offense."

    He strode forward nonchntly, his arm still in its sling, no weapon in hand. Just as Imperia swiped at Sockets'' face earlier, he would not betray his intentions with hostile movements.

    As expected, the elf turned her nose up, her eyes again shining with the power thatpletely nullified Sockets. "You dare approach--"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow as he undimmed his vision, "Suffer and die."

    In a battle of ocr arts, the more powerful ability trumped all others.

    The young Imperia''s ability was on the level of a Hidden Sect Martialist expert... one that might have cultivated for several decades.

    The medusae have been masters of such arts for thousands of years, the ability in their bloodline... and honed since birth.

    The elf child had no chance.

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? activating. Ocr ability. Target takes damage from an illusory poison, affecting both target''s mind and body. If sessful, target bes distracted and may go into anaphctic shock. ?

    Imperia''s words caught in her throat. Her hands grasped around her neck and her eyes began to bulge. She could not breathe, blood welling in her throat... spilling down her charcoal-colored chin.

    The elves at Imperia''s back gasped in horror... growing anxious and grasping at their spears. Their charge''s face was turning purple... she was dying before them while they could do nothing.

    There were no healing sses amongst them... neither were there mages capable of any form of counterspell. If anyone could counteract Tycon''s gaze... it would be Imperia, herself.

    Sockets furiously crawled away... slipping off the deck and falling into the waters below.

    ...He''d recover.

    Tycon shrugged as he again dimmed his vision and turned to walk back to Krysaos'' side, "I believe the youngdy is rethinking her choice of words."

    She would not have long to do so.

    If Imperia had the will to resist his magical gaze, she''d survive... if barely. As a spoiled Elven Princess of... whatever tribe she was from, Tycon did not expect it.

    ...It was admittedly a foolish action he had undertaken, a highly lethal response to a mere verbal jab. The elves had saved the Neptune''s Revenge from being destroyed by Leviathans... or at least sought to dy the ship from sinking.

    Tycon might have been influenced by Krysaos'' callous attitude towards the girl. He certainly wasn''t in the mood to be disrespected. He had the chance to act with logic and maturity, thanking the woman for her and herpanions'' assistance.

    He did not.

    Imperia would die.

    He would not expend mana and effort undoing his mistake. Whatever issue came next would be dealt with subsequently.

    "The ?Dew Brought By Morning? breathes life into my children..."

    A powerful and confident male voice boomed from behind Tycon''s back.

    Tycon shut his eyes. It was Lone''s voice... yet it was not Lone who spoke.

    When he turned back, King had ced a palm on Imperia''s eyes...

    For whatever reason, King wore his red gambeson far better than Lone ever did. Unlike Krysaos, he looked like a professional, his effects clean, his dark hair slicked back, and with a stern, unyielding expression on his angled and scarred face.

    ? King, Gold-Rank Elven Ranger. ?

    In a brief moment, the whelpling began to cough and spit, wheezing for air with tears of pain streaming down her face.

    King had used... a healing Skill?

 Chapter 677 Tendril Entrapment

    ?Healing Skills were highly valued assets and were rtively umon in the Realm.

    Tycondrius, himself, had the ?Inspirational Surge? Skill. His daughter, Sasarame, had the ?Cure Wounds? spell. However, those abilities were granted by their respective support sses, Warlord and Oracle.

    King... was an Elven Ranger.

    That he could rescue Imperia from an otherwise certain death was unexpected. Tycon hypothesized that King had... developed his ss in a very unorthodox manner... or he was gifted with a healing abilitypletely unrted.

    Either way, the phenomenon was... incredibly rare-- even moreso than a non-medusa being born with mastery over an ocr art.

    Thankfully... the female elf, Imperia, looked absolutely miserable.

    ...The fates saw fit to grant King not a divine healing spell that couldpletely heal the Cleric, but instead either increased her resistance against his ?Vexing Gaze? or catalyzed her convalescence.

    King straightened his posture as he turned to face Tycon and Captain Krysaos, "Do not raise thy hand against my people, Maedar... not without due cause. As I have previously warned the human Captain, I grant thee but a single warning... out of courtesy."

    "Most gracious of you..." Tycon nodded.

    Though he initially intended for Imperia to die a painful death... seeing her in tearful agony was... satisfactory.

    "Sapling..." King gestured towards Imperia, "honor me with thy name and house."

    "Oh, my sovereign!" Imperia did not wipe her eyes as her natural, high-pitched voice spilled out, "The Spider Crab Tribe hase to aid thee and thy allies... and-- and these people! They attacked me without warning!"

    She clenched her fists as water began to swirl around them. It wasn''t quite as powerful as Sea Witch Mina''s disy, the previous sun... but Imperia''s hostility was clear.

    "Sea god''s socks... is this guy... really a f*cking king?" Krysaos muttered underneath his breath.

    Tycon twisted his lips, "That is still to be seen, Brother-Captain."

    "I asked thee... a question, Sapling," King exhaled out of his nose as he turned again to Tycon, "Tell me, Maedar, is it umon in this sun and age for... questions to go unanswered?"

    "That much has not changed, Ancient," Tycon responded.

    While he felt it was odd that his knowledge was requested, a simple question deserved a simple answer.

    "I am... Imperia, lord..." The girl grimaced.

    She shed a series of quick hand gestures towards King. The graceful Elven movements handnguage was something Tycon was unfamiliar with... and was uninterested in.

    "Ah, so thou art *her* descendant," King nodded. "Though I doubt thou hast my blood within thy veins, I shalt still consider thee my kin."

    "Then my lord," Imperia bowed-- a slight dip of the head that seemed too informal for a proper sovereign, "please punish these humans for their arrogance!"

    "...I will not," The bronzed elf tilted his head and pursed his lips, "From what I have witnessed, the fault lies in both parties."

    "But... but my lord?!" Imperia cried out.

    "Imperia," King red.

    The young elf was mollified in an instant... which instilled great concern within Tycon.

    Carefully observing King''s eyes from the distance... he sensed no mana expended.

    It was not an ocr art... it was just... an angry look... that of a father-figure staring down their misbehaving daughter.

    ...If Lone *had* developed an ocr art, on top of his other revealed abilities, Tycon might have retired to his room to mourn the injustice.

    "The human and his crew have rescued me from the depths," King continued. "They are deserving of thy respect."

    Imperia grit her teeth... but lowered her head in obeisance, "By your will, my lord."

    "And the Maedar," King gestured, "is a Prince of his own Reign. As an ambassador of our people, Imperia, you must render him the cordiality he deserves."

    The woman''s eyes twitched with annoyance, but she again bowed her head, "I understand."

    Tycon and Krysaos exchanged a look of confusion.

    While King arriving to de-escte the situation was a wee development, it was...

    "I did not expect that," Tycon spoke in a low voice. "Not from that one, anyroad."

    ...The elves could certainly hear it, as well, not that he particrly cared.

    "If there''s one thing I''ve learned, LT, it''s to expect the unexpected," Krysaos muttered. "So yeah-- I was totally expecting that."

    "My lord," Imperia raised her voice, new strength within it. "Come away with us, to the city of Whitehearth! Your people await your return!"

    "Very well, Sapling," King nodded to her with a gentle smile... a look appropriate for a father towards a whelpling, "Captain Krysaos, I beseech thee to set a course for this... Whitehearth."

    "Yeah... about that," Krysaos groaned.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...He leaned over, clicking quietly in Aquan, "(What does that mean?)"

    "(The elf makes a request,)" Tycon clicked back, "(in a polite manner.)"

    "Not gonna happen!" Krysaos turned to King with a snarl, "We''ve set course for Archangel and *that''s* where we''re goin''!"

    Kingughed heartily to himself, "Very well. Then as a favor to me and my Reign, Captain Krysaos, thou shalt grant to me the use of thy second ship."

    "Of all the..." Krysaos groaned as he ced his palms over his face, "You know what-- F*CK it. Go RIIIGHT ahead. Jus'' take the Sugar-Titted Siren II. See if I care!"

    The elf''s mouth twitched, "Is that truly the name of thy second vessel, Captain Krysaos?"

    "Do whatever the hells you want!" Krysaos shouted, turning away and crossing his arms like a disobedient child.

    The Captain''s patience had run out, which Tycon could not me him for. However, if the elf was determined on taking their second ship,pensation was appropriate.

    Stepping forward, Tycon stood with his chin held high, "Ancient, I have need of your Cleric."

    Imperia turned her nose up in disgust, "I want nothing to do with you, you snake."

    The bronze-skinned elf pursed his lips... "Tell me of your reasoning, Maedar... as it is unlikely that I will acquiesce."

    "I pray my bare qualification will suffice," Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    The elf stared for a moment longer, the white sclera of his eyes radiating displeasure... "I will allow no harm toe to this child."

    Tycon returned the re, "Forgive me, master elf... but your words could be mistaken as you doubting my honor."

    "Hmph," King hesitated... before nodding and rxing his stance. "Such was not my intention. Imperia, do as the Maedar requests."

    "But-- my lord?!" The elf woman held her hand out, shock and disbelief clear on her face.

    King turned away, gesturing his hand over the waters... towards Sugar-Titted Siren II, "Faithful men and women, children of the earth and sky... with me."

    And with those words, the elf leapt off of the ship... then appeared to run through the air towards the stolen Nemayan ship. Upon Tycon''s further examination, King was stepping on magical footholds... created and dispelled at the speed of thought and with only a modicum of mana expenditure. It was yet another advanced technique that should have been nigh impossible for Lone to execute.

    Imperia''s goons watched the fellow go with wonder in their eyes... then looked to Imperia, who was gnashing her teeth in anger.

    "What the hells are you all looking at?" She barked at them. "Go attend to the sovereign!"

    "(I hear you, Priestess!)" "Yes, mdy." "(Understood...)" They shouted back in a mix of Elven and Common.

    The elves, minus Imperia, departed in haste... taking their karkinii with them.

    Tycon turned to Krysaos, "Might you have any words for our newest Elvenpanion, Brother-Captain?"

    Krysaos directed his gaze at the woman''s chest, "Nah, she doesn''t have the qualifications..."

    "And what in the seven hells and eleven heavens is THAT supposed to mean?!" The elf screeched-- her light voice sounding more ridiculous than intimidating.

    Krysaos shook his head, "Ishmael, get the Coral Boys toe back from the second ship."

    The Captain''s shadow emerged from the deck with a salute, then sprinted off-- much in the same manner as King, before him.

    Then, Krysaos turned and began to walk away, "I''m..... I''m goin'' to my f*ckin'' room. Wake me for dinner, LT..."

    "Very well," Tycon nodded, watching him descend the stairs to the lower decks.

    "As for you, youngdy," He gestured towards the woman,"we will converse in my personal quarters."

    Imperia crossed her arms, just as petnt as Krysaos before her, "Anything you have to say to me, you can do so right here."

    "Tss..." Tycon shook his head... "That was not a request."

    He tapped the deck thrice with the tip of his boot.

    Tendrils of water-mana shot out of the deck floor, wrapping around the elf''s wrists and ankles. Her face turned purple with rage as she punched and kicked in futility.

    He and Krysaos had designed and empowered the spell circles before Imperia and her elves boarded the ship. They were designed to immobilize and incapacitate her entire squad... for at least several seconds.

    As the trap only had a single target... the mana would hold for bells, if not suns.

    Tycon chuckled to himself at the girl''s pitiful state as he took direct control of the spell. He slowly squeezed his fist despite Imperia''s resistance...

    Besides his forcefulness serving as retaliation for her earlier insults... he judged the spell circles to be both stable and highly effective.

    The mana-created tentacles would, at the very least, leave painful bruises.

    ...If granted a reason, he would test the spell circle''s precision by fracturing her left arm.

 Chapter 678 Drow Princess

    ?Tycondrius had a quest: to deliver King and his swords to Whitehearth.

    Captain Krysaos did not work for free. While Tycon had ensured the gentleman''s survival thus far, it would behoove him to receive reward orpensation for his efforts.

    The one that wished to be called Kingmandeered the... man''s second ship.

    Such was a risk Krysaos did not need to take-- allowing one of his most prized possessions to possibly sail away into the horizon.

    Regardless of the time and ce that the elf had originated, ships had never been somon to be loaned out so easily.

    Thus, Tycondrius would take Imperia under his protection.

    Looked upon kindly, the notion was to promote amicable cooperation between the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge and the Elven sovereign''s budding faction.

    In truth, Imperia was a hostage... and would remain as such until rpense was paid... or the formerly Nemayan ship was returned to him.

    If the young woman was... disagreeable, Tycon had several measures avable to him.

    Guilt, in particr, seemed appropriate. She had a duty to her sovereign... for what reason was unimportant.

    If Imperia decided to act against him-- even with Tycon''s left arm as *crippled* as it was, he could merely reactivate Krysaos'' ?Tendril Entrapment? spell circle.

    In such a case, he would not be as merciful as above-deck, where King could still observe his heavy hand.

    Seated on a chair, the charcoal-skinned Elven woman wore a scowl and remained guarded with her arms and legs crossed. Though she tried to look aloof and generally ufortable... her eyes betrayed her wonder as she looked around the cabin.

    Tycon''s personal quarters were fairly simple. It had two ironically exquisite chairs, a simple desk... and a variety of seals and spell circles on the walls, made with Krysaos'' assistance.

    The designs were neat and aesthetically pleasing; thorough, with clear definitions; and-- due to redundancy, difficult to subvert. As Imperia had a caster ss, Tycon expected her to have at least a modicum of understanding of their functions.

    ...at least more than Krysaos was capable of, anyroad.

    Forced to spend less time on physical training, Tycon had focused on practicing his spellcraft. His expertise, however, remained in working with rituals and theory-- the maniption of existing elements, rather than the development of his own pitifully weak Circle mastery.

    Fresh air and mana cycled into the room, promoting generalfort. Sounds from outside the cabin werergely muted, making the Coral Boys'' nighttime snoring tolerable.

    ...Scrying magic from outside sources were blocked, as well as mundane eavesdropping. Arcane magic was exponentially more difficult to cast within the room, as well.

    The woman could not rely on her strongest assets within the sealed cabin. Regardless of her sovereign''s Elven eyes or ears, they would not see her. Though she was a Cleric of some power... the god that backed her would not hear her prayers.

    Then her gaze... that waspletely useless if her target was Tycon.

    One function the circles did not provide, however... was temperature control for persons other than himself.

    Tycon was sheathed in a thin, magicalyer of warmth, the range of which extended to all sections of the Neptune''s Revenge.

    The price for the range, however, was its single-target effect.

    Imperia wore armored leggings and gauntlets that covered her shoulders and arms... but her underdeveloped chest was only covered by thin cloth. As the spell circles also mitigated Imperia''s ability to utilize mana to regte her body temperature, she shivered and rubbed her arms in a futile attempt to keep warm.

    She looked ridiculous... attempting to look confident while her teeth chattered from the cold.

    "You said your name was Imperia?" Tycon asked.

    The name was in the style of the Holy Country... but he was asking to ensure his pronunciation was proper.

    "What is it?" The woman red hatefully.

    ...It appeared that Tycon had given the woman far too much credit.

    She did not understand her position.

    With such safeguards in effect, Tycon could treat her as he pleased, privately and without fear of consequence.

    The prospect was... tempting.

    Tycon took a deep breath, trying to remain calm... "I *was* going to offer you a coat."

    "Took you long enough," Imperia narrowed her eyes as she held out a hand, "Where is it? Hand it over."

    "Mind your tongue, youngdy," Tycon shook his head. "I''m fairly certain you heard... but I shall remind you..."

    He took the room''s second chair and ced it where he could sit face-to-face with his whelplingpany... "Your sovereign renders me the respect I deserve... Will you grant me any less?"

    Imperia sneered, her purple eyes glowing with restrained fury as she cursed in Elven, "(ursed snake, I will tear out your eyes and feed them to my karkinii.)"

    Tycon grimaced. Being polite had earned him nothing but contempt.

    His courtesy was not weakness.

    ? System, activate snake form. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Activatingrge snake form... ?

    Tycon stood from his chair, feeling his bones pop and his muscles condense, twisting and writhing. His skin hardened to scale harder than steel and his form grew... and grew... until the room was filled with his white-scaled body.

    From the look in Imperia''s eyes, she was beginning to understand... but that had arrived uneptablyte.

    He spoke to her... in Parseltongue... "(Flowing in your veins is the dark elf bloodline of the eastern jungles... You know my tongue, imprinted in your memories, do you not?)"

    "Tch..." The woman grit her teeth. Though she wore her brave front as best as she could, her entire body shook-- and not from the cold. "I... at least know this much..."

    He was testing her... and found the result impressive. Elves tended to be notorious for having weak ancestral memories. He had wondered how such a spoiled child was inmand of a powerful retinue of servants.

    It was likely that her people recognized the purity of her bloodline.

    Or... she was of a royal lineage.

    Arrogance and royal blood... they were often closely linked.

    He slithered around her shins... and coiled around her body... his weight stifling her breath.

    He could crush Imperia''s bones into pulp with so very little effort... but he would ensure she understood the consequences of her foul attitude before he did.

    ...

    ? The Neptune''s Revenge, the Snake Prince''s quarters. Imperia''s point of view ?

    Imperia''s heart pounded quickly and painfully in her chest, seeing the Prince take to his true form.

    Everything she had done in the past century had been useless.

    She''d spent decades cultivating her gift... her ocr ability. With it, she received her mother''s blessings over her other sisters... gaining power and subordinates... and with those gaining des... trust.

    It was all... useless...

    Her current enemy was a Maedar, a man born immune to her gaze.

    And worse... the man belonged to an undeniably pure bloodline to have such a powerful transformation.

    A snake... a massive... impossiblyrge snake.

    Imperia hated snakes.

    They were vile creatures that hid in the shaded ces of her terrestrial, childhood home. Even when she''d be a Priestess of the Storm and lived almost exclusively in the waters, she sought to y the sea snakes whenever they dared to rear their ugly heads around her.

    For whatever ursed reason, her magic wasn''t working in the cramped cabin... something in the borrowed seals etched into the walls-- or maybe a poison in the air she was affected by.

    That white snake body... it writhed and undted across hers, the smooth and cold scales brushing against her thighs and breasts. The monster''s grip was steady... forceful and strong... like a king taking ownership of their consort.

    It made her feel nauseous.

    It made her want to scream... to rage... to beg for mercy...

    Even if she could, she would suppress that urge with all her being.

    She would not look weak in front of her subordinates... nor would she show weakness in front of her enemies.

    "(I... can taste... your...f e a r ,)" The Maedar whispered as his forked tongue gently kissed Imperia''s cheek.

    Theplex hiss sent a low fear thrumming through her insides, threatening to make her loose her bowels. She shivered as a chill ran down her back, colder than the depths of the ocean.

    Imperia could understand him... She did not know why...

    And that she did so clearly... it terrified her.

    "My... king..." She winced and took a deep breath, "--he will not stand for this..."

    Her will began to waver... but that, she could not allow. If she shed a single tear... if she tried to struggle... if she even thought about running to the door... the Maedar would show no mercy.

    "Oh, he will..." Tycon hissed in amusement, "He is old... Ancient. As protective as your Ancients may be... he will think twice before he offends someone of my station."

    "(He... is different,)" She whispered to herself in Elven...

    The Elven sovereign was... different from the other Ancients she knew. He chose to act rather than to debate. He wore his physical scars with pride. He spoke with confidence...

    He demanded respect with certainty and straightforwardness.

    Maybe... he would even rescue her from the monster''s jaws...

 Chapter 679 Princess Of The Vulkoori

    ?Imperia shut her eyes... but it only made it worse.

    She knew the snake was still there.

    The golden eyes of a predator were fixated on her perfect body.

    Every part of him was coiled around her... feeling her intimately... his tongue running down the side of her neck.

    She was not prepared for such a challenge in her quest.

    The Elven Sovereign had returned to this Realm... scarred yet handsome, noble in word and deed.

    Imperia desired him... just as she lusted for wealth... for strength... She''d grasp onto anything and everything she could to ensure her ce, several steps above her sisters.

    Yet... the snake spoke truthfully.

    The sovereign was... an Ancient.

    They''re all the same.

    One or ten thousand years was enough to distance even the youngest Ancient from the petty squabbles ofmoners.

    A regr human would be intimidated by Imperia''s 119 years of age. To the Elven sovereign, Imperia was merely... a sapling.

    She desperately wanted to believe that the sovereign was different. He was supposed to return to this Realm... to save her and her Elven kin from a great cmity.

    Imperia knew better.

    No one in the Realm was so selfless.

    The Elven sovereign had rescued her from imminent death... but then, she saw the look in his eyes.

    He did not know her. He did not care for her-- not truly.

    Saving her was saving his own face.

    It was what any Ancient would do.

    Honor was more important to him than whether a 119-year-old sapling lived or died.

    "Different? Is that truly what you believe, Imperia?" The snake rested his heavy head on Imperia''s shoulder, flicking his tongue into her ear...

    Imperia''s eyes widened in realization.

    The snake... he could understand Elven.

    She... didn''t believe her own words. They were... her final hopes, spoken aloud. She didn''t even consider the possibility that the snake would understand...

    The Maedar''s simple question dismantled even that small wish... casting it into the abyss.

    She could swear the snake was smiling.

    "The words of a Prince..." The Maedar flicked his tongue against the inside of her ear... making Imperia tremble with both fear and... terrified, forbidden arousal... "against the cries of a Princess of muck-ridden blood... which resounds more clearly?"

    Imperia''s heart trembled. The Maedar knew her bloodline.

    It was something she lorded above her subordinates as her strength... but in truth was her weakness.

    The first tear fell down her cheek... and bound by the creature''s serpentine body, she could not even brush it away.

    "You''re... a snake..." Imperia growled through clenched teeth.

    "A Prince amongst snakes," The Maedar slowly nodded his head... "Do you... know... who I am... Princesssss?"

    Imperia gulped, turning away... Her heart fluttered as an unfamiliar name floated to the surface of her mind... a memory inscribed in her soul...

    She was a Priestess of the Storm... blessed with a stronger, purer bloodline than her sisters... capable of twisting the winds and the waves with a mere flick of her wrist.

    Yet... it was also a curse... and it brought upon her knowledge of the future... of the past and present... things that she did not wish to know.

    "You are... Tycondrius..." She whispered... "descendant of the Empress of Stone."

    It took for the Snake Prince''s name to cross her lips for Imperia to realize just who she had offended.

    Tycondrius was the most powerful War Prince of the Snake God faction... a battlefield tactician responsible for ying tribes of thousands in campaigns across the Free Nation.

    The fates had yed her for a fool.

    She... could not have known that a man of such royal blood was on the Neptune''s Revenge. The ursed ship was thousands of miles away from the Prince''s territory... in an unmarked location in the middle of the eastern seas.

    Imperia was a Princess only in name... without a kingdom and from a nigh-forgotten lineage. Tycondrius... he was a prince to a War Queen who ruled over tens of thousands... humans... elves... and countless other peoples...

    For him to refer to her as a Princess...

    He... was mocking her.

    "Very good..." The Maedar whispered... "aNnnd... YooOu... aAre?"

    Suddenly, Imperia''s chest grew painfully tight... her breathing grew ragged as she sensed the emotions roiling in Tycondrius'' aura.

    Irritation. Righteous fury. Pride.

    ...Greed.

    The sadistic desire to see a woman in pain.

    Lust...

    The physical urge to ravage her... a woman in weakness, barely able to move, so entwined by his body.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Imperia blinked away more tears. Without magic... and with what little physical strength she had, she was helpless against the white-scaled snake... She was an innocent child... her tender meat looked upon by a butcher eyeing her for ughter.

    "I am... Imperia... Princess of the Vulkoori," She shook her head... desperately holding onto thest vestiges of her will.

    Her name... the name of her ancestors. Speaking it... always granted her the courage to stand up for herself.

    "Isssss that ssso?" The snake... hissed... as if what he heard was amusing.

    Where Imperia sought strength from words... Prince Tycondrius'' simple response made her feel as if all were for naught.

    The Maedar coiled his body tighter... ever so slightly...

    It was... perfect-- causing just enough pain to keep her awake, to stifle her breath... yet not enough that she could find the release of unconsciousness.

    "That''s quite... impressssive," Tycondrius mocked, "A daughter of Vulkoor... yet over the centuries... the bloodline has grown... tHiSssSSS WEAKK?"

    Imperia''s name... was useless. Her blood... worth less than sand.

    Compared to the Snake Prince... she was little better than amoner.

    It was the fault of her useless mother... and her mother, before her...

    If they had only chosen wealthier, more powerful males to couple with, she would be able to demand respect from the snake... to demand love and attention from the Elven Sovereign.

    If they had only chosen males with purer blood... she would have learned of Tycondrius'' name earlier. Then, her current predicament could have been avoided...

    "Yet you..." The snake continued... "you know of me. And thusssss... you underssstand your... positionnn? Do you notttt?"

    The fear took over as she stared into Tycondrius'' eyes.

    The dam burst.

    She lost control of her dder, urine running hot down her legs... With death and worse so close to her, she could only beg for mercy.

    Imperia inclined her head as best she could... "P-please... Lord..."

    The tears would not stop... her brave face, irrecoverable.

    At that moment, she was not a Princess of the Vulkoori. She was a terrified sapling, out of her element... "I... I misspoke. I... I beg of you... not to take my purity."

    "Tssss!!" The snake reared his head back to scoff, releasing Imperia from his crushing grip... "HAH! Hahaha!"

    Breathing in a full breath of cold, damp air... she found no relief.

    Imperia wiped at her face... she was miserable... she was freezing... she was... disgusted by her weakness...

    As she sat still in her wet undergarments, an intense feeling of shame coursed through her very soul.

    "You inssssult me, youngdy," The white snake''s golden eyes stared down at her, mocking mirth still in his tone, "Sexual rtions... is something I grant only to those I favor."

    Her bloodline insulted... and even her body, Imperia could not even be d that the Maedar had no intention of ravaging her.

    She grit her teeth... crossing her arms... but then she thought better of it-- cing her open palms on herp, "What... what the hells, then--"

    Another jolt of fear shocked her into silence. Those eyes... those golden eyes put her in a trance.

    "Choose. your. words. with caaare... youngdy."

    She gulped and lowered her gaze... and only then did the magical pressure ease.

    "You may not have to like me, Miss Imperia," Tycondrius'' body began to transform...pleting the shift to his handsome human form within seconds, "But I ask for-- no... I demand your respect. Grant that I will return it, in kind."

    He took a white cloth from his breast pocket, took Imperia''s hand and ced it within her palm, "Do you understand, youngdy?"

    She stared at it, surprised by the ironic kindness.

    ...Surely, it was some sort of trick.

    She clenched her fist closed around it... "I understand... Lord."

    "I have need of your *magical* services. You will assist me in sending a message to my contact in Archangel, as we are recharting our course to Whitehearth. You will remain crewed on the Neptune''s Revenge until our safe arrival."

    "I... I hear you," Imperia bowed her head.

    She was not pleased by the news. It made her realize the truth of her situation.

    She was a hostage.

    As long as she was treated with a modicum of fairness, the Elven sovereign would turn a blind eye to her overall treatment.

    Imperia had to swallow her pride in order to live... She had to reign in her emotions and act as a loyal servant-- at least until theynded at Whitehearth.

    She had until then to n her revenge... Just like she sabotaged her elder sisters... just like she discredited her mother''s generals...

    She would not stomach the way she was treated. She would find revenge against the Maedar for her shame...

    Yet... even after several moments... no response came.

    Against her better judgment, Imperia slowly raised her head.

    The Prince still watched her. He still waited...

    Imperia stood and bowed her head even lower... something she had not done since she was taught the motion, nearly a hundred years prior.

    "I hear you, Prince of Poison."

 Chapter 680 Battle In The Library

    ?? The City of Archangel, the Sapphire Tower. ?

    When everything was going her way... it always felt like there was a Burst Slime just around the next corner, ready to explode.

    That... was Coraline Heartsong''s life in a faerie walnut shell.

    A few moons ago, she managed to solve a murder on a passenger airship without dying. She snagged a figuratively-hot boyfriend and a literally-hot fire elemental, while she was at it.

    But then... Lone had to go. He had to travel because of his job-- not that Coraline could really be upset about that. She fell in love with him for him, his work ethic included.

    She was the same way. She put her everything into what she did, work or not. Honestly, that didn''t leave her much time to think about her boyfriend... and she was surprised that it had been so many moons since she''dst seen him.

    Coraline found a job in Archangel working at the Sapphire Tower as a research assistant. There was always something to do... experiments that needed replication, reports filed, familiars hunted down-- things mad wizards needed to be done on a per-sun basis.

    It was mostly a thankless job... but the Chief Executive Officer always took time out of her busy sun to thank her personally.

    Be Sapphira... former legendary diator of Sol Invictus, even at her age, she was still a smoking-hot fireball of ady. Coraline respected her more than any other man or woman she''d ever met.

    ...They even exchanged gifts at thest holiday get-together.

    Poor, destitute, sad and lonely Coraline made the CEO a handmade doll of an armored warrior... the making of which earned Coraline bloodier fingers than she''d ever care to admit.

    It was supposed to be Dragan, one of the most popr diators of Sol Invictus. Lady Be didn''t recognize it... but she seemed to be really happy with it?

    As (probably) expected of the wealthiest woman in... all of the Eastern States, the CEO got Coraline the most beautiful pearl earrings she''d ever seen in the history of... ever.

    It was probably worth a hundred thousand silver-- easily... but you had to really look at them to see all the intricate details.

    Subtle, yet exquisite. Professional, but cute. They suited Coraline perfectly.

    It reallyplemented the only other piece of jewelry she wore... a promise ring her boyfriend gave her that she wore on a chain.

    ...Also, the earrings were enchanted with a spell circle that stabilized other mour magics. Or maybe they just made her look more mature?

    Coraline was evolving into sexy Coraline.

    ...Maybe that dummy Lone would actually say something nice about her looks, for once.

    When Coraline got them... when she first put them on and looked in a mirror, she might have cried... a little.

    Or a lot.

    Lady Be just smiled-- and even gave the gentle but stern order that they were to be worn at all times when she came to work.

    ...If she hadn''t done that, Coraline might have just kept them in the box, for fear she''d lose them.

    The Assistant to the CEO appreciated Coraline too... but she didn''t... quite appreciate him the same way he did her.

    She got the weird feeling that... he was attracted to her.

    Nothing would happen, though.

    Coraline touched her blouse, feeling the ring she wore on her chest... every sun... every bell-- even when she bathed.

    She had a boyfriend.

    Anyroad, she received a weird letter from Baron Tychon a few weeks ago.

    Apparently, her boyfriend blundered his way into getting afflicted by an Ancient Elven curse. In the letter, Sir Tychon assured her that it was perfectly normal.

    ...Honestly, Coraline wasn''t surprised.

    Her boyfriend was... even clumsier than she was.

    That made him perfect cursebait.

    It just so happened, though, that being a researcher at the most prestigious Mage Tower in the Eastern States gave her a very particr advantage towards de-cursing her hapless boyfriend.

    Knowledge is power!

    Power corrupts.

    Coraline would be a goddess of evil, in order to save her stupid boyfriend from his own stupidity!

    ...or that was the goal, anyroad.

    Yet, after weeks of sleep-stealing, after-hours research... Coraline had... really not enough to show for it.<novelnext></novelnext>

    There was... one thing she did find.

    A single drop of divine essence could cure any mdy afflicting a mortal. The diction was... inexact, as Elven is anguage with a lot of nuance.

    But for certain... whatever elixir or ambrosia or magic potion they had to get-- there had to be a spark of god essence to it.

    A blessing from amon Bronze-Rank Adept wasn''t going to be enough... not that she could afford it.

    There HAD to be something else, though. It''s not like Coraline could just find a god in a random public house and approach them with her stunning beauty, ''heyyyy, can I have a drop of your divine essence, sir and/or ma''am?''

    Yeah.

    No.

    The gods don''t just walk around in this sun and age. They might have, ten thousand years ago, when dragons still walked the Realm... but definitely not in modern times!

    ...If they did, Coraline had some very strong words she was saving for the god of sleep.

    ANYROAD, if Coraline couldn''t find a literal god, she just had to do MORE RESEARCH!

    She plopped a stack of books on the librarian''s desk. It took her probably half her mana, tirelessly circting through her small and cute Elven body, to carry it up and down the library''s endless staircases.

    Fluttering her eyshes-- her deadliest weapons... she pouted coquettishly at the aging, half-blind gnome, "Can I please check these books out, Sir?"

    The gnome looked down over his spectacles. It seemed like he was sitting on a dozen pillows just to have his ck-sclera eyes level with hers.

    "Miss Coraline, ten of these eleven tomes are forbidden for a researcher of your status to even *touch.*"

    The sectioned-off parts of the library might have had signs on them... but the locks were a hundred years old and big enough to pick with amon hairpin and ten minutes of practice.

    They were a test! Coraline passed them! She deserved to be granted the knowledge she deserved!! BLEIGHHHH!!!

    ''Rules were made to be broken, old man!'' She yelled-- in her mind.

    Coraline would never dare to say that aloud. That would be rude.

    "I uh... about that," She forced her mouth into a smile, the cutest smile in the library, for sure, "Maybe... let it go? Just this once?"

    "Youngdy, please observe proper decorum," The gnome chided. "I am aware that Lady Be grants thee special exceptions, but that is not an excuse for impropriety towards thy elders."

    Coraline WAS being proper. She was just... bleigh.

    "*Mind* thy expression, Miss Coraline," The old gnome grimaced. "Thou wears thy emotions as clear as a *human.*"

    He shook his head and sighed, "I ask of thee to return the tomes to their *proper* ces... and to re-secure the gates, if you would."

    It felt like steam was blowing out of Coraline''s ears as she felt her face redden, "Well-- fine, then!"

    Coraline clenched her tiny fist. She would not be dissuaded so easily. She was an Arcanist! A powerful, Bronze-Rank Arcanist with a super-strong fire elemental at her beck and call.

    ...But as fire and books did not y nice, she used her usual magic.

    "?Swords of Truth!?" She waved a hand above her head, then shot both arms forward at her elderly opponent, forming a diamond shape with her fingers, "Speak to me truthfully, Sir! Why is it that I am the only one here with such crappy ess?!?"

    The gnome, surrounded by zing mana-created swords of revealing light, took off his spectacles, calmly cleaning them with a cloth, "? Because you''ve literally held your station for less than a year. ?"

    He gestured to the other... quieter denizens of the library, "Thou has the youngest age and art in the lowest percentile of seniority amongst thy peers. Besides thyself, each and every reader present has been granted ess to the library only after *thirteen* years of dedication to the Sapphire Tower."

    "...O-oh." Coraline tapped her two forefingers together, "Is... is that so?"

    "It is so."

    "Then how am I SUPPOSED TO SAVE MY BOYFRIEND?!" Coraline raised her voice in a panic-- which she did not mean to.

    She was in a library. Total faux pas.

    The gnome nced around himself in embarrassment, his own face flush upon seeing the other members of the Sapphire Tower re at him judgmentally.

    Ahaha... Coraline took vindictive glee in that. The Gnomish librarian was going to be known as a crotchety old man who made a girl cry.

    She expended all her mental energy into producing fake tears... which honestly wasn''t hard because she only got two bells of sleep the previous night and hadn''t eaten anything since a poppy seed bagel for breakfast.

    Then, because the fates did not look kindly upon her evil-ness... and even though she was standing still, with no obstacle anywhere near her... Coraline lost her bnce and fell over literally nothing.

 Chapter 681 Old Story

    ?Coraline Heartsong was a proud elf, descendent of millennia of elves... and rightful heir of her ancestors'' Elven grace and Elven beauty.

    It was a simple matter-- the simplest matter, in fact, to stand in one ce, proud and tall of her lineage... without tripping on her own feet.

    Simpler still, a *proper* elf could certainly... backflip or something, if they fell...nding on their feet, of course.

    In that moment in time... Coraline was a very bad elf.

    As she fell, her face smacked atop the hard-wooded librarian''s desk with enough force and fury for her nose to bleed.

    Everything was numb. Then everything hurt. The fake tears turned into real tears... tears of pain and embarrassment.

    She... she was just going to go home. She''d eat dinner and go to bed. If she woke up early, she could go for a morning jog before work...

    "Wh-whoa?!"

    The gnome stood up on his pillowed chair... and bumped into the bookcase behind him. Coraline took a vignt step back... and watched as a series of falling tomes buried the old librarian in a heap.

    Oh.

    That was... not what she was trying to do.

    It was fine, though!

    Coraline wiped her nose... and grabbed the book that looked the most old, ancient, and might''ve-even-been-cursed.

    When sincerity didn''t get her what she wanted... random acts of violence would! And it was okay... because she was doing it FOR LOVE!

    So she ran. She ran for her life, forbidden tome of knowledge, tucked beneath an arm.

    ...She felt terrible, mid-run, though-- and not only because she had been neglecting her morning exercise for over a moon.

    She waved at one of her seniors and told her that the librarian was ilms away from death by book.

    It would be best if he didn''t die-- but all things considered, it was probably how the old gnome would have wanted to go out.

    One good deed for one evil deed.

    That was thews of equivalent exchange!

    ...

    ? Half-a-bellter... ?

    Coraline shut the door to her apartment room... and locked both door locks... and charged her mana into it to activate the protective seal-- just in case.

    After lighting the oilmp in her room, she loosened the buttons on her blouse and fanned off her perspiring chest.

    She''d ran nearly all the way home... but that was the price she had to pay for safety.

    Plopping on her bed, she stared at her desk... and she admired her things while she rested.

    She didn''t have much to brag about-- the cost of living in Archangel was... really high.

    Still... they were some of her most important possessions...

    Her old wand was propped up in a used wooden disy case she got at a thrift store. It was a basic wand that was really only good for zero-circle spells... but it was nice to think back on how much stronger she''d grown since her mother gifted it to her as a kid.

    Bleigh. Coraline hadn''t written back to Mom in over a moon, though...

    At the corner of her bed was a half-finished handmade doll of her boyfriend. She kept telling herself she''d finish it, but... she kept putting it off for another sun.

    Pinned above her desk was a charcoal sketch of her and Lone. They got it at Cersei''s Rest... thest time they were together. It was smudged because... charcoal... and she was a dummy and had creased it twice to make it easier to transport.

    "I''m doing this for you, you know," Coraline sighed... "I just hope you appreciate it."

    Even though herfortable bed wanted herpany, she forced herself to sit up... and opened the Ancient Tome in herp.

    ...A bookmarked page detailed the story of the forbidden child of the Elf God.

    It was all in Elven... and unfortunately, it was a story she already knew.

    The Elf God had a daughter born out of wedlock.

    The tome said that she was an ugly and unsightly child... born out of evil-- with plenty of exaggerated text to describe the unnatural, aberrant birth.

    It was different in other sources. Supposedly, she was born of a different father... and out of treachery.

    A mad, jealous wizardess was spurned by the Elf God... She used magic to disguise one of her servants to seduce the Elf Goddess.

    The Elf Goddess was seduced-- probably because she was a normal woman who just wanted to do her hot husband.

    When the Elf God found out... instead of punishing his wife for her infidelity, he turned his anger upon her child... and cast the baby into a deep well.

    The result was even more cruel than it seemed... because for a child with the blood of the divine, a watery well was not enough to kill her.

    It was probably... a magical well, too-- or something like that.

    The disowned daughter could not escape her prison... and unless she''d been freed in the tens of thousands of years since then, she was still there.

    None of the texts Coraline found detailed any sort of rescue, though...

    It might not have even been a well? The Elven word used referred to a modern well... but a literal trantion described a spring, deep within the earth.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The story wasn''t popr, to depict the Elf God as such a trashy dad. It was probably why that particr tome was considered ''forbidden.''

    No baby deserves such cruelty... even an ugly one.

    Coraline was pretty sure that''d never happen to her. As much as sheined about her boyfriend, Lone was incredibly handsome.

    Well-- maybe not as handsome as Baron Tychon... but Coraline was 100% loyal to her boyfriend!

    Hm...

    ...Nope!

    Never!

    Wouldn''t do it! Wouldn''t even consider cheating on Lone! Even though Sir Tychon''s abs were chiseled out of ROCKS! And he had weird, predatory eyes that hinted that he was probably wild in the sack.

    And besides... Coraline was 1000% certain that she''d be able to tell whether or not Lone was Lone-- even if there was illusory magic involved.

    Also, she literally had a Truth-type spell that she could cast once per sun.

    Coraline snapped the book closed and mussed up her short blonde hair.

    Why were all these hot people in her life?!

    She was chaste! She was PUUUURE.

    She was a strong independent Arcanist that only needed one man!

    Having a harem was grossly unrealistic and only seeded in the two-silver short-story pamphlets sold in corner stalls!

    "Keep thy abs away, foul, handsome Baron!" She squeezed her fists close to her chest. "Cease they seductress-ing, unreasonably attractive female CEO! I do not wish to join the opposite team-- even though that team smells nicer and their members have shapelier butts!"

    Coraline growled to herself and began barking, "Wan! Wan wan~!"

    She felt likeining. She needed toin.

    Turning to her oilmp, she instilled some mana into her voice.

    "?Beatrice!? I want toin!"

    The me in themp flourished, forming a vague face of a smaller, younger... her.

    It was Beatrice, her fire elemental spirit. Even though Coraline worked harder than anyone else in her previous guild... Beatrice was probably the real reason she was able to get her current job.

    She had a letter of rmendation from Baron Tychon... which was surprisingly enough to get her the initial interview.

    While she was sure that helped, the super-prestigious Sapphire Tower wasn''t a ce where words on a piece of paper trumped magical... oomph.

    ? want? ?

    Beatrice''s warm voice filled Coraline''s mind.

    "Yes," Coraline nodded. "Sometimes, I just... want someone to listen to me, I guess? I''d reeeeally appreciate it."

    ? beatrice . want . . . orange juice. ?

    Coraline nced over to her small kitchte where a few ripened oranges were resting in a wooden bowl.

    "...Okay, I''ll make some juice. But in exchange, you get to sit down and listen to me."

    ? sit? ?

    ...Err.

    Coraline shook her head, "No, nevermind. Don''t do that."

    If Beatrice materialized in her apartment properly... she wouldn''t have an apartment anymore. Everything in it was pretty mmable.

    "Beatrice..." Coraline groaned, "I''m a simple girl... with simple pleasures. I just want... y''know, iced coffee... maybe a good book... a single hot boyfriend who loves me. Why are there so many hot people in my life?"

    The me in themp flickered and danced.

    ? beatrice . fire. ?

    ...Yes. A fire elemental was made of fire... which was hot.

    Whileining to her contracted elemental wasn''t quite as satisfying as she wanted... Coraline did feel a tiny bit better.

    Getting up (and parting from her lovingly loyal bed,) she began the process of juicing some oranges into Beatrice''s thick, slightly-charred, wooden cup.

    ? we . . . have words ?

    Coraline looked up, raising her brows in surprise. It was the first time that Beatrice offered to use words instead ofmunicating through her thoughts like she usually did.

    They had practiced before... and the fire elemental wasn''t very good at it...

    But... Coraline didn''t have any friends.

    Briefing pausing her delicious alchemical endeavors, she leaned over the kitchen counter and waited for what Beatrice had to say.

    ",

 Chapter 682 Designs

    ?"Yiss," She nodded. "People have words. That''s what we use to talk."

    ? the tycon ?

    The image of a handsome green-haired Baron that Coraline didn''t want to think about while rtively alone in her apartment room shed in her mind.

    "The guy with the abs so hard I can wash my clothes on them?" She asked. "That''s who you''re talking about, right?"

    ? wat? ?

    "Nevermind," Coraline smiled with chagrin, "Tell me the thing!"

    The tiny me fwooshed up and out of themp... grew in size... and took humanoid form. A nude female whose shape was more-or-less identical to Coraline''s floated in the center of the room.

    ...Except with more belly fat.

    Coraline did not have belly fat. That was a lie.

    Beatrice carefully observed her surroundings... being veeeerrrrry careful not to burn anything... like she did in other... previous incidents. Once the fire elemental determined that she wouldn''t get yelled at, a weird not-Beatrice and definitely not-Coraline-ish voice came out of her mouth.

    "Youngdy, ns have changed."

    It was... Baron Tychon''s voice? Beatrice''s eyes had turned a weird gold, too...

    "Oooooof," Coraline sucked in air through her teeth. "Cuh-reeeEEPYyyyY!! Your voice ising out of my fire elemental!"

    Stars and stones!

    Her eyes widened as she cursed in mind. She was surprised-- but she shouldn''t have spoken so quickly.

    If Sir Tychon was speaking with a Message-type spell, then it was possible there was amunicable word limit.

    ...which also applied to her.

    She would-- *should* only say things that were important... "Go ahead, Sir."

    Bleigh. She''d already screwed up.

    Twice.

    "Lone is safe... but different," Beatrice-Tychon said. "We are rerouting our course. Please make your way to Whitehearth at your earliest convenience."

    Safe? Safe was... good.

    Different... Coraline scrunched her face up in worry. Different was not so good.

    But still... Whitehearth. She was confident she could make that work...

    "Awesome!" Coraline smiled, "Whitehearth is *just* where we need to go!"

    Yes! It would work perfectly!

    Oh. Did she really need to say that in so many words, though? There were more important things she needed to say.

    "Tychon..."

    Oops. She omitted the word ''Sir''... But that should have been a given-- WHATEVER! Coraline just needed to say what she needed to say!

    "I need you..."

    Beatrice tilted her head, the gold color fading from her ''eyes''.

    "--to tell Lone..." Coraline hesitated. But... it wasn''t the time to be shy. She wasn''t ashamed of how I felt... "tell him... that I love him. That... I miss him... so... so much. That''s... that''s all. Alright?"

    ? coraline ?

    Aw yissss~!

    She clenched her fist in sess. With the most important message out of the way, she could detail her n.

    "Near Whitehearth is the Tree God''s Forest. ording to my research, his sap is just what we need to decurse Lone!"

    It was... the only confirmation Coraline could find to cure Ancient Elven curses. The Tree God''s sap was... blood, more or less.

    That''s what she was betting on. It would work for sure! Probably.

    Love ovees ALL obstacles!

    Except death.

    ...But maybe not?

    ? friend ?

    "Huh? What''s up?" Coraline tilted her head as she offered Beatrice the chilled up of freshly squeezed OJ.

    ? the message . it stops ?

    "Oh, that''s fine," Coraline shrugged. "Wait... where did it stop, exactly?"

    ...She sprinted to her desk-- almost tripping on a loose floorboard, and took out a sheet of parchment paper.

    Writing out what she said... she counted the words, one by one...

    "Oh... oh no. Stars and stones, no! NO!!! NOOOOO!!!!"

    She cried out to her floating fire elemental, pleading with tears in her eyes, "Beatrice... we-- we have to send it again!!"

    ? cannot ?

    Arrrrrghhhhh. Coraline plopped her face onto her desk-- with far less force and fury than earlier in the sun.

    Dumb... DUMB Coraline. What she needed to say to Lone... THAT... that was super important. She should have STARTED with that.

    Sigh...<novelnext></novelnext>

    SIGHHHHHHH...

    Coraline rocked side to side on her chin... "I guess... I should pack my things... and I gotta apply to Archmage Constantine for leave."

    ? travel? want travel ?

    The fire elemental spun and danced in the air, tiny embers falling onto her floor and ensuring that Coraline had absolutely zero chances of getting her security deposit back.

    At least Beatrice was happy. She didn''t like being confined in such a tiny apartment. Even when she worked aboard the Golden Eagle, she was able to move about the ship as she pleased.

    "Yeah," Coraline sat up in her chair. "Let''s go bynd, though, just the two of us... Besides being cheaper, I want to avoid death by pirates... and any more weird murder mysteries."

    ...

    ? The morning of the following sun. ?

    Constantine was pleased to find a certain elf waiting in his office.

    Her name was... Coraline Heartsong-- a given name, rather than a family one.

    Using his illusion magic to mask his presence, he stealthily approached her from behind... taking in her scent as she massaged her supple shoulder muscles.

    She tensed up immediately... but it was something he enjoyed, the futility of a woman struggling against his domineering charm.

    "You grace me with your presence, Miss Coraline," He cooed.

    The girl was young, especially for an elf. Her blonde, shoulder-length hair was soft... and smelled of sweet spring flowers...

    He looked forward to grasping it firmly when it came time to force himself upon her.

    "I haven''t seen you for some time..." He leaned in close, tempted to nibble on her ear... "Have you been avoiding me?"

    "N-not at all, sir," Coraline coughed, twisting her body and pushing Constantine''s hands away. "I''ve just been-- oh, you know... busy."

    "Ahhhh... yes," Constantine raised an eyebrow as he sat on the bench beside her, "Engrossed in your research, I''d imagine."

    He brushed a hand over her thigh. The slut usually wore a skirt, exposing her shapely thighs for the virgin wizards-in-training to ogle... but it seemed that she''d changed into long trousers.

    She changed her attire, just for him. He was honored.

    While Constantine had designs on Coraline''s physical body... she had the potential to have far greater value.

    The newest Arcanist in the Sapphire Tower had shown special interest in something he''d been researching for years... and coincidentally, his interest in the topic had grown manyfold in recent moons.

    As soon as the girl was granted ess to the Tower Library, she had scoured the archives for anything rted to... the Return of the Elven Sovereign.

    Constantine had learned of it from an esoteric, written ount of the so-called Draconic Prophecy... foretold by a creature named Neerin Neelia.

    Anything to do with dragons, very few persons in the Realm had the gall... or the status to seek out.

    That Coraline had sought him on her own ord... was fortuitous. He would have sought her out, regardless-- virgins were so very rare in the city of Archangel. But besides wishing to feel explore the insides of her flesh, Constantine sought the forbidden draconic knowledge held inside the fool girl''s skull.

    The young elf stood up and turned to face him, "I''m actually here to apply for leave, S-sir."

    "Do tell~" Constantine leaned forward, steepling his fingers... not bothering to hide his amusement.

    It was a game... and one he enjoyed ying.

    His target would resist. He would pursue. Sometimes, it would take a single meeting. Other times, it would take weeks or years.

    She''d warm to him eventually... if not by his natural charm, then by his charm magic.

    With Chief Executive Officer, Be Sapphira, not even on the same ne of existence as they were-- it was inevitable that she''de to him for any high-priority, work-rted matters.

    As the most powerful Archmage in Archangel, he had amassed enough power and political allies that the witch could not act against him without putting her life''s work, the Sapphire Tower, at risk.

    "I''d imagine," He grinned... "that you''d make it worth my while."

    The girl''s eyes widened in panicked realization...

    It seemed she understood what Constantine was implying.

    This was how *his* Sapphire Tower worked. Favors beget favors.

    The thought of defiling another virgin sent Constantine''s heart racing with trepidation. He had not taken a man, woman, or creature in several suns... to better savor the asion.

    "I... I was meaning to ask you, Sir," Coraline stammered. "Who... who is the woman disyed on the wall?"

    "Aha," Constantine scoffed.

    The girl''s vain efforts at denying him his prize were... dreadfully boring.

    ...He''d grant her that much... in the imusible case that they broached a topic of actual interest.

    He nced up at thergest painting in his office... a portrait of a voluptuous, pink-haired Alizeaun in military attire.

    "Her name is Chantal De Croix," He exined, stressing the ent for authenticity, "the current Fleet Admiral of the Magic Kingdom''s Navy."

    When Constantine''s primary base of operations was in Alizeau... Grand-Capitaine Chantal was one of his targets.

    She was human, which he admittedly had little interest in... but he enjoyed seducing persons of power.

    And virgins.

    "Why do you have her portrait, then?" Coraline asked.

    "I knew her father," He frowned, reflecting upon his recent history...

    The man was... so very protective of Chantal, his adopted daughter.

    Thus, Constantine had him framed and killed.

    ",

 Chapter 683 Nemayan

    ?Even after the removal of Guiume De Croix, Chantal continued to resist Constantine''s advances.

    Then... the fates saw fit that the woman contract her father''s Summoned Beast.

    It wasmentable, but Constantine''s magic wasrgely ineffective against a barely-controlled leviathan thrice the size of a defensive fort.

    From there, he decided to prioritize conquering King Adal''s youngest daughter, Aur Wyndham.

    That proved to be an infuriating waste of time.

    It was not until the third catastrophe that Constantine decided to leave Alizeau.

    His primary base of operations, his magic tower, was raided by thieves. His traps were dismantled. His mimics and cockatrice were ughtered...

    They even killed his ve girl.

    As a final insult, the rogues set a trap for him on the tower''s highest level.

    The resulting magical explosion horrifically scarred his true form. Since then, he''d been forced to rely on mour magic to maintain his original, handsome appearance.

    "Is that so...?" Coraline crossed her arms... a sliver of confidence returning to her voice, "I had thought... it was your fiancee."

    "Well, well... someone is *quite* informed..." Constantine felt his eye twitch... but he masked his annoyance with a smile, "Tell me, Miss Coraline... where did you learn of that?"

    "It was pretty big news, at the time, Sir," Coraline bowed her head... barely trying to hide her mocking smirk, "that the youngest Princess in the Magic Kingdom was engaged to a noble from the Sleeping Country."

    Be Sapphira.

    That.

    F*cking.

    Cunt.

    Very few people in the Sapphire Tower knew of the going-ons of Konstantin Dunzis. It was problematic, as his true name was so easily identifiable... and not solely because of the centuries of his house''s illustrious and sometimes violent history...

    He was born in Nemaya Strana.

    There was little the Eastern Statesmen distrusted more than a gentleman from the Sleeping Country, noble or not.

    But while the Realm atrge knew of him as Konstantin Dunzis... in Archangel, he was Constantine the Silver: silver-tongued bachelor, wealthy phnthropist...

    Archmage.

    With mour magic and illusions as his expertise... the only mages in the Eastern States that could glean his true form and history were those with ess to magical Truesight.

    Concerning Coraline Heartsong, her most probable source of information was... CEO Be Sapphira.

    It *must* have been her.

    Even in whatever hell she was in, that whore was determined to be a bloodied thorn, twisted deep underneath his nail.

    Constantine took a deep breath to regain his calm.

    Fury raged in his heart.

    He needed an outlet.

    Coraline Heartsong.

    He would im her.

    He needed to exert his power over her... to stare into her eyes as he ravaged her virgin body.

    He needed to inflict physical and psychological pain... and would only be appeased upon seeing thest vestiges of resistance disappear from her eyes.

    Elves were his favorite. Man or woman, it didn''t matter. They were the most satisfying creatures in the Realm to corrupt.

    An elf believed in the natural goodness of people. It was aughable concept... and so very easy to prove wrong.

    Elven magic bent and weaved mana intoplex magical designs and structures. Working in tandem with the elements was a sign of a weaker mage. A proper Archmagemanded the elements to obey.

    In Constantine''s pitifully short human lifetime, he had taken dozens, if not hundreds, of elves. Each of them never believed that the worst could happen to them... especially not by a lowly human.

    His magic was perfect for the task.

    Elves were born with a natural resistance to Charm-type spells... and thus were unguarded against them.

    In truth, Constantine was not a simple Illusionist. His repertoire of spells, a result of years of his own painstaking design... had their underlying cores contrived by Draconic script.

    With the domineering presence of the stolen Draconic Essence in his bloodline... and Dragon Magic dancing upon his fingertips, no sentient creature in the Realm could resist him.

    He would secure their wrists and ankles... He would revel in their screams,ughing as they broke their bones, struggling against their magical bindings.

    When he grew bored, he''d subdue their wills. Their hearts would tremble and their eyes would grow wide with fear upon realizing they could do nothing save plead for mercies upon deaf ears... to him... to their silent gods.

    For bells on end... for suns and weeks and moons, he''d keep them in his private quarters.

    He called it... re-education.

    He would magically intensify their sensitivity...

    He would dole out punishments for disobedience...

    He would reward them... but only if they syed open their orifices and begged for him to enter.

    And when they grew addicted to him... when nothing was left but a sack of meat whose sole thoughts... whose sole purpose was to crave carnal pleasure.

    ...only then would Constantine call his re-education a sess.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Then... the mindless husks would be discarded... sacrificed to the Dragon God. Whether or not his prayers were heard was a non-issue.

    He''d write down notes in his journal toter analyze for trends... and he''d clean their holding area with magic to make room for the next victim.

    Coraline Heartsong... she would be no different.

    "My fiancee..." Constantine shook his head... "is of no consequence. I must admit that I have not seen her for quite some time."

    He hadn''t contacted Aur since he discovered her virginity taken by a different man. The thought of it still bred a deep, loathing contempt for the girl.

    "That''s a real shame, Sir," Coraline rolled her eyes.

    The girl''s disdain only made Constantine more erect. Though she was still young... the arrogance befitting of an Ancient fed his lust. He imagined her naked body underneath her clothes... nning on just how he''d paint her with scars of ownership.

    He instilled magic into his words as he whispered breathily... "Perhaps you would... ?Keep Me Company? for a spell, in her stead?"

    Coraline''s green eyes glowed... and the luster in them dimmed.

    The magic was taking effect.

    Constantine rxed upon the bench, leaning back to better grant the elf ess to his crotch. He was looking forward to seeing the girl''s eyeliner run down her eyes... snot, saliva, and mana essence from her nostrils and mouth...

    He''d burn the image of his conquest into his memory... one of many already collected.

    "I..." She paused, her willpower surging... soon to fade into nothingness... "I... have a boyfriend."

    Oh? That... was even better.

    Constantine wanted to see Coraline''s face twist in ugliness as she was vited by a man she did not love.

    "HAH!! Hahah! HAHAHA!!" He cackled, "You speak of the virgin? What was his name again? Sloan Masterspark? How about you shut the f*ck up and get on your knees, you insufferable bitch?"

    Coraline grimaced as she shook her head... "S-sorry, Sir-- what were we talking about?"

    Constantine furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief.

    What. The. F*ck. Was going on?

    Was... his magic ineffective?

    ...No.

    "Girl..."

    "Oh, right. My boyfriend," Coraline nodded, her gaze dreamy and distant, "I''m actually hoping to take leave to go see him."

    Constantine leaned forward, again steepling his fingers.

    How?

    How did the sapling still have such a high level of lucidity?

    How was she not on her knees, begging to be defiled?

    It was-- it should have been... absolutely impossible.

    Coraline Heartsong was a novice Arcanist... and had no special traits to resist his Dragon Magic.

    She might have had a fire elemental... not that that would pose a meaningful threat.

    If he sensed even an ember of its mes, he''d annihte it with a flick of his wrist.

    ...If it wasn''t a unique ability, it was... a protective enchantment?

    Opening his magical senses, he identified the issue immediately.

    The earrings.

    Arcanist Coraline wore two... subtle pearl earrings that he''d never have noticed if he were not actively searching.

    His gaze sharpened into a hateful re as he recognized the subtle aura of their crafter.

    Be. F*cking. Sapphira.

    Constantine had grown weary of her meddling.

    But no matter the protective enchantments, he would get his way.

    He stood up and approached the dazed youth... feeling his Draconic Essence coursing through his meridians, empowering his muscles... webs of cracks appearing in the expensive tiles he tread upon.

    She was weak... She was frail. She barely qualified to be called an adult...

    If she was unaffected by his Dragon Magic, he could still overpower her physically.

    Though not as graceful, he was not above choking a woman to unconsciousness with his bare f*cking hands.

    "His name," Coraline closed her eyes and ced her hands over her heart... "is Lone... and... I love him more than anything."

    ...Constantine furrowed his brows... "What... did you just say?"

    "My... boyfriend''s name?" The cloudy-eyed girl tilted her head, "It''s... Lone. Lone Shadowdark. It''s... prettyme, I know... but if you meet him, it actually makes a lot of sense."

    The Lone. F*cking. Shadowdark.

    That... was the name of the Ranger that belonged to Guild Sol Invictus.

 Chapter 684 More Than A King

    ?O'' Sol Invictus...

    ...how Constantine hated that name.

    That... was the guild that the Holy Country entrusted to transport the Swords of the Elven Sovereign.

    ...It was also the guild led by the ursed Baron who f*cked his whore fiancee.

    Coraline noddedzily... her mind still fogged by magic, "He-- yeah... I think... I want to go to Whitehearth. The Swords of the Forgotten King... that''s... where they''re gonna be."

    Archmage Constantine pursed his lips... and hid his clenched fists behind his back... "You found the swords, then..."

    "Y... yes. I did."

    The discovery of the swords changed everything.

    He took a deep breath. As his raged cooled, his heart filled with a different kind of excitement.

    Constantine twirled an inconsequential spell around his fingers, the subtle magic swirling around him and twisting his illusory expression into a gentle smile.

    "You wish to go to the city of Whitehearth? Very well. I give you leave to do so."

    Tracking Sol Invictus had been an oddly difficult task. As much disdain he had for its leader, Baron Tychon, he was a resourceful and thorough snake.

    Sol Invictus was very good at dodging and disabling his spies... and so many casts of scrying magic were more likely to mired in thick fog or grant him a splitting headache rather than a discernible location.

    As the guild departed Cersei''s Rest via ship, Constantine had sent his retainers to intercept them, kill them, and recover their possessions. He''d even lent them a Dragon Artifact in order to help them secure it.

    The bumbling pirates fell to an attack by swaths of undead... which was... ironic.

    It was something that would have never happened if he had instead enlisted the help of his countrymen, instead of local ggards. Sailors from the Sleeping Country encountered mad necromancers once a moon.

    After that, Constantine had managed to track down the Sol Invictus Calctor and ming Rage Knight. They''d taken residence in the city of Archangel, precariously close to the Sapphire Tower.

    Though he considered iming those two, as well... they were merely human. While he kept a vignt eye on their movements, they had yet to contact their guild leader... nor did they seem to have a clue to his whereabouts.

    Coraline Heartsong... the girl protected by Be Sapphira-- she had proven to be far more valuable than for just her three holes.

    Her research had culminated into finding him the location of the swords.

    The prophesied ''Elven Sovereign'' was certain to appear... and in suns and weeks, rather than centuries.

    "So uh..." Coraline tapped her foot anxiously, "Do I need to... fill out any paperwork... orrrr?"

    "What are you waiting for?!" Constantine snapped-- the illusory magic keeping his expression together nearly breaking, "Get out of my sight!!"

    "Stars and stones, don''t have to tell me twice," The sarcastic elf girl rolled her eyes before wobbling towards the exit.

    "Filthy, f*cking whore..." After Constantine heard the door close behind him, he walked over to his desk chair and retrieved his journal to record his findings.

    The Elven Sovereign... ording to the Dragon Prophet, Neerin Neelia, the Return of the Elves'' so-called King... it was the return of their Elf God.

    ...And that god was trapped in mortal form.

    That... was Constantine''s target... his next conquest... his ultimate goal-- so close, he could almost taste it.

    His heart began to race thinking about the things he''d do... and he took mental inventory of the tools of pleasure and pain he needed to prepare... the new spells he needed to perfect...

    His ns, years in the making, would soon reach their fruition...

    Constantine the Silver...

    No... Konstantin Dunzis...

    Soon... he would seduce... he would conquer... he would debase and defile an elf-- and not one so mundane as he''d sampled hundreds of times before.

    He would f*ck a god.

    ...

    ? The Eastern States, on the southwestern coast. ?

    ording to Captain Krysaos, the Neptune''s Revenge had anchored off the coast of Thorne Bay. The ship had dipped noticeably deeper in the water by that time, but as a result of human engineering and ingenuity, had yet to tip over and sink.

    Temporarily halting their voyage for repairs was a necessity.

    Tycondrius considered apanying King, the Elven Sovereign, to Whitehearth. However, that would leave Krysaos to fend for himself for an indeterminable length of time.

    Such a decision would be in poor taste. The gentleman-Captain was an agreeable travelingpanion... and would likely die in a series of unfortunate events if left to his own devices.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Considering his crew, it would either bebat-rted... or... idental in nature.

    A particrly irritable, thin-braided, charcoal-skinned dark elf crossed her arms as she red at said gentleman.

    "Ugh. Why can''t you act like a proper, respectful human, Krysaos?" Imperia groaned, "You should learn from your servant."

    The purple-haired Sea Witch, Mina, was levitating by King''s side, where she was being regaled by the elf''s stories of bravery and derring-do.

    Though Tycon initially believed the young mermaid to be socially trapped, too shy to interrupt, the girl appeared... actually interested in the elf''s fanciful boasting.

    "Squeeze the saltwater outta your pantsu, girlie. I can be proper to women if I want to be," Krysaos shrugged, "but I gotta remind you-- you might as well be a guy with your chest as t as it is."

    "You..." Imperia''s eyes turned to shock and she clenched her fists in anger...

    "(You will rue the day you crossed me, human...)" --she added in Elven.

    "What she say?" Krysaos nced over to Tycon.

    "Generic threat," Tycon shrugged.

    "Did she actually say just that? ''Generic threat''?"

    Mina drifted over, flipping her fin to swim through the air as if still underwater, "Chosen One! Esteemed Lady Imperia and Sir Tychon! The Elven Sovereign is ready to depart towards the Thorne settlement. How goes your preparations?"

    "See?" Imperia sneered, "Proper, respectful speech, as the Maedar and I deserve. Thank you for your courtesy, Miss Servant."

    "Of course, Lady," Mina inclined her head, "I am honored to fulfill the duties for which I have been created for, to serve phnthropist nobles and just kings."

    "Fumu humu~" Imperia emitted a childish giggle as she ced her hands on her hips.

    Mina was a weapon spirit, a sentience born of an ancient god-forged weapon, the Heart of the Ocean.

    King... if Tycon hypothesized correctly, was a simr existence-- a human whose mind was dominated by an Elven weapon spirit, their body magically altered to fit their image.

    Tycon considered informing the young elf that King may hold a higher regard for Mina than for her... but decided against it.

    He had spent the past several suns building rapport with her-- mostly by feeding her. Their conversations, since, were amicable enough, save the asional sarcastic response and contemptful re.

    ...As it was likely the most respect she could muster, Tycon granted the youngdy more leeway than if he were dealing with a more... socially intelligent child.

    Imperia''s frustrations, then, she directed to Krysaos... He was the only man on the Neptune''s Revenge that would provide her adequate verbal retaliation.

    Her insults towards the various Coral Boys would... thoroughly confuse them, be wholly ignored; or-- in the case of Petty Officer Bob, would find her unceremoniously thrown into the ocean.

    As for Ishmael, it seemed that Imperia was... unsettled by the shadow''s presence, perhaps having realized that the creature bore a resemnce to Tycon, himself.

    Mana instilled in her movements, the dark elf dashed off towards King, "My king! Lord! My sovereign!!"

    Her exuberance likely had to do with the fact that, the further away from the anchored ship, the more she regained her ability to utilize her mana freely.

    The Elven Sovereign sat alone against the base of a tree, his eyes closed, his ivory des resting in hisp.

    Upon the youngdy''s approach, King opened a single eye.

    "Sapling," He waved dismissively, "Why art thou not attending to the Maedar as I hadmanded?"

    "My lord..." Imperia puffed out her cheeks, "I was hoping to apany... you? with... my tribesmen?"

    "That will not be necessary," King frowned. "I, alone, will be enough. To reduce the time we remain ashore and to expedite our journey to Whitehearth, I have tasked our kin to remain here and assist with the repairs."

    The girl''s ears visibly drooped in disappointment... "I... I understand, my Lord..."

    "Report to me, when the time hase to depart."

    With his words marking the end of the conversation, King again shut his eyes and continued to meditate... and Imperia returned, her head bowed in defeat.

    "Youngdy," Tycon nodded. "Take heart. A disadvantaged battle does not mean the war is lost... so to speak."

    "Sir Tycon," She grit her teeth, refusing to acknowledge Captain Krysaos and his shite-eating grin, "how much longer until we can go?"

    "We can depart once the crew is assembled and the Captain gives them their orders," Tycon exined.

    He could not give a definite answer.

    Gathering the crew could take as little as five minutes... or another half-bell, depending more on luck rather than Petty Officer Bob''s skill.

 Chapter 685 The Lies Of Children

    ?"Oho~!" Krysaos crossed his arms, his grin threatening to split the ends of his mouth, "Ain''t what you expected from your elf lord, girlie?"

    "Hmph!" Impera snorted, turning her nose up and away from the Captain. "You''re just jealous. *You''re* supposed to be the ChoOosEn oNe-- but my King is far more suitable for such a title than YOU, you dis-*gusting* pig!"

    "PshhHHH," Krysaos waved. "No wayyyy. Mina''s mine, so she''s fine with it. Ain''t that right, babe?"

    "Correct," Mina bowed her head. "I serve the Chosen One, the pure-hearted warrior who drew the Heart of the Ocean."

    "Which is... me. And the Master Sword is mine-- ''cos I drew it," Krysaos gestured at the sword on his waist as he stared down the mermaid Sea Witch, "Thus... you''re my servant. Not that guy''s."

    Mina hesitated... but very briefly, "Th-that is how it is."

    Tycon pursed his lips.

    Krysaos had lied.

    ...Granted, the gentleman-Captain could lie as easily as he breathed-- not that Tycon would call attention to the fact.

    It was, however, quite strange that Krysaos was so insistent on that particr lie.

    Was the fellow... feeling... threatened? By the Elven Sovereign?

    Inferior, perhaps?

    ...The thought was asinine.

    The two were iparable. Krysaos was a human Baneer of modest birth. King was... an exemry elf, boasting ancient arts and knowledges.

    "Yeah, uh huh," Krysaos nodded towards the mermaid girl-- but did not meet her gaze, "I''ll tell you what, Mina: you stay behind on the Neptune''s Revenge. Make sure the Coral Boys are workin'' hard more than they''re hardly workin'', alright?"

    "That... I can do that," Mina pumped her fist. "Thank you, Chosen One. You must have noticed that I have yet to recover from the battle against the Nemayan privateers."

    "Y-yeah," Krysaos pursed his lips and raised his chin. "''Course, I did."

    "Chosen One..." Mina turned her head up, looking into the Captain''s eyes with a serious expression, "If you''re ever in trouble... simply call for me... and I will be by your side."

    "Yeah, yeah," Krysaos turned away, waving behind him. "LT! Girlie! We''re leavin''."

    The mermaid girl watched the Captain turn and walk off... but shrugged to herself and started back towards the ship.

    Tycon wasn''t exactly certain of what thoughts were going on in each of their heads... but it certainly seemed moreplex than at first nce.

    ...He hoped it would resolve itself before it affected his quest.

    ...Though, of that, he was doubtful.

    As they walked over to where King was waiting, Imperia took the chance to sidle up to Krysaos.

    It was strange to see the youngdy with a smile so wide.

    "OoOoOoooooh? Are you JeaAaloUuuss?! Just because you''re not the super-badass-awesome Chosen One that Mina thinks you aaAAre?"

    Krysaos rolled his eyes, "Imperia?"

    "Uh huHhh?"

    "You don''t have any friends, do you?"

    Imperia''s eyes shot open wide... and her entire body-- small as it was, trembled with indignance, "Y-you! I... I... Well!! You don''t have any friends, either!!"

    Tycon averted his gaze.

    The fool girl had indirectly admitted that the Captain''s conjecture was correct.

    "Sure, I got friends-- plenty of ''em!" Krysaos chuckled. "For example, the LT, here."

    "He!" Imperia pointed with a shriek, "is your subordinate!"

    Tycon lowered the brim of his Officer''s cap. He wanted no part of the bickering couple''s spat.

    "El-Teeeeee!" Krysaos nudged Tycon''s shoulder," Heyyy... buddy... pal o'' mine... we''re-- we''re friends, right?"

    ...

    Elven Ranger King served as the forward scout for the adventuring teamprised of Warlord Tycon, Baneer Captain Krysaos, and Imperia, Cleric of the Storm.

    The trek was rtively uneventful, walking the shoreline between the ocean and the thick ind trees. Once or twice per bell, King would inform them that the path forward was devoid of threats, or he would redirect their path to avoid any territorial creatures.

    Granted, there were no monstrous beings great enough to defeat for... the sake of a certain Elven Ranger''s ''honor''-- merely bears and badgers that wished to be left alone.

    Tycon appreciated the peace. Not every journey needed to beden with acidic-blooded Stone Frogs, fire-sphere throwing Gann, or... hostile... wang-wielding Leviathans.

    "Brother-Captain, what do you know about Thorne Vige?"

    "Ehhh," Krysaos sighed as he stretched his arms, paring some of the maps we got, it''s been around for a couple o'' decades. They should have better tools than the ones we have on ship."

    "What *tools*?" Imperia groaned, "All we have on the ship are weapons!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon found wry amusement in the way the youngdy used the word ''we''. It seemed over the past week, she had subconsciously epted that she was integrated into Krysaos'' crew.

    "They can do... *some* repairs," Krysaos countered. "They got choppas."

    Choppers? Tycon furrowed his brows, "You mean... axes, Captain?"

    "Oh," Krysaos furrowed his brows. "Oh, yeah. That''s what they''re called... Y''know, the Coral Boys use funny words for things-- so sometimes I get caught up on ''em. You know? Like the smoova?"

    "What in the seven hells is a smoova?" Imperia frowned, forgetting to mask her naturally light voice with her usual two-tones too deep.

    "Y''know," Krysaos repeated, "the clothes smoova."

    Tycon thought about it for a brief moment... "The t iron warmed upon a me and applied to clothing to remove wrinkles?"

    "Yeah, that''s it," The Captain nodded.

    "Why... why would they call it that?" Imperia pouted.

    "It smoovs out yer clothes," Krysaos scoffed.

    Before Imperia could respond back with something insulting, sarcastic, or generally unpleasant to hear-- Tycon directed their attentions forward.

    King was standing in a clearing at the edge of a tree line.

    In the distance beyond stood a quaint vige of wood and thatch houses.

    The Elven Ranger raised his voice as the group approached, "I have escorted thee safely to the Vige of Thorne. Hast anyone taken injury or difort?"

    "All in one piece," Krysaos gestured with an upward-raised thumb. "Could use a drink, though."

    Such was... a truism for Captain Krysaos.

    "Your pathfinding is peerless, Ancient," Tycon nodded.

    A task performed well was worth praise. King had led their group through the forest faster and with fewerplications than with any pathfinder Tycon had worked with prior.

    "I am well, my king," Imperia folded her hands and fluttered her eyshes.

    The elf didn''t even spare her a nce as he gestured towards the gentleman beside her-- "Captain Krysaos, tell me your next n of action."

    "We got a vige with wooden housing in front''ve us," Krysaos smirked. "They got tools, for sure. We show up and ask to borrow ''em... real nice."

    "Uh huh? Great n," Imperia rolled her eyes, "And if they say no?"

    "Then we take ''em," Krysaosughed. "Simple''s that."

    "...For once, I agree with you," The elf girl crossed her arms.

    "Worry not for thy tools, Captain Krysaos," King stood tall as he unsheathed his prized swords, "I shall offer my noble service to the vigers in exchange for your favors. It is the least I can do."

    Krysaos stoppedughing... and tilted his head in confusion, "Huh. You''d do that?"

    King''s gaze hardened as he grit his teeth in disdain... "Do you *question* my honor?"

    Tycon coughed into his hand, "Ancient, I believe Captain Krysaos was responding with a question in order to elicit conversation."

    "...Such words are unnecessary."

    "It is... considered socially polite to do so-- in human culture."

    King stared at Tycon in thought for a moment longer before breaking away, "In that case, yes, Captain Krysaos. I offer my services dly for the greater good. My heart beats to serve the people as their hero and sovereign. My des were crafted to defeat evil and dispel fear. My spirit..."

    Tycon''s attention and gaze drifted as King droned on.

    Thorne Vige wasrge enough to house several hundred... yet that it appeared so empty was baffling. No men or women could be seen, working or even loitering. No children screeched or yed with sticks.

    It made Tycon worry the vige was abandoned... and perhaps recently. However, the buildings were in too adequate states of repair for that to be usible.

    "--so powerful that even the dragons bow in obeisance!" King finished with a flourish of his des.

    Imperia pped giddily in excitement. Tycon, though havingrgely ignored most of King''s speech, nodded politely.

    "A sovereign such as myself would never speak falsely, Captain Krysaos," King raised his chin with pride. "Thou wouldst do well to remember that."

    "Huh?" Krysaos shook as if stirring awake, "Oh. Right. Got''cha."

    King granted a nod of approval as he turned to walk towards the vige.

    Krysaos looked over to Tycon to bubble in Aquan... something he seemed to do more often in recent suns, "(Do all elves really act like that?)"

    "Yes," Tycon nodded.

    The real answer was moreplicated. All elves Tycon had previously met had delusions of grandeur. Some were less obvious about it than others. A simple answer, however, behooved Krysaos'' inquiry.

    "Um. No~" Imperia huffed, jutting out her underdeveloped chest, "We elves are beings of nobility, noble in speech and deed, always seeking to assist the goodly people of the Realm with our gods-given, noble gifts!"

 Chapter 686 Swamp Monster

    ?The crab-surfing, waternce summoning Cleric of the Storm understood Aquan.

    Tycondrius was not surprised.

    "Miss Imperia, I feel the need to remind you... that a few evenings prior, youmunicated your intent to gouge out my eyes and feed them to your contracted beast."

    "I. did. NOT!" Imperia shot back.

    ...then immediately turned to sprint away, after her sovereign.

    Tycon sighed and shook his head.

    Children.

    Younger elves were not beholden to the same Laws as Elven Ancients.

    Ancients were known for guile and mistruths. It was something of a necessity, as their bloodlines made them incapable of lying. A younger elf, however, had no such weakness.

    Fortunately, Tycon felt no need to worry about Imperia''s potential treachery.

    She was... not a clever child.

    Tycon turned upon feeling a reassuring pat on the back from Krysaos.

    "Don''t worry about it, LT," The Captain granted him a wry smile, "Let''s get goin''."

    ...

    Tycon''s adventurer instincts bid him seek out thergest, most-important looking building in the vige... and King''s inclinations proved no different.

    Surprisingly, a viger answered the door. A wrinkled and hunched-over gentleman greeted their group and invited them to enter.

    ? Bronze-Rank Lizard-blooded Human Expert. ?

    The elder had a Metal-Rank, which was impressive, considering his advanced age... Further, his bloodline was... an umon one.

    The creature''s form was perfectly human, with hair more white than grey, ack of visible scales, and mundane pupils.

    However, there were... other, less-obvious signs to his... inhumanity.

    The old man had a stilted walk-- which might have corrted to his age.

    He had a full set of functional teeth... and some were more pointed than that a regr human''s.

    The damning evidence, however, was the fact that the elder''s home-- for want of a more polite term, reeked. The wood and thatch house stank of suns-old musk and sweat, undeid with the low, nutty scent of rotting meat... and the old man was its source.

    From the way the Elven Cleric, Imperia, hid behind Krysaos'' back and Krysaos undid the catch on the Heart of the Ocean, the two had noticed, as well... even if subconsciously.

    Though unpleasant, it was... a natural odor. As it was not as powerful and pervasive as alchemically concocted perfume, Tycon found it tolerable.

    "I apologize, adventurers..." Elder Thorne inclined his head, "that our vige has so little to offer in the way of food and supplies."

    "Please, Elder," King gestured towards a chair. "Sit. I and the men and women of the Neptune''s Revenge are not mere brigands, but wouldst ask merely for shelter and thy tolerance until the time our gship is restored to its former glory."

    Krysaos sighed loudly, which drew a curious expression from the elder and-- as expected, willful ignorance from King.

    Repairing the Neptune''s Revenge to its... ''former glory'', so to speak... was admittedly not difficult to achieve. The ship was in horrible condition when Tycon and his Captain first came upon it.

    "Ahh..." The Elder sat down, groaning as old men do, "Hospitality... is to be expected. The tools, an empty house to protect you from the elements... that-- we can grant without issue, Master Elf."

    He took a deep breath as if the act of speaking so many words fatigued him... "I can offer you little more. With the colder moons, wild game have be more scarce, forcing our hunters to trek deep into the dangerous marsnd. Without the reliability of our crops and with our fishing boats so few-- I''ve even had to enlist the help of my sons and daughters to..."

    --Wilfully ignoring Elder Thorne prattle on, Tycon mulled over the thought of the whelplings he''d mentioned. It would be logical if his kin shared his bloodline.

    For the Elder, himself, to be the vige head, either his scale-kin blood was tolerated or... multiple such humans were integrated amongst the vige''s poption.

    It would be a... precarious scenario if the entire vige was Bronze-Rank and higher. In such a case, the vige of Thorne was less a quaint, coastal settlement and more a hidden army, waiting to be fielded.

    If they held allegiance to a potentially hostile power, it would behoove Tycon and hispanions to keep neutrality... and remain vignt.

    Tycon shook his head, dispelling his concerns. Elder Thorne was requesting mundane assistance in providing food for the vige.

    If they were hiding a hundred Metal-Rankbatants, that would not have been an issue.

    ...Unless the vigers had... umonly voracious appetites.

    Krysaos stepped forward, opening his mouth to speak.

    King did not grant him the opportunity.

    "--Worry not, human! While our ships remain anchored in the bay, Captain Krysaos and I shall do our utmost to assist thy vige with its daily tasks."

    ...

    "Ahhhhrrrrghh..." Upon Elder Thorne''s house, Krysaos tilted his head skyward and groaned loudly.

    "Helpin'' a vige in the middle of gods-damned nowhere..." He muttered. "This reeeeally shouldn''t be our problem."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Castings for fish and hunting for game is tireless work," Tycon reassured him as he reced his Officer''s Cap on his head. "The more the Coral Boys were focused on a single task, performing repairs all sun-- the higher the likelihood that they engage in... foolish acts out of boredom."

    "Gonna run away, coward?" Imperia mocked, a sly grin across the child''s face.

    "Oh, I''d f*cking love to, girlie," Krysaos rolled his eyes-- "if I had a ship capable of sailing more''n a few klicks while staying UP-right!"

    "Miss Imperia," Tycon narrowed his eyes. "I''d prefer if you''d stop openly antagonizing Captain Krysaos."

    "Like that coward deserves my respect," Imperia shot back... Then she gulped and muttered a polite "Sir" as if that would excuse her rudeness.

    ...Tycon sighed and shook his head.

    He did not grant the young woman advice for his own benefit. If the young dark elf continued to ignore it, he would not mollify his Captain should he decide to retaliate with more than just wittyebacks.

    Krysaos suddenly ceased his steps as a young human child stepped out of hiding... and out from behind a suspicious-looking barrel.

    His dark brown hair was a mess and his eyes were dark and puffy, as if he''d had a recent bout of crying.

    ? Elementary-Rank Human Child. ?

    ...That the child was not a powerful individual was somewhat obvious, but it cost Tycon nothing to assert his observations.

    ? Thank you, System. ?

    ? You''re wee. ?

    "A-adventurers?" The boy, no older than ten years of age, looked up with wide, bright eyes. "Are... you here to save us from the Swamp Monster?"

    Krysaos narrowed his eyes, "Ain''t a monster, kid. It''s just a Coral Boy. Go back to the ship, you."

    "Aye, Cap''n," The barrel rumbled before obediently falling onto its side. It rolled away-- near-opposite the direction the Neptune''s Revenge and the Sugar-Titted Siren II were anchored.

    "Oh," The whelpling stared at Barrel Boy as he rolled off... but turned back to Krysaos, "I was... talking about a different monster, though?"

    "We ain''t the monster hunters you''re lookin'' for," Krysaos shrugged. "But we got a guy workin'' on it. Don''t worry about it and go y with the other kids."

    "There *aren''t* any other kids," The child pouted... "It''s just... just me and Willow. And she... she''s not here."

    "Don''t care. Screw off, human," Imperia shooed the child away.

    "Youngdy?" Tycon pursed his lips in surprise, "Not once have you voiced opinion contrary to the Ancient''s intent to assist with vige matters."

    "Well, yeah-- err... that is correct, Sir," Imperia crossed her arms, "but once my King hears of this, he''ll certainly--"

    "Monster?!" King''s voice boomed as he exited the Elder''s domicile.

    He reached the small child with a single bound from the door, then knelt down to speak his level, "Mine ears hear the whispers of a monster that preys upon humanity."

    Imperia gestured towards the Ancient with feigned excitement. Tycon found it... impressive that she managed toce such a simple movement with sarcasm.

    The child gasped, "You''re-- you''re an elf!"

    Tycon crossed his arms. That the young man did not have the same awed reaction upon seeing the clearly Elven Imperia was... baffling.

    "Indeed," King nodded. "Take heart, human child, for I am not only a mere elf-- but a king among my people."

    "Wo..." The child giggled, "You... have to be strong, then!"

    "The greatest warrior to walk the Realm, in fact."

    "Even stronger than... than... than Dragan of Sol Invictus?"

    "Even stronger," King nodded.

    Tycon doubted the veracity of the Ancient''s im.

    "Tell me of your monster, child," The elf ordered. "for *I* shall be the hero to y it, bring honor to my name, and safety to thy vige."

    "Wow..." The young boy continued to stare, starry-eyed.

    "Say what you needed to say, young man," Tycon added.

    "Oh, right!" The boy blinked his eyes, "There''s... there''s a huge monster in the swamp. The others in the vige, they said--"

    "Say no more," King stood up with a nod. "I shall find and challenge this monster in honorable singlebat."

    Without another word, the gentleman elf sprinted away at top speed.

    "...There ''e goes," Krysaos pursed his lips.

    "...He''s really fast," The human boy tilted his head.

    "Should... we go after him?" Imperia pouted.

    Tycon crossed his arms... "Eventually."

 Chapter 687 Random Number Generator

    ?Tycondrius, Krysaos, and Imperia watched King''s back as he disappeared into the treeline, towards the marsh... and opposite of whence they came.

    The human boy stared into the distance with equal disbelief...

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat, "What is your name, young man?"

    The boy turned up while biting his upper lip, "M-my sister calls me Sprig."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "And where is she? You said her name was... Willow?"

    The young... Sprig lowered his gaze, "The Swamp Monster took her away..."

    Imperia seemed to be readying an interjection, but Tycon''s re made her hesitate.

    Information was being granted freely. Even if the source of knowledge was a child, its value could be weighed afterward, at their leisure.

    "The others..." The boy continued, "they said... that it was because the Sea God hates her. That''s why the monster took Sis... just like it took Dad-- like a hundred suns ago."

    Tycon crossed his arms in thought. How much truth was in Sprig''s words?

    Normal humans-- normal people, rather, were at the mercies of the gods... subject to their fickle whims, granting divine fortune or enacting cruelty.

    Then... concerning the education of children, it was easier to me the supernatural for difficult-to-exin concepts like birth, death, and disease.

    Thus, adults of many species had a tendency to coborate their lies in order to cate their whelplings.

    "Let''s do it," Krysaos gave Tycon a nod.

    "You?" Imperia scoffed, "You, Captain Krysaos, would act against the Sea God?"

    "Oh, you dunno?" Krysaos smirked, "That f*cktard stole my gods-damned ship. He''ll get his..."

    "So what''s this, then?" The dark elf twisted her face into an ugly, nose-upturned sneer, "a childish act of rebellion?"

    Tycon inadvertently let out a cough.

    "I''m gonna put a f*cking bullet in the sea god''s dome-- that''s what," Krysaos answered without hesitation.

    He turned towards Sprig, "Tell you what, kid. Since this is a chance for Krysaos, Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge, to f-- to mess with the sea god''s ns, I''ll save your sister... She''s uh... how old?"

    "Krysaos," Tycon red.

    "Right," Krysaos shut his eyes and nodded sagely, "Don''t answer that, kid."

    "She''s... twelve?" Sprig answered.

    "Quit lookin'' at me like that, LT," Krysaos grimaced. "I''ll still save her."

    Tycon continued to stare at Krysaos... exactly as he was.

    "OH! NO! NO, MAN! Come on!" Krysaos raised his hands in surrender, "Not gonna save her in the usual way. Twelve''s too young, even for me."

    "You''re still scum, human," Imperia scowled.

    The young boy raised his hand, "I''m seven."

    ...

    ? Later that sun, early evening. ?

    "I''m still mad at you... Sir," Imperia pouted.

    "Youngdy..." Tycon sighed... "Please understand that I do not care. However... I invite you to rify."

    From the constipated look on the dark elf''s face, he assumed she was going to tell him, regardless.

    "You left me..." She pointed at Krysaos, "with HIM!"

    "...I did," Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    In order to save time, he had taken the task of delivering the vigers tools to the elves and Coral Boys. He had a storage ring and traveled faster alone.

    "Why''d you take so long to get back?!" Imperia hmphed.

    It was true that Tycon could have been faster.

    However... there was no pressing need to do so.

    Before the trio would brave the marsnds to hunt down Sprig''s monster, they needed information.

    What manner of creature did they seek? What was the nature of the ''sea god''s curse'' that Sprig mentioned?

    Though Imperia wished to find and assist King sooner rather thanter, they would be overall more useful as a cohesive unit if they better understood their objectives.

    ...Perhaps they could even concoct a *semnce* of a n.

    For that... Krysaos needed time.

    To that end, Tycon was granted the opportunity to stretch his legs (and his recently healed left arm) for light exercise. He took several breaks to appreciate the beauty of unspoiled nature. He even chanced upon polite conversation with a peaceful, six-legged basilisk named Timothy.

    Tycon attempted to change the subject, "I''d like to know what information we''ve learned."

    "Hold on, Sir!" Imperia waved frantically, "Still mad, here! We... we could have been attacked! Or cursed! This vige is WEIRD!!! All that time, and we''ve met like-- four humans, tops!"

    There was no tant danger in Thorne Vige that an Iron-Rank Cleric supported by a Bronze-Rank Baneer could not handle... or at the very least, escape from.

    The youngdy''s distress earned her a polite smile from Tycon, "I am quite confident in your ability, Miss Imperia-- and by extension, was certain you could keep Captain Krysaos out of harm''s way."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I... errghhh..." Imperia groaned, "I''d never do that-- not for. ArrrghhHHHGH!!"

    "Ooh, do it again, girlie," Krysaos chuckled as he walked out of a nearby house, Sprig at his side. "I like hearing you scream."

    "You''re a f*cking pervert, Krysaos," Imperia shot back.

    "...Oh, wait. I didn''t mean it like that," The Captain looked away.

    Tycon shook his head. It was possible that his captain was incapable of... non-perverse speech.

    "The sea god''s curse, Brother-Captain," He urged.

    "Right," Krysaos nodded, "with the help of Sprig here, we actually found a few vigers that were willin'' to talk with us. Details of the beastie we''re lookin'' for... general dates for the disappearances."

    "...Only four, you say," Tycon frowned. "From the number of houses in Thorne Vige, there are well over a hundred."

    "Everyone else is just shy," The boy exined. "Not me, though."

    Tycon... doubted that was the case.

    "Why would *adult* humans flee from the very sight of us?" Imperia grumbled, "We''re adults, too! We don''t bite."

    "Speak for yerself, girlie," Captain Krysaos winked.

    "You''re filthy, Krysaos."

    "Guilty as charged."

    "Everyone that''s been in the vige for awhile is really shy!" Sprig insisted. "That''s... that''s what my dad said before the monster took him."

    "The humans say the monster is a scaled creature..." Imperia frowned, "A terrible creature with scales as thick as iron tes... with great wings on its back and a fearsome roar that shakes the earth. Sir Maedar... I think we''re facing a--"

    "Hold on," Krysaos held his hand out as he turned to Sprig. "You''re tellin'' us that the four families we talked to-- they only recently moved to the vige? And everyone else isn''t?"

    "I think so?" Sprig scratched his head. "Everyone else''s been in Thorne Vige for... at least fifty years."

    That was... an oddly specific number. Was there some significance in it?

    "Mister Sprig," Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Why... fifty?"

    "Fifty''s a big number-- and people can''t live for more than a hundred?"

    "Very well."

    There was no significance to it.

    Krysaos looked over to Tycon, "Here''s the thing, LT. People''ve been disappearin'' once a moon. The four willing to talk to us-- their families all had the same thing happen to ''em... with Sprig''s sister bein'' the fifth and most recent."

    Imperia raised her hand, "I say I bring my karkinii here and we ughter the whole vige."

    "I like the way you think, girlie," Krysaos nodded, "but let''s hold off on that for now."

    "You disgust me, pig."

    Tycon pursed his lips.

    "...Full marks for decisiveness and utilization of your resources, Miss Imperia," He nodded.

    The youngdy''s eyes widened... almost sparkling, "You think so? Could you... maybe tell King that I did good?"

    "However," Tycon continued, "I propose we investigate further. There is value in discovering the whereabouts of the missing vigers... and perhaps we might find the purpose behind them being spirited away."

    "Yeah! Makes sense," Imperia nodded eagerly. "And then we can crush the vige beneath our heels!"

    Tycon had essentially stated the same thing Krysaos had.

    It seemed that the Captain could figuratively twist and bend some women around his finger... while others, he''d have the opposite effect.

    ...Or was Imperia''s attitude her response to being charmed?

    "Yeah, I got an idea where the vigers went," Krysaos grimaced... "and it''s actually somethin'' the girlie noticed but kept to her gods-damned self until she let it slip."

    "Like I''d offer you any useful information, scum," Imperia sneered... "But... how about you remind the Maedar what genius information you gleaned from my intelligent mind?"

    Krysaos shook his head, "Head home, kid. It''s gonna get dark real soon."

    "And where are you guys going?" Sprig asked.

    "Where else? To the marsh."

    ...

    ? A short trek outside the vigeter. ?

    Not five minutes past the tree line, the vegetation became sparse and the soil turned to mud. Within the next half-bell, Tycon and Krysaos were knee-deep in marshy water... with Imperia slightly deeper.

    The young human boy, Sprig-- or... Rickert, as Tycon discovered his actual name to be, warned the trio at length about the dangers of the swamp.

    There were a host of hostile creatures that made it difficult for hunters to gather meat.

    Many species ofrge fish were scavengers with sharp teeth that might mistake swooshing feet for struggling prey. Crocodilians hid in the waters, perfectly still and difficult to spot until prey came close. Large, indolent, constrictor snakes slithered through tree branches.

    Those in particr, he had questions for.

    In particr: how does one keep warm in the swamps?

 Chapter 688 Ignored Advice

    ?While the humidity wasfortable, Tycondrius'' military coat and undershirt had grown damp. Because of it, he keenly felt the bite of the still-wintry season...

    Conversely, his aquatically-inclinedpanions did not seem to share his silent distress.

    "Hmm hm hmm~" Imperia was humming to herself while tightly re-braiding a lock of her hair... "I trust those vigers even less than regr humans."

    "Hey, LT," Krysaos nudged Tycon with his elbow, "I bet you it''s the vige elder."

    "Concerning what?" Tycon raised an eyebrow... "Also, no. I would not take that bet."

    "Figure of speech, guy," The Captain shrugged, "--but whatever weird-ass thing is happening in the vige-- I bet you that Elder Thorne guy''s behind it all."

    "The elderly human reeks of treachery," Imperia agreed... before adding: "I should know."

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded in thought... "The strange events urring in the vige... it is certainly probable that the gentleman most-connected to the poption isplicit. Even the four families recently integrated into the vige may be withholding relevant information... whether purposeful or not."

    "We might be able to use the human boy... perhaps as bait for the Swamp Monster? Maybe?" Imperia mused. "Funny name he has, Sprig? Is his mother a gnome?"

    "From what the kid said," Krysaos groaned, "his sister was kidnapped just the other sun. That means it''ll be another, what-- four weeks until the next sacrifice, you. dumb. b*tch."

    "You!!" Imperia shrieked-- leaving her one braid undone, "I am a Princess of my people! You will treat me with the respect I am owed, human!!"

    "Imperia, Krysaos... manners," Tycon sighed... then red at the two of them. "That goes for both of you."

    "He started it," The spoiled dark elf brat muttered, crossing her arms.

    The equally immature human pouted, "Would ya quit lookin'' at me like that?"

    "Looking at you like *what?*"

    "Lookin'' with your beady-eyed, t-chested--"

    "--Brother-Captain," Tycon interrupted, his frustration seeping into his voice, "focus on the topic at hand, if you would."

    He was beginning to regret not overturning the Captain''s decision to leave Mina with the ships. There were far less problems with her in theirpany.

    Imperia seemed to be influenced by Mina''s propriety and was more mindful of appearing more mature and more... noble.

    Krysaos seemed to enjoy showing off his traits as a courageous and just Captain to the mermaid Sea Witch. When doing so, he was far less likely to antagonize the Elven Cleric.

    "Here," Krysaos kicked his foot at a rock formation.

    In front of the group for several hundred fulms was not marshy soil, sparse nts life, and algae-ridden water... but porous rock.

    "You sense that, LT?" The Captain asked.

    Tycon felt the vibrations underfoot long before he sensed the water mana.

    He knelt down, cing a palm to the rock to better sense the going-ons underneath, "Flowing water... rapids."

    "Underground river," Imperia exined. "There''s some sort of cavern underneath... probably connected to sections of the marsh, too."

    "Most likely monster we got..." Krysaos puffed his chest out, "is an aquatic beastie that can travel the waterways."

    "And it''s most likely a species of dragon," Imperia added.

    ""Dragons don''t exist,"" Krysaos and Tycon responded simultaneously.

    The elf girl retracted her hands to her chest and stepped back in surprise, "Wuh?"

    "Stars and stones, youngdy," Tycon furrowed his brows. "Why would you believe the creature behind the vigers'' disappearances is a dragon, of all things?"

    A human''s ignorance, he could more easily tolerate... but the young dark elf? She should know better.

    "Yeah, *youngdy!*" Krysaos added... before turning to Tycon, "Egh... Howe it sounds weird when I say that and not when you do, LT?"

    "You are imagining your awkwardness, Brother-Captain," Tycon said dismissively.

    "No, it''s definitely weird," Imperia agreed.

    Krysaos crossed his arms, "Yeah-- I''d rather you not agree with me, girlie."

    "I''d rather you not--"

    "Miss Imperia," Tycon scolded, "focus on the topic at hand, *if you please.*"

    "Well... um," The young woman began to y with the ends of her thin braids... "the humans... they said... y''know..."

    Tycon took a deep breath through his nostrils, "Confidence, Princess of the Vulkoori."

    "I... I know! Sh-shut up!" Imperia coughed into a fist before puffing out her chest, "The humans have stated that the creature thates for them in the night-- it is a long serpentine creature with scales. And probably wings. And... and..."

    As she spoke, her entire body slowly began to lower. Her shoulders slumped, her chest fell, and even her ears drooped until she was staring at the muddy ground, "You know what-- yeah. It''s pretty stupid that I believe in what humans have to say."

    "There is value in not discounting such a possibility," Tycon granted her a polite smile, "However, you must ount for the imusibility of certain conclusions... and as you''ve said, the reliability of our sources."

    He leaned forward to whisper, "Consider this, youngdy... your vignce and doubt should be a strength, not a weakness. But for such far-reaching assumptions... the less you speak aloud, the less I or anyone can challenge."

    Imperia pursed her lips and bowed her head in thought... "I thank you for your counsel, Maedar..."

    "What''sat about?" Krysaos smirked, "If you''re tryin'' to teach the girlie how to make friends, she''s a lost cause, LT!"

    "Hmph," Imperia turned her nose up, "I''ll show you, human. As a Cleric of the Storm, I can tame any aquatic creature to do my bidding."

    Tycon sighed aloud. It hadn''t been scarcely thirty seconds since his advice before it was so openly disregarded.

    Why did he even try?<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Hah! That just to show," Krysaos ced his hands on his hips, shaking his head, "the only friends you can make, you have to contract in order to hang out with you!"

    ...Tycon considered giving the human the same advice he gave the elf. However, he was fairly certain it would also be ignored.

    "You... Fine! I know when I''m no longer wanted!" Imperia turned about in the waist-deep water and began to slosh away. "I''ll just find King! And when Ie back with the head of whatever-the-hells we''re looking for, I''ll-- AIIIIEEEEE!!!"

    A loud ssh interrupted the young woman''s tirade.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow and observed where Imperia had disappeared under the marshwater.

    She did not resurface.

    "Brother-Captain..."

    "Y-yeah?" Krysaos grimaced... "What''s up?"

    "Is there a particr reason you''re so insistent on verbally attacking the child?"

    "I uh..." Krysaos took off his hat and scratched at his short hair... "I... yeah-- I''ll... I''ll tone it down..."

    It wasn''t a proper answer... but Tycon would take it as a step towards a positive direction.

    Tycon rolled his head back and sighed, massaging the back of his neck. While Imperia''s disappearance and possible death would not affect him in the long-term, the Elven sovereign would certainly criticize him in theing suns.

    "Shall we go after her?"

    "Pro''ly not a good idea," Krysaos shook his head. "Besides not knowing what''s down there-- we got no idea where we''lle out."

    "If the fates are kind-- and they are not, the ''Swamp Monster''s''ir should be near the outlet," Tycon shook his head... "Brother-Captain, are you confident in following the flowing river while remaining above ground?"

    "Yeah... I''ll lead the way."

    ...

    The dragon looked exactly as Imperia thought it would... yet nothing like it.

    Its scales were like shields... thick... gleaming white with energy. Its wings blocked out the sky.

    It wasn''t the sort of thing she could fight-- that was something she understood in the depths of her soul.

    Her name was useless-- it always had been.

    Her magic was useless... water droplets that did nothing to cool its rage.

    She didn''t even consider trying to punch or kick or bite...

    So Imperia ran. She ran... while she cried... while she screamed for help...

    ...and she was ignored.

    The faceless elves who watched her... they turned up their noses... they looked away.

    She knew them. They knew her. Yet... they knowingly turned their backs upon her, ignoring her plight.

    Imperia was alone-- not that much had changed throughout her life.

    Her mother gave her nothing but criticism... unreasonable expectations... things that-- when she was younger, she was too useless to do, herself.

    Her sisters? Any good will she might have had with them, she, herself, ruined years ago with the lies and the backstabbing...

    Her good-for-nothing subordinates? They were all but useless. They had no loyalty to her. They had no honor.

    They only fought for themselves... because her mother assigned them to serve under her.

    "GahahaHAHAH!! Time''s up GiRLiIiiE," The dragon''s head... the familiar, ugly and fat head of Captain Krysaos cackled as she fled in terror... as she cried... as she wet herself.

    Its too long tongueshed out of its sharp-toothed maw... and wrapped around her ankle.

    ...

    "N...n... Nnnrrrghh..." Imperia stirred awake.

    The... sun was out, and the light''s reflection on the swamp waters hurt her eyes.

    Morning hade.

    Her purity... hadn''t been taken.

    ...But she... she had dreamt of the human Captain?

    Stars and stones, that was a *nightmare*...

    Thest thing she remembered...

    Ugh.

    She had slipped and fallen into the underground river.

    Stupid Maedar. He should have saved her.

    ...from her own clumsiness.

    Imperia was, without a doubt, the worst elf in the Realm.

 Chapter 689 First Ally

    ?Imperia sat up and rubbed her head, brushing off the mud and leaves and... just... filth that was covering her.

    Without the thinyer of warmth, the sharp cold bit into her skin...

    Someone had deliberately protected her while she was unconscious.

    But... who?

    ...Or what?

    A loud crack shocked Imperia into a state of hyper-awareness. Then she heard it again... clinking away with near-even repetition.

    Slinking away, she quietly lowered her body into the marshwater...

    It was cold.

    She circted her mana to keep warm... and to keep any strange swamp creatures from thinking she was easy prey.

    Swimming silently around the reeds, Imperia spotted a human girl in the distance. She was clumsily smashing a rock against another rock like a savage.

    What was she doing? If she was trying to make a fire, that... was not that way to go about it.

    ...Was it the human child who had rescued her?

    Imperia smirked to herself. The favor was appreciated... She would at least repay it with an Elementary-Rank fire spell. Though her high affinity for water magic made it difficult to cast other spells, she had no issue lighting dry wood.

    ...Very dry wood, anyroad.

    The human girl stood up.

    Her brown hair was a mess... her face smudged by dirt, her linen clothes torn with one sleeve notably absent. Her hands were wrapped-- presumably by the cloth from the missing sleeve... and dried blood had soaked through around her fingertips.

    In her hands, however... was a spear. She was sharpening the flint tip.

    Imperia furrowed her brows as she noticed a stone hatchet at the girl''s feet.

    Did she... make that? It was a rough, barbaric tool... but not something she''d have expected a child to craft on their own.

    She could scarcely believe it. While humans physically age faster than elves, the girl was barely a teenager-- if that. When Imperia was her age, she was suffering her mother''s tutors... warm and safe, indoors.

    ...If Imperia was in the human girl''s shoes-- not that she was wearing any, she''d have been useless.

    Was... she just weak? Or was this child forced to mature so quickly, in order to survive?

    The child scrambled up a series of round boulders and eyed the fish hiding in reeds. She readied her weapon... and without hesitation, tossed it into the mud.

    "You hungry?" The girl asked while looking towards where Imperia was hidden.

    "How did you know where I was?"Imperia grimaced as she stood up, sweeping algae off of her skin.

    "I didn''t," The girl faced her and smiled, "I just spoke aloud on the chance you woke up."

    Her eyes were sharp and unfriendly... like an elf''s. Or rather... Imperia thought they looked much like her own.

    When the child withdrew her spear, there was a fat grey fish on its end, even bigger than her head, "I have a campfire a little bit away from here. You were too heavy to movest night, but--"

    "Excuse me," Imperia red. "Are you calling me fat?"

    "Look," The girl rolled her eyes, "I''m twelve. You''re an adult. I tried to move you-- but I don''t exactly have a lot of strength."

    Heat creeped into Imperia''s cheeks. Asking a twelve year old girl to carry her anywhere was... unfair.

    She rxed her stance and sighed. It was pointless to be so hostile to her savior... much less, a harmless human child, "Where are we?"

    The child''s face fell... "I was kinda hoping you would know."

    She gestured around her, "The waters carried me to right about where I found you. My vige should be... within a sun or two-- I hope."

    Imperia nodded slowly... "I... I came from there, Thorne Vige, right? Then you''re... Willow?"

    "Y-yeah, that''s right!" Willow''s eyes brightened, "Is... is my brother doing okay? He''s... kinda a crybaby."

    Imperia giggled to herself, "He''s worried about you. I''m a little jealous, to be honest."

    A human girl... alone and in the middle of the swamps... there was no need for Imperia to be guarded around. Because of that, a truth came out of her mouth that she didn''t realize until she said it.

    "We can share him if you want," Willow smirked. "I''m sure Sprig''ll be overjoyed to have another sister to pester."

    "Sister, huh?" Imperia pursed her lips.

    That... was something Imperia never thought about... to have a sister that she didn''t need topete with... someone to rely on... someone she could be reliable for without worry of being backstabbed.

    No one was around to watch her.

    ...No one would judge her for doing whatever she wanted.

    She curtised as a proper Princess was supposed to, "My name is Imperia."

    Willow''s eyes widened for a moment... "Wow. That''s... a really pretty name."

    "Willow is so much prettier," Imperia answered honestly.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was an Elven name... not a disgusting human one, given by a mother that wanted to groom her to integrate with humans.

    The whole situation gave Imperia a strange sense of euphoria. She was being honest to one of her sisters. It was... a new feeling...

    She didn''t hate it.

    Willow... the girl would be useful! And she probably knew her way around the swamps better than Imperia did.

    Together, they could meet back up with their group. It didn''t have to be one-sided help, either. Imperia was an adult-- that meant that she was far more capable of protecting the two of them than the other way around.

    "Guess we''re even then, big sis," Willow shrugged. "Well, I don''t n on waiting around to be rescued, are you?"

    "Yeah, probably not," Imperiaughed.

    She thought about her other travelingpanions...

    The Maedar wasn''t going to go out of his way to save her... and King... he was too preupied with hunting the Swamp Monster to care otherwise.

    And then... she thought of that insufferable human.

    ...That idiot-Captain Krysaos didn''t think she could make friends-- but in less than five minutes of putting her mind to it, Imperia had already picked up a sister!

    Nothing was different. If she wanted to get what she wanted-- out of the swamp and back to her ship, she had to rely on her own two hands (and a willing subordinate) to do it.

    "Come on," Willow waved her speared fish as she began to walk away. "I won''t be able to finish this thing by myself."

    ...

    ? Gather first ally (1/1). ?

    ? Questplete. ?

    ? Rewarding experience... ?

    ? Congrattions, host has reached Level 13. ?

    Willow felt her chest grow hot... the heat warming her entire body. Just a little bit of her fatigue drained away.

    It felt nice... leveling up.

    Level 13...

    Willow nced over at her newpanion, sitting by the fire. She seemed hungry, but she nibbled at her portion of fire-roasted catfish like a squirrel.

    ? Imperia, Level 22 Elven Cleric. ?

    At first nce, Imperia didn''t seem like a reliable adult... not reliable like her dad, anyroad. She was pretty... and Willow loved the way she braided her hair... but the elf didn''t look much older than she was.

    Elves grew up slower than humans, though... so Willow figured she probably was.

    Imperia was a godsend... a proper adult helping her-- and hopefully making the swamp a lot less scary.

    ...Of course, Willow wasn''t useless. They were going to have to work together to survive.

    She closed her eyes and essed her System interface in her mind...

    ? System, I wanna spend my points to upgrade something. ?

    ? You have enough points to choose one of X talents. Disy list? Y/N? ?

    Willow would have probably given up a long time ago, without her System...

    ...Also, without the points she put in ?Water Breathing,? she''d have definitely been dead.

    Her System gave her hope and, more importantly, direction.

    It guided her to make some simple stone tools... and a campfire. Then, those few points she put in to boost her dexterity helped her catch something to eat.

    And even though she would have tried to rescue Imperia anyroad, it was nice of the System to give her enough experience points to reach Level 13.

    It had been about two moons since the emerald scales started to grow on her chest.

    ...Two moons since she started hearing the System''s voice in her mind... giving her weird dreams, sometimes-random quests, and the asional talent point for all the dumb things she had to do.

    ...Two moons.

    It had been two moons since Dad went missing, too.

    If she kept leveling at the same speed, she''d reach Imperia''s level in less than a year.

    But first... she had to survive that long.

    Staying in Thorne Bay wasn''t going to work... especially after what they did to her-- and probably to Dad, before that.

    Being Level 13-- even if Willow had a Level 22 helping her out, she had no chance surviving against the thing she saw in that cave... As long as the Swamp Monster was still around, the vigers definitely wouldn''t give her a warm wee if she went back.

    She didn''t want to go back. With Dad gone, she and Sprig didn''t have any real reason to stay.

    Maybe the two of them could stow away on a ship? Or maybe she could ask Imperia for help? She looked like the adventuring type...

 Chapter 690 To Be Hated

    ?Willow figured she probably had to be an adventurer.

    For a twelve year old human girl, it wasn''t... impossible.

    Dad said that the Adventurer''s Guild had some kind of test. She''d pass it somehow. She had her System, after all.

    Sprig would probably have to toughen up a little.

    A lot, even.

    He always talked about wanting to join a famous adventuringpany.

    ...something like Sol Invictus.

    Willow was a little more realistic.

    She might be able to make a name for herself good enough to be scouted. Imperia seems like she''d been adventuring for a long time, with the armor she wore on her arms and legs... and she was only a few levels higher than Willow was.

    She needed to be good enough that Sprig could join too. She''d never leave him-- not willingly.

    ? System, show me the detailed list of my talent choices. ?

    A dizzying amount of information filled her head...

    Talents.

    Even a single one was enough to change her life... and as Willowpleted her System''s missions and leveled up, she could change her life dozens of times.

    Most of her talents, she could take without thinking too hard.

    When the System improved her stamina, she found that she could essentially run forever... or at least her skinny legs could take her way further than they probably should.

    When she put points into perception, she found she could see two or three times further than any of the adults... She could count leaves falling from the trees and the individual raindrops that hit her open palm.

    ...Also, it became practically impossible for Sprig to win at hide-and-seek, ever again.

    Then... there was ?Dragon''s Heart.?

    The System said it made her pretty-much immune to fear... that she''d always have the courage to push through, no matter how bad it got.

    Dragons aren''t afraid of anything.

    After Dad disappeared... she was in a bad ce.

    She didn''t have any parents to take care of her. The other adults in the vige were all busy trying to survive. She had a snot-nosed little brother who was super sweet most of the time... but not all the time.

    When she took that talent, her whole way of thinking changed practically overnight.

    Things... still didn''t get any easier. Everything just became... more tolerable.

    Even though it still hurt... even though Willow still missed Dad-- and Mom even worse, all of her tears dried up.

    There was no point in crying... not when there was work to be done.

    Back then, she rolled up her sleeves and volunteered to help around the vige... cleaning animals... shoveling dirt and snow... dragging in fish from boats. She started out not being very good at anything... and she got yelled at a lot... but after a few weeks, she became a productive member of society.

    Willow had to... grow up-- more or less.

    She even fooled herself into thinking she found a sense of belonging in Thorne Vige... that they no longer thought of her and Sprig as outsiders.

    She determined that to be a lie.

    After all that, the vigers stole her away in the middle of the night and tried to sacrifice her to the Swamp Monster.

    Still, Willow didn''t regret taking that talent. Without it, she''d probably have just curled up under a rock waiting for a giant king snake to eat her.

    There were a lot of those in the swamp. Really big ones, too.

    The problem with ?Dragon''s Heart? was... well...

    She first noticed the cross-hatch markings over her chest when she first inherited her System. They were only about as dark as a birthmark, but they were easy to feel-- hard like the skin on the soles of her feet.

    They changed.

    After Willow took that talent, the subtle, hard-to-see markings turned into thick, green, unmistakable scales.

    It also made her start to... sense things.

    Or not exactly?

    It wasn''t... ''things'' she saw... but she could tell... ''something'' was there.

    Mana.

    She was pretty sure it was mana.

    It was all around her... this... weird energy? In the air... in the water... Trees were full of... life mana. Crackling, barely-controble fire mana burned in the nighttime torches and cookfires.

    When something had died for awhile... there was a strange... darkness around the dead body.

    Death mana, probably.

    ?Dragon''s Heart? unlocked over a dozen new talents, too.

    ?Emerald Scales,? ?Healing Breath,? ?Domineering Aura,? ?Force Shout...?

    ?Prehensile Tail.?

    ...?Draconic Glide.?<novelnext></novelnext>

    All of them were dragon rted.

    Willow only had one talent point to spend... and she was looking at the talents ?Emerald Scales? and ?Healing Breath.? Either would probably help her survive theing moons...

    She didn''t even think about ?Prehensile Tail? and ?Draconic Glide.? While they did sound awesome and super-useful... it sounded like they''d change her body... a lot.

    Normal humans didn''t have tails.

    ...Or wings.

    She imagined there would be a lot of questions if she walked around looking like a half-human.

    It''s not like it would be easy to exin to everyone that she had a System.

    ...Also, ?Draconic Glide? took multiple talent points. Big nope.

    Until she got enough levels that she wasn''t practically scared of everything, Willow had to make sure she always kept the mark on her chest and anything dragon-rted hidden away...

    In this Realm... dragons don''t exist.

    It would probably be okay in a big city like Archangel or Whitehearth.

    Big cities had hundreds of different types of people. Humans got along with elves and dwarves and Popotoes and... whatever else there was. It would probably be a little weird of Willow to be... somethingpletely fictional, but if she got found out, she could probably make up a believable lie.

    It *should* have been fine in Thorne.

    Scales were amon birthmark for most of the vigers. Sprig had asked if the vige was made up of dragons-- and that got pretty much ignored.

    In Thorne, though... she, Dad, Sprig-- they weren''t outsiders because of weird birthmarks or wings and scales. They were outsiders because they weren''t born in the vige.

    People only needed to see one thing that was different from themselves in order to hate them.

    Imperia.

    Imperia... was so nice.

    She kept saying things like, ''I''ll help you even though you''re human'' and ''It''s amazing that a human''s survived this long by herself.''

    Willow liked her a lot. She was smart, she was kind... and even though her words were a little mean and she always had a bad expression, Willow felt that was just her way of showing she cared.

    They were two girls, alone, in the swamp... sharing a meal around the same cookfire. They were sisters by circumstance.

    ...Willow couldn''t reveal her secret. She didn''t want Imperia to hate her.

    When the vigers threw her into the underground river, she was sure she was going to die.

    She came out of the water at the mouth of the Swamp Monster''sir. She was beat up real bad from bumping into everything in the underground passage. She managed to tear off all her fingernails from trying to grab the rocky edges...

    When she woke up... the Swamp Monster hadn''t killed her, for whatever reason. It was a miracle that none of her bones were broken. She was mindful enough to tear off a shirt sleeve to wrap her bloody hands with.

    The fates decided that she was to live. After all that, it would be stupid if she were to kill herself because of her own stupidity.

    If Imperia were to see the green scales on Willow''s chest...

    What would she think then? That she was a freak? A monster?

    Imperia was a Cleric... which meant she was an adventurer.

    Adventurers kill monsters-- it''s part of their job description.

    ...

    "Willow, are you *absolutely* certain this way is south?"

    Willow''s new big sister, Imperia, had a high-pitched voice that was usually nice to listen to.

    It was a little less nice when she wasining, though.

    Willow sighed, "Unless we get a higher vantage point, it''s really hard to figure out where the sun is with all the light reflecting on the water."

    There was... way too much water in the swamps. Willow was pretty sure she kept direction, though. The previous night, she memorized where the north star was and marked it in the dirt by the campfire.

    Imperia''s small mouth curved up into a smirk, "Perhaps we can ask the trees?"

    "You mean..." Willow furrowed her brows... "by looking at where the moss grows?"

    Imperia grinned, "No, I mean literally asking the trees. It''s what elves do."

    "Oh," Willow pursed her lips. "Can... can you ask the trees for us, sis?"

    "Nope. Sounds like you can''t either?"

    "Ehehe..." Willow giggled and shook her head, "Yeah. That''d be awesome if I could."

    Imperiaughed, then sighed and shook her head. She was obviously worried.

    Why wouldn''t she be?

    They''d be fine, though... not that Willow could tell her how she was so sure.

    ? System, can you disy the progress of my current quest? ?

    ? Current quest: Escape the swamp. ?

    ? Optional: Return to Thorne Vige. Progress 22%. ?

    As long as that percentage kept going up, they were going in the right direction.

 Chapter 691 Level 30 Quest

    ?Willow held her arm to prevent Imperia from falling. She''d caught her leg onto something in the waist deep water.

    Getting sshed on was ufortable... but it wasn''t something unexpected, considering their location.

    "Oof. Sorry I''m not a better elf, sister," Imperia blushed with embarrassment.

    "I wouldn''t know," Willow shrugged. "You''re the best elf I''ve ever met?"

    "Humu~" Imperia smirked, "I suppose you''re the best human I''ve ever met... you''re far betterpany than the others I keep around."

    Imperia liked toin... a lot. Everything sheined about was fair, though. It was just conversation, really.

    It was cold. It was hot.

    Water was wet.

    Her family wasn''t the best.

    Willow thought having some family was better than none... She didn''t have any family left-- minus Sprig, of course.

    The Captain of the ship Imperia was sailing on was an absolute prick. The guy she was crushing on totally ignored her. There was a handsome guy she hung out with that was really mature and really strict... and would probably be a better match for her.

    As for Willow... there were zero boys in Thorne Vige that were her age.

    Hearing about... what she assumed was a more-normal life was... really nice.

    The good news was... that Imperia was more than willing to take her and Sprig away from Thorne, provided they didn''t die horrible gruesome deaths in the swamp.

    The bad news was... a Level 13 and a Level 22, even when working together, were really, really likely to be killed before then.

    "Imperia..."

    The elf narrowed her eyes, "Sister Willow... I... really don''t like the way you said my name just now."

    Willow pursed her lips, "I''m gonna need you to.. um-- s-stay calm."

    "If you''re trying to y a cruel joke on me, girl," Imperia red. "I''m going to disown you."

    "Just..." Willow bared her teeth... "just hold still, okay?"

    Imperia followed Willow''s gaze... and when she saw it, her entire body tensed up and she stifled a scream.

    It was... a leech. A giant, ck leech bigger than Willow''s forearm was stuck to Imperia''s waist, above her armored leggings.

    Normal leeches weren''t anything to worry about. They didn''t have any diseases and they''d fall off after 10 or 15 minutes. They were supposed to have healing properties, too-- Elder Thorne used them when people were sick.

    The giant leeches, though... they''d take way too much blood and could be stuck for bells.

    Also, they *did* have diseases.

    Willow gripped the haft of her stone axe, "I''m... I''m gonna pry it off by its teeth."

    "Y-you''re going to what?!" Imperia shouted. "I forbid you from cutting me, girl!"

    "What do you want me to do, then?!" Willow shouted back.

    "Something DIFFERENT!"

    "Look," Willow held her palms out, "I''m just going to... slide the t part of the axe under where its teeth should be. It''s not like this thing is sharp enough to cut you."

    ".....Okay, fine. But if you cut me, I''m going to cut you back."

    Willow took care not to roll her eyes. Imperia didn''t have any weapons *to* cut her with.

    ...She sounded awful serious, though.

    Using the ded part of her stone axe, Willow carefully... caaarefully pried the leech off and tossed it away.

    Sess.

    The hole on Imperia''s waist started to bleed, though... and it bled... a lot.

    "Tch," The elf scoffed. "It itches... Is this normal?"

    "I dunno," Willow sighed. There was something in leechbites that made it bleed more than normal...

    It was really worrisome... but Imperia would be alright.

    "You''re a Cleric, though, right, Sis?"

    "Y-yeah," Imperia nodded. "How did you know?"

    Seven hecks.

    Willow cursed in her mind as she looked away.

    Imperia had never said what ss she had... and Willow only knew because she asked her System.

    "L-lucky guess? You have a Priestess-y aura?"

    "Hmmm~" Imperia tilted her head, "I guess I do have a noble air around me."

    Willow breathed a sigh of relief as she sloshed her way to higher ground. It couldn''t be helped, wading in some parts of the swamp, but it would be better if they tried to avoid it when they could.

    Being careful not to let Imperia see her chest, Willow turned away to take off her shirt. She''d tear off the other sleeve to bandage her new sister...

    The only cloth Imperia was wearing was covering her boobs-- and since it barely even did that, it wasn''t useful for anything else.

    "So..." Willow turned her head back to her elf sister, "can you use... um... magic? To heal yourself?"

    Imperia checked her blood-covered hand and the still-bleeding wound with a frown, "Don''t you think I would have done so already, if I could?"

    "Um. That''s fair," Willow bowed her head apologetically.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "No... sorry. I shouldn''t take it out on you. I''m just-- no, nevermind," Imperia shook her head... "I''m... not that kind of Cleric, Sister. My abilities have more to do with... water bending and dealing with sea creatures."

    "Are... you going to be alright?"

    Willow pursed her lips. She could heal Imperia if she needed to... but she''d have to put points into ?Healing Breath?...

    ...If she did that, she wouldn''t be able to point into ?Emerald Scales.? A healing Skill was useful, yes-- but it wouldn''t be if a monster bit her head clean off.

    "Hmph," Imperia turned her nose up. "Just this level of injury is barely enough to inconvenience your sister."

    She let out a long sigh... "I''ll take that bandage, though."

    Willow put her stylishly sleeveless shirt back on and handed the torn sleeve over, "Mhm."

    "Thanks."

    "Yup."

    "Willow."

    "Yeah?"

    Imperia''s eyes sharpened to thin slits, "To my side. Now."

    A chill ran down Willow''s back. Was... she... upset?

    "Sis..."

    "Get over here if you don''t want to die," Imperia urged.

    She stood tall, taking her hand off of her injury. Blood soaked through her new bandage and dripped down her side.

    She moved her hands, making a series of magical gestures... and four spheres of water mana lifted up to float above her head.

    It took until then for Willow to realize that Imperia wasn''t joking around. She half-crawled half-scrambled over to hide behind her Elven sister''s back.

    ? Issuing new quest... ?

    ? Level 30 Quest. Defeat a powerful enemy. ?

    ...Willow pursed her lips as she channeled her thoughts at her System.

    ? You serious? Level 30?!? New quest, please, Miss System! ?

    ? Understood. Recalcting... Issuing alternate quest: Escape from a powerful-- ?

    ? I get it!! ?

    It started off as a dark shape wading underneath the waters-- not necessarily bigger than a crocodilian, but Willow would have much rather had one of those.

    Crocs live in the swamps. A croc makes sense.

    A human-looking torso and faceless head that emerged from the water-- that didn''t.

    ? Bog Creature, Level 30 Aberration. ?

    The Bog Creature''s chest had a huge hole in its center, where a person''s heart should be... and its skull was misshapen, like the top half had been torn off at some point.

    Its body looked like it was made out of old, congealed blood or soiled sludge that had been left stagnant for a dozen years. It had something like skin... but it wasn''t formed fully and dripped down, ckening the clear waters it stood in.

    It reached forward menacingly with two long arms that ended in three-fingered ws... and its rough voice scratched the insides of Willow''s skull.

    "bLoooOddd... the SeA godd... HE deMandddss!!! Buh-LuuUuuhhhdddd..."

    Blood.

    Willow''s blood-- or maybe her mana, froze in her veins. She knew that voice.

    She really... really wished she didn''t.

    "What is this... disgusting, filthy thing?" Imperia waved her hand, "?Fourfold Water Lance.?"

    "No, Imperia, don''t!!" Willow shouted-- but it was toote.

    With four bright-blue shes of mana, Imperia''s water spheres shot forward, piercing through the Bog Creature.

    The thing staggered back... but even though there were four new holes in its body besides the fifth in its chest, its flesh regenerated in only seconds.

    It... it was Level 30. Imperia wasn''t strong enough to beat it-- not alone.

    Willow needed to do something... and even if she got hurt in the process, at least Imperia would be able to take them both to safety.

    It was kinda a big step, testing the limits of her and Imperia''s recent sisterhood-- but Willow didn''t have much of a choice.

    The creature roared-- making a sound between a snake''s hiss and a human''s throaty shriek of pain. It pointed its ws arms at Imperia... and they shot forward, even faster than her ?Water Lances.?

    "Dad, no!!" Before she was able to think it through, Willow stepped in front of Imperia and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

    ...It urred to her at that exact moment in time, that she was probably going to die. If she was thinking like a calm, rational person, then she would have pointed into ?Emerald Scales? before doing something so unbelievably stupid.

    *PAP*

    Willow felt her head spin.

    Something had hit her... and she was falling towards the water.

    Her cheek.

    Im... peria...? Imperia had hit her?

 Chapter 692 Run

    ?Willow fell with a ssh, just barely avoiding the Bog Creature''s ws. She tried to call out for her sister but took a mouthful of swamp water, instead.

    Imperia leapt backward defensively, swinging her palm downward, "?Mana Ward!?"

    A half-bubble made of watery mana appeared in front of her, refracting light around her. Though it slowed the swamp thing''s ws tenfold... it wasn''t enough to stop them.

    One w cracked against Imperia''s armored thigh. It bounced off, but part of the hard shell it was made of crumbled away. It would probably leave a bruise-- but that wasn''t too bad.

    The other... it gripped onto Imperia''s right arm, squeezing its sharpened fingers and piercing into her flesh. She grunted and fell to a knee as blood ran ck down her charcoal-skin.

    "Insolent creature..." Imperia growled as she took hold of the creature''s arm with her left hand... "I will not tolerate your revolting touch. ?Inflict!!?"

    Willow felt it more than she saw it... violent water mana, like a crashing waterfall, surged through her sister''s hands and attacked the Bog Creature''s very essence.

    The thing shrieked in pain, the ear-piercing burst of sound rippling the waters as its body undted and writhed. The hole on its chest, too, seemed to growrger and it withdrew its arms.

    However, Imperia copsed onto both knees and fell onto her forearms. Maybe she activated her Skills too quickly... or she took way more damage than it appeared. Whatever the case, she waspletely spent.

    Willow needed to do something. She shook out of her daze and coughed out water as she sshed her hand in the waters around her...

    Where is it? Come on! Please!

    Searching frantically through the mud, she grasped the haft of her spear and pulled it out of the mud.

    She got to her feet and aimed... trying not to be intimidated by its Level 30 tantrum.

    Willow wished she had some kind of attack Skill. She felt so incredibly stupid for spending her points on so many stupid talents. It didn''t matter if she could run fast or see the speed of her enemies'' attacks if she was powerless in a fight.

    So even without a Skill... and not really having put any points in boosting her strength... she threw her spear with all the might her skinny arm could muster.

    It felt... just right. And when Willow opened her eyes... she saw her spear... had hit?

    "Bloodddd..." The creature tilted its faceless head... too far, like it had a broken neck, "BloooOddd... My... blood?"

    The throwing spear had pierced halfway through the thing-- and through its neck! It should have had... some sort of effect. The thing should be dead, really! But it didn''t even seem to notice.

    Even though everything from her arms to her little toes was trembling in fear... she took hold of her stone axe and stood between the Bog Creature and Imperia, "S-stay away... I''m warning you!!"

    "What in the seven hells are you doing, foolish human?" Imperia mmed a fist against the dirt, "Stand down-- you''re no match for this beast!"

    ''Well, neither are you!'' Willow wanted to scream... but she kept her attention on the creature that had her father''s voice.

    She took in a deep breath through her nostrils.

    ...She had to keep calm.

    She... had the heart of a dragon. Dragons aren''t afraid of anything.

    She couldn''t die-- not with Sprig still waiting for her... not when that scummy Elder was still sacrificing people to the monster in the swamps.

    ...Not when Imperia was relying on her.

    "Dad..." Willow gulped... "Are you... are you still alive in there... somewhere?"

    Even though she had the heart of a dragon beating in her chest... it seemed that dragons could still cry.

    The faceless creature froze still... and it reached its long arms up to grab hold of the sides of its head.

    "The... the Sea God..." The Bog Creature gargled... "The creatures ofnd... they... they will... all... They-- d... diiiie?"

    It seemed... confused... maybe trying to hold onto whatever humanity was left inside of it.

    Then, something seemed to snap. It roared in fury and began to violently thrash its arms and legs, "Die! DIE!! DIE DIE DIE DIE DIIIIIE!!!!"

    Willow stared into the inky ckness in the waters spread outward...

    Was that... all that was left of Dad?

    "That''s not your father anymore, Willow," Imperia whispered.

    Willow shut her eyes for a brief moment.

    "...I know."

    She didn''t really have any hope that he was alive... but hearing his voice on the creature''s ''lips''... and hearing it change... She felt like she''d lost him all over again.

    Willow wiped her tears with her wrist and turned to Imperia, "Your water magic, Sis..."

    "It''s pretty shite for that thing to be resistant to my ?Water Lance?... which is literally my strongest spell," Imperia sat up and rolled her eyes-- then winced in pain as she grabbed her arm.

    The hole on her waist wasn''t going to close up anytime soon, either.

    "Step back," Imperia urged. "?Inflict? seems to work alright..."

    Willow pursed her lips... "But?"

    "I should be able to cast it one more time... probably."

    Willow sucked in air through her teeth... "Sis, do you have any spells that could help us escape?"

    "Tch. Of course I do," Imperia red. "But it uses *water.* Hence, escaping from a *water* monster is beyond stupid."

    "Let me try something," Willow grit her teeth.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "No."

    "Like you have a choice," Willow groaned as she stepped towards the thing with her dad''s voice.

    "Hey, dad..." She whispered... "It''s me... Willow."

    The creature ceased its shaking... and even though its body was facing away, it twisted its faceless, ink-ck head to ''look'' at her.

    "I''m... I''m sorry I was such a brat... I know it was hard after Mom died... and I know... I know you did your best for me and Rickert."

    Dad wasn''t perfect. He had a lot of problems... he wasn''t really all that smart. Choosing to move to Thorne Vige was a perfect example of that.

    But he tried.

    That''s what mattered, really.

    People that stop trying... that''s when they stop being good humans.

    "Www... wiLL..... LoWw..." The creature groaned with wet, wheezing breaths... "R... r... unnnnNn..."

    Willow nodded. That''s what she was trying to do.

    "Willow!!" Imperia raised her voice, even though it cracked with fear and uncertainty, "SISTER!!!!"

    The half-dozen ck ws rising out of the swamp water around them were probably going to make running difficult, though.

    ? System. Add my talent point to ?Force Shout.? ?

    ? Talent point added. ?

    ? New skill acquired. ?

    ? ?Force Shout.? Offensive ability. A thunderous shout deals 25-165 sonic damage and forces opponents 10-fulms away. ?

    Willow stepped forward, sshing her foot hard in the muddy water, "I am the heir of ?ASH AND FIRE!!!!?"

    Her voice rang in her own ears-- the ground beneath her shook, and the waters made waves outward from where she stood.

    The creature wasunched backward by the invisible force-- through the reeds and trees and out of sight.

    Thankfully, all the arms seem to blink out of existence at the same time. Or maybe they were just part of Willow''s imagination?

    That''d be a nice thought... if everything up until now was just a bad dream.

    "WILLOW!!" Imperia shouted, "What was that? What the HELLS WAS THAT?!!"

    "It doesn''t matter!" Willow grabbed Imperia''s arm, "We have to go! Now!"

    ...

    "Hurts... it... HuRRrrRtsss..."

    The pitiful creature sang itsmentations.

    "Blood... my... BLOOOODDDD... It runnssssssss..."

    "And so shall it run freely," King leapt down from his tree,nding with one foot carefully bnced upon a smooth stone... "until yourst breath leaves your lips, monster."

    The faceless creature reared its ugly, misshapen head... and even without eyes, stared in awe upon his greatness.

    ?Winds at my back,? King lowered his body and flipped forward, his swords arcing overhead, one after the other.

    Suspended by the gentle winds, he rotated his dragon des in a smooth circle... the weaving motion practiced by him and his descendants for a hundred thousand years. "?Fire in my heart.?"

    One cut. Two cuts. Eighteen across. Seventy-two twists of pure mana... to rent evil into nothingness.

    Evil destroyed.

    Goodly beings kept safe from their existence.

    All things as they should be.

    The foul creature fell... returning to its original form, diffused into the marsh waters.

    King stood tall and flourished his des before returning them to their sheaths...

    "I pray thee are safe... Imperia, daughter of the Vulkoori who I once loved with all my heart. Heir of ash and fire... daughter of my oldest allies and greatest rivals."

    He had heard the saplings'' voices earlier, but he had arrived toote. Thankfully, their resourcefulness had bested the creature and they managed to escape.

    Yet still... the creature that King had defeated was not the only one of its ilk.

    The children remained in the swamp, where danger lurked around each tree and behind every stone.

    He would not follow.

    There were greater dangers for him to face... perhaps some even worthy of crossing des with him.

    "...I shall stay the course. I do my part to cleanse the evil from the marsnds... and from this Realm... Survive, saplings. Survive and grow strong. Though I will be the hero of this generation, thou shalt champion the next."

 Chapter 693 Survive

    ?? One bellter... ?

    Willow cracked open the rotten log with her stone axe, exposing the snake inside to the open air.

    It was actually really pretty, all-ck with brown crossbands... and it was probably as long as she was tall.

    The snake coiled up defensively and hissed at her, revealing the white inside of its mouth...

    "(You disturb my resting ce, hatchling... How would you like it if you were awoken in the middle of your sleep cycle?)"

    It wasn''t the first time Willow heard an animal talk to her... but she hadn''t talked to any snakes since this sun.

    "Yeah... I''d be pretty upset, too," Willow bared her teeth and slightly inclined her head. "I''m real sorry about this."

    "(So you understand me... Hmph. We have no quarrel,)" The snake reared its head back but remained wary of her, "(--but I will not stand down to the likes of a human. Go on, then. Away with you.)"

    Willow threw her newly-crafted fishing spear, piercing the snake''s body and pinning it to the splintered wood. In its dying throes, she stepped close and used her full body weight to m down her stone axe.

    Its head was roughly hewn from its body...

    That... was dangerous. She breathed a sigh of relief.

    Willow was shaping up to be... a pretty good adventurer.

    Adventurers killed monsters. They got stronger... and then they killed bigger, badder monsters. Sprig would be proud.

    She didn''t feel good about it, though.

    She had to kill. She was forced to. It was just something she had to do in order to survive.

    She couldn''t me anything or anyone for it. It was just how the Realm worked.

    The weak didn''t have a right to live.

    And sure, Willow was weak right now... but that wouldn''tst forever.

    ? Defeat predatory creatures Level 10 or higher. (5/5). ?

    ? Questplete. ?

    ? Rewarding experience... ?

    ? Congrattions, host has reached Level 14. ?

    There was one nice thing about being in danger all the time. Willow was gaining experience points at an unbelievable rate. After escaping from the creature that might have once been her dad, she didn''t need much more to hit the next level.

    The refreshing feeling of leveling up washed over her, restoring her spirit and making her a little less tired than she probably was.

    It made it a bit easier to make her way back to where she left Imperia...

    Willow''s Elven sister was propped up on a moss-covered rock adjacent to a blue-watered pond. The sun shone down on her and the re from the water''s surface lit her up like a holiday tree... but at least it was warmer, because of it.

    She felt Imperia''s forehead. Hot as coals. Loose strands of her thin, silver braids stuck to her perspiring face.

    She felt her wrist... her pulse was weak... her skin colder than the pond.

    The hole on her waist wasn''t bleeding as bad... but ck blood still ran from where she was pierced by the Bog Creature''s ws.

    Imperia was sick... really sick.

    "I... thought you left me to die," The elf blinked hazily... weakly lifting her palm to shade her eyes from the sun, "You wouldn''t be... the first-- bitch of a sister to do so."

    Willow averted her gaze... "I... had some things to do."

    Imperia had questions about why Willow was hunting snakes... but that was before she fell to her fever.

    ...It was something Willow couldn''t answer without revealing that she had a System. She must have looked absolutely crazy for doing so... and honestly, sometimes the quests the System gave didn''t make any sense at all.

    "Go," Imperia winced in pain as she flipped onto her side... "Leave, you... you useless human."

    Willow''s heart ached from hearing Imperia''s words. Even though they hadn''t known each other for very long, Imperia had been nothing but a sweet, caring, and more-or-less honest sister.

    "I won''t leave you, Sis."

    "U... useless!" Imperia groaned as she curled up in pain, "If it wasn''t for you... I wouldn''t... be in this... MESS right now... I''d be safe... safe at home... in a f*cking bed. I''d... I''d be long... gone from here... surrounded by servants... doted upon by... by handsome men. At least... at least three."

    Willow clutched at her chest as she tried to stop tears from welling up...

    She... couldn''t take Imperia''s abuse to heart.

    She could have fled. She could have been the one to leave Willow to die, escaping with her magic.

    The injury she got... was because she didn''t... It was because she tried to protect the both of them... because she had a blink of time less to react after having to shove an idiotic twelve year old human girl out of the way.

    Imperia was hurt... she was scared... she was dying.

    But even after all that, she turned her body away so Willow couldn''t see her crying face. Imperia yelled at her to leave... because the longer they stayed in one location, the more likely the bog creature would catch up... and then, they''d have nowhere to run.

    Just looking at all the facts... Imperia had zero chances of survival. If Willow didn''t have her System... no, she didn''t want to think about what would happen.

    ? System. Add my talent point to ?Healing Breath.? ?

    ? Talent point added. ?

    ? New skill acquired. ?

    ? ?Healing Breath.? Support ability. Restores 25% of the target''s maximum health and cures any ailments up to Level 15. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was worth it. Even though Willow could have left... even though she could have saved her next talent point for ?Emerald Scales...? what she needed right now was to save her sister.

    "Sis..." She whispered... shaking Imperia''s shoulder gently, "Sis... please."

    "Go away..." Imperia tried to curl up deeper, burying her face in her hands, "C... can''t you let me die in peace, human?"

    Willow gulped... "Sis Imperia... Do you... ?Believe in Dragons??"

    ? ?Healing Breath? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Yes... Please, Miss System... take care of my sister. ?

    An eerie green mist came out of Willow''s mouth and began to wrap around the injured elf.

    Imperia furrowed her brows in confusion as she gasped and turned her head... "Y-you... you''re a mage..."

    Her body slowly grew still... and her eyes closed. Willow almost thought the healing Skill didn''t work-- but her chest continued to rise and fall...

    She was asleep. That was good...

    Willow sighed... She felt a little better-- a lot better, really.

    She slid down the rock and cupped some of the pond''s water in her hands to wash off some of Imperia''s blood. The wounds on her waist and arm had closedpletely... miraculously.

    ...?Healing Breath? was a really strong Skill.

    Willow had heard that healing magic was really rare... and that even the expensive potions they sold in stores wouldn''t be able to cure diseases.

    That... that was why mom died when she was even younger than Sprig. It was why Dad had to run away from his debtors...

    But with her new Skill... maybe... just maybe... Willow wouldn''t have to go through the same heartache anymore. Maybe she''d be able to keep the people she loved from dying... at least to something stupid like disease.

    She had to survive. She had to keep her two family members alive... and everything... should work out somehow.

    Something sloshed in the waters behind her-- ented with the squeak of a muddy boot.

    Willow readied her spear above her shoulder and turned, her opposite palm pointed forward, "Who''s there?!"

    "Whoa, hold on, kid! I''m an ally!" A man in a dark green military coat and... a really big hat stepped out of the reeds. "You uh... Willow? Sprig''s sister?"

    Willow''s heart was pumping like mad. The adult in front of her sounded like he was here to help-- and he knew Sprig... but something didn''t feel right.

    She was in danger.

    ? Ship Captain, Level 19 Human Baneer. ?

    No. No no no... Not that person. That wasn''t enough to make her feel how she felt.

    "The youngdy seems to fit Mister Sprig''s description," A deep voice from behind her rumbled.

    Too close.

    Someone was behind her... Some got behind her in the seconds she''d turned to the Ship Captain. That wasn''t possible! She... she put points into perception!

    Willow shut her eyes and stifled tears. Whatever was happening to her-- it didn''t make any sense. She put points into ?Dragon''s Heart!? But the panic she was feeling... all throughout her body... the way her senses were screaming...

    She wanted to cry. She wanted to curl up on the ground and apologize for being alive. She wanted to curse the Sea God or the Dragon God or whatever god was responsible for letting her be born.

    That someone... they gently pried off her fingers and took the spear out of her hand.

    That someone... they... he ced a hand on her chin and turned her head so she could look.

    Dark green hair streamed down his young face... topped by a ck-brimmed military cap. It was... a sailor, just like the other person.

    ? Level Unknown. ?

    ? ss Unknown. ?

    ? Species-- ?

    ? Species... Snake. ?

    His eyes...

    He had golden eyes.

    Bright gold, piercing eyes stared into Willow''s soul... seeing her hurts, the pain in her heart, her lies... her every secret.

    This person... was the source of her fear.

    She needed to leave-- to run... to get as far away as possible.

    She needed... to admit her guilt... for crimes she didn''t even know shemitted.

    She needed... to beg for mercy, fully prostrated on the ground, crying ugly tears, with her forehead pressed deep into the dirt.

    ? Issuing new quest... ?

    ? Quest Level Unknown. ?

    ? Quest objective... ?

    ? Survive. ?

 Chapter 694 Divine Medicinal Brew

    ?Tycondrius furrowed his brows as he tilted the girl''s chin up and observed her dted pupils, "Youngdy? ...Are you alright?"

    "Maybe she''s just uh... happy to see us?" Krysaos offered.

    Tycon pursed his lips as he waved his hand in front of the child''s eyes. She did not flinch, nor did her eyes refocus.

    "While I would love to assume the youngdy is stunned by my handsome visage... I somehow doubt that is the case."

    It was perhaps low of him to have surprised the girl they believed to be Sprig''s sister. He had snuck around the youngdy earlier with his ?Shadowfang? movement technique as a precautionary measure. She wielded a spear... and a fishing spear to the knee would certainly end Krysaos'' adventuring suns.

    However, upon facing her, the youngdy seemed to... break? He''d imagine something simr would happen to his pocket watch if he neglected the regr rewinding of its mechanisms.

    She stared into space, ck-jawed and drooling... and tears were forming at the corners of her eyes.

    She looked quite human... but simr to his Brother-Captain, Krysaos, the scent she gave off was... off-- but very slightly.

    ? Lost Child, Rank Unknown, ss Unknown. ?

    Tycon''s System was unable to glean the girl''s particrs. In all his previous encounters of the phenomena, the target was a transmigrator, just as he was...

    He and the others had alle from different worlds... each with ess to their own unique Systems.

    Aur Wyndham, youngest Princess of the Kingdom.

    Kanbrai of Evocaar, the strongest house cat in the Realm.

    Athanasius Mors, the Oathkeeper, husband to the future matriarch of the Frozen Cairn Sect.

    Each had the power, the influence, or abination of both enough to alter the Realm atrge, if they so wished.

    Tycon had befriended each of those persons... and would go out of his way to cultivate those rtionships.

    Thankfully, none of their goals were contrary to his.

    He''d hate to have to kill any of them.

    By all means, Tycon should have remained wary of the somewhat-human child... but it was difficult thinking that a hatchling shocked into absolute helplessness might be a meaningful threat in the near future.

    Prior to their meeting, he did not have a good opinion of her.

    From information he''d gathered from passersby in the swamp... the youngdy seemed to have a particr vendetta against his kin.

    By secondhand ounts, Tycon was aware that snake meat was delectable and nutritious. Still, it was an unpleasant notion.

    "(I''ll deal with her how I see fit,)" He hissed quietly.

    Out of the corner of his eyes, an Iron-Rank King Snake peeked down from a tree... "(You ask much of us, Ivory Prince... We shall obey... but only because our bloodlines demand it so.)"

    "Yes, yes," Tycon rolled his eyes. "I''ll bring back some food or pay a visit to your Princess or something."

    "Uh. Who you talkin'' to, LT?" Krysaos asked.

    "The dozen or so Bronze and Iron-Rank snakes hidden amongst the reeds."

    "Ahhh, yeahh," Krysaos nodded. "I see ''em now. F*ck me sideways-- I''m sorry for asking."

    Tycon nodded politely in response. Even though he didn''t understand the gentleman''s remark, it didn''t sound important enough to ask for rification.

    "Huh," Krysaos walked over to Imperia and crouched down over her, "Y''know, the elf''s a lot more tolerable if she doesn''t open her stupid mouth."

    "I believe that to be amon trait for humans," Tycon remarked as he scooped the child into his arms.

    "Mhm?" The Captain nodded steadily, "Me included, yeah?"

    "Let us take these two to a more defensible location."

    ...

    ? Do you hear it, child? ?

    ? Wh... what''s that? ?

    Willow sat up on the springy couch as she rubbed her bleary eyes. She was in a small, but clean home... It might have been something like one she''d used to live in back before Mom got sick and Dad had to quit his job.

    There was a tiny table in front of her... with a couple of thin, waxy books. She couldn''t read any of the bold text on covers, but they looked interesting. The nearby shelves were covered in... trinkets and knick-knacks... realistic paintings of people in colorful clothing propped up on wooden frames and covered in ss.

    It was probably what... a rich person''s home looked like-- not that Willow had any experience being in that kind of ce.

    Mom was in the kitchen... a pot of soup was bubbling on the stovetop and making the whole room smell... just wonderful.

    ...Willow plopped her head back on the couch, sinking deep in its softness. She grabbed one of the cushions and rubbed her face in it.

    It was another dream.

    She''d been having too many crazy dreamstely.

    Sooner orter, she wouldn''t be able to distinguish them from reality.

    But then again...

    She was in a small room with a couch, bookshelves filled with super-expensive, unreadable books, and a beautiful woman that looked a lot like her real mom.<novelnext></novelnext>

    That was a lot better than sshing through a swamp full of snakes and giant leeches.

    "Do you hear it, young human?" ''Mom'' repeated gently.

    "Yeah..." Willow tossed the fuzzy cushion away... then thought better of it and put it back in its rightful ce... "You''re talking about... the song, right?"

    There were a lot of things Willow learned in her dreams. As with all dreams, she usually couldn''t remember what happened in them... but when she woke up, she had all sorts of new things she just... understood.

    How her System worked... gaining experience points and activating her talents.

    That she couldn''t trust anyone with the knowledge that she had green scales growing over her heart-- even her brother.

    Then... there was the song... the song of which legends were sung.

    "You are protected, child," The woman smiled, "and by gifts bestowed by a power even greater than the Court."

    That was something she heard a lot from her Mom-type figure... weird... prophecy-type stuff that probably wasn''t supposed to be taken at face value.

    Willow peeked her head over the couch... That person was... really... mom-like, wearing an apron embroidered with little yellow, bird-shapes and spooning a bowl of soup with a weird ckdle.

    It wasn''t actually her mom. She didn''t really remember what her mom was supposed to look like-- but that was just the kind of feeling that person gave off.

    She had light brown hair, the same color as hers, but cut neatly and a little shorter. Her boobs were bigger-- more adult-looking. No butt, though.

    ...Willow felt the sudden urge to drink... more milk or something.

    When that person turned around to reach for a hand towel, Willow could see her upper back and shoulders from the way her blouse was cut.

    Blue scales lined up on her spine and the back of her neck.

    It made her a little frustrated that she didn''t grow scales in a prettier pattern.

    The woman was a Dragonborn... a Dovahkiin. And... that was probably what Willow was, too.

    It was another thing that no one told her about. She just... understood that that''s what they were called.

    "N... Neerin Neelia?" She whispered.

    "Oh?" Neerin smiled, her eyes curving upward... "Your bloodline is getting stronger to remember my name."

    It was a pure... honest smile that made Willow feel warm inside. It made her feel like... it probably wouldn''t be so bad to have Neerin Neelia as her actual mom.

    Willow took the bowl of soup she was offered... and stared at the bits of swirling meat, vegetables, and floating, misshapen cream-colored balls.

    "Is this..." She turned her head up, "some kind of divine medicinal brew?"

    "Chicken and flour dumplings," Neerin Neelia tilted her head. "That''s what it''s supposed to be. I used two different soup packets, though."

    Willow wasn''t sure if she heard that correctly, but she bowed her head, "Th-thanks for the meal."

    She blew off a spoonful and took a bite.

    ...Then another.

    It was salty and sour... and not very good... but chicken was chicken. Willow was neither the type to waste food... nor toin when someone had done their best.

    She was in the warmth of a home, not in the swamps. She had an actual adult she could rely on. She was safe... and not being yelled at by her System to just ''survive'' without any sort of hints or guidance.

    It didn''t really make sense for her to cry. The soup wasn''t that bad.

    But she did. She put her bowl on the little table with the thin waxy books... and she cried into herp.

    Neerin Neelia gently massaged her back... not saying anything... just gently... being there.

    It was a whole lot better than literally anything else Willow had.

    Kneeling on the couch cushions, Willow turned around and hugged Neerin Neelia''s waist... sobbing into her apron.

    "I didn''t ask for this... I didn''t ask for any of this..."

    "I know, Willow..." Neerin cooed, softly kissing her forehead. "The fates have chosen you to be our Exarch. Your life... is not destined to be an easy one."

    "The song..." Willow sobbed... "What... what''s the point? Even if I can hear it... I''m...I''m not strong enough..."

    The woman took hold of her shoulders... her gentle expression turning serious.

    "Hear me, Willow. You are chosen by the Fates... and you have the heart of a True Dragon beating in your chest. By my name, Neerin Neelia of the Draconic Court... I will protect you. Your onlymandment is... to try... to do your best... to sing the song thates from your heart."

    Willow sniffled as she stared over the couch, down at the wooden floorboards... "What... are dragons afraid of?"

    "...Many things, child. Trust, however... that ?Dragon''s Heart? will grant you the courage to face your fears," Neerin Neelia shook her head as she embraced Willow fully, "You. must. have. faith."

    Willow cried... bitter... runny-nosed tears... letting everything out... selfishly making a literal goddess dote on her.

    She wanted to try... She wanted to live.

    She wanted, so desperately, to believe...

    Dragons do exist.

 Chapter 695 Honorary Elf

    ?Tycondrius and Krysaos took Imperia and the human girl to higher ground, setting up a defensive perimeter by the edge of a steep cliff.

    Ishmael took overwatch with an enchanted crossbow, hiding in the shadows of a tall tree. Because of his vignce, Tycon felt confident in focusing his attention on the two females.

    The human was in good condition, though she remained in a catatonic state.

    The Elf child, Imperia, was marked by dried blood-- some red, some an ominous ck. However, upon further inspection, her wounds had closed.

    The Cleric did not have ess to healing magics. Either the Elven Sovereign had met with the two... or the lost girl was to credit.

    A Healing ss would be a valuable asset to him... or could develop into a formidable enemy.

    Tycon checked his pocket watch when Imperia began to stir. It had been nearly a bell.

    The elf exined that she had encountered a particrly powerful creature, a shadow of sorts-- though one much less handsome than Mister Ishmael. She hypothesized it was one of the missing vigers, twisted beyond recognition by magic.

    Yet... that was not the vigers'' Swamp Monster. Something more terrifying remained yet hidden in the marsh.

    Krysaos exined that the Dark Elven Princess snored while she slept.

    After Tycon separated the bickering couple, he decided to forcibly wake Willow from her fitful sleep.

    In past campaigns, he had ess to Garock Heartrender''s Reality Marble, allowing him to steal away a person from their dreams.

    Unfortunately, Garock was dead... and thus, Tycon had to rely on his own abilities.

    "Can you help her, Maedar?" Imperia supported the child''s back, propping her up.

    The gentle affectation was somewhat surprising, considering the youngdy''s character.

    "N... no... s-stay... away..." The child clenched her eyes tightly and turned sharp to the side. Whatever nightmare she was experiencing seemed rather unpleasant.

    "I shall do my best," Tycon nodded, kneeling by Willow''s side.

    He took a deep breath... and whispered into her ear.

    "Child... why do you fight?"

    ? ?Desire Trigger? activating... Support ability. Targeted ally ispelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target''s ability to resist detrimental effects. ?

    Willow''s mouth lolled open... then closed as she swallowed her saliva...

    "To... sing..."

    Tycon slowly narrowed his eyes.

    "...What in the seven hells is that supposed to mean?"

    "Hey, man," Krysaos frowned. "Don''t knock it. It''s a respectable profession."

    "Like you would know anything about proper *art,* human," Imperia sneered.

    "Oh, yeah?" Krysaos pointed his thumb at his chest, "If you get me a fiddle, I''ll blow the socks off o'' you and the LT, both."

    Imperia and Tycon stared at the Captain in confusion.

    "...and what in the seven hells is that supposed to mean?" Tycon inquired.

    Krysaos opened his mouth as if to exin... but shook his head instead, "Nevermind."

    The girl was shocked awake-- quickly rising.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes and lowered his body, holding his left arm out to block an iing strike.

    "N-nnnooo!!" Willow pushed away with both arms. As Tycon would not be so easily shoved by a child half his size, she fell onto her rear but hurriedly stood back up, adopting a haphazard boxing stance.

    ...While Tycon was d that his arm had healed properly he remained perplexed at the youngdy''s... somewhat extreme reaction.

    He took a step forward and offered his hand, "Miss Willow, we are here to--"

    "Get AWAY from me!!" She screamed.

    "Raax, Sister~" Imperia waved from where she sat on the dirt. "The Maedar is a gentleman of noble blood, much like myself... unlike a certain someone."

    "That''s right," Krysaos grinned. "I''m a gentleman by deed, not by birth."

    "Sister, you say?" Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    "Sworn sister," Imperia smiled. "That means she''s protected by House Vulkoori. Got a problem with it?"

    The value in the young elf''s noble house was... low. However, Tycon had no reason openly to discredit her in front of the girl... nor did he wish to provide Krysaos with something substantial to antagonize her over.

    "Sis... you?" Willow grit her teeth and rxed-- but only slightly, "I... But I''m amoner..."

    "Sea god''s shirt, Willow, what did I just say?" Imperia scolded. "You''re my sworn sister. That means you''re a Princess, now. Act like it."

    "That easy, huh?" Krysaos remarked.

    "Did you want to be a Princess too, Brother-Captain?" Tycon teased.

    Imperia walked over to Willow and took her hand, "Hey-- I''m here. You''re safe, now."

    Willow bit her lower lip. The way she looked towards Tycon spoke volumes of her unease.

    ...Why was she *so* afraid?

    Something in Tycon''s instincts made his blood run hot... which his logical mind dismissed with prejudice. He imagined it something akin to... a predator wishing to pursue fleeing prey. It was grossly inappropriate, considering any of the surrounding circumstances.

    Imperia turned to him with an appropriate level of confidence, "You will treat this human with respect, Snaa-- ah... Sssir. Sir Maedar. If you please."

    Tycon smiled politely, sighing through his nostrils. Imperia was doing fantastically well in trying to treat him respectfully... only slipping in the presence of her new human.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He decided to take no offense.

    "I would not antagonize a Princess of the Vulkoori so easily," Tycon waved dismissively. "Just be polite. Follow the example of your sister, Imperia."

    He picked up Willow''s flimsy spear and tossed it towards her... with a small amount of force. As expected, she snatched it out of the air and spun it around, so the end tucked underneath her arm.

    Very briefly, she pointed the tip towards him. Quickly realizing her mistake, she tilted it downward... and nodded... "I... I will. Th... ank you."

    She was an interesting girl... and not a helpless one as her younger brother might have believed.

    It urred to Tycon that the young human''s respect and fear would be appropriate... if she knew exactly who he was.

    Considering her age... there was a strong possibility that such information was granted to her via an advanced bloodline.

    He wondered which it was. Certain bloodlines were far more likely to ally or be subservient to him... Snake, Harpies and Hydra, Cyclopes, Minotaur...

    Many would remain vignt of him... Ancient dwarves and elves... trolls and Titanbloods... horses, (for obvious reasons)... Yuan-ti and the various Scalekin.

    One... one would actively seek to harm him.

    Giant, sentient, winged lizard.

    As long as Willow didn''t belong to thest category, they could coborate peacefully. As the chances of that were slim to none, he brushed away his misgivings and inclined his head to give a proper greeting.

    "My name is Lieutenant Tycondrius of Charm and this is our Captain, Krysaos of the Neptune''s Revenge. We are here on behalf of your brother, Mister Rickert, to recover you..."

    He gestured to Krysaos.

    "--and to get to the bottom of what the seven h-- hecks is going on with your weird f--"

    "Breathe, Krysaos."

    "Yeah, I''m breathin'', LT," The Captain crossed his arms. "Somethin''s wrong with your vige, kiddo."

    Willow gulped as she tightened the grip on her weapon, "W... well... alright. Let me tell you what I know."

    ...

    "To summarize," Tycon ced his hand on his chin, "The vigers of Thorne kidnapped you under the cover of night and tossed you into a pit."

    "You don''t say?" Imperia nodded, a sly smirk on her lips... "I knew the humans couldn''t be trusted."

    Tycon ced his hand on his chin, "You don''t say..."

    "So probably the work of Elder Thorne?" Krysaos agreed with a smirk.

    "Y-yeah," Willow nodded. "He was there... ordering everyone else."

    "Ya don''t say..." The Captain grinned.

    "Don''t echo me, human," Imperia scowled. "*You* are as equally untrustworthy as your *ilk*."

    "I''ve been saying that since before y-- Oh,e onnnn! The LT said it! Howe he can say it and I can''t?!"

    "The Maedar is different. Obviously. And you''re disgusting."

    "Then how about Willow? She''s human, isn''t she?"

    Imperia ced her hands on her hips, "My sworn sister is an honorary elf. She doesn''t count, either."

    Tycon gestured for Willow to continue, "Ignore them."

    "I... I saw the creature in the cave," The human girl pouted. "I didn''t really get a good look at it... and-- and I don''t know why it spared me. I just know that it''s strong-- really strong."

    "Is it a dragon?" Imperia asked.

    "N... no," Willow shook her head.

    Tycon sighed out of his nostrils. Imperia had asked about her ''dragon'' again. If he found such a creature in the swamps, he''d kill it without hesitation.

    He stood up straight and stretched his back. "Very well. Miss Willow''s safety is paramount. Brother-Captain, would you and Miss Imperia escort the youngdy back to the vige?"

    "I... I can''t go back there," Willow whispered. "They''ll... only try to sacrifice me again."

    "--escort the youngdy back to safety," Tycon corrected himself in a low voice.

    "Nowhere is safe... not while the Swamp Monster is still around."

    "--to rtive safety," He red.

    His gaze lingered on the young Willow, but she kept her peace.

    Clever girl.

    "Yeah, I''m sick o'' this ce," Krysaos yawned.

    "I grow weary of these swamps," Imperia muttered.

    "I wanna head back an'' take a nap." "I just want to sleep in a bed."

    The human and elf looked to each other in surprise... and their faces simultaneously twisted into anger.

    "Oy, really?" "How DARE you!"

    Tycon sighed and shook his head.

    It really shouldn''t have been so odd that they were so synchronized. They were remarkably simr in many aspects.

    ",

 Chapter 696 Here There Be

    ?"You serious, LT?" Krysaos rolled his eyes and raised his arms, "You''re tellin'' me I gotta deal with the-- with Imperia on the whole trip back?"

    Tycondrius pursed his lips, but nodded... "That... is a logical conclusion, Brother-Captain-- so, yes."

    It seemed much of the bite in Krysaos'' criticisms of the dark elf had been dulled, but his wholly negative opinion of her would not change anytime soon.

    "You''re scum, Krysaos!" Imperia shouted, "Absolute scum!"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. It was rare of Imperia to call Krysaos by name... granted, it was to direct an insult.

    Maybe they were starting to... get along?

    That would be nice.

    "Ishmael," Tycon waved, catching the attention of his ?Venomous Shadow.? "Cover the Captain and the twodies, if you would."

    "An'' what''ll you be doin'', LT?" Krysaos asked.

    "Attending a convocation of sorts with the denizens of the swamp."

    "Fewer words, please. Also, what does ilk mean?"

    "Conversing with snakes. And it''s a generic insult."

    "Got it. You do your thing," Krysaos turned to leave. "Come on,dies. Sunlight''s burnin''."

    Imperia hurried after him, "You''re dreaming if you think you''re leading the way, human!"

    Willow started to follow... but Tycon interrupted her.

    "Youngdy."

    "Hiiieeee~!" The girl''s shoulders shot up and she halted her movement.

    She was... trembling.

    ...The child was being overly dramatic.

    Tycon walked over to her, ensuring he was out of earshot of at least Captain Krysaos, "I have a request."

    Willow turned towards him defiantly... but even before Tycon could react to it, she meekly bowed her head, "I... I hear you."

    "You seem like a clever young woman," Tycon smiled politely. "I''d like you to... keep the good Captain and your sister, Imperia, on task. They''re certain to quarrel, but I believe with your presence, they''ll keep rtively peaceable."

    "O... oh," Willow grimaced. "I... I can do that. C''n... can I go now?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows... "Yes. Remain vignt."

    The human whelpling bowed her head quickly before dashing off.

    She was a strange child... but besides snake-hunting, Willow had done nothing to earn his ire.

    Whatever she was hiding, Tycon hoped he wouldn''t have to kill her for it.

    ...

    The entrance to the cavern was only essible after a short underwater dive. After Tycon stored his military coat and Officer''s cap in his spatial ring, he braved the depths... but the aquatic creatures seemed to know better and left him alone.

    Upon emerging, Tycon sat at the water''s edge and stretched out his left arm. He was finally confident that it was fully healed.

    ...He would not have inconvenienced himself with the trip, otherwise.

    Hispanion, a verbose Iron-Rank King Snake, slithered out of the water and coiledfortably in a shallow crevice.

    "(I can go no further, Ivory Prince.)"

    "Oh? Why not?" Tycon casually squeezed the water out of his shirt.

    "(This... is a sacred ce,)" The King Snake answered reverently.

    Tycon looked around the lightless cave. It didn''t look particrly sacred... or special in any way, save some haphazard script on a wall he didn''t yet care to read.

    "Are you... not... worthy of visiting here?"

    The King Snake bobbed its head slowly... "(I... don''t know. I''ve never asked before.)"

    "Granted," Tycon waved the gentle-snake away, "Thank you for escorting me thus far."

    "(Perhaps... you can ask the Princess for me?)"

    Tycon furrowed his brows. The Iron-Rank King Snake spoke for his other, lesser kin, as he was the strongest andrgest amongst them. However, his bloodline wasn''t particrly pure... nor was his strength of any significance...

    Essentially, he didn''t seem important... at all.

    "I suppose I can. What is... your name, young friend?"

    "(I... don''t have one.)"

    Tycon smiled politely. When the hatchling grew in age and his bloodline developed further, then he could be cultivated. As he was, his intelligence was little better than domesticated creatures raised to be ughtered.

    "Earn yourself a name, hatchling. Then perhaps you might be of use to either myself or your Princess."

    The King Snake flicked his tongue, still somewhat confused... "(Very well... I''ll be going, then.)"

    "Have a safe trip," Tycon waved.

    Hatchlings. It seemed like all hatchlings were ridiculous.

    Without Tycon''s ''adult'' supervision, Krysaos and Imperia would certainly attract trouble... more likely of a ridiculous nature than one containing actual danger. They were strong enough to survive whatever it was... and if the fates were kind, the human child would, as well.

    He wished to meet with the Snake Princess as quickly as possible, so to return to the others and to the ship.

    He dearly hoped she would be more agreeable than the others he knew...

    Ananta of the Shadow Snakes was... principled, but flirtatious. Her sister, Suka, was easy to deal with... but her idolization of him made her... a difficult conversational partner.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Atusa of the Ice Snakes was an arrogant sadist. Granted, her meager strength posed no threat to him.

    Then, Tycon''s own sister... Cassiopeia, Princess of Charm...

    He''d met a recreation of her in a Reality Marble. If what he''d seen there was her true nature, hidden behind a veneer of open disdain and spontaneous violence, Tycon might even enjoy herpany.

    He began to parse the words on the wall.

    They were in a mix of draconic and themon tongue... which was troubling, particrly because the scribe''s writing was... wed.

    "Here there be..."

    He furrowed his brows as he stared at the final passage. The next word... mystified him. He even asked his System to trante it to no avail.

    After several minutes he gave up and journeyed deeper into the cave.

    A few simple etchings of a stylistic figure hinted at what he could possibly be facing.

    A long snake... with wings and breathing... a stream of something. Water? Fire? Air?

    ...Bile?

    Perhaps it was constantly sick?

    Was he in the cave of a gue Snake Princess, perhaps?

    ...That sounded unpleasant.

    He summoned clean bandages from his spatial ring and wore them as an impromptu face mask.

    When facing the Princess in question, he decided to try to keep at least six fulms away.

    Vibrations in the rocky floor heralded the appearance of arge creature... so Tycon waited patiently for it to arrive.

    Arge snake dropped down from a massive hole in the ceiling, its size evenrger than that of Shadow Snake Princess Ananta, yet smaller than that of his good friend Isidor, the Titan Snake.

    In his human form, he stood taller than its head, but it reared up several fulms to look down upon him.

    "You TRESPASSSSSS in my CAAAAVE, humannnn!!" She hissed in a loud voice, sending rumblings throughout the cavern and shaking rocks andrge stctites free from the ceiling.

    Tycon pursed his lips, noting that the young-sounding female snake seemed scrunched and ufortable. The passageway was only twice his own height, after all.

    She was... a Sea Snake, with a fin-like protrusion atop her head and along her back, likely with simr on her belly. It made sense if the Snake Princess before him was the vigers'' ''Swamp Monster'', and the one who traveled the waterways to pick up their hapless sacrifices.

    "No, no," Tycon waved casually, "I was invited."

    "By WHOOOOO?!?"

    "No idea. Do your servants have names?"

    The Princess flicked her tongue and hissed in a lower voice... "(They... they don''t.)"

    "Are you aware that if you gave them names, their bloodlines would develop faster?"

    "(...I was not.)"

    Tycon stifled the very strong desire to sigh... "Think about it. It''s good practice. (My name is Tycondrius,) good afternoon."

    "Good... good aftern--" The snake''s eyes suddenly widened.

    Had she recognized his name? That was good. The young snake seemed to have a powerful bloodline to grow sorge and so powerful for her age. Her bloodline memories were quite developed, as well, as she spoke themon tongue perfectly and without an ent.

    "It''s afternoon already?!" She wailed, "(I... I missed lunch!) Stars and socks! No wonder I''m so hungry! Ow!"

    The Princess had hit her head against the ceiling... which detracted from her respectable presence even more than her speech.

    Tycon ced a palm on his face... "Then... eat."

    It was logical to eat if one was hungry.

    The Snake Princess raised her head again-- being more careful this time, "Then I''ll eat YOUUUU!!!!"

    "Don''t do that," Tycon frowned.

    "Oh," She lowered her head. "(Why not?)"

    "Because I said so, I suppose," Tycon shrugged. "Your name, little one?"

    "It''s... it''s Iyuri," She hissed... and tilted her head, "(Why... why aren''t you afraid of me? I''m really big.) And really scary?"

    "You are not scary, youngdy."

    She was quiterge, but Tycon hesitated on confirming that, as he feared it might be seen as rude.

    "I''m a dragon," Iyuri added quietly.

    "Also incorrect."

    ...Tycon recalled thest word of the passage at the cavern entrance. It was *supposed* to be ''dragon''.

    It was misspelled.

    Beyond reasonable recognition.

    "I''m... I''m not?" Iyuri shrunk her head back, "But I have wings!"

    "Those are fins, youngdy... paddles, rather. They help you swim."

    Iyuri stared into space... "Oh."

    "Am I correct?"

    "Yis."

 Chapter 697 She Gets It

    ?Princess Iyuri shot her long, serpentine head past Tycondrius, brushing his chest. Then, she coiled around him to meet his gaze.

    "But... but... I can breathe water?"

    Tycon poked her chin, "Exin."

    "I have... to suck it in, first? But then I can spit it out."

    "Most creatures can do that," Tycon smiled politely.

    ...To prove his point, he inhaled... air and exhaled onto her face.

    "Oh! A Minty Breath Weapon?!" Iyuri eximed, "Are... you a dragon too?"

    Tycon held two fingers up and thunked Iyuri between the eyes, "I am *not*. Do not use me of such-- that is *quite* rude, hatchling..."

    "Ohhhhh!!" Iyuri the Sea Snake Princess recoiled in mock injury.

    "Also, you are still not a dragon."

    "I''m... I''m not? What... am I, then?"

    Tycon took a deep, halting breath to cool his rage.

    Iyuri was a hatchling.

    She was far more ridiculous than the other hatchlings he''d dealt with, as of recent... but despite her advanced bloodline and her Metal-Ranking, she was undoubtedly a child.

    His anger was useless. Her careless remarks were due to her naivete.

    Children are best to be *taught* what is correct... and it would behoove him to be more patient.

    He unwrapped his mask and gazed upward at Iyuri, "You, youngdy, are a Sea Serpent."

    ? Iyuri, Gold-Rank Sea Serpent. ?

    Iyuri stared down, her pupils closing and reopening, simr to how a human blinks... "O... oh. You''re-- I like your face."

    "Thank you. I quite like the color of your scales."

    The snake recoiled with a gasp, "R-really?! Am I pretty for a dra--"

    "--Sea Serpent," Tycon interrupted with a frown.

    "Sea Serpent!" Iyuri nodded sagely, "I''m a Sea Snake! That makes a whooole lot of sense, actually!"

    "I certainly hope it does..."

    "So that''s why I can talk to snakes?"

    "...Because you are one, yes."

    "Ohhhhhh... wow, you''re really smart... Eh? Wait--" Iyuri flicked her tongue inquisitively, "Are... are *you* a snake, Mister Tycondrius?"

    "Yes..." Tycon lowered his head and took another deep breath... "Yes, Iyuri. Yes, I am."

    ...

    Tycon could forgive Princess Iyuri for challenging his integrity-- she did not know better. However, there were only so many instances of ''are you really?'' that he could stomach.

    Tycon transformed into his snake form and bid the hatchling Princess deeper into the cave. They traveled up and around the cavern tunnels-- which were far easier to climb by undting scales rather than hand and foot.

    They reached a spacious, far more open room, where Iyuri could stretch to her fullest without issue.

    Why she did not wait for him in such an area baffled him. If he was a hostile opponent, she would have free reign to use her body to attack or to coil up defensively, striking at her leisure.

    "Mister Tycon..." Iyuri snuggled in her coils.

    "My title is ''Ivory Prince,'' youngdy," Tycon chided. "However, it is permissible for a Princess, such as yourself, to refer to me as Tycon-- without an honorific."

    "OooOoh... You... you''re really important. And you''re really strong, too..." Iyuri cooed.

    Tycon nodded his head. Iyuri finally seemed to understand just who she was speaking to.

    "But why... are you so *smol*?" She asked.

    ...Tycon rolled his eyes.

    It was an innocent enough question... but it was also an unintentional attack on his ego.

    "My *size*, youngdy, is quite normal," He sighed. "Depending on the species, female snakes tend to haverger forms than their male counterparts"

    "I''m huh-yooj," Iyuri hissed happily. "Oh! But... but... both of your forms are really, really pretty, Prince Tycon."

    "Thank you," Tycon inclined his head.

    Princess Iyuri''s serpent form was also quite magnificent. With the luminescent moss, deeper in the cavern, he was better able to appreciate her body-- in a tonic manner, solely considering aesthetics.

    She was twenty some fulms long, with shimmering blue scales, banded with deep, lustrous onyx stripes. She was certainly more lengthy than both himself and Shadow Snake Princess Ananta. In a century or so, Tycon wondered if she''d outgrow the Titan Snake, Isidor.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Her body was tall, for a snake, though her sides were more t, better adapted for swimming in deep water. The fact reminded him of her prodigious strength and her respectable passive mana output. A sea creature such as herself needed to be at least Gold-Rank to contend with other ocean predators like Abyssal Sea Wolves and Leviathans.

    Tycon shifted back to his human form and stretched his human body, rxing on Iyuri''s paddled tail as if it were a reclining chair. It was smoother than he expected... and quitefortable.

    With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a gift suitable for a Princess: a portion of dry-cured ham made from wild boar.

    "Shall we converse, youngdy?"

    Iyuri flicked her tongue, tasting the air... and her eyes widened as she stared.

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Miss Iyuri?"

    "N-nevermind! Um. Um... Um. It... it smells so gooOOod~"

    "It is a gift," Tycon waved the leather-wrapped package, "However, I advise you to transform into your humanoid form before partaking. Humans and simr are better at tasting their meals-- the reason isplicated. Don''t ask."

    "Huh? O... oh," Iyuri blinked her eyes, "I... I can do that."

    A small ball of worry blossomed in Tycon''s stomach. In a previous campaign,traveling the Holy Country, he browbeat his Titan Snake friend andpanion, Isidor, into taking a humanoid form. His best efforts resulted in... a strange, beardless, scale-covered dwarf.

    Humanoid transformation was a skill that Isidor desperately needed to practice.

    ...At the very least, only Tycon would be privy to whatever massive failure Iyuri was going to present.

    Tycon slid off of the hatchling''s tail and gestured an open palm towards her, "Go ahead, youngdy."

    "A-alright..." Iyuri nodded. "M... ?Magical Girl Transformation!?"

    She utilized a short chant to better cast her magic. That was clever of her.

    With a burst of watery mana, the Sea Serpent disappeared in a cloud of thick, but gentle mist. When it dissipated... what remained was a human girl as tall as he was, her long locks split between blue and ck streaks.

    Her actual form looked... well enough.

    To his surprise, she was not nude... She wore a bup sack, holes cut out for her arms and head-- which was *not* appropriate attire for a Princess.

    Tycon chanced to look down. Iyuri''s curvaceous, peach-skinned waist and shapely legs were exposed to the cavern air.

    ...The Sea Snake Princess was far more resistant to the cold than he was... not that he would choose to go without trousers if granted the opportunity.

    Thankfully, the sight of it wasn''t arousing in the least. Iyuri was a child, even if both her snake form and human form was that of a fully grown adult female.

    "Ta-daaa~!" Iyuri jumped up, her ample human bosom underneath her sackcloth bouncing... violently.

    "Ow," She ced her hands on her chest, "These shake. A lot. Howe your human form doesn''t have these?"

    Tycon shook his head. It seemed he had to spend a bit longer with Iyuri than he''d anticipated-- if just to teach her a few basic things about being a proper snake... and a proper human.

    He summoned a set of clothes from his spatial ring. He''d have preferred Iyuri wear something that better fit her frame... or something that better behooved a Princess. His own clothing would do, if only for the sake of functionality.

    As the hatchling was mostly unfamiliar with dressing, he performed a servant''s work of assisting her. Her... parts wererge and unwieldy and when he identally brushed her skin, she burst intoughter.

    While her light voice was overall pleasant, after the third or fourth bout of giggling, it became tedious, and he insisted that she focus.

    Iyuri''s mood recovered quickly when he prompted her to ask her questions.

    She asked why the ham tasted so wonderful.

    She asked about Tycon''s family and of the various Snake Reigns. She asked about what sentient creatures were and were not permissible to murder and consume from an ethical standpoint.

    She asked why clothes were necessary and why certain sentients were so off put by nudity.

    Iyuri blinked her overlyrge, childish eyes and danced her fingers against her corbone, "Why... is my chest?"

    "Sorge?" Tycon rolled his eyes as he finished closing Iyuri''s sleeved shirt. Even after being lightly bound by bandaging cloth, her breasts threatened to burst free... so he left the top two buttons undone.

    "It is rare for us and our kin to haveplete control over our humanoid transformations," He exined. "This is... what is natural for you."

    Admittedly, if Tycon was born with an affinity for shapeshifting like a Druid or Changeling, he''d have liked to be a slight bit taller.

    "No," Iyuri shook her head-- while she held onto her chest to keep her extraneous parts still. "It''s... thumping? And so fast. It doesn''t hurt, though? ...And I like it."

    Her eyes suddenly widened, "Am I gonna die?"

    "Hm," Tycon casually observed the child''s face, flushed red, "Worry not, hatchling. It is a natural urrence. Your heart is beating quickly because I''m very attractive."

    "Oh," Iyuri nodded. "Ohhhhh~! I get it! Mister Tycon, I''m in love with you!"

    "Again, please refer to me as *Prince* Tycon," He corrected. "Or just Tycon, if you would."

    "I''m in love with you! Tycon!"

    "I heard you the first time," Tycon grimaced. "But thank you."

    "Say it back, coward!"

 Chapter 698 Is It No Good?

    ?After Princess Iyuri''s brazen confession left her human tongue, she granted Tycondrius a full, radiant smile.

    Tycon took a deep breath as he patted the young woman''s head.

    She was as tall as he was. He tried not to let the fact bother him.

    "Iyuri... do you even know what that means?"

    "Hold on!" She shouted, "I know this!"

    Tycon slowly tilted his head... "Youngdy, there is no need to raise your voice."

    "Bloodline memories, activate!"

    "...It''s not a Skill," Tycon rested a fist against his hip, "You either know or you do not."

    "H-hold on... It means..." Iyuri crossed her arms, squeezing her chest in... "It means that..."

    "...Would you like some assistance?"

    "No, I got this... just.... It means..."

    Suddenly, the hatchling grinned, "It means we have to make a mutual contract. And then-- And THEN you''ll be required by the Laws to hang out with me. Like-- all the time!"

    Tycon nodded slowly... "If the feelings were mutual, that would be... more or less correct."

    They were not.

    "And we have to make babies!" Iyuri nodded to herself, quite proud.

    "Right."

    Iyuri grabbed onto Tycon''s arms at the elbow, "Let''s get married."

    Tycon smiled politely as he brushed her small hands away, "I''m not currently seeking a romantic partner at this time. I would like to be friends, though, Princess Iyuri."

    "Can we still make babies?"

    "No."

    "Aw?" Iyuri twisted her lips, pouting cutely. "Okay~"

    Tycon was d that the young Princess was not stronger than he was. If she was... the situation would have been far more dangerous and he''d have escaped in haste.

    He mentally ced Iyuri in the same category as the Shadow Snake Princess, Suka. Suka was attracted to him for his merits and social position. Iyuri was attracted to him because he was the first handsome and intelligent gentleman to show interest in her.

    Neither were meaningful reasons... and he would not betray the trust of either hatchling Princess by taking physical advantage of them.

    "Tell me about your rtionship with the Thorne vigers, little one."

    "There''s no one else I like in the vige," Iyuri insisted. "It''s only you, BA-by. C''mon, you''s gotta buh-lieve me!"

    "Why are you speaking like that?"

    "Bloodline memories. Why? Is it no good?"

    "Don''t do it again."

    "''Kay," Iyuri smiled with chagrin, "The vigers throw people into the cave rivers. The Dragon God told me to take them and draw out their soul essences."

    Tycon turned back to Iyuri so quickly he felt his neck strain. He had just heard something... both unexpected and incredible.

    He felt his breathing quicken and adrenaline begin coursing through his veins.

    ...He furrowed his brows... and narrowed his eyes to incredulous slits...

    "T h e . w h a t ? "

    "The Dragon God," Iyuri tilted her head, "S-sorry, did I misspeak?"

    Seeing the fool girl''s innocent face made Tycon''s frustration drain out with a long, exasperated sigh...

    "No," He massaged the bridge of his nose... "Just... don''t do that anymore."

    "Speaking?"

    "Doing as the lizard god says," Tycon grimaced.

    "Um... Okay," Iyuri nodded slowly... "W... why not? Because humans deserve to live, too?"

    "If they wander into yourir, it is permissible to do as you please," Tycon shrugged. "However, we-- our kin do *not* do favors for the lizard god."

    Iyuri''s eyes widened as if realizing something and she bobbed her head up and down, "Why... is that?"

    Tycon thoughtfully chewed on a piece of jerky before swallowing... "A long time ago... we waged war upon the lizards. Since then, our bloodlines have instilled in us a hatred for their kind. Grant that the feeling is mutual."

    "That doesn''t sound like a very good reason."

    "It..." Tycon paused... "Huh."

    ...The young Princess'' words struck an obvious chord that Tycon had not stopped to consider.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was... an absolute wonder.

    He had no issues with persons belonging to other species. He worked with Titanbloods and humans and Iredar and even Gorgons. He was known to be inclusive and benevolent, consistently winning poprity contests for ''best War Prince'' to work for... surpassing War Prince Dragan by a significant margin.

    Yet it was only dragons that he insisted be forced into nonexistence.

    His hatreds were certainly influenced by his bloodline and his upbringing... but it was simr to his distaste for elves, general distrust of humans, and his absolute distrust in the reliability of Gorgons.

    Could he change? Could Tycon grow stronger by epting the fact that the dragons could *possibly* be useful to him as allies?

    ...Would he?

    No.

    Tycon would purposely choose to remain bigoted and prejudiced. He''d rather hate and distrust the disgusting beasts unless proven otherwise. It would be foolish of him to risk offering peaceful intentions only to invite suspicion and an inevitable betrayal.

    That was his choice to make.

    Concerning the hatchling, however... he would not guide her as such. She was part of the next generation. Perhaps she would make the change for the better.

    "It is not a good reason..." Tycon closed his eyes and sighed... "If anything, understand that the prejudice exists. However, you must remain vignt, young Princess...

    "Surely, there are goodly creatures amongst the lizards'' flights..." He continued... "--but one who asks you to kidnap humans and twist them with magic against their wills is not one of them."

    "Y-yeah. That... that makes sense," Iyuri folded her hands, far less confident than earlier. "The things I make with the dra-- no... the lizard magic makes them roam around and make my swamp dirty. But... but that''s only because they don''t have their hearts anymore!"

    The young woman was being oddly protective of her corrupted humans.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "And just *how* did the vigers convince you to do that?"

    "I um... well... I wanted to stop... and... I let thest one go because she was protected-- She was a hatchling, so that''s fine, right?"

    "Yes, yes," Tycon waved. "I met the girl. Strange child. The topic, Iyuri."

    "Um... err..." Iyuri fidgeted nervously... "The... the lizard god... he said--"

    "The lizard god is *not* a good individual," Tycon scolded, unintentionally raising his voice.

    Iyuri dropped to her knees and pressed her face against his waist, "I''m sorry! I''m really sorry! I won''t do it again! Please don''t be mad! I love you!?"

    That was not appropriate.

    Also, why did she form thatst statement into a question?

    "No, it''s..." Tycon sighed again as he tried to pry Iyuri away... "It''s... it''s fine. Stop... crying, you."

    Yet again, Tycon had demonstrated his aptitude at making women cry. It was not a trait he was fond of.

    Her tears had soaked through the abdominal area of his recently dried shirt. It was cold and ufortable.

    "You didn''t know, Iyuri," He smoothed out the young Princess'' ck and blue hair... "Don''t do such a thing again... or rather-- let''s make it right."

    Iyuri... in her peculiarly adult human form stepped back, wiping at her tears... "O-okay. No more twisting humans into evil, shadowy, bog creature versions of themselves with lizard magic."

    Tycon very much wanted to scold her. It should have been quite obvious that the lizard gods'' ns were... evil. Princess Iyuri might have been misguided, but she was clearly... not that.

    She needed a better role model.

    Considering that Krysaos would depose the sea god in the near future and Tycon and his allies had killed the snake god... it would be foolish to leave Iyuri on her own... to be usibly influenced by a different, equally selfish and possibly treacherous god.

    He nned to send her to Nyctis, the Shadow Snake Queen. Amongst his allies, her Reign was the closest to their location. Considering Iyuri''s Metal-Rank and her umonly pure bloodline, the act might even earn him her favor.

    Flicking his wrist to summon a clean handkerchief, Tycon dabbed at the young Princess'' tear-stained face, "Is there anything else that ursed lizard god asked you to do?"

    "I.. I won''t listen to him, anymore," Iyuri nodded as she pumped her fists excitedly... "No more supplying their hatchery with soul essence to magnify the bloodlines in their eggs!"

    What?

    Tycon felt an oing headache as he tried to piece together Iyuri''s actions and their widespread results.

    The vigers... sacrificed some of their own... and med the hatred of the sea god.

    The lizard god asked Iyuri... to take those sacrifices, take their hearts and soul essence... and use it to strengthen the vigers'' brood.

    "The... eggs, then?" Tycon nodded... "You''re telling me... the lizard-blooded vigers have a hatchery?"

    "Yup!"

    ...He''d incorrectly assumed that the vigers had live births. It shouldn''t have been surprising, since having human-type forms did not corrte with methods of reproduction. While Medusae, Shadow Snakes, and Sea Serpents gave birth to live young, Yuan-Ti, Sahuagin-- and apparently the Thorne vigersid eggs.

    Iyuri bared her teeth in an innocent smile, "They''re dragons! Or uh... lizards! And the dragon god! --the lizard god said to help them!"

    Tycon eyed the young Princess warily.

    "--which I won''t do, anymore!" She added. "Ah promissse."

    "Thank you."

 Chapter 699 Warcry

    ?"The vigers are not lizardbloods..." Tycondrius hesitated and shook his head. "Well-- they are... but..."

    "Wha?" Iyuri lolled her head back, "I''m confus."

    "Confused," Tycon corrected. "The word is confused, youngdy."

    The denizens of Thorne Vige were not dragonborn... or dovahkiin, as Iyuri suggested. Tycon would have been far more wary if the vige denizensprised several dozen dovahkiin.

    They were a different kind of lizard-- and if he''d discerned correctly from Elder Thorne''s malodorous scent, they were descendent from the Xul bloodline.

    The Xul... traditionally worshipped the sea god, as they tended to habitat coastal areas. Yet, the dragon god--

    Ugh, empty night.

    --the lizard god seemed to be the one influencing Iyuri.

    ...It became somewhat obvious to Tycon that he''d chanced upon effects of the gods ying their stupid games.

    He had encountered simr when the snake god swayed his cultists in Caeruleum to aid in the lizard gods'' ns.

    Ultimately, it didn''t matter who the vigers were aligned to. If they worshipped the lizard god, he''d kill them all. If they still followed the sea god... or some other god, then Tycon merely had another enemy.

    He hoped it was the sea god. He was already intent on assisting Krysaos in his quest, and Tycon much preferred having one godying quest instead of two.

    ...At the rate he was uncovering deific intrigue, it became a high priority for him to seek out Hades for his counsel.

    The Orcish gentleman could assist him in taking ount of which gods he did *not* need to kill.

    ...

    ? Elsewhere in the swamps... ?

    Twelve of twelve-- ah, no. What was his name again?

    Stickyfingers scratched at his head.

    It was uh...

    Bob. Yeah, that''s it.

    Bob, the Coral Boy with skin as hard as rock-- you could tell because it looked like brass or copper or something stronger than Stickyfingers'' handsome light grey.

    Bob, the biggest and baddest of the Coral Boys, he loomed over the tiny human girl... so small, she didn''t even stand to her knee. He leaned in his face real close and bared his teeth, full of menacing spikes that were probably real scary-like.

    "Uh don''t loik it," He said.

    The girl-- Willow, the Captain said her name was, was absolutely terrified! Shaking in her boots, she was! Probably about to soil herself, too.

    That''d be a riot!

    "Stand down, Petty Officer Bob," Said the Captain. "What don''tcha like?"

    "Dis fing!" Bob yelled. He took the dinky little rock weapon the girl was carrying-- and of course, she didn''t put up a fight.

    "H-hey! I... I made that!" The girl squeaked.

    Bob growled, deep and rumbly, "An'' it''s stooopid!"

    "Aye. I hear ''at," Stickyfingers nodded.

    Probably the only one in the crew dumb enough to use a stone weapon was Wonderboy. It was hard to chop into anything worth chopping with that, though. The girlie had to get a decent bit of metal, something you could put a half-decent edge on.

    The other Boys murmured their agreements. "Right." "Agreed." "Good, but not good enuff."

    "Well, I fink it''s real nice," Wonderboy piped up. "Pretty gud fer jus'' startin'' up, ain''t it?"

    "No one asked fer YOUR opinion!" Catshit shouted... "Don''t listen to ''em girlie. Your best work''s absolutely trash and ya should give up before ya--"

    "SHUT YER GOBBBB!!!" Bob roared.

    Stickyfingers chuckled to himself. That Catshit, he was never gonna get ahead in life. He didn''t have any tact. That''s why he, himself, and his Looter Boy mates liked to keep quiet.

    Real quiet. Real sneaky-like.

    Bob forcefully grabbed the human girl''s hands and forced his own hatchet into them. It looked like she couldn''t carry it one-handed, but she''d figure out how to make it work.

    Granted, Stickyfingers and the other Coral Boys made death, destruction, and total annihtion look like a casual swim in a pond. By all good reasoning, a human should be able to match up if they just tried a little to a lot bit harder.

    The girl blinked in confusion... "Y-you''re giving me this?"

    The Captain nodded in approval, "If someone gives you a gift, just ept it, kiddo."

    ...Stickyfingers never saw Bob use the hatchet-- maybe once or twice, but not really. He always used the big weapon, instead.

    Stickyfingers was good at noticing a lot of things that most folks didn''t notice. The things that didn''t get noticed-- those were the things that were easiest to make disappear.

    ...like Catshit''s tiara, for example.

    "Th... thank you?" The humie whispered.

    "DON''T FANK ME," Bob sneered in disgust. "Not before ya chop at least one fing today. Erryone in da crew... dey''z good at choppin. Dey''s good at killin... and murderin''"

    "You''z gotta get gud at one fing, if ya wanna join da crew," Doc offered. "You''z even get to choose ihihi!"

    Doc was real smart. That''s why he was a surgeon-- and put in charge of surgering. He was real good with the crossbows and the shooting. That''s why the Bosun let him use the really good weapons. And he had tact. That''s why the Captain let him surger the others, in the first ce.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Hold on!" The Captain scowled, "I''m the Cap''n! I say who''s good enough to join the crew and who ain''t!"

    "That''s e-ZACTLY roight, Cap''n!" Bob clenched his fist.

    Stickyfingers nodded slowly as the other Coral Boys resounded with a deep, "ohhhhh" of understanding.

    Good words. Exactly right. The Captain had the best verbiage out of the crew. Bosun was somewhere up there, too.

    "And is my sister good enough to join *your crew*?" Said the elfy girl.

    Captain Krysaos turned to her, "Actually, probably, yeah. The crew seems to like her."

    "Not until she CHOPS SUMFIN''!!!" Bob shouted.

    The Captain turned, tilted his awesome hat up and raised an eyebrow, "You say somethin'', Petty Officer Bob?"

    Stickyfingers felt like he''d been dowsed with depths-cold water, all along his back. He didn''t like the look in the Captain''s eyes. He was the *Captain*, after all. That meant he was in charge... and Stickyfingers and the other Coral Boys didn''t exactly favor being keelhauled.

    Bob ced a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, "Da crew takes care of its own, Cap''n. Gimme da say so and da li''ul one''ll be swabbin'' decks ''sgood as Wonderboy an'' shootin'' skellyboyz as gud as Doc in two shakes of a tuna''s ta-il."

    "...Ooh," Stickyfingers nodded, fully impressed.

    Petty Officer Bob-- he had tact. It was why he was the Captain before the Captain-proper showed up. Also, because he was big, bad, and real strong-- but tact, too.

    "You trying to take my sister away?" Imperia shook her head, her tiny little pointy ears waving like little fish peeking out from sea rocks.

    It made Stickyfingers'' belly rumble.

    "Tch. What''s wrong, girlie?" Kryaos scoffed, "You and your sister too good for bein'' part of a pirate crew?"

    "Your crew and the business of privateering, I have no issue with," The elf rolled her eyes. "It''s you I find distasteful."

    "Anyroad," Krysaos grinned... probably a real attractive human-y grin, since it made the elf girl''s heart skip a beat, "That''s up to *Princess* Willow."

    "I''ll... I''ll do it," Willow nodded, hefting up her chopping axe on her shoulder. "I''ll be a pirate."

    "Anuvver one for DA CREW!!!" Bob raised his arm in VICTORY.

    "ANUVVER ONE!!!" "YEAHHH" "WOO!!!" The Boys started to yell.

    That sounded good. Stickyfingers raised up his own fist, "BLOOD and ''FUNNNDERRRR!!!"

    """VIC''TRY AT SEEEAAA!!!"""

    Willow fidgeted to herself, real nervous-like, "I... I won''t go without my brother, though."

    "TWOFER!!!" Bob raised his arm again.

    "ANUVVER ONE!!" "WOOOOO!!!" "At''s a GUD DEEEEAL!!"

    Two was better than one. Stickyfingers would know.

    "Alright, ALL riiiight!!" Krysaos waved his palms like he was trying to quiet everyone down. "Now all of ya''s... tell me why in the seven gods damned hells you''re all here."

    Everyone turned to Bob, Stickyfingers included.

    Stickyfingers knew why *he* was here.

    He was here for looting.

    Most of the other Boys... they just tagged along-- the smarter ones, anyroad. They helped carry most of the junk that Stickyfingers honestly couldn''t care less for.

    Petty Officer Bob bared his teeth, "Job''s done, Cap''n."

    "The repairs on the ship..." Krysaos scowled... "They''re finished?"

    "Aye, Cap''n."

    "You helped the vigers with fishin'' and whatever dumb shite they were askin'' for?"

    "Aye, Cap''n."

    "...I''m assuming you boys cut corners at every possible step, the ship''s repaired to barely ramshackle condition, and you supplied the vigers with the barest minimum they asked for."

    "Aye AYE, Cap''n!!" Bob put his hands on his wood-armored waist, looking real proud of himself.

    Stickyfingers took a little bit of that pride, too. He and Doc helped with the calcting to get that just perfect. Quick maths.

    "Human," Imperia twisted her lips, "Ask your crew what''s in the bags."

    The Captain opened his mouth to speak-- but it was the little one who spoke first.

    "What''s in there?" Willow pointed.

    "SPEAK WIV YER CHEST, GIRLIE!!!" Catshit yelled.

    "WHAT''S IN THE BAGS?!" Willow shouted in surprise.

    "Would''ja look at ''at?" Doc nodded, nudging Stickyfingers'' elbow. "Instant an'' willin'' obedience to orda''s."

    "Aye," He nodded in response. "She''ll be a good ''un,"

    The little humie had a real good warcry. Screechy too-- the sort of shout that gets your blood boiling and ready for murdering.

 Chapter 700 Messenger

    ?Captain Krysaos gave Stickyfingers a nod.

    "Open ''em up, boys." Stickyfingers waved to the other Looter Boys, "Let''s show da Cap''n da gifts we''z borrowin''."

    Most of the bags were bloody and sticky, and some still a bit wriggly. They were filled with skinned crocodilian hides to leather upter... fattened leeches that''d make tasty snacks... and a great deal of big, fist-sized, clear-shelled eggs that weren''t going to be born anytime soon.

    Or at all, really.

    "What the HELLS are those?!" Krysaos pointed.

    "They''re... eggs," Imperia grimaced.

    Krysaos gestured to Stickyfingers. The Captain didn''t say anything besides-- he just knew which of the Boys had all the answers. The Captain was real smart-- smarter than even Bob. It''s why he was the Captain.

    "We''z followed da vigers, "Stickyingers exined. "Dey''z was doin'' sum sort''a ritual. So we... grabbed everyfing while dey''z was lookin'' de uvver way."

    "The sacrifice..." Willow whispered.

    Everyone turned to her. It sounded like what she had to say was important-- not like when Wonderboy talked. Nothing Wonderboy said was important.

    "Go on, Sister," Imperia urged. "The Corralidae are our allies. They can be trusted... unlike--"

    "--Unlike me," Krysaos interrupted. "Right. We get it. Go ahead, kid."

    "O-okay," Willow nodded... and she took a deep breath, trying not to cry or whatever humies do when they take deep breaths and their fleshy lips wiggle like worms. "They take members of the vige and sacrifice them to earn the favor of the Sea God."

    "Ya don''t say..." Krysaos rubbed his chin... while the elf red at him, for whatever reason.

    Stickyfingers continued, "We took a buncha da eggs dey''z were guardin''. They''z got plenty of ''em, so we didn''t fink it was any harm."

    "Ah told ''em not to take too many--" Bob bellowed, "not enuff ta be no-''iced."

    "Hm," Krysaos twisted his lips, "You boys did good."

    "Y''HEAR ''AT??" Bob grinned, "We did GOOD, BOYZ!!"

    "YEAH!!" "YEAHHH!!" "WE''Z DID GOOD!"

    "--but not good enough," Krysaos frowned.

    "BOYZ!! You''z all SUCK!" Bob scowled, "I''z gonna KEELHAUL e''rryst one of ya''s!!"

    "WAHHH!" "NOOOOO!!!"

    "I wuz just keelhauledst WEEK!!" Wonderboy cried.

    "Yeah, by that order," The Captain rolled his eyes.

    "What are we going to do, Krysaos?" Imperia asked. "These eggs... the vigers... kidnapping Willow-- whatever they''re doing, it isn''t right."

    "Don''t worry, girlie," The Captain adjusted his huge, official-looking hat. "The vigers are allied to the sea god. That means we go to wherever the Boys found those eggs and bleed ''em for everything they''re worth. You good for that, Stickyfingers?"

    "Eh hehehe," Stickyfingers grinned. "At''s wot we do best. Just give us da word, Cat''n."

    Wonderboy raised his hand high up in the air.

    Krysoas pursed his lips... "WhaaaAAt?"

    "Cap''n?"

    "Spit it out, Wonderboy."

    "Should... should we''z be worried about da li''ul humie dey took?"

    The little humie child, Willow-- her eyes got real big and she nearly dropped her axe. It was real good she didn''t, because that would have got her keelhauled by the Bosun''s orders.

    "Sprig?! They took MY BROTHER??!"

    "Ya don''t say?" Imperia sneered. "My, look at the time. Has it been four weeks already? Did you hear that, *Captain* Krysaos?"

    "Yeah, yeah..." Krysaos rolled his eyes, "Bob... take it from here."

    "BOYZ!!!!" Bob pounded his fist against his wooden chestte, calling the Coral Boys to attention, "DA LIZARD PEOPLES TOOK ONE OF OURRRRS!!!!"

    "Say it ain''t so!!" Catshit shouted.

    "SAY IT AIN''T SOO!!!" "Say it ain''t soooo?!?!"

    "S-say it... it ain''t so," Willow sniffed.

    "Lizard peoples?" Krysaos raised an eyebrow.

    "...Oh. Eggs. Right," Imperia pouted. "Gods, I feel so stupid for not realizing it sooner."

    "As stupid as you look?"

    "Shut up, filth."

    "Da LIZARD BOYZ..." Bob seethed, "Dey FINK... dey DaaaaaAAARE to F*CK WIV US!!"

    "SAY IT AIN''T SO!!!" "How DARE DOSE SCALY FINGS!!"

    "Ehehe..." Stickyfingers chuckled as he nudged Willow, "No one f*cks wiv da Coral Boy Marines."

    Willow''s eyes brightened, "M-marines? We''re... we''re Marines?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Aye," Stickyfingers whispered. "No boy, girlie, or snotling left behind, eh? Quit wettin'' yer face, li''ul one. We''ll loot yer bruvver back."

    It was more pping his jaw than Stickyfingers usually kept to... but if it came to lootin'' anything, alive or not really, there was no Coral Boy in the crew-- maybe even in the whole Sea Wolf fleet that was better than he was.

    "''Opefully in one piece," Catshit added.

    "SHUT YER FUGGIN'' GOBS!!" Bob roared-- and he pointed his actual weapon, the biggest, and scariest, and most impressive looking axe that any Coral Boy had. "We''z got MURDERIN'' TA DO!!!"

    He stared down at the tiniest, littlest crewmember, "You should know ''ow this goes, girlie. So say it loud, or I''ll cut off yer li''ul legs and feed ''em to da toofbirds."

    "...A... aye aye," She nodded.

    "BOYYYZZZZZ!! TO DA ''ATCHERIES!!! BLOOOOOODD!!! ANNNNND ''FUNNNNDERRRRRR!!!!"

    """""VICTORY AT SEAAAAAAAAAAAAA"""""

    ...

    ? Thorne Hatchery, mid-sun. ?

    "Oooh!" Iyuri hopped around in glee, "Everyone''s dead! Something big and scary must''vee by!"

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded... "But please, Princess... I''d like you to act with more... seriousness, if you would."

    Tycon wished he''d bound Iyuri''s bosom tighter. At the time, he chose not to as he did not wish to cause her difort. The drawback was that her natural movements still had a distracting sway to them.

    As he was not attracted to her in the least, the sway appended to her natural movements, he found to be annoying.

    He casually observed the carnage in the cavern hatchery.

    A few viger corpses lied about... their heritage far more obvious than that of Elder Thorne. Scales covered parts of their humanoid arms and underneath their torn clothing. Their unbroken teeth were spiked and pointed and many had eyes with yellowed sclera.

    Their eggs-- all broken, their life essence spilled into the shallow waters.

    "Did you do this, Tycon?" Iyuri asked with hopeful eyes, "You''re big and scary! Well-- small and scary?"

    "Again, youngdy, I assure you that my size is quite normal for my species," Tycon frowned. "And no, I was not directly responsible for this."

    He had been apanying Iyuri for the past several bells. How she got to that conclusion was beyond him, "--but I can make an educated guess to the party responsible."

    From the broken and discarded weaponry... Tycon recognized the handiwork of his fellow crewmen, the Coral Boys.

    Also to drive the point, crude etchings of male genitalia had been scrawled onto the cavern walls.

    From some of the lingering magic damage on the various surfaces, it seemed that Krysaos had summoned Mina, the Heart of the Ocean, to assist with the battle.

    ...Imperia was not nearly as well-versed in water magic, nor did she have the ability to mana-create swords of rending water capable of shaving off stone so smoothly.

    Tycon turned and looked over the ck-and-blue haired Iyuri who was trying her best to keep still and ''serious.''

    "Would you say you are... pure of heart, youngdy?"

    "Nope!" Iyuri grinned, "I think about killing humans all the time! I''m super evil!"

    "Evil persons don''t... admit to their evil...ness," Tycon frowned.

    "They... they don''t?"

    She''d probably be fine.

    Tycon patted her head with affection, "Grant me a favor, Princess, and release your aura outward for a moment."

    "Um. Alright?"

    ...Ah. Tycon felt foolish. Iyuri was still young. It was not surprising that she did not know how to--

    Iyuri thrust her hands out to her sides, "Hear me, spirits of water! Imand and you ?Obey!?"

    Tycon snatched his Officer''s cap before the pulse of bright blue energy sent it flying away. Iyuri''s affinity with water mana was quite high. If they were to fight seriously, he would not have had as much of an advantage as he had originally estimated.

    That amount of mana would do, for his purposes.

    He flicked his wrist... and drew a quick spell circle in the air to amplify his message... "?Heart of the Ocean,? to my side."

    The Sea Serpent Princess'' mana began to gather... slowly growing more clear. In a burst of white, a purple-haired mermaid appeared, her hands solemnly folded in front of her chest.

    "Hark, heroes, for I am the Heart of the Ocean, summoned by one pure of h-- huUUuh?"

    She blinked her eyes.

    "S-sir Tychon? Did you just-- wha? Huh?"

    Her surprise was warranted.

    The Weapon Spirit had wholeheartedly-- but mistakenly believed that Krysaos was her wielder. While she appeared at his side when requested, he had no special ability tomand her. In actuality, Tycon was the person responsible for drawing the Heart of the Ocean. Thus, he could summon her... with enough water-type mana.

    Granted, Tycon had no wish to soulbind the weapon to himself. It was far more useful in Krysaos'' hands than his.

    Based on their rtionship, the gentleman-Captain would soulbind with his weapon in time. Until then, it was useful for Tycon to be able to summon an Iron-Rank Sea Witch on a whim.

    ...Even if he only nned on utilizing her to provide information and deliver messages.

    ",

 Chapter 701 Oathsworn

    ?Sea Witch Mina grabbed hold of her head, making a mess of her slightly-wet purple hair.

    "No... this cannot be. I already entrusted my heart to--"

    "Ahem," Tycondrius cleared his throat to interrupt the mermaid girl, "Good afternoon, Second Lieutenant Mina. This is Princess Iyuri."

    "Nya~hallo!" Iyuri waved.

    "Don''t do that," Tycon chided.

    "Ssssssup?" The Princess hissed.

    That... greeting was still awkward... but Tycon found it more eptable than her previous.

    "Oh," Mina''s brows were still furrowed deeply in confusion, but she bowed at the waist as decorum dictated, "Good... good afternoon... Lady and Sir."

    Tycon nodded and gestured to the mermaid, "Mina, report."

    "Re... right. Report. I can do that. Just-- can we not tell Krysaos that we... that you--"

    "The report, youngdy," Tycon insisted.

    "Um. Okay. But let''s talk after, okay? Just-- okay. I..."

    "Mina."

    "Okay! Alright! So, when Captain Krysaos summoned me..."

    ...

    Mina exined that Captain Krysaos had discovered the nature of Thorne Vige''s sacrifices, with the help of the Coral Boys.

    Finding that it rted to the sea god... and that it was ''nice'', he ced his full efforts into destroying it.

    Tycon appreciated the gentleman''s decisiveness.

    The notion, however, confirmed one of his deepest suspicions.

    The sea god was allied to the lizard god-- or their goals aligned enough that Tycon felt safe in oversimplifying as such.

    It remained in his best interests to continue supporting the good Captain Krysaos in dismantling the sea god''s ns and towards that particr deity''s eventual demise.

    The crew of the Neptune''s Revenge had raided two hatcheries, brutally murdered theplicit viger-breeders therein, and rescued one particrly inquisitive, human child.

    Three hatcheries were destroyed, one dealt with by himself and Iyuri, with the crew demolishing the other two. Tycon was assured that the next generation of Thorne had beenpletely wiped out.

    Afterward, he tasked Mina with reporting to Krysaos that they would convene at the vige. Surely what awaited them there was a somewhat climactic showdown with Elder Thorne and whatever powers the corrupted sea god worshipper might have.

    The mermaid protested-- feebly, as was expected of her. She tried to suggest, in terrifically UN-certain terms, that she and Tycon discuss the... nature of their meeting?

    The youngdy seemed convinced that her answering her summoning call was somehow treacherous or... immoral.

    Tobat that... from what Tycon pieced together, Mina wished to... coborate a reasonable, but fabricated story-- in the case either of them were questioned.

    The notion was asinine.

    If Krysaos were to question her, he would not find offense if she answered truthfully.

    Granted, that truth was: ''I delivered a report, as ordered.''

    If Mina, however, was to ssh around the topic, attempting to dodge the question... or worse, provide a formted falsehood, Krysaos would surely be suspicious.

    Tycon had summoned the Sea Witch for professional reasons... not to have inappropriate rtions with her.

    He forcibly dismissed Mina, having her return to her proper wielder with a spell circle boosted by Iyuri''s high purity water mana.

    "Are those two married?" The Sea Serpent Princess asked, "The mermaid and... that Krysaos person?"

    "Not yet, why?"

    "She seemed... really worried about what he thought about her? Like... she didn''t wanna cheat?" Iyuri puffed her cheeks in thought... "Are you a cheater, Tycon?"

    ...Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Concerning?"

    "Did you vite the sanctity of their marriage?"

    Tycon pulled his head back. He found the young Princess'' diction... oddly specific, "No, I did not."

    "You''ll stay faithful to me when we get married eventually, right?"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed lightly and poked the child''s forehead, "That question is a cleverly crafted trap."

    "Ehehe~" Iyuri stuck out her tongue.

    "If we were to be wed, our contract would be subject to the Laws. In such a case, were I to be unfaithful, I would be severely debilitated by the mana bacsh.

    "But no, young Princess," Tycon smoothed out Iyuri''s locks of dual-colored hair, "you''re a hundred years too young for me to court you properly."

    Iyuri''s jaw hung open, "I''m gonna live to be over a hundred? Won''t you be dead by then?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows... "I sincerely hope not."

    With the way his adventures had been going, fighting lizards and gods, it was far more likely that Iyuri was correct.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    ? A few bellster... ?

    "And thusly... THIS King has uncovered the nefarious plot of the foul, Elder Thorne."

    The bronze-skinned, scarred and muscr elf sat arrogantly atop a headless corpse as he boasted, his eyes emitting a cool, golden light.

    Beside him, at his feet, the twisted visage of what vaguely looked like the vige elderid severed.

    Thorne Vige was destroyed, the wood and thatch houses in smoldering ruins.

    That was fine.

    It meant that Tycon did not need to return the vigers their tools.

    "You''re... you''re awesome, my King," Imperia gushed.

    The dark elf with the thin silver braids had her hands folded in front of her chest, like an innocent maiden. Her eyes were... moist and sparkling-- for whatever reason...

    To Tycon, it seemed a bit much.

    "The vigers were sacrificing folks to the sea god and makin'' super-eggs," Krysaos yawned, picking at his ear. "Wasn''t hard."

    "Hhhh-whaaat?!" King stood up, his eyes ring to white, "Maedar! Does Captain Krysaos speak the truth?!"

    Tycon smiled politely.

    In his experience, elves-- especially Ancients, were very difficult to read. With the way King''s overflowing mana seeped out of his eyes in colors, even Tycon could sense the fellow''s incredulity.

    "I can affirm that, Ancient," Tycon nodded. "It seems all of our parties have drawn the same conclusions."

    "The Sea God, you say?" King''s eyes cooled, his expression darkening, "That... cad. He hast crossed a line that should *never* have been crossed! Fear not, friends and allies... for I-- this King, shall seek out these... *eggs*... and I SHALT DELIVER my di-VINE jus--"

    "--already done," Krysaos waved. "Me and the boys took care of it. And the girls."

    He turned to Mina and Willow with a look of apology, "Sorry, not used to females bein'' in the crew."

    "Don''t count me as one of yours," Imperia red. "My loyalty remains with my Sovereign!"

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes. Krysaos had directed hisment at the Sea Witch mermaid and the young human girl-- yet Imperia had answered for herself.

    She was... a lonely, youngdy.

    The recently recovered Willow, seemed to be good at mollifying her Elven sister.

    They held a small whispered conversation-- the details of which, Tycon did not discern to be important. It reduced Imperia to crossing her arms over her unarmored chest and appearing indignant... but she kept her peace.

    Conversely, Willow''s brother paid little attention to the going-ons. He and Barrel Boy were using sticks to make inappropriate drawings in a patch of pale dirt.

    Tycon turned back to King. The elf''s face was twisted with indecision... his mouth opening to speak-- yet closing again, without an utterance.

    It was something he expected more from Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, rather than ''King'', the Forgotten Elven Sovereign.

    "Allies of mine!" He yelled, "Gather ''round! Let use together... and we shall SWEAR an oath. The Sea God WILL FALL! He shall RUE the day--"

    "Already did," The Captain shrugged. "Me and the LT-- whole crew, too."

    The elf looked to Tycon for confirmation.

    ...Tycon inclined his head.

    It was... not quite a formal oath, but he and the rest of the crew were sworn to Krysaos'' cause. The man wasmitted to achieving violent vengeance against a particr sea god.

    "I..." King''s pointed ears drooped... "Very... well. I shall not ask thee to swear a second oath... but... for thy quest, I shalt pursue justice and honor at thy side..."

    "I appreciate it, big guy," Krysaos grinned, patting the elf on the shoulder.

    It was somewhat brazen of him to do so. Unexpectedly, King did not react negatively... or violently, as Tycon expected. Instead, his face fell as if the friendly gesture emphasized his perceived defeat.

    "I... appreciate thy sensibilities, Captain Krysaos," King sighed... "I sought the honor of being the first... but that honor belongs to thee, and it is beneath me to challenge what few merits thou hast umted over thy short, mortal lifetime."

    "(Is he insulting me?)" Krysaos bubbled in Aquan. "(It sounds like he''s insulting me.)"

    "(I... don''t believe he is?)" Tycon frowned.

    "No matter..." King''s eyes shone once again with renewed radiance, "Justice has been meted ordingly. I... will not tarry here, friend-human. I desire thefort of my personal quarters."

    With only so much warning, the elf turned and sprinted into the woods... leaping and bounding on mana-created footholds to appear as if he were gliding through the air.

    Elves. Even their Ancients acted like immature whelplings when they did not get what they wished.

    "W-wait! King!!" Imperia chased after him-- slowing after several steps. She turned to Krysaos with a petnt expression, "You!! How DARE you speak to MY King that way!"

    "Whaaat?" Krysaos groaned, "I just told him the truth."

    "I-- you... ARRRGH!!!" Imperia stamped her foot, "Disgusting human! Filth! Ignorant sow! I can''t believe you!!"

    "Sis..." Willow whispered, "What''s wrong?"

    "NNnnrgh!! Don''t talk to me right now!!" Imperia spun around, "My King!! I will attend to you-- to thee!!"

 Chapter 702 Newest Member

    ?Tycondrius andpany watched Imperia run off... into the woods... and away from the smoking and smoldering Thorne Vige...

    In theory, the dark elf would have little difficulty navigating her way back to the Neptune''s Revenge. When night fell in earnest, the starlight would be enough for her Elven eyes to see.

    However, nocturnal predators would soon stir. It wasn''t impossible for her to be attacked subsequently sustain moderate to grave injury... especially as she didn''t seem to be taking careful vignce of her surroundings.

    Tycon turned to his newest Sea Serpentpanion, the blue-scaled, ck-banded, Princess Iyuri. She had been rtively silent, throughout,fortably coiled behind the gaggle of Coral Boys.

    It *was* somewhat odd that, besides Willow''s initial awed reaction of her, no other human, elf, or Coral Boy present paid the thirty-fulm-or-so Sea Serpent any mind.

    The crew of the Neptune''s Revenge were an epting lot and he was proud to be counted amongst their number.

    "(Ooooh... So the dark elf is married to the other elf...)" Iyuri mused in Parseltongue, "(--and Mister Krysaos wishes for her to cheat with him? This... this is better than my bloodline memories of the Lizard Court Diaries!)"

    Tycon had requested Iyuri return to her natural form, as he feared her human form might prove a distraction to the good Captain. Her silence, though, had purpose. It made it easier for her to analyze the... dramatics.

    Still, she spoke of the lizards.

    Again.

    It seemed Iyuri''s Sea Serpent bloodline had granted her different memories than his own.

    Tycon shut his eyes and raised his eyebrows, "(For the time being, I''d like you to keep yourmentary to yourself, hatchling.)"

    "Wo~" Sprig, the recently rescued human boy, had his eyes wide with wonder, "Elves are SO COOOOOOL!!!"

    At least someone was enjoying the debacle.

    "Arrrgh..." A scowling Krysaos took off his hat, "That girl is... such... a PAIN IN THE--"

    "Neck," Tycon offered, gesturing to the young Sprig.

    "NECK!!! Arghhhh..."

    "Master..." A certain purple-haired mermaid girl floated nearby, "you still have me, y''know."

    "Eh, what was that, Mina?"

    "N... nothing."

    "Petty Officer Bob?" Willow, more-or-less self-sufficient human girl, tapped on the Coral Boy''s wooden leg armor, "Is it always like this?"

    "...I''z a simple Coral Boy, li''ul wun," Bob shrugged. "Me and da boyz... we try not ta pay attention to ''at sort of fing."

    Tycon always considered Bob to be the most intelligent Coral Boy... and from the way the rest of the crew were tantly ignoring the goings-on, they all had enough sense to stay out of the Captain''s rtionship problems.

    "Whatever you fu-- fellow gentlemen are talkin'' about, quit it," Krysaos shouted as he walked over. "So whaddya say, Willow? You wanna join the crew? Get outta this shi-- shi... shining example of a vige?"

    "Whaaat?! We can join the MARINES?" An animated Sprig shouted, "Or are we pirates?! PIRATE MARINES?!? Sis, you gotta say yes! You just gotta!"

    The young human girl pursed her lips... "Th-thank you, Captain Krysaos... but... I don''t think we''re old enough to join you guys..."

    "Eh?" Krysaos scratched at his head, "That a no? You sure? Y''know, Bob''s like three."

    "''Free years of ''ard TRAININ''" Bob nodded.

    The Coral Boy was holding out a number of fingers that did not equal three. Tycon would advise him on the matter, privately, in a more appropriate setting.

    "It would be best if you were to remain with us, youngdy," Tycon added. "You and Mister Rickert are more than wee aboard the Neptune''s Revenge."

    ...If he could keep the youngdy close, he could better observe her for signs of treachery.

    Willow bared her teeth, "I''m just gonna stay with the others... the ones that didn''t have lizard blood. We''re gonna head north to Thundering Eagle Wings Creek."

    Iyuri in her snake form looked to Tycon with curiosity.

    ...Tycon was fairly certain he knew what was on her mind.

    Until her most recent response, not once had Willow acknowledged his presence. Even while affirming her rejection to join the crew, she still refused to look at him.

    Judging from her racing heart and quavering voice... Tycon believed it likely she remained fearful of him.

    Iyuri had sensed something... different about the child, and she''dmunicated those thoughts to Tycon prior.

    It was one of the reasons she allowed the girl to go free-- even though the lizard god had directed her to murder the vigers'' chosen sacrifices. The other reason, Tycon had hoped, was her sense of morality.

    Killing sentient children without reason should be frowned upon.

    Tycon knew Willow was different, but for a different reason.

    His System could not urately gauge her ss and Metal-Rank. As she did not wear any enchanted paraphernalia that would interfere with his analysis, it was usible she was a transmigrator, much like himself.

    Iyuri''s reasoning, however, was that she sensed a familiar magical signature within the child.

    Lizard magic.

    "Well..." Krysaos nodded, exhaling through his teeth... "alright. Assumin'' yer brother''s goin'' with ya?"

    Sprig was openly crying with his fists clenched tightly, "Y-yeahh... I... I won''t leave my sis..."

    "Be good, kid," Krysaos chuckled as he rubbed Sprig''s head, "An'' listen to your sister. When you''re old enough, the offer''s still gonna be open. Or ah... we have a guy that can get you into uh... Sol Invictus?"

    "O... okay..." Sprig nodded as he wiped his face with his wrists, "I''ll... I''ll probably join Sol Invictus, though..."

    "Keh. Figures," Krysaos scoffed. "We should get goin'' then. You ready, LT?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I will follow shortly," Tycon waved. "I need to provide Iyuri clear directions to reach our closest allies... among other things."

    "Hold on, guy," Captain Krysaos took Tycon by the arm and pulled him away from the group.

    "What''s on your mind, Brother-Captain?"

    "Come on, LT. Don''t hold out on me," Krysaos said with a pathetic, pleading face, his hat held against his chest, "I know you got a humanoid form-- we talk about it all the time."

    "I... do," Tycon pursed his lips. "I''m using it... right now, actually."

    "That''s what I''m talkin about, guy!" Krysaos groaned, "That-- that Iyuri--"

    "Princess Iyuri."

    "Princess Iyuri, right--" Krysaos nodded. "She''s gotta have one, too. Is she hot? Does she turn into a mermaid?! You can''t keep all the hot mermaid chicks to yerself!"

    Tycon sighed. He thought well of Iyuri, perhaps as a younger sibling-- a child sister... a foolish, child sister who was far too trusting of strangers.

    While he thought well of Krysaos... the good Captain''s sensibilities would certainly corrupt the hatchling.

    From the way Iyuri spoke, she might even try to sleep with him.

    Tycon would not allow it.

    He furrowed his brows, "Krysaos, I advise you to attend to your weapon spirit, Miss Mina."

    The human rolled his eyes, his head back with it, "Guy-- I don''t look at Mina like that. She''s part of the crew."

    That was not Tycon''s problem.

    "I''ll meet up with youter this evening, Brother-Captain," He said.

    The man being introduced to Iyuri would not be a topic for debate.

    "Seven hells..." The Captain shook his head. "Fiiiine~"

    He adjusted his coat and hat, "Don''t take all sun, yeah? We won''t raise anchor without ya. Next stop... Whitehearth..." The Captain turned to the Coral Boys and raised his voice, "C''mon, boyz!! We''re goin'' after the elf. Can''t let her get eaten by the beasties!!"

    "Aye aye, Cap''n!!" "Deff, destruction, an'' all ''at!!" "Blood and ''funder!!!"

    With a disorganized charge that offended Tycon''s senses, Captain Krysaos and his gaggle of Coral Boys disappeared into the forest... trailed by a mermaid swimming through the air and a single rolling barrel.

    How did Barrel Boye to a stop, when he traveled with so much momentum?

    A handsome shadow stepped out from behind a thin tree. As the evening sun waned, Ishmael was difficult even for Tycon to sense unless he was focusing.

    "You have a concern?" Tycon gestured openly.

    The shadow... lifted his foot backwards and turned to inspect it.

    Underfoot.

    It was a codeword used by Sol Invictus.

    Ishmael was discretely offering to stay behind and kill Willow-- to save him the trouble.

    "Thank you, but no," Tycon shook his head, "I''ll do it, myself. Protect the crew."

    Ishmael saluted crisply and melted away into the darkness.

    "Whoa," Sprig stared with wide, still-teary eyes, "You''ve got powers too, Mister?"

    "And so does your sister, young man," Tycon smiled politely, "which she and I are going to discuss."

    Fear had returned to Willow''s eyes... and Tycon could hear her heart beat rapidly escte in her small chest, "I... but... I--"

    Sprig, the annoyingly astute young whelpling, stood in front of his sister defensively... "I won''t let you take her... Sir."

    "Empty night," Tycon groaned.

    He retrieved his favorite pocket watch and tossed it towards the boy in a gentle arc. Sprig grabbed at it clumsily-- nearly dropping it...

    ...What he''d observed reinforced the fact that Tycon was going to regret his next words.

    "Oooh, it''s pretty," Iyuri remarked.

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Should you choose to ept this gift, Mister Rickert, this shall be proof of your contract."

    "Is this..." The boy stared at the trinket in confusion, "a... clock?"

    "Turn it over, boy," Tyconmanded.

    Sprig''s eyes widened and his mouth hung agape... "The symbol of Sol Invictus? That means you... you''re..."

    "The current leader of Sol Invictus," Tycon finished the boy''s sentence.

    He walked over to Willow and grabbed hold of her wrist, "Mister Rickert, as Guild Invictus'' newest trainee, you now fall under mymand. Remain with Princess Iyuri."

    "Y-yes-- s''aye aye, Sir!" Sprig shouted, saluting with his fist to his chest. "Sir, I won''t fail you-- Sir!"

    "Very good," Tycon nodded. "Miss Willow, you''ll being with me."

 Chapter 703 Pretentious Whelpling

    ?Tycondrius mulled over the situation in his head as he dragged Willow out of vision and earshot-- far from Iyuri''s Gold-Rank senses.

    If the girl had chosen to join the crew of Neptune''s Revenge, he would have epted her as being indirectly part of his faction.

    As she refused... he needed to understand just where her loyalties lied.

    He would make a few inquiries of the child. Based on her probable answers, it was very likely that he would kill her.

    After he did so, it would be optimal to kill her brother as a precautionary measure.

    ...Unfortunately, it was unlikely he would.

    Tycon prioritized influencing Princess Iyuri positively. If he was questioned for killing Willow, he could grant a simple exnation.

    The enemies of Sol Invictus had but a single fate.

    The boy, however, was an innocent child, notplicit in his sister''s crimes. Iyuri might have be an unwilling pawn of the lizard god, but Sprig had no such connection.

    Still... keeping the boy alive would be pain.

    Murdering a family member was sure to breed resentment. Depending on the boy''s training and vengeful-minded focus over the next dozen or so years, it was not impossible for Sprig to grow strong enough to engineer Tycon''s demise.

    If Rickert were to join Sol Invictus, his chances of sess would grow exponentially. Tycon was a professional... He''d rather train his assassin to be the most lethal weapon in the Realm than a mediocre one.

    ...Ugh.

    Trying to be a positive role model was shite.

    If Iyuri didn''t develop into a principled youngdy, he would beat her.

    Regardless... Willow was a transmigrator with a System.

    If his goals aligned with his, she would live.

    If they were contrary-- or worse, if Tycon determined her to be an agent of the lizard god, she would die. Painfully.

    "L-let go of me!" Willow shouted.

    It took the child long enough to find her voice.

    Tycon flung the girl away and she sshed, face first, into the muddy shallows. Choking and sputtering, she got to her knees, holding onto her bruised and hopefully fractured wrist.

    Activating his spatial ring, he summoned his loaded hand crossbow and pointed it at the child''s center of mass.

    The weapon was designed to pierce light armor. The poison applied to the bolt could incapacitate or kill grown adults. Killing an exhausted child in a ragged, sleeveless shirt should be nigh effortless.

    "Keep your fingers where I can see them, girl," Tycon said in a low voice. "If I see or sense even a hint of spellcasting, I will end you with great prejudice."

    "I... what-- but--"

    Willow began trembling violently, the fear taking hold.

    Tycon took great care not to undim his vision. Though highly unlikely, it was still possible he was making a grave mistake. It would be advantageous of him to gain an ally with a System and a highly motivated futurebatant.

    ...However, he would not suffer a potential enemy capable of casting lizard magic.

    "Talk, girl."

    "I don''t-- I don''t know what you WANT!!!" Willow shrieked.

    Tycon pursed his lips in displeasure. He had failed to ount for how high pitched the young girl''s voice was. If Iyuri heard her, she and Sprig mighte to investigate.

    "Tell me," Tycon snarled, "of the song of praise on ''thy'' lips."

    ...Willow''s eyes darkened as she looked down at the swampy waters.

    "...I... I''m protected."

    "That is *not* what I asked," Tycon red... "dovahkiin."

    Willow''s eyes opened wide for a brief moment, recognizing the term. She grit her teeth and sat up, covering her chest with her arms.

    The girl had a growth of green scales just below her cor.

    If was going to deny that-- if she dared to lie, Tycon was going to shoot her.

    "Yes..." She whispered... "I know the song... the song of which legends are sung."

    The girl looked up defiantly, a droplet of blood trailing down her lower lip, "Yes... I believe in dragons."

    Tycon took a deep, haltered breath, gnashing his teeth. The notion of it... it angered him... greatly.

    His entire body was shaking-- something that could affect his aim. He tightly gripped the handle of his crossbow, keeping his finger straight and off the trigger... and he willed blood to course through his paling hands.

    Willow slowly ced her palms in the mud... and she bowed deeply, cutting her forehead against the rocks, "I''m... I''m sorry. Please... forgive me.

    "I refuse."

    The loud thunk of Tycon''s weapon firing resounded through the quiet swamps.

    The girl screamed... but her form was sheathed in a brilliant green light.

    ...Tycon grimaced.

    Had he missed? No-- that was highly improbable.

    Lustrous emerald scales covered the child''s neck, shoulders, and upper arms.

    "...Transformation magic?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon summoned another poisoned bolt, loaded it, and began winding the crossbow''s mechanism.

    The child... she crawled towards him, dragging herself forward on her arms.

    The poisoned bolt was stuck in the meat of her left bicep... yet she lived.

    Humans.

    Tycon scoffed and shook his head-- still keeping his attention focused on the crawling wretch.

    Some humans could fall off of their beds in the night and break their necks. Yet, he could shoot a human child with a bolt poisoned enough to fell a man thrice her size and she was only moderately inconvenienced.

    "I... I can''t die here," Willow sobbed.

    Tycon took a few vignt steps backward. He expected a ''final, desperate attack''-- which would allow him to end the girl''s life, free of guilt.

    "P-please... spare me," The child begged... "My brother-- he... I need to take care of my brother... at least-- at least until he can take care of himself! Then I can die without regrets!"

    "Using your brother as a shield? Pathetic." Tycon took another deep breath, tilting his chin down and aiming down his reloaded crossbow''s sights, "Renounce your beliefs, Miss Willow."

    Willow''s sniveling paused momentarily... "I... I can''t."

    "You can''t? Hah!" Tyconughed, "No, whelpling. You *choose* not to. If you truly care for your brother... I strongly advise you to do as Imand."

    "I... I just can''t!" Willow cried. "I''m sorry... Please... Forgive me."

    "No," Tycon rolled his eyes. He hated repeating himself.

    If one poisoned bolt wasn''t enough, he had no problem using a second, "Now, *if you would*,y down and d--"

    A jolt of pain rocked Tycon''s head, staggering him backward. The fired crossbow bolt flew off into the distance.

    ...He did not see where it had gone, which annoyed him greatly.

    ? System, what in the seven, gods-DAMNED hells-- ?

    ? The System has rejected an outside connection. ?

    The child said she was ''protected.''

    It was probable that her protector was attempting to summon him-- to whisk him away into a Reality Marble and allow Willow to escape at her leisure.

    Though Tycon remained in a sordid mood, he was thankful that he changed his System settings to reject iing connections by default.

    He flicked his wrist, stowing his crossbow and materializing a *third* bolt.

    Upon approaching the child, she leapt up towards him, making a pitiful attempt to w at Tycon''s eyes with her small human fingers.

    How Willow still had so much strength under the effects of his paralyzing poison was baffling.

    He jammed the bolt down towards her left eye-- but she grabbed onto his wrist with both hands, redirecting the attack onto her chest.

    In her desperation... she was resisting a gentleman with a Gold-Rank physique.

    ...Or was she?

    Tycon grit his teeth as he realized that what little mana he had was in disarray. The mental attack from earlier... it had interfered with the ability to use his full strength.

    Yet in lieu of Gold-Rank mana, he had his rage! His HATRED!!

    Tycon smashed his opposite hand onto his clenched fist, the tip of the poisoned bolt piercing into the girl''s chest scales.

    ...Her skin was as hard as metal armor.

    Willow was an infuriatingly resilient opponent.

    "I... I can''t die here," The dovahkiin growled. "Dragons... do exist."

    "No. They. Do NOT!!!!" Tycon roared in the child''s face.

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Activate!! Naught but DEATH awaits the enemies of SOL INVICTUS!!! ?

    ? Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    A sharp, unceasing pain assailed Tycon''s senses. The girl''s protector was growing just as desperate.

    "I will not be DENIED!!" Tycon seethed, driving the bolt deeper in the girl''s chest.

    So affected by his Ocr Ability, Willow began to choke-- gasping for air...

    But suddenly... her eyes grew clear... her expression, calm.

    "I cannot deny who I am..." She whispered, "The heart of a dragon... beats in my chest."

    "Shut your gods-damned mouth and DIE," Tycon clenched his teeth, "you. pretentious. WHELPLING!!!!"

    The girl''s physique strongly resisted her poison... and her faith in lizards had allowed her to resist the effects of his gaze.

    He had been a fool in trying to kill Willow silently instead of ending it quickly and violently with his strongest attacks.

    "I am the heir," The girl''s eyes shone with a harsh light... "of ?ASH AND FIRE!!?"

    Empty f*cking night.

    Tycon shut his eyes and crossed his arms defensively in front of his chest. Struck by an invisible force that simultaneously assaulted his hearing, he wasunched away,nding with his back hard against the dirt and mud.

 Chapter 704 Tyrael

    ?Tycondrius activated his ?Tumble? skill, somersaulting backward to get back on his feet.

    The child!

    He pointed the tip of his de forward, ready to defend himself.

    However... she was retreating.

    Slow... too slow. The girl... she wobbled forward. How she expected to escape, when she couldn''t even walk a straight line was baffling...

    She tripped over a tree root, falling hard to a knee.

    "ArrrrRRRGH!!" The child screamed.

    Had she hurt herself? She struggled... so desperately-- unable to stand.

    It was...

    Pathetic.

    It was... a clumsy, piteous struggle... for a creature that had no right to exist.

    "Sprig... I''ming..." She cried... "We have... to get away..."

    It was... a respectable attempt.

    The girl deserved nothing. She did not deserve to live. She did not deserve a painless death.

    ...But Tycon decided to gift her... a quick one.

    He leapt forward, his speed hastened by the darkness, "?Shadowfang.?"

    Summoning his curved de in hand, he pierced the child through her back, the end sticking into the dirt.

    She stopped running... perhaps finally realizing the uselessness of it.

    Tycon drew the sword out. Blood ran freely from the fresh wound, darkening her shirt.

    Willow fell to her knees, "N... no... We... have to..."

    Tycon smashed the heel of his boot into the girl''s back, knocking her to the dirt.

    Two poisoned bolts.

    His illusory poison Ocr Skill.

    The effect of his Sword of Venom.

    It was not her child body that kept her alive.

    It was... her will to live. It was her... refusal to die.

    Her love for her brother, perhaps? Once he took that away, her resistance would falter.

    "That will do, child," Tycon raised his sword above his head, "Rest, now. I will ensure your brother''s safety until he reaches adulthood."

    ? Please... we need to talk... ?

    ...A woman''s voice filled Tycon''s head.

    It drowned out his other thoughts... threatening to split his skull open.

    The words thrummed with power...

    Yet... the request... was sincere.

    The voice... it sounded familiar.

    But. It. Mattered. NOT.

    Whatever god sought to protect the miserable child.

    No matter how many LEGIONS of angels or devils or gods-damned ELDRITCH HORRORS theymanded-- Tycon would NOT entertain them.

    He was Tycondrius.

    Gold-Rank Warlord.

    The Leader of SOL INVICTUS.

    Transmigrator.

    He had delivered four different LETHAL attacks with the intent to kill.

    Willow of Thorne... regardless of her species, her allegiance, her backing-- she would die as a matter of principle.

    He began channeling mana into his sword for one final cut.

    "Taste. the Hydra''s.... Bl--"

    ? Tyrael, please... ?

    ...Empty.

    ...Night.

    Tycon hesitated.

    That name... it was the one thing he did not want to hear.

    He''d heard it only before... whispered by Hades, god of death and the dead.

    Tycon gripped the handle of his sword. His blood ran hot with adrenaline. Sweat poured down his face, despite the cool swamps.

    He was... physically unable to bring the sword down.

    The owner of the voice... she knew him.

    The girl was protected.

    It was...

    UNACCEPTABLE!!!

    He gnashed his teeth in anger. His entire body trembled with annoyance. His muscles strained and his golden mana emanated in outward pulses.

    He only sought to kill a single, weak, prepubescent, human! Yet the fates-- the ursed fates sought to DENY HIM?!

    He needed to answer the call... he could not refuse.

    It wasn''t even a magical effect-- he could resist it, if it was.

    ...Tycon exhaled through his nostrils, letting his rage smolder.

    The young Willow was incapable of fleeing. She had enough poison coursing through her veins to kill a giant winged lizard. Her open injuries were so severe that her child-body would be emptied of life essence in minutes.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Still... he was fairly certain that he was going to regret indulging his curiosity.

    ? System, ept the connection... Just this once. ?

    ...

    ? Connection established. ?

    Tycondrius blinked.

    In an instant, he no longer suffered the cold and ufortable Thorne Marsnds.

    He found himself in a vastly different world. He stood inside the living area of a... home-- a small, cramped space, with a cushioned couch, draped windows, and a small kitchen area.

    Gentle, golden light emanated from spheres of power in the ceiling overhead, illuminating books with foreign text, a myriad of collected trinkets disyed on wall shelves... and a brte woman wearing dark trousers and a blue blouse.

    Tycon met her gaze as ced his empty hands at his side... clenching them into fists.

    ? Neerin Neelia, Dragon-Rank Blue Dragon Strategist. ?

    "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," Neerin inclined her head.

    "Thank *you* for granting me the opportunity to kill you."

    Tycon leapt forward and past her, "?Shadowfang.?"

    Bounding off a white wall-- forming a web of cracks in the process, he drove a right hook into the woman''s kidney.

    She yelled in pain as she lurched forward, holding her side.

    It was not enough.

    Tycon grabbed hold of her short brown hair and dragged her to the kitchen area. He grabbed hold of the short counter, prepared to smash the dragon woman''s face onto it.

    His chest-- his heart... pained.

    He did not know why.

    --But where his heart hesitated, his logic prevailed.

    "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus!!" He put his weight into mming the side of Neerin''s head down, breaking the white tiles and sending ceramic shards and a cloud of dust into the air.

    Guilt. Feelings of guilt flooded into Tycon''s soul.

    Grabbing a knife from the knife block, he held it to her throat, "Who are you?!"

    "?Hi-en,?" She whispered.

    The sense of danger blotted out Tycon''s senses. Reflexively, he forced mana into his legs and leapt backward, his back mming against a weak-metaled box.

    ...His cheek... it was wet.

    He brushed it with his hand... and found it was covered with blood.

    The lizard woman had used a high level attack Skill on him, not one, but two movements that he could not follow with his eyes... and barely registered through the discement of the air.

    It was incredibly simr, if not identical to ?As the Swallow Flies?... one of the Weapon Skills practiced in Garock Heartrender''s Screaming Silence Sect. However, it was executed with a reduced chant and to a degree beyond conventional understanding.

    If he were relying on his senses rather than overly careful vignce and honed reflexes, he would have incurred grave damage.

    ...Also, it was fortunate of him that she did not wield a cutting implement.

    "Who I am doesn''t matter," Neerin righted her posture and faced him. A trail of blood dripped down the side of her head as she stared warily. "Not anymore... You chose a new life. Our past holds no weight."

    With that, Tycon was in full agreement.

    "I''m killing the girl," He dered.

    Mana pulsed in Neerin Neelia''s blue-green eyes, "You can''t."

    "Oh?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is that a challenge?"

    "It is *not* a challenge," She red. "You can''t kill Willow. I told her I''d protect her."

    "If that is the case, you are destined for failure," Tycon waved his kitchen knife. "What makes this child so *different*?"

    "She..." Neerin narrowed her eyes, inhaling through her nostrils, "Willow was chosen. She is... an Exarch of the Court."

    A God-Chosen.

    Iyuri had mentioned the girl was ''protected''... but had neglected to mention the exact details.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "That makes me want to kill her even more."

    "She''s JUST a child!" Neerin raised her voice.

    "And JUST why in the seven hells and eleven heavens would that fact change my or anyone''s mind!" Tycon groaned as he moved to the side, "Child or not, she is--"

    He threw the knife. With where he was standing it wouldplete its triplicate rotations and sink into Neerin''s eye.

    She deflected the de with a p of her hand.

    Empty night.

    "--an *enemy*," Tycon continued. "She belongs to YOUR faction, after all."

    Neerin narrowed her eyes, "I''ll change it."

    "You''ll... what?" Tycon furrowed his brows. "How do you mean?"

    He had absolutely no idea what the woman could possibly have meant.

    "I''ll... remove her memories," Neerin said in a low voice... "Her gifts-- I''ll take them away. Full reset."

    Memory wipe magic. Not illegal, but highly hical.

    "Neerin Neelia..." Tycon growled, " y o u . l i e . "

    The woman shut her eyes and shook her head... "I do not. You know this to be true."

    ...Tycon knew it. He did not have to like it-- but Neerin spoke the truth.

    Concerning truth and falsehoods, lizards were beholden to the same Laws that he was. The hideous beasts could twist their words... but they were unable to speak outright falsehoods.

    "...Very well," He nodded... "However... what''s to stop me from killing *you*?"

    It was a difficult prospect for a Gold-Rank Tycon to contend with abatant two Metal-Ranks above him...

    It would not dissuade him from trying.

    He and the woman in front of him had some sort of-- probably amicable rtionship in a previous lifetime.

    Yet... it did not change the fact that she should not exist.

 Chapter 705 Strength & Weakness

    ?Neerin Neelia looked to Tycondrius with eyes that glowed an icy, electric blue.

    It was probably supposed to be intimidating.

    A threatening mien-- especiallying from a dovahkiin, was not something Tycon felt the need to react to.

    If Neerin were to attack him, he would respond. If the situation looked grim, he would escape the Reality Marble.

    If that was impossible-- if he were killed by the Dragon-Rank entity as probable logic dictated... then so be it.

    He would ensure he inflicted significant damages, in order to inconvenience the woman as much as possible.

    "You still value your past, Tyrael," Neerin''s eyes sparked. "It is your strength... holding onto the name of Sol Invictus... seeking newpanions to fill its ranks and to once again relive your glories."

    She gulped as she reigned in her oppressive aura... "It is also... your weakness. You won''t kill the girl without her dragon memories... You won''t expend your resources for nothing. I even expect you to try to recruit her."

    The lizard woman raised an eyebrow... "Or am I wrong?"

    ...So Neerin would find Tycon with logic?

    He loosed a groan as he rolled his eyes.

    The insufferable woman''s hypothesis was correct.

    Other Tactician-type sses were dreadfully annoying to deal with.

    "Ugh. Very well," Tycon did not answer Neerin''s question, taking a deep breath, instead. With an exhausted sigh, he dropped his fighting stance, mirroring hers...

    He looked around the room... at the knife block, at the cutting boards, and at the dried herbs in small ss containers, "Is this a kitchen?"

    "...Yes. There are cooking ingredients in the-- the metal box behind you."

    Tycon nodded as he turned and pulled the box''s handle.

    "Tss." The hinges were broken-- and the door came loose. However, he still had ess to its contents.

    Taking quick inventory of the chilled meats and vegetables inside... he determined that he could work with it.

    "...Neerin Neelia, get me an iron pan."

    ...

    "The Draconic Court is not your enemy, Tycondrius," Neerin insisted.

    If previously, the lizard woman held a lofty appearance having such a high Metal-Rank and speaking of her ideals in a Royal Court... it was greatly diminished by her recent injuries.

    She looked ridiculous as she held a chilled water jar against her cheek to reduce the swelling.

    "I really, *really* do not care, Neerin Neelia," Tycon was utilizing an iron curved bowl pan to fry day-old rice, eggs, and what he identified as pork. "I n to eat something decent, return to the Real, and pretend we never had this conversation."

    "...Is there enough for both of us?"

    "You have eyes, don''t you, girl?" Tycon groaned.

    He felt that the atmosphere had deteriorated to... bickering between long rivals-- perhaps even friends. He still did not like the woman... but found it not impossible to tolerate her presence.

    She lowered her water jar, revealing that the side of her face was starting to discolor.

    Her difort pleased him.

    "The Court can be an powerful *ally,*" She seethed. "You''ll at least see value in that."

    "Tss. You''re tactfully implying that your ''Court'' is a fearsome enemy," Tycon scoffed as he stirred the frying rice with a wooden spoon.

    Conversation with Neerin Neelia sorely tested his patience. If not for the calming scent of aromatics and caramelizing meat, he would have probably sought to kill her again... utilizing her mundane cooking implements.

    "I mean... you''re not wrong," Neerin grimaced-- wincing in pain as she did. "The True Court''s goals--"

    "--True Court?" Tycon rolled his eyes, "What a pretentious name for a faction of rebels and dissidents."

    The woman sighed... "The Court absolutely does *not* want the Dragon God to descend to the Realm. The song of which legends are sung... ording to its verses, he will... and soon."

    The lizard woman''s ominous words were probably meant to incite deep thought.

    Tycon still did not care.

    However, he was thankful for her attempt at gravity.

    ...For the next several moments, he was able to enjoyfortable silence, better to appreciate the sizzling of rice and the crisping of the tiny bits of pork. It was... healing.

    Tycon halved the rice portions evenly into two tes... "How do I..."

    "The gas supply to the fire is controlled by the knobs."

    "So... this one. It is done."

    Tycon grabbed two spoons and carried the tes to the seating area.

    Neerin Neelia took hers with a grateful nod... "We are not your enemy, Prince Tycondrius. I am not your enemy."

    The woman was repeating herself. How droll.

    "Mm," Tycon mumbled his acknowledgement as he sampled his work.

    It wasn''t the best-- but it was a quickly made,fortable, and filling dish.

    Neerin took a bite... chewing thoughtfully. She was much more pleasantpany when she kept her mouth shut.

    "...You remembered that I like my eggs runny," She offered.

    "I did not. I made this dish to my specific tastes."

    "You... fight against the Dragon God... and those still loyal to the old ways," Neerin whispered... "He... is a cruel god, domineering and destructive. He cares not for the lives of mortals... and does not even care if his own hatchlings live or die."

    Tycon nodded. He also did not care-- not for the lizard whelplings or their callous god.

    "That..." Neerin sighed, "is why we split off from the Seven Wings and sealed him, in the first ce... Do you... truly not remember?"

    "I do not," Tycon responded before taking another spoonful of rice.

    He was eating slowly enough to enjoy himself but quickly enough that he could leave in good time. At his current rate, he would exit the Reality Marble and kill Willow before Neerin would have a chance to cast her Mindwipe spell on her.

    "We were once very close friends and allies," Neerin closed her eyes. "You... you and my sister were--"

    "Don''t care."

    "No..." Neerin chuckled sadly... "I suppose it doesn''t matter. We went our separate paths long ago."

    "And I''d rather our paths not converge again," Tycon smirked as he ced his empty te on the small table. "I''ll be going, then. Clean the dishes, if you would."

    "They will again, some sun," The lizard woman sighed... "Not in this life-- but maybe in the next or the one after. We''ll journey together again."

    Tycon stood up and nodded. He didn''t like the notion of it... but a prophecying from Neerin Neelia was probably reliable.

    ...Before he left, he decided to grant the dovahkiin his own piece of advice: "Next time, Neerin Neelia... don''t be a dragon."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Right," The girl stared down at her half-finished bowl, "Being a dragon kinda sucks in this Realm."

    ...

    Tycon opened his eyes and took quick inventory of his surroundings.

    Willow was prostrated, face down in the mud.

    He was still standing over her, curved de in hand.

    It seemed very little actual time had passed since entering Neerin Neelia''s Reality Marble.

    He still had the faint taste of garlic on his tongue. He tried not to think of the logic behind that.

    Tycon flipped the girl onto her back with his boot.

    He directed the point of his sword downward, ready to stab it through her unprotected throat, "Anyst words, hatchling?"

    Willow blinked hazily, "Wh-wha? Who... who are you?"

    ...Tycon grit his teeth as he knelt over the child and grabbed her cor, positioning his de''s edge to slit her throat, "What''s your name? Answer me!!"

    "It''s... it''s-- I don''t know!!" The girl sobbed, "I''m sorry!! Whatever I did, I''m sorry!!"

    ? System, inquiry: Target information. ?

    ? System response: Willow, Unranked Human Commoner. ?

    Neerin Neelia... that... infuriating... pretentious lizard... she had done as she promised.

    Willow''s injuries had closed.

    The defiance in her eyes... they were gone. The green scales that once covered her arms, gone as well. The heart of a ''dragon''...pletely and utterly absent.

    "ArrrRRRGH!!" Frustration still smoldering in Tycon''s heart, he stabbed at the dirt.

    He observed the sobbing girl... She was helpless and without even an onze of mana radiating from her.

    Her fearful crying grated at his senses.

    ...She had even soiled herself.

    "Have some self-respect," He muttered. "Get up, child. I''ll take you back to your brother."

    "I... I... have a brother?" Willow sniffed.

    Tycon stood up and forcefully lifted Willow by her arm, up to her feet.

    ...The blue lizard, Neerin, was correct. If the girl had no value, his conscience did not allow him to kill her.

    "Cease your sniveling, child, or I willmit physical violence against you."

    "Y... yes, Sir..." The girl sniffed.

    ...She took orders well enough to not agitate him.

    Clever girl.

    "...Also, remove your trousers. I''ll have you wash them with soap before we return."

    "I''m... I''m alri--"

    "Now."

    "Yes... sir..."

    ...

    The remaining vigers were to travel to... wherever they were going. Princess Iyuri volunteered herself to apany Willow and Sprig.

    Should Sprig survive to an age where he''d survive Sol Invictus'' recruit training, he could prove useful.

    Willow''s memories... were as Neerin Neelia had dered.

    It was mostly empty of her rtionships-- much like Tycon''s memories were when he''d first awoken in the Realm.

    Unlike him, though... she did not have ess to a System.

    Maybe she''d grow up as a normal child.

    Tycon''s thoughts drifted to Pale, the son of Sol Invictus'' previous leader, Quay.

    It was possible that Quay wanted that child to have a normal life.

    Tycon changed that.

    He forced the ten-year-old boy to be ustomed to adventuring life... performing alongside fully-trained, battle-hardened adults. It was a selfish decision that increased his own chances of sess as Sol Invictus'' current leader.

    Multiple lives were changed... made far less mundane and far more dangerous, solely because it benefited him.

    Without his hand... Sorina Capulet might have still been serving drinks, incorrectly referring to herself as the tavern wench.

    Seldin Korr would have drifted from seedy employer to seedier, wallowing in self-pity.

    Kimura Taree would have remained in her small sect, practicing abilities that would never achieve her greatness.

    Athanasius Mors and Athena Vanzano would waste away their potential, subject to the whims of an inept Lord.

    Maximus of Ezyria might have never found the honor he had lost.

    ...Though he might have remained alive.

    Others, too, might have lived...

    Kimura Tamaki of the Ivory Judge Sect. Justus and Rena of Leopardon. Karodin of Emberhold. Ptolema of Snowy Vige.

    ...Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark.

    Still, Tycon would continue gathering allies to his cause... Many more would die... and not few, as a result of hismands.

    He boarded the Neptune''s Revenge as they were raising the anchor and was greeted affably by the crew and their Captain.

    The next stop... was the City of Whitehearth, the home of Tarquin Wroe-- otherwise known as Landris Wyndham, the Arcanite Prince.

    Once the Swords of the Forgotten King were delivered to the powers there, his quest for High Oracle Troia would beplete.

    Then, he would return to his homnd, the Free Nation...plete his final quest for his mother, Queen Rnia, then...

    And then...

    Once his debts were paid... maybe, then, he could rest.

 Chapter 706 Recap

    ?**This chapter is not necessary to purchase for story continuation.**

    Hello.

    Author here. Headed by a Snake has over 700 chapters written, containing over 800k words in total. You, friend-cultivator, have read equivalent to eight 100k-word physical novels.

    Hurray.

    The following is a recap of general events in what is hopefully a simple format to reference.

    ...

    Tycon, the current leader of the storied Adventuring Company, Sol Invictus, transmigrated to the Realm with little to no memories of his personal rtionships.

    He discovered he has a three-part quest, granted to him by his mother, Rnia, the Queen of Stone.

    The quest entailedpleting three favors:

    One for the Magic Kingdom''s Royal Lineage.

    One for the Holy Country''s Church of the Eternal me.

    And finally, one for the Free Nation''s Merchant King Ashlord.

    In the Magic Kingdom, he recruited Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark. He forced Tarquin Wroe to form a magical pact with a goddess. Further, he began the martial training of Pale, son of the previous leader, Quay, to be an adventurer.

    There was also a Titanblood named Dragan and a horse, but they arergely unimportant.

    Tycon also entrusted two guild members with the care of his estate, a businesswoman named Sorina Capulet and a veteran mercenary, Seldin Korr.

    Chancing upon one of the Realm''s Hidden Sects, Sol Invictus rescued the Ivory Judge Sect''s dying Guardian Beast and recruited two scions of their Guardian House-- notably the Martialist, Kimura Taree.

    In therge city of Merylsward, Sol Invictus destroyed a corrupt Kingdom Duke,pleting the first favor.

    Unfortunately, during this time, Sol Invictus members Maximus of Ezyria and Kimura Tamaki were killed by a rogue power from the ne of Fire.

    With the threat of invasion by an otherworldly ne usible, Tycon sought the assistance of Sol Invictus member Lucifer and had her personally report to the Gatekeepers.

    He further ingratiated Invictus with the Kingdom by assisting the Royal Navy with recovering citizens from pirates. He established a professional rtionship with Fleet Admiral Chantal De Croix, a Contract Summoner who seeks revenge for her father''s murder, and became an honorary Sea Wolf Marine Lieutenant under High-Captain Lang Hai.

    Along the way, he adopted his daughter, a silver-scaled snake named Sasarame.

    Tycon traveled to the Holy Country, obliterating a Gold-Rank guild that was targeting one of his allies.

    He was given a quest by Archbishop Natalya Crucis to restore the noble name of Athena Vanzano. He also submitted his adopted daughter for training in the Holy Country''s highest establishment of learning, the Basilica.

    The Snake Cult attacked the Brazen Guard, inhibiting Athena''s ability to rebuild her name and power.

    Sol Invictus and their allies sacked the city of Caeruleum,pleting Tycon''s second quest to a degree beyond deniability.

    Before Tycon could return to the Free Nation for his third and final quest, Troia, the High Oracle of the Holy Country, requested he return an Elven artifact to the Eastern States.

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, however, fell under the control of the artifact swords... which has led to current events.

    Most recently, he''s traveled with:

    Krysaos, a human with an aquatic bloodline, and Captain of the ships, the Neptune''s Revenge and the Sugar-Titted Siren II.

    The wielder of the Elven des of the Forgotten King, the Lone Shadowdark-- who is referred to either as King or Sovereign;

    Mina, the weapon spirit of Krysaos'' sword, the Heart of the Ocean;

    Ishmael, Tycon''s ?Venomous Shadow? who has either gained or has always had sentience;

    Imperia, a selfish dark elf Princess from a fallen noble house.

    ...And an indeterminable number of Coral Boys. By profession they are Sea Wolf Marines that should rightfully belong to the Kingdom''s Royal Navy.<novelnext></novelnext>

    They have been... misced.

    When the crew reaches the Eastern States'' city of Whitehearth, they should meet up with Coraline Heartsong. The clever young elf is the romantic interest of the Lone Shadowdark and thus has a personal interest in breaking the swords'' enchantments.

    Granted, something will go wrong.

    Something always goes wrong.

    ...

    Tycon has been growing in strength dramatically as his memories have slowly returned.

    Starting as an Iron-Rank, he grew in power when Shadow Snake Princess Ananta gifted him with her Shadow Essence.

    His movement techniques, notably his ?Tumble? and ?Shadowfang? Skills increased in mastery as he trained with the Ivory Judge Sect.

    As his various Skills evolved, he broke through to Gold-Rank after a fight with Avenger Justus of the Rhodok Guild.

    Personally trained by Samurai Garock Heartrender, Tycon learned the curved de of the Screaming Silence Sect, which heavily emphasized defensive techniques.

    Though he still relies mostly on his mastery of White Raven swordsmanship for short de and empty-handed techniques, he has utilized the curved de techniques as a trump card against severalbatants, including the monsters in the Halls of the Dead Snake and Zehr, the Snake God.

    Besides his personal abilities, Tycon''s bloodline grants him the ?Vexing Gaze? instant-kill ability and immunity to poisons and petrification.

    The Mark of Pride, inscribed upon him by Lucifer of Sol Invictus, makes him highly resistant to domination spells and effects.

    He wields a magical short sword that can transform into a segmented de whip and the highly venomous curved de, the ?Sword of Venom?.

    He wears a stylish dark cloak with a peaked hood, magical boots that enhance his speed, an amulet that protects him from magical divination and analysis spells, and a spatial ring that can magically store items.

    He also keeps a small number of bolts, smeared with a waxy paralyzing poison, that he fires from apact hand-crossbow.

    Tycon also had a very nice pocket watch that he was very proud of. However, to gain the opportunity to murder a young girl, he gifted the watch to the child''s brother.

    Allbined, Tycondrius of Charm is confident in challenging most other Gold-Rank existences.

    He can easily defeat the one-armed Weaponmaster, Bannok of Kasydon. He can safely subdue either the Shadow Snake Priness Ananta and Sea Serpent Princess Iyuri... as well as Archbishop Natalya Crucis, provided she does not utilize Divine Armor Starfury.

    Tycon is also confident of fighting Holy Lancer Athanasius Mors and Spear Hero Pale to a draw.

    ...And though it might be obvious, Tycon is more than capable of thrice beating the Gold-Rank Gorgon Idiot, Stephanos, half to death.

    However, Tycon is sorely outssed by King, the supposed Sovereign of the Elves. The Ancient uses reckless movement techniques and violent weapon and empty-handed techniques, all which bear passing familiarity to the gentle and graceful forms of the Elven de Dance.

    Having only reached Gold-Rank in the past couple of years, Tycon is nowhere near Adamantine-Rank... and is not likely to match a Gold-Rank of King''s caliber inbat without the use of one or more external advantages.

    ...

    Post in thements below if I missed anything of major importance. I may append this chapter if information arises of relevance.

    As always: thank you, friend-cultivators, for your support.

    I pray you learn something from our defeats and victories, both.

    Take heart. Stay the course.

    Swift judgment and death to your enemies, as well as the enemies of Sol Invictus.

    ...

    O'' Sol Invictus. Thou shalt sing of us in praise //

    Else mourn thy dead, by bullet, spell, and de

 Chapter 707 Prologue (Part One): First Warrior

    ?Brotherhood. Loyalty. Justice.

    The runes were carved not just upon Growling Bear''s flesh, but upon his heart... upon his warrior''s soul.

    Originally, those gifts were bestowed to his ancestors... granted by a Chieftain from the oldest of the tribes'' old tales.

    The Chieftain''s name... lost to the ages.

    Their deeds, forever immortalized in song.

    As Growling Bear held onto his horse''s harness, he felt thefortable weight of his wargear, strapped to his waist.

    He carried an animal totem, lovingly carved by his sister in the likeness of his namesake... It gave him the strength and the courage to carry on.

    He carried his twin hatchets, newly crafted for their most recent endeavor. With their des, he''d slit the throats of the enemy. With their spiked backs, he''d pierce their hearts through their metal skins.

    He carried his ck-painted war mask. Once donned, he would be without fear... withoutpassion.

    Once the battle joined in earnest, he and twenty-nine of his brothers and sisters would act as one.

    Thus masked, there would be no parley. There would be no mercy.

    It was one of many reasons why the Ebon Masks were respected.

    It was one of many reasons why the Ebon Masks were feared.

    His tribe was smaller than most...prising not even ten families.

    The silent-footed Springleafs, the crafty and clever Moonwells-- even the haughtiest of the Highdes paid their respects.

    With respect... the tribes lived in harmony.

    It was in good faith that the Whisperwinds met with Chieftain Meets-the-Enemy, asking for her counsel.

    Wrongs had beenmitted against one of our fellow tribesmen.

    There was only one eptable course of action.

    The Ebon Masks would seek retribution.

    The Whisperwinds knew this. The Highdes and the Springleafs, they knew this. The Moonwells... they would understand.

    And so the thirty Masked Ones rode.

    Their bows were strung, quivers full. Their des were sharpened, their blood running hot.

    They followed the sound of their Chieftain''s enchanted song... a song of brotherhood... of loyalty and justice.

    There was magic in his sister''s voice... enchanting their travel.

    The humans and their deaf ears would scarcely hear the thudding of hooves. With their blind eyes, they would scarcely see through the shroud of grey mist.

    When the sun set below the horizon, thirty Masked Ones would arrive undetected.

    Then... the humans would be ughtered.

    The blood debt would be repaid by blood.

    ...

    "I''ve NO idea what the Centurion is thinking!" Ollus kicked his Decanus helmet in anger. The glow of the watchfire lit its travel, rolling along the sand and nking against a rock.

    The barrel-chested Munifex, Appa, silently watched it roll, making no movement to stop it.

    "Real professional, Decanus," udia rolled her eyes as she leaned over to pick it up.

    "FIame take me," Ollus muttered... "I haven''t had a decent night''s rest in four suns. And then the Centurion decides to *triple* the night watch... I swear that the wolf bastard has it out for me."

    "Us, Decanus," Appa added... "has it out for *us.*"

    "The Centurion has it out for everyone, the two-faced criminal," udia shrugged. "He treats us all like shite-- but talks to the Immunes and civilians like he wants to suck their cocks."

    "The civilians?" Ollus scratched at his head, "Bah. You mean that xeno we picked up a few suns back? We should''ve just left the witch for the vultures."

    "Heretic filth..." Munifex Appa nodded in agreement.

    "Mehhh," udia sighed through closed teeth, "Come on, Ollus. You''re a Decanus. Shouldn''t you be used to night watch? Catch."

    She tossed back the helmet, which Ollus caught with both hands.

    Ollus red at the scrawny Munifex, barely an adult... It made him realize that he wasn''t acting his rank...

    He''d belonged to the military and para-military organizations for six years. Night watch wasn''t something new to him.

    Comining about night watch wasn''t something new, either.

    There was... something different about that night, though.

    Something... bothered him.

    It was... a sense of dread... a gnawing hole in the pit of his stomach.

    It made him want to empty his bowels. It made him want to kneel in the sand and force himself to vomit. It made him want to crawl into his cot and sleep until morning.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Back when Guild Metal Wolf was in Ezyria, he had the same... premonition.

    Because of it, he didn''t take a single step into the Halls of the Dead Serpent. It was as if he was glued to a bucket, pissing and shitting himself into dehydration and fever.

    Back then, Guild Metal Wolf-- me take him, the whole Brazen Guard Collective almost got wiped out.

    It made him thankful that the fates were looking out for him... which was criminally useless in his current situation.

    After the several fold decimation at the Halls, Guild Metal Wolf had begun campaigning for the Adventuring Guilds in the Eastern States.

    The Centurion had good reason for it.

    At the time, every adventurer in Tyrion thought that the guilds in the Brazen Guard Collective were either heretics. If they weren''t... then, they were too weak to handle the club-wielding, half-naked, savages of the Snake Cult.

    If Ollus hadn''t personally witnessed the strength of their Gold-Ranks... Bannok of Kasydon and his two pet elves, he''d have thought just the same.

    Anyroad, the guild taking contracts in other nations became far more lucrative than remaining in their homnd.

    The Eastern States had monsters to be subjugated. Their people had the coin to pay for an adventuringpany''s services. And most importantly, no one there knew about Guild Metal Wolf''s failure.

    However... it was also far, far away from the safe, civilizednds of the Holy Country.

    It meant that as shite as Ollus was feeling, he couldn''t ask for a sun off. He couldn''t ask for personal time off to go home. He couldn''t just... wait it out.

    He couldn''t truly do what he wished... which was to close his eyes and... sleep.

    If he woke up dead-- well, he''d deal with it then.

    It was an unrealistic wish... like a big-breasted girlfriend with a penchant for ck, fis stockings, and diatrix piercings.

    The smartest thing for Ollus to do was to keep awake... to keep vignt...

    ...and perhaps to run and hide, if he found the opportunity.

    He took a breath to calm his nerves as he dusted the sand out of his helmet''s crest.

    "I should have just renewed my contract with the standing army," Ollus muttered. "Being a Decanus there more or less exempted me from night watch..."

    "Maybe you can run off and be a deserter?" udia offered.

    ...The woman''s words made Ollus consider bashing the woman''s brain out with his helmet-- but the reaming he''d get from the Centurion was not worth the momentary satisfaction.

    "Any other mushroom-brained ideas, Munifex?" He red, "Spit them out now so I don''t have to hear it the rest of the night."

    Munifex udia shut her eyes andid with her back against a red-rock boulder.

    "If anything, perhaps you canin a little quieter, Decanus... I''d like to get a little bit of sleep, thanks."

    Ollus rolled his eyes back and groaned, "I have *zero* interest in being crucified for desertion, you... Or for allowing the Munifices under mymand to fall asleep during watch."

    He turned to Appa with a mocking sneer, "That includes you, you savage brute."

    The massive Legionnaire snorted in displeasure, turning away as an act of silent rebellion.

    "Oh, and by the way," Ollus snorted, "First thing, tomorrow sun, you''re getting a haircut."

    "How about we all just reaax a little bit, Decanus?" udia smirked. "We''re almost at Whitehearth. Once we arrive, you can purchase a nice,cent whore-- get all your pent-up frustrations taken care of. How does that sound?"

    ...It sounded good. Just a tiny bit.

    Ollus cleared his throat, "I don''t suppose..."

    "Not interested."

    Fair enough.

    Ollus rotated his metal helmet in hand... "Eternal me, it''s ridiculous. We''re on a me-taken hill. AND we have Hagrid already on watch."

    "The hill, I''ll agree with, Decanus," udia grimaced, "but if you''re talking about Hagrid-- I wouldn''t trust that whore further than I can throw her."

    Ollus groaned and rolled his eyes, "She has eyes to see-- when coyotes try to steal our supplies. She has a voice to shout for help if she pisses herself."

    udia narrowed her eyes... and she ced her palm to the dirt. It was odd... the woman never hesitated to voice her thoughts-- especially concerning Immunes Hagrid.

    "Are you listening to me, udia?" Ollus raised an eyebrow.

    "D''you feel that?" The girl whispered, "Appa? Ollus?"

    Appa stood up, silently scanning the surroundings... shield in arm.

    Ollus spun around, pain churling in his gut...

    Nothing. me-taken nothing.

    Nothing moved in the dark, illuminated by the tall bonfire... Nothing could be heard, save the crackling of wood.

    Not until a voice cut clear through the darkness of night.

    And it wasn''t themon tongue, he heard.

    It was... Elven.

 Chapter 708 Prologue (Part Two): Iron Giants

    ?The ck ivory mask kept tight on Growling Bear''s face as he leapt off his charging mount-- and out of his sister''s magical concealment.

    "Brotherhood..."

    The armored human didn''t see him-- didn''t hear him approach, but their warrior''s instincts did not fail them.

    The man lifted his tall shield and braced for impact. Growling Bear''s twin hatchets sparked against the metal-reinforced wood.

    "?Sand Swallows All,?" He whispered, activating his movement technique. He was one with the earth, diving into the sand as if it were water... and he emerged halfway-- in the warrior''s blind spot.

    He hacked into the human''s ankle and with a bloody pull took him off his feet. The metal-shelled man was unable to keep his bnce, crashing heavily into the dirt.

    Growling Bear rolled forward, straddling the warrior''s broad chest and, with the momentum, chopping both of his hatchets through the man''s corbones.

    The Ebon Masks'' form of the de Dance was far different than the generationally changing sword styles of the Highdes. It was... rough, unrefined-- a deadly art developed from the need for the tribes to kill invaders.

    If the legends were to be believed... it was an art made to ''dance'' with dragons.

    That the dragons no longer existed spoke of its efficiency.

    As Growling Bear stood up, a second patroller-- a woman, began to shout. Thenguage she spoke, he had never bothered to learn.

    However... he understood.

    ''Help me'' she shouted with her voice, ignoring the others in her group.

    ''Please have mercy'' her eyes pleaded.

    She turned to run... her desperation apparent... ''I will die here. I will die, if I cannot escape.''

    The Ebon Masks... they studied fear, since ancient times.

    No matter the spoken tongue, all sentient beings knew fear.

    Growling Bear began towards her... but he could not move his back foot.

    Turning his head... the armored man from earlier had grabbed hold of his ankle.

    That man no longer breathed, his eyes rolled back, his neck muddled red... but he performed his duty until the end.

    Growling Bear hurled his hatchet, his right arm following through and reaching for the stars... "Loyalty."

    The weapon stuck into the woman''s side and she dropped to the ground, rolling gracelessly over the rocky terrain.

    She pounded a fist to the ground as she began to shout with a shrill, hoarse voice.

    Would it rouse more of their sleeping allies?

    They, too, would die.

    Growling Bear chopped off his captor''s hand at the wrist and sprinted over to the fallen human''s form.

    He pulled back her hair and granted her the mercy of slitting her throat.

    ...She was almost pitiable... gurgling for air as welling blood blocked her airways.

    The human put her hands to her neck... but it would not stop her life essence spilling through her fingers.

    Growling Bear stood tall, turning to the next of his soon-to-be many victims.

    The third patroller was a man like the first, tall shield in one arm, brandishing a spear in his other. The dyed horse hair on his crested helmet marked him as one of their Chiefs.

    He was yelling.

    What did it mean? The human wore too many emotions... arrogance, anger, indignation, horror, shame...

    Fear.

    No matter the cultural norms of the foreigners across the sea... no matter their gods and strange magics... what their tribe had done was unforgivable.

    The blood debt would be repaid... and their Chiefs bled darker with guilt than that of their children.

    Growling Bear swung his axe, cutting into the wood of the man''s shield. Trapped.

    The human''s face was pale and sickly. His eyes were clouded... his movements slow.

    He did not belong on the battlefield.

    He would die, just as his kin. They would pay for their transgressions with their lives.

    Growling Bear felt the human shift his weight through the stuck hatchet.

    The man''s spear came.

    One quick thrust-- then another. Growling Bear dodged both, first with his reflexes, and then by instinct.

    This one had training.

    This one was fast.

    How much faster would he be if they fought at full strength?

    Growling Bear parried a third strike, but the fourth stabbed into his belly-- piercing clean through his tanned hide armor.

    Pain resonated through Growling Bear''s body as he staggered backward, blood spilling hot from the wound.

    It was unpleasant... but the First Warrior of the Ebon Masks would not fall so easily.

    The man was shouting-- screaming profanities in hisnguage. His bloodshot eyes were near-bulging out of the crested metal cage he wore on his head.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...Chieftain Meets-the-Enemy would know what the human was saying.

    But their Ebon Mask tribe did note to talk.

    Growling Bear grabbed the top of the warrior''s shield and pulled it down, "Justice."

    "GrrRRARRGHH!!" With surprising strength, the man drove the length of his spear through Growling Bear''s stomach.

    It hurt.

    Yet, it was not enough to fell an Ebon Mask.

    It was not enough to prevent the foreigner''s death.

    The human''s eyes widened... his relief quickly transformed into horror upon realizing his fate... "(N... no...)"

    Growling Bear found wry amusement in finally hearing a word he could understand.

    "(Yes,)" He grinned.

    He spiked the back of his hatchet into the side of the man''s neck... then with his offhand, sliced the axe de deep into his throat.

    He pushed the dead man away from him...

    Wet copper pooled in Growling Bear''s mouth. Internal bleeding... it was expected.

    ...He swallowed it. He would not give the enemy the satisfaction of seeing him injured.

    Using his hatchet, he chopped off the de end of the spear... and he pulled the rough wood out, "RRrrRaaghhh..."

    The magical healing provided by his bone mask would ensure his survival.

    It would be worse after the mission. His sister would demand the wound be reopened for the wood debris to be removed...

    "Iron GIANNNNT!!!!"

    A scream in Elven bid him snap his neck towards the north.

    The voice... it belonged to Chases-Butterfly-- the thirtieth Masked One, barely more than a sapling.

    The Ebon Masks studied fear, yet did not fall prey to it.

    ...Yet Growling Bear hoped that Chases-Butterfly had also studied caution and vignce.

    When the Whisperwinds met with the Chieftain Meets-the-Enemy, they spoke of the foreigners'' Iron Giants, their voices hushed in trepidation.

    Growling Bear peered into the distance... his eyes adjusting to the starlight.

    The Iron Giant stood as tall as the oldest cacti... the height of nearly five of his brothers and sisters.

    It was... armed in the same manner as the foreign soldiers.

    Carrying a thick, metal shield, it guarded its body from arrows. Wielding a long, metal spear, it stabbed at Growling Bear''s kin. Had they not been circling on the Chieftain''s ?Phantom Steeds,? they may not havested so long...

    His heart began to pound painfully in his chest, seeing the small and lithe Chases-Butterfly amongst them...

    Had Growling Bear not known better, he would have thought the monstrous set of metal armor had an equallyrge man or woman inside.

    The construct was the work of the Moonwell Tribe... crafted, sold, and armed by the foreign adventuringpany.

    And inside of it... was a regr human.

    Once the metal shell was cracked open... that human would bleed. That human would die.

    The foreigners thought they were safe, protected by what they pretentiously referred to as ''Divine Armors''. They dared to act without restraint... They dared to disregard the tribes that have called the sands home for centuries.

    They dared... to kill their people... to steal them away as ves.

    Humans did not care for the plight of other humans.

    Elves, however... Elven tribes were family.

    When the Moonwells sought to craft their Iron Giants, the other tribes became brothers... lending their best shamans to coborate with them.

    When the Spider Crab Princess was born underneath an auspicious star, the other tribes became proud fathers,vishing her with gifts and the loan of loyal, metal-ranked warriors.

    If a single elf was taken away from her tribe... for her body to be used by evil men... or to be traded as if she were meat or grain... the other tribes would be scorned mothers.

    The seven hells have no such fury.

    The Moonwell Tribe lived just past the mountains... but the Ebon Mask Tribe ruled the dunes, the ins, and the dry grasnds.

    The honor of being the first to act... fell to his tribe.

    The honor of being the first to draw blood... it fell to him.

    The honor of destroying the humans'' final vestiges of hope... he would do so.

    ...with the assistance of his own Iron Giant.

    Growling Bear snatched the carved bear totem off of his belt and held it tightly.

    His spirit soared... his heart filled with courage... and it burned with the desire for vengeance.

    A dark red light began to shine... covering his body. He began to feel heavier... power churning and roiling in his chest and belly... and mana-created armor slowly began to form over his skin.

    "?Iron Giant Summon: Many-Big-Guns.?"

 Chapter 709 Elle Is For Loyalty

    ?? shback: Several bells earlier. ?

    Loyalty.

    It was a notion that humans craved.

    To an ideal. To a cause. To another human.

    It''s so valuable because... well, people are fickle. People change.

    ...And so, loyalties change.

    Or rather... maybe it was never ''loyalty'' at all?

    Haelvia didn''t particrly feel like she was loyal to anyone...

    She didn''t feel like she had to be, either... not on a personal level.

    She conveyed basic human-to-human good will, but she didn''t have regr contact with anyone that she particrly cared for... or cared for her.

    Dad didn''t count, of course. Dad was wonderful and she loved him very much.

    She chuckled to herself, imagining what people would say if she spoke her thoughts aloud.

    Loyalty was *huge*, back in Tyrion.

    That stated, Haelvia was undoubtedly ''loyal'' to her nation. She always thought of the Shield Wall of Tyrion as... romantic.

    Still... that was... nationalism and duty-- nothing like what she considered as loyalty.

    Haelvia was ''loyal'' to her guild.

    ...It was literally her job to be that.

    Even if she wasn''t contractually obliged to... if she had the power to protect a coworker or civilian in any given situation, she would.

    Thus, that wasn''t so much loyalty. It was more...mon sense.

    Haelvia was ''loyal'' to her friends. She''d do anything for them-- within legal boundaries, anyroad.

    Probably.

    In theory, anyone she considered a friend would do the same for her.

    The only issue with that was... she had exactly one friend in thepany. The two friends she''d made before... the ones from her vige-- she hadn''t seen them in years.

    Haelvia missed them. Terribly.

    That... type of friendship was probably what she longed for. She was nostalgic for it.

    ''Loyalty'' was just a fancy word that tried to oversimplify it all.

    She wanted... a ce where she felt like she belonged, people she could put her faith in... people she could fight for and who would fight for her.

    A boyfriend would be nice, too-- a ''loyal'' boyfriend.

    ...not that that was an actual priority.

    Finding a modern gentleman that still held the archaic values of honesty and loyalty? Haelvia would have an easier time finding clothes in a shop that fit her without modifications.

    ...or a dragon.

    That is to say... they didn''t exist.<novelnext></novelnext>

    When Haelvia signed with Guild Metal Wolf, she got a whole spiel about joining a family... a sisterhood of sorts.

    ''The shield wall stands,'' they said.

    ''You''ll know the feeling when you be part of it,'' they said...

    ''The man or woman on your left and right-- you''d be able to trust them to take an arrow for you. You''d do the same in a heartbeat.''

    ''The sum is greater than all its parts''... or something like that.

    Haelvia was recruited by the Centurion, himself-- and he wasn''t the most eloquent man. She could sense his sincerity, though. It would have been rude if she was anything less than polite.

    It was a shame that the Centurion was wrong-- at least about her.

    ...Nevermind an arrow, Haelvia couldn''t even trust her guildmates to wait until she was out of earshot before they began insulting her.

    Centurion Januarius couldn''t be med, though...

    The camaraderie was there... it was just shared amongst everyone else. It was heartwarming, really, that people cane together and be happy in their shared suffering.

    That sense of belonging-- that shared ''loyalty'' or whatever it was called... Haelvia just didn''t rate.

    It had already been a year since she became a mercenary adventurer, striking off on her own, bing responsible for herself like a proper adult.

    She was doing well enough.

    She ate two good meals per sun, which included meat, veggies, and some fruit if she was lucky.

    She had a cot and a tent to sleep in... all to herself, too. The guild only issued tents made for two persons.

    The wages were good. Half of it got sent to her father, back in the vige. He didn''t need the money, as he was still earning half-wages from his military pension... but he promised to use the extra silver to repair the house.

    Maybe he could build a new fence to keep the coyotes out. Maybe he''d finally fix the hole in the front porch.

    If Dad didn''t have anything to show for it when she returned to Ezyria, she''d give him an earful.

    Anyroad... Haelvia didn''t need to make friends.

    She had her duty. She had her father''s letters. And she had the loyalty of the strongest, sweetest, and most handsome guy in the guild.

    "You holdin'' out alright? ...?Gaheris??"

    Haelvia touched the cool metal of her silvery Divine Armor, Gaheris.

    She was his summoner-- his pilot, riding inside of his open chest as he carried her alongside the rest of the century. Being so intimate with him, though, she was subject to all his groans and creaks and wheezing. It was like he was made out of real materials, instead of mana.

    ? From the rate of mana consumption, it looks like Gaheris willst until sundown before needing to rest... It would be best not to get into any engagements, though. ?

    That was good. Even though Haelvia was rarely thanked for her service, there was a lot of unspoken value in having a friendly, fifteen foot tall Divine Armor in the guild''s ranks.

    Haelvia would protect the Wolves-- partly because that was her job... partly because that was the burden of responsibility that came with having a fifteen foot tall suit of magic armor.

    In turn, Gaheris would protect her.

    ...And in turn, Guild Metal Wolf would make semi-annual payments to the Church of the Eternal me.

    "[me TAKE me...]" A booming curse echoed from nearby, apanied by the heavy plomps of another Divine Armor''s feet. "[We''ve been walking forty suns and forever...]"

    Haelvia grabbed one of the handholds on the inside of Gaheris'' chest and leaned outside to shout at the big lug, "Hey, guy! How ''bout you keep your inside thoughts INSIDE?!"

 Chapter 710 Legend Of The Armor Hero

    ?Haelvia gnashed her teeth in annoyance.

    Everyone had theirints. None of them needed to be openly broadcasted by the mana-empowered voice of a Divine Armor, though.

    *TSSSHEWWWW*

    The colorful colossus that was Divine Armor Lancelot opened up his chest tes with a hiss of steam and sand.

    The unbearable youth inside gave a sloppy salute as he showed off a grin full of pearly-whites, "Yo. You miss me?"

    Haelvia sighed and shook her head-- heroically resisting the powerful urge to ask Gaheris to m Lancelot''s chest tes closed.

    ? "No, Loki," She said in a low voice, "No, I did not."

    Munifex Loukius was the only other pilot in Guild Metal Wolf.

    He... might have been handsome... not that Haelvia particrly thought that.

    Of the female poption of Guild Metal Wolf, Loki was-- for want of a better term... popr.

    Haelvia wondered if it was possible to dislike something that everyone else gushed and raved about... because it was baffling.

    Loki was in the upper half of physically capable persons in thepany, but nowhere near the top percentile.

    He was one of thepany''s youngest mercenaries. Haelvia was pretty sure even *she* was older than he was.

    Between the boy''s baby-face, tant insubordination, and general immaturity, the brat hadn''t grown up past twelve.

    It was like everyone in the guild but she was convinced that the boy was a Hero of Tyrion, blessed by the me herself.

    ...Or maybe everyone thought he was so great because there was no one more interesting around?

    "Ugh. We probably would''a been at Whitehearth by now if we were traveling by road," The green-haired Munifex groaned.

    "It''s safer this way," Haelvia sighed. "How about you just be thankful, Loki? You''re the only one in thepany that''s not sunburnt and sunblind."

    Loki swept back his thick, dark-green hair with arms that looked more like they were made from sloppily twisted cable rather than thick, reliable muscle.

    Sweat was pouring down his face like he''d just ran a two-mile course-- that ended with a swim in ake.

    Haelvia patted the red headband she wore over her long, blonde ponytail.

    Dry.

    The arid desert heat wicked away all her own perspiration.

    "Well, maybe you should just get a better set of Divine Armor?" Loki''s snaggletooth stuck out of his lips as he sneered.

    Haelvia thought it made him look... uneducated... "Like... yours, you mean?"

    "Yeah! Y''should get something with an Arcanite Core-- s''like mine! Listen, I got connections in Whitehearth-- I know a guy!"

    Haelvia looked away... at the neverending expanse of sand, cacti, rock formations, and desert shrubbery. The mountains looked far, far away... and with Whitehearth beyond it, she almost wanted to agree with Loki''s exaggerated estimate.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Loki''s Divine Armor was drastically different from hers.

    Lancelot was forged of steel and Arcanite by the best and brightest minds in the Eastern States. He was about twenty feet tall-- only a single normal-sized person taller than Gaheris. From what she''d read on the differences between Divine Armors between the States and Tyrion, that was normal.

    Munifex Loukius, he was chosen as its pilot, not on ount of his affinity, but due to his naturally high reserve of mana. That was also the reason everyone sang his praises as a yet undiscovered Hero.

    Unfortunately, the brat believed them wholeheartedly.

    ...Heroes were supposed to be humble, weren''t they?

    It probably would have made more sense to have the higher-mana pilot inmand of Gaheris, aplete mana construct, rather than a hybrid.

    It would have made more sense for *any* Munifex to be chosen as the pilot for Gaheris...

    However, he was... stubborn. Gaheris had nearly zero affinity with anyone in thepany. Even Loki and his infinite-mana cheat couldn''t force him further than the length of a palm.

    Haelvia was an Immunes. Her dad taught her how to forge, fix broken tools and weapons, and bang out dents in armor.

    With the Wolves, she underwent basicbat training-- the same as everyone else... but she had nowhere near thebat prowess of the veteran Munifices... or battle-crazed Legionnaires like Loki.

    It couldn''t be helped.

    Gaheris had a good sense for his pilot... or the quality of his other potential pilots were... not good.

    Haelvia unconsciously brushed her ashy fingers against the small, red burnished-metal guard on her left arm. She welded it to her armguard, herself.

    The Saronite Protector was Gaheris'' key... and the boost the focus provided to Gaheris'' mana-efficiency was the only reason her pitiful mana reserves could keep him walking.

    Loki obviously had no issue channeling additional mana into Lancelot to keep the temperature inside at least... tolerable.

    Haelvia had to keep Gaheris'' armored shell open to avoid her insides from transforming into a slow-cooked stew.

    The desert air was wreaking havoc on her skin... but she wouldn''t waste her energy on something so... frivolous.

    If she ran out of mana... Gaheris'' form would be as brittle as the ancient animal bones littered across the sandy ins. Even a single strike from a Bronze-Ranker would dissolve him into mana dust.

    It''d also give her a splitting headache and prevent her from re-summoning him--sting a couple of suns, minimum.

    There was no point in her being envious of her fellow pilot...

    Some people were just born with a higher mana capacity. It wasn''t something she could help... and if she could, she wouldn''t know where to begin.

    Aaaaanyroad... beingfortable on a Guild march was a luxury, not a right.

    "Getting a new Divine Armor won''t be happening anytime soon, Loki," Haelvia shook her head. "The guild hasn''t even paid off Gaheris, yet... or Lancelot, for that matter."

    "Oh, really? Come onnnn," Loki stretched his arms, trying to embody the sloppy ruffian personality that he painstakingly tried to craft for himself, "How much could that hunk o'' junk even cost?"

    "More coin than you or I''ve ever seen in one ce," Haelvia groaned with a shrug.

    Trying to keep her temper in check, sheid down some cold hard facts, "Gaheris is a second-generation construct made by Harkus Mors... the Divine Armorsmith who made the Starfury and the Dawnbringer."

 Chapter 711 â€˜Lancelotâ€™

    ?Loki scrunched his face and tilted his head in confusion... "N... no way?"

    Wait, what?

    Haelvia''s eyes widened in surprise.

    Had... she actually gotten through to her arrogant, green-haired coworker? That was... new.

    ...It was the first time it managed to change someone''s mind about something.

    Pride swelled in her heart... and she was d she''d done her research.

    "That''s right," She nodded with a smile.

    "So..." Loki twisted his lips... "So that means... that Gaheris is older than the me, herself!"

    The idiot shed an ugly grin that waspletely in line with his mushroom brain. He must have thought insulting Haelvia''s only friend in thepany ON TOP of openly spheming their national deity made for top brand humor.

    Haelvia shut her eyes and raised her eyebrows as she sighed... "H-yeah. Sure."

    Harkus Mors was probably the most skilled crafter in all of Tyrion. That man only made two generations of Divine Armors. Centurion Januarius only managed to get ahold of Gaheris because he had a personal contact from House Vanzano.

    It was... absolutely... undoubtedly... and infuriatingly useless to exin any of that to Loki.

    The boy''s propensity for learning was... pathetic. He dozed through or skipped out on nearly all his sses, save the ones where he got to pick up and put down weighted objects or punch and kick half-naked men in a circle of rocks.

    Why the Centurion and the Decani let that pass... probably had to do something with his mana...or the fact that Loki was abat genius.

    As much as she wanted to tear down his throne and humble him, everyone in the guild knew that Loki was the betterbatant between them. Before they departed for the Eastern States, they''d done dozens of training exercises... some even simting livebat conditions.

    The fault, however, did not belong to Gaheris.

    It belonged to his pilot.

    "You know, Elle..." Loki crossed his arms, "How about you just unsummon that guy? There''s enough room in Lancelot that we could ride together."

    Haelvia had to stop and take a breath. She was just shy of scoffing aloud. If she wasn''t paying attention, she would haveughed in his face... which would have been very rude.

    That boy...

    He couldn''t have been as serious as he looked...

    Even though they were supposed to be the same age, Haelvia was nearly seven Tyrion feet tall-- nearly two heads taller than he was.

    No, there was not enough room in Lancelot for them to ride together.

    And no, that was not something she''d consider, even if it was possible.

    Besides, Centurion Januarius ordered her to stay mounted... so stay mounted, she would.

    She signed a contract.

    Having both Divine Armors ready to fight at a moment''s notice was a necessary safety precaution.

    Besides the various mid-torge size threats in the deserts, their century was a prime target for raiders.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...Not even raiders, the Centurion was ounting for the fact that a foreign Adventuring Company might be attacked on sight rather than be politely questioned.

    And the reason for that? Guild Metal Wolf was... very... unapologetically Tyrion.

    Long shields strapped to Munifices'' arms. Scouts armed with Tyrion crossbows. Various Decani wearing crested helmets.

    Theirpany marched in loose, barely-eptable formations. The Centurion turned a blind eye to how bad it looked, maybe due to the fact that they''d been slogging away in an unchangingndscape for well over three suns.

    The horse-drawn wagons they guarded had their guild banner and the Tyrion g draped on their sides. They were paramount to protect... most carrying food, water, and equipment, but one carrying emergency personnel and a teenage Elven girl suffering from heatstroke.

    Guild Metal Wolf *did* have Lancelot, though. His scuffed paint was the same colors as the g that represented the Eastern States as a whole.

    However... it definitely looked out of ce-- especially next to Gaheris and his color scheme''s liberal usage of Tyrion purple.

    The locals would probably think Lancelot was looted, rather than legallymissioned.

    ...And anyroad, even a neutral inquiry likely wouldn''t result in civil conversation. In that kind of situation, Loki was far too quick to try to act the hero... brandishing his spear and mucking everything up.

    "I have to respectfully decline, Munifex Loukius," Haelvia smirked. "I wouldn''t betray my Gaheris like that."

    "Tch," Loki scoffed and shrugged his shoulders, "Why''re you talkin'' about that thing like it''s your boyfriend?"

    "Gaheris and I are as inseparable as lovers," Haelvia pursed her lips and winked coquettishly. "Isn''t it the same with you and Lancelot?"

    "WhaaAAAt?" Loki rolled his eyes, "It''s-- it''s not like that."

    "You hesitate, hero of Tyrion?" Haelvia teased.

    "Well-- I... ARGH! Come on, Elle! Me and Lancelot are the best of pals. But it''s not like we-- you know."

    Haelvia smiled politely. Even though Loki was undoubtedly the most appropriate pilot for ''Lancelot'' in the guild... he wasn''t without his ws.

    --with the most ring one being...

    ? Lancelot is not his Divine Armor''s true name. ?

    It wasn''t something she could tell him-- or anyone.

    She tried to hint at it in passing... but the ignorant brat was so proud ofing up with it ''all by himself.''

    The other guild members would probably dismiss her concerns as a result of small-minded jealousy. The gossip would spread throughout the guild in a bell or two.

    It was probable that... no one in the Realm would believe that Haelvia could... talk to Weapon and Armor Spirits.

    ...Anyroad, Haelvia couldn''t help Loki even if he asked. The boy''s Divine Armor refused to reveal its name to her... and even refused Gaheris when she bid him to ask.

    Haelvia hoped Loki would learn it eventually. It took a few moons of training for Gaheris to share his true name with her... but she reasoned that the Divine Armors were like people-- they warmed to others at different rates.

    Loki rated friends throughout thepany. He probably rated loyalty from ''Lancelot'' too...

    A shout came from below, along with the nking of something striking Gaheris'' metallic leg.

    "Hey, Hagrid!!!"

 Chapter 712 Top Three

    ?Haelvia groaned aloud...

    ...Hagrid.

    That was an unpleasant sounding, somewhat masculine name. The picture that came with it was... definitely not favorable to her.

    She shook her head... it was probably a mean-spirited inside joke the others in the guild had coborated on. Sometimes she felt she wasn''t a professional adventurer and more like a girl that forced herself into an immature, all-boys club.

    Loki leaned out of Lancelot and cupped his hands, "Her name is Haelvia, you louse-ridden criminal!!"

    "I know what I said, scumbucket!" Decanus Ollus shouted back. "Orders from the Centurion! You and Loki scout the canyon up ahead! We''ll set up camp once you give us the all clear!"

    "I hear you!" Haelvia yelled.

    An easy mission with the promise of rest, afterward? She couldn''t be happier.

    Loki grimaced and clicked his tongue, "Tch. You really shouldn''t let ''em treat you like that, *Hagrid*."

    "Is thaaAat so?" Haelvia chuckled to herself.

    He''d pay for that.

    Over the past several weeks, her affinity with her Divine Armor had increased tenfold. On the other hand, Loki never *ever* took the time to train on his own.

    Haelvia let her mana flow into her Divine Armor, closing his chest tes and locking her safe inside. She shut her human eyes and reopened them... seeing as Gaheris saw, feeling what Gaheris felt.

    She shifted her weight from side to side, stretching out her long legs-- Gaheris doing the same, "[How about you worry about yourself, Loki?]"

    "Huh?" Loki tilted his head, "What do I have to worry about?"

    "[Losing your dinner? It''s mine if Gaheris and I beat you to that canyon!]"

    With a burst of mana, she and Gaheris began sprinting across the dunes, literally leaving Loki, Lancelot, and that rude Decanus in a cloud of fine dust.

    "W-wait! WAIT!" Loki shouted, "That''s not FAAAAIRRR!!!!"

    ...

    ? Guild Metal Wolf Camp, a bell afterward. ?

    Haelvia looked up at Lancelot and Gaheris parked next to each other, the harsh light of the still-high sun reflecting against their metallic shells.

    They looked something like... cousins. They might have had different makers, but their looks were simr enough to hint at their ancestry.

    Having traveled for so long in the Eastern States, they''d taken part in severalbat engagements... deathworms and trolls and whatnot.

    That was enough to make them brothers.

    There was trust between them. She could sense it.

    "Thank you two... for protecting us," She bowed her head.

    Both Gaheris and Lancelot were created to defend their pilots and their allies.

    She didn''t need to thank them... but all the same, she knew they could both feel her sincerity.

    ? My training is enough, now, that I could pilot ''Lancelot'' better than Loki. ?

    Haelvia sighed and chuckled to herself.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...That was something she would never say. The poor boy''s feelings would be so hurt.

    ? Gaheris senses a single human approaching... He is not hostile, but he is injured. ?

    Haelvia brushed her blonde locks out of her eyes, and folded her hands over her crossed legs. She was trying to look rxed-- or at least, hide the fact that she was having a pretend-conversation in her head with two inanimate objects.

    ...Loki was favoring his left leg, limping while wearing a half-hearted smile.

    She found it hrious.

    "me eternal," Haelviaughed as she leaned back on Gaheris'' leg. "What happened to you, Loki?"

    Loki had just walked back from the camp fire pit... and the side of his face was starting to swell. It didn''t seem to bother him, though, as he absentmindedly munched on an apple.

    "Had to fight off some wolves," He shrugged, "with my bare hands, no less."

    "You criminal," Haelvia rolled her eyes, "I was joking about you having to give me your dinner."

    "Nah, it was fair," Loki scoffed as he took a seat on a t rock besides Lancelot. "You beat me. I won''t snake my way out of the consequences-- simple as that."

    He banged on his Divine Armor''s ankle for emphasis, "Don''t get me wrong, though. I''d still wreck you in a straight fight."

    "Thank you for your *selfless* sacrifice, Munifex Loukius," Haelvia waved a piece of bread-- one that rightfully belonged to her fellow pilot.

    "AaaaAAanyroad," Loki chewed up the rest of his apple, core and all-- then he showed off a wiry, flexed arm, "Gotta get training in whenever I can, right?"

    "Ah... haha ha!" Haelviaughed so hard she snorted-- and she covered her mouth.

    Loki was a simple idiot... but he was consistent. That and his incredulous optimism, she could appreciate about him.

    Thankfully, the fool did notment at her embarrassment as he rummaged through his bag for more of his ill-gotten rations.

    "Hmm..." Haelvia hummed in thought... "You remind me of... a boy I grew up with."

    "Oh, yeah?" Loki''s green eyebrows shot up, his interest piqued, "He stronger than me, or what?"

    "It''s not apetition, mushroom-brain," Haelvia groaned. "I don''t know where he is... but yeah-- he''s probably stronger than you."

    Her childhood friend, Justus, was known as the Hero of Leopardon for good reason. Just like Loki, he courageously fought off wolves-- though they were real wolves and he did have a sword.

    A traveling party from the Church hadmented that, like Loki, Justus had a ludicrouslyrge mana pool... and when he and Rena left to join the Rhodok Adventuring Company, he was stronger than even Haelvia''s father.

    "Bet he ain''t more handsome than me, though," Loki sneered.

    ...That boy really thought too well of himself.

    Haelvia smirked, "You''re not even in my top three."

    "Pshh," Loki nearly fell off his rock as he rolled his eyes, "Oh, yeah? Who else you got!?"

    "There''s my childhood friend, Justus-- he''s second to Gaheris, though."

    "That guy''s not here-- so he doesn''t count!" Loki argued, "And Gaheris definitely doesn''t count, either! Who''s the third, then?!"

    Haelvia raised an eyebrow, "Sir Lancelot."

    "Bah! Whatever, you..." Loki turned his entire body away in his seat, as he returned to his meal.

 Chapter 713 Tyrion Tactics

    ?Haelvia honestly had no idea what her childhood friend, Justus, looked like after so many years. However, teasing the only other Divine Armor pilot in thepany was something she enjoyed.

    It made his presence... bearable.

    The sound of Loki coughing and clearing his throat made her turn back to face him.

    The boy was biting his upper lip... He made a cute popping noise that seemed slightly out of ce for him.

    "Hey, uh..."

    "Mhmmm~?"

    "You uh...?" The boy wiggled his fingers, as if he was ying with them... "Did you have uh... some kind of... rtionship? With that guy?"

    "Wh--" Haelvia choked on her saliva. She quickly unstoppered her waterskin and took a deep pull... "Hah! Loki, you... Ah. By the me, no..."

    "Well..." Loki tilted his head, "why not?"

    Haelvia shook her head violently. Her? Having anything more than a friendly rtionship with Justus? The thought had never crossed her mind, nor would it.

    "He... he had Rena," She exined, "She was... she was also a close friend of mine. The two of them joined the Rhodoks about a year before I started adventuring on my own."

    "Oh! Whoaa!!" Loki eximed, "The Ezyrian guild, right? And why didn''t *you* join THEM??!"

    "Ugh. Why do you think?" Haelvia groaned, "Same reason the army wouldn''t take me. I didn''t meet the height requirements."

    "The maximum height requirements, you mean?"

    Haelvia tossed a hardfruit at the boy''s face-- which the criminal easily caught and took a bite out of.

    "Obviously," She sighed.

    "Still, though..." Loki crunched thoughtfully, "the Rhodoks... they''re para-military, aren''t they? Your friends are probably doing alright."

    "If they''re still alive," Haelvia shrugged. "They haven''t written back to my letters in-- me take me... in years..."

    She''d heard... some worrisome rumors that the Rhodoks had left the Holy Country.

    It bothered her. Rena didn''t say anything about it... which really wasn''t like her.

    She was worried that something had happened to her-- to both of them. She tried not to think about it overmuch, because it made her stomach twist and turn.

    In all probability, they were fine... just as Loki said.

    The Rhodoks were a Gold-Rank guild. Gold-Rank guilds sometimes took on high-profile quests... in defense of the nation... or on behalf of humankind.

    It wasn''t... *impossible* for Justus and Rena, to be taking part in a ndestine mission on behalf of the High Oracle.

    That''s what she hoped, anyroad.

    Haelvia furrowed her brows, "And what''s so impressive about being *para-military*? Guild *Metal Wolf* is para-military!"

    Loki pushed his palms forward, "H-hold on! It''s different, isn''t it? Our guild focuses around supporting our Armored sses and two Divine Armors. The Rhodoks use regr century tactics!"

    "All of our Armored sses are subsses of Legionnaire-- a Tyrion ss! Also, Divine Armors are almost solely used by the Holy Country!" Haelvia argued. "Therefore, all ourbat manuals are *obviously* Tyrion-tried and Tyrion-tested."

    Her head began to hurt. She had a sneaking suspicion that Loki had never even seen even a single one of said manuals.

    ...Then again, If he''d been taught their contents, she doubted he retained any of it.

    "W-well..." The green-haired buffoon tapped his forefingers together, "Lncelot was made in Whitehearth."

    Haelvia took a deep breath and sighed, "The Divine Armors made in the Eastern States have only reached a level of strengthparable to ours in the past couple of years. I read a news pamphlet the other moon saying that the Arcanite Princess--"

    She nced over to Loki-- he wasn''t even listening.

    Of course. He was never interested in anything about Divine Armors other than piloting his. Unless his way of thinking changed, it was probably impossible for him to learn Lancelot''s true name.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Idiot.

    "Nevermind," Haelvia grimaced, "I''m here now... in a Tyrion adventuringpany-- and there''s nothing wrong with it."

    "Well-- I uh... I mean..." Loki stammered, "I dunno, Hagrid--"

    "Don''t call me that."

    "I dunno, Elle," The boy scratched at his head of annoyingly green hair, "I really don''t... *feel* like we''re doing Tyrion stuff. We haven''t done any *real* monster subjugation quests since I joined..."

    Haelvia sneered, "And how about that hundred-foot long Deathworm the other sun? That didn''t count as a monster?"

    "I uh... I guess it was?" Loki shrugged, "But... it''s not really... I guess I expected joining Guild Metal Wolf would have me killin'' xeno''s and burning witches and heretics."

    "Go read a history book, you. We don''t do that anymore!" Haelvia scolded. "The wars are over-- at least, for now. The Eastern States and the other nations have a right to their own religions. Even the Free Nation--"

    "The Beast Kingdoms, you mean?" Loki snickered.

    "Did I stutter, you pompous prick?" Haelvia rolled her eyes.

    The bratughed loudly at his stupid own joke, cackling like a maniac... "Calm down, Elle. Listen. I get it! The reason Guild Metal Wolf shifted their operations to the Eastern States is probably ''cos we got lots of baddies out here to purge... ''sides from... harpies and kobolds, anyroad."

    "It''s the *same* here," Haelvia narrowed her eyes. "Except now it''s drakes and goblins..."

    "Little fish," Loki shrugged. "A single kick from Lancelot, and they''ll all scatter."

    "To you and me, maybe. And only because of our Divine Armors," Haelva scowled. "But we still need to stay vignt... to protect the infantry on the ground...

    "And besides," She sighed... "We''re even escorting a civilian."

    "Ah, right," Loki nodded. "The xeno? Or was she a witch? Dunno why we didn''t just leave her in the sands for the vultures."

    "Because elves are people too, you tiny-testicled blockhead."

    "Hey!" Loki shouted, "That''s-- ...is that an insult?"

    "It''s not apliment."

    ? Another human approaches. ?

    Haelvia nced up the Divine Armor whose thoughts she sensed... to Lancelot. His eyes had glowed briefly, but had dimmed when Loki followed her gaze.

    "What''s up, Elle?" He asked.

    Haelvia hopped off of her seat on Gaheris'' foot, onto her own two feet, "Good evening, Decanus."

    It was Ollus, the rude Decanus that passed orders to her and Loki, earlier. However, even though there were only two others present, the man refused to meet her eyes.

    He continued to stare up at Gaheris, ignoring the two of them, "Hey, Hagrid. Keepin'' the watch, I see."

    ...Haelvia cleared her throat, "Decanus... I''m standing over here."

    Ollus spun around, feigned shock on his face, "Oh! By the me, you scared the hells out of me, girl. Can never tell you apart from good ol'' Gaheris, here."

    Loki continued snickering like the fool he was.

    Haelvia had heard the joke too many times to care, "Are there orders?"

    "Yeah, there are," The Decanus sneered. "The Optio wants to see you. Probably to give you your woman-supplies."

    "That time of the moon, Elle?" Loki sneered.

    "Pound sand, you," Haelvia growled.

 Chapter 714 On Her Behalf

    ?As Haelvia entered themand tent, Optio Phaedra stood up from the central table.

    It was unusual to see the woman without her helmet... but seeing how tight her braided bun was made Haelvia''s own scalp hurt.

    "Immunes Haelvia of Leopardon," She saluted, "reporting as ordered."

    "At ease," Phaedra gave a quick return-salute before turning her nose up in disgust, "And what took you so *me-taken* long, Immunes?"

    Haelvia chopped her salute down and assumed a neutral stance, "Good afternoon, Optio. Centurion. I ran straight here as soon as I received the summons."

    In truth, she took an easy, rxing jog over...

    Haelvia knew Optio Phaedra well. The woman was the female instructor who oversaw her several weeks ofbat training. If any recruits dared to *walk* in her presence, she took it as personal offense.

    ''Move with a purpose,'' she''d say.

    *Walking* was a privilege afforded to civilians... or otherwise, people who rated it.

    Most of the males in thepany didn''t know just how strict Optio Phaedra was.

    She was the only femalebat instructor in thepany... and it was her mission to be a cold-hearted, badass bitch who held the females in thepany to a standard beyond that of their weak-bodied, male peers.

    Haelvia held nothing but respect for the dark-haired Optio.

    ...Even if her height made her the easiest target to be made an example out of.

    Push-ups, runningps, shoulder rolls... it didn''t take long for Haelvia to learn how to not be slow.

    Before herbat training, her long stride made her graded physical fitness testsughably easy.

    After... her light jog outpaced half thepany''s full sprinting speed.

    "Ran all the way here," The Optio red... "--likely story... and without a drop of sweat on you? You expect me to believe that?"

    "Yes, Optio," Haelvia answered confidently.

    No one besides Loki and maybe the people in the medical wagon had the privilege of sweating, considering their current conditions.

    Phaedra eyed her suspiciously for a moment... then gave a brisk nod... "Very well... Button your top, fish."

    Haelvia breathed a sigh of relief as Phaedra sat back down. She wasn''t keen on the idea of running ap around the camp... and thankfully, the Optio was more interested in performing maintenance on her crossbow than ruining her sun.

    It was... disappointing to still be called a fish even after a year of service, but Haelvia decided to take the minor scolding as an overall win.

    She buttoned her top... which made her shirt ufortably tight and arguably far less professional.

    ...She wasn''t going to argue with a superior, though.

    Centurion Januarius looked up from perusing arge piece of parchment... a map, it seemed. With a grunt of acknowledgement, he gestured towards a seat opposite him, beside Optio Phaedra.

    Haelvia pursed her lips as she made her way over to the table. The Optio had summoned her... but it was to speak to the Centurion?

    There were two things that everyone in Guild Metal Wolf knew about Centurion Januarius.

    The first was... he really liked wolves.

    The guild symbol-- a wolf, of course, was branded onto every single piece of gear utilized by thepany.

    The Centurion took it a step further.

    The buckles on his belts and equipment were specially-crafted into miniature wolf heads. The image of three wolves howling at the moon were embossed onto his chestte. He had a wineskin on the table; it was painted with little wolf puppies chasing each other through a tree-filled forest.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Even though he was inside of hismand tent, he had yet to remove his metal full helmet... painstakingly shaped into a realistic wolf''s head, hungry and snarling at its prey.

    Rumor had it that he took a severe injury escaping an Adamantine-Rank Dungeon... but Haelvia personally believed the older gentleman just wanted to wear an expensive, custom-made helmet wherever he went.

    "Grrr..." The Centurion was literally growling, deep and low underneath his helmet, "What... in the hells... are you doing here... *puer*?"

    Haelvia thought it was cute. The wolf impression was nigh-perfect.

    Eh? But who was he talking to?

    ...As a scowling Phaedra slowly turned her head, Haelvia cranked her neck towards the tent entrance.

    The ''puer'' was... Munifex Loukius. He had entered themand tent, unannounced... and he looked... incredibly lost?

    What *was* he doing? Unlike her, the boy had certainly ran the whole way... but in pursuit of her?

    Loki tried to adjust his posture-- notably forgetting to salute, "Sir, I just... um-- well... y''know, I..."

    It really should have been obvious... but Loki tucking his figurative tail between his legs was not the way to get respect from either Optio Phaedra or Centurion Januarius.

    ...Or her.

    Januarius gripped his map in his hands, bruising and tearing at the expensive paper...

    "Out."

    ...Haelvia felt her body twitch. The one-wordmand almost made her get up and leave.

    "Guh..." The green-haired boy gathered what was left of his confidence, puffing his chest out, "Or you''ll do what, old man?"

    Optio Phaedra met Haelvia''s look of shock with a rare look of pity, "The boy isn''t a very bright child, is he?"

    Haelvia closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly, "He is not, Optio."

    The second thing that everyone knew about the Centurion... was that he did not tolerate the backtalk of fish.

    The Centurion put down his map and tapped impatiently on the table, the sharpened w-tip of his glove clicking against the wood.

    "Munifex... Loukius, was it? Are you here on thess'' behalf?"

    Loki nced towards Haelvia, pleading with his eyes.

    ...She slowly pursed her lips in thought.

    For whatever reason, no one in the guild called her by name.

    Optio Phaedra referred to her by her rank, Immunes, or lumped her in with the other female fish.

    Loki called her Elle, which Haelvia didn''t mind.

    ...Most other nicknames she earned were unttering and changed by the week.

    The Centurion... he called her Lass-- short for ''adscenta''... or ''little girl'' in the Old Language.

    Haelvia found it nostalgic. It just so happened that her father had the same nickname for her. He was the only adult in the vige that referred to her as... little-- and with benevolence, just as the Centurion did.

    Maybe. It was hard to tell, through the helmet.

    ",

 Chapter 715 Cover

    ?Haelvia crossed her arms, tapping on her bicep.

    The Centurion asked... if Loki was here on her behalf.

    The honest answer was... a resounding ''no.''

    ...but was that the *correct* answer?

    Loki looked down for a moment... and smirked, "Yeah?"

    Raising his head, he pointed his chin towards the disgruntled Centurion and patted his palms against his chest, "So... what if I am?"

    His bluster reminded Haelvia of... a scared hen raising its hackles.

    Whatever he was trying to do, it wasn''t appropriate in front of their presentpany... whether it was the Centurion''s role as the man in charge of his pay or as the strongest, most veteran, and most undeniably alpha wolf in their hundred-pup pack.

    The cold, glowing eyes of the wolf helmet had focused on her.

    Haelvia smiled half-heartedly... She took special care not to bare her teeth, just in case the Centurion might see that as a sign of aggression.

    "Is that so...?" The wolf growled.

    Optio Phaedra sighed audibly. She leaned towards Haelvia, keeping her voice low... "I''d heard you two didn''t get along."

    "Optio?" Haelvia tilted her head.

    The older woman shook her head, "If the boy was worth anything, at all, you would have covered for him."

    ...Oops.

    Haelvia clenched her eyes shut, realizing the truth in Phaedra''s words. Her subtle response to the Centurion meant that she''d just left her teammate to die.

    She cleared her throat and tried to speak up-- "Centurion, if you''d allow me to ex--"

    "---Hold your tongue, Lass," Januarius cut her off as he stood up from his seat.

    "Centurion, shall I cut off his fat tongue or his tiny cock?" Optio Phaedra suggested. At the same time, she loaded her crossbow and racked it back.

    It took an obscene amount of strength to do so without a loading tool.

    ...Though the irony of her brandishing her crossbow and threatening to sever Loki''s fleshy parts seemed to be lost on her.

    ''me take me,'' Haelvia cursed in her mind. ''Sorry, Loki. I tried. I didn''t try very hard... but that''s about as much as you deserve, you criminal.''

    "I''ll handle it," The Centurion began walking around the table towards the arrogant boy.

    Steeling his courage, Loki stood on his tiptoes and raised his arms beside his head, "You want a piece of me, old man? I ain''t scared o--"

    "?Wolf Fang Hurricane Fist.?"

    Centurion Januarius crossed the distance to the boy in a crimson sh, mming two palms into Loki''s chest. A series of fists trailing with red mana smashed into the boy''s torso, followed by a brutal kick to the thigh.

    That... didn''t look or sound like anything out of a Tyrion manual. But the Skill did have ''wolf'' in its name, so Haelvia decided not to think too hard on it.

    Loki fell onto the ground, rolling in pain... which only bid the wolf to press his advantage.

    Januarius plowed two more unforgiving kicks to the boy''s side, then powered a final red-trailed fist into his gut. The boy loosed a dramatic wheeze... and fell unconscious.

    "...Would you, uh... like some help, Sir?" Haelvia offered.

    Phaedra gestured towards themand tent''s storage chest, "If you''d like, I can grab a set of spikes and a mallet."

    The Centurion shook his wolf-head, a quick and curt ''no''. Grabbing onto the boy''s cor with one hand, he unceremoniously tossed him out of the tent.

    "Phaedra," The wolf spoke aloud as he calmly rolled his right shoulder, "take the puer to the infirmary."

    "I hear you, Centurion," The Optio stood up, and after giving Haelvia a brisk nod, left the tent to deal with the aftermath.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Januarius turned back towards Haelvia, his expression well hidden by his full helmet, "The boy did not apany you at your behest."

    ...It was almost as if he was asking for confirmation. Haelvia smiled as politely as she could. Even if that wasn''t the case, it was already a fact that Loki had already been severely beaten.

    "Aye, Centurion," Haelvia nodded... "Though... I think that might have been a strong response, no?"

    "...Probably," Januarius shrugged.

    "...Is Optio Phaedra really going to cut off Loki''s thing?"

    The Centurion stared for several seconds before speaking again, "Pour the drinks, Lass. The wine in the painted skin is already watered."

    "I hear you, Centurion," Haelvia chuckled uneasily as she reached for the wine.

    Optio Phaedra was a terrifying woman.

    Centurion Januarius was a straightforward, no-nonsense man. Guild Metal Wolf had taken plenty of precautions on their journey and was well-prepared, even for their trek through the dry deserts and the mountains soon after.

    After Haelvia poured the drinks into the two wooden cups, she took a sip from her own.

    The wine the Centurion drank was watered just as heavily as the wine rationed to his wolves. The meals were rationed as well, but were generous. Everyone ate their fill with littleint, since they''d been marching for so many bells in the sun.

    The wolves stayed hungry... wanting... for the next drink and meal... for the next mission and the subsequent paycheck.

    Haelvia appreciated that the Centurion was such a business-minded individual... but there was more to running a guild than just the numbers.

    "You know, Centurion... Loki is well liked in thepany."

    Left unspoken was the fact that she was not. If Loki used his poprity toin... it could make things difficult for the Centurion.

    ...Though she doubted that the Centurion would care.

    Januarius was known to act without regard for things such as human weakness orpassion.

    Good soldiers follow orders... and that was that.

    ...It made Haelvia feel a tinge ofpassion for her Optio, for having to deal with that.

    The old wolf crossed his arms, "He''s also an arrogant little shite who thinks he''s invincible. It''s going to get him killed... probably sooner rather thanter."

    Fair enough.

    "Besides that, Centurion... what you''ve summoned me for on this particr sun... you''re going to give me a mission, right?"

    "Aye," The man nodded.

    "Loki... is also a Divine Armor pilot."

    "Aye."

    "...So it would be fitting to have him also here... to also receive the mission."

    The wolf did not respond... staring at a fixed position across the tent.

    Haelvia frowned... "Did... you forget, Sir?"

    Januarius unbuckled his helmet, removing it and cing it on the table beside him. He took his winecup and drank deeply, draining it in three slow gulps.

    "...I didn''t like the way the boy looked at me."

    Haelvia shook her head and sighed again.

    That... was also fair.

 Chapter 716 Heroes, Legends, Trademarks

    ?It was the first time Haelvia had seen Centurion Januarius without his helmet.

    As the rumors said, it looked like someone had run a sword through the left side of his face and rotated the hilt. The scars were pink and fleshy... and the stink of ointment stung the nostrils.

    It was a shame. Januarius was only in his mid 30''s or early 40''s... and he probably would have been considered handsome.

    He could have been in Haelvia''s personal top three-- tied with Lancelot.

    ...Guh.

    Haelvia shut her eyes and cursed herself for her hypocrisy. She hated being judged on her looks-- and in her mind, she had just done the same thing.

    "You mind if I take off my helmet, Lass?" Januarius asked as he poured himself more wine.

    "Not at all, Sir."

    ...Besides the fact that the Centurion had already done so, Haelvia wasn''t foolish enough to deny her superior a personalfort in his... personal tent.

    Haelvia took another pull of her wine, the alcohol in it not even enough to redden her cheeks... "Question, Centurion."

    "Answer, Immunes."

    "Why''d we set up camp so early? It''s still... a whole bell before the sun starts going down?"

    "We''re going to be attacked," Januarius nodded sternly.

    "...Wait, what?" Haelvia tilted her head. "By... who?"

    "I''ve no idea, Lass," The wolf shrugged. "I can just feel it. The sands have been too quiet... and the fates have been too kind, as ofte."

    Haelvia was no stranger to the concept... She believed she could hear the voice of her Divine Armor. The Centurion having a premonition about an inevitable attack was far easier to believe.

    Still... as devoid as the desert was of travelers and the fact that their camp was on an elevated teau, it seemed unlikely. Thus, without Optio Phaedra present, Haelvia took on the role as themand tent''s voice of logic.

    "How can you be certain, Centurion?"

    "I''m not," Januarius frowned. "I''m assigning you and the puer to nightwatch, two different shifts."

    "Sir... that..."

    "Theck of sleep will be unpleasant," The man shut his eyes and shook his head, "This is an order... and if you refuse it, you will be subject to disciplinary action under martialw."

    "...I understand, Centurion," Haelvia sighed as she poured her own cup to full.

    It sounded like a threat... but she also knew that was just how the Centurion spoke.

    Still, it would have been easier to swallow if her wine wasn''t as watered down as it was.

    Januarius tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, "However... if you are not up to the task, Adscenta, then perhaps you''re not cut out for... Guild Invictus?"

    Haelvia chuckled to herself at the thought.

    "No," Her mouth curled up into a radiant smile, "I''ve noints, Sir."

    "Very well," Januarius nodded, taking his wolf helmet and donning it once more.

    Did he sleep with that thing on? That seemed to be the case...

    "Remain vignt, Haelvia of Leopardon," The Centurionmanded. "The strength of the pack is in each wolf. Dismissed."

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Later that night... ?

    Haelvia manually pushed open Gaheris'' chest tes to get a breath of fresh air. It was nice and cozy in the enclosure... but the cool breeze that washed over her spiked her awareness.

    Stifling a yawn, she scanned the horizon...

    Guild Metal Wolf was camped in a defensible position, able to see miles around down the hilly teau. All the rocks and shrubs and cactuses-- cactusie-- cactusii? It looked the same... but none of them moved.

    It was easy to see anything moving in the darkness, with the starlight and all the bonfires they lit.

    It had been a boring night, until then...

    All she and Gaheris had to do on the first half of nightwatch was patrol to the various watch stations, visiting each at least once.

    It gave her plenty of time to think.

    Thankfully, she wasn''t alone in her thoughts. She had a loyal partner, after all.

    ? Gaheris doesn''t notice anything unusual. ?

    ...Loyalty aside, he wasn''t the best at conversation.

    He made up for it by being a great listener-- which was just as important as talking in a conversation, if not moreso.

    She thought back to her earlier conversation with Centurion Januarius.

    The Metal Wolf, himself, had a good memory.

    When her application to join thepany was being reviewed, Haelvia cited Sol Invictus as her motivation for joining.

    Even though decades had passed since that guild''s iron rule over Ezyria''s diatorial arenas, they still remained a household name... especially in the Ezyrian vige of Leopardon. Since they were within a week''s travel to Caeruleum, many of the adults had seen Invictus live in action.

    Joining Sol Invictus... was something she and her childhood friend, Justus, often talked about.

    Once they ''grew up,'' they''d do the work of the me... ying xeno''s and heretics and witches and great, mutant beasts-- all in defense of humanity.

    After they made a name for themselves, they promised to search all through Tyrion, maybe beyond, for whoever seeded Guild Leader Quies.

    Sol Invictus was out there, somewhere... That''s what she personally believed.

    Though heroes may die... legends live forever.

    And reasonably, their... trademarks wouldn''t expire so quickly.

    ...Haelvia didn''t know when it was, but somesun along the road, she realized she''d grown past those grossly unrealistic idealisms.

    It might have been when she first visited Caeruleum with her father. The diators they watched fight didn''t seem very strong... and she had to listen to Dadin about the waste of coin for a whole two weeks after.

    It might have been when she was first rejected by both the Tyrion standing army and the Rhodok guild. She wasn''t allowed to fight in the defense of her nation-- and why? Because she ate her vegetables as a child?

    ...Maybe it was when she realized her first paycheck wasn''t worth as much as she hoped.

    Being an adult was difficult.

    Anyroad, Sol Invictus was long gone.

    Haelvia supposed she still liked the romantic notion of having such a title...

    She just had to *rate* it, first, though.

 Chapter 717 Making Friends

    ?Everyone worked hard towards building the kind of life they wanted.

    That''s what Justus was doing. He was the Hero of Leopardon, after all...

    He was out there, somewhere, fighting, Haelvia was sure of it. Every sun, without fail, he''d be adventuring as stubborn and stupid as his namesake suggested.

    Rena was right there, with him... working tirelessly to stay by his side.

    The sweetest girl Haelvia ever knew was wholeheartedly determined to never let that guy out of her sight... even if, at times, she was just as much of a dunce as her boyfriend-but-not-boyfriend.

    Maybe... just maybe... after the three of them finished their initial contracts, they''d meet up again.

    It wasn''t impossible.

    Haelvia didn''t know where they''d go, from there... but having some sort of goal was a reassurance.

    A certain song came to mind... and she hummed the tune to herself while mouthing the words.

    She liked to think Gaheris appreciated her musicality. At the very least, she was confident he wouldn''tin.

    --which was why she shot fully awake when she suddenly heard her Divine Armor''s thoughts.

    ? A young Fire Elemental is here, but does not appear hostile. ?

    Haelvia bit her lower lip. Gaheris was telling her not to be worried... but a stranger skulking about sote at night was something reasonable to be concerned about.

    She leapt out of Gaheris, slid down his arm, andnded onto the ground. It would be safer for her to remain mounted... but she felt the need to personally inspect the rogue spirit...

    She patted the dagger strapped to her hip. She''d be in dire straits if she was forced to use it... but its presence wasforting.

    ? Watch over me, Gaheris... ?

    ? The connection to Gaheris is stable, averaging 94%. ?

    Haelvia nodded in thanks. It wouldn''t be an issue for her to control him remotely...

    She checked behind arge boulder. Nothing.

    She looked behind a tall, single, non-plural cactus. Also nothing.

    ...She nced back to Gaheris.

    A tiny sphere of orange me was floating by his leg. It was small enough that if she had a jar, she''d have been tempted to try and catch it.

    "Oh," Haelvia chuckled to herself in amusement. "That... wasn''t what I was expecting."

    She approached the miniature ball and greeted it with a high-pitched voice, "HelloOo~! What are *you* doing there?"

    The ball pulsed with heat-- not... upset... but it felt like it was... acknowledging her?

    ...Haelvia fully understood that she could have been mistaken. She didn''t have any experience dealing with fire wisps.

    ? The Fire Elemental seems to be Iron-Rank. ?

    Haelvia blinked rapidly... then drew her dagger while taking a vignt step backwards.

    It was not her most wisdomous moment, deciding to fight an Iron-Rank entity made entirely out of fire in closebat...

    Even though she''d get burned, she was certain she''d win. It was two against one.

    The fire sphere pulsed again and began to... buzz... and in anguage Haelvia understood.

    "O'' Sol Invictus... Thou shalt sing of us in praise~"

    The voice was high-pitched and... squeaky? It belonged to a girl... singing the words to the tune Haelvia was humming.

    What was she supposed to think of that?

    Haelvia tilted her head... but she finished the verse, "Else mourn thy dead... by bullet, spell, and de."

    "S-sorry to bother you," The ball of me bobbed-- almost like it was bowing in apology. "It''s prettyte, I know... but I heard you singing-- or humming... and-- anyroad! I''m sorry.."<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? sorry ?

    A second voice smoldered in Haelvia''s head... warm and... crackly, like a burning log.

    "Um, yeah. Who? ...are you?" She asked-- "Or... maybe ''what are you?'' I guess, would be more appropriate?"

    "Oh! Ohhhh~!" The ball glowed, "My name is Coraline. I uh... or rather... this little one''s name is Beatrice."

    "Be...atrice?"

    5#Beatrice: Coraline pronounces this: Bay-uh-tree-chay.

    That name... ''Coraline'' was definitely something from the Eastern States... Eastern Statesmen had the strangest names...

    ''Beatrice'', though? That sounded distinctly Tyrion.

    "I uh... my name is... Haelvia."

    "Nice. Tyrion name! I worked in the Holy Country up until I got fired a year or so ago-- but wow!" The ball lit up with excitement, "So... I''mmunicating through my fire elemental, but everything looks huge on this side!"

    ...Haelvia gave a wry smile. Coraline sounded really friendly... but that''s probably because she didn''t realize Haelvia was a freak.

    "Actually... I''m um... about seven Tyrion feet tall."

    "Oh. Phe. That''s a relief," Coraline buzzed.

    That... wasn''t the type of reaction Haelvia was used to.

    She slowly raised her hands in confusion, trying to grasp onto what exactly Coraline was saying.

    "...H-how... do you mean?"

    "It means that my senses are about equal to my contracted elemental''s. But anyroad, being super tall must be AWESOME!!"

    Haelvia squeezed her eyes to thin little slits, "Um wha?"

    It... really wasn''t. Just as she was about to exin, the little ball of fire started to dance around her.

    ? awesome . awesome ?

    "Elle! We *have* to hang out when we get to Whitehearth. Hopefully, by then, I can move two fulms without everything hurting... errrrgh. Ohhh, my butt is so sore! A bandit stabbed me in the butt. Why would someone-- ANYONE do that?"

    Haelvia sighed and resheathed her dagger... "Listen, Coraline... I''m real busy..."

    "You''re on guard duty, singing to yourself," The little ball expertly pointed out.

    "Listen..." Haelvia grimaced-- but she was blushing in embarrassment, "You''re right... But uh... I''m really not the best ofpany."

    ''me take me,'' She closed her eyes and cursed in her mind.

    It had been so long since Haelvia talked openly to another girl that she forgot how to... be friendly.

    When the other females in thepany spoke to her, she was always prepared to handle their verbal abuse... so she was always on the defensive.

    She didn''t need to act that way with Coraline. The girl was a bystander-- an outsider who wasn''t influenced by the unfair judgments prevalent amongst the members of Guild Metal Wolf.

    ...And by Haelvia actively pushing Coraline away, she was just perpetuating the fact that she was a cold, arrogant bitch.

    "Don''t worry about it," The little ball whirled in ce and... giggled.

    It was... the most adorable sound.

    Haelvia... she wanted to be friends with this girl.

    "I''ve always wanted a tall friend," Coraline dered. "I''m an elf. We don''t grow that tall."

    ...Had making friends always been so easy?

 Chapter 718 Forbidden Embrace

    ?"Friends, then," Haelvia shrugged while silently thanked the fates.

    The prospect of having a new friend was wonderful.

    Including Coraline, Haelvia had *amassed* a total of two friends in the Eastern States. Granted, one of them was Gaheris, but the second was a living, breathing--

    "Eh?" Haelvia tilted her head, "An elf? Oh, you''re the-- the girl we rescued a few suns ago."

    She winced at her own clumsy words. She''d almost called Coraline a xeno... which would have been terribly rude.

    Tyrion stereotyping against non-humans and mages was ingrained deep in Haelvia''s psyche. Granted, she knew it wasn''t fair. Everyone knew it wasn''t fair. People are people. Elves are people. In theory, Elven Witches are people, too.

    "Oh, yeah. I guess I probably should have started with that," The ball dipped apologetically. "Sorry. Was just excited to talk to-- y''know, another human being."

    "But..." Haelvia raised an eyebrow, "you''re... an elf?"

    "That''s... fair," The elf-sphere paused-- "But you knew what I meant, Elle!"

    "Sorry, sorry~" Haelvia snorted inughter before sighing again-- in relief.

    Thankfully, Coraline didn''t seem to be offended. She was... surprisingly easy to talk to.

    "Bea~tri~ce," The Coraline sphere sang, "Show our new friend what we look li~ike."

    The glowing ball began to crackle and pop as mes spilled in an arc on its opposite side... With a final, dramatic fwoosh, the expelled mes took a vague humanoid shape-- and it held the original fiery ball in its small palms.

    Coraline looked like she sounded... a small, cute, and petite girl with long, pointed ears ring diagonally upwards.

    She... didn''t have clothes or hair... or a face, though.

    While it was mildly disconcerting, Haelvia decided to give the mage the benefit of the doubt. A summonermunicating by proxy reasonably had certain limitations.

    ? friend ?

    The fire elemental tilted its head, its voice warming Haelvia''s heart.

    As in... her body temperature literally spiked up at the Beatrice''s notion of ''friend.''

    Haelvia nodded and gave a wry smile.

    Counting Beatrice, her number of friends in the Eastern States had tripled. Granted, zero of them were human, but Haelvia had decided that she didn''t need to make human friends to be happy.

    The little ball in the fiery figure''s hands continued to glow as it transmitted Coraline''s voice.

    "Your guild got me out of a really rough spot," She exined. "I *specifically* wanted to travel ovend because... well, traveling by sea got me attacked by pirates... mmmmultiple times."

    "So... the brigands we chased away?" Haelvia asked.

    "Yep. Pretty muchnd pirates," The figure twirled the ball in her hands for emphasis, spinning it on a finger. "You have noOoOoo idea how dumb I felt. My luck''s pretty garbage-- so it was only a matter of time before I encountered a bandit raid."

    Haelvia ced her palms together, tapping her fingers, "I know it''s expensive... but did you consider going to Whitehearth by airship?"

    "Last time I traveled by air in the Holy Country, five people died and two went to prison."

    Haelvia patted the dagger on her hip. It was still there, "Uh huh?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I did meet my boyfriend on that trip, though. Ooh! And he says-- err, I mean, he *is* part of Sol Invictus."

    Sol... Invictus...

    The name of the legendary diator guild had just entered the conversation. It was surprising, but not... ironic? Haelvia was literally humming their theme song when Coraline approached her.

    "Sol Invictus?" She asked. "*The* Sol Invictus?"

    "I dunno. Probably?" The fire elemental shrugged as she yfully tossed her me ball between either hand, "My boyfriend, Lone, definitely belongs to apany named Sol Invictus-- but the name''s registered under the Adventurer''s Guild in Alizeau."

    ? She-- or Beatrice, pointed her thumb at her chest, "I''m a researcher. So I did the research. The guild could *usibly* be what''s left of the old Sol Invictus. It''s under new management, though-- obviously."

    Haelvia nodded in thoughtful agreement. If the diator''s guild roster was still the same, everyone would have to be decades past their primes.

    She scoffed at the thought, "How about the leader, though? I''m picturing some old, stubborn diator pit master that still thinks physical punishment is the most effective way to teach."

    "His abs are made out of chiseled rock," Coraline replied.

    Though Haelvia couldn''t see the elf girl''s face, the smugness in her response was obvious.

    "...I.... see..." Haelvia forced a gradual, polite smile... "Are you... into... older men, Cor--"

    "Wait!" The fire elemental raised her open palms. The little ball pulsed in panic, falling in front of her hands, but remaining suspended in the air. "It''s not what it sounds like! The leader-- Sir Tychon is really young. He looks like he''s our age."

    "Sir... Tychon? That''s..." Haelvia furrowed her brows in thought... and her heart started beating with excitement, "That''s-- not a name from the Fairytale Kingdom?"

    "Yeah, it''s not," Coraline nodded, "He''s definitely from the Holy Country-- wears Tyrion armor, has a Tyrion sword... Oh! And he''s also a Decanus-- or former Decanus?"

    Haelvia''s heart palpitated in excitement. If the leader of Guild Invictus was as Tyrion as he sounded, it might very well have been the same adventuringpany she was looking for.

    "So..." She raised an eyebrow... "what''s your rtionship with your boyfriend''s superior?"

    Beatrice staggered backward, her palms holding her head.

    ...It looked like that was the wrong question to ask.

    "We''re-- we''re just friends!" The girl sputtered, "It''s... it''s not like that! I''m loyal! I would never cheat on my boyfriend! Loyalty loyalty loyalty!!" .

    Haelvia ced her hand on her chest... but her mouth twisted into a grimace.

    That word, loyalty, came up again...

    It was a shame that rtionships between younger persons-- herself included, were doomed to fail.

    It was none of Haelvia''s business to point that out, though. She hadn''t known Coraline for very long... but, since they were friends, Haelvia definitely wanted the insistent and honest elf to seed.

    But besides that...

    Coraline''s reaction was... adorable!

    It made Haelvia want to pull the poor, flustered girl into aforting embrace... and she probably would have if the elf wasn''tmunicating via fiery proxy.

 Chapter 719 Must Be Nice

    ?Coraline''s Elven form was... sucked back into the floating fire sphere, but she reappeared in front of Haelvia in a sh, her arms crossed and her chin tilted up.

    "My boyfriend is hot, too! You *have* to believe me, Ellll~iiiiie!!!"

    "It''s fine, it''s fiiiine~" Haelvia chuckled.

    It seemed her nickname of ''Elle'' had turned into ''Ellie.'' That was... endearing.

    "Ugh..." Coraline shook her head... "I''m... I''m really proud of him..."

    Haelvia pursed her lips... "buuut?"

    Coraline folded her hands... "I... I dunno."

    The gap between Coraline gushing about her boyfriend and suddenly bing self-conscious about the fact was incredible. It warmed Haelvia''s heart...

    "How ''bout you tell me about him?" She whispered gently.

    "He''s... strong..." Coraline''s voice regained a bit of its strength... "Really strong. And... he''s... a little taller than I am."

    "But you''d rather he be as tall as I am?" Haelvia smirked.

    "I wish," Coraline shrugged. "I mean err-- no, he''s fine like that!! Ahhh! The things you''re making me say!?"

    Haelvia raised her open palms in apology, "Go on, go on~!"

    "He... he likes the outdoors-- kinda important. I''m an elf."

    Haelvia raised her eyebrows, still smiling politely. Coraline spoke as if her pointy ears and lithe form was somehow forgettable.

    "He''s an adventurer, right?" Haelvia sighed... "an adventurer belonging to Sol Invictus..."

    "Yeah," Coraline nodded, "He''s... loyal, ultimately and unfailingly so... He''s... a little dumb sometimes-- incredibly dumb the rest of the time. But... the thing I love about him the most is... that..."

    The poor girl''s voice started to crack... "he... he never... ever gives up. Not on himself. Not on us."

    "He sounds sweet," Haelvia cooed. "I''m sure everything will work out."

    Coraline sighed and shook her head, a tiny wisp of meing out of where her mouth would be... "But yeah, to summarize: Lone is the muscle... and his handsomeness has a really high rating: B+, easy! And me-- I''m the super-cute, big-brained woman in the rtionship that he can always depend on."

    Haelvia began to chortle openly at the girl''s arrogant words-- "Ohhh no~! Hahaha... Coraline! You''re too much."

    "I''m joking," Coraline waved her hand, "You were making a really serious face, just now, Ellie."

    "Was I?" Haelvia tilted her head, resting her cheek on her fist... "Sorry, dear. I guess... I''m a little jaded about rtionships."

    "Mmm..." The ball in the fire elf''s palms buzzed... "So you don''t have anyone like that? Someone you care about?"

    Haelvia blinked her eyes as Loki briefly crossed her mind. It was so brief, she didn''t think it was worth mentioning.

    "I do not," She smiled.

    "That''s fiiine~!" Coraline eximed-- sudden enough to make Haelvia flinch, "Men are trash, anyroad! I got once-in-a-lifetime lucky. Several people died to bring me and my current boyfriend together, y''know!"

    "Three, right?" Haelvia frowned, "And two arrested, soon to be killed?"

    "Y-yeah," Coraline''s ears drooped, "The Holy Country''sws are... very strict."

    Haelvia shrugged and stretched her arms, "Must. be. nice."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "What is?"

    "To be lucky, for once," Haelvia sighed. "Feels like nothing goes my way... ever since I was born with this freakish height."

    "What?" Coraline perked up, "No way! Shut up! You being tall is AWESOME!!"

    "What? No. Absolutely not," Haelvia waved her hands, expressively rejecting the notion, "My height''s been making people judge me negatively for the past almost twenty years of my life!"

    "Pshhhh," The elf waved. "You''re Tyrion, right?"

    "Y-yeah? H-haelvia of Leopardon-- of Ezyria," Haelvia pursed her lips. "So what?"

    Coraline opened her arms wide, "We''re in the Eastern States, now! Here, tall women are highly-sought aftermodity!"

    "Mhm, right." Haelvia sighed in disbelief. "I''ll believe it when I see it."

    "No, really!" Coraline insisted. "Don''t worry about it! Once we get to Whitehearth, I''ll take you around."

    "Whitehearth, again?"

    "Shut up-- listen. We''ll hit the public houses and-- and it''s not impossible to find you a good man! I''ve... I''ve always been better at findingpati-bubbles for my coworkers than finding one, myself. AND luckily for you, I don''t need to find a new man! Not until the current one pisses me off."

    Haelvia blinked several times, trying to follow the elf''s word-vomit, "Um... I really don''t think that''s a good idea."

    "Nope," Coraline shook her head. "You''reing with me, whether you like it or not... or are you challenging our friendship?"

    ...That was a tough one. Haelvia wanted to reject her elf friend''s troublesome proposition... but she couldn''t think of a good excuse not to.

    "It... it wouldn''t be too out of ce for me to walk around?" She asked.

    "If orcs and dovahkiin, elves and Popotoes can do business in Whitehearth, you''ll be fine," Coraline giggled. "But if people are looking, it''s probably gonna be at ''dat ass."

    "Pardon?"

    Haelvia had just heard something incredible.

    She stood up straight, feeling slightly hurt. She did squats every day, trying to reduce the useless fat in her buttocks-- but it seemed all that work was useless.

    "No, nevermind," Coraline crossed her glowing arms, "First excuse: DENIED. Got any more for me to tear apart with truth, logic, and extreme prejudice?"

    "I..." Haelvia gulped as she nced up at her Divine Armor... "I... want to bring Gaheris. We''re... partners? Won''t he look out of ce in Whitehearth?"

    "Oohhhh!! Is that the big guy''s name??" Coraline hopped up excitedly, wildly waving at the Divine Armor towering over the both of them, "Hello, Gaheris!"

    Haelvia furrowed her brows and leaned forward.

    She... she didn''t know who was crazier, her for talking to her Divine Armor, or Coraline for doing the same.

    The fire elemental left the floating fireball with Haelvia as the elf form floated up towards Gaheris, zooming energetically underneath his arms, over his shoulder, and around his head.

    "Beatrice likes him," The little ball hummed, "She says... they''re simr?"

    "...Are they?" Haelvia twisted her lips to the side... "I... suppose? that''s not too surprising?"

    "Eh?" The elf-ball fell for a half-second before levitating back up to Haelvia''s chest height, "They don''t seem anything alike! Beatrice is a fire elemental and Gaheris is... a mana construct?"

 Chapter 720 Heartfelt Confession (Part One)

    ?Haelvia nodded as she closed her eyes. Coraline could tell Gaheris'' true nature at a nce. If all elves were like her-- that was a little scary.

    ? Gaheris serves loyally... as does the fire elemental, to her own master. ?

    Ah... So that''s what the reason was.

    Haelvia opened her eyes and smiled... "Gaheris is my loyal knight and protector. And so is Beatrice to you."

    "Beatrice is my dearest friend," Coraline nodded. "She''s irreceable... as are all my friends."

    The ball suddenly stopped moving... then continued, "I... don''t have very many, if I''m being honest. So... I''m sorry if I came out a little pushy. I don''t... really know how to make friends, ahaha..."

    A tinge of pain washed over Haelvia''s heart. She was the exact same way... except she didn''t have even half as much courage as Coraline had.

    ...After such a heartfelt confession, she was going to look like an absolute bitch, if she didn''t ept that invitation to Whitehearth.

    "AaAny-rOOad," Coraline raised her voice-- it cracked a little bit, probably out of embarrassment. "Whitehearth is where Divine Armors are made in the Eastern States... the home city of Arcanite Prince Landris Wyndham."

    Haelvia sucked in air through her teeth.

    She remembered being told earlier that Lancelot was powered by an Arcanite Core. Divine Armors weren''t umon to see in the city-state ruled by the Arcanite Prince... which also meant that Haelvia''sst excuse would also be rejected.

    "A-alright... I''ll go with you," Haelvia fanned herself with her hand... "But I highly doubt I''m going to find a good man in some seedy public house."

    The little fireball danced about excitedly, "It''s the journey that will be fun-- the adventure!"

    The fiery elementalnded adjacent to Haelvia, opening her Elven arms wide.

    ? beatrice too ?

    "Of course, Beatrice," Haelvia smiled. "We''ll all go together."

    The ming figure opened its ''mouth'' as if to show a radiant smile. It looked a bit disturbing, but it seemed fine.

    "Who knows?" Coraline giggled, "Maybe we''ll find you a good man on the way!"

    ...

    Haelvia was fast to be friends with Coraline.

    Maybe it was because Coraline was a great listener-- though not as good as Gaheris, for obvious reasons.

    Her Elven friend was sweet, clever, funny... and hopelessly in love.

    They talked about absolutely nothing of importance, but... it was nice.

    The conversation was... warm-- and not just because one of the participants was a sentient manifestation of fire.

    Time passed and the night grewte...

    In a sh of red and gold, Coraline-- or Beatrice, rather, transformed back into a subtle, floating sphere.

    "Running away, little girl?" Haelvia teased. "I guess I''m boring, huh?"

    "Psh, nah. We could probably keep going like this until the same time tomorrow," The ball glowed. "BuuuUuu~t... aren''t you supposed to be on patrol? Miss Haelvia of Leopardon?"

    "Aren''t you supposed to be on bedrest," Haelvia countered, "Miss Coraline Heartsong?"

    "Whaaaat?" The ball shed in embarrassment... "I''d... I''d sleep if I could. I slept the whole sun, y''know... Beatrice and I are gonna explore for a little bit before heading back."<novelnext></novelnext>

    That was fine. As much as Haelvia wanted to keep talking, they''d been doing that for literally bells. Her back hurt from standing for so long.

    "Alright," Haelvia waved. "Stay out of trouble, dear. You too, Miss Beatrice."

    ? no burn? ?

    "No burning anyone who doesn''t deserve it," Haelvia waved her finger.

    ? yes ?

    "Ellie... can we hang outter?" The elf-ball pulsed, "Maybe in the morning?"

    Haelvia touched her hand to her heart... "Yeah... I''d like that."

    After another few minutes of farewells to her spherical elf friend and the erratic flier that was Beatrice, she turned back to Gaheris.

    "We have more friends. You''re not jealous, right?"

    ? Gaheris believes that more allies can only be beneficial. One such ally approaches. ?

    "Oh, is it that time already?" Haelvia closed her eyes and kept silent...

    She felt it was probably past due for Munifex Loukius to arrive-- but as Haelvia was properly entertained for most of the evening, she didn''t mind it too much.

    Yet... she didn''t sense Lancelot''s heavy steps?

    "Talkin'' to yourself again, Hagrid?"

    Haelvia turned around slowly... to see Loki emerging from a flowery brush.

    That name again... It was annoying to begin with, and thrice so out of Loki''s mouth... but she''d had a good evening and didn''t want to make change-over longer than necessary.

    And thus... she chuckled to herself, smiling out of obligatory politeness, "I guess."

    "Well... you should probably stop that," Loki suggested, approaching with his hands on his hips. "People might think you''re a crazy person."

    "I guessss," Haelvia repeated herself with azy shrug.

    She didn''t care what most anyone else in thepany thought of her-- there was far too much hearsay and trashy rumors, anyroad.

    In fact, she had a strong suspicion that the source of half of her shite poprity was in her very presence.

    ...And Gaheris wasn''t so talkative.

    Haelvia tried to change the subject, "About the change-over... I was about to check on Decanus Ollus, but--"

    "He can wait. He says he''s an Iron-Rank Legionnaire-- even if he can''t touch me in a fight, but still..." Loki rubbed his opposite elbow, "H... hey, can we talk for a bit?"

    "What?" Haelvia lost her bnce, letting her head dip to the side, "No. I''m going to start my sleep cycle."

    "Oh,e onnn~!" Loki opened his arms wide, as if to block her from leaving. "Just for a little bit?"

    ...Unlike his earlier joke, this one was actually funny. The boy might have been good with a spear and shield, but he had neither... nor did he have his Divine Armor. Conversely, Haelvia was both bigger and stronger than he was. Gaheris wouldn''t even have to lift a finger.

    Loki was being awfully serious, though...

    So... even though Haelvia was really, really tired... and even though she really, really didn''t want to spend another minute with the scoundrel... her ursed politeness won out.

 Chapter 721 Heartfelt Confession (Part Two)

    ?"me eternal..." Haelvia sighed... "Alright, Loki, what''s this about?"

    The arrogant blockhead was a member of Guild Metal Wolf, just like she was.

    In theory, he was one of the shields that guarded her left and/or right. In theory, Loki would take an arrow for her in a heartbeat... and she, the same for him.

    Theories... She was starting to hate herself for her nonsensical rationalization.

    "I uh..." Loki was fidgeting, kicking at the dirt... looking altogether unsure of himself.

    "Spit it out, you," Haelvia urged.

    When she was talking to Coraline, it was easy for her to stay focused. Without the elf''s light, slightly musical, excitement, Haelvia''s fatigue was quickly nketing her brain. It made her irritable.

    Loki was generally nice to look at... but Haelvia didn''t care for that.

    She wanted to sleep, not listen to a brat''s useless whining.

    "I''ve been thinkin''..." He said.

    "A vast improvement," Haelvia noted absentmindedly.

    "Come on, Hagrid, I''m tryin'' to be serious..."

    Haelvia sighed deeply as she felt her eye twitch. She really didn''t like that name.

    "Say what you need to, so I. can. leave," Haelvia responded curtly.

    "I think..." Loki hesitated... "that you and me... we should... we should hang out more."

    Haelvia couldn''t help but scoff, "By the me, nnnOOoo!! We ''hang out'' more than enough in the field!."

    "I mean!!" Loki raised his voice... only to have it fall again, "I mean... when we get to Whitehearth... let''s... hang out."

    That... admittedly, was an invitation Haelvia had always wanted.

    For the first few moons she and Loki worked together, she made the mistake of... expecting it? The passably-handsome green-haired man had always surrounded himself with friends, talking andughing... sharing the camaraderie she didn''t rate.

    The invitation never came.

    After it finally did... Haelvia wasn''t sure if she wanted it, anymore.

    "I''ve been there before," Loki added, "to Whitehearth, I mean-- obviously. So I know a few good ces to go."

    "Sounds nice," Haelvia answered nomittally as she pursed her lips.

    Even besides basic invitations to outings, Haelvia had stopped expecting kindness from near anyone in thepany. She figured a normal girl might have wanted to cry... but she... her pent-up frustrations were just mounting into anger. Every second that passed made it harder to resist the urge to punch Loki in his stupid face.

    The guy ced his palm on his chest, looking smug, "I... know this really good restaurant. It''s me-taken expensive... but it''s the best romantic date ce in the whole city!"

    "Yeah, that sounds--" Haelvia stopped as what Loki was saying fully processed in her mind, "Hhhh-whaaaaaat?! Ah! Hahaha! HAHAHA!!!"

    She bent over, holding her stomach as sheughed.

    She... couldn''t help herself. She had heard the most ridiculous thing in her life. It was more ridiculous than guild Sol Invictus being run by the same people who ran it half a century ago.

    Guilt, however, swept through her heart like a desert storm.

    Laughing until there were tears at the corners of her eyes... was not the socially correct response.

    She had made a mistake.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She held absolutely zero romantic notions when it came to Loki. She didn''t even have a *friendly* rtionship with him.

    Their only interactions consisted of himining about something asinine and her either mocking him for it or countering his ignorant logic.

    Yet for some reason... the boy thought it was eptable to ask to be lovers?

    Still... she needed to be at least a little polite about it.

    The wholepany thought of her as a frigid bitch, but she didn''t need to heartlessly tread on his feelings to make the rumors true.

    ...Not that she expected the mushroom-brained braggart to actually be hurt.

    Haelvia nced up... and she saw that Loki''s face had turned and twisted-- something between helplessness and indignation.

    His poor little heart was broken!

    It was the first time in her life she thought of the boy as cute! The thought of it almost sent her into anotherughing fit... but she managed to reign it in.

    Returning to her professional mien, Haelvia stood up straight, took a deep breath, and wore the gentle and polite smile she practiced to perfection.

    She already had a polite excuse to reject the boy''s confession.

    "Loki... I can''t," Haelvia tilted her head cutely, "I already promised some friends that I''d be apanying them for the duration of our stay in the Elven city."

    That was... something of a lie. Coraline didn''t specify an amount of time they would spend together. But even if the elf and her fire elemental had to go off, Haelvia would have preferred to spend her paid time off alone than with an arrogant child.

    The green-haired boy took a step forward, his hand held forward, "Elle..."

    Haelvia matched him by taking a step back, "Munifex Loukius."

    Metal screamed and rocks and silt moved as Gaheris shifted his weight.

    Haelvia didn''t even ask him to do anything... but she sensed that he''d intervene in an instant if he felt the need to.

    Loki furrowed his brows in confusion, "What the ff--- You... you tryin'' to square up with me, Hagrid? Of all people, you?"

    ...Haelvia felt a tinge of worry.

    She was facing one of the best bare-knuckle boxers in thepany... and she wasn''t exactly a super-powerful Elven Witch with a fire elemental.

    However... she did have a very stabby, very durable, folded-steel dagger on her hip... and a thick Saronite Protector on her forearm perfect for bashing faces in...

    Oh. And she had an overprotective 15-foot-tall guardianposed entirely of mana.

    "You..." Loki grit his teeth, "You''re such a me-taken slut, Elle! Leadin'' me on with your gods damned mixed messages!"

    Haelvia gasped, "I have done NO such thing, Loki! Leading you on... are you listening to yourself?!"

    "Oh, I get it!" Loki started raising his voice, pointing a finger, "You think you can do whatever you want, just ''cause you''re F*CKING the Centurion?!?"

    Haelvia tilted her head to the side in shock, her mouth agape.

    Loki thought she was... what?

    With... the Centurion?

    No! Absolutely not!

 Chapter 722 Xeno

    ?Haelvia hadn''t been in... ANY rtionship that got even close to *that* level of intimacy... nevermind with anyone in Guild Metal Wolf.

    Anyroad, every sun in the Eastern States, she spent patrolling with Gaheris. Every evening, she''d spend the same way, with ZERO humanpanionship!

    Loki... he knew all that!

    That he couldn''t understand... made Haelvia unable to say anything in response.

    She was so shocked... she didn''t realize when Loki had stomped off.

    Haelvia quietly cursed to the Eternal me. Her not responding to Loki''s wild usation was going to take yet another toll on her reputation...

    ...But thinking about it... no matter how she answered, she was fairly certain everyone in thepany would be spreading horrible rumors about it, anyroad.

    She shook her head and started climbing Gaheris'' arm.

    No use worrying about it.

    It was sure to be a shite morning... but she''d be able to handle it a little better after two or three bells of rest in her personal tent.

    ...

    Loukius cursed his predicament, stomping grouchily all the way back towards his Divine Armor.

    "By the me, that... that WHORE is so... me-taken STUPID!!"

    He drew his sidesword and smashed it onto Lancelot''s shin-- bending it into an angle... making it useless.

    "Eh?! You got somethin'' to say?!?!" He shouted.

    Loki could have swore he saw his Divine Armor''s eyes light up... but it was definitely a trick of the light... "Yeah... I thought so..."

    ...He was such an idiot. He was starting to talk to his Divine Armor like it was a person... just like that... that...

    Loki grit his teeth and punched at Lancelot, splitting open the skin on his knuckles.

    He... liked Haelvia.

    ...not in a romantic way. That was too much.

    He''d f*ck her, though.

    But he was... so damned mad that he got rejected.

    Why, exactly, he was mad... he didn''t know.

    Loki began to curse beneath his breath as he started to climb his Divine Armor, wincing whenever he used his right hand.

    It wasn''t for her looks-- that was for sure.

    Despite all the rumors about her, she was... actually pretty goodpany. It helped if he didn''t look at her.

    The stuck-up whore was clever... and she had a surprisingly sharp tongue-- she was definitely a little better at talking than he was.

    The one thing he liked... that he admired... was that she cared less than copper about what people said about her.

    It made Loki want to screw with her... so even though he wasn''t the one who started the rumors about her, he poprized more than a few of the funnier ones.

    ''Hagrid'' was his idea, though. He was proud of it, too.

    But that woman... she didn''t let any of that bother her.

    ...It was a kind of strength... and it was probably the only good thing the slut had that he envied.

    It was also Loki''s personal weakness. He cared far too much about what people thought of him.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was... probably why he talked about her behind her back so much.

    It made peopleugh.

    And ANYROAD, no one was hurt because of it. That bitch was used to it! She''d probably always been a behemoth monstrosity-- probably since she came out of the womb!

    That. me-taken. bitch.

    She should have been THANKFUL that he, Loki, the most handsome guy in the me-takenpany... probably the best Divine Armor pilot in the Eastern States took pity on such a disgusting, friendless freak.

    She''d open her legs to the Centurion-- probably to that cunt-licking Optio-- and would probably bang her me-taken Divine Armor if that thing had a d*ck!

    Loki plopped down into Lancelot''s control deck, closed the chest tes, and started channeling his mana into the construct.

    It was beyond frustrating-- talking to the one girl he actually liked.

    Fighting... that was so much easier.

    It was the middle of the night... but he had to let out his frustrations somehow.

    He''d feel better, heading to the Centurion''s tent and challenging him to a duel.

    Loki would show him... He''d show *everyone* that he was not one to be rejected.

    He turned his body--manding Lancelot to turn with him.

    "me TAKE YOU!!" He mmed his bleeding fist on the interface... "Why are you so me-F*CKING SLOOWWWWW!???!"

    It seemed like the longer they were in the deserts, the faster Haelvia was getting and the slower and more broken Lancelot was.

    Loki-- he could make it work just by pumping more mana into the systems... but without doing so, what might have been milliseconds oftent inputs had noticeably be almost a full second.

    It didn''t matter. When he reached the Centurion''s tent, he''d force the old man to ept his challenge. And if he had to, he''dmand Lancelot to...

    Fire?

    The dim glow of a fire was catching on the east side of camp... plumes of smoke rising up into the starlit sky.

    Loki leaned forward-- as if it would help him sharpen his mental link with his Divine Armor...

    There was screaming.

    But... were they screams of disorder and panic? Or were they the screams of battle?

    "Come on, you second-rate scrap heap," Loki grumbled as he mentallymanded Lancelot to pick up the pace.

    He saw something move-- something he rightfully should have missed. If there was one thing hegged behind at piloting, it was identifying details in his surroundings.

    It wasn''t his fault. Lancelot was just way more shite at it than Gaheris was.

    He saw... a dark face with glowing white eyes, moving forward with shadowy, ck tendrils like a multi-armed Devil Beast.

    It... produced a sword... and skulked into a tent.

    It didn''t even take five seconds... but it exited the tent, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.

    A chill ran down Loki''s spine.

    It was... a xeno... a real, live, in-the-field xeno!

    More wolves were stumbling out of their tents, dazed... half-dressed...

    The masked figure cut them down like dogs.

 Chapter 723 Starfall

    ?"Move!" Loki punched the inside of Lancelot''s chest tes, "Move FASTER, me TAKE you!!!"

    Xenos were attacking the camp... and his TRASH Divine Armor was ruining his chances at iming his me-taken destiny!

    More and more of the disgusting creatures began to appear... and out of nowhere!

    They rode translucent shadow-horses, hiding behind their masks... afraid to show their faces.

    They shot arrows... they swung their swords and stabbed with spears...

    If they had actual arms or legs, Loki didn''t see them. They gripped their weapons with monstrous tentacles.

    Loki opened his arms, brandishing his Divine Armor''s spear.

    "[For the good of mankind, the XENOS will be PURGED!!!]" He shouted.

    Lancelot empowered his voice-- directing it all forward.

    He was Loki of Tyrion! A me-taken HERO!

    His voice would be heard! His enemies would BREAK in FEAR!!

    Stabbing his spear into the dirt, Loki cleaved apart one of the xenos, sending up a plume of sand and dirt into the dim-starred night.

    He wrenched the de. Whatever he killed-- it was dead.

    Lancelot shook violently, forcing Loki to hold on tight.

    His brain rocked around in his skull, threatening unconsciousness.

    White shes were striking the outside of his Divine Armor, popping and exploding... tearing bits and scraps of metal.

    Magic? The xenos were using their heretic magics on him?! His blood heated with righteous hatred.

    "[You have NO. IDEA. WHO. you bastards are F*CKING WITH!!!!]" He shrieked.

    "Loki!" One of the mercenaries shouted, "d to see you, you me-taken criminal!"

    "Defend us! We''ll provide support!"

    "Everyone! Get the shield wall together!!!"

    Support? Worthless. They''d only try to take his glory. He''d kill everyst single xeno on his own!

    He dashed past his guild members, slipping, dodging, and blocking spells with his shield.

    Some of the errant sts of magic made short work of the weaklings-- but they didn''t matter. As long as he won, he''d mourn their deaths like a good little soldier. The price of winning a Tyrion engagement was lives... and Tyrion lives were given dly for the glory of humankind!

    Lowering his body weight, he smashed the tip of his shield down into the dirt and shed again with his spear, "[The strength of the pack... is in THE WOLF!!!]"

    He cut one of the humanoid enemies in two... the spear de passing through flesh and bone with barely any resistance.

    ncing down at what was left... he saw that the magical veil on the masked creature had dissipated.

    And left behind was... an elf?

    The elves were behind the attack?

    Of me-f*cking course the elves were behind the attack! Stealth, magic, and horses? It was typical for the savages that wielded bone des and sucked off cacti for water.

    The knife-eared barbarians circled him on their horses. Their witches kept bombarding him with white spears of magic-- enough to block his vision.

    The angrier Loki grew... the more he was blinded by rage.

    Lancelot was taking too much damage. The elves weren''t dying fast enough.

    He was used to big, slow monsters... and at least goblins had themon decency to stay bunched up in a group.

    But... with the way the elves were attacking... it was like they-- like they knew how to fight against Divine Armors.

    ...which was impossible.

    Xenos weren''t that intelligent-- are NOT that intelligent!

    The sharpened end of a metal pick burst through Lancelot''s chest tes, stabbing into the meat of Loki''s right pectoral.

    "ArrrrRRGH!!" He shrunk back in his seat, surprised, hurt... confused. Looking down, he saw that some of the xenos-- the sneaky bastards were climbing his Divine Armor!<novelnext></novelnext>

    A series of ropes had circled his spear arm and they were prying open his fingers. Loki tried to clench his fist... but the damned. Divine. Armor. wasn''t. RESPONDING!!!

    Ignoring the wound and screaming at the top of his lungs, he released his spear and began swatting at the ants that were swarming him.

    He snatched up the masked elf with the pick-- the one on his chest.

    He... recognized her. It was the xeno he''d cut in two, earlier... but that was impossible.

    He grabbed hold of her torso... and with his other hand and twisted her upper half 180 degrees before dropping her.

    Though the mask fell off... shadowy tendrils shot out. They wrapped around the girl and began untwisting her broken body.

    The Witch could heal...

    She was moaning in pain, desperately digging her elbows into the dirt and trying to push herself away.

    Loki moved his forward and ced his foot down... several tons of weight in his Divine Armor body crushing her.

    She screamed... a shrill, piercing noise that bored into the back of Loki''s brain.

    The girl-- no, the xeno looked about as old as he was.

    She was defeated... but with her witch magic, her wounds would regenerate in only minutes.

    Loki grit his teeth... He couldn''t let her go. The xeno''s were too strong... too much of a threat.

    How many wolves had she killed? How many more would die if he ignored her?

    He had no idea how many elves there were, hidden in the dark... but if there were only the five or six he was fighting... and if they could resist the attacks of even a Divine Armor, then Guild Metal Wolf was done for.

    "[Sorry, kid,]" Loki growled... "[but since you were born a xeno, you should have expected this much.]"

    Closing his eyes, he put his foot down.

    He... felt the body... suddenly give way. He wasn''t sure... but he thought he heard it pop. It felt like... crushing an insect... ending the life of something that wasn''t human...

    Loki made the mistake of peeking out of one eye.

    Blood stained the ground outward from Lancelot''s foot. Guts and viscera were strewn about.

    He... he could almost smell it... taste it.

    His stomach churled and he coated Lancelot''s console with vomit. His chest injury burned from the disgust ssh of bile.

    Wiping his mouth, he slowly rotated his head to identify the next xeno.

    And he found... none?

    Channeling mana into Lancelot to sharpen his vision, Loki spotted one of the pathetic creatures. They were sprinting away in leaps and bounds, somersaulting over rocks, weaving amongst the cacti.

    "[Cowards!!!]" Heughed, standing up straight after picking up his fallen spear.

    It was disgraceful. The unfeeling xeno''s left the bodies of one of their own behind. He sat back and breathed a sigh of relief, relishing in his superior.

    The enemy had been routed. Guild Metal Wolf had prevailed.

    As for the reason? It was all thanks to his efforts.

    He had to refocus, though. There could be more pockets of resistance throughout the camp...

    Looking up into the stars... he spotted a half-dozen of them falling in unison.

    "Hah! HahahaHAHA!" He cackled.

    The fates were with him! The stars fell from the sky to celebrate his victory!

    He furrowed his brows.

    No.

    That was wrong.

    The stars...

    ...they were falling towards him.

 Chapter 724 Better Judgment

    ?"Ellie. Ellie! You HAVE to wake up!"

    Haelvia blinked her eyes, trying to readjust to the brightness in the tent. Was it morning? With the sweltering heat, it felt like it could have been mid-afternoon.

    ...She was probablyte for something.

    With the panicking voice urging her to get up, it was probably even worse... Still barely awake, she reached for her dagger underneath her pillow, "Wha... what''s... going on?"

    Why did it smell like smoke?

    Rubbing her eyes... she squinted at... an elf? An elf on fire?

    "B-beatrice? No... Coraline?" Haelvia frowned, "What are you two doing here?"

    Something was wrong. The harsh smell of smoke was noting from the fire elemental.

    "Not important!" The fire elf raised her voice, "Come on! We have to hurry!"

    "How... did you find me?" Haelvia shook her head, trying to wake up fully. She hadn''t had much sleep in the past week...

    "Your ss has a unique mana signature. It''s simr to-- no," Coraline shook her head, embers wisping off of her ''hair'', "That doesn''t matter right now. Please, Ellie! We have to move!"

    Haelvia furrowed her brows. Her... ss? Had she finally ss-changed into Divine Armor Pilot? No-- it wasn''t the time to think about that.

    rity quickly returned to Haelvia''s eyes when she realized that Coraline had to yell for her voice to be heard over themotion outside.

    She quickly strapped on her sandals, buttoned on her gambeson-- and almost forgot to strap on her Saronite Protector. Afterwards, she stumbled out of her tent... into the mouth of one of the seven hells.

    It wasn''t just her Elven friend-- half the camp was alight in fire. Righteous cries of battle resounded from Tyrion tongues fighting in the distance.

    Masked shadowy figures were in arms, fighting against disorganized gaggles of Metal Wolf mercenaries... and the darkness was winning.

    Haelvia gasped in horror, watching the battle. The wolves outnumbered the enemy two or three to one, but the enemy ignored conventional logic.

    She saw a masked creature take a crossbow bolt to the chest. They didn''t even flinch, cutting down the crossbowman before she could recover from her disbelief.

    Another shadow leapt upon a formation of four shieldbearers, taking a spear through the thigh, and one fully-through their belly. They kept fighting... as if they were immortal.

    Haelvia turned towards Coraline in a panic, "What... what are those things?!"

    "They''re elves," The fire elf replied softly... "Have you heard of the Ebon Mask tribe?"

    "Why in the me would I know *anything* about the Elven tribes?!"

    "Okay, just asking," Coraline shook her head. "Calm down before those things fall off."

    Haelvia grit her teeth and nced up to the kneeling Gaheris, staring at her from underneath its protective tarp.

    The guild fell under attack, just like the Centurion said would happen... She needed to mount up and assist. Loki was probably already fighting...

    But... they were fighting xeno''s.

    Would Loki even want help? That braggart would probably nag her the whole time. She nced back at her tent, where herfortable cot was. She had a brief, fleeting desire to just go back to sleep so she didn''t have to deal with it.

    "Look, I know how this works," Coraline whispered... "You want to help your friends, right?"

    "Yeah..." Haelvia shook her head again as she walked over to pull off Gaheris'' cover, "something like that."

    Guilt filled her heart for her selfishness. Hiding in her tent... doing nothing while people around her suffered-- that wasn''t who she was.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Haelvia had a duty to uphold. She signed a contract.

    ...Anyroad, she could sleep when she was dead.

    Everything was on fire, the smoke acrid, blinding, and everywhere... People were dying, their screams cutting through the night like sharpened swords.

    They might have been terrible people... but they didn''t deserve to die.

    She needed to do... something!

    Even if it was hopeless, Haelvia could rely on Gaheris and... pray that her training was enough.

    "Ellie, no," Coraline dashed to in front of her, holding her arms out, "Take me to your superior Officer. I can get us out of this."

    Haelvia shut her eyes and shook her head. That wasn''t possible. Though she didn''t know Centurion Januarius'' opinion on the matter, no right-minded Tyrion would listen to themands-- or even the suggestions of a non-human.

    On top of that, Coraline was a magic caster. If there was anything a Tyrion was taught to hate more than a xeno, it was a xeno Witch.

    "I''m... going to help Loki..." Haelvia gave a wry smile... "against my better judgment."

    "The other Divine Armor?" Coraline fidgeted with her hands... "That... it''s not going to work. That person can''t win! Any kind of straight fight, right now, won''t get us anywhere!"

    Haelvia wrenched her neck around in surprise, "Wh-what? There''s no way that''s true. Loki''s the best pilot in Tyrion!"

    ...Self-proimed, anyroad.

    "How long has he been a Divine Armor pilot?" Coraline asked.

    "Two years?"

    "Not gonna cut it," Coraline shook her head, "You''re just going to have to trust me on this."

    Haelvia''s face paled, weighing Coraline''s words. If she was telling the truth... that if even Loki couldn''t match the enemy-- then Haelvia was sorely outssed.

    She had no problem sacrificing her life in defense of her guild... but she didn''t want to throw it away uselessly.

    ? Gaheris doesn''t sense Lancelot''s mana signature. ?

    Haelvia felt her heart drop down to the pit of her stomach... What Gaheris had said to her... it meant that Loki was in worse trouble than she thought. Lancelot might have been disabled-- maybe even destroyed.

    The elf emitted a curious golden glow... "You can hear him, can''t you?"

    "me take me," Haelvia mumbled as she tried to take back her words, "N-no? What are you talking about?"

    "Don''t try to hide it," Coraline red. "Just now, you looked at him and I felt a spark of mana between you... What''s he say? About me?"

    Haelvia turned her head to meet with Gaheris'' glowing green gaze...

    ? The elf and Fire Elemental can be trusted as allies. ?

    "He says..." Haelvia gulped, "to listen."

    "And do you trust him?" Coraline asked.

    Haelvia sighed... and silently thanked Gaheris in her heart. In her moment of uncertainty, the one person in her life she trusted the most was able to push her into what was hopefully the right direction.

    "With all my heart," She nodded. "Let''s go."

 Chapter 725 Minuscule Chance

    ?''me take you, hands... Keep still...''

    Centurion Januarius couldn''t stop shaking. Strapping on his armguards turned from a difficult proposition to one nigh impossible.

    Enemies arose... Enemies that were too strong... magical creatures in the shadows that knew no fear... knew no mercy.

    It was just like that sun in Ezyria... deep in the Halls of the Dead Serpent.

    Januarius needed to take up arms. He needed to fight. He needed to lead the rest of his scattered and scared, chicken-shitepany... keep them from dying ignoble deaths.

    However... his body... his ursed, muscle-worn, steel-scarred body did not want to cooperate.

    With a growl of frustration, he tossed aside his left armguard. He didn''t need it.

    He kept his back turned as he spoke to the woman that entered themand tent... "Optio Phaedra, what news?"

    Phaedra hesitated. It was unlike her. Yet another crack appeared in Januarius'' heart... and fear managed to worm its way in.

    "Lancelot has fallen, Centurion..."

    "me TAKE that PUER," Januarius grit his teeth. "I hope the little shite went down fighting."

    "There''s a crater the size of the Senate building on the east side of camp."

    "Bah," Januarius grunted as he shook his head.

    That hope was dashed. The fool boy must have been defeated by long-range weaponry before he could do anything meaningful.

    Januarius shut his eyes, deliberating on the situation.

    He was going to die thousands of miles away from his birthce... but then again, he didn''t deserve to survive back then, in those Halls. There, hundreds of good men and women died... many stronger and faster than he was... many more honorable, more deserved of life-- the fates seemingly smiling upon their futures.

    Since then, Januarius had rebuilt his adventuringpany from a tenth of its size... as if he had something to prove... as if, in continuing to fight, he''d bring honor to the fallen.

    And for what? His pitiful collection of achievements in the Eastern States only amounted to tens of Bronze-Rank quests and the trophies from a single Deathworm.

    That... was not worth enough.

    ...If any amount of merit were enough, at all.

    "We''ll reform the shield wall around the Adscenta," He growled.

    Turning to face his Optio, he removed his helmet... Those eyes... those young eyes still held hope.

    He was going to disappoint her... "Phaedra, it was an honor serving with you."

    The woman inclined her head... those words slowly sinking in... "And you, Centurion."

    Tears brimmed from the corner of her eyes... but Januarius chose to ignore it.

    They were going to die. Fear and unwillingness was natural. It was... human.

    Even in the face of fear, brave men and women act... while cowards die in shame.

    Recing his helm, Januarius began towards the tent entrance... where he nearly collided with a seven foot tall woman.

    "Good timing, Lass," He coughed into his still-shaking hand. "Mount up. We''ll support you and Gaheris until the end."

    "Centurion," Haelvia saluted, "before that, I--"

    "Sir! We have to withdraw!!"

    It was... an unfamiliar voice, squeaking from behind the child.

    Januarius raised his eyebrows underneath his helmet.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A tiny elf girl stepped into view, her chest underneath her unbuttoned shirt covered in stained bandages.

    It was the injured civilian.

    Januarius stepped past her, his eyes to the battlefield... upon the men and women under his charge fighting and dying against the natives, "I gave an order, Lass."

    "Get the hells out of here, elf," Phaedra growled. "If you want to survive, run off into the sands... or maybe put on one of those ursed masks and join the enemy."

    "We won''t deny the hand the fates have dealt," Januarius seethed, "We fight... until thest shield falls."

    "Though in doing so..." The elf whispered... "you will most certainly die."

    Those words made Januarius hesitate.

    He''d... heard them before.

    Night after night, immortalized in his nightmares... he remembered those words... spoken to the Brazen Guard Collective at the Halls of the Dead Serpent.

    They were spoken... by a man with the ss, Tactician.

    His words were illogical... arrogant: Follow him or die.

    Spurning his im, more than a few guilds chose to strike off on their own. It was thest Januarius saw of them.

    ...Only the guilds that heeded that man''s words left that ce alive.

    "Mind your station, *Miss*" Phaedra barked, "Who do you think you are?"

    The elf shook her head... but her eyes were ame. They were resolute.

    They had hope, yet undashed... a courage that Januarius could only envy.

    "My name is Coraline Heartsong," She dered, "Arcanist of the Sapphire Tower!"

    "Hmph," Januarius grunted.

    The Sapphire Tower was certainly a force to be reckoned with in the Eastern States. However, judging from the girl''s age, she wasn''t anyone important. Besides that, Guild Metal Wolf had no loyalty to *that* kind of organization.

    ? "me take you, Witch," Phaedra growled. "You''re trying to advise a Prior of a *Century*, so I. advise. you. to f*ck off into the dunes!!"

    "W-wait! Hold on!" Coraline grabbed at Januarius'' wrist, "I know a Decanus! I--I... my boyfriend works for one!"

    Januarius suppressed the urge to strike the girl. Good soldiers existed to protect civilians, not to oppress them. Instead, he gently-- but firmly pried her fingers off.

    "Centurion Januarius, please," Haelvia bowed her head. "Give Coraline a chance."

    "Please, Sir!" The elf begged, "I''ve studied a map of this area... within a malm, there''s--"

    Januarius held his hand up to stop her...

    He was well out of ideas... and theirpany didn''t have the luck to employ an Oracle or a Tactician...

    The enemy knew the terrain. They had mounts of a kind. They could meld in with the me-taken darkness.

    Every option he could think of was certain to end with death. At least in fighting, they wouldn''t die as cowards.

    But... the Witches of the Eastern States were trained in schools and academies, just as the Divine Casters of Tyrion were. As much as Phaedra would hate to hear it, the Elven child might even know what she was talking about.

    If she could offer them even a minuscule chance at survival...

    ",

 Chapter 726 Suitable Match

    ?"Girl..." Januarius stood tall, looming over the Elven child named Coraline Heartsong, "what is the name of that Decanus?"

    "Centurion!" Phaedra scolded, "We don''t have time for this!"

    "His name... is Decanus Tychon!" The elf girl shouted.

    "Right. That''s an umon name--" Phaedra groaned. "However, the fact that you know a Decanus DOESN''T F*CKING MATTER!!"

    The Optio ced her hand on the hilt of her sword and stepped forward aggressively, "Now, I *implore* you, you stupid, me-taken, xeno SLUT... to F*CK!!! OFF!!!! before I--"

    "Hold," Januarius swiped out his hand to stop her... and he tilted his head in curiosity, "Miss Coraline... what color... is that man''s hair?"

    "Centurion!" Phaedra scowled, "You MUST be joking!"

    Januarius did not answer, keeping his eyes on the elf through his cold metal mask... as his heart raced... as he prayed to the Eternal me to rekindle the hope he''d abandoned long ago.

    Coraline tried to reply, but instead let out a hacking cough. Afterwards, she wiped a thin trail of blood from her mouth... "It''s... it''s green, Centurion."

    ...It seemed that Guild Metal Wolf had a chance for survival, after all.

    "Phaedra, get the map from the tent."

    ...

    ? ? Some timeter... ?

    Despite her namesake, Nova always preferred the night.

    The desert was an unforgiving wastnd of scorched earth during the sun.

    Despite the chill of night, one nocturnal hunter reigned supreme over the few other natural predators...

    Elves.

    The thirtieth Masked One of the Ebon Mask tribe tread barefoot over the soft sands...

    For a reason she couldn''t identify, the feeling of sand and dirt between her toes felt... off...

    Distant, perhaps?

    Her bnce wasn''t as steady. The iciness of the wind didn''t bite as cold against her skin.

    It felt like... she''d drank too much fermented juice-- even if she hadn''t touched the stuff in over six years.

    The fresh smells of the dewy cacti and the pervasive coppery scent of the in didn''t seem as strong...

    ...Nova wasn''t old enough to start losing her senses. She''d turned 119 only a moon prior...

    She didn''t feel young, either. 119 was twice as old as a human corpse.

    These worries, she pushed to the back of her mind.

    Cuts and broken bones healed.

    Aches and pains went away quickly enough. The stomachaches and ringing in her ears went away eventually. Compared to that, a muted sense of taste and smell was nothing...

    Nova lived in the moment; it was the only way to enjoy life! And hertest endeavor... was sneaking up on her dearest friend, Notaku.

    Using merely the strength of her arms, she pulled herself up the side of a smooth-faced rock and stealthily peeked over.

    The most handsome bachelor in the tribe was kneeling in a puddle of blood... sweat dripping down his strong brow, crimson staining his hands. Beside him was a curved storage jar, fat in the middle... and Nova immediately understood what had happened.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She stood up and took a two-stepped leap off of her hiding spot, flipping through the air. Shended perfectly beside her target, as noiseless as a shadow.

    Even the Chieftain couldn''t perform better!

    "Hey, there, handsome!" She grinned. "How ''bout you stick that sexy butt up in the air while you work?"

    Notaku froze, his shoulders jerking upward.

    Nova chuckled to herself. The surprise was a sess, so she rewarded herself by teasing the man in themon tongue. He had no idea what she was saying-- and probably wouldn''t believe anyone if they were around to trante.

    She stepped around, to in front of him, careful not to step in the puddle of blood and gore... and she looked at his maskless face, forlorn and weary.

    Notaku was the strongest man in the Ebon Mask tribe... and the perfect warrior. His eyes were as deep as the ocean, his arms as thick as tree trunks, and his heart as full as the moon.

    He also had the learning capacity of a hardfruit-- and he was too stubborn to learn anything besides Elven.

    "(I shall make a guess, Elder Brother... You spilled something! Did it belong to your sister?)"

    Notaku quietly lowered his head, refusing to meet her gaze.

    How childish... Nova shook her head, "(What is it? Oil? Animal fat? Move aside and ept my help.)"

    She tried to shoo Notaku away, but he refused to budge.

    Oh, the pride of men!

    Elf or human, it seemed that men everywhere were convinced they were better off alone.

    "C''mon, then! (No one wishes to see the First Warrior on his knees,)" She teased. "Me, on the other hand..."

    Whatever Notaku was doing-- he was probably doing it wrong, anyroad.

    "(Elder Brother...)" She leaned close to him and tilted her head... "(Are you crying?)"

    Nova had never seen Notaku cry before... but it wasn''t exactly outside of his personality.

    He was a simple man. When his arrows didn''t find their mark, he''d growl like a dog and flex his entire body. When he ate Nova''s food... his radiant smile was the envy of the warm sun.

    Crying, though... that *was* somewhat extreme.

    It lit embers of rage in her heart... "(You... when the Chieftain speaks, you must listen... but words do not draw blood! Is she not your sister? You weep like she gave birth to you!)"

    Notaku ced a scoop of blood, dirt, and bone into the jar. He neither wiped the tears from his face, nor the filth from his hands.

    "(I... lost someone very close to me,)" He spoke with a grave face.

    The words struck Nova''s heart like a bolt of lightning.

    Someone close? To her dearest elder brother?

    WHO?!

    No... No. Notaku had never been good with words. Whatever he was trying to say was surely wrong.

    But even though Notaku was the most eligible bachelor in the tribe, Nova absolutely could NOT fathom another woman trying to pursue him.

    There was no female warrior stronger or more beautiful than the Chieftain-- but she was Notaku''s elder sister. That left only Nova suitable as the First Warrior''s match.

    If anyone dared to vie for her position, she''d challenge them immediately! To mortalbat, even!

 Chapter 727 Sister

    ?Nova grit her teeth and tried to speak without raising her voice.

    It was difficult.

    "(Elder Brother, I thought I was the only woman in your heart,)" She grit her teeth, shaking in anger, "(Well, I, Chases-Butterfly, refuse to surrender! I will fight for your affection. And if you will not ept me, I will grow stronger than you, defeat you, and force you to beg for my forgiveness!)"

    Notaku sat up on his heels... and shook his head, "(Not possible.)"

    "Eleven heavens, you''re soOoo STUBBORN!" Nova pomf''d down in the sand in front of him, "(It IS possible for me. My heart will never be shaken. When I hunt my prey, nothing can stop me-- not even you, you useless Elder Brother.)"

    The man-child''s face twisted in displeasure, signalling that Nova had won the war of words. Notaku might have been undefeatable in physicalbat, but he was notoriously weak in a verbal match.

    Nova furrowed her brows upon sensing something... not with her legs on the ground or with her nose or ears. There was... a disturbance in the mana flow around her.

    It was... something she''d never experienced. Her mana senses were amongst the weakest in the tribe.

    She turned her head to see a regal elf glowing head to toe in starlight. Gentle, silvery wisps of her aura licked at the air.

    As the Chieftain of the Ebon Mask tribe was the most powerful Elven Shaman in the Eastern States, Yanaba certainly deserved her title.

    But... being able to see her aura was something that only happened when her emotions were running high.

    Nova quickly got to her feet and saluted, "Ch-chieftain! Please don''t be upset!"

    The Chieftain was always gentler with her than with her blood-rted sibling.

    Slightly.

    Still, as long as Nova pleaded on Notaku''s behalf, the big baby would be able to wipe away his tears.

    "Nova..." The older elf whispered, her voice deep and enchanting, "I''m not upset with you... You''ve always acted willfully in the field... but you''ve always had an eye for opportunity."

    "Ehehe..." Nova giggled. She always loved hearing praise.

    But... she was referring to the crying man-child. Nova hadn''t done anything she had to apologize for... which was admittedly unusual.

    "(Chieftain,)" Notaku slowly got to his feet, "(Why is Chases-Butterfly like this?)"

    "(Elder Brother...)" Nova scowled beneath her mask, "(Do you think I''m so easy to bully? If you keep talking, I won''t cook for you any longer!)"

    Chieftain Yanaba spoke evenly, betraying no emotions... "(Chases-Butterfly wears the Mask of the First. The magic... is stronger.)"

    Notaku wore a deep frown, but nodded-- something he did whether or not he actually understood.

    Nova, however, reeled back in surprise as she ced her hand on her mask, "I''m wearing *what*? This is the Mask belonging to the Forgotten Chieftain?!"

    "For better or worse, Sapling, you were fated to wear it," Chieftain Yanaba exined. "(The elves of the Ebon Mask tribe are not immortal. When time or death ims one of us, their mask is passed on... as the custom has been for centuries.)"

    "Oh, I get it," Nova nodded. "(Did you want to snatch my mask away, Elder Brother?)"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Notaku closed his eyes in displeasure.

    It was too easy to tease him.

    "Tell me, Sapling..." The Chieftain''s eyes glowed, pure and white as the first snow in winter... "(are you in pain?)"

    "Hmph," Nova shrugged. "Not really. Fighting humans isn''t so difficult."

    "The battle..." The Chieftain hesitated... "(Is it not yet over for you?)"

    "Whaaat? Of course it''s not yet over! The foreigners stole a Divine Armor from the Moonwell tribe!" She turned to Notaku for help, "(The humans stole an Iron Giant from us! They''re evil people!)"

    The solemn Notaku shook his head... which was unsurprising. He always agreed with his sister, even over his own opinions.

    "(We do not act on the Iron Giant, Sapling,)" The Chieftain sighed, "You knew this..."

    Chieftain Yanaba ced a pearl-white hand on her mask, removing it. She... was... absolutely gorgeous, her beauty rivalling even that of the Highde princes and princesses. She looked young, even by Elven standards... with perfect, straight dark hair that streamed down her face and skin softer than silk.

    "The Moonwell tribe sells Divine Armors," Yanaba frowned. "We can''t be certain if they attained it through fair means."

    "Right, I know," Nova grumbled. "We''re acting based on the Whisperwinds'' report..."

    She tried to slip her fingers underneath her mask... but it wouldn''te off.

    "Tch! Why won''t ite off..." She clicked her tongue, "I''m... I''m sorry, Chieftain, I don''t mean to be disrespectful."

    It... was a little embarrassing. Since Yanaba had taken off her mask, it would be rude to keep hers on. It was a simple task to dispel the mana holding it in ce... but as with all enchanted items, sometimes it got stuck...

    Yanaba smiled... a sad, gentle smile... "Do not worry, sister. With my mask off, we are equals."

    Nova was taken aback, almost losing her bnce, "S-sister? Since when have I been your sister?"

    She pointed angrily at Notaku, "I can''t be your sister. That title belongs to the person that has a rtionship with this oaf!"

    Notaku''s frowning face didn''t budge a single ilm. It only made Nova angrier.

    "Oh, please," Yanaba rolled her eyes, letting her noblest-noble-act drop temporarily. "You call him Elder Brother and you won''t let me call you sister? Everyone in the tribe knows you have feelings for my brother, so just ept it."

    Nova was close to tearing her hair out, "Stars above, (it''s been ten years! If I was a human woman, I would be too old to wed!)"

    She tried to calm down, taking a deep breath through her nostrils and exhaling...

    She put on the sweetest smile she could manage, even though she felt her mouth twitching, "Yan-yan, please teach a fool a lesson on my behalf. Thank you. I love you."

    Yanaba bowed her head slightly... almost reverently, "He knows, sister."

    "Like I SAID," Nova grit her teeth, "Don''t CALL ME THAT!!"

 Chapter 728 It Is You

    ?Nova tugged again at her mask... but it was useless. And Notaku was JUST as useless! He didn''t even offer to help!

    She was beyond embarrassed.

    One of the first things the Masked Ones learned was how to don and remove their masks. Notaku was the one who taught her.

    His mana control was surprisingly precise for him being such a big dummy.

    Yanaba... was not a patient woman. She and Nova argued often-- usually over something her brother did. She could be sweet, yes... but usually Nova''s unreasonable tantrums turned into a shouting match between them.

    She was holding back.

    Something... was wrong.

    "Yan-yan..." Nova pursed her lips underneath her mask... "Why... are you being so nice to me?"

    Yanaba shut her eyes... not answering.

    A tiny sliver of fear in Nova''s heart started to grow in size.

    She brushed the surface of her mask... "What... am I... crying?"

    She bowed her head low, trying to hide it... "(I''m sorry...) I''m so sorry... (This is unbing of me as a warrior.)"

    Nova took a deep breath before getting up and stomping over to Notaku. She pointed an angry finger at his chest as she ugly cried, "(This is all your fault, Growling-Bear! Why are YOU crying, HUH?! Who did you lose that you care for??)"

    No answer.

    Typical!

    Coward...

    "(Ten years, Growling-Bear!)" Nova shouted, "(All those years, I''ve shone brighter than the stars... hoping that you would see me! And now... you shed tears for someone in your heart while I stand in front of you?! TELL ME! Who IS SHE?!??!??)"

    Notaku turned his head up... and Nova saw only pain...

    "(It is you, Chases-Butterfly.)"

    Yanaba turned to him, disgust and disappointment clear from her scowl, "Empty night, you fool brother... (Have you forgotten how to speak kindly?! Or has your head always been this empty?)"

    Notaku shook his head, "(Chases-Butterfly will not understand if I do not speak inly.)"

    "Wait..." Nova sniffed, "What... what are you saying?"

    "You are both. absolute. idiots," Yanaba red.

    "No, no... no...." Nova shook her head and pointed down, "(Tell me truthfully. Who... whose remains are those? They are not mine. They cannot be!)"

    She grabbed hold of her mask and pulled, "(I can remove it! Watch me! Please!!)"

    It was a joke.

    Nova had be nothing more than a joke.

    The Chieftain and the First Warrior stood in silence as they watched her try to remove her mask... but it... was impossible.

    It wouldn''te off.

    She was dead...

    The magic in the Mask of the Forgotten King was her spirit intact... but it wouldn''tst forever. It probably wouldn''t evenst until sunrise.

    "...(Who killed me?)" Nova asked in a hoarse whisper.

    She couldn''t think straight, anymore. Her vision was turning red. She felt her heart twisting... being consumed by the desire for vengeance.

    She hurried over to one of the human corpses and drew the sword on their waist, "(Tell me! Meets-the-Enemy! Growling-Bear!! I must im my revenge!) No one gets to kill me and live to get away with it!!"

    "Nova," Yanaba raised her voice.

    The tone she took wasn''t that of a gentle Elder Sister, but was from the Chieftain of a respected tribe. Themand... the magic in that single word washed over Nova... and her fiery rage smoldered to glowing embers.

    "Calm yourself," The woman pursed her lips... "(Rage will only weaken your connection to this Realm. Is that your wish?)"

    Upon wearing their enchanted masks, the Masked Ones skirted the thin line between life and death. Nova, Notaku, Yanaba... everyone trained to keep their strong emotions in check.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Sisterhood. Loyalty. Justice.

    Those were the only things permissible to think about.

    Otherwise... they would fall... to anger... to fear... to grief.

    Once a Masked One''s judgment was so clouded, they''d lose themselves... they''d be vengeful, violent ghosts... mindless monsters that the others would be forced to kill.

    Nova was better than that.

    But...

    "I... I didn''t want to die..." She whispered.

    "(Sister,)" Notaku turned to his sister, "(Grant us a moment of privacy.)"

    Yanaba grimaced in displeasure, but nodded... "(We will not pursue the humans tonight. They have retreated towards that ce...)"

    She looked up to Notaku... "(I will leave... but you will reveal your heart to her. If you do not, I will kill you.)"

    cing her cold, unfeeling mask back on her face, Yanaba returned to being the Chieftain of the Ebon Mask Tribe, "(Do not test me, Growling-Bear.)"

    Notaku inclined his head, "(I understand, Chieftain.)"

    After Chieftain Yanaba left, Nova tossed aside the sword in frustration... "(You believe I am useless, Growling-Bear... I said so much... but in the end, I died.)"

    Suddenly, Notaku copsed to his knees.

    The huge man smashed his forehead into the blood and sand without hesitation.

    "(E-elder Brother!!)" Nova yelped, "(What are you doing?!)"

    "(I am at fault, Chases-Butterfly!!)" He cried out, "(I was not there to defend you!)"

    "Wh-what? No! (What are you saying?!)" In a panic, Nova knelt down beside him, "(You spearheaded the attack! I''m not a coddled child, Growling-Bear. I''m a warrior, like you!)"

    Nova gulped... "(And... and I died. Even... the towering trees wither and fall...)"

    Notaku refused to lift his head, "(I am sorry.)"

    Loyalty. Brotherhood. Justice.

    Love.

    Nova could no longer be angry... She was... a little regretful, sure-- but the pain felt by the dead was nothing,pared to the suffering of those left behind.

    "Okay... Okayyyy..." She groaned as she tried to lift Notaku by the arm. He was... very heavy, "(You are forgiven. Stand tall, First Warrior.) Come onnn."

    After so much pleading-- mixed with scolding, Notaku finally got to his feet... ugly tears still streaming down his face.

    "Ughhhh, you look hooorrrrrible," Nova shook her head.

    She felt a little bad about it... but that she could bring the invincible First Warrior to tears made her unbeating heart flutter.

    Notaku was painfully honest... stupidly straightforward... and loyal beyond a fault.

    She loved him for all that and more.

    "Alright, you big crybaby," Nova smiled, "(Say what you need to say.)"

    Notaku sniffed and balled up his fists.

    "(Else, I will summon your sister,)" Nova warned.

    The big man shook his head like a petnt child.

    Nova put her hands on her hips, "(Or I''ll haunt you.)"

    Notaku finally turned his head up... "(Can... you stay with me... forever?)"

    "(That...)"

    ...Nova wondered if her elder brother might be a genius, after all.

 Chapter 729 Revelations Of The Heart

    ?Nova closed her eyes, carefully examining the shape and form of her soul.

    She thought back to everything she and Notaku had been through... She thought back to the hardships of her training... her tion at joining the Masked Ones... how she was the first to dare climbing the colorful Divine Armor... and... and how she...

    "No," She shook her head... "(My memory begins to fade, Growling-Bear. If you did not tell me of my death, I would have lost my sense of self.)"

    Nova felt like she still had a few bells of time before she had to move on... The magic in the Mask of the First Chieftain wasn''t weak, after all. Still, that wasn''t something she felt the need to exin.

    "(Now, Growling-Bear... reveal to me your heart.)"

    Notaku began to cry again in earnest, sniffing and sobbing... "(I... I asked my sister for permission to marry you.)"

    Nova hopped up and smacked the big man on the side of the head, "(Why did you not ASK ME?!!?)"

    Notaku''s face twisted like he''d eaten a dingleberry.

    Nova threw her hands up in frustration, "(Eleven heavens! You are such a fool, Growling-Bear! N-no! Stop bowing!!!)"

    She shook her head as she shoved the beefy elf.

    He didn''t move his feet... and not because he was so much stronger than her.

    Nova frowned at her translucent hand... As time went on, her connection to the material ne was growing weaker.

    She sighed and shook her head, "(People die, Growling-Bear. I''m not the first you were tasked to bury. The tribe goes on, does it not?)"

    Notaku grew quiet for a moment... "(I am... broken without you, Chases-Butterfly.)"

    It hurt. It hurt so much.

    Nova felt the pain, not just in her chest-- but it felt like her entire soul was filled with nothing but grief... sadness... and self-loathing.

    "(Growling-Bear...)" She whispered... "(May... I embrace you?)"

    The stern man nodded.

    Nova shuffled close... and put her arms around the man she called her Elder Brother... the man she loved... so very much.

    He was crying. So was she.

    She nced at her hands. Along with her fading strength fading... her hands grew more transparent. Even the feeling of Notaku''s strong back against her skin was dulling with each passing moment.

    ...Nova focused on channeling more of her diminishing mana. She needed to keep her form stable as long as she could.

    Because of her idiocy... she made Notaku cry.

    She didn''t want to be a hindrance.

    She didn''t want to cause so many problems with her death.

    She wanted to live.

    She wanted to fight alongside Notaku... and Chieftain Yanaba... and the rest of her brothers and sisters for years and decades and centuries longer...

    ...She wanted... to grow old with him.

    It wasn''t fair.

    ...

    Growling-Bear was a coward.

    Chases-Butterfly had died... yet remained for a few precious bells longer.

    Any mortal in the Realm would relish the opportunity with great joy... would speak without hesitation... leave nothing unsaid.

    Growling-Bear, too, had much to say.

    Yet... he did not know where to begin.

    So he said... nothing.

    As full as his heart was, he kept his mouth shut... and he listened.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He listened to the woman he loved... as she shared with him ten years worth of memories.

    She spoke of him fondly. She scolded him for his foolishness. She spoke of the first time she fell in love... and every time she fell in love with him, thereafter.

    Even as the rays of the sun peeked over the horizon... she smiled for him.

    Though her tears did not cease... she smiled for him.

    As her speech began to slur... as she grew forgetful... as the conversations returned to topics she''d spoken of only minutes earlier... she smiled for him.

    "Elder Brother..." Chases-Butterfly grumbled, "Say something... or I''ll really be a vengeful spirit."

    Growling-Bear took a deep breath... "I... will mourn you."

    The willful woman shoved Growling-Bear''s shoulder, "That is NOT what I want to hear, you dolt! That is not why I fell in love with you! That is not why... I have sought to win your heart for so long... that is... not..."

    Through her mask, Chases-Butterfly''s eyes grew hazy.

    "My... my love..." Growling-Bear whispered quietly.

    "I... must go soon..." The woman shook her head... "But you... you must remain. You... must live on."

    Growling-Bear bowed his head in reverence... "I understand."

    "Don''t just *understand*!" Chases-Butterfly shouted, "Swear it!!"

    ...Growling-Bear closed his eyes, reigning in his emotions.

    He forced himself to smile.

    He expected no less of the only woman he judged qualified to be worth his feelings.

    "I... swear it, Chases-Butterfly... on my eternal love for you..."

    He opened his eyes.

    Chases-Butterfly was gone.

    Her form... her spirit... her smile was gone.

    Only her mask remained.

    "I swear that I will avenge you."

    ...

    ? Four sunster... ?

    After Coraline presented her case to the Centurion, he heeded her advice, sounded the horns for apany-wide withdrawal.

    Optio Phaedra brought up the fact that the elf could be leading them into a trap.

    Did it make any sort of sense? No.

    Did the thought cross Haelvia''s mind? Of course, it did... but for better or worse, Coraline had thrown in her lot with Guild Metal Wolf. She was risking her own well-being, too.

    Haelvia wanted to trust her. The Centurion gave Coraline the chance, based on her rtionship with a Decanus named Tychon. Phaedra dutifully followed orders, taking a group of crossbow-wielding men and women to support Haelvia and Gaheris in the rear.

    For the most part, the operation was a sess.

    The elves gave chase... but did not press their advantage, allowing the Wolves to escape, disgraced and with their numbers decimated.

    As for why they did not pursue... Haelvia had no idea.

    She could only thank the Eternal me that they did not follow.

    Within the adobe walls surrounding Green Corn Tower, they found the sanctuary they needed. The defeated Wolves could finally lick their wounds.

    "Immunes Haelvia," A handsome half-elf woman in military dress beckoned her from the courtyard.

 Chapter 730 One Week

    ?Even without wars to fight, the elves of House Highde continued to train. Under Lieutenant Teneca''smand, her archers shot at straw targets, over an actus away.

    Haelvia felt a tinge of guilt. She''d jogged for maybe a bell, each sun... but there were too many injured Wolves to participate inpany training.

    She jogged over, bounding only a few steps to reach the woman and she gave her a crisp salute, "Good morning, Lieutenant."

    It felt... strange to salute an Officer from a different nation''s military. ording to Tyrion doctrine, she didn''t need to. However, the prim and proper brte was the savior of their guild. Granting her the courtesies she deserved wasmon sense.

    "Good morning, Immunes," Teneca returned the salute-- though she seemed to strain her neck, looking up. "I have questions regarding the state of your Wolves."

    Haelvia hesitated to answer... The Lieutenant often sought her out for matters of her guild... but that kind of thing was disregarding her chain-ofmand.

    Lieutenant Teneca probably wouldn''t have issue talking directly to the Centurion... but Januarius was injured during the withdrawal and had taken fever...

    Optio Phaedra had yet toin, but knowing her, Haelvia not following protocol would get her into more trouble than it was worth.

    "Lieutenant, I mean no disrespect, but... maybe I should get my Optio? Or... one of the Immunes billeted for keeping track of our personnel?"

    "Nonsense, youngdy," Teneca shook her head. "If I were to share more than five minutes in thepany of your Optio, one of us would run the other through."

    "That..." Haelvia was stunned, hearing that the one person responsible for saving their guild spoke so openly about fighting and killing their second-highest-ranking Officer.

    Phaedra was a very proud woman. Teneca did not like her.

    And so, it fell to Haelvia to ry messages to the Centurion... a lowly Immunes with less than two years of time-in-service.

    "And besides," Teneca waved, "Miss Coraline has made it known that you are her personal confidante. Walk with me."

    "I hear you, Lieutenant," Haelvia nodded as she followed the States Officer.

    "As you know, Immunes Haelvia, diplomatic matters between Green Corn Keep and your adventuringpany are somewhatplicated," Teneca exined.

    "I... wasn''t given the details, ma''am," Haelvia bowed her head in apology.

    The half-elf let out an exasperated sigh as she stopped... "Very well. In consideration of your rank, I ce the me not upon you, but upon your mand.*"

    Haelvia took a deep breath and grimaced. The Lieutenant had few good things to say about her senior enlisted.

    "Essentially," Teneca continued, "Green Corn Keep and the forces of House Highde stationed here do not fall under the jurisdiction of Whitehearth. We have provided food and shelter to Guild Metal Wolf as a neutral party-- at our detriment, I might add."

    Haelvia gulped... "Our... our guild coffers are not empty, Lieutenant. I''m sure we canpensate you for your kindness."

    She knew the guild was in debt... but being in a foreign nation and damaging rtions with the people that lived there seemed like a bigger problem.

    "Our kindness, Immunes Haelvia, was granted not out of respect for your *Holy Country*-- nor to your pack of pig-iron dogs," Teneca frowned, lifting up her nose. "It is because at least one of your number had the foresight to recover the young Arcanist convalescing in our infirmaries."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Because of Coraline?

    Haelvia furrowed her brows, then took a few quick steps to keep up with the Lieutenant, "Is... is Cora... is Lady Coraline an important person in the Eastern States?"

    Tenecaughed lightly-- even though she wasn''t a full elf, it was simr in musicality to Coraline''sugh, if with a different rhythm and tone.

    "Perhaps, youngdy," She nodded. "From what I understand she is a talented Arcanist belonging to the Sapphire Tower-- an organization respected across the States and beyond."

    Teneca paused for a moment... "If you were not aware, Miss Coraline Heartsong is under the protection of House Highde, a benefit granted by Lord Arod Highde, one of the most proficient demasters in the past several centuries."

    "That''s... wow. I had no idea," Haelvia sucked in air through her teeth, "Guild Metal Wolf owes him a great debt, then?"

    "He is dead," Teneca replied mirthlessly. "The Sapling, along with one of your Holy Country''s young Decani, brought his murderers to justice."

    "...Oh," Haelvia nodded.

    It seemed that even though she was only a couple of years younger than Coraline, the elf had far more merits to her name.

    Haelvia reported the state her guild was in as they walked.

    They left over 30% of their guild behind, as well as their supply carts. In theory, it only took 10% of casualties topletely destabilize any force. Another eight died from injuries incurred, and there were sixteen who would not recover to fighting condition within the moon-- if they would, at all.

    Of the remaining, Guild Metal Wolf had 15 Immunes, 17 Munifices, and 4 Decani, and Optio Phaedra that could reasonably be called to fight.

    With not even 40 strong, they could feasibly form three strong tent-groups-- maybe four if they split the Immunes. As proper Century tactics called for a full 100... the effectiveness of Guild Metal Wolf was greatly reduced.

    "Hm. I''ve seen the condition of some of your troops... but I wanted a second opinion," Teneca shook her head. "It has been four suns, Immunes. Guild Metal Wolf will leave my walls on the morning of the eighth. Of course, if Miss Coraline has not yet recovered, she may remain here."

    Haelvia wanted to argue... she wanted to beg for more time.

    But... it was not her ce. Teneca didn''t even have to give them a single day, much less a week... and she''d only done so on Coraline''s behalf...

    "I... hear you, Lieutenant."

    Teneca raised an eyebrow, "You are young, Immunes Haelvia, both in age and in rank. Do you have the ability toplete this task on your own?"

    "I will be enough, Lieutenant," Haelvia shook her head.

    It wasn''t good news for anyone, especially the Optio and Centurion... but she was loath to ask Teneca for any more good will than she''d already provided.

    ",

 Chapter 731 Visiting The Injured

    ?Upon reaching the infirmary, Teneca turned and rendered a quick salute, "Ellie, was it? Give Coraline my regards."

    "I will, Lieutenant," Haelvia straightened her back to return a respectable salute of her own.

    The woman shook her head and smiled, "Teneca is fine, between the two of us."

    "I wouldn''t dare," Haelvia bowed her head, "not after everything you''ve done for us."

    "I''m serious, Sapling," Teneca rolled her eyes. "House Highde may not be so friendly to foreigners, but our eyes are better than that of blind, crippled dogs."

    She turned to walk away-- making distance surprisingly quick, despite appearing to keep the same pace as earlier, "Consider my words, should your contract expire."

    Haelvia sighed as she opened the door.

    Her father gave her simr advice before she joined the Wolves... to seek employment in the Fairytale Kingdom or the Eastern States. In those ces, it seemed merit and ability were more important than status... and looks.

    But... she signed a contract. She had her duty. Her loyalty was promised to Centurion Januarius and his Wolves... and she had no intention of abandoning them.

    The section of the infirmaries she entered only had a single upant... the other savior of Guild Metal Wolf, Miss Coraline Heartsong of the Sapphire Tower.

    "You really miss your boyfriend that much, Coraline?"

    The tiny elf sitting half-upright on her cot immediately began choking on a banana. As she hacked and coughed, Haelvia walked to her side and began massaging her back.

    "Y-you''re terrible, Ellie," Coraline red, tiny tears pooling at the corner of her eyes.

    "Who eats a banana like *that*?" Haelviaughed.

    "Sh-shut up," Coraline tried to shove her away before turning and crossing her arms.

    She''d grown even more pale than whenst they''d met... and she barely had any strength to her. After her fake act of rebellion, the girl doubled over, coughing pitifully.

    Haelvia embraced her friend, continuing to gently rub her back... "Coraline... what''s happening to you? Do we... need to get you to Whitehearth?"

    "N.... no," Coraline sniffed. "It won''t help. My mana reserves are straight-garbage right now... but they''ll get better."

    "You''ve been getting worse, these past few days," Haelvia scolded. "Wait here, I''ll get the healer."

    "Don''t bother," Coraline waved dismissively as she lied back down... on her side, due to her butt injury... "I''m like this because I sent Beatrice away."

    "You did WHAT?" Haelvia yelped in surprise, "Why would you do something like that? You were hurt to begin with!"

    "It''ll help uster..." Coraline sighed... "I hope."

    Haelvia shook her head as she sat down on an empty, adjacent cot, "You really need to rest."

    "Yep, I do," Coraline giggled. "Thanks for visiting me, but how''s everyone else doing?"

    Haelvia averted her gaze as she sucked in air through her teeth... "Not good. They had to amputate the Centurion''s left arm..."

    "Oh, no!" Coraline shot up, "Wasn''t he the only Gold-Rank Metal Wolf?"

    "Half-step Gold-Rank," Haelvia shrugged. "If we had a true Gold-Rank, we probably wouldn''t be in our current mess."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Coraline sneered, "And how about that idiot, Loukius?"

    Haelvia gave a half-hearted smile. Only a few days earlier, Coraline could still somewhat limp around.

    During that time, she met with Loki.

    She was not impressed.

    "He... he''s even worse off," Haelvia confided in a lowered voice. "They... they had to take both of his legs."

    Coraline''s face fell... "Oh... I... that''s terrible. He''s a massive prick, but he didn''t deserve that."

    Haelvia took in a breath and groaned, "Mehh. It just makes it worse for the guild."

    "Can... anyone else pilot Divine Armor Lancelot?" Coraline''s eyes shined hopefully.

    Haelvia slowly shook her head, "Everyone that had the training to was lost in the attack... besides me, of course."

    "Stars and stones," Coraline cursed... "Not to be... sphemous or anything, Ellie... but for the Ebon Mask tribe to attack you guys... it sounds like the fates really have it in for you and your guild."

    Haelvia stared at the ceiling in thought... "It does seem like that, doesn''t it?"

    ...

    Haelvia conversed with Coraline for a few bells.

    It was just what she needed to lift her spirits, despite the fact that in only four suns, half of herpany had been annihted.

    She also thought of it as a necessity... since she was nning on visiting Loki next. That was sure to ruin her the rest of her sun.

    She already made ns for it. She''d visit Loki, try to cheer him up, probably get into an argument... then she''d jog a few times around the inner perimeter of the walls to cool off. Then she''din about it to Coraline when they met for dinner.

    Loki had a room to himself... and not because he rated one. It was because the Highdes didn''t want to deal with him.

    One of Teneca''s Sergeants gave her the report. That idiot, Loki... he just couldn''t keep his mouth shut. It didn''t matter that without the Highdes and their healers, he''d have died. He took a single look at how pointy the First Healer''s ears were and decided to let them all know what he''d do if only he had a sword.

    Thankfully, Lieutenant Teneca and the professionals in her medical team didn''t give into his demands. Instead, they locked him alone in his room and posted a guard.

    ...The report also strongly hinted that they beat him up a little, to make sure heplied.

    Haelvia gave a polite smile to the young guardsman. He looked young... but as he was a full-blooded elf, she wouldn''t dare assume, "Good afternoon, Sir. I''m here to visit Munifex Loukius."

    "Good afternoon, Ma''am," The elf saluted.

    Slightly surprised, Haelvia hesitated before returning it, "Oh... no. You don''t have to do that. I''m not an Officer."

    The elf shook his head, cordial but without a smile, "We were instructed by Lady Teneca to treat you as such. Please don''t make it difficult for us."

    "I... see," Haelvia nodded. "Well... thank you."

    It seemed that she underestimated the weight of Lieutenant Teneca''s words. She made a mental note of yet another thing she had to thank the woman for.

 Chapter 732 Duty Abandoned

    ?With a sharp nod, the guard turned to unlock the door to Loki''s room, "Please watch your head, Ma''am."

    "Th-thanks," Haelvia bowed her head slightly.

    The elf making sure to return the bow-- and deeper. He was really serious about that...

    Taking a deep breath, she ducked down and into the room, closing the door quietly behind her. The room was dark... and she was immediately assaulted by the musty smell of old wood.

    She realized that even though Loki''s room was part of the fort''s medical wing, it was more of a storage room than a room dedicated to receiving patients. As her eyes adjusted to the environment, she identified mops and brooms, stacked tables and desks, and a pile of mattresses.

    "Loki? Loki, are you awake?"

    A tray of breakfast foods remained undisturbed, just at the door. Even the green-haired criminal''s favorite hardfruit sat lonely in its wooden bowl.

    It was... a subtle insult. Loki didn''t have the use of his legs. He would have had to wheel his bed over to get his food-- or if his bed was immobile, he''d have had to crawl.

    Thinking of the arrogant brat forced to crawl on the sandstone just to feed himself gave Haelvia mixed feelings. The humiliation seemed cruel. But then again... that boy could learn some humility.

    How many meals had Loki spurned? She could easily imagine him refusing to eat on ount of the food being ''handed out by xeno''s.''

    Humans needed to eat to live. She smirked, wondering just how long his arrogance wouldst before he gave in.

    ...Then she sighed, realizing that the boy would probably starve himself half-to-death. She''d have to convince him to eat...

    Loki was supposed to be the same age as she was... yet he still had the mental age of a spoiled child.

    She was going to scold him-- maybe thwack him with one of the brooms if he refused.

    Or maybe she''d trick him? She could tell him that as long as he ate, he could recover enough strength to get his revenge.

    Shaking her head, she utched the two windows on the outer walls and opened them to allow in light from outside...

    Outside...

    Haelvia looked upon the oasis that Green Corn Tower was built around, covered in vegetation thriving off of the fertile soil.

    In three more suns, Guild Metal Wolf had to leave the safety of the Highdes and their adobe walls. Then... on top of endless rocks, cacti, and the hostile ins-dwelling wildlife, they also had to worry about immortal elves with terrifying masks.

    ...and Loki''s neverendingints.

    Small tears formed at the corner of her eyes. She wondered if it was from the harsh sunlight reflected from the waters... or from the unwillingness to go on. Whitehearth should have been only a few suns of travel more... but it seemed so much farther than that.

    With the room properly illuminated, Haelvia grabbed the tray of food and navigated around an empty bookshelf, "Loki, it''s me. Hey, listen, you need to--"

    She stopped.

    Haelvia swallowed the saliva in her dry mouth... and she tried to control her shaking hands.<novelnext></novelnext>

    And... she tried not to breathe in the scent of death.

    Loki''s lower body was draped off the end of his bed, his face purple and his eyes bulging. Blood still dripped from the bandaged stumps on his legs... and they stank of gangrene.

    As calm as she could... Haelvia ced the tray of food on a nearby table.

    "You... me-taken idiot..." She whispered.

    Loki had killed himself... He''d tied a rope around the bedframe and his neck. He''d thrown himself off and let gravity finish the job.

    She was shocked, she was hurt, but most of all... she was angry.

    The self-proimed best Divine Armor pilot in all of Tyrion and the Eastern States... had abandoned his duty by way of suicide.

    ...

    ? The morning of the fifth sun. ?

    The death of Munifex Loukius was only a herald of more bad news.

    The night prior a messenger delivered an ominous message to Lieutenant Teneca, the Commander of the Highde forces at Green Corn Tower.

    The Ebon Mask tribe had been made aware that House Highde was providing sanctuary to Guild Metal Wolf. They demanded... that their Divine Armor pilote out and do battle.

    Because of Loki''s selfish actions... that meant that Haelvia had to take the task.

    As she and Gaheris emerged out of the gates, the elves of the Ebon Mask tribe stood in the distance. They were arranged in a line, nking their own Divine Armor. From the rtive size, it was even bigger than Lancelot was.

    It looked like... a red and white metal bear with six massive cannons sprouting from behind its back and shoulders. From the reports she''d heard, they weren''t mundane Orkish Sugar and cannonball cannons. Those things were capable ofunching devastating magical attacks that exploded fantastically upon impact.

    It was why Loki was defeated so easily. It was why he suffered catastrophic damage to his legs, despite being protected by his Divine Armor. It was why Lancelot had a gaping hole in his abdomen.

    Haelvia turned back to the walls, where Centurion Januarius watched on with his unflinching wolf mask.

    With the threat of impending attack, Teneca delivered an ultimatum. The Wolves were to immediately vacate the fort.

    The Centurion asked her to fight. He gave her the choice, but did not press her.

    If Haelvia were to refuse, the Wolves would surrender. If she were to die... the Wolves would surrender. If she were to forsake her duty... if she were to run away or maybe even ept Teneca''s terms to join the Highdes... the Wolves would surrender.

    And then... the Wolves would be executed for their supposed crimes. ording to Teneca, the words in the Ebon Mask tribe''s message could not be interpreted any other way.

    Not leaving the walls... that would be the smart thing to do.

    But... Haelvia had never considered herself to be a smart woman.

 Chapter 733 Just A Fish

    ?Haelvia would have been lying to herself, if she said she wasn''t tempted.

    Due to the special status Lieutenant Teneca orded her, she was treated with respect by everyone in the Highde fortress. Some of their Officers and senior enlisted leaders even greeted her casually to engage in small talk.

    Conversely, Haelvia had been in Guild Metal Wolf for a little over a year. To sum up her time with them in a single word... it was... lonely.

    She had no friends. Her peers barely gave her an uncia of their free time. As for respect? She''d almost forgotten what having that was like.

    If Haelvia surrendered to cowardice, the Centurion couldn''t me her.

    Loki, after all, was the better pilot.

    He gave in to his demons without anyone''s say.

    Coraline would probably have begged her not to go-- there was really no logical sense to it.

    ...Lieutenant Teneca would probably have been pleased... satisfied that her sweet temptations bore fruit.

    In fact... if she was watching from the walls, she was probably the most surprised.

    Haelvia and Gaheris marched slowly towards the enemy line. She carried her tower shield. She carried a sturdy metal spear.

    Regardless of the conflict in her heart... and regardless of the options she had avable to her... she made her choice.

    She chose loyalty.

    She would serve dutifully... until the end.

    Facing the enemy... it was in her contract. Yet... Haelvia definitely felt like she was going above and beyond what was reasonably expected of her.

    She was going to fight an enemy that could defeat Loki and Lancelot in a single magical barrage. Even if she performed at her best... maybe beyond her limits, she was still around thete expert''s level.

    Maybe she was out there... because it was her pride in being a Tyrion.

    Maybe it was because she was still upset that that arrogant piece of garbage took the easy way out.

    Maybe... this was her way of showing loyalty to everyone that *did* give a shite about her in her life.

    Guild Metal Wolf-- no... Haelvia of Leopardon would not lie down and willingly take a loss.

    It... sounded better than it felt.

    Even if the odds were against her... it wasn''t impossible to defeat her opponent... and demand that herpany be spared.

    Granted, she wasn''t sure if that would even work. Even if she did somehow snatch an impossible victory, the Ebon Mask tribe still had their numbers... and even a single one of their Warriors could match a full Metal Wolf tent-group.

    Haelvia shook her head and took a deep breath.

    In the end, she didn''t feel like she was brave... or loyal... or anything Tyrion propaganda told her she''d feel.

    She felt she was still just a fish, foolishly trying to rate.

    ? The enemy is attacking. ?

    Haelvia widened her eyes at Gaheris'' warning.

    The Bear Armor had fired its cannons.

    ...

    She was fast.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Tyrion-purple Divine Armor lifted its shield to block the initial barrage... which seemed like a rather foolish move.

    That pilot had really ced too much faith in their defenses...

    "Oho?" The watching man leaned forward.

    The actual result... was something he did not expect.

    The Tyrion''s shield was ruined, riddled with holes and no better than scrap metal. However, he could see a glow suffused within. As broken as it was, silver tendrils of mana kept the shield somewhat functional.

    "So it''s a full mana-construct..." The man scoffed, "Tss. An eptable move, then."

    It was something like that crusty old dwarf, Harkus Mors, would make. With how resilient the Divine Armor was, the man wondered if it might *actually* have been one of his.

    The red and white Bear Armor roared in fury-- it was a neat attention to detail, for the sound to be so realistic. That thing was certainly not of Tyrion-make, barreling forward on all four limbs with speed impossible for a bipedal Armor to reach.

    The Purple Armor charged forward to meet with it, wielding its heavy metal spear in both hands.

    Did that pilot seek a double suicide? Or was it a calcted response?

    The watching man would have elected to do simr... seeking to fight at close range, rather than mid-or-far. Granted, he had the confidence to do so.

    The two armors collided, one desperately swinging a spear, the other noisily wing away like a rabid animal.

    The purple one kept its speed... and did show, perhaps, the barest hint of technical skill. However, their movements betrayed their true thoughts.

    Panic.

    Desperation.

    If the two fighters were human-sized, it would be even more of a joke: a man with a sharpened stick fighting against a veritable force of nature.

    And so the raging bear performed as expected. In only their second exchange, the Purple Armor was knocked backward, sprawled out onto the ground.

    It was inevitable. The pilot of the purple Divine Armor didn''t have the requisite skill to fight against a wild animal.

    Then... the Purple Armor... performed abat roll. They somersaulted backward and got to their feet, spear still in hand.

    It was a maneuver impossible for a novice to execute. A pilot''s will needed to be interpreted by the Divine Armor''s interface before it moved, resulting in too much dy topleteplex movements.

    The watching man was aware that the Arcanite Princess was developing a guided system for her Divine Armors... one that tried to guess its pilot''s actions, filling in the nks of umunicated inputs with rational ones.

    That was likely the reason behind the savage, yet smooth motions disyed by the Bear Armor. Its pilot''s anger, its lust for destruction was all too clear, and only served to empower its speed and strength.

    "But how?" The man furrowed his brows... "Who is... that pilot?"

    The Purple Armor charged forward again, sidestepping at thest, precarious moment to swing its spear at the Bear Armor''s chest.

    With the screech of metal twisting and exploding, the Bear Armor bit into the spear haft with its teeth, the bottom half of it shattering in a violent burst of mana dust.

    The Purple Armor grabbed onto the bear... smashing a series of fists and knees therger Divine Armor''s form.

    It was useless.

    The blows were too weak... the pilot''s mana reserves too low.

    With a heavy paw swipe, the bear smashed the Tyrion''s shoulder down, dropping them to the ground, a circle of silt and sand bursting outward.

    "A pity," The man shook his head.

 Chapter 734 Blackstar Fall

    ?How many exchanges had the two shared? Three?

    Ah, no. That was unfair.

    While the fight had been woefully short, it wasudable for the Tyrion to havested so long against a superior opponent.

    The Bear Armor raised its arms in victory, thundering a masculine voice skyward.

    "[(I, Growling-Bear, shall im my VENGEANCE for the FALLEN!!!)]"

    The watching gentleman raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to trante the Elven words in his head.

    That exined much.

    ? you . save friend ?

    ? you must ?

    Upon hearing scalding-hot, interrupting thoughts that were not his own, the man rolled his eyes, "You''re rather chatty, this sun, Miss Beatrice."

    During their journey, the young fire elemental''s vocabry were limited to ''hurry'' and ''burn.'' Sensing something new was... novel, but still overall unwee.

    ? move now ?

    He sighed, but nodded simply, "Mhm."

    The man cracked his neck left and right as he stood up, his own Divine Armor standing with him. cing a foot upon the rock he was hiding behind, he leapt up and forward... and was slightly surprised by how much power he had.

    "Beatrice, lower your output in movement to a third," He ordered.

    ? move faster ?

    The petnt child was arguing with him.

    "Redirect the mana to our weapon systems," He scolded. "Do you hear me, youngdy?"

    It took a second for the child to respond.

    ? yes ?

    "Good," He nodded.

    It was risky to remain airborne for so long, but since he had just emerged from cover he had the offensive advantage.

    He reached out an arm, an open palm aimed at the still-gloating and woefully-unaware Bear Armor, "Talks-With-Fire, activate your strongest attack that can hit at this range."

    ? Understood. Activating ?ckstar Fall: Dragonyer?. ?

    "Hmph," The man scoffed. "What a pretentious name."

    It did have a certain ring to it, though.

    ...

    Haelvia grit her teeth and swallowed the blood pooling in her mouth. She felt the only reason she was still conscious... was because she was fervently praying to the Eternal me for strength.

    All the strikes that Gaheris took had left her shaken and dazed. His chest tes were bent and dented in... but miraculously still intact.

    Her head pounded like it was being hit by a dozen hammers.

    She was just trying not to die without a fight, but she''d expended far too much mana in a tiny window of time.

    Haelvia felt like the biggest joke in her Century. Even after resting for so long under Teneca''s protection, she hadn''tsted more than a few minutes...

    "I''m... sorry, Gaheris..." She gave her partner a final smile, "but it looks like this is the end."

    The massive Bear Armor lifted its oppressive ws.

    When they fell, Gaheris'' chest would be smashed in... and she, inside of it, would be smashed into an unidentifiable pool of blood, torn skin, and broken bones.<novelnext></novelnext>

    But then... the enemy Divine Armor looked up.

    There was... something there?

    It looked like... a falling star. But... the timing was all wrong. The morning sun was still high in the sky!

    Haelvia had no idea what she was watching, but as it grew closer, she realized that its size was in no way inferior to Gaheris. It was... a ming... giant?

    "[ ?ckstar FALL!!! ...Boot to the head.? ]"

    The giant''s outstretched leg collided into the Bear Armor with a deafening crash,unching it away. Haelvia''s fearsome opponent bounced upon the ins no less than three times before creating a trail of dirt.

    "[Delta-One-Tyche to Metal Wolf,]" A deep, mana-empowered, male voice thrummed through Gaheris'' interface. "[How copy, Metal Wolf? Over.]"

    Haelvia gulped.

    What... was this development? She was saved... by another Divine Armor?

    She blinked her eyes, trying to focus on the figure standing in front of Gaheris. They... were offering their ming metal hand.

    It... it was definitely a Divine Armor, but its full form was sheathed in a thin curtain of mes.

    Haelvia shook her head and mentallymanded Gaheris to open themunication line, "Y... yes. I hear you, Delta-One-Tyche. This is Echo-Four-Libra... Y-you... just saved my arse... Over."

    Haelvia''s mind raced, trying toprehend just what was going on.

    The other pilot... it was possible that they were Tyrion. That... that would be why they came to save her!

    They seemed to be familiar with the callsigns detailed in their Divine Armor manuals.

    She was fourth-tier enlisted, Echo-Four... and her personal identifier was the letter ''L''.

    But... the other Divine Armor... they used the Delta identifier for their rank?

    ''Omicron'' stood for officer... ''Camel'' was reserved for cavalry... but ''Delta''?

    If she took that at face value... the other pilot... was a Duplicarius?

    No, that was surely wrong. Duplicarii were impossibly rare... the title only given to persons whose single-handed actions were responsible for saving entire centuries.

    It... it might have been a Decanus, an Echo-Five-- or rather-- the Eastern States equivalent, a Sergeant. Most likely, the other pilot didn''t fully understand Tyrion callsigns.

    They were thousands of miles away from the Holy Country. Chancing upon another Tyrion-- and without a team of other Divine Armors, was a nigh-impossible anomaly.

    ? The other pilot requests a visual connection. ?

    Haelvia''s heart shook. A visual connection? She... didn''t even know that was a function between Divine Armors!!

    ? Gaheris... Please ept it. ?

    An illusory image disyed at the corner of Haelvia''s interface, a handsome, green-haired youth gazing at her with a serious face.

    He had... the most jarring, golden eyes.

    He was... a hero straight out of an epic, wearing armor wreathed in divine mes, arriving at the perfect time to rescue her from a savage monster.

    If the man was right in front of her, Haelvia would have thrown decorum aside and kissed him.

    "Good morning," He said, "This is Duplicarius Tycon, current pilot of Talks-With-Fire. Requesting status, Echo-Four-Libra?"

    "D... duplicarius... we..." Haelvia furrowed her brows. So it was true.

    And that name... it sounded... so familiar.

    Then there was the shape and form of his Divine Armor. She''d seen it before, somewhere... it was so... very...

    "WAIT!" Suddenly, her eyes widened in shock, "T-talks-With-Fire?! Wh-wh-whhaaaaat?!"

 Chapter 735 Insubordination

    ?Even though Haelvia''s savior was nketed in living mes, she recognized its form.

    It was, without a doubt, Divine Armor Lancelot.

    But... the Duplicarius... he called it--

    "That''s... an affirmative," The green-haired pilot tilted his head, "''Talks-With-Fire'' is the name of this Divine Armor... Regardless, I say again: Echo-Four-Libra, do you require medical attention?"

    "H-how?!" Haelvia half-stood up and shouted at her console, "How did you learn that Divine Armor''s name? L-l-loki had been his pilot for--"

    "Answer the question, girl," Tychon frowned.

    Haelvia grit her teeth, her cheeks flush.

    It wasn''t the time for questions.

    Thebat zone was still very hot-- and that was besides the fact that Lancelot now-Talks-With-Fire was literally ame... and that all of Haelvia''s exposed skin was burning with a half-dozen emotions.

    Gaheris grabbed hold of Talks-With-Fire''s outstretched hand and steadied himself on still-wobbly knees.

    "N-negative, Duplicarius," Haelvia managed... "We''re still in good condition, but--"

    "Echo-Four-Libra, withdraw to the walls," The Duplicarius replied impassively.

    "I say again--" Haelvia growled, "Gaheris and I can still--"

    "This is a *direct* order, Echo-Four-Libra," Tychon said in a firm voice. "The damage your Divine Armor has sustained isn''t even close to regenerating. Your mana is in shambles and your presence here--"

    A series of powerful explosions shook the earth, interrupting Tychon.

    Haelvia turned her head to the side, watching in horror as six magical attacks sped towards them. Their impending deaths shot towards them, trailed by streams of white and gold against the backdrop of the endless blue sky.

    Despite the pain in her head and the bile rising in her gut, she asked Gaheris to dash forward. Using what little remained of her pitiful mana reserves, she channeled everything she had and more into reinforcing her Divine Armor''s metallic frame.

    The Duplicarius hade to save her... or rather-- to save Guild Metal Wolf. He was even skilled enough to learn Lancelot''s true name.

    However, his Divine Armor Lancelot couldn''t withstand a single barrage of those cannons.

    They couldn''t hope to dodge it, either. Haelvia had a near-perfect connection with Gaheris and even they couldn''t do that.

    Gaheris stood in front of Talks-With-Fire, crossing his arms over his chest... doing his best to protect his pilot.

    Haelvia bowed her head... hot tears dripping down her cheeks, "Thank you again... dear friend... for letting me be so selfish."

    Gaheris had always been... the most loyal guardian. But... even if he managed to survive annihtion, she would not.

    Her sacrifice would pave the way for Duplicarius Tychon''s victory.

    Throughout history, the Holy Country always emerged victorious... but the price it paid was in the lives of her people.

    "Tss," A voice scoffed... "So you could still move, even in that state."

    The med Talks-With-Fire shot his metal hand up, palm forward... and the sky blurred with heat. It was like... an invisible shield. Each of the Bear Armor''s projectiles exploded in mid-air, close enough to make her ears ring but too far to substantially affect either of them.

    Haelvia tried to wrap her head around the sheer ridiculousness of what she just saw. Talks-With-Fire... with a simple wave of his hand, hadpletely nullified the enemy''s attacks?

    "What... what in the me... just happened?" She asked the golden-eyed Duplicarius.

    "Miss L," Tychon smiled, "thank you for your concern, but please, withdraw to safety."

    "Look, guy," Haelvia ignored the heat in her face as she tried to argue, "That... that THING was responsible for half my century''s casualties! Just because you''re... you''re handsome and the best pilot I''ve ever seen in my life doesn''t mean you can just... disregard my help!"

    "Hah! Hahahaha!"

    That man... he justughed at her. Haelvia''s head had be so hot, she was starting to get dizzy.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "How about this, then?" Tychon smirked, "Should you continue to be disobedient, I''ll bend you over my knee and spank you."

    Haelvia rolled her eyes, "Joke''s on you, Duplicarius. That''s my definition of a good time."

    ...By the me, what was she saying?

    "Hm. If you insist... I''d like you to at least withdraw from the st zone. Stand by and provide support should you deem it necessary."

    That... was actually pretty reasonable.

    "If you behave..." The Duplicarius tilted his chin down, "I might even grant you a reward at battle''s end."

    "Psh," Haelvia scoffed in surprise-- so hard she snorted, "Like I''m interested in anything *you* have to offer."

    The young pilot gave a casual shrug, "For that remark, I think I''d like to see you beg for it on your knees."

    On... her knees...

    Haelvia covered her mouth, absolutely speechless.

    It... would be inappropriate for her to ept that offer-- in... any circumstance!

    But... that--

    No... She... she wasn''t--

    Indecent thoughts cluttered her brain.

    Was... doing that... really something she opposed?

    ...Haelvia was definitely blushing. She wasn''t used to that kind of attention from... anyone, really.

    She coughed to hide her embarrassment, "Y-you''re mistaken, Duplicarius. I... I don''t like guys with green hair."

    "And I, youngdy," Tychon responded, "judge based on ability andpetence, rather than looks."

    me Eternal. Haelvia decided she was going to stop talking. Every time she opened her mouth, she just made herself look more like a fool.

    "Once I defeat this fellow," The Duplicarius continued, "you and I will discuss working through your issues from whatever shite boyfriend you had in the past."

    Haelvia reeled back in shock-- that was definitely too much!

    "Oh, so what?" She groaned in disgust, "You''re going to kiss me and magically make me forget every bad thing that''s ever happened to me?"

    Oh.

    Oh, no.

    ? Haelvia cursed herself and her stupid tongue. She had just sworn not respond to the Duplicarius'' mockery, but she ended up getting caught in his pace, anyroad...

    Her whole body was steaming hot... with shame... indignation... and... and...

    "That..." The Duplicarius chuckled, "would be an excellent start... Be advised, Echo-Four-Libra. After this, I''m going to *thoroughly* discipline you for your... insubordination."

    This man...

    Haelvia closed her eyes, trying to ignore how fast her heart was beating.

    That person was... even more arrogant than Loki. However, she had seen a glimpse of his abilities. It was... more than arrogance. It was confidence.

    It made her... want to trust him.

    "Duplicarius..." She gulped... "if you can win... I''ll ept your punishment willingly."

 Chapter 736 Respected As Such

    ?? shback. At the walled gates of the Green Corn Tower, twenty minutes prior. ?

    ? hey ?

    ? listen ?

    "Moreints, Miss Beatrice?" Tycondrius groaned.

    ? hurry ?

    "Little one, the three of us have been *hurrying* for the past couple suns," He scolded. "You may have not have noticed, but normal people cannot *fly*."

    Even in the fire elemental''s normal form, she was not limited by gravity. She flitted around his head to convey her frustration, her current form being a fiery orb held aloft by four wispy wings.

    It was probably supposed to be ''cute.''

    Tycon only found the whirling fire orb to be a bother.

    Beatrice seemed... weary, forced to reduce her size to conserve her mana. Were it not for her being spurred on by hope and anxious fricism, Tycon feared she''d... faint-- or whatever the elemental equivalent was.

    He hoped it would note to that. He''d have to carry her... and he was not keen on reducing a good pair of thick leather gloves to char.

    ? friend . to rescue ?

    Tycon sighed and shook his head, "I *know*, child. Have faith that I am moving as fast as is reasonable."

    A Elven guard peered over the walls, between the crions. House Highde was known for their swordsmen and demasters. The enchanted sword strapped the elf''s back marked him as a de Dancer of at least practical skill.

    "Green Corn Keep is currently closed to outsiders!" He shouted.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. He needed to get in. If a particr person died on ount of his slow pace, then a certain fire elemental would surely annoy him to death.

    He could forgive the slight. It stemmed from ignorance.

    He was wearing a loose, long-sleeved white shirt and well-worn trousers that he''d run in for the past few suns. It providedfort under the warm desert sun, but provided no hint to his identity.

    To expedite the process... even at great risk to himself, Tycon decided to reveal his full name and status.

    He straightened his back and raised his voice, "My name is Tycondrius of Charm, and I request to speak to--"

    "House Charm?!" The elf sneered, "House Highde does NOT recognize the families of the *Beast Kingdoms* as nobility!"

    The fellow turned around, assumedly to gloat to one or more of hispanions, "(Can you believe the arrogance of this Irvhir?)"

    Tycon groaned and massaged the bridge of his nose, "So that''s how it''s going to be? Very well. ?Shadowfang?."

    Quickly focusing his mana, he silently leapt upward, running up thest few feet of the adobe walls. Grabbing the top edge, he smoothly vaulted atop it.

    He faced a small team of two elves and a half-elf-- thetter two standing stunned, their mouths agape.

    "(Is it not amusing?)" The first guardughed... "(You two, where are your eyes--)"

    Tycon gripped the back of the man''s head with his palm, "Good morning, gentlemen. I am a Prince of my people and. will. be--

    "res-PECTED!!" He mmed the elf into the wooden floor,promising its integrity by making an extensive web of cracks.

    "AS!!!" He stomped his boot down on the elf''s face.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "SSSSUCH!!" He drew his short sword and pointed it at the half-elf''s neck, the higher-ranked guard between the two remaining.

    "I... I uh..." The half-elf stuttered as he carefully raised his hand to salute, "G-good morning, Prince."

    "Yes, good morning," Tycon muttered, rendering a quick sword salute before re-sheathing the de, "Now, if I could trouble you two noble and highly *intelligent* warriors of House Highde, I''d like to be shown to--"

    "And who in the SEVEN HELLS do you think you are?!?"

    A small cadre of armed soldiers, led by a lithe half-elf woman was approaching. The woman looked furious-- not that Tycon could be bothered to care.

    "You''ve hurt my men!" She screamed, "and you just expect me to--"

    Tycon held up his hand to interrupt her. He was being rude, but he sought to mitigate as much wasted-time as he could afford.

    ? burn? ?

    After all, if his requests were not eded, Beatrice was prepared to bake every elf, human, and all-between in the adobe fortress.

    He mentally sent reassurance to the child, hoping she''d be obedient.

    ? Do not do that. I am still in control. ?

    ? . . . hurry ?

    He spoke after making a quick assessment of the half-Elven female Officer... "Lieutenant, my name is Tycon--"

    "I don''t give a single shite what your name--"

    Tycon shot his hand forward, cing his palm over her mouth, applying pressure to her cheek bones until he was certain she was in pain.

    "--Awarded the rank of Duplicarius in the Tyrion Army,missioned Lieutenant in the Alizeaun Navy reserves, sworn brother of Whitehearth''s Arcanite Prince, and-- to throw in the only title you probably care for, friend to House Highde."

    He released her... but repositioned his hand on the hilt of his sword. Every second that passed chipped away at his patience. He mentally weighed the ws and benefits to ughtering every guard in the keep just to save a single person.

    "Will you... deny me, Lieutenant?" Tycon red.

    A drop of blood trailed down the half-Elven Lieutenant''s scowling lips... "By whose authority, in House Highde?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Lord Arod."

    The woman''s body stiffened up... and her hands slowly, almost imperceptibly began to lower towards the two des on her waist, "My father is dead."

    "I," Tycon gestured towards himself, "was one of the three responsible for bringing his murderers to justice."

    The Lieutenant''s hands stopped... She closed her eyes and loosed a weary sigh, "I see..."

    When she opened her eyes again, her gaze had a different look... not quite one of reverence, but certainly with more respect than prior, "My name is Teneca... Teneca of House Highde."

    "You can thank meter, Miss Teneca," Tycon rolled his eyes. "Now, concerning Guild Metal Wolf, I ask that you take me to--"

    "Tactician Tychon!"

    Tycon grit his teeth. He hated being interrupted. But thankfully, the owner of the interrupting voice was the gentleman he was currently searching for.

 Chapter 737 Only Two?

    ?Tycondrius worked with Januarius in the past... back when they both fought under the banner of the Bannok of Kasydon''s Brazen Guard Collective.

    Along with thete Karodin of Emberhold, the leader of Guild Metal Wolf advocated falling under Tycon''smand tobat the traps and hostile dead in the Lower Halls of the Dead Serpent.

    "Decanus Januarius," Tycon nodded to the man in the metal wolf helmet... taking particr note of the condition of his left forearm, "Is that your best impression of Commander Bannok?"

    Januarius cradled what remained of his arm. Hints of dried blood marred the bandages.

    He said nothing.

    If the state of Guild Metal Wolf could be assumed from the state of their leader, then Coraline was right to send Beatrice to seek Tycon''s assistance. Concerning Januarius''bored breathing and the way his body trembled, it was also likely that he''d taken fever.

    The man would at least recover to better than Bannok. The former leader of the Brazen Guard had his strong arm severed near the shoulder.

    "Are you an idiot?!" A woman by the wolf''s side yelled, "or are you just blind?!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... shocked into speechlessness.

    It was... baffling. He was standing over a bleeding elf, his face in the stone, probably missing half of his teeth. Further, the Commander of the Keep patiently observed while standing at his right. Two dazed and horrified Highdes half-hid behind her, trying not to be noticed.

    Yet... a seemingly random human woman dared to raise her voice to him? And to insult him?

    He casually nced at her rank.

    Optio.

    It seemed her title had gone to her head. Tycon wondered the importance of that head remaining attached to her neck.

    "Janu-ARIUS," The woman continued to speak, even as he approached her, "--is a Centurion! And WHO in the seven hells are--"

    **PAP**

    Tycon backhanded the Optio across the face.

    She staggered backwards, stunned. Her cheek began to swell and she red back with unrestrained fury-- "You... how DARE YOU!!"

    Lunging forward, the woman swung with her right fist-- so slow it was pitiable.

    Tycon nonchntly caught the strike, painfully rotated her wrist outward, then raised his opposite hand to break her arm.

    "Tactician," Januarius cleared his throat, "I''ll take care of Optio Phaedra."

    "Please," Tycon nodded before forcefully shoving the woman away.

    Her back struck the corner of the walls'' crions and she writhed in pain, spouting a string of particrly colorful curses in the Tyrion oldnguage.

    "Januarius," Tycon turned to the Metal Wolf, "Do you care that I mistook your rank?"

    "You here to help, Tychon?"

    "I am."

    "Then no," The wolf inclined his head.

    Tycon enjoyed working with reasonable people like Januarius.

    "I... I object, Centurion!!" The hurt Optio seethed as she stumbled to her feet, "Whoever this man is, we can''t trust him!"

    The wolf''s gaze did not leave Tycon''s as he responded, "Phaedra, this the Tactician of Sol Invictus."

    "Oho~" Tycon allowed himself a light chuckle, his frustrations slightly alleviated. That was a title of his he had not volunteered. It was also his most renowned, "So you''ve found out."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Aye," The Centurion nodded... "It hurts a bit, though... having two life debts to the same person."

    "I''ll ensure you live long enough to repay me," Tycon smirked.

    "Invictus? SOL Invictus?!" Optio Phaedra shook her head, still scowling. "Titles don''t mean anything here."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin slits. The woman was... literally just arguing over what rank her superior was.

    Teneca, an elf from what was arguably the most arrogant and haughty Elven family, came to reason on her own.

    The toothless elf, still twitching on the floor, had been *made* to see reason.

    Some people... just wanted to find fault in others, regardless of the logic.

    ? burn? ?

    And some, it seemed... just wanted the world around them to burn.

    Tycon paused for a moment to issue amand to hispanion fire elemental.

    ? Little one, if that... woman takes two steps toward us, leave nothing left but ash. ?

    ? yes ?

    Fortunately for the Optio, she didn''t step past her Centurion, "And what can YOU do, then?! A single Tactician without an army?"

    "You''re in luck, Optio Phaedra," Tycon took a breath and straightened his posture. "High Oracle Troia, herself, has assigned me to a mission of import in Whitehearth. As the chosen instrument of Tyrion''s will, I am more than capable of providing assistance to her troubled people... Glory to the Eternal me."

    The wolf-helmed Centurion nodded sagely, "Glory to the Eternal me."

    ...The confirmation was a relief. Tycon was aware he had a naturally sarcastic voice.

    "There you have it, Phaedra," Januarius crossed his good arm over his chest. "If you won''t trust my judgment, then you can trust the High Oracle''s."

    "You..." Phaedra ground her teeth indignantly, "There''s dozens-- if not hundreds of elves hidden in rocks and crevices of this ursed ce! And how many men do you have?"

    "Myself and one other," Tycon replied honestly.

    He walked over to the opposite side of the wall, looking at the inside of the keep. There he saw what remained of Guild Metal Wolf.

    There were more injured Munifices than not... and had not enough shields and p for what remained of the century.

    Worse than missing equipment was the absence of hope and conviction. They looked broken... their hearts defeated long ago.

    They were useless to him.

    There was, however, a half-wrecked Divine Armor in their midst.

    That would be enough.

    "You''re me-f*cking ridiculous, Mister Tychon," Phaedra sneered. "Are you trying to tell me that TWO members of your so-called *Sol Invictus* can defeat hundreds of hostile elves? And on *their* homeground!?"

    "Of *course* not, Miss Phaedra," Tycon scoffed, turning towards her, "That''s absurd..."

    He grinned at her, allowing a modicum of his Gold-Rank aura to seep through. As expected, she-- as well as every Highde in his vicinity, flinched at the sudden disy of power.

    Only the cross-armed Januarius remained unaffected, "If the two of you cannot change our fate, Tactician..."

    "You misunderstand, Centurion," Tycon chuckled, "I, alone, will be enough."

 Chapter 738 High Praise

    ?? Outside the walls of Green Corn Keep, present time. ?

    After Haelvia and Gaheris withdrew to a safer distance, she knelt down atop of a rock formation to watch the battle.

    With the pain in her head easing and the adrenaline starting to wane, she finally remembered where she heard the name ''Tychon.''

    It was... the ''Decanus'' that Coraline said she knew.

    It was... the current leader of Sol Invictus.

    Coraline''s reverence for him seemed to border on extreme, but... upon meeting him, it all made sense.

    That... that meant that besides Duplicarius Tychon being a Gold-Rank adventurer... he also had rock-solid abs. The thought made Haelvia''s mind spiral towards thoughts that had no ce on the battlefield.

    Piloting Talks-With-Fire-- or rather, the Divine Armor formerly known as Lancelot was something that should have been impossible.

    After Loki was defeated in battle, Lancelot''s Arcanite Core was destroyed beyond hope of repair. Without a source of power, he should have been nothing more than an expensive pile of scrap metal, much less one that could leap a half-stadia skyward and uratelynd a ming kick.

    The Bear Armor fired another deadly salvo of magic attacks... as if testing to see if the earlier disy was a fluke. Lancelot didn''t even wave its hand. Each of the vtile spells exploded fantastically before reaching its target.

    Haelvia leaned forward out of Gaheris'' open chest tes.

    ? Gaheris... Did... did you feel that? ?

    ? Beatrice is with that person. ?

    Of course!

    That... that made sense!

    Beatrice was a fire elemental... a living source of mana. Over the past few decades of technological advances, fire and wind elementals foundmon usage in providing mana to power-hungry airships and static defensive formations.

    NO! That still made ZERO sense!

    Lancelot was created to funnel power from its Arcanite Core! No normal person would be able to just... swap that out for a different power source. And besides that, Haelvia hadn''t met with Tychon before she left the walls.

    It would only make sense if... in the past ten or twenty minutes, the Duplicarius was able to redraw the spell circles inside of Lancelot... adjusting the mana circuits to amodate Beatrice''s output...

    Haelvia began tough. That... was unthinkable. Even the smallest mistake could render Lancelot inert and immobile... or if certain conditions were met, it could trigger a catastrophic explosion.

    The Bear Armor charged forward, heedless of the several gigantic gouts of me that Lancelot casually tossed out. It plowed through each fireball, the metal twisting and ckening... and it roared in pain each time it was struck.

    Yet somehow... the Duplicarius had done it. The specifications of the spell circles had just enough resistance to not overload the circuits... yet were capable of generating an inestimable amount of power.

    Piloting Lancelot, Loki hadn''t conjured a single torch worth of fire... yet Tychon had effortlessly summoned enough mes to burn down Holy City Basilica.

    "Does something amuse you, Echo-Four-Libra?" Tychon tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.

    Haelvia widened her eyes in surprise. She''d somehow forgotten that the audiovisual connection was still active, and the Duplicarius was privy to her giggling like a madwoman.

    That perfect smile of his, though... it was too good to be true.

    Haelvia shook her head and adopted a wide grin, "I''m dreaming, aren''t I? I think I must have died, back there."

    "Oh, that''s high praise, calling me the man of your dreams?" Tychonughed.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Bear Armor had finally closed with the fiery Lancelot... but despite the size of its me-warped frame, it had yet to gain an advantage.

    Lancelot squared his body, raising his arms in the stance of a boxer. He danced around the metal bear, jabbing twice at its maw, slipping a heavy w, then smashing a hook into its side.

    The red and white armor released an ear-piercing roar as it lunged forward, managing totch onto Lancelot''s ming arm with its maw.

    But Tychon... he didn''t panic. Instead, he had Lancelot push forward, reducing the effectiveness of the bite. Lancelot then smashed a burning palm on the side of the bear''s head, allowing him to break free. Finally, grabbing onto the bear''s head with both arms, he drove a rising knee into its chin, knocking it down.

    "Hmm," The green-haired man in the visual disy crossed his arms in thought, "I believe... that fulfilling your dreams would be more appropriate tonight... perhaps, in the privacy of your personal quarters?"

    "Is that a threat?" Haelvia asked, fluttering her eyshes... "Or a promise?"

    The Duplicarius was in a life-or-death battle and still had the gall to flirt with her.

    Never in her life had Haelvia been more attracted to a human being. Or a Divine Armor.

    She apologized to Gaheris in her heart.

    ? Gaheris can easily perform this well. His pilot only needs to grow in strength. ?

    Haelvia furrowed her brows. Gaheris usually never offered such thoughts without her prompting him.

    Was... her Divine Armor jealous?

    "Keep it up, Echo-Four-Libra," Tychon winked, "and I''ll head over there and *discipline* you, right now."

    Haelvia coughed into a closed fist.

    As hot and bothered as she was, that was... really not appropriate, considering the circumstances, "It''s Elle. Just... Elle, please. And please finish the fight, Duplicarius Tychon."

    "Ah, very well," Tychon shrugged. "Business before pleasure, then."

    P... leasure...? That... green-haired man was really getting ahead of himself.

    Haelvia''s attention suddenly shifted to the enemy''s movement.

    The Bear Armor had reared up and,unching itself forward, had grappled onto Lancelot''s arms. It repositioned the six cannons on its back, aiming directly at the smaller Divine Armor''s chest.

    The other pilot knew it was impossible to win. But instead of taking the loss, they decided to use its highly destructive cannon attack at close range.

    "TYCHON!!"

    Before Haelvia had realized what she was doing, Gaheris was already on his feet, sprinting towards the battle.

    Besides Duplicarius Tychon being the only hope for her guild''s survival...

    Haelvia had alreadypletely... idiotically... and unforgivably ced all her faith in that person.

    She even had the ludicrous thought... that he... might actually be the man of her dreams, like he said.

    She could not let that man die.

    Her heart... wouldn''t be able to take it.

 Chapter 739 Reason To Hate

    ?Haelvia held her hand out as she ran, Gaheris matching the motion. She wasn''t going to make it in time.

    But then... Lancelot dropped low, nting a ming elbow into the bear''s gut. In a smooth motion, he grabbed hold of the red and white armor''s wrist and pulled its arm close.

    Haelvia watched in disbelief as the smaller armor shifted its weight... and rolled the massive bear over its shoulder, sending it into the ground with a thunderous crash.

    A soft, but deep chuckling came out of Gaheris'' interface. Tychon-- he... he was fine.

    "Hm. Haha..." The handsome youth smiled, "I very much like the way you call my name. I''d like to hear it much more tonight."

    As he was speaking, Lancelot straddled the fallen bear''s chest and began to hammer down onto its snout and chest with fiery fists.

    Gaheris slowed his steps as Haelvia breathed a deep-- if exasperated sigh of relief...

    "Your answer, Elle?" Tychon asked.

    That criminal.... he wasn''t even breathing hard.

    Haelvia rolled her eyes.

    This person was... difficult to deal with.

    She would have loved to respond back with the same brazenness and bravado... but she had a sudden realization.

    The Duplicarius... was he being serious? His flirtations had been so over-the-top, she hadn''t stopped to consider whether or not he... was actually attracted to her.

    From his insistence... it didn''t sound like he was joking.

    Her heart was pounding out of her chest... and partly from only-just escaping a near-death situation. But... she and him-- they hadn''t even met properly.

    Haelvia was... a little scared. She was more than hopeful.

    But... the golden-eyed Duplicarius was waiting for an answer...

    She averted her gaze and squeaked a shy response... "I... I think I''d like that."

    ...

    "Excellent," Tycondrius smirked at the blonde woman in the image, "I shall hold you to that."

    "I..." She smiled, "A-alright."

    "I''ll meet you back at the fortress, Elle," Tycon grinned. "Mypanions and I won''t take long."

    "R-right," Elle''s face fell, her voice adopting a worried tone. "Business before pleasure, then... Be careful, Tychon."

    "Until then," Tychon responded with a meaningful wink.

    ? System, close the visual connection, please. ?

    ? System response: Visual connection closed. ?

    ? I''d like you to turn down the mes, little one. ?

    ? yes ?

    In an instant, the mes protecting Tycon and Talks-With-Fire were extinguished.

    Beatrice had spent several suns requesting to burn various persons and objects. She was a good girl-- just a bit impatient. Once she''d been allowed to channel her mana towards thoroughly embarrassing an enemy Divine Armor, she became far more agreeable to his requests.

    Tycon''s victory over the enemy Divine Armor was mostly effortless due to the young fire elemental''s... enthusiasm.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He smashed a heavy kick against the inside of Talks-With-Fire''s red-heated metal chest te. The impact dislodged it from its hinges, dropping it down, where it ricocheted noisily off the metallic creature below.

    Leaping down onto the defeated Divine Armor, Tycon channeled mana into his hands. With his mana-empowered grip, he twisted and tore the mana-constructed metal coverings that protected the enemy pilot.

    A hatchet chopped forward, wielded by a masked elf... but such an attack was predictable. Tycon grabbed the gentleman''s closed fist and squeezed until he heard the crack of bone... not releasing until the weapon fell harmlessly out of his broken hand.

    He reached down to grab the elf''s throat, dragged him out of his metal shell, and pinned him against the Bear Armor''s still-glowing chest. The defeated warrior loosed a groan of pain as his back sizzled against the heated metal, clearly felt despite the light armor he wore.

    "(I... cannot die,)" The pilot spat in Elven, both hands gripping Tycon''s forearm, "(I am... Growling-Bear!! First Warrior of the Ebon Mask tribe!!)"

    "Is that so?" Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    He looked at the broken fist of the elf known as ''Growling-Bear''. It had only been seconds since, but it seemed the bones had already reset and were in the process of healing.

    As the elf didn''t seem to belong to a bloodline known for physical regeneration, Tycon made a quick assessment for magical items.

    ...He reasoned it was probably the most obvious.

    Grabbing the elf''s bone mask, Tycon drew his finger on its surface with his opposite hands. After deactivating the spell circle keeping it on his face, he picked it up and casually tossed it aside.

    Without his enchanted mask, the confidence in the elf''s face waned...

    His dark, sweat-matted hair covered his bruised face. His left arm was purple and swollen, having recently been broken. Dark blood streamed down his mouth from internal injuries.

    His eyes, however... they were still alive. They still burned-- but with indignation and fury.

    Tycon stared back, undaunted.

    It was no wonder Guild Metal Wolf could not contend with the Ebon Mask Tribe. If each of their warriors could defy death, then even a small force was not disadvantaged against a full Tyrion century.

    He wore a solemn, respectful face as he spoke, "(Tell me, then, Growling-Bear, First Warrior of the Ebon Mask tribe... For what reason do you hate?)"

    Growling-Bear red back, baring his teeth, "(Your tribe... they took an elf... a ve. We... would not allow it.)"

    "(You hide something from me,)" Tycon pursed his lips.

    That was a usible reason, but the pure, unadulterated hatred in Growling-Bear''s eyes did not merely speak of injustice on the behalf of others, "(Tell me... is it your shame?)"

    The broken elf''s body convulsed as he began to spasm and cough. He hacked out a gob of dark blood that stained Tycon''s shirt.

    While unpleasant, Tycon decided not to wipe it away... out of respect, perhaps.

    "(You...)" The elf growled, "(you *killed* Chases-Butterfly.)"

    Tycon grimaced as he released the musclebound fellow... "(Unfortunately, that is not the case.)"

    "(YOU!!)" Growling-Bear roared as he struggled to stand, "(You MOCK me!!!)"

    "(I speak the truth, Growling-Bear,)" Tychon sighed. "(This sun is the first we have shed.)"

    Color immediately drained from the elf''s face.

    It should have been obvious. Tycon had no issues defeating him, whereas, ording to Guild Metal Wolf''s reports, the previous ''Lancelot'' had fallen after a single exchange.

    The elf trembled, coughing weakly... before his eyes refocused and he grit his teeth, "(Wh... where...?)"

    He seemed to be asking for the person responsible.

    Tycon merely shook his head.

 Chapter 740 Prophecy Unspoken

    ?"(The craven you seek is dead,)" Tycondrius exined. "(He took his own life, yesterday evening.)"

    The original pilot of Talks-With-Fire was a shining beacon of morale within Guild Metal Wolf. When faced with the pressure of an unbeatable enemy... he embraced his fears and gave into cowardice.

    From what Tycon was told, that fellow didn''t even do it well. He asphyxiated himself with a rope or belt.

    It was... a slow and excruciating way to die.

    Tycon didn''t even bother to remember his name.

    The elf swallowed the blood in his throat... and nodded. That was enough. He lied still, with his eyes closed... the rage in his heart transformed into grief and helplessness.

    "(Name?)" He asked...

    "(Tycondrius,)" Tycon answered honestly, "(Chieftain of Tribe Invictus.)"

    "(...Do it, then, Tycondrius of Invictus,)" Growling-Bear whispered... "(I have lived... long enough.)"

    Tycon nodded as he unsheathed his sword, "(You have fought honorably and made your ancestors proud, Growling-Bear.)"

    Unfortunately, as he lifted the de, a gentle gust of wind flowed from the west.

    ? Stay thy hand, friend-Maedar. ?

    That voice... belonged to a man. Tycon wished it was Beatrice. He could tell the upstart fire elemental to eat sand without being disadvantaged.

    Tycon turned, staring incredulously in the distance... at a nket of rock formations from whence the wind came.

    "And why in the seven hells would I do that?"

    ? Dost thou question me, mortal? A king of his people? ?

    "Yes, I question you!" Tycon shouted, "If you''ve forgotten, Ancient, I am *not* one of your people!"

    The winds blew silent for a moment... but then the inevitable response came.

    ? I would ask thee... to give this king face. ?

    "Ughhh..." Tycon groaned as he sheathed his de. He walked over the uneven terrain that was the Bear Armor to retrieve the bone mask.

    Returning to the elf, he knelt down by his side, "(Your ancestors watch over you, Growling-Bear... even now.)"

    The half-dead elf lifted a trembling hand, grasping weakly onto Tycon''s wrist, "(Grant me... death...)"

    Tycon pped the hand away, "(This, you are not qualified to ask of me.)"

    First the elf bled all over his shirt then he dared to ask for a favor he did not deserve? The fellow was being ridiculous.

    With a frustrated sigh, Tycon reced the bone mask on the immobile elf''s face and swiftly restored the spell circles to activate its healing effect.

    "(Growling-Bear... though you have suffered greatly, you must live, so not to disgrace the honor of the fallen. First Warrior of the Ebon Mask Tribe, do you hear my words?)"

    The elf... slowly nodded.

    Defeated, broken, his vengeance denied... he wept.

    ...but there was no shame in that.

    Tycon silently took a seat by the elf''s side to watch over him.

    He understood the man''s pain... more than he cared to openly admit.

    ...

    There was a prophecy, told long... long ago.

    It was passed down by countless generations.

    It was... forbidden to speak of it, for reasons conjured by cowards and fools.

    As for why?<novelnext></novelnext>

    The source of those words... was a dragon.

    Such songs were said to have been sung... by more than one of the mythical beasts... which only made the Ancients more keen on ignoring them.

    Yet... the refusal to speak of prophecies did not make them any less true.

    Yanaba felt it in her blood... in the magic of the world around her. She heard the quiet, yet certain whispers... of a song of which legends were sung.

    The world would be purged. Naught would remain but ash and fire.

    And the cause?

    The very Chieftain who gifted her tribe their masks.

    "What the-- you''re not supposed to be here!!"

    "Wh-where''d this guye from?"

    "Hey! We''re talkin'' to you!"

    des were hastily drawn... metal ringing against their sheaths.

    A single man stood amidst four of Yanaba''s warriors.

    He stood tall... taller than any of hers. His skin was bronzed dark by the sun. He was a tried and tested warrior, proudly wearing the scars of battle on his face and muscled arms.

    In his hands, he held two simple but handsome des... white like bleached bone, wielded with ease and grace.

    There was no fear in the Ancient''s white-glowing eyes... no arrogance... no contempt. He stood calm... serene, unppable and untouchable even amongst men and women, together, who had sent thousands of souls to the afterlife.

    "Chieftain!" One of her men called out, "It''s dangerous here! Please get to safety!"

    Yanaba kept her peace. She did not move.

    Her brother, Notaku-- he had been defeated in one-on-onebat... by a human. But that Warrior... did not deliver the killing blow.

    The most likely reason... was the fearless foreigner that stood amidst her and her Masked Ones.

    If she chose to withdraw, Notaku would die.

    So, she made a choice in her heart.

    If the foreigner was *not* who she thought he was... he would die without aplete corpse.

    If he was... if he was the inevitable source of destruction of her world... then she was prepared to risk her life to send him to the deepest pits of the seven hells.

    She raised her hand, her palm forward, "(Kill.)"

    As one, four Masked Ones fell upon their foe. Perhaps they heard the gravity in their Chieftain''s voice, as they immediately opted for the Four-Point Leaf de Formation, the strongestbination attack in the tribe.

    Yanaba grimaced. Without Notaku as one of the participants, there was a chance for the attack to fail.

    She narrowed her eyes... feeling the mana in the ins, humming softly to ease its ebb and flow... directing it to her warriors'' des.

    That foreign elf... he barely moved, aside from a slight raise of an eyebrow.

    He kept his eyes focused on her...pletely disregarding the fact that he was seconds from death.

    Yanaba was not a perfect woman. There was a limit to her patience. Ancient or not, she was insulted by the man''s indifference.

    Frustration welling in her heart, she waved her hands, shaping the formation''s mana to ount for her warriors'' shorings.

    She raised her voice in song, surging with power and barely-contained fury, "(Earth and sands, heed our call. Rage and BURST in discontent, for the Realm was forged in CHAOS and shaped by the hands of GODS!!!!)"

    Four des fell, sharp enough to cut the strongest steels, with enough force to hew caverns of stone.

    The Ancient remained undaunted, merely raising his chin in response.

    "(Only this much?)"

 Chapter 741 Seeing Reason

    ?Yanaba brought her hand down as her song reached its deadly crescendo.

    The ritual was sessful, the attacks of her her tribesmen instilled with speed and lethality nigh-impossible for a mortal elf toprehend... much less resist.

    Yet the Ancient... he dropped his body low, reaching for the two swords on his back. With a casual swing, he deflected the first strike. A second swing severed the wrists of the second warrior.

    He flipped backwards, twirling his swords about to deflect the third and fourth des... and when hended, life essence burst forth from bloody gashes in those men.

    The first Masked One... he turned back, fear apparent in his eyes.

    ...Yanaba shook her head in disappointment. She''d taught them better than that.

    They had failed her... and themselves.

    The twin des of the bronze-skinned foreigner pierced through the chest of that man.

    The defeated warrior dropped to his knees, staring at the swords in disbelief. He reached his hand out towards her-- as if she could do something about it.

    Yanaba narrowed her eyes, "(Warriors of the Ebon Mask tribe, hear me... this is...) the King from across the seas."

    As much as she didn''t want to believe it, the man prophesied to bring about the end of the gods-damned world was in their midst.

    King smiled, still standing tall and proud, "So thou dost knoweth of my name..."

    He flourished his des, flinging the blood of her kin onto the sands, "Lay down thy weapons and I shall bestow upon thee my mercy."

    That smile. That damned, arrogant smile-- she''d make him regret it.

    The corner of Yanaba''s mouth curved upward in a smirk, "You are mistaken, Ancient. I may know of you... but the current generation has long forgotten."

    That King''s smile fell... as she knew it would, "You... would dare?"

    "(Brothers and sisters of the Ebon Mask Tribe!!)" Yanaba cried out, "This man must DIE!!"

    The noble warriors of the Ebon Mask tribe attacked.

    The resolve shown by the King from across the seas finally faltered, if only slightly.

    The Ancient glowered at her in annoyance as responded to the attacks, kicking a man in the stomach and severing his right arm.

    He ducked a sword sh aimed at his neck, then hacked his de into the wielder''s side, before savagely smashing his forehead against their face.

    "S-stars and stones, m-m-my hand!"

    "What-- what is this guy?!"

    "He''s a gods-damned monster!!"

    "Form up! Usebination attacks!!"

    Yanaba quietly ground her teeth. The current generation... they had no idea who that man was.

    It was better that way.

    She needed them to continue attacking, as if they believed they could win. If the Ancient were to sustain even a minor injury, then she might be able to defeat him.

    Hastening the motion of her hands, Yanaba manipted the wind and sand to empower her tribe''s speed and agility.

    The King from across the seas thrust his twin des into another warrior, pinning them against an uneven rock formation. With a heavy hand, he grabbed onto their masked face and mmed the back of their head twice against the sandstone.

    He blocked another strike with the meat of his forearm, leaving only a shallow cut. With a brutal kick, he swept the woman off her feet. Then, he drew his swords and delivered two quick and clean slices to her throat.<novelnext></novelnext>

    With a sweep of an uncaring hand, he deflected two blood-orange sts of magic-- the first struck its caster and the second exploded in a blinding burst.

    He emerged not a secondter, cutting down yet another warrior. He danced around a second, dodging a white beam of ice mana while stabbing backwards-- piercing that man through his back.

    "He''s too fast!"

    "He''s a de Dancer!!"

    Yanaba felt her eye twitch. Of course he was a de Dancer. They were ALL gods-damned de Dancers!

    "Hey, you!" One of her braver warriors shouted, "From whence did you learn that style of de Dance? ''Tis nothing like the Highde tribe... nor does it bear resemnce to that of the Moonwells."

    "Hmph," King flourished his des once more, crossing them in front of his chest in a salute, "It was I who gifted the de Dance to thy people, o''er ten thousand years ago."

    "You LIE!" The brave man yelled.

    The ability to speak did not make him intelligent. He charged the readied Ancient with not guile, nor cleverness, nor even a n. With only false courage as his shield, he was immediately struck in the face by the hilt of a sword.

    Staggering backward, he swung wildly in a panic. King stepped forward, narrowly yet confidently dodging the attacks.

    "Oy oy..." A darker-skinned warrior stood up. The bloody sh across his chest was healing quickly with Yanaba''s assistance... "Those movements... are they not from... *our* de Dance?"

    The once-brave man was picked up by strong arms... and with an unforgiving drop, the Ancient broke the man''s back upon his knee.

    "That''s impossible," Another elf growled. "We aren''t gods-damned savages."

    King shook his head as he returned to his feet, "?Winds, heed my call.?"

    A swirling wind tornado of sand, ss, and debris swept aside a half-dozen of Yanaba''s warriors. In the next instant, the Ancient''s onught of des dropped eight more.

    Yanaba ceased her singing... She was too angry to continue.

    She''d spent the better part of thest century training most of her tribe... and they were incapable of being even mild inconveniences to a single Gold-Rank demaster-- even *with* magical assistance.

    "Chieftain... what do we do?"

    "He''s too strong!"

    "Chieftain, please help us!"

    "We can win if we all attack together!! Right? Right??!"

    Yanaba grit her teeth, desperately trying to reign in her fury, "Ebon Masks... stand down..."

    King rested his des against his right shoulder, "Chieftain of the Ebon Mask Tribe, hast thou finally seen reason?"

    "Hah!! Hahaha!!" Yanaba cackled... before ring with solemn eyes.

    "(F*ck. that,)" She cursed in themon tongue. "?Earth Swallows All.?"

    She thrust her hand forward, grasping at the air... sending rocks and earth into the sky. An oppressive, thirty-fulm high wave of silt and sand washed over the so-called King.

    "Yeah!!"

    "The Chieftain did it!!"

    "There''s no way that guy could have survived that."

    Yanaba ignored them. She sprinted forward, following the path of her spell. That wasn''t enough. She doubted any spell she had would be enough to kill that man... but she still had to try.

 Chapter 742 Elder Sister

    ?Tycondrius had been running low on his stores of alcohol, but it seemed permissible to whet his thirst with a skin of Tyrion wine.

    It would be easy enough to rece it with better. It was only a few suns travel to the Elven-controlled city of Whitehearth... and a short walk to an Elven fortress.

    He looked over to hispanion.

    The defeated elf was named Notaku, and they sat together upon his fallen Divine Armor, Many-Big-Guns.

    Tycon found no fault in the respectable warrior. Over the years, he''d found he got along well with near anyone who shared his profession.

    He lifted the wine skin towards him, "Drink."

    Notaku nced over, but shook his head, "(I do not drink wine.)"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "(Growling-Bear, did I not defeat you in singlebat only minutes earlier?)"

    The Elven warrior grew quiet, averting his gaze.

    Tycon leaned forward, pushing the wine-skin closer, "Drink the damn wine."

    Those defeated were honorbound to submit to the victor''s demands... especially a reasonable one. It was an unspoken rule.

    As a testament to his honor, Notaku took the skin, lifted his mask, and took a slow, steady pull.

    "...(It is bitter.)"

    "Tss, it is." Tycon scoffed and took it back.

    He was tempted to rify if the elf was referring to his loss or to the drink... but that would have been rude.

    ? drink? ?

    A four-winged orb of fire spun around the two of them, the curious fire elemental, Beatrice.

    "No, little one," Tycon frowned. "I''ll get you some fruit juice when we return you to your summoner. This... is..."

    ...A drink for adults? No, that would not dissuade her.

    Beatrice was likely older than both Tycon and Notakubined... but her mental age was akin to a small child. In that respect, she was simr to Tycon''s daughter Sasarame-- when he first adopted her, anyroad.

    Giving strong alcohol to a small child was irresponsible.

    He gave the fire orb a stern face as he returned the wine to his spatial ring, "You won''t like it. It''s bitter."

    ...The fire elemental flitted a short distance away, no longer interested.

    ? hate bitter ?

    The three of them turned their attention to a massive deluge of sand,ing from the direction of the rocky hills. Ever the exhibitionist, the Elven Ancient who called himself King casually kept his bnce as he stood at its zenith.

    Earlier in the sun, King had discovered that they faced a tribe of elves. He insisted on seeking the Prince or Princess in charge while Tycon volunteered to rescue whatever humans were in danger.

    The Ancient had disyed a high mastery of wind magic. Silt and sand, not so much.

    It seemed the enemy Earth Mage was at least powerful enough to force him away.

    Tycon charged his finger with mana and began to draw a spell circle in the air, "(Growling-Bear, lend me some of your spirit.) I''m going to talk to that dolt over there."

    "(That is... magic of the Whisperwinds...)" The dark-haired elf frowned... "(Who... are you, Warrior Tycondrius?)"

    "I did not *steal* the secrets of House Whisperwind, if that''s what you are implying," Tycon rolled his eyes, "(The winds whisper in the east, the same as from the west.)"

    Notaku nodded as he held his palm out towards the hastily drawn spell formation, "(I am honored to be granted mercy by a Shaman of such great power.)"

    Tycon pursed his lips... "Thank you."<novelnext></novelnext>

    He was tempted to correct the fellow, as his affinity with magic was quite poor... but it was more trouble than it was worth. Compliments are best taken gracefully.

    With the various spell circles powered, Tycon spoke aloud, the gentle breeze carrying his voice, "Friend-Elf, do you require assistance?"

    King, kept steady atop the high wave as it began to fall, "Nay, Friend-Maedar. This King shall deal with this disobedient Sapling forthwith."

    "(He speaks with such arrogance)..." Notaku frowned in displeasure-- but then his eyes suddenly widened in shock-- "(That is... an Ancient!?)"

    "(Those are the words he speaks,)" Tycon shrugged apathetically.

    As Tycon begrudgingly epted that ''King'' was stronger than the current-him, it would have been appropriate for the two of them to face the challenge together.

    He had a sneaking suspicion, however, that the fellow was not disadvantaged... and not only because of his callous rejection of Tycon''s offer.

    ...which was fine.

    Tycon didn''t particrly feel like helping him, anyroad.

    He turned to Notaku to speak of something else, "(Growling-Bear, do you understand themon tongue?)"

    The elf inclined his head... "(My ineptitude brings me great shame.)"

    Tycon waved dismissively, "(Do not be concerned. I will provide trantion, if necessary.)"

    King strode forward, twirling his des as if he was a child with long sticks, while casually stretching his arms and rotating his shoulders.

    A sharpened rock formation burst from the sand at his back, even taller than the wave of sand from earlier. The Ancient didn''t even turn around.

    The top end of the rock exploded violently, revealing a small, dark-haired Elven woman. She wore a scowl on her face and heavy chains on her forearms ending with vicious daggers that she held in her hands.

    She leaned forward, looking down, like an Empress observing hernds, "Hear me, Ancient. I am Yanaba! Chieftain of the Ebon Mask Tribe!!"

    ? Yanaba, Gold-Rank Earthsong Dervish. ?

    The woman''s mask was lifted and her features hinted at a rtion to Notaku.

    Tycon pursed his lips, "(That is...)"

    "(Chieftain Meets-The-Enemy is my elder sister,)" Notaku nodded. "(She has led our tribe for the past six centuries.)"

    That meant that Yanaba was an Ancient, as well... or perhaps it would be more appropriate to call her a half-step Ancient...

    "(She... does not look her age,)" Tycon remarked.

    "(Our tribe often trades with the Moonwells for their lotions and creams.)"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "(That would make a good gift for some of the female members of my...) err-- (tribe.)"

    Notaku spoke an odd Elven dialect, so Tycon had to choose his words with careful thought to be understood.

    "(It is a coveted item, rarely gifted to outsiders,)" Notaku exined impassively.

    "That''s fine," Tycon replied casually. "(I shall speak to the Arcanite Princess directly. Is their Chieftain still Princess Ophelia?)"

    Notaku tilted his head... "(You... know of the Moonwell Princess?)"

    "I do," Tycon nodded. "Her... hm. What''s the Elven word for fiancee? (Herwful mate is one of my Chiefs.)"

    "(I see...)"

    Notaku nodded slowly... though Tycon wondered if the fellow actually understood.

 Chapter 743 Not Gold-Rank

    ?Tycondrius and Notaku watched Chieftain Yanaba leapt off of her high rock,shing out with long and difficult-to-predict swipes of her chain-daggers.

    It was... as Tycon expected.

    He was a Gold-Rank, himself... however, the half-step Ancient was several times his age. With that advantage, she''d reached a level of speed and agility far beyond his own.

    ...In as few as a hundred more years, she might even reach Adamantine-Rank.

    Tycon was d he fought with a giant metal bear instead of the Elven Chieftain. Though he had the assistance of Beatrice, the force behind even one of the cackling woman''s chain-strikes was enough to severely damage Talks-With-Fire''s hull.

    Notaku shook his head, "(Venerable Ancient he may be, my sister''s attacks will not cease ''lest her foe tastes defeat.)"

    "That''s... rather annoying," Tycon frowned, "(Will they fight for suns, then?)"

    "(Your meaning?)" Notaku crossed his thick arms.

    Tycon pointed over to the twobatants, "(The Ancient known as King ignores the chains like water against smooth river stones.)"

    The Elven tongue was... tiresome, but Notaku immediately understood.

    The elf''s face began to twist more and more as he watched the fight... "(Warrior Tycondrius...)"

    "Yes?"

    "(This humble warrior would ask for more wine.)"

    "Hm? Oh, sure," Tycon flicked his wrist, resummoning the wine-skin and passing it to the gentleman.

    "Eat this, mother-F*CKER!!!" Yanaba shouted, solidified mana-spikes of rock shooting past her even as she continued her onught of attacks.

    King danced and flipped to dodge spell and dagger, both, suffering no inconvenience.

    "Thy words are of... disrespect," He swept back his long hair with his offhand before pointing his palm forward, "?Gentle Summer Breeze?."

    Yanaba halted her attacks, crossing her arms over her chest and face a blink before being struck by an invisible force.

    She flipped backwards and stabbed her daggers into the hard-packed dirt to stop her momentum.

    "Keep it up, C*CKSUCKER, and I''mma stretch out that *SSHOLE enough to jam your stupid F*CKIN'' head in there!" She stood up and made an obscene gesture with both of her hands, "FFFF*CK YOU!!"

    Tycon coughed into a closed fist, "(Growling-Bear... You say you do not understand?)"

    Notaku nodded, "(My sister is a gentle woman of kindness, virtue, and nobility. With her great mastery of themon tongue, few in our tribe have felt the need to learn it.)"

    Tycon quietly closed his eyes and took a breath. While he initially wished to provide a trantion for Notaku''s benefit, that... was no longer a wee proposition.

    "Hrmm," Notaku grunted... "(The venerable Ancient edges close to defeat. ?Ebon Rock Tomb? is my sister''s most powerful attack.)"

    Tycon opened an eye. Yanaba had disappeared... and so had King. In the Ancient''s ce was a ck, jagged rock formation a bitrger than the elf.

    "(Growling-Bear?)" He raised an eyebrow, "(Why do you make such a face?)"

    "(Once... I have suffered this attack,)" The elf sighed... "(Even with the blessing of my Bone Mask, I was rendered immobile for fourteen suns.)"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Empty night," Tycon felt his eye twitch, "(Why would she do that?)"

    "(I-- ah... In my foolishness, I broke a jar of hervender-scented facial cream.)"

    ...So he deserved it.

    Tycon was relieved that the woman operated, at least, on base logic.

    The infuriated Elven Chieftain burst out of the sands, rocketing at a ludicrous speed towards the ck rock.

    "FUUUUUUUUCK!!!! YOUUUUUUUU!!! BEEEEE-AAAATCHHHHHHHHH!!!!" She screamed as her tiny fist shattered the stone. As it broke apart, King was sent hurtling backwards, bouncing along the uneven ground.

    "(Your sister...)" Tycon raised his chin... "(She angers easily.)"

    "Ah?" Notaku raised his heavy brows in surprise, "(How did you know?)"

    An eruption of sand appeared at the whereabouts of the Ancient. He had recovered, standing tall and proud in a perfect circle cleared of debris by his aura-burst.

    Tycon took slight vindictive pleasure in the fact that the finer grains of sand would still permeate that fellow''s clothing.

    "Seldom have I met with a Shaman so gifted," King''s eyes glowed, "Despite the grant disrespect thou hast shown me, Sapling... I offer thee the chance to surrender. Show thy deference and I shalt forgive thy slights."

    Tycon pursed his lips.

    The thought crossed his mind that... King was perhaps being *too* lenient. The ability to grant mercy was the right of the strong... and thus far, the gap shown between the two''s abilities was not sorge.

    "Not gonna happen, bucko," Yanaba rolled her eyes as she walked towards the Ancient, casually whirling the chain-dagger on her left. "I respect my elders as much as the next elf, but if you are who I think you are... you shouldn''t be here... *Sir*."

    "Oh?" King''s eyes shone with an oddly cool light, "Thou... art *not* one of my direct descendents... Thy eyes shine with a different light.

    "Still..." The braggart spun his body around, his des whistling through the air as he flourished them, "Thou must realize, Sapling, that this King has yet to act."

    "Yeah, uh-huh?" The Chieftain woman shrugged, "But that''s because I-- oh, f*ck me."

    A loud explosion sent a ssh of sand at Tycon and his Elvenpanion, even at the distance they were watching. Tycon wiped his eyes and calmly spat out the debris in his mouth while shaking his head, "Ugh."

    Faster than he could follow, King had closed with Yanaba, and a swift barrage of sword and fist strikes forced her into a frenzied defense.

    Tycon... wished he wasn''t surprised.

    In a regr sh between two Metal-Ranked adventurers, eachbatant kept a few abilities hidden to conserve their mana-- among other reasons. From how fast the Ancient was attacking, however, he hadn''t even shown Yanaba half his potential.

    King was faster than Tycon thought was possible...

    Further... judging by the dirt trails under Yanaba''s feet from how far she was being pushed back, he was not sacrificing power for speed.

    That man was not a mere Gold-Rank.

    The Elven Ancient that called himself King was... Half-Step Adamantine.

 Chapter 744 Submit

    ?Tycondrius had seen Gold-Rank pure Martial sses inbat...

    Weaponmaster Bannok of Kasydon. Samurai Garock Heartrender of the Screaming Silence. Avenger Justus of Leopardon.

    ...Pathfinder Quies of Sol Invictus.

    ...and that man''s son, Spear Hero Pale.

    Each of them were monsters in their own right... able to fight against literally hundreds of men without fatigue... able to shrug off all but the most severe injuries without slowing their murderous rampages.

    For some of them, Tycon had served as a personal witness.

    However, the man known as King... his abilities far surpassed theirs.

    He was a man who could fight against angels and gods and not necessarily be disadvantaged.

    Worse still, that fellow was likely still holding back.

    Such arrogance was typical of all Elven Ancients.

    Granted, the same was likely true of Yanaba, the Chieftain of the Ebon Mask Tribe.

    The woman used the momentum from King''s heavy cross sh to somersault backwards and create distance.

    She turned her head, spitting swiftly to the side... allowing a thin trail of blood to run down the corner of her lips. Then... she grabbed onto her right shoulder and whipped her body to the side while grunting in pain.

    ...The woman had been beaten severely if she had to relocate a limb in the middle of a fight.

    "I''m gonna twist off your stupid f*cking head and sh*t down your GODS-DAMNED THROAT, YOU SONUVA B*TCH!!" She shrieked, "?SUCK ON MY FAT, VEINY HORSE C*CK,? MOTHER-FFFF*CKER!!!!"

    The mana in Yanaba''s aura rose dramatically, visibly colored ck and gold.

    Her screaming was distorted with rage and violent mana.

    Rocks and debris began to float around her.

    Its visual activation was that of a Skill...

    The mana, flowing easily and forming subtle spell circles around her were also indicative of a Skill...

    It just...

    "That..." Tycon pointed while turning to Notaku, "that is NOT a Skill! Why? Why would she say that?"

    "(That...)" Blood had drained from Notaku''s tanned face as he stared in disbelief, "(I... My sister-- she has never revealed such POWER!?!)"

    Tycon twisted his lips into a grimace.

    Powerful duelists always held a ''trump card'' in reserve. That her brother was not aware of Yanaba''s conveyed the stark difference between their abilities.

    Personally, Tycon utilized his Skills and enchanted equipment at first reasonable opportunity, rather than having his hand forced. He found it foolish to reserve a ''trick'' that may or may not prove useful.

    If Yanaba had used... whatever it was she was using-- earlier in the fight, she wouldn''t have fallen to her current pitiful state.

    The sands rose around the Elven Chieftain, enveloping her fully... The earth below her tore open with a series of painfully loud cracks and groans... and two massive, sand-scaled arms emerged. It heaved and pulled itself out, as if hatching from an egg.

    In ce of the lithe elf stood a long-necked sand-creation with a red crest. It steadied itself on four ws limbs, towering some eighty fulms tall, before loosing an earth-shaking roar.

    Disgust pooled in Tycon''s gut as he red at its revolting shape.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Adamantine-Rank Brass Lizard Construct ?

    Notaku grit his teeth, "(A... sand... dr... drake...)"

    Tycon shut his eyes.

    Yanaba''s choice of summon was... reasonable.

    A mana-constructed drake would not be weak. The base creature was known for having impressive physical strength and a troublesome breath weapon.

    If its shape were that of a giant elf, it would be more aesthetically pleasing... but would suffer a remarkably lower mana-to-effective-power ratio.

    Still... due to the construct''s image, Tycon was tempted to intervene and destroy it.

    However... he was uncertain of his ability to.

    Tycon had defeated giant lizards in the past. On his adventures in the Kingdom, he had taken down an injured red with thebined support of his tribe-- err... his guild.

    On an ind off of the coast, he had defeated a bone lizard by cunning and guile. He''d served as a distraction while a dashing ally sted the damn thing using a half-ton of Orkish Sugar and countless cannonballs. In those exchanges, though, Tycon suffered severe damage to his right arm... an injury he had only recently recovered from.

    The sand drake, even as a theoretically unnatural construct, was at that level. Such beings could easily defeat opponents of higher ranks, relying on overwhelming power rather than Rank-sharpened perception and reflexes.

    King allowed himself... a disapproving grimace.

    Tycon was mentally preparing a dialogue to present to the Elven Chieftain... Depending on how he worded his request, it was still possible for him to save himself and Guild Metal Wolf.

    With the power Yanaba disyed, it would be dangerous to use Notaku as a hostage... though he might prove useful if he were to vouch for Tycon''s character.

    He hoped to deal with the half-step Ancient relying on cordiality and professional respect. Failing that, he could still fall back on his wealth and status... if such things could mollify her.

    Ah. Tycon also needed to request whatever remained of his friend''s corpse. A proper burial would be appropriate, considering their rtionship.

    The Elven Ancient known as King... performed a standing leap. Using his peculiar ?Wind Walk? movement technique, he continued to rise while stepping on mana-created footholds.

    Upon reaching the sand drake''s roaring maw, he plunged his des into its snout... and stared into one of its ruby eyes, "?Submit.?"

    Tycon crossed his arms. He was going to be very upset-- all things considered, if King were to survive.

    The mana-construct trembled... almost imperceptibly at first.

    Then, its full form began to quake, sand spilling from cracks in its sides as it fell apart...

    Empty night.

    Tycon released an exasperated sigh. He unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, pulling up his cor to cover his eyes and mouth... then he took a deep, preparatory breath.

    The deluge of sand washed over him...sting several seconds before ceasing.

    Tycon exhaled for the duration, cursing in his mind as hemented his choices.

    He could have withdrawn to the fortress... He could have been seeking the favor of a beautiful Divine Armor pilot.

    Instead, he chose to remain on the field... and be rewarded by feeling every granule of sand make their home in the insides of his clothing...

    Tycon... was a fool.

 Chapter 745 Accursed Misunderstanding

    ?Tycondrius turned to check on the state of hispanions.

    Notaku was still gawking, though he had transformed from a full elf into a creature half-elf... half-sand.

    "(The Ancient... He... that... th-the drake...)"

    Mmm. He''d be an imbecile.

    How unfortunate.

    Tycon looked to where Beatrice had been... and found not a theoretically loveable fire faerie, but a dull mound of loose sand.

    He brushed away the top half, and she popped out with a ''fwoosh.''

    She shook herself off and flitted about to show her gratitude.

    ? sand bad ?

    "It *is* rather bothersome," Tycon shrugged. "I agree."

    Where Yanaba''s sand-drake had fallen, the Elven Chieftain pulled herself out of its unshaped remains. Numerous cuts and scrapes marred her skin and she copsed to her knees, sputtering and coughing violently.

    Blood and sand.

    She was no longer fit forbat.

    In a blur of movement, the Ancient known as King, dashed in front of the defeated Chieftain... and offered his hand.

    "Even the mightiest of dragons bow before this King, Sapling," He dered.

    Yanaba red up at that troublesome fellow, still defiant... but bereft of her earlier arrogance.

    "(The humans... they have dared too far, Ancient,)" She growled. "(One of our blood... taken captive. A ve...)"

    King narrowed his eyes, but kept his hand forward.

    The woman ignored it as she continued to dry heave... "(You... stand in our way of vengeance.)"

    Tycon grabbed the still-babbling Notaku''s wrist, cing his hand on the damaged-but-functionalmunication formation, "Elf. Mana."

    "Ah?" Sand spilled down Notaku''s hair as he tilted his head, "Oh."

    Tycon spoke aloud, his words carried by the winds, "Friend-Elf and noble Chieftain of the Ebon Mask Tribe, this humble one has information relevant to thy issues."

    "Hm," King nodded. "Share with us the gift of knowledge, Friend-Maedar."

    "I have spoken to the humans on the matter," Tycon exined. "The young elf the Chieftain seeks is named Coraline Heartsong. She had incurred an injury from an unrted party and only lives due to the humans'' intervention."

    "That''s... ugh...plete and utter bullsh*t," Yanaba groaned.

    "Nay, Sapling," King chided. "The Maedar has Ancient-blood coursing through his veins-- the same as you. He speaks no falsehoods..."

    Tycon felt his mouth twist. He could appreciate the Ancient vouching for him... but it was a subtle insult that his integrity had been questioned.

    "Is Coraline Heartsong well, friend?" King asked.

    "She watches, even now," Tycon gestured towards the adobe fortress.

    He nced over in that direction, shifting the muscles in his eyes to focus his vision. The topical young woman stood in front of the open gates, having bore witness to all relevant events.

    She... did not look *well*... but she lived.

    And to Tycon''s credit, she did not look particrly enved.

    "Beatrice," He whispered. "Return to Miss Coraline, if you would."<novelnext></novelnext>

    With a bob of acknowledgment, the four-winged fire sphere sped off.

    Unlike more traditional summoners, Coraline''s contract with her familiar included a binding of their souls. In exchange she could draw a portion of Beatrice''s mana and gained increased affinity with fire magic. However, the young Arcanist must have suffered greatly having spent so long away from her glorified light source...

    Granted, her risky gamble at summoning help had resulted in great sess.

    ...The recklessness of her actions, however, was something Tycon needed to gently scold her for-- at ater date and time.

    "Well, that might be how it started, Ancient," Yanaba growled... "But it''s different now. The humans... they killed one of ours. (The Masked Ones only number thirty at full strength. Even a single death is intolerable.)"

    "Thou art at *fault*, Sapling," King frowned, his burning gaze betraying his annoyance, "I did not gift my brother''s children these masks of dragon bone for thee to oppress the weak."

    "The masks belong to our tribe, Ancient," The woman scoffed. "You gave my ancestor a gift, not a *loan.*"

    She dusted herself off as her gaze fell on the walls surrounding Green Corn Tower, "Blood can only be repaid with blood... and I fully intend to seek rpense."

    "Stay thy des, Chieftain of the Ebon Mask Tribe," King red.

    "I... am King.

    "My des have rent apart the hellsworn sky.

    "My name lives in the hearts of evil gods, carved by fear of my honorable judgment.

    "My deeds are sung in praise across the Realm, the highest of heavens, and the most nightmarish of hells."

    "Uh huh?" Yanaba crossed her arms, not impressed, "And here''s where you tell me why I should give a f*ck."

    The Ancient held out his hand... "You know of me, Yanaba, descendant of He-Who-Hunts."

    With one of his twin swords, he drew a deep crimson line across his forearm, "Will this... be enough blood, grand-niece?"

    ...

    The whole debacle had been an ursed misunderstanding.

    The elves saw the humans take Coraline. They were very upset by that fact.

    Without bothering to confirm the situation, they fell upon the humans like a pack of wild beasts.

    The humans were ughtered like... nearly anything caught in the way of a pack of wild beasts.

    All this, Tycon absolutely did *not* want to share with Januarius.

    The Centurion was not a young gentleman... and Tycon did not wish to be the indirect cause of the human''s death by indignation leading to sudden onset cardiac arrest.

    And thus, with the Ebon Mask Tribe withdrawing peaceably... and thete Lone Shadowdark''s romantic partner alive and in no immediate danger, Tycon shifted his attention to his next priority.

    The fifteen-fulm purple Tyrion Divine Armor had barely made it through the fortress gates when Tycon brazenly stepped in its path.

    After a short moment of him willfully staring, steam hissed from the edges of the construct''s chest, legs, and arms... releasing the woman he sought.

    Elle had seemed more-or-less recovered, though her face was still flush and her movements shaky.

    She rendered a proper salute-- looking down to meet his gaze, "Um. Good... morning, Duplicarius. Um. Immunes Haelvia... reporting."

    The woman was taller than he expected. Much taller.

    It... did not annoy him as much as he thought it would.

    He reasoned it was because she didn''t have near the amount of arrogance and standoffishness typical of a gentlewoman of her height.

 Chapter 746 Relentless

    ?** Content Warning: Sexual Activity **

    "Good morning, Elle," Tycondrius returned a short salute before offering an upward palm forward.

    Elle furrowed her brows, focusing on his hand-- unsure of what to do, "I... err... I... ah...? Where... is your shirt?"

    "It got dirty," Tycon rolled his eyes, "Here is where you take my hand."

    "But I..." The girl pulled her arms close to her chest, "I... need to report to... m-my..."

    "Nope," Tycon snatched her wrist, tugging gently.

    While he normally wouldn''t want to inconvenience a professional Immunes trying to do her job... he was in a sour mood and feeling somewhat selfish.

    He guided Elle deeper into the fortress at a brisk pace, searching for an important enough Highde that could ede to his requests.

    She did not pull away, though she had plenty of opportunities to.

    That was consent enough.

    "Duplicarius..." A Metal Wolf Legionnaire stepped forward, his face in awe, "you... fixed Divine Armor Lancelot."

    "Incorrect," Tycon answered casually as he pulled Elle past the fellow. "It was a temporary measure using a borrowed fire elemental. I''m cing you in charge of his recovery, Decanus. He''s just outside the walls, where I left him."

    "...Oh," The fellow''s shoulders slumped as he cursed, "me take me."

    Lieutenant Teneca, Commander of the Keep, was the next challenger.

    She stood in Tycon''s path, her arms crossed, two armed Bronze-Rank yes-men at her side.

    "Lord Tycon," She narrowed her eyes, her gaze drifting downward... "Impressive physique."

    "Lieutenant Teneca, you''ve excellent timing," Tycon nodded, ignoring the remark. "Grant me the use of a private room."

    "Your first destination, *Sir*, would be the infirmaries," Teneca frowned. "Immunes Haelvia is obviously suffering the effects of mana fatigue and it would *behoove* all parties involved to have her undergo a medical examination."

    "You will direct me to one, *Miss* Teneca," Tycon narrowed his eyes, "and I shall take her to the other when and if I see fit."

    Though Teneca was the fortress Commander, he didn''t feel like listening to her. In both status and martial skill, the young Elven Lieutenant was not his match.

    "Duplicarius," Elle squeaked, "this... this really isn''t--"

    Tycon turned back and ced a finger on his lips with a wink. The subtle action bought her silence.

    Teneca sighed and shook her head before ncing down an adjacent corridor... "Down that hall. Second tost door on the right."

    "Thank you."

    The dazed and confused Elle allowed herself to be pulled towards that direction... though not quietly.

    "But... shouldn''t I... But... Teneca''s the Commander here? But... but you?"

    Ignoring the girl''sints, Tycon tried the door lever. It opened-- which was good. He was fully prepared to break the mechanism if it wasn''t, "Mind the door frame."

    Tycon gave the room a cursory inspection, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword.

    No upants. Two beds.

    The door did not have a locking mechanism-- but he deemed one unnecessary.

    Turning back to Elle, he pulled on one of her legs. Supporting her weight by firmly gripping her buttocks, he pinned her to the door.

    He stared deep into the woman''s eyes.

    He saw her fear. He saw her uncertainty.

    He felt her hot breaths... and the heat between her loins.

    She bit her bottom lip.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon took it as an invitation, obliging her with a deep kiss.

    After a moment, he pulled back to gauge her reaction.

    She stared back dreamily...

    ...Tycon took a moment to ensure she wasn''t suffering a concussion. Once he was reasonably sure she was in sound health, he kissed her again... deeper... more passionately.

    Elle responded in kind. At first, she seemed unsure. Her movements were awkward and clumsy as she ced her arms behind his back.

    She wanted him...

    And he... he wanted to get all the sand out of his clothes.

    ...

    ''Please don''t look!''

    ''It''s-- it''s dirty down there.''

    ''Are... are you okay with someone like me?''

    Tycon responded to each of Elle''s concerns by taking her with renewed vigor.

    She was adamant about her inexperience.

    Tycon found it rather obvious.

    Being a proper gentleman, he guided her patiently, focusing on ensuring herfort. It was above and beyond what she could reasonably expect from a partner of lesser skill.

    It wasn''t difficult. Tycon had discovered that Elle was both mentally and (interestingly) physically prepared to receive him. As such, her body was extremely sensitive to stimuli.

    Unfortunately, after only two bells, Tycon was convinced to yield to her as she pleaded for respite.

    He gave in, only grudgingly... and only at the point when Elle reached the verge of tears.

    Tycon sat up against two down pillows, offering his arm for Elle toy on. Earlier, he''d pushed the two beds earlier... but his woman''s calves hung off the ends.

    There was no helping it. The beds were made for elves and humans of regr height.

    "Y... you''re horrible, Duplicarius..." Elle whispered, snuggling into his chest.

    Her blonde ponytail hade undone and strands of hair stuck messily to her forehead.

    Her disheveled appearance made Tycon want her more.

    "Your words and actions conflict, Elle," He teased, tilting her head up to kiss her gently. "Also, I believe in such a setting, first names would be appropriate, no?"

    The girl nodded shyly, "O... okay... Tychon..."

    Tycon chuckled to himself, "Are you ready to begin again? Now that you''refortable using my name, I''d like to hear it at the top of your lungs."

    Elle embraced his chest as she looked up to him with sparkling eyes, "C-can we wait a little bit longer? My... legs-- no... my whole body... it''s tingly? And... that... feels sore?"

    "Hm, very well," Tycon reached beneath the covers to run his hands up and down the erogenous areas around her thighs... Though he''d agreed to allow her rest, he intended to keep their heart rates elevated.

    "T-tychon..."

    "Horrible, you say," Tycon smirked, kissing her with a light nibble of her bottom lip... "Care to elucidate?"

    "You''re... still..." Elle''s eyes were still unfocused as she cooed... "I mean... you''re... relentless..."

    "If you must know my reasoning..." Tycon continued to kiss his woman''s neck, "I''m trying to make you fall in love with me."

    "I..." Elle bit her lip as she loosed a light moan, "you..."

    "Is it working?"

 Chapter 747 Worthy Of Loyalty

    ?** Content Warning: Sexual Activity **

    Tycondrius took great satisfaction in making his woman writhe in pleasure. He darted a deft hand past her meager defenses and took control of a particrly sensitive area.

    "Y... yes!" Elle gasped, "That... ahhhh... mmm... Definitely... yes."

    The two lovers shared another series of wet, hungry kisses before Elle pulled away.

    "Y... you were my first, y''know," She sighed.

    "Mm?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Have I been too rough?"

    "N...no..." She shook her head, "I like... how gentle you are."

    "Again, there is a conflict." Tycon chuckled to himself, "If you weren''t aware, your entire backside is marked red with *my* handprints."

    "Oh, believe me," Elle puffed her cheeks. "I know."

    "Tell me, then," Tycon kissed her again to distract her, "what else do you like?"

    Her frustration properly ayed, she continued... "I like... how you embrace me fully, like... you don''t want to let go."

    "I don''t," Tyconughed... "figuratively, of course."

    Elle half-sat up, gently pulling away from Tycon''s embrace... "Tychon... is... this real?"

    Tycon responded by running his fingers across the woman''s full posterior, causing her to nearly jump out of bed.

    "Does that answer your question?" Tychon chuckled.

    "Y-yeah," Elle giggled. "But I mean... you... and me... what does this mean?"

    Tycon shot her a sly grin, "This maye as a shock to you, but... that shite boyfriend of yours we previously discussed-- I request that you end that rtionship."

    "Ch-yeah," Elle rolled her eyes, "There is no boyfriend... I''ve... never had anything like that. Or h''ve done anything like this..."

    "Would you be interested in a monogamous rtionship?" Tycon smiled. "I''d quite like to have you all to myself."

    "Wh... why are you making it sound like a contract?" Elle squeezed her lips together in a cute pout.

    "It is, of sorts," Tycon shrugged lightly.

    The woman in bed with him, Tycon was enamored with everything about her... be it her wit, her honesty, or her battlefield presence.

    He would not take a rtionship with Elle lightly.

    He would not make the mistake of being vague with her... as he did with a previous lover.

    Thankfully, Tycon already had several advantages.

    He had saved her in a dashing manner, with actionsparable to a storied Tyrion hero.

    He was her first. For the rest of her life, she''d never forget the way he made her feel... or the way he felt inside of her.

    And most importantly... he was very handsome.

    Tycon wanted her.

    ...For selfish reasons, he also wanted a monogamous rtionship with her.

    But Elle was worth far more than her desirable physical attributes. She had the potential to be a powerful ally.

    In the field, she tried to defend him with her body, to provide what she likely thought was the barest hope to emerge, victorious. By that alone, Tycon judged her to be worth recruiting.

    Few were willing to sacrifice themselves to achieve an overall victory.

    Even fewer would make the choice on their own.

    "I... I want to..." Elle pursed her lips.

    Tycon yfully poked her cheek, "But?"

    "I... have my contract still... with Guild Metal Wolf."

    "Tss. Weak." Tycon scoffed. "Your contract, I''ll purchase it. And your Divine Armor, as well. With Januarius'' recent... reduction in personnel and the fact that Talks-With-Fire requires a new power source to restore its functionality, I daresay he''d near beg me for the chance."

    "That..." Elle frowned, "but... the coin for that would be..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon brushed a strand of hair out of Elle''s eyes... "--well worth the expense."

    "I... I''m not worth that much..." Elle leaned back, trying to cross her arms.

    Tycon grabbed her wrist before she could close herself off, "Are you upset? Is it because *you''d* rather be the one begging for the opportunity instead of your Centurion."

    There was an obscene amount of coin in such a transaction... enough that he was almost certain the woman had no idea what he was actually offering.

    "Y-you can''t purchase me, Tychon," Elle pulled at her wrist... "and besides... you''ve already had me on my knees."

    "And on your back. And either side. And on and against all avable surfaces present," Tycon smirked. "Shall I continue?"

    A furiously blushing Elle pulled the covers over her head.

    Tycon ventured a guess to the young woman''s concerns.

    If he were to directly purchase both her contract and her Divine Armor, she''d feel bound to serve him. If he were an unjust man, he could lord such favors over her to manipte her.

    Her reluctance showed... a sense of realism.

    It only made Tycon desire her even more... professionally, emotionally, and physically.

    Rtionships were tentative. Elle had known him for less than a few bells, and most of that time was spent in throes of passion where thinking and logic were relegated to the least of their priorities.

    It also conveyed her sense of duty. If Tycon were to force the issue, Elle would serve him without question...

    ...but as a ve to her contract.

    It would be an abysmal waste of her potential.

    While the thought was tempting in its own right, Tycon did not want Elle as a rank-and-file soldier to add to his ever-growing list of allies.

    He wanted her trust. He wanted her loyalty.

    He wanted to cultivate her... to eventually stand by his side as an equal.

    For that, he needed to earn her trust.

    He needed to be a man worthy of her loyalty.

    Tycon gently took his woman''s hands... softly lowering them to reveal her crimson face, "If that is uneptable, I''ll offer your Wolves my patronage."

    Elle''s eyes shot open, "You''ll... what?"

    "You may remain in Januarius'' employ until the end of your contract. But with my financial support, I would be the one to direct the movements of yourpany."

    "You..." Elle dropped the covers, revealing her ample bosom, "you''d buy a wholepany... just... for me?"

    The honest answer was no. The correct answer was... not that. The answer he leaned towards was yes... ''and also''.

    As Elle was adjacent to him, fully naked, and with her thoughts slightly clouded by post-coption haze, Tycon decided to forgive her self-centeredness.

    "I''ve already decided," He smiled before stealing a quick kiss from the tall, blonde beauty.

    "Y... you just want a ything," Elle countered... though, from the tone of her voice, she scarcely believed her own words. "You''re... a noble. Teneca... she called you ''Lord.''"

    "I want a pilot with the skills to control one of *that* person''s Divine Armors," Tycon smirked.

    He couldn''t be certain that Elle''s Divine Armor was crafted by Harkus Mors... so he left his deration vague enough to not be wrong-- while simultaneously validating his woman''s self-worth.

    Elle''s eyes brightened immediately, "R-really?"

    Tycon returned a gentle smile, gazing into his lover''s eyes for a moment before allowing his attention to wander.

    "Ah... and if I''m being perfectly honest with you... you''re the most beautiful woman I''ve ever seen."

    "Y-you!"

    Oops.

    Tycon''s careless words returned Elle to a state of indignation and she, again, tried to pull away. He immediately made up for his mistake by caressing her body and showering her lips and neck with kisses.

    Once she was properly mollified, Tycon judged that she had long enough of a break...

 Chapter 748 Nonsense

    ?? A short time earlier... ?

    Phaedra of Nerine wandered the inner walls of Green Corn Keep, overwhelmed by the thoughts crowding her mind.

    It was an indisputable fact that Tychon was the savior of her Guild Metal Wolf.

    Back then, she had refused to give him any face.

    When she first saw him, he wasn''t even wearing any armor. He had a Tyrion sword-- but that didn''t mean much of anything. Tyrion steel was the finest in the Realm.

    His face was brimming with youth, his skin smooth and free of battle scars.

    His green, hair flowed softly in the breeze, pampered and too-perfect.

    His gaze all but screamed ''I''m better than you.''

    It was obvious he was some sort of noble-- at least to her.

    Phaedra had been part of Tyrion''s standing army long before she joined the Wolves. Every young noble she''d met back then only belonged to two categories: perverted scoundrel at worst and useless fop at best.

    Her Centurions ced them on horses in the rear, far from any actualbat. Even thoughmissioned Officers were ranked higher than enlisted, any fish with half-a-brain would ignore their orders unless there was some grey in their hair.

    Then... Phaedra learned of that man''s actual rank.

    He was a... Duplicarius... a rank theoretically only attainable through meritorious service.

    It sounded like a bad joke.

    The arrogant brat must have bought his way into the army. It happened all the time-- earning promotions solely by what rank or office ''Daddy'' held.

    Granted... she''d never heard of anyone getting *that* rank in that manner. The Basilica''s punishment for granting the rank of Duplicarius to an unworthy Tyrion... was outright crucifixion.

    A noble... too young and with too high of a rank was naturally enough for Phaedra to be suspicious.

    Further... the Centurion knew Tychon from when they served together in the Brazen Guard.

    Phaedra had worked with Januarius long enough to be sure he wasn''t a heretic... but that person...

    The Basilica had dered the Guard as a front for the Snake Cult... and even though they retracted the statement a few moons after, the news had already spread throughout the nation.

    The damage was catastrophic to the reputations of each and every guild that fought under the name of Pilus Prior Bannok.

    Most disbanded.

    Some reformed under a different name.

    Guild Metal Wolf took out loans, gathered in number, and sought to campaign in the Eastern States...

    Phaedra had contracted with the Wolves during that time. As amissioned Officer, she was tasked with procuring supplies and equipment in the city of Rixus.

    She quickly learned that having a guild name that had been dragged in the mud earned her no favors.

    That was the power in a name... and she came to hate the name ''Brazen Guard'' with a passion.

    Centurion Januarius, however, kept to his beliefs... which made no me-taken sense.

    He was nothing but *proud* to have served with ''Bannok of Kasydon,'' the one-armed Weaponmaster... as if anything good coulde from a man wed to a xeno.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He had nothing but absolute faith in ''Duplicarius'' Tychon, a man whose only proven usefulness had been leading a few dozen soldiers out of a lightless cavern.

    The old wolf was adamant that outside of a small portion of the Collective, the rumors of heresy were pure nder.

    He said that Tychon was a supremely powerful Gold-Rank whom he''d seen strike down a hundred cultists in a quarter bell... in the burning city of San Ignatio di Luca.

    Absolutely *none* of that made any me-taken sense.

    If that was the end of it, Phaedra would have bit her tongue and let it be. Even the youth''s outrageous im that he was part of the legendary Sol Invictus, she would have ignored out of respect for her Centurion.

    There was no convincing the stubborn wolf... He was an old dog with dreams of grandeur who refused to acknowledge the Realm for as it was.

    Him being half-dead from fever only made his skull harder.

    However... there was something more to the green-haired youth.

    The Highde Commander, Teneca, usually walked about with half a pilus jammed up her arse-- pointed end first. She and her subordinates treated him with actual respect... not like the wandering vagrants that Phaedra and Januarius were.

    In the end, she decided to request a meeting with the Half-Elven bitch... to ask just who in the seven hells that man was.

    Ugh. How it wounded her pride to do so...

    Phaedra heard the woman''s snobbish, high-pitched voice as soon as she entered the second-floor nning hall.

    "So the wolf pup enters their of the mountain lion..."

    She tilted her head back and grinned, "What... does... she... seek?"

    Lieutenant Teneca sat at the one central table, her chin resting on steepled fingers.

    The amusement in the half-elf''s eyes and the ignoble sneer on her face said as much as Phaedra needed to know. Getting information out of the nt-eyed strumpet was going to be a painful process.

    A half-dozen elves and half-elves stood up and bid Teneca farewell. Then, by implicit agreement, they took their chairs and carried them to the outer edges of the room.

    One of the desmen approached Phaedra with an open palm, "May I take your weapon, Lady Phaedra?"

    "You may absolutely not," She scowled.

    "Phaedra, Phaedra, Phaedra~" Teneca clicked her tongue, "Why are you giving my Sergeant such a hard time? This is standard pro-to-col~"

    ''Standard protocol, my arse,'' Phaedra cursed in her heart.

    She and Januarius didn''t have to surrender their weapons, meeting with Teneca prior... That woman had made an arbitrary rule, just to infuriate her.

    It was f*cking working.

    Phaedra ced her sheathed weapon in the Highde Sergeant''s hand... and as an act of petty belligerence, she tried to shove him.

    Much to her chagrin, the bastard didn''t flinch-- he didn''t even sway. He took the sword with a nod and returned to Teneca''s side.

    It was maddening that her abilities paled inparison to even that woman''s middle-ranked enlisted... but she hadn''te to fight. She needed information.

    ",

 Chapter 749 A Mere Tactician

    ?The xeno''s filed out of the room, one by one. Of the ones that acknowledged Phaedra''s presence, they regarded her with either outright contempt or mild curiosity.

    ''Breathe, girl...'' She reminded herself in her heart. ''Be patient. Get what you need. Leave respectfully...''

    Soon, only Teneca and two of her guards remained.

    Phaedra nced over at the closest chair.

    "Oh, don''t bother with a seat, Phaedra," Teneca waved her hand. "This won''t take long."

    ...Phaedra grit her teeth and took a deep breath, "Very well."

    That woman was being frustratingly thorough.

    "Teneca, tell me what you know about Tychon."

    "Hmm..." Teneca tilted her head, as she averted her gaze. "The older wolf was more polite, don''t you think, Staff Sergeant?"

    "One can only imagine the quality of her pups," An unsmiling xeno replied.

    Phaedra found herself reaching for where her sword had been.

    ...It was reasonable for Teneca to have taken it away.

    She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she lowered her head... "I... respectfully request knowledge, Commander Teneca."

    "Hah... hahaha..." Tenecaughed quietly, "To begin, Lady Phaedra... you must realize that that man is far more than... what was it? ''A mere tactician without an army''?"

    Phaedra grimaced upon hearing the words she spoke earlier in the sun.

    She bit her tongue so she wouldn''t speak her thoughts aloud, ''Yes, you insufferable b*tch. That''s why I''m here.''

    "Miss Coraline," Teneca gestured with an open palm, "she has informed you that Lord Tycon is Sol Invictus, has he not?"

    "So you''re saying..." Phaedra narrowed her eyes, "--that I''m a fool because I insulted a member of a once-popr Tyrion guild."

    She was beginning to see her error. Admittedly, the name Sol Invictus was not one she should have taken so lightly... That wasn''t something she''d acknowledge in front of that Teneca, though.

    "Tch... hah..." One of the Highde guards scoffed and began to chuckle... and the other didn''t bother to hide a mocking grin.

    "Unfortunately, that isn''t quite the case," Teneca sighed and shook her head... as if she was pitying her, "That man is not *of* Sol Invictus. He is Sol Invictus'' guild leader."

    "And what does that matter?" Phaedra twisted her lips, "The old Sol Invictus was just an Arena Guild... a famous one, yes-- but that doesn''t mean anything out here!"

    Teneca shrugged, "I believe... a man named Maximus of Ezyria would have disagreed."

    Phaedra''s eyes widened, "The hero of Tyrion? What''s he have to do with this?"

    Teneca opened a scroll tube and began to unravel the paper inside.

    "This a report of all of Lord Tycon''s movements in your Holy Country-- all unssified information gathered at the Adventurer''s Guild in Rixus.

    "Your ''Tyrion Hero'' was famously attached to Sol Invictus at the time he fell during a mission in Alizeau."

    That... was something Phaedra could not ignore. Maximus was a celebrated hero... it was impossible for him to have belonged to a guild with a worthless name.

    "HmMm~" Teneca''s smile grew wider as she continued to read, "Lord Tycon has worked for both your High Oracle and for... Archbishop Crucis? Those are two rather important women in your Holy Country, are they not?"

    Phaedra felt a drop of sweat drip down her head, "Yes... they are."

    Tychon was a valued agent of the Basilica. If... he were to report Phaedra, it was very possible for the Church of the Eternal me to send Avengers to arrest and crucify her...

    "Mm..." Teneca pursed her lips, "there''s a note here in his file on... your Duplcarius being associated with Divine Armorsmith Harkus and his student, Athanasius the Oathkeeper."

    Phaedra shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

    The crafter of Divine Armor Gaheris... and the pilot of Divine Armor Apollonius.<novelnext></novelnext>

    That news was just as ominous. If she were cursed by either, it would be impossible for Guild Metal Wolf to receive technical support for their constructs...

    "Oh! I like *this* one~" Teneca smiled, "Tactician Tycon is also the primary instructor for the troops of Letalis Serpentia."

    Phaedra felt her head begin to ache. That... that was one of the three Gold-Ranked guilds in western Tyrion. She could no longer hold any hope for any contracts working for or alongside them...

    "There''s a statue of him in Apollonia," Teneca mused, "a work of House Vanzano."

    Phaedra felt her eye twitch. That didn''t have any sort of importance at-- "Wait, House Vanzano?"

    Teneca nodded, "My informant has appended a report detailing how Lord Tycon was of great assistance in building the financial power of their young House Head, one Miss Athena Vanzano."

    Athena...

    So Tychon didn''t just im Maximus of Ezyria. He was ingratiated to his younger sister... and thus to the nobility.

    House Vanzano was well known for leading the reformation of the Adventurer''s Guild in Tyrion, pushing for public quests like monster relocation, exploration and mapping of the wilnds, and establishing patrols across the countryside.

    That girl was loved by citizens, merchants, and adventurers all...

    "It''s really no wonder that he has such connections," Teneca chuckled as she reclined in her chair, bncing herself precariously on its back legs with inhuman grace. "Besides holding rank in Tyrion, he''s also a Prince in the Free Nation. I recall that was a painful lesson learned by one of my Sergeants-- though his rank has been stripped since then."

    Phaedra nodded quietly. That made sense... she knew Tychon was *some* kind of nobility. Being a Prince in the Beast Kingdoms, though, was surprising. Assumedly, thends he held were mostly popted by humans.

    "Ah, and he ownsnd in Alizeau," Teneca added. "I believe he''s a... Baron-- not that I expect you to know what that means."

    Phaedra grit her teeth. She didn''t know what exactly that meant... but it was clear that Tychon was a noble in the Fairytale Kingdom, too.

    "But good men are never satisfied-- not that I''d expect you to know that," Teneca tapped her fingers to her lips as she stared at the table... "This report written by the Fleet Commander of the Alizeaun Navy is quiiiiite illustrious. Oho, it seems he''s a Lieutenant, there! Wouldn''t that make him... equal rank to you, Lady Phaedra?"

    At that point, Phaedra wanted nothing more than to dig a grave for herself and crawl in. If even *one* of Tychon''s associates were to discover that she insulted him... she''d never be able to return to Tyrion.

    But, Teneca...

    --that insufferable whore, Teneca.

    Her ugly grin had spanned the full width of her twisted face.

    Phaedra took a breath through her nose and straightened her posture, "Is... there something else?"

    "One tiny... minuscule, absolutely unimportant thing, Lady Phaedra," Teneca tilted her head. "Lord Tycon is the sole founder of the East Charm Trading Company."

    Tychon...

    ...the impossibly young, impossibly connected, impossibly meritorious savior of her gods-damned guild...

    The worth of that man''s name in coin... was so monstrous, it made Phaedra physically shake.

    When Guild Metal Wolf restocked in Rixus, she hadbored to get the highest quality equipment for the cheapest price. Nearly every smithy, armorer, and supplier they used were subsidiaries of thatpany...

    He was... rich. No... he was... beyond wealthy.

    Phaedra could probably lick that man''s sandals and earn enough coin to replenish the guild''s ranks, pay off their loans, rece everyone''s equipment, and even send her to university with the remaining funds...

    It was nothing short of incredible. Duplicarius Tychon had the titles and merits equivalent to a dozen respectable men.

    "Hah..." Phaedra smirked, "Haha... You''re... you''re joking, right?"

    If she wasn''t, then Phaedra was the biggest joke in the room.

    Teneca''s smile fell in an instant, "Are you questioning my integrity, you ugly f*cking b*tch?"

    Elves. They took insult to anything.

 Chapter 750 Wrong

    ?Phaedra escaped from the nning room before Teneca could drop dead of anger.

    She half expected her sword to be thrown out of the room... but thankfully the other Highdes were more professional than their Commander.

    Still... Phaedra got what she needed from that b*tch.

    As embarrassing as it was... she knew what she had to do.

    She had to apologize.

    Antagonizing Duplicarius Tychon was... easily the worst blunder of her military career-- if not her entire life.

    She had always been a woman who spoke her mind, rarely thinking about the consequences... Anyints her rivals had to offer, Phaedra could silence with merit. She... had no social life to speak of, so she devoted countless bells to her work and personal training.

    Tensions had been high following the Wolves'' defeat but that was no excuse. She had done him a great disservice.

    Sol Invictus'' timely arrival had changed the fate of her and her guild. Her Centurion very nearly worshipped the ground Tychon stood upon.

    An apology was the least she could give their leader.

    At any rate, Phaedra prided herself on knowing how to seek advantages.

    The noble was wealthy beyond belief... he was young... and a man.

    Being friendly towards him would cost her nothing.

    If he showed even a tiny bit of interest, she could even seduce him! With that man''s name and status, her career would skyrocket-- and she could ensure her Wolves wouldn''t be disadvantaged.

    She had never done such a thing purposefully, but she was confident in her abilities. She had coldly rejected dozens of suitors before, all of them singing praises to her physique, martial abilities, and keen attention to detail.

    How difficult could it be?

    And so she walked about the fortress grounds, dressed appropriately for her mission. She wore her sword, polished in an open sheath; tight-fitting trousers that entuated her curves; and a clean, sheer undershirt.

    She even left the top buttons undone to reveal her cleavage-- but not so much to be distasteful.

    It was... hypocritical of her.

    She loathed when the lower-ranked Wolves dressed that way. But... her usually-cumbersome breasts were a weapon the me had gifted her with. It would be a shame not to use them.

    She wore her dark hair down, freshly washed. She''d rubbed her body with the sweet-smelling leaves of fresh rnberries. Taking some advice from one of her Decani, she even applied a berry paste on her lips to color them rosy red, the numbing agent making them look fuller.

    Phaedra was a shining example of professionalism, confidence, and power-- supported by an underlyingyer of aggressive femininity.

    If the Duplicarius liked badass bitches, then he''d fall in love with her immediately.

    If he preferred lesser, perhaps easier women... then that would be his loss.

    Phaedra approached a red-faced Highde guard standing watch at the entrance to a hallway, "Good afternoon. I''m looking for Duplicarius Tychon."

    The half-elf grimaced as he removed... a pair of wax earplugs?

    "Lady Phaedra, I strongly advise you dy your search untilter in the sun."

    Phaedra narrowed her eyes. It was fine for soldiers from another nation to not refer to her by her rank... but every Highde she met had called her ''Lady.''

    ...It was almost certainly something Teneca had ordered as a subtle insult.

    She was about to argue with him when she heard a sudden shout from a room down the corridor.

    "By... by the me! S-s-stop! Please!!" Said the voice, "Have mercy!"

    Phaedra''s world screeched to a halt.

    That voice... belonged to Immunes Haelvia.

    She... she was in trouble!<novelnext></novelnext>

    "me Eternal," Phaedra cursed underneath her breath.

    She should have known. Tychon was a noble-- and with the amount of power he wielded, it would be easy for him to force any of the girls in Guild Metal Wolf.

    Phaedra''s blood ran hot, her vision clouded red, and every muscle in her body tensed with a rage she never thought possible.

    That man might have saved the Wolves fromplete annihtion but that did NOT give him the right to take even one of her pups as a carnal reward.

    She''d originally sought out the Duplicarius to apologize.

    me TAKE that!

    All that criminal would get from her was Tyrion STEEL!

    Poor, sweet Haelvia... the fool girl might have even offered herself willingly out of loyalty to the guild.

    It didn''t make it any less wrong. Haelvia was one of her sisters-- not a me-taken whore!

    Phaedra didn''t care how strong the Duplicarius was. She''d cut off that man''s genitals or she''d die trying.

    "Tell me," Phaedra red, her hand on the hilt of her sword. "Which room?"

    "What?" The ursed xeno crossed his arms and furrowed his brows, "No."

    "Step aside!" Phaedra raised her voice, "Do *not* test me, elf, or I will--"

    "Ohh... OHHHH... By the-- By-the-... Fuuuu... I''m almost-- AHHHHH!! --ahh... Ohhh..."

    ...Haelvia''s moans echoed off of the adobe walls, boring deep into Phaedra''s brain... and stopping her from making more of a fool of herself.

    "I... I feel so full..." Haelvia said, her voice clear through the woefully thin doors... "F... me take you, Tychon. H-how are you... not yet satisfied?"

    "Because you can still formplete sentences," A deep, masculine voice answered. "Worry not, my love. I will put an end to that."

    Phaedra gulped, her mouth drier than the surrounding deserts. Her skin burned red as if she were standing naked in the afternoon sun... and not just from embarrassment.

    "Th-those two..." She whispered.

    "You understand," The stern guard muttered.

    "Is there any chance... that... I''m misconstruing the situation as something else?"

    "Highly unlikely..."

    Phaedra folded her hands, the tips of her fingers over her lips... "How... long have they...?"

    The half-elf shook his head, "Lady Phaedra, I''ve been here for the past four bells. The Commander seeks a meeting with Sir Tycon."

    "...Have you tried... knocking?"

    "I have not," The guard''s eye twitched, "I value my teeth, mdy."

    "...Oh," Phaedra pursed her lips... That was... fair. "Could you... pass word that... I would also like to speak with the both of them?"

    "I''ll consider it," He shrugged.

    "Th-thanks," Phaedra lightly bowed before turning to leave.

    "Before you go..." The man called after her, "If you''ve applied rnberry oils to your skin, I suggest you wash immediately."

    Phaedra turned her head back, "And... why would I do that?"

    "To reduce the size and spread of the subsequent rash."

 Chapter 751 What Would I Be? (Part One)

    ?After several bells, the two lovers realized they had neglected to break for lunch.

    Tycondrius allowed Elle to clothe herself-- but only when the time for the evening meal grew near...

    He was somewhat reluctant to do so.

    In his current life, he''d enjoyed his fair share of sexual partners, each with varying levels of experience. However, he found that sharing Elle''spany was... a great deal more satisfying.

    It was a rtionship sparked by fate.

    Elle admired Tycon for one or more of his heroic qualities.

    Tycon was enamored by the young woman''s bravery and technical skill.

    He was physically and intellectually attracted to her... and she to him.

    Him pursuing Elle romantically was natural... and the few issues he could think of that might dissuade him werergely inconsequential.

    She was a great deal younger than he was... which did have potential of being a future issue. She did seem mature for her age-- though that fact was somewhat of a cyclical facy.

    ...Concerning that, Tycon had a suspicion that Elle might have been *more* mature than he was. Earlier in the sun, she''d been insistent on reporting to her superiors. Tycon more-or-less bullied her out of her duty and into their private room.

    The woman had self-confidence issues. In particr, she did not realize the rarity of her high affinity Divine Armor piloting. Also, for whatever reason, she thought her height unattractive.

    Thankfully, her doubts weren''t a dominant part of her demeanor. They were merely mundane worries, contrary to her actual skill and beauty.

    Elle did not have im to noble blood... or a name with any merits attached to it.

    Of that, Tycon couldn''t care less.

    He had wealth, status, and connections enough.

    If he were to unt any or all of those, he could summon a myriad of beauties to bed at his leisure. Even without doing so, he had enough female admirers of reasonable attractiveness.

    If he wished, it would be a simple task to trick, seduce, or coerce each of them into carrying out his wishes. For more than a few... he needed only to make the request.

    Elle... was different.

    Tycon trying to win her favor... was him seekingpanionship.

    Elle was a professional mercenary whose thoughts and actions weren''t affected by the politics of his social circles. She was a woman who could... understand him.

    Ultimately... Tycon would pursue Elle because he wanted to.

    If his sister or noble peers were to challenge him, he''d defeat them with overwhelming personal power.

    If his mother took issue... he''d... tactically withdraw and return with an army.

    A veryrge army.

    ...one capable of leveling a moderately-defended city.

    ...and from a significant distance away.

    Yet... not all love stories are without ws.

    There was one concern that Tycon found difficult to ignore.

    He felt... a shared connection with Elle-- one he found difficult to exin.

    If it weren''t so illogical, he''d have guessed she was known by the previous-him... or she was a reincarnated lover from some past life.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon cared for her.

    He wanted to... protect her... to see her grow as a person and as an adventurer.

    The most obvious exnation for the feeling was... that Tycon was deluded. In more flowery terms, he had recklessly fallen in love.

    ...It was also feasible that he was stricken by a mind-control effect stronger than Fourth-Circle.

    ? As he had no realistic means to prevent thetter, that was a non-issue.

    Tycon was also aware that he was, at heart, a paranoid cynic. That, however, would be a poor reason to self-sabotage his attempt at happiness.

    Thus, despite his misgivings about being a serious rtionship... they changed nothing.

    He''d present his best self to Elle as a loyal, supportive, and interesting lover... and he would remain vignt for if things were to go awry.

    After dressing, the two made their way towards the eating hall.

    The evening meal was standard fare, consisting of a creamy rabbit soup, pickled vegetables, and rtively fresh bread. Tycon ate with Elle in a secluded area of the fort''s inner courtyard, where they conversed about nothing of particr importance interspersed with highly suggestive innuendos.

    He was... somewhat ashamed by the amount of potable water his partner drank to quench her thirst.

    Proper hydration was necessary when engaging in... extended sessions of strenuous activity. He''d been a poor host to not offer her any of the refreshments he had stored in his spatial ring.

    "So, Tychon..." Elle mused... "let''s say I *did* let you buy my contract."

    "Hah!" Tycon took his woman''s hand and stared into her eyes, "Are you regretful that I did not insist on doing so?"

    "N-no--" She turned away... but did not take back her hand, "I-- um... that''s not... what I meant."

    "Did you wish for me to return to Januarius, half-dead in the infirmaries?" Tycon teased, "Can you imagine his face if I were to tell him the deal is off?"

    "No!" Elle squeaked, "By the me, no... Hah. I''m... I''m just saying-- like... what if?"

    Tycon nodded sagely, "A hypothetical exercise in thought, then?"

    "R-right," Elle gave a wry smile, "But... if you did... *buy* me..."

    The woman was taken by a sudden wave of shyness, her other hand absentmindedly twisting a blonde lock of her hair...

    Tycon kissed the back of her hand as he kept her gaze... "Go on."

    "What... would I be, then?" Elle pouted her lips.

    "My personal servant, perhaps," Tycon grinned, "ever at my beck and call. Can you cook?"

    "Ugh, me Eternal," Elle groaned. "Nnnooo."

    "Clean?"

    "Yes, but I won''t."

    "Then..." Tycon tilted his head up in thought, "What are your thoughts on... sitting patiently in my bedroom quarters, dramatically sighing at the window as you wait for my triumphant return from battle?"

    "Yeah, no," Elle snorted augh. "I''d be in the field with you-- I''ll fight you for the right, if I have to."

    "As your magnanimous boyfriend, I shall concede," Tycon bowed his head. "Would you stay by my side then, Lady Haelvia... until death do us part?"

    ",

 Chapter 752 What Would I Be (Part Two)

    ?Tycondrius chuckled as he watched his lover''s face and ears redden considerably.

    "Ughhhhh," Elle rolled her eyes, but she gulped audibly. "Q-quit it. You''re teasing me again."

    "If you consider that teasing..." Tycon leaned forward to whisper into her ear, "Just wait until we return to our room."

    He emphasized his intentions by gently nibbling on her earlobe.

    "H... ah..." Elle quivered as she closed her eyes... but she gently pushed him away, "G-got it. But... what would I be?"

    "Hahaha!" Tyconughed. He did not hate his partner''s stubborn qualities, "How does ''personal bodyguard'' sound?"

    To him, it sounded ridiculous. In abat zone, it would be more appropriate if he served as her guardian rather than vice versa.

    "That doesn''t seem quite right," Elle sighed, "considering I''m... a Divine Armor pilot."

    Tycon sat back smilingly, "I was nning to offer you a contract under Sol Invictus. Gaheris'' maintenance would, of course, be covered by guild funds."

    "Oh, I... haha..." Elle blushed in embarrassment, "I forgot that... that you could do that."

    On a certain level, his lover''s forgetfulness of his identity was puzzling.

    She simply didn''t see him for his status.

    Lieutenant Teneca treated Tycon with respect and cordiality as a friend of House Highde. Optio Phaedra seemed to treat him with appropriate deference as the savior of her guild and a meritorious Duplicarius.

    As a slight digression, it was simr to how he was treated by Januarius-- though Elle was far more pleasing to look at... at any angle.

    From what Tycon understood, Elle''s view of him was of a handsome, respectable gentleman that she could speak to as an equal.

    It was yet another facet of hers that he greatly appreciated.

    Tycon took his hand back, cradling his chin in thought, "You''d have more options, of course. The training for Sol Invictus is quite difficult as opposed to that of its sisterpanies."

    "But the training..." Elle pursed her lips, "it''s designed to make you stronger, not... to bar entry of below-average recruits, right?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "I''m curious to how you came to that conclusion."

    Admittedly, it was... both. Why did she think it could only be one or the other?

    "Because..." Elle tapped her forefingers together, "you... ept me... even though I look like... this."

    ...Ah. So that''s what it was.

    Tycon chuckled as he shook his head, "In case you were not aware, I find you beautiful in body, mind, and spirit, Elle."

    The poor girl started to panic, "I... but--"

    "Worry not," Tycon waved his hand. "I *also* have faith in your abilities. I am a leader of a guild, among other things. That means I am a professional with a reputation to uphold.

    "You, my dear," He smiled, "are more capable than you give yourself credit for."

    "Th... thanks, Tychon," Elle had her hands folded as she stared at her empty dinner te. "But... I know you just want to get me back into bed again."

    "That is *also* true," Tycon lifted her chin with a finger, "but that does not refute my previous statements."

    They shared a light kiss... then a few more with added sincerity.

    Tycon very much enjoyed boosting his lover''s confidence.

    "C... can we go back, now?" Elle asked shyly.

    "Of course," Tyconughed. "Let''s return these tes to the galley."

    ...

    ? Later that evening. ?

    "Do you ever miss anyone, Tychon?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycondrius pursed his lips as he nced over to his lover, Elle, illuminated in the dimntern light. She looked to him with rosy cheeks and a curious gaze.

    It was an excellent opportunity to tease her.

    "I do not miss," He smirked as he closed his reading book.

    He pressed his forefinger over her heart and made a ''chnk'' sound as if firing a crossbow, "When I acquire a target, I make sure to shoot everything inside."

    "Th-that''s not what I meant!" Elle huffed, "You-- i''ll... you''re... Guh!"

    "Ah, the inability to formplete sentences," Tycon nodded. "It seems my goal has been reached for the evening."

    Even if the joke he made was... in somewhat poor taste, he dly took the personal victory.

    "You''re... horrible," Elle cracked a smile. "But how times''ve you... wh... what if I get pregnant?"

    "I''ll take responsibility. Next question."

    "I..." Elle gulped... "O... okay."

    "Did you expect anything less of me?" Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    "No..." Elle smiled. "I figured... that''s the kind of person you are."

    "Realistic?" Tycon asked.

    ording to modern human culture, hatchlings were expected to be raised by both parents-- if reasonable. Unless Tycon had severely misjudged his partner, he was confident he could reasonably coborate with Elle towards properly raising children.

    "Maybe," Elle hummed... "I was thinking more... hmm... honorable."

    "I am when advantageous," Tycon shrugged. "In this case, the virtue conveyed is... that I take care of my own."

    "I know..."

    Tycon felt Elle slip her arm underneath his back, before pulling close to an embrace.

    She was warm... and the feeling was pleasant.

    Elle snuggled her nose onto Tycon''s bare chest, "You wouldn''t have done everything you did, otherwise."

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed as he re-opened his book, "I''d do it again... for you."

    "That''s... so hot."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Shall I open a window?"

    "No," Elle sighed and shook her head... "It''s just..."

    After a moment, Tycon realized that Elle had grown quiet.

    ...It seemed his reading time was over. After quietly closing his book and cing it upon the bedside table, he took hold of Elle''s hand.

    She smiled, gently squeezing.

    Their rtionship had progressed quickly. Much of Elle''s earlier nervousness around Tycon was gone, reced by... what he believed was trust.

    In their conversations, they identified a great deal of traits they shared. Without words, there was an implicitfort in sharing each other''spany.

    Thus far... their rtionship was the greatest idealization of ''perfect'' that he could imagine.

    ...Tycon hoped she was patient enough to tolerate him when his ws became more apparent. And whatever issues she had-- Tycon hoped that he could see reason enough to work through it.

    In that silence, though, there was peace. There was sharedfort andpanionship.

    There was... contentedness.

 Chapter 753 The Rumors Were True

    ?Elle leaned towards Tycondrius, her eyes closed in expectation.

    Tycon obliged her with a gentle kiss... one almost different from the others.

    The first kiss they shared was... one of exploration and hope. Since then, they''d shared kisses of passion, of lust, and of arrogant possessiveness. Then, there were kisses of simple pleasure and of yful teasing.

    But that one...

    Was it... love? Of the Tyrion concept of ''philia'', a connection of the soul? Of shared values and an implicit trust?

    It was a somewhat foreign concept to Tycon... to feel that way towards a lover.

    He took a moment to look over the woman sharing his bed... and she averted her gaze, pulling the covers up to hide her chest.

    ...as if he hadn''t already seen everything.

    ? Haelvia of Ezyria. Titanblood. ?

    Elle had already reached maturity for her species.

    However, one of Tycon''s closest friends was a Titanblood, Dragan, the ''Barbarian'' of Sol Invictus. From what he knew, that man''s patience and temper had evened greatly over past decades.

    People change. With Elle''s and Tycon''s bloodlines, their lifespans could easily surpass two centuries. Yet... they had known each other for less than twenty-four bells.

    Logically, such feelings... such a ''connection of the soul'' was hopeful to the level of foolishness.

    No... thinking of the future was useless. All Tycon could do was present the most ideal version of himself he could muster... and hope for the best.

    "What''s on your mind?" Tycon asked.

    Elle bit her bottom lip... "I... I was just thinking about my past."

    "I''d love to hear it," Tycon adjusted his posture,ying on his side to face the woman as she spoke.

    "I had... some friends," She continued-- "Two actually. N-nothing to be jealous, about, though."

    "You''re mine now," Tycon raised a hand in a half-shrug, "I couldn''t care less about any other men you dealt with before me."

    Also, with as much experience in intimacy that Elle had... if she had previous lovers, they were worth less than dirt.

    "Hah," Elle blew air in Tycon''s face, causing him to narrow his eyes.

    It was something she enjoyed doing to fluster him.

    "They weren''t that kind of friends, you." Elle giggled.

    She shot forward to deliver a quick peck on the cheek.

    Tycon''s mood was immediately restored. He liked to think he was a simple man.

    "Go on."

    "Well... the three of us made a promise when we were little--" Elle hesitated, pouting her lips. "Yes, I was little."

    "I didn''t say anything."

    "You were thinking it."

    "I was not," Tycon frowned.

    ...He really wasn''t, "You were saying?"

    "We made a promise..." Elle took a deep breath... "That we''d join Sol Invictus together."

    "Lofty goals," Tycon mused.

    Since he''d first awoken in the Realm a few years prior, Sol Invictus had not opened their recruitment. All new members since then, he''d contracted personally.

    As Tycon was adventuring across the various nations, the goal of Elle and her friends could only be achieved by luck. Obviously, the fates had smiled upon Elle. But the others...

    "Where are they now?" He asked.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I d''nno," Elle sighed again, rubbing her cheek on Tycon''s chest and draping an arm across his abdomen... "I think you''d like them, though... Justus was strong, but he was always humble."

    Tycon''s eyes shot open.

    Justus.

    That... was a name he hadn''t expected to hear.

    "--He always wanted to help people," Elle continued in a soft voice filled with nostalgia... "didn''t matter who they were. That''s just how he was."

    Tycon took a breath through his nostrils... "Your... vige?"

    "Oh," Elle perked up. "It was a little Ezyrian vige called Leopardon. Ah-- and besides Justus, there was Rena."

    Tycon grimaced as he sat up in the bed... "Rena..."

    "She was my best friend," Elle exined with a nostalgia-filled smile... "She was always running after Justus... trying to make sure he didn''t get hurt."

    Sheughed to herself, but her smile was notably without the curves at the ends of her lips... "I always yed the older sister... even though I was younger than either of them.

    "Rena tried to keep Justus out of trouble-- then I... watched over her."

    Elle folded her palms behind her head and plopped back down onto her pillow, "Wasn''t always sessful, though. Could be on me. I like to think it was on those two~"

    "I... see..." Tycon whispered.

    "They joined the... the Rhodok adventuringpany?" Elle puffed up her cheeks, "If I''m remembering their name right, anyroad. I heard some rumors though... that they went missing."

    Tycon kept silent... focusing on slowing his breathing and his quickly rising heart rate.

    The rumors were true.

    They were ssified as missing because Tycon made certain that none of their members lived to speak of the monstrous creatures that once settled in Isidor''s Mountain. He''d heard of adventurers sent to search for them... but by that time, Isidor and the others had long since vacated.

    "Tychon, have you heard anything about that?"

    Tycon... could tell her, but... did she have a right to know?

    Would she even want to know the truth?

    That Rena lost half of her body in a sh against a cruel manticore? That he built her funeral pyre with his own bloody hands... burnt her body to ash... and buried her on that nameless mountainside?

    "Tychon? Did... I say something wrong?"

    ...Should he tell her about the grief that befell Justus after Rena''s death? That he personally slit the boy''s throat to advance his own selfish agenda?

    Empty f*cking night. If he hadn''t had anything to do with either of them... it was possible that both would be alive.

    Granted, he doubted the Rhodok adventuringpany would have been able toplete their Gold-Rank quest. Not even half-way to their destination, over half theirpany was wiped out by Iredar.

    Would Centurion Cyrac have seen reason? Their entire chain ofmand was filled with nothing but blind and deaf fools.

    It would have been impossible for them to continue without Tycon''s help...

    If... Cyrac had called the mission off... perhaps the deaths of Justus and Rena of Leopardon would not have been so tragic.

    "Tychon... say something... please."

    Tycon closed his eyes.

    If he hadn''t met those two, back then...

    ...perhaps they would have be his... two powerful Holy sses, fighting under the banner of Sol Invictus.

    Instead, Rena died without aplete corpse... and Justus... his remains served to feed millions of flesh-eating spiders.

    "Tychon... I''m sorry... Please... talk to me."

 Chapter 754 Focus On The Present

    ?Tycondrius opened his eyes to find Elle sitting over him, tears spilling down her face.

    ...He had made a mistake.

    Throughout his life, he''d made plenty of mistakes.

    Rena of Leopardon had ced her trust in him.

    He failed her.

    ...That, he could not change.

    The past was a lesson-- albeit a painful one. He had to learn from it... not allow it to consume him.

    More than once, Tycon had advised his peers and subordinates to do the same. It would behoove him to heed his own advice...

    He sat up, kissed Elle''s tear-stained cheek and slowly wrapped his arms around her, "No... I should be the one to apologize..."

    He had been selfish.

    The fault of most of his issues was likely just that. He''d always been selfish.

    It didn''t matter whether or not their romantic rtionship would seed in the long-term.

    ssifying his feelings towards her... be it love or delusion-- that too, was unimportant.

    The current Elle deserved happiness... and Tycon would do everything in his power to grant her that.

    ...And, if the fates were kind, he''d be able to keep her in one piece.

    "Elle..." He whispered through clenched teeth, "I will protect you... as long as you let me."

    "Wh-what?" Elle gasped, "What are you-- we''re... I..."

    Tycon closed his eyes and held her tightly... feeling droplets of her tears fall upon his shoulder.

    "...Do you promise?" She asked.

    "You have my word."

    ...

    ? Elsewhere in the Green Corn Tower fortress. ?

    Coraline sat with her back to the door of her room. The pain from her injuries... her mana exhaustion, she could scarcely feel anything. Her entire body felt... numb.

    She hadn''t eaten... she hadn''t gotten anything to drink... She hadn''t even moved from her spot in... bells.

    ...not since then.

    When Coraline felt Beatrice''s presence... she knew that Sir Tychon had returned.

    And with him, he brought...

    Bleigh. Empty night...

    She missed him so much, her stupid boyfriend... the Lone Shadowdark.

    Ignoring the fact that she barely had enough mana to breathe properly... ignoring the fact that moving her body opened up all her wounds... she dragged herself to the front gates and demanded the guards to open them for her.

    Stars above, she had been so unreasonable about it, too...

    Coraline walked outside the walls and... she saw him.

    Lone.

    He came... to save her...

    She didn''t think he would. From the letters Lord Tychon sent, her boyfriend waspletely dominated by the Elven curse.

    But she saw him. He was there. He was... fighting.

    Coraline could still tell it was him... even if he looked a little different.

    She ignored it, at the time. What was important was that her boyfriend hade to save her... to save her new bestie''s adventuringpany.

    He was... so... gant, dancing with his swords and rejecting his opponent''s every attack.

    He was... invincible... immortal-- just like he said.

    There was something in the way he moved, though... it was so... off. And the way he spoke was... so different, so confident... not clumsy, at all.

    He defeated the enemy leader. The fight wasn''t even close...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Then... ''he'' returned to her.

    But... it wasn''t him.

    His eyes were different.

    They... glowed.

    The person... looked like Lone.

    He even spoke with his voice...

    He was polite.

    He was respectful.

    He asked her how her injuries were... he looked upon her kindly, wearing a gentle smile... but...

    Whoever that man was... he didn''t know her.

    He wasn''t the man who saved her on the Golden Eagle... He wasn''t the man who gifted her a promise ring-- even though he probably had no idea the implications of giving that kind of gift.

    After Coraline answered his questions... the man that looked like her boyfriend-- he just nodded and walked away.

    The exchange was like... it was more like she was buying groceries from a store than talking to the love of her life.

    It was... cold.

    He had... forgotten her.

    The words written in Sir Tychon''s letters were true. She didn''t want to believe it... but after seeing the evidence firsthand, she couldn''t keep lying to herself...

    Lone was gone... and in his ce was a powerful Ancient... stronger, more confident, and more noble than anyone she''d ever met.

    But... it wasn''t the man she fell in love with... the half-wit that she wanted to live the rest of her life with.

    He was just as Tychon called him... The Ancient.

    He was... just as the Highdes called him... the King from across the seas.

    Coraline wanted to run off... but there was nowhere to go.

    She wanted to talk to Ellie... but... she wouldn''t understand.

    She wanted to tear her hair out. She wanted to tell Beatrice to burn that imposter... until Lone came back-- crying about how much it hurt... confused that she would attack her. Then she''dugh andugh as she ran off to get the aloe...

    ...She wanted to just... to just crawl underneath her sheet covers... and never wake up, ever again...

    She wanted...

    She needed...

    What she NEEDED was to make that stupid boyfriend of hers right again!

    Coraline knew she couldn''t give up. She still had hope! And stubbornness! And righteous fury!

    She was an elf! She had LITERALLY centuries to find a cure!

    She needed to get to the libraries in Whitehearth... and she needed to find the location of the Tree God''s Sap. She needed to stick a tap straight up his divine butt and bleed him dry!

    She needed to get her boyfriend back...

    She needed him to KNEEL before her in apology for all thews she had yet to break but maybe-probably would have to.

    She''d find SOME KIND of cure even if it killed her. Or-- or it killed HIM!

    Empty night! She''d kill him, raise him from the dead, and kill him again if she had to! --and then she''d kill herself!!! Bleigh!!~

    Stars and stones, Lone was SO STUPID!

    Like... ALL THE TIME!

    But... until then...

    Until then, Coraline did what she figured any normal girl would do.

    She got up... went over to her bed... and copsed face-first onto her pillow.

    And there... she cried... hoping she''d fall asleep before morning.

 Chapter 755 To Whitehearth

    ?Tycondrius insisted that Januarius continue to rest at least until his fever died down. With Guild Metal Wolf being histest investment, he wanted to ensure that their founding leader could travel the ins to Whitehearth without *dying*.

    It took two suns, a process expedited by the Highdes'' healers and a lovely Elven recipe for poultry and herb soup.

    The Elven city lied just beyond the rocky hills. On ount of the injured, however, the pace of the march and the time traveled per sun wasrgely reduced. Still, with not even half a century remaining, personnel ountability and general upkeep were managed quickly, somewhat making up for time lost.

    Optio Phaedra took charge.

    It seemed she was still embarrassed for her earlier actions against him, as she rejected all of Tycon''s well-meaning attempts at casual conversation.

    He decided not to hold it against her.

    She was a proud woman, but an intelligent one, loyal to her guild.

    He respected that.

    Lieutenant Teneca sent a team of her Highdes to apany them, two in particr belonging to the Scout and Survivalist sses. Their skill at pathfinding and padding the Wolves'' meager rations with desert creatures and edible nts were nigh indispensable.

    They were certainly spies of a sort and would report to House Moonwell upon reaching the city.

    Tycon considered refusing them... but he could not do so without needlessly insulting Teneca... nor did he have enough rations in his spatial ring to keep a half-century from starving.

    If any enemies were to target him or his own... he''d just have to deal with it, then.

    As thepany traveled with two Gold-Rank adventurers, Tycon asked Elle to unsummon Gaheris to reduce her passive mana expenditure. The two lovers grew closer over idle conversations filled with clever banter, light flirtation, and general musings about life.

    The Tyrions had be aware that he and Elle had be an exclusive couple. This seemed to attract a number of them who took windows of opportunity to strike up ''friendly'' conversation with her.

    Elle was always polite... but as Tycon had been made aware of how she''d been treated by a majority of her pack, he did not hide his displeasure at their unsubtle attempts at ingratiation.

    Tycon had no issues being angry for his lover''s sake... but Elle expressly forbade him from enacting physical violence against her fellow guild members.

    That woman... was a far better person than he was. He was lucky to have her.

    As for Coraline, with the return of her fire elemental and the assistance of Tycon''s ?Inspirational Surge,? the Elven Arcanist was soon restored tobat capability. However, she suffered bouts of mania, obsessing over a desire to ''fix'' her boyfriend. This shifted with little-to-no warning into debilitating depression that she had yet to do so.

    It was very... Elven of her.

    Of course, Elle grew worried for her-- her... ''bestie'', as she termed it.

    Thus, by obligation, Tycon also had to show concern, which resulted in several sessions of him and Elle patiently listening to the elf''sints.

    Then, there was Beatrice. Beatrice was fine, contrary to her contractor.

    She got her fruit juice.

    As they traveled, Guild Metal Wolf came under attack multiple times each sun by hostile wildlife. The strength and intelligence of such creatures were... not high.

    Tycon would have imagined they would have fled at the sight of him and his Gold-Rank aura... or Elle and Gaheris, for that matter. However, at every opportunity, the Elven Ancient known as King was always first to leap to the caravan''s defense.

    ...Yet after several skirmishes, Tycon sought to correct a particrly unsavory behavior of his. That fellow insisted upon enteringbat while forcibly lowering his Rank.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A Metal-Ranked adventurer reigned in their aura to conserve energy. That the Ancient cultivated a specific ability to forcibly limit his mana output was... the most asinine thing Tycon had heard of.

    Anyroad, after two suns of him saying the same gods-damned thing-- only louder and angrier each time, Elle tried her luck. She essentially repeated Tycon''s logic while appealing to the virtue of preserving life.

    That''s what it took for the Ancient to see reason.

    Reacting against threats seriously and routing the enemy both saved lives and wasted less time for their group... which... should have been *painfully* obvious, to all relevant parties.

    Stars and stones...

    ...

    ? One weekter. ?

    The city of Whitehearth was defended by white walls made of thousands of towering, petrified trees. Many of therge buildings within were the same... hollow wooden structures warped by the magic of Elven Druids and Shapers.

    Yet, the city of wood was known across the Realm for... its metalworks.

    In the surrounding hills and mountainous areas, there existed a number of elf-run rock quarries, rich in durable metals and arcane crystal.

    Where dwarves and humans hewed precious materials from the rock with tools and actual effort, the elves... did... not.

    Instead... they chose to... coax? the ore from the stones?

    Whatever they did, it was markedly different. Suggesting otherwise was taken as insulting... enough that even polite inquiries about the process were met with Elven contempt.

    This was... slightly different from regr contempt. He and Coraline tried to exin it to Elle to... no avail.

    Tycon advised his lover not to think about it.

    Anyroad...

    Tycon had drafted a temporary contract with Januarius with Phaedra, Elle, and a Highde Staff Sergeant as witnesses. The East Charm Trading Company became the primary patron for Guild Metal Wolf. The full details of the rtionship would be determined after consulting with Sorina Capulet, Sol Invictus'' Chief Financial Officer.

    It took Optio Phaedra less than two bells for her to find a temporary base for her Wolves.

    So impressed by her diligence and capability, Tycon withdrew funds from his ount with the Banker''s Guild and entrusted its allocation to her.

    Lancelot needed several coreponents reced and the guild''s overall supplies to be replenished. Tycon also advised that they pad their ranks with frence adventurers, as their operations would continue in the Eastern States for some time longer.

    Tycon nned to send the Wolves to protect Sorina Capulet as she acquired assets. In theory, the existence of Guild Metal Wolf would dissuade any potential saboteurs from targeting her.

    Only two types of organizations were able to field Divine Armors: the wealthy elite and those steeped in debt.

    The first was difficult to attack, as an aggressor had much to fear from political and martial reprisal-- not only from the primary organization, but from their host of allies.

    The second was far more dangerous.

    After all, they had very little to lose.

 Chapter 756 A Mercy

    ?After dealing with matters concerning Guild Metal Wolf, Tycondrius sent Elle, Coraline, and Beatrice off to explore the city.

    He tried to offer his girlfriend pocket money.

    She refused... which was somewhat disheartening.

    However, he respected her independence... and could at least be d that Elle did not agree to be his lover for financial gain.

    And thus, Tycon sought to meet with Captain Krysaos and the rest of the crew... or that Elven Ancient, if that one was more readily avable.

    In the Eastern States, Tycon was not acting as the leader of Sol Invictus, nor the Chosen Hand of the Holy Country. He was a Lieutenant serving under the Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge.

    This provided him with benefits twofold. The Captain''s name was moderately recognizable amongst seafaring circles, granting Tycon ease in procuring supplies for the Neptune''s Revenge. It also provided suitable cover from opponents that might seek to challenge him for his personal status or that of his guild.

    Besides that, Krysaos was a good man, arrogant but principled. His mission in life was seeking revenge on one who wronged him-- the god of the sea.

    To outsiders, that might have seemed a ludicrous proposition.

    Tycon knew better.

    He''d killed gods before. The process was not without great difficulty... but it could be done.

    It would be done. Naught but death awaited the enemies of Sol Invictus and that of her allies.

    Besides the Captain, Tycon also had great affinity with his crew, a majority of them being nigh-invincible, six-fulm tall coral-folk. By profession, they were Royal Marines belonging to the Kingdom-- which Tycon was also a Lieutenant in.

    Their loyalty was without question. So too was their capabilities in violence to both themselves and outside parties.

    That made them simple enough to find.

    Tycon questioned a local militiaman about any major disturbances, as of recent... and he learned that a gaggle of belligerent adventurers had been seen heading towards the eastern gates...

    ...

    ? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX. ?

    ? So there I was, standing outside the tree-walls of Whitehearth. ?

    ? Weird-ass city. I''ve never seen so many elves in my life... as if I needed to see any more than that arrogant noble along with Imperia''s empty-headed goons. ?

    ? The bastards surrounded me with their beady eyes, pointy ears, and drawn swords. ?

    ? Elves... swordsmen with hundreds of years of experience, all looking at me like I was a fish on a chopping block. ?

    ? But I, Captain Krysaos, of the Neptune''s Revenge, ain''t a useless sunfish. ?

    ? I''m a huge f*cking tuna, an apex predator who doesn''t give a f*ck how many elves he has to sink his teeth into. ?

    ? He could''ve had a thousand elves instead of two dozen... and I STILL wouldn''t be scared of that dickless cuntweed! ?

    ? So I drew my badass Master Sword, bathed in the blood of a thousand men and beasts... and I pointed it at the man they called the King of the Elves. ?

    "I ain''t afraid of you, guy," Krysaos dered.

    "Master," Mina grimaced... "We mustn''t do this. King is one of our valuable allies."

    The purple-haired mermaid girl floated in front of Krysaos, her eyes wide and bubbly. It was a pull-at-your-heartstrings kind of look... not that he was gonna buy into it.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She... was important to him. Real important. Irreceable, even.

    She was the spirit that was magically contracted to hang out with him, because he was theoretically the rightful wielder of the Master Sword. She spoke a lot of sense, too, that girl... but Krysaos wasn''t the guy that needed sense. It was...

    "My sovereign," Imperia cooed, using her disgustingly-fake, high-pitched voice... "Don''t waste your time on this pathetic human."

    That dark elf Princess had her silver hair braided too damned tight. She''d conveniently forgotten that she was the most useless person out of everyone present.

    Krysaos stepped past Mina to shout, "YOU''RE pathetic!!"

    "See?" Imperia sighed. "Mere words are enough to turn him into a rabid dog."

    "I ain''t a dog, you!" Krysaos growled. "I''m a gods-damned apex predator!"

    "I''d ssify you as a different type of predator," Imperia red.

    That.

    That''s why Krysaos was so gods-damned mad.

    The elves-- they all gave him the same look.

    Dis-res-f*cking-spect.

    He''d kept his peace long enough... He even forgot about it for a while. But as soon as that stupid Ancient came back around, Imperia turned from an almost-reasonable person to ''ohhh, my sovereign'' and ''ohhh, humans are so disgusting.''

    Granted, it was gods-damned obvious how much she wanted to get on her knees and choke herself on his tiny prick-- but she didn''t have to be such a b*tch about it!

    It was gods-damned bullsh*t!!

    "How about you draw your swords, ''en?" Krysaos yelled," Huh?!? *King*?! Yeah, I''m talkin'' to you!"

    King raised his head, as if to look down upon him, "Captain Krysaos, this king advises thee to withdraw thy challenge. Thou wouldst risk great injury even if I were to lower my Rank as abysmally low as yours.

    "The least of my magics, I have practiced since your ancestors first discovered fire...

    "My de arts have been honed such that a single stroke could fell a mighty dragon..."

    "Yeah, real funny, guy," Krysaos rolled his eyes. "Dragons don''t exist."

    "I assure you, Captain Krysaos..." King''s eye twitched, "they do."

    Yeah, that got him. That got him good.

    "Soe on, then," He sneered. "You and me, guy. Man versus elf. A leader of proud men against the king of a bunch''a folks whose genders I still haven''t been able to figure out."

    "You''re disgusting, Krysaos," Imperia groaned.

    "Tch," Krysaos scoffed, "Stay outta this, girlie."

    "Hmph," King stepped forward, "Then mayhaps a lesson is in order. This king shall ept thy challenge, Captain Krysaos... and for our match tost longer than a single breath, I shall even refrain from using my Skills."

    He drew his swords and lowered his chin, his eyes glowing like an oilmp set to too-damned wasteful... "Consider it a mercy."

 Chapter 757 You Did What?

    ?Krysaos kept his big mouth shut.

    He would have loved talking back. He could run circles around the guy in a battle of words.

    ...but that wasn''t how you convinced that kinda guy he was wrong. Only steel did that.

    That was the point of Krysaos issuing the duel challenge... and he needed every advantage he could get.

    Being underestimated... that was probably the second best thing he could hope for.

    "Gentlemen!" Said a strong, deep voice from the crowd, "I shall serve as adjudicator."

    Krysaos felt a smile creep onto his lips. *That* was his real money-maker.

    Tycon... the best gods-damned Lieutenant that Krysaos could ever ask for calmly stepped forward out of the rest of his crew. He wore his trusty Tyrion sword, his white and shiny, ck-brimmed Officer''s cap; a freshly pressed military coat, and his usual ''doesn''t-actually-give-a-f*ck'' half-smile.

    Tycon made an open gesture towards King, "However... I would suggest additional ''rules'' for your bout... in pursuit of fairness and avoiding injury, of course."

    "Of course, friend-Maedar," The elf nodded, "This king wees thy wise counsel. Art thou in agreeance, Captain Krysaos?"

    "Psh, yeah," Krysaos snorted. "I''ll beat your arse, no matter what the contest is."

    "Very good," Tycon inclined his head... "Friend-elf, are you familiar with... (Somethin'' somethin''... Elven somethin''.)"

    Krysaos wasn''t sure what the guy was talking about... but he knew he could trust his LT with whatever it was he said.

    Or so he hoped.

    "...A rare magic," King pursed his lips, "not my preferred-- and one I''ve scarcely cultivated... though still for o''er two human lifetimes..."

    After a moment, the elf nodded, "Very well. I agree. Captain Krysaos, choose one amongst thy loyal Corallidae... one thou art certain *you* can best inbat. I shall control their movements and defeat thee using martial skill alone."

    Krysaos furrowed his brows. While that sounded like a stupid f*cking ability, it... would definitely make it a more even fight. As he was, that King guy could probably win a duel against him, both hands and two out of three legs tied.

    "To reiterate," Tycon raised his voice, "The Elven sovereign will utilize a proxy to duel with Captain Krysaos. Should he activate any of his mana techniques or otherwise show power beyond Krysaos'' rank..."

    "...then it will be this king''s loss," The elf nodded.

    "Choose ME, sovereign!" Imperia let out a dolphin-like squeal. "Grant me the honor to serve as your-- as thy de!"

    Mina crossed her arms... "Master, you should really teach Lady Imperia a lesson... I will ensure shees to no fatal harm."

    Krysaos shot the mermaid-girl a re, "Whose side are you on, huh?"

    "Nay, Sapling," King shook his head. "If thou were to defeat Captain Krysaos, he would not ept it on ount of thy mastery of water magics. He shall be the one to choose his champion."

    "O... of course, sovereign," Imperia dipped her head as her cheeks colored. "Your words are most wise."

    "Yeah, whatever," Krysaos shrugged. "Bob! You choose."

    "YOU''Z GOT IT, CAP''N!!" The biggest, yellow-est Coral Boy roared.

    Bob. Good, loyal crewman, that Bob was.

    "Lieutenant!" Krysaos waved the green-haired guy over, "Lemme talk to ya''s for a sec."

    Tycon frowned and raised an eyebrow... "What?"

    "Just... shut up for now and c''mere."

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos pulled Tycon away from Mina and the rest of them. The Coral Boys were having a fierce discussion, while that slut Imperia kept up her annoying praise of her stupid sovereign.

    They''d take awhile... enough time for him to get what he needed.

    "Soy it on me, LT," Krysaos grinned, "Super Tactician! Uber-leader of Sol Invictus! Master Chef. What''cha got?"

    That guy, Tycon, he had a lot of titles... most of ''em probably made up. But the guy was smart. If Krysaos could get a winning strategy out of him, it''d be impossible for him to lose.

    "To begin with, Captain..." Tycon took a breath... "What, pray tell... in the seven gods-damned *hells* is going through your f*cking head right now?"

    "Wh-what?" Krysaos smiled with chagrin.

    "You''ve *seen* what the Elven Ancient is capable of," Tycon growled. "He is peerless in martialbat amongst our crew, myself included... even at my full strength."

    "Oh,e on. Hah... haha."

    Krysaosughed... augh without any confidence in it. The LT was the most arrogant guy he knew. Him saying that meant he might''ve been royally f*cked.

    "Hey..." He forced his grin, "He ain''t... that strong, is he?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes-- which didn''t really mean anything. If he wasn''t smiling like an A-hole, then that was his other look.

    "I''ll have you recall the bone lizard you defeated a few weeks prior..."

    "Y-yeah?" Krysaos tilted his chin down and twisted his lips, "I got like... fifty cannons together, or somethin'' ridiculous like that."

    "*That*, Brother-Captain," The guy crossed his arms, "is the level of firepower you''d need to kill that gentleman."

    "Well-- alright," Krysaos gulped... "but... I don''t gotta kill him. I just... gotta beat him?"

    "This is your most foolish undertaking as of yet, Krysaos," Tycon scowled.

    "Come on, LT," Krysaos lowered his head, "This is no different than us fightin'' that skeleton thing."

    "The lizard was a predictable creature that rightfully no longer exists."

    "Or stealin'' from that city full o'' insane sahuagin warriors."

    "Neither of us had any part of that."

    "Fightin'' hundreds and hundreds of cultists blessed by the sea god?" Krysaos gave his best, shiny-tooth smile.

    "...Very well," Tycon sighed.

    "Or teaching the Knights of Sarleon a lesson by running off with that stuck-up Duke''s daughter."

    Tycon''s eyes shot open... then narrowed into a hateful re, "You. did. what?"

    "No-- nevermind. Don''t worry ''bout it," Krysaos waved his hand. "Anyroad... you gotta help me out, LT."

    Tycon''s face twisted like a Devil-Beast had just inked a heavy load into his mouth, "And what does this selfish duel matter in the grand scheme of things?"

    "Tycon... I need this. Come on-- I''ll beg if I have to."

    The guy hung his head and groaned, "Ugh. Of course, you would...."

    "If I gotta, I--"

    "Please don''t, Krysaos," Tycon sighed. "I know that look in your eyes. It''s useless trying to dissuade you..."

 Chapter 758 The Worst

    ?"Alright, great!" Krysaos clenched his fist, "Now-- jus'' tell me what I gotta do!"

    Tycon ced his hand on his chin in thought.

    Whatever was going through the LT''s head was pure, unfiltered, calctive genius.

    "Your magic casting is mediocre... but your mastery in the basics of White Raven swordsmanship will at least save you fromplete embarrassment..."

    Or not.

    Krysaos narrowed his gaze, "You kiddin'' me, guy?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "I make it a point not to jest concerning potentially deadly situations."

    ...Yeah, that made sense. It also made Krysaos'' butthole clench up a bit.

    "I uh... LT..." Krysaos scratched his head... "about me winnin''... that''s not... impossible, right?"

    "Would you like the truth or a cleverly disguised lie?"

    "The truth, please."

    "No."

    "I''ll take constructive criticism for five-hundred."

    Tycon''s eyes twitched-- but then he shook his head with a sigh.

    "If you truly wish to defeat the Ancient... I *strongly* advise you to rely on that enchanted sword of yours."

    ...

    Tycondrius entered the crowd of Coral Boys,rgely ignored amongst their discordant shouting and overly masculine posturing. It was a stark contrast to the two squads of elves that stood near King and Imperia, utterly silent and waiting patiently.

    From what he understood, the fault lied in that fool girl... If the dark elf Princess of the Vulkoori had kept her peace and hadn''t openly antagonized the Captain, this entire debacle could have been avoided.

    That child... he would deal withter.

    For the time being, Tycon chose to remain amidst the chaos, where he felt mostfortable.

    "Have they decided yet? Ishmael?"

    The vague shadowy figure in a military coat that was Ishmael shook his head.

    ? Ishmael, Gold-Rank Venomous Shadow. ?

    It had been a few weeks since Tycon''s ?Venomous Shadow? had been granted a name... and it seemed he had no issue keeping his form, regardless of their distance apart.

    The shadow... had always been a strange existence.

    However, his loyalty was without question. He was a valuable crewmember serving alongside him under Captain Krysaos... and a friend.

    Ishmael pointed at one of the Coral Boys... a somewhat clumsy crewman whose porous skin was colored a vibrant lime-green.

    Wonderboy... formerly ''One of Twelve''. Even by name, he was the weakest of the first twelve Coral Boys fathered by Eleven of Seven.

    That fellow was... being stripped of his clothes and armor by his peers under the vignt watch of Petty Officer Bob.

    Bob was thergest and... loudest gentleman in the crew, superior in both strength and rank to all but Captain Krysaos and his two Lieutenants. As he worked far more closely with the lower enlisted, it was natural that the choice of the Elven Ancient''s Champion fell to him.

    He would certainly know which Coral Boy would be most advantageous for Krysaos to fight.

    "We''z just DON''T UNDA-STAND IT!!!" Wonderboy cried as he shivered, rubbing the rough outsides of his rock-skin biceps.

    Without his armor, he was left with... a mere cloth wrapping that covered his lower regions.

    Tycon furrowed his eyebrows. He was in charge of the crew''s inventory and supplies... and was absolutely certain that each Coral Boy was issued proper undergarments.

    "Ain''t NUFFIN'' ta unda-stand, ya IDJIT!" Bob roared. "You''z da WEAKEST an'' da WORST in da CREW! So YOU''Z goin'' to da FOIGHT!!"

    "But... but we''z gonna be fightin'' da Cap''n?!" Wonderboy argued. "E''z gonna MURDER US!!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Tch. Hah... huhuhu..." Bobughed, deep and... wet... "Oh... I know."

    The wide grin he wore was suitably intimidating as he towered nearly two heads over Wonderboy.

    Tycon nodded... slightly concerned, but... not enough to raise aint.

    The Coral Boys were far from the sea waters that allowed them to quickly recover from wounds. It effectively made them... mortal. Granted, each of them carried several y jars of the healing brew to utilize in an emergency...

    That is... all of them but the half-naked Wonderboy.

    "Suck it up, WonderBOYYYY!!!!"

    "Jus'' lissen'' to yer OR-DA''Z!!!"

    "Serves ya roight, ya stoopid git!"

    It seems that most of the Coral Boys were in agreement with Bob''s judgment.

    "Wot... wot about Barrel Boy?!" Wonderboy argued.

    Tycon furrowed his brows. That was admittedly a sound argument, which was unexpected to being from that fellow''s simplistic mind.

    Barrel Boy was... a Coral Boy that walked about wearing a literal barrel instead of... actual armor-- which he was also issued.

    As far as Tycon was aware, that one... was not an effective member of the crew at eitherbat or his regr duties.

    "Yer''s speakin'' outta yer fuggin'' arse, Wonderboy," Catshit groaned. "How ''bout ''is, ''en? You''z go on. And we''z won''t end you ourselves..."

    Ah, Catshit. That was a Coral Boy that never had any problems with violence as an effective answer.

    Tycon liked him... but would never admit to it, openly. Such behaviors should only be rewarded if sessful.

    "Ihihihii!!" A high-pitched cackle from a Coral Boy known as Doc took everyone''s attention, "Wouldn''t send Barrel Boy, anyroad! Ahaha! E''z a family man, after all!"

    Tycon turned to Ishmael... "I don''t suppose I misheard that, just now."

    The taciturn shadow gave a light shake of his head and made an open gesture towards the others.

    "We''z heard ''e sends ''alf iz pay ta charitable organizations!"

    "Yeah! WE''Z ''eard it went ta feedin'' da ''ungry snotlings wivout mums and dads!"

    "E''z a good bloke, ''at Barrel Boy!!"

    The crowd turned their attention to the barrel ''standing'' amongst them.

    The lid popped up as Barrel Boy''s head emerged...

    "Aye," He nodded... "Jus'' finkin'' about da kiddo''s brings a tear to our eye... Ev''ry li''ul snotling deserves ta grow up wiv someone ''at gives a shite."

    "Aye!"

    "Hear hear!!"

    "You''z a good ''un, Barrel Boy!"

    "You SUCK, Wonderboy!"

    "YeahHHH!"

    "YEAH!!"

    Tycon rubbed his chin in thought, ignoring the fact that the crew were beginning to throw trash and debris at Wonderboy as he yelped in indignation.

    ...He needed to converse with Barrel Boy when their schedules allowed. So much coin consistently given to charity might be worth some tax write-offs when the time came to report their earnings to the Royal Navy.

    ",

 Chapter 759 Fake

    ?"Even if you DON''T fink you''z da worst Coral Boy in da field," Bob growled... "Den you''z still da WORRRST Marine in da crew."

    "Oh, YEAHH??!?!!!" Wonderboy shouted back, his indignant voice shrill and unpleasant, "You''z got NUFFING on us!! Why don''tcha PROVE IT, DEN!!"

    The attention of the Coral-Boy crowd... turned to the ever-so-handsome Tycondrius.

    He gave a wry smile as he averted his gaze downward, "Must you, Wonderboy?"

    Bob gestured with his yellow palm, "Whaddya say, Bosun?"

    Tycon shrugged lightly as he re-assumed his polite, neutral smile, "Very well."

    Flicking his wrist, he activated his spatial ring to summon Wonderboy''s records... "Out of fairness, we''ll only consider the previous moon''s counseling. Now... where shall I begin...?"

    Wonderboy stuck his chest out, grinning wide, as if he were certain he''d been on his best behavior.

    From whence his confidence came, Tycon had no idea.

    "The previous moon, you''ve beente to work... four? different times?"

    He remembered assigning the fool one or threeshings for those, but *four* was uneptable.

    "Fridays don''t count, Bosun," Wonderboy scowled.

    "Hmph. You''ve fallen asleep on post... thrice."

    "Ehh?!" Wonderboy''s eyes opened in shock, "Dat ain''t far! Da way da ship rocks is loik a luby!!"

    Tycon had no idea what that was supposed to mean-- but the way the other Coral Boys were murmuring, that seemed to be a... minor series of offenses.

    "Moving on... i says here that Petty Officer Bob and a few of your other peers had discovered you neglecting your duties on... *eighteen* separate asions."

    "Dat..." Wonderboy opened his jagged-tooth mouth to argue... but then tilted his head down, hand on his chin-- "Yea, ''at''s fair."

    "And finally, you''ve a single instance of..." Tycon furrowed his brows... "malingering? For... a... ''blowed'' up... head?"

    All of the entries were in Tycon''s handwriting... but he did not recall writing anything of the sort.

    There were dozens of Coral Boys, thus dozens of counseling records... but that sounded like something he would havemitted to memory.

    Doc shot his hand up in the air, "Ehehe... ''Dat was us, Bosun. We''z was practicin'' ''eadshots wiv our custom longneck rifle."

    Ah, so it was a mundane training ident.

    Tycon returned the papers to his spatial ring and nodded, "As Petty Officer Bob says, Wonderboy-- with his shoddy record, will be suitable as the Elven Ancient''s Champion. Gentlemen, let us prepare a circr ring for our dear Captain."

    Wonderboy fell to his knees, pitifully putting his hands together to plead, "But... but BOSUN?!?!"

    "Consider yourself lucky that I don''t administer punishment myself," Tycon red.

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos grit his teeth as he looked over to King, standing amongst his guys. He looked on without any real emotion in his glowing eyes... real patient, real quiet.

    Imperia was trying to talk to him, like always. He didn''t look like he was listening, though. Might''ve been because of the fake high-pitched voice she used to talk to him... or the fake, forced-deep voice she used talking to the guys she considered beneath her.

    Fake all around... just like Krysaos, himself.

    The fight wasing up... and even though the Elven Ancient was so much stronger than Krysaos was... he was still sizing him up. He was still taking it real serious.

    It... might have been some kind of respect... but it sure didn''t feel like it, most of the time. More shite came out of that guy''s mouth than out of a Leviathan''s arse.

    Krysaos sighed and shook his head.

    Tycon was right. He always was. The whole idea of a duel with an Elven Ancient was the epitome of stupid.

    Even if that King guy didn''t use his full abilities, his sword-swinging was ten times better than anything Krysaos could give back... and Tycon had been real clear that he wasn''t going to use any of his weird magic to tip the bnce.

    And honestly-- the elf wasn''t really that bad of a guy. He was stuck-up and arrogant as the worst elves in the stories, sure... but his heart was in an alright ce.

    Even if he wasn''t really an Elven king, he always put out what... one could expect from a good leader.

    He was some kind of hero, always trying to right wrongs, always looking for glory.

    He didn''t have any friends. Real leaders seldom did. That was most likely the reason why he stuck with Krysaos and the crew.

    That guy... he even offered to swear an oath to help him kill the sea god.

    Granted, he probably just wanted to fight the bearded cunt... but it''s not like he needed to offer.

    "Master..." Mina frowned, "I can NOT in good faith allow you to do this! The Elven sovereign is not our enemy!"

    Then... her shoulders drooped, her anger fading... and she looked up to Krysaos like she was going to cry, "Why must we bicker amongst ourselves?"

    Krysaos shrugged his shoulders, "I have to, girlie. You... probably wouldn''t understand."

    Mina suddenly grabbed his arms, "Then make me! Please..."

    ...Krysaos frowned, seeing... what looked like desperation in her eyes.

    Yeah. She was a good girl, too... probably too good for the likes of him. Those sparkling bluish-purple eyes of hers had an innocence to them... and he couldn''t look into them too long without feeling like the deceitful sack of shite that he was.

    "It''s about how the world works, girlie," Krysaos tilted his head forward, blocking her gaze with his hat... "This is about my reputation."

    "Reputation!?" Mina shouted, "Master, please, be serious! The Elven Sovereign has NEVER called your reputation into question."

    Krysaos took a breath... "It ain''t about him... not really, anyroad. It''s... about everyone else.

    "Take a look around," He gestured. "Our crew. Imperia''s elves. They know who I am. They judge me for my name and what I do with it."

    "Is... is that really what this is about?" Mina floated backward, crossing her arms... "You''re... you''re trying to impress Lady Imperia, of all people? You... you d-d-don''t... like her that way... do you?"

 Chapter 760 Soul-Binding Contract

    ?"Huh? The girl with the chest tter ''an a washboard?" Krysaos raised his eyebrows, "What way''re you talkin'' about?"

    Mina turned away, "N-nevermind."

    "Listen, Mina," Krysaos ced a hand behind his neck, "Now... I know I''m not that strong... but everyone here-- they know me... that''s the kind of reputation I have.

    "It''s why... I can walk around with my head held high... ''cause no matter the sea we''re sailing, no matter the port we dock, my name''s worth somethin''."

    The mermaid girl took his hand and she held it tight...

    Mina... she was a good girl, that Mina.

    "But... your crew knows your worth, Krysaos... I know it. You''re... brave. You''re loyal. You try to do the right thing, despite the danger to your very life!"

    Her... sincerity gave Krysaos pause.

    So that''s how she thought of him...

    Also, the reminder that he might just die on ount of his pride cleared up his mind a little bit.

    "Krysaos..." She said, "Why does it matter what everyone else thinks?"

    Yeah. Krysaos felt a whole lot of guilt filling his heart. Much like everything else in his life, even his rtionship with Mina was a lie. He wasn''t actually the guy who pulled the sword out of the stone. It was Tycon... but that guy pawned off the Heart of the Ocean like it was a prickly pufferfish.

    He gently pried the mermaid''s hand away... "Come on, Mina. You guys don''t just follow me ''cuz I''m a nice guy."

    "Master!" Mina snatched his hand back, "I... follow you... because I... I..."

    She pressed his hand to her... left boob?

    ...It was more firm than he expected, but it was still definitely a boob.

    "You respect me," Krysaos nodded. "I get it."

    He looked beyond her... like an old sage beyond all worldly desires-- all while actively resisting the urge to squeeze, "But that ain''t enough for the world we live in...

    "A guy''s reputation''s all about how people see him... but you gotta understand. That perception goes both ways.

    "This isn''t just about me, Mina... ''cause y''see... the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge... follows a guy that''s brave and gant and handsome and whatever...

    "So because o'' that, it''s my duty to you... to live up to that ideal... to keep proving to everyone that I''m worthy of my name."

    ''And to myself," Krysaos thought...

    "Anyroad," He pointed at his chest with his thumb, "I gotta stand up for myself. I gotta show that King guy and everyone that has even a tiny bit of doubt... that I ain''t a coward... that I deserve respect..."

    He shed Mina his full smile... "an'' that I really am the guy that you believe me to be."

    It was real tough, acting brave even though his belly felt like he''d just drank half a jar of gutrot. Ever since Krysaos met up with Tycon... it seemed every other sun, he was forced to act on all his bluster.

    So in the end... it really was all his own damned fault he kept getting into life-threatening situations.

    Really... if he knew how much work there was in being a gods-damned hero, he would''ve asked Tycon to just leave him on that deserted ind to die...

    "M... master," Mina sniffed.

    Sea god''s anal beads. She was crying.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...and it was a full-on hull breach, too, tears going on and on without end.

    Krysaos cleared his throat and ced both of his hands on the girl''s shoulders, "Mina."

    "Uh... uh huh?"

    "I need you."

    Mina''s voice perked up immediately, "Y... you do?"

    Krysaos gulped, suddenly nervous... "Will you... lend me your weird-but-deceptively-strong magic powers?"

    Mina nodded clumsily, wiping her eyes with her wrists... "You, Krysaos... in all of my thousands of years... you... are the only one to have captured the Heart of the Ocean."

    Krysaos pursed his lips, "Is that a... yes?"

    Mina sniffed again, forcing a smile even though she had turned into a portable water fountain, "I ept the ?Contract?, Master. May my soul be ever bound to yours, ever faithful... until the end of my suns."

    ...

    The charcoal-skinned dark elf scowled at Tycondrius as he approached her, "What do you want, Maedar?"

    ? Imperia Vulkoori, Iron-Rank Elven Storm Cleric. ?

    The young woman was a young Princess of the once-powerful House Vulkoori, though that name in recent decades amounted to little. She was an arrogant, acid-tongued brat-- and a few moons prior, Tycon had nearly killed her for it.

    After adventuring together for so long, her personality had been tempered greatly... enough that she and Krysaos would argue for bells on end... like a married couple.

    Even if she would not openly admit it, the youngdy had be... an integral part of the family that was the crew of Neptune''s Revenge.

    Tycon flicked his wrist, conjuring up a small package from his spatial ring, "Last we conversed, you mentioned longing for the taste of pink apples."

    Imperia eyed the small wrap with mindful suspicion... "I''ve never had them dried before."

    "The dehydration process makes them taste sweeter."

    The woman took the package with a nod... "I''ll ept, then... but really-- what do you want?"

    "An acknowledgment of gratitude would be appropriate," Tycon said tly.

    When he was replenishing general supplies-- soap, cooking oil, spices, and the like; the grocer gave him samples of his dried snacks, free of charge.

    They were admittedly mediocre, but Tycon reasoned they''d make for an appreciable gift.

    "...My thanks, Maedar," Imperia pursed her lips... "Forgive me. I am... unused to receiving gifts without some kind of rpense."

    Tycon tilted his head, "Youngdy, I''ve nothing to ask of you... other than respect and basic cordiality, of course."

    "Y-yeah," Imperia sighed... "I know."

    "I advise you to be ustomed to it, Princess of the Vulkoori," Tycon offered a polite smile, "--that is, should you continue to associate yourself with Princes and Kings."

    Imperia twisted her lips to the side, "Are not all nobles schemers?"

    "They are," Tycon smirked... "but there are many with their eyes upon far greater prizes."

 Chapter 761 â€œFriendlyâ€ Duel

    ?The face Imperia revealed to Tycondrius was... not one of amusement.

    "...Are you insulting me, Sir?"

    "Youngdy, I''m *trying* to give sage advice," Tycon red. "Anyroad, I gave you a gift because I *felt* like it."

    Also, it cost him nothing.

    Imperia took a half-step back in surprise... and then began to giggle, dropping her overly deep voice-- "Stars above, Tycon... you''re the strangest noble I''ve ever met."

    "You''re wee," Tycon groaned before turning away.

    He nced over to the Elven Ancient known as King. He sat just outside the edge of the crew''s rock-circle ring... eyes closed, cross-legged, and levitating slightly.

    In contrast, the lime-green, loincloth-wearing Coral Boy stood in front of him. He flourished two curved Nemayan des in his hands with... surprising dexterity.

    "We... we ain''t likin'' ''is," Wonderboy cried. "We don''t like ''is one bi--"

    Abruptly, his head snapped to the side, then slowly rolled forward to rest his gaze on Krysaos.

    His eyes... they glowed white and gold... brimming with magical power, "[When thou art prepared, Captain Krysaos, this king invites thee to make the first move."]

    "WOT''Z GOIN'' ON?!??!" Petty Officer Bob screamed as he grabbed onto the heads of two of his Coral Boys. "WHY''Z WONDERBOY TALKIN'' ALL STOO-PID??!?!"

    "Shut UP, Wonderboy!"

    "Quit pretendin'' yer sumfin'' yer not!"

    "Sea god''s SOCKS, yer SO DUMMMB!!!!!"

    Imperia had ced a dried apple slice in her mouth... but she gawked in disbelief without biting down.

    Tycon caught it before it fell and ced it back into her open palm. He didn''t like food being wasted.

    Opening his senses, he sensed the magic in the atmosphere.

    Several lines of power flowed from King''s twin swords to Wonderboy''s body, each funneling concentrated mana.

    However, those thin strands were nothingpared to theyered chains taking control of the once-human Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark.

    Tycon had suggested the amendments to the Elven sovereign''s challenge, hoping that the elf would fully vacate its host.

    If the admittedly minuscule off-chance were to pass, the empty vessel could have been recovered. Regardless of the state it would be in, it was certainly preferable to full-domination by an alien Ancient... at least for Tycon''s purposes.

    Unfortunately, it seemed that the artifact did not need to exert much of its power to influence the Coral Boy.

    Tycon considered making an attempt at severing the mana-lines... but the risk-to-reward factor was too low to chance. If sessful, the best he could hope for was the return of partial control to the Ancient''s weak-willed host... while simultaneously alerting the Ancient to Tycon''s hostility.

    ...He sighed, shaking his head.

    He was disappointed. That was a given.

    However, the situation should not have irked him as much as it did. That arse, Wonderboy, could barely swab half the deck. It came to no surprise that he''d also fail at getting cursed.

    ...though admittedly, it was better than the equally minute chance that Wonderboy''s mind and soul might have fused with Lone''s.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Theirbined stupidity would likely increase exponentially rather than additively.

    "First move, ah?" Captain Krysaos smirked, "Real polite of ya, tough guy."

    ? Krysaos, Bronze-Rank Aquatic-Human Baneer. ?

    Wonderboy arrogantly raised his chin, "[Thus is the *right* of the strong.]"

    ? Wonderboy, Bronze-Rank Corallidus Warrior. ?

    Suddenly, Krysaos shot forward towards his opponent with umon speed, his rapier directed to pierce Wonderboy through the heart, "Don''t MIND if I do!!"

    Tycon had always approved of the way his Captain fought. Each thrust of his sword targeted his opponent''s vital areas, seeking to incapacitate them as quickly as possible. It was somewhat contrary to Krysaos'' character... as Tycon foundmon braggarts to depend overmuch on shy attack patterns or unorthodox defensive stances.

    The Lone Shadowdark originally fought in that manner-- that is, before his body was inhabited by an Ancient Elven sword spirit.

    "C-c-c-c-cap''n!!!" Wonderboy shouted.

    The terrified Coral Boy swayed his upper body back, swinging one of his swords in a clumsy manner. He barely managed to deflect Krysaos'' attack... and whipped his arm around to counter.

    It was fast-- not too fast for Krysaos to dodge and step aside. Unfortunately, with the Coral Boy disyed a substantial increase in speed. If that were to be added atop his usual stamina, Tycon doubted that even the Iron-Ranked Petty Officer Bob would be able to fight the current Wonderboy for more than a few minutes.

    "Keep still and get defeated, you!" Krysaos shouted as he continued to stab and thrust with the Heart of the Ocean.

    "Cap''n!! Dis-- d is jus'' a friendly duel, idn''t it??!" Wonderboy sobbed, "You''z ain''t really tryin'' ta gut us, roight?!?!"

    Tycon crossed his arms as he kept careful attention to the fight.

    Each of Krysaos'' steps left behind a wet footprint in the dirt. Opposite of where King sat, the mermaid floated much in the same way, her eyes closed and concentrating to boost her master''s reflexes and agility.

    ...It was then that Tycon realized that he no longer shared a soul-connection with the mermaid-girl. In all likelihood, Krysaos had seeded in contracting with her.

    He was still going to lose the duel... but at least something good hade of it.

    "No way..." The dark elf beside him muttered, "That fool human is going to get himself hurt..."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. It was rare for Imperia to admit her concern for Krysaos-- such was their rtionship.

    Though he was... notoriously weak in analyzing the rtionships of others, it was clear that there was... a closeness between the two. It wasn''t... a romantic one, per se, though that wasn''t impossible to develop. Tycon judged it to be... a rivalry... or apetition in which there was an underlyingyer of respect.

    ...even if neither were to admit to it.

    "Hmph," Imperia crossed her arms, turning away from Tycon''s gaze... "He deserves it."

    "Imperia," Tycon pursed his lips... "Why do you think Krysaos challenged the Elven sovereign?"

    The dark elf rolled her eyes and groaned, "Because he''s an arrogant braggart that doesn''t know his ce."

    "And who thinks that?" Tycon asked innocently.

    "What? Everyone does..." Imperia furrowed her brows and looked back to him, "Don''t they?"

 Chapter 762 Aphorism

    ?Tycondrius smiled politely at the youngdy.

    "Hmm... would you say, Miss Imperia... that gentleman callers often hold public exhibitions-- attempts to win your favor?"

    "N-- Well-- I err... of course, they do!" The dark elf red, "I''m a Princess of House Vulkoori! Of course, men are supposed to prostrate themselves before me! --which happens all the time!"

    Tycon twisted his lips to the side. That... was close to the point he was making, while also being far from it.

    "That, I believe, is what Krysaos is trying to prove," He exined... "At least to you."

    "I don''t like him LIKE THAT!!" The whelpling squeaked defensively.

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat... "*that* he is not below you... but is at least worthy of your respect."

    It also had something to do with gaining the recognition of the two squads of Elven warriors attached to her and the Elven Ancient... but Tycon did not feel the need to mention that.

    "But he-- that man! He''s... not..." Imperia frowned-- but her voice had softened considerably, "No... I refuse to believe such a thing."

    "And what would make you change your mind, Princess of the Vulkoori?" Tycon smiled.

    The young elf did not answer aloud... returning her attention to the fight with a grimace.

    The wheels in her head were turning. Tycon had said enough.

    He wondered if perhaps... she was already convinced.

    If anything, Tycon hoped that in the future, Imperia would be more mindful of her sharp tongue. Little in the Realm caused more discord than theints of theoretically attractive females.

    "Oy, Cap''n," Wonderboy cackled as he calmly deflected each and every swing of Krysaos'' sword, "Iz you gettin'' slowa? Cuz we''z ain''t finished wiv you, Sir, no, Sirrrr!!"

    It seemed that the lime-green Coral Boy finally understood that being controlled by the Elven Ancient temporarily gave him martial abilities far beyond that of the Captain.

    It was... very foolish of him to speak so heedlessly. In all likelihood, he wouldn''ty im to such power for more than ten minutes.

    The other Coral Boys were screaming and shouting curses, stomping their feet. Petty Officer Bob was livid-- and it was taking a half-dozen crewmen to keep him from jumping into the arena, himself.

    A crowd had gathered to see themotion, which was to be expected. It was a rarity to bear witness tobatants fighting at a Peak-Iron level.

    ...Admittedly, the theatrics wereparable to that of Sol Invictus'' early suns in the Ezyrian arenas.

    Unfortunately... Krysaos was on the losing end, being thoroughly embarrassed.

    Wonderboy was effortlessly deflecting each of the Captain''s attacks and counter-attacking with strikes to the human''s arms and body. If King was fighting seriously, the duel would have been long finished.

    "GIT BACK, CAP''N!!" Wonderboy shouted as he shed his swords in a cross, "H''YAH!!"

    Krysaos took the double-strike with the cage of his rapier, stumbling backward, but keeping his bnce.

    Wonderboy tossed his swords up in the air and pirouetted with his leg out, catching them as they fell. Then, he shed at the air in front of him, quick enough to make sharp whistling sounds.

    "H-yahhh wooohhhh ahhhhh!!! Wo-haha-chakaaaa~" The Coral Boy rolled his head... then gestured for Krysaos toe forward, "Come at us, Cap''n. We''z ready ta give you''z a right arse-kickin''... COM-pli-MENT''ry."

    Krysaos stood up straight, "You know what they say, boyo..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Like we could give less a shite," Wonderboy sneered, "Ain''t nuffin'' you''z can tell us, when you''z can''t even TOUCH... da ''airs on our chinny-chin-chin... uhuhu..."

    "Tycon?" Imperia looked over to him, "The meaning of that..."

    "I''ve no idea," Tycon frowned. "I was hoping to ask you."

    Krysaos tossed his Captain''s hat back to Mina, which she levitated slightly higher to catch. He began to walk counter-clockwise the Coral Boy, casually rotating his sword-wrist in a light stretch.

    "Well, Wonderboy..." Krysaos ced his sword in front of his face in a salute, "If yer gonna talk sh*t, yer gonna get hit."

    He pointed his rapier forward, "?Double DRAGON!!?"

    From behind Krysaos, two river eels made of water surged forward at Wonderboy. Each was twice the thickness of a typical human, roaring and snapping, all while spiraling fantastically through the air.

    The Skill was a powerful disy of mana-creation. Its cast time was minimal and the speed of travel was effective on opponents of up to half-step Gold-Rank. It was, however... improperly named.

    ...It wasn''t something of great importance, but Tycon made a mental note to correct Krysaoster.

    Wonderboy''s wide eyes lost King''s glow for a moment as he realized the gravity of his situation. He desperately shed at one of the mana-creations while the other bit into his shoulder.

    "SEA GOD''S SOCKKKS, IT ''URTTTTS!!!!!"

    Simultaneously, Krysaosunched himself forward, leaving behind a jet of water. Wonderboy managed to deflect the Captain''s opening sword lunge, but the pommel of the Heart of the Ocean struck him in the eye.

    Reversing the direction of his sword, the Captain shed at Wonderboy''s face. The fellow swayed back and tried to bring up his weapons defensively-- but he was too slow. A line of blood was drawn deep across his eyes, taking his sight.

    Capitalizing on his advantage, Krysaos stomped on Wonderboy''s foot while grabbing and pulling down on his arm. The Coral Boy dropped, cracking the side of his head on the hard dirt.

    "YEAHH!!!"

    "BREAK ALL ''IS BLOODY TEEF!!!!!"

    "YOU GET ''EM, CAP''N!!!!"

    "TALK SH*T!!" Catshit yelled.

    """""GET HITTTTT!!!!!""""" The Coral Boys yelled in unison, pumping their fists and tossing up their hats in celebration.

    It was... a woefully simple rhyme or... ''catch-phrase''... but it was an appropriate aphorism for the situation.

    Tycon liked it.

    With Wonderboy taken off his feet, Krysaos showed little mercy. He quickly sheathed the Heart of the Ocean, grabbed Wonderboy''s feet and... began to deliver several full-weighted stomps to the fellow''s... crotch.

    "CAP''N!! CAP''N, PLEASE!!" The fool sobbed, "Uhu hUUhhhUUuh~! WE''Z SORRY, CAP''N!!! S-STOP!!! STAHHhhaaAAHHP!!!~"

    "Almost done, boyo," Krysaosughed as he again unsheathed his sword.

    "OH! Oh, good, we--" Wonderboy''s eyes widened in horror as he realized his pitiful life was about to be ended, "C-C-C-C-CAP''N?!!? whYYYY?!?"

 Chapter 763 Bountiful Mercy

    ?Imperia turned away from the savagery, baring her teeth in a grimace... "I don''t understand. Krysaos is using... water magic?"

    "What''s not to understand?" Tycon raised an eyebrow. "You... are also a water-type mage."

    Imperia pursed her lips... "But the Corallidae... my spells are ineffective against them?"

    "Ah, that. Take it as a lesson, Imperia," Tycon nodded. "Krysaos'' aptitude over his spells is enough to pierce Wonderboy''s rockflesh without leaving enough residual mana in his wounds to activate his regeneration."

    He gave the youngdy a polite smile, "Your skill will reach this level in your lifetime... and with enough practice, sooner, rather thanter."

    "Krysaos'' magic..." The dark elf nodded quietly in thought, "Huh..."

    Granted, the precision of Krysaos'' spells wasrgely influenced by the Heart of the Ocean''s weapon spirit, Mina... but that wasn''t something Tycon felt the need to emphasize.

    Krysaos stabbed his rapier down towards Wonderboy''s chest, but right before that fellow was justifiably murdered, he quickly somersaulted backward.

    Having regained his footing he sent a horizontal sh at Krysaos that the Captain ducked. However, a second, diagonal cut-- Krysaos was forced to block, staggering him three steps backward.

    Wonderboy''s eyes again glowed with the Elven Ancient''s might. He crushed the mana-eel biting his arm with his bare hands and stood tall, brimming with catalyzed energy.

    "[Captain Krysaos, you-- hrrhnnngh...]"

    Suddenly, the Coral Boy doubled over... groaning in pain.

    Behind him, the meditating elf''s closed eyes were twitching. Drops of sweat ran down his forehead in droves.

    Krysaos massaged his wrist with his opposite hand, "Hey, uh... you okay, guy?"

    "[This... is a DUEL... Captain Krysaos,]" Wonderboy moaned... "[This... KING... needs not thy... bountiful m... ergh... mercy.]"

    The crowd had gone eerily quiet... until the silence was broken by a young half-elf child.

    "Daddy, why''s he holding his private parts like that?" It asked.

    "That man has taken great injury," The father responded... "Out of respect, we grant him this moment of peace."

    "Tycon..." Imperia whispered, "Can... can Krysaos actually win? My sovereign can''t use his magic..."

    "Doubtful," Tycon shrugged. "Observe the twobatants'' fighting positions."

    Imperia furrowed her brows... "I... don''t get it."

    Tycon sighed. The young Princess did not have a well-developed sense of martialbat.

    "Other than Wonderboy''s escape from Krysaos''st strike, the Coral Boy had not moved from his original position."

    The dark elf''s expression darkened and she returned her attention to the fight.

    "Well-- I appreciate it, tough guy," Krysaos nodded as he whirled his rapier, "?Water Lance?."

    From behind him, Tycon could hear Mina whisper... "?Sudden Spell? ?Razor''s Edge? ?Twin Lance? ?Triple Spell?..."

    She wasn''t holding back, either.

    The two made an excellent team.

    Tycon counted eighteen, bending, curving ?Water Lances? as they sprung up from a pool of water behind the human Captain. Each of them rocketed towards the radiant-eyed Wonderboy with fantastic speed and unerring uracy.

    Wonderboy righted his posture and... the ipetent buffoon closed his eyes. Each potentially lethal projectile, he slipped, dodged, or cut down with a sh of his swords.

    "Hey, wasn''t that guy blinded?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "This is IMPOSSIBLE!! Who ARE these people?!?"

    "They''re going so fast-- how can anyone follow those movements?!"

    "(So this is the power of the human named Krysaos...)"

    The crowd gasped in awe and horror... speaking in hushed tones, a mix of Common and Elven. Their reactions, however, were far different from the Coral Boy crew of the Neptune''s Revenge.

    "''URRY UP AN'' DIE, WONDERBOYYYY!!"

    "HIPPITY HOPPITY, EH?! CHOW''S IN LOIK ''ALF-A-BELL!!!"

    "I ''OPE DA CAP''N ''ITZ YOU IN DA BALLS AGAIN!!! LOIK FI''TTY MORE TIIIMES!!!"

    Even though King was clearly again in control of Wonderboy, it didn''t stop the fellow from loudly weeping tears and... blood, "I-it ''urts so BAAADDD, I wanna die! HONESSST!"

    "Ey boyyzz... if Wonderboy kicks da bucket," Catshit sneered, "We''z gonna be takin'' ''iz rack."

    "WOTTTT?! NOooOO!!"

    "We''z da wun SLEEPIN'' next to da git! WE''Z GET ''IZ RACK!"

    "An ''ow ''bout ''iz share o'' da rations?!"

    Tycon decided to stop paying attention to that side of the circle.

    Wonderboy... steadily crept forward. For each sword swing and ?Water Lance? deflected, he took a step. For each slip or dodge, he pirouetted diagonally, ever towards Krysaos, who was deep in concentration.

    Tycon saw the unease in the Captain''s eyes. Closebat might have been his forte... but engaging with the current Wonderboy was a potential disaster.

    At the very least, Wonderboy had learned better than to gloat. He continued to sob loudly as the Elven Ancient willed his stony body to brave the endless barrage.

    "H-how could Wonderboy move like that?" Imperia furrowed her brows, "Is... is my sovereign-- tell me truthfully, Tycon. Is he using his movement techniques?"

    "He is not," Tycon shrugged. "The Ancient is merely utilizing the Coral Boy''s body at the peak of his abilities, without fear or... concern for bodily harm."

    The man known as King was utilizing Wonderboy much like a rented horse or carriage. It wasn''t his... so subconsciously, he was acting with a high degree of recklessness.

    Worse still... in order to make up for the low affinity between the caster and target, the Ancient''s control-type magic was forcibly overriding Wonderboy''s functions...

    Tycon once force-activated his ?Commander''s Strike? on thete Sol Invictus member, Levi Wolfrider, to attack an opponent against his will.

    ...Once or thrice.

    The young man''s body sustained great injury in the process, straining muscles and connective tissues, and even damaging his mana circuits.

    Levi would have taken weeks to recover... if he hadn''t died shortly after.

    The way Wonderboy moved, flipping and hopping about-- should have been impossible considering his range of flexibility. If Coral Boys had bones underneath their rocky exteriors, then many of that fellow''s joints had certainly been broken.

    Wonderboy was also actively fighting against the Elven Ancient''s control... likely hoping to surrender as quickly as possible to avoid sustaining further injury.

    The damage to his spirit would not be small.

    If he were to survive... his fighting ability would be crippled for the next few weeks, even considering the physical regeneration granted by his bloodline.

    More likely, Wonderboy only had a few minutes to live. He would die on his feet, swords in hand.

    But in such a case... Captain Krysaos would be left the victor.

 Chapter 764 Apex Predator

    ?With an acrobatic flip, Wonderboy closed the distance with the Captain, bringing down his des from above.

    "?Ice BARRIER!!!?" Krysaos held out his left hand overhead, a half-fulm thick sheet of ice not quite blocking the blow... but giving him enough time to hop backward.

    "[Surrender, Captain Krysaos,]" Wonderboy whirled his des before holding them in a cross pattern over his chest. It was something the Elven Ancient liked to do. "[Thou art not only amoner facing a king... but a mortal facing a GOD.]"

    "Che! Like I give a shite about the gods," Krysaos spat... "And ANYROAD, I''m a gods-damned Captain of a gods-damned ship..."

    He pointed his rapier forward,ying his offhand atop his forearm, "and a gods-damned APEX PREDATOR!!! MINA!! Do the ?THING WE TALKED ABOUT!!!!?"

    Four spell-circles appeared at Krysaos'' feet, shining a harsh whitish blue. Water erupted skyward, fully enveloping the gentleman... and taking the shape of...

    ...Not an aquatic drake.

    ...Nor a sea leviathan.

    An Abyssal Sea Wolf would have been appropriate, but it wasn''t that either.

    It... could have been a shark? Those were dangerous water-dwelling creatures.

    "Imperia, what is that?" Tycondrius asked.

    The dark elf''s eyes were wide with horror, "It''s... a W-whitesaber Tuna!!!"

    Tycon looked back to Krysaos'' watery summon... "Ah. I see it now."

    Despite the Captain''s choice to conjure something Tycon thought of more as delicious rather than dangerous... he probably had good reason to do so.

    ...Krysaos was the water-mage, not him.

    Thus the giant... Whitesaber Tuna crashed down upon the tiny-byparison Wonderboy.

    Tycon kept his footing as water spilled outwardly into the area, the first wave going up to his knees, and subsequent waves, his ankles.

    Parents in the crowd scolded their children for hopping up and down or sshing their young siblings and peers.

    Tycon observed the spot where the Coral Boy should have most certainly been crushed into rocky mush.

    It exploded-- which thankfully, he was prepared for. He took a step behind Imperia as she reflexively put up a ?Mana Ward? to guard herself from the shower of mud.

    Wonderboy-- his eyes glowed white with fury as he lunged forward, punching Krysaos in the face while grabbing his wrist. In a savage motion, the Coral Boy wrenched the man''s arm until the Heart of the Ocean sshed into the shallow water.

    Tycon grimaced, upon realizing what had likely happened... though he could not yet confirm it.

    To the Captain''s credit, he reacted immediately, grabbing onto Wonderboy''s arm and immediately throwing him over his shoulder.

    Wonderboy dexterouslynded on his feet, then powered his elbow into Krysaos'' side.

    "GAH!!" Krysaos yelped in pain, dropping into the shallows with a muddy ssh.

    "[I will NOT lose to you, Krysaos!!!]" The Coral Boy dered.

    Slowly... Krysaos lifted his head, revealing the wide grin of a madman. He shot his arms out to the side, sheathing his forearms and fists with a protectiveyer of ice, "Then you better step up your game, boyo."

    Then... the two began to fight.

    ...without weapons.

    ...using only their... fists.

    It was... baffling.

    Krysaos might have had excellent skill at weight-maniption andbat throws... but boxing was... not one of his strong points.

    The man was beyond redemption, having chosen to continue fighting disarmed. However, his stubbornness was... somewhat admirable. At the very least... if his true goal was to impress Imperia, the dark elf girl had bepletely enthralled by his actions.

    Granted, he was still going to lose. Besides the Ancient''s centuries of developing the de Dance... the body he controlled also had the advantage of being multiplicativelyrger and stronger than he.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The crowd knew this. Their faces were not hopeful.

    Still, they spoke Krysaos'' words from a short while earlier.

    Talk. Sh*t. Get. Hit. Over and over.

    They stomped their feet into the mud as they repeated their new mantra.

    None were louder than the Coral Boys, of course... but it was an infectious chant.

    "Wh...why hasn''t he given up yet?" Imperia muttered... "This... is too much."

    "That''s the kind of man he is," Tycon mused, "a man worth following."

    "My NAME is Krysaos!!" The Captain shouted, "Scourge of the SEVENTEEN SEAS!!

    "Wielder of the gods-DAMNED MASTER SWORD!!!

    "Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge, the best GODS-DAMNED CREW IN THE F*CKIN'' REALM!!!"

    "And I WILL!!!" He smashed a hammer fist into Wonderboy''s face, but took a punch to the kidney for his troubles.

    "HAVE!!" He ducked another hook, powering one of his own into the center of Wonderboy''s belly.

    "Your RESPECT!!!" He slipped to the side, Wonderboy''s punch clipping the side of his head and drawing blood.

    "Go DOWN, you SONUVA B*TCH!!!" Krysaos shouted, powering an icy overhand towards Wonderboy''s face.

    Wonderboy shot his own right forward, his own fury apparent, "[FALL, MORTAL!!!!]"

    Krysaos'' fist struck first, the ice cracking and shattering against Wonderboy''s head... but itcked the strength of his earlier blows. The Coral Boy didn''t even flinch.

    That fellow''s fist smashed into Krysaos'' nose,unching the human backward through the air where hended in a puddle.

    Wonderboy took a step forward, eyes still glowing in rage.

    --but that was enough.

    In a smooth motion, Tycon unsheathed his sword and hurled it between the two. It stuck in the mud just short of Wonderboy''s feet.

    The lime-green Coral Boy slowly turned his head... "[WHAT... is... the meaning of this?]"

    Tycon gestured over to Krysaos'' corner of the arena... where Mina sat upon the muddy dirt, struggling to breathe. She had run out of mana... and her summoner was likely not doing much better.

    The Coral Boy rxed his posture, closed his eyes... and nodded.

    It was done.

    Tycon raised his voice, addressing not just King, but the crowd, "The match has been determined!"

    All at once, the crowd erupted in cheers.

    "Good fight!! Best fight I''ve ever seen!!"

    "That Corallidus ''sa TOUGH sumb*tch!!!!"

    "That Krysaos guy wasn''t no slouch, either!!"

    "--Wait, Krysaos? That-- that guy and his crew took out the Knights of SARLEON!!!"

    "Damn good fight!! Daaaamn gooood!!!"

    Of course, the... reaction of Krysaos'' crew was far different... starting with Petty Officer Bob.

    "YOU''LL PAY FOR ''AT YOU MUTINOUS GIT!!!"

 Chapter 765 House Moonwell

    ?Petty Officer Bob, thergest and... heaviest Coral Boy, was first to act. Heunched himself off of two supporting crewmen''s shoulders, soaring over Tycondrius with a mighty leap.

    "Oh," Imperia frowned. "That can''t be good for Wonderboy."

    "You don''t say..." Tycon muttered.

    Bobnded on the unarmored ''mutinous git'' and immediately began showering the back of the fellow''s head with dozens of punches-- every one filled with murderous intent.

    In the span of several seconds, Wonderboy was... covered in a pile of several of his peers. Those near the bottom were punching and biting. Those higher were... redundant, but admirable all the same.

    The pained cries for mercy fell upon deaf ears... Tycon''s ears included.

    The Elven Ancient, still in his corner, got to his feet... saying nothing.

    Imperia looked at Tycon, pouting to show her concern.

    Tycon furrowed his brows, then waved to dismiss her. It was odd, as the willful girl rarely asked for permission for anything... nor did she need to, from him or anyone.

    The dark elf gingerly hurried to King''s side... "My sovereign... you''ve won."

    "You are mistaken, Sapling." King''s eye twitched in displeasure, "That... was not a fight to determine a winner. It was... a disy of conviction."

    Taking a breath, the Ancient addressed Imperia''s troops, "(Hear me, children of earth and sky. I respect that man.) Any who dares otherwise... I will not forgive."

    Though shocked, the elves stood up one by one, each rendering salutes.

    ''(I hear you, sovereign,)'' They said...

    From the disdain that remained in their expressions, those words may have been heard... but perhaps not taken to heart.

    Tycon walked over to where the elf-controlled Wonderboy''s swords had fallen, no longer hidden by water... He quietly stored the shattered remnants in his spatial ring, so not to cause undue attention.

    The fight was over.

    As the Ancient had said, Krysaos had shown his conviction... and his deration to Imperia''s elves was proof of his eptance.

    None needed to know that King had channeled Gold-Rank mana into his weapons to guard against Krysaos and Mina''s final attack.

    ...Just as none needed to know that Mina''s mana reserves were greatly diminished without her enchanted tiara. Tycon made a mental note to have Petty Officer Bob recover it from Stickyfingers at his earliest convenience.

    "Ishmael, assist me in seeing to Lieutenant Mina and the Captain."

    ...

    Krysaos'' injuries were light enough that he''d recover within the sun with the help of Tycondrius'' healing Skill, ?Inspirational Surge?. Both suffered from mana exhaustion-- Mina far worse than that of her summoner.

    They were both fools for having recklessly wasted their resources.

    Thankfully, Tycon was nning on shifting the responsibility of the Elven Ancient and his cursed des onto Whitehearth''s leadership. The task of properly removing the curse would likely be an adventure unnecessarily fraught with danger... one that he and the crew had no business in dealing with.

    Tycon installed the master and servant pair in a private inn room-- the cheapest he could find in one of Whitehearth''s lower districts. There was coin enough from fencing spoils pilfered from the bottom of the ocean.

    To keep them safe, he also ordered Petty Officer Bob to remain in the area until further notice.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...He did not buy inn rooms for the Coral Boy crewmen, but they had the coin to do so themselves if they so wished. Most likely, they''d mill about the district... undoubtedly attracting trouble.

    They would likely prove problematic for the city atrge. However, in such a case, it was more effective for Tycon to seek the Arcanite Princess'' forgiveness rather than her permission.

    It also made it appropriate for him to see her immediately.

    Tycon made his way to thergest and oldest tree-building in Whitehearth, sky-blue and purplish banners adorning the entrance. The symbol of House Moonwell was a depiction of a stone water well covered in stylistic thorned vines.

    Brambles, perhaps.

    It looked familiar... but the symbology used by elves weremonly shared amongst their houses.

    Bows and arrows. Animals. A ded weapon of some kind.

    Variable-petaled flowers.

    They were all rather droll... neither memorable nor important enough tomit to memory.

    As a wee surprise, Tycon''s reception from House Moonwell was substantially better than at House Highde''s Green Corn Tower.

    In the span of several minutes he was greeted... politely. He was ushered into the structure, offered a drink, and afortable seat to wait upon. A half-elf even offered him fried dough-bread zed with sugar, spoke to him affably about the weather, and inquired about his impression of the city.

    All that and without Tycon needing to de-fang a single guard.

    Soon enough, a messenger-construct delivered word that the Arcanite Princess had been kind enough to take time out of her busy schedule to meet with him.

    He was escorted to the meeting ce. It wasn''t quite an office-- more of a semi-private study, filled with a half-dozen tables, open books on magical theory, and reasonably ordered stacks of papers in various ces.

    Ophelia Moonwell was a young female elf around Tycon''s physical and mental age. She was of average height amongst her kin-- slightly shorter than he was, and had brilliant green hairprising thin vines, which also sprouted aesthetically-pleasing tiny leaves and flower buds.

    "Where the f*ck is he, Tycon?"

    She was also the fiancee of Sol Invictus member Tarquin Wroe, actual name Prince Landris Wyndham of Whitehearth.

    Tycon felt the end of his mouth twitch as he forced a smile.

    "Good afternoon, Princess Ophelia. It''s... nice to see you, too."

    Despite the elf girl''s obvious fury, he remained calm and nonchnt. Within the past year or so he''d solidified his abilities as a Gold-Rank adventurer and had even handled multiple Adamantine-Rank threats with cunning and ingenuity.

    The probability that Ophelia could reasonably threaten him was low.

    ? System analysis: ss and power level. ?

    ? System response: ss and rank hidden by magical effect. ?

    Correction: the probability that Ophelia could reasonably threaten him was... considerable.

    Empty night.

    ",

 Chapter 766 Arcanite Princess

    ?Princess Ophelia likely wore an item enchanted with an ?Obscuration? effect, blocking attempts at scrying for her location and analysis magic. Tycondrius wore simr, the effect granted by an amulet he wore around his neck.

    He nced down, spying the ring the elf wore on her left hand.

    That was probably it.

    "Oy," She red. "My eyes are up here."

    "Ah, of course," Tycon smiled apologetically. "Ophelia! You look, uh... moisturized. I heard about the face cream."

    The elf mmed her tiny hand upon a nearby surface, literally gnashing her teeth in rage, "Don''t y games with me, Tycondrius! Where the HELLS is my fiancee?"

    Thin green vines slithered down her arm and began to bore into the wood. Within seconds, the sturdy table was irrevocably ruined, torn apart and crushed.

    From the look on her face, the effect was unintentional.

    It was rather intimidating, though, as the same could be feasibly done to an Iron-Rank adventurer.

    ? System, inquiry: What was Ophelia''s power level ording to my past memories? ?

    ? System response: Gold-Rank Elven Folium Cyclone. ?

    Gold-Rank. Also... that was a high-tier ss, if unapologetically Elven.

    And thus... Ophelia''s unintentional tendril-crush could be feasibly done to himself.

    Tycon calmly began to review his exit strategies-- calcting how many guards he''d need to cripple or kill in order to escape. He slowly took a breath and raised his chin... hoping his posturing would make her think twice about attacking him.

    "Honestly, Princess... I was hoping Mister Wroe was with you."

    "And just WHY haven''t you been responding to my letters?!" Ophelia seethed, "Prince Droghan and Sect Leader Zuko, I can understand, but YOU?!"

    She mmed her desk again with her palm, her angry vines retracting all at once and sinking back into her skin... "Only sweet Be responded. I don''t know what I''d do without her..."

    ? Her anger was abating... That was good. He could build on that.

    "And... what did she say?" Tycon asked politely.

    "She said HE WAS WITH YOUUUU!!!"

    There was... a lot of ambient mana in the air, emanated heedlessly from a very angry woman.

    It was intimidating. Tycon was intimidated.

    Unfortunately, he couldn''t help her, even if he wished. He''d no clue of the whereabouts of Tarquin Wroe.

    ...If the case had been... normal, he''d imply that the gentleman was safe and ounted for.

    There was an implicit code between brothers to not betray each others'' locations. This would allow a man to fornicate outside of monogamy or participate in other unsavory actions without incurring the wrath of their actual partner.

    Tycon decided to dodge the question. Ophelia was an elf, well-familiar with trickery and deceit. She''d understand the implications with Tycon being absolved of any guilt by association.

    That and speaking inly would probably get him injured or killed.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Ophelia, concerning the missives... did you send them to... Charm?"

    "Stars and stones, Tycon," The woman crossed her arms, taking in a haltered breath, "Where... else... would I send them?"

    Tycon averted his gaze, smiling in chagrin, "I... haven''t been home to check my mail in quite some time."

    He had also not given his mother or sister a forwarding address. It was... an oversight.

    "I still want answers, Tycon," Ophelia scowled, "and I have dozens of Divine Armors in mymand that will ensure you won''t leave my city until I get them."

    "Ah, speaking of," Tycon smirked. "I tested out the capabilities of one of yours... its designation was Talks-With-Fire?"

    "D-don''t try to change the subject, you," Ophelia stuttered, faltering only slightly. "Talks-With-Fire is a second-generation armor with a third-generation Arcanite Core, tuned for mana-efficiency and reduced-strain on his physical parts. The basic weapon systems integrated in either arm were designed with repurposed risers from House Windwhisper''s ?Lesser Wind Cyclone?, converted with the studies headed by..."

    Tycon waited patiently as he listened to the Arcanite Princess gush about her creation.

    He was d he recognized Ophelia''s mana signature when he was reconfiguring Talks-With-Fire''s mana circuits. Besides his familiarity with his friend''s fiancee''s logical processes expediting his work, his side-quest to save Coraline and Elle had granted him a lifesaving shield: something for the two of them to converse about.

    Ophelia Moonwell was far better at working with spell circles than he was, and he liked to think that their understanding of magical theory was at least simr. However, her... exuberance when discussing the topic bordered on... obsessive.

    "--therefore," Ophelia wore a confident smirk as she ced her fingers on her cor, "it is a matter of COURSE that Talks-With-Fire could handle any and all challenges you''ve encountered in the Southern ins or the Cascadia Hignds."

    Tycon casually ced his hands behind his back, "I took part in a Divine Armor duel against a gentleman by the name of Notaku."

    Ophelia bounded over the table, scattering books and scribbled notes onto the floor as she grabbed onto Tycon''s arms.

    "You fought MANY-BIG-GUNS?! Tell me! How was it?! How did theypare?!?"

    The woman had a tinge of madness in her eyes.

    Also, she was... drooling.

    "O-ophelia," Tycon tried to move his arms, but her grip was quite fierce, "this... is not appropriate."

    "Psh," Ophelia rolled her eyes-- but released him, "Still a virgin, Tycon? Or did Cass finally tie you up and take you for herself?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "That is... also not appropriate."

    The answer to both was no.

    ording to his memories, the original-Tycon had plenty of sexual experience... and the good fortune of having a small number of lovely, consensual partners, himself.

    ...Also, he hadn''t a clue as to what his sister, Cass, had to do with the conversation.

    Eventually, Tycon gave into Ophelia''s inquiries-- concerning her Divine Armors, anyroad.

    They took to a cushioned bench, opening a dialogue about Talks-With-Fire''s power source recement and how they handled the increased strain. They shared their thoughts on Many-Big-Guns'' overreliance on its weapon systems, its ability to operate after sustaining damage and duress, and its general mobility concerns.

    All Tycon had to do to avoid being crushed to death by nt tendrils... was to keep her interest.

    ",

 Chapter 767 Youâ€™re Going

    ?A bell and a half passed quickly enough.

    Ophelia called for a chalkboard to be wheeled in, for her and Tycondrius to better deliberate what they identified as the foremost issue. Many-Big-Guns'' switch-type spell circle architecture was unable to handle the transitioning between an idle-state and one with a catalyzed rate of mana depletion.

    They spent over a third of the time arguing... which was worth three potential, if theoretical solutions.

    All were wed. None, they mutually agreed upon.

    It was, however, an overall enjoyable discussion.

    Unfortunately, the Arcanite Princess eventually remembered that Tycon''s purpose wasn''t to improve her Divine Armor crafting.

    "But... I digress," Ophelia sighed deeply as she rubbed her temples... "Wine?"

    "Please."

    Ophelia stood up, shook her legs out, and poured what smelled to be Elven wine into two wooden cups. That she kept alcoholic beverages in her research area was excellent foresight on her part.

    "So the way I''m taking it is... you''ve no idea as to my fiancee''s whereabouts," She said as she offered Tycon his cup. "You don''t have the balls to lie to me, Ivory Prince."

    "Uh... thank you."

    ...He wanted to argue, but the resulting conversation would go nowhere. Thankfully, the subtle notes of ckberries, the delicate touch of oak, and the hint of ck pepper made up for the insult.

    "Where''s Quies, then?" Ophelia asked before taking a tiny, elf-girl sip of her wine, "I''ll just have him scold you... not that you''d listen to him, but I''m sure he''d annoy you half to--"

    "He''s dead," Tycon interrupted.

    She spoke of the previous leader of Sol Invictus, Pathfinder Quies. Though he hadn''t seen the fellow''s corpse, Tycon was reasonably confident of that particr elf''s fate.

    "Oh..." Ophelia frowned... "I''m sorry."

    Tycon found it amusing that her vibrant hair seemed to wilt slightly at the news. She shared that particr idiosyncrasy with his medusa sister, War Princess Cassiopeia.

    "Worry not, Sister Ophelia," Tycon smiled. "Quay''s son is alive and well--st I checked, anyroad."

    "Is that so?" Ophelia''s eyes shot up, before again frowning... "Who''s the mother? That Highde Princess?"

    "...N-no."

    "One of the dark elf girls from House Darkwalker?"

    "Princess Briza? No..." Tycon shook his head. "The boy is half-human."

    "Wait, don''t tell me..." Ophelia furrowed her green brows... "Archbishop Natalya Crucis? Some kind of... red-haired hero?"

    "I highly doubt that he''s had rtions with Natalya," Tycon smiled wryly.

    It was not the first time he''d heard that suggestion. However, Ophelia was partially correct.

    "I''d like to meet him, then," The Arcanite Princess nodded. "Is he with you?"

    "He''s adventuring with the... Holy Country''s High Oracle in the Sleeping Country."

    "Holy... huh," Ophelia tilted her head. "What... ss is he?"

    "Hero," Tycon smirked. "As you''d assumed."

    Ophelia slowly lolled her head up and nodded... "I want to say that''s... unbelievable-- but it sounds about right for Quay''s son."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "That Sol Invictus is working for Lady Troia is rted to my presence this sun," Tycon inclined his head. "The High Oracle has tasked me personally with returning the des of the Forgotten King to you and City-State Whitehearth."

    "Huh... The Child Princess?" Ophelia pursed her lips, "I''d thought you were sent by the Highdes?"

    "Is that so?" Tycon rubbed his chin in thought... "House Highde *is* strangely confident in me."

    "It is a wonder... the Highdes are probably the most inclusive family in the Realm. Empty night... What did you *do*, Tycon?"

    Tycon shrugged, "I suppose it''s because... I gave them justice."

    It wasn''t something he could take full credit for. He wouldn''t have cared much to do so in the first ce, if it weren''t for the insistence of Coraline Heartsong and thete Lone Shadowdark.

    "That''ll do it," Ophelia nodded. "The artifacts, then?"

    "I''ve brought the swords'' host... and the swords along with him," Tycon sighed before taking a deep pull of wine... "Ophelia, concerning the curse--"

    Ophelia held up her hand, "If I may... the curse has been detailed in Lieutenant Teneca Highde''s report, among my other sources."

    "Ah, very good. I''ve brought a researcher from the Sapphire Tower to assist in the process. She has a personal stake in freeing her boyfriend from the artifact''s domination effect."

    "Miss Heartsong! Wonderful," Ophelia pped her hands together. "Then you have a goodunching off point for decursing the swords."

    Tycon nearly choked on his wine. That... was not what he had agreed upon when he epted Troia''s quest.

    "I''d... really rather not," Tycon forced a smile and a strained chuckle. "Aha... I have... things to do, Ophelia. You-- you understand."

    Ophelia sat on her desk, pursing her lips, "The task is easily a Gold-Rank quest if not higher, Tycon... and I''m the only Gold-Rank in Whitehearth.

    "As my rivals have long since discovered my fiancee''s disappearance, my presence alone is the only thing keeping the city''s upper echelons from going for each others'' throats. Thus, I will task you, Prince Tycondrius, in decursing the swords."

    "This... is not my problem," Tycon grimaced.

    "Oh, Ivory Prince~" Ophelia fluttered her eyshes, "Do this for me and I''ll grant you full reign of Landris'' metalshapers."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... "Would I not have them, otherwise?"

    "Nope! With my fiancee absent, they''re *mine*," She scoffed. "Ohhh~ think of all the coin you''d save."

    The thought gave Tycon pause.

    "...I suppose I can ask Captain Krysaos and the Neptune''s Revenge to take the quest," He muttered... "but I see little to no benefits for myself."

    "From the reports I read, I learned that the Forgotten King has taken control of one of your precious guild members."

    "I already have a recement," Tycon scowled.

    He''d recruited a young boy named Rickert in the western parts of the States. He was... seven... and he had no special potential to speak of. Still, Tycon was confident he''d grow into the role... eventually.

    "And how long would it take to train him?"

    Tycon took a deep breath and sighed... "A decade, perhaps... six or eight years, if I''m lucky."

    "You''re helping, Tycon," Ophelia smirked.

    Tycon bent over, rubbing his hands on his face, "It''s... still not enough..."

    ",

 Chapter 768 Secret Dungeon

    ?Tycondrius was in the Eastern States as a favor to High Oracle Troia.

    When he was tricked into destroying the Snake Cult in her Holy Country, he could at least fool himself into thinking he was solidifying his rtionship with House Vanzano.

    Athena... the child-sister of Maximus of Ezyria-- that was different.

    Tycon helping Ophelia held... excruciating little value.

    She was his friend''s fiancee. He owed her nothing besides civility and vice versa.

    Her position gave her advantages in projects utilizing Arcanite... but Tycon didn''t care to have any but his most elite troops armored in such. .

    Her craft gave her specialized esoteric knowledge... but Tycon didn''t need to field additional Divine Armors beside Gaheris and Talks-With-Fire... nor was he willing to expend the resources for the frivolity.

    And Ophelia was asking Tycon to take... yet another Gold-Rank quest.

    ...He really didn''t want to.

    He just wanted to go home...

    --where he needed to go toplete his initial Gold-Rank quest for Medusa Queen Rnia.

    --which was probably going to end in a life-or-death duel against his tyrant of a mother to win the right to marry Elle and be a family man.

    Empty. f*cking. night.

    Granting favors. Owing factors. Give and take, give and take.

    Tycon groaned into his palms, wishing he could just do what Martialists did... seal themselves in a cave for a hundred years and masturbate-- or whatever they did, until they reached the next Metal-Rank.

    Once an adventurer was strong enough, they didn''t have to give a shite about what rules they bent or broke.

    Unfortunately... it''d take more than a few hundred years for Tycon to reach Adamantine-Rank. That would mean abandoning Elle. That''d mean wasting whatever potential that Rickert child had.

    In order to get stronger than what he was... Tycon had to gain power like most other people did.

    Allies. Equipment. Knowledge.

    Gathered by doing f*cking favors.

    "Fine. What else do you want? " Opheliaughed as she crossed her legs, a tinge of rosiness in her cheeks... "Is it me?"

    What? No.

    Before Tycon could answer, the womanughed in his face, "Just kidding! Sorry, Ivory Prince. I''ll be faithful to the end of my suns to my fool of a fiancee. But really... I''ll ede to any reasonable request."

    ...Tycon pursed his lips and nodded. Though he didn''t like beingughed at... there wasn''t anything substantial to be upset about.

    He sat for a moment, mulling it over... it would behoove him to request something difficult for the Arcanite Princess, but not impossible. Then, he could reasonably reject her quest without loss of face.

    He didn''t want to be Ophelia''s pet snake, but he was intelligent enough to not burn any bridges.

    The Arcanite Princess was the eldest and most powerful female in her house... and one of her family''s most guarded secrets was the location of her House''s titr Moonwell. And that too was guarded within an Ancient Elven temple--plete with a Dungeon Core that ensured its puzzles were reset, the traps were ever empowered, and that hostile summoned creatures guarded its halls.

    "Princess Ophelia," Tycon opened his eyes. "I want the location of the Water Temple."

    "Alright."

    "Gods damn it, woman!" Tycon shouted, "That''s not how you''re supposed to y the game!"

    "I win, b*tch!" Opheliaughed.

    Tycon slid down on his bench, sitting with his back against the wall and covering his face to hide his frustration.<novelnext></novelnext>

    For all his bluster, he was not a clever man. Rather... he was a gods-forsaken fool.

    The Water Temple was too great of an advantage to ignore. It was also a location sacred to the followers of the ''sea god''... so Captain Krysaos would need its location, eventually.

    Though Ophelia didn''t seem to regard it highly, her situation must have left her truly desperate to so easily give in to his demands.

    "I''ll scribe the ritual for you in my spare time," Ophelia smugly sipped on her drink. "I hope you understand that I can''t go with you, though."

    Tycon tried to keep a stern face-- even though he wanted to break everything in Ophelia''sb, "While your assistance would be a great boon... I understand."

    Ophelia leaned forward, "You''ll be fiiiiiine, Ivory Prince."

    Her eyes lit up with ramping excitement, "So who''s with you? Did you bring Miss Be? I haven''t seen her in over a decade."

    "No," Tycon sighed... "ording to Miss Coraline, Be should have returned to Archangel or is in the process of doing so..."

    "Lulu?"

    "In the north. General Raelion. Brink of war with the ne of Fire."

    Ophelia''s face had fallen and she was beginning to show her concern... "Mister Levi?"

    "Killed in a wizard''s tower," Tycon tapped his forehead. "Hole bored in his skull."

    "Tycon..." The elf frowned, massaging her temples, "Did you bring... *any* Sol Invictus members?"

    "I did not."

    "So besides yourself, you have what? A ship Captain, a talking sword, and two dozen brave but barely-sentient rocks. And you somehow expect to seed?"

    "Don''t be absurd," Tycon sat up, sweeping his hair back, "I alone will be eno--"

    Ophelia threw her empty cup.

    He caught it... but not before it bounced off his head.

    "Ophelia... that hurt."

    "Really, Ivory Prince," She scowled. "Are you trying to say that you *alone* can delve through the Water Temple, best its puzzles and traps, and defeat whatever eldritch *horrors* roam that ce?!"

    Eldritch horrors?

    That particr Dungeon was... more daunting of a proposition than he''d originally estimated.

    Tycon bared his teeth, "I''d like to say... yes."

    "You, *Prince Tycondrius* are Gold-Rank now," Ophelia groaned. "With your bloodline, you can''t *lie* to me anymore."

    "Astute."

    He was feeling a bit... miffed that Ophelia knew his rank despite his Amulet of Obscuration. Her spies were certainly well-informed.

    "In case you''ve forgotten," Ophelia pointed at her tapered ears, "I am an *elf*, Tycon. You won''t be winning any word games with me. Do you EVEN own a single pair of iron boots? A hookshot?"

    "I''ll... figure it out," Tycon averted his gaze.

    It did not feel good being scolded... especially as he was in the wrong.

    Ophelia ced her hands on her hips, a power pose that made her lookpetent despite her short stature.

    "The Water Temple is a sacred ce that less than a dozen have challenged in thousands of years. The traps? Deadly as Grimtooth''s. The puzzles? Infuriating as Acererak''s. The creatures? The stuff of nightmares detailed in the book of Ninomae, herself!"

 Chapter 769 Too Nice

    ?Tycondrius wanted nothing more than to discount Ophelia''s ramblings as meaningless family propaganda. Unfortunately, there was probably an inkling of truth to her outrageous ims.

    Conquering the Water Temple was not going to be easy. No one was going to like it. It was entirely possible that they''d all die there and lose the resources he''d amassed.

    "TYCON!" Ophelia raised her voice again, "at LEAST give me a good reason!"

    "My uh... friend, per se..." Tycon reclined in his seat, his palms resting on the back of his neck... "he wants to kill the sea god."

    The Arcanite Princess was not convinced. She drained thest of her wine before ring down at Tycon with crossed arms.

    "Really? You have *friends*, Tycon?"

    "Yes?" Tycon furrowed his brows... "Are... *we* not friends, Ophelia?"

    Ophelia''s face scrunched up in confusion, "What?"

    "We just spent some two bells in intellectual discourse."

    "Because you were trying to prove me wr--" Ophelia paused, "No... Huh."

    Her eyes widened for a half-second, as if something had finally dawned on her... "You''ve... given me a lot to think about."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Is that supposed to be an issue? Thinking?"

    "You''re... a lot nicer than you used to be, Tycon-- too nice..." The Moonwell sat down on the table across from Tycon and re-crossed her legs, "Tell me. What''s changed?"

    Tycon was tempted to tell her that he wasn''t actually the previous Tycondrius she''d met... that his consciousness awoke a few years prior and everything since had been him trying to-- for the want of a better term, un-f*ck the problems he kept running into.

    Admittedly, he was often tempted to abandon his myriad of quests... abandon his current sham of a life and go on a hedonistic rampage.

    Copious amounts of alcohol. Murder. Carnal rtions that may or may not be within the confines of monogamy... Murder.

    But that''s not how the world works. Tycon was a... just man who woke up in a foreign-yet-familiar world with superpowers. All he''d done since was to settle his debts so he could do as he liked without any tethers of obligation.

    ...That was the goal, anyroad.

    He took a deep sigh and offered a guilted smile... "Maybe it''s because... I have a girlfriend now?"

    Thankfully, those words provided Ophelia a substantial amount of relief.

    "I''d like to meet with her, then," She shrugged, "--to thank her personally."

    The indirect insult did not go unnoticed.

    Tycon crossed his arms, "I can''t have changed that much."

    "You''re taking quests on behalf of others," Opheliaughed. "If it were only earning favor from House Highde, I''d understand... but you''ve nothing to gain from the Princess of the same Holy Country that cast House Charm out so many centuries ago..."

    "I have plenty to gain," Tycon grumbled.

    "Oh? And the womanizer-Captain''s quest to kill the Sea God?" Ophelia winked.

    "He''s not... too terrible of a person," Tycon averted his gaze.

    Not that he didn''t enjoy thepany of intelligent women, but Ophelia was being rather rude to continue touching upon the many holes in his arguments.

    Ophelia let out a deep sigh, "Which also means that with your newfound conscience, you''d have volunteered Landris'' location if you had it."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "N-not necessarily," Tycon mustered a re.

    "At least the pride of the Ivory Prince hasn''t changed," Ophelia scoffed... "It''s just... extended a bit further beyond just yourself."

    She slipped the ring off of her left hand, examining it with reverent care... "I''m worried about him, Tycon... He''s never been away this long... no letters, no way to contact him..."

    Ophelia held it up, rotating it enough for Tycon to see the words engraved on the inside.

    [Till death do us part.]

    It was somewhat ominous, considering the lifespan of half the partnership.

    "It was his idea," She whispered thoughtfully... as if she felt the need to exin.

    "Noble of him to do so," Tycon rolled his eyes. "Humans don''t live as long as we do."

    Ophelia smirked. "I love him. That will never change... not in this life. Do you remember when I asked for your help in amending a particr contract ritual?"

    "No," Tycon replied honestly.

    "I changed the contract without the knowledge of my husband-to-be," Ophelia said in a soft voice. It was as if she''d rehearsed the line so often she no longer knew the words meant... "The contract will stand until my death, but not his. Elves are a stubborn lot."

    That was... somewhat wrong. Elves were a seemingly fickle lot. They tended to react to events considering decades and centuries rather than a more-human view of seconds and suns.

    "Women," Tycon groaned as he stood up. "Women, Ophelia, are a stubborn lot."

    Ophelia ignored him despite her Elven ears. She continued staring at her ring, lost to her nostalgia.

    ...colored thirteen shades of pathetic.

    The woman was rude, arrogant, petty... and an elf. Still... from what Tycon knew, she was a good person. And she was... something of a ''friend''-- enough from him to feel obligated into doing or saying something nice.

    He walked over to her and... patted her on the back.

    Physical contact was a sign of reassurance. It also cost him nothing.

    "I... apologize," Ophelia wiped away a tear. "This is unbing of me as a leader."

    "Your words, not mine," Tycon waved.

    The woman''s gaze darkened immediately.

    ...Though Tycon had the best intentions in mind, that seemed to be... the incorrect thing to say. To cover up for his mistake, he felt obligated to provide further assurance.

    "I''m sure he''s... alive?" He offered, "He''s too stupid to die."

    "That''s what we said about Quay," Ophelia frowned.

    Tycon pursed his lips, "I''m trying to lift your spirits, woman."

    "Is that what you''re doing?" The elf sighed dreamily as she reced her ring on her finger, "I have a lot to warn your girlfriend about when I meet her."

    Tycon flinched as if the words wounded him... but it wasn''t something he could be upset about. Ophelia had a knack for insulting him... for targeting ws he should be more keenly aware of.

 Chapter 770 Honest Worry

    ?"I... would appreciate that," Tycondrius inclined his head. "Her name is Elle and I am quite... smitten with her."

    "I look forward to meeting the most miraculous snake tamer in the Realm," Ophelia nodded, "I''ve prepared you a list of armors, weaponsmiths, and restaurants in my city."

    It was obvious she''d fully expected him to ept her quest. He tried not to let it bother him... instead, taking sce that her preparations had been thorough.

    "Thank you, Ophelia," Tycon smiled. "That will be most helpful."

    "Of course," She smiled back... still nostalgic, "and... thank you for listening."

    "Listening costs me nothing," Tyconughed.

    "Take the damnpliment, Maedar," Ophelia rolled her eyes.

    "Tss. Right."

    "Oh, and before I forget," The elf sighed, shook her head... and granted him an umonly gentle smile, "Wee to Whitehearth... old friend."

    ...

    ? Elsewhere in Whitehearth. ?

    Coraline opted to order her favorite wine to go with her afternoon meal.

    Not too much, though! One ss would be fine. The dark cherry fruitiness was perfect for cutting into the fattiness of the meats.

    "I''m just... a little surprised? I guess?" Elle said.

    She was holding up a wheat cracker topped with a slice of Tyrion cured pork, "I thought elves were... vegetarian?"

    "Most are. It''s just easier that way," Coraline beamed. "Meat''s not taboo in our culture. Being wasteful is."

    "Mmmm," The taller woman nodded as she munched on some of Whitehearth''s finest... "Tastes like home. So I guess that''s why everything''s smoked or cured, then?"

    "Mhm! Though, personally, I prefer the breads and preserves. Ooh. Honey."

    "I''ll pass on the honey," Elle bared her teeth. "Almost got killed by a giant metal bear, you know. Anyroad, the thin-sliced pork with the pepper cheese is mMmm... to *die* for."

    She kissed the tips of her fingers and the two shared augh over the silliness of it.

    Coraline quietly sipped on her chilled wine through her paper straw... Maybe the alcohol was getting to her a bit, but her thoughts drifted back to... her boyfriend.

    She''d wanted to bring Lone back to the Eastern States... to see her... to maybe meet her mom... to go out on a lunch date-- just like she was having with Elle.

    But... he was... pretty much dead. If temporarily.

    And Elle... she...

    Coraline groaned loudly as she rested her elbows on the table, her chin on her hands... "I still can''t believe you''re sleeping with my boyfriend''s boss."

    "This again?" Elle pouted, "Oh,e on, Coraline. I''ve apologized a hundred times... and... and--"

    "Mhm?" Coraline slurped thest bits of her cup. She was strongly considering the benefits and drawbacks of ordering another...

    "I think... I''m in love with him." Elle said.

    Coraline had to concentrate to not blow wine out of her nose. It would have been a waste of good wine-- and it wasn''t a very Elven thing to do.

    Elle was blushing. She was... being serious.

    "S-stars and stones, Ellie..." Coraline puffed her cheeks," That''s... deep. You... f''real?"

    "Y-yeah..." Elle gave her a slight smile-- a little guilty, a little not-really, "You''re not... mad, are you?"

    "No, nooo~" Coraline waved her hands, "I''m happy for you. Really. It''s just... I dunno. Don''t you think he''s... kinda scary?"

    She could still remember the first time she and Tychon met. It wasn''t pleasant. Even when she thought he was a normal person, he was... unapproachable at best.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He was... intimidating. It was the eyes. Baron Tychon had the most striking eyes.

    "What? Really?" Elle tilted her head, tapping on her chin... "I mean-- when he''s with me, he''s always really sweet."

    "Ugh,e onnn," Coraline rolled her eyes. "You can tell that he''s only a pushover with you, right?"

    "Maybe a little," Elle smirked. "What''s he *supposed* to be like, then?"

    "He''s kind of a..." Coraline took a moment to find the right word... "--prick... And he throws a tantrum if he doesn''t get what he wants."

    "Haha!" Elleughed, "Okay. I can definitely see that. That''s... ah... kinda how he got me to sleep with him. I mean... I wanted it too, but..."

    "OoOkay!" Coraline held her hand out, "Alright! Got it. Don''t need to know aaaaany more''n that!"

    "S-sorry," Elle giggled.

    Coraline narrowed her eyes...

    "What''s up, buttercup?" Elle pursed her lips.

    "So... how big''s his thing?"

    "I''m not sharing my boyfriend, Coraline," Elle teased.

    "I know!" Coraline squeaked-- a bit too loud, "I''m just-- I was just-- hey. It''s not a crime to be curious."

    "It''s about... this big? Is that normal?"

    "Nice-- I mean... dehh--- I dunno? I don''t really have a lot of references."

    Coraline felt her ears twitch as she looked away and across the street.

    "...Have you ever seen one?"

    "Of course, I''ve seen one!" Coraline hmphed. "I might''ve even seen two! --but that''s not enough to determine an average."

    She felt... not-so-great for her to lie to her new bestie so openly... but it was embarrassing that she''d been together with her boyfriend for so long without... doing that.

    Coraline was nning for her first to be Lone... and when she asked to sleep in his bed, he agreed.

    But then he LEFT the room to sleep somewhere else!

    It... was something she should have expected from that rock-brained idiot, but she was still upset about it.

    "But enough about me!" Coraline snapped, "We''re talking about YOU!"

    "I hear you, Princess of Heartsong," Elle snickered.

    "Quiiiiit it," Coraline groaned, "I''m not a Princess... even though I feel like literally everyone else we hang out with is."

    Elle put aforting hand on top of hers. It was a really big hand-- butforting, all the same, "What do you wanna talk about?"

    "There''s... something you should know," Coraline pursed her lips.

    She... might have been a little jealous of Sir Tychon and Elle''s rtionship, but they were friends. She had to advise her bestie the best she could because she cared.

    And that meant... that if Sir Tychon was trying to hide something from Elle... it was Coraline''s duty to bring it up... so at least they could... talk about it?

    It wasn''t jealousy. It was honest worry.

    "Elle... I dunno how to tell you this, but... Sir Tychon isn''t human."

    ",

 Chapter 771 Real Mage

    ?Coraline pursed her lips in worry. There was a huge risk in her telling Elle Baron Tychon''s secrets.

    It wasn''t a logical worry-- but it was something she somehow just... understood.

    She was a pretty important person. She was part of the prestigious Sapphire Tower, headed by Archmage Be Sapphira. And besides that, she was a friend to House Highde, a coalition of families that produced the best Elven demasters in the Realm.

    However... Coraline had never been the target of... that person''s ire.

    Sir Tychon... the leader of Sol Invictus.

    "Ohhh~" Elle raised her eyebrows. "That... makes a lot of sense, actually."

    "Um," Coraline squinted her eyes, "Why aren''t you surprised? That was supposed to be incredibly surprising."

    "Well... none of my friends are human," Elle shrugged. "I mean-- before meeting Tychon, it was just you and Gaheris."

    Coraline stood up, her chair screeching against the outdoor tile, "B-but he''s a literal SNAKE!!"

    One of the waiters approached their table, "Ladies, please pardon the interruption but... we have other guests."

    "S-sorry! Sorry," Coraline sat back down and lowered her head... "Sorry..."

    "Coraline..." Elle cooed, "It''ll be fine."

    "Won''t be fine," Coraline said breathily, "He''s a snake! Snakes are eeevil."

    "I''m beginning to think you''re purposely trying to find fault in my boyfriend."

    "Okay! Okay," Coraline crossed her arms. "There''s nothing wrong with being a snake."

    "That is... literally opposite of what you just said," Elle blew a lock of blonde hair away from her eyes.

    "Okay. Right. I don''t know why I said it," Coraline puffed up her left cheek... "Maybe I''m just jealous. But... but only a little."

    "Don''t be," Elle put on a stern face as she reached over to take Coraline''s hand in hers, "We''ll save Mister Lone, Coraline. I have faith in you."

    Coraline dropped her head as she stared at her empty te... "Yeah... It''s just been... really hard, Ellie..."

    "AwwWW!" Elle''s voice rose in pitch as she ced Coraline''s hand over her heart, "Poor baby. Don''t cry. Mama Ellie''s here."

    "Okay. I''m okay," Coraline tugged at her hand-- but Elle was as strong as she looked, "Quiiiiit. Keep doing that and I''ll cry for real..."

    Finally Elle released her grip, "So what''s the n?"

    Coraline sighed as she patted the bag hanging from the back of her seat, "I summarized all my notes. Once I check out Whitehearth''s main library, I''ll double-check a few things... but I''m pretty sure the Tree God lives somewhere near here..."

    Elle raised her left arm and patted her heavy gauntlet-- the key she used to summon Divine Armor Gaheris, "Alright! I''ming with you."

    "To the library or to the Sanctuary of the Tree God?"

    "Um," Elle tilted her head, "Both?"

    "Well, you better!" Coraline raised her very-arrogant Elven nose, "After all, I''m pretty much the one responsible for you hooking up with Tychon."

    "Right," Elle nodded. "Thank you, Coraline... from the bottom of my heart."

    Coraline felt heat rising to the surface of her cheeks... and not because she was contracted to a fire elemental.

    ? like apples ?

    Beatrice was sitting on the stone te at the side of the table, still enjoying her stone cup.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She had developed a newly found fondness for apple juice.

    Coraline was absolutely blessed by the fates to have such loyalpanions...

    Anyroad-- it was really no wonder that Sir Tychon''s snake heart was charmed by the woman in front of her. And it seemed that Beatrice seemed to like him a lot, too...

    Bleigh. No. That was a dangerous road of thought. Thest thing Coraline wanted to do was give up and join Tychon''s harem.

    She was an elf. And a Circle-Mage! And... and--

    "And y''know..." Coraline coughed, turning away, "I''m... older than you. So... so I''m gonna pay for the meal, too."

    "You''re so sweet," Elle smiled... "Alright, I''m gonna go wash my hands before we go."

    Coraline narrowed her eyes as she turned to a nearby Elven waiter, "(Friend, bring me the check. Do not let mypanion pay, as my honor is being questioned.)"

    The elf inclined his head, "(Lady Heartsong, if you''ll allow *us* the honor, House Highde will cover the tab.)"

    "(No need,)" Coraline shook her head. "(I''ll have an associate take care of it.)"

    "I''m not winning this one, am I?" Elle sighed as she put her wallet away.

    "Nope," Coraline smirked. "Now, hurry up and pee. I need to read all of the books."

    ...

    Benji lifted his hood just enough to see the elf sitting outside the restaurant across the street.

    "That the girl, boss? Blonde? Green eyes? Nice tits."

    "You got a chub over ''at kinda knife-eared whore, Benji?" The fat man muttered. "How ''bout you shut the f*ck up, kid?"

    Benji could smell Doan even though he was sitting over five fulms away. He rightfully belonged in one of the city''s drains with all the best of the city''s smells... but he was pretty damn handy with the steel.

    ...That and he''d probably clog up the whole sewer system.

    "You ain''t the boss of me, fatty," Benji grumbled.

    "Yeah, but I am, f*ckwads," Porter said while tipping his hat upward.

    The actual boss of the Bone Rat Gang was leaning against the wall, watching carefully as the only guard on the street passed them by. It was always a pain for Benji to avoid looking suspicious... but Boss Porter was always the best at it. Even the way he positioned himself hid the two-handed sword on his back from casual view.

    The sly dog went as far as nodding at the guard as the guy came close, "G''afternoon, Officer."

    "I don''t got any change," The guard shook his head, not stopping.

    Whitehearth''s finest.

    Anyroad, that was par for the course for Boss Porter. He was gods-damned invisible, even though everyone that belonged to the underground knew how bloody his hands actually were.

    "Thanks anyroad," Porter shrugged. "Thanks for keepin'' the streets safe, Sir."

    The guard didn''t reply as he walked off, finally turning around a corner.

    Benji sighed in relief as he took his hand off the dagger hidden under his cloak.

    With the copper-badge gone... the whole crew could go about their business uninterrupted.

 Chapter 772 Smile

    ?"Yeah, ''at''s the one, kid," Porter nodded. "She matches the description: blonde, knife-eared, Caster ss."

    "A Caster..." Fatty Doan grit his teeth. "How much firepower we talkin''? Or lightnin''? Or whatever the f*ck the b*tch shoots outta her cunt."

    "Don''t matter," Benji pulled his hood down to hide a smirk, "Can''t ?Mana Ward? a knife to the back if she don''t see itin''."

    "Shut the hells up, kid," Doan growled. "You ain''t never killed a real mage before... not like me..."

    The fat man didn''t like Casters much. Never did say why.

    Benji took out his dagger and started picking at the dirt beneath his fingernails. It''d take him five seconds t to give Doan a new smile-- a bright red line in his cowardly throat.

    It''d be a waste of energy, though. Wasn''t worth any coin. Would probably piss off the boss. And besides, it''d make a gods-damned mess.

    Doan twisted his fat face into an ugly glower, "Boss, let''s use the pearl on the elf b*tch."

    "I don''t pay you to *think*, Doan," Porter seethed... "And you, Benduin. You can *advise* but don''t forget-- you ain''t callin'' the shots ''ere... not yet."

    "Yeah, I got it," Benji shrugged. "Jus'' tell me when I can gut the ho."

    It was fair. Porter''d been in with the backstreet gangs for nearly twenty years. He had the brains for it. As for the proof of it-- it wasn''t easy to stay alive that long while ying the game.

    Benji wasn''t offended. He was good-- damned good. He knew it. Porter knew it. The whole crew knew it.

    Still... if the mark was a mage, it was better to be careful than to risk himself. A normal kid his age probably would... but Benji was anything but that.

    ? System, put all my experience points into ?Shadowtooth Strike?. ?

    ? Allocating... ?Shadowtooth Strike? has reached Level Ten. ?

    He might as well have been a gods-damned hero, like out of the stories...e to f*ck shite up and answer to no one.

    ? And how much longer until I reach Iron-Rank? ?

    ? The host needs to meet the following requirements: ?Iron Scale Body? Level Five; ?Deadly Precision? Level Ten. ?

    So maybe one or two more missions to get the experience for that...

    Benji figured that once he could show off some Iron-Rank Skills, he''d be able to get the attention of the guy running the shots behind the gang activity in Whitehearth.

    The Wizard.

    A scary enough motherf*cker that even Doan didn''t dare talk sh*t about him.

    For sure, the big boss'' quests would Benji even faster experience gain... maybe even enough to get out of Whitehearth within the year.

    He''d been in the starter zone for too damn long... but he was pretty sure he''d be out before the prophecy came to pass.

    It hung over his head every night... the song of which legends were sung.

    It was the only reason he''d joined a Dark Guild.

    He needed out of Whitehearth... and the collection quests from the city''s Adventurer''s Guild wasn''t worth shite in the way of coin and experience points.

    "The pearl..." Porter continued, "is enchanted with a gods-damned Third-Circle mind control spell... and the Wizard''s only cleared us to use it on one of two specific marks. There''s the Gold-Rank... eh... what''s his name?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Tyco, Boss," Benji answered.

    "Right, Tyco," Porter nodded... "an'' then there''s the knife-ear''s boy-toy... another mage chump named Sloan Masterspark."

    "Now that''s a stupid f*ckin'' name," Doan snorted.

    Benji narrowed his eyes, "You got no sense o'' style, fatty."

    "Oh, shut uuup, kid," The fat man grimaced. "What are you, fifteen?"

    "...Actually, yeah."

    Doan opened his mouth and hesitated... "Oh. Huh. Smartest f*ckin'' fifteen-year-old I ever met..."

    "And don''t you forget it," Benji grinned, "n still a go, Boss?"

    "Yeah... smash and grab," Porter nodded. "The name Sol Invictus might be big across the pond... but it ain''t worth shite here."

    "Hey, Boss..." Doan leaned forward, squinting his eyes from barely-open to thin lines... "How ''bout that fairy next to the girl? The one that''s-- you know, on fire?"

    "Don''t be daft, Doan," Porter twisted his scarred lips. "The girl''s a Bronze-Rank. Means her familiar''s only worth first-degree burns. Just cover up any exposed skin you don''t wanna put aloe on."

    "Ch-yeah, fatty," Benji shrugged. "Don''t think about it too much. Not what you''re here for, right?"

    The Bone Rat Gang had more than enough strength to handle whatever the mark had to throw at them. Even though Benji''s System couldn''t figure out Ranks, Boss Porter was an Iron-Rank yer. The guy was superhuman...

    Benji couldn''t wait to be able to shrug off magic sts and bullets like he was some kind of demi-god...

    "Doan, take two and sneak ''round back to cut off their escape." Porter got up off the wall and started to cross the street, "Kid, eyes open-- you an'' the rest''rein'' with me."

    "Got it, Boss," Benji smirked.

    "Yeah, yeah," Doan groaned. "I hear ya..."

    As their gang moved Benji kept his eyes to the streets. No copper-badges. No adventurers or rival gang members. It wasn''t a road open to horses or their carts.

    It was going to be another easy job. The experience point reward for questpletion was probably going to be shite... but at least he didn''t have to think too hard on it.

    "Hey, how''s it goin?" Porter grabbed the chair opposite the elf and rotated it to the side so he could sit with the sword on his back hanging freely.

    Coraline furrowed her brows... "Um. Hello? Do... I know you?"

    "Oho... not quite," Porter smirked. "But I know you... *Miss Coraline*."

    The elf girl''s eyes grew wide and, as expected, her little fire faerie flew up and began to circle her head defensively.

    Benji was watching closely. If that thing looked like it was about to cause a scene, it''d eat a Level Ten ?Shadowtooth Strike?.

    "Wh... what do you want?" Coraline grit her teeth as her eyes darted around.

    "How ''bout youe with us, little girl?" Porter offered.

    "Yeah," Benji added, "We''ll take real good care of ya..."

 Chapter 773 Playing The Game

    ?Benji grinned as he watched the elf squirm.

    Even though the mage didn''t know it yet, she was already out of options-- without hope.

    The stupid b*tch even looked straight at the alleyway.

    Earlier, he and Boss Porter scoped out the restaurant and the surroundings. The biggest reason they chose to engage was that they could cover the back exit-- the only logical ce Coraline could run.

    And if she tried to do just that... she''d probably piss herself when she ran into a man five times her size.

    It''d probably be hi-f*ckinrious, too.

    The big behemoth, Doan, was waiting for her there... ready to stick something hard down her throat-- something with an edge on it.

    That was how the Bone Rats operated. Smart. Logical. Once they got a contract... they only chose to y if they could win before any of the cards were dealt.

    Then there was Porter, sitting and smiling... the calm hiding the shite-storm toe.

    When he wasn''t watched by anyone important, he took the mask off-- he showed his real face. He had this sleazy smile-- ugly with crooked teeth... something worn by fences and thieves that knew how to y the game... vets who''ve been ying it for longer than anyone could know.

    It was a look that said... somethin'' real bad was about to happen... toe along quietly. And if you didn''t, you''d get f*cked you in holes you didn''t even know you had.

    Coraline shut her eyes and sighed, "Let me guess... you want me to follow you out back to that alleyway where you have more goons lying in wait."

    Porter narrowed his eyes... "What''chu you talkin'' about, girlie?"

    Coraline lifted azy finger pointing to Benji, "ording to him, anyroad."

    "I didn''t say SHITE!" Benji shouted, "I was with you the whole time, Porter. How could I have told her gods-damned anything!?"

    "You just did," Coraline shrugged. "Also, you made it obvious from the way you kept looking."

    "You''re a gods-damned idiot, Benji," Porter seethed.

    The elf leaned forward on the table, pouting her lips and looking... bored?

    "Stars and stones, Mister Porter, I''m disappointed. When I read the file on the Bone Rat Gang, it made me think that the most famous Dark Guild in Whitehearth was made up of *professionals*."

    "Tch," Porter sneered before shooting Benji a disapproving re... "Well, good help''s been hard to get as of recent. You mindin'' with us, Miss Mage? Don''t wanna make a scene..."

    "I would *love* to, Mister Porter," Coraline smiled politely. "Unfortunately, I don''t think you have the capability."

    She raised an open palm and made a sweeping motion, "We''re in the middle of the city. Any way we go about this, we wouldn''t go fifteen minutes before running into an adventuring group or a guard patrol. Also, my abilities are... a little loud-- but as you know my name, I''m sure you know that."

    Benji narrowed his eyes.

    Loud? A Bronze-Rank Mage could be loud?

    He couldn''t understand how a girl near half his size could have so much gods-damned confidence.

    ? He didn''t like the way the elf was talking... like she knew something they didn''t. Worse, he didn''t like the way Porter was starting to sweat... like he hadn''t told the other rats just what they were getting into.

    Porter raised his chin, "And if I have my little friend here put a knife in your spine?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Just gimme the word boss," Benji growled.

    The fastest way to feel better about the situation was making the b*tch shut up... permanently.

    "Then..." Coraline tilted her head, "my fire elemental''s contract would be released. The... *noise* will still attract all the aforementioned... and you and your Rats will suffer far worse than... *first-degree burns.*"

    Benji released the hold on the hilt of his dagger. The thought of knifing her had suddenly be... not a good idea.

    Porter''s eye twitched... "So you heard us..."

    Coraline wagged her finger. "You really shouldn''t underestimate us ''knife-ears,'' Mister Porter. Or--e on... at least our ability to hear people talk across a single road..."

    "Boss..." Benji put his hand on the Boss'' shoulder.

    It was a signal... his best attempt at advising his leader.

    At the slightest hint of trouble, it was always more cost-effective to back out. Anyone sustaining injury... any sign of the guards catching wind of a crime, any gold or rep they''d get frompleting a mission wasn''t worth so much trouble.

    And that Coraline... she was absolutely not the easy, piss-herself kind of mark the Rats were used to.

    Porter brushed Benji''s hand away... then he casually leaned to the side on his chair.

    "Not good enough, Miss Mage. Our... associate''s not the kind of guy I wanna offend. So... unless you wanna put everyone in this little restaurant here in danger, I kindly advise you toply."

    Benji felt his heart begin to race and his body temperature rise.

    Porter wasn''t bluffing-- not this time. That meant... the deal was serious. If the Mage wasn''t going to give in... that meant there was going to be a fight on their hands. It meant they''d probably be evading the authorities for the next few bells...

    It also meant... the coin reward for the contract was worth more than he was letting on.

    "Really not in my best interests," Coraline leaned back and steepled her fingers. "Since we''re having this conversation, it''s obvious that your ''associate'' wants me alive-- for whatever reason.

    "But really..." She shook her head, "why the heck am I being targeted? I''m a researcher. I can literally share my knowledge with anyone. For free."

    "Can''t answer. Dunno, myself. We''ll find out for you, girl, but..." Porter reached over, grabbing onto Coraline''s wrist, "--you''rein'' with us, whether you agree to it or not."

    "Oh, is the game over?" Coraline frowned in disappointment. "Well, alright. I''m done stalling."

    "Fer what?" Porter furrowed his brows, "If you think your elf-buddies can save you..."

    Coraline smirked, "Not all my friends are elves, Mister Porter."

    "Hey, girlfriennnd... Are these guys bothering yooouUU??"

    Benji slowly turned to the voice... and looked up... then looked up even higher.

    It was... a woman. A very... very big woman.

    Seeing her made Benji nearly choke on his own saliva.

    He''d never thought it before... and as a Bronze-Rank Dagger Rogue, it really hurt to think it-- but he wished he had a bigger knife.

 Chapter 774 Game Over

    ?The blonde woman was well over six fulms tall... and built like a warhorse that did nothing but work the fields and eat children.

    She wasn''t wearing metal armor... but with so much meat on her, she might as well have been. She was definitely some kind of Martial ss, too... as she had a sword on her waist and her left arm had a big metal half-shield strapped to it.

    Whether or not he or Porter could take her didn''t matter. It wouldn''t be quick... and even if they had any intel on the big woman''s identity, Porter did f*ck all to share it. If the woman was a protege of Sol Invictus member Dragan, then she might have been able to take care of the entire Bone Rat Gang all by herself...

    Benji didn''t sign up for that. None of the rats did.

    It was time to go.

    "Hey, Ellie!" The elf girl''s voice rose in excitement. "Mister Porter, here, just wanted to talk to me about something. And the others..."

    "--were just passing by," Benji waved his hand. "We''ll see you back at work, Porter."

    Porter grit his teeth... but nodded, "Right. Work."

    Benji pulled his hood down and ced his hands in his pockets. The Bone Rats would leave as fast as possible without attracting attention... then they''d meet up at the warehouse.

    Porter was on his own... but he was clever enough to figure out how to find his way back.

    No one got hurt. No one could prove anything other than hearsay. No one could say nothin'' that he and the boys were anything less thanw-abiding citizens of the Eastern States.

    Granted, Benji was probably going to get chewed out,ter... but enough of the guys would vouch for him. Enough Rats died every few moons that everyone preferred to keep on the safe side than risk dying for a slightly fatter paycheck.

    He walked towards the ally, hearing the footsteps of the rest of the crew following him... He was about to turn the corner-- but an adventurer stepped out at the same time.

    ck armor... shining and expensive. Green hair with a pristine-white helmet underneath an arm. Same height as he was-- which wasn''t too tall... but... it matched the description of one of the Bone Rat Gang''s marks.

    Tyco.

    Even if Benji didn''t know that that man was Gold-Rank... he could swear he could feel it.

    It was how straight his back was. It was... the striking color of his eyes as they stared into Benji''s ck soul.

    It emanated an aura of... ''do NOT f*ck with me.''

    "Good afternoon, gentlemen," Tyco said... "You''re obstructing my passage."

    A dark-skinned Bone Rat stepped forward before Benji could stop him-- "Hey, kid. I think you''s the one obstructin'' our--"

    The movement was so fast that Benji could onlyprehend it after the fact.

    That Tyco guy, he grabbed Luther''s wrist and pulled down... while at the same time kicked at his kneecap. The leg... it bent backward. Then, he... just copsed against the wooden wall of the building, staring out into space like he saw something he shouldn''t have.

    Benji and everyone else... they watched it all happen, not quite sure what to make of it.

    It didn''t even take five seconds for Tyco to take down a grown man.

    It didn''t matter that they were in the middle of a city. It didn''t matter that the Bone Rats outnumbered the guy. It didn''t matter that Benji had recently leveled up his ?Shadowtooth Strike? to Level Ten.<novelnext></novelnext>

    That... was what it meant to be Gold-Rank.

    And for Luther... that''s what it meant to be a normal guy who tried to challenge a god.

    Tyco walked past. Benji and the others didn''t move to stop him.

    "Miss Elle, Miss Coraline," He waved as he approached the elf restaurant table. "I''vee to... Who the hells is this?"

    "A friendly acquaintance, Sir," Coraline smiled. "Mister Porter is a... leader of his own organization."

    "Ah, is that so?" The green-haired man nodded as he cracked his knuckles. "Mister Porter, I respectfully ask you to step away from my lovely girlfriend, else I shall separate your head from your neck with my bare hands."

    "Um," The big woman, Elle, frowned, "Unprofessional!"

    "Benji..." One of the Bone-Rats whispered, "What-do-we do?"

    "Grab Luther. We''ll take ''em back to Doan," Benji whispered back... "Porter''ll take care o'' that guy."

    Porter stood up, one hand in a pocket, the other waving in surrender, "I uh... Master Tyco... I... meant no offense."

    Tyco''s face twisted like he could smell the shiteing out of Porter''s mouth.

    The big woman snorted inughter while the elf giggled, an annoyingly high-pitched series of squeaks.

    It was... insulting-- and Benji was annoyed on his boss'' behalf.

    "M-master Tyco," Coraline shook her head, still chuckling. "It''s fine. Mister Porter''s offered to pay for our meals!"

    "Oh, has he?" Tyco groaned in annoyance. "Very well. You there, friend-elf. I would entreat you for a half-pound of the restaurant''s finest on Mister Porter''s coin. Double-thick slices, if you would."

    "Right away, Master Adventurer," A male elf nodded, "And shall I prepare the bill?"

    "Good service," Tyco shrugged.

    "Agreed!" Coralineughed. "Mister Waiter, please charge Mister Porter with additional gratuity. You''ve all been most wonderful."

    "Of course, mdy. Nothing but the best for our customers," The elf bowed before hurrying off to the kitchens.

    Porter was gritting his teeth. He was being embarrassed... and he probably wouldn''t be able to leave without taking a hit to his wallet. Their gang hadpleted a good slew of contracts recently... but the Boss can''t have had that much silver to spare.

    However... he wasn''t the type of guy to take a loss without getting anything in return, "Master Tyco... about the reason I approached Miss Coraline. Does *this* look familiar to you?"

    There it was. Porter took out the Mind-Control pearl... a weird-looking pink sphere that fit in the palm of his hand.

    The game was over... and with a Gold-Rank as a thrall of the Bone Rats, everyone in the gang would benefit.

 Chapter 775 Dragonborn

    ?With a flick of his wrist, Porter crushed the magic pearl in his hand.

    Benji immediately crinkled his nose and tried to kill off the urge to gag. The sharp stink barelysted half a second... but it made him think of a wild animal''s guts being charred in a me.

    Tyco narrowed his yellow eyes... but they grew out of focus, as if he were staring a thousand-yalms away. The magic was designed to be subtle, so there weren''t any other noticeable effects... but Benji had no reason to believe it didn''t work.

    It was impossible for a normal human being to resist a Third-Circle spell-- assuming the ck-armored adventurer was human. And even if he wasn''t... it''s not like the ck-armored adventurer was a Caster ss.

    "What''s that?" The big woman asked.

    "That... is a Power Pearl," Tyco answered in a t, measured tone... "It can be charged with a single spell... to be released upon a trigger determined at its creation."

    "Ah, Master Tyco," Porter chuckled in relief before nodding with a grin. "I see you are a gentleman of culture and great intelligence. I''d like to invite you to apany me and my men for... further discussion?"

    Tyco shook his head, as if trying to shake off the effects... but dispelling actual Mind-Control can''t have been anything that simple.

    "I shall... consider it," He muttered.

    Benji raised his eyebrows. That... didn''t sound like a ''yes''. But... that might have just been how the green-haired guy talked? He didn''t talk like a normal guy-- that was for sure.

    "Nice armor, Master Tyco," Elle smirked. "Very handsome."

    "You think so?" Tyco''s voice was soft... almost weak. "Princess Ophelia has offered to cover themissioning of a set of Arcanite armor for your personal use. From here, I''ll be taking you to choose a design... after I get my take-out, of course."

    Coraline raised her hand, "I still have to go to the library... and I should probably stay behind and ask Mister Porter some questions."

    Elle put a hand on her hip and shifted her weight, "Don''t you want some new armor too, Coraline?"

    It... looked more intimidating than it should have.

    "Serious?" Coraline frowned. "Armor''s expensive. And what am I gonna do with it? I''m an Arcanist."

    "We''ll make an appointment for her in the morning," Tyco sighed. "Come along, my love. We''ve only two bells before the armorer closes for the night."

    Porter coughed into his closed fist, "Ahem... Uh... Are you... certain? Master Tyco? That you wouldn''t rather..."

    "--a moment, Mister Porter," Tyco held a hand out to stop him, "Coraline."

    The elf girl''s ears perked up immediately, "Yessir?"

    "How long would it take you to find the location of Mister Porter''s family?"

    "Two bells, tops," Coraline shrugged. "Though when I checked his file, I''m pretty sure he only cares about his mother-- she lives in the east district."

    ...So Mama Bird''s location has beenpromised. Benji had seen enough... and he didn''t want to watch Porter lose any more face.

    For whatever reason, the Power Pearl wasn''t working-- didn''t work. The how or why wasn''t important. What was important was withdrawing back to the hideout as fast as possible.

    The mission was a failure.

    "Let''s get back to Doan, boys... Nothin'' left for us, here."

    ...

    Too strong.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Too damn strong.

    Benji descended deeper into the alleyway, deep in thought.

    If the Gold-Rank came looking for the Bone-Rat Gang, then they were all as good as dead.

    The smartest thing to do... would be to leave the city immediately. However... none of the others would be keen on escaping. Whitehearth was all they knew.

    And anyroad, the idiots would want to put up some kind of fight. It was up to the brains of the gang-- him and/or Porter, to figure out not just how to keep them alive... but how to win.

    "Seven f*ckin'' hells," Benji cursed underneath his breath.

    He considered running off on his own... but that was a shite idea, too.

    Benji was fifteen years old... and he''d earned his ce as Porter''s second over weeks and moons of proving that he was more than his age. In no other city would he be able to have the kind of respect he had in the Bone Rat Gang-- not unless he started from zero all over again.

    Staying and fighting...

    It wasn''t impossible to make it work.

    Immortals and gods didn''t exist.

    Benji could enlist the help of one of the other Dark Guilds... ones that Porter and the Bone Rats had worked with in the past...

    If he got all the gang leaders and their Lieutenants together... that''d make up about six Iron-Ranks. Maybe they could hire a Second-Circle Mage on top of that for extra insurance.

    ...It was shite to think that Boss Porter was the strongest Iron-Ranked gangster in the city... because he might as well have been an impotent cripple if he were to fight Tyco by himself.

    Benji figured he could try one of the weapon smugglers... The Rats could stand a hance if they were all armed with Orkish Sugar weapons-- more than just Soren and his second-rate flintlock.

    Maybe... the Rats could even take the offensive. It could save a lot of coin if they could ckmail a whore to poison Tyco''s food or drink.

    If he was f*cking elves and giants, then he''d probably be interested in other exotics...

    Different vored whores were easy enough to find... but the price tag and risk of crossing their handlers upped ordingly.

    Benji massaged the bridge of his nose-- he was feeling an oing headache. He wasn''t confident in pulling off any of those ideas.

    Any feasible n of action would require coin... some kind of security deposit... some kind of promise. The Bone Rats had reputation... but not nearly enough for their allies to be willing to throw down against a Gold-Rank.

    It was better to let every Rat die as they deserved. Then the other gangs would scramble to pick up the pieces that got left behind.

    "Oy," One of the Bone Rats hurried to his side, "Hey, kid. How f*cked are we?"

    "Against a Gold-Rank? Ergh..." Benji growled. "On a scale o'' one to ten-- we''re f*cked."

    "Sheeee-itttt. So what do we do from here?"

    "I think you already know the answer..." Benji pursed his lips.

    "...We make peace with our gods," The Rat scowled.

 Chapter 776 Worst-Case Scenario

    ?"Pray on yer own time," Benji shook his head. "For now, we get back to base, we pool our resources, and we think of a n that won''t get us all killed."

    The way it looked, though... that meant packing up their bags and headin'' to a different City-State. Archangel, maybe?

    "What if we use that pearl you guys were talkin'' about earlier?" Another Rat offered.

    "Tried that," Benji groaned. "Porter used the charge and it didn''t work for shite."

    The headache had set in-- a full-on migraine, squeezing his head like a torture device.

    Not Archangel. The Wizard operated in Archangel and he wouldn''t be happy about the waste of his precious pearl. City-State Valsene, was a better option.

    "Well... maybe-- an'' don''t take this the wrong way," The Rat gulped. "Maybe you didn''t see right, kid? You''re still growin'' an'' all that?"

    "Not how it works, dumb-arse," A different Rat scowled. "Boss ''s got quick hands, but we all know Benji''s got the best eyesight outta all of us..."

    "Yo, Benji," Soren shook his arm, "What the f*ck do we do if that Tyco guy jumps us in the f*ckin'' alleys?"

    The guy''s eyes were wide open and bloodshot. He let go of Benji and frantically started checking the condition of his flintlock.

    The others red at him for his cowardice... but Benji waved them down. It was a good question.

    "We only got a few Bronze-Ranks among us... so if we saw him, it''d be best to scatter," He shook his head. "I could barely follow his movements when he broke Luther''s leg... How is the bastard, by the way?"

    "No good," One of the Rats carrying the dark man spoke up, "Hasn''t woken up yet."

    ...Benji stopped walking and swallowed his saliva, "Hey... is he breathin''?"

    The group of Bone Rats stopped... looking at each other... no one wanting to bite.

    "I''ll f*ckin'' do it," Soren walked over to look into Luther''s mouth, pistol in hand.

    A line of blood ran down it-- not a good sign.

    "...Nah. He ain''t," He pressed two fingers to the man''s neck... "No f*ckin'' pulse, neither. We gotta leave this f*cker behind."

    Benji took a deep breath in thought... When things were bad, they only got worse.

    "Nah," He sighed. "We bring him. If we''re gonna die, it don''t matter whether or not we''re carrying a body. Anyroad, I''m betting on the fact that the Gold-Rank''s a few hundred years old. That type of f*cker shouldn''t think much of us... Gods-damn insulting, I know-- but that''s how the Realm works."

    "That a f*ckin'' joke, Benji?" Another Rat recoiled in disgust. "That brat looked about as old as you."

    "You think this is the time for me to be crackin'' jokes!?" Benji shouted. "Or ANYONE!? Luther''s f*ckin'' DEAD! We went to his daughter''s f*ckin'' nameday partyst f*ckin'' week!"

    The guy looked resentful, but he looked away in guilt, "F*ck, man. Alright. I get it..."

    "Look," Benji red, "the only way anyone gets to Gold-Rank and not look like a shriveled up ball-sack is if they have some special bloodline-- or if our luck is shite, he''s got a high-rank magic item.

    "That guy-- he didn''t act like a normal human. Didn''t talk like one, neither.

    "I''m bettin'' on elf-blood. Or maybe he''s dovahkiin..." He frowned...

    Benji was annoyed by the possibility of that particr irony... if the first dragonborn he met in the Realm that wasn''t himself was basically a weak-looking kid like him-- but better in every single way.

    "F*ck. Gods-damned f*cking fffff*ck," Soren cursed, stomping his foot like a gods-damned child.

    Real charmer, that guy.

    "Shoulda known that kid was trouble..." Another growled.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You really think that kid''s some kinda... ancient monster in a human body, Benji?"

    "As you all know, high elves and scalefags don''t give a f*ck about us peasants." Benji looked down and his voice grew quiet... "If not, then we''re lookin'' at a worst-case scenario."

    After a moment, he lifted his head to check the Bone Rats'' reactions.

    They must have felt it too-- how powerful Tyco was. They didn''t argue. Most of them didn''t even look up to meet his gaze.

    They were as quiet as Luther.

    Benji didn''t think of himself as a holy man, but he muttered a silent prayer... ''May the gods have mercy on that f*cker''s soul...''

    "Alright, guys... let''s keep moving. Doan can''t be far from here."

    A cold chill shot down Benji''s spine as he turned the next corner. The narrow alleys were home to him and the other Rats... they knew every nook and cranny of the lower districts, where to run, where to hide, where to bring their marks if they needed some privacy.

    Still... it felt like the shadows were somehow... darker-- like there froth-mouthed nasties waiting for him to get close.

    Each vomit-inducing smell from the garbage and gutrot was somehow sharper... sticking to the insides of his nostrils and weaseling its way to the back of his throat.

    It was like he was being weed to a secluded corner of the seventh hell.

    It almost made him wish he hadn''t put a whole five levels into ?Keen Senses?...

    "Maybe... we should go around, Benji?" A Rat muttered, "I don''t feel so good."

    "Hold your breath, man," Benji rolled his eyes. "It''s not like the other alleyways are any safer.

    "Doan!" He raised his voice, "Hey, big guy! Get out here!"

    The sudden shout made Soren flinch, "BENJI!! What the FFF*CK, MAN?!"

    Benji didn''t know who started it, but one guyughing made the others start chuckling along with him.

    "F*ck, man. Come on, Soren. You can''t be scared of a f*ckin'' KID!"

    "Hah, f*ck off," Soren shook his head... "My nerves are f*ckin'' shot, man..."

    "Y''all''re still scared o'' gittin'' GOT? I swear, yer all a bunch''a f*ckin'' pussies."

    "Ch''yeah, look at Luther. He ain''t scared o'' none."

    "Yeah. All of ya''s gotta quit bein'' b*tches."

    "Fuuuuuck thiissss. Once I pay off my university loans, I''m gettin'' outta this life..."

    "You went to school? F*ckin'' nerd."

    The light banter lifted Benji''s spirits... but just a little. His nerves were just as shot as Soren''s... but just like the others said... there wasn''t any real reason for it.

    It was just another mission-- a failed one, but it wasn''t anything new.

    It was the same old alleyways... no more safer-- no more dangerous than usual.

    "Ey, kid," The skinny Rat next to Benji squinted his eyes, "I think that''s him. Hey! Fatty!"

 Chapter 777 Dark Humor

    ?The Rat''s voice echoed ominously off the alley walls.

    ''Don''t be scared. There''s nothin'' to be scared of...'' Benji cursed under his breath. ''It''s stupid to be scared... and I ain''t neither.''

    The worst that could happen... was dying

    People died all the time.

    It was something every gangster-- every person born in the Realm epted. Being scared of death all the time-- that wasn''t any way to live. Sometimes, that could be the very thing that led to dying.

    Benji had seen it. Dying in fear was an ugly death.

    "Hey, Doan," The brave Rat reached up to shake the fat man''s shoulder. "We gotta go. Mission''s f*cked. Gods-damned everything is f*cked."

    Benji narrowed his eyes as they slowly adjusted to his surroundings-- darker than sin.

    Something was wrong.

    It was Doan, alright. It had to be.

    The guy had a very specific size and frame-- anyone could pick the fatty out of a crowd. Seven hells, he was probably the fattest gangster in the whole of the States.

    Doan was standing in front of a dumpster, arms limp at his side.

    --just... staring at it. Real quiet.

    There was a dark line that ran down the box''s side... a trail of something dripping from under the lid.

    Something wet. Something fresh.

    Bloody footprints led up to the box... which wasn''t really out of the ordinary. Everyone in the Bone Rats had quietly taken care of disagreeable individuals before. Used dumpsters before, too.

    That was nothing to be concerned about... like what a guy chose to wear on any given sun.

    Doan''s clothes-- they were... different than Benji remembered. He was wearing a long jacket or... a military coat of some sort.

    Doan was still-- real still. The guy could walk five steps out his front door and he''d usually be wheezing like he was about to have a heart attack.

    And... it was damned hard to see, but for some gods-forsaken reason... Doan didn''t have a shadow.

    "Get BACK!!" Benji shouted.

    But it was too damnte.

    The lid of the dumpster burst open. Tentacles. A wet, sloshing mass of long worms or whips, curling up on themselves,shing out with. One of them wrapped around the thin Rat''s neck, a half-dozen spiky teeth bleeding his flesh.

    "R-RUUU--CKKKHHHHH!"

    The tendrils held the guy up, half-a-man off the ground-- and for whatever reason, he lifted his arms up like he''d found some kinda salvation in getting murdered by an evil trash can.

    His arms and legs fell off his body. They burst when they hit the ground like rotten fruit. ck blood and guts emptied out underneath him like he was sh*tting everything out.

    ''Run.'' He was trying to say ''run.''

    "Yeah, nah," Benji grit his teeth as he drew the trick deck out of his back pocket. "F*ck this fat bastard, ?Fan of Cards!!?"

    He threw two lucky hands at Doan''s back; aces, kings, and jacks. When things went south, that was his secret at making a smooth getaway.

    The cards exploded in purple pops, loud enough it made his ears rumble-- but with the brightness muted by the ckness of the alley.

    Doan''s clothes should have been magicked to shreds. It should have been enough to snap him out of whatever the hells was going on. It should have put him down... given him a nasty concussion.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The f*cker didn''t even flinch.

    Benji hopped back before turning to run for his life, "F*ckinn'' SCATTER!!"

    "Kid!!" One of the rats yelled, "Y''gotta help! Soren-- we''re gonna lose ''im!!"

    Benji heard the words. His body moved.

    Before he realized how much of an idiot he was to listen, he was already on Soren''s opposite side, straining his back as he pulled on the guy''s arm.

    Soren had sunk into the pavement up to his waist, screaming bloody murder. That wasn''t something to make a normal guy say ''oh, let me jus'' help you out, buddy-boy.'' The proper response should have been ''f*ck no'' and ''f*ck you!''

    "The f*ck''s goin'' on?!" The Rat screamed.

    "Shut up and f*ckin'' PULL!" Benji shouted.

    They were wasting time. They were probably both about to die-- maybe all of ''em.

    Benji felt Soren''s arm dislocate-- it felt like it was about to tear off before the rest of him were toe up.

    But then... something finally gave way. Benji and the other Rat fell on their arses... and Soren''s top half, on top of them.

    There wasn''t anything below the guy''s stomach. No guts, no blood. Just darkness.

    Soren was shaking real bad,ughing like he''d seen the end of the world. Deep, rumbling ''ha ha ha''s bounced off the walls, loud enough to summon half the city''s guards... and probably crazy enough to make them know better.

    That guy, though... he wasn''t stopping to catch his breath. Benji wasn''t sure if he was breathing at all.

    Then theughter stopped.

    The f*cker was still pping his gums, but it didn''t make a sound.

    Noughter. No screaming. It was like Benji''s ears didn''t want to work anymore.

    He turned to the others. They were running.

    Their footsteps didn''t make any sounds.

    They weren''t screaming, either.

    No-- they probably were.

    Benji''s mouth was open and he was out of breath. He''d been screaming too.

    The Rats scurried into the darkness... right into the shadow''s weeping eye. It opened up, staring white with two hourss pupils, as tall as the buildings surrounding them. The eyelid snapped down with a crunch like a vering dog''s maw.

    Benji didn''t want to believe it... but one of the Rats left behind a leg with the top end smashed to mush.

    He was losing his gods-damned mind.

    It was the darkness. It was the silence. It was the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

    He couldn''t think sane, anymore. Everything was just too damn loud.

    Something thumped beside him. The noise would''ve made Benji sh*t himself if he hadn''t already.

    He didn''t want to look, but he did.

 Chapter 778 Underfoot

    ?It was Soren. The half-man was still making the motions ofughter... insistently pointing beside him.

    The Rat next to Benji had taken Soren''s flintlock and swallowed the round... the hole in the back of his head was bigger than a fist. He could make out the fat spilled on the street that used to be the inside of the guy''s skull.

    That he couldn''t hear didn''t make any sense.

    He heard the thump of the guy''s head smacking the pavement.

    ...but he didn''t hear the ''bang''. He couldn''t hear how hard Soren wasughing. He couldn''t hear himself pray to gods he didn''t believe in.

    The walls were vomiting bits and pieces of the people Benji called his family, fleshy parts slowly sliding down in trails of blood. Forearms and feet, torn faces and ps of skin with blood-mucked hair-- everything got spit up, covered in viscera and bile.

    The darkness couldn''t stand the taste of thieves, extortionists, and murderers. And why would it?

    Maybe that''s why everyone else wasughing?

    Maybe that was the big joke that flew over Benji''s head?

    There was something worse than dying, after all.

    Even Luther was in on it. He was sitting up and holding his belly, even though his head lolled to the side atop a broken neck.

    That man neverughed. He looked like a gods-damned idiot.

    Benji wished he could''ve heard it. He might''ve found it funny, too.

    Soren''s hand had a vice-grip on his shoulder. Shaking him. Pointing at the punch line. Cursed tough, even if no one could hear him.

    Doan.

    It was f*cking Doan.

    That guy never liked wizards. Wizards dealt with sh*t like what was happening... giant eyes in the walls that ate human flesh, thousand-tentacled trash cans, and the howling, f*cking dead.

    Wizards were all f*cking mad.

    Staring at the fat man''s back, Benji finally formed some kind of shite n in his head.

    Whatever was happening-- Doan was the source. The fat f*ck still hadn''t moved an ilm. Maybe he was immobilized or something... like he had to keep still or the nightmare would never end.

    Benji threw Soren''s hand off and rolled forward. Not a half-secondter, something came out of the ground behind him.

    He nced back to see what almost got him. ck spikes that burst out of the ground-- and it got what was left of Soren. There was a hole burnt through on Benji''s outer right calf... but it wasn''t hurting just yet.

    Didn''t hear it. Didn''t feel it.

    Maybe Benji was the luckiest man in the Realm.

    He drew his dagger and sprinted towards the fat man. He let his instincts take over-- not that he could think anything smart even if he wanted to.

    His body told him to jump right, he jumped right. More shadow spikes-- these ones wearing the heads of some of the finest men he''d ever met.

    His body told him to scream as he lunged towards Doan. He couldn''t hear his own voice, but it gave him the extra push he needed to sink his dagger into the guy''s kidney, "?Shadowtooth Strike!!?"

    Benji hooked the back of Doan''s neck and pulled down, twisting the knife deep.

    Doan turned his fat f*cking head to grin at him. He didn''t have a face, but he had teeth. Unnaturally white teeth. Unnaturally sharp teeth.

    Benji let go. He pushed off. He left his one and only weapon stuck inside the thing that wasn''t Doan.<novelnext></novelnext>

    If he hadn''t, a swing from the shadowy bastard''s greataxe would''ve cut his head clean off.

    He felt blood drip down from a shallow cut on his neck.

    Too close.

    He''d almost died. It looked like he was about to die...

    It didn''t make sense.

    It was just a normal job gone wrong.

    He was... still in the gods-damned starter zone. There shouldn''t have been *anything* in the starter zone as strong as he was facing.

    The dreams told Benji that he was some kind of ''chosen one''... that, with the help of his System, he''d eventually be one of the strongest adventurers in the Realm.

    ...But when it came down to it, the promises of the Dragon God weren''t worth shite.

    He''d used his strongest skill... and it didn''t do shite. He couldn''t activate any more weapon skills because he''d just lost his only real weapon. Running wasn''t an option-- nowhere was f*cking safe.

    He had to stall... to look for some kind of way out... some kind of way to win.

    "Who... or *what* are you?" Benji growled.

    The fat shadow tilted its ''head'', spinning it near upside down. The f*cker wasn''t even trying to be human, anymore...

    "Myyyy... nAaaame..."

    Benji grabbed one of the shadowy spears stuck in the ground. It still had Luther''s head on it, but there wasn''t any time to unstick the chucklef*ck. Whatever the creature was... it was made out of the same kind of material.

    He couldn''t have been sure... but it just made sense to him.

    The spear would be able to hurt it. The spear would be able to end the nightmare.

    It had to.

    "Well, if you can''t remember, fatty, I''ll go first," Benji grit his teeth, "I... am the heir of ash and--

    ''GUOHHHH!!!'' Benji screamed as overwhelming pain coursed through his entire body.

    He didn''t hear himself, though.

    Fear rose in his stomach as the ground gave from under him. He mmed his elbows hard on the pavement, hard enough that he felt the skin underneath his shirt split open.

    He tried to pull himself up. His lower half had sunk into the road... just like Soren.

    He couldn''t feel his legs. He couldn''t feel anything below his waist-- no pain... no numbness.

    Just... darkness. Emptiness.

    The thing that was supposed to be Doan was crouching over him... ck shite dripping from between the sharply defined gapes of his too-white teeth.

    Every drop felt like it was burning a hole into Benji''s chest.

    "CaAAaLL... mee... iShhh-MaAael..."

 Chapter 779 Not Human

    ?? The following morning. ?

    "His name is Ishmael," Tycondrius smiled.

    Elle pouted her lips cutely, "That''s... that''s not an answer?"

    ording to the innkeeper, Coraline had not returned, the previous night. Elle was concerned. Tycon was not.

    Ishmael was half-step Gold-Rank and thus was more than capable at keeping the elf safe from harm.

    If there was an enemy in Whitehearth that could overpower him... then their group as a whole had more pressing problems.

    Granted... in order for Tycon to appease his lovely girlfriend, they set out to search for the young Arcanist, first thing in the morning.

    --first thing after breakfast, anyroad.

    "Worry not, my love." He waved his hand, "I have great faith in both Ishmael''s abilities and Miss Coraline''s resourcefulness."

    "O... kay," Elle bit her upper lip. "Tell me who... Mister Ishmael is, then?"

    "He is a trusted friend... and a reliable guardian, well-seasoned by dozens of violent circumstances."

    Elle narrowed her eyes... "That''s incredibly vague and slightly disconcerting."

    "How do I exin, then..." Tycon scratched his cheek... "Ishmael is my... literal shadow?"

    "While somehow less vague," Elle frowned... "that''s even *more* disconcerting."

    Tycon shrugged with a sigh, "I''ll... introduce you to him soon enough,"

    "You''re absolutely criminal, Tychon," Elle exhaled. "Don''t you get tired of being mysterious all the time?"

    Tycon smiled with chagrin, "I *really* am trying my best to answer your questions, dear..."

    "Yeah..." Elle sighed deeply... "Sorry. I can tell... but..."

    "Yes?"

    Elle pursed her lips... "Hey... were you really going to kill that guy the other sun?"

    Tycon looked up to meet Elle''s suspicious gaze, "You''ll have to be more specific, dear."

    "That... that Porter person!" She eximed. "I mean-- he was kinda seedy... but are you really going to try to bully any guy that tries to get close to me?"

    The two continued walking for several moments in silence.

    ...Tycon had to hazard a guess as to the ''correct'' answer.

    "No?"

    "Tychon."

    "M... maybe?"

    "Well, thank you for being honest," Elle scoffed. "But don''t do that anymore."

    "Not while you''re watching," Tycon nodded. "I understand."

    "TY-chon!!!"

    "What?"

    "I''d rather you *not* get arrested in a foreign nation on ount of your jealousy, Tychon," Elle chided. "I mean, what would Lady Ophelia say?"

    Tycon looked up in thought. He was confident that he knew the Arcanite Princess'' personality well enough...

    "I''d imagine she''d say something simr to... ''halt, in the name of House Moonwell! You''re being arrested on so many counts of murder.''"

    "Tychon!"

    As proficient as the answer was, Elle still found it uneptable.

    --which was a shame.

    "Fine! Fine," Tycon waved dismissively," then I''ll relegate my dismantling of your potential suitors with words or otherwise socially eptable means."

    "Hahhh! You''re terrible~" Elle shook her head, "But I''m happy as long as you get it."

    Thankfully, her smile had never faded. Tycon would not kept so calm if his lover were to actually grow upset.

    Haelvia of Leopardon was excellentpany.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Still... her advice was sound.

    Murder was best kept discrete.

    "I''m worried about Coraline," Elle sighed... "She''s still pretty upset about her boyfriend, y''know?"

    Tycon chuckled. "I would like to point out that you didn''t seem to be so worried,st night."

    "That''s because of your over-tuned sex drive," Elle squinted her eyes.

    "Such activities were consensual and enjoyed by both parties," Tycon shrugged. "You''re lovely, by the way."

    "--and you turned into a literal snake," Elle fake-scowled, "You barely fit in our inn room!"

    "Something you specifically requested to see."

    "And thank you for thepliment-- and for trusting me," Elle leaned down to peck Tycon on the cheek. "You know a normal human would have probably freaked out, right?"

    "Ah, about that," Tycon pursed his lips, ncing up. "Do you really believe that applies to you?"

    "Tch-what?" Elle snorted with a particrly nasal quality-- "Normal?"

    "No..." Tycon frowned. "Human."

    "WhuhhHHhh??" Elle tilted her head, "Am... I not?"

    "Would you be surprised if I said you weren''t?"

    "Huh... I guess I wouldn''t. What... am I supposed to be?"

    "Titanblood," Tycon exined casually... "Bloodline of giants-- possibly old-world Cyclops. Thetter could exin your ability to speak to things that don''t normally... do that."

    "That makes sense... but it... doesn''t? Mom and Dad were both human--" Elle furrowed her brows..." unless you''re saying that-- that Mom..."

    Tycon waved his hand, "Not necessarily, so don''t make that face. Bloodlines cany dormant for several generations. Trust that human-giant births often result in the death of the mother."

    "Oh. Okay," Elle nodded. "Mom died when I was young... but I still remember her. Wait-- is the only reason you like me because--"

    "Don''t," Tycon groaned. "I hold strong romantic feelings for you because you''re you. Your mental abilities and attractive physical appearance are bonuses."

    "Yeah, uh huh?" Elle snickered. "Try again. Fewer words."

    "I love you?"

    "I love you too, babe," Elle smiled.

    It seemed that no matter how many times Tycon saw it, it made his heart skip a beat.

    "Atst," Elle pulled him close with her right arm, "thy training isplete!"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "I don''t suppose you''ve been utilizing a high level Mind-Control spell this whole time, have you?"

    "Huh?" Elle''s face scrunched up in confusion, "You mean like... a magic?"

    "Nevermind."

    Tycon held the library door open for his lover, following her in. After a polite (if quiet) conversation with the librarian, they were directed to one of the private rooms in the wooden building''s rear.

    "Good morning, you two," He smiled as he shut the heavy door.

    "Tychon..." Elle hid behind him, hand on his shoulder, "is that... Ishmael?"

    "Yes. I... do believe that earlier, I described him as ''literally my shadow.''"

    The room had two upants. Seated at a desk behind a stack of books was a small blonde elf wearing a tired smile. Reclining on a tipped chair was a ck outline of a handsome person reading a book.

    "Oh, is it morning, already?" Coraline blinked.

    "Ohhhh, poor baby~!" Elle rushed over to her side and snatched up the small elf in her embrace. "You didn''t sleep?!"

    "More like I forgot. Ehe..." Coraline hugged back... "Oy. Is... is that your sword or are you just happy to see me?"

    **Pok**

    Ishmael''s book fell out of his hands.

    ...It was uncharacteristically clumsy of him.

 Chapter 780 Targeted

    ?"Oh, this?" Elle straightened her back as she unsheathed the sword at her waist. "Lover-boy over there got it for me."

    Coraline''s eyes widened and she sat back to take the de in full view, "The way it gleams... it''s... Arcanite? OoOh. Expensive."

    "Very," Tycondrius confirmed.

    "The trophy wife gets all the nicest things," Elle giggled.

    Tycon rolled his eyes. His lover was a humble woman... but he often worried that the source of said humility was herck of self confidence.

    He hoped that her new sword would work towards alleviating that.

    It had long irked him that Elle''s issued sword, per Tyrion regtions, was the incorrect length for her... admittedly non-regtory height.

    The Arcanite arming sword was more than an expensive gift. It was a durable and reliablebat weapon that also served as a symbol of her high status amongst Tycon''s martial forces.

    Its material was also practical, as the longer sword''s weight remained simr to that of her previous.

    "Her name," Elle smiled, "is Summer Song."

    "It''s so pretty..." Coraline nodded-- still in her half daze. "I love the hilt''s design."

    Elle was surprisingly close to being correct. The Elven sword''s name was something like... Hawk''s Cry in the Summer.

    If the fates were kind, Elle would eventually learn its true name and bind the weapon spirit''s soul to her own. As she had done simr with her Divine Armor, Gaheris, Tycon reasoned it would only be a matter of time.

    Elle snuggled into the back of Coraline''s head, "Let''s go, baby girl. Gonna get you some pancakes, gonna bring you to the tailor for measurement-- then I''m putting you to bed."

    "Th-that can wait, Ellie," Coraline pushed her ''bestie'' away and stood up... though she had to stifle a yawn, "Sir Tychon."

    Tycon nodded, "Report."

    "I''m not entirely sure... but I''m afraid that the Vice President of the Sapphire Tower might have something against you-- or... us, rather. Have you heard of Constantine the Silver?"

    Tycon frowned at the unsavory news, "Not in particr, but I''m assuming Miss Be''s second to be a Gold-Rank Archmage... Is there a motive? Or proof beyond hearsay?"

    "Well... no," Coraline shook her head.

    "Youngdy," Tycon pursed his lips. "Never in the past have you spoken to waste my time."

    "Tychon!" Elle red. "Be nice!"

    "No, Ellie," Coraline dipped her head in thought... "he''s right to be doubtful. It''s... pretty out there..."

    The expression on the young elf''s face wasn''t one of embarrassment-- nor was it of total uncertainty. Coraline had her reasoning... and her judgment had always proved trustworthy.

    "Too many things have been happening that could be easy to exin if it was him," She exined... "I got a lot of information out of Mister Porter, the other sun... and then... the letter President Be sent to me..."

    Tycon crossed his arms, "And if it''s *not* your Archmage?"

    "That..." Coraline sucked in air through her teeth, "--would be really bad. That would mean there''s another big bad evil guy interested in us for all the wrong reasons... a different person with the confidence to call himself ''The Wizard.''"

    "So not to be mean," Elle crossed her arms-- "but how ''bout the info we need to save your boyfriend? You know... the reason you went to the library in the first ce?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "O-oh, right," Coraline chuckled derisively as she shuffled through her notes, "I made sure to work on that before I started following leads on the case."

    "The... case?" Elle tilted her head.

    "Miss Coraline fancies herself as a magic detective," Tycon smirked. "We met when she deciphered the events aboard the Golden Eagle."

    "I just want everyone I give a crap about to stay alive," Coraline sighed. "And myself, too. I really hope I''m wrong about Vice President Constantine..."

    Tycon smiled politely, "And if you are correct, let us not be taken by surprise."

    Coraline pushed forward arge sheet of paper, curled up at the edges, "Here it is, a map to the Tree God''s Forest."

    Elle examined the topographical map with expert understanding, "Ooh. That''s not too far from here."

    She hugged the elf again, picking her up off the floor, "We''re so close! Come on, cheer up."

    Coraline blinked her eyes, still not entirely awake... "I haven''t slept in like three suns, babe."

    "And that can wait until after we put you in a pretty dress," Elle teased.

    Tycon twisted his lips to the side, "We''re getting Miss Coraline a set of Battle Mage raiment, not a mere... ''pretty'' dress."

    "Why can''t it be both?" Elle grinned.

    ...

    The sound of bells chimed in Zhevra''s ears, mournful...prising notes off tune. It was a discordant melody that was still somehow soothing to the soul.

    "(S-sister... please. Vyzen wants it so bad... So very bad...)"

    Zhevra put her spyss away and ducked back down before their marks could see them.

    It was rare for most adventurers to look up to the rooftops. However, she was tracking a trio that included a Gold-Rank adventurer, an elf, and a Titanblood woman with unknown abilities. It was best to not underestimate any of them.

    "No, Vyzen," She shook her head. "You saw the alleyways. You saw what remained of the... Bone Rats. Even the dragonborn received nothing that remotely resembled *mercy*."

    Bells, more bells... haunting and enchanting.

    "(Vyzen wants it... to be over.)"

    Vyzen was a beautiful boy. That was something Zhevra never could deny.

    His hair was white as fresh snow, only a single shade lighter than the baster skin of his naked chest. At one time it was marred with pink scars. He refused to say how he got them, but she''d always suspected they were self-inflicted from a time before they''d met.

    When Zhevra adopted her little brother, she took him to her favorite tattoo artist... a woman from Bael Turath, just like her. His body became a canvas of magical runes and spell circles... scars of pain and weakness turned to symbols of strength and power.

    After so many sessions, Vyzen''s perfect body could be put on disy in an art museum and he disdained the use of armor to show it off.

    Zhevra liked to think it was so she could steal nces at his perfect body throughout the sun.

    However, it was probably because he''d never beenfortable with wearing anything that got in the way of the feathery wings on his back.

 Chapter 781 Up

    ?Zhevra''s adopted brother, Vyzen, was a Daeva... a not-so-innocent boy with the blood of angels coursing through his veins and the blood of others on his hands.

    She, herself, was a Tiefling, a cynical woman with devilish ancestry and the ever-present inclination to exert her murderous will over lesser beings.

    Since they began working together as frence assassins, they were never short of contracts. Zhevra assumed it was because their employers found the pair poetic...

    ...or perhaps, ironic.

    A winged angel and a ram-horned devil... they were easily remembered by the kind of people who wished for certain persons to be ''forgotten.''

    "(Sister... Sister. Vyzen is so close. It is so close.)"

    Vyzen pulled his delicate, doll-like fingers apart... mana-created wires strangling the stray cat in hisp.

    It thrashed its broken legs, desperately trying to rally against its fate. Its futile scratching activated the runes on Vyzen''s chest, a First-Circle ?Mana Ward? rejecting its death throes.

    It had been his third dead cat in the past bell...

    Zhevra frowned as she took in the sight of her brother''s collection of corpses. The apartment building''s roof was covered in guts and gore. Scatterings of extracted bone were arranged on the floor in geometric patterns. Haphazardly carved patches of wet fur adorned the rooftop ess hatch in the shape of a smiling face.

    It was endearing... the fact that Vyzen always did his best to make Zhevra feel like she was at home.

    "Patience, little brother," She caressed the boy''s blood-spattered cheek. "Our ns are in motion... and you''ll have your chance to kill again... soon-- very soon."

    The previous evening, she''d spoken with a very interesting Corralidus.

    It was exactly as The Wizard said. Despite the human Captain''s steadily growing reputation... being the subject of one mutiny meant he was susceptible to another.

    The sound of soft, rhythmic bells rang as the beautiful daeva''s ''spoke''... "(Vyzen wishes... for the contract to beplete... to be free.)"

    He tossed the expired creature aside, with force enough to stter its soft skull against the stone roof tiles. After his ythings broke, it was never long until he grew bored of them...

    Vyzen buried his face into Zhevra''sp, his light sobbing pulling at her heartstrings, "(Why can we not trust? Vyzen doesn''t want to kill again.)"

    "Shhhh..." Zhevra cooed, softly stroking her brother''s soft-as-down hair... "Killing is what we do best. Even though the Realm won''t ept us... we *can* do this. Once we have enough coin... once our reputation grows enough-- that is when we can do as we please."

    The crying stopped.

    ? Zhevra felt her heart skip a beat... worried if this sun was going to be the one when he was finally taken from her... just like everything she''d ever grown to love.

    He wasn''t breathing... but sometimes, that''s just what he did-- forget to breathe.

    It came as a great relief to her when he lifted his head up to take in the scent of her hair.

    "(I spoke with God,)" He chimed.

    Zhevra sighed as she lightly brushed her fingertips on Vyzen''s runed chest... "Tell me then, sweetling... what did the scaled f*cker say to you?"

    "(No,)" Vyzen sat up, blood and tears smudged on his face... "(The voice belongs to a different God... Vyzen''s God.)"

    Zhevra narrowed her eyes. Those were sounds she hadn''t ever heard her brother ''speak''.

    For arge portion of her life, she was raised in the northern nations of Bael Turath and the Sleeping Country. In those ces, it wasmon knowledge that gods were mysterious, fickle, and merciless existences that couldn''t give less of a f*ck about the plight of mortals.

    Gods were known. They were respected.

    However, people took precedence... and that which mortals sought.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Money. Power. Status.

    Love.

    Zhevra was very much a model citizen of her home nations. She desired all those things. She had a great deal of them, already. She had the coin to live with Vyzenfortably. They had the freedom to ept and reject any employers they deemed unworthy. As a two-person Dark Guild, they had plenty of status amongst the underground circles belonging to every nation.

    She loved her brother dearly.

    But besides Vyzen, Zhevra had little faith in anything or anyone else.

    People were not to be trusted-- not what they said, nor what they believed.

    Gods were to be trusted even less.

    The dragon god was one such existence. Even though her brother often heard its voice, they only followed itsmands when they were given short-term benefits for doing so.

    Often enough, Zhevra''s employers belonged to the tyrant''s cult... with wealth, status, and power enough to entice her.

    For money, she''d do just about anything. With money, she could get anyone to do anything for her...

    As for which god Vyzen was referring to... if it wasn''t the winged lizard, then she hadn''t the faintest clue as to otherwise.

    Of course... she *could* reasonably assume it wasn''t a goodly god of light and life.

    "(The words spoken...)" Vyzen''s eyes lost their glow as he spoke... returning to jarringly-human white sclera and ck pupils-- "(do not... kill that mortal.)"

    "Little star..." Zhevra gulped. She was certain she could aplish the contract on her own... but it had been years since she''d done a job without her brother... "if you do not wish to--"

    "(No!)" Suddenly, her brother snapped his eyes shut and violently shook his head, "(No, NO!! Vyzen wants! Vyzen will do it! Vyzen does not believe in God!)"

    Zhevra exhaled as her spoiled brother thumped his head back into herp. He folded his wings around her waist as he embraced her tightly.

    It was... ridiculous, a daeva denying the existence of the gods.

    "Hush now..." Zhevra whispered, "You don''t have to believe if that is your heart''s desire."

    "(Truly?)"

    Vyzen lifted his sorry head, a relieved look in his eyes.

    The brat also gripped and squeezed her left breast-- forcing a soft moan to escape her lips.

    "Of course, my love," Zhevra chuckled... "I will never lie to you."

    To many, if not all men, she would... but not to him.

    Vyzen slowly reached up... and took firm hold of one of her curved horns...

    "(Sister... please. Use your mouth. Make Vyzen forget... Make Vyzen worship you.)"

    Zhevra rolled her eyes and sighed. Maybe if she didn''t give into her brother''s demands so often, he wouldn''t have be like he was.

    ...but she''d be lying if she said she didn''t enjoy it.

    "Fine... I suppose I deserve a break..."

 Chapter 782 Hangar

    ?? Later that sun. ?

    Tycondrius did not like the feeling of being watched.

    When he came into the possession of an Amulet of Obscuration, it brought him no small amount of peace of mind for sun-to-sun activities.

    However, that only protected him from divination magic. It was still possible for him and Elle to be spied upon via mundane means.

    It was even more bothersome that he sensed malicious intent from whomever was targeting him. Tycon was not as sensitive to such things as he would like. He relied purely on instinct... useful enough to know that he was theoretically in danger, but too inexact to identify the source lest the spy was foolish enough to reveal themself.

    "Tychon?" Elle followed his gaze, "Why do you keep looking to the rooftops?"

    "I''ve been adventuring for a long time, my love," He grimaced. "Upwards is often the least checked direction, when scanning for potential dangers."

    "Ehhh?" Elle raised her eyebrows. "That''ll take me some gettin'' used to..."

    "I advise you try to incorporate it into your actions until it''s second-nature," Tycon smiled politely. "Habits don''t change over a single sun."

    "Mm. Lessons from the leader of Sol Invictus, himself," Elle hummed. "Should I be paying you or what?"

    "Last I checked, your stipend is issued in my name," Tyconughed. "But if you''re feeling guilty over how much you''re receiving..."

    "Don''t suppose I can pay... some other way?" Elle winked coquettishly.

    "With love, affection, andpanionship?" Tycon teased.

    "You read my mind."

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. He was hoping to catch his lover off-guard with honesty instead of flirtation, but she took it in stride.

    Clever girl.

    "So, Lord Invictus--" She began.

    "Please don''t," Tycon rolled his eyes. "The title is reserved for someone else."

    "Mister Invictus?"

    "eptable."

    "Mister Invictus, then," Elle smirked, "Howe I got a new sword and you didn''t?"

    As they walked, Tycon subconsciously put a hand to the Tyrion sword on his waist, "This one has... sentimental value."

    Its previous owner was a young man named Justus of Leopardon, Elle''s childhood friend. The fact was not something he wished to volunteer... as he''d taken it after violently murdering him.

    "Sure you''re not just cheap, Tychon?"

    "I prefer the term ''frugal'', youngdy," Tycon frowned. "And to use your words from earlier in the sun, ''why can''t it be both?''"

    Elle put her hand to her mouth, stifling a round of light and airy giggling, "Don''t be mad."

    "I''m not?"

    "You''re making a face."

    "This is how I look."

    "That''s not the face you gave mest night~"

    Elle''s brazen remark made Tycon avert his gaze.

    Discontent roiled in his heart when he realized what had happened.

    ...Clever girl. Well yed.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He let his shoulders slouch, "I concede, my love."

    Elle pulled him close for a quick hug, "Aww. I''ll let you win next time."

    To alleviate his frustration, Tycon kicked open the door to one of the Arcanite Princess'' hangars.

    They were greeted by the sight of two rows of Divine Armors on the right and a single passenger airship to the left, all in various stages ofpletion.

    Elle ced both of her hands over her heart... "I... I like this ce."

    "Oh? Would you like me to buy you another one?" Tycon teased.

    "Not a chance," She grinned. "I''m quite happy being doted upon by my two handsome men... that being you and Gaheris. Stop making that face."

    "I''m not," Tycon insisted.

    At first nce, Tycon would have assumed Ophelia was preparing for war. Knowing better, he realized... the Divine Armors all looked simr, their designs far closer to that of Talks-With-Fire than the specialized Many-Big-Guns. They were being developed to be sold to other nations and wealthy third-parties.

    The financial power of House Moonwell made it in no way inferior to House Highde... and far superior to that of the East Charm Trading Company. It hadn''t been so obvious until then.

    Dozens of elves, humans, and persons in-between were milling about the floor, carrying tools, or conversing about something likely irrelevant. As nothing of particr importance was taking ce, Tycon raised his voice to shout over the ambient noise.

    "Captain Krysaos!" Tycon yelled, "Are you here? Have you been assassinated?"

    "That''s pretty dark, Tychon," Elle frowned. "And if he was-- he wouldn''t be able to respond."

    "If he hasn''t been--" He countered, "then he will."

    Krysaos spotted them immediately and began walking towards them, leaving behind a flustered female elf in a white coat.

    "YOOOOOO~!!!!" ELLLL-TEEEEEE!!!"

    "Brother-Captain," Tycon smiled warmly, "you look well."

    They shook hands in greeting. Tycon judged that Krysaos'' strength was not less than it had been. The gentleman had recovered well enough that they could depart from the Tree God''s Forest at any time.

    "And I feel a helluva lot better than the other sun," Krysaos looked up to Elle and whistled. "Wow. And heLLooo there~ Krysaos, Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge, and badass-est badass of the sixteen seas. But what''s YOUR name, gorgeous?"

    "H-hello Captain Krysaos," Elle saluted politely. "Immunes Haelvia of Guild Metal Wolf-- but you can call me Elle."

    "Ah huh. Yeah," Krysaos looked her up and down before returning azy salute of his own... "Elle. That''s nice."

    That his eyes lingered a bit too long on Elle''s chest area was... something Tycon expected.

    "Listen, girlie," Krysaos shed a white smile. "Gimme a moment with good ol'' Lieutenant Tycon, here."

    Before Tycon could respond, the man insistently pulled him away.

    "LT."

    "Yes, brother?"

    Krysaos crossed his arms, "You already f*cked her, din''cha?"

    "Yes," Tycon narrowed his eyes. "We''ve established a rtionship. Stay away from her or I''ll murder you in your sleep."

    "Deal."

    "But to sate my curiosity... how could you tell?"

    "Ughhh," Krysaos groaned as he ced his arms on Tycon''s shoulders. "Not important. Howe you keep gettin'' all the hot chicks? Come on, LT. Look at me, guy! I''m single as a sunfish!"

    Tycon took a deep breath through his nostrils... "Is that so...?"

 Chapter 783 Sea & Sky

    ?It was baffling to Tycondrius how Krysaos could overlook the affectations of his two closest femalepanions.

    "So you gonna help me out, or what?" The fool grinned. "C''mon. We''re friends, right?"

    "Brother-Captain..." Tycon sighed, "even if you ask that of me, I... wouldn''t know how to go about it... But tell me, Brother... what are your thoughts on... Princess Imperia?"

    Despite her sharp tongue, the dark elf Storm Cleric was tantly attracted to the Captain, both physically and emotionally.

    Neither were honest to each other... or with themselves, for that matter.

    Krysaos tilted his head to the side as he rooted around in his ear with a finger, "What about her?"

    "Nevermind." Tycon narrowed his eyes... "And your thoughts on Mina?"

    The weapon spirit was single-mindedly obsessed with him. Her and the Captain''s souls were literally bound together by a magical contract... but it seemed they had yet to share their... feelings.

    "She got fixed up good," Krysaos nodded sagely. "I left her with Bob and the others."

    Tycon felt his eyebrow twitch. As he feared, his mostly-intelligentpanion did not hold either woman in his heart... "Then what of the youngdy you were speaking to just now?"

    "That''s a girl?" Krysaos furrowed his brows.

    "...Yes"

    "Hah! He''s-- err, she''s even tter than Imperia! ...Or asdy-like as Mina," Krysaos thumbed his nose, "But... I guess I can show her the motion of the ocean, if''n ya catch my drift."

    Tycon nced over the Captain''s shoulder. The white-coated elf he''d left behind had struck up conversation with Elle. However, upon Krysaos'' words, she turned towards the two of them to re intently.

    She had heard.

    "The keen hearing of elves is not to be underestimated," Tycon chided.

    "Ya don''t say?" Krysaos dipped his head. "Bah, whatever."

    It came as a surprise. Tycon''s gentleman-friend rarely gave up his carnal pursuits so easily. If he hadn''t known better, it was because of his loyalty to Mina and Imperia-- either or both.

    "LT," The man raised his head again with renewed vigor, "They make airships in this city."

    Tycon pursed his lips. He was perfectly aware that he was standing in the presence of one such construction. It took nearly half the hangar.

    "Yes, Brother-Captain. Yes, they do."

    "Which means," Krysaos put on his wide grin, "the elves can make the Neptune''s Revenge fly! You and me, pal, we''ll be able to challenge the sky god!"

    "Kryasos... friend... brother-in-arms..." Tycon frowned... "I must remind you that the sea god is... fundamentally different from the one you''re speaking of, right now."

    "Notttt IM-por-tant!" Krysaos gently shook Tycon by the shoulders, "I''m gettin'' in the air, eventually. What''s addin'' another god to the hit list? You''ll help, right?"

    "One god-ying quest at a time, please," Tycon red. "Anyroad, I had asked that you find Seaman Stickyfingers to discern the whereabouts of Miss Mina''s enchanted tiara."

    "Oh, that?" Krysaos lifted his hat to scratch at his short hair, "Yeah. Was easy enough."

    "And... where is he, exactly?"

    "Prison."

    Tycon sighed and averted his gaze to think. He didn''t want to request help from Ophelia... not so soon. It would make him and his Captain look as ipetent as they often were. If that woman knew the depth of it... it would be wise of her to refuse them ess to the Water Temple.

    Then... Tycon realized that in him looking at the opposite end of the hangar... he spied upon a familiar, pock-marked face...

    "Brother-Captain."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Ya?" Krysaos raised an eyebrow.

    "Refrain from sudden movement, if you would... but I''d like you to shift your attention to where I am facing."

    Krysaos stretched his back, then rotated his torso side-to-side.

    Tycon continued to stare at a ghost-pale Coral Boy... a crafty gentleman that took the moniker ''Stickyfingers.'' He and a few crewmembers were skulking about behind stacks of crates and barrels... each with a bup sap slung over a shoulder.

    What appeared to be... sawed off iron bars were jutting out of at least two.

    "It appears Seaman Stickyfingers is no longer incarcerated," Tycon whispered.

    "Ya don''t say..." Krysaos shrugged. "Try not to mind ''em. They''re probably just... pickin'' up a few things for the ship while they''re here."

    "How... did they get past the guards?"

    "Oh, I dunno, man," Krysaos scratched his chin. "You know how it is. They''re real uh... sneaky-like?"

    ...The concept really shouldn''t have surprised Tycon as much as it did.

    He took another long look at Stickyfingers as the gentleman waved hispanions quietly through the back door.

    His attention drifted to... a heavy leather coin purse strapped to the Coral Boy''s waist.

    Why that bothered Tycon-- he was unsure. Stickyfingers could have made the coin in a myriad of ways... fencing goods he and hispanions had neglected to add to the crew spoils... gambling or coercion of his peers'' stipends... outright stealing from the general popce.

    But... what Tycon was doing... was trying to apply logic to the Coral Boys. He had learned in the early suns of sailing with the crew that such an endeavor would only earn him a nasty headache.

    "Brother-Captain," He sighed. "Let us make preparations to challenge the Tree God''s Forest. Lady Ophelia has promised to make it worth your while."

    "Fair ''nough," Krysaos shrugged. "Sea or sky, then?"

    "The former..." Tycon scoffed, "but I''d imagine thetter is something that can be negotiated with the Arcanite Princess."

    "Now THAT''S what I like to hear, LT!" Krysaos pumped a fist victoriously, "So where do I sign up?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, having recognized a rare opportunity...

    "As a matter of fact, I have paperwork in my spatial ring that requires your signature."

    He summoned a carefully prepared magical contract he''d written some evenings prior, offering the Captain a quill pen.

    The trusting fool didn''t even read it, signing his life away without a doubt.

    It almost made Tycon feel guilty.

    Almost.

    "I got a good feelin'' about this," Krysaos grinned.

    "Indeed," Tycon chuckled to himself as he put the contract away, "I''m looking forward to your hard work."

    And the effects of the contract stating that Krysaos was to fall under Tycon''smand over the next few weeks for the purpose of training.

    "Us against the world, pal?" Krysaos offered his hand.

    Tycon bared his teeth in a grin, heartily shaking the Captain''s hand. He felt his blood running hot, influenced by the gentleman''s infectious arrogance, "Us against the world..."

    ",

 Chapter 784 Land

    ?? One weekter. ?

    ? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX. ?

    ? So there I was... in the middle of the deepest, darkest forest on the gods'' green Realm. ?

    ? I thought the oceans were a scary ce-- but I knew the oceans. There was only so much down there. You had your Leviathans, your Abyssal Sea Wolves, the odd Coral Boy-- and really not enough hot mermaids to go around. ?

    ? Mina kept all the baddies away. Good girl, that Mina. ?

    ? But onnd--nd was shite. ?

    ? It wasn''t just bugs and spiders crawling in the trees. There were acid-spitting, zombified hos half-the-size of Elle. There were spiders made of metal that were there one moment and gone the next. ?

    ? I was hoping for some good eatin'' being out there-- something like cowardly deer and little bunny rabbits. Yeah, no. The antlered f*cks stood up on two legs and made Bob look like he was suffering from severe malnutrition. I saw a rabbit kill one of the Coral Boys-- ripped his stony throat out. No amount of seawater could fix that. ?

    ? The fact that it couldugh was f*cked enough... but it was the kind of sound he could only imagine in his nightmares... ?

    ? And then the trees... the trees looked like they wanted to f*ck me, then murder me-- not necessarily in that order. They had faces in the bark with... teeth and burning eyes. They had... warts on them. They screamed in pain when Catshit took a whack at one. ?

    ? They bled. ?

    ? Trees were gods-damned terrifying. The things were hundreds if not thousands of years old... full of secrets-- biding their time for when the moment was ripe. And one of them... for gods-damned sure... one of them was going to attack when they least expected it. But Krysaos, Captain of the-- ?

    ? These trees won''t attack you, Krysaos. ?

    "Oh, yeah?" Krysaos turned to re at his Lieutenant, "Well, forgive me for my ignorance,ndlubber."

    Facing Tycon''s re, Krysaos immediately held a hand up, "No. Wait. Sorry-- not in a good mood, LT..."

    "Granted," The LT sighed deeply. "I shall take no offense... This *is* an abysmal ce. Remain vignt."

    Elle-- the big woman, was keeping close to the guy, watching her head to avoid the medium-high branches, "Tychon... just why do the trees have faces?"

    "Our minds recognize patterns when there are none," The LT answered calmly.

    "And the... ''warts''?"

    "They''re fruit," Coraline squeaked. "And their ''blood'' per se, is their juice... Still a good idea to steer clear of ''em, though. The fruits are the main diet of Six-Eyed Ravens and they''re... territorial, to put it nicely."

    ? Elle and Coraline were the two newest additions to the crew. ?

    ? ...More or less, anyroad. ?

    ? Elle was Lieutenant Tycon''s girlfriend. Real sweet, she was-- and even though she was as tall as Petty Officer Bob, she seemed pretty young. Tycon gives me the stink-eye if I try to talk to her for more than two sentences. I get it, though. If I were him, I wouldn''t trust a girl around me, neither. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Coraline was... probably the most tolerable elf I''ve ever met. She said she was raised around humans-- which was probably why. She was a bit weird in the head, though. She had two modes: sea cucumber vomiting out information and... crippling depression. ?

    ? Them and the rest of the crew: Reliable. Trustworthy. Didn''tin more than expected. It''s leagues better than myst onest one-- the bastards that threw me off the original Sugar-Titted Siren by order of that bearded twat, the sea god. ?

    ? It took us about a week to travel to the Tree God''s Forest. We followed streams and rivers so we could have fresh water to drink and keep the Coral Boys from drying out too much. Granted, we still had to use sea water if anyone got hurt too bad. ?

    ? Wonderboy found that out, nearly dying more than once... and since Mina was conserving her mana hidden inside the Master Sword, there was no one around to feel bad for him. ?

    ? Everyone''s got a use. That''s why I make pals with anyone I can. The smart folk, you have them talk and you listen to them. The LT and Coraline, they fell in that category-- probably Elle, too. The stupid ones-- you get them to do your dirty work. ?

    "Cap''n?" Stickyfingers put his hand on Krysaos'' shoulder.

    "WhaaAAAt?!" Krysaos snapped.

    "We uh... we''z uh..." The Coral Boy lifted up his sack. It was bleeding.

    Krysaos looked past the guy... looking into the trees for the anomaly.

    "Empty night," Tycon cursed.

    Krysaos felt a twang of pain go through his head, right behind the eyes. That''s when he saw it. Some of the trees looked like... regr trees. That is... without their bleeding warts.

    ? Most of the crew-- Wonderboy and Stickyfingers included... they belonged to the second category. ?

    ? The crowing and cawing set on like a storm all around us. Everywhere I looked, there were eyes and feathers, razor sharp talons and toothed beaks. There were hundreds of the flying f*cks, if not thousands. ?

    "Ooooh, we''z really done it ''is time," The pale Coral Boy chuckled, "Whaddya say, Cap''n? We leg it?"

    "Don''t be a fockin'' coward, Stickyfingers," The massive Bob growled as he hefted a two-handed battleaxe over his shoulder. "We stand. We foight."

    "I agree with Petty Officer Bob''s assessment," Tycon shrugged. "Running would be disadvantageous, considering the thick foliage above and the thorned, on the ground."

    "I''ll take care of the south. d it''s not the dry season," Coraline held her hands up, her forearms lighting up with fire. "Wake up, Beatrice!"

    "Everyone keep close to me!" Elle yelled, holding out the weird, green shield-thing on her arm. "I''ll use my shield to block the first charge. By my side, Gaheris!!"

    Krysaos grit his teeth. He wasn''t about to be shown up by the two new chicks.

    He wrapped his hand around the hilt of his rapier, the Heart of the Ocean, "Well, I have a summon with a funny name too."

    ",

 Chapter 785 Hell-Storm

    ?Krysaos drew the Heart of the Ocean from its sheath with a fancy flourish-- a movement he shamelessly copied from a certain elf.

    After fighting against King... for whatever reason, he found it far easier to channel his through his enchanted rapier.

    He wondered if he''d reached a new level?

    That''d be the tits.

    Krysaos ced the rapier''s hilt near his chin, the t of the de pointed forward.

    "Your master summons you, Mi--"

    "Brother-Captain."

    "--whuh?"

    Krysaos frowned-- having been interrupted by a hand on his shoulder and the deep voice of his Lieutenant.

    "Elle, Coraline," Tycon waved. "Cease your summons, as well."

    Before Krysaos or anyone else could argue, cutting winds began to swirl all around them... picking up leaves, debris... and--

    "OUR FRUIT!!" The pale Coral Boy yelled, "Quick! Dey''z gotta go back in da bags!!"

    "Shut yer FUGGIN'' GOB!!" Bob roared. "An'' let ''em GO or I''ll GUT YA~!"

    King had his hands raised high above his head and his eyes were glowing real bright like he was some sort of Elven god. He was obviously preparing some kind of super-move.

    "Unforgiving winds, ?Heed My Call?... strike down these mindless beasts and their ilk."

    In a matter of seconds, a razor-sharp, magical cyclone turned the hell-storm of squawking Six-Eyed Ravens into blood, bits of bone, a hundred-thousand feathers... and what was probably bird shite.

    ...Krysaos turned to Tycon and apologized in his heart, having realized the reason the guy called him off. With King''s crazy magic spell, summoning Mina would have just been a waste of mana.

    The cawing grew quieter as the few shitebirds that survived flew away.

    Krysaos didn''t feel bad at all.

    Well, he did, a little-- but not for the gods-damned toothbirds. The little elf girl, Coraline, stood a bit too far from King-- just out of the eye of the storm.

    She ended up looking like a funky chicken.

    ...And the smell was like the inside of a Leviathan''s arse.

    The Coral Boys were simr-- even though the smell was just about the same. They were covered in the stuff, standing at the forefront with their weapons still held at the ready.

    Bob turned his head, his mouth agape, "WOT... jus'' ''app-ened?"

    "We DUNNO," Catshit pumped his axe in the air, "but it WOZZ AWE-SOOMMME!!!!!"

    Amidst the cheering of his crew, Krysaos wiped the blood off his face before shing a grin, "Good work, guy."

    "Pathetic," The elf glowered. "Long has this king been without an opponent *worthy* of these des... Captain Krysaos!"

    "Uh huh?"

    "I shall forge ahead, "The elf shook his head in disdain before dashing off, venturing deeper into the woods.

    "Sea god''s ball crabs..." Krysaos frowned, "Who took a shite in that guy''s breakfast burrito?"

    ...Well, it wasn''t important. He shrugged and started channeling water magic to clean himself... He figured he''d probably need to summon Minater to deep-clean it.

    "Ancients," Coraline sighed as she started to cast some spells of her own-- something fiery, "don''t have any expectations of them or you''ll always be disappointed."

    "You gonna put that down in your log, Captain Krysaos?" Elle teased.

    Krysaos pursed his lips... "I uh... yeah. Why not?"

    ? But the Six-Eyed Ravens weren''t shite. They all died in a swirl of magic under the noblemand of me, Captain Krysaos of the Neptune''s Revenge. ?

    Lieutenant Tycon pointed his palm at where King walked off, "Ladies and gentlemen, let us follow. Coraline, Brother-Captain, cast your hygienic spells as we move."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Eh. That was a good call. Krysaos waved his hand above his head to rally everyone behind him-- back into what could pass for a marching formation.

    "Followin'' this guy blows chunks," He groaned. "I hate to say it, but I almost wish we had Imperia with us."

    King always went off on his own. It''s what he did. But every time before, they always had the dark elf or one of her goons to lead the way.

    Elle was wringing out her headband, dripping blood all over her arms, "Elves are really good at trailzing through woond areas, right?"

    "Really, Ellie?" Coraline groaned, "Stereotype much?"

    Krysaos stopped himself before hemented. He was thinking the same thing-- "I was uh... thinking they''d be good for ambush fodder."

    "It''d be too dangerous," The elf girl shook her head. "After decades, if not centuries, of logging, the Tree God ced an enchantment in and around the forest. The details are unclear, but any elves that have visited in the past few decades have gotten cursed."

    "Yeah, uh huh..." Krysaos pursed his lips as he stared at Coraline''s pointy ears. "And how are you okay, girlie?"

    Coraline''s eyes widened in sudden panic... then narrowed in confusion, "I uh... I dunno?"

    "me Eternal," Elle gasped. "Did you forget you were an elf, Coraline?"

    "N-no? ...I mean," Coraline bit her upper lip, "I seem okay?"

    Starting with Krysaos, Elle and Coraline looked over to Tycon. He usually had an answer.

    "Miss Coraline wears specialized jewelry that protects her from the forest''s anti-elf formation," The guy exined.

    "Ah, yeap. That''ll do it," Krysaos nodded. He didn''t quite understand, but if the LT said it, that was good enough for him.

    "I-- whaaaa?!" Coraline tilted her head to the side.

    Tycon didn''t respond as he walked ahead. He did, however, tap on one of his earlobes.

    Krysaos'' gaze wandered back to Coraline. He hadn''t noticed before, but she wore small pearls on her ears. They made her look like more of a kid than she was.

    "My earrings..." She whispered.

    "They''re cute," Elle grinned. "So were they a gift?"

    "I got them from..." Coraline looked up, "my boss?"

    "Miss Be must have taken a liking to you," Tycon said aloud.

    Krysaos raised his eyebrows. There was only one Be he knew of... Be Sapphira, the Archmage of the Sapphire Tower.

    Which was... the person Coraline worked for? Which also meant the ''Baymax'' thing she was trying to cast earlier was some kind of Sapphire Tower-ss summon.

    And then with the fact that all of the LT''s friends were certified bad-asses...

    Seven hells-- that probably meant that whatever Elle''s ''Gaheris'' was might''ve demolished half-the-forest.

    ...not that Krysaos would have minded. He was one of said bad-asses, after all. That kind of stuff wasn''t anything to be impressed by.

    He could even summon a giant Whitesaber Tuna, if he wanted to.

    "Hold on," Elle waved. "Then howe Mister King is okay? He''s an elf too, right?"

    "That gentleman defies conventional logic," Tycon answered.

    "Yeah, speakin'' of unconventional," Krysaos sneered, "he''s been a massive cunt this sun."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow as he nced over, "Is he acting abnormally, as of recent?"

    "You didn''t notice?" Elle asked.

    "I did not."

    Krysaos shrugged, "Somethin'' prob''ly happened-- not that that''s an excuse..."

 Chapter 786 Princess Of The Vulkoori

    ?? shback: Elven War Camp, half-a-malm away from the Tree God''s Forest, the previous evening. ?

    Imperia sat still on a smooth rock, keeping still as one of her men re-braided her silver hair.

    Even with the gentle babbling of the nearby brook keeping her at ease, she grit her teeth at her attendant''s roughness. It was a headache to always wear them so tightly... but it got in the way, otherwise.

    Every now and again she considered cutting it short... but long hair was something of a status symbol in House Vulkoori.

    Mother would have thrown a fit.

    "Is everything alright, Princess?" The desman asked.

    She turned up to re at him, activating the magic in her eyes, "Be silent, Warrior. Just ?Do As You''re Told?..."

    The filthy male flinched, but he bowed in obeisance as thepulsion enchantment took hold... and as proper decorum dictated.

    "As you wish, mdy."

    Imperia sighed in annoyance. She was being more curt as ofte... a trait she personally hated, as she''d been on the opposite end of it for most of her life.

    She couldn''t help it.

    Since leaving Whitehearth, she only had one thought on the forefront of her mind:

    Mother was an insufferable b*tch.

    It didn''t matter how fast Imperia''s casting ability had progressed over barely a century. It didn''t matter how many quests or contracts shepleted in the name of House Vulkoori. It didn''t matter how many of her innocent sisters she made disappear... or how many loyal warriors'' careers she ruined to advance someone else''s agenda.

    ? For Mother... it was never enough.

    Imperia had never remembered asking her mother for anything.

    When she was younger, she made the mistake of asking for frivolities afforded by the other Elven daughters. Why did they get to wear expensive dresses and go to festivals? She was a Princess too.

    Mother did not agree.

    Such observations only earned her ire... and Imperia was scolded or beaten if she even was caught looking for too long at one of her mother''s fanciful dresses.

    Fineries were only granted to those who deserved it.

    Imperia didn''t ask for respect.

    That, she had to earn on her own...manding it from her servants... then her lesser peers... then her rivals. She learned to use every means avable to her, violence, magic... and even her ocr magic, if need be.

    Love.

    She would never dare to ask for her mother''s love. The woman had none to give.

    Imperia was a good girl... ever-loyal... too scared to be disobedient.

    Doing everything Mother had asked for tens of decades... she thought she had finally earned enough favor for one tiny request.

    Thinking that was one of the stupidest mistakes she''d ever made.

    When Imperia was finally granted an audience with House Vulkoori''s High Priestess... she was not weed back as a noble Princess. She was treated like a traitorous criminal.

    Mother shouted curses at her, insulted her... reminded that everything she had ever earned in life was a gift-- a privilege granted by her ''benevolent kindness.''

    Imperia was forced to kneel on the cold, stone tiles. Her armor and clothes were forcibly stripped from her. She wasmanded to strike her head as she bowed to beg for forgiveness.

    As for the reason?

    For losing her purity to a human.

    Before she''d even stepped foot in Whitehearth Mother''s spies had already poisoned her with the ugliest, most perverse lies they could imagine.

    Imperia couldn''t believe it-- even the thought of it was inconceivable. Her surprisedughter earned her several painfulshes upon her naked chest.<novelnext></novelnext>

    And so Imperia cried. She pleaded for mercy. In a pain-wracked haze, she apologized for Mother''s every usation... for her ipetence, for being a selfish whore having copted with a human...

    She even apologized for being born.

    It was the only way to appease that heartless woman''s fury.

    When it was all done and over with, she had a dozen more promises to keep-- promises she could scarcely remember.

    ...And she had a trio of weepingcerations on her chest.

    Mother refused to allow her magical healing.

    The scars would remain... a painful reminder of her disobedience, for the rest of her suns. Since then, she hid her shame behind the same coral armor used by her men.

    ...Krysaos had never, EVER touched her... not in *that* way... nor any other.

    If he did, she''d jam a ham-sized ?Water Lance? up his rear and cut. it. off.

    He didn''t even look at her that way.

    ...But more importantly, SHE didn''t look at him that way!

    That man was a level beyond intolerable. He was nothing but a disgusting, chauvinistic womanizer.

    Anything that came out of his mouth was either inane, stupid, or worthless.

    At any given time, he stank of rum, cheap musk, or the caked makeup belonging to the cheapest tavern whore he could find.

    And worst of all, he was HUMAN.

    ...Granted, if he begged on his knees like a good man was supposed to... she''d consider letting him serve as her footrest.

    And she supposed... if he could keep his mouth shut for an entire evening, they could share a starlit dinner together.

    And maybe... after they practiced their water magics together-- mostly her teaching him, of course-- she could quite possibly reward him with a kiss.

    Her... first kiss.

    "I''ve finished," The Warrior whispered softly.

    Upon hearing his voice, Imperia wrinkled her nose in disgust.

    She checked the state of her hair with a polished hand mirror. His work was... barely eptable.

    "Good. Now, get out of my sight."

    "Princess Imperia... Since we cannot apany the sovereign into the Tree God''s Forest, I was hoping that you and I could--"

    "Oh?" Imperia narrowed her eyes, "What''s your name?"

    "It''s... Bizdiil, mdy. Your mother, she said--"

    "Well, Warrior Bizdiil," Imperia granted the pathetic sycophant the gift of her smile... "Get out of my sight or I''ll cut your dick off."

    "O-of course, mdy," the fool male stuttered.

    Imperia watched her attendant leave, awkwardly hurrying away with a figurative tail between his legs. Once she judged him out of sight and hearing... she sighed and syed herself out on the grass amidst the fireflies.

    It wasn''t Princess-like behavior.

    She sat up to make sure Lady Mina wasn''t anywhere near-- then she lied back down again.

    All her life, Imperia wanted to be a real Princess.

    All her life... she just wanted to make Mother proud.

 Chapter 787 Motherâ€™s Plans

    ?Imperia dipped her bare feet into the starlit stream, the flowing water calming her spirit.

    All her life, she''d followed Mother''s ns for her.

    She stared at her rippled reflection... wondering just when that broken girl started to doubt.

    In only the past few moons, she''d learned more about life and living than she had in over a century.

    When Neptune''s Revenge ship docked at Thorne less than a moon prior, she was rescued by thest creature she could have expected...

    --a human named Willow

    And she wasn''t just a human. She was an orphaned girl-- not even an adult.

    She had a younger brother, too... an innocent fool, but honest and kind.

    They taught Imperia that not all humans were horrible... and that not all siblings had to be her enemies.

    Before meeting them, she met Mina.

    The mermaid girl was a literal servant whose sole purpose was to attend to nobles and heroes.

    Yet for her... she wasn''t indentured or captured in battle. Servitude was her duty. She took pride in it. She turned it into her strength...

    It was a baffling concept-- something Imperia had never seen of any of her attendants...

    Everyone around Mina strove to stand a little taller, speak with more confidence. Imperia had no doubt that the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge would die for her-- they loved her so...

    Then there was Prince Tycondrius.

    The first time she met the Ivory Prince, she learned humility.

    Imperia thought she would hate him. It was so easy to hate. She was prepared to ignore every insult, every motion he made to degrade her.

    It''s what she''d have done if their statuses were reversed.

    After Imperia signed with the crew, she treated him cordially out of fear. She thought he was a fake, just like she was-- toadying to whomever gave him greatest advantage and bullying anyone he was superior to.

    Then... when he dropped his guard, she would take her revenge.

    But that man... he betrayed all her expectations.

    Even though he was the strongest person in the crew, he deferred to Krysaos. He followed military customs and courtesies without fail.

    Tycon treated Imperia with no less respect than he gave to even the lowliest Coral Boy. Not once did he put her down or make her feel inferior as a person.

    Whenever he reprimanded his crew, it was never out of personal satisfaction. There was always a reason-- cold, hard logic.

    That mask of honor and respect... it never dropped. The Prince of Poison was that way because he was a noble-- a true noble who led by example.

    Eventually, she began to look to him for guidance. He was an older, wiser, and more cunning mentor... brave, yet patient... honorable, yet merciless.

    But... Tycon wasn''t the reason Imperia had changed so much.

    The first man she met... was Captain Krysaos...

    She could never forgive that man... for making her fall... in...

    Imperia cupped her fist and smacked her forehead.

    Stupid.

    ...So stupid.

    Krysaos might as well have been her mortal enemy.

    He was amoner... without an onze of royal blood flowing through his human veins. By trade he was essentially a thief-- a criminal with a different title. He spoke roughly... and didn''t know respect if it--

    No...

    That was wrong.

    Imperia felt her face start to burn... and she felt tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.

    If there was anything that man knew how tomand... it was respect. It was so much, that to gain her favor, he risked his very life to challenge the Elven sovereign in martialbat.

    And what did she do? She refused to give Krysaos face.

    She strove to find fault in him if he so much as breathed near her.

    How could she be so stupid?

    She didn''t realize it then... but she had always wanted to convince that person that she was a noble. It became her goal... her obsession.

    Tycon was a noble. Byparison-- Mina was more of a noble than she was.

    Imperia... she was just a whiny b*tch.

    ...And it''d been far too long for her to apologize.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos hated her. He HAD to have hated her.

    Humans were nothing like elves... with but a single exception.

    They did not forgive.

    Even if Imperia did try to take it all back, he''d justugh in her face...

    And... and then she''d probably say something to make it worse.

    That''s just what she did.

    She''d been a b*tch her entire life.

    She cupped her hands into the stream and sshed it on her face to wash away the tears.

    It was all Mother''s fault.

    As much as Imperia hated herself for it... she couldn''t change who she was.

    She was a Princess. Even though her house was worth less than the sand below her feet... the blood of House Vulkoori flowed through her veins.

    It was the same blood that flowed through her mother-- the same mother that forbade her from being together with Krysaos.

    Mother had been clear.

    Imperia needed toplete the mission... she needed to establish a rtionship with the Elven sovereign... with the King from Across the Seas.

    House Vulkoori needed to control him.

    House Vulkoori needed to be the one that prevented the prophecy... the song of which legends were sung...

    And if Imperia were to fail... if she couldn''t even do that much--

    ...Then the Realm would be destroyed, reduced to naught but ash and fire.

    But even if the worst didn''te to pass... Mother would still send her assassins for Krysaos'' head.

    Imperia ced her hand on her chest, her heart throbbing painfully at the thought.

    It was the same feeling when she watched Krysaos nearly lose his life during his foolhardy duel.

    She couldn''t let that happen. She couldn''t let that get even close to happening.

    If anyone were to kill Krysaos, she''d do it herself!

    Oooh, that worthless man! If he knew what she was doing for her...

    ...If only he knew-- then maybe things would be different.

    Maybe he could rescue her just like he rescued Lady Mina from the Amphitrite Reefs... or even like Willow''s sister from the Thorne vigers.

    But was it even possible?

    Could Krysaos rescue her from herself?

    Before Imperia realized it where her bare feet had taken her... she made her way into the Elven sovereign''s tent.

    She was doing as Mother asked. She couldn''t renege on her promises.

    She was a Princess... ever-loyal... ever-obedient.

    It was all she knew... all she was good at.

    She was in the Ancient''s presence, watched over by the golden light of his eyes...

    She refused to raise her head as she undressed... feeling the cold bite of the night air, sharp against her skin.

    She got to her knees... embracing the sovereign at the waist.

    "Please, Lord..." She cried... "Let me warm your bed.

    "Even if only for tonight.

    "I''ll do anything..."

    Krysaos'' face shed through her mind...

    Anything and more.

    "Those scars..." King''s growling voice thrummed in the pit of her stomach... "Did your mother put you up to this?"

    Imperia couldn''t answer. She opened her mouth to speak, but she choked as a sob caught in her throat, "P-please..."

    King''s eyes glowed crimson and his body trembled in barely-contained rage.

    "Dress thyself, Sapling," He spoke through tightly clenched teeth. "Put on thy clothes... and. get. out."

 Chapter 788 Abyssal Land Wolf

    ?? Second sun in the Tree God''s Forest, present time. ?

    "UgHHHHhhhh!!!" Krysaos wiped the sweat on his brow and gasped for air, "My lungs feel like they''re on FIRE!!!"

    "Keep thy focus, friend-human," King hmphed. "Thy weakness exists only in thy mind."

    Tycondrius followed the two, one hand calmly resting on the hilt of his sword. He''d finally devised a clever way to distract the Elven Ancient from his impatience... though for how long was yet to be seen.

    King was utilizing limited Body-Control magic to assist Krysaos with training,rgely muting the gentleman''s spellcasting ability while positively influencing his martial capacity.

    Before their trip to the forest, Krysaos'' reaction speed and environmental awareness was only marginally better than that of an ordinary human. Without the use of magic as a crutch, he was forced to develop his skills in order to avoid taking an injury too severe for Tycon to heal.

    Further, the Ancient gently guided Krysaos'' attacks, economizing his movements for efficiency and correcting inadequacies in his technique-- ingraining those lessons through muscle memory.

    It was difficult for Tycon to fully ept the Lone Shadowdark''s death... watching his corpse animated by the spirit of a magical pair of swords. He''d thought of the young human as a loyal student... and often enough as a younger sibling.

    Working with the Elven Ancient, however, was not unpleasant. They had a mutual respect for each other and shared an appreciation for training and martial arts. Thus, the man who called himself King happily obliged with Tycon''s ns to cultivate Captain Krysaos as abatant.

    ? watch out ?

    With Beatrice''s warning, the Krysaos lunged to the side, hitting the hard ground and skidding in the dirt.

    Tycon considered scolding him for failing to roll properly... but it was clear that the pain surging through his shoulder had already informed him of the fact.

    What his mind failed to learn, his body would remember.

    Tycon snapped his fingers, "Elle."

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    "I hear you!" Elle hopped forward and smashed a clean kick to the attacking dire wolf,unching it away before its hungry teeth could crunch into Krysaos'' bones.

    Tycon snapped his fingers once more, "Miss Coraline."

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    Coraline rejected a leaping wolf with a fiery ?Mana Ward? before immediately turning around to quick-cast another spell at Elle''s target, "?Fire Bolt?!"

    The tiny ball of me hit the creature in the rump, sending it running off, whining pitifully.

    "Phew..." The young Arcanist huffed, "I think... I''m getting the hang of this?"

    "Aaaaalright..." Kryasos sat up with a groan, rubbing his arm. "This... this is bull crap, LT."

    "This is training," Tycon shrugged. "You signed the contract, Brother-Captain. Likewise, Elle and Coraline have agreed to follow mymands in pursuit of their own martial development."

    "I''ve never really fought for so long without Gaheris'' help," Elle massaged the front of her thighs. "I''m tired and sore... but it''s the good kind of both."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Yeah," Coraline nodded. "Honestly, I''ve been kinda neglecting my magic practice-- I really spend too much time sitting at a desk..."

    "Take heart, mortal," The glowing-eyed Ancient smiled warmly. "Even this king has trained for tens of centuries to reach my current level."

    "Well... I get that," Krysaos frowned. "But... why''s all the focus on me?"

    Tycon kept his face stern, as revealing the satisfaction in his own cleverness would be counterintuitive to his Captain''s focus. The reason for so much pressure on Krysaos was simple. He was the type of gentleman that performed better under scrutiny. Contrary to that, he was particrly adept at cking off, allowing his crew to cover for hisziness.

    Thus far, traveling in the Tree God''s Forest only yielded lower level threats that either Tycon or the Elven Ancient could nullify in seconds. It was appropriate to turn that into a training environment, retaining a small element of danger while being rtively safe overall.

    Their group was split into three main squads. Petty Officer Bob led the forward, Stickyfingers covered the rear, and both were instructed to allow a reasonable amount of wildlife to break to the center-- the focus group.

    Krysaos was the mainbatant, defending himself and his allies with his rapier, the Heart of the Ocean. Coraline and Beatrice supported him in mid-range, utilizing controlled chaos rather than relying on mana-inefficient fire-and-forget spells. Tycon imparted some basic kicking techniques to Elle, allowing her to make excellent use of her long, shapely legs to keep Krysaos from being overwhelmed by various furred predators.

    As for Tycon... while he was technically ensuring no one took grave injury, he spent his time enjoying the scenery.

    "Seven hells..." Krysaos smashed his rapier pommel into a snarling wolf''s snout, then stabbed his de into the cheek of one approaching from behind. "Hey, LT."

    "Go ahead, Brother-Captain."

    Krysaos kicked the first wolf in the rear, sending it scampering away, "When... did you make me sign a magic contract?"

    "A few suns before we left Whitehearth," Tycon raised an eyebrow. "Do you not remember?"

    "You-- hold on."

    Krysaos pulled on a flexible tree branch, then released it-- whipping another wolf in the face before it could get close. A bloody snout full of thorns was enough to keep that one from returning.

    Still... the wolf pack was not yet routed.

    Krysaos bared his teeth, keeping his eyes to the thicker foliage, "You... never did tell me what that was all about!!"

    "I gave you plenty of time to read it, beforehand," Tycon frowned. "I also wrote you a copy, out of courtesy."

    "Yeah, that''d be real useful--" Krysaos turned to him to raise his arms indignantly, "if I could READ, LT!"

    A particrly sly wolf took thepse in concentration to rush Krysaos from the opposite side, taking him to the ground.

    "Gods DAMN IT!!" Krysaos yelled, "I... I SUCK!!"

    "Regardless, Brother-Captain," Tycon sighed as he grabbed the scruff of the creature''s neck, keeping its teeth from tearing out Krysaos'' throat, "You shouldn''t have signed it. I''ll write you a new one in themonnguage... at which time I''ll also answer any questions you may have."

    Kryasos punched the wolf in the ribs, then pommeled it in the teeth. The creature''s ears ttened, finally dissuaded.

    Tycon casually tossed it away, into a particrly spiky bramble patch, "Now that wasn''t so bad, was it?"

 Chapter 789 First To Break

    ?Tycondrius offered the downed Captain his hand.

    "Thanks, LT," Krysaos smiled in chagrin as he got back to his feet, "Y''know... These past few suns, I think I''ve figured it out."

    "And what''s that, Captain?"

    Krysaos shook his head, "--that I ain''t as good at thisbat stuff as I thought I was."

    "Ah, excellent," Tycon pped his hands together. "With your weak points identified, you can better hone your training towards improvement."

    "Yeah, ''bout that..." Krysaos turned his back, his eyes scanning the battlefield-- hopefully for his next lupine target... "How long... exactly? --is this training s''pposed to be?"

    To that, Tycon did not answer.

    Krysaos nced back towards him, "It''s... it''s in the contract-- that''s what you were gonna say, huh?"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed, widening his subtle smile to a mocking grin. "Correct, Brother-Captain. You know me rather well."

    Krysaos sighed, slouching his shoulders... "I just... I''m not sure my body can take much more of this."

    "Ohhh?" Tycon feigned disappointment. "Don''t tell me this is the best you can do?"

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Please do so. Krysaos will be fighting for some time longer. ?

    ? Activating... ?

    After traveling with Krysaos for so many weeks and moons, Tycon had formed a moderately urate understanding of the man''sbat ability.

    Such knowledge allowed him both to ignore his Captain if he were performing below average... and to push him to his limits.

    The training was meant to be difficult... but Tycon deemed it necessary.

    Krysaos was a Metal-Rank adventurer, his physique twice or thrice times hardier than that of a normal person. He may have been sessful at privateering across the high seas... but in Tycon''s line of work, he was only average.

    Worse... amongst sses gifted with magic or blessed by the gods... against fantastic beasts with ancient bloodlines and creatures with centuries of experience-- Krysaos was less than that. He was merely human.

    The Captain did, however, have two great advantages in his favor.

    The first... was his courage-- or perhaps his inability to realize his foolishness. His heart was intent on defying the heavens that oversaw the Realm... and killing one of their gods.

    The second was that he was lucky enough to enlist the help of a handsome, if somewhat sadistic, Prince of Charm.

    After theypleted their quest in the Tree God''s Forest, they would travel to the Water Temple...

    It was impossible for a regr human to keep his sanity in that ce, in respect to whatever nightmare horrors roamed the Dungeon''s halls.

    Tycon''s solution was... to be the first to break him.

    The Captain''s specialized training wouldst six suns at a minimum... the same amount of time as the final week of training undergone by the recruits of the Kingdom''s Royal Marines.

    Besides the time allotted to rest, he would spend every sun fighting to keep his pathetic life.

    Tycon would drag him to the edge of the seven hells, dangle him off the precipice, and hurl him into those unforgiving depths.

    His body would be battered by the trials. His mental fatigue would mount.

    His fear of weakness would wear away. His concern for failure would be long forgotten.

    His courage, too... the notion of it would be unnecessary.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon would scream into Krysaos'' ear to keep fighting... to give as much as he had... then more.

    He''d take everything... until naught remained but the mission.

    The man already had a burning, irrational obsession with itspletion. Everything else was unnecessary.

    ...

    In thete morning of the fourth sun, Tycon and the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge happened upon the first warm-blooded denizen of the forest that didn''t actively try to kill them.

    He would have preferred it, if that were the case-- for Krysaos'' sake.

    They came across a type of chimera...monly known in the Holy Country as a satyr. Atop the adult gentleman''s head were horse-like ears and small goat horns. He had a roughly shaven goatee... goat legs, cloven hooves, and a disdain for clothing.

    Then again... none of the creatures native to the Tree God''s Forest wore clothes. As none of the other members of Tycon''s party seemed bothered by the fact, he decided to ignore it.

    The satyr did not look particrly threatening, standing only at Tycon''s chest level... but he stood in a clearing with thirteen stone archways that thrummed with magical energies.

    A trap? A puzzle? There was a strongpulsory sense of Law in the area, ancient magics that were beyond Tycon''s abilities to discern and disassemble.

    "(Greetings, friend of the forest,)" Coraline spoke in Elven, bowing politely. "We seek an audience with the Tree God... um, peacefully, despite the fact that we''re all heavily armed and stink of blood."

    The young Arcanist had a good mind for manners. Tycon approved.

    "Hello, Mister Satyr," Elle greeted cheerfully. "Thank you for not actively trying to kill us. And sorry if we killed any of your friends?"

    Elle was always polite, despite the fact that most Tyrions were suspicious of non-humans. Tycon took pride in being her lover.

    The Elven Ancient watched in silence. It was well above King''s station to deal with lesser fae.

    As for Tycon... he didn''t particrly care to speak, as he was perfectly content with Coraline and Elle acting as the face of the party.

    "Can we kill it?" Catshit muttered. "We''z wanna kill da ''orned boy."

    "Ask... ask the LT," Krysaos whispered in response.

    His eyes were bloodshot and his body lightly trembled.

    ...He''d worked hard over the past few suns.

    "To be seen," Tycon frowned. "Let''s see what he has to say, first."

    The satyr hopped upon a short rock and bowed ostentatiously.

    Then... he lifted his voice... in song.

    "Noble adventurers fromnds far away, a different path awaits thee through e''ry archway... To find whom you seek, you must rely on your luck--"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Must you, satyr?"

    "Or do as you please," The horned poet shrugged. "I don''t give a--"

    "Yer makin'' me ears ''urt." Petty Officer Bob growled, deep and low, as he brandished his greataxe... "Keep ppin'' yer gob an'' we''ll see ''ow you sing wivout legs..."

    "Can we eat it?" Catshit grinned. "We''z wanna kill it-- den we''z gonna eat it."

    "Then we''ll LOOT it!" Stickyfingers added with a roiling chuckle, "Uhuhuhu~"

    "My meat is tough and gamey and I''ve no coin to rob," The satyr smiled weakly as he trotted a few steps backward. "Uh... can you guys gimme a break? I''m jus'' doin'' my job."

 Chapter 790 Most Dangerous

    ?Tycondrius took a deep breath through his nostrils. Admittedly, a rhyming guardian was... not unexpected. He could at very least be thankful the fellow hadn''t an out-of-tune flute or harp to further worsen his vocal performance.

    "Ey," Krysaos shot his hand out-- immediately silencing the crew, "Back off. Musical expression ain''t a crime."

    "OooOh, Tychon," Elle took hold of his hand. "Can we see a show when we get back to Whitehearth? A musical, maybe?"

    Tycon gave his lover a reluctant smile, "If you wish."

    Coraline stepped forward to address the crew, "So obviously... there''s thirteen paths that we can choose from. One... or more of them should lead us deeper in the forest to the Tree God..."

    "Then fate shall decide for us," The Elven Ancient walked forward, standing tall. "Dear friends, allow me to be the first."

    Krysaos narrowed his eyes, looking King up and down... "Yeah, go ahead. We''ll see you on the other side."

    "You have my thanks, friend-human," The Ancient smiled, his eyes glowing with his usual arrogance. "If this king is the first to meet the Tree God, he will force him to submit in battle until the time Coraline Heartsong can entreat him for her quest."

    He bowed politely, "Let us meet again soon, noble friends and allies."

    With that, he dashed towards an archway, blinking out of existence upon crossing the threshold. Within seconds, a growth of thick and thorny vines sealed it off, preventing others from following him.

    Elle waved to get Coraline''s attention, "Should... we ask about the difference between each archway? Maybe Mister Satyr can give us a hint?"

    "I''m not so sure that''d help," Coraline pursed her lips, "I''ve read about this type of puzzle before. I''m fairly certain the guardian is only a caretaker of this ce. He doesn''t have to be truthful about where each path leads-- if he even knows, at all."

    "Whoa, fairly certain?" Krysaos'' smile widened to a cruel grin, "So you''re sayin'' there''s a chance?"

    Tycon was tempted to mention that even without the so-called puzzle guardian, the thirteen archways would remain. However, if Krysaos wished to use violence or other means to discern a ''correct'' path, then it would reasonably behoove the group that he do so.

    He nodded to the Captain, "Go ahead."

    "I hear ya, LT," Krysaos growled before taking a deep breath, "BOOOOYS!! WHO wants it?"

    "OH!! OHHH!!" Stickyfingers hopped up and down in excitement, "WHICH one ''az da most LOOT?"

    "ScREWWW DAT!!" Catshit climbed up atop the back and shoulders of Petty Officer Bob, "Tell us which one''s da MOST DANGEROUS!!!"

    "YEAH!!" "YEHHH!" "WE''Z TRAININ REAL GOOD!!!" "OUR MI''DDLE NAME IS DANGER!!"

    "C-can we not?" Wonderboy''s voice rang out, "Please? Why did you boyz even take us ''ere?! We''z still BRO-ken!!"

    "Shut YOUR stoopid gob, Wonderboy," Bob growled as he grabbed Catshit by the throat and casually tossed him away. "Anyroad, Catshit''s roight. ''Orn boy! Point out which paff is da most DEADLIEST, DANGER-EST, and most WOR''VY o'' da Coral Boy Marines!! BLOOD AND ''FUNDER!!"

    """VICT''RY AT SEA!!""" The Coral Boys resounded.

    "We''z gonna DIIIIIE!!" Wonderboy''s mournful shoutgged behind, a full second.

    The satyr''s eyes gleamed as a gleeful smile crossed his face, "Beware thy words, for you court the forest''s wrath. You''ll find only death if you take... the dreaded Trap Path."

    "Trap... path?" Tycon raised an eyebrow. That was... an oddly straightforward name, considering the primarily fae architecture surrounding them.

    Catshit popped his head out from the thick leaves of the tree he''dnded in, "TRAP PAFF!!"

    "TRAP PAAAFFFFF!!" The figurative hive-mind that ruled over the Coral Boys'' thoughts and actions shouted in support.

    Krysaos grabbed his sword-wrist, gently rotating it to stretch, "Do us a favor, goat-guy. Jus'' tell the boyz which one''s the trap path... And please understand that I''m bein'' real f*ckin'' polite right now."

    The subtle threat did not go unnoticed by the satyr.<novelnext></novelnext>

    His face twisted from yful to one of actual concern, "It''s... thest one on the right, if I really must say. But take my advice, fe''s, you do NOT wanna go that--"

    "Trap PAFF!!"

    "Trap PaAaaAaff!!!"

    "TRAP PAAAAAAAFFF!!!"

    "LAST WUN ON DA ROIIIIIIIGHT!!" Petty Officer Bob bellowed.

    The stampede of Coral Boys towards the furthest archway drowned out the satyr''s well-meaning warning.

    Each of them blinked out of view upon crossing over. When thest of them were gone... the forest returned to an uncanny quietude, free of ambient Coral Boy noise.

    ...Unlike the Elven Ancient''s archway, however, the thirteenth archway did not seal itself.

    Tycon nodded in understanding. While none of the medium-scale, thirteen-point formations he knew of applied to the structures in the clearing, a twelve-point was subtly different.

    "Not gonna lie," The Captain sighed, "a little part of me hopes they don''t survive."

    "That''s *horrible*, Krysaos," Elle scolded.

    Krysaos shrugged in response, "I''m really too f*cked up right now to give a shite, Ma''am."

    The satyr crossed his arms, "Now, I''m just a satyr... an'' I don''t im to be wise-- but I gotta ask: what kinda... adventurers *are* you guys?"

    "Please don''t direct that question to me," Tycon grimaced. "I''m not going to answer."

    "Lemme get this over with," Krysaos groaned. "I''ll choose next... Wherever it is, at least it''ll prob''ly be easier than trainin''."

    Elle gasped, "Krysaos! Are you gonna let your literally-most-loyal crewmembers go into the trap path without your help?"

    "Meh," Krysaos shrugged again.

    "Elle is right," Tycon smirked. "You''re going with them."

    "Ah... hah... HAH! AHAHA!!" Suddenly, the Captain burst into crazedughter... enough that he held onto his stomach and tears pooled at the corners of his eyes.

    He looked up... his eyes pleading, "LT... Please... please tell me you''re joking."

    "You''ll be fine," Tycon assured him. "I''m sure the trap path''s deadliness is simr, if not *less* in scale, to the obstacle course at Port Saint Guinefort."

    Krysaos fell to his knees, shamelessly crawling towards him... "But... but ELL-TEeeEE?!?! Just... just one little break! Please!!"

    "Hm... very well," Tycon summoned a bandolier from his spatial ring and handed it to the Captain. "This is a gift from the Arcanite Princess. They''re highly concentrated, hence the size of each dose."

    "A... belt full of healing potions?" Krysaos gulped audibly.

    "With these, you''ll be able to take a severe wound or three," Tycon smiled. "It won''t dull the pain, I''m sure-- but you can rx a bit easier while your supplysts."

    Krysaos'' tears flowed in earnest as he sobbed at Tycon''s feet... "LT... this... this isn''t fair."

    "Consider it training," Tycon chuckled... "Oh, and don''t throw away any of the ss bottles. They''re expensive."

    ",

 Chapter 791 Teleport Formation

    ?Sopelled by his magical contract, Captain Krysaos slowly ambled towards the final archway.

    Tycondrius grimaced at man''s exaggerated exhibition... "Why does he keep looking over his shoulder like that?"

    "I think... he''s trying to make you feel guilty?" Elle offered.

    "That..." Tycon hmphed in amusement, "is not going to happen."

    After the gentleman departed, the satyr loosed a tired sigh before plopping down ignobly on his rock.

    "Alright, the rest of ya''s, please pick a way. I got shite to do, so I can''t really stay."

    "Oh, Mister Sa~tyr~" Elle shyly ced her hands behind her back, "Do you... ept bribes?"

    "Ellie!" Coraline scolded, hands upon her hips, "This is a NOBLE gentle-satyr of the forest! An honorable and true denizen of the faewyld!"

    "So what?" Elle blushed, "Are the fae really that different from us?"

    Tycon wanted to answer ''yes''-- but the satyr''s wild, indignant swaying took precedence.

    "You questionin'' my integrity?" He raised his voice, "My morals orck thereof?"

    Coraline turned her nose up towards Elle, a perfect picture of Elven haughtiness.

    "--''cuz o'' COURSE I do, babe! You guys got any tobbaco-v?"

    ...and just as quickly, Coraline''s spirits were crushed.

    She grabbed the satyr by the shoulders and began to shake him violently, "Really? HUH?! TOBACCO''V!?? Is that the best you GOT?!"

    "Whoa, whoa~" The satyr''s eyes widened in shock, "No need ta get violent!"

    "Okay, listen up, bucko," Coraline red. "You''re the first fae my bestie has ever met... and. you''re. *ruining* this."

    "H-hey there, little Miss Elfie," The satyr chuckled nervously, "Let''s just... all calm down..."

    "I don''t hear any *rhyming*. Mister. Satyr," Coraline seethed.

    "N-nothing rhymes with elfi--eeEAAARGH!!"

    The satyr yelped in pain as the tiny elf''s fingers dug into his flesh.

    ...Further, by the fact that Tycon could taste burnt fur in the air, Coraline was activating her fire magic-- intentional or not.

    Elle nced over with a face of concern, "Tychon, do something."

    "...Hm? Oh," Tycon cleared his throat. "Friend-satyr, I shall offer you salvation from one angry elf and a pack of four pre-rolled cigars in exchange for a promise of reasonable assistance."

    ...

    Making deals with fae was... unwise.

    Like all creatures belonging to Ancient bloodlines, they were unable to lie. However, their ways of thinking were... irrational by regr standards. By extension, so too were their promises.

    Tycon gifted Qiv with tobo-- which he very specifically stated was a gift of a single cigar from him and his three femalepanions

    In exchange...

    ...it could be as useful as the secrets to the archways, as Elle was hoping for.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It could also be as rtively useless as arge leaf, for use as protection from the sun.

    Tycon would eventually receive... something that the satyr deemed of equivalent value to his gift.

    In the case of himself and Elle, that ''something'' would likely be well-meaning.

    --or at the very least, it shouldn''t be malicious. That was the true goal of Tycon''s gift-giving.

    Mister Qiv revealed that he was in a hurry because he was expecting femalepany for lunch.

    Lunch sounded lovely.

    The young woman was a shapely water nymph whose name Tycon found difficult to pronounce. In Aquan, it tranted to something like... ''Noisy Brook.''

    Tycondrius, Elle, Coraline, and Beatrice shared their rations with their forest friends to make a veritable feast. One one side, there were preserved fruits and meats from Whitehearth, along with Tycon''s re-hydrated soup. Miss Brook had brought a collection of fish to roast, water-chilled fresh berries, and strong wine.

    The females spent nearly an entire bell conversing about nothing of major importance. In the meantime, Tycon and Qiv spent their time smiling politely at each other in silence.

    Unfortunately, their peaceful times were interrupted by one of said females-- a woman true to her namesake.

    "(Honey bear,)" Noisy-Brook bubbled. "(Why don''tcha tell these nice people about the formation?)"

    "Oh, c''mon, babe!" Qiv groaned. "The Tree God''ll have my hide if I told ''em too much!"

    "(Qiv, daughter of Qeb, daughter of Qulea, you''ve epted their gifts! Don''t think I can''t smell it!)" Went the angry bubbling, "(You have to do ''em right!)"

    "No, it''s fine," Tycon waved his hand. "I wouldn''t want to get Mister Qiv in trouble."

    "(Oh, it''s no trouble at all, Mister Snake!)"

    The water nymph... smiled? It was difficult to tell. Noisy-Brook had a human-like body, but her translucent face resembled that of a wide-mouthed river fish.

    "Alright, sure, sure," Qiv sighed. "Women, Tycon. You get me, right?"

    "I do not," Tycon smiled.

    "He does," Coralineughed. "If Ellie tells Sir Tychon to jump, he won''te down until she says it''s okay."

    Elle rolled her eyes, "And that''s because he trusts me not to tell him to do something stupid just to prove a point... oh, could you pass me the wine, dear?"

    Tycon shared a beleaguered look with the satyr before refilling his lover''s cup, "Of course..."

    Though reluctant, Qiv exined what he knew about the Tree God''s twelve-point formation... which verified Tycon''s earlier suspicions.

    The archways acted as short-range teleportation gates-- that much was obvious. They were permissible under the Gatekeeper''s Laws as the destinations were fixed and utilized passage through the faewyld to achieve the effect.

    He did not identify the formation upon first observation due to two factors. The first was the unrted thirteenth archway. The second was that the remaining twelve arches werergely unnecessary.

    In truth, the formation array had but two activation paths. Krysaos'' trap path was one. The other was a variable teleport-- the numerous archways only offering the illusion of choice.

    The teleportation gate took travelers to a destination based on a set of predetermined rules. The details, Mister Qiv did not know with certainty.

    As none of the four could offer a viable alternative, they chose to brave the formation as intended... allowing each of them to be whisked away to wherever the spell took them.

    ...Tycon dearly hoped that hispanions would remain safe.

    He absolutely did not want a reason to kill the Tree God.

 Chapter 792 Boredom

    ?The Tree God''s Forest was not a particrly dangerous ce for high-rank adventurers. If Zhevra was going to be killed by anything-- it was by boredom.

    Sol Invictus'' travels were... painfully slow. Even though they had TWO Gold-Ranks with them, they insisted on fighting... every... single... creature and pack of creatures they came into contact with.

    Not even the trees were spared by a certain fiery Arcanist and a Corallidus with an enchanted fire weapon.

    Still... Zhevra remained vignt for an opportunity for her and Vyzen to assassinate any of their marks.

    The human Captain, Krysaos, wisely kept himself surrounded by his loyalckeys. The ones she''d paid off were not doing their part...

    She considered targeting various members of the Corallidae crew... but besides being astonishingly difficult to kill, the hulking behemoths kept bottles of seawater to heal their injuries. One of their number was severely crippled... but after only cursory observation, Zhevra deemed that one to be so useless, killing him would be a waste of energy.

    Over the course of several suns, she''d only managed to separate and kill one... a blind Corallidus. He begged to be spared on ount of having a pregnant lover.

    Murdering him was satisfying... but only a single kill was hardly enoguh to sate her bloodlust for half-a-sun.

    As for Tycon, the leader of Sol Invictus...

    ording to the information she''d collected, he was a Gold-Rank, cunning and dangerous. He was also the most paranoid adventurer Zhevra had had the displeasure of tracking.

    She could count on a single hand the number of times he exposed himself to danger throughout the journey...

    While she was certain she could defeat him with Vyzen''s help-- especially as he didn''t seem to belong to a Martial ss... it was far too risky. Guild Leader Tycon always watched the shadows for danger... kept in peak condition, and had a variety of strange Support-type Skills that he could activate on any of his goons or whores.

    Zhevra was thankful she had Vyzen as an outlet for her... frustrations. If she didn''t, she was certain she''d have torn up The Wizard''s contract and abandoned the mission. The beaches of Valsene were only a few suns away, if they were to steal a carriage...

    She found a chance after nearly a week had passed.

    The male elf struck out on his own.

    Zhevra''s employer expressly stated that he was the only member of Sol Invictus'' party not to be harmed. However, it was a golden opportunity for her to nt a seed of discord within their group.

    She instructed her brother to lie still in wait. If the Ancient tried to attack her he would die in a hurricane of razor-sharp mana wires and a barrage of automatic rifle fire-- regardless of The Wizard''s not-so-gentle suggestions.

    As quiet as a ghost, Zhevra dropped down from her tall tree and into the thick brush foliage.

    The elf came to a stop, resting a foot atop a fallen log. He stood, picturesque, underneath a beacon of light where the sun broke through the canopy.

    Handsome. Well-muscled. Heroic.

    It was also one of the stupidest things anyone could do. He was a perfectly illuminated target... and as his eyes were adjusting to the light, it would be nigh impossible to see her in the shadows.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zhevra had to fight against the urge to aim down the sights of her rifle and put two well-ced shots in the man''s head and chest.

    But though she was well-hidden and advantaged... the elf''s glowing eyes scanned the area in Zhevra''s direction.

    "This king knows not how he has offended thee, Warrior-- but know this... Thy hostile designs have not gone unnoticed."

    Zhevra rolled her eyes. The Gold-Rank elf had the rare ability to sense killing intent... That meant he could probably urately assess her brother''s location. Hiding his emotions was not one of his strong points.

    ording to her Mage informants, the elf was an Ancient-- a very, very old elf that had amassed arge amount of mana over several centuries. He had a traitmon to all Elven Ancients. His eyes glowed with power, a golden me that took more effort to hide than not.

    The Wizard seemed to think he may have been some kind of reincarnated deity.

    Zhevra was tempted to test that theory. She''d always wanted to kill a god.

    Unfortunately, when she was trying to gauge the Ancient''s abilities, she heard worrisome news from one of her Elven contacts in House Vulkoori.

    The Ancient had defeated the Chieftain of the Ebon Mask tribe in singlebat... a woman who was supposedly the most powerful Gold-Rank in the Eastern States.

    The elves called him... the King from Across the Seas. They seemed to think he was an Ancient with delusions of grandeur who had been in-hiding for centuries.

    Though a lesser assassin might have abandoned the mission on ount of its difficulty, it was a boon for Zhevra.

    Nobles were always easier to manipte thanmoners. Having some form of education, they took pride in their intelligence. With the arrogance of their upbringing, they often held fast to their beliefs, discounting any proof contrary.

    Manipting a noble was only as difficult as tricking them into ''discovering'' an idea and iming it as their own.

    Zhevra slung her Turathi rifle over shoulder to rest on her back and emerged from the brush, making a show of her open palms.

    "Greetings, Sovereign," She moved gracefully, slowly... and wearing a subtle, non-threatening smile. "My name is Zhevra... I am not here to fight."

    "So there were two of you?" The ring elf nodded... "Runic markings cover thy face and arms... you are... Demon-kin? Nay... Merragon heritage... Devil, then."

    Merragon? That was a word she hadn''t heard before. However, the noble spoke with such certainty that she decided to ept it as truth.

    Zhevra bowed, deep and low, to hide her surprise. Simultaneously, she swished her tail behind her to signal to Vyzen to withdraw and find a new hiding ce...

    She had always done her research on the targets of her assassinations.

    That her current mark knew something about her than she knew herself... was an ominous sign.

 Chapter 793 Promise Of Judgment

    ?Whatever the Ancient''s background was, he had the knowledge to tell a demon apart from a devil.

    It was something that even Zhevra, herself, had trouble with... as the the bloodlines of her kin werergely diluted after so many generations.

    So regardless as to whether her respect was real or feigned, she decided to take on a servile role. She''d practiced it often, as people were generally easier to deal with when their egos were properly stoked.

    "Yes, Sovereign. I would ask the noble Sir to forgive my outward appearance. This humble one counts devils amongst her ancestors... though I know not their names."

    Zhevra hid her widening smile, her eyes still directed to the ground. Her position allowed her mark an excellent view of her ample cleavage... enough for any hot-blooded man, Ancient or not, to go mad with lust.

    "Hmph," The elf crossed his arms, "This king judges by word and deed, rather than by the color of thy skin and the circumstances of thy birth."

    Zhevra felt her heart rate quicken upon hearing words of... tolerance? That was not a virtue many Ancients possessed.

    The peculiar disposition of the ''King from Across the Sea'' was a noble one... one she wished was not so ironic amongst actual nobles.

    Of course, Zhevra knew how to manipte that kind of person, just as well. If he would not be poisoned by self-serving suggestions, she could honey her words to appeal to his notion of honor.

    The Ancient lifted his palm, "Rise."

    Zhevra stood up straight, a practiced motion that entuated the spring of her bosom, "You have my thanks, Ancient One. As often as I am cursed by humans for my horns and hooves, it ddens me that you are so magnanimous."

    The Elven Ancient''s gaze drifted towards her chest area, a quick and subtle nce that Zhevra would have missed had she not been looking for it.

    "As you say," He shook his head, "I am sovereign. I am King. Fairness and impartiality are to be expected."

    "Yet... these are not values held by those who rule this Realm, Lord," Zhevra pouted, shyly rubbing the outside of her arm. "You are more fit to rule than any human..."

    "Is that so?" King narrowed his eyes... "The Realm has changed much in my absence. In the current age, this king has found the nobility... and even the gods to becking."

    He sighed... and oddly enough, wore a gentle smile. Even though King was clearly an elf, for a moment Zhevra saw in him the father she never knew.

    "I wouldst inquire of thee, child, the reason of thy presence," He said, "Thou does not... belong in this dark ce, so close to the faewyld and so far from thy mortal home... nor with such hatred in her heart."

    Spurred on by her mission and nostalgia both, Zhevra approached him gingerly, shy and vulnerable-- as men so often enjoyed. She put on a tearful face and spun a tale about how she was chased out of her home by vigers with tools and torches.

    The lies flowed easily, so mixed with the truths of her past.

    ...She might have believed them, if she hadn''t held the memories of burning that vige to the ground so dear to her heart.

    It was her first act of wanton murder-- long before she became a contract-killer. She killed every man, woman, child and beast in her childhood home... so long ago, that even its name was forgotten to the ages.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zhevra was incredibly confident in her body... her sex appeal her greatest weapon against the preconceptions men had for horned women with red, tattooed skin. However, the Ancient was not forward enough tofort her physically.

    Either he was holding onto some useless notion of honor and celibacy or he had no interest in women.

    She was tempted to send a signal for her brother to return... but for all his beauty and sexual expertise, he was not trained in the art of seduction as she was.

    ...She decided not to push. A rejection would damper the effectiveness of her already effective propaganda.

    The lies, the sycophancy... the Elven Ancient believed wholeheartedly, and his fury was riled in earnest.

    "Ipetent fools!" He growled. "True nobles must be righteous in both word and deed. I had once thought that to be true in any generation... that it was only ability theycked..."

    "But... but my Lord," Zhevra sniffed. "What can we do? Thisnd is ruled by uncaring nobles. Even the Princess of Whitehearth turns a blind eye to my vige''s hatred."

    "There will be a reckoning, Sapling, "King grimaced." The nobles of thisnd... I have seen how they treat their people... sons who have forgotten their forefathers... daughters bled and treated as tools. They will answer for their crimes... and I shall cast divine judgment with these two des."

    He took a deep breath and lowered his head, "Of this, I grant thee my word..."

    His what?

    Zhevra was taken aback as her heart shook. Though it was almost insultingly casual, the Elven Ancient had sworn an oath. From a man with his bloodline and power, his word was as good as a magical contract.

    She was a red-skinned, ram-horned tiefling... a people known for cunning, duplicity, and power mongering.

    Yet... she was dealing with a good man who saw beyond that... a man honest, pure, and righteous.

    ...He was a man that she didn''t think existed.

    ...and the most gullible fool in all the Realm.

    He needed only but the smallest push...

    "Sovereign," She copsed to her knees, kneeling at his feet. "Why have youe to the Tree God''s forest? There is so much corruption in thisnd... Children are forced out of their homes every sun-- like I once was..."

    "I..." The Elven Ancient hesitated... "I act on behalf of my mortalpanions, goodly men and women on a noble quest..."

    He knelt down and picked her up... his hold gentle, yet firm, "Raise thy head, daughter of Bael Turath. Though we share no blood, thou art a child of thisnd... and I seek to restore."

    Zhevra sat up, wiping away her fake tears... "My lord... have you heard... of the song of which legends are sung?"

 Chapter 794 Daughter

    ?Zhevra did her best to keep her expression serious.

    The song of which legends were sung was a prophetic song whispered amongst the higher echelons of various Dark Guilds and a select few Elven Houses-- one of which being Whitehearth''s House Moonwell.

    From what she understood, the King from Across the Seas would be the cause of a world-ending cmity...

    The Ancient was a fool, removed from the politics of the Realm for too long. If he knew what was being said of him... and if he had the same arrogance as his kin, learning of his reputation should send him even deeper into a rage.

    If the fates were kind, King would immediately leave the Tree God''s Forest and pay the Arcanite Princess a very violent visit... which would leave Sol Invictus with one fewer Gold-Rank to keep them safe.

    King took a deep breath but nodded, "Yes... I had hoped to call upon my current allies to assist me in defeating the Tyrant God... but thy words have opened my eyes."

    Zhevra''s eyes widened for a microsecond, realizing the gravity of the Ancient''s words.

    The tyrant he spoke of could only be the lizard god.

    ...It was the same god that The Wizard curried favor to... the same hateful god that her brother so often heard.

    It made her realize that she had unwittingly be a pawn in the game of the gods... and the Elven Ancient was one of the yers.

    ...Zhevra was more the fool than the Ancient.

    All of the information she had on the prophecy was draconic in origin. In retrospect, it was obvious that those disgusting, winged creatures would not vilify their own kind.

    Each story had two sides... and ording to King, the source of the Realm-burning cmity was the dragon god.

    Obviously, the Elven Ancient was a good person-- a gullible idiot, yes, but ultimately good.

    The Winged Tyrant was his exact opposite. Even a child would understand who the true enemy was.

    Zhevra was a liar, a thief, a murderer, and a whore... but if given the choice, she''d rather the world not be destroyed by fire and w.

    She shook her head, feeling sorry for herself. She had be the viin out of her childhood stories... a seductress that only served as an obstacle for the Hero.

    "Dry your eyes, Sapling," King smiled as he thumbed one of her tears.

    His soft touch made Zhevra shiver. She hadn''t noticed when it changed... but the tears she was crying were no longer false.

    She did not deserve his kindness.

    "My lord," She whispered.

    "I will save this world..." King dered confidently, "on my own, if I must."

    Zhevra bit her upper lip, "If you have allies to be nurtured, Lord... then perhaps it would be better to--"

    "Nay, child," King shook his head. "The final burden is mine to bear."

    He stood tall, back straight, chest forward, "The world is unjust. The people have lost their faith..."

    His eyes shone bright with power... threatening to blind Zhevra with his honor and righteousness... "I will restore justice... I will give the people of this world something to believe in, once again."

    [NAY. ELF GOD.]

    Zhevra and the Ancient turned to see a copse of trees copsing, making way for a massive many-rooted, thick-bearded tree, towering over them at forty-fulms tall.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "GRAAaaAAAHH!!!" The Tree God bellowed, [THOU. SHALT. NOT. LEAVE THIS PLACE. ALIVE!!!!]

    ...

    Tycondrius sighed as he walked past the third signboard heralding his *certain doom*.

    The writer was rather thorough, adorning the wood with skull symbols and the same message, repeated several times in differentnguages.

    Unfortunately, Tycon was not nning on heeding the warnings.

    After crossing through the teleport gate, it closed behind him. He had no reference as to where in the Tree God''s Forest he was... and the forest denizens steered clear of the path, so he could not ask for directions.

    ...The best course of action for him was to follow a logical path.

    The winding trail led past more signs, a few macabre disys of broken skulls and hung bodies, and a lovely white-stone water fountain.

    A Bronze-Rank water mephit attacked him-- a cowardly creature with whitish-blue bat wings. Tycon defeated it in a single strike and went about his way.

    It was a rare creature... more appropriate in a Dungeon than a forest.

    After nearly a bell of travel, he came across a clearing with a small wood cabin. It was peculiar to see such a mundane construction in the generally-enchanted forest... but Tycon hoped that if he were polite, he could reasonably ask for some direction towards either the Tree God or an otherwise safer location.

    He spotted a small, dark-skinned Elven child in a long, grey robe, sitting at a wooden table near the cabin''s front door.

    ? Bronze-Rank Human Mage. ?

    Tycon focused his vision to get a clearer look... and he immediately recognized the effects of a passive illusion. The youngdy looked identical to the Dark Elven form of his adopted daughter, Sasarame.

    But even if it was an illusion, Sasha was a lovely child and thus, Tycon wished the young mage no ill will.

    He took to his small, snake form to quietly approach... but even as slithered onto the table''s opposite bench, she remained engrossed in her paperwork. She was either purposely ignoring him or wholly ignorant to his presence.

    ...After observing the child work studiously for several minutes, he decided to reveal himself.

    ? System, cancel Snake-Form. ?

    ? Small Snake Form Cancelled. Returning to Human-Form. ?

    Tycon sat patiently, opposite the young woman, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He was wearing his dark Arcanite Armor, making him look like a professional mercenary.

    Yet still, the child did not acknowledge him.

    "...Good afternoon."

    "Wah!" The panicked child hopped up and threw her graphite stick up in the air... where itnded far in the distance.

    The Sasha look-alike stared at him in wonder, her mouth agape, "Y-you can see me?!"

    "...Yes," Tycon smiled politely.

    "But... I used my Lesser Invisibility spell?"

 Chapter 795 Duel To The Death

    ?Tycondrius examined the spell circles the youngdy had been scribing and the yellowed pages of the open tome at her side.

    None of them contained invisibility or... even concealment spells.

    "These are... short-range illusion formations," He exined with chagrin.

    The chocte elf looked down, her hands pped on her thin cheeks-- "Oh! Oh... oh no! I identallypleted tomorrow''s homework!"

    Tycon shook his head. How clumsy was this child?

    Taking the book, he flipped several pages and set it down in front of her.

    He tapped on the disyed diagram, "This should be what you''re looking for."

    "Oh, wooow!" The illusion-wearing child gasped, "Have you read this book before? High Wizard Tyrael''s lessons are... so difficult."

    "I have not," Tycon shrugged, "but he sounds like an extraordinarily intelligent individual."

    As the girl''s knowledge-hungry eyes greedily consumed the information, he decided to ask her a question.

    "Might I ask for your name, youngdy?"

    "Oh!?" She blinked, "M-my name? It''s... it''s um..."

    "You either know it or you don''t," Tycon frowned.

    As the child''s concentration waned, so did the illusion... and her human form was revealed.

    She was a child of a simr height to the Sasarame of a couple years prior, with pale, sunburnt skin. Her dark hair was short and disheveled, with certain strands almost with a mind of their own... almost like a medusa''s. Either she''d only recently awoken... or had been practicing lightning magic.

    As if to hide from Tycon''s staring, she slunk down in her seat... "Master told me not to speak with strangers..."

    ...Fair.

    "My name is Tycon."

    The young human tilted her head down, muttering towards herp, "My... my name is Megara..."

    "You must have studied quiteboriously to reach First-Circle at your age, Miss Megara."

    "Y-yeah-- I mean... yes," The young girl said as she yed with her fingers... "Master said I didn''t have much talent... but... I worked really hard."

    With her head still dipped, she lifted her gaze upward... "Um. Excuse me, Mister Tycon... but are you... a viin?"

    "...Possibly?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "I would need a frame of reference to know for certain."

    "M-master is really strong," Megara raised her chin, her eyes suddenly brave. "He''s stronger than any viin-- including you! Or anyone!"

    "Hah! I doubt that," Tycon smirked. "I''m *incredibly* strong. And I am also very handsome."

    "Nuh uh," She shook her head. "My master''s way stronger. And... super handsome! He''s... he''s a Hero!!"

    Tycon couldn''t help butugh in earnest.

    "W-why are youughing??"

    "Miss Megara... such a im is preposterous."

    Tycon had met the Hero of the current generation. Whoever the child''s master was... it was highly improbable for them to belong to the same ridiculous ss.

    Also, he''d only met two individuals that were arguably as handsome as he was.

    One, he participated in murdering and the other had been missing for several moons.

    "H-he is!" Megara pouted... "I... I''ll make you believe me!"

    Tycon took a deep breath, "Very well... Might I ask how you n on achieving that?"

    "I''ll... I''ll... Oh! I know!" The child pointed aggressively, "I''ll challenge you to trial bybat!"

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    "Um..." Megara retracted her hand, cing a finger against her lips, "Is that okay?"

    He''d been challenged to duels for foolish reasons before, but none so arbitrary.

    Unfortunately, as his honor as a very powerful and exceedingly handsome person was on the line, he could only acquiesce.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I... I ept?"

    "Is it okay, though?" Megara withdrew her hands in front of her chest and she poked her fingertips together, "You''re not busy or anything?"

    "It''s fine," Tycon waved.

    Megara stood up from her table and took three steps aside. She was gripping her tiny fists, intent on her victory.

    "State your terms... um... please? Maybe... spellpletion? Or... we could have a footrace? I''m really fast."

    Tycon walked a short distance away from her...

    Challenging the young mage in one of her specialties? He would not be so arrogant.

    If her master was as powerful as she alluded to, Megara likely had either enchantments, items, or specialized spells that would grant her an unexpected advantage in a contest of her choice.

    Tycon drew his sword, allowing the de to ring upon the metal mouth of the scabbard. While it was a sloppy disy of technique and detrimental to the sword, non-swordsmen tended to be intimidated by the sound.

    He gave his opponent a crisp salute, "Martialbat until submission or death."

    Megara''s eyes grew wide, "T-to the death?!"

    "...Yes," Tycon twisted his lips to the side. "Such is... to be expected, no?"

    "I... guess so?" Megara muttered... "Yeah... that makes sense. Oh... oh no..."

    Tycon twisted his lips to the side, "Is there an issue?"

    "I don''t have any martial spells!" Megara whined.

    "You can use... any offensive spells in your repertoire," Tycon offered hopefully.

    "Oh. Okay."

    Tycon stood patiently and waited...

    Megara continued staring in a daze... though her earlier bravery had long since left her.

    Tycon cleared his throat, "Ahem. You... can go ahead, Miss Megara."

    "Um... okay. I''m gonna use a spell, then?"

    Tycon lowered his body in a defensive stance, "Please do."

    He slowly edged closer to his opponent, remaining cognizant of Megara''s mana-channeling as she drew singleyered spell circles in the space in front of her.

    The young Mage''s spell slowly and methodically neared itspletion... but Tycon was confident in following her motions, leaping aside to dodge when he sensed the moment was right.

    "Um... can you stop moving, please?" She frowned, "It''s hard enough to concentrate..."

    "Ah," Tycon stopped... "My apologies. As you were."

    Megara began... chanting in Aquan, thenguage of water and ice elementals, "(Winds... of the Frozen North... Sisters shunned by sunlight...)"

    Her pronunciation was quite good.

    "(Moonlight hidden by... by...)"

    "(The devoted white sky,)" Tycon suggested.

    Megara nodded-- "(by fluffy white clouds!)"

    ...Her phrasing was... unorthodox-- but it was close enough.

    "(Frozen blood of fifty sinners.)"

    Fifty?

    Suddenly, Megara''s hands stopped and she ceased her chanting.

    "Is there something else wrong?" Tycon asked.

    "Can I check my notes? I''ll be quick."

    ",

 Chapter 796 Dungeon Master

    ?The young Megara sought to cast her spell to the best of her abilities. The notion was admirable... but was somewhat inappropriate, considering she was participating in a duel to the death.

    Still, the chance would afford Tycondrius time to familiarize himself with his surroundings.

    "Do so," He waved, scanning the nearby trees for potential cover...

    The youngdy hurried back to her table and rooted through her notes. She spent several moments quietly mouthing words... but her eyes conveyed a terrible panic.

    "You can take your time, Miss Megara... and be mindful of the formal versus informal nouns for the first passage."

    "O-okay. Thank you!"

    After another few minutes, Megara hurried back to where she was standing-- nearly tripping on her robe for her troubles, "I''m ready! I''m gonna cast it!"

    "Ah, wonderful," Tycon nodded. "Please do your best."

    Again, Megara went through the motions of her spell... though she still cited her fluffy clouds and her awfully specific number of sinners.

    Finally, she put her palms forward,pleting the activation, "?Ice Shot!?"

    A magical ball of ice the size of Tycon''s fist spiraled towards him at the dreadful speed of... an obese pigeon.

    It was particrly effective... at distracting him.

    Tycon wasted nearly a full second staring in disbelief. The spell wasn''t powerful at all.

    Even if he were struck by it, his Arcanite armor wouldrgely reduce its effects.

    However, his body reacted out of reflex when the ball grew close. He swatted it with the t of his sword, smashing it into powder.

    "Um... did I win?" Megara asked.

    Tycon pursed his lips... "Yes?"

    "You don''t look defeated, though?"

    "Err..." Tycon dropped to a knee, "Is this the limitations of my strength?! I... I can no longer fight!"

    It wasn''t a lie. If he continued, it wouldn''t be a fight. It would be a one-sided ughter.

    He bowed his head, trying to look as defeated as possible, "I... submit to you."

    As a Mage, Megara was only a half-step more powerful than Tycon... if he were to forego all avenues of physical attack and utilize only offensive spells.

    ...And he''d still win due to his Gold-Rank physique and enchanted armor.

    Her technique was decent, but as she''d alluded to earlier, her mana pool wasughably low.

    ...Her physique was likely only Elementary rank... and she was literally a child. If he used a modicum of his strength to attack her even once, she would either die or be critically injured.

    "Oh!" Megara hopped up, pping her hands in excitement, "I won my first duel to the death!!"

    "You won your first duel by submission," Tycon corrected.

    "Right..." Megara folded her hands... "Right! Um... but what happens now?"

    ? Tycon stood up, brushing the dirt off his metal knee-pad, "Since you''ve defeated me inbat, you can... force me to help you with your homework."

    "Oh-- oh?!" Megara looked away and hid her hands within the pockets of her robes... "You... you don''t have to do that."

    "The defeated must heed the victor''s wishes," Tycon smiled. "You will grant me the opportunity to restore my honor, won''t you?"

    "O-of course! Then..." Megara''s small mouth curved up into a warm smile, "can I order you to help me with my homework? Please?"

    "I would love to, Miss Megara," Tycon bowed. "You are a kind and merciful champion."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Dad-- I mean, Master taught me to always be polite."

    ...

    ? Elsewhere... ?

    Elle turned the corner, bounding down the dark corridor with long strides.

    ''It could be worse... Eternal me, it could be WORSE!!'' She repeated a mantra in her head.

    She wasn''t as cut out for adventuring as she thought.

    She had always looked forward to braving a Dungeon with a team of skilled adventurers. She got her wish-- but she found that she was separated from the rest of the group.

    And even worse... it was a ce where she couldn''t summon her Divine Armor.

    Gaheris would defend her the best he could-- she was sure... but he was made for open-field battles, not cramped cavern tunnels...

    In traveling with her boyfriend to the Tree God''s Forest, she''d learned more about adventuring than she ever could have in the stories she heard back in Leopardon.

    ''Always have a source of light in case of total darkness.''

    Elle was running with her sword out of her sheath. If not for Summer Song lighting the way, she would have been running blind.

    ''Keep your distance from monsters with unknown abilities.''

    If she hadn''t, the acid-spray from the dog-sized, roach-creatures following her would have probably melted her face at first contact.

    ''Withdraw when outnumbered...''

    She was doing just that-- running for her life.

    What else was there...?

    Against her better judgment, Elle took a nce behind her. She was much faster than the monsters were... but she couldn''t run forever.

    Suddenly, Tychon''s words from over a week prior resounded in her head.

    ''Always look UP!!''

    After passing through a doorway, she lifted her sword above her head. There, she spotted adder on the wall that she would have missed otherwise.

    She leapt up to quickly grab hold of it, climbing to the top and through a hatch. She didn''t look back a second time. She was sure she''d pee herself if she saw those things flying.

    ...Ugh. Roaches. The ones that fly are the worst.

    Shutting the hatch behind her, Elle sat cross-legged and focused on catching her breath and slowing her heart rate.

    ...She was d that she practiced running every sun-- else she''d really have been in trouble.

    Taking a nice, deep breath, she took in her surroundings-- no longer dark, slick caverns... but worked stone.

    "By the me," Elle cursed. "How big *is* this ce?"

    She took a drink from her waterskin and sshed it on her head to cool off... "Just... just gotta stay alive. Gotta get to the rest of the group..."

    "In zis ce... nyahahaha..." Darkughter reverberated off the walls... "each... step... is filled with death and danger..."

    "Who''s there?!" Elle got to her feet, holding Summer Song defensively.

    "I... am the Master... of zis ce..." The ented voice said... "And you, Mademoiselle... have done well toe zhis far, unharmed."

    Cold, disgusting sweat dripped down Elle''s back as she focused her sword''s light towards the darkest of shadows... and the man who stood beyond.

 Chapter 797 Guesswork

    ?Elle felt her muscles stiffen, frozen in fear as the bipedal creature stepped into the light cast by Summer Song.

    He... was even taller than she was. The snarling head atop his broad shoulders was that of a golden lion, his mane weaved into thick braids. He wore a set of battleworn Centurion armor-- old if not ancient, and bearing emblems of a legion forgotten by time.

    As he approached, Elle found her attention on his wicked right arm.

    The entirety of its skin glowed green and was marked with a scale-like pattern. At its end, enclosed in his fist was an evil-looking staff, the blood-red crystal atop it finely honed to a deadly point.

    He was built like a Martial ss... but he was obviously also a Caster of some kind. Either way...

    ? This... creature is too powerful to fight. ?

    Elle gulped as she heard a voice in her head. She nced down worriedly at the Saronite Protector strapped to her arm. Her summon, Gaheris, didn''t seem to think she had much chance... and she was afraid he was right.

    The lion-creature in front of her easily had the capability to kill her-- or worse.

    "S-stay back!" She shouted, "Or-- or else!!"

    What could she say? That her boyfriend was a Gold-Rank? That her bestie belonged to a powerful Mage Tower? That she had a Divine Armor she could summon in the blink of any eye?

    None of that could help her.

    All she had was an enchanted sword and a certificate that said shepleted a one-week course on Tyrion wrestling.

    --which she almost failed.

    "Surrender to me..." The creature took another step forward, undaunted. "O''zherwise, your death will be slow and excruciatingly painful."

    "S-sorry, Mister Cat..." Elle pointed her Summer Song forward as she began to carefully back away, "I... I have a boyfriend."

    A loud crack resounded in her ears-- like something broke.

    "Nyuhh..." The lion sneered in disgust, "You have NO idea what you are dealing with."

    Taking a deep breath, he roared loud enough to shake the walls, "Hold still or DIE WHERE YOU STAND!!!!"

    Elle flinched-- she couldn''t help it. When she opened her eyes... it was already toote to react.

    The lion-man mmed the end of his staff into the ground, a circle of magic emanating from his sandaled feet. A dozen streaks of light leapt from the staff''s blood-crystal, surging towards her.

    She couldn''t even swing her sword as they struck her in the chest... curled around her heart... and bored into the depths of her mind.

    Elle felt her sword fall out of her hand... the metal nging upon the stones.

    She... she had lost control of her body.

    The lion-faced man... he could do with her as he pleased.

    She felt her chest tighten... as a sob rose to her throat... "T... tychon... s-save me."

    ...

    ? Elsewhere... ?

    Tycon was growing worried. It had been nearly four bells and he hadn''t heard from any of his party members.

    Still, the forest was not small. His best and simplest course of action was to be patient.

    Yet... that was a tribtion in itself.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The inside of the log cabin wasrger than it appeared on the outside.

    ...irrationally so.

    Granted, it was because the cabin was part of a Dungeon.

    "I think... I''d like one of those," Tycon casually pointed up... "Some sun, anyroad."

    "Who?" Megara tilted her head, "You mean Lady na?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... "Yes."

    He''d immediately identified the Dungeon Core as the Whitesaber-Tuna-sized crystal formation that appeared to be growing out of the high ceiling.

    Apparently, her name was na.

    It-- or she, rather, illuminated the inside of the spacious central area, providing excellent light to navigate the tall bookcases, the study area, and the lounge.

    Further, it artfully did *not* cast light upon a still-spacious corner near a back door. There, a horse-sized, Iron-Rank Shadow Hound dozed peacefully, lightly snoring.

    The facilities were perfect for a studious young mage like Megara... which was a somewhat ominous sign that at least one mad wizard was involved in the Dungeon''s construction.

    If such was true... it could also be assumed that connected to the cabin and the surrounding area was a traditional underground structure filled with traps and creatures.

    Tycon hoped none of hispanions were teleported there...

    He also hoped that Megara''s master was *not* a supremely powerful mad wizard solely responsible for the Dungeon''s creation. However, unlike his former hope, that may have been the case.

    There were a few signs inside the log cabin home to allude to his or her identity as a Martial ss.

    Against the far wall was a disy of ded and bludgeoning weapons, protected from dust by a passive formation. At first nce, it seemed to belong to a collector rather than a practitioner, as a disproportionate amount of items only saw use in diatorial arenas.

    There were uniquely-shaped swords and shields, a murmillo helmet, and... an adamantine sphere that Tycon was fairly certain was only used in the recreational sport of pin bowling.

    Prominently disyed over the entrance were banners with imagery generally used by noble families of the Holy Country. There, the practice of mad wizardry was ssified as heresy of the highest degree.

    There were also mementoes originating from other nations. Of note, there was a cork-board pinned with postcards written in the Kingdom''s oldnguage. Not out of ce, but awkward all the same, there was arge wooden nk suspended by rope.

    It bore metal script in the Sleeping Country''snguage that tranted roughly to... ''F*ck the Ocean.''

    ...If it formerly belonged to a sailing ship-- it was an odd name.

    "Master used to be an adventurer," Megara grinned. "I can... I can tell you about anything here! If... if you want?"

    "I''d like that," Tycon sat up from the couch and reached out a hand, "After you let me check your work."

    Regardless of whether or not Megara''s master was a mad wizard... the young mage''s words from a few bells prior lingered in his memory.

    She said... her master was a Hero.

    If she was being literal, Tycon had a plethora of questions... most of them with ufortable answers.

    What was a Hero doing inmand of a Dungeon Core? And so far from civilization? What was the fate suffered by his travelingpanions, the authors of the postcards-- the wearers of the varied armor sets and wielders of diator weaponry?

    ...And whomissions a bowling ball made out of adamantine?

 Chapter 798 Monstrous Form

    ?Tycondrius rxed on a cushioned sofa, calmly drinking tea as he examined the various effects in the room.

    One, in particr, caught his eye... one just as worrisome as the weapons and armors that enchantments of which were not yetpletely inert.

    He furrowed his brows as he scrutinized a signed portrait of... Troia, the Holy Country''s High Oracle.

    "What in the seven-- ugh... what is *that*?"

    Megara puffed her cheeks as she wrung her hands, "Did... I make a mistake? L-let me fix it before Dad sees."

    "Ah," Tycon handed back her paperwork, "No, Megara. Everything looks lovely, though you could truncate the bottom-right spell circles on pages two and three."

    Megara lifted the second page above her head-- as if that could help her better see the issue.

    "They''re... redundancy safeguards, though?"

    Tycon cradled his chin with his hand, "In that case, the functions looping to that point are tenuous. What would happen if the top center circle was rendered inert?"

    "...Oh. The ritual would fail, huh?"

    "Correct," Tycon smirked. "Adjust."

    "Y-yessir," Megara rendered a sloppy salute.

    "Don''t do that."

    Suddenly, a blinding golden light spilled out from the cabin''s back door. Via the power of the almighty na, the door frame grew in height before swinging open, allowing arge-bodied, lion-faced gentleman in half-te to stalk inside.

    "MEGARA!!!" He shouted, scowling and furious, "I have given you a TASK!!!"

    In response, Megara excitedly pped her homework sheets, "I finished, Master!"

    "And... who... is... THIS?!?" The lion-man with a very slight Kingdom ent pointed an emerald arm and very expensive looking spear in Tycon''s general direction, "DAUGHTER!!! Have you brought an ADVENTURER into our house, UN-IN-VITED?!?!"

    "Nope," Megara smiled. "I invited him! And-- and I served him tea."

    It was a beautiful, full smile that Tycon had not yet seen. The young mage had a few crooked baby teeth that only added to her childlike charm.

    "Oh," The lion scratched at his mane. "Did you use ze expensive tea, ma cheri?"

    "Of course! I had to use the footstool to get it."

    Tycon nced at his empty teacup on the adjacent table. It was delicious... but not necessarily expensive.

    The gentle-cat took a step back, appalled, "You RISKED yourself?! FOR A HUMAN??!"

    "I was watching her, Monsieur-- ensuring her safety," Tycon stood up. "Also, despite my appearance, I... am not that."

    "...Ah," The lion sighed in relief. "Whew. Very well, zen."

    Megara''s eyes lit up, "Really? Can I see?"

    ...Tycon looked back to the unhappy lion-man for guidance.

    "Mm... before zat," The fellow cleared his throat... "DAUGHTER!! Introductions are in order!"

    "Wah!!" The surprised Megara hopped in ce, flinging her homework into the air, "Oh-- oh, right!"

    She bowed clumsily, bonking her head on the corner of the couch, "D''ah."

    "Please take care of yourself, Miss Megara..." Tycon sighed as he calmly snatched each individual sheet, arranging them in a neat pile.

    "I... I''ve never done introductions before!" Megara oof''ed, rubbing her forehead.

    Her master lowered his body into a Martialist''s horse stance.

    "MEGARA!! We have PRACTICED ZIS!!" He yelled, "You must CALM your-SELF!!"

    "Master..." Megara pouted, "Inside voice... please."

    "...Ah, pardon..." Therge cat stood up, though his head remained bowed, "Go ahead, ma cheri."<novelnext></novelnext>

    The young Mage bowed politely, "Mister Tycon, this is my master, Ravidius Orion."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes...

    ? System, analyze: This gentleman''s ss. ?

    ? System response: Ravidius Orion, Adamantine-Rank Half-Giant, Scale-Blessed, Heir of Heaven, Death-Touched, Lionhearted, Paragon, Champion of the Eternal Fl... ?

    "A pleasure to meet you, Centurion," Tycon bowed politely as his mind raced toprehend just what exactly he was facing.

    Even after his System finished rattling off the fellow''s basic information... Tycon still wasn''t exactly certain as to the gentleman''s actual ss.

    ...He wasn''t even sure if he sensed ''Hero'' in the description.

    It was somewhat worrisome that Ravidius was an Adamantine-Rank... but with his full ss title so...yered, he no longer fit on the standard low/mid/high-ss Tier scale.

    He was so obscenely powerful... that Tycon decided to act normally-- with neither arrogance to impress nor obeisance to elicit pity.

    If he said something to get himself killed, he wouldn''t know how he died.

    "Ze pleasure is mine, Monsieur Tycon" The massive lion bowed in return. "And would you show us your monstrous form? If it is not too much trouble?"

    It was an odd request-- not his true form but his monstrous form. Still, Tycon was a guest and doing so was well within his power.

    "I don''t see why not," He shrugged.

    He walked over to the center of the lounge... checked his spacing as he gave his System themand.

    ? System, activate: Sea Serpent form. ?

    ? Sea Serpent form activating... ?

    It had been the first time he''d utilized the form since receiving a drop of Princess Iyuri''s essence. He spent nearly a full minute pacing his transformation in order to avoid damage to any furniture. When he finished, he carefully coiled over thirty fulms of his white, smooth-scaled body underneath him, looking down at the young Mage and her master.

    "How is it?" Tycon asked.

    "WOW!" Megara gasped, "Are you a dragon?!"

    "Incorrect, youngdy," Tycon red the fins on his head and flipped his paddle-tail for emphasis. "This is the form of a Sea Serpent."

    "Do you have a Breath Weapon?!?" Megara asked, undeterred.

    "I can... breathe water," Tycon admitted.

    Ravidius sagely stroked his furred chin, "Your form-- it bestows you gills?"

    "Indeed."

    That was not what Tycon meant, but it was also true.

    "Ma cheri..." Ravidius rubbed his temple before sweeping back his golden mane, "You ''ave seen a dragon..."

    "But..." Megara scratched her head, "This one helped me with my homework. I defeated him inbat-- to the death."

    Immediately, the lion grew suspicious... "Monsieur Tycon... is zis true?"

    Tycon began reversing his transformation, shrinking in size, "Technically yes... to both."

    Ravidius took a deep breath, his mana swelling outward. He was not pleased.

    "You... made my daughter... CHEAT on HER HOMEWORK?!"

    "No, of course not," Tycon flicked his tongue. "When she had questions, I offered rification. All resulting credit belongs to her."

    ...Therge cat-fellow stared nkly for a moment, before reigning in his aura.

    "Oh... Well... good," He nodded... "Anyroad, we do nya''t have much, but please, Monsieur Tycon, make yourself at home."

    "Your wee has been most generous."

 Chapter 799 Clearing

    ?? The Trap Path. ?

    "Watch out!!!"

    "Huh?"

    Hearing her master''s shout, Mina''s turned back-- but it was toote for her to ?Mana Ward? the animated vine.

    "Too slow, girlie!" Krysaos growled, reaching out his arm to intercept the attack. The thick, fibrous tendriltched onto his coat sleeve and its sharp thorns dug into his skin through the thick cloth.

    Mina''s heart thrummed painfully in guilt.

    It looked... so painful...

    "?Crescent Wave!?" She swiped her hand upward, lopping off the vine with a cutting water spell.

    However, a wave of a different kind washed over her-- one of mana fatigue. As soon as her master was free, she felt her levitation falter and gravity take hold.

    "Whoa! I got''cha!"

    Her hero... her Chosen One... Captain Krysaos of the Neptune''s Revenge managed to catch her in his arms. Keeping with his momentum, he began sloshing through the muddy water-- getting them both away from the hostile foliage.

    "Gotta keep you in good condition, Mina!" He shouted, "You''re my only ticket outta here, y''know."

    Those words might have been hurtful... if she wasn''t fully aware that Krysaos better spoke through his actions rather than his words. It wasn''t the first time he''d risked himself to protect her-- and he''d already done so several times in the past few bells.

    Mina had been trying her best to conserve her mana, but the various dangers of the Trap Path seemed endless.

    She was not in good condition-- not in any sense of the word.

    She was, however, in good spirits, having Krysaos so close to her. She nuzzled into his warm chest as he princess-carried her to safety.

    "I''ll... be fine, Master."

    "Quiet! For now!" Krysaos heaved between gasps for breath. "I''m. Trying! To run!"

    Mina nodded quietly as she hooked her arms around her master''s neck for support. Krysaos had been beaten and battered by the trials and tribtions of the Tree God''s Forest... and it was obvious just by the state of his clothing.

    His right sleeve was coated in thorns, he had open sh-wounds on his chest and back; and the material on his right shoulder wascerated from a fight, long ago. His knees were visible through holes on his trousers... and even his beloved tricorne hat had its front tip lopped off.

    He looked nothing like the noble hero that she was created to serve.

    Yet, Krysaos... was a hero, nheless. It was the noble heart that beat in his chest that made it so.

    ...Sir Tycon had given her explicit instructions before they entered the Tree God''s Forest.

    Mina-- as both Krysaos'' Lieutenant and his closest guard and confidante... was ordered to *only* assist Krysaos if he faced mortal danger.

    Sir Tycon and Krysaos had returned her enchanted tiara to her. If she donned it, her mana issues would be nonexistent... and she''d even gain limited ess to Third-Circle water spells despite her Iron Rank. With that kind of power, she could render the various dangers of the dreaded Trap Path harmless.

    It was just... disheartening as a servant for her actions to be so limited. She was supposed to support her master, not inconvenience him.

    More than once, Mina told Krysaos to... to ignore her-- to allow her to be injured. She was a mana-creation... and even if her physical body waspletely destroyed, she could restore herself over weeks and moons or years as long as the Heart of the Ocean remained undamaged.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos, however, was human. If he took an injury too severe, he might lose the use of a limb... or even die.

    Ultimately... Mina agreed with Sir Tycon''s assessment. Though she''d do anything for her master, she realized what was best for him over years and decades.

    It wasn''t smooth seas that made a skilled sailor. It was the cruel gods that governed the seas, the hungry Abyssal Sea Wolves, and the loneliness of the deepest, darkest depths.

    For Krysaos to grow into his role as Chosen One, he had to face his challenges and ovee them by his own ability.

    Master''s life-goal was to fight the sea god.

    Even though Mina was created by the Lake Goddess, she was still technically a daughter of the ocean.When the time came, she feared that she''d be powerless to directly assist him against the sea god.

    ...But gathering the allies and resources to fight the sea god took time.

    And in that time... he could grow exponentially...

    ...Would it ever be enough?

    Krysaos slowed his pace... "We... uggggh-- we should be safe here..."

    He gently ced Mina down onto the dirt.

    She took a deep breath and folded her tail beneath her to sit... "Thank you, Master... I... I should be fine to continue after a few minutes."

    "Good to hear," Krysaos sighed as he plopped down beside her, back to the wall. "I''m... I might take more''n a few, myself."

    Mina swept her purple hair behind her shoulders as she examined her surroundings.

    It was an odd clearing, devoid of traps and summoned creatures-- but so too grasses and greenery. The brick construction that Krysaos rested against was odd to see, considering they were in such a remote location.

    Mina''s eyes gravitated to a nearby sign, a single passages disyed in severalnguages.

    One was written in Aquan...

    "Master..." Mina pursed her lips, "This is... a warning?"

    Krysaoszily rotated his head to stretch, "That the trap path is dangerous as f*ck? Yep. Already knew that."

    Mina took a breath through her nostrils. Master was right... a written warning wasrgely redundant, considering everything else they''d faced.

    "Master... how are your injuries?"

    "I''ll be fine, thanks."

    Her master had the horrible habit of lying as easily as he breathed... but Mina had learned that it was useless to argue with him over it.

    Krysaos had reached for thest healing potion on his bandolier. His hands shook as he tried to unstopper it-- and there were tears of pain at the corner of his eyes.

    She could never tell him that, though... Though she tried and failed to protect him with her magic, she could at least protect his pride.

 Chapter 800 Confess

    ?Without allowing her master the chance to argue, Mina took the bottle from him and opened it...

    Krysaos narrowed his eyes as he took it back, "You sure everything''s good?"

    Mina nodded as she lifted her hands, reaching her spirit outward towards the aquatic creatures they called their allies, the Corallidae... "I can sense nearly everyone in the crew-- alive and well. Wonderboy''s life force is weak, but he is being watched over by Seamen Catshit and Doc."

    She cut the mana connection and stared down at her hands... "But... I haven''t still been able to sense Seaman Sockets... not since--"

    "He''ll turn up sooner orter," Krysaos stared at his open potion bottle... "But I was talkin'' about you. Pretty sure you knew that, girlie."

    Mina closed her eyes and ced her hand over her painfully beating chest.

    It hurt even more... that he was being so kind. She was holding back, by order of Sir Tycon... She was betraying her Master''s trust-- and in response, he was only kind.

    She opened her eyes to the concentrated scent of caramelized strawberries, "Master..."

    "I drank a little of it, already..." Krysaos muttered, "but you can have the rest."

    He was offering hisst potion bottle to her... still two-thirds full.

    Mina stared wide-eyed at the bottle. She thought she could still see the condensation from his breath and... where his lips had touched-- but she was certain she was imagining it.

    "Master... I cannot ept this," She grimaced. "Please... drink the entire bottle, yourself. The efficacy of it..."

    Drinking only a small portion of it was enough to staunch superficial wounds... but the sheer number of injuries Krysaos had endured since hisst...

    "I''ve got potion sickness from drinkin'' so many already," Krysaos lied. "Thosest few obstacles were pretty tough... I mean-- Knights of the Round? Warped Wall? What kinda psychopath thinks of this stuff?"

    Mina began to wipe her tears from her eyes... "You''re hurt, Master... let''s... let''s end the training. I can-- if I put on my tiara..."

    "I know," Krysaos waved. "But Tycon said not to, right?"

    ...Mina nodded shyly. She felt so foolish for thinking her master didn''t know what she was capable of... Their souls were bonded together, after all.

    "You gonna drink it or what?" Krysaos scratched at his cheek, again pushing the potion towards her... "It''s not like we''re in a hurry, but my arm''s gettin'' tired."

    He sighed, taking Mina''s hands and wrapping her fingers around the ss-- "You know what? You don''t get a choice, anymore. Drink up or I''ll get mad."

    "Master..." Mina sniffed as she cradled the bottle to her chest, "Thank you... for being so kind to a selfish girl like me..."

    "Eh?" Krysaos tilted his head, "I don''t think I''ve been actin'' any different?"

    "No... you have been," Mina huped-- "But... but... Master... I can sense... that you are conflicted."

    "Well... yeah?" Krysaos shrugged. "I wanna fight a god. Not somethin'' most people think about, so ''conflicted'' sums it up pretty good."

    Mina put the potion bottle to her lips.

    It was sweet.

    She felt much of her strength returning. Her skin felt warm, with the random cuts and bruises on her arms burning a little hotter.

    She took a deep breath... steeling her courage, "Master... no-- Captain Krysaos... I''d like to... request for permission to speak freely."

    "You''re a Second Lieutenant, Mina," Krysaos rolled his eyes, "You''ve always had that permission. Spit it out."

    Mina gulped... "How... do you feel about Imperia?"

    Krysaos'' eyes widened and his face began to twist. It was so rare for him to lose his words that Mina couldn''t help butugh.

    ...Then she immediately averted her gaze back down... to what was left of her healing tonic...

    She was so nervous.

    She already knew the answer in Krysaos'' heart.

    It hurt to think about it.

    It would destroy her to hear it directly from her master''s mouth...

    But... she hated seeing her master so conflicted.

    Mina''s reason for living... was to support her hero in full.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Selflessly.

    Without question.

    If she allowed her personal feelings to sway her life-mission... it would be a disservice to the Lake Goddess that created her.

    "...It ain''t important," Krysaos finally said. "We''re essentially in the middle of a battlefield. I could die out here... and you could probably get seriously hurt."

    "Y-you don''t have to answer..." Mina grimaced.

    "Then I won''t."

    Mina lolled her head back to rest on the brick... "But it''s important to me..."

    "GuhhhHH!" Krysaos groaned, "You''re really not gonna let this go, huh?"

    Mina''s eyes shot open. She... she didn''t mean to say that out loud! She was perfectly fine with not hearing the answer-- to let herself stay blind to the truth.

    "No! It''s fine!" She cried, "Just forget I said anything!"

    "Okay, I will," Krysaos nodded.

    "NO!!" Mina shouted, "It''s NOT FINE!!!"

    "Seven hecks, Mina-- which is it?"

    "You''re a liar, Master!! CONFESS YOUR FEELINGS!!!!"

    Krysaos sighed loudly... "Alright, alright... just-- just levitate back down here and take a seat."

    Mina dispelled her levitation and returned to her ce beside her master... blushing furiously for her outburst, "S-sorry."

    "Pff," Krysaos shrugged, "You should be..."

    He took a deep breath as he adjusted his sitting position,zily stretching out his legs.

    He spoke without directly looking at her.

    It was fine. She knew she wasn''t in her master''s eyes...

    "I got a lot of... not so great things to say about the Princess," He said... "but... I guess I got a few good things, too.

    "All in all... Imperia''s not all that bad. She''s part of the crew... just like you are."

    Mina gingerly took hold of Krysaos'' strong arm, holding it tight... "Master..."

    "Tss," Krysaos scoffed. "You''re irreceable, Mina. I want you to know that... and I''m not jus'' sayin that ''cuz you''re my sword."

    "Master..." Mina rested her cheek on Krysaos'' shoulder, "Our souls are bound together..."

    "They are?"

    Mina sat up and stared into Krysaos'' eyes.

    What?

    Did he not--

    But they--

    But she was so obvious when--

    She started smacking him in the face, "You''re HORRIBLE!! TERRIBLE!! YES, we made a contract!!!"

    "We did? I mean-- we did! YEAH!! We DID!!!"

    "Do you remember NOWWWW?!?"

    "Yeah! Most definitely! I was just-- I was just testing you!!!"

 Chapter 801 Selfishness

    ?Mina couldn''t believe her master''s callousness.

    Just when she thought-- for the briefest moment that he actually cared about her... she realized that she was just deluding herself.

    Captain Krysaos shed his whitest, most handsome, most heroic smile.

    That smile...

    Mina ced her hand against her chest, feeling a dozen different emotions blossom.

    Her heart thumped so painfully...

    Yet, that was NOT enough to temper her rage!!

    "You are the WORST MASTER in the entire REALM!!!" She screamed.

    "Alright!" Krysaos yelped, "I get it!! I''m sorry!!"

    "Tell!!! Her!! How!! YOU!!! FEEEEEL!!!!"

    Krysaos caught her hand, "Mina, it''s not like that."

    "Master!!" Mina pouted. She was mad. Really mad.

    ...But just yelling wasn''t going to change anything.

    "I know... I know you''re not telling her because you''re worried about me..." She sighed, "but... you''ve already won me over. I promised my soul to you. All that and... you... you don''t see me as a woman. That''s-- that''s fine. But... it''s different for Imperia."

    She intertwined her fingers with her master''s... "I know you have feelings for her."

    Krysaos firmly snatched his hand back, "Mina... I''m not gonna jeopardize my friendship with Imperia and everyone else with my selfishness."

    "But--"

    "Listen to me," Krysaos gestured with his open hands... "I dunno if you''ve forgotten-- but I''m human."

    "You''re not just *any* human, Krysaos," Mina pouted. "You are the Chosen One!"

    Krysaos shook his head, "You... really give me too much credit, girlie."

    "I have faith in you, Master," Mina insisted. "I have faith in love... and love is capable of crossing any boundary!"

    "Yeah, well-- that''s not the point I''m tryin'' to make," Krysaos twisted his lips to the side. "Me bein'' human-- that makes me a realist.

    "Y''see... a human can fall in love a dozen or more times over the course of a lifetime...

    "Then... there''s a dozen different kinds of love. I might like Imperia a little bit-- but that doesn''t mean we have the kind of rtionship where I wanna drop everything an'' share the rest of my life with her."

    Krysaos rubbed the back of his head, "I mean... it might end up like that some-sun? Maybe. But right now, I don''t know that."

    "And it''ll NEVER be like that if you don''t do anything about it," Mina huffed. "I can''t understand you, Master. How can you be so brave on the battlefield but such a COWARD outside of it?!?"

    Krysaos stared down at her with a serious expression, "The truth... is a burden."

    "The truth, Master," Mina hmphed, "sets us free!"

    "No, Mina," Krysaos shook his head. "Setting unrealistic expectations sets us up for failure."

    He cradled his head in his hands, "Seven hells. Now I sound like the LT..."

    "How blind can you be, Master?" Mina red up at him, narrowing her eyes, "Imperia obviously likes you too!!"

    "I know."

    "You..." Mina''s eyes widened, "You wwWWWHAaaaAAT?!"

    "I said," Krysaos took a breath-- "I know. Just like I know that she''s a Princess but it doesn''t have nearly as much weight as she acts like it does.... Just like I know that she''s got a lot of pressure toplete her own quest-- somethin'' to do with King."

    "Well..." Mina frowned... "I''m... I''m sure that''s true... but--"

    "But nothin'', Mina." Krysaos cut her off, his words as sharp as a knife. "I''ve got a quest toplete. So does Imperia.

    "For now, Tycon''s goals align with mine-- I help him, he helps me.

    "You, Mina, are with the sword. I''m your hero and I''ll always try to do right by you, because you trust me.

    "You guys... all you guys are my friends and allies until the world burns...<novelnext></novelnext>

    "But Imperia-- she''s her own person. I''m not gonna be the selfish prick that''s gonna grab hold of an innocent girl''s heartstrings and say shite like, ''now you''re mine,e with me, no questions asked.''"

    Mina wrapped her arms around her tail and pulled it close to her chest... "That''s... what you did to me."

    Krysaos nodded... "Yeah... I know."

    He grew quiet after that...

    That... was him epting responsibility-- without so many words.

    That was... him rejecting his chance to be with a literal Princess...

    That was... Krysaos being the hero that Mina knew he was.

    Mina threw her arms around him... and she cried.

    He didn''t offer any more words... He didn''t even hug her back.

    It was... his way of showing kindness without betraying himself.

    Krysaos wasn''t selfish at all...

    Mina realized... it was her being the selfish one, all along.

    "Thank you, Mina," Krysaos quietly whispered.

    "Master?" Mina looked up with tearstained eyes, "For... for what?"

    "For always thinking of me..."

    ...

    ? In the Dungeon infirmary... ?

    Tycon ced two fingers on his sleeping lover''s wrist to check her pulse.

    ? System, analyze: Elle''s condition. ?

    ? Analyzing... ?

    He breathed a sigh of relief as his System listed her vitals. She was healthy and uninjured. It was reasonable to be sleeping so soundly, considering the elevated physical exertion andck of sleep over the past several suns.

    She would be fine, with rest.

    Tycon had no issues with the treatment she received. She was installed in a luxurious bed enchanted for pliability and with a tolerablevender scent.

    ? Still, he wished to know more about the events that led to his lover''s current state.

    He turned to his leoninepanion and gestured to Elle, "For this, I''d like an exnation."

    "Grrr!" Ravidius sneered as he crossed his muscle bound arms, "You should know, Monsieur Tycon. As they say, curiosity killed ze Catoblepas."

    "I am asking because I do not," Tycon pursed his lips, "Your aphorism answers nothing. And I do not believe that is amon phrase."

    Ravidius lowered his chin, narrowing his eyes... "All three?"

    "All three."

    "...Ze mademoiselle was nya''vigating ze Dungeon... alone... lost and afraid..."

    Tycon tapped his foot impatiently, "And you..."

    "--I''m getting to zat," The lion waved his emerald right hand. "And so... I activated ze magic in my spear to take CONTROL of her BODY!!"

    Tycon twisted his lips to the side, "That sounds like a heavy-handed use of Fourth-Circle magic..."

    "It was NYE''CESSARY!!!" Ravidius seethed, his leonine maw dripping with saliva.

    Tycon absentmindedly tapped on the corner of his lips.

    The lion wiped his face with the back of his wrist, "Merci."

    "De rien."

 Chapter 802 Forgotten Hero

    ?Elle began to stir.

    As for the reason... it was likely because the two gentlemen, Tycondrius and Ravidius, did not know how to keep silent in the presence of a convalescing patient.

    The Titanblood woman half-sat up in her bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes... "T... tychon?"

    Tycon positioned himself to ensure he was the first thing his beloved saw. Waking up in a strange ce was a jarring experience... but not so much if she could rely on at least one stable point of familiarity.

    "Did you rest well, my love?"

    "Oh... oh, Tychon..." Elle pulled him close for a hug, burying her face into his chest... "I just had... the most terrible nightmare."

    Tycon gently stroked the back of her head, untangling golden strands of her messy ponytail, "A nightmare, you say?"

    "Y-yeah..." She sighed, "I was attacked... and... I... I did everything you taught me to do... but I got caught in the end-- by a Witch who wielded an evil crimson staff."

    That... sounded rather suspicious.

    Tycon slowly turned his head to look at Ravidius.

    Therge cat-fellow rested his red-ded spear against his shoulder, meaningfully stroking his golden chin with his glowing right hand.

    "An unknown Mage in ze Dungeon..." He grimaced, "Zat is... nya''t a wee development..."

    Tycon looked back to Elle.

    She was staring at Ravidius with her mouth agape.

    --which proved Tycon''s earlier suspicions.

    "Ravidius," He smiled politely. "Are you aware, dear friend... that in utilizing your encanted spear as a walking staff... you may be mistaken as a Mage?"

    Arge golden cat''s eye twitched in realization, "N-not until just meow, no."

    "Of course," Tycon groaned, shaking his head. "Anyroad... Monsieur Ravidius Orion, I''d like to formally introduce you to my lovely girlfriend, Miss Elle of Leopardon."

    "R-r-r-ra... RAVIDIUS?!?!" Elle nearly leapt out of bed. "Is that... is THAT the same--"

    "Leopardon?" Ravidius nodded, "Zat is... a vige near Caeruleum, no? I am from ze western side of Ezyria, born in a humble vige wis'' ze name of Bluevine."

    Tycon nodded, having recognized the ce. "I''ve passed by the vineyards there. They''re quite nice."

    "A very long time ago..." Ravidius smiled, "my Orion family were ze best vignerons and negociants in Alizeau and Tyrion, both!"

    "Tychon!!!" Elle shouted, "This-- this is!!"

    She was beginning to hyperventte.

    Tycon took her hand and took deep, exaggerated breaths. She caught on quickly, and she consciously slowed her rate of breathing to match his.

    "Elle... this," He gestured, "is Ravidius Orion, the Hero of Passage."

    "Eh?" Ravidius scratched behind one of his ears, "''Ow did you know?"

    "...You''ve done literally nothing to hide it," Tycon rolled his eyes.

    In response, therge, lion fellow hid his magically enchanted arm behind his back-- as if that was the only clue Tycon had.

    When he first met Megara, one of the first things he learned was that her father was a Hero.

    The various mementoes openly disyed inside his home further alluded to his identity.

    He had postcards mailed from ces where only Gold-Ranks and stronger could reasonably survive.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Adorning the walls were unique adventuring armors and weapons, most still carrying hints of their powerful enchantments.

    (One of which was a dagger Tycon had borrowed. Thankfully, as of yet, Ravidius had not revealed any act of ungentlemanly behavior, concerning Elle-- but anyroad...)

    The lionhearted fellow wore light armor for mundane, sun-to-sun activities... and his Centurion designation was disyed openly on his shoulder.

    Also, there was an unmistakably Tyrion banner hanging above Ravidius'' front door. Upon learning more about that fellow''s past, Tycon realized it was the heraldry of Bluevine... which was only a few suns travel to the City of Passage.

    Then, of course, there was High Oracle Troia''s portrait.

    She had signed it.

    ''To the Hero of Passage,'' said the flowy, feminine script.

    Ravidius frowned, "But... I am nya''t wielding my signature weapon."

    "What''s that in your hand?"

    "My signatu-- oHOH HOH~! Monsieur Tycon, you almost had me fooled! Zis is a magical staff! Nya''t a spear as you may have guessed!"

    "I can discern your lies on your face, Ravidius," Tycon chided.

    Ravidius dipped his head, "It is... as you say..."

    Elle continued to re at therge cat-man, "Tychon... He... he took control of my body."

    "Should I be jealous, my love?" Tycon teased.

    "It''s not funny!" She pouted.

    Thankfully, Tycon had known his lover long enough to estimate the level of indignation she was suffering.

    She was fine-- or she would be.

    From what Tycon understood, Ravidius was a foolish, if reliable and honest, Hero.

    He was also the only person resurrected by Church of the Eternal me in the past several centuries. With High Oracle Troia as a judge of character, it was imusible for Ravidius to be a person of questionable morals.

    At any rate, the Hero of Passage was more than capable of turning either of them into meat-paste within seconds if he so wished.

    Tycon could defeat him... but it would be a lengthy andplicated endeavor.

    First, he''d attack him with surprise, wounding him several times with a powerful (borrowed) dagger. Then he''d escape, only to return with a small army... which would take him calling in a host of several favors, established by both the current him and the past-him.

    ...He was keeping those as a back-up n for his inevitable showdown against the Queen of Stone.

    Thus, in order for Tycon to be truly offended by Ravidius'' actions, the Lionheart had to cross not just one-- but severalst-lines.

    ...And still, all that would be prioritized only after killing the sea god.

    Tycon refused to ept more than one god-ying quest at a time.

    "Ravidius," Tycon inclined his head. "Could you please elucidate the reasoning for your Control-type Spell?"

    "Mademoiselle Elle," Ravidius stepped forward, "At ze time we met, you were in Corridor.. 22-A? You were standing upon a pressure te zat would have triggered a most deadly trap."

    "Th-the click!" Elle''s eyes shot open, "I remember!"

    "Correct," Ravidius nodded. "If you were to move carelessly, your body would have been crushed by a pir... one made of alchemical golems. Zhe terrible constructs were made to bleed a highly acidicpound strong enough to melt flesh and bone!"

    ",

 Chapter 803 Song & Dance

    ?Elle sat up, flinging her fluffy covers away. She was clearly unhappy with Hero Ravidius.

    "But you could have just... made me move!" She whined, "Or- or... push me out of the way? WHY then, did you make me do that weird dance?"

    A dance? That caught Tycondrius'' attention.

    "Ze very specific dance-like movements were to disable ze trap in Room 18," Ravidius exined. "Had you failed to do so... ze Gold-Rank Eye Tyrant statues would have animated and turned your bones to gtin!"

    Tycon raised his hand, "I would like to see this dance."

    "Th... that," Elle turned away, blushing furiously, "that''s not gonna happen..."

    Tycon turned back to Ravidius, "Tell me of this dance."

    "It''s very... cute?" The lion paused in thought... "Allow me to show you but one of ze... techniques."

    Sticking his leg out, Ravidius performed a quick pirouette, stopping with his rear slightly extended. Then, he ced the back of his wrists against his forehead and flipped his palms up, "Nya~"

    "That is NOT what I had to do!!" Elle screamed-- at the top of her lungs... with Tycon directly adjacent.

    "Must you, Elle?" He asked. "Ravidius, are you making up dance moves or are you inept at show-and-tell?"

    "You dare?" Ravidius lifted his chin in an ignoble sneer... and then his gem-ded spear, "?Control!!?"

    Elle got out of bed.

    She did the dance.

    Tycon judged it a... 10 out of 10. However, he was incredibly biased in Elle''s favor.

    "That wasn''t so terrible, now was it?" Tycon smiled warmly, "If anything, I think I''ve fallen even deeper in love, my dear."

    Elle performed a standing flip,pleting it with perfect bnce before sharply raising her arms at 45 degree angles.

    "I''m doing this AGAINST MY WILL!!!" She shouted.

    "...Oh. Right," Tycon nudged Ravidius. "Stop that. Free will is an invible right... even if the humor value is immeasurably high. Gatekeeper''s Laws."

    "Pardon, Mademoiselle," Ravidius lowered his head as he dispelled the effect. "My honor was at stake. Besides all matters of wine, each heir to the Orion family is trained to be masters of... ze game of charades."

    Free of her control spell, Elle crossed her arms and red, "Tychon... he... he made me do more..."

    "But of course," Ravidius cleared his throat, "What I made you do was to prevent ze Silence Slimes from swarming down Corridor 15-B. Zhey rove in packs of ten and are most terrible to herd, as they secrete a severe hallucinogenic."

    "Silence Slimes?" Tycon asked, eyeing Ravidius suspiciously... "How does one herd a gaggle of barely sentient slimes, to begin with?"

    "Charades, mon ami," Ravidius answered-- quite seriously.

    "...Granted."

    "TYCHON!!" Elle was on the verge of tears, "He... he made me... sing!"

    Dancing... and singing?

    Tycon was growing tired of being suspicious of their host. While the act of temporarily removing Elle''s control of her own body was morally and ethically questionable, the fact remained that she was safely removed from the Dungeon-proper.

    "Elle..." He clicked his tongue, "*I''ve* never heard you sing before..."

    "Oy," She frowned. "Whose side are you on?"

    "My own," Tycon smirked.

    "She''s quite good," Ravidius assured him.

    "''Tis a pleasure I have yet to experience for myself," Tycon rolled his eyes.

    Ravidius gestured with his staff, "Zhen perhaps...?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "No," Tycon shook his head, "but thank you."

    "Guhhhh..." Elle groaned, "Okay. Fine. So the Hero of Passage took control of my body to save me from all the deadly traps. I get it. Why DO you have those traps installed, anyroad?"

    Ravidius loosed a heavy sigh, allowing his shoulders to drop... "I inherited ze Dungeon and its upkeep upon purchasing ze lease. In my free time over ze past decade, I ''ave been dismantling ze traps... but, it ''as been a-- how you say... meow-numental task."

    Tycon squeezed his lover''s hand, "Elle, Centurion Ravidius is a rather reasonable gentleman. Would it be possible for you to forgive him?"

    Elle snatched her hands away, hiding them behind her back... "It was really embarrassing, y''know."

    "Do not fret, Mademoiselle," Ravidius'' voice boomed. "You are safe, meow."

    "Is he going to keep doing that?" Elle narrowed her eyes, "I''m not going to forgive him if he keeps doing that."

    Tycon turned up to meet her gaze, "Once you''re ready, get changed into your armor. We''ll apany Ravidius back into the Dungeon to seek out our otherpanions."

    ...

    ? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX. ?

    ? So there I was... deep in the Tree God''s Forest. ?

    ? F*ck this ce. ?

    ? That is all. ?

    "Alright! S''been long enough," Krysaos sat up on his knees. "You good to go, Mina?"

    Mina reactivated her levitation spell, rising a few ilms off the ground.

    "My mana has regenerated enough to continue, but..." She crossed her arms, rubbing at her elbow, "we must be very careful from here on to prevent you from further injury."

    "Sounds like a n..." Krysaos nodded absentmindedly.

    "What about you, Master?" Mina tilted her head, "We can rest a bit longer, if you''d like..."

    Krysaos put on a grin of confidence, "And miss all the fun? No way."

    "Alright..." Mina chuckled softly, wiping thest of the tears on her face... "I believe in you... Krysaos."

    Krysaos shut his eyes and nodded... satisfied that his act had managed to fool her.

    In truth-- he felt like shite.

    He wasn''t lying when he told Mina he was suffering potion sickness. His head was light and airy, and it was hard to focus. His stomach was empty to the point of feeling nauseous.

    ...but it would be alright.

    He wasn''t feeling so confident before their little talk... but when he badgered his pushover sword-- she more or less admitted that she was holding back on Tycon''s orders.

    ...which was something Krysaos expected.

    He wasn''t mad at the LT. If anything, he was mad at himself for not figuring it out sooner.

    Mina was a good girl. She''d never let him get hurt-- not if she could help it.

    But knowing that, Krysaos had a safety-- and a damn good one. As an added bonus, that said had both a super powerful magic tiara and a vested interest in keeping him alive.

    He didn''t have to be deathly afraid of the trap path.

    He only had to be... normally afraid.

    ",

 Chapter 804 Battlecry In The Face Of Danger

    ?Krysaos wasn''t immortal. He was a Bronze-Rank-- and barely stronger than a regr person.

    All he had to do was trust in Mina... and get through the trap path-- even if he had to crawl to finish it.

    As long as he made it out in one piece, the LT could use his weird magic to heal him.

    Adventuring.

    It was hard to believe that some people made a living off of being in the shite all the time.

    "Alright, girlie," Krysaos adjusted his Captain''s hat and put on his usual fake grin. "On me."

    "Aye aye, Captain!" Water mana swirled around Mina and she directed the stream with her hands, "?Swiftness of the Coursing River!?"

    Krysaos took a deep breath, reinvigorated by the familiar scent of the ocean and the misty spray on his skin.

    As long as he had Mina, he could survive.

    He got to his feet, supporting himself on the adjacent wall...

    --when a shrill, scraping noise rumbled from behind the bricks.

    Slowly... he turned his head and watched as his hand was on a brick that was... receding?

    "Huh, that''s weird..." He lifted his hand off it... but the thing had a mind of its own. Eventually, it stopped with a resounding *k* sound.

    "Oh, f*ck me."

    ? So there I was... rooted deep in the wrinkled arse-hole of the Tree God''s stupid Forest. ?

    ? I was bossing my way through all sorts of traps, felling deadly foes left and right, and giving out orders like a badass Captain of my particr reputation rightly should. ?

    ? But... the minions of the Tree God, they conspired against me. They hunted me down and, as I was recovering, they tricked me into triggering a loathsome trap! ?

    ...Yet another trap.

    In the... trap path.

    It really shouldn''t have been that surprising...

    Kryasos was absolutely not going to put that in his log.

    ? Once I heard the click, I knew I was done for... but still, I tried to escape. I leapt to the side with a mighty leap, but I found myself falling into the darkness... deep into the abyss. ?

    "OH, F*CK MEEEEEEEE!!!!!!"

    ? I roared a battlecry as I headed towards wherever the fates were taking me... ?

    ? It felt like my stomach had risen up to my chest and the wind from nowhere battered my face. ?

    ? I''d clenched my anus so tight, it could have crushed jade into powder. ?

    ? However... the falling bit got old after about two minutes. ?

    ? Clearly, death was afraid to take me-- or he was doing me a favor since we''re best buddies. But still... that still left the problem of me falling forever through nothingness. ?

    ? So... I did what any dashing and handsome ship Captain would do. I grabbed my hat, I crossed my arms, and then I tried to figure out what the hells I could do to get the hells out of there... ?

    Krysaos groaned as he squinted his eyes, trying to see something... anything in the direction he was falling.

    Nothing.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It didn''t make sense... so he figured he must have been affected by some kind of magic spell.

    Krysaos knew how ridiculous some traps could get. He and Tycon worked on one before, on the deck of the Neptune''s Revenge.

    Some trapmasters were crazy creative-- and powerful. Whoever made the infinite falling trap was at least the second one.

    But... he figured since he was still alive, there was probably some kind of trick to it.

    He tried scanning for mana like Tycon had taught him to... but that was no use. His mind was still in a haze from potion sickness and just closing his eyes made him feel sick.

    ...Hoping it''d make him feel better, he stuck his finger deep into his mouth.

    The result was a few muscle-wracking dry heaves... but nothing came out.

    All in all, Krysaos tried over a dozen different things before attempting to... swim through the air as if it were water.

    For whatever gods-damned reason, that worked just fine.

    Kicking his legs, he hit the surface-- his world going from total darkness to the interior of a... house?

    ? So when I came to... I was in a wooden room-- a bedroom, it looked like. ?

    Most everything looked like it was made out of wood-- something like he''d imagined the inside of the homes in Whitehearth looked.

    The windows were designer shutters that had too many holes in them to keep anything out. The bed looked like something a noble would have slept on-- so all for show and probably just hard as the floor.

    ? It looked like I was in... what I figured heaven to probably look like. Everything was real pretty-- fitted sheets on the bed, fancy windows. ?

    ? But me being in any of the eleven heavens didn''t make any sense. ?

    ? I''m the type of guy that has no issue dering war on one of their gods, after all. ?

    Krysaos climbed out of... a wooden tub of some kind and checked his surroundings.

    ? I''d literally just emerged from the bathtub... but there ain''t any bathtub that deep. ?

    ? There was a giant bug in the wall providing light-- clearly also part of my fever dream. ?

    The fat-looking winged insect was about the size of a dog. Its huge arse glowed a cool blue that lit the room.

    Krysaos internally admitted it was pretty ingenious. He wanted one... but then he recalled that his crew would probably eat it.

    ? Then the clothes dresser was shaking, trying to talk to me, too. ?

    "Get me OUT of here you IDIOT!!"

    Krysaos narrowed his eyes. He recognized that voice... and that tone of speaking.

    ? But... as nonsensical as everything was, I waspletely convinced it was real. ?

    He rolled his eyes as he wrung out his Captain''s hat, knowing perfectly well that he was about to do something real stupid.

    "Like I''m gonna listen to you, talking dresser," He groaned. "I know what a mimic is."

    "Fool human!" The dresser shouted, "Release me THIS instant or I will jam one of your precious Corallidae crewmen UP YOUR--"

    "Seven hells, girlie," Krysaos shook his head as he opened the dresser door. "I was jus'' messin'' around."

    And as expected, Princess Imperia of House Vulkoori tumbled out... and into his waiting arms.

 Chapter 805 Gigantic Mistake

    ?Krysaos shut his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst.

    Thest thing he expected out of Imperia was gratitude.

    In preventing the dark elf from eating the wooden floorboards, he held her fast. Which... meant that he was touching a Princess... which was *probably* a no-go in Elven culture.

    ''No hand-holding before marriage'' or something insane like that.

    Elves were weird.

    "Go ahead," Krysaos groaned. "Say what yer gonna say..."

    "Hmph!" Imperia sharply turned her head away from him. "Took you long enough!"

    Krysaos looked down at her in... mild surprise. That was ten times... softer of a response than he expected.

    Then again... she looked like she''d been roughed up pretty bad.

    "The hells you doin'' here, anyroad, Princess?" He asked as he carried her to the bed.

    Of course-- Imperia didn''t say anything. She just clenched her teeth and tried to look more upset.

    That was... her pride. And though Krysaos was tempted to pick on her for it, he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

    Her whitish-silver hair was a mess, most of her tight braids undone. Her wrists and ankles were bound by thick vines, and there were dark bruises on other parts of her arms-- likely from the same.

    She wasn''t wearing her coral armor, but instead was wearing just her cloth top, like when they''d first met. Underneath that, though, her t chest was covered with bandages.

    Judging from the dried blood... it looked like she''d suffered a number of deepcerations on her chest.

    The stupidest Princess in all of the Eastern States... had tried to follow him into the forest.

    ...through the trap path.

    ? I think... I wanted it to be real. ?

    "Imperia," Kryasos spoke in a firm voice, "I told you not to follow me... Sea god''s socks, there was supposed to be some kind of curse surrounding the Tree God''s Forest!"

    "I... but-- ARGH! Who said I was following YOU?!" Imperia scowled, "I was-- I was following my sovereign! YOU are just an afterthought, you disgusting hum-- EE!!!"

    The elf girl shrieked in surprise as Krysaos dropped his weight, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

    "You''ve always had it out for me, girlie," Krysaos sighed. "You''ll listen to Tycon. You''ll listen to Mina. I thought it was just because I was human-- but then you yed along real nice with that Willow girl."

    Imperia still refused to look at him.

    "Now is when you untie me, Krysaos," She said in a quiet voice.

    "No..." He smirked, "I think now is when you finally listen to what I have to say."

    Imperia turned back, putting a little extra venom in her re, "As if I''d EVER listen to anything out of your filthy mouth!"

    Krysaos was... too used to those kinds of cutting remarks.

    HoWeVerRrr... she was making a gigantic mistake.

    The Dark Elven Princess was the most vulnerable she''d ever been... and Krysaos wasn''t the type of guy to let such a perfect opportunity pass by.

    "Ehehe..." He chuckled as he flipped Imperia over, "You''ve had this a lonnng timeing, Princess."

    Bncing her stomach on his knee, he shifted her weight so her surprisingly thick butt stuck upwards.

    "Krysaos!! What-- what are you-- DON''T YOU DARE!!"

    "Try not to enjoy this more than I will," Krysaos grinned.

    **PAP**<novelnext></novelnext>

    Hended a swift, open-handed p on Imperia''s fat arse-- hard enough to leave a clear outline in red.

    He''d always wondered what color her charcoal skin would turn to... and he was amused to have found the answer.

    "K-krysaos!!!!" Imperia shouted, "If you don''t release me right now--"

    **PAP**

    Krysaos brought his hand down, once again. The light guilt was worth the immense satisfaction from having the whiny b*tch on his knee squirming in pain.

    "Then you''ll what?" He shook his head. "I swear, girlie. It''s like you''ve never been punished for anything in your life."

    "You have NO idea what I''ve been through!!" She countered. "And for-- and... ARGHH!! Just let me GOO!!!"

    Krysaos raised his eyebrow. He was about done... but what the Princess was about to say made him curious. And thus, he went on... ignoring Imperia''s threats as they increased in dramatics and reduced in meaningful sense.

    Until finally... they turned into pathetic mewling.

    "Ready to talk to me, now, Princess?" Krysaos teased.

    "I''m... I''m sorry..." She cried, "Please..."

    Krysaos rubbed her reddened skin to provide a tiny bit of relief, "Please what?"

    "Please... be more gentle."

    Krysaos felt his heart stop for a brief second, "Whuh?"

    ...He slowly lifted up his hand, his brain taking several seconds to process the unlikely scenario that was happening.

    His fingertips... were wet.

    Had Imperia pissed herself?

    He rubbed his fingers together.

    ...No. No, she had not.

    He sat the girl upright and coughed into his hand... "Hey, listen. I might''ve gone too far... You got more than a right to be upset."

    Imperia turned her face up, looking more indignant than he''d ever seen, "Krysaos... even if... y-you take my purity..."

    Krysaos exhaled out of his nose. Did the Princess equate a spanking with losing her V? That was nonsense--

    "Yeah, yeah... I already know what you''re gonna say. ''I''ll never forgive you!'' Right? Ah... haha..." Heughed uneasily, "Seven hells, Imperia, you''re as predictable as a two-slug novel."

    Anyroad, he wasn''t gonna do that. Krysaos might have been a womanizer, but forcing a girl was too much even for him.

    Imperia lowered her head, silent tears still flowing... "I don''t know what you did... but I''ll never forgive you for making me fall in love with you."

    "Eh?"

    Imperia rested her head against Krysaos chest, soaking her tears into his tattered military coat.

    "You didn''t have to spank me so hard..."

    Krysaos took a deep breath and... against his better judgment... he put aforting arm around her... "You seemed to enjoy it more than I did."

    "...Not the point, you stupid human," She twitched. "Ow..."

    "Well," Krysaos shrugged. "What''s done is done. What do you want me to-- mmph!!"

    Before he realized what was happening, he felt Imperia''s soft lips against his.

 Chapter 806 Too Good To Be True

    ?Krysaos immediately took hold of Imperia''s arms and pulled back.

    "Whoa!! I-- you..."

    He cleared his throat and straightened his posture. It was a little embarrassing for such a well-experienced guy like himself to get caught off-guard by a woman.

    Still, he had to admit... "I... I did not expect that."

    "...I know I don''t deserve your help... not after everything I''ve said and done," Imperia looked up towards him, her lips plump and inviting, "but... I want you to take me with you. I... I don''t want to be a Princess anymore."

    "You know how incredibly stupid that is?" Krysaos frowned, "And that definitely counts as kidnapping... which is illegal."

    "You say that like that bothers you."

    ...Krysaos pursed his lips. She... had a point.

    "I''m a freebooter for the Kingdom, thus am allowed to do illegal things legally-- certain things, anyroad."

    "I don''t care," Imperia shook her head. "I''m tired of ruining people''s lives just to get ahead... I''m tired of giving orders to people who only care about my title.

    "I want... to be with people who like me-- or hate me because... of who I actually am.

    "I want to live a life of adventure... free... on the open seas-- free of my mother''s demands.

    "I want... to be with you, Krysaos."

    Krysaos took a deep breath, "Think about what you''re saying, Imperia. You have responsibilities... as do I. You know I want to kill the sea god... and that''s not exactly a leisurely swim through the shallows."

    "...For the first time, speaking with you, Krysaos," Imperia looked up... "I mean what I''m saying."

    "And what you''re saying is..."

    "I''ve already given you my first kiss... and you''ve already stolen my heart..."

    Imperia swallowed as she ced her bound hands against her bandaged chest... "I want you... to take my purity, too. I want you to be... my first... and my only."

    Krysaos blinked a few times and stared.

    This was definitely an illusion.

    He sat back and tossed Imperia haphazardly onto the bed.

    "Ow!!" She writhed, "I SAID be gentle, you idiot!!"

    Or maybe... it wasn''t?

    Whichever it was, Krysaos was tired of thinking about it.

    He had an armor-less hottie waiting for him on the bed... and neither he, nor the girl in question had any qualms with what was going on.

    "Yeah," Krysaos tossed his hat away and began unbuttoning his jacket. "If we''re gonna do this, we''re gonna do it my way. You''ll thank me, soon enough."

    **BAM BAM BAM**

    The rough banging on the door to the room made Krysaos go soft immediately. He drew the Heart of the Ocean from its sheath and tried to focus.

    ? Mina, can you hear me? ?

    ...But it was no good. His mind was clouded with euphoria and filthy thoughts of banging his first dark elf. Using magic tomunicate with Mina was not going to happen anytime soon.

    The door flew open-- nearly off its hinges... and the motherf*cking king of the gods-damned elves stepped through, dark-haired and eyes beaming like a lighthouse.

    "Back. down. Captain. Krysaos," King growled. "Thou shalt not receive a second warning."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Imperia sat up, "My sovereign! I... I..."

    Krysaos narrowed his eyes, "F*ck off, Mister high-and-mighty. Imperia''s my woman now-- not yours and *definitely* not her mom''s."

    "Krysaos..." Imperia sniffed... "Th...ank you... Thank you so much..."

    "Preposterous..."

    The elf guy circled to the left, drawing his swords. They glowed white, hotter and brighter than his eyes.

    That... was something Krysaos hadn''t seen before and made him really wish he hadn''t said what he''d said.

    "The Ancient is right, Brother-Captain."

    Krysaos'' spirits perked up, hearing Tycon''s voice. Though he kept his focus on the prowling elf, he scanned for his Lieutenant in his peripheral vision.

    Quickly, but... in an unexpectedly gentle manner, the wooden shutters on one of the windows opened up.

    ? The porthole was enough to squeeze in a standard Coral Boy... so it came as a surprise to see the head of an oversized Sea Serpent poke through.

    "Who the hells are you?" Krysaos grimaced, "And how are you rted to Iyuri?"

    "It''s me, you dolt," Sea Serpent Tycon narrowed his golden eyes. "Krysaos, as noble as your deeds and actions have been as ofte, your status is not enough to properly court Princess Imperia... not yet."

    "Friend-Maedar," King stopped his circling to cross his arms... "No matter the status, the children of earth and sky-- MY children do NOT lie with humans!"

    "Times change, Friend-Elf," Tycon flicked his tongue. "Give me three moons and I''m certain I can shape Krysaos into something worth Imperia''s hand. Sworn brotherhood to Prince Notaku of the Ebon Mask tribe, perhaps? ...Or the Commander of Princess Ophelia''s air fleet?"

    He turned his head, a zing yellow eye as big as a human head staring Krysaos down, "I trust you''d have no issue assuming a position in which the previous holder was violently murdered?"

    "That..." Krysaos raised his hand, "--sounds kinda f*cked up, LT."

    "Sovereign! Prince Tycon!" Imperia yelled, "Do I NOT have a say in this?!"

    ""No,"" King and Mega-Tycon responded.

    Krysaos swept his short hair back and began tough, "Oh... this-- this is rich."

    King narrowed his eyes, "Have we done something to amuse thee, human?"

    The giant snake thing tilted its head, "Do speak your mind, Brother-Captain."

    "The timing... the timing''s just too good," Krysaos shook his head. "Everything''s just a little too perfect."

    "Art thou usations filled with... mockery?" King seethed.

    "Tsssss..." Tycon emitted a low hiss, "No... the Captain hasssss a valid point. Thisss... Dungeon is rather odd. Captain Krysaos, we ask that you exin yourself further."

    "Well," Krysaos took a breath. "As you know, LT-- I was with the Coral Boys on the trap path. Mina and I found this weird wall... I pushed a brick in, heard some mechanisms turn and poof! I end up here."

    --in an borate illusion. A... really, really borate illusion.

    It had to be.

    Imperia didn''t REALLY like him.

    ...Right?

    "Ah," Tycon nodded. "I can exin."

 Chapter 807 Crossed The Line

    ?Krysaos grinned nervously under the golden gaze of his giant snake Lieutenant.

    Honestly? The guy was pretty gods-damned terrifying.

    A several tonze heavy Sea Serpent was intimidating enough-- and this one had that murderous intelligence in its eyes that essentially screamed ''do not f*ck with me.''

    "I''ll have you recall the thirteen archways," Tyconmanded.

    "Y-yeah... what about ''em?"

    "I''m sure you''ve gathered that it was a formation-- it functions as a sprawling teleportation system with several exit points..." He exined, "--with the Ancient and I arriving by means not dissimr to yours.

    "Anyroad... allow me to formally wee you to your first Dungeon, Brother-Captain."

    Krysaos felt sweat start to form on his neck and scalp, "Ya... ya don''t say?"

    That... was not what he wanted to hear.

    A Dungeon was decidedly not an illusion...

    A Dungeon was... real.

    "Is it really such a surprise? Our surroundings are somewhat illogical for a forest not colonized by elves or humans," The LT continued... "though I have yet to encounter the Dungeon Core that powers this ce..."

    "S-sounds legit," Krysaos lowered his head.

    If this was all just an borate illusion, then he was absolutely certain any image of Tycon he could conjure up wouldn''t actually be that convincing.

    But... from the way the giant white Sea Serpent spoke... it had to be the LT. Only that guy could bber on for so long about anything and make it sound like he was at its creation, watching the whole thing go down.

    "OKAY!!" Krysaos put his hands on his waist, "Lemme ask it to ya, straight, LT!!"

    "...Go ahead?"

    "Maybe... just MAYBE... this is an illusion! Just... just for me!"

    Tycon tilted his head and looked over to King, "Our human is a rather optimistic fellow, is he not?"

    "I neither serve nor im ownership of Captain Krysaos, friend-Maedar," The elf-guy narrowed his glowing eyes, "Further... the human does not practice optimism. He is blinded by ignorance."

    ...Well, it wasn''t the first time that Krysaos was wrong about something.

    But, unfortunately... that also meant--

    Krysaos looked back to the stunned, barely-dressed dark elf on the bed.

    That... really was Imperia.

    And... like Mina said, she really was in love with him.

    And... she was tied up like a holiday present, waiting to be gifted to himself.

    "Take a moment to... calm yourself, Brother-Captain," Tycon sighed.

    Krysaos adjusted his little brother, "Hey, you guys are the rude ones for busting in, uninvited."

    "Captain Krysaos," King raised his chin. "Outside. Now."

    Krysaos took a deep breath and sighed... "Yeah, yeah... I''min''."

    He followed King outside while nodding in acknowledgment to Tycon.

    "Tycon?! Ivory Prince?" Imperia called out, "My hands and feet are literally still bound together!"

    "We won''t be long, Miss Imperia," Tycon chuckled to himself as he withdrew. "Make yourselffortable."

    "Empty night. You''re all a bunch of pricks..."

    ...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaoszily rolled his neck around, only casually observing his surroundings. It looked like they were in... one of the wealthier parts of Whitehearth-- too rich for his blood, anyroad.

    But they were in a Dungeon. It was all fake.

    Only the people around him really mattered.

    So essentially... half-an-illusion?

    Seven hells. Adventuring in Dungeons was such shite.

    "So has anyone in our party seen the Tree God or what?"

    There was a quick sh of white. Out of reflex, Krysaos slipped down and to the left while thrusting his rapier forward.

    With a ng and the sparking of metal, King deflected the sword and danced out of the way.

    "Tch," He thumbed at his nose. "So thou art capable of learning."

    "Uh huh?" Krysaos angled his sword downward, ready to receive another attack. "Keep puttin'' me through the gods-damn gauntlet and I''ll eventually figure out how to BITE back."

    ...It wasn''t one of his best lines. But he said it, so he decided to grin and hope no one questioned him.

    "Do you really think ''figuring it out'' is enough?" The coiled, white snake hissed with zed, unblinking eyes, "It seems you''ve forgotten why you''re here... because it is not to lust after a woman so high beyond your station."

    "...Ouch, LT," Krysaos dropped his guard and straightened his back. "That kinda hurts,in'' from you."

    "Considering the circumstances we found you, Krysaos, I felt it *necessary* to remind you," Tycon shook his head. "The Ancient shares my sentiments."

    Following a blur of movement, Krysaos hurriedly brought his rapier above his head-- barely blocking King''s leaping sh, "What the f--"

    "Slow down for even a second," King warned, "and your head will be separated from your neck."

    For whatever reason, the guy was being real strict... Krysaos tried to get back-- make some space, but the elf bastard shot his hand forward, tossing out a quick st of wind magic.

    Krysaos ended up not finding his feet, but slipping hard and clumsily catching himself with his left arm.

    "?Water Shield!?" He mmed his hand on the ground, summoning a spout of water to prevent King from following up. Then, from the kneeling, he stood up and lunged forward with another stab.

    Faster than his brain worked. Running purely on instinct. That was the only way Krysaos figured he had a chance fighting against King-- even if the guy was holding back.

    The elf stumbled backward, his left hand grabbing onto the de of the Heart of the Ocean. The very tip had bit into his shoulder.

    Krysaos celebrated his small victory in his heart... but then he realized he''d probably pissed the guy off.

    He pulled his sword back while retreating a few extra steps-- making extra sure to keep his footing.

    "Thou... hast wounded me?" King''s eyes glowed bright, the ground beneath him shaking... "No longer Bronze... but half-step... Iron-Rank?"

    "I learn from the best," Krysaos grinned.

    He hoped the praise would be enough to keep him alive.

    King seemed... awfully serious.

    The things he was about to do to Imperia--

    Ugh.

    Krysaos shook his head. He''d really screwed up. He hadn''t as much as touched the girl, before... but he never stopped to consider what would happen if he did.

    The elf believed he was some kind of king. Apparently, Tycon was a Prince or a Baron or something blue-blooded.

    Though they were damn good allies... Krysaos had never crossed an un-crossable line around them.

    ...and he was going to pay the price.

 Chapter 808 Avoidance At All Costs

    ?"Ssstand down, Ancient," Tycon hissed. "If you utilize your full strength, Captain Krysaos won''t have the requisite time necessary to *suffer* for his transgressions."

    Krysaos furrowed his eyebrows. What the HELLS was that supposed to mean?

    "Ah... haha..." Heughed nervously, "This... this is still training, right? Guys?"

    "Training," Tycon red, "assumes I will stop upon your defeat or submission."

    Krysaos'' heart fell deep into the pit of his stomach-- so deep it made him want to soil himself then and there.

    Tycon began to uncoil... and began slowly slithering his way towards him.

    He... was... huge, longer than any of the tree-buildings nearby, his pearly scales so thick Krysaos could probably use one as a shield. He was easily capable of wrapping around a Leviathan, bite down with his teeth, longer than swords, and pump barrels of venom into their blood...

    Big, bony ridges topped his golden eyes, giving him a permanent re... and the fins on his head and ''neck'' red as he roared in Aquan.

    "(Krysaos, you are SMALL... PATHETIC... too reliant on tricks and cunning to reach your goals.)

    "(In this Realm, only STRENGTH matters! The strong shall rule and the weak shall bend the knee!)

    "(Using this form... I will make it painfully clear just how useless your words are.)"

    Krysaos was d he pissed in Imperia''s bathtub-- else he''d have to fight with his trousers soaked through.

    It was all supposed to be training.

    It... didn''t seem like that, anymore.

    He should have been angry. As a guy who''d fallen prey to a mutiny once before, he thought he was doing good to avoid any kind of repeat situation. He treated his crew with respect. He made sure his bosun kept them well fed and paid on time.

    That Tycon actually trying to kill him... was the same kind of betrayal as him leading the crew against him.

    ...and probably the worst gods-damned thing that could happen.

    King was a tough bastard. The guy was unbeatable inbat... but he was predictable.

    Lieutenant Tycon, though... that guy was just as strong AND a conniving scoundrel on top of it.

    ns out in the open. Back up ns. Secret ns. Open secrets. Hidden assets.

    ? King might have been a scary opponent, but Tycon was gods-damned horrifying.

    Krysaos had always hoped-- he''d literally prayed to every god but one... that he''d never see Tycon as his enemy. He never wanted to see the extent of the rage, cruelty, and insidiousness thinly veiled behind his golden eyes.

    He narrowed his eyes to thin squints, desperately thinking of words that wouldn''t get him killed, "Yeah... uh... So-- this isn''t fair. I''m not gonna--"

    The massive white snake whipped its tail at him with speed no less than a falling sword-- except with the length and girth of the biggest Leviathan wang in existence.

    Krysaos let his instincts take over... following a truism he''d trusted in since he was born in the Realm.

    Avoid the other guy''s wang at all costs.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He leapt out of the way, curled up into a roll, and started running counter-clockwise, "Look at that LT! I ain''t gonna learn anything if''n ya break every bone in my body with a single tail sw--"

    "What did I JUST SAY?!?" Tycon raised his voice to a dangerous shout. Again, he whipped his tail... but horizontally.

    Yep, fancy words were not at all useful... which was really shite, because that was literally the only thing he had going for him.

    Krysaos felt his impending death looming behind him. Dodging to the side was a no-go. He couldn''t jump over it-- maybe if he was Iron-Rank, he could. He definitely wasn''t capable of blocking it...

    Words appeared in his head, though-- and, as he didn''t have any ideas, he shouted them at the top of his lungs.

    "?Misty Step!!?"

    He felt the muscles in his body start to... wiggle. And as Tycon struck him with the force and fury of a crashing airship-- Krysaos exploded.

    ...into ten thousand bubbles.

    It was... the weirdest sensation he ever felt-- and he instinctively understood it wouldn''tst for long.

    He willed himself to... be, again-- also a weird sensation. And when he blinked his eyes, he was standing behind an arms-crossed Elven Ancient.

    A body barrier was good.

    It was better than nothing, anyroad.

    Having bought a few seconds of time, he rapidly shed a series of very, very well-memorized hand gestures. It was a pain that he had to channel his mana despite the fact that he should have been running on empty... but with all the adrenaline pumping through his brain and body, that was a problem forter-Krysaos, not seconds-away-from-dying-Krysaos.

    Pitiful-and-sad-Krysaos knelt down in front of the elf, forehead pressed to the dirt like a dog, "King! You gotta do somethin''! Tycon-- he''s... he''s gone crazy!!"

    "STEP ASIDE, ANCIENT!!" Crazy-big-white-snake-thing yelled.

    Krysaos was betting he wouldn''t.

    The elf stared down, waving his hand, "Thou art deserving of such callousness, Captain Krysaos. Perhaps if thou had been born in a different time period... or of better blood, it would not be so."

    "Oh, f*ck me, guy..." Krysaos cried, "If that''s gonna be how it is... just... just end me now!"

    "Thou art most wise, Captain Krysaos," The Ancient drew his des, lifting them above his head in a cross. "Then, as thou wishes... this king shall gift thee with an honorable death."

    The swords went down... which was admittedly hard to watch. Krysaos knew it wasing... but it didn''t feel good having a battlepanion willing to end him without an onze of hesitation.

    King''s cross sh severed the head of pitiful-and-sad Krysaos--- which was actually desperately-trying-not-to-die Krysaos'' ?Misty Reflection?.

    ...The whole maneuver would have been three times easier with Ishmael''s help, but the stupid elf had bought the begging act, even though Krysaos'' Reflection couldn''t move an ilm.

    In the half-second window that afforded him, Krysaos was able to thrust the Heart of the Ocean through the elf king''s lower back, "Got''cha, B*TCH!!"

    "GAHHHH!!!" King screamed in pain, "You... you DARE!!!"

 Chapter 809 Amusing Answer

    ?Krysaos had a sword in King''s back... but he knew damn well that alone wouldn''t be enough.

    Free arm, hooked around the guy''s neck. His weight, shifted to keep King''s center of gravity unbnced. Krysaos even wrapped his own leg around the elf''s to keep him locked down.

    Strength was nice-- real nice... but it wasn''t something Krysaos ever really had. He made up for it by sheer force of will... and still, King was only seconds away from breaking free.

    Still, Kryasos had technique.

    He had smarts.

    He had cunning.

    Even a guy as insanely strong as King had his limitations.

    It''s not like he was a god.

    "Back down, Tycon!" Krysaos shouted,"Or else the elf GETS it!!"

    He was hoping... gods-damned near praying that his gamble would work out.

    Taking King as a hostage was an opportunity.

    It was a dangerous as f*ck opportunity-- but f*ck it, he couldn''t take it back.

    Unfortunately, it was also the extent of his ns. He didn''t have any time to think about what to do next-- or even what the consequences of what the hells he was doing.

    He was living in the moment... and if, in that moment, he chose to let go... he''d die.

    Painfully.

    King had a minor healing Skill... but it wasn''t as good as the LT''s.

    In THEORY... as long as this was a training exercise and not the two bastards actually trying to kill him, Tycon should back off.

    The LT, after all, was logical to a fault. He didn''t want anyone dead. Sea god''s socks, the guy might even be impressed.

    Krysaos looked over King''s shoulder-- twisting his rapier to keep the elf honest.

    ...Tycon was gone.

    That a fifty-fulm long Sea Serpent could disappear like that was... really f*cked up.

    "EEEK!!!"

    "No..." Krysaos whispered.

    It was Imperia''s voice.

    The closed door to her house... it was open.

    One of the window shutters on the second-deck broke open.

    Imperia fell out of it,nding awkwardly onto the paved street.

    "AugggGHHHH!!!" She moaned in pain.

    Krysaos tightened his hold on King as he grit his teeth.

    Imperia''s leg... it was twisted around, the white of fractured bone sticking out through her bloodstained flesh.

    She was still tied up... and her face-- it was battered and bloody.

    Tycon in human form vaulted from the window,nding with his knee straight down on Imperia''s back.

    Krysaos heard... the crunch of her spine.

    She stopped screaming.

    She... stopped moving.

    Krysaos wrenched the Heart of the Ocean out of King and pushed him away, onto the side of the road.

    "TYCON!!!! What the F*CKING F*CK HAVE YOU DONE?!?!"

    The green-haired, dark-armored monster stood up with an insulting level of casualness.

    Deep crimson blood stained his pale cheeks.

    No remorse in his golden eyes.

    He drew the Tyrion sword on his waist... and he spoke without moving his mouth.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Think, Brother-Captain... Who is your real enemy? ?

    Krysaos strengthened the grip the hilt on his rapier... and spoke from the heart.

    "Myself... and my own f*cking weakness."

    ? An amusing answer, but it will do. ?

    Krysaos shut his eyes, tears of rage streaming down his cheeks.

    "What the F*CK ARE YOU SAYING?!?!"

    **PAP**

    ...

    ? In the Dungeon, Room 15-D. ?

    "?Desire Trigger?," Tycondrius pped Krysaos across the face.

    ? ?Desire Trigger?. Support ability. Targeted ally ispelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target''s ability to resist detrimental effects. ?

    "Oof," Elle grimaced. "He''s gonna feel that in the morning..."

    Ravidius raised his spear to better illuminate the Dungeon rom, "Is zhat... really necessary, Monsieur Tycon?"

    "No," Tycon shrugged as he stood up. "With my Support Skill, Krysaos should now be envisioning his motivations for his life-quest-- or... judging by his heart rate, something else of an unsavory nature."

    He turned to Elle, "Should the good Captain awaken with... a lust for blood, I''d rather he be dazed and disoriented than not."

    Krysaos slowly sat up, supporting himself with his elbow... hand on his swelling cheek.

    He choked on a sob, out of breath... "The... the f*ck?"

    "Ahaha HAHA!!"

    The satyr, Qiv, stood in the darkest corner of the room, giggling as if he were mad.

    "You''ve done well, dear friends, to awaken your pet human," He grinned, his maw of sharp teeth particrly sinister in the shadows, "By the look on his face, he''s *quite* enjoyed my masterful illusion!"

    "An... illusion? After... all?" Krysaos lolled his head to the side... "It''s... you? ...I''m... gonna... f*ckin''... kill you..."

    With his heart revealed, Krysaos lost consciousness.

    "...Is he gonna be okay?" Elle asked.

    "Physically?" Tycon pursed his lips, "Yes. Mentally, however-- that is still to be seen. Mister Qiv, I should thank you for your... unsolicited and unorthodox assistance."

    The situation was... somewhat troublesome.

    Physical injuries sustained by the body were simple enough to restore with magic.

    Mental traumas... required time and therapy to alleviate.

    ...And even so, would not necessarily heal.

    Seasoned adventurers often retired, not because they were physically incapable... but because their hearts and minds could no longer stand to suffer the atrocities wrought by their own hands.

    "Not a problem, snake-guy," Qiv chuckled. "The Silence Slimes that got to him did most of the work. I just... you know, changed it up just a liiiitle bit-- y''know, to help him out."

    "Herding ze slimes..." Ravidius trembled slightly, "if it were not for my family''s expertise in charades... Monsieur-Capitaine would not ''ave fared even half as well."

    "Anyroad, that''s a job well done," The satyr made his way to the door, "Now we''re even, Tycon. Yeah?"

    "Pray the Captain does not meet you again," Tycon waved him off. "I will not be able to save you, then, Mister Qiv."

    After the capricious fellow''s departure, Elle still wore a look of concern, "Fae are really kinda scary, aren''t they?"

    "If you believe ze dreamweaving fae are terrifying, Mademoiselle, you should see a Corallidus," Ravidius offered. "Big, ''ulking brutes-- and all zhey care for is avarice, cruelty, and war."

    Tycon sighed, "I have delved into dreams before... and while I don''t agree with the satyr''s... invasive procedures, the positive effects are undeniable."

    Ravidius frowned as he scrutinized the unconscious Krysaos... then his eyes widened in realization, "His mana is rampant... unrefined? I do not understand your meaning, Monsieur? Would you care to... help me''owt?"

    "Tychon, he''s doing it again," Elle pouted.

    Tycon picked up the Captain and slung him over his shoulder, "As a result of his training and... what I''m assuming was a harrowing experience, Captain Krysaos has broken through to Iron-Rank."

 Chapter 810 Dragon War

    ?? The Heart of the Tree God''s Forest. ?

    Coraline steadied her heart as she spoke the words of the final incantation.

    The circr stone tablets began rotating, their edges ground past each other... and they locked into ce with a satisfying, if dust-filled, clunk.

    With that, all the gems were set in their proper positions.

    In the event that the logic puzzle had no reset switch, Coraline had even checked her notes a dozen times.

    The answer she''d determined... had to be correct!

    ...Therefore the door should open.

    That''s... that''s how riddles worked.

    "...Stars and stones! Open up, dang it!" She shouted.

    Coraline pounded on the stone with her fists.

    ...As that made zero noise, she went back to yelling, "Come onNNNnn!!!"

    ? listen ?

    Coraline stopped, heeding her familiar''s warning... and her ears twitched when she sensed a low, rising thrum from her surroundings.

    Slowly but surely, the six-pointed gate began to open inward.

    Fearing the sentience behind the stone gate would change its mind, she meeped a quick ''thank you!'' and squeezed through.

    She was d she did. As soon as she and Beatrice made it inside, the rotating door rolled shut behind them.

    "Well... this most certainly qualifies as an adventure," She sighed. "I sure hope everyone else got through their challenges. I know Sir Tycon can probably handle the riddles, but the others are probably still stuck on ''speak friend and enter.''

    Coraline stretched her body and rubbed on her sore calves.

    When everything was finished... when she finally fixed her stupid boyfriend... she hoped she wouldn''t get tired of the life. It was something she always wanted-- to go adventuring with Lone... for as long as they could.

    She made her way deeper into the tunnels, having to climb roots thicker than she was or lie t and crawl through holes, squishing the foamy earth with her elbows.

    Finally, Coraline found herself in what was probably thergest underground cavern.

    Though, if she was being honest with herself, it looked like a Boss Room.

    There were thousands of drawings etched into the stone and colored with magic, sprawled even at the tops of the walls.

    ...But if there was anything Coraline had, it was time.

    Cracking her knuckles, she took out her notepad. Even if the Tree God didn''t exist, she had the next best thing: his arsenal of secrets.

    ...That is, if the whole room wasn''t yet another riddle.

    "Beatrice, light please."

    ? burn? ?

    Coraline''s eyes shot open, ncing at the thin and thick roots sticking out of the ceiling and walls. There was a lot of dry, burnable material in the area.

    "Oh, no. Noooo~," She iled her arms, shaking her head. "Not here, you. I''m a liiiiittle resistant to burns, Beatrice, but if the whole ce goes up in mes then your poor summoner will be toast!"

    ? like toast ?

    "I know you do, babe," Coraline sighed... "We''ll ask Sir Tycon to bake some bread, next time we see him."<novelnext></novelnext>

    With the walls better illuminated, she wandered for a short while until she found a particrly interesting column of images.

    "That''s... a dragon, it looks like. And... it''s fighting all these other people."

    One particr image looked like it was an elf-- their ears were extra ridiculous, though.

    ...but it was the only figure that held two white swords.

    "Are these supposed to be... gods?" She furrowed her brows, "But where is the Tree God?"

    The low groan of bending wood, creaked from beside her.

    Coraline looked up and to the side... "Tree God?"

    Standing beside her was a burly tree-person about as tall as Ellie. He stroked a beard of green and yellow leaves streaming down his chin as he spoke, his voice as rumbly as the earth quaking beneath her feet.

    "I... am Root."

    Coraline gulped. Root was... somewhat appropriate. He looked like he could have been a normal-sized person-- but instead of armor, he was wrapped up in dozens of thick root-like tendrils.

    That is... he didn''t look like he had any weak points that she could stick a tap into.

    ...Maybe the eyes?

    "You''re smaller than I thought you''d be," Coraline tilted her head.

    She ced her hands behind her back... quietly unsheathing the secret weapon she''d ordered with Tycon''s help.

    It was an expensive dagger, its only identifiable quality that it was made of Arcanite. However, hidden in its design was a highly illegal function.

    It was a weapon utilized by Blood Mages for nefarious purposes. The center of the de was hollow... and it had a mechanism that drew blood, holding it within a chamber in its hilt. However, that made it perfect for forcefully attaining the Tree God''s sap-- in the case that he didn''t want to be so forting.

    Granted... stabbing a literal god was probably the stupidest n Coraline had evere up with.

    "Small?" Root chuckled, "Oho? You wound me, child... But ''tis true... This form is... but a small vestige of my power. My true form is elsewhere in my forest... locked... in battle with a powerful foe."

    Coraline nodded in understanding.

    Then she realized that she was rtively alone in a dark cave, standing next to an unknown man with hard-as-bark abdominal muscles.

    ...She leapt back, stumbling on the uneven ground, "S-stay back! I know martial arts!"

    Sir Tycon and Captain Krysaos taught her a basic fighting stance, some strikes, and a shoulder throw. It wasn''t really enough to defend herself if she were really in trouble... but it sounded good if she yelled it like that!

    The tree-person ignored her, walking forward and cing a hand of gnarled bark on the wall.

    "I have always enjoyed... drawing, especially in this... smaller form."

    He spoke in a low voice and measured tone-- but thankfully faster than trees usually speak, "The younger bloodlines... live... and die so quickly. In recording fleeting moments of my life... their lives... My understanding of... mortal-kind has... grown."

    "But this painting-- this is of... a dragon war?" Coraline asked, "You mean-- that actually happened? There''s... no written record of it, anywhere!"

    "Yet you know of it still," Root crinkled his nose, ruffling his long beard, "Your blood... still remembers."

    He sighed, cing his hands in front of his naked, wooden waist.

    There wasn''t anything down there... which was a great relief to Coraline. She''d have been appalled if the first thing she ever saw didn''t belong to her boyfriend.

    However, her face grew red-hot when she realized she was thinking about the Tree God''s thing.

    Was this cheating? No. Couldn''t be. Loyalty loyalty loyalty!

 Chapter 811 Bleeding A God

    ?Thankfully, The Tree God wasn''t paying much attention to Coraline...

    "The Elf God and I... stood... on opposite sides... of that terrible war...

    "Even now... my groves and forests recover still... from injuries incurred... several... thousand years ago.

    "Even now... we fight."

    He clenched his bark-fist so hard, it began to creak.... but not bleed.

    Dang it.

    Coraline raised her hand, "Hi. My name is Coraline Heartsong and I absolutely do not represent the Elf God."

    "That may be so... she whose heart sings true..." Root''s eyes glowed orange-- like the sap that was probably flowing inside of his... bark... "But the fact remains... Elves are not allowed in my forest."

    "But it''s an emergency!!" Coraline whined-- "Well, look... I understand that it''s probably not an emergency to someone who''s lived over 350 million years-- but it is to me!"

    A deep, wood-bending groan escaped the bearded Tree God''s lips... "Caaaaalm yourself, elf child... I may be ancient... by even the oldest of your kin... but I can recognize a young sapling with a pure heart."

    Coraline folded her hands in front of her lips.

    ...The Tree God was far more reasonable of a... an existence than she expected.

    Maybe she wouldn''t have to try to stab him.

    "Tree God... I''m here... to find a way to save my boyfriend."

    "Ah... so thy quest... is for love," Root nodded, "Such... is how things have been... since the Realm was formed-- when I too was once... young.

    "In this manner... we are not so different... mortals and gods...

    "We... fall in love...

    "And in the end... deathes for us all..."

    Coraline had to stop herself when she realized she was tapping her foot, "But...?"

    "But... who are you, child..." The Tree God''s amber eyes glowed with mana, "to challenge... the natural order?"

    "My name..." Coraline straightened her posture, standing as tall as she could, "is Coraline Heartsong! And in order to save my boyfriend... I''ll challenge the eleven heavens and the seven hells until I get what I want."

    ...She felt much more a fool for saying her thoughts aloud, rather than just thinking them in her head.

    Though she was sorely tempted to scream ''nevermind'' and try to jump the Tree God, she changed her mind... when he started tough.

    "Oh... hoho... The arrogance... of the younger races..." He sighed, "Never... will I truly understand..."

    He made a sweeping gesture, the various images on the walls glowing brighter with... tree-magic. The dingy cavern, formerly lit only by a single fire faerie turned warm, cozy, and... gold-ish.

    "Sit, child," Root''s wooden lips curled into a weirdly gentle smile. "Tell me... of your story."

    ...Coraline dug into her bag and took out her journal, "Can do."

    She told the Tree God everything. Well-- everything she cared to document.

    She told him of how she met Lone... at the dock and boarding the airship, the Golden Eagle.

    She told him of his heroism... how he saved her and she, him.

    She told him of how insufferable and foolish he was.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...She told him about how much she loved him.

    It was... beyond missing him. It was more than fleeting emotions brought on by circumstance.

    They were meant for each other... bound by fate.

    He wasn''t perfect-- not by any means. But... he was perfect for her. And she... she was probably the only person in the Realm that could stand him for longer than a week.

    If she couldn''t save him, he''d pass on sad and alone! He didn''t deserve that kind of fate!

    So Coraline told Root of the curse... of the Elven Sovereign and the spirit of the swords that stole her boyfriend''s body.

    The vestige of the Tree God closed his eyes... nodding, listening patiently.

    It made her wish that her own Elven people were so epting...

    He stroked his beard with his bark-skin hand, "The gods... have been in strife... for as long as I can remember, child.

    "The Elf God shares the haughtiness... the arrogance of most of your people... self-serving... but in a stranger manner...

    "Honor... Glory... Unnatural values... gained by imposing his will over those he can best inbat."

    "Then..." Coraline gulped, "You''ll help me? I mean-- if you really think it''s the Elf God that''s inhabiting my boyfriend? --That was always a point of contention, believe it or not."

    The Tree God''s eyes shined with a suspicious light, "You... seek my divine blood to concoct a cure?"

    "Now hold on," Coraline held out an open palm-- the one not holding an illegal stabbing implement. "I know I''m asking for a lot... But... I... is it--"

    She sighed deeply, shutting her mouth before she could bber any longer.

    "I''m sorry, Tree God," She muttered, covertly adjusting her grip on her dagger''s handle.

    "Thy name is true, then... Coraline Heartsong," Root smiled, "But though I might wish to aid you... I will not give you my sap."

    "I still have to try," She grimaced as she got into her warrior stance, bravely brandishing her god-stabber.

    It was... a sad, little fruit knife, especiallypared to Root, who was thrice her size. But... she didn''t need to take him down. She just needed to... cut him a little?

    How hard could bleeding a god be?

    "Even though I only have one life to give," She whispered... "I would risk anything to get my boyfriend back."

    The Tree God... offered his palm, "Your Elven metals cannot hope to pierce my flesh."

    Coraline narrowed her eyes. She gripped the hilt of her knife as hard as she could and stabbed downward into Root''s hand.

    ...Her hand slipped over the guard-- and she ended up cutting her palm pretty bad.

    The de put a tiny hole in the bark... but it wasn''t even close to piercing through.

    "Okay, that''s not fair," Coraline frowned.

    The Tree God didn''t look mad at all, though-- which was nice.

    With a heavy sigh, Coraline knelt down and started searching through her bag for a bandaging cloth...

    Root folded his tree-hands behind his tree-back, "The same is true... of your other twopanions..."

 Chapter 812 Safest Place In The Forest

    ?Coraline pursed her lips... and looked to Beatrice.

    ? not-burnable ?

    It was surprising that her familiar determined that fire was *not* super-effective against the Tree God.

    Years of pocket monster academy training... wasted!

    However, that was... fine. Coraline didn''t want to be immted along with the Tree God, anyroad.

    Then... the other?

    Coraline stared at her second shadow, its outline clearly illuminated by the glowing images above them.

    It turned to face her, shrugging its shoulders.

    Since Ishmael knew his limits as a half-step Gold Rank, it sounded like her getting the sap was hopeless.

    Still, she didn''t want to ept a shrug as a real answer.

    "Oy," She growled. "Give me something better than that."

    [Wait for back-up,] Ishmael signaled with his hands.

    "...Nevermind."

    Sealed in the Tree God''s inner sanctuary as they were, there was no back-up.

    Root shook his head, his long leaf-beard swaying with the motion, "I know of thy plight, Coraline Heartsong... for I know of these swords. And thus... my sap... is incapable of restoring your lover to as you wish."

    Coraline took a step back in shock-- unspooling a roll of cloth. Bleiiiighhh.

    "W-what do you mean?" She furrowed her brows, "That... that can''t be right? But... the texts--"

    "ording to your people... my blood... can dispel a curse," Root creaked, "That much... is true. However... what the Elf God has granted... is a blessing."

    "That''s just semantics, Tree God!" Coraline tried to argue.

    "Regardless... the core of the magic is... fundamentally different. My sap... would be useless."

    Coraline copsed to the floor, distraught... "But... then it''s really impossible?"

    She grabbed at the loose dirt, clenching her fists... bawling her eyes out, "N-no, way. I... I can''t-- I can''t ept that!"

    Root offered a smile... showing more kindness than Coraline really deserved... "There... may be... another way."

    ...

    ? Elsewhere... in Ravidius'' Cabin. ?

    "Bork."

    Megara''s big, adorable, Shadow Hound was prancing around next to the back door.

    ckie was being... really insistent-- which was the weirdest thing. She hadn''t asked to be taken out to pee since she was a puppy.

    Megara shrugged... to no one in particr. It was fine. She grabbed a doggy toy off of the floor and walked over.

    "What''s wrong, ckie?" She ced her hands on her soft, slightly damp jowls, "Did Mister Qiv fall down the well again?"

    "Bork. Bork bork."

    "Oh... okay? I guess I''ll follow you?"

    "Bork bork."

    "Yes, I finished all my homework," She revealed the squeaky toy from behind her back. "I''m on free time so let''s y after you do your doggy business!"

    Suddenly, the loud crash of wood came from the front entrance.

    Just as fast, ckie leapt in front of Megara, growling like she was really mad, "Grrrr! Bork! Bork bork!"

    Megara peered through the thick cloud of wood dust... "What''s... going on?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    A heavy gust of wind nearly knocked her down, but she was able to hold onto ckie''s fur to keep steady.

    With the dust cleared, Megara saw... an elf? He had crashed through the front wall and was surrounded by over a dozen... tree-folk, each of them looking suspiciously like the Tree God.

    They didn''t wear any people-clothes-- but that wasn''t saying they were naked. They were wearing bark, as tree-folk do... and thankfully didn''t have any fruit on them.

    Dad worked really hard to keep the house clean... so if the Tree God spilled any Raven Fruit on the floor, he''d probably cry and sulk in his room.

    "...Do you think they''vee over for dinner, ckie?"

    The Shadow Hound tilted her head, one of her ears flopping over. "Bork?"

    "You''re right..." Megara sighed, "I''ll have to get the good tes from the top cab."

    "?Whirlwind Attack.?"

    Huh?

    Megara turned her head. She thought she heard a Skill? There were some shes of light and a series of scarily fast, whistling sounds. All at once, the tree-people copsed... cracked and crumbling onto the floor.

    The elf... had moved? Or did he not? It was hard to tell.

    He looked really hurt, though.

    ...which was really to be expected, since he broke a hole in the front wall.

    "U...urgh... ?The Dew Brought by Morning?..." He groaned, waving a hand and lighting himself up with the soft glow of healing magic.

    Megara (and ckie!) hurried over to the unfamiliar elf-person.

    "Um. Hello. My name is Megara. Are... you a viin?"

    "I am no viin," The elf shook his head. "I am known as... King."

    He stood up straight, analyzing Megara with a frown, "I advise thee to take cover, young Megara. This is not a safe ce for a child."

    ...Megara gathered her courage and balled up her fists.

    "I''m... I''m not a child!" She shouted with at least half of her might, "I''m a youngdy. M-mister Tycon said so. I beat him in a duel."

    "Is that... so? Very well," King lightly lowered his head-- which meant he was sorry, "I was mistaken."

    "Um... a-anyroad," Megaraughed a little-- not because it was funny, but because... she was relieved? "This is my house... and-- and Master''s. This is the safest ce in the entire forest!"

    King looked up and all around him. It seemed like he''d finally realized that he''d literally broken into a house.

    Like a viin.

    "Ah, I see it now..." He said, "Indeed, I might be safe from--"

    **BOOM**

    A big wooden hand broke through the window. It took hold of Mister King and dragged him back outside.

    That meant there were two holes in the wall... though the window was technically a hole to begin with, so that didn''t seem nearly as bad.

    Dad was still going to be upset, though. na would probably scold him when he woke her up-- and he always moped around when he got scolded.

    ...Which meant that it would be best if Megara woke her up, first.

    But before that--

    "Let''s go, ckie!" She headed for the door. "We gotta make sure no one gets hurt!"

    "Bork!"

    "R-right. We gotta make sure they don''t hurt... too bad?"

    "Bork."

 Chapter 813 Heroic Arms

    ?Megara tried waving to the Tree God, but it looked like he was concentrating really hard. He was even bigger than the outside of the cabin, so it was always hard to get his attention.

    He held Mister King by the foot and whipped him down hard into the ground. Dust and dirt and leaves flew everywhere-- and there was a big hole in the yard.

    "Bork," ckie sighed.

    "Y-yeah," Megara frowned. "It probably is toote to stop them from fighting."

    "GrrrrRrrrghh..." The Tree God''s whole body creaked as he rotated his body. Where his heel twisted in... there was another big hole...

    BOOM! Mister King was mmed down again!

    [THE ELVES.]

    Boom. [ARE NOT.]

    Boom. [WELCOME.]

    ...Boom. [IN. MY. FOREST]

    Megara cupped her hands to shout, "Tree God! You''re hurting him!"

    [MEGARA!!!] Boom. [Good. afternoon.]

    "Good afternoon!" Megara yelled back.

    [Is your...] Boom. [master?]

    "N-no, he''s not here! He''s in the Dungeon?!"

    [Very... well,] The Tree God shrugged his big wooden shoulders, [I shall... deal with this... on my own.]

    He spun his arm around, tossing King into the air like a toy.

    Megara watched him go up high-- incredibly high... almost to the sun.

    It looked like he''d be there awhile.

    "Let''s go to where he''s gonnand, ckie."

    "Bork!"

    Following her loyal Shadow Hound, she navigated to almost the other end of the pitted yard.

    Then finally, BOOM! Mister King stted face-down right in front of her.

    Well-- he didn''t st like a normal person. He was still breathing and in one piece, even if he was covered in cuts and bruises.

    "Um... um... Mister King," Megara folded her hands. "You... should really listen to the Tree God. He''s a very nice... person? God-person? Individual?"

    "Of... that..." King pushed himself up with his arms, sitting on his knees, "I am... certain. T-take cover, Miss Megara. We... are merely-- urgh... settling our differences."

    "I have ckie with me!" Megara grinned, "She''ll protect me."

    "Bork..."

    "Who''s a good girl, ckie!! It''s you! You are! And everybody loves you!"

    King nodded-- but suddenly, he lurched forward, covering his mouth with his hand.

    Then... he swallowed something.

    He didn''t look happy about it-- so Megara figured it would be rude to ask.

    "Ugh..." King looked up with a troubled smile, "I''ll have you... apologize to your master on my behalf."

    Megara tilted her head, "Huh? For what?"

    "Bork..." ckie whined.

    Megara looked back at the yard. The grass was turned up in more spots than not.

    The hole in the house and the... window-widening looked particrly bad, too.

    She pursed her lips... "Oh."

    A sudden gust of wind passed by, whipping Megara''s robes up and over her head.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...She was d she was wearing shorts, even though it was warm.

    "?Wind as my des!!?" King shouted somewhere in the distance. "?ughter Cross, the Pride of the Northern Stars!!?"

    There was a big explosion, too...

    By the time Megara adjusted herself, there was a third hole in the house.

    ...She took a deep breath in and sighed before climbing onto ckie''s back.

    "Let''s go, girl..."

    "Bork."

    ...

    ckie took Megara back into the house... through where the front door used to be.

    There was a weird feeling, stepping through.

    It was probably because the formations that were keeping the inside bigger than the outside were having trouble keeping together. na was doing a great job, though-- and she wasn''t even awake.

    King was beating up the Tree God with his swords, shing away with big schwing-schwing sounds.

    Pieces of bark kept crumbling off... and the Tree God kept... shrinking in size? There was a sparkly, rainbow-colored sh that looked more like a Spell than a Weapon Skill.

    The Tree God wasunched back, breaking a couch, her desk, and... the protective formation around the armory.

    "Bork," ckie remarked.

    "Don''t worry about it," Megara said as she stroked the back of ckie''s neck. "Like I said, I already finished my homework-- and tomorrow''s too!"

    When the dust cleared... the Tree God was only about the size of Dad. His upper arms and parts of his face were nt-green and the pieces of bark looked a lot more like armor than just parts of his body.

    Still... even just his chest was three times as wide as King, and judging from the look in his eyes, he was really mad.

    Slowly, the Tree God cked his hands together, "Bravo, Elf God... You''ve forced me to to use my ?Transformation? Skill."

    Megara had never heard anyone... *breathe* angrily before. Whatever King had done to upset him, it must have been as bad as Mister Qiv''s pranks.

    "Indeed," King nodded. "I recall your... Forest Warden form from long ago. It offends me."

    He spun his des around-- which was a really bad habit. He could have hurt himself!

    The Tree God-- or... the Forest Warden? He bent over as if his tummy was hurting. Six green arms burst out of his back, flinging green goo everywhere (and onto the nice rug.) Then, he started grabbing some of the old weapons on the wall or snatching them up off the ground.

    That... was even more dangerous than what King was doing. A lot of them either belonged to Dad or Dad''s friends. A lot of the scarier ones were sealed, but most of them still had crazy-strong enchantments.

    In a super-fast blur, the Forest Warden started attacking King with weapons in all eight of his arms. He even grew two more legs.

    Megara nced down at her hands and bare feet... "I wonder when I''ll be able to do that..."

    "Bork!" ckie opened up a ?Shadow Portal? to catch a big burst of me that made Megara''s skin hot for like-- a second.

    "Oh!" She pointed, "Look, ckie! That''s the Fire Seal! You can tell which one it is, because it''s on fire."

    "Bork..."

    "That''s a um... a replica of the Soul Calibur-- oh, it broke. And that one! That one''s the Thunderfury, Blessed de of the Windseeker."

    "BORK!" ckie opened up another three ?Shadow Portals,? which sucked in all the lightning bolts.

    "Whew... good girl, ckie," She said as she patted down the parts of her hair that were beginning to stick up.

    "Bork..."

    "I''ll be fine as long as I have you here!"

    "Bo... bork..."

    "Oh, wow! The hammer the Forest Warden is holding with two hands-- that''s the Aegis-Fang!"

    Megara watched in horror as the Forest Warden broke through King''s guard and hit him in... a certain ce.

 Chapter 814 Insolent

    ?"I... insolence!!"

    King screamed really loud and really... high-pitched? For some reason?

    Whatever... ''insolence'' meant... it sounded like it was probably bad?

    Megara''s dad told her to never ever hit a boy where King got hit. Ever ever.

    ...He didn''t say it made someone''s voice sound funny, though.

    But anyroad... King was mad. For sure.

    He started moving faster-- schwinging his swords more dangerously.

    He... started chopping off Forest Warden''s arms, one by one. The weapons that fell to the floor left magical scorch marks or just broke the wood outright.

    It felt really dangerous-- so Megara hid behind ckie, ducking down while shutting her eyes and covering her ears.

    She did it just in time, too. There was a bright sh of light and a big boom when King activated another Skill.

    ...After a few seconds, she peeked her head over to look.

    Forest Warden had changedpletely. Again.

    There was a lot less bark on him and he was mostly green. He looked a lot like a human-- shorter than Dad, but his muscles were really... muscly. They weren''t big and beefy, but you could see the lines.

    Like he worked out.

    His extra legs and arms got cut off, though.

    In his left, it looked like he grabbed the big nk that said ''F-word the Ocean'' and was using it as a shield.

    --which he used to bash King in the face.

    And in his right...

    "Oh, no. ckie, look!" Megara frowned. "That''s... the Diamond Sword! Master found a special block that let him put more than five enchantments on it!"

    "So it hase to this," The Tree God turned up his very human-like nose, "Behold, Elf God... my final form: Perfect Tree God."

    "Perfect, you say?" King spat his blood on the floor-- which was really gross and *really* impolite, "Your title is as pretentious and false as your belief that you can defeat me, Tree God."

    "Hah," Perfect Tree God swept his sword over his shield... the metal lettering changing to ''F-word the Elves.''

    Rude.

    "--And why would I believe otherwise?" He said, "I am not unfamiliar to war... a concept as old as time, itself. Thousands of your kind have died by my hand... and for what? Fighting against the inevitable?"

    "My PEOPLE," King growled, "died with des in hand... not on their knees, oppressed by a corrupt pantheon of despots!!"

    "The dragons are far older than you OR your people, Sapling God," The Tree God frowned. "If they wish to rule, that is their prerogative by virtue of their BLOODLINE!"

    "...Open your eyes, Tree God," King sheathed his swords. "The Tyrant God has no love for you... or your kin... Join me. Fight by my side against all that is evil, dishonorable, and unjust!"

    "And oppose the natural order?" Perfect Tree God scoffed, "The dragons will return, King of the Elves... and when they do, there will be no more fighting. There will be only ash, fire... and rebirth."

    King thought it over for a moment... "Thou needst not burn to be reborn."

    ...Perfect Tree God narrowed his eyes and pointed his sword forward, "Why have youe to my forest? Has the current generation of your children not done enough, enving my children?"

    King swept his hand to the side, "I am here for one of my allies, a sapling named Coraline Heartsong."

    "Bah," Perfect Tree God dropped his guard, lowering his de. "I have met with her..."

    "And her fate?" King grimaced.

    "Worthy..." Perfect Tree God groaned... "She has been granted the knowledge to continue her quest."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Then..." King rxed his posture, "we have no quarrel."

    "Nay, Elf God," Perfect Tree God scowled. "Our quarrel remains. Leave my forest. Do not return."

    "Tch," King turned away. "I will do so dly. I will return to my people and warn them of thy... stubbornness..."

    Megara cleared her throat, "Um... Excuse me. Y-you guys made a really big mess of my house."

    Perfect Tree God and King turned to stare.

    "Bork," ckie added.

    Megara pursed her lips, "Um... Please help me clean up before Masteres home?"

    The two looked to each other... like they were thinking really hard about something.

    ...It really shouldn''t have been so difficult though.

    If you make a mess when you''re ying, you have to clean up after.

    "...I''ll work to repair the walls," Perfect Tree God sighed... "and fill the holes in the yard."

    King took a deep breath, "I shall... use my Wind magic to sweep."

    ...

    ? Just before dinner. ?

    "Is that Pettaia?" Tycondrius frowned.

    Coraline was sitting at a short table near the cabin''s back door... ying one of the most frustrating games Tycon had ever learned the rules for.

    Her shadowy opponent, Ishmael, sat across from her. He looked towards Tycon with particr interest.

    It was no surprise. Judging from the state of the game board, he was losing. Badly.

    Coraline Heartsong of the Sapphire Tower had many virtues. Mercy was not one of them.

    The young Human Mage, Megara, hopped up in her seat, waving energetically.

    "Wee back Mister Tycon! And hello-- um..."

    "He~llo!" Elle bounced forward, "My name is Ellie! Your robes are so pretty!!"

    "I... I''m a youngdy," Megara blushed...

    As she was taught proper manners, she stood up and curtsied politely.

    Tycon nodded to his lovely girlfriend. As she would upy Miss Megara, he was left free to deal with matters concerning the overall mission of Sol Invictus and the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge.

    The young Elven Arcanist, Coraline, stood up and moped her way towards him.

    She... did not seem to carry good news.

    ? ...though that was one of the reasons Tycon enjoyed working with her. She was easy to read, even for someone as inept at human rtions as he.

    "Report, if you would," He gestured.

    Coraline fumbled with her hands, "Have... you found Beatrice?"

    Tycon, Ravidius, and Elle had indeed recovered the young fire elemental from the Dungeon... but he did not realize that Coraline, Beatrice, and Ishmael had traveled together.

    Thus, he looked at Ishmael, expecting an exnation.

 Chapter 815 Anomalies

    ?Ishmael slowly tilted his head to the side while staring at Tycondrius.

    He made a single gesture.

    [Safe.]

    Tycon''s shadow had but a single mission: to protect the Elven Arcanist, Coraline Heartsong.

    To that end, he''d performed his duty admirably.

    Thus, it was fair that he looked... insulted to have been questioned.

    ...Tycon shrugged lightly to apologize-- then turned to nod at the concerned elf.

    "Beatrice is not a cause for concern. Now, I''ll have your report, Miss Coraline."

    Coraline sighed, "The Tree God sent me away-- well... he banned *all* elves froming into his forest... ever again."

    "Hmm," Tycon pursed his lips. "I see..."

    He recalled analyzing one of the many Repeater-Formations he''d found near the forest''s entrance.

    Logically, there was aplex Main-Formation somewhere deep within, perhaps hidden with other architecture, simr to the archways.

    It would be a simple matter for the Tree God to improve its potency and efficacy against their singr target, Elvenkind.

    In theory, Tycon should have been concerned for Coraline. However, her anti-enchantment earrings were crafted by Be Sapphira, one of the strongest Arcane Casters in the Realm.

    She''d be fine.

    "And the reagent?" Tycon asked, "Have you recovered it?"

    Coraline bowed her head... "The Tree God said... that his sap wouldn''t be effective for how we were gonna use it."

    "And you believed that?"

    Tycon exhaled and rolled his eyes. By coincidence, his attention drifted to the nk hanging above the cabin''s entrance.

    "...That''s odd," He muttered.

    "The facts check out, Sir," Coraline folded her hands... "I did get a new lead, though... We need... Resonant God Essence."

    "Tss..." Tycon shut his eyes and raised his eyebrows. "Very well."

    A ''resonant'' reagent.

    Of course.

    The term referred to a high-purity-mana catalyst for use in conjunction with a ritual of matching affinity.

    Tycon had previously utilized the concept in a ritual to summon Hades, the God of Death and the Dead. In lieu of costly materials worth hundreds of thousands of silver, he and Krysaos defeated an Adamantine-Rank undead lizard.

    They tore its leathery, shriveled heart out of its broken ribcage.

    ...which took more effort than Tycon cared to admit.

    Fourth-Circle. Death affinity. It worked well for its purpose.

    However, concerning the Curse-Break Ritual Tycon had designed for the Lone Shadowdark needed a greater power.

    It was feasible to use a Third-Circle power source... while hoping that his best-guess efforts in forming the various runic circles would be urate enough for the ritual''s sess.

    Tycon swept back his hair in frustration...

    He was hoping that the Tree God''s blood-- or sap, rather, would have served as a suitable mana source. To counter slight script inuracies, he nned to rely on the sheer mana-output of the Fifth-Circle reagent... or Sixth, depending on the source''s practical level of divinity.

    However, if the Tree God was to be believed... that was not enough.

    What they needed wasn''t blood... or something of Nature-Affinity or... nt-Affinity-- whatever the hells the sap was.

    They needed Resonant God Essence.

    A Divine-Affinity reagent.

    ...A portion of a divine creature''s soul.

    As for a usible source?

    High-ranked, pure-blooded angel.<novelnext></novelnext>

    God... or demi-god... god-born or god-woken. ..

    Tycon knew one god he could call as a friend. However... the vtility of Hades'' Death God essence would be best to save as ast, desperate measure.

    The Tree God was the next rational choice, due to proximity. Though that fellow was obviously unwilling to give up their essence-- it could be forcibly taken by way of violence.

    Tycon nced at the far wall in the unlikely case that there was a Woodbane Weapon amongst Ravidius'' armory.

    "...Huh. That is... very odd."

    It had been a pain to destabilize the protective formations around the armory enough to borrow a ''simple'' dagger. Tycon also clearly remembered reactivating them.

    Currently... they were inert.

    "Where are the others?" Coraline asked, "Beatrice... she went off on her own after I met with the Tree God."

    Tycon shook his head, trying to ignore the anomalies he kept noticing.

    ...which included the fact that the cabin floors somehow looked... cleaner than before?

    The Dungeon Core, na, must have had some sentience to have a name. Reasonably, she might have... been responsible for the changes.

    ...But why would she disable-- bah. It was unimportant.

    "My apologies, Miss Coraline," Tycon frowned. "What about Miss Beatrice?"

    "She..." Coraline twiddled her fingers, "There... there were enemies."

    Ishmael waved an arm, [Coraline and I. We withdrew. One engaged.]

    Tycon nodded thoughtfully as he painted a logic-picture in his head.

    His senses were loosely linked to his shadow''s. As such, it was likely that Ishmael retraced Tycon''s steps to reach the cabin, circumnavigating the traps without outside assistance.

    However, enemies appeared-- not a surprising situation in a Dungeon. Beatrice stayed behind to defend her summoner while Ishmael followed orders, escaping with Coraline in tow.

    ...It exined the young fire elemental''s condition when Tycon andpany recovered her.

    She lived. That would be enough.

    Thus, it was more important to discuss other matters.

    "Our host and master of the Dungeon, Ravidius Orion, is preparing dinner," Tycon smiled politely. "Ah, Miss Coraline, I recall you prefer a vegetarian meal?"

    "I can eat cured meats, but yes, I prefer-- RAVIDIUS ORION, the Hero of PASSAGE?!?"

    "Is... that so?" Tycon narrowed his eyes...

    He''d thought he judged Coraline to not be as fickle with her rtionships as a stereotypical elf... but as he and her were technically friends, he would respect her decision.

    The Lone Shadowdark was a lost cause, anyroad.

    "Coraline, if you''d like to abandon your current quest--"

    "NOT WHAT I MEANT!!" She screamed. In Tycon''s face. Rudely.

    "Miss Coraline..." Tycon shut his eyes, patiently waiting for the ringing in his ears to cease... "Inside voice, please."

    The elf''s ears began to glow red-hot, "S-sorry, Sir... Please... tell me about the others."

    ...Tycon stared for a moment longer-- ensuring he wouldn''t be interrupted before he continued, "Lieutenant Mina and the Coral Boys are on their way to rejoin Imperia''s forces. Beatrice and Krysaos are recovering in the Dungeon Infirmary."

    Coraline''s eyes widened, "Is she okay!? --I mean, are they okay?"

    "Too close, child," Tycon poked the youngdy between the eyes, pushing her back, "Yes... with Beatrice in a far better state than the other."

    He took a deep breath, "We found her unconscious, her ceramic armor donned, ceramic shield strapped to her arm... and a cursed ck sword held in a death grip. She was surrounded by corpses-- enemies defeated. Thirteen fae... their wings twisted and torn, their insides spilled onto the stones..."

    Tycon was filled with a sense of nostalgia and pride as he spoke... "In my Sol Invictus... no man, woman, winged-folk, or four-legged sentient is a coward."

    "You what?" Coraline''s mouth hung agape, "Sh-she did what?"

    Tycon blinked. Had he said too much?

    "She''ll be fine," He patted the young elf on the shoulder, "--with rest."

 Chapter 816 Inevitable Reckoning

    ?? The Dungeon Gardens, early evening. ?

    Lionheart Hero Ravidius had a predilection for fish.

    Tycondrius tried not to think about how... stereotypical of a cat-person that was.

    Stereotyping too often could... lead him into an embarrassing situation.

    However, the way Tycon prepared fish... he was certain it would appeal to a wide variety of ptes.

    ...cat-person included.

    Tycon applied a liberal coat of dried, stone-ground corn to thick-cut slices of Ravidius'' freshly caught catfish.

    He seasoned them lightly.

    Then... he deep-fried them in vegetable oil until they were a beautiful gold.

    The sides toplement the main dish included fried okra, a short-pasta thered with three types of cheese, and heavily-buttered potatoes sprinkled with crisped bits of pork fat.

    Toplete the meal, Tycon directed Megara to prepare a half-barrel worth of tea-- using a liberal amount of beet sugar. It was made with sweetness enough to suit even the tastes of his own daughter, Sasarame.

    She was... the subject matter expert when it came to such concoctions.

    The meal was... simple, straightforward, and sumptuous. It was a lovely dinner... in goodpany and moderately good spirits.

    ...Krysaos and Beatrice were missing, still in convalescence. However, Tycon saved a filled te and a cup of sweet tea for the two of them, respectively.

    Elle particrly enjoyed being seated outdoors on a linen cloth. She remarked that watching the setting sun together was... romantic.

    Tycon chose not to argue.

    Before the stars grew visible, the young Mage, Megara, chose to retire to her quarters. It was a sign of a good student, that she was so strict with her own scheduling.

    With her absence... a particr Lionheart was able to speak his mind more freely.

    "I must admit, Monsieur Tycon," Ravidius sagely stroked his chin. "My daughter-- she is quite taken wis'' your masterful cooking abilities. Rarely does she finish her supper before bedtime."

    "I am honored by her praise," Tycon waved casually, "I''ll write down the various recipes if you would like."

    Elle stifled a giggle at Tycon''s side... "I think... Hero Ravidius enjoyed it most of all."

    The Liohneheart gazed up at the evening sky. High above, colorful ribbons of light slowly twirled about... "Fried catfish... truly, it is a gift ze the heavens, Mademoiselle."

    "Are... are you crying, Hero?" Elle asked gently.

    "N... non," Ravidius sniffed.

    Tycon knelt down at the side of the starlit stream, observing hispanions.

    Behind him, Elle was trying to console the... emotionally vulnerable cat-person.

    She was a wonderful woman, with a naturally good heart, full of courage and loyalty.

    Tycon did not deserve her.

    Ravidius, too, was a good man, far-removed from the politics of the Realm. He had no obligation to help the crew of Neptune''s Revenge in their quest... but Heroes are painfully consistent.

    For that, Tycon was thankful.

    Coraline Heartsong had her bare feet dipped in the nearby, luminescent-blue stream. The zed look in her eyes betrayed the fact that she hadn''t been well rested in weeks.

    She struggled for so long... preparing herself and educating herself for the mission. That she still found failure must have weighed upon her heavily.

    ...Tycon did not deem words of constion necessary. The young woman was driven towards sess. He only needed to remain vignt that her obsessions did not consume her.

    Coraline''s familiar, Beatrice, stood upon the banks... quietly staring out at the waters. The fear, the cruelty, and the desperation she had experienced in the Dungeon... Tycon knew well.

    They would be fine. They would support each other.<novelnext></novelnext>

    However, theirpany''s failures were not without growth.

    The Coral Boys hadpleted what was likely the deadliest obstacle course in the Eastern States.

    Elle survived her first foray into a Dungeon.

    Coraline still had her hopes.

    Beatrice had experienced close-proximity murder.

    Then, Captain Krysaos... he had reached Iron-Rank.

    All that, Tycon could thank Ravidius for. Without the Hero''s assistance, one or more of his closepanions might have lost their lives.

    "Prince Tycondrius of Charm," The Lionheart raised his voice, turning away from Elle. "We must converse."

    "You''re being umonly formal," Tycon raised his eyebrows, "Ravidius Orion, Hero of Passage."

    Elle hurried over to his side, "Wh-what''s going on?"

    "...I suspect it is an inevitable reckoning," Tycon replied with a frown.

    "''Tis true," Ravidius narrowed his eyes. "I have been in hiding for over a decade... isted from ze Realm. And still... you have sought me out-- crossed into my domain, where I am Lord and Master of zhis Dungeon."

    He raised a furred hand above his hand... and a dagger detached from his belt, whirling about him andnding in his palm.

    "I cannot allow you to ESCAPE with your PITIFUL LIVES," Ravidius growled.

    ? System, analyze: Monsieur Ravidius'' current weapon. ?

    ? System response: Dimensional Cutter. Fourth-Circle Conjuration. The edge is capable of... ?

    "I understand..." Tycon nodded firmly as he raised his right hand, charging his ring with magic.

    Elle immediately drew Summer Song from its sheath, "Well, I don''t!!"

    "Stand down, Elle," Tycon scolded.

    "But... I..." Elle shook her head, "No. I refuse. We''re... we''re in this together, Tychon!"

    "Hmph," Tycon smirked. "You honor me, my love. If I can''t convince you, then at least step back to stand by my side."

    He grinned, holding his palm forward, "What hope do you have, Ravidius? Against both of our attacksbined?!"

    "It matters not..." Ravidius'' eyes began to glow red as he tightly gripped the hilt of his dagger... "Here... in zhis ce... I am ze supreme authority... and PEERLESS!!! IN!!!! HOSPITALITY!!!!!"

    He swiped his weapon, cutting a hole in the fabric between dimensions, "Behold!! Two bushels of fresh fruits to take with you on your trip home!!"

    "Hah!" Tycon sneered, "That will certainly bring enjoyment to each and all under mymand... but take... THIS!!"

    He activated his storage ring, "Seeds for fresh herbs and a scroll of recipes to be used in conjunction withmon ingredients!!!"

    Ravidius brought the package to his nose and inhaled deeply... his eyes rolling back in euphoria.

    "M-monsieur... you... this... ''ave you..."

    Tycon smirked in response.

    Yes.

    Yes, there was catnip.

    Though he was loathe to further stereotype... since Ravidius was weak to cat-''fish'', it stood to reason that cat-''nip'' would be equally effective.

    It had ''cat'' in the name, after all.

    ",

 Chapter 817 To Be A Hero

    ?"N-nnn.... NON!!" Ravidius shook his head, returning to his senses, "Monsieur!! I am ze HOST!! And I will NYA''T be defeated in ZHIS BATTLE!!"

    "And you have been MOST WELCOMING!!" Tycondrius shouted back, "On my honor, Hero Ravidius... as I represent mypany as guests, our gratitude... CAN BE!!! NO!!! LESS!!!"

    Ravidius pulled two slips of paper from the dimensional tear, "Two backstage passes to ze CIRCUS of ze SUN in Whitehearth!! ...You and ze Mademoiselle will have ze MOST PLEASANT EX-PERIENCE!!!!"

    Tycon summoned a thick scroll tube, "A study guide to ILLUSIONS and CONCEALMENT spells!! This will afford you MOONS if not YEARS of quality training for your LOVELY DAUGHTER!!!"

    "F-me Eternal..." Elle''s mouth was twitching, "Tychon... what is going on? Aren''t we... gonna fight?"

    "This *is* the fight," Tycon chided.

    "But... but what about that stuff about not being able to leave with our lives?"

    "Well, yes..." Tycon furrowed his brows, "With the honor of the host and guests at stake, either side left empty-handed would be considered rude, no?"

    "I... I guess?" Elle pouted.

    Tycon took a breath, putting on a stern face, "I need your help, my love. Hero Ravidius is not an opponent to be taken lightly."

    "You''ve already lost, Monsieur. Nyohooh~" Ravidius chuckled as he waved a small leather pouch. "Take THIS!! Tea leaves cultivated in ze Tree God''s PERSONAL SANC-TUA-RY!!"

    "Urgh..." Tycon winced, "This gift... is really too expensive, Ravidius. We cannot ept this!"

    "OhOhOhHH~" The Lionheart cackled, clutching at his chest, "Non-- nya''t at all, Tycon. Ze Tree God-- he owes me zhis and several favors more. Take IT!!! For I have PLENTY TO SPARE! NYAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!"

    "T-tychon," Elle grimaced as she lowered her voice... "Besides the fact that this is the single dumbest fight I''ve ever witnessed, I... I don''t have anything on me. All I have are army rations..."

    Tycon raised his eyebrows, "That... just might be able to turn the tide!"

    He took Elle''s hands and held them close, "Are you... willing, my love, to offer them as a gift?"

    "Y-yes?" She took a hand back and reached into her bag, "But..."

    "Do you trust me?"

    "Of course, I do," She groaned... "with all my being."

    Tycon took the rations and brandished his opportunistic weapon against the arrogant Lionheart.

    "I''m sure you know what these are, Hero."

    "Tyrion rations?" Ravidius raised a curious eyebrow, "Over my years of campaigning, I would be remiss to ''ave forgotten zhem."

    Tycon grinned, savoring the words he could use to strike at a Hero heart.

    "Indeed... and with Elle''s gift, you can share those experiences... with Megara."

    Ravidius took a step back, his hand clutching his chest... "ARGHHH!!! For... for zhis... I am TRULY GRATEFUL!!"

    Elle pursed her lips... "I''m... I''m gonna go hang out with Coraline."

    "Go ahead," Tycon nodded, "Ravidius and I will be... *conversing* for some time longer."

    ...

    ? Dungeon Hot Springs,te evening. ?

    Tycondrius swirled the wine in his wooden cup, taking in the sweet scent of tart green apple, minerals, and honey. Better still, the heat wafting up from the natural hot springs served to magnify the vors.

    "I''m quite envious of you, Brother-Ravidius..."

    Ravidius shifted the hot towel covering his face to reveal an eye, "Are zher no heated springs in Charm, mon ami?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Hah. Quite the contrary," Tycon chuckled. "But I was referring to... this. Living here... peacefully. I daresay you''ve deserved it, considering your achievements as a Hero."

    The long-legged Lionheartid back, sinking his body into the water. Having deactivated his offensive enchantments, he had but a single golden-furred left arm, which he draped over the stones.

    "Ze Dungeon is... an investment. However~ if you seek a Dungeon Core, I know of... at least one mad wizard, here in ze States..."

    "And of course, I can gift you one of the inds of Charm, should you decide to relocate to the Free Nation," Tycon countered as he poured Ravidius'' cup to full. "Of course, please contact me via ?Sending? about a moon in advance to prepare the paperwork."

    "Oho..." Ravidius smiled as he reached for his drink, "I shall strongly consider it. My Megara... she wishes to attend ze University in Arcanix..."

    Tycon took a deep breath, thinking fondly of his own daughter, Sasarame, who was studying at the Basilica...

    "Ah. Be advised... I''m certain that Miss Megara already meets the criteria for enrollment."

    "She..." Ravidius sighed, "she does not yet know zhis. I wish... to teach her for some time longer. She is but a child..."

    "Your daughter is... a willful youngdy," Tycon smiled, "--whom your investiture of care is indisputable."

    Ravidius lowered his chin... and swallowed... "Merci beaucoup... Thank you, friend."

    Tycon nodded... then chuckled to himself at an errant thought.

    "...Elle believes you might consider searching for a mate. I''m told a gentleman with so much love for their child is an attractivemodity."

    "She dares..." The Lionheart grit his teeth, allowing a low growl to escape his lips... "I will... speak to her."

    "For rtionship advice?"

    "Oui," Ravidius waved casually, "''Ow did you know?"

    Tycon shrugged, stretching his body beneath the waters, "We understand each other quite well. It is a phenomenon I''ve been finding quite rare, as ofte."

    "We are... cut of ze same cloth, mon ami..." The Lionheart mused... "You know... of sacrifice and heroism, no less zhan I."

    Tycon shut his eyes.

    It was something he didn''t want to believe... but Ravidius certainly had the reputation to say as such.

    And concerning his reputation...

    "Ravidius... have you heard... of the prophecy?" Tycon pursed his lips... "A certain... distasteful song."

    "...I have," The Lionheart stared into the starry sky, sighing wistfully... "and I... am d... zher are heroes strong enough in our Realm to face such a challenge."

    Ravidius'' response made his stance on the matter clear. He would not be assisting.

    Tycon chuckled and shook his head, "In that case... I may... just have to be one of those unfortunate fools-- or perhaps I''d be a... sidekick, per se."

    "I... would consider joining you... but I..." Ravidius sighed deeply, "I am not ze Hero I once was."

    "Are you referring to the fact that you have one arm?" Tycon rolled his eyes.

    "What? No. Ze enchanted prosthesis works fine. I can shoot burning greensers out of my fingertips."

    Huh. That was a magnificent trump card.

    "Then... the fact that you used to be human?"

    Ravidius furrowed his brows, "I am human, still, mon ami... just as you are."

    ",

 Chapter 818 Human

    ?"That... is fair," Tycondrius shut his eyes... "Very... fair..."

    Human.

    Ravidius'' casualment was... a striking revtion.

    Tycon was... a very powerful snake.

    He was very good at murder. He ate well, more often than not.

    Unlike other snakes, birds of prey were a non-issue for him.

    Also, thus far... he had avoided typical parasites and infectionsmon to his kin.

    However, as Ravidius stated... his actions and motivations had always been... distinctly human.

    Honor and professionalism? Repaying debt. Building long-term rtionships.

    Tycon massaged the bridge of his nose while deeply inhaling the heated steam from the springs...

    He felt like a fool for embracing strictured responsibility while rejecting murderous hedonism-- especially because he had a choice to be a selfish snake, if he so wished.

    Being human was horrible. And difficult. And generally thankless.

    Empty night...

    Ravidius took a deep pull of wine... "Should ze Realm be destroyed... Megara and I will leave zhis ce. Of course, if you wish toe wis'' us..."

    That sounded nice-- though it was exceedingly frustrating that Ravidius felt no responsibility to the Realm in its time of need.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "nar teleportation is illegal, Ravidius."

    "Nyeh," The Hero shrugged in response, "Wi''zout a Realm to protect, ze Gatekeepers will note for me."

    The two gentlemen shared a bout of silence... Tycon stewing in the nigh-scalding waters-- and emptying the rest of his drink in a swift pull.

    ...Thankfully, the cat-fellow didn''t offer any more psyche-shattering observations.

    Ravidius finished his own cup, smacking his lips...

    "Nyaa... Mm. I will have na show you ze gate you may take in or out of ze Tree God''s Forest... Should you require sanctuary, you will always be wee in our home, Tycondrius."

    Tycon loosed a weary groan... but offered a polite, professional smile.

    "And I extend the same wee of you and yours, Ravidius Orion, concerning my ancestral home in Charm. Still... let us hope my allies and I can save the world-- at least this time, yes?"

    ...

    ? The Dungeon infirmary, the morning after. ?

    Tycondrius stepped through the gate and waved his hand,manding it to seal behind him.

    Having ess to na''s functions was... a convenience he did not realize he would so greatly enjoy.

    After his various quests wereplete, he would take up Ravidius'' offer on recruiting a Dungeon Core of his own.

    ...or otherwise, he would appropriate one from a Dungeon Master less deserving than he.

    "Are you prepared to return to Whitehearth, Captain Krysaos?"

    Krysaos was sitting on his bed, absentmindedly cleaning his pistol.

    He had a fresh shave and haircut... and, earlier in the sun, Megara hadbored to repair his tattered clothes with magic.

    Despite his professional appearance, however, he wore a grim expression... quite contrary to his usual half-smirk full of confidence.

    "Ah... Mornin'', LT," He sighed.

    "Good morning, Brother-Captain," Tycon smiled. "having second thoughts?"

    The Captain gave a slow, deliberate nod... "You... tried to kill me in the illusion."

    "Oh?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Tried, you say?"

    That sounded rather unrealistic. If he was actually trying to kill the Captain, he would have seeded.

    Krysaos clenched his eyes shut, as if the memory pained him, "You almost got me, too.... You... used a form that looked a lot like Iyuri''s. Way different-- way bigger than I expected."

    "How amusing," Tycon chuckled, "Princess Iyuri shared a drop of her essence with me before we left Thorne. However... I haven''t yet revealed my Sea Serpent form to anyone, since."

    He pulled up a chair and casually took a seat, "I''m assuming illusory-me gave you a rather difficult time."

    "Yeah... you could say that," Krysaos lowered his head.

    Tycon followed his gaze. The Captain wasn''t looking at anything in particr.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He was... hesitant about something, then?

    "Krysaos," Tycon pursed his lips, "You''ve something on your mind."

    The Captain took a deep breath... "Hh...yeah? Hey... listen, guy... I... don''t think I''m cut out for adventuring. Not after... what I saw in... in that ce, I guess."

    "I beg to differ, Brother-Captain," Tycon ced his hand on his chin, "You live. You''ve recognized your weaknesses. Many adventuring careers end without such luxuries."

    The gentleman suffered a setback. His psyche certainly took a blow... and the mental trauma he suffered could not be discounted.

    However, realistically... an illusion was the most... polite form of hardship the Captain could have faced.

    Whatever he''d learned of himself was probably along the lines of what Tycon had experienced, conversing with Ravidius the evening prior.

    Krysaos stared down at the pistol in hisp... "I just... wanted to kill the sea god. But.. you... and King... you guys are the type of people that can do that. I''m... just human."

    "Regardless of the level of your perceived humanity," Tycon shook his head... "I recall... you''ve sworn an oath."

    "To kill a... f*ckin'' god," Krysaos gulped... "I remember."

    "You and I, Krysaos..." Tycon grinned, "we swore that, together, we would oppose the world."

    That bought a light chuckle from the gentleman... "F*ck me and my stupid mouth."

    Tycon gestured towards the weapon in the Captain''sp, "Remind me again what that is."

    "...A gift... to mock me," Krysaos sighed. "The sea god telling me how weak I am... that even though I have a weapon capable of injuring him, that I won''t have the balls to do it."

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Your concerns are stupid and nonsensical. If it can bleed it will die."

    "Hah..." Krysaosughed derisively... "Bute on... Me? Kill a god? I''m just a braggart and a f*ckin'' liar, LT. I ain''t... I don''t... I dunno if I rate, you know?"

    "Regardless of your insecurities, Brother-Captain... you are a man of action. I''ve seen you murder in cold blood. I''ve seen you take charge of your men and lead with honor."

    "I... didn''t do any of that by myself."

    "Nor is it necessary to face your challenges alone," Tyconughed. "When I killed my first god, it was in conjunction with two good friends, one being Brother Hades-- you remember him."

    "You did wh-- ah..." Kryasos nodded. "Yeah. Good guy. Real good guy."

    "And further, Brother-Captain... I''m assuming you didn''t fight illusory-me without the use of cunning and guile."

    Krysaos'' face paled... and he audibly gulped... "N-nah... you would''ve eaten me alive."

    "Ugh," Tycon groaned. "I''ve no taste for sentients. I pray you''ve noticed I prefer a human form to a serpentine one."

    "Figure o'' speech, guy."

    Krysaos rolled his eyes... but his spirits seemed to be returning, "I... think this training''s gotten me a bit stronger, Tycon... but it''s not enough."

    Tycon crossed his arms, silently making calctions...

    "Two or... three weeks should do."

    "Eh?"

    "Congrattions, by the way. You''ve reached Iron-Rank."

    "I-- what?"

    "--Therefore you''ll need at least that long to grow ustomed to your improved mana reserves, casting efficacy, and overall physique."

    "Huh?"

    "ording to Miss Coraline... the breath of a dying god is the ritualponent we seek toplete our quest."

    Krysaos narrowed his eyes as he stood up... "What the... what-- are you sayin'', LT?"

    Tycon shrugged, revealing his open palms, "I get you to the sea god in reasonable condition, Brother-Captain. And then, we see if you have the... balls, as you say, to pull the trigger."

    Krysaos took a deep breath, "You ain''t makin'' this easy for me."

    "Incorrect, brother! Ahaha!" Tyconughed unapologetically, "The fates have seen to grant you a literal god-ying weapon, a vendetta against an unsavory god... and an entire crew of professional murderers insane enough to support you."

    "Ugggh..." Krysaos leaned his head back, groaning to the ceiling, "And... the best gods-damned Lieutenant in the Realm."

    "Aptly stated." Tycon reached a hand forward, "What say you then, Krysaos, Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge?"

    Krysaos sped Tycon''s hand at the wrist, "Us against the world."

    "So be it. Us against the world."

 Chapter 819 Prologue (Part One)

    ?All heroes bear the burden of responsibility.

    It would... have been a great disservice to leave things undone before returning home.

    It took... a great deal of work and effort.

    Not every quest waspleted perfectly... and it would be a lie to say that a majority of them ended particrly well.

    Some died. Many were hurt.

    Perfection... only exists in hopes and dreams.

    Oftentimes the goal was...pleting the quest, any way they could.

    Failing that, it was... survive.

    But survive, they did.

    Scarred physically and emotionally-- but alive.

    That was enough.

    It had been a long journey for Jiang Ying Yue... but Moon Crescent Isle finally came into view.

    The home of the Hidden Lake sect was a huge ce in its own right... but the world of the Outsiders was many timesrger.

    They just called it... the Realm, two continents separated by a sea... made up of five or seven nations, as well as hundreds of thousands of families and factions.

    It was a mystifying and wondrous ce... too often fraught with danger.

    There were modern inventions, thousands of years in the making... exotic cuisines... and fantastic magics. Many things, she would have never dreamed about, if she hadn''t seen them with her own eyes.

    However, for all of humanity''s progress... there remained great and terrible beasts, devastating weapons ofrge-scale war... and selfish people with hate in their hearts.

    What should have been a one or two year trip turned into nearly a decade.

    It started with... a need to pay back a debt.

    A champion for a cause.

    It wouldn''t have taken so long if there were just one or a dozen powerful enemies to defeat.

    It... was never so easy to discern just who needed to be punched.

    Not all conflicts have a true viin.

    Not every honorable warrior is just.

    Being physically strong did not automatically equate to victory... though it did help, more often than not.

    The ancient tales of heroes and dragons made adventuring sound... simple.

    Living...

    Living was not simple.

    Jiang Ying Yue hoped that returning home would earn her at least a year long break from...

    "Finally back from saving the world, sister?" A young man shouted, his voice crisp and clear.

    Yue performed a backwards flip to stop her momentum. Her flying sword cut sharply at the water, sending up a tall, crisp wave.

    There on the edge of the beach was... the youngest son of her Jiang family, Wang Lei.

    It seemed at least he''d gotten her message-- but that was more than enough.

    Yue kicked off her sword, sprinting across the ocean waves, "Brotherrrrr!!!"

    The panic in Wang Lei''s face was evident (and satisfying) as she grew closer.

    "S-sister?!!!"

    **BAMMMM**

    Yue tackled her brother, taking him off his feet and leaving a long trail in the sand.

    "I missed you, Little Lei!!" She nuzzled her brother''s chest.

    "Sister... I-- I could have died," Wang Lei grunted. "I only reached Nascent Profound Realm in the past year."

    "Uh huh! I noticed it when I saw you!" Yue cooed, "That''s why I executed my Hug-My-Cute-Little-Brother technique at ONLY 50% of my strength!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Please stop inventing strange techniques." He awkwardly patted her back-- "Also, please remove yourself."

    Yue strengthened her embrace, "Don''t wanna."

    "Sister, please," Wang Lei groaned in exasperation. "Is-- is this how Outsiders greet each other?"

    "Yup."

    No arguments, there.

    Lei tried to push her off-- but Ying Yue didn''t want to let go just yet.

    "...Or is this why you haven''t brought back a husband?" He said-- which was rather rude of him.

    Yue put on her most innocent smile, "You''ll marry me if I get too old, won''t you, little brother? I don''t wanna be like those old crones from the Frozen Cairn sect."

    "I refuuuuse," Lei sang.

    "Che," Yue pushed off her brother, standing up properly.

    Much had changed. The young master of the Jiang family, Wang Lei had be a proper, white-robed cultivator, his long ponytail dashing and the sharp angles of his beardless face, handsome.

    Of course, with her own high-rank cultivation, Ying Yue had be a peerless beauty in her own right.

    Pure white skin. Silky smooth, dark hair. Otherworldly grace in her every movement...

    Her boobs weren''t as big as some of her Outsider allies. However, she was a good judge of herself. They were perfect in size, shape, and suppleness.

    She needed to request a new set of cultivation robes from the sect, though. She was wearing her old ones, but they made her look... not as professional as she liked.

    The current Ying Yue was almost as attractive as her mother... if the charcoal drawings of her in her youth were to be believed.

    "The Frozen Cairn sect is our sister sect... hence, our *allies.*" Wang Lei grimaced as he brushed the sand off his robes, "Didn''t you say in your letters you trained with them and their new matriarch?"

    "Even still..." Yue shifted her weight and put her hands on her hips, "You. are. heartless, brother!"

    "Ugh," Wang Lei massaged his be, "While you were gone, Li Jing has married into our Jiang fami--"

    "LITTLE JING?!?!" Yue shrieked, "I LOOOVE LITTLE JING!!!"

    "Well-- you can''t have her," Wang Lei pursed his lips. "She''s mine."

    Even though her brother was an adult, the way he pouted was reminiscent of when they were younger.

    It was SO CUUUUTE.

    "Wanna bet?" Yue teased. "Even rice noodles are only straight until they get wet."

    "Is that why you''ve returned?" Lei rolled his eyes, "To be a homewrecker? Go back. Get a husband-- or a wife, if you''re so inclined."

    Ying Yue gave her brother a stern face, "I have a small harem of powerful men and a loyal ninja dog."

    Wang Lei sighed and shook his head, "Until I see them, I''m just going to assume you''re the same socially inept fighting maniac who turns red at the touch of any man besides her LITERAL BROTHER."

    ...Yue felt her cheeks start to redden. When she left the sect, her little brother had scarcely been twelve years old... but he had the same sharp tongue as back then.

    Also, he wasn''t exactly wrong...

    She grabbed hold of her brother and rubbed her face against his cheeks, "A! Don''t say that! I''m sure that Father has what-- ten new guys to introduce me to?"

    Wang Lei pushed her away to re at her, "You''re still the strongest cultivator in your generation, Sister Yue."

    "Well... I am pretty awesome," Yue smirked.

    "Which also means that you''ve already embarrassed the young master of nearly every family in our Hidden Lake sect."

    Ying Yue squinted her eyes... "It can''t be... *every* young master... Right?"

    "That... only now, you underestimate your influence..." Wang Lei grimaced-- "is absolutely... baffling, Sister Yue."

    "What can I say?" Yue grinned, "I''m great at being underestimated!"

    "That was not apliment, Sister Yue," Her brother turned around dramatically-- flipping the bottom of his robes, as high-rank Martialists tended to do. "Let us return to our family house... and perhaps get you a change of clothes."

    "Nah, I''m fine in these!"

    "Ugh."

 Chapter 820 Prologue (Part Two)

    ?Jiang Ying Yue pushed the paper door wide open, "IIIIII''M BACK, B*TCHESSSS!!!"

    At her side, Wang Lei was cradling his head in his hands, "Sister... why?"

    The main room was nothing like Ying Yue expected.

    Usually, it was filled with... servants gossiping or... her cousins doing boring things like... knitting?

    Poetry? Sharing poetry wouldn''t have been surprising.

    Instead, the whole room was filled with... sect elders. They sat on long discussion tables, with the Sect Leader at the head on Father''s chair..

    And... it wasn''t just men and women from the Jiang family. There were representatives from the Liang, the Chen, and both Zhou families too...

    Mother fainted almost immediately.

    Oops.

    Father-- that is, Jiang Yuanbo, stood up amongst the crowd... his mouth twitching, "Ladies and gentlemen... it seems my... prodigal daughter has returned."

    ...Ying Yue folded her hands and quickly bowed, "Um... h-hello, Father. Sect Leader. Esteemed elders..."

    She... probably should have knocked-- or at the very least tried to sense who was beyond the door.

    It was an oversight.

    Sect Leader Chen Weiqi waved a powerful, robed arm, "The discussion is over for the sun, dear friends. Prepare your warriors for theing conflict."

    "Looks like your luck has saved you, Sister," Wang Lei muttered.

    "Sect Leader''s name means lucky, doesn''t it?" Ying Yue scoffed. "I can always rely on the old fart."

    "I can hear you, Yue," Chen Weiqi sighed.

    "We can all hear you, daughter," Father said... looking like he was about to cry.

    The various, very important family personages began to dodder out of the room.

    "Wee back, youngdy." "Elder Zhen! How''s the knee?" "Fine, thanks."

    "Ah! Miss Ying Yue, My son has been wanting to exchange pointers with you for some time now." "Get me a time and ce, Elder Zhou!" "...Perhaps I could ask you to be... more gentle, this time?" "Nah. Prepare the medicinal brew for when I send him back."

    "It seems you haven''t lost your sense for manners, traveling in the outside world..." "Wouldn''t dream of it, Elder Huiyin."

    When most everyone had left, Wang Lei leaned over to whisper.

    "She was insulting you, Sister."

    Ying Yue furrowed her brows, "She was?"

    Still in the room there were a few Jiang elders-- which made sense. They lived in the estate, after all.

    But... the Sect Leader stayed too? That was odd.

    Yue tried not to mind it. It was her estate, too.

    She hopped into the room, pouring herself a warm cup of tea from an unattended teapot.

    Yum. Traveling across the Realm by way of flying sword was tiring.

    Father sighed loudly... "Sect Elder... please forgive my daughter for herck of politeness and her questionable state of dress. My shame knows no bounds and if this sun is when I am finally executed or sent to closed cultivation, then I ept my punishment willingly."

    Sect Elder Weiqi pursed his lips... "The timing of Ying Yue''s return is fortuitous, Yuanbo. And anyroad, you wouldn''t live long enough to serve an appropriate length of exile."

    "Perhaps all the Jiang elders... and myself, then?" Wang Lei sighed as he began to collect tea pots and stack tes.

    "Now..." Weiqi grimaced, "is decidedly *not* an appropriate time to cripple the sect, grand-nephew."

    Wang Lei casually looked over to Father while he precariously bnced all the trays and snack tes, "How is Mother?"

    "I''ll take her back," Father sighed as he scooped Mother into his arms. "Come see herter, Ying Yue... and try not to startle her when you do."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Oooh!" Ying Yue''s eyes brightened, "I have lots of stories to tell her! I''ve fought literally hundreds of opponents, killing them with almost every weapon in the Realm and in every way imaginable!"

    The men responded almost in unison:

    "Daughter, please..." "Do *not* do that, Sister." "Ying Yue, no..."

    Ying Yue paused...

    Their warnings were... reasonable.

    Mother was always the... uh-- faint-y type.

    "Anyroad," Yue plopped down at the table with the others, "what were you guys talking about before I uh..."

    Lei was staring at her.

    Very hard.

    Ying Yue gulped and bowed her head, "Esteemed Sect Elder... I was curious as to... you know-- whatever the heck is going on?"

    When something went wrong, it wasmon to summon all the family heads to discuss it. However, Ying Yue saw that even the guest elders had gathered... as well as several of the older, most powerful Martialists of each house.

    Whatever was going on... it was big.

    Sect Elder Weiqi shut his eyes... "A great cmity looms over our Hidden Lake sect, child. We have decided on requesting help from our Venerable Ancestor, hoping that he could assist us in this task."

    "Ooh! I can help!" Ying Yue rolled up her sleeve and flexed her bicep, "I''m a half-step Monarch now!"

    Weiqi''s face twisted in surprise, "That is... incredible news! Yuanbo! You must be proud!"

    "Yes," Father smiled politely. "Despite the fact that, every sun, I wonder just how I failed at raising her... I am proud of my family''s Ying Yue."

    "This news is also incredibly disconcerting," Wanglei sighed. "I fear my sister will never marry."

    "I''m sitting right here, Little Lei," Ying Yue pouted.

    "Of that, I am aware."

    "Jiang Ying Yue is destined for greatness," Sect Elder Weiqi said... "It is her right to demand a partner of simr or equal stature... a powerful and honorable man that will treat her with care and affection... and above all, a man that she respects."

    "Or a woman," Wanglei muttered under his breath.

    "S-such things are... unorthodox," Weiqi coughed. "And... would still require a concubine to father her children."

    "C-can we talk about something else, Sect Elder?" Ying Yue pleaded. "Also, I like guys. Please believe me."

    "I''d like to be excused," Father frowned, "On ount of my unconscious wife and my ever-burgeoning shame."

    "Father, really! I do!"

    No one looked at Ying Yue like they believed her...

    It was baffling, really.

    The Sect Elder dismissed Father... and after a few more pleasantries that Yue honestly didn''t really care for, he finally got to the point.

    "Jiang Ying Yue... the morning of this very sun, our Hidden Lake sect received... a warning."

    "I''m all about it," Ying Yue nodded.

    She was hoping that her return to her sect would be nice and rxing... suns of ying on the beach, climbing the coniferous trees... gossiping with her cousins, and teasing her brother.

    However, if the people she loved were in trouble, she''d do everything in her power to help them.

    That''s what heroes did.

    Weiqi nodded solemnly... "Esteemed guest... if you are willing, please tell Miss Ying Yue... of the song of which legends are sung."

 Chapter 821 Prologue (Part Three)

    ?Jiang Ying Yue blinked her eyes to adjust to the bright blueness of... the sky?

    With... no ground beneath her-- anywhere to be seen.

    Panic set in immediately, Yue''s heart racing and her chi circting rapidly... but thankfully, her body acted on its own.

    That is-- she drew her flying sword and held on for dear life!

    Thest thing she wanted was to fall tens of thousands of yalms into-- whatever!

    Ying Yue was a half-step Monarch! But... falling that distance was a little unreasonable.

    Once Ying Yue was certain she was somewhat safe, she mounted her sword properly and breathed a sigh of relief.

    Only a few moments ago, she was in thepany of the Sect Elder and her brother.

    It felt like... she''d stepped into a teleport formation?

    It wouldn''t have been the first time... but she had never been so blindsided by one before.

    Even stranger... the sun was nowhere to be seen... and the air wasn''t thinner or more difficult to breathe.

    It was cold, though-- so much that her teeth were chattering.

    Ying Yue was deeply regretting not taking up her brother''s offer for new robes...

    Strangest of all, though... was seeing a... young woman casually reclining on a faraway, fluffy cloud.

    As Yue willed her flying sword closer, she saw that the other girl wore a strange metal helmet that hid her eyes. On it, small, exquisite, feathered wings red up at her temples.

    To fend off the cold, she was wearing a simple,fortable-looking white sweater, its sleeves covering both of her hands. Brilliant and shimmering jade-green hair streamed down from her helm and onto her shoulders.

    She was pretty... and quite possibly of a simr age.

    Yue was about to greet her-- maybe ask her about her hair and attire... but the wooden weapon that floated at her side gave her pause.

    It was a staff... topped with a metal head in the shape of bird wings and with two snakes carved onto the haft.

    It was... a magical focus-- the tool of a Wizard or Sorceress.

    As she could fly... the Cloud Lady was at least a Third-Circle Caster. If she had stored Third-Circle offensive spells inside her staff, she could probably eradicate over half of her sect in only a few minutes.

    Ying Yue slowly levitated towards the woman. Preparing for a worst-case scenario, she kept her arms slightly raised-- ready to kick arse at a moment''s notice.

    "Sup? Wanna fight?"

    "Fufufu..." The helmeted woman ced her tiny hand to her mouth, "I''ll have to pass, Jiang Ying Yue. I don''t enjoy fighting as much as my mate, Rixen."

    Yue narrowed her eyes, "H-how did you know my name?"

    Cloud Lady pursed her lips, "I''m... literally in the room next to you guys."

    "And... and you trapped me here?!" Yue yelped, starting to panic. "Is this some sort of ?Domain? Skill?! You-- you''re a Monarch, aren''t you?!"

    "Whoa-- caaaalm down, humie," Cloud Lady waved. "That is a... somewhat, a yes, and... technically, also yes? Forgive me, I''m more used to the Metal-Ranking system."

    "O... o-oh... hah?" Yueughed-- "in... in that case... I am... am TOTALLY. CALM!!"

    The only cultivator in the Hidden Lake sect that reached the level of Monarch was the Venerable Ancestor... and he was ten thousand years old-- or close to it.

    This woman was dangerous. Really dangerous!

    Ying Yue was not calm. She was not calm, at all.

    "Seven hecks," The Monarch groaned, "raaax!"

    She waved her palm and the staff besides her twirled in ce. In front of her, a short, fluffy piece of the cloud whirled up and turned into... what looked like a short wooden stool.

    It also came with an expensive-looking, velvet-red cushion-- which was some really advanced-level Outsider magic.

    The woman sat up and gestured with her long-sleeved arm, "Here y''go."

    ...Yue narrowed her eyes as she gingerly stepped onto the cottony fluff. It was solid... which wasn''t how a cloud was supposed to work.

    The seat was stable, too-- even despite the bumpiness of the... ''floor.'' The cushion was soft and springy-- but it also molded perfectly to her butt like it was made out of foamy dirt.

    She wanted one.

    ...That is, until she remembered she was sitting on a cloud. In the sky.

    "Would you like a drink?" The magic clouddy offered. "Calm your nerves?"

    Yue leaned forward, steepling her fingers, "Wh... what''cha got?"

    "Tea? Chilled ck sugar beer? Chy milk?"

    ...Those all sounded good.

    "Can you... mix them all together?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Cloud Lady didn''t even flinch.

    She swished her hand left and right... and a tall ss of liquid appeared out of thin air, "Toasted brown sugar milk tea."

    Yue took the drink gratefully... and took a tiny taste.

    It was...

    So...

    Good...

    "I love you. Marry me?"

    "This is why your family thinks you y for the other team, you know that?" Cloudy Lady frowned, "Not to be mean-- but do you even know who I am?"

    "Mmmm... Nope!" Yue took another sip of her drink, smacking her lips... "Bwah! Ohhhh... If I can find a guy that''s good at cooking, I''ll marry him too!"

    "You''re... a very easygoing human," Cloud Lady tapped her cheek, "--more agreeable than most Chosen Ones, anyroad."

    "Most people just call me stupid," Yue smirked.

    "Humans... can be cruel." The mysterious clouddy smiled half-heartedly, "I am... Jerim Jya."

    Ying Yue was wondering what exactly the woman was... a cloud spirit, an angel... or maybe even a goddess. That name, though... it sounded like something more... mythical.

    "Lady Jerim Jya..." She gulped, "Do... dragons really exist?"

    Jerim Jya''s mouth curved into a subtle smirk, "The Laws require that I answer: no."

    Yue held her drink between her thighs to point with both fingers, "I got''cha."

    Jerim Jya giggled lightly before continuing... "Your Sect Leader, Chen Weiqi, has asked me to elucidate you on the impending doom that''s about to befall the Realm."

    Yue pursed her lips.

    Sharing Jerim Jya''spany was actually rather nice... once she got over the fact that they were talking above the clouds and... that she was a Monarch.

    Yue wanted to get back home as soon as possible to annoy the seven hells out of her parents and little brother... but she also didn''t want to be rude.

    "I can summarize most of it," Jerim Jya offered.

    "I am in your debt, oh great, green-haired goddess," Yue bowed.

    "Fufufu..." Triple-G floated up and swiped her hand to the side. The white wall of clouds split in two, twisting ck with rage and hurling bolts of lightning at the waters below.

    Ying Yue almost spilled her drink as she saw dozens and dozens of ships braving the roiling waves... all sailing towards Moon Crescent Isle.

    "N-no way... so many of them..."

    "Dramatic approximation," Jerim Jya shrugged. "But that''s about the level of threat you''re dealing with."

    "Got''cha," Yue bit her lower lip. "Who... are they? What do they want?"

    Jerim Jya shrugged and shook her head, "I... wish I could tell you. Unfortunately, I''m just the messenger."

    Ying Yue shut her eyes...

    In her years of adventuring, she''d found out the painful way... over and over again... that no conflict was ck and white.

    Everyone was the hero of their own story.

    "...Lemme guess," She sighed. "If we let the bad guys do as they please... the entire Realm goes buh-bye?"

    "Yup," Jerim Jya nodded. "Ash and fire... War spanning the entire Realm."

    "...Our sect is protected by the Sea God," Yue insisted. "If you look real hard at our ind, you can see all the shrines!"

    "Well... your sect''s Divine Beast might be able to help... and you might get some help in the form of inclement weather. However... don''t count on the Sea God showing up."

    "Wait, what?" Yue tilted her head. "Why not?"

    "The... allegiances," Jerim Jya took a moment to think-- "are... kind of weird, right now."

    Yue took a breath and grimaced... "Are... the goodly gods not... all on the same side?"

    "Everyone fights for what they believe is right, Ying Yue," Jerim Jya frowned... "even the gods."

    She sighed again and waved her hand... but cracked another sly smirk, "But enough of that... Are you up for the task, Chosen One?"

    Yue downed the rest of her milk tea before wiping her lips with the back of her wrist.

    "When do we start?"

    ",

 Chapter 822 Reckoning

    ?The fates... were infuriating bastards.

    Capricious.

    Fickle.

    Arrogant and entitled whores, the lot of them-- ravenous for the next creature that caught their eye.

    They conspired together, servile and ttering to whatever hero or god they fancied at the moment.

    ...Their short attention spans neversted long.

    Tycondrius of Charm refused to be a thrall to their arbitrary whims.

    Fate? Chance? Luck? Whatever the word for it... as troublesome as it was, it could slow but not stop the inevitable.

    The only end for the enemies of Sol Invictus was death.

    Death, after all, was a reasonable gentleman.

    He and Tycon were friends.

    Rain fell down in nketing sheets on the deck of the Neptune''s Revenge. The ck clouds above were adamant about preventing any sunlight through. Furious, high waves and heart-quaking peals of thunder threatened to break or capsize the ship at any given moment.

    It was noisy, wet, and absolutely f*cking miserable.

    It was, however... better than Tycon could have expected, considering his goals and those of thepany he kept.

    The sea god needed to be murdered... righteously and forthwith.

    Tycon''s humanpanion, Captain Krysaos, had personal reasons to do so. ording to him, the sea god led his former crew in a mutiny against him.

    Granted, it did seem rather heavy-handed for a literal god to overthrow a mortal ship Captain... but it was a well-established fact that the sea god was an arse.

    He was neither liked amongst men... nor amongst his divine peers.

    The Elven Arcanist, Coraline Heartsong, needed the sea god''s final, dying breath.

    It would serve a resonant catalyst for curing the Lone Shadowdark of his affliction. The poor fool''s body had been dominated by an ancient elf spirit... a curse brought upon by the twin des of the Forgotten King.

    One sought vengeance... motivated by hatred.

    The other sought a restoration... to ''fix'' things, to... return them to how they once were.

    That was out of... love-- or something of the sort.

    What Tycon needed-- what truly mattered... was the strength of their convictions.

    They would not be swayed.

    Sol Invictus does not ally with cowards.

    Tycon kept his bnce as the ship rose high, grasping tightly to a rope secured to a mast. He dropped to a knee as the wave descended... annoyed, but taking no injury.

    He brushed his wet green hair out of his eyes to stare beyond the forward bow.

    Still...nd was nowhere in sight.

    The morale of the crew was at an abysmal low, forced to hunker together belowdecks to wait out the storm.

    Theypleted their training in the Tree God''s Forest, building camaraderie in facing the various threats and challenges. Some grew better for it-- stronger, more certain of themselves.

    Tycon nced up at the empty crow''s nest.

    Some did not return.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Since then... something had happened between Captain Krysaos and the Vulkoori Princess, Imperia.

    Somewhere... shrouded by the dark fog and hidden by the tall waves, she and her elves were aboard the Sugar Titted Siren.

    Backstabbing traitors... one or more...

    In the worst case... possibly the lot of them.

    Tycon unconsciously tightened his grip on the rope, sensing a crewman''s approach.

    A behemoth towered over him... his body covered in muscle and brass-flecked rock. His too-many teeth were sharpened to points, his maw locked in an eternal scowl.

    Every pore and pockmark in his skin radiated... hatred... anger... the intent to murder and kill-- to spill the blood of the enemy upon the deck and twist their flesh until there was naught left to bleed.

    Yet, such dark wishes were not directed at Tycon, himself.

    Thus... it could be forgiven.

    "Speak your mind, Petty Officer Bob!" He shouted to be heard above the cutting winds, "Hesitation does not behoove one of my leaders."

    The hulking Coral Boy exhaled out of his nostrils, a cloud of steam wisping in the rain.

    ...It was then that Tycon realized how cold it was. His Officer''s cap and thick military coat were soaked through.

    His blood ran hot... keeping warm by virtue of his own smoldering rage.

    "Grrargh... Honestly, Bosun..." Bob growled, "I''z pissed as all get out! I just wanna... swim to da uvver ship... an'' crack ''eadz and twist necks of every soddin'' knife-ear... till I get some F*CKIN'' answers!"

    "In this storm?" Tycon furrowed his brows. "And how confident are you of doing so? AND returning in fighting condition?"

    ...Bob lowered his head, "Feels like shite, Bosun! Standin'' here! ...Not bein'' able to do nufin''!"

    Tycon had given the order.

    No one in the crew was to leave the ship to enact their idea of personal revenge. Though the Coral Boys were in no danger of drowning, if they were to be separated from the crew, it would reduce their overall chances of sess on Moon Crescent Isle.

    "There will be a reckoning," Tycon frowned... "but when the storm eases. We are not savages, Twelve of Twelve. The elf or elves responsible will stand trial-- just as if any of our own were found wanting."

    It was... most unfortunate that Tycon was on deck when disaster struck. With his Gold-Rank physique and his bloodline ability to sharpen his vision, he knew the exact elf responsible.

    ...That knowledge, however, was not to be shared.

    --not until that person was within... interrogation-distance.

    Before justice could be delivered, it was paramount to discover how deep their treachery ran.

    "Whoever it was, Bosun..." Bob seethed, "Dey''z AI''NT one of our own!! We. Do Not. Mutiny."

    "The elves signed the contract, just as you have," Tycon countered. "They, too, fall under the Alizeaun Code of Military Justice. We... are a people bound by rules."

    "Da RULES!!??" The Coral Boy snarled, "Da rules get in da way o'' JUSTICE!!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... and spoke in dark, measured words, "Judgment. will. fall... Little Brother. If you remain unsatisfied by my position as an Officer, I will have your challenge now."

    Trial bybat.

    It would have not been the first time he''d been challenged in a precarious situation-- and before an incredibly dangerous mission.

    It would be a damn shame, though, if Tycon were forced to kill one of his best men.

    ",

 Chapter 823 Send Us Home

    ?Bob took a breath of hesitation... "You... usin'' da rules as a shield, Bosun?"

    "On the contrary," Tycondrius spoke through clenched teeth, "The rules are currently protecting YOU, young man. Else, I''d be in the process of breaking every f*cking joint in your body on ount of your grant... disrespect."

    Bob gnashed his teeth... stewing in his anger, "Wiv all due respect, Sir... da crew-- dey ain''t ''appy! Not wiv any o'' dis!"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "And do you think I feel any f*cking different, Petty Officer? If solving the problem was as *simple* as getting me to the other ship and using every Gold-Rank Martial Skill in my employ, I would have already DONE so."

    After several moments of deliberation, the gargantuan Coral Boy shook his head and sighed, "F*ck me, Bosun... I didn''t... I ain''t--"

    "Apology epted," Tycon sneered, waving him off, "on ount of the shite circumstances. Do *not* allow it to happen again."

    "...Aye, Bosun," Bob lowered his head.

    Tycon nodded in acknowledgment. That was enough.

    "Petty Officer Bob, I will have your report."

    The Coral Boy rendered a strong salute, unmoved even as another tall wave crashed over the ship and washed over him.

    He was a good man... and Tycon returned the salute with equal respect.

    "Da ship''s ''olding togevver," Bob said... "if jus'' barely, Sir. If it weren''t fer yer circle-fings an'' the only f*ckin'' good elf in da Realm womanin'' ''em... we''d all be at da bottom uh da drink."

    Tycon nodded despite the worries festering in his heart.

    Coraline Heartsong had taken over the formations in the hold. They served a dual purpose, keeping the Neptune''s Revenge hidden from the sea god''s monstrous allies while simultaneously shielding the ship from the more destructive waves and errant bolts of lightning.

    Thankfully, the young Arcanist had a strong base in all elements of magic before she''d bound her soul to her fiery familiar.

    Further... Tycon''s lover, Elle, was with Coraline... lending what mana she could spare.

    However... it did not change the fact that the young elf controlling the formations was a provisional measure.

    Due to Captain Krysaos'' affinity with water magic, he would be the best man for the job.

    ...But he was needed, elsewhere.

    "And the Captain?" Tycon asked.

    "The Cap''n''s wiv..." Bob turned his head, looking out in the darkness, "he''s... wiv Mina."

    The Coral Boy turned back, his hatreds whisked away and reced by... sincerity, "Maybe... go see ''er, Bosun, yeah? Maybe... use s''more of your healin''? Or... or sumfin'' else in yer magic ring?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to a re.

    He had done everything he could. It was almost insulting that Bob could imply otherwise.

    However... Tycon''s anger was... misced.

    And there was admittedly value in checking on Krysaos'' condition.

    "Very well," Tycon sped Bob''s arm as he made his way past him, "Dismissed. Get some rest, young friend."

    ...

    Tycon descended down the precarious stairwell that led belowdecks. How it was still intact, considering the mold and wood-rot was baffling.

    The halls reeked of must and bilge, the heavy creaks and groans of the hull threatening to break apart at a moment''s notice.

    It served as grim, musical apaniment for the dirge sung by the crew.

    Wonderboy, the lime-green Coral Boy-- the worst example of a Marine there was... was leading his peers with a gargling whine...

    "If we die... we die togevvERRRR..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Only fight... we''z ever known." --Came the groans and growls that were supposed to be music.

    "''Fru Levia''fan wangs and da shite, f*ckin'' WEVV''rrrrrr..." "Pray da winds... send us ''ome."

    Doc stood up, wearing his tattered medic apron, "An'' when da gods... ''ave ''ad enufffff~"

    "Only fight... we''z ever known."

    "We''ll raise our cups... and drink... to us," He grinned.

    "Pray da winds... ta send us ''ome..."

    The peach-skinned Coral Boy, Catshit, swept the seaweed green hair behind his head, "Da ship''ll hold... by song aloOOone..."

    "Only fight... we''z ever known..."

    "''Cuz all you cuuNNnts, you sink like stoOoones, ahaha..." He shook his head and chuckled.

    "Pray da winds... ta send us ''oooome."

    Petty Officer Bob was crossing his arms... and he shared a nce of disapproval with Tycon.

    Tycon nodded, gesturing for him to speak.

    Thergest, strongest Coral Boy of the Neptune''s Revenge took a heavy stomp forward, "The F*CK is ''is S''PPOSED TA BE?! Who''s F*CKIN'' idea woz it to sing bloody f*ck-ING love songs to F*CK each uvver to?!"

    Tycon smirked, "Seven f*cking hells... is this the f*cking Army? The gryphon-f*ckers in the Air Force? Or are you my gods-damned Royal F*CKING MARINES?"

    Bob smashed a heavy fist against his chest, "Let''s hear some F*CKIN'' VOLUME!!"

    Tycon was crewed with dozens of fools.

    ...Yet he could not have asked to serve with better men.

    He cleared his throat and raised his voice in a bass-baritone, "And WHEN WE MEET... at the GATES OF HELL!!!"

    Some of the Coral Boys looked around in shock, but they responded all the same, "Only FOIIGHT... WE''Z EVERRR KNOWNNN."

    "We''ll crew ANOTHER. F*CKING. SHIP!!" Tycon roared, "And we''ll RAISE THE SAILS!!!"

    "PRAY DA WINNNNDS!! TA SEND US ''OOOOME!!!"

    Just as well, there were rivers and oceans in the seven depths.

    There was little difference serving in the living Realm or elsewhere.

    His men were blissfully ignorant fools if they thought their shared demise meant the end of their contracts.

    "Officer on deck!" Petty Officer Bob shouted, "Atten-TION!!!"

    The Coral Boys, lying and kneeling, shot up from where they were, all standing straight at the positions of attention.

    Tycon was pleased-- so pleased that he took his hand off the hilt of his sword.

    "You," He pointed to the highest ranking crewman under Bob. "Leading Hand Stickyfingers. Report!"

    "Repor''ing as ordered, Bosun," The pale-white Coral Boy saluted, "No changes in Lieutenant Mina, Sir. Any... any news up top?"

    "Negative," Tycon looked Stickyingers up and down before turning to address the crew, "Carry on, gentlemen. Keep your voices strong and your des sharp. If the sea god knows we''reing for him, then we''ll bending in hostile territory."

    With that final warning, Tycon walked past and towards the Captain''s quarters.

    "And GET DIS MESS cleaned UP!!" Bob shouted from behind, "Or I''z gonna KEELHAUL da LOT OF YA''S!!!"

 Chapter 824 Nothing Changes

    ?Tycondrius closed the door behind him.

    Lieutenant Mina was installed in the Captain''s bed.

    Sweat poured down her gaunt face and uncovered skin, soaking the sheets through. The luster of her purple hair and mermaid tail might have made fine treasures for a collector... but they''d grown dull and dry.

    Her pallor heavily implied the unlikeliness of her survival.

    Without her usual coral armor, Mina looked small and frail-- more like a child than the weapon she was crafted to be.

    Bandages covered her bosom, a mark of dried blood in a single spot.

    The poisoned crossbow bolt had struck her near the heart.

    Yet still... she breathed.

    She lived.

    As for the reasons... it was due in part to Tycon''s Support Skill: ?Desire Trigger,? her Iron-Rank physique, and... her ever-dwindling force of will.

    Though Captain Krysaos had incurred no obvious physical injuries, he too was in a state of suffering.

    He sat in a chair beside his loyal de, arms crossed, coat tossed aside. His beard grew quick enough that even missing a single sun of shaving, he looked like a filthy and broken vagrant... not at all like an Officer of the Royal Marines.

    Tycon pursed his lips, trying his best to hide his disappointment, "Krysaos... have you slept?"

    "Not yet..." The miserable human groaned, standing up to stretch... "Say... ya got any more of that rum, LT?"

    "The rum''s gone, Captain," Tycon frowned, "as well as the wine. And I don''t n on giving you any whiskey unless something *good* happens."

    "...Right," Krysaos closed his eyes. "You ready to tell me who did this?"

    "I refuse," Tycon responded coldly.

    Krysaos took a deep breath... "And if I give you a direct f*ckin'' order?"

    Tycon shook his head, not intimidated in the least, "Then I would remind you to rationalize... to use logic befitting an Officer, rather than a madman who mistakenly believes he has nothing to lose."

    Krysaos clenched his fists, walking over to Tycon... and grabbed thepels of his coat.

    "Come f*cking ON!!! Don''t you think I deserve to know?!"

    Out of reflex, Tycon had lowered his weight and ced his right hand around the Captain''s throat-- ready to crush his windpipe.

    There they stood... at a potentially lethal impasse.

    ...For one of them, anyroad.

    Tycon raised his chin in a challenge, "Who is your true enemy, Brother-Captain?"

    Krysaos narrowed his eyes... "Princess Imperia of House Vulkoori."

    "Such an allegation, I will neither confirm nor deny," Tycon responded calmly.

    The man released his grip-- and Tycon did the same.

    Krysaos swiveled about, walking to the porthole to stare out onto the ungentle seas... "She... Imperia is the only f*cking logical answer... You should be f*ckin'' proud''a me, LT... Me? Usin'' my f*ckin'' rationalization..."

    Tycon smoothed out his coat and silently stared at the Captain''s back.

    He struggled to find words... any words.

    Openly denying the Captain''s conclusion was pointless.

    Any statement of reassurance was insultingly simple to oust as a transparent lie.

    Any mention of the due process of militaryw or the inclement weather would only serve to incite the man''s anger.

    Opening a discussion about Imperia''s mutinous reasoning... would be purely hypothetical and therefore also useless.

    "Does anything change, Captain?"

    Krysaos bowed his head... "It does not. We don''t know why Imperia would shoot Mina... I don''t-- I don''t f*ckin'' get it. They were supposed to be f*ckin'' friends..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    He put a hand over his eyes, "Seven, gods-damned, motherf*cking hells... Whatever the reason, it''s probably my own gods-damned fault."

    The Captain seemed to be referring to a conversation he and Imperia shared before they began their journey across the open waters.

    There was a disagreement.

    The details were unimportant.

    "LT..." Krysaos turned around... "What happens... if she-- if Mina... dies?"

    Tycon nced down at the unconscious mermaid... "That... would not be ideal."

    Krysaos turned his head, wincing as if the news had wounded him... "She... she''s a Weapon Spirit. I know... she lived and breathed like the rest of us--"

    "She still does, Brother-Captain..."

    "Ain''t the point!!" Krysaos snapped as he drew his sword, pointing furiously at the azure de, "She''ll be fine! She''ll just... return to this-- the Heart of the Ocean. She''ll recover... just like... just like when we rescued her from the Amphitrite Reef Tribe."

    "This... is true," Tycon pursed his lips.

    "We''ve been friends for a good while, Tycon," Krysaos frowned. "We''ve been through this before. Tell me everything... even the shite I don''t want to hear."

    ...It was a reasonable request-- yet one that Tycon did not wish to appease.

    However... it seemed it was no longer a truth that he couldfortably hide.

    "Very well..." He took a deep breath... "Lieutenant Mina is a simr existence to the Coral Boys... a young spirit, though her memories are not held in her bloodline, but within the Heart of the Ocean itself. In theory, she is immortal..."

    "But...?"

    Tycon waved his hand, activating a sliver of watery mana at the tip of his finger. Tapping the Captain''s held de, the weapon glowed a serene, yet dispassionate blue.

    Closing his eyes, he mentally judged the sword''s magical capacity... and came to the same conclusion he''d originally ascertained.

    "When the artifact sword recreates Mina''s physical form... there is no guarantee her memories-- or even her personality will remain."

    Krysaos grabbed his chair and threw it against the wall. With his recently consolidated Iron-Rank strength, it broke apart in splinters and dust.

    "That''s TOTAL BULL-SHITE, LT!!" He shouted, "She... she died once before! On the deck of this very f*cking ship! And when we found her... she-- she knew exactly who we f*cking were."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "The Heart of the Ocean will restore her to us-- we know this, Brother-Captain. Mina may suffer few ill effects in recovering from mana exhaustion, but... if her physical form were to undergo forced dissolution... a far greater price must be paid."

    Krysaos squeezed his eyes shut... a single tear dripping down his cheek, "F*ck... F*cking... f*ck..."

    Tycon took a deep breath... but said nothing.

    He shared his Captain''s sentiments.

    The entire crew did.

    Mina served a vital role on the Neptune''s Revenge, keeping sea monsters at bay.

    ...but above that, she was kind. She was caring and easy to converse with. She spoke of honor and duty. She acted with grace and understanding... without prejudice and without question.

    She was loved.

    And by one man more than the others.

    It was a love that she reciprocated.

    "I... already knew," Krysaos whispered... "Sorry for blowin'' up on ya, LT..."

    "Hmph. Apology epted."

    Tycon flipped his wrist, summoning a jug of fresh water from his spatial ring before cing it on Mina''s bedside table.

    "Keep her hydrated. I will return to the deck to continue the watch."

    "...Yeah. I will," Krysaos gulped as he sat down on the deck... "Thanks.... Tycon."

 Chapter 825 Good Thinking

    ?Stickyfingers sat in the corner of the steadily rocking room, gripping the hilt of his tri-edged rondel.

    "Fink, boyo..." He whispered to himself... "''Ow did da Bosun do it?

    He shut his eyes, visualizing the green-haired Lieutenant.

    Arms raised about parallel... shoulder des wide.

    The dagger goes down-- direct, without overreaching. Like the chop of an axe... all of a Coral Boy''s weight and power focused on the strike.

    Aim for the leatherneck... the spot between the helm and the chestte... fleshy bits and not bone.

    Trap the weapon.

    Trap the arm.

    Grab at any loose clothing.

    Kick the enemy in the crotch.

    Spit in his stupid, f*cking face.

    The Bosun taught a hundred different lessons... before, during, and even after putting Stickyfingers'' own stupid f*cking face on the deck.

    ''Again,'' He''d say...

    Again... and again... and again...

    It shouldn''tve made sense, really... how such a smaller gent could knock Stickyfingers down so much-- made it look so easy-like.

    It wasn''t even strength, neither...

    The Bosun... he called it momentum. You keep both feet nted on the deck. You twist your body. The bad guy goes down. You don''t.

    You take his weapon. You end him rightly.

    Sharp end of the knife to cut the flesh. Pommel end to smash the teeth. Fingers to take the eyes or grabbing hands to put someone against the mast.

    Once upon a time... Stickyfingers thought it was the worst mistake of his life to be caught with a dagger instead of a ''real'' weapon.

    Granted, that kind of training was more like punishment-- almost as bad as getting keelhauled.

    After the Bosun taught him maybe everything he knew, though... it started to make some kind of logic.

    There was a lesson, bigger than all the little ones.

    The bigger picture, Tycon said.

    It was showing Stickyfingers how to be the best Coral Boy he could be... to sharpen his strength to be more killy, more murder-y.

    It didn''t matter if his weapon of choice was an axe, a dagger, or even just his bare hands.

    Every Marine in the crew was a professionally trained murderer.

    And it just so happened that Stickyfingers was one of the most professional out of the lot of them.

    "Iron-Rank Rogue, ah?" He muttered to himself, spinning the rondel around and holding it in an ice-pick grip... "We''ze a long way..."

    "Yea... an'' some fings ''ave ta be done, on ount o'' everything else..."

    ...Stickyfingers looked up and squinted his eyes to identify the silhouette blocking themplight.

    It was Catshit... probably the only crewman on the ship more murderous than he was.

    He had the usual look in his eyes. The lust for blood... for a good fight.

    ''Killing intent,'' The Bosun called it.

    He was real clear when he talked about it to Stickyfingers. You don''t let out the killing intent... not unless you want the enemy to know exactly what was going to happen.

    It was probably a lesson Catshit could learn...

    ...But there wasn''t anyone on the Neptune''s Revenge that needed killing.

    The Sugar-Titted Siren, on the other hand... there was... one in particr.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A murder that needed to happen, that is.

    Stickyfingers quietly sheathed his weapon in a looted sheath, "Wot o''you propose?"

    "A talk, Leadin'' Hand Stickyfingers," Catshit grinned. "''At''s oll. Lieutenant Mina''s old room."

    "Lemme guess," Stickyfingers smirked. "Won''t work wivout us, ''uh?"

    "Not nearly''s well," The peach-skinned Coral Boy shrugged. "Whaddya say?"

    Stickyfingers slowly got to his feet, stretching his arms and legs, "Sure fing, ''en. What we lootin''?"

    "Ain''t for lootin'' purposes... We''z gon'' be talkin'' murderin''... cold-blooded an'' all."

    It was odd. Catshit wasn''t the nning type.

    Stickyfingers looked into the Seaman''s eyes. He looked real serious.

    Real professional.

    Probably real scary to whoever was gonna be on the other end of the knife.

    "Let''s talk, ''en."

    ...

    ? Lieutenant Mina''s room. ?

    There were lots of things to lift in Mina''s room... sparkling sea shells and starfish, whats-its and thingamabobs lifted off the ocean floor. There were even little flower things from the Trap Path.

    Good times, that Trap Path.

    Stickyfingers jammed his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from doing anything not so smart.

    For the most part, everything the mermaid girlie kept on her walls was all real important to her. Therefore, it''d be wrong of him to snatch anything... not unless she were around to get bamboozled properly.

    No one on the ship wanted to make the little one cry-- Stickyfingers included.

    "Real cunty fing you tried to pull on da Cap''n," Petty Officer Bob grunted.

    He was none too pleased with whatever went on in the Captain''s room.

    Matter of fact, he looked just about ready to pound Catshit''s face in.

    ...which would''ve made a right mess while also breaking a few new holes in the ship.

    "The Cap''n''s real pissed off," Catshit shrugged. "Which is why we''z all togevver now... sumfin''s gotta be done."

    "An'' ''alf da reason is YOU!!" Bob snarled.

    "Ihihihi..." Doc tittered nervously between chewing on his fingernails, "''Ow ''bout... we''z jus-- ohhhh, y''know... hear Catshit out? We''z can be peaceable, yeh?"

    "The Cap''n..." Catshit took a breath-- "E''z troubled in da ''ead."

    "You''z ''bout to not have yer OWN ''ead to be troubled wiv," Bob grunted. "Savvy?"

    "Lissen up," Catshit puffed his chest out, staring up at the big bad. "When da crew needs good finkin'' done... it''s us four dey''z lookin'' for... startin'' wiv *you*."

    "Yeah?" Bob crossed his arms. "S''right. I fink good. Wot''s it to ya?"

    "When da Cap''n can''t be relied on to fink straight," Catshit red... "an'' da Bosun''s gotta lissen'' to his orda''z... ''en it''s up to us enlisted Marines to do all ''a dirty work."

    "Ohhhh, izzat what ''is is about??" Bob rolled his eyes and started for the door. "Well, I''z just gonna sod right f*ckin'' off, ''en. Ain''t gonna be part o'' yer stoopid n, ya git."

    "Oy!" Catshit turned and shouted at his back, "Twelve o'' twelve."

    Stickyfingers felt his heart stop beating in his chest. It felt like the ship stopped rocking just for that one particr moment.

    That got him. That got him real good. Bob stopped in his tracks-- didn''t move or turn or nothing.

    "What... the... F*CK... did you just say to me, boyo?"

 Chapter 826 Stand Tall

    ?"I said... I need yer f*ckin'' ''elp," Catshit whispered...

    Quiet. Solemn. But... sea god''s f*ckin'' arsehole-- the audacity of his words were f*cking brain-blowing.

    Stickyfingers gripped the hilt of his dagger before it could fall out of his hands.

    Something... something had changed in the way Catshit spoke.

    There was something in the way he acted... the way he straightened his back...

    His bloodline... had evolved. He wasn''t just one of the boys, anymore... he''d be a Tall Boy-- the same rank as Petty Officer Bob.

    It was only a half-step down from the Captain and the Bosun, both.

    Just... how strong... had he be over the past few moons?

    And... just how tall would he grow-- if he were allowed to keep living?

    Doc was staring, ck-jawed in disbelief. He noticed it too.

    And that meant...

    Bob...

    All of Bob''s muscles were tensed tight, ready to cut down a mutinous git at a second''s notice.

    "You, Twelve o'' twelve..." Catshit growled under his breath, "are da biggest... stompiest... killing-est f*ckin'' Coral Boy I''z ever ''ad da DIS-pleasure o'' servin'' wif."

    That seemed to calm Bob down... but only a little bit. It meant that Catshit was going to be strangled to death, nice and slow, instead of chopped and stomped properly.

    ...That would at least be better than so many Iron-Ranked Skills, a new hole in the side of the ship, and the whole crew sinking into the deep.

    "We ''ave a respons-abili''y ta do wot''s right..." Catshit bowed his head, "ta make it clear... dat we Marines ain''t ta be f*cked wif."

    Bob walked back... stepping right up to Catshit and ring down like he was gonna bite his head off.

    Real deep. Real low. Real f*cking murdery, he opened his pointy tooth maw and said it how it was.

    "''Ow ''bout YOU lissen up real good, Catshit? ...You. Ain''t. Da boss. o'' me."

    Stickyfingers felt his dagger hand twitch. He didn''t like the sound of that. He didn''t like all the killing intent that wasing out of Bob, neither.

    They''d lost Sockets... and a few others.

    Worst bit was... it looked like they were about to bury Lieutenant Mina at sea.

    Too many boys... and the Captain''s most important girlie.

    It hurt.

    The losses... they were uneptable.

    Catshit was a reckless f*ck and a downright menace to society... but he was part of the crew. It was one thing to beat him within ilms of death... or to put him in the hot box... or to keelhaul him.

    But if Bob wanted to put the peach-skinned cunt down for good, Stickyfingers felt obligated to voice some kind of dissent.

    "I know I ain''t," Catshit shot back. "But I''z got a n. Andst I checked-- none o'' ya''s ain''t got SHITE!!!"

    Bob grit his teeth real hard, "An'' JUST WOT... in da seven... bleeding... F*CKIN'' ''ells do you need me for, ''en, HUH?!"

    "Da ''ole crew... dey''ll lissen to you, Twelve o'' Twelve. F*ck me-- you''z can even take all da credit," Ctashit sighed... "I''z just want what''s right to get done... and done good."

    Petty Officer Bob... he started reaching for the two-handed axe on his back.<novelnext></novelnext>

    That... that was shite. Catshit was a good Marine... but it looked like his fate was sealed.

    **CHNK**

    Bob dropped his axe at his side, the de sticking out of the wood. Then, he dropped his rear down to sit on the deck, "''Is betta be f*ckin'' good... an'' I''z warnin'' you... if ''is has a f*ckin ilm o'' mutiny in it, I''mma cut you inta more pieces ''n even Doc can put back togevver..."

    Stickyfingers looked over to Doc. It sounded like a challenge he''d dly ept.

    "Ihihihi... I fink I done pissed m''self," Doc giggled.

    Or maybe not.

    "So it''s loik ''is..." Catshit sighed... "We get to da ind. Us four-- we take care o'' da one responsible. Might be quiet... but I''z bettin'' ''at it won''t be."

    Bob narrowed his eyes, arms crossed... He didn''t say the obvious, though.

    Doc cleared his throat, "But... ehe... ''ow do we know ''oo did it? Da Bosun''s got da best eyes wiv Sockets gone-- an'' even he don''t know?"

    "Oh, ''e knows," Bob growled... "''E jus'' won''t tell us. S''gotta keep da peace-- can''t fault ''im for ''at."

    "But we got someone ''oo does know," Catshit smirked. "Ain''t dat roight, Leads?"

    Stickyfingers leaned forward, resting his chin on the pommel of his dagger, "''An why would you fink we would know sum''in'' like ''at?"

    "Simple," Catshit grinned. "Sockets'' spyss. You''z looted it, din''cha?"

    Stickyfingers'' hand automatically moved towards his side pouch... but by the time he did so, he knew he was caught... "So wot if we did?"

    "Nobody gives a f*ck ''bout da how or why..." Bob grimaced... "Jus'' tell us which knife-ear needs ta get got... an'' we''ll put as many as we need into f*ckin'' sandy graves."

    Stickyfingers sucked in a breath through his teeth. There was gonnae time eventually that his looting got him into trouble... he just never expected it to be anyone but the LT or the Captain to call him on it.

    ...It was a good a time as any, though, toe clean.

    "Let''s fink up da ns ''en..." He shook his head. "Dere''s a lot o'' guards-- an'' it won''t be easy, considerin'' she''s Iron-Rank and ''as all ''at weird magicky shite..."

    The news struck the other boys like one of the bolts of lightning going on above deck.

    Doc sat up, the pupils in his eyes shaking and his mouth twitching like he was breathing hisst.

    "Y-y-you''z sayin??"

    He was chewing on the ends of his fingers, and he''d literally bit the tips of one of them off.

    ...They''d grow back. Hopefully.

    Bob''s eyes were wide for a moment... before twisting his lips into a furious scowl.

    "You''re... yer f*ckin'' wiv us... Ain''tcha?"

    Stickyfingers closed his eyes and lowered his head.

    Real shite situation, it was.

    Catshit grit his teeth... his squinty eyes narrowed real serious.

    "You''z heard ''im... Da one dat put a poisoned bolt in our Mina... is none uvver ''an da Cap''n''s li''ul elfie... Princess Imperia o'' da Vulkoori."

    ",

 Chapter 827 Release

    ?? Aboard the Sugar-Titted Siren II. ?

    Imperia blinked her eyes... trying to focus.

    She watched her hand struggle and shake, lifting a mere handkerchief... touching upon the still weepingsh marks on her naked chest.

    It hurt.

    So... so much.

    She knew it was unhealthy to peel at the scabs.

    ...They itched so terribly.

    Her whole body was hot with fever.

    She wanted to sleep... maybe forever.

    Yet... sleep eluded her.

    Water.

    Did they at least leave her a pitcher?

    She was so thirsty... locked in her room, only her thoughts to keep herpany.

    All living creatures of the Realm... they needed water to live.

    ...Maybe that''s why she didn''t deserve it.

    The events of only a few bells earlier in the sun... she kept seeing them.

    A wakeful nightmare.

    ...The most horrid of visions.

    ...of how she shot and killed the Heart of the Ocean.

    ''How is Captain Krysaos'' ship faster than ours?''

    It was her sovereign who said that. The King from Across the Seas.

    Or maybe... it was one of her servants?

    Male voices mixed together in Imperia''s mind.

    Someone said it. Or maybe she just... imagined it.

    ''Aren''t you supposed to be the most powerful Sea Witch amongst the Elven tribes?''

    Mother said that.

    Imperia furrowed her brows, trying to will away the scalding mist clouding her mind.

    Why would she hear Mother''s voice so far away from Whitehearth?

    She didn''t even like Mother...

    Memories.

    She couldn''t trust them... not since she took fever.

    Not since...st she spoke to Krysaos.

    But when was that? Before they left the port? After? --no... It had to have been before.

    The memories mixed together with the nightmares... with the promises Imperia made to Mother... with the kiss she shared with her servant.

    Her first kiss.

    She remembered it... vaguely.

    She had given it... to the wrong man.

    It was her physical wants and needs... her lips that were unfaithful.

    No.

    It was her decision to betray Krysaos'' trust...

    Her stomach roiled in time with the ship lurching forward. She mmed her elbows to the deck and rolled to the side.

    She struck something with her body... the full mirror that her mother gifted.

    It fell, fragmenting into a myriad of sadistic shards.

    It was her punishment for falling in love with a human.

    It was... her punishment for losing the purity of her lips to another, still.

    Bile rose to her throat and she tried to vomit...

    It earned her nothing but burning tears and a series of painful, body-wracking convulsions.

    The shards stuck in her back cut only deeper... what little life essence she had pooling wet against the wooden floorboards.

    Imperia wanted to die.

    She wanted to die for failing the expectations of literally everyone important in her life.

    She wanted to die... for pulling the trigger.

    Imperia ced her hands on her face... and she cried.

    Why didn''t anyone stop her?

    It should have been obvious... that she wasn''t thinking straight.

    Her mind wasn''t her own.

    Why didn''t anyone... save her?<novelnext></novelnext>

    She was... a Princess in distress... like in the old stories.

    And Krysaos... he was supposed to be her dashing hero.

    Why... did the fates see fit to guide her crossbow quarrel... across hundreds of yalms to strike Mina true?

    That woman... that sweet and honest woman, Mina...

    She... was loved.

    --by Krysaos... by everyone in the crew... by even Imperia, herself.

    It should have been... more surprising... that it hadn''t happened sooner.

    That... was probably why she did it... why Imperia aimed down the sights... why her focus was honed far clearer with jealousy than with rationale.

    Imperia stared into the mirror fragments... their presence, a temptation.

    In them, she continued to see her memories.

    Far away... Mina toppled to the deck.

    No... before that-- her sovereign, the father-figure she never had... the king whose crown Mother wanted so...

    He... struck her.

    ...just as she''d experienced countless times before.

    Before even that... a heartless Dark Elven Princess did as her mother wished.

    ? Imperia pulled the trigger.

    She didn''t want to heed her mother''s wishes.

    She... didn''t even want to be a Princess, anymore.

    But despite her feelings... Mina''s blood was on her hands.

    It was inevitable.

    Imperia knew naught but...

    Betrayal...

    Power-mongering.

    ...Selfishness.

    A woman like her was... unforgivable... undeserving of love.

    Krysaos hated her.

    He... must have hated her.

    And because of what she had done... he would hate her... always and forevermore.

    Imperia reached out... grabbing hold of thergest shard.

    It cut into her hand... but that pain would end soon.

    All she had to do... was plunge the end into her neck...

    She smiled wryly... amused that a gift from Mother could bring a peaceful end to her suffering.

    ...But even that was denied her.

    "R... release me," Imperia whispered.

    "No, Princess. I will do no such thing."

    ...

    ? The Sugar-Titted Siren, minutes prior... ?

    Anyone can be bought.

    The price varied between adventurers...

    Zhevra was... a pragmatic woman with mundane values-- but values easily attainable.

    Love. Sex. Coin.

    ...Power.

    With enough of one, the others were not so difficult.

    Zhevra hadmunicated her... unwillingness to continue her mission.

    The Wizard countered by offering an increase in reward.

    She had enough love. With that, she also had a good f*ck out of Vyzen-- whenever she wanted, more or less.

    The Wizard''s coin, then... that was enough to bend her sense of morality.

    She and her brother boarded the ship, pursuing the same mission.

    Any and all metal-ranked adventurers belonging to Sol Invictus and their allies... with the exception of the King from Across the Seas-- their deaths were worth a Prince''s ransom in silver.

    It remained, of course... a distasteful venture.

    Zhevra prowled the halls below deck of the precariously rocking ship... in search of the one man that could keep her mind off of such annoying troubles.

    Vyzen was an angel unustomed to the light... perhaps somewhere in the bilgewater hull where no sensible being chose to tread.

    Most likely, he was hunting rats... for sport... for a sadistic love of torture and dismemberment.

    ...Or perhaps he had grown bored and decided to cull one or three members of the Elven crew.

 Chapter 828 Not My Problem

    ?**Clokk**

    Zhevra stopped walking... shutting her eyes and groaning in frustration.

    She had just heard the unmistakable sound... of her own cloven hoof.

    She nced at the back of her hands... red, like the shine of a pomegranate.

    The illusion had worn off, revealing her true form. She was a tiefling... a cursed woman born with the blood of devils.

    "Life is f*cking me," She cursed underneath her breath as she incanted a Spell, "?Silent Steps.?"

    Pulling her hood low, she skulked back to her co-conspirator''s quarters.

    Quickly casting a ?Knock? spell, she let herself in... just in time for her to dash forward and grab the wrist of Princess Imperia of House Vulkoori.

    "(R... release me,)" The suicidal whore begged.

    "(No, Princess,)" Zhevra red. "(I will do no such thing.)"

    As if themand sapped thest of her strength, Imperia copsed to the deck, free from the burden of consciousness.

    It became obvious why Zhevra''s magical disguise had failed. The Illusion Mirror had fallen and shattered-- the Elven Princess relinquishing one of therger shards from her bleeding hand.

    Zhevra kicked it away with contempt.

    Imperia was an Iron-Rank Storm Cleric... dangerous if mounted on her karkinos. Even without, she was likely the most capable Water Mage in the western half of the Eastern States.

    She had climbed the ranks of her organization, throughpleting missions for the Adventurer''s Guild, and social maneuvering while discrediting (or assassinating) her peers.

    She was a proud woman... not unlike Zhevra herself.

    Then... Imperia allowed herself to fall in love.

    It broke her spirit... but merely that did not invalidate her achievements.

    Zhevra turned up to the male elf... the man who was responsible for the Princess'' safety.

    "What... is the meaning of this, Bizdiil?"

    The dark elf narrowed his eyes and replied in themon tongue, "(I have always had great respect for my Princess. However... any loyalty I once had was lost when she allowed herself to be defiled by a human.)"

    ...Typical chauvinistic speech.

    Gendered stereotypes were the reason there weren''t more females in Zhevra''s profession. It was as if men could not ept that a dagger to the heart was just as effective regardless of the nature of their genitals.

    What did it matter whether or not Imperia f*cked a human? She was a Warrior Princess... an elite in her social circle by both blood and murderous expertise.

    "Stupid girl," Zhevra rolled her eyes as she tilted Imperia''s head up and poured a healing potion down her throat. "You will return this favor... at triple the coin."

    The elf began to cough... so Zhevra held her jaw shut.

    Potions were expensive... and she wasn''t going to use a second one.

    The healing process began, the Princess'' wounds beginning to close, one by one.

    Of course, the deep scars on the girl''s naked chest would remain.

    From what Bizdiil had said... they were put there by the woman''s mother-- the Vulkoori High Priestess.

    That woman... was a psychopathic b*tch, to be able to sacrifice her own daughter to achieve her goals.

    ...And judging by the fact that she put so much faith in Bizdiil... Imperia had drastically fallen out of House Vulkoori''s favor.

    Zhevra turned to scowl at the dark elf, "(You. Sweep up this mess.)"

    "(Or you''ll do what, Goat?)" He red.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "(I will do nothing,)" Zhevra rolled her eyes, "(but if broken enchanted mirror is found... you invite questions with unwanted answers.)"

    "Tch," Bizdiil scoffed before twisting his fingers. "?Blessing of Wind.?"

    The bits and pieces on the floor began to whirl... neatly gathering in a square of leather cloth the elf opened.

    "(So affected by my poison and the High Princess'' enchantments, Imperia fully believes it was by her own will that she fired upon the Neptune''s Revenge,)" Bizdiil exined with an arrogant smirk. "(Stars and stones... she even believes she was unfaithful to her gods-forsaken human. Her fevered mind, it seems... has depicted the cruelest scenarios.)"

    "(It is wasteful,)" Zhevra scoffed. "(You have-- what? Two Iron-Rank adventurers? And one... you have broken!)"

    "(The Princess is unnecessary to our ns,)" The dark elf grunted. "(My troops have always been loyal to me-- not her.)"

    Zhevra picked the Princess up and carried her to her bed. Her body was scalding hot... her every breath, a struggle to live.

    "(When isst time? She sleeped?)"

    "(You mean slept, you unlearned whore?)" Bizdiil sneered. "(Not since we left port. She''ll be out for bells... or did you think I was a fool for speaking so openly?)"

    Zhevra grit her teeth in annoyance. It was typical of a haughty noble to treat her with contempt because of... grammar.

    Imperia was sick... poisoned by her most loyal servant-- as if she didn''t realize he was a conniving impotent.

    And with the same deadly toxin applied to the tip of her crossbow quarrel, she was manipted into firing across the waters, at her allies.

    With the various scroll enchantments Zhevra ced on the Princess'' personal weapon... it was impossible for her to miss.

    It was unfortunate that the bolt did not strike Baron Tycondrius... or even the Ship Captain, Krysaos. Still, the death of the mermaid girl of the Neptune''s Revenge was worth several weeks of wages...

    As for the Elven Princess suffering from poisoned guilt... the fish-woman''s death was Zhevra''s sin to bear, not hers.

    The only crime Imperia hadmitted... wasn''t a crime at all.

    ...To fall in love with a man, regardless of his bloodline, regardless of her duty-- that was beautiful.

    It was... beyond infuriating to see another woman punished for something so f*cking asinine.

    As Bizdiil implied... Imperia would be useless for theing conflict.

    However, she wouldn''t be useless forever.

    After the mission, she would be discarded by the wayside.

    The trash of a royal family... made for a perfect vengeful assassin.

    Anyroad... Zhevra always wanted a sister.

    "(And what of your mission, Nemayan?)" Bizdiil scowled, "(The King from Across the Seas still lives and breathes.")

    "(I work for The Wizard,)" Zhevra spread out a nket to cover her sister-to-be. "(He has... different priorities.)"

    "Ugh," Bizdiil groaned as he shook his head, "(Another human. Pathetic.)"

    "F*ck you, whore." Zhevra gestured rudely with her middle finger, "(I do not judge with... a cold heart, like you, elf.)"

    "(Dis...tasteful... wretch,)" The dark elf paced around the room, "(The King from Across the Seas must be eliminated... else all will be naught but ash and fire.)"

    Zhevra knew better... but there was no convincing such a callous man, so set in his ways.

    The gods yed their games... the mortals as their pawns.

    No matter who won... the men and women of the Realm would suffer.

    "(The murder of your king is your problem, not mine,)" Zhevra responded with disdain, "(My brother and I will handle the others... of fallen guild, Sol Invictus.)"

 Chapter 829 Dangerous Dirge

    ?? Many sunster... ?

    Jiang Wang Lei''s eyes shot open.

    It was so quiet that he wondered whether he was alive or dead.

    He got to his feet, his body responsive but his mind still fogged...

    Looking out upon the bay, the nighttime waters deathly still, reluctantly reflecting the dim silver stars in the sky.

    "No..." He whispered... "No no no... this isn''t right."

    For the first time in the history of the sect... the moon was nowhere to be seen.

    It was an ill omen...

    He worried if he-- or their sect, rather... if they''d done something to displease her?

    What could have been so terrible that she forsake them in their time of need?

    Wang Lei willed his numbed body towards the beach. He bounded over rocks, flipped and ran along the branches of a tall tree andnded amongst his allies.

    His people... his sect... his brothers and sisters in arms, his peers, his underssmen, his rivals... over a hundred Sect Martialists stood upon the beach... an unmoving, ever-vignt line of battle-tested warriors.

    Each and every one were tried in the Divine Realm underneath Moon Crescent Isle. Some veterans and elders had even adventured in the Outside world.

    Wang Lei, himself, was no different.

    The blood of hundreds of bloodthirsty beasts... raging ghosts... and many-limbed monsters were on his hands.

    Men and women he''d fought alongside, trained with... and cared for-- too many were lost under hismand.

    The Hidden Lake sect was one of the most powerful Hidden Sects in the Realm... only rivaled by the Legendary Phoenix sect in the east.

    The Martialists under Wang Lei''s control had over five thousand years of experience...

    Yet with all their power, he could not understand... why he was afraid.

    "Yo... ho..."

    A single male voice... sounded, deep and low... ten thousand ripples crossing the mirror-surface of the ocean waters.

    "All... hands..."

    The voice, then... it multiplied countless times.

    Rumbling, gargling voices.

    They sounded not of men... but of monsters.

    "Hooooist... da co~lorrrs... hiiiiigh..."

    Wang Lei felt the blood drain from his face... and from his quavering hands.

    A cold burning gnawed a hole in the pit of his stomach.

    They emerged from the sea.

    Ten... then dozens...

    "Heave... ho... thieves and sinners..."

    Giant... brutes of men... their skin made of pockmarked stone.

    ...warriors, all of them... carrying wicked foreign weapons.

    They walked over the surface of the water... like gods.

    "Never... shall... we die..."

    "Brothers and sisters of the Hidden Lake sect!!" Wang Lei circted his chi, screaming at the top of his lungs, "The enemy has appeared at our shores!!"

    None answered his warcry.

    As loud as he shouted... as much panic as he revealed in his heart... his words came at barely a whisper.

    They were drowned out by a hundred voices... the voices of the enemy.

    "Yooooo... Hooo... ALLLL... HAAANDS..."

    Wang Lei grabbed onto the cor of one of his men, waving a hand in front of their eyes, "Brother? Answer me!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    The man''s dark eyes saw to the ends of the Realm. They were filled with fear... regret... and despair.

    "HOOOOIST da COOO~Lorrrrs HIIIGH!!!"

    They were the same emotions coursing through Wang Lei''s heart.

    Enemies approached their shores... monsters with stone bodies, steel weapons, and evil in their hearts.

    It was a time when courage was needed most. Without it... their defeat was inevitable.

    Lei snapped his head to the side-- Zhou Jun Ping! If anyone could break out of the enemy''s spell, it would be him.

    "Zhou!" He yelled his old friend''s name as he approached... shaking the stunned Martialist by the shoulders, "Wake up! Where is my sister? Where is Ying Yue?!?"

    Jun Ping only opened his mouth to babble... "We... can''t win."

    "It doesn''t MATTER whether or not we can win!" Wang Lei shouted, "We need to buy time for the Venerable Ancestor to be summoned-- or for Ying Yue-- or my father!!"

    Jun Ping shut his eyes... tears of cowardice streaming down his cheeks, "No, Wang Lei... escape from this ce... Tell my wife... that I am sorry."

    "Tell her your-SELF!!" Wang Lei shoved Jun Ping away.

    "HEAAAVE HOOOO~" Came the song, "RAAAPE AND MURDERRRR!!!"

    Wang Lei grit his teeth and snatched his ringed saber off of his back, "Fine! I will be the first to fight."

    He pointed his de towards the still waters... and at the most gargantuan enemy.

    The bestial creature stood nearly two men tall, his intentions clear in his beady-eyed gaze.

    "Never... shall... we die..." It grinned.

    "GRAHHHHHHHHH!!!!" Wang Lei dashed forward, leaping up into the sky... almost high enough to reach the stars.

    He brought his sword... plummeting down with his strongest attack, "?Meteor DIIIIVE!!!?"

    **CLANG**

    The sound echoed painfully in Wang Lei''s ears... his saber bent beyond recognition.

    The monster''s skin was of reef-stone... but it was blessed by dark gods to be stronger than armor.

    The creature didn''t even move. He kept walking... his bellowing voice still lifted... strengthening the wills of the enemy and sapping that of Lie''s allies.

    Wang Lei sshed into the waist deep water,nding awkwardly in the sand...

    Flipping to his feet and sending the ck waters high, he leapt up to strike the creature in the back, "?Moon Crescent KICK!!!?"

    A magnificent wave shot up from behind the creature, such was the force.

    But... it did nothing to cease the monster''s stride... to soften its song.

    One of Wang Lei''s strongest attacks... was no more bothersome than the bite of an insect.

    "Not enough!!" Wang Lei dashed to the creature''s side and began to swing his fists with reckless abandon, "?Seven-Star Assault!!!?"

    **PAP**

    The creature didn''t even use his weapon. A simple, straight-forward backhandunched Wang Lei back into the waters. With his face swelling, he choked and sputtered out the saltwater he took in...

    "No... All... my training... is useless?" He sobbed.

    The monsters made it to the beach... still singing their ursed dirge.

    "NOOOO!!!" Wang Lei yelled, sshing through the waters... tripping and falling to his hands and knees.

    The enemy lifted their weapons-- axes and swords... knives and clubs.

    The Martialists of the Hidden Lake sect shut their eyes... and epted their fates.

    "FIGHT BACK, DAMN YOU!!!" Wang Lei punched at the waters...

    The sounds of flesh being torn rang in his ears... of bones being broken... blood gargling in cut throats.

    And still... the enemy sang...

    "Never... shall... we die..."

    ",

 Chapter 830 Enemy On The Horizon

    ?? Hidden Lake Sect Forward Base. ?

    "Commander Jiang..."

    Wang Lei clenched his eyes shut. What could he do... if his enemies could not be killed?

    "Jiang... wake up."

    Wang Lei gasped awake a second time.

    Sweat dripped down his forehead and his heart beat painfully in his chest, "Z...zhou Jun Ping?"

    Jun Ping grimaced, absentmindedly touching his barely-grown moustache, "You were having a nightmare, Commander."

    A nightmare. Of course.

    Wang Lei rubbed his be, cursing himself for ignoring the obvious signs.

    His body was sore all over... and even though he''d slept for at least a couple bells, fatigue weighed on both his mind and spirit.

    Outside of the small cave, the rain continued to pour, without end.

    Like in his errant thoughts, the moon was nowhere to be found... However, she and a few orange rays of sunlight asionally poked through the dark clouds.

    And of course... there was no sign of a monstrous invasion on the beach... nor the singing of vices and immortality.

    "...Ugh," Wang Lei groaned, pushing his friend away and getting to his feet. "You should have woken me earlier."

    "My mistake, Commander Jiang," Jun Ping smirked. "Good afternoon, by the way... or early evening, if you''d prefer."

    Wang Lei rolled his eyes.

    It was not a thought he ever remembered having before then... but he would have preferred waking up to his fool sister''s face, rather than Jun Ping''s.

    It was somewhat concerning that it was sote in the sun, though. With the relentless storm in full force, it might as well have been the middle of the night.

    "Disregard, General Zhou," Wang Lei hmphed. "What''s the situation?"

    "I''ve moved our forces slightly ind. They''re well-hidden in the foliage or are taking cover in outcroppings and caves."

    Wang Lei stared far off into the storm.

    He would have rather his men stay on the beaches-- or even patrol the waters. However, only Martialists at Nascent Profound Realm or higher could face the tall waves... and even then, their endurance would be taxed, waiting for an enemy that they''d been expecting for several suns already.

    "Very well... any sign of enemy ships?"

    Jun Ping twisted his lips, "You''re serious, Lei?"

    "Am I ever not?" Wang Lei groaned.

    "...I looked a few minutes ago," Jun Ping turned his head. "I''m looking now. Nothing''s changed, Lei-- no ships or attacking force in sight. No Outsiders are getting through this storm... not unless they wash up as corpses."

    "You''re right..." Wang Lei pursed his lips, "That would be ridiculous..."

    "...Lei, you''re worried," Jun Ping grimaced. "I know you miss your wife, but it''s only been-- what? Two suns?"

    Wang Lei shut his eyes, stewing quietly, "You do realize I can have youshed for insubordination."

    "Or is it... me you miss, sexy boy?"

    The degenerate pirouetted to emphasize his idiocy.

    Wang Lei reached for his ringed saber-- but a prepared Jun Ping smacked his hand away.

    Lei shot out a powerful right fist. Ping countered with a forward knee.

    Spinning elbow. High kick.

    ?Stunning Fist.? ?Frost Palm.?

    "I was joking," Jun Ping red.

    Wang Lei narrowed his eyes, "Your jokes are stupid."

    The two dropped their stances simultaneously.

    "Grrruhh..." Wang Lei groaned to the low rock ceiling. He didn''t feel the need to be polite to a childhood friend... "Ping... where is my sister?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Jun Ping opened his mouth--

    "--And if you insist that I hold romantic feelings for Ying Yue," Wang Lei scowled, "which I do not-- I *will* be using the saber."

    "Che," Jun Ping scoffed, "Since when did you get so boring, Young Master Jiang?"

    "When will you realize we''re no longer children, Young Master Zhou?" Wang Lei shook his head.

    "Jiang Ying Yue has yet to return," Jun Ping waved his hands... "Same with the Sect Leader and the other elders-- my father and yours, included."

    "...I see."

    "Wang Lei..."

    "What?"

    Jun Ping frowned, "We don''t need your sister''s help to hold the beach."

    Wang Lei crossed his arms, "Which of our sectws have you broken this time?"

    "I haven''t!" Jun Ping winced, "Seriously. You''re a far better leader than Ying Yue was-- or could be."

    Lei loosed a heavy sigh as he slouched his shoulders, "Just because I''ve been leading our forces into the Secret Divine Realm for the past six years does not mean I am fit to lead ourprehensive forces here."

    "You could have fooled me," Ping shrugged.

    Wang Lei folded his hands, "I''m sure you''ll at least grant that the men''s spirits would at least... appreciate the presence of my battle-maniac of a sister."

    "...Until she started challenging them all to duels, you mean?"

    Wang Lei clenched his teeth, taking a breath through his nostrils.

    He hated when Jun Ping was right.

    Guarding the beach was scarcely different from guarding the gate to the Secret Divine Realm.

    Each individual Martialist of the Hidden Lake sect had undergone a high level of training. Their battle formations were well practiced. Each cultivator had previously risked their lives and well-beings... and emerged victorious.

    If there was any peculiarity about defending Moon Crescent Isle... it was the waiting. It was the uncertainty.

    The gate to the Secret Divine Realm had defensive formations that weakened their non-human enemies.

    If... the ind''s invaders were not mortal men, but monsters and god-beasts...

    "Is there something on your mind, Lei?" Ping asked.

    "Get me the scouts," Wang Lei growled.

    Their reports, he hoped, would ease his mind... if at least slightly.

    "They''ll be here soon..." Ping''s mouth twitched-- "I''m sure of it."

    Wang Lei ced his face in his palms. His best friend''s response was giving him the opposite of ease.

    "How... long... Jun Ping?"

    "Well--" The insufferable General smiled with chagrin, "they might be... a bellte-- maybe two?"

    Wang Lei hurriedly stepped out of the cave. He leapt up, grabbing onto the rock of the cliff face and hurled himself to the top of a ledge.

    "Lei! It''s fine!" Jun Ping trailed him only seconds behind, "Think of the conditions, brother! Not all of them are as strong as you are."

    "You''re as strong as I am," Lei sneered.

    "Not the point," Ping sighed... "arse."

    "Rally the troops, General Zhou," Leimanded. "I want our hundreds of swords and fists ready for battle."

    "Againnnn, the conditions, Commander," Ping insisted. "Only our Martialists at Nascent Pro--"

    Wang Lei pointed his palm forward, "Take a look, fool. One of the enemy''s ships has breached the horizon."

    "Oh,e on, you can''t be... serious?" Ping''s eyes widened, "Is that... oh... f*ck."

    "Now alert the gods-damned Elders before I literally stab you."

 Chapter 831 Crack The Shell

    ?Stickyfingers lowered his spyss, "Jig''s over, boys."

    The remark sent a round of anxious mutterings amongst the gaggle of crewmen under hismand.

    One, in particr, tittered more nervously than the rest... a thin and gangly Coral Boy wearing a tattered, once-white coat.

    "Ihihi... Does ''at... does it mean I should boom da fing?"

    "Yeh," Stickyfingers tilted his chin up, "Boom da fing."

    "Ahahiihi... yeah. Good eye, good eye..." Doc nodded eagerly.

    The Coral Boy hopped up and shoved a few of the other boys aside to make space.

    With almost reverent care, he popped a... ''special'' round in the under-barrel of his modified hextech rifle. Pointing it at the sky, he pulled the trigger,unching the projectile with a resounding ''THMP.''

    High in the air, the thing boomed with a loud, satisfying crack.

    The whole beach lit up, extra special with a muck-red light. It made the light from the silvery moon not so nice and convenient as it had been.

    Stupid moon. If that thing wasn''t around, it would have taken him and his squad half as long to kill all the patrols that needed killing.

    It was frustrating. Stickyfingers had elves to kill... and besides that, he had a special request he needed to fulfill to a girlie he met in Whitehearth.

    Anyroad, with the new and improved coloring all around, it was about time for a proper bloodbath.

    "Woop. Ihihi..." Doc giggled as he pointed, "Da boss of ''em... ''e ran off, ah? Speedy li''ul bugger, ain''t he?"

    "Ain''t nuffin'' we ain''t used to," Stickyfingers shrugged.

    He followed the enemy Commander with his spyss... a humie that went by the name Woy.

    He looked strong... but not stronger than Twelve of Twelve. Not stronger than the Bosun. Definitely not stronger than the Captain.

    The humans... they relied on numbers. There were some strong ones, amongst them-- of that he was sure.

    But the waves were shite... better to hide the best swimmers in the fleet.

    The sea rains didn''t look like they were stopping anytime soon... making each and every Coral Boy in the crew real f*cking hard to kill.

    ...And as stupid as the moon was, there were more than enough ck clouds to make sneaking about not so difficult-- as long as one kept clever, going about their business.

    The sea god was practically inviting the Marines to raid his home and f*ck everything that moved and had a hole.

    "Eh... hehe... hehehehe..." Stickyfingers found himselfughing, a deep and low gurgle... one that the rest of the boys started picking up on.

    "Whaddya say, Leads?" One of the boys sneered as he held up his crossbow, "Should we give da back line a li''ul bit o'' trouble?"

    "Yeh, yEAhh!" A second boy cackled, "We kin charge in... give ''em some good choppin'' an'' stompin''."

    "bReAKING deir TEEeeeef," Said another.

    A third licked his lips with a purple tongue, "cHeWIN'' on deir LIVERSSSS!! Ahaha..."

    "Ehehe... naw," Stickyfingers took a breath as he put Sockets'' spyss away.

    He was a good one... that Sockets. It was a real shame he was going to miss the best fight the crew had had to date.

    "Ey. Doc."

    "Yea?" Doc turned back, ducking his head down, real politely, "Wot''z up, Leadin'' ''And?"

    "Take da uvver gunners. Provide support to da main force on da beach."

    "Yeeeahhh? Yeah. We like ''at," Doc nodded. "Wot''ll you be doin?"

    "Us quiet-types are gonna get real personal wiv da Officers an'' logistics..." Stickyfingers grinned as he made a [Gather] signal with a raised arm. "On me, ya gits. Real sneaky-like... movin'' wiv a purpose, yeh? Blood and ''funder."<novelnext></novelnext>

    """Vict''ry at sea,""" Came a round of harsh whispers.

    Stickyfingers slid down the muddy hill and bounded forward in a powerful leap, his weapon out and looking for blood.

    "?Shadowtooth Strike.?"

    As fast as he was going, it wasn''t enough to catch his target unaware. Stickyfingers stabbed his dagger down, but General Jumpy blocked with a sword in hand.

    "Who-- or what the HELLS are--"

    Stickyfingers forced his arm down and twisted, cutting into Jumpy''s wrist and forcing the humie''s weapon out of his tiny, pink fingers.

    Jumpy was quick enough, though. He managed a real good right fist into Stickyfingers'' side.

    There was a sharp, cracking sound.

    It hurt real good, too.

    It wasn''t enough for Stickyfingers to flinch for more than half-a-second. The stronger warrior''s knife slipped real easy into the cunt''s throat.

    A good push and twist opened the hole up real wide.

    It made a bloody, beautiful mess.

    Stickyfingers mmed the humie hard into the dirt before looking to his left and right.

    The others all had their marks down.

    Zero friendly casualties.

    There had been a few shouts... but it wasn''t enough noise to mean anything-- not with all the cloud-booming and the ongoing downpour.

    "Oy, Leads. We stringin'' dese boys up like da uvver ones?"

    "Nah," Stickyfingers chuckled as he wiped his dagger off the dead General''s clothes. "Foight''ll break out in earnest in a tic. We keep to da murderin''."

    "An'' da lootin''?"

    "We get da job done, first," Stickyfingers grinned. "We''ll get to ''at soon enough... but only when *I* give da say so."

    ...

    Jiang Wang Lei screamed his throat hoarse, "Defend the BEACHES, brothers and sisters!!"

    It was no use. The gods saw fit that the thunder from their clouds would drown out his pitifully mortal voice.

    Elder Huiyin flipped her hair in disdain as she swept a hand out, stopping a thirty-fulm wave from crashing into her.

    ...Wang Lei choked before he could shout to her in warning.

    There was a creature within the wave.

    It was one of the creatures from his nightmares... illuminated by the mysterious red of the blood moon.

    It was smiling... with jagged teeth that weren''t teeth-- but solid rock.

    "?Crack da Shell!!?" It brought down a massive two-handed axe...pletely shattering Elder Huiyin''s chi barrier.

    The weapon chopped deep into her left shoulder... then continued down topletely sever her arm. Blood sprayed out of her wound like a fountain as she shrieked in pain and horror.

    "Evenin'', madam," The creature grinned, "Me and da boys ''avee ta kill your god."

    ",

 Chapter 832 Frozen Cairn Sword Manual

    ?Wang Lei stood on the rainy beach, staring in disbelief.

    The monsters...

    They came to kill their god.

    Did the creature mean... the sect''s divine Guardian Beast? Or... the sect''s patron, the Goddess of the Lake?

    Whichever it was, it was ominous news...

    The enemy was not one that could be bargained with.

    The creature reached out itsrge palm and mmed Elder Huiyin into the sand, moments before another wave crashed into them both.

    When the water receded, the de of the stone monster''s axe was plunged into her chest.

    It drew its muscled arm back.

    It struck down, once more.

    And again.

    The creature was... even bigger than the ones in his dreams... even stronger.

    Itughed as it smashed its axe over and over again in the old woman''s corpse.

    It was... enjoying the ughter.

    "Blood and thunder!" It cackled.

    """Vict''ry at sea!!""" Its peers resounded...

    ? They must have belonged to some kind of cult... singing praises to a still-unknown dark god of cruelty and hatred.

    Small voices pleaded in the deep recesses of Lei''s consciousness... the barest whisper hidden by the natural elements...

    "There''s too many of them!!"

    "Please!! Spare me!!"

    "This is the end of our sect!!!!"

    Wang Lei felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

    What he was experiencing... was impossible. Was he suffering yet another nightmare?

    How could there be more than a single one of the rock-skinned monsters? These creatures? Composed purely of violence? Devoid of mercy?

    The hand that held his ringed saber shook as he turned his head... not wanting-- no, absolutely refusing to believe.

    The creatures... they emerged from the dark waters, sprinting onto the beach.

    They hid in the waves... or rode atop them, screaming slurred war cries.

    Some of Wang Lei''s peers... schrs... veteran fighters-- they began firing their arrows andunching spirit attacks at... the ocean itself.

    It was useless-- beyond useless.

    Wang Lei clenched his eyes shut, drowning out the sound of his friends and family members dying all around him.

    What should he do?

    What... could he do?

    Call a retreat?

    Withdraw and regroup... hoping to rally around his sister?

    The battle had barely begun! It had been scant minutes and the defenses that he called for were already decimated.

    No.

    NO!

    It was nothing but wishful thinking that Ying Yue could make it back in time.

    The beach had to be defended...<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...not by hoping for a hero to arrive to save them-- but by the courage of men.

    However, Wang Lei knew his limitations...

    He wasn''t as studious or as gifted or... even as old as many of his allies.

    But... he loved his home. He loved his sect. He was willing to defend it with his life.

    Even if he could prevent a single one of his enemies from breaking through, he had to do just that!

    With a roar of false bravado he held up his ring saber and charged into the shallows.

    A different monster intercepted him... his rocky skin peach... brighter than the rest of his demonic kin.

    Wang Lei swung his saber... and so blessed by the divine fates, it struck true. The de cut into the creature''s flesh, deep into its arm.

    "Die, creature!!" Lei demanded. "You and your ilk are NOT wee on--"

    "Oh, shut the F*CK up, boyo."

    With a grunt, the creature casually swung its axe. Wang Lei''s heavy weapon flew off with a dull ng... and was taken by the roiling waves.

    That level of strength...

    Wang Lei looked at his bleeding hands in shock.

    The creature in front of him was... one of hundreds... all with simr uniforms and piecemeal armor.

    It wasn''t even one of their elites... and it had the strength of one of the Hidden Lake''s Sect Elders.

    "Ahahaaaa! Dat''s da face I was lookin'' for..." A cruel grin crossed the creature''s face, "Pure... f*ckin'' despair... gehehe... Say g''night, ya li''ul bi--"

    A sudden white sh blinded Wang Lei, turning the crimson waters as bright as in the sun. When he opened his eyes... he saw a thin and elegant sword piercing into the creature''s flesh... spilling blood into the shallows.

    A blessing from the Guardian Beast-- no... from the Lake Goddess, herself.

    The creature furrowed its eyes in confusion, staring at the flying sword stabbed halfway through its chest.

    Wasting no time, Wang Lei grabbed the hilt, "?Unforgiving Jaws!!?"

    Drawing the de, hended near-simultaneous vertical shes on the monster''s chest before leaping out of the water to kick the side of its head.

    With a hollow crack, the creature''s neck broke and it toppled backwards into the water.

    Wang Lei drew a deep breath as he swept his rain-drenched hair out of his eyes, "I told you to guard the sect''s inner sanctum... my love."

    "I''m sorry, husband..." Li Jingnded gracefully atop the waters, using her chi to prevent breaking its surface, "but... I couldn''t just..."

    "I wasn''t asking for an apology," Wang Lei smirked as he turned to his savior, "It''s not the first time you''ve saved me after all..."

    He gulped as his gaze wandered. Though it was not the time nor ce to do so, the way that his wife''s robes stuck to her skin was... troublesome.

    "Mind your eyes, Lei," Li Jing stuck her tongue out. "Why are you like this? You''ve already seen everything."

    Lei held out his hand, his ringed saber emerging from the waters and returning to his grip. Simultaneously, he released his wife''s conjured moon de, which flew back to her own fair hand.

    "I''ll hold them off as long as I can," He waved. "Go back and warn the others."

    Li Jing lowered her head... "I... I won''t."

    As dry as Wang Lei''s throat was, he forcibly swallowed his saliva... "I am the *Commander* of our martial forces, Li Jing."

    "I''m... sorry, Lei... I still won''t."

    Wang Lei grit his teeth. He needed someone to go back... to activate the emergency defense formations...

    Still... if Li Jing refused, he could only fight alongside her... to protect her as they gathered as many cultivators as they could to withdraw.

    Recently, his wife received a sword manual from the Matriarch of the Frozen Cairn Sect.

    She could control two to three flying swords and use them in conjunction with her weapon attacks... It was such a dangerous and deadly technique that only Wang Lei was capable of coordinating with her.

    ...With her... they could hold back the tide of monsters.

    That is... as long as they were not still hiding their strength.

 Chapter 833 Light In The Darkness

    ?A sound reverberated throughout the battlefield... over the shouts of men and women dying... over the merciless thunder and the crashing waves.

    It was... a snap?

    It bored into Wang Lei''s brain, almost loud enough to bleed his ears.

    Something struck him in the stomach. It took him nearly a second to even register the pain.

    It was...

    Li Jing? She... had kicked him.

    But... why?

    Wang Lei became... weightless... flying backward through the air-- powerless to stop himself. Three flying swords made of moonlight had hooked onto his robes and were carrying him away.

    Bile in his gut rose as he felt himself fall. He crashed into the ground, far away from the murderous waves of the beach.

    ...Safe.

    His head throbbed as he struggled to think. A gash on his head stung painfully where salt water and sweat still kissed his wounds.

    He iled about, forcing himself to look back towards the crimson shore.

    Li Jing, his one and only love, continued to fight... weaponless.

    Over two dozen of the creatures had made it onto the beach.

    Cultivators in over twice that numberid dead.

    Silhouettes twice that still swam in the waters, illuminated by errant lightning.

    ...The enemy had taken injuries... but no casualties.

    Wang Lei''s eyes shot open as Li Jing turned back to him... and mouthed a single word.

    ''Go.''

    Her meaning was clear.

    The beach was lost.

    Avenge her.

    The peach-colored stone creature emerged from the waters behind her-- a merciless tower of hate and violence.

    Wang Lei... had cut it down. He delivered what should have been a mortal injury, piercing its throat and nearly severing its thick torso in half.

    Yet still... it stood.

    It... grabbed onto her arm.

    She fought back. She stabbed. She kicked. She used ancient techniques passed on from the Venerable Ancestor, himself.

    It was useless.

    The creature hacked its heavy axe de into her abdomen.

    "LI JIIIIIIIIING!!!!!!"

    Wang Lei scrambled to his feet... half-blinded by the rains... watching in horror.

    The creature ced its hands into her wound.

    Like a children''s wooden doll... he tore at her flesh, ripping her apart.

    "No..."

    Wang Lei copsed to his knees and stared at the sky...

    The sounds of battle raged on the beach below him... cries of despair echoing in his ears.

    "How can evil triumph over our sect?!"

    "Why won''t they die?"

    "The gods have forsaken us!"

    The moon glowed through the clouds... watching every moment... every cry for mercy... every crippling injury.

    She watched every cultivator blessed by her light die without aplete corpse...

    And she did nothing.

    Through the tears and sobs... Wang Lei watched the creature drop Li Jing... then turn to engage another enemy.<novelnext></novelnext>

    His wife''s two halves bled in the shallows... still connected by viscera... painted ever-crimson by the unholy light in the sky.

    Wang Lei... had spoken to her only breaths prior... and never again would he hear her voice.

    He had not yet awoken. The nightmare still continued...

    "ALRIIIIGHT!!" A human voice cut through the din of battle, "LISTEN UP, ah-- ...whoever the F*CK YOU GUYS ARE!!"

    Wang Lei wiped the tears and rain from his face... hardening his spirit with the desire for vengeance.

    There was... a human on the beach, a man wearing the green garb of a naval Captain. He was being actively supported by four of his monster ves... invincible... peerless.

    "My NAME is Captain Krysaos of the Neptune''s Revenge!!" He instilled chi into his voice as he cut down arrows and icy sts with his rapier, "and all you sea god worshippin'' SHITE-BAGS are gonna get GANKED, your treasures, LOOTED, and any hot, big-titty women, f*ckin'' EN-SLAVED!!!"

    "Your heart is filled with evil incarnate, Outsider!!" A defiant voice boomed in return, "We of the Hidden Lake sect will NOT yield Moon Crescent Isle to you!!"

    Wang Lei''s heart skipped a beat.

    Hope. There was hope, after all.

    Elder Zhou-- Jun Ping''s father had rallied the north side of the beach to face the enemy leader.

    He spun his halberd, drawing a line in the sand, "Sea God watch over us... we shall not allow you to cross this line."

    It was a domineering bluff. The enemy leader reached the Nascent Profound Realm, at the very least...

    However, the Hidden Lake sect had an advantage. Crescent Moon Isle was their home. The cultivators that fought on the beach were friends and family.

    Wang Lei immediately started sprinting towards the Elder. Together, they''d be able to turn the tides with coordinated attacks... if the heavens were willing.

    "BOYYYYS!!" A gargling voice roared in the distance, "LIGHT ''EM UUUUP!!!!!"

    What? What... could that mean?

    **BOOM**

    An unfamiliar sound resounded... a horrifying crack that whispered death and smelled of sweet smoke.

    He didn''t know what it was... but from what he''d experienced, it was yet another of the Outsiders'' wicked magics.

    **BOOM!! BOM-BOM-BOM BOM BOM!!!!**

    With another series of pops and bangs, the woods ind lit up in tiny shes of gold and white.

    A number of enemy magicians... had nked them.

    Elder Zhou fell, his face to the sand, before he could swing his weapon a single time.

    The Martialists that charged towards the enemy leader were cut down by axe and sword. The ones that ran east towards the forest were cut down by an invisible force, along with the loud, smoky explosions. Those that fled anywhere else... they too, died... no enemy in sight.

    Wang Lei slipped, tumbling in the mud and skidding on his elbows and knees...

    His hopes for vengeance were rekindled... but that moment... was far too brief.

    No... He pped his own face as hard as he could.

    No, there was still hope.

    Even without Elder Zhou... nothing had changed.

    The path for victory remained the same... defeating the enemy Commander.

    The man who called himself Krysaos... his death would be pivotal towards turning the tide of battle.

    Yet... Wang Lei was no hero.

    In his moment of doubt... he wondered... what would Ying Yue do?

    He clenched his eyes shut, crying thest of his tears.

    He''d never been envious of his sister''s status as the Chosen One.

    He was never strong enough to do what she could do... to be what she was...

    All he wanted to do was grow old with his wife... a wish that could no longer be granted.

    Ying Yue... whatever she would do... she would cast aside her fear.

    Wang Lei might have been a weakling... but he was no coward.

    He needed to stand tall against the nightmare... the minions of whatever dark gods that threatened all he held dear.

    He just hoped... that in the afterlife... Li Jing would forgive him.

 Chapter 834 Sea God Cult

    ?? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX. ?

    ? So there I was... literally surrounded, full circle, by brainwashed cultists. They came by the dozens, using shy Skills, decorated spears, and chains with sharp spikes or, uh... ?

    ? Ehhh, I don''t really know. A bunch of them used real weapons like swords and sticks. A lot of them, though... didn''t. ?

    ? Weird shite. ?

    ? Anyroad, they were all waiting on the stormy beach like they knew we wereing. ?

    ? The only reasonable way they could''ve known was through that prick of a sea god... ?

    ? That meant the whole lot of them were enemies. ?

    ? Enemies get got. ?

    ? They were decently strong, most of them... but it didn''t matter too much. ?

    ? Petty Officer Bob seemed real pissed-- either out of concern for Mina or maybe he just hadn''t gotten off in awhile. ?

    ? The big guy put down some olddy like a cripple-finned clownfish. He took a few hits, but uh... the boys literally cannot f*cking die when it''s raining on shore. ?

    ? The sea god might have warned his cocksuckingckeys ahead of time, but he was a f*cking idiot for letting it rain during the beachnding. ?

    ? Wonderboy managed to kill one. Immediately after, he got sted in the face by some kind of energy ball. ?

    ? ...One for one ain''t bad. Hopefully, he was dead... ?

    ? Rest in pieces, boyo. ?

    ? Barrel Boy took out a surprising amount of bad guys. It''s like no one knew how to fight a murderous barrel, blowing out of the water like a cannonball. ?

    ? F*ck me. I don''t even know how I''d fight a weaponized, death barrel. ?

    ? The cultists tried to mount some kind of organized counterattack... few dozen guys, probably some talent in there, with how their leader wagged his tongue. ?

    ? That didn''tst long. Doc and the ranged line had managed to pull off a sessful nk. They delivered a veritable shite-storm of bullets and crossbow bolts... broke ''em up-- picked off the stragglers too. ?

    ? Not gonna lie, it was pretty impressive. ?

    ? And that''s just talking about the Coral Boys. If all that wasn''t enough... then I''ve got to talk about the strongest Lieutenant in the gods-damned-- ?

    "DIE, HEATHEN SCUMMMM!!!"

    Krysaos lifted the Heart of the Ocean to block a crazed cultist''s quarterstaff, redirecting the force downward to throw the cunt off bnce.

    "I''m TRYIN'' to f*ckin'' think, here!" He spat, running his rapier through the guy''s throat... "Seven f*ckin'' hells... Where was I?"

    ? ...Bah, whatever. ?

    ? Now, I don''t think of myself as a braggart... but the whole operation was only going so well because of me and my leadership. ?

    ? After all, I, Captain Krysaos, am the baddest motherf-- ?

    "Halt, Outsider!!" Another cultist shouted, "I, Wang Lei of the Jiang family, CHALLENGE YOU TO--"

    "Oh,e the f*ck on," Krysaos groaned.

    Some crazy bastard had leapt towards him-- pretty quick, too.

    Before the guy could do him dirty, though, a pale Coral Boy appeared out of nowhere and put a big knife through the side of the cultist''s neck.

    "?Shadowfang Strike.?"

    ...Krysaos raised an eyebrow. That sounded like a movement technique... and a familiar one.

    "That you, Stickyfingers?"

    Leading Hand Stickyfingers straightened his back and rendered a quick salute. "Evenin'', Cap''n. Gen''lemen."

    The other Coral Boys guarding Krysaos returned various nods and half-salutes.

    "Evenin'', Leads." "Good kill, mate." "Bah, ya shoulda went fer ''is nads."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Good work," Krysaos stood tall as he adjusted thepels of his coat... "Dunno what that guy was thinkin'', announcin'' himself like that."

    "Yeh," Stickyfingers shrugged. "Made ''is mark real obvious... emanated a whole lot of killy intent... ''E did jus'' about everyfing da Bosun said *not* to do."

    Krysaos narrowed his eyes. It seemed Stickyfingers was getting personal instruction from Lieutenant Tycon... not that that should have been surprising.

    "Good for you, boyo. You see the LT anywhere?"

    Suddenly a... snapping sound echoed throughout the battlefield, even louder than the lightning.

    "DEATHH!!!" A deep, but human-ish voice bellowed, "Des-TRUCTION!!!"

    All the Coral Boys responded at the same time, sounding suspiciously like a cohesive army...

    """TO''AL ANNIHILATIOOOONNN!!!"""

    "Total!" Krysaos thrusted his hand forward, taking control of a crashing wave behind him. It smashed into a random, panicking cultist, sinking a cannonball-sized water sphere into their chest...

    At the same time, Stickyfingers had leapt towards a different enemy, taking them down by the neck and stabbing them several times in the chest, "ANNIHILATION!!!"

    ...The Coral Boy stood up and awkwardly walked back to Krysaos, "We uh... might not know dunno where da Bosun is, Cap''n. But uh--"

    "But we can hear him just fine," Krysaos waved. "Yeah. I got it."

    He looked at the rapier in his hand.

    When he first picked up the Heart of the Ocean, he didn''t realize just how powerful it was. It made his mana control easier, it made his reactions a little bit quicker, and it ran through flesh and armor as easy as a filet knife.

    But then again... Krysaos had gotten a lot stronger since the Tree God''s Forest...

    He didn''t want to admit it, but it seemed like the stupid meditation shite that Tycon forced him to do did just what he said it would.

    ...Of course, it would.

    "I fink I see da Bosun, Cap''n," One of the boys pointed back to the waters.

    A massive, white-scaled sea serpent was sticking its head out of the stormy ocean, staring impassively as waves crashed into and around him.

    That was the LT, alright.

    ...But how did he make that snapping noise? The current Tycon didn''t have fingers.

    "Huh..." Stickyfingers scratched at his head. "Y''know... iss... funny, innit? When da Bosun yells real loud, everyone jus''... fights harder fer sum reason."

    "...Mm. Never noticed."

    "Think he''ll use uh... some kinda beam skill?" The pale Coral Boy asked hopefully. "like one o'' em Levia''fans?"

    "Wiv all due respect, Leads," One of the boys twisted his maw as his axe chopped some cultist''s leg off, "Da Bosun''s more precise about ''is killing-- more... personal."

    "Bah. Look at da size of ''im, doh?!" The grumpy one countered.

    He had a cultist grabbed by the legs and was stomping on his groin, "Da Bosun jus'' needs ta hit da beach and ''frash about! Ain''t ''at roight, Cap''n?"

    "Nah," Krysaos shook his head. "LT said he wanted to conserve his energy in case a boss monster shows up. Also, you there. Quit f*ckin'' off."

    "Aye aye, Cap''n," The third Coral Boy pouted... but two chops of his axe properly decapitated the sap he already had bloodied and broken.

    Stickyfingers looked legitimately confused... "Da Bosun really finks ''ese... ''ooever ''ese humies are... ''ave a boss monsta?"

    Kryasos didn''t me him, "Well, ah, the LT''s pretty spot on for things like that... usually."

    "Ah... yeahhh," Stickyfingers shrugged. "Prolly best not to fink too much about it, eh, Cap''n?"

    "Well, I''mma let you get back to it, gentlemen," Krysaos smiled as he patted his crewman on the shoulder, "Take care o'' these guys, Leads. I''ll be going ahead on my own."

    "You got it, Cap''n. Kehehe..." Stickyfingers chuckled as he rendered a sloppy salute.

    ? Now with that out of the way... ?

    ? So there I was... ?

 Chapter 835 Huge Misunderstanding

    ?Jiang Ying Yue was d for Jerim Jya''s ominous prophecy.

    The Cloud Goddess said that Moon Crescent Isle would be attacked.

    The Hidden Lake sect listened.

    She, Sect Elder Weiqi, and the others were able to entreat the sect''s Venerable Ancestor for assistance, just as the enemiesnded upon the northern beach.

    But no matter how many of them there were, it was impossible for them to gain any ground.

    Thebined forces of the Sect Elders stood against them.

    And even if they didn''t...

    Ying Yue shuddered as she thought about how powerful the Venerable Ancestor was.

    She sensed it... only briefly. He did nothing but walk and breathe, but his chi radiated out of him like an unstoppable waterfall.

    ...And he was probably holding back.

    He could probably fend off a dozen ships full of enemy warriors without breaking a sweat... on his own.

    Everything was going to be okay.

    The northern half of the isle was safe... and her brother, Wang Lei, guarded the western beaches with the tried and tested cultivators of the current generation.

    Yet... Ying Yue still felt uneasy.

    She had a deep, dark feeling in her gut that something might still go wrong.

    Mounting her flying sword, she excused herself from the elders and took to the rainy skies to search for other enemies.

    Obviously, she, herself, wasn''t bound to just walking.

    It wasn''t impossible for more Outsiders to sneak onto the ind the same way... or maybe they rode fantastic beasts... or could scale steep cliff walls.

    After several minutes, she spotted movement amongst the coniferous trees.

    An enemy! A sailor of some sort? He was wearing a green military coat and just... trudging along like he was in a bad mood.

    If he made it that far on his own, he was probably pretty strong.

    Ying Yue grinned as she tilted her flying sword down, speeding down like she was copying her brother''s ?Meteor Dive.?

    The best way for her to feel secure about the whole situation was going all out in a fight .

    It had been awhile... so she was going to enjoy every punch thrown, every bone broken, and really proving to the unsuspecting enemy just exactly how strong she was.

    "HEYYYY!!! WHAT''S UUUUUUUUP, BEE-YOTTTTTCH????!"

    Ying Yue hit the ground before the enemy could react. A huge ice-crystal formation shot up around where shended with an ?Icicle Crash?... and even though the guy leapt out of the way, his whole left arm was sealed in thick ice.

    "Pweh!" The guy got to a knee, spitting out dirt, "What the--"

    Grabbing onto her sword, Ying Yue pointed it forward at the guy''s neck, "Who in the seven hells are you, HUH?!?"

    He looked... human-- which shouldn''t really have been surprising. But now that she was so close... he didn''t look very strong at all.

    Kinda strong? Or middle strong, maybe... Whatever he was, he wasn''t anywhere near her level.

    ...It was incredibly disappointing.

    "Eh?" The guy blinked, "My name is Krysaos. Who uh... are you, then?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "My name is Jiang Ying Yue of the Hidden Lake sect! Now tell me, Outsider, how did you get past my brother?!"

    "No idea who that is, girlie," Krysaos brushed dirt and mud off of his coat sleeves. "Why''re you askin'' me?"

    "Quit acting dumb! You''re part of the invasion force!" Ying Yue narrowed her eyes, "You''ve obviouslye to enter the Divine Realm below the ind!"

    Krysaos shook his arm... but the frozen block of ice wouldn''t be so easy to break free of, "There''s a uh... what-now below the ind?"

    Ying Yue drew back her sword-- but still stood in a defensive stance, "Deny it all you want, Outsider. Just know that your attack will be foiled! Our strongest Martialists are defending the north side of the ind against your other forces as we speak!"

    "Another ship on the north side of the ind?" Krysaos pursed his lips... "Ya don''t say..."

    "I do say!"

    "Good to know," Krysaos nodded before lifting his sealed arm, "Hey, girlie, could you do something about this? It''s pretty ufortable... and this is my good hand."

    "Wait..." Ying Yue grimaced.

    ...It wouldn''t have been the first time she attacked a totally innocent bystander.

    Usually, they panic a little-- or a lot.

    She silently thanked the heavens that Krysaos was being so nonchnt about it.

    "...Are you... really not part of the other attackers?" She asked.

    "I''m pretty sure that''s a no... but uh..." Krysaos bit his upper lip. "I don''t suppose... the other fes got funny looking ears?"

    Ying Yue tilted her head, thinking back on it... "W-well... yeah. I guess they do?"

    She''d heard that before the Hidden Lake sect began guarding Moon Crescent Isle, it used to be guarded and governed by elves... but that was over a thousand years ago.

    If they were just returning peacefully to their ancient homnd-- and her sect openly attacked them, then everything was just a huge misunderstanding.

    ...Ying Yue was getting a bad feeling that there was more to the attack than the Cloud Goddess was letting on.

    Or even worse... maybe the gods were ying games and the Hidden Lake sect was just another of their pawns.

    "I got a bone to pick with those guys-- so we''re not exactly friends. As you can see, I''ve got--" Krysaos thunked his head with his ice-block arm. "Ow. Ugh... normal human ears."

    Yue quietly sheathed her sword and crossed her arms... "Y-yeah..."

    She looked at Krysaos'' ears.

    Like he said, they were... undeniably human.

    ...which meant he probably wasn''t rted to the elves.

    ...But who the heck was he?

    Krysaos caught her gaze, causing Yue to turn away as he cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

    It wasn''t like he was cute. If anything, he was too old for her.

    He *was* ten times more attractive than any of the people she''d adventured with, but that didn''t mean anything.

    She just didn''t like talking to guys.

    Yeah, that was it...

    "You''re not too smart, are ya, girlie?" Krysaos frowned.

 Chapter 836 Letâ€™s See How You Do

    ?Jiang Ying Yue''s eyes shot open, "Excuse me?!!"

    She was actually... a really stupid woman.

    And besides that, she was incredibly clumsy-- all the time.

    But, so what?! She was good at fighting! That was more than enough!!

    She grabbed onto her sword hilt and widened her stance, "I''ll show you!!"

    Before she could show Krysaos how smart she was... she was blinded by a bright, gleaming smile.

    It was like the moonlight shone directly on the sailor''s face, making all his teeth sparkle...

    "Oh,e on," He chuckled. "I''m sure you got lotttts of good traits~"

    "I uh..." Ying Yue gulped as she spun around, giving Krysaos her back, "I''ve been called worse."

    That man had a... very handsome smile. It made her think that... maybe he wasn''t so viinous.

    Attractive people can''t be bad guys.

    "I''m... really smart," Yue grumbled to herself.

    It was a lie... but saying it out loud made her feel a little better.

    "You think so?" Krysaos smirked, "Well... what can you say about me, then?"

    Ying Yue cleared her throat as she turned to face the clearly not-Elven Krysaos.

    Looking at him again, he wasn''t exactly wearing armor...

    He did have a personal weapon-- a rapier, but it looked more ornamental than functional. If anything, it wasn''t really something she expected an invader to wield.

    He obviously wasn''t a Martialist... If Yue was being serious, Krysaos would probably die in a single punch.

    With his get-up... he was maybe... some kind of rogue trader?

    A pirate, maybe? No... it looked like he cut his hair and shaved regrly. Pirates don''t do that.

    ...The more Ying Yue thought about it, the dumber she felt for attacking without making sure Krysaos was actually an enemy. She could have killed him!

    "Well..." She puffed up her cheeks... "Judging by what you''re wearing... you''re a Captain of some sort."

    The man pursed his lips and nodded, "Captain Krysaos of the Neptune''s Revenge, at your service."

    "And... with the storm... your ship probably got blown off course."

    "Yeah... the storm was pretty bad only a little while ago," Krysaos scratched the side of his head... "like the sea god was real pissed at somethin''."

    "Oh, and... even though you said it," Yue smiled. "You''re left-handed... Oh. Oh, seven hells..."

    Krysaos threw his head back in an honestugh, "Hah! Don''t feel too bad about it, girlie."

    "Noooo!!" Yue hurriedly bowed, "I''m so sorry. OBVIOUSLY, a peaceful trader would keep their weapon on their weak side to make it more difficult to draw."

    "You''re good. You''re good!" Tha man waved. "Hey, listen-- we may have gotten off on the wrong foot... like I said earlier, my name is Krysaos. Nice to meet''cha."

    The Captain offered his left arm forward-- still encased in its ice.

    Yue flinched-- her adventuring instincts telling her not to trust a handshake so easily.

    Her mind raced as she stared...

    What would her brother do?

    Gather more information. That''s what he''d do...<novelnext></novelnext>

    She had to trust him-- but just for the meantime.

    While anyone could be an enemy, they were also potential allies.

    Put up to the standards of the Hidden Lake Martialists... Captain Krysaos wasn''t much of a threat. However, he must have been both smart *and* resourceful to have gotten past Wang Lei and his forces. In the current sun and age, that was just as important as personal strength.

    "My name is Ying Yue..." She approached Krysaos and put her hands on his frozen arm, "Just hah... give me a second and I''ll get you out of this."

    Channeling her chi, she began to unfreeze the ice. She was being extra-careful, in respect to Krysaos strength. Thest thing she wanted was to break his arm off...

    "Niiiice," Krysaos nodded. "Pretty good mana control, you got there, Ying."

    "Oh, haha. Right," Yue giggled. "Sorry, I was confused for a second. What you Outsiders call mana, we call chi... Ah. And my friends call me Yue."

    "Uh huh," Krysaos grinned. "Yue.. Yue... that''s a pretty name. It sounds--"

    Ying Yue leapt back, her body moving before her mind couldprehend what had happened.

    Her robes had been cut, a thin, diagonal line of crimson across her abdomen just shy of her chest.

    She crossed her arms over her head to block, just as Krysaos smashed his ice arm against them.

    He... he had attacked her. And for some reason... his arm didn''t shatter when the ice did?

    "You..."

    "Hah! I''m stronger than I look?" Krysaosughed, "Yeah, I get that a lot. ?Fan of Knives!?"

    The crystalline fragments on the ground immediately started pelting Ying Yue. None of the attacks hurt much, but each ice knife exploded in a burst of blinding white powder.

    She... had been TRICKED!!

    And she deserved it wholeheartedly to have listened to the words of a decently attractive guy!

    Gritting her teeth, she began to circte her chi.

    "You''re not left-handed at all!!! Fist of the-- oof!!"

    "HAH! I like how that''s what you''re mad about!"

    Ying Yue felt a brief weightlessness, then the wind escaped her lungs as her back hit the mud. In an instant, Krysaos kicked his legs over her chest and--

    "Let''s see how well you fight with a broken ARM!" He grunted.

    "AIIIIEEEE!!"

    She screamed as she felt her right shoulder dislocate. Then, felt a solid heel strike take her breath from her lungs.

    Krysaos-- he was... really good. But unfortunately for him, Ying Yue didn''t need to breathe to kick his arse!

    Ignoring the pain, she kipped up and rotated her body... swinging her entire arm over, smashing Krysaos'' full weight into the dirt.

    He managed to let go, rolling with the momentum... but Yue wasn''t going to let him escape-- not after embarrassing her like that.

    She scrambled over and mounted Krysaos'' chest, lifting up her good fist.

    "Let''s see how well you fight with a broken FACE, Outsider!!"

    "Brother-Captain," A man''s disappointed voice called out, "get away from there."

    A cold chill ran down Ying Yue''s spine, making her hesitate.

    As skilled as she was, she didn''t sense that man''s approach, at all!

 Chapter 837 Surely Suffering

    ?"Wueh?" Ying Yue turned her head, "BEHHH!!"

    Out of reflex, she lifted her arm to block a surprise attack. Krysaos had kicked both feet at her chest-- so she took the impact and used the momentum to roll backward.

    For that man to be so acrobatic... he must have been a Martialist as well.

    That didn''t make any sense, though!

    She''d watched him move earlier-- and the speed and agility of his double-kick were on a different level!

    Yue knelt down and drew her sword, shing in front of her. She deflected something with a solid ng that made her good arm shake... something... metal?

    A...nother sword?

    "Che! Really!?" She scoffed, "What kind of idiot just throws their weapon away like that?"

    "Good evening."

    Yue whipped her head around and looked up.

    Standing right in front of her... was the most handsome man she''d ever seen...

    His short, green hair flowed in the wind and his golden eyes reflected in the starlight.

    He was wearing a simr coat to Krysaos... but it fit his lithe frame just a tiny bit better.

    Unlike the treacherous Captain, the man in front of Ying Yue was certainly a warrior... a cultivator. He held a curved de in both hands, raised above... ready to bring it down and end her life.

    ...Ying Yue was in a bad spot.

    She only had one good arm...

    Her guard was down after that crazy-strong sword throw.

    ...And she''d just called him an idiot.

    She shut her eyes... There was little else she could do.

    The warrior in front of her was emitting an aura of power... strong-- maybe even stronger than she was.

    If that person had helped Krysaos get so far ind, then it was possible that her brother, Wang Lei, had been defeated inbat.

    He might have already been dead...

    And she, too... was going to die.

    But... it just didn''t feel right.

    Ying Yue was the Chosen One.

    It wouldn''t be fair if she died so easily.

    "?Domain Skill: Realm of the Cloud Goddess...?"

    ...

    ? Some timeter... ?

    The Cloud Goddess'' Domain was only supposed to be used in an emergency-- that is... if the worst came to pass.

    It was entrusted to Jiang Ying Yue by Jerim Jya, herself.

    That made her the formation focus. When the Domain needed to be activated, all she had to do, in theory, was stand still and not touch anything. The sect formation masters would do all the work, opening a Gate to usher the various families into safety.

    The Realm of the Cloud Goddess would hide and protect the entire sect.

    As for how long that protection period wouldst... it could be moons, maybe years or decades... or maybe even a generation or two. It all depended on the quality of treasures in that Domain-- and whether or not the sect could subsist and flourish.

    The logic was... if the invading force was really so great, it was better for Hidden Lake to withdraw and rebuild than to get annihted without anything to show for it.

    However...

    Jiang Ying Yue... was an idiot.

    She had activated a Domain Skill on her own...<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...It was a wonder that it worked, in the first ce, as she was nowhere near Monarch-Rank.

    She might have managed to escape dying... but she''d also risked the only safeguard her sect had.

    "Eleven heavens... and seven hells," She cursed to herself as she blinked tears out of her eyes.

    Besidesining about her overall stupidity, shemented her empty belly.

    It felt like forever... but realistically it had probably been a few bells of her soaring around on her flying sword through the clouds.

    ...At worst, it had been a few suns.

    ...And she was being on the hopeful side.

    "Heh..." Yue smirked ignobly.

    At the very least, that sword-throwing dummy should have been even more confused.

    He was definitely suffering.

    The stronger someone was, the hungrier they got-- at least until they reached the level of the Venerable Ancestor and could go on without food for moons.

    When she finally found him, he''d be easy to defeat.

    And after she beat him up, she could ask about what he''d done to Wang Lei.

    Then, once that was done, all she had to worry about was--

    "Ughhhhhh..."

    Ying Yue groaned loudly.

    There was no way out of the Realm of the Cloud Goddess without a formation master...

    If she were the heroine of a story, the way out would be to defeat the green-haired Outsider.

    ...but if beating up a single person within the Domain could break it, it wouldn''t have been a very good safe realm to begin with.

    The *real* way... probably... was... to reach Monarch-rank. Then, she''d surely be strong enough to take control of the Realm of the Cloud Goddess on her own.

    That would just take... her cultivating for a couple hundred years... and luck worth three or four of her lifetimes.

    ...which was the most boring way possible to spend literally the best years of her life.

    Ying Yue really wished she had asked Jerim Jya to tell her about her Domain...

    At the time, she didn''t really want to know.

    She had been arrogant andcent. She never even paused to consider that she''d have to act on her own... without the decades of experience Sect Master Weiqi had... or even the big brains in Wang Lei''s big head.

    Ying Yue smacked her forehead with her palm.

    "I''m going to be an old, unmarried hag by the time I get out of here," She sniffled... "Eh?"

    Surprised-- she held her hands out and stabilized her chi to halt her flight.

    She... had smelled something?

    It was nice that the air wasn''t actually thin, even though she was flying through the skies.

    Following her keen senses, she redirected her sword and sped towards her new destination... upwards, through thick mist, and...

    "WHY ARE YOU HERE?!?!"

    The man was casually tending to a cookfire upon which two medium-sized fish were grilling.

    They smelled DELICIOUS!!

    But he wasn''t suffering AT ALL!!!!!

    "Ah," He raised an eyebrow, "Good morning. I was wondering when you''d show up."

 Chapter 838 Strike A Deal

    ?The green-haired man was reclining indifferently atop a tranquil, cotton-white cloud, his sword stuck in the fluff upright beside him.

    He looked almost the same as Jiang Ying Yue remembered. He still wore his dark blue, long-sleeved coat, but the aura he gave off was... different.

    All the killing intent Jiang Ying Yue sensed from him back on Moon Crescent Isle was gone... and it was reced by... serenity? He seemed to be more of an ascended cultivator, removed from the troubles of the mortal Realm, rather than a sword-throwing ruffian.

    He didn''t look older or anything... but his hair had grown long and flowy-- and it was tied into a gant ponytail.

    But besides his deep voice, smooth skin, perfectly symmetrical face, and long, luxurious hair... the sheer audacity of that man rxing on a cloud like some sort of ancient god was NOT what Ying Yue wanted to see!

    "ANSWER MEEEEEEE!!!!" She shouted.

    She shook her fist very threateningly to entuate her anger.

    "Why am I in this ce?" The man pursed his lips, "I was hoping that *you* would elucidate me to that, youngdy."

    "WHY ARE YOU JUST COOKING FOOOOOD?!?!?!"

    The man narrowed his golden eyes... "Please, Miss, restrain your urgency. I will answer your questions, but... in return, I''d like you to lower your voice."

    "Draw your WEAPONNNN!!" Yue crouched down on her flying de, assuming an offensive stance, "LET''S FIIIIIGHT!!!"

    As a perfect counter to her seriousness... her stomach rumbled just as loud as she was yelling.

    It was... a long, loonnnnnng disgusting noise.

    Jiang Ying Yue... had, never in her life, felt such shame.

    The green-haired man calmly shut his eyes... "I know this is a troubling situation... but there is no need to panic. For now, sit by the fire. I''ll have your share ready in a moment."

    ? ...Ying Yue felt like a small child being scolded by an adult.

    ...which was extra stupid, because the guy in front of her didn''t look much older than she was.

    Still... he was right. Yue was panicking... and being unreasonable. Maybe it was because she was hungry?

    Thankfully, like a gentleman, the man didn''t say anything about her rumbly belly.

    ...Ying Yue was still a little embarrassed, though.

    She carefully leaned off of her sword... and extra-carefully crawled onto the cloud-floor. Then, as gracefully as she could manage... and as politely as possible, she tucked her legs underneath her and sat by the cook-fire.

    "...Thank you," She whispered, bowing her head deeply.

    The man nodded simply in acknowledgement, "Mhm."

    Ying Yue sat quietly... mulling over her situation.

    First... she would eat. Then, she would challenge the cook to a fight to the death.

    She''d be victorious, of course-- oh, but the food smelled so lovely.

    In exchange for her meal... Yue was determined to spare the green-haired man after he submitted to her awesome power.

    Yue looked at the man''s clothes... in particr at the shine of the silver bar on his cor. He must have been some kind of Officer... so he''d make excellent hostage material.

    He could cook... and he didn''t look half-bad.

    No, that was a lie.

    He was probably the most handsome man she''d ever seen-- even though his hair was... green for some reason?

    Maybe he wasn''t 100% human? A child of a nature spirit or... a Divine Beast?

    Yue crossed her arms. Was she okay with that? She never thought of herself as being with anyone that wasn''t human.

    ...She hadn''t given much thought of being with anyone-- ever.

    The Hidden Lake sect forbade their Martialists from marrying Outsiders... so she never looked at anyone... in that way.

    ...But rules were dead and people were alive!

    Jiang Ying Yue was one of the strongest cultivators in the sect... everrrrr! They''d bend the rules for her-- for sure!<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...She was lonely.

    ...Even her socially inept brother managed to find a wife.

    Ah! Oh... oh, no.

    Wang Lei... poor Wang Lei... He''d been killed.

    Or maybe he hadn''t been? She hadn''t seen his body after all.

    Maybe she was overreacting? Lei *was* pretty strong...

    But... but... it was still possible that her brother had been incapacitated by unscrupulous, dishonorable means.

    Stealth? Enchanted weaponry? Orcish Sugar technology? A Fourth-Circle scroll of ?Lightning Bolt??

    Poison!

    The green-haired man was trying to poison her!!

    "It''s going to get cold," Her poisoner chided. "Or do you not like mushrooms?"

    "You are WRONG, Sir!!" Yue pointed angrily, "I, Jiang Ying Yue, LOVE mushrooms!!"

    The gentleman smiled politely as he offered a wooden te of fish, mushrooms, and a fluffy clump of rice as pure-white as the clouds...

    "...Well, then, Jiang Ying Yue, please enjoy."

    Yue snatched the te away-- careful not to spill anything...

    It looked good.

    It... smelled divine.

    Granted, Yue was hungry enough to eat grass stems and dirt... but... there wasn''t any of that anywhere around! She was sitting on a CLOUD in the SKY!! And sitting across from her was...

    "Why are you feeding me?" She growled. "Huh?? Do you like me or something?"

    "Because you are hungry," The man responded.

    ...The answer came quickly enough that it didn''t seem to have any duplicity in it.

    It... made sense, though. When people are hungry, it was polite to feed them.

    Yue lowered her head, muttering indignantly, "I... I''m not going to ept food from an enemy... much less, a stranger."

    "My name is Tycon. It''s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Lady Jiang."

    Yue averted her gaze, blushing... while also taking in the deep, luxurious scent of the meal Tycon had prepared for her...

    "It''s poisoned, isn''t it?"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Short answer: no."

    "Long answer, please."

    Tycon let out a wistful sigh. It made Ying Yue almost regret asking...

    "Very well," He said, "Youngdy, I pride myself as both a professional in preparing meals and at mercenary work. They are, however, very separate professions. While I am not averse to using venomous weaponry in the field, I *refuse* to utilize poison in the creation of my meals..."

    Tycon was a professional mercenary... which exined why he was on Moon Crescent Isle to begin with..

    Further, he was trapped in the Divine Realm with her. He had no way to leave... and probably assumed that she was in control.

    That meant... she had the advantage.

    They... they could strike a deal.

    Hope sprung in Ying Yue''s heart... that maybe she didn''t have to fight the man in front of her, after all.

    ",

 Chapter 839 Alluring Gaze

    ?Jiang Ying Yue looked up at Tycon''s handsome visage, the breeze gently ruffling his hair even despite the ponytail.

    She gulped and licked her incredibly chapped lips.

    His hair looked so... soft... and glossy... She wanted to run her hand down his--

    ...Oh, no.

    How did she look? Her hair was a mess-- that was for sure.

    Oh, no!

    When was thest time she brushed her teeth? She was supposed to do that once a day-- at least!

    An uneasy chill crept down her shoulders and back... but not because of her personal hygiene.

    Tycon''s eyes were an unnatural, bright gold...

    ...like... a snake''s.

    Was the reason her heart was beating so fast... because he was a viin?

    "Y-you have funny eyes," Ying Yue grumbled.

    She noticed it before! But... it wasn''t so obvious. She kept looking everywhere *except* Tycon''s alluring gaze.

    The dashing cultivator brought his face close, a loose strand of green hanging over one eye...

    Ying Yue closed her mouth and stopped breathing, hoping to save Tycon from her noxious breath.

    He spoke with slow, measured... almost seductive words... "Are you implying, Miss Ying Yue... that the color or shape of my eyes make me less trustworthy?"

    What?

    Whaaaat?!

    That was too much! Ying Yue was a foreigner who adventured throughout the Realms. If anything, SHE was the untrustworthy one!

    No-- wait! NO!

    He-- this Tycon person-- he couldn''t say that! SHE wasn''t judgmental! Not at all!!

    "Well, no," She argued, "but-- mmph!"

    A juicy morsel entered Ying Yue''s mouth by way of wooden chopsticks.

    She wanted to spit it out...

    --but...

    ...she loved mushrooms.

    It was good.

    It was better than good.

    "Miss Ying Yue..." Tycon twisted his lips... "Again, I assure you, your meal isn''t poisoned. There''s no need to--"

    "Sh-shut up!!" Yue pulled away, wiping the tears from her eyes, "Y-you''re... you..."

    The edge of Tycon''s luscious lips curled up, "I''m...?"

    Ying Yue tapped the points of her forefingers together, "You''re... not being fair."

    "Ah. Granted," The man gave a nomittal shrug before focusing his attention on his own te.

    ...Those chopsticks... they''d touched her tongue... and as HE ate, they touched his...

    Mm. Err. Gah. Hahhh~

    Yue blushed furiously as hesitantly reached for her own utensils.

    ...She picked at her meal.

    At first, she was careful... reserved... polite...

    ...like a proper young mistress from a well-to-do family.

    ...which she was.

    She couldn''t hide her true self for very long, though.

    ...A hungry Warrior needs to eat.

    The crispy skin of the roasted fish and the full, white flesh... OHHH, it was soooooooo... AH! Ying Yue had never tasted a meal so... very... wonderful.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "If you''re still indignant, Miss Ying Yue," Tycon smiled, "I''d like to propose a trade."

    "Nope!" Yue half-turned her body, defending her te from the Outsider, "This is mine, now. No take-backs."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, chuckling lightly... "I have provided you with sustenance-- notably bereft of poison, I might add. In exchange, I''d like some information."

    Yue stuffed her cheeks full of mushrooms... "O-outsiders lie."

    That... really wasn''t true. Ying Yue had traveled with more than enough Outsiders to know that. Amongst cultivators and otherwise, there were good and bad people all across the Realm.

    ...She was just upset that Tycon''s smooth voice was cracking at her defenses and his unreasonably attractive face was still focused on her.

    "Stop... staring at me..."

    "Ahem," The handsome Outsider cleared his throat. "My name is Tycon of Charm... thest Samurai of the Screaming Silence sect..."

    Ying Yue listened patiently as she ate, Tycon''s voice filling the airy silence.

    Against all odds, he... was a hidden sect cultivator... just like her.

    But... he talked so casually about his sect secrets and its origins...

    Tycon must have been... incrediblyfortable around her? Or was he *too* trusting?

    That kind of stuff was taboo to talk about! They were part of HIDDEN sects! And Tycon had only met Ying Yue for what-- minutes?

    Ying Yue wanted to stop him but... she... just... *loved* the sound of his voice.

    She knew of the Screaming Silence. It was an Ancient Sect to the west, known for their sword arts using a curved de.

    She also sensed that the sword by his side contained a powerful weapon spirit, just like her own flying sword...

    Tycon... was just like her, an heir to their respective sects'' strongest techniques.

    He... could understand her.

    And he''d already shared so much...

    Therefore... Ying Yue could reasonably talk about her own sect.

    In fact, she was honor-bound to!

    ...Just a little information-sharing wouldn''t hurt, anyroad.

    "M... my name is Ying Yue... of the Hidden Lake sect''s Jiang family..." She whispered, "We''re... a younger sect, founded by Venerable Ancestor Liang Chen only 500 years ago."

    "The Liang n?" Tycon pursed his lips, "Then your ice Skills are rted to water-bending techniques... Miss Ying Yue, may I ask if your sect is rted to the Sea Wolf sect?"

    "The Sea Wolf sect?" Yue narrowed her eyes, "H-how do you... but... they--"

    That n was forbidden to speak of... an off-shoot of the Liang family that were cursed by the sea god to turn into monsters.

    Yue pointed with her chopsticks, "Tell me how you know of that name!!"

    ...Tycon ced a finger on her forward hand, lowering it firmly, "Because of... circumstances, I am also a Guest Elder of said sect. The position was appointed by their current leader, Lang Hai, son of Liang Qiang."

    Guest Elder.

    The information shocked Ying Yue to her core.

    That meant that... ording to the rules of her sect, Warrior Tycon... was *not* an Outsider.

    He was like... a... loosely-rted cousin?

    ...Would it be weird if she married that? Was it even legal?

    Tycon adjusted thepels of his coat, "As proof, what I''m wearing now are... the robes of the Sea Wolf sect, so to speak... but is there a particr reason you''re looking at me like that, Ying Yue?"

    "S... so," Ying Yue twirled a lock of her hair... "you can cook."

    "Ah," Tycon smirked. "Judging from the condition of your te, you approve."

    Ying Yue grinned back, "Mhm. I''m a Martialist, so of course I can eat! Did you think I was just some weak-arse damsel in distress, huh?"

    "In distress? Well, I have been told I''m a very dangerous individual," Tycon mused.

    Ying Yue''s heart suddenly shook.

    That was right! Tycon was an enemy-- no! He was a *potential* enemy! And she was caught off guard by thinking about a loving, caring rtionship with a handsome and powerful cultivator who had unlocked the secrets of cooking!!

    "W-why have youe to Moon Crescent Isle, huh?!" Yue growled. "Is it to take our sect secrets and bring about the end of the Realm as we know it??!"

 Chapter 840 Contract

    ?Tycon swept his hair back-- a smooth, graceful motion...

    Then... he tapped his thumb on his chin... giving him a wise, thoughtful, and schrly air about him.

    Jiang Ying Yue blinked her eyes in wonder.

    ...She hadpletely forgotten what they were talking about.

    "You''re making me out to be quite the viin, Ying Yue," Tycon reached forward, cing a finger below her jaw... and closing Yue''s open mouth, "I hope you understand how foolish that sounds."

    Oh.

    That was right.

    ...He was right.

    ...Ying Yue just didn''t want to admit it.

    "...Lady Jiang," Tycon winked... "You''re staring."

    "Sh-shut up, snake eyes!" Yue shrieked, "You''re so stupid for wanting to end the world!"

    "I do not want that."

    "BwuhHHh?" Yue''s mouth hung wide open. Again.

    --but Tycon wasn''t looking at her anymore. He was pouring something out of a jar into an earthenware pot.

    It looked... like oil?

    Though heated oil could easily have been a painful tool of war... Yue began to salivate, expecting something else delicious.

    She was dealing with a professional, after all... so it wasn''t strange to expect professionalism.

    "Mypanions and I have an issue with the sea god," Tycon exined. "From what I understand, that fellow has a vested interest in this ce."

    Yue gathered her attention away from the heated oil pot to scowl at the green-haired Samurai, "What Sea God? The Hidden Lake sect and Moon Crescent Isle are blessed by the Lake Goddess..."

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    Oh!

    It did sound hard to believe, considering where they were.

    Ying Yue waved frantically, "Well-- Jerim Jy-- ah! No! Yeah! The Cloud Goddess gave me this Domain!"

    "Which is it, then?" Tycon asked.

    "I!! Jiang Ying Yue!!! Am part of the Hidden Lake sect!"

    "Mm... You said something like that earlier."

    Did she? DID HE NOT BELIEVE HER?!?

    "I AM!! REALLY!!!" Ying Yue insisted, "We have a GUARDIAN BEAST and everything!!"

    "Is that so?" Tycon grimaced... "I had expected as much. Ah, but besides that, would you like some fried do--"

    "YES, please!" Yue pped her hands together-- "I mean, no. No! I''m not betraying sect secrets for food! I''m the hero of my sect! I''m the Chosen One!!"

    Tycon coughed into a closed fist... "I''ll... pretend not to have heard anything about... those things, then."

    "You do that," Yue crossed her arms.

    Ying Yue stared down at the cloud-floor as the sizzle of little balls of dough filled the silence...

    After dessert... she needed to make Tycon submit to her.

    She wasn''t good at talking-- bah, she was *horrible* at talking... especially with him.

    Fighting was the only thing she was reasonably good at.

    Yue took a deep breath... enjoying the scents and smells of cinnamon and fried dough, and put on a courageous smile, worthy of a hero.

    There was no use worrying about it. She just had toe out and say what she needed to say.

    "Just so you know, Tycon... we have to fight after this."

    "Mm?" Tycon hummed, "And why do you say that?"

    "Because you have something you want. And you won''t stop at anything to get it."

    "Incorrect. I like to think I''m a perfectly reasonable per--"

    "Stop. countering. MY! LOGIC!!!" Yue shouted.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon raised his eyebrows while calmly steepling his fingers... "No?"

    "Look, you," Yue red. "I''m a girl that''s good at a... certain skillset. And you-- you''re a guy that''s probably pretty good at what I''m good at."

    "...Are you asking to sleep with--"

    "NO, I AM NOT!!!"

    Yue curled her body up into a little ball and buried her face into her hands, "Can... we just fight? Please?"

    ...After a moment, she felt a reassuring hand pat her shoulder, "I didn''t mean to embarrass you, Ying Yue."

    "I''m not embarrassed."

    "Are you crying?"

    Yue wiped her face and looked up at the kneeling man with a pout, "N... no."

    Slowly... too slow to be an attack... Tycon moved his hand towards her.

    He was... overextending... and defenseless.

    This man really trusted her far too much...

    Yue considered attacking him just then... but... the painful beat of her heart stopped her.

    He brushed a finger against her cheek... then he popped it into his mouth?

    Yue gasped in shock, "What... in the seven hells... are you--"

    "Mm," Tycon pursed his lips, looking up in thought... "Not enough."

    She grabbed his hand and pulled on it hard, "Spit it out! Spit it out, right now!!"

    They-- they hadn''t even kissed yet and he...

    Eh? No matter how hard Ying Yue pulled, Tycon didn''t budge an ilm.

    He... had to have been using chi to keep still. But... would that make him... stronger than she was?

    In a surprising turn of events, Tycon grabbed her wrist and pulled her close-- into his arms.

    Which was NOT what she... what she did DID... what she...

    Gah. It was fine.

    She would allow it.

    "Ying Yue," Tycon cooed... "Why do you wish to fight me? Could we perhaps... forge a contract, instead?"

    Eh?

    A... marriage contract?

    "NO!!!" Yue shouted as she struggled to break free, "I''m not ready! My hair''s a mess! I need a bath! What will my parents think?!"

    Tycon didn''t say anything. He merely shifted his weight, reaching forward with his chopsticks to pick the freshly fried dough balls out of the oil.

    He... was a very skilled negotiator.

    Yue gulped... "W... would you... with my sect... and... and me?"

    Ahhhhh! There was no way for her to say what she REALLY needed to say.

    She had a special position in her sect. Tycon wouldn''t be able to be herwful husband right away. But... he could be a concubine?

    But to ask him that? That was impossible!

    No one wanted to *just* be a concubine! But... she had to convince him that... it wouldn''t be like that?

    How could she make her trust him?

    "Hah... haha..." Tycon chuckled softly...

    "I need you to be clear, Ying Yue," He whispered. "You''re the one holding the secrets to your Cloud Goddess'' Reality Marble."

    The way he smirked made Yue''s heart fly around in circles...

    "R-reality Marble?" She frowned, "Is... that what Outsiders call Domain Skills?"

    That was it. That was the leverage she needed.

    Ying Yue just needed... to offer it.

 Chapter 841 Not A Good Person (Part One)

    ?Jiang Ying Yue turned away, trying to hide from Tycon''s gaze-- if only a little bit....

    "Th-that''s right, Warrior Tycon... You''re trapped with me-- here... with me. So... you have to listen to what I say..."

    Tycon nodded in understanding. He looked like... he wasn''t worried at all! Or maybe... everything that came out of Ying Yue''s mouth was something he already knew?

    Whatever the reason, she felt like the world''s biggest idiot.

    Tycon knew everything and Ying Yue didn''t even know how to form a basic sentence.

    "Again, Jiang Ying Yue, I am a professional," Tycon dipped his head. "State your terms, present reasonable coteral, and we can forge a contract."

    Right. That made sense.

    The terms would be... the two of them working together to escape the Realm of the Cloud Goddess.

    She couldn''t do it alone... but with her knowledge of the Hidden Lake sect''s formation arts and a cultivator at least as strong as herself, it was more than possible!

    As for the coteral, though?

    The only thing she really had... was herself.

    "Warrior T... tycon?" Ying Yue took a deep breath.

    "Yes?"

    "W-would... would you be interested in bing my concubine?"

    "Pardon?" Tycon narrowed his eyes... "*Your* concubine, Miss Jiang?"

    "N-n-n-n-ooooooo??" Yue coughed into her hand, "Did I say that? I meant... I''m... I''m asking for a friend."

    "A... friend, you say..."

    Did... he believe her? It didn''t sound like he did... but he looked like he was seriously considering it.

    "Hear me out..." Yue frowned, "I... I can protect you."

    If she convinced Warrior Tycon to join her side, a promise of protection was the bare minimum she could offer. She and the Hidden Lake sect could protect him from his former allies-- and the sect wouldn''t dare harm a person that was important to her.

    "*You* will, Ying Yue?" Tycon tilted his head, "Or your friend?"

    "MY FRIEND!!" Yue meeped, "My friend... can protect you. She''s... real strong."

    Tycon''s eyes began to wander, "And is your... ''friend'' anywhere near as lovely as you are, Jiang Ying Yue?"

    "Okay," Yue red as she pointed at her captured wrist. "Let me go. I''m just gonna fight you, now."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow as he presented his te of cinnamon-sugar dough balls with his other hand.

    "If we fight... I feel obligated to remind you that dessert will grow cold and stale."

    He even released his hold as a show of good faith.

    ...Ying Yue was really bad at getting the upper hand in deals.

    "Ya got me," She sighed, gingerly picking one up with her hand-- "Ow! Hot hot hot!!"

    Tycon caught the fiery ball with the serving te. Without a word, he again took Yue''s hand and ced her burnt finger in his mouth.

    ...She didn''tin... or contest it-- even though she wanted to.

    Ying Yue knew she was in the wrong... for lying... and for trying to force Tycon''s hand.

    "...You probably hate stupid women, don''t you," She muttered.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I don''t hate clumsiness," Tycon immediately assured her.

    Minutes passed in quietude... a handsome man she''d known for less than a bell nursing her finger, blowing cool air onto it.

    Finally, Ying Yue had enough.

    Tycon wasn''t a bad person. He was just a mercenary. Whoever he was working for... that was the real enemy.

    Also, the fried dough balls were quite possibly the most delicious thing she''d ever had in her life.

    "I need... your power, Tycon," She said... "My sect... my home... is being attacked. And... I can''t save it alone."

    "What''s in it for me?" Tycon asked-- and rightfully so.

    "Our Guardian Beast doesn''t like Outsiders!" Yue huffed, "But if I... if I take you to the Inner Sanctum and exin that you''re an ally, everything will be fine!"

    "Inner sanctum," Tycon mused... "It sounds like I would only need to avoid-- what, thergest building in your sect?"

    "Nope!" Yue eximed proudly, "Moon Crescent Isle has an underground cave system filled with twists, turns, and traps! If you wanted to navigate it, you''d still have to listen to me!"

    Tycon grimaced... "Ying Yue... I worry that perhaps, you may be cing... too much faith in me."

    Yue took a breath.

    "My faith... is in myself, my own abilities... and the people I choose worthy of my trust."

    "Hmph," Tycon raised his chin. "Admirable. Very well."

    "You wanted a contract, Warrior Tycon," Ying Yue smirked as she licked the cinnamon sugar off her lips, "so here are the terms: Be my husband... or fight me."

    Tycon leaned his fist on his chin, and his golden eyes seemed... to sparkle... "And what if I win?"

    Ying Yue''s grin grew even wider, "Then you win the right to make me your wife."

    Tycon took a breath... and smiled that... that damned gentle smile as only he could...

    "Jiang Ying Yue, you are a very powerful cultivator... an initiate Adamantine-Rank ording to Outsider standards...

    "Yet... I must inform you..." He paused, furrowing his brows... "that you are cing me into a difficult position."

    "It''s... well..." Ying Yue bit her upper lips, "I... I could really use your help. Bad people are attacking the ind-- but... but you''re different. You''re... reasonable? And... maybe you''re a good person?"

    Tycon shook his head and looked far, far away, "That... may not be so..."

    "But... but..." Ying Yue felt like she was about to cry again, "You fed me... and... and you don''t treat me like I''m stupid."

    "These, Ying Yue..." Tycon looked back, sorrow in his eyes, "are very basic kindnesses."

    "You... you can''t win against me," Yue whispered... "This is my Domain. I mean-- I''ll... eventually be able to control it... and... and then you''ll be at my mercy."

    Tycon ced his finger below Yue''s chin and tilted her head up... "That... would indeed be troublesome."

    He leaned forward.

    ...Yue closed her eyes.

    That was how it was going to be. It hadn''t been very long... but Ying Yue needed to trust Tycon if she was going to convince him of anything.

    So... she would allow him to do as he pleased...

    She would allow herself to be at the mercy of another person.

    Consequences be damned.

 Chapter 842 Not A Good Person (Part Two)

    ?Ying Yue felt Tycon''s lips touch hers.

    It was... just right.

    He gently pressed down on her chin... so Ying Yue opened her mouth obediently, allowing their tongues to intertwine for a brief moment.

    It was... more than right. It was nothing short of... magical.

    Yue slowly opened her eyes... and she found Tycon staring at her with a look of amusement. .

    "Th... that... wasn''t fair," She pouted.

    "I am not a good person," Tycon insisted.

    "That may be so..." Ying Yue sniffed, "But... we''re not enemies."

    "I beg to differ."

    Suddenly, Tycon''s golden eyes changed-- his dark pupils transforming into thin, vertical slits.

    ...Ying Yue tried to scream, but her voice was trapped in her throat.

    Tycon swiped his hand to the side like he was throwing open a curtain, the skies turning ck behind him. Diamond patterns of golden light appeared all around them, speeding across the darkness, twisting and undting in hate and malevolence.

    The cool air of the Realm of the Cloud Goddess turned hot and stifling... and despite Ying Yue''s strength, she couldn''t breathe no matter how hard she gasped.

    It happened so fast.

    She couldn''t tell what really was happening.

    Was this all just a nightmare? And if so, what had she done to deserve it?

    Going against all her instincts warning her otherwise, she forced her eyes to stay open.

    ...Even if she kept them shut, the diamond-patterns swirling around her were actively assaulting more than just her visual senses.

    Ying Yue had to focus her chi, circting it at a rapid pace... just to speak despite the invisible pressure.

    "Wh... what... is...?"

    Her voice was slurred... like her tongue didn''t want to work properly-- like she was sick or drugged...

    Tycon stood up, grabbing hold of his curved de and resting it upon his shoulder, "I''m breaking us out of your Domain."

    He... he could do that?

    The clouds below were dissipating at a rapid pace... and without a voice, Ying Yue felt herself falling withoutint.

    She could barely move... She couldn''t verballymand her flying sword to stop her descent.

    Squeezing everyst drop of willpower out of her body, Ying Yue... reached towards Tycon and spoke the words etched in her heart.

    "S... save me..."

    ...

    ? Moon Crescent Isle. ?

    ? System, grant me administrator ess to the Reality Marble using Ying Yue''s mana signature. ?

    ? Granting ess to host... ess granted. ?

    ? System... shut it down. ?

    Tycondrius plunged his curved de into Jiang Ying Yue''s chest, leaping forward and pinning her to the muddy earth.

    The strike alone would be enough to kill an ordinary man or woman... nevermind the Third-Circle injury poison coursing through her body. However, Tycon knew better than to take the the physique of an Adamantine-Rank Martialist lightly.

    With a quick nce around him, he ascertained the situation. Light rain pattered on his back. Captain Krysaos was standing a short distance away, his jaw hanging lightly ck with vague concern.

    Only minutes had gone by since he''d interrupted the good Captain''s fight with Ying Yue.

    ...Weeks had passed within her Reality Marble.

    Thus, as much as he wanted to go home, eat arge steak, and drink several ales... the mission took priority.

    Keeping his main hand on his sword grip, Tycon raised his opposite hand and snapped his fingers, "Kill her."

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    "Got it!!" Krysaos shouted, drawing his rapier and leaping forward to attack.<novelnext></novelnext>

    As a testament to Ying Yue''s skill as a Martialist, she shot her right arm out, gripping the man''s de with a bleeding hand.

    "Wh... why?" She asked, her eyes unfocused.

    Tycon twisted his curved de and drew it quickly, widening the hole in the dying woman''s chest.

    She lifted her other arm-- perhaps to stop him.

    She could not. The effects of the Sword of Venom atop that of Tycon''s Reality Marble-assisted ?Vexing Gaze? rendered her powerless.

    ...Or perhaps Ying Yue was asking for mercy?

    He would grant it... but not in the way she wished.

    "Death," Tycon whispered, "to the enemies of Sol Invictus."

    Grabbing tightly onto his own de with his offhand, Tycon used the force of his entire body to stab Ying Yue through her left eye.

    ...After nearly an entire breath, her raised arm fell limp to the mud.

    "Fool girl," He whispered... "No matter how fortunate you believe yourself to be, you cannot trust a man you''d just met..."

    The ordeal left a sordid taste in his mouth.

    Granted, Tycon had no intentions of dishonoring his partner, Elle... but nevertheless... Ying Yue died an unjust death.

    ...The fault, however, was not hers.

    "Whew," Krysaos wiped at his brow underneath his hat. "I uh... I wasn''t sure what to do, LT."

    "You should have gone for the head," Tycon grimaced.

    In a quick motion, he drew his sword and shed open Ying Yue''s throat.

    She did not react.

    Tycon shut his eyes and whispered a prayer, ''Requiescere in pacem...''

    Krysaos coughed into his fist, "I *meant*... you and that girlie there kinda... stopped moving for a bit."

    "How long?" Tycon asked.

    "Not even ten minutes," Krysaos crossed his arms but waved his hand beside his head, "But uh... looks like you were in there for longer?"

    Tycon nced up at a few loose locks of long hair matted to his face, "Your assumption is correct."

    "Gonna tell me what happened, LT?"

    "High-level magic spell," Tycon shed the blood off of his de before absentmindedly wiping off the blood on the crook of his sleeve. It was a useless action, considering it was still raining. "Are you injured?"

    "Got my arm frozen," Krysaos shrugged. "Magic-wise, nothing I couldn''t handle. How ''bout you, you good?"

    "No..." Tycon sheathed his weapon, "No, I am not."

    ...If he hadn''t taken advantage of Ying Yue''s naivete, killing her would not have been easy. More than that, however... he was infuriated by the waste of her talent.

    "You look like Wonderboy pissed in your breakfast oats," Krysaos snickered.

    Tycon fought the urge to roll his eyes, "After we''re done here, we''ve another god to kill... a Cloud Goddess."

    "Sure, why not," Krysaos shrugged, "What she do?"

    Tycon gestured to the dead girl at their feet, "She sent a child to do what she is too cowardly to do herself... but nevermind that. Have you learned anything, Brother-Captain?"

    "Yeah..." Krysaos frowned, "The water cultist girl implied that King and Imperianded on the north side of the ind."

    Water cultists? ...It was an apt, if overly simplistic description for a Hidden Sect blessed by the mysterious Lake Goddess.

    Tycon decided not to correct him.

    "We''ll deal with the elves soon enough," He shook his head. "Our current priority being the sea god, we need to reach the *cultists''* Inner Sanctum... and their Guardian Beast."

    "Ugh," Krysaos groaned. "Worst-case scenario, huh?"

    "This is nowhere near a worst-case scenario, Brother-Captain," Tycon red.

    ",

 Chapter 843 Inner Sanctum

    ?? A short timeter... ?

    The Martialists of the Hidden Lake sect were highly trained individuals.

    Though they were human, each was two or three times faster than a regr person. They used unique weaponry and well-practiced forms, striking urately and with clear intent to maim and kill.

    They also had excellent perceptive abilities, always aware of their surroundings.

    Tycondrius found it... wryly amusing.

    As he apanied Krysaos towards the sect''s inner sanctum, each man and woman amongst the enemy... met his eyes.

    Perhaps it was... honorable to do so-- an understanding or... respect between warriors on the field of battle.

    ...To acknowledge the enemy... to be acknowledged in return-- it sounded nice, in practice.

    Unfortunately for them, it allowed Tycon to affect each and every single enemybatant with his bloodline-granted ocr ability, ?Vexing Gaze.?

    Its passive effects were enough to make the various Bronze-Rank Martialists hesitate or slow. It made Krysaos'' work that much easier in cutting them down, one or two at a time.

    Of course, Tycon reasoned he could disable entire squads of simr-strength attackers if he were actively focusing.

    However, it took far less effort and mana for him to walk about and allow his gaze to drift naturally, bringing about thest living moments of various battle-hardened warriors.

    "Just about--" Krysaos drew a deep cut across a female cultivator''s left thigh.

    He grabbed her spear and shed her throat out. Spinning around, he smashed the spear haft into a swordman''s side before ending them with a rapier through the throat... "--done!"

    "One more," Tycon snapped his fingers.

    Infused with a sudden burst of mana, Krysaos drew his sword back and hacked his rapier down into the side of thest living Martialist''s neck.

    The good Captain swiveled his head around to take a better look at his surroundings, "Whew. That''s all of them? Haha HA! Check it out, LT. I''m pretty good now, yeah?"

    "The result of your hard work and efforts is clear," Tycon smiled with chagrin.

    He was tempted to remind Krysaos that over the past half-bell, they''d defeated a simr amount of enemies in personalbat.

    ...But that would dampen his friend''s excitement-- which would be rude.

    Krysaos adjusted his clothing, wiping a bloody hand on the front of his coat, "We''re almost there, LT. I can feel it... Soon, I''mma get to use this pistol on that sea-slug-sucking sea god."

    "Mhm," Tycon mused... "I''m looking forward to the best you can do."

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Do so. ?

    ? Activating. ?

    Tycon motioned Krysaos to walk beside him as they strode further into the worked stone halls. The Captain was growing impatient, and it showed with the way he allowed himself to take errant blows and shallow cuts.

    With his recently solidified Iron-Rank physique, he was unaffected by minor injuries.

    Still, Tycon did not hesitate to use his healing Skill. It behooved Krysaos to be at his best for theing trials.

    "So the Water Temple''s somewhere down here?" The Captain asked.

    "Ah," Tycon raised an eyebrow, "instead of answering directly, I''d like to ask... have you been developing your mana sense, Brother-Captain?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos closed his eyes and took in a deep breath... "I can tell... there''s... pure water mana somewhere around here... and we''re getting closer."

    "Nine out of ten points," Tycon chuckled. "''Pure'' water mana, so to speak, is not something you or I will find outside of the eleven heavens."

    "Whatever," Krysaos shrugged... but as his grin remained, his spirits seemed unaffected, "What happens when we find the source?"

    "We shall create a Gate using the ritual scroll Lady Ophelia has provided us."

    "A Gate?" Krysaos furrowed his brows, "You mean like the one that took me and the crew through the Trap Path-- except not as difficult, yeah?"

    "Unfortunately," Tycon frowned, "that may not be the case."

    From what he knew of his bloodline memories, the Water Temple was a horrific ce filled with eldritch horrors and insidious traps meant to fend off Heroes and god-servants.

    Journeying to that ce was... in hindsight, a foolhardy n of action.

    It was, however, the fastest and simplest way to achieve both Krysaos'' vendetta against the sea god and recover Divine Resonant Energy for Coraline''s quest.

    Tycon opened his mouth to stifle a yawn.

    Despite the danger, he still felt more annoyance from having to kill Ying Yue than fear for his and Krysaos'' life.

    "If you''re having second thoughts, Brother-Captain, speak now."

    Krysaos immediately responded with an indignant scoff, "Tch. Nah. We gotta go through with it. This is probably our best chance at saving Mina, after all."

    Tycon tilted his head, "I''m sorry, what?"

    What in the seven hells and eleven heavens was that supposed to mean?

    "Whoops," Krysaos unsheathed his rapier as he dashed right, "herees trouble, LT."

    "This conversation is not over, Krysaos!" Tycon warned before he broke to the left, drawing his short sword.

    The deepest part of the Hidden Lake sect''s Inner Sanctum was clearly of Elven make, the wood and stone not worked, but twisted to a caster''s will.

    Tycon''s enchanted boots sshed over carefully directed shallow streams atop tiles emzoned with sigils in Ancient Elven. Skirting the outer circle of the chamber, he kept his eyes towards the center... at an archwayrge enough to fit one of Imperia''s War Karkinii.

    A swirl of nigh-pure water mana coalesced at its core. For a moment, Tycon was concerned it was a hasty activation of the Gate Ritual... but it was clear after several moments that it was an entity.

    It was sentient.

    ...And it was hostile.

    Ultimately, though... it was about the level Tycon expected.

    ? Adamantine Rank Guardian Beast. ?

    "Watch out, LT!!" Krysaos shouted, "It''s taking form! And it''s lookin'' REAL f*ckin'' nasty!!"

    "...Granted," Tycon pursed his lips as he sheathed his short sword.

    He was growing tired of using his curved de... but nevertheless, he summoned the sheathed weapon from his spatial ring.

    At the very least... he looked forward to testing the results of the weeks of training he''d undergone in Ying Yue''s Reality Marble.

 Chapter 844 Deadliest Predator

    ?A cyclone of water enveloped the archway, lit a brilliant silver by the Inner Sanctum''s glowing walls.

    Tycondrius was not impressed. He was merely annoyed.

    Bubbles, froth, and general humidity threatened to soak his recently dried coat.

    With a violent outward explosion, the Guardian Beast''s true form was revealed... a fifteen-fulm tall water-mana construct in the shape of a...

    "WHITESABER TUNA!!!!" Krysaos screamed, "Of course! No predator is DEADLIER, in all of the sixteen seas!!"

    Tycon took a deep breath... "Right."

    The final defensive line of the Hidden Lake sect had... the same form as... Krysaos'' elemental summon.

    Logically, it was quite strong.

    If anything, Krysaos'' levels of fear and respect for said creature was quite high.

    ? However, Tycon was, himself, a predator. To him, a giant tuna could only be prey.

    The construct reacted to Krysaos-- likely an effect of his maniacal shrieking. It turned with a earth-shaking... roar? Its watery scales shifted and sharpened, firing a dozen ?Ice Spikes? in the span of a few seconds.

    The good Captain brought up a reflexive ?Mana Ward,? iling his rapier about and cutting down what spells he could.

    ...He could certainly have done better, but an unsightly panic had overtaken his calm.

    Still, it was fine. Krysaos was not alone.

    The mana construct didn''t have eyes, per se, thus could sense all around itself. With stealth a poor option, Tycon circted his mana, preparing a straightforward attack.

    Sprinting forward, he activated ?Tumble?, leaping off of a broken white column to gain altitude.

    The tuna construct whipped its massive tail, the force of which was enough to shatter an Iron-Rank''s bones.

    While it did not appear life-threatening... it looked vicious enough to leave an unsightly bruise.

    To avoid it, Tycon channeled his mana to create two temporary footholds, stabilizing his stance.

    "?First Form: As the Swallow Flies.?"

    Drawing the Sword of Venom from its sheath, Tycon rotated his body, deflecting the creature''s tail with superior physical force... aided by a touch of mana imbued in the strike.

    A follow-up sh left arge open wound on the construct''s side-- an injury that took several seconds to close.

    The effectiveness of Tycon''s offensive technique almost surprised him. Either the Skill''s improved affinity or the de''s enchantment itself, but it seemed to interfere with the construct''s ability to recover from damage.

    It was not a weak Guardian... but Tycon was no longer the same person from only a few bells prior.

    When he was trapped in Jiang Ying Yue''s Reality Marble, he spent his time developing his internal techniques.

    But instead of deepening his personal connection with the arcane arts, typical of a member of his bloodline... he instead focused on understanding the techniques passed on by Garock of the Screaming Silence sect.

    The Realm of the Cloud Goddess was a high-mana purity atmosphere.

    There were absolutely no distractions...

    And anyroad... there also wasn''t much else to do, otherwise.

    Bells turned to suns. Suns turned to weeks...

    With focus, precision, and a purposeful regimen, Tycon''s training was equivalent to several years of cultivation.

    ...It wasn''t a terrible experience.

    As the ridiculous looking tuna roared in pain, several of its scales broke open,unching an explosive series of speeding ?Water Lances.?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon dispelled his mana footholds as he leapt forward once more, "?Second Form: Gentle Water''s Reflection.?"

    He continued forward as one of nine ?Mirrored Images?.

    Three of them were struck down by the watery barrage, with a fourth torn apart by the massive tuna fish''s powerful jaws.

    Tycon sank his Sword of Venom into the construct''s side, activating its enchantments... pumping Third-Circle venom into its essence. It was likely that the offensive magic would be muted, considering his target''s magical and somewhat divine makeup... but it certainly wouldn''t be pleasant.

    "Hi-YAHHH!!" Krysaos shouted from somewhere behind the behemoth.

    He wasn''t cking off, either.

    Tycon drove his sword further into the tuna, twisting the de before kicking off and rolling along the slick, white tiles.

    "YOUUUUUU... ATTACKKK... THE HIDDEN LAKE... SECCCCT," Came a rumbling groan.

    "We are... fully aware of this," Tycon grimaced.

    "WHOOO... ARE... YOUUUU?!?"

    "Who AM I?!" Krysaos yelled indignantly, "I''m Captain GODS-DAMNED Krysaos of the Neptune''s Revenge!!"

    The Guardian Beast was clearly directing its question towards Tycon... but he and Krysaos were partners. The gentleman was important and deserved to be heard.

    Tycon would answer in his own way, course. Lowering his stance, he circted his mana and steadied his breathing...

    "I am... Samurai."

    "SSSSAMURAAIIIII??!?!?! IM... POSSIBBBBLLLLE!!!!!"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed as he shook his head.

    It was the construct''s prerogative to believe as it liked.

    The truth he had to offer was not so easy to deny.

    "?Third Form: Taste the Hydra de.?"

    Nine humongous spirit snakes soared out of Tycon''s curved de-- their venom particrly effective at affecting simr not-quite-mortal creatures. They wrapped around the Whitesaber Tuna''s body, entrapping it while sinking their jaws into its dissipating flesh.

    The Guardian Beast was finished-- incapacitated and suffering painfully.

    Tycon still had one more trump card remaining... a watery mana beam Skill he''d developed while utilizing his Sea Serpent form. However, he chose to keep it hidden. His Samurai techniques were more than enough to end the fight.

    "I... WILL BE... AVENGED!!!" The construct roared, "THE CHOOOOSEN ONE!!! HAS POWER!! BEYOND YOUR COMPREHENSIONNNN!!!"

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes, "You speak of the daughter of the Jiang family?"

    "LIVE THE RESSSST OF YOUR SSSSUNS IN FEAR, OUTSIDERRRR!!!! HER NAME IS--"

    "Ying Yue is dead," Tycon shook his head as he wiped the fingers of his left hand dry.

    Jiang Ying Yue was an incredibly strong individual. If she were to act against the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge, it was possible for their forces to be annihted.

    "WHAAAAT!???!! HOWWWWWW?!?!?" The construct cried out, its voice substantially weaker from earlier.

    The Hidden Lake''s strongest Martialist died against the Krysaos'' strongest and most handsome Lieutenant.

    --the process of which, Tycon did not feel the need to exin. He had said enough.

    Thus, he began snapping his fingers... allowing Krysaos to have his way with the tuna''s backside.

 Chapter 845 Divine Enchantment

    ?Tycondrius kept his vignce of the Hidden Lake Sect''s Guardian Beast.

    Oftentimes, such creatures had unwee surprises as they sumbed to death.

    ...A second-form, perhaps?

    ...Or a third?

    A violent explosion, maybe? No, that was unlikely.

    After several ?Commander''s Strikes? and a rotation of Krysaos'' own offensive abilities, the giant tuna spirit finally copsed into a gallon-fall of clear water and hissing, billowing steam.

    Captain Krysaos stood heroically where it fell, dramatically raising the Heart of the Ocean towards the ceiling, "YEAHHH-HAHHHH!!!"

    ...Though celebration was deserved for a powerful enemy so soundly defeated, Tycon did not join hispanion''s exultations.

    It was not the first Adamantine-Rank enemy he''d defeated.

    ...The same was also true for Krysaos.

    Instead, Tycon stabilized his breathing as he stretched his arms and rotated his back.

    He had executed a series of his most powerful Skills against the summoned Whitesaber Tuna. Yet, unlike in previous battles against opponents of simr strength, he had received no injuries-- and was suspiciously free of mana fatigue.

    His self-confidence grew as a Gold-Rankbatant, a result of focused training, diligence, and best practices.

    He sighed deeply,menting the fact that he was not the type of Hero to be showered with copious wealth and personal power with minimal effort.

    He wanted to curse that type of person... but he was friends with one, while another was a subordinate of unquestionable loyalty.

    Tycon casually nced up, observing the 10-fulm-wide sphere of mana roiling at the Inner Sanctum''s center.

    That it remained despite the dissolution of the Guardian Beast''s form was...

    "Curious..."

    The construct had been defeated, that much was certain.

    Was it... re-forming? If so, it was likely to withdraw... or regroup with any sect survivors.

    "Hmm..." Tycon lightly ground his teeth, annoyed by the development.

    He''d need to pursue the construct and finish it off... but it would be burdensome for him to expend so much more of his mana reserves.

    That amount of mana in the Inner Sanctum was worrying... While it wasn''t sufficient to threaten the current Tycon, it was more than enough to kill an Iron-Rank.

    "I have the powAAAHHHHH!!!" Krysaos roared.

    "...Krysaos," Tycon red.

    The Captain continued as if he hadn''t heard him, "AaaaHHHhh!"

    "What... in the names... of the seven heavens and eleven hells... are you--"

    "HAaaAHHhhHhhHHHHHHHH!!!!!?!!"

    Tycon''s eyes widened as he observed the ebb and flow of mana in the room.

    The energies left over by the Divine Guardian Beast... were flowing into Krysaos.

    He was... trying to absorb it all using the Heart of the Ocean as a conduit.

    That... FOOL OF A HUMAN!!!

    Tycon summoned his enchanted short sword out of his spatial ring. Though Tycon very much wanted to, there was no time to waste screaming at Krysaos for being a reckless, suicidal idiot.

    The divine power coursing through the man was an unstoppable stream. It could only be severed by an outside force.

    ...And even that wouldn''t ensure his survival.

    Tycon dashed forward, carefully judging the distance... and charged mana into his weapon to transform it into a whip.

    The metal segments wrapped around the Heart of the Ocean... and promptly shattered into a thousand fragments.

    "KRYSAOS, you INSUFFERABLE CRETIN!!" Tycon shouted indignantly, "That was my favorite GODS-DAMNED SWORD!!!"

    Krysaos responded with a blood-throated scream of agony at the top of his lungs.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Blue-tinged light shone brilliantly out of his eyes and mouth. Blood flowed freely from his exposed orifices.

    He was trying to pry the sword out of his clenched main hand-- something Tycon had determined, seconds prior, was absolutely useless.

    It both looked and sounded painful.

    He deserved at least that much for his idiocy.

    Tycon''s mind raced as he took stock of his abilities and remaining enchanted gear.

    ?Desire Trigger.?

    ?Inspirational Surge.?

    ?Jumping Knee Counter...?

    No... None of his support Skills could alleviate Krysaos'' situation...

    As for his offensive Skills--

    ?Legionyer...?

    That had a chance to work. Tycon just needed to execute the Skill while striking Krysaos'' weapon away.

    The sword technique utilized a sliver of light mana, thus was somewhat divine in nature. That could usibly resist the Divine Guardian Beast''s destructive mana for his weapon to survive contact with the Heart of the Ocean.

    As for the focus...

    Tycon was loath to use his Sword of Venom. Though it did have a Third-Circle enchantment, he was reasonably certain it would be destroyed upon touching the ring energies.

    He still had the Shatterspike Longsword... but its material-destruction properties risked the Heart of the Ocean being damaged. Mina was soulbound to Krysaos, so that would risk both of their lives...

    It would serve as a secondary n, in case Tycon needed to sever Krysaos'' sword wrist.

    Then there was Moon Moon Moon, the sentient Wolf-Hammer that once belonged to Lone.

    No, that wouldn''t do... Tycon couldn''t summon even half of the weapon''s power since it was still soulbound to a dead man.

    Tycon''s eyes widened in realization.

    The short sword he carried on his waist once belonged to Holy Swordsman Justus of Ezyria.

    ...moreso, it was once enchanted by a close ally... Divine Enchantress Rena.

    If it had... even a sliver of divinity left in it...

    No. Tycon liked that sword even more than his transforming whip-sword. He wouldn''t waste it on--

    "HEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLPP!!!!" Krysaos screamed. Pitifully.

    Tycon reluctantly drew the Tyrion de... "If you break this, Krysaos, not even thebined forces of the seven hells and eleven heavens will save you from my wrath."

    He dashed towards Krysaos and leapt up.

    He apologized in his heart for having to kill Justus.

    He cursed himself for allowing Rena to die without aplete corpse.

    He prayed... that Krysaos would survive-- at least long enough to repay his sincerity.

    "?LegionSLAYERRRR!!!!?"

    **CLANG**

    Tycon smashed the Heart of the Ocean out of Krysaos'' grip, but did not pay attention to where itnded. He rolled on the dirt with his momentum and held his short sword up to inspect it for damages.

    ...It was fine.

    Overwhelmed with relief, Tycon ced the cool de against his forehead.

    "Thank you, once again... Rena. And... I am sorry."

    ",

 Chapter 846 Death Wish

    ?After a moment, Tycondrius sheathed his de and turned back to address his fool of a Captain.

    The glowing-eyed human was writhing in pain, sshing about on the wet tiles,"ELLL-TEEeeeeeeEEE!!!!!"

    It looked like he''d dislocated both of his arms and possibly sprained a few more joints.

    The blood and fluids draining from his eyes, ears, and nose did look worrisome... but it was well-deserved.

    "Ah, Brother-Captain," Tycon sneered, "Are you regretting your recent suicidal actions?"

    "F*ck!" Krysaos screamed, "LT! It hurts!! It HUU-huu-huuuuuRRRTSSSS!!!"

    "Of course it f*cking hurts," Tycon groaned... "The mana coursing through your circuits are *several* times the amount a Third-Circle SPELLCASTER can handle, much less an Iron-Rank Martial ss."

    "F*CK, man!" Krysaos sobbed, "Hhh... HELP ME!!"

    ...The arse wasn''t even listening.

    "Bah," Tycon cradled his head in annoyance. "I will-- just... grant me a moment."

    Krysaos was experiencing a phenomenon called Mana Overload. Tycon had encountered it before, affecting two of his previous allies during his travels.

    The fool-Captain needed an outlet... a way to expend his excess mana in a rtively controlled manner.

    Unfortunately, Krysaos was not at all in fighting condition... and, quite obviously, Mina was unavable to share the burden.

    A different measure was necessary...

    Tycon took yet another item out of his spatial ring, the ritual scroll detailing the construction of a Gate to the Water Temple. He chanted the activation phrases, three in quick session sending a sharpnce of pain through the side of his head.

    "Keep still and try not to explode, you," Tycon clenched his teeth. "And if you''ve any gods we aren''t trying to kill, now is your chance to pray."

    ...

    ? A short timeter... ?

    Tycon reached for his coat pocket where he kept his pocket watch.

    It wasn''t there, of course. He''d given it away several moons prior.

    ...He had neglected to purchase a new one in Whitehearth.

    Sighing to himself, he made some mental calctions to estimate the passage of time.

    He and Krysaos had progressed fairly quickly to Moon Crescent Isle''s Inner Sanctum. However, it had still been over a bell. If the Hidden Lake sect had not yet mounted a proper counterattack... then Tycon would be as disappointed as he was surprised.

    He hoped the senior enlisted members of the Neptune''s Revenge would follow the previously-agreed-upon battle n. That was... to withdraw back to the ship in a precarious situation, to reduce casualties.

    His faith in those Coral Boys-- at least in following that order to the letter, was not high.

    "I think... ughhhh," Krysaos sighed as he got to his feet, "I think I''m about good to go, LT."

    The Captain''s selfishness was astounding.

    Tycon, himself was suffering light mana fatigue from chanting a series of sequential incantations. Further, he''d utilized a cast of ?Inspirational Surge? and used Krysaos'' and his own quota of healing potions to ensure the imbecile''s survival.

    Krysaos knees cracked loudly and he groaned as he stretched his muscles... "So, uh... how do we get to-- wherever we''re goin''?"

    Tycon nced at the archway in the center of the Hidden Lake sect''s Inner Sanctum.

    A man-sized sphere of water mana rotated within.

    It was made of the Guardian Beast''s leftover essence, but it was no longer a primordial, entropic force. It was... shaped-- or... tamed.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The ritual formation around it was constructed with expensive chalk, expensive dried ingredients, and *very* expensive oils. The quality of the reagents made up for the hastiness in which it was activated.

    Altogether, the result was aesthetically displeasing.

    But... it was functional.

    Therefore, it was also *active.*

    It was... visually obvious how the two of them were going to enter the Water Temple.

    "F*cking. look. at it," Tycon red.

    Krysaos turned his head, narrowing his eyes, "Ahhhh. Yeah... So that''s my answer. Mhm. Yep. I feel dumb as shite."

    "I concur with your self-introspection, Brother-Captain," Tycon took a breath to stifle his anger... "But in the very unlikely case that you can exin yourself adequately, I''ll have you do so. Now."

    ...Krysaos turned his back, jamming his finger into his ear, "Can''t uh... can''t we just let bygones be bygones?"

    Tycon got to his feet, unstuck the sword of venom from the tile and rested it on his shoulder, "I''m listening, Krysaos."

    "Aw, sea god''s cumsock," The Captain cursed...

    He turned to Tycon with a troubled grin marring his face, "So you said that... what we needed was Divine Resonant Energy, right?"

    "For Miss Coraline''s quest, yes," Tycon red. "What of it?"

    "Well... I figured that a *Divine* Guardian Beast has lots of that... and... and since it''s a watery beast-- I uh... I could use the same thing to power up Mina''s reincarnation?"

    Tycon massaged the area above the bridge of his nose... "While your logic is sound... you are woefully omitting the fact that you have an Iron-Rank, mortal physique... and you tried to absorb the energy of an Adamantine-Rank, IM-mortal construct."

    "H-hold on," Krysaos waved.

    After a moment, he keeled over and vomited the contents of his stomach... as well as an inordinate amount of muck-ridden water.

    ...Originally, Tycon was nning on delivering a furious punch to his humanpanion''s abdomen. However, it seemed Kryasos was still physically shaken from his ordeal.

    Thus, Tycon chose to postpone his premeditated act of violent, petty vengeance.

    ...but it was, however, inevitable.

    "M... my bad, LT," The Captain wiped his mouth, "You were sayin''?"

    "You are an *idiot*, Captain Krysaos. You took an unnecessary risk and very nearly died."

    "...It... it can''t have been that bad?" Krysaos forced a smile.

    "Are you *questioning* my judgment?" Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    "No! No," Krysaos shook his head. "I get it. I''m sorry, guy-- but uh..."

    "But *WHAT*?"

    Krysaos pointed towards the open Gate, "Looks like because of it, you got the thing open, yeah? That''s... that''s gotta be worth something, right?"

    Tycon took a deep breath, "I was nning on using the magic of your heritage to power the ritual."

    "Eh?" Krysaos tilted his head, "You mean... you were gonna use blood magic? Ain''t that... evil?"

    ",

 Chapter 847 Reason Behind Recklessness

    ?...Tycondrius raised an eyebrow.

    Though he was still upset, he was slightly mollified that Krysaos understood the implications of ''heritage magic.''

    It marked significant improvement in his development as a hybrid Martial Spellcaster.

    "Very few magics are intrinsically evil, Brother Captain," Tycon waved dismissively. "Blood magic is illegal in most nations-- but it was not always so."

    "MhmMM~" Krysaos smirked, "Go onnn."

    Tycon pursed his lips for a moment... but continued as requested, "From what I understand, centuries prior, Blood Magic was regted on ount of its... vtility. Subsequent generations banned its study and practice outright, citing *tradition.*"

    He loosed a nostalgic sigh and shook his head, "Further, it is unfortunatelymon practice for eager Blood Mage initiates to garner reagents from... unwilling participants-- which has served to further demonize the art."

    "Int''restin''!" Krysaos smiled, "Damn interesting! HELLA interesting! Well, the Gate''s open and time''s a-wasting, LT. So let''s get--"

    "This conversation is *still* not over, Krysaos," Tycon seethed.

    He felt like he''d been tricked somehow.

    Krysaos was wearing his deceitful face... which admittedly was not much different from his regr one.

    "I''ll be fiiiine, LT!!" He insisted, "Even if I die--"

    "THAT," Tycon pointed an usatory finger at his idiot friend-- "is NOT a viable option, Captain,"

    Krysaos shut his mouth... dropping his gaze to the Elven tiles...

    "I... I really thought I could do it... for Mina."

    ...Tycon closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows as he inhaled deeply.

    Mina.

    Of... course...

    Krysaos was still greatly affected by his weapon spirit''s declining condition.

    He had been reckless... his reasoning, irrational... but it was very *human* of him to do so.

    That he had not yet given up hope for Mina''s survival was naive, extraordinarily foolish, and yet almost...udable.

    "...I see," Tycon muttered.

    Still, Krysaos'' loyalty to the young mermaid did not exonerate his actions.

    The Captain''s death would be highly problematic. The crew of the Neptune''s Revenge were relying on him and Tycon both to return.

    Only Krysaos was capable of leading the Coral Boys... as well as sailing what was essentially a broken ship.

    ...Tycon was the only crew member who had the patience to read the ledgers and determine the crew''s twice-a-moon pay.

    If Krysaos kept with his reckless attitude after he passed through the Gate, it would be even more disastrous... for Tycon in particr.

    He did not relish the thought of being trapped a dungeon well known for stymieing and killing adventurers for all eternity.

    "There is still... a chance," He sighed. "What we refer to as the ''Water Temple,'' the cultists know as a ''Hidden Realm.'' Every so many years, the strongest amongst them brave the dangers to seek out treasures and high-purity mana resources."

    Krysaos'' spirits were lifted immediately, his eyes shining and teeth sparkling.

    "So... we might luck into something that could save Mina?"

    "Correct," Tycon frowned. "Hence, *your* survival is paramount, Captain Krysaos."

    "Hah..." Krysaos shook his head, "Yeah... Mina would be pretty f*cked up if I died, huh? You right, LT..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I''m always right," Tycon rolled his eyes, staring at the ceiling. "Never question me again."

    "You got it, bud," Krysaos snickered as he gestured towards the Gate. "Anything else you''re not tellin'' me about the situation? You know how you are, LT."

    Tycon twisted his lips in annoyance... but hispanion''s concerns were reasonable.

    "We do not know where the Gate will take us. If you''ve been paying attention, you might surmise the reason."

    Krysaos thought for a moment... "All the uh... water mana in the atmosphere, then? The stuff''s all I can sense."

    "It''s overpowering," Tycon nodded. "If it were not, I''d at least have an idea of our destination. Whether we arrive In-Realm, Off-Realm, or in a Reality Marble... stay vignt. Rely on multiple senses... and if you encounter the sea god--"

    "Bullet to the head," Krysaos grinned.

    "--at least consider waiting for my assistance before you engage," Tycon groaned.

    Krysaos ced his hands on his hips, "Don''t worry about it, guy. I won''t be fighting nobody without a good, solid n, first."

    Tycon shut his eyes... and tried his very best to believe the Captain''s lie... "Right."

    "What? Come on, man! I''m serious!"

    ...

    Coraline Heartsong lifted her palm to the sky, no longer feeling thefortable pitter-patter of water droplets.

    It seemed the night rains had all but stopped.

    She lowered her gaze, looking upon the corpse-filled beaches of Moon Crescent Isle.

    She hoped dearly that they wouldn''t be staying over the length of a sun. A little more than that and the bodies would start to stink.

    ...or, since it was a legitimate battlefield, they might even turn into mindless zombies.

    She hadn''t done anything so... low-level-adventur-y since she''d left her previous guild, Brockdale Bridge.

    Coraline looked back to the moonlit sea... thankful for the rity her Elven eyes provided her.

    Ellie remained on the Neptune''s Revenge with a few crew members, taking care of Mina. They were far enough from the fighting that they were all reasonably safe...

    Maybe Ishmael was there, too-- Coraline hadn''t sensed him around.

    It was lonely on the beach...

    The torrential rain earlier in the evening had scared her fire elemental, Beatrice. It was no wonder, though... there was so much water mana in the air on the ind that she preferred to stay hidden.

    That was fine, though. Beatrice could sleep inside of Coraline until she felt better...

    The main attacking force was stay with her on the beach... but Petty Officer Bob made a different call.

    He and Leading Hand Stickyfingers led an offensive force deeper ind.

    ''To keep the path clear,'' they told her.

    Coraline shook her head.

    She could sense how angry they were about King''s betrayal. They were probably taking out their frustrations on the ind natives... the so-called ''water cultists.''

    She didn''t quite agree with the term. There were a lot of water-type Mages among them... but a majority of them seemed to belong to the Martialist ss.

    Then... the crossbow quarrel that hit Mina was super suspicious.

    There were so many mysteries on Moon Crescent Isle... all waiting for someone to decipher them.

 Chapter 848 Single Combatant

    ?Mina was well-respected by both the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge and the elves under Imperia''smand.

    Yet for thetter to attack her... to make a shot from more than two-hundred yalms out...

    There must have been more behind the attack...

    As an investigator... Coraline Heartsong wanted to know what *really* happened.

    Unfortunately, she didn''t have the freedom to detach herself from the crew to investigate.

    The beach needed to be defended... and Lieutenant Tychon was counting on at least her to follow her orders faithfully.

    ''Stupid boyfriend,'' Coraline puffed her cheeks.

    If anyone was at fault... if she could be mad at just one person in particr, it would be Lone Shadowdark.

    If he never got possessed by an Ancient Elven artifact, they could have gone investigating together!

    That man... owed her... a dozen adventures, at least...

    Suddenly, Coraline heard a loud snort, bidding her to turn towards its direction.

    One of the Coral Boys-- the only one who wore a barrel instead of regr armor, had white steaming out of his rocky nostrils.

    Coraline tilted her head, "Is everything okay, Barrel Boy?"

    "Guhhh..." He groaned, "We''ll per-tect ya, girlie... We couldn''t per-tect Mina propa''ly... so we''z gonna try extra ''ard ta keep you free o'' pointy bits..."

    Coraline chuckled to herself wryly, "Right. I cast magic best without the threat of being shot or stabbed."

    The other sailors nodded gruffly.

    "Don''t worry yer li''ul ''ead, girlie. Keep cover behind da biggest and strongest boys in da crew-- us, kehehe."

    "Yeh. Yer da only knife-ear ''at''s werf a shite. We''ll per-tect''cha wiv our very lives."

    "We''z still fink you should grab an axe or sumfin'' ''doh. Dat li''ul knife ain''t a knife. Now, DIS IS A KNIFE!!!"

    Coraline ced her hand over her heart.

    The Coral Boys'' encouragement was... loud... rough... and borderline insulting... but she knew each of them to be loyal, honest military men of Alizeau''s Royal Marine Fleet.

    It was...forting to hear.

    Well-- not thatstment. Though the giant, rocky coral-men tasked to protect her were being... thoughtful? Was that the word for it? --the weapons they offered her were... really not in her size.

    Ellie would probably look absolutely badass with one of their unreasonablyrge axes, though.

    ...Or what the Coral Boy named Big Dagger referred to as a ''knife.''

    Coraline just wished... that it was Lone... telling her that he''d protect her.

    But... that was the main reason she led Baron Tychon to the ind. She was trying to save Lone... her boyfriend... a man who fell in love with her at first sight.

    Elves can be stubborn.

    That was... their thing-- to be able to look at life in terms of decades instead of just...

    Coraline''s eyes widened as she stared at the wet sand.

    ...Most elves would probably have found a new boyfriend.

    Empty night. She was a terrible elf.

    She ced her hands on her face and tried not to cry tears of frustration.

    If Lone-- if that idiot broke up with her after this... she''d jam a Dyed Third-Circle fireball up his anus, just to watch him die.

    Coraline''s ears twitched.

    A noise-- and not from one of her defenders.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She shot her head up, looking towards the treeline... holding her breath.

    A person-- a boy hade out of the woods... slow and silent, like a stalking wildcat.

    He looked young... barely an adult-- and all his features were soft and... for want of a better term, beautiful.

    His hair was snow-white... with the same ethereal, shining eyes. He only wore a pair of trousers... but glowing runes covered his naked chest.

    ...And... he had white angel wings on his back.

    Eleven heavens and seven hecks.

    Bleiggggh, that wasn''t right-- it was just the eleven heavens.

    They had sent an enforcer to kill them!

    "DE-FENSIVE FOR-MAAATION!!!" Barrel Boy shouted.

    Coraline reacted immediately, shooting her palm upwards, "Beatrice! I''m sorry to wake you, but I need your power!!"

    Her fire elemental hummedzily in response, but a wimpy firebolt shot up into the sky... exploding with a pop.

    "AWWW!!" One of the Coral Boys rolled his head in annoyance, "Wot you gotta do ''at for, ah?! WE''Z can ''ANDLE dis li''ul CUNT wivout a call fer ''elp!!"

    "I''m following protocol, Seaman Howler." Coraline narrowed her eyes, "And so should you."

    The beach was under attack. Therefore... she used the signal.

    That was... literally the n everyone had agreed upon a few bells prior.

    Yes, there was only a singlebatant... but it was better to be careful.

    It was possible for the winged boy to be ate-stage Iron-Rank... maybe even stronger.

    If that was the case, with their backs against the beach... the Coral Boys might be able to get away.

    Coraline, however... well-- she didn''t have any escape-type Spells.

    ...Stars and stones, why DIDN''T SHE?!?!

    At least-- at least a spell to breathe underwater?! Or to swim faster!!?? She should have foresaw at least THAT!!

    The angel slowly lifted a palm... "Do you bleed?"

    "F*CK YOU, YA GIT!!" Howler... howled.

    "We''z got a real big deficit o'' blood," Barrel Boy grinned... "f*ckin'' toof-bird."

    Despite the seriousness of the situation, Coraline fought off a grin.

    The angel boy''s face had twisted-- obviously displeased at beingpared with... a toothed seagull.

    Barrel Boy lowered his head down into his armored barrel, his muscled arms and legs emerging from its sides and bottom... "''Ow ''bout you''ze over ''ere and... give a li''ul bit ta charity?"

    In an instant the angel boy closed the distance, wings red outward, his fist connecting with Barrel Boy''s cross-arm block with a terrible crack.

    Barrel Boy slid backward in the sand... red blood dripping seeping from the pores on his exposed arms.

    His arms... they were broken with a single strike.

    The angel barely gave him time to breathe, though. He was on Barrel Boy once again,nding a swirling heel kick against his chest.

    ...And Barrel Boy''s barrel-armor... shattered into pieces.

    Coraline grit her teeth... as she channeled mana into her palm.

    "Gold-Rank," She whispered...

 Chapter 849 Stand Fast

    ?Almost...

    Coraline just needed only seconds more toplete the spell circles in her mind...

    "Ha HAH!!" Howler shrieked. "YEH, YEAH, YEAHHHHH!!!"

    The Coral Boy had been cranky all evening, itching for some kind of violent outlet for his machismo.

    He finally got his wish-- which was surprisingly to Coraline''s advantage.

    Howler performed a standing leap, soaring through the air farther than a guy of his size and stature had a right to.

    "Now you''z UNDEFENDED, B*TCH!!!" He shouted as he brought his axe down towards the angel''s exposed backside.

    "Che," The angel stood up with a scoff.

    He knocked Howler aside with a casual backsweep of his wing.

    THAT-- that didn''t make ANY sense! His feathers looked soft... and they ruffled individually when they moved, but it was like they were made of metal!

    Coraline needed to put him down before he could do any lethal damage.

    Kneeling down, she shot her palms low to the ground, "?THUNDER Wave!?"

    A burst of magic kicked the sand up-- but the angel had leapt up into the sky with a heavy p of his wings.

    Coraline was afraid he would fly up and out of her defenders'' reaches, but hended immediately... behind two of the crewmen.

    The angel swiped his hand down, then acrobatically flipped backward.

    It was... so fast-- too fast for her to see what exactly happened... but the effects of his attacks soon became obvious.

    Big Dagger... both of his arms fell to the sand, severed just shy of his elbows.

    He didn''t even get to use the knife he was so proud of.

    The other Coral Boy-- Coraline didn''t even know his name, he fell to his knees.

    Then his head... it just... rolled off.

    Coraline gulped as she caught the angel''s gaze.

    He stood quietly, a slight smirk on his lips.

    He was staring... only at her... as if none of the blood and death surrounding him was worthy of keeping his attention.

    The angel was beautiful-- but it wasn''t a worldly beauty... or even a... nice one.

    Coraline wondered... if he wasn''t actually an angel-- but the god of death, instead.

    **BANG**

    The angel''s right wing shot up. The point of impact was ckened and smoking from the sudden attack.

    Coraline turned to identify the shooter.

    It was the Coral Boy named Two-Shot. He was wielding his hextech rifle against the enemy, awarded to him by Lieutenant Tychon for marksmanship. He was one of the most urate sharpshooters in the crew, second only to Doc.

    **KER-CHAK**

    Two-Shot pulled back on his weapon''s loading mechanism, popping another two rounds into the barrel with meaty, yet practiced hands.

    "Huhuh HUH huh," He gargled, "Ain''t done wiv you yet, boyo~"

    Coraline''s ears twitched as she heard the ominous sound of bells.

    **BANG**

    Another st came out of Two-Shot''s weapon... the sweet smell of burnt orcish sugar filling the air.

    Hextech rifles were developed in Bael Turath by engineers iming bloodlines of demons and devils. Yet... the angel calmly stood, calmly crossing his arms while folding his wings behind his back.

    Physical attacks... were useless against him.

    ...But that didn''t mean he was invincible.

    Whether Coraline and herpanions lived or died depended on her magical prowess, alone.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She red out her elbows, making a diamond-shape with her fingers, circting her mana as fast as Elven-ly possible, "Watch out, Seaman Two-Shot!!"

    Before Coraline could even finish her warning, the angel dropped his guard, speeding towards the Coral Boy in a blur.

    "Jus'' what we''ve been wai''ing for," Two-Shot grinned.

    In a smooth motion, he spun his rifle around. Holding it with both hands, he mmed the back of his weapon into the angel...''s blocking wing.

    The angel boy twirled mid-air, knocking the hextech weapon away... then plunged an empty knife-hand into Two-Shot''s chest with a burst of blood.

    "TWO-SHOT!!!" Coraline screamed, "STAND FAST!!!"

    "Oh, we''z still standin'', girlie. This ain''t... guh-- ENOUGH!!" The Coral Boy coughed up blood as he reached down to grab the hatchet strapped to his thigh, "ta KILL A GODS-DAMNED ROYAL MARINE!!!"

    Coraline tried to will her spell toplete faster-- but it was toote. The angel grabbed onto Two-Shot''s wrist, then with his other hand, smashed a hammer-fist down into his shoulder with a crunch.

    The sound of bells came once more...

    It sounded... joyful? --even as the Coral Boy fell to the beach, writhing in pain.

    The angel... was happy?

    He threw his head back, the ringing noises growing louder as he lifted his heel... and brought it down on Two-Shot.

    His bare foot sunk several ilms into the downed Marine''s chest.

    That... that was enough.

    Two-Shot was dead.

    "(I shalt im vengeance for the deaths of my SWORN BROTHERS!!)" Coraline shouted in Elven, "?Fire Bolt: BETA PATTERN!!!?"

    Six ming bolts shot towards the angel, their timing offset to confuse and bewilder her opponent.

    The angel furrowed his brows, swiping his hand... and DEFLECTING TWO OF THEM!!

    This guy''s fighting ability was... was un-REAL!

    A series of bright lights shed, though... and the boy stumbled backward.

    ...Four out of six wasn''t bad.

    It seemed he had some kind of ?Mana Ward,? though... Judging by the way his chest runes were glowing, those were defensive tattoos.

    Still... Coraline needed another two or three same-circle spells if she was going to defeat him... and it looked like there was no one left in her squad to defend her.

    The angel tilted his head.

    He looked... amused?

    That... was nothing like the fear Coraline was hoping.

    SHE was the one with super-magics! Why was SHE the one AFRAID?!?

    Being an adventurer sucks!!

    Why did she have to fight the forces of the ELEVEN HEAVENS just to save her MEDIOCRE BOYFRIEND?!?!

    "I''ve been saving this-- for a certain SOMEONE!! ?Dyed Fire Bolt: GAMMA PATTERN!!?"

    The angel''s form blurred for a moment-- then he was right in front of her.

    Coraline was... in a very bad spot.

    ...But at least her opponent was predictable.

    She hopped back, her palms directed at the ground, "?Earth Spike: Alpha Pattern!?"

    Three sharp rock-spikes exploded out of the sand, the spell''s momentumunching her backward.

    The angel dodged them by pirouetting in ce, leaping towards her with a graceful p of his wings.

    Coraline couldn''t help but smirk... "Just as nned."

 Chapter 850 Unwelcome Advances

    ?Coraline was counting on the angel to dodge.

    If her second ground-targeted spell was as sessful as the first... well-- then her opponent wouldn''t have been a very good Gold-Rank.

    Suffering the recoil of her ?Earth Spike?, she tumbled backward on the ground but she managed to right herself in a somewhat graceful kneel.

    If she was being honest with herself, it was a small miracle that she didn''t fall t on her face.

    Creepy-angel-guy wasing straight for her... so she lowered her body... counted to one, then sprung upward with all her might.

    "?ming UPPERCUT!!!?"

    **BAM!!**

    Coraline''s fist was... caught by the angel''s hand. He held onto her tightly with a vice-like grip.

    She was going to bruise for sure... but in theory, HE should have been hurting way more!

    Looking up with an expectant grin-- Coraline had her hopes and dreams shattered and destroyed yet again.

    The angel''s face didn''t change at all... no pain, no remorse-- or even acknowledgment!

    It was like he didn''t even care.

    ...Coraline''s hand felt burning-hot... and the very recognizable stench of BURNING flesh wafted up to her nose.

    The angel kept them both aloft by pping his wings, but he spun 180 degrees just as a certain ?Dyed Fire Bolt? activated.

    "Empty FRICKIN'' NIGHT!" Coraline cursed.

    She swiped her other hand to dispel her own fiery attack...

    --which effectively made her whole n a gargantuan waste of mana.

    The dyed spell was SOOO GOOD, too!! She casted it at a majorpletion rate... and she even weaved in some of her familiar, Beatrice''s, fiery nature into it for extra spiciness!

    Though it was really stupid of her, Coraline was really hoping that her opponent would have the courtesy to take her fire spells head-on.

    After all... he-- that guy took the CORAL BOYS'' ATTACKS!!

    What kind of double-standard was going on?!?!

    ...Bleigggggh. Her duel to the death was so, sooooo incredibly frustrating!

    With the threat of being burned alive by her own mes out of the way... Coraline had to deal with the skyborne angel still holding onto her.

    ...Then she had to hope to fall without hurting herself.

    Why couldn''t watching the beach be boring like the normal adventuring work she was used to?

    "Don''t suppose we can just talk this out, um... Sir?"

    The angel lifted her up so they were face to face. Then... he ced a strong arm behind the small of her back.

    She heard his voice-- not ringing bells, but... heavily ented Common that hinted at an upbringing in Nemaya Strana.

    "I have single offer," He licked his lips... like a creep... "Make love to me while allies watch with dead, staring eyes. I put hands on your neck as I breed you."

    Aaaaalright.

    While normally, Coraline figured she was okay with a hot guy making advances on her-- that was a very, verrrry unwee advance.

    She didn''t want to date a psychopath. She wasn''t like her best friend, Ellie.

    "Yeah, no thanks. I have a boyfriend," Coraline hmphed.

    **PAP**

    Tears of pain stung Coraline''s eyes and it felt like her entire consciousness was orbiting the outside of her head.

    Tiny silver shards of mana drifted all around her.

    The angel had... pped her.

    With a single strike, the protective ?Mana Ward? enchantment weaved into her very expensive cloth armor had shattered.

    ...Baron Tychon was going to be very upset when he found out.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You will speak only when spoken to," The angel grimaced.

    Coraline scrunched up her face to expertly convey her innermost thoughts:

    ''What in the gods'' names did you JUST say to me?!?''

    Tychon might be upset that his super-expensive investment exploded into tiny mana bits and pieces.

    But...

    Coraline would MAKE IT UP TO HIM by showing him the CHARRED CORPSE of an OVERSIZED, CHAUVINIST CHICKEN-WINGED BI-OTCH!!!

    Words unbidden came to her lips... in her mother''s mother''s mother-tongue... a passage transcribed in the depths of her Elven bloodline.

    "(Hark, fallen servant, for thou dost not know the death you court.)

    "(mes born of molten earth, blessed by the twin suns of Phlegethos... COME TO MY AID!!)

    "(SCOUR this GODLESS BLIGHT from the Realm!! And GRANT!! ME!! MY!! VENGEA--) HrrRKkk!!"

    A series of sharp lines bit into Coraline''s neck, stopping her from breathing-- interrupting her spell.

    The mana she was channeling so... furiously dissipated in an instant.

    The words... the ancient words from a ce only the gods knew where...

    --they left her.

    Poof.

    Gone.

    --couldn''t even remember a single syble.

    ...and there weren''t more than a hundred sybles in Ancient Elven.

    She reached her free arm up to her throat... feeling mana-created wires and fresh, wet blood.

    The angel leaned forward... and Coraline felt the lick of his tongue.

    It sent shivers down her spine... of shame... and disgust.

    Thetest and greatest dominant thought in her mind... was to get away-- as far away as possible.

    She was held tenuously by just her fist over a dozen fulms in the air... so that was a very stupid idea. Still, she''d rather do something stupid than-- than let some angel psycho take advantage of her!

    Coraline grabbed onto his trousers to stabilize herself.

    "OhHhh," The angel cooed. "Pantse off eventually-- but better you die before."

    ''Yeah, you wish,'' Coraline thought.

    Snorting thest of her breath away, she kneed her captor in the balls as hard as she could.

    Instead of a high-pitched scream, she heard what sounded like a dozen discordant ss bells ringing as hard as they could.

    It would have been funny if Coraline didn''t feel herself plummeting back down to the beach.

    Since she didn''t have any more defensive enchantments, she was pretty sure that the impact wasn''t going to be pleasant.

    What was funny, though... was that she remembered preparing a ?Featherfall? spell a few bells prior.

    ...which she wished she remembered about three seconds earlier.

    **POMF**

    Coraline''s back hit the sand-- and her head bounced a little.

    A cloud of fine filled her vision... and got in her mouth for a little added difort.

    And... everything felt numb.

    ",

 Chapter 851 Without Words

    ?? Elsewhere on Moon Crescent Isle. ?

    There were plenty of ces for Zhevra to hide among the coniferous trees.

    She focused mana into her eyes to sharpen her vision... something she tried not to do often.

    When she did, her eyes glowed a tell-tale crimson.

    It made her easy to see in the dark.

    ...It also gave people another reason to distrust her-- as if her forked tail, red skin, and ram horns weren''t enough.

    Zhevra saw... Corallidae.

    The crew of the Neptune''s Revenge were walking through the forest clearing.

    And, lo and behold, they brought their Captain with them.

    ...just as she paid them to do.

    "Oyyyy," A familiar Corallidus called out. "Come on out, girlie. We''z know yer ''ere, some-WHERE, eh?"

    The speaker, his name was Stickyfingers. She found him... charming.

    He was like her... an opportunist.

    He was wise-- or more intelligent than his brutish exterior and rough speech would suggest.

    Zhevra observed the Corallidus'' ''Captain''... the first time not through the lens of a spyss.

    ...At the very least, he was not... unpleasant to look at.

    The reports she read used words like ''suave'' and ''charming''... while also pointedly avoiding the word ''handsome.''

    Captain Krysaos had a face... that made a woman want to knee him in the groin or stab him through the heart. He was... an untrustworthy scam artist, a womanizer... filth scraped off of one''s boots after treading through a sewer.

    But besides that, the rest of him was fine.

    He was physically fit and perfectly shaven... as could only be expected of a military man. His clothes were professional, save for battle scars-- stitched closed, or covered by patches.

    He wore an oversized leather tricorne hat-- perhaps topensate for small genitals.

    Ah, but his eyes... they were dark.

    He had suffered much in recent suns.

    His Lieutenant-- his personal whore, she was killed on the deck of his very ship. Soon after, his crew sold him to ckrot Wound, the Dark Guild with the most sessful contractpletion rate in the Eastern States.

    Zhevra rxed her body... the tension draining out of her neck and shoulders.

    She was certain. That man was the infamous Captain Krysaos.

    She could feel it, almost palpable.... the icy coldness of his fury... his hopelessness and despair.

    Stickyfingers looked up-- the only Corallidus to do so.

    For a brief moment, he and Zhevra locked eyes.

    He knew... but he did not alert the others to her presence.

    Zhevra returned a warm smile.

    Comrade Stickyfingers was a professional. She appreciated that.

    ...He could be trusted. His loyalty to wealth and coin had proved far stronger than his loyalty to a single human male.

    Zhevra dropped down from her hiding spot, whipping her hair back... then stood and slung her Turathi rifle over her back.

    The squad of Corallidae, they frowned and red and spat on the dirt as she approached.

    Was it because of her skin? Or was it because she was a woman?

    She did not let it bother her.

    Zhevra made deals, not friends...

    The human, he red hatefully at Stickyfingers.

    He said nothing... but that look... it spoke of thoughts and emotions, far more than mere words were capable.

    "So this is the *legendary* Captain Krysaos," Zhevra grinned, softly biting her lip with her fangs, "You''ve done well,rade."<novelnext></novelnext>

    She tossed over a small bag at the pale Corallidus'' feet.

    The rest of the payment was in small gems-- easier to carry... undeniably valuable, no matter the port.

    The coin would ease the crew''s collective guilt.

    Zhevra smiled as Stickyfingers inspected the goods.

    She did not short-change her partner-in-crime out of good faith. If he was as clever as she thought, the sack of spoils would be worth even more than they''d agreed upon.

    Stickyfingers tied the sack to his waist, nodding in satisfaction, "Pleasure doin'' business wiv ya."

    "Now, with paymentplete," She pursed her lips together, subconsciously letting out a soft moan... "OoOohh... I would like your... *assistance* in murdering your Captain."

    "Nah," Stickyfingers waved dismissively, "Ain''t part o'' da deal."

    "Oh?" Zhevra licked her lips with her long tongue, "What else do you want? For me to *suck* it again?"

    "OUR work''s done-- an'' done *good*," The Corralidus shrugged while chuckling lightly. "Any more''ll cost''cha extra. A lot extra."

    It was... somewhat reasonable to ask for more coin for services rendered... but it was also insulting.

    The crew had already figuratively stabbed their Captain in the back.

    That they refused to do so literally-- that Stickyfingers, in particr, refused to do so... left her with a bitter distaste in her mouth.

    "Hmph," Zhevra frowned, "Very well. Leave me with him."

    Captain Krysaos quietly crossed his arms... brooding... glowering...

    His ''trusted'' men turned their backs.

    They left him... leaving no words behind... not one of them sparing a single look.

    It was painful to watch.

    Zhevra knew betrayal.

    It was not something she enjoyed seeing... or causing.

    She''d have gone against her employer''s wishes, if she could.

    But... she liked money.

    ...She also liked being alive.

    "And why are *you* still here?" Zhevra growled, "I''m no longer in *mood* for physical pleasure."

    Stickyfingers opened his mouth-- to say something stupid-- sexist, perhaps... but there were footsteps approaching from the opposite direction.

    The pale Corallidus acted quickly, and despite his frame, he hid himself in the foliage almostpletely.

    Likewise, Zhevra scrambled up her tree-- the second time climbing, easier than the first.

    Zhevra furrowed her brows, immediately recognizing the Dark Elven woman emerging from the shadows.

    She had been followed... She had eschewed stealth for speed, but at the pace she moved--

    ...The tunic underneath Imperia''s coral armor tes was burgeoning red.

    That fool girl...

    Her wounds had opened.

    ? "I''m here, Krysaos," Imperia dered... "I know... you have a lot... to say to me."

    Zhevra grit her teeth. What could this girl possibly expect from this conversation?!

    The Princess had SHOT and KILLED Krysaos'' lover.

    Facing him as he was... she was setting herself up for suffering-- she was courting death.

    Krysaos turned away.

    Even without words... his bodynguage was clear...

    There was no forgiveness... not for her.

 Chapter 852 Head & Heart

    ?Zhevra held her breath as she watched Imperia limp her way forward...

    It was a struggle.

    Her breaths were wheezes of agony. Perspiration dripped down her face and exposed upper arms.

    She stopped for a moment... and she shook her head as if trying to awaken.

    The poison affecting her... was a cruel one.

    It was administered by the Princess'' personal bodyguard... an Elven male named Bizdiil. He was senile, xenophobic, and misogynistic-- therefore both emted and celebrated amongst his kin.

    For noble families, more than those born beneath them... the attempted assasination of one of their own earned swift retribution.

    However... Bizdiil was merely the executioner.

    The impotent knife-ear acted only under orders of his High Priestess.

    ...Apparently, in House Vulkoori, filicide was one of their favorite activities-- emted... celebrated.

    Yet... the ingestion poison was not enough to kill the Princess outright.

    Or maybe it was...

    Perhaps Imperia did not truly want to die, after all.

    "I... I came here to kill you," The dying girl whispered... "Mother... will stop at nothing... so the least-- the least I can do..."

    Zhevra raised an eyebrow. The least Imperia could do... was to kill Krysaos with her own hands?

    That was... respectable. It was courageous. It was taking control of her own fate.

    If that was Imperia''s decision... Zhevra could not interfere-- not if she wanted the Princess'' loyalty in the future.

    Krysaos'' death was guaranteed.

    ording to House Vulkoori, he was a simple privateer, a man without status... without wealth... without royal blood.

    That...moner-- he dared to court Imperia.

    House Vulkoori did not seek to verify. Perception took precedence over reality.

    Though Krysaos'' reputation was not so simple... it was unforgivable.

    Though the Princess'' life was already forfeit... the insult remained.

    House Vulkoori was not the wealthiest house-- nor did their words carry weight in the Eastern States. They would not have be pawns to a single human Wizard, if otherwise.

    Still, it was an old House... established, with a great deal of connections. It was easy for them to hire one or three or three dozen Dark Guilds to assassinate a single mark.

    Captain Krysaos of the Neptune''s Revenge... lived in both fame and infamy.

    The man was wronged by the sea god and sought revenge. He raised a ship from the bottom of the ocean... and it was crewed by evil creatures from the depths. The legendary Tactician of Sol Invictus served by his side, under his verymand.

    They were rumors... based only loosely on actual truths.

    But Zhevra saw one truth with her own eyes.

    He had a close rtionship to a certain Elven Princess... very close.

    Krysaos would die, yes. But... there was no better way to die than to be killed by a beautiful woman who loved him with all her heart.

    Imperia stood at sword''s length from the human Captain... and finally... he turned to face her.

    His hopelessness and hatred had left him... reced by a sneer of contempt.

    The change was so sudden... so drastic that the hairs on the back of Zhevra''s neck stood on end.

    ''Kill him, Sister,'' She begged in her heart. ''Kill him. Bury your mistakes. After, we will take you away... we will keep you safe.''

    As long as Krysaos died, she and Vyzen would earn a bounty from their employer. That coin and more would go towards taking Imperia to a healer... then changing her identity to escape her mother''s watchful eye.

    But that... that honest... foolish child... she copsed to her knees.

    She smashed her forehead against the rocks on the ground.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I''m sorry, Krysaos! I... I know you can''t forgive me... but... I''m truly... sorry."

    She... apologized... without hesitation... without shame.

    When she lifted her head, Zhevra saw her face lit by the moon, tears streaming... nose running... a stream of red flowing down the top of her scalp.

    "Kill me if you must!!" She begged, "But please... forgive me."

    Zhevra moved as fast as she could, grabbing the Turathi rifle on her back, tucking the stock against her shoulder, and lining up the sights...

    --but it was toote.

    Captain Krysaos drew his rapier from its scabbard.

    He cut in front of him.

    The dark elf Princess ced her hands on her neck.

    "Aughhck... hckkkkk... hrrrRRRR!!!"

    She gasped in surprise... but she could not find air. Instead, she found the sick, wet gargle of blood welling in her throat.

    "Your head is too *stupid* to see my sister''s sincerity," Zhevra pulled the trigger.

    **BANG**

    A burst of ckened blood erupted from Krysaos skull.

    Before he could fall, she pulled it again, "And you have NO heart!"

    **BANG**

    The second shot pierced through the man''s chest.

    The body copsed with an ignoble thump... but it did little to alleviate her rage.

    "Gods... damn it," She grit her teeth.

    The Princess... had gone through so much pain. She''d experienced so much hate and distrust.

    How?

    How... could she have put so much faith in a single person?

    Trading her life for forgiveness?! It was the single most idiotic deal Zhevra had ever seen in her life...

    "Damn it all..." She clenched her fist... squeezing tears of frustration out of her eyes, "Why, Imperia? WHY?!"

    ...

    ? In yet another ce... ?

    Tycondrius opened his eyes to find himself standing in a field of grass that grew up to his waist.

    Observing his surroundings, he made an inquiry to his System... trying to discern where he was *not.*

    He was not... in an illusion.

    ...That would have been the most ideal. Tycon''s particr set of skills made even advanced illusions simple to break.

    He was not in a Reality Marble... which came as a minor relief.

    When Tycon was entrapped in the Realm of the Cloud Goddess, he cultivated on his own for several weeks while his System tried and failed to brute-force the credentials necessary to escape.

    He left that ce so *quickly*, only due to sheer luck. He chanced upon his captor, Jiang Ying Yue, and obtained an intimate analysis of her mana signature.

    A Dungeon, perhaps?

    Assuming Princess Ophelia''s ritual worked correctly, Tycon was in the ''Water Temple.''

    ...Yet, if that was true, that was *severe* misnomer.

    There wasn''t a single structure in sight.

 Chapter 853 Voices From The Past

    ?ording to rumors made popr in the adventuringmunity, House Moonwell''s ''Water Temple'' was a Dungeon... a reasonably logical structure filled with deadly traps and unspeakable horrors.

    If Ophelia''s ritual worked properly-- and Tycondrius had no reason to doubt his work, the story of the Water Temple was no more than a fanciful myth. It was a tale conjured to frighten children and dissuade gods-fearing adventurers seeking easy glory and riches.

    ...Tycon was fooled, as well.

    He''d expected the worst, but was pleasantly surprised to find that he was over-prepared rather than not.

    He silently thanked his travelingpanion, Coraline Heartsong, for suggesting as such, some weeks prior.

    The young Arcanist had researched a number of topics in Whitehearth, one of them being House Moonwell''s worst kept secret.

    Princess Ophelia and her ancestors had been tasked to protect the ce or... otherworldly Realm where the Lake Goddess was bound for eternity.

    That information, though... came from yet another legend-- an Elven one. Whether it was true or... was interpreted from the Ancientnguage correctly, or... if the knowledge was even useful, Tycon was doubtful.

    Not an illusion. Not a Reality Marble. Not a Dungeon.

    The Hidden Lake sect''s designation of this Realm as a Hidden Domain seemed most urate... though still gave no clue to his *actual* whereabouts.

    Tycon stood upon ck soil and rolling hills with a fewzy trees growing under the dispassionate gaze of a cool, orange sun.

    Even in the small area around him, he identified no less than three different ''Spirit Herbs'' hidden in the grass.

    They were items highly prized by Martialists and Alchemists. Unfortunately, he did not have the skill to identify, retrieve, or store any quality herbs-- nor the patience.

    Tycon took off his Officer''s cap to feel the light, dry breeze billowing his long hair... neither oppressive or ufortable.

    Scanning the horizon, he identified no sentient-madendmarks... no well-traveled paths to follow... and no creatures of earth or sky he could make reasonable inquiries to.

    The hills were solemn and somber... like a grave site... or a forgotten battlefield.

    There was but a single anomaly he focused on, a river cutting through thendscape.

    "How peculiar..."

    ...It glowed an eerie blue color.

    Recing his cap, Tycon leisurely made his way over... but as he grew closer, he was assailed with a severe urge to drink.

    ...To counter that, he summoned a filled waterskin from his spatial ring.

    Tycon was in a foreignnd. The locals might have grown ustomed to the impurities in the water, but as a Gold-Rank adventurer, he was not immune to afflictions of the stomach.

    Besides that, the river water did not look particrly inviting, with its unnatural glow and... by the somewhat sinister movements he spied within.

    There were translucent faces in the water, momentarily haunting his reflection before drifting along with the current.

    Tycon sat at the riverbank, patiently watching for several minutes. He felt the flow of the river''s mana... and sensed the wisps of spirits traveling or trapped underneath the clear surface.

    "Seven hells," He smirked.

    That was where he was-- a conclusion he made adding his observations to his unnaturalpulsion to drink from the haunted waters.

    ording to his bloodline memories, the river was called Letherna.

    It was one of the many bodies of water that spanned the hells-- with this one, in particr, also traveling through certain heavens.

    From that, he conceived a simple n.

    He would summon his friend, Hades, God of Death and the Dead, for guidance.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Considering his location and the thick miasma of death energies in the atmosphere, he could do so at a severely reduced material cost.

    Failing that, Tycon reasoned he could... walk alongside the river, searching for andmark or a settlement.

    He sighed loudly to himself, his voice traveling farther than it should, considering the long grass surrounding him.

    His travels would much easier if he had a boat of some kind... or a--

    ...raft?

    Tycon rubbed at his eyes, blinking several times.

    Floating at the river''s center was an old, gnarled wood raft, tied together by reeds.

    It was attached to a rope, likely ending in an anchor of some sort.

    And atop it was... arge, slightly tremulous basket.

    It was a fortuitous encounter. The raft''s owner would certainly be able to provide Tycon more insight on his location, proper.

    A ssh of water, sudden and loud, bid him to reach for the sword at his waist.

    A translucent spirit emerged from River Letherna. It was a young, human gentleman... tall and in the prime of his youth.

    His form was surprisingly solid, hinting that he''d expired only recently.

    Tycon rxed his posture as he shook his head.

    The dead woulde to thisnd... dazed, confused-- and wanting.

    They would drink from the waters... and they would forget themselves.

    It was... cleansing.

    Purifying.

    The dead no longer had need for their memories... years of pain and struggle, offset by moments of joy and satisfaction. No matter their status in life... they all traveled the same river in death.

    Fully submerged in the river, the young man risked being pulled in by the other spirits.

    The souls in the river were no better than mundane beasts, their only desires: thirst... and an end to their suffering.

    Tycon shut his eyes and whispered a quiet prayer in the old Tyrionnguage... "Requiescat in pace..."

    The boy would be torn apart. His form would dissolve until he became nigh unrecognizable-- a vague face of anguish, robbed of the ability to act independently.

    He would be yet another drifting spirit... his fate decided by whatever awaited them at Letherna''s end.

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed to himself.

    He wondered... if he might have known that young man... an enemy he''d killed... or an ally he''d--

    "Young Master Tycon!" A jovial voice called out, "Haven''t seen you in what-- MOONS? Ah reckon it''s been YEEEARS! Yer lookin'' rEeeEaL *spiffy!* You get that coat from uh... bein'' in the mili-tary?"

    Tycon clenched his eyes shut.

    He was hearing voices from his past.

 Chapter 854 Delicious Fruit

    ?Tycondrius was no stranger to nightmares.

    In the night, he''d relive a thousand failures, experience horrors impossible for a wakeful mind toprehend, and suffer underneath the crushing weight of his collective doubt.

    He had learned to sleep, despite them.

    It *was* umon to suffer a nightmare while awake... but the level of anxiety he was experiencing, he had grown more-or-less ustomed to.

    Well over a hundred personally-felt deaths burdened Tycon''s soul.

    However, the pain of losing each and every one of his stalwartpanions remained.

    Granted, the ache had dulled over however-many decades.

    Tycon identified it as... guilt.

    It was guilt for remaining alive and hale while others far-more-deserving were... not so.

    Concerning those old allies, more often than not, their names escaped him. He could not recall their faces... their personalities, their quirks-- not even their strengths and weaknesses.

    It was *somewhat* a relief... an inadvertent benefit of forgetting himself up until ''awakening'' in the Kingdom''s city of Nice only a few years prior.

    Since then, he''d relied on cold logic as his trusted guide rather than his emotions.

    Why should he allow himself to be so affected by persons lost both to life and to memory?

    However, logic also bid him an unpleasant, lingering concern.

    From which of his lives did the dead hail?

    --and where he felt guilt, was there yet another who felt resentment?

    "MISTER TYCON!!" The young boy raised his voice, "Dagnabit. Kin ya HEAR ME?"

    "Not now, Kimura Tamaki," Tycon waved. "I''m busymenting your death and my shoddy memory."

    Young Master Tamaki of House Kimura was a young gentleman he did happen to remember.

    He was a cultivator from the Ivory Judge sect who epted Tycon''s invitation to Sol Invictus at scarcely thirteen or fourteen years of age.

    He was kind and just. He was enjoyable to converse with.

    Despite his unhurried speech and the fact that his proficiency at themon tongue was mediocre at best... the young man was supremely intelligent in his multiple fields of expertise.

    His ss was Fisherman, but his abilities as a pathfinder and survivalist rivaled even the highest tiers of human Rangers and Scouts.

    Had that not been so rare a ss amongst adventurers, Tycon would havebored to keep one in every party he traveled with.

    As far as his quirks were concerned... the boy might have been... taller than he was.

    --but not by much.

    A head-and-a-half was not so much.

    The honest, blonde boy would have outgrown his sire if it weren''t for his death during one of Sol Invictus'' missions in the Kingdom.

    Tycon opened his eyes, "Get out of the river, young man."

    Tamaki lifted his arm out of the waters.

    A bottom-feeding fish, its width nearly the size of Tycon''s waist, was... inhaling the boy''s arm just past the elbow.

    "I''m noodlin'' fer catfish!!" He dered.

    That... was a catfish? Its scales were an ugly dirt color. It had spines growing along its back that were likely venomous. It also had sharp fangs.

    ...Also, that was not a good enough reason to be wading so nonchntly in a creature-filled, memory-stealing, soul-tearing river, no matter what ne of reality they were in.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Then again... Tamaki seemed mostly fine, save for his right arm.

    The boy bled profusely... ghostly blood-- or... if his memory served, the proper term for it was ''ectosm.''

    Tycon crouched down at the riverbank and narrowed his eyes.

    "How is your memory, Young Master?"

    He also wanted to ask how much his sense of pain had dulled-- but he feared that would be rude.

    Tamaki swept back his wet, translucent hair and scratched at his cheek... "I uh... ah hate ta say it, but I uh... plum forgot where I parked ma raft."

    The usage of a delicious fruit as an adjective was... undeniably charming.

    "Your raft, Young Master... is immediately behind you," Tycon offered politely.

    "Oh HO!" Tamaki twirled around.

    Tycon took a vignt half-step backward to avoid the ssh of potentially memory-stealing river water.

    "Thanks, Tycon!" The boy cheered, "Yer a lifesaver!"

    "That is literally opposite of what I am," Tycon frowned. "I''m assuming you''ve forgotten, but it was on my orders that you were sent to die."

    Tamaki smashed the catfish upon the wood of the raft before slipping it off into his basket. It was a smooth motion that conveyed his skill at... noodling for Lethernan Catfish.

    The teenager then climbed up onto the tform, sitting on the edge with his shins in the water.

    "Did Lone and Mister Dragan make it out alright?" He asked, "Can''t really remember."

    "We were talking about *your* death, Kimura," Tycon furrowed his brows, "You should be very cross with me, young man."

    "But I ain''t?" Tamaki kicked his feet, "It''s real peaceful here in heaven. All I do e''rry sun is sleep when I''m tired... go fishin'' when ahm hungry... or dig a hole when ah need to poop. It''s like bein'' retired-- almost?"

    "This is..." Tycon stopped himself before continuing.

    He had originally estimated they were *not* in any of the eleven heavens... but he realized that was not a certainty.

    At any rate, there was little difference between the heavens and hells, save for whether devils, demons, angels, or primordial beasts had more dominant poptions.

    ...He''d continue operating on the assumption they were in hell until proven otherwise.

    Tycon shook his head, "Dragan lives... as does your sister, Taree."

    "I have a sister?" Tamaki grinned, "Oh, boy. Hope she''s doin'' alright!"

    "If she has been cking in her training, I will ensure the opposite," Tycon shrugged. "And concerning Lone... I''m currently on a quest to rescue him-- his soul is being suppressed by a pair of ancient Elven artifacts."

    Tamaki''s eyes drifted upward to the empty sky... "Sounds...plicated."

    Likewise, Tycon''s gaze drifted elsewhere as Krysaos'' words came to mind: "You don''t say..."

    "Alright. That''s enough dilly-dallyin''."

    Tamaki smiled happily as he picked up a long paddle, using it to help him stand.

    It was an innocent smile that prodded at the stony walls of Tycon''s hardened heart.

    "Say, Young Master Tycon," He said, "you wanna be my huckleberry ''s we drift downriver?"

    Tycon took a deep breath, "Young Master Tamaki... I have no idea what that means-- but yes. Yes, I would be honored to be your huckleberry."

    "Honestly? ...I don''t really know what it means, neither."

 Chapter 855 Unaccustomed To The Dryness

    ?Tycondrius was expecting his river journey with his youngpanion to potentiallyst multiple suns before finding anything worthy of note.

    He was wrong-- but the surprise was a wee one.

    Not even half-a-bell had passed before Tycon spied a quaint log cabin near the riverbanks, partially hidden by thick foliage and a trio of naturally-formed hills.

    "Is... that yours, Young Master?" He pointed.

    "Dunno. Could be?" Tamaki ced his palm over his eyes, peering into the distance.

    ...As the sun shone through the boy''s ghostly hand, the minute action seemed... not so effective.

    ? "Even if it ain''t, we sh''d still check it out," Tamaki added. "Whatever fe lives o''er there-- I wannapl''ment him on ount o'' their fine workmanship."

    "Ah," Tycon nodded. "Of course."

    Tamaki of House Kimura was a genius.

    Earlier, Tycon had determined that the young man *was*, in fact, affected by the waters of Letherna. However, either his will was strong enough to stave off its greater effects or he had an item or ability that otherwise did the same.

    Then, if Tycon was assuming correctly... Tamaki had designed a... reckless work-around.

    The young Fisherman would paddle upstream, submerging himself in the waters for noodling purposes. Afterward, he would ce his spoils in his basket and allow his raft to drift back downstream... towards a ce of familiarity that he waspelled to explore.

    Tamaki tied the raft to a tree on the riverbank, then led the way to the cabin... navigating around a retinue of primitive but debilitating traps.

    Tycon wanted to be impressed.

    It was excellent foresign to defend the cabin so thoroughly. However... traps so easily discovered were not particrly effective.

    Granted, Tycon reasoned he might have blundered into one or three of them.

    ...if he was in a hurry.

    --and devoid of certain senses like... vision.

    Tycon removed his cap as he followed Kimura Tamaki inside.

    Along the walls were a number of effects unique to the young cultivator, which confirmed the cabin''s owner.

    Sect robes hung on a hook. They werergely bleached by the arid sun, but once, they were colored with the vibrant orange dyes typical of Martialists in the Ivory Judge sect.

    An unstrung bowy against a wall beside a quiver of arrows. When Tamaki was alive, that was his weapon of choice.

    Beside that was a stone hatchet, bound in twine, appropriate for chopping wood. Years prior, the boy had taught Tycon the manner and form to do so effectively.

    "The smell that bad?" Tamaki frowned.

    Tycon turned away to hide his reddened eyes, "I am unustomed to the dryness of this ce."

    "Ah, right," Tamaki grinned. "It didn''t take me long at all ta get used to it. Maybe. I dunno?"

    The boy shook his head, chuckling affably to himself, "At any rate, make yerself at home. I''mma fix up some dinner fer the both of us."

    "...Fixing. Yes. That... sounds lovely."

    Tycon watched Tamaki ce his basket of fish down, then mill about the single-room cabin, retrieving various cooking items.

    Of course, Tycon offered his expert assistance-- but for his trouble, he was scolded and browbeaten into sitting at the table like an ipetent lout.

    Thankfully, the boy performed admirably, seeming to operate on rote motions rather than conscious thought.<novelnext></novelnext>

    In the span of mere minutes, Tamaki had ''fixed'' a cookfire aze underneath an iron pot and set the table with tes and chopsticks.

    The dinner setting was simple and mundane... but more than Tycon feasibly could have expected.

    Wood and iron... the young man must have been quite resourceful to have amassed so much material. Further, his workmanship was superb, especially considering his age.

    "Young Master Tamaki," Tycon pursed his lips... "Have you truly lost your memories?"

    "Oh, I defini-tively did," Tamaki smiled.

    "That is not how you use that word."

    "My body''s just... sorta movin'' on its own," The translucent boy continued, "Now''s I think of it... I think at''s prob''ly why I kicked the bucket in th''first ce."

    He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he took a knife to the Lethernan behemoth on a wooden countertop... "I ''member... someone bein'' in a lick o'' trouble-- big trouble. Maybe it was me? But I think... it was probably someone else-- jus'' as important."

    He gave a thoughtful smile as he turned to meet Tycon''s gaze, "Wasn''t time fer thinkin'' with mah head. So I followed mah heart."

    "Since I''ve wrested control of my own life," Tycon frowned, "I''ve actively tried to *not* do that."

    "Seem''s ta h''ve worked just fine for me-- whoops."

    A ssh of purple blood marked the boy''s ghostly face. He wiped it away with the back of his hand as he continued, "Err... or I hope it did. But anyroad, I ain''t doin'' too bad!"

    "You are *deceased*, young man," Tycon insisted. "In general, humans think of your situation as... *not* fine."

    "Yeah? Huh. Well, I guess we''re gonna have to agree ta disagree."

    Tycon shook his head in disbelief. What exactly was the boy disagreeing with?

    Tamaki began pouring a coarsely ground white powder onto the fish filets. It was likely a frying agent.

    "Ya gotta look at the bright side, Mister Tycon. The weather''s real nice. We got food-- we *kinda* have water?"

    "We''ll be drinking from the water stores in my spatial ring," Tycon insisted-- "and that is not a debate."

    "Ooh, that''ll be a treat," Tamaki smiled with a shine in his eyes, "Then, after dinner, we can pop open a coupl''a jars o'' shine I been steepin'' fer ten-eleven days, now."

    Tycon dropped his gaze, staring down at his dinner te...

    He often pushed away his regrets to the back of his mind, but... sharing in Tamaki''spany brought them to the forefront.

    Sharing Tamaki''spany was... nostalgic.

    It was... pleasant.

    It made Tycon feel like a petnt child for being so...

    "Why ya lookin'' so ornery, big fe?" Tamaki asked.

    Tycon shut his eyes, steepling his fingers on the table.

    "Kimura Tamaki... I am the leader of an adventuring guild.

    "I send young men and women of integrity and valor to their deaths in exchange for coin and false promises of glory.

    "I... do not deserve your hospitality... nor do I deserve your forgiveness."

 Chapter 856 Casual Summoning

    ?The young ghost did not appear particrly concerned about Tycondrius'' misgivings.

    "I''ll tell you h-what, Mister," Tamaki leaned forward. "Yer gettin'' mah hospitality, no if''s, and''s, and/or but''s. And as fer my forgiveness? I ain''t cross wit''chu fer anythin'' in per-tic-r."

    ...There were far too many ''ands'' in that sentence.

    "Brother-Tamaki..." Tycon took a deep breath... and loosed an exasperated sigh, "you... deserve better than this."

    "Well, on that note," Tamaki paused... "If ahm recollectin'' correctly... which there''s a good chance I might not be, there''s Avernan Snapper a couple malms upriver?"

    "Not what I meant, boy," Tycon growled.

    He turned up to see Tamaki grinning at him, wide... like a fool.

    "This is mah fate, Warrior Tycon... m''destiny. I found it. I like it. I ain''tmentin'' what''s in the past-- ahm livin'' in the present, e''rry bell, e''rry sun, the best I can."

    He tilted his chin up and raised his brows, "You can''t let one fe''s death kill off all yer hopes and dreams-- that''d be plum stupid."

    Despite the presence of a plum in the boy''s reassurances, Tycon couldn''t help but be annoyed at the boy''s mature response.

    "...I''m older than you, you know," He scowled.

    "Want me ta call you Sir?" Tamakiughed.

    He began adding the coated fish pieces into the iron cookpot... into the heated animal fat.

    The smell was lovely.

    The gentle, sizzling noise... was healing to the soul.

    "...No, that won''t be necessary," Tycon groaned... "But I will ask... for the honor of seasoning our meal with salt and spices, once the frying process isplete."

    Tamaki smiled... a gentle smile that made Tycon miss the young gentleman''s friendship andpany more than ever.

    "The honor''s all mine, Young Master Tycon."

    ...

    ? A short timeter... ?

    Tycondrius did not remember so much maturity from Young Master Tamaki when he was alive.

    The boy had died... but he''d taken it more as a positive experience than not.

    He had grown-- so to speak.

    The meal was lovely. The drink was satisfying.

    The conversation... was thought-provoking.

    Tycon still did not feel deserved... but hispanion was certainly doing his best to make him feel as wee as he could.

    In that, they... agreed to disagree.

    "So what''re yer ns from here on out, Young Master Tycon?" Ghost-Tamaki asked. "If yer gonna stay awhile, we kin set out and get materials ta make you a bed."

    "I''m nning to--" Tycon stopped mid-sentence and tilted his head, "Where exactly would we get materials for that? ...And where did you get the lumber for your cabin?"

    Tamaki opened his mouth in a broad smile, "Don''t remember."

    "Tss," Tycon rolled his eyes, "You can only say that so often before I start to disbelieve you. The catfish-- eating its fried flesh restores your memory, does it not?"

    "Guilty ''s charged," Tamaki gave a casual shrug. "A half-bell east, there''s a forested hilly area crawlin'' with ogres and big ol'' spiders ''at shoot burnin'' puke out their butts. They don''t move much when it gets dark-- gets colder ''n a witch''s teat ''bout that time,though."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon nodded in thought. That sounded... incredibly dangerous. Tamaki was the most powerful Bronze-Rank Fisherman in the Realm, alive or dead.

    "And... the bedding material?"

    "There''s a valley a few bells away filled with the nastiest roosters I ever did see, s''big around as a fe is tall. The feather down''ll make do... but if''n ya ain''t careful ''bout coverin'' up, you''ll get a mighty burnin'' rash fer yer troubles--sts ''bout a week long."

    "...Do you have any coin?" Tycon asked politely, "--or whatever is used for currency in this ce?"

    "Ayep," Tamaki raised his chin proudly. "Ah went up ta town a coupl''a weeks back."

    Tycon furrowed his brows. There was a nearby town?

    Ah, no-- that wasn''t what was concerning.

    The young ghost had provided... far less information than in his previous examples.

    ...Thus, Tycon remained quiet, staring expectantly.

    "Well, uh..." Tamaki rubbed the back of his neck, "Y''see, I didn''t know my way ''round those parts... so ah went through a coupl''a alleyways."

    The boy stopped once more... but Tycon vaguely understood the gist of his story.

    Tamaki had a fortunate encounter... or an unfortunate one, that resulted in an increase to his financial worth.

    Most likely, he was the target of a violent assault.

    Clearly, he survived-- so to speak... and was better off for it.

    Why he decided to keep that information private was peculiar... but it was his prerogative to do so.

    "Very well," Tycon smiled politely. "Anyroad, dear brother... concerning my stay here, I''d best be going as soon as possible... As you may be aware, I don''t quite belong here."

    "Yeah, ''bout that," A star of suspicion lit up in Tamaki''s eyes, "It''s ''cause yer uh... colored, ain''tcha?"

    "...Mind the year and the socio-political climate, Young Master," Tycon red. "The proper term, I believe, would be *alive* as opposed to... not that-- or opaque as opposed to translucent, if you''d prefer."

    "Aha, right, right," Tamaki scratched the back of his head, chuckling in embarrassment, "Didn''t mean no harm, Tycon."

    "Granted," Tycon shrugged as he lifted up his cup.

    Tamaki''s moonshine was a harsh drink, by itself. However, mixing it with tea, sweetened with beet sugar, made its consumption a vastly more pleasant experience.

    The young Fisherman lifted his own cup, tapping it to Tycon''s with a satisfying clunk, "To the livin'', I guess."

    "I''ll drink to that."

    "So ''sides from that..." Tamaki nced over to the opposite end of the table... "what''re we gonna do ''bout that third te o'' food we fried up?"

    "Reagent for a summoning ritual," Tycon exined.

    "...Fer a magic ritual?" Tamaki asked, "I didn''t see you cast no spell, though?"

    Before Tycon could answer, a series of loud sounds came from outside the cabin. Wooden nks had bent and snapped... and a series of rocks had fallen.

    "Gods-DAMN IT!!!" A gruff, rock-gargling voice called out, "Who the F*CK made a F*CKING TRAP PATH OUT HERE?!?"

    Tycon finished off thest of his delicious beverage, "Did you truly doubt me, little brother?"

    ",

 Chapter 857 When We Arrive In Hell

    ?? Back on Moon Crescent Isle... ?

    Zhevra of ckrot Wound slid down her tree, still fuming in anger.

    Imperia was a fool.

    She was dead.

    And for what? Following her heart?

    Her murderer, Krysaos, was also dead-- as was inevitable.

    ...Her only regret in not killing him sooner.

    "You''z a real good shot with ''at--"

    In an instant, Zhevra''s dagger was pressed up against Stickyfingers'' throat.

    "Eh?" The Corallidus held his hands up, "What''s ''is about? Wasn''t we s''pposed ta be partners, Zhev?"

    "Do not be confused," Zhevra angled her de downward, shoving the man''s chest with the back of her hand.

    "I only have *one* partner," She said in a low voice. "*You* are aplice."

    It was almost insulting.

    Zhevra was an Assassin... and she had allowed herself to be caught unaware by a man from a lower-tier ss.

    "Earlier..." Stickyfingers smiled with his eyes, "Din''chu coll me-- wot was it... Comrade?"

    "That was before," Zhevra spat, "Now, everything... everything is..."

    The Corallidus broke into a wicked grin, "F*cked?"

    ...Zhevra shot Stickyfingers a look of strong discontent-- though herrade''s judgment was urate.

    She turned to walk away, sheathing her dagger and repositioning her slung rifle on her back.

    The Corallidus followed her, his footsteps quiet-- but not perfectly so. Zhevra''s mood lifted very slightly to know that her senses were fine as long as kept vignt.

    "Oh,e on. Don''t feel baaaad, Zhev~" Stickyfingers whined... "Da elfy got what wasin'' to her."

    ...Zhevra took a deep breath.

    She was still upset... very upset. However, she had to be realistic.

    "Yes," She sighed. "Perhaps... you are right."

    Imperia had taken a critical injury, well beyond what modern magics could heal.

    She could not be returned to life.

    ...And she was already avenged.

    There was nothing more Zhevra could do...

    "Princess Imperia''s death may be deserved... but..."

    The hulking Corallidus lowered his body to look at her eye-to-eye... "Oi? What''s wrooOong? Li''ul minnow caught yer toOngue?"

    Zhevra reflexively looked away.

    Despite the fact that she could kill Stickyfingers with a single bullet, he still had a naturally impressive physique... and an intimidating demeanor.

    It was partially why she was attracted to him.

    Zhevra took out a clean cloth to wipe the Princess'' face, "Princess Imperia is... or was... like me in past..."

    As gentle as a mother, she closed the girl''s eyelids... "She only needed... guidance-- guidance I could have given to her."

    "''At so?" Stickyfingers scratched the back of his head, making the sound of stones scraping together, "Looks like you w''s jus'' a teensy bit toote-- nuffin'' ta beat yerself up about, doh?"

    "Tch," Zhevra scoffed as she turned to re. "Deathes for us all... even you, Corallidus."

    "Ahhhh hahaha," Stickyfingers chuckled as if her words were a funny joke. "Don''t you worry yer li''ul ''orned ''ead bout me, Zhev.

    "I''z ain''t scared o'' deff.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Ma''ter of fact, when me an'' da boys-- we get to da seven ''ells, we''z gonna sail ''eir ck oceans, lootin'' an murderin'' every ''orned boy and girlie we c''n find!"

    "You... you are serious?" Zhevra let out an unwomanly snort.

    Stickyfingers'' tant disregard for eternal damnation in the Realms beyond was nothing short of ridiculous. ording to the histories of the mercenarypanies in Bael Turath, their military doctrine originated in the various hells.

    The afterlife... would not be easy for her pale aplice... or for herself.

    Zhevra stood up, ncing up to the moon watching over them... "Then perhaps... I am more human than you are... Comrade."

    She turned to face Stickyfingers with a light smile, "Unlike you, I *do* fear death... as inevitable as it may be."

    "Ehe?" The Corallidus crossed his arms, "Really, Zhev? Y''know da bowf of us stick to da shadows... but I didn''t fink ''o you as da cowardly type."

    "There are many great things to fear-- some, more than death," Zhevra shook her head. "For example: my employer."

    "Ah, yeah, yeahhhh..." Stickyfingers nodded, "Da... da Wizard, innit?"

    "Where did you hear that name?" Zhevra narrowed her eyes.

    The massive Corallidus pointed a stony finger... at her.

    ...Oh.

    "You''z got a pretty shite mem''ry fer ''avin'' a head so big," He teased.

    "These are *horns*," Zhevra scowled.

    She wanted to beat herself for nearly losing her temper over something that was entirely her fault.

    ...She really talked too much during sex.

    "Return to your crew, Comrade," Zhevra waved her long dagger. "Unless you truly wish to watching me. Now I am cutting your former Captain''s head."

    "E''z dead, y''know," Stickyfingers shrugged. "Da Cap''n''s a ''umie... can''t live wif a hole in his ''ead... and''n iz chest, too."

    "I am aware," Zhevra scowled. "Is there problem?"

    "Oh, by all means, girlie," The Coral Boy made no motion to leave. "Feel freEEe~"

    Zhevra shook her head.

    Fine. If the psychotic fool wanted to stay, then so be it.

    Perhaps the Corallidus was stubborn.

    ...Perhaps he somehow understood that she did not actually want to be alone for the moment.

    "I''z gonna be be roight ''eeere," The pale Corallidus grinned reassuringly.

    "(Thank you,)" Zhevra whispered in her mother tongue.

    "Ah, ''old on a tic," Stickyfingers grabbed the hatchet on his waist, "''Is might make fings easier for you? Might need bowf ''ands ta use it, doh."

    "Both hands," Zhevra rolled her eyes, "You have seen me use *both* hands... and mouth.."

    "An'' let me see yer gun while yer goin'' about it," Stickyfingers leered.

    The look he gave... for a moment, Zhevra was insulted that it was given towards her weapon and not her body.

    She cradled her customized Turathi rifle in her arms, "What makes you think I am stupid enough to let you handle lethal weapon?"

    "''Cuz you fink I''m pretty?" Stickyfingers suggested innocently.

    If he had eyshes, the Coral Boy would have been fluttering them.

    ...Zhevra let out a deep sigh as she lifted the weapon sling up and over her head, careful not to let her horns catch on, "Do you even know how to use rifle?"

    "Yeah, ''course I do," Stickyfingers took the hextech weapon with a surprising amount of reverence.

    "In case you''ve forgot, Zhev, I''z a milit''ry professional," He exined. "You''z seen me an'' da boyz wiv sharp and stabby impl''ments, but we''z trained in all manner of shooty weapons, too."

    To prove his point, he racked the weapon back and snatched the ejected round out of the air.

    "Ooh... was still loaded~"

 Chapter 858 Peculiar Realization

    ?The Corallidae were officially part of the Magic Kingdom''s Navy.

    Zhevra was privy to the fact-- the Wizard had files collected on all notable personalities in the crew of Neptune''s Revenge.

    ...She had honestly forgotten. The information was useless since her marks were in the Eastern States, well outside of their jurisdiction.

    Still... Stickyfingers was a professional killer, trained by a proper institution.

    Perhaps that was why he knew how to treat a woman with a modicum of respect.

    "Of course it was still loaded," She snorted. "We are still inbat zone."

    The pale Corallidus offered the haft of his hatchet once more, "You''z still gonna want ''is? Ey, Zhev?"

    "No... There is expensive enchantment on dagger," Zhevra smiled politely. "Return weapon, if you please."

    Stickyfingers twirled the rifle about, inspected it for another moment... then showed her the empty chamber, "Clear an'' on safe. Gehehe... you''z *really* got da nicest toys."

    "Perks of being frence assassin," Zhevra shrugged as she again took hold of her prized weapon. "Maybe consider change of profession when you return to maind."

    She came to a peculiar realization... that she did not feelfortable allowing others to hold her rifle.

    Even her brother, Vyzen, was no exception-- not that he particrly cared.

    His specialty was not in firearms, but in brute force and overwhelming power. He wasn''t happy unless his opponents became splotches of blood and broken bones in the indented dirt.

    Zhevra allowed Stickyfingers a privilege that she did not give to Vyzen.

    ...She wondered if she was being emotional.

    It was... a potential weakness-- one she would examine at ater date.

    With her current mood, she was going to do as she pleased.

    Zhevra spun her sling around, adjusting her rifle on her back before walking over to inspect the Captain''s corpse.

    The man once known as Krysaosid motionless where he died. What was left of his eyeless face ''stared'' at the sky.

    She knelt down to inspect his injuries...

    The blood was... strange. It seemed to adhere to the stones and the dirt like ink.

    It was dark... almost ck. It did not gleam under the light of the moon.

    Stranger still... she looked inside his open chest wound.

    There were no internal organs.

    In an instant, the body faded away-- like an illusion?

    Krysaos-- he stood in front of Zhevra as she knelt.

    Wisps of smoke drifted upward from his eye sockets... burning with the hatred she saw in the man earlier.

    "--what?"

    The Captain grabbed onto her armor''s cor.

    He pulled her close... and the cretin-- he SPAT in her face!

    It... it HURT!! The heat was biting... SCALDING, chewing away at her flesh!

    Thanks to her reflexes, she had turned away at thest moment-- but her dominant eye had already taken irreparable damage.

    "You!!" Zhevra pped the man''s arm away before tumbling backward.

    "You... are NOT Krysaos!!" She growled.

    Her attacker... his human features faded away... into a dark, vague, less-than-human shape.

    He was... a Shadow-man-- one of many evil creatures able to change their forms for stealth and guile. .

    His wide grin glowed a stark white, a contrast to his ck-smoke silhouette, darker than the night.

    "My... name... is Ishmael."

    Who in the eleven heavens was ISHMAEL!? He was not in ANY of the Wizard''s reports!!

    He must have been one of the members of Sol Invictus.

    She was stupid.

    She was too trusting on what she knew.

    She had underestimated her enemy!!

    Even if there was a minuscule HINT of truth in Baron Tycon being the Tactician of Sol Invictus-- it should have been obvious that he did not act alone!

    How many more members of Sol Invictus had she not seen in the crew? How many more waited for her?!<novelnext></novelnext>

    Zhevra''s concerns flitted immediately Vyzen. Her brother had volunteered toy waste to the crewmen of the Neptune''s Revenge, Iron-Rank and below... but if there were any enemies that could challenge him--

    Ishmael moved forward to attack.

    Zhevra stood up to meet it, shing her long dagger simultaneously.

    It was fast... and Zhevra''s speed was affected by her initial injury-- but she was CERTAIN she had cut her opponent''s throat.

    But... her de...

    She felt no resistance...

    What she did feel... was a new injury.

    Blood ran hot from a piercing cut on her lower abdomen.

    ...She swallowed a mouth of blood.

    Iron-Rank? No. Stronger.

    Zhevra was badly hurt, despite her Gold-Rank physique. Her enemy... the shadow-Krysaos named Ishmael, he must have been at least high Iron-Rank.

    Her situation did not look good.

    Blind in one eye. Critical abdominal injury.

    To use her Comrade''s words from earlier, she was f*cked.

    Nevermind fighting and defeating her opponent, Zhevra needed immediate magical healing to prevent being killed.

    She still had a magical healing potion... but she first needed to get to safety to sleep and recover.

    Quickly circting her mana, she began to activate her Movement Technique, "Ethereal St--"

    "Where ya goin'', Zhev?" Stickyfingers asked in a low voice.

    That... palefaced BASTARD! Zhevra snapped her head back to see both of the Corallidus'' hands grabbing onto her tail.

    She only realized it then.

    She realized it far toote.

    Zhevra... the too-honest Assasssin of the prestigious ckrot Wound.

    She trusted that man. She slept with him. She shared with him her secrets.

    ...and he had betrayed her.

    "Da fun''s jus'' gettin'' stah''ed," Stickyfingers teased.

    "You have crossed wrong b*tch," Zhevra growled, "Most dangerous b*tch in f*cking world."

    With a slice of her dagger, she severed her own tail.

    It didn''t hurt.

    ...There was too much adrenaline coursing through her veins for anything more to hurt.

    Later, it would.

    Later, it would be agony.

    She dipped her body low and tried to sprint. She made it a half-dozen steps but ended up stumbling and falling.

    The rocks in the muddy dirt biting into her face as she slid.

    "AH! GAHAHA!!!!" Stickyfingers'' mockingughter echoed throughout the clearing. "Wot''s WRONG, ZHEV?! AHAHA! Can''t BALANCE wivout a TAIL?!! ''EEERE! ''Ave it BACK!!"

    Zhevra felt a piece of meat fall on top of her.

    ...It was probably her tail.

    At least it wasn''t a dagger.

    "Grrrhh!" Zhevra heaved through clenched teeth as she forced herself to stand.

    She wobbled forward, concentrating fully on her steps...

    Focus.

    She needed to focus.

    Quickly, she began to increase in speed.

    As long as she focused... she would be able to escape.

    And if the situation grew dire enough... she could burn her remaining mana reserves to activate one final movement technique.

 Chapter 859 Promise Of Vengeance

    ?"Sur-PRISE, B*TCH!!"

    Zhevra had always prided herself on her reaction speed, especially in potentially lethal situations.

    A massive green blur emerged from the forest. She couldn''t identify it, but she lowered her body while simultaneously sweeping her attacker''s leg.

    After the fact, she realized she''d barely avoided the swing of a bearded war axe.

    Her shin connected with her opponent''s ankle... but it felt like she''d struck solid stone.

    Corallidus.

    Zhevra looked up.

    ...It was thergest and meanest-looking Corallidus she''d everid her eyes on.

    He was... a Petty Officer in the Royal Marines.

    His ursed name... was Bob.

    "GAHAHA HAHA!!" The creatureughed as he spun his axe over his head and rested it over his shoulder.

    "Eh... heh... heh... Ya don''t look so ''appy ta see me," He grinned, lust for blood burning in his beady ck eyes, "But I''z reeeeal ''appy ta see you, ya f*ckin'' two-''orned WENCH!!"

    Zhevra rolled to the side to dodge the Corallidus'' downward chop, then she ran up his chest and kicked off to create distance.

    As she rotated her body in the air, she grabbed her rifle off her back, racking it back to load a new round in the chamber.

    Shended with her barrel aimed at the Coral Boy''s center of mass. Even with only one eye, she would not miss at such a short distance.

    "Save pillow talk for lover," She growled, "Tell her my name when you arrive in hell. Maybe distant cousin?"

    "You fink ''at''s enuff ta kill me?" Bob pointed a gauntleted thumb at his thick, armored chest. "Dat is... before I crack da ''orns off yer head an'' wear ''em better ''an you ever did..."

    "To answer question:" Zhevra smiled, "Yes."

    She pulled the trigger.

    It clicked.

    Oh.

    Oh, f*ck.

    Zhevra had no idea the manner of which she was struck... but she found herself staring sideways at the forest trees.

    Her left side ached from her impact to the ground. Her right arm-- it hurt to move.

    ...Broken, most likely.

    She was still bleeding. She had one eye.

    Stickyfingers had stolen her ammunition.

    She was... so very f*cked.

    "?Ethereal Stride.??"

    Zhevra felt herself falling, dropping down through magical darkness.

    Feeling a new impact of her ttened body against sand, she checked her surroundings.

    The distance... it was good-- good enough.

    She had to get away. She had to get to a hiding spot... or meet up with Vyzen...

    He... he would do everything she asked for.

    He''d kill them... scatter them in fear!! Crush them all into PASTE!!

    It''s what he did best...

    Zhevra had used thest of her mana to travel only a few hundred yalms... but she could make it work.

    As injured as she was... she was confident in escaping the Iron-Rank crew of Neptune''s Revenge, even if they had ten times their number.

    "They''ll pay for this..."

    She got onto her hands and knees before vomiting a fresh spew of blood...

    "They will *all* pay for this..."

    Zhevra unstoppered two healing potions on her belt, forcing herself to drink them in session. Her body grew hot... healing her injuries-- though her stomach roiled with sickness.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She grabbed a new magazine and tried to load her weapon... but it was useless. The barrel was jammed. It would need more than a simple tap and rack to clear it.

    She closed her eyes and cursed Stickyfingers once more.

    Her vengeance wouldeter...

    She swore it.

    Once she returned tond, she would use ALL her connections to kill him and EVERY. LAST. member of the Neptune''s Revenge!

    ...

    Stickyfingers rubbed the rough, porous skin of his forehead.

    It was a real risky move for him to grab onto Zhevra''s tail. Lucky for him, though, the horned bird chopped off one of her own appendages to get away.

    Kinda stupid, honestly.

    It would''ve been a better n if she aimed at his wrist-- his fingers, even.

    It was good she didn''t though.

    Stickyfingers needed his hands for looting things and stabbing folks.

    ...Or the other way around, depending on what was going on.

    The other Coral Boys starteding out of the trees, each of themughing at the horned girl''s sloppy go at legging it orining about forest sticks riding up their arses-- probably both.

    Some of them were just making noise because that''s what they did. Most of the boys weren''t quiet types.

    "Shut yer gobs, the lot of you!!" Petty Officer Bob roared above the din.

    "EhehHIHI!! Look at ''er RUNNN!!" Wonderboy cackled.

    Ah, Wonderboy.

    Stupid, stupid Wonderboy. Even stupider than Zhevra, he was.

    Everyone had already quieted down when Wonderboy''s dumb, peach-pocked arseugh rang loud and clear.

    It was like he wanted to be beaten.

    "Dass won''t get far," Bob growled.

    The beefy bloke smacked Wonderboy upside the head-- exactly as he deserved.

    Wonderboy rubbed his temple indignantly... "Wh... why''s ''at d''oh?"

    Bob puffed up his chest, looming over the smaller Coral Boy-- real intimidating-like.

    "You questionin'' me, boyo? An'' understand dat da wrong answer is gonna get you ''urt. Real ''urt... really... f*ckin''... ''urt."

    That was Petty Officer Bob. Real good at convincing, Bob was.

    Wonderboy finally shut his gob. Either the one or three braincells he had finally shone through or he figured he didn''t wanna get hurt again.

    "Leads!!" Bob yelled, "Tell Wonderboy why da girlie won''t get far."

    "...Ahem," Stickyfingers coughed into his closed fist. "Da ''orned girl''s only got one eye. Ishmael took care o'' dat."

    "An'' tell ''em WHY ''at''s IMPORTANT!!" Bob insisted.

    Ah. That was right. If only that much was exined, then Wonderboy wouldn''t be able to understand.

    "It''s taken away her periph''ral vision," Stickyfingers exined. "Ya need bowf eyes ta judge da distance from objects in front o'' ya''s... so she''ll keep stumblin'' fru rocks an'' tree roots if''n she doesn''t figure it out."

    "YEAH!!" Bob grinned, "At''s e-ZACTLY roight! Stupid Wonderboy... even you''z got betta peripheries ''an da leggy ''ore."

    Wonderboy nodded real fast, real quick to agree, "Makes sense, Bob. Makes a lot of sense."

    Stickyfingers raised an eyebrow. Maybe that one *was* getting smarter.

    Even a little bit of growth was worth celebrating.

    ...Bob stroked his chin with a thick hand, "Da girlie is real far away, doh, ain''t she?"

    "Should probably call fer Doc," Stickyfingers suggested.

    "Wuh?" Bob furrowed his brows, "Yeah? Yeah... ''zactly as I was finkin..."

 Chapter 860 Calling The â€˜Doctahâ€™

    ?Stickyfingers stuffed his thumbs into his ear-holes to prepare himself.

    Petty Officer Bob took in a deep breath... and bellowed out a name at the top of his lungs.

    "DOCCCCCC!!!"

    The other Coral Boys raised their voices, echoing the name of the least qualified surgerer in the crew. Of course, the calls were equally mixed with names nowhere near as professional-- but Doc knew who he was.

    Everyone was real excited.

    They were in for a good show.

    "SOMEONE CALLLLLL FER DA DOCTAH?!??"

    Doc came out of the crowd, raising his arms to court the crowd, "YEAH!! Lemme HHHHEAR ya''s!!"

    The modified rifle he had strapped to his chest-- he took it off and raised it above his head with both hands.

    unting his custom rifle got him a thunderous round of raucous stomping, loud cheers, and violent apuse.

    "Look ''oo decided to join da pah''y! Gahaha!!"

    "Da leggy b*tch is gon'' get away, ya keep F*CKIN'' off!!"

    "Put on yer SHIRT, you bloody DEGENERATE!!"

    "Yeah, ''as right," Doc pirouetted around and kissed both his biceps, "You lot''s jus'' f*ckin'' jealous."

    The Coral Boy''s medical smock was wrapped around his waist, his stony chest exposed to the moonlight.

    He had one of Lieutenant Tycon''s tobo cigars in his mouth, lit and smoky.

    ...and he was taking his sweet, f*cking time.

    Stickyfingers chuckled to himself.

    Doc looked ridiculous... but no one important was particrly concerned.

    He was good.

    He was real f*cking good.

    The mouthy bastard knew it... and he knew how to rile up the crowd... get their blood pumping.

    Real good at that, Doc was.

    "Yeah, yeahhhh," Bob rolled his eyes. "Get on wiv it."

    "Oh, we''z on it, Bob," Doc smirked.

    "Ooh! Ee!!!" He swayed from side to side, pumping his weapon forward and back. "Oooh, aah AH!"

    He shook his arse like a cheap whore, "HmmHMMM hmmmm!! Wa-wa BING BANG!!"

    He tossed a thick round into the air before spinning around, catching it, and loading it into his rifle''s undercarriage.

    "You''z called da DOCTAH!!" He sang in a screechy pitch, "An'' da DOCTAH has arriiiiIIIIIved!!!!"

    Finally, he ced his weapon between his legs... "An'' da diagnosis iz..."

    He thrust his hips forward-- "ffffffUMP!"

    **THMP**

    He must have pulled the trigger at the same time, because a fat bullet sailed up and over the woods... across the moonlit sky.

    Everyone in the crew followed its trajectory with their eyes... holding their collective breath.

    --Everyone, that is, but Wonderboy.

    "Oy," He muttered... "Ain''t red-skinned girls resistant to fire-type spells?"

    **POM**

    The boom-bulletnded in the distance, the loud popping noise shaking the ground for a second-- even from where everyone was standing.

    "N-nevermind," Wonderboy looked away.

    Stickyfingers looked through his looted spyss.

    Where Zhevra was a couple seconds prior...

    --she wasn''t there any longer.

    "Hit," He grinned.

    "YyyyyyEAHHHHHHHH" The Coral Boys broke the silence, erupting into a celebratory roar.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Doc took out his cigar and blew the wisp of smokeing out of his rifle barrel.

    "Da jobbbbb izzzz DUNNNN!!!" He said as he breathed in the sweet scent of Orcish sugar... "An'' done good, innit?"

    The boys lifted Doc up and tossed him into the air.

    Of course... no one bothered to catch him when he came down.

    That''s what he deserved for f*cking with everyone for so long.

    Bob stood next to Stickyfingers, quietly nodding his head.

    It was still abat zone... and it was probably best for everyone to keep their mouths shut if there wasn''t any fighting going on.

    Still, he didn''t tell everyone to quit their shite. .

    It was his way of being thankful. Or maybe it was his way of showing he was proud.

    "Da f*ck was in ''at fing?" Bob muttered. "Doc called it a uh... forty mike-mike?"

    "I''unno," Stickyfingers furrowed his brows.

    He recalled that the Bosun talked about it for a bit... but the particr knowledge didn''t exactly pertain to his interests... "Science? Maybe?"

    "Da f*ck kinda magic is... science?"

    "Not a bloody clue."

    "...Anyroad," Petty Officer Bob sighed... before mouthing a grin... "Didn''t know you could talk so much, boyo."

    ...Stickyfingers raised an eyebrow.

    It was always better to listen than it was to talk... especially since he keptpany with so many mouthy gits, in general.

    For Zhevra, though, it was a bit different.

    "Da ''orned girl w''s raised wiv ''umies," Stickyfingers exined. "Dey like da sound o'' deir gums ppin''..."

    He shrugged as he went back to searching with his spyss... "It took a li''ul bit of pryin''... but it was real easy ta get... sensitive information, yeh? Real easy to learn bout da slugsucker pullin'' on all da marite strings..."

    And it was easy to get Zhev to tug on his Leviathan wang-- but that wasn''t something the Petty Officer needed to know.

    "Tch," Bob sneered. "Yer soundin'' like da Bosun... err maybe da little blonde elfy."

    "Yeh," Stickyfingers nodded. " ''Ose two in partic-r''d be real interested innat sort of fing..."

    Eventually he spotted a bit of the tiefling''s clothing some distance away... and a few bits of scattered, unidentifiable lumps of flesh.

    ...It was gonna take a little bit of time to look for her shite.

    "So whaddya fink, Leads?" Bob frowned. "We gonna get to it or what?"

    Stickyfingrs put his spyss away and held up three fingers. "Give us f''irty minutes... den da rest o'' da operation''s yours ta lead."

    "Hmph," Bob crossed his arms. "Make it twenty."

    Twenty? The Petty Officer must''ve been in a good mood to be so lenient.

    Stickyfingers and his sneaky boys only needed ten.

    Zhevra was an established adventurer from a big-named Dark Guild. So despite getting exploded, more things than not were gonna still be in good condition for looting.

    --good enough, anyroad.

    If they were lucky, Doc was gonna get a new custom rifle.

    He, himself, was itching to get his hands on a knife that could cut through solid bone in one cut.

    Then... they could deal with onest problem on the isle... onest wrong to unf*ck.

    That''s why Bob was so fidgety... yet it was also why he wasn''t exactly raring to go.

    Everything so far... the shite weather... the hordes of cultists and their sparkly magic bits... and ''the most dangerous b*tch in the world''-- everything had been easy.

    The crew''s final objective... wasn''t one all the crew was going to survive.

    If the Captain knew their ns exactly, he''d shut them down in a heartbeat.

    But still... it needed to be done.

    The King from Across the Seas needed to die.

    And once he got got, then that was that.

    Even if Captain Krysaos was pissed as all the hellsbined... in this world, no one could bring back the dead.

 Chapter 861 Spoken True

    ?? In a very distant location... ?

    "Keeeep... your hands and other... appendages... inside the ferry at all times," The ferryman whispered in a raspy voice.

    Tycondrius pursed his lips, "Not to be rude, friend, but... is that notmon sense?"

    The ferryman lifted his head, revealing the crystalline skull underneath his hood... "Policy... dictates that passengers be warned... due to... previousss... incidents."

    "...Fair," Tycon nodded... "In that case, you''ve my gratitude for your diligence."

    "Of... courssse."

    ? The group of three had traversed River Letherna for over a bell, the river widening to nearly half-a-malm. All manners of ghostly creatures swam underneath its surface... though only the predators were noteworthy.

    Tycon had no wish to contest any of them.

    It would be folly to face one of those creatures in their natural habitat. Their diet consisted of spirits belonging to varying species and ages... some of even higher caliber than himself.

    Like a proper predator, Tycon preferred to prey on those weaker than himself... or at the least, on his own terms.

    Hades, god of death and the dead, adjusted his posture... which rocked theparably small water vessel just shy of terrifying.

    Tycon gripped the sides of the boat and looked to the ferryman.

    They did not appear to be concerned.

    Therefore... as ufortable as he was, he was probably fine.

    ...Logically, however... that fellow put far too much faith in the boat''s craftsmanship. Hades was ''crafted'' farrger than a gentleman with his bloodline had the right to be.

    "Auhhhhh..." Hades groaned-- or yawned, "I still dunno why you wanna go to that ce, guy."

    "I''ve exined my ns twice over," Tycon smiled politely. "I grow weary of it. If you are truly curious, then perhaps our noblepanion might exin."

    "Nahhhh," The ferryman sighed... "To perform adequately... in this profession... mind-altering substances... aremonly avable."

    ...From those words, Tycon no longer trusted their boat.

    Hades pointed at the hooded undead with his thumb while ''whispering'' to Tycon, "Cursed to do this for eternity. We really need to hire more of ''em, though."

    "Is... that so?" Tycon frowned.

    "I... can hear you..." The ferrymanined... "Also, this is... volunteer... work."

    ...If that was a lie, Tycon did not believe it.

    If it were true, it was somewhat pitiable.

    "But''cha know, Tycon..." Hades crossed his arms, "I can''t go with ya this time. A group o'' gods put a seal on that ce. Outta all of us, only the sea god can get in there, really-- and maybe the elf god."

    Tycon furrowed his brows... "Were you not present at the sealing ritual?"

    Hades'' eyes grew clear for a brief moment... "Tycon..."

    "Yes, Brother-Hades?"

    "I do a lot of f*cking drugs."

    Tycon averted his gaze, staring off at the distant shore, "Granted."

    So the death god was, in fact, present.

    Something caught Tycon''s attention... and he channeled mana into his eyes to sharpen his vision.

    "Boatman, take us closer to shore," He pointed.

    "...Actually," The hooded skeleton tilted its head, "I... am a woman."

    "...Oh, this is embarrassing," Tycon pursed his lips and bowed lightly. "I apologize for assuming. You uh... ah, no. Please ept my apology."

    The pitch of the ferrywoman''s mana-voice was not indicative of their gender. Also, her robes hid the shape of her bones.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Neither excuse would be particrly effective at absolving his mistake.

    "It''s... fine," The boatwoman waved. "But... ording to policy..."

    "Eh?" Hades sat up-- shaking the boat and sending up a few small waves, "Whaddya mean policy? I''m your boss, so you should jus'' do as you''re told!"

    "Even sssoooo," The skeleton ced a skeletal palm on her chest and lowered her head... "I would... need... to talk to my team leaaaader..."

    "Hades," Tycon waved his hand before hispanion could grow more upset.

    Two out of the three persons present were immune to the river''s properties.

    He was not.

    "...It''s just water, dude," Hades pouted.

    Tycon waved to catch the ferrywoman''s attention, "Miss, correct me if I am wrong, but our contract requires that I be taken to my chosen destination, yes?"

    "Yes... Once we arrive... we can arrange a new contract... which requiresss... another payment..."

    "Aha... yeah, that ain''t gonna happen," Hades chuckled. "Tycon''s real stingy about-- ''ey, where ya goin''?"

    Tycon leapt off the boat, creating mana footholds above the water''s surface.

    It was a Skill he had previously thought was more ostentatious than functional... something he''d brazenly copied from the gentleman known as King.

    However, the movement technique was simr enough to practice in conjunction with the instant-burst-and-retract style of sword Skillsmon of the Screaming Silence''s highest level arts.

    He still felt he looked stupid, though.

    An undead leviathan skimmed the surface of the river, allowing Tycon a brief moment to run across its skeleton.

    A four-eyed fish, wide-mouthed and fanged, lunged out of the water.

    It probably thought of him as easy prey.

    "Avernan Snapper," Tycon whispered under his breath. "So the boy spoke true..."

    Though it was one of the smaller predators, it was still the size of a carriage... or a particr orc.

    Tycon leapt up in the air before the leviathan submerged itself and drew his curved de. Even without the ground beneath him, he was confident in rejecting a single bottom-dwelling fish.

    He sliced through the snapper''s maw with ease, then pointed his palm forward, "HAH!!"

    ? ?Kiai Shout? activated. ?

    Therge fish was rejected backward, along with the water that came with it, crashing back into River Letherna.

    "Oh,e ON!!" Hades shouted in the distance, "I don''t have a change of robes!!"

    It seemed he and the ferrywoman were caught in the resulting ssh.

    The god of death and the dead looked quite upset... even though it was just water.

    ...Ah, no, that was unfair.

    Tycon apologized in his heart as he swiped his de downward, "?Caustic Burst.?"

    A noxious green st of mana shot out of his sword, propelling him towards the shore.

    Hended on the beach, rolling onto the rough and rocky sand.

    Stopping his momentum with his heel, he knelt in the sand... and returned his curved de back into his adamantine scabbard.

    Tycon stood up with confidence, raising his chin defiantly.

    "Ladies. Gentlemen. Good afternoon."

 Chapter 862 Challenge Of Nine

    ?Tycondrius'' vignt gaze passed over the undead warriors surrounding him.

    He identified nine potential threats.

    Three warriors from the Sleeping Country looked over, slow as if their fur-d attire weighed their movements. Still, Tycon knew not to underestimate their swirling swordy or their capability to rapid-fire their horn bows.

    Their military doctrine demanded that each of their best could shoot three arrows in the span of one-and-a-half seconds.

    A Kingdom swordsman with a wide-brim, feathered hat crinkled his long mustache. It was likely that he at least had sword techniques equivalent or better to First-Circle spells designed to confound and confuse.

    ...And his sword was likely enchanted.

    Two tall scouts stood up, their bare chests painted in the style of natives of the Eastern States. One of them carried a longneck rifle... a potential threat to Tycon''s Gold-Rank physique.

    Their translucent flesh varied in shades of green, grey and purple and they still bore wounds and injuries suffered decades or centuries past.

    Appearing amongst them so suddenly, the various men and women of the Realm stared nkly, unsure what to make of his presence-- all but three.

    Two humans and a minotaur d in piecemeal armormon in the Free Nations narrowed their eyes... but made no offensive movements.

    Wise.

    Ultimately... the ghosts were armed and armored as they were in life. If they attacked as one, Tycon would be reasonably inconvenienced.

    A tall, scarred human with a thick beard readied their sword-- long and slightly curved in the style of the Sleeping Country.

    Orcish runes ran the length of his de...mon practice in the Free Nations.

    The stylized image of a me was etched onto his shield, the symbol of the Holy Country''s deity.

    He wore thick metal tes, armor poprized in the Kingdom.

    Beaded jewelry in the style of the Eastern States hung from his neck, sporting the symbol of the thunder god.

    The man was an adventurer... and may have even had somewhat of a reputation before his death.

    Yet despite the fellow''s domineering aura, the well-worn but cared-for equipment he wore, and the notches on his shield counting his personal kills... Tycon knew he was superior.

    As for the reason: he was alive and his opponent was not.

    However, perhaps as a result of the adventurer''s confidence, the fellow''s peers began drawing their weapons.

    Slow... and still cautious, they began to fan out on the muddy riverbank, encircling Tycon.

    "This one... yet lives..."

    "Death... has not yet imed him..."

    "It''s not... fair... not fair..."

    Tycon stared fearlessly into their leader''s eyes.

    He leaned his head forward, biting his bottom lip.

    "F*ck off."

    In an instant, the ghosts disappeared... all but the tenth.

    Tycon returned his curved de to his spatial ring... growling to himself in disdain.

    "Even here... warriors without the will to fight are worthless..."

    He pivoted sharply, staring down thest of them.

    "You," He pointed at the final warrior''s back. "You should not be here."

    "L... living?" The girl trembled slightly in surprise.

    Slowly, she turned to face him...

    Tycon took a breath, scrutinizing her features.

    She was familiar to him... an impressionable and inexperienced brte, her hair cut short to avoid dealing with some of the Holy Country''s more troublesome military regtions.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The translucent flesh on her right cheek had been worn away, the smooth bone underneath clear to see.

    Where an eye should have been, set its socket, instead glowed a dim silver sphere.

    The girl was undeniably deceased... a ghostly shade of her previous self.

    She tilted her head with her lips slightly parted, and she spoke in a light, feminine voice... "You''re... alive, aren''t you?"

    Rena of Leopardon wore trappings typical of a rank and file Munifex from the Holy Country, well worn andfortable. She even carried a military crossbow that looked to be in serviceable condition.

    Most of her form remained solid... most of the left side of her face... most of the right side of her body.

    She did not die with aplete corpse.

    The fact weighed upon Tycon''s conscience.

    Rena leaned forward, blinking her one eye...

    Tycon watched her patiently.

    She nodded to herself, then lifted her weapon up... "Be... like us..."

    ...Tycon reached over, snatching the reload tool off of her belt.

    Tyrion crossbows had draw weights of over 200 ponze, something the small and lithe Rena would not be able to draw back manually.

    "G... give it back," Sheined in a small voice.

    Tycon lifted it out of her reach, "Who is *us*, youngdy? We''re the only ones here."

    Rena stopped for a moment... allowing her jaw to cken.

    "Be... like me," She finally whispered. Her small smile crossed only half her face.

    She drew close, again earnestly trying to take back her reload tool," Now... give it back or... or I''ll hate you forever."

    "Your threat is meaningless," Tycon sighed... "Why would I care about your feelings? I don''t even care for the judgment of gods."

    "Bro!!" A gruff voice came down from overhead.

    Tycon nced up, watching Hades, god of death and the dead, float down in his dark, billowing robes.

    The orc could fly.

    Of course, the orc could fly.

    ...but why were they taking a boat instead of flying to their destination?

    "Not cool, man," Hades grumbled as hended.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow... but his expression changed upon seeing the state of hispanion''s clothing.

    "Ah, the ssh," He inclined his head. "I apologize. It was not my intention."

    "Yeah!?" The massive orc crunched down on his teeth while he rubbed his face in indignation, "Well, OB-viously!! But ah... you know what? I was *really* mad about the sshing... but since you said you''re sorry, I GUESS it''s fine."

    The orc clenched a thick fist, alighting a green burst of mes all around him.

    ...That was all it took for him to dry himself.

    "Still mad, though," He murmured... "but just a little."

    The orc''s frustration at getting... wet was asinine.

    "Granted," Tycon pursed his lips. "This girl. She should not be here."

    Hades looked over, furrowing his thick, grey-skinned brows... "Yeah? Why not?"

    "Rena is a follower of the Eternal me," Tycon groaned. "Her spirit should have been... reabsorbed by that particr deity, no?"

    "...Should be obvious, then," Hades shrugged. "The me didn''t ept her."

 Chapter 863 Already Dead

    ?"Hades, god of death and the dead," Tycondrius red... "I will have you provide a second conjecture... one of simr or better usibility."

    "Or... uh-- maybe the uh... the other way around?" Hades picked at his ear, "Like, maybe your girl didn''t actually believe in her goddess?"

    The massive orc squinted his eyes in thought... "Y...eah... that pro''lly makes more sense..."

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed at the thought... but the possibility came to him as a relief.

    As of recent, he''d been far too willing to add literal deities to his list of enemies.

    In retrospect, it was too arrogant and foolhardy... even for him.

    "Yo, Tycon. You done sightseein'', man?" Hades yawned, "I''m soberin'' up... and besides, we should *really* get goin''."

    "This is *your* domain, Death God," Tycon crossed his arms, "Why do you seem to be in such a hurry?"

    "One of my many domains," Hades corrected. "I''m kinda like... an overseer-- or andlord."

    "That is beside the point," Tycon groaned. "Your reasoning, Brother-Hades?"

    "Err... well, uh," Hades coughed into a closed fist. "The longer I stay, the more f*cked up shite I see ''bout this ce."

    "...You and I both have a very high tolerance for... ''f*cked up shite,'' Brother-Hades."

    "Eh. I mean--" Hades paused... "I mean like shite not up to code, y''know?"

    Tycon took a deep breath, then steepled his fingers in front of his lips... "So the longer we remain, the more tempted you are to do your job."

    The orc refused to meet his usatory gaze.

    Hades was a good friend... but his work ethic when it came to his profession, proper, was...cking.

    Tycon nced around, looking for Rena. Given her personality, it was peculiar that she had left him alone for so long.

    "Empty night," He cursed, "Fool girl."

    "Ey, hold up, Tyc--"

    Before Hades could stop him, Tycon stomped over and grabbed onto Rena''s hand before she could scoop up the river water into her mouth.

    Tycon had to step ankle-deep into the shallows to do so and his clothing suffered a ssh from the short Tyrion girl''s iling... but he couldn''t be bothered with it.

    He kept a single thought at the forefront of his mind: getting her away from the shoreline before the magic of Letherna could affect him.

    "S... so thirsty," Rena whined.

    "Have you always been this *needy*?" Tycon groaned.

    "H-have you always been this handsome?" The girl leered.

    "The thirst is real," Hades remarked.

    ...Tycon wilfully ignored bothments.

    Flicking his wrist, he summoned a full waterskin from his spatial ring. He unstoppered it and forced it into Rena''s mouth.

    The girl obediently took hold of it, a full hand and a hazy, smoky one... drinking not dissimr to a young child.

    "Drink slowly," Tycon red. "No one''s going to take it from you."

    "Mmph," Rena puffed out her cheeks, pausing for a moment to re at him.

    ...Then she went back to drinking without arguing further.

    "Ahem," Hades cleared his throat... "You can''t take her with you, Tycon. Jus'' like the other kid."

    That was not what Tycon wanted to hear.

    "Hades," He grimaced... "You owe me."

    "Uh haha... not, uh-- what I meant," Hades chuckled uneasily. "I *guess* y''can take the girl with you. I mean-- I don''t give a f*ck ''bout the rules. But c''mon, guy... look at her. She already drank from the river... and not only once, y''know?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Then I. will *cook.* her some. f*cking. fish."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Dude..." Hades looked away, sucking air through his teeth, "This chick is... too far gone, man. You knew that before I said it."

    Tycon rested his hand on the sword on his waist, "Please elucidate me as to your meaning."

    A glint of green mana shed in the orc''s eyes and his voice lowered to a ground-shaking rumble... "Oy... Tyrael...

    "Your girl... she doesn''t remember you-- not y''name, not yer face... not any mem''ries you guyses shared. Da broad don''t even know ''oo she is."

    Rena put down her waterskin, "That-- that''s not true!"

    "Oh, yeah?" Hades snorted, "What''s your name, then, girlie?"

    "It''s... it''s um..."

    Rena idly rotated the waterskin in her hands, "Taylor Swift."

    "Incorrect," Tycon groaned.

    "Bruce Springsteen."

    "Bro," Hades frowned-- his voice having abruptly returned to normal. "You know Bruce Springsteen?"

    "That''s not even a female name," Tycon chided. "And no, that is also incorrect."

    Rena slowly blinked her eye... "Gwen Stefani."

    "...Where are you even getting these from?"

    "My name," Rena willfully puffed out her chest... "is Lady Guh-gah."

    Tycon drew his short sword from its sheath.

    "I was lying!!" Rena threw herself onto the beach, "I''m sorry! Please don''t kill me!!"

    Tycon stared up into the sky, trying not to sigh for the third or fourth time, "You... are already dead."

    "WhaaaaaaaaaaAAAAT??!" Rena shot back up, wearing an expression ofplete and utter shock.

    Tycon took a breath as he pursed his lips... "Did you really not know?"

    The girl looked down, staring through her partially translucent hands and legs, "Y...you''re gonna think I''m a really stupid girl if I say yes, huh?"

    Tycon gulped and whispered in a quiet voice... "Why would it matter how I feel for you?"

    Rena slowly raised her head, staring curiously with one widened eye and a brightly glowing silver orb.

    "Do I... know you?" She asked.

    Hades crossed his arms, "If she really does remember, I''m gonna feel pretty f*ckin'' dumb."

    Tycon met Rena''s intense gaze.

    ...After several moments, he shook his head while tapping the de of his sword against his shoulder.

    "She does not. She was making assumptions using conversational context."

    "It. STILL. COUNTS!!" Rena insisted, "I still KNEW! Now you HAVE to tell me! Who are you?! Who am I? Are we like-- together?"

    "HuhhhhHHH?!" She gasped dramatically-- an ugly sound, "Are we *together*? Like TOGETHER-together?"

    Tycon cradled his head in his palm, "Could you *please* contain yourself, Rena?"

    "MY NAME IS RINA!!!!" Rena shouted, "I re-MEMBER NOW!!"

    "Lost cause," Hades shrugged as he walked off.

    "I''m not lost," Rena humphed. "I''m just... waiting to be saved."

    Tycon took the girl''s hand, "What kind of fool would I be... to want to save a girl like you?"

    ",

 Chapter 864 Making Enemies

    ?Tycondrius met Rena''s ghostly gaze.

    She looked back. She looked to her hand. Her eye widened.

    Despite theck of blood flowing coursing through her veins, she managed to blush.

    Panic began to set in.

    "O... oy," She tried to squirm away, "Wh-what are you doing?"

    Tycon pursed his lips... "Something foolish, I suppose."

    He kept a firm grip on Rena''s wrist as he lifted the sword in his opposite hand.

    She should have recognized it.

    It was an old de once belonging to a Holy Swordsman named Justus... passed down from his father and perhaps his father before him.

    Rena had used thest of her mana-- her life force to enchant it, a foolhardy action that vastly expedited her death.

    The girl stared at it... but whether her wide-eyed expression was out of familiarity or fear of her possible destruction, Tycon did not care to ask.

    "Maybe this will help you remember."

    There wasn''t enough of Rena''s soul remaining in the sword worth returning.

    Thus... he would provide her with a portion of his own.

    Utilizing one''s soul as a power source or catalyst could vastly improve the quality of a spell, simr to blood magic but on an altogether different tier. The spell''s vtility would rise to recklessly dangerous levels... and irreparable damage to the caster was almost guaranteed, even if the spell was sessful.

    The art of Soul Burning had a series of Divine Laws restricting its use.

    ...Tycon ran the calctions in his mind while chanting... disabling and bypassing each of them, one by one.

    The process was arduous... andplex.

    The long-forgotten god or heavenly being that had ced such fail-safes was... one more clever than most.

    Tycon didn''t care much for the rules of the heavens, even the sensible ones

    ...It was going to get him killed, somesun.

    Tycon circted his mana through Rena''s held hand rapidly, yet carefully and intently.

    He used the same mana circuits and breathing technique he utilized with his ?Legionyer? Skill.

    It was the purest he was able... the best he could do as a Martial ss to emte the holy magics practiced by the Priests of the Eternal me.

    Tycon did not have the raw magical strength of a true, Third-Circle Caster ss.

    He did not have the obscenely efficient mana-to-power ratio of a proper, Gold-Rank Martial ss.

    He did, however, know a great many things-- though he was an expert at very few.

    The only quality he had that made him superior to his peers was his strikingly good looks.

    A touch of soft color returned to Rena''s translucent skin...

    The young woman stared down at Tycon''s chest... and ced her forehead against it.

    "I didn''t actually mean it," She whispered.

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Go on."

    "...I just thought ''wanting to be saved'' sounded cool..." Rena sighed.

    Tycon kept silent, focusing on keeping awake and trying to convince himself that his throbbing headache wasn''t his body''s attempt to murder him.

    An errant thought crossed his mind... the fact that it would have been far more efficacious to execute the mana transfer via exchange of fluids.

    He eliminated the thought immediately. He did not want to dishonor Rena by forcing himself upon her-- not any more than he already had.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Thus, as weakened as he was, he could not prevent Rena''s ''attack.''

    The Tyrion girl slowly wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight...

    "You didn''t have toe save me... Zehr."

    ...Tycon hesitantly returned the embrace.

    Zehr.

    It was the pseudonym he had taken when he infiltrated Rena''s guild, the Rhodoks of Ezyria.

    He ensured that every single man and woman under their banner was killed.

    ...Only the horses, war dogs, and beasts of burden were spared-- and even then, only those who agreed to keep their silence about the Rhodoks'' annihtion.

    Tycon hadn''t thought much of the ramifications of his actions.

    He just knew that Rena deserved better... to live in a better ce-- not merely in a location with ess to Avernan Snapper.

    She was, however, dead... killed in battle. Regardless of Tycon''s feelings, she ''belonged'' in one of the many Realms of the dead.

    Thus, smuggling her out of one of the seven hells broke a multitude of rules and came with an evenrger slew of problems.

    Some of those problems, Tycon knew. The Avengers of the Eternal me were the first toe to mind.

    Not even High Oracle Troia would be able to turn a blind eye to his crime. Archbishop Natalya Crucis would sign his assassination order without a second thought.

    The Gatekeepers... they would have a vested interest in him.

    Tycon was a Gold-Rank offender of the Laws they upheld. ording to the Gatekeepers'' modus operandi, they would capture him and bind him with one of their ve-contracts. For the decades of his punishment term, he would serve as an effective agent for their Realm-wide operations.

    Then... there were others that were beyond even them...

    Stealing Rena away was enough of a justification for the forces of heaven to field their agents.

    If Tycon had reached Adamantine-Rank, he would have taken her wherever he pleased without fear of consequences.

    Unfortunately, as he was... he was still mortal.

    And then... there was the problem of Rena, herself.

    Restoring a portion of her soul did not return her memories topletion.

    With what she did remember... and what she did not-- would she even be willing to leave with him?

    While Tycon was not directly responsible in the death of *all* of her guild members, he had personally killed her two closest friends, Justus and Gianna.

    Also... he was in a rtionship with Rena''s childhood friend, Haelvia.

    Considering that, in life, Rena wanted to pursue Tycon as a romantic partner... that conversation would be, in some ways, even more awkward than the former.

    Rena looked up, wiping at the tears rolling down her no-longer-translucent cheek, "The me brought you back to me."

    In the distance, Hades stumbled, "The F*CK?!"

    The orc turned back to look at the ground... as if a rock or uneven terrain made him lose his bnce.

    More likely, the fellow was merely clumsy.

    Unfortunately, there wasn''t much time left for Tycon to deliberate a course of action.

    He felt an intense, dry heat at his back... and a burning hiss echoed in the back of his mind.

    ?? I shall take her from this ce. ??

    ",

 Chapter 865 Not Even You

    ?Those words... Tycondrius understood them.

    The spoken words were in Celestial... a very old dialect of anguage thrice-Ancient.

    That voice... was strangely familiar, as well.

    A... very particr feeling seeped trickled into Tycon''s heart.

    He identified it as... annoyance-- annoyance bordering on hostility.

    His first logical assumption was to owe his recognition to his bloodline memories.

    However... that was imusible.

    Medusae and Maedar might have been long antecedents to modern humans... but the bloodline was not near old enough to know an angel''s true name.

    Tycon turned to face the interloper while keeping Rena at his back.

    A tall, humanoid male hovered just above the river waters.

    His face: arrogant.

    His skin: cast from burnished steel.

    His pronounced cheekbones and deeply set, cleft chin-- they made the vacuous expression in his eyes more apparent.

    His clothing... was at least presentable.

    The angel wore a literally-glowing white military coat and trousers. Thin scrolls were pinned to the cloth, minuscule script detailing this or that achievement over the centuries.

    Tycon respected the fellow''s achievements... though he had already chosen to dislike the individual they belonged to.

    Tycon felt Rena gripping his hand.

    "D-don''t worry, Zehr," She whispered. "I still like you the most."

    ...Tycon felt his eye twitch.

    The fact that the girl felt obligated to reassure him only served to worsen his mood.

    ...He was much more handsome than that empty-brained lunk.

    "You''re more handsome than he is-- for sure," Rena added.

    Tycon took in a deep, calming breath... "Why are you here, Khal?"

    The divine creature swept a lock of his dark, curly hair out of his eyes before he crossed his thick, muscled arms.

    ?? Do not call me that. ??

    Behind Tycon, Rena hid herself behind his back.

    He could tell that her knees were shaking in fear.

    An angel-- a servant of heaven was staring down at the two of them.

    Stern.

    Judgmental.

    Authoritative.

    Brimming with enough magical power to spirit bomb a crater the size of arge city.

    Yet... Tycon didn''t feel intimidated.

    The fact that Khal was scaring his youngpanion only served to annoy him further.

    Still... being insistent on a particr form of address was reasonable.

    Tycon forced a neutral smile, "Why are you here... Khalkydrius?"

    ? Khalkydrius, God-Rank Brazen Srion Redeemer. ?

    The angel continued to float on. The bastard had so much mana that he could probably sustain his flight indefinitely.

    ...Tycon briefly entertained the idea of climbing on his back and putting reins and a bit in his mouth. He could ride atop him throughout hell, reminiscent to a sea elf on a domesticated shark or karkinos.

    Khalkyd gestured towards the two of them with an open palm.

    ?? I''m here for business, Tyrael... to im the young woman behind you on behalf of the Eternal me. ??

    Ugh.

    Of course.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Tycon waved dismissively, "Oh, soddddd offffff~"

    Khalkyd stared nkly for several moments... before tilting his head upward.

    ?? Elucidate me to your meaning. ??

    "I mean to say..." Tycon growled, "--your services here are not required."

    Rena tugged on his hand, "Are... are you an angel, too, Zehr?"

    "What? No," Tycon furrowed his brows. "How in the seven hells did youe to that conclusion?"

    ?? Yourpanion, Tyrael, is no more an angel than I. ??

    Khalkyd tried to offer something meaningful. He failed to do so.

    "Well... I dunno?" Rena shrugged, "You kinda... have the same aura as him? I guess?"

    "As him?" Tycon pointed at stupidest angel in the eleven heavens, "Do nottttpare me to this... this *thing.*"

    Khalkyd was equally unamused.

    ?? You are entitled to your opinion, human. However, it is wrong. ??

    Rena leaned forward to whisper, "If you guys are rted..."

    "Mind your tongue, youngdy." ?? Please refrain from thy arbitrary assumptions, human. ??

    Both Tycon and Khalkyd responded simultaneously.

    Rena ced an arm on her hip while pouting.

    She was not convinced.

    "Oh, f*ck you, angel," Tycon spat. "And speak in themon tongue. You''re being rude."

    Khalkyd''s eye twitched as he opened his mouth to speak, "I... am the one... being rude?"

    "...Nevermind," Tycon waved. "If your lizard brain is too underdeveloped to speak with modern vernacr, you may go back to your primordial grunts and growls."

    Khalkyd gnashed his metal teeth as he wrinkled his nose, "If you find my artictioncking, then perhaps you should first seek to meet with me eye-to-eye."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, ring hatred and contempt at the metallic, levitating piss pot.

    "Khalkydrius... are you insulting my height?"

    "I am referring to the fact that your current form is unable to fly," Khalkyd said-- without any particr emotion.

    ...The response came as a slight surprise to Tycon.

    The angel''s reasoning was far less acidulous than what he had originally thought.

    Still, the insult was a justifiable instigation.

    Thus, he decided to be offended.

    Tycon brandished his Tyrion short sword and pointed it at the floating angel... while he quietly nned the process of jamming it down his throat.

    Khalkydnded a few fulms away, the force sting waves of sand and water outward.

    ...which was well within throat-jamming range.

    "Do not bother," He held up his hand. "I am fully aware of your capricious nature and predilection for hostility. Thus, I had prepared twenty-two forms of ?Counterspell? before I descended."

    "Counterspell?" Tycon scoffed. He shook his head in an exaggerated motion while subtly lowering his body, "You think you--"

    Quickly crossing the distance, he nted a solid left hook into the Khalkyd''s side. Following that, he smashed the t of his sword underneath the angel''s chin.

    **CLANG**

    "Eleven heav--... AUGH!!!" Khalkyd reeled back, "Are you... MAD?!"

    "ZEHR!!" Rena shouted, "wHaT''re you DO-INNNG??!?!"

    Tycon lifted his sword to inspect for damage. Thankfully, it remained serviceable... partly due to the foresight of not using its edge.

    However, from the throbbing in his left hand... it had fractured upon impact.

    Ignoring the pain as best he could, Tycon again lunged forward and hooked his thumb underneath Khalkyd''s cor, aiming his sword at the talkative fellow''s mouth.

    "No one will be taking Rena without my permission," Tycon sneered. "Not even you."

 Chapter 866 Puppetmaster

    ?Tycondrius narrowed his eyes to thin slits just as a sh of light burst from angel Khalkyd''s right hand.

    With it came an intense, but fleeting rush of dry heat.

    It was slightly ufortable... but Tycon was pleased that it wicked away the sweat and moisture in his clothing.

    Khalkyd was staring him down, his ming greatsword poised to strike... putting all of his effort into looking intimidating.

    "Put. it. away. Tyrael," He warned.

    "Tss?" Tycon scoffed, raising his eyebrows mockingly, "Or you''ll do *what?* Kill a mortal? How many of your *rules* would that break, Khalkyd?"

    Khalkyd took a deep breath, setting his expression into a steely grimace, "Why are *you* even *here?*"

    The angel turned his head and raised his voice, "Overseer!!"

    Overseer? Tycon followed the angel''s line of vision.

    A certain oversized orc was standing a dozen fulms away, anxiously rubbing his hands together.

    Perhaps he was trying to look innocent.

    He was not very convincing.

    "I uh... it''s not my fault, guy," Hades smiled toothily. "We got it handled, though, so uh... you don''t gotta report this."

    Khalkyd looked back to Tycon, "I was under the *assumption* that your ''Gatekeepers'' had ced a restriction on nar travel."

    "Loophole," Tycon exined. "I utilized a Gate operated by the mortal guardians of the Lake Goddess."

    "Che," Khalkyd scoffed... "So you''re here for Erza Aerzin? I should have known."

    ...That name. Tycon knew that name... but he could not trust feelings of familiarity.

    The floating buffoon in front of him was a perfect example as to why.

    Khalkyd hovered to the side to address Rena. "See this, young human? This is why the heavens could not host yourpanion for even a single eternity."

    The young Tyrion girl crossed her arms and puffed up her cheeks, "S-stop picking on my boyfriend... even if he does pick a fight with everyone."

    "I do *not*!" Tycon snapped.

    "Hah!" Rena grinned, "You didn''t deny it! No takebacks!"

    ...Tycon furrowed his brows, trying to discern what exactly the girl meant.

    "Is... that the case...?" Khalkyd pursed his lips-- a barely noticeable microexpression, "I must remind you, Tyrael, that having sexual rtions with the deceased is--"

    "Hold," Tycon released the angel from his grip, taking special care to do so in a rough manner.

    "I am aware," He sighed, "I assure you that is not the case."

    The steel-skinned angel smoothed out the creases on his coat while shaking his head. His dark, curly hair swayed lightly with the motion.

    It made Tycon want to punch him again.

    However, his fractured hand throbbed painfully as he re-sheathed his sword... so he decided against it.

    "Ahemm... mm..." Rena noisily cleared her throat, "But who else has my husband fought?"

    Husband? Only a moment ago, he was her boyfriend--

    Tycon opened his mouth to defend himself... but was rudely interrupted.

    "Jibril and Metatrone to mind," Khalkyd boomed, "Then... the members of the Draconic Court, Kas Kerak and Jerim Jya... A great battle may havee to pass with Rixen Ra if it weren''t for The Blue... Neerin Neelia, if memory serves..."

    Hades casually lifted his hand up, "Jibril owes me money. She crashed on my couch for a couple of years,st century."

    "...Jibril owes favors to many beings," Khalkyd frowned.

    Rena folded her hands, looking worried, "That... that sounds terrible."

    Tycon crossed his arms, still indignant, "Based on her personality, that is probably why we came to blows."

    "Dude," Hades grimaced.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "What?"

    Khalkyd disappeared in a sh, appearing beside Rena.

    "They were once... romantic partners," He exined.

    ...The great and mighty Khalkydrius was a gods-damned gossip.

    Tycon''s distaste for him grew... immensely.

    "OoOoh," Rena grinned as she scrutinized Hades'' Orcish form and nodded. "Spicy."

    "I was referring to Jibril and..." Khalkyd tilted his head over to Tycon.

    "OOOH!" Rena hopped up, "Even SPICIER!!"

    "From all ounts," Khalkyd continued, "the honor of the first strike belongs to Lady Jibril."

    Rena took hold of Tycon''s hand, "Well, *I* would never hit you, dear husband."

    ...Tycon chose not to respond to her.

    He shook his hand free of Rena''s grip, drew his short sword once more... and quietly muttered an ?Inspirational Surge? to himself to temporarily numb the pain in his hand.

    "I''ve had enough," Tycon stretched his arms and back before flourishing his sword from side to side.

    He was confident in using his full strength for at least a single short exchange. "Khalkydrius, to the death. Forthwith."

    The steel-skinned angel cradled his chin in his left hand, "Elder Brother... I feel the need to remind you that I am immortal."

    "Of this, I am aware," Tycon said in an overly stern voice-- copying Khalkyd''s general demeanor... "I do not envy you."

    "Mm," The angel nodded brusquely... "Such... gifts are not for mortals to bear."

    "Indeed," Tycon smirked, "I''d imagine it will be rather ufortable suffering a sword lodged up your anus until the end of eternity."

    "PAH! HahaHAHA!!" Hades pped his knee, "CLASSIC Tyrael!"

    Tycon''s bearing broke, and he smiled fully, "You find that amusing, Brother-Hades? For my next trick, I''ll jostle the hilt to have Khalkyd speak in tongues."

    "Please stop," Rena dipped her head low. "I can only get so wet."

    Tycon, Khalkyd, and Hades turned as one: "I''m sorry?" "What?" "Bro."

    "I... I didn''t say anything," Rena whispered in a small voice.

    The untruthful girl''s left cheek quickly burgeoned into a deep red.

    Tycon could not have asked for a better distraction.

    He moved... hoping to take advantage of Khalkyd''s unawareness.

    Unfortunately, a powerful, grey-skinned arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him in. A half-momentter, Hades had entrapped the shiny durd with his opposite arm.

    "Nevermind that," Said the Death Orc. "Listen up, guys. We''re gonna have a little sit down and we''re gonna *talk* this whole thing out."

    Tycon couldn''t escape the oversized orc''s physically strong grip... not without risking injury. If Hades truly wished for discourse over action, he could only reluctantly acquiesce.

    "Must we?" Tycon groaned.

    "I am highly doubtful that Tyrael will agree," Khalkyd muttered.

    Tycon felt the dark-haired angel try to move... but it seemed that Hades was stronger than even him.

    ...It was impressive.

    The god of death and the dead smiled... a forced smile, without baring his teeth.

    "Ah, don''t worry about that. We''re all pretty reasonable guys, aren''t we?

    "We got Laws and sh*t. They gotta get followed.

    "Everyone here knows that..." Hades tilted his head towards Rena... "even the human."

 Chapter 867 Mercy

    ?? A short time and two physical skirmishester... ?

    It pained Tycondrius'' heart to ept the circumstances... but Hades'' exnation was quite clear.

    His best course of action was to surrender Rena to Khalkyd''s care.

    The steel-skinned, empty-headed pigeon was only the first divine being to arrive.

    He was one of the most powerful agents the heavens had to offer... but if he could notplete his mission, more woulde... and in greater numbers.

    It was possible for Tycon to take Rena into hiding.

    The forces of heaven were not as sensitive to the passage of time as mortals. It could take decades before they sent more pursuers.

    ...Or it could take moons... or suns.

    Ultimately, though... Tycon had to consider the youngdy and what was best for her.

    Smuggling Rena back to the mortal Realm would put her in an odd state between life and death. Sentient undead were unwee in most nations... and proper undead would be naturally repulsed by her divine magics.

    Also, her memories were irreparably damaged. Rena struggled to hold basic conversation, often hesitating, stuttering, or crying without exnation-- such was her frustration.

    ...Actively evading the forces of heaven would not be ideal in her condition.

    Alternatively, Rena of Leopardon returning to the goddess of her people... was something far more fitting.

    The small brte hugged him tightly as she cried, "I''m... so sorry."

    Tycon had already apologized to her over a dozen times... and she to him, thrice more.

    The girl had cried so much that she''d gone through three full waterskins to rehydrate herself.

    It was... baffling.

    Tycon had never encountered such an ability... and try as he might, he could not think of a way to weaponize it.

    He gently consoled her by rubbing her back. He''d discovered it was the easiest way to calm her.

    "It will be fine, Rena. You''re going to a better ce."

    "Will... will they have Olea Garden over there?" She sniffed.

    "Absolutely not," Tycon insisted.

    She was going to a heaven, not a hell.

    Rena''s tears began again in earnest.

    Empty night.

    "Ahem," Khalkyd cleared his throat.

    What did that fellow want?

    Tycon pulled Rena into his embrace... while positioning himself to block the steel angel from her view.

    "I... believe..." Khalkyd paused-- likely to give his tiny brain time to form words... "there may be one in Elysia."

    "Oh? Did that get finished building already?" Hades asked, "That ce had been under construction since forever."

    "Overseer, I assure you that ''forever'' is not the case," Khalkyd responded sternly.

    "Rena..." Tycon gently lifted up her chin, "Why... Olea Garden?"

    "It''s... the only ce I can affo-ho-hOoOOord," She sobbed.

    Hades and Khalkyd simultaneously turned their backs... and they began conversing in hushed tones about a different, equally mundane topic.

    Useless fools.

    Tycon shot them a re before returning his attention to his tearfulpanion.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Dry your tears, Rena," He whispered softly. "Soon, you''ll literally be ascending to a heaven. There, you can rest properly... in peace, as we say."

    Rena looked up with sparkling eyes, "I... I never got to hang out with you, though. Like this. I mean-- I''ll... I''ll miss you so much... T-tyrael..."

    Tycon tapped his youngpanion on the forehead, "Are you regretful of the time we spent together?"

    "Well, YEAH!!" She grimaced, "I literally DIED at the end!! --before the happy ending, even!!"

    "...Granted," Tycon rolled his eyes... "But besides your unfortunate demise, you lived well. You always did your best... risking your life to support the Rhodok Guild... to support Decanus Constantina and her archers... for my sake and the sake of..."

    --Justus of Leopardon.

    Tycon did not dare risk speaking his name. If Rena were to ask what became of him... he would find it difficult to lie to her.

    Thankfully, she did not seem interested in that... or perhaps the red-headed swordsman were amongst her memories purged by the river waters.

    "I... I did?" Rena pouted... "I mean... yeah, I did."

    Tycon swallowed dryly... "You can go when you''re ready... but until then, I will remain here with you."

    He turned to again re at his other twopanions-- "for an eternity if it pleases you."

    Hades wore a look of polite concern while Khalkyd stared dully into empty space.

    ? System, change specific ss designation: Khalkydrius is an idiot. ?

    ? Understood. Khalkydrius, God-Rank Brazen Srion Idiot. ?

    "T... tyrael?" Rena whispered... blushing furiously.

    "Yes?"

    The girl giggled lightly... "I just... like saying it. Tyrael. Tyrael..."

    Tycon smiled warmly at Rena''s innocence. He didn''t particrly identify with that name... but he would not take away her happiness more than he already had.

    The left side of Rena''s lips curled upward... "Tyrael... I want to... touch your thing."

    ...It was an odd request, but Tycon saw no harm in it. Rena''s eyes were trained on it more often than not-- especially when he used it against Khalkyd.

    Tycon unsheathed his Tyrion short sword... the one he looted off the corpse of her childhood friend after he murdered him.

    Rena closed her eyes... and she quietly murmured a convocation of prayers in the Tyrion oldnguage.

    She began channeling her mana into the de... enchanting it with her spiritual force.

    Color began to drain from her cheeks. Her form began to wane, bing more ghostly and ethereal.

    Tycon leaned forward and softly kissed Rena on the forehead, "That will be enough."

    "Ah?" She gasped, her spell interrupted, "N... no fair."

    "Any more than this and the various nations may grow vignt of me," Tycon teased.

    In truth, if Rena were to continue, he feared there may not be enough of her soul remaining for Khalkyd to take back to his patron.

    Tycon nced down at his newly enchanted short sword, admiring the intricate me-like, silver runes emzoned onto the de.

    Oddly, the script was... not in a human script. It was in... celestial-- anguage that Rena could not possibly know.

    Tycon hypothesized that her unique spellcasting abilities gave her the right to such forbidden knowledge.

    It was... an intimate prayer, containing all the general things he could expect: health, safety, and luck.

    But most interestingly, in its entirety, it was a plea for mercy on Tycon''s ck-sinned soul.

    ? Mercy. Fourth-Circle Magical Short Sword. Deals severe holy damage to targets. Creatures originating from Lawful and Good-aligned nes are immune to this effect. Soul bind possible. Soul bind? Y/N? ?

    ",

 Chapter 868 Somesun

    ?Tycondrius felt his mana circting as his suspicion mounted.

    He was certain his eyes shone gold as he carefully observed Rena''s expression.

    The young Tyrion girl stared back, unafraid.

    Her eyes, one whole and one not quite so... they were filled with concern.

    "I... don''t know why you''re here..." She said-- "in this ce, I mean."

    She dropped her gaze to the river sand and sandaled feet, her voice shrinking to a bare whisper... "but... it''s probably not for a good reason."

    A good reason?

    Absolutely not.

    Tyconughed heartily-- shocking Rena out of her gloomy demeanor.

    "Wh-what''s so funny?" She shook his arm, looking particrly displeased.

    "You surmise correctly," Tycon smiled warmly as he patted her hand, "My reasons for visiting this hell stem from pure selfishness. I am not a good person-- when exactly did you discern so?"

    "Well... when we first met--" Rena pursed her lips in thought, "when we... huh? Well-- I just knew."

    So she was aware... and even so, in her infinite kindness, she granted him the gift of Mercy.

    Tycon lifted up the Tyrion short sword... tilting it to reflect the re of the hellsworn sun.

    Mercy.

    The shine seemed... different.

    The metal itself appeared more... whole-- with fewer visible impurities.

    ...Most peculiar was its weight. Though it was illogical, the sword''s bnce had moved two ilms forward.

    Mercy...

    It was a Fourth-Circle enchanted weapon... something beyond the ability of regr humans to craft.

    If Tycon were a lesser gentleman, he would be tempted to sell it. The various nations would open their coffers to him if he did so.

    There were few problems that could not be solved by an appropriate amount of silver... and Tycon stood to gain hundreds of thousands of that and more, depending on the buyer.

    Granted... that would be more trouble than it was worth.

    Tycon did not want for coin. As the head of East Charm Trading Company, he financed two professional mercenarypanies, Guilds Metal Wolf and Letalis Serpentia.

    With the silver to spare, he had ess to the best arms and armor in the market. He could also afford to eat at restaurants far superior to Olea Garden-- if he so wished.

    If Tycon''s Mercy were to bemon knowledge... he risked the attention of persons or organizations who preferred to deal with violence and terrorism rather than favors and material goods.

    Ultimately... Tycon deeply appreciated Rena''s magnum opus as a Divine Enchantress... as well as the fact that she knew him better than he once believed.

    ...It would have been remiss of him not to keep her gift and cherish it for the rest of his suns.

    ? Soul bind possible. Soul bind? Y/N? ?

    A thought crossed Tycon''s mind-- his System repeating its earlier prompt.

    He shut his eyes and returned his answer.

    ? I ept. ?

    ? Understood. Soul binding... ?

    ? Soul bindingplete. ?

    Tycon stowed the sword away into his spatial ring. It would be a tool that he used sparingly-- only as necessary.

    ...He also gained a new-- if admittedly mild, concern.

    Besides Mercy, Tycon was also in the possession of the enchanted weapons: the Sword of Venom, the Shatterspike, and Tres Leches.

    He did have a folding hand-crossbow and a small utility knife... but he was otherwise bereft of any mundane weapons.

    ...It was a problem he would address at ater time and date.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon held onto Rena by the wrist as she struggled to stand properly. With the way her knees buckled, It was obvious that her enchantment ritual greatly sapped her strength.

    He held her tight-- worrying if he let go, she''d disappear without warning.

    Though he was concerned, logically, Rena''s ascension to the heavens would not be particrly strenuous.

    He strongly doubted that Khalkyd had the patience to... walk. More likely, the two would fly or teleport to their destination.

    "Are you prepared?" Tycon asked.

    "Huh? What... so... thirs--" Rena''s headzily drifted to the waters before snapping out of her reverie..."Oh... r-right. Zehr?"

    Her form of address-- it had changed.

    ...Tycon felt his chest tighten.

    Rena''s ritual... its mana expenditure, heavily depleted her mana reserves. It affected the little life force she had left-- the life force Tycon gifted her.

    The few memories that were returned to her... she sacrificed them willingly on his behalf.

    "H-hey," Rena perked up. "Don''t gimme that face."

    "This is how I look," Tycon grimaced.

    "Mmm... Zehr," Rena tilted her head. "What if... what if I ask you to stay forever? Would you?"

    It... would be difficult if that was her true wish.

    "Yes," Tycon nodded.

    From behind the somewhat selfish girl, Hades was holding his hands in an X in front of his chin.

    Tycon ignored him.

    "Hah... haha..." Rena giggled-- "I was just kidding! By the me, you''re always--"

    The girl stopped speaking abruptly... and she twisted her brows as if she was trying to remember something.

    ...After a few moments, she sighed without finishing the thought.

    She shook her head lightly, then looked up with a forced smile, "Zehr... Go out and save... whoever needs saving... people like me, I guess."

    "Saving people..." Tycon mulled over the thought, "Strange. The weapon you''ve gifted me is far more appropriate for murder and wanton destruction."

    Rena''s brows shot up, "Whuh?"

    Tycon nted another gentle kiss on Rena''s forehead to appease her, "I will, my young love."

    "Ehe," Rena giggled... "H-hey, Zehr. I''ll... I''ll see you again somesun, right?"

    "Perhaps," Tycon shrugged... "but be advised: I n on living forever."

    Rena pursed her lips, "I''ll... probably apply for reincarnation, then? That''s a thing, right?"

    A short distance away, Khalkyd opened his mouth to speak. Hades grabbed the angel by the mouth to prevent whatever nonsense he was trying to say.

    Rena looked up towards Tycon.

    She gulped... then she closed her eyes and stood up on her tiptoes.

    A line of tears flowed freely from her left eye.

    ...She was an honest child.

    Tycon felt no guilt for obliging her, kissing her softly... intently... and free of dishonorable thoughts.

    He cared deeply for her.

    Their circumstances, however, dictated that their rtionship would deepen no further.

    Tycon pressed his forehead against Rena''s... "Until we meet again."

    "...Y-yeah. Until we meet again."

    ",

 Chapter 869 A Need For Strength

    ?Angel Khalkyd took Rena''s hand, leading her towards her ascension.

    The young woman waved towards Tycon, a frantic fluttering of her ghostly arm.

    "T-take care, Zehr!!" She sobbed. "I''ll miss you!!"

    Tycondrius... held up his hand to acknowledge her.

    Watching Rena leave was... difficult.

    He wanted toin-- to curse himself for his weakness.

    Those were concerns he chose not to confide in her. It would be a great disservice to her if he had.

    Rena has epted her fate-- much like Tamaki had, before her.

    Her deity epting her into the afterlife both behooved and befitted her.

    The floating Khalkyd slowed his ascent as he looked down.

    Meeting Tycon''s gaze, he ced his opposite fist against his chest, "Fare thee well, Tyrael."

    ...Tycon raised an eyebrow in confusion.

    "Do you... truly mean that, Khalkyd?"

    "Yes," The angel responded coolly. "Despite our disagreements, are we not friends?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin squints, "Are we?"

    ...He was fairly certain the answer to that question was a resounding ''no.''

    "Of course. If not, I assume you would have tried to kill me."

    ...The imbecile didn''t even flinch, saying something so outrageous.

    That... was grossly incorrect.

    Tycon had tried to inflict critical harm upon Khalkyd several times in just the past bell.

    However... his meager amount of physical power was not nearly enough to threaten actual harm-- not to a Srion.

    ...While the fact wasrgely insulting on a personal level, Tycon could do nothing to change it.

    Not yet.

    ...Also, it was logical of him to remain peaceable with Rena''s chaperone.

    Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning Mercy to render a clean military salute, "Go with honor, Khalkydrius."

    "Since eternity began," The angel nodded, "and until it ends..."

    ...He paused for a moment before adding, "You, Elder Brother, are undoubtedly the same."

    "Oh, sod off already," Tycon waved dismissively.

    With that, the two rapidly ascended skyward until they disappeared in a burst of light and heat.

    ...Tycon took a deep breath.

    It was over.

    And he felt horrid.

    ...and hungry.

    The slow, heavy footsteps of his Orcishpanion plodded towards him.

    That gentle-orc''s friendship and loyalty... were most wee.

    Within only the past few bells, Tycon had bid farewell to far too many of his travelingpanions.

    It was nice that at least the god of death and the dead was... more resilient than the mortals he tended to befriend.

    "Hey, uh..." Hades scratched the side of his head, "You okay, man?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Physically?" Tycon sighed, "I am well. My right hand is injured, but with magical healing, I expect to convalesce fully in three or so suns."

    "And the other ways besides physical?" The orc gently prodded.

    "Ah..." Tycon shut his eyes and took a deep breath... "Rena''s ascent... was... for the best. My personal thoughts on the matter are unimportant."

    "Yeah?" Hades raised his eyebrows, "You sure yer not mad or nothin''? I mean, we can go out murdering and sh*t. Always seems to cheer me up-- gankin'' motherf*ckers."

    Tycon''s gaze drifted back out to the river... the surface extraordinarily calm, despite the hundreds of predators lurking underneath.

    "Surprisingly... no. I''m not angry."

    ...Perhaps it was a sign of growth.

    He did not feel anger, but rather... disappointment.

    He was disappointed... in a great many things.

    ...He was inspired to grow stronger-- strong enough to defy the heavens.

    Strength woulde.

    To achieve his goals, he had to amass personal strength as well as strength in the number and quality of allies he made.

    It would take both a great deal of time and no small amount of effort... but Tycon was confident in doing so-- bar any world-threatening events or deific intervention.

    When he grew strong enough to challenge Khalkyd properly... he would also be able to ignore whatever Laws inconvenienced him.

    "So... uh," The Death Orc shifted uneasily, "you an'' the uh... Holy Country chick. You two f*ck or what?"

    "What?" Tycon twisted his face in disgust, "No! Rena was a close friend."

    "She was pretty cute, man!" Hades aggressively waggled his eyebrows, "C''mon, really?"

    "A *gentleman* can be friends with an attractive woman in a non-romantic manner," Tycon insisted.

    Hades shrugged, "Ah, your loss, bud. From the way I see it, she wanted the D."

    ...Tycon shut his eyes and took a deep breath-- one tinged with the anger he once thought had been absent.

    Regardless of Rena''s feelings, it was an inappropriate topic... especially considering that he had an established rtionship with a different woman.

    Also, as a gentleman, he did not wish to take part in such a crude conversation.

    Hades pped Tycon on the back, "Since you''re good-- err... as good enough as you can be... can we go now?"

    A distance away, the ferry driver perked her hooded head up, her eyeless skull-face looking almost expectant.

    The Death Orc grinned as he raised an upwards thumb towards her.

    "Ugh," Tycon groaned... before straightening his back and putting on a neutral expression. "We''ll go, but I have a request. I need strength... enough to kill a god."

    "The f*ck?" Hades frowned. "What I do?"

    "Not you, Brother-Hades," Tycon rolled his eyes. "If you''ve forgotten, I expect to encounter the sea god and his minions."

    "...Oh, right. And to kill him, right?"

    "Correct."

    Hades chuckled as he rubbed his head... "Yeah... I wish I could help ya, but--"

    "--but for the god-seal you were present for but cannot remember," Tycon frowned.

    "Oh, I remember it," Hades took in a deep breath, snorting through his nostrils.

    ...Then he wiped the blood dripping from his nose, down his upper lip. "Just uh... y''know how it is, man."

    "...I am well aware of your... habits, old friend." Tycon waved dismissively... "I say again... I need strength, dear brother."

    "Well-- uh... okay?" Hades crossed his arms as his gaze drifted away in thought... or inebriation, "You uh... you got something in mind, man?"

    "...I do," Tycon pursed his lips, "I''d like you to use a scrying spell. Locate a being reasonably powerful enough to assist me in my endeavors... someone aligned to me or my cause."

 Chapter 870 Can We Do Better?

    ?Tycondrius-- or rather... the current Tycondrius had lost the memories of his past self. For over two years, he had to stumble over pieces and fragments learned secondhand in order to assume his role enough for no one important to notice the difference.

    Theoretically, Hades did not have that issue...

    ording to that gentle-orc... a notion reinforced by a certain Idiot, Tycon was previously known as Tyrael. The particr circumstances of how that was possible were unimportant.

    That ''Tyrael'' had enough power to challenge archangels and lizard gods at will.

    Thus, it fell to reason... that ''Tyrael'' would have friends and peers of simr ability, Hades being a prime example.

    The Death Orc was an excellent resource. However, him having taken the godly domain of death and the dead, he was bound by the Laws, preventing him from interfering overmuch with the lives of mortals.

    A different ally of ''Tyrael'' might not be beholden to such limitations.

    The assistance of such a being had great potential. Tycon was trying to kill a god, after all.

    "Y... yeah. Yeah. I can do that," Hades nodded slowly.

    ...The way he did so made Tycon question the orc''s truthfulness.

    Hades rolled up his sleeves, rotating his wrists, stretching his hands, and cracking his knuckles-- "Yeah! Easy-peasy, dude. Anything else?"

    ...The orc''s disy of confidence brought forth a degree of guilt in Tycon for having doubted his stalwartpanion.

    "Ah," Tycon furrowed his brows, "it would be ideal if you found an ally not inhibited by arge-scale, God-Rank ritual, thank you."

    "Uhuh, yeap," Hades chuckled... then loosed a heavy sigh, "Y''know... them rituals are getting more and moremon these suns."

    "I''d rather not experience one anytime soon," Tycon rolled his eyes.

    The Death Orc raised his massive hand, projecting the mana-silhouette of his equally massive, soul-reaping scythe.

    The spell Tycon was asking of his friend was...plex-- enough for Hades to summon what-Tycon-assumed was his enchanted mana-focus.

    It was easy to find a light in a dark forest when viewed from above... so too, a Gold-Rank or stronger power amongst a sea of spirits, Unranked and Bronze. However, it would require an astounding amount of mana for the orc to extend his magical senses enough to reach every soul under his purview.

    If Tycon was dealing with even a Sky-Rank caster, he would be hesitant about suggesting such a taxing spell.

    Hades was far superior, an Abyssal Necromancer ascended to godhood-- to God-Rank.

    The quality and the sheer volume of mana in his body far surpassed the limits a mortal could withstand... or evenprehend.

    Further... he was the overseer of the Realm of the dead.

    ...Finding a single amicable gentleman or gentlewoman sounded like something he should be able to do.

    However, as Hades began channeling something reasonably useful... he nced over Tycon''s shoulder.

    "Hey, uh..."

    "...What?" Tycon grimaced.

    The orc''s voice had changed.

    It was a signal... for Tycon to mentally prepare himself to be immensely disappointed.

    "How ''bout..." Hades leisurely pointed a finger, "that guy over there?"

    Tycon... slowly rotated his head... looking... to that ce.

    "Brother-Hades."

    "Eh-yeap?"

    "Can we do better?"

    "Well-- lemme put it this way:" Hadeszily stretched his arms above his head, yawning loudly... "Absolutely f*ckin'' not."

    ...

    There was a young man crouched down on the riverbanks, staring at his reflection in the water.

    His attire looked expensive-- but it had seen better suns.<novelnext></novelnext>

    His suit and trousers were made of white manaweave, resistant to minor cuts and stains... yet the wearer had managed to run them frayed and ragged.

    He wore a sash across his chest, the shade, princely blue-- once. It was covered in mud and filth, its vibrant color and very-*very* expensive dye faded to mediocrity by the hellsworn sun.

    Of course, his sky blue hair kept it soft and silken look... likely owing to the bloodline of angels coursing through his veins.

    He was a Daeva, a Prince, and... theoretically, a close friend andpetent travelingpanion.

    ...He was also in desperate need of a proper shave.

    "Mister Tarquin Wroe," Tycon sighed... "Pray tell... what do thy angel eyes see?"

    The Daeva tilted his head up, his gaze far across Letherna''s waters-- his disgusting neckbeard in clear view.

    Tycon followed his eyes... but there was nothing of interest on the horizon.

    There was... river. Sand. Dull grasses. There was a spectral hand of a lost soul being violently consumed by river scavengers.

    "I''m... searching for someone," Wroe whispered.

    His voice was almost... reverent, as if speaking a certain name aloud was forbidden.

    "Bro," Hades interjected, "It wasn''t that dude that just got eaten, was it?"

    "We did not know that person," Tycon countered.

    "Okay. Just checkin''. I mean... the timing of that scream, right?"

    Tycon waved dismissively to the orc as he turned to face his old, angelicpanion. A serious concern had blossomed in his heart... one that he needed to confirm.

    "Tarquin Wroe... dearest friend..." He pursed his lips and took a breath... "Tell me... who do you seek?"

    The Daeva shut his eyes... causing a single, lonesome tear to trail down his cheek, "I... I don''t know."

    It... sparkled.

    Angels'' tears sparkled-- or at least Wroe''s did.

    Tycon found it mildly amusing... but ultimately, it proved his formerpanion''s worthlessness.

    "He''s drunk from the waters," He shrugged, turning to Hades.

    "Well, yeah," The orc huffed. "Everyone drinks from the waters eventually."

    ...Judging from the state of Wroe''s attire, he had been traveling for numerous suns.

    He was a lost cause.

    "Yo, how ''bout you do that sword thing on him?" Hades casually suggested.

    "I cannot. Rena was a special case."

    "...You wanna go catch some fish or some shite?"

    Tycon hesitated at the thought... but shook his head. It seemed his anger and frustration curbed his hunger... which only upset him more.

    "I do not," He crossed his arms... "Brother-Hades, you are... certain that Mister Wroe is the best we can manage?

    "I am the leader of Sol Invictus-- the diator guild that ruled over the deadliest legal arenas in the Realm. Further, I am the War Prince of Charm-- a *General* of a substantialnd force from a nation constantly embroiled in n wars instigated for the sole reason of determining the size of their leaders'' genitals!!

    "Hundreds-- if not thousands of individuals *must* have died by mymand! At least *one* of them must have some power or repute... and might reasonably like me enough to help me?"

    Hades pursed his lips and gestured to the forlorn angel, "Well... this one-- he''s actually alive, though?"

    ...Tycon tilted his head.

    Wroe was... alive?

    ",

 Chapter 871 Man Amongst Monsters

    ?...Tycondrius furrowed his brows.

    He had almost forgotten he was speaking to a god.

    "Hades! Why is that a question?!" Tycon snapped. "You are the most proficient expert on death and the dead across the Realms-- all of the Realms!"

    The orc turned his body away... then half-turned his head to look back in a dramatic fashion.

    "Tycon... this blue-haired kid-- he''s still alive."

    "...Tss, very well."

    Tycon lowered his head... epting in his heart that every one of his closestpanions were shameless louts.

    Admittedly... he felt he was probably simr.

    Wroe ced his head into his hands... and he started to cry...

    "She''s... the most beautiful... being... to ever exist," He sobbed.

    "Pff, yeah," Hades shook his head, "I''ve heard that before."

    "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder..." Tycon twisted his lips to the side-- "so to speak."

    "Nah, man," Hades grinned. "When you were with Jibril-- aha... it was f*ckin'' cringe."

    "It was in the past, Brother-Hades," Tycon red.

    Wroe''s heaving sobs grew louder.

    "She has... many... MANY pale hannnds..." He wheezed-- as if he had forgotten how to breathe properly... "and... and the most... *loving* embrace..."

    "The... f*ck?" Hades furrowed his brows.

    "Ah..." Tycon lifted his chin and nodded slowly, "Unfortunately... now, I understand."

    Tarquin Wroe had a convoluted history... something unfortunatelymon in the lives of young nobles.

    Real name Landris Wyndham, Wroe''s family imed the historic Wyndham lineage.

    The Wyndham family were made of kings, conquerors, and mass-murderers. They imed their authority originated from the heavens... and that the Daeva bloodline was so pronounced in Wroe, himself, it might have been true.

    Some thousands of years prior, those Wyndhams established their rule over a majority of the known Realm.

    Subsequently, Wroe had a legitimate im to a continental monarchy-- ording to traditions easily ignored.

    His parents were mundane persons. Neither was particrly gifted with mana-sense. The strength in whichever-parent''s bloodline mattered was fully dormant.

    They were respectable geologists and leaders in their field-- sessful enough to raise a single child without issue,

    The results of their research with arcane crystals and metalpounds earned them the slightly mocking titles: the ''King and Queen of Arcanite.''

    It was a surprise to no one that they suffered a fate simr to that of the Wyndham monarchs of old.

    They were killed-- assassinated.

    They had coin, status, and their son was a potential political threat. Worst of all, they were a party with few or no debts or loyalties.

    House Moonwell took in the young Wroe... and over the course of the next decade, they dismantled the families and organizations behind his parents'' murders.

    --assuming thetter were nonfictional entities, to begin with.

    The Moonwells yed the heroes, selfless and just. Granted, whether intended or not, their vengeful campaign also raised their status amongst their ''honorable'' allies.

    From there, Landris Wyndham became Tarquin Wroe.

    He was sent to different save-havens across the Realm... for ''protection'' most likely.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Wroe was a boy without a royal name, yet with enough backing that he was untouchable.

    --and loathed for it.

    He did earn a great deal of benefits, in particr, tutge from highly respected arts and science instructors... and a series of expert swordmasters of varying backgrounds.

    Yet the cost of his vague background was a life of negative prejudice, strict punishments, and a distinctck of luxuries one might expect a Prince to be granted.

    When House Moonwell and their allies finally took control of Whitehearth, Wroe was betrothed to one of his many childhood friends, a tomboyish brat named Ophelia.

    Wroe knew what he was, of course. He was a figurehead, his blood as a Wyndham lending credibility to whatever cause House Moonwell deemed fit.

    But... despite Ophelia''s (assumedly benevolent) wishes for Wroe to grow into his role, gaming the Eastern States'' political circles to regain power for himself... the Arcanite Prince did otherwise.

    He went to the Free Nation to join Tycondrius-- or rather, to join Prince Quies of House Morninglord and his band of upstart noble fools.

    He grew stronger, utilizing his swordsmanship in the Holy Country''s arenas. He fought alongside nobles more interested in brutal martial contests than the carefully crafted wordy and measuring of egosmon to ''higher'' courts.

    Among his allies, he counted:

    Dragan-- or rather, Prince Drogahan, son of the Merchant King of the Free Nation''s City of Vralkek.

    Prince Zuko, High Prince of the Legendary Phoenix sect.

    Be Sapphira, granddaughter of Archmage Tyche.

    Horse, descendant of the Godbeast known as Arion.

    Wolfbanger, youngest pup of Packlord ckwolf. (Their family''s naming conventions were rather...zy.)

    Gobsuke, the eldest Goblin Prince of his generation.

    Lucifer...

    ...Tycon didn''t know who she was, exactly, but she was well-known both to the Gatekeepers and various powers in the seven hells and eleven heavens.

    Then, of course, there was himself... Tycondrius, the Maedar Prince of the Free Nation''s City of Charm.

    He was questionably more important than any of the aforementioned-- save Dragan and Quay, perhaps.

    And he was more handsome than any of the other gentlemen-- save for Gobsuke... and that from what he understood of attractiveness in goblin society.

    (Wroe was passably attractive... but Tycon was confident that he''d grown more handsome over the past couple of years.)

    Training and fighting under the banner of Sol Invictus... Tarquin Wroe developed his physique to the peak of human excellence, his reflexes enough to fight rabid beasts and mad gorgons, and his sword technique enough to challenge the best of any nation.

    He was a man capable of being the centerpiece attraction in any mundane diator guild.

    Sol Invictus was not one of those.

    In Sol Invictus, Tarquin Wroe was not treated as the descendant of Kings he was.

    He was, for all intents and purposes, a human... the weakestbatant on a roster filled with night-invincible, mana-empowered monsters.

    Then... somewhere along the journey, the Arcanite Prince began to hear voices.

    They were whispers from beyond... from a god or goddess that only he could hear.

    They promised him strength... of forbidden power beyond the ken of mortals to wield.

    Tycon advised him to ept it... to make a pact, so that at least he could garner some benefit.

    Contracts are sacred, honored by most gods and powers simr. Granted, Wroe risked his mortal soul and more-- but there was always a price to pay for anything worthwhile.

    ",

 Chapter 872 Remembrance

    ?Tycondrius had parted ways with Tarquin Wroe after Sol Invictuspleted a series of missions in the Kingdom.

    However... it had been years since he had anything to do with his previous patrons, Princess Aur Wyndham, youngest daughter of King Adal, and Chantal De Croix, the Fleet Admiral of the Kingdom''s Navy.

    From time to time, Tycon had wondered where the blue-haired fool had gone.

    It wasn''t something he ced much importance in.

    If the fates were kind, the Daeva would survive until he and Tycon would again join forces.

    Judging by the man''s predilection for forbidden magics and dark artifacts... Wroe''s death (or worse) was far more likely.

    Tarquin Wroe followed the whims of his voices... resulting in him descending to one of the seven hells.

    But instead of damning himself to an eternity of pain, agony, and... taxation under whatever passed for the local governing body--

    ...he yet lived.

    --where he sat at a riverbank, staring at the waters.

    ...crying to himself.

    ...all while manding* the scent of an unwashed, thick-furred sow-- the unfortunate kind only able to roll in its own fecal material to keep cool.

    Tycon was tempted to kick the self-absorbed prick into the river, but he worried that it would make him even more useless than he already was.

    He waved to his Orcish friend, "Let us depart, Brother-Hades. It appears I shall be leaving behind threepanions, this sun."

    Hades ced his palms against his chest, his expression hurt, "B r o ."

    "I was referring to Young Master Tamaki, Holy Bolter Rena, and this blubbering, blue-haired... fellow," Tycon rolled his eyes-- "not you."

    "Aw, sh*t," Hades chuckled in relief. "Hah. My bad."

    The ragged form of Tarquin Wroe leapt to his feet, his head tilted back.

    He gnashed his teeth... and he wailed.

    "WHAERRRE IS SHE!??!?"

    ...Tycon shared a nce of concern with Hades.

    "Okay, I''ll bite," The orc shrugged. "Where is who?"

    "I''d already asked," Tyconined.

    "Hold up," Hades pointed. "Check it out. I think he''s remembering."

    Wroe''s eyes glowed icy blue, the mana thick enough to plume like woodsmoke.

    "Glowing eyes..." Tycon pursed his lips... "You do that all the time, Brother-Hades. Even I can do that, given enough time to prepare a mana-gathering spell circle."

    "Well... sometimes I do it when I remember something," Hades insisted.

    "You *KNOW* her..." Wroe raised his voice... which took on a magical, echoey quality, "Erza Aerzin..."

    "I keep hearing that name," Tycon sharpened his gaze, "Do we know who that is?"

    "Uh..." Hades tilted his chin up... and he channeled mana into his eyes to make them glow green, "Erza Aerzin... the Lake Goddess."

    "You''ve proved your point," Tycon shot the Death Orc a re, "Cease that immediately-- please."

    The Lake Goddess...

    It seemed Wroe''s goals aligned with Tycon''s current... somewhat convoluted mission: for him and Krysaos to find the sealed Lake Goddess in order to lure out the Sea God.

    With the Lake Goddess as Wroe''s patron... then perhaps the process... would... be easier?

    Perhaps?

    Tycon rubbed his temples.

    The Daeva''s presence came with an unwee implication.

    Wroe was a man who had earned the Lake Goddess'' blessings... and he''d spent well over a year searching for her to no avail.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Did the Lake Goddess not wish to be found?

    ...That could prove troublesome.

    Then again... the flippant and capricious Arcanite Prince was never the best at pursuing anything long-term, whether it was a mission or a romantic rtionship.

    ...It was somewhat absurd that Wroe''s current pursuit was a literal goddess.

    ...However, it was not ironic-- even perhaps an inevitability for him.

    The blue-eyed, blue-haired angel lowered his head.

    The glow did not disappear from his eyes, which inspired a tinge of hope within Tycon.

    The Daeva''s mana output... was rising.

    "Take me to her... NOW!!!" Wroe demanded.

    He lunged forward, his right arm raised high.

    A thick magical mist gathered in his fist in the form of a... tube?

    Thankfully, that solidified into a pearlescent sword.

    Tycon had almost forgotten what Wroe''s ?Hexde? looked like. Its gaudy shape was something like... a cave-grown crystal. Its make didn''t look particrly sturdy... but being a divine, mana-weapon, it was probably decently sturdy.

    Tycon pped the de away with the back of his hand, simultaneously sidestepping past its wielder.

    ...Hemented the fact that he''d injured himself teaching Khalkyd who was superior between them.

    --else he would have grabbed Wroe''s wrist and wrenched his arm out of its socket.

    "Wow," Hades tilted his head. "Is this why you don''t want this sword-guy? He f*ckin'' sucks. No guard or nothin''."

    Tycon picked up a discarded warrior''s helmet out of the sand and tossed it at Wroe''s face.

    It hit the dazed fool in the shoulder.

    "Mister Wroe''sbat abilities..." Tycon sighed, "--they have seen better suns."

    The orc stroked his chin thoughtfully, "What, like-- is he holding back his power level or some sh*t?"

    "...I certainly hope not."

    Mana-suppression abilities were stupid.

    Unless one was particrly talented, it took far too much effort to forcibly lower one''s mana output... and its effect was nigh useless.

    It was highly imusible that Wroe was faking his pathetic performance.

    With all of the Arcanite Prince''s skill with the sword... his abilities had stagnated years prior.

    Instead of choosing to pursue the path of a Swordsman or Weaponmaster or de Dancer... Wroe chose a different path.

    He made a pact with a supernatural being and earned the ss of Hexde... a Martial Spellcaster.

    Or rather-- that''s what he was supposed to be.

    Tycon knelt down, picking up a broken sword with his left hand and holding it in a reverse-grip, "Mister Wroe, you''re embarrassing me."

    "RARRRGHHH!!!"

    Wroe screamed like an untrained barbarian as he started swinging away with his mana-weapon.

    "Ooh. Ahaha," Hades chuckled. "He''s got some spunk, though? Can''t deny him that."

    Tycon positioned his weapon on the inside of Wroe''s swinging wrist, bleeding him with its jagged edge. Then, he diagonally smashed a hammer-fist against the angel''s pristine face.

    "Perhaps," He muttered... "Full marks for effort. Zero for effectiveness. Again, Mister Wroe."

    ",

 Chapter 873 Something Worthwhile

    ?The Daeva reeled back, standing still for a moment. Suddenly, his head snapped forward, his eyes unfocused.

    A trail of blood and froth ran down the side of his lip...

    --which soaked into his disgusting neckbeard.

    Tycondrius groaned in disgust, "Ugh. Wipe your filthy mouth, you."

    Heedless of his sound advice, Tarquin Wroe rotated his heavy sword above his head and charged forward, screaming at the top of his lungs.

    Tycon took note of the strange and shimmering ?Hexde? he held.

    It was a mana-creation and potentially dangerous.

    And then its wielder... he exuded an aura of unmistakable killing intent, attacking with the same lethality without hesitation.

    Tycon saw the movements.

    He clearly sensed the shifting of the air... the vibrations in the ground.

    ...He also had the misfortune of *smelling* his opponent''s recklessness.

    The speed of Wroe''s sword was too slow... the strength of the swing , too weak.

    The gentleman who, by all rights, should have been a powerful martial spellcaster...

    --he did not power his attack with a single sliver of of mana.

    Tycon slipped under the de by a fraction of an ilm, simultaneously smashing his sword pommel against Wroe''s closed fist.

    Then... to prove a point, he sliced downward, drawing two superficial cuts on the angel''s thick forearms.

    "Hrrrngh..." Wroe took three steps back, wincing in pain... his face and unshaven neck covered in sweat and blood.

    "My advice," Tycon sighed-- "now that you''ve a moment to listen: perhaps you might recall that you are theoretically blessed by a higher power with superhuman abilities..."

    Tycon exhaled through his nostrils... "--and... something we generally refer to as *magic.*"

    Grunting like a mindless beast, Wroe grit his teeth...

    But surprisingly, he straightened his back and saluted with his sword.

    It was a graceful movement... and for a moment Tycon wondered if the man hadn''t lost his memories and was just being aplete arse.

    Wroe lowered his body, his left hand behind his back, his slightly curved mana-saber forward.

    "Zarovich Sword Style..." He whispered.

    ...If Wroe did have his memories, Tycon doubted he was fool enough to challenge him so brazenly.

    It was, however, a wee challenge.

    "That sounnnnds... familiaaarr..." Hadesmented.

    The Death Orc was sitting on a nearby tree stump, wholly unconcerned with the one-sided beating

    "It... might be a good sign," Tycondrius tilted his head... "That, my friend, is Mister Wroe''s most practiced sword art. In theory, he''ll be able to cast Spells in tandem with executing his de arts."

    "Tiiiight," Hades nodded, "Maybe he''ll show us somethin'' worthwhile?"

    ...That, too, was what Tycon hoped.

    Tycon tossed his broken weapon away, then spun on his heel to face his angelic opponent.

    He considered summoning Mercy... but in the somewhat improbable case that Wroe could still be useful to him, identally maiming the fellow with a Fourth-Circle sword was not in his best interests.

    The Sword of Venom... was also a poor option. A single cut could afflict even a Daeva with a host of debilitating conditions, as well asplicate his health in the future.

    The Shatterspike? No... The longsword movements of the White Raven school of swordy were simplistic but lethal.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Then... even though Tres Leches remained soulbound to Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, Tycon would not be able to hold back the strikes of the weighted dark iron mace.

    It would be remiss of him to take away Wroe''s arguably best quality: his symmetrical face, free of blemishes-- neither too masculine nor feminine.

    It could be argued that permanently disfiguring the man would make Tycon seem petty or... even envious.

    He was not.

    Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning the Sword of Venom''s adamantine scabbard.

    His fist began to throb in recently-forgotten pain.

    It was a great annoyance but... it was also an eptable handicap for his forgetful opponent.

    Switching the weighted, blunt object to his left, Tycon ced his tender fist behind his back, mirroring his Wroe''s stance.

    He didn''t wield a proper sword, but its shape and weight were appropriate for use with the defensive techniques of the Screaming Silence sect.

    ...Also, its material ensured that Wroe would break before it suffered a scratch.

    Tycon tilted his chin up, "Come at me, then, Mister Wroe. Let us see how far your abilities have fallen."

    The angel-blooded swordsman grunted in response... and began to edge towards him, counter-clockwise.

    It was a great improvement... and a sign far more reassuring than Wroe whispering his prided sword style like a virginal squire.

    Wroe kept his bnce. He did not fullymit to his attacks. He struck with safety in mind-- able to retract his de to defend himself from Tycon''s counter-attacks.

    Presumably, Wroe''s goal was to force a reaction... or capitalize on a mistake.

    Tycon dodged and deflected... choosing to attack with a simr amount of reservation.

    He allowed his opponent to control the momentum of the fight... risking life and limb in the minuscule hope that battle would inspire Wroe to remember himself.

    ...He cursed himself for being unable to think of an alternative.

    Then... Tycon found a mistake.

    Wroe had overextended, stepping too far for a sword thrust with the potential to run Tycon through the gut.

    With a quick downward stroke, Tycon forced the tip of Wroe''s de down into the dirt.

    Stepping forward, he rotated his hips, aiming a weighted punch at the center of the Daeva''s pale face.

    Tycon''s fist... found its target.

    There was no... defensive ?Mana Ward?... no Hexde ?Misty Step?... nor was there a subtly-cast spell hidden beneath theyers of Wroe''s swordy.

    The fellow was... simply struck.

    He wobbled backward, stumbling on discarded adventurer effects, and was barely able to avoid falling on his rear.

    Blood sprung freely from both of his nostrils.

    Wroe narrowed his eyes, his teeth clenched in anger at his impotence... and he renewed his assault.

    At the very least... the gentleman seemed to have remembered his training-- some of it.

    His attacks were not merely an outlet of emotion-- they had purpose, forcing Tycon to step back and cutting off avenues of escape.

    Wroe''s defenses had tightened, leaving few easily-exploitable holes.

    The disy was at the peak of human physical human performance... and enough to give any of Sol Invictus'' diators pause.

    However... Sol Invictus no longer fought in the diatorial arenas.

    To the current Gold-Rank Tycon, Wroe''s mild improvement was not enough to give him worth.

 Chapter 874 Dishonored

    ?Tycondrius held his adamantine scabbard poised to strike.

    He ced his weight behind a forward swing, delivering a solid strike to Tarquin Wroe''s outer thigh.

    Precise.

    Professional.

    Without mercy.

    The Daeva''s pale face turned sheet white. He opened his mouth to scream, but the pain did not allow him the privilege. He crumpled to the ground, curling his body while cradling his injured leg.

    He writhed in the dirt in pain, unable to vocalize the agony he was experiencing. Judging by the tears at the corners of his eyes and his rapidly contorting expressions, it was... excruciating.

    Tycon granted him several moments.

    --but several momentster... on the dirt, the wriggling Hexde remained.

    "Get up..." Tycon muttered underneath his breath... "Don''t tell me this is the best you can do, Tarquin Wroe..."

    ? Inspirational Surge conditions met-- Stand by... Inspirational Surge cannot be executed on the current target. ?

    ...Tycon scowled in disappointment.

    His System''s message came with a grave implication.

    Wroe had lost the will to fight.

    It was... the gravest of sins for a warrior tomit.

    The Daeva mmed his palm into the dirt before wing sand into a clenched fist. His face was filthy, covered in streaks of dirt sticking to his blood, sweat, and tears.

    "H... how... ughhh," He groaned between pained sobs, "--did you see through... my sword techniques?"

    "A fool question," Tycon rolled his eyes.

    He considered finishing the whelp off, but a jolt of pain ran through his temples.

    It was an impending threat... a minuscule taste of the pain incurred by breaking a magical contract.

    Wroe was still technically a member of Sol Invictus... As such, Tycon could not intentionally kill him without grave repercussions.

    Tycon sighed deeply as he stowed his heavy scabbard back into his spatial ring... "I learned the Sleeping Country''s sword from you, Mister Wroe. You cannot hope to defeat me if your swordsmanship hasn''t improved since our days in the arenas."

    Though he didn''t remember the particrs, he recognized the motions ingrained deep in his memory. It was as if a long time ago, they were practiced until they could not be forgotten.

    The Zarovich Sword Style was an effective sword art... but with the gap between Unranked and Gold, Tycon could effortlessly see through all of Wroe''s feints and maneuvers.

    "So, ah, Tycon?" Hades waved. "Looks like you''re done, huh?"

    Tycon relished the thought... but shook his head, "Almost, old friend."

    Wroe had furrowed his brows... perhaps desperately trying to remember, "Who... are... you?"

    Tycon folded his hands in front of his chin... delving deep into his memories.

    He silently praised his adopted Oracle daughter. It was Sasarame and her magic that he was gained a number of fragmented memories belonging to his previous self.

    "I... am the man who first tested your sword skills, so many years ago..." Tycon said, "On my honor... I vouched for your ability and personally drafted your contract to Sol Invictus."

    --the only thing that was keeping him safe from Tycon''s extreme disappointment.

    "You are..." Wroe''s eyes widened... as if he''d found some sort of rity-- "T... ty? Tyc...?"

    Tycon took a deep, halting breath.

    "I am a man... DISHONORED by your WEAKNESS!!"

    No longer able to contain his emotions, Tycon''s mana raged through his circuits. Without holding back his strength, he brought his heavy boot down onto Wroe''s face... once... thrice... and a half-dozen times upon his head and chest area.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "If I could fire you-- or even KILL YOU, I would!" He roared. "But here is your chance, Prince of Arcanite! If you no longer wish to fight by my side, then LAY DOWN AND DIE!!!!"

    Tycon. was. furious.

    When sparring with Wroe, he avoided boosting his strength and agility with mana. Though he had at least two opportunities to do so, he also did not execute any of the Samurai techniques he''d painstakingly learned from his deceased Orcish mentor.

    Worst of all... Tycon was absolutely not left-handed.

    Wroe had failed his test... and was beyond redemption.

    "GrahHH!!" With an aggravated roar, Tycon kicked the broken and weeping wretch''s mana-sword away.

    It disappeared as soon as it touched the water without even a satisfying ssh.

    "Warlocks..." Tycon sneered in contempt, "Easily the most unreliable of the Caster sses..."

    "Heyyy!" Hades leaned forward on his tree stump, "My original ss was Warlock!"

    "And it is your ss *no longer*," Tycon shot back.

    "...Ehhhh, fair ''nough," The orc shrugged.

    There was movement.

    Tycon''s eyes darted to the side, spotting Wroe, mana-sword again in hand.

    The Daeva was fast.

    ...but he was still on the level of a human.

    Tycon leapt forward, keeping low, nting his feet before stabbing the point of his left elbow into Wroe''s sr plexus. He then grabbed onto the angel''s right arm and executed a clean shoulder throw, again introducing the man to the rocky ground.

    He wrenched Wroe''s arm until he felt it dislocate... then he crushed the kicking and screaming fellow''s wrist until he felt the bones fracture.

    When the Daeva dropped his sword, Tycon kicked it into the waters once more.

    "Odd..." Tycon frowned.

    He was almost certain Wroe''s leg had been broken.

    ...No matter.

    Turning about, Tycon raised his voice, "Brother-Hades! Let us depart from this forsaken--"

    Sensing the vibration of footsteps upon the sand, Tycon reflexively swayed his body, avoiding another swing from Wroe''s sword.

    "HOW many times can you summon that thing?" He shouted.

    "Take... me... to... HER!!!" Wroe shrieked.

    The Daeva pressed his advantage, shing quickly with reckless abandon. Sloppy and savage as he was, Wroe moved forward just quickly enough to prevent Tycon from safely summoning a weapon.

    ...But he didn''t care about holding back any longer.

    "?Shadowfang.?"

    Tycon activated a movement technique, leaping backward through magical shadows. Flicking his wrist, he summoned the Shatterspike longsword in hand.

    He was going to kill Wroe.

    It was a horribly foolish decision. In him breaking his magical contract, Tycon''s mana circuits would overload and shatter.

    With magical healing, he surmised he''d be debilitated for at least a moon-- if not longer, considering his Metal-Rank.

    However... he no longer had the patience to allow Tarquin Wroe to live.

 Chapter 875 Arcanite Blessing

    ?Tycondrius leapt out of the magical shadows, Shatterspike in mid-swing... aimed to slice off the head of one of his closest friends.

    It cut cleanly through the air and... nothing else.

    Surprised, Tycon lost his bnce as hended, somersaulting onto the sand... getting itchy grains of it into hair.

    ...How frustrating.

    Wroe was... nowhere to be seen.

    ...After assessing his surroundings, Tycon realized it was he who had erred.

    He had emerged over a dozen yalms away from his intended destination.

    "...Of course," He cradled his face in his palm.

    He was in one of the seven hells. It was an oversight, but magical hell-darkness did not have the same properties as magical... ''regr'' darkness.

    --still... he''d misced an entire Daeva because of it.

    "Hades!" Tycon raised his voice.

    Narrowing his eyes, he nced left and right, searching for... anything that resembled a small house in size.

    He''d lost Hades, as well.

    That... was even more baffling.

    "Oy, Tycon!!"

    Tycon breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn''t lost Hades, after all.

    "Come look, yeh?" The god of death the dead beckoned.

    ...Slowly, Tycon turned to look behind him.

    Too close.

    He gazed upon the battered, barely-recognizable face of Hexde Tarquin Wroe... not more than a fulm away.

    His strange sword remained in his hand-- held loosely, but still in his grip.

    That... was good.

    That he''de so close to striking him with his guard down was... off putting.

    Tycon took a healthy step backward.

    He did not fear injury from an Unranked Hexde... but he wanted to avoid any of his bodily fluids.

    There was much of it.

    Wroe''s feet dangled above the blooded sands... held aloft by Hades'' enchanted warscythe piercing through his abdomen.

    Despite the swelling bruises forcing his eyes nearly shut... his brows implied he was ring-- as if his mangled state was Tycon''s fault.

    The fellow was fully deserving of his beating and subsequent skewering.

    Thankfully, he had seemed to learn from his mistakes. His unreasonable demands to be taken to his patron ceased in full.

    "T... tekkk... mif... tooowrr," The dying angel mumbled.

    Wroe''s speech was sorely affected by his swollen cheeks.

    ...It seemed he was trying to say... ''take me to her?''

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "You can''t be serious, Mister Wroe. You''re still going on about that-- in your condition?"

    To that, the Daeva renewed his struggle... moaning in pain as he bled his hands on the dark-metal of Hades'' scythe.

    ...That earned him nothing, of course. An *actual* angel could not budge the Death Orc. Wroe would remain impaled at Hades'' discretion.

    "Should I put him down?" The orc tilted his head.

    "What?" Tycon grimaced, "*No.*"

    Without any viable options remaining, Wroe ineffectually tried to w at Tycon''s face-- who stood mere ilms out of his reach.

    "Mister Wroe," Tycon frowned, "You''ve suffered a critical wound. I *suggest* you calm yourself."

    "I thought you didn''t want him?" Hades raised an eyebrow.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Dark blood began to gush from Wroe''s open mouth, dribbling down his chin. New blood slicked his neckbeard atop the old blood.

    Tycon shook his head.

    "Tarquin Wroe is no longer fit to serve under the banner of Sol Invictus... but he... is still my friend."

    He was about to turn away when his eyes were drawn to a peculiar shine. It was not an attack... but it was something he might have missed if not for his sensitivity to movement.

    "What''cha lookin''--" Hades furrowed his brows-- then widened his eyes and ckened his jaw, "WhoOoa... Tiiiiiight~"

    Tycon leaned forward to inspect Wroe''s injury... "Strange."

    The massive orc loomed over Wroe, cradling his chin with his fingers, "So whaddya think, Tycon? That a regen ability?"

    The Daeva''s injuries... appeared to be lined with a shining metallic liquid.

    The Hexde magic absent throughout his fight... had unexpectedly appeared, afterwards.

    Tycon examined the cuts he previously inflicted on Wroe''s arms... each of them covered with a hardened line of the silvery material.

    Flicking his fingernail against one such line, it crumbled away into thick, shimmering flecks of mana. Underneath it was raw, but freshly healed skin.

    "It appears he is," Tycon nodded... "The... metal is a protective seal formed over his wounds."

    "A scab," The orc agreed... "A scab made by... the gods."

    "Mister Wroe," Tycon sighed... "You remain blessed by your Goddess, it seems. Otherwise, I''m certain you''d be incapacitated."

    He''d broken several of the Daeva''s bones and delivered severe blunt trauma to his head and chest area.

    By all means, Tarquin Wroe should have been dead-- or very close to it.

    Tycon was tempted to ask Hades to summon a Reaper to verify... but he feared it would imply that either he or his subordinates werecking.

    "I... I am blessed..." Wroe shut his eyes... lightly quivering.

    ...The motion made Tycon ufortable, but he pressed on.

    "But really, Mister Wroe..." Tycon sighed, "what have you been doing all this time?"

    Wroe offered a bloody smile, "Searching... for her?"

    "And you''re still Bronze?" Tycon red.

    "Well, uh... aha..." The angel-on-a-scythe let out a guiltyugh.

    Tycon tilted his head up, groaning loudly... "Arrrgh... Hades."

    "Yep," The orc nodded. He ced a heavy hand behind Wroe''s back and... pushed him off the de.

    The gentleman gave out a short scream of pain before falling face-first into the sand.

    Wroe''s divine blessing of metal-- if that''s really what it was, continued its work. Within seconds, Wroe''s open wounds knitted closed.

    The speed of which lent credibility to the magic being divine in nature.

    Almost immediately, Wroe began the struggle to pick himself up.

    Hades pointed at the face-down, rear-upwards angel-blood with his chin, "Should I..."

    "No," Tycon waved him off. "He''s earned those injuries."

    "I was offering to put him down," The orc exined.

    "Ah, my mistake..." Tycon took a moment to consider it-- "I''ll have to deny your admittedly kind offer. Despite the threat of severe feedback from a broken magical contract... if need be, I''d prefer to kill him myself."

    "Pff," Hades scoffed. "That''s rough. Alright-- if you say so, man."

    Finally, Wroe sat himself up on his knees... "H-hey, Boss."

    Ah.

    ...Those were the exact words Tycon was waiting to hear.

    "Finally awake, then, Mister Wroe?" He smiled politely.

    "As such..." His eyes narrowed to judgmental slits, "I''ll have you exin what in the seven hells has been going through your feathered brain."

 Chapter 876 Never

    ?Tycondrius did not specify what exactly he wanted Wroe to exin.

    Admittedly... he didn''t expect an answer even remotely close to satisfactory.

    Tarquin Wroe...

    He had proven himself wanting when it came topleting moderatelyplex tasks.

    Tycon once asked Wroe to make a pact with a goddess-- something that went along with the fellow''s modus operandi.

    He did... eventually. It took several bells, wasted doing... only the gods know what.

    While Sol Invictus was questing in the eastern seas of the Kingdom, Tycon asked the man to requisition a ship.

    That came about... but several moonste.

    Also, the ship was in an even worse condition than the Neptune''s Revenge... and the Jade Rabbit, for that matter.

    ...It looked like it got hit by a Leviathan.

    Most recently, Tycon sent Wroe to the Free Nation to assist Dragan with an ogre rebellion or somesuch.

    That... did not happen.

    Tarquin Wroe was raised in a variety of different cultures, theirnguages, social norms, and-- sometimes, their values shing from time to time.

    During those formative years... no one liked him.

    Thus, he learned to keep his thoughts to himself-- something not horribly peculiar.

    However, despite the man''s divine blessings... non-divine,mon logic generally afforded to the mundane masses was not one of them.

    ''Alpha'' leads to ''Beta'', therefore ''Gamma.''

    When presented with such an equation, Wroe would find the number seventeen.

    On top of that... the Daeva often sought ''knowledge'' or... ''guidance'' from voices only he could hear.

    Tycon was fairly certain that an outside-party could only *improve* Wroe''s capriciousness... but hearing multiple voices when faced with various decisions was certain to cause confusion.

    Anyroad...

    Amongst all of Sol Invictus'' members, Wroe''s motivations and reasoning were the most difficult to follow.

    The fact was extraordinary, considering that Sol Invictus employed women.

    ...After being given several breaths to think, the kneeling Wroe finally gave an answer.

    "I''m... I''m sorry, Boss," He said, while staring at Tycon''s boots, "I''m... just not good enough."

    Tycon stared in disbelief.

    "Ab... solutely..... incredible," He crossed his arms, slowly shaking his head in disappointment. "Your answer... has managed to be *ex po nen tially* more useless than I *ever* could have imagined..."

    "It''s... because I''m a failure," Wroe sniffed.

    Tycon shut his eyes and raised his palm up, his voice even and calm, "Get up, Mister Wroe."

    As soon as he sensed Wroe get to the standing... Tycon pped the gentleman hard across the face.

    **PAP**

    The crisp p echoed across the river waters, catching the attention of the ferrywoman and eliciting a light chuckle from a certain orc.

    The swelling in Wroe''s face hadrgely reduced thanks to his divine blessing.

    Tycon''s brutal p ensured he would take some time longer to pass as a regr human.

    "Tarquin Wroe! Show me your conviction with how you train from hereon," Tycon groaned, opening a single eye. "Weakness is temporary in *our* Sol Invictus."

    "But... but Boss..." Wroe kept his head down, more interested in the blooded dirt than facing Tycon with dignity, "All this time... and you''ve gotten so strong. And what have I achieved?"

    "F*ckin'' nothin''?" Hades suggested.

    "N-nothing..." Wroe frowned. "I''ve tried so hard... and... and--"

    "Got so far?" Said the orc, "But in the end..."

    "It doesn''t really--"

    "Stop there, if you would," Tycon massaged the bridge of his nose-- "both of you."

    "Ehe," Hades smirked.

    "...A-aye aye, Boss," Wroe whispered.

    "Wroe..." Tycon sighed... "Your failures... are they an excuse to give anything less than your best?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Along with his head, the Daeva lowered his body and drew in his shoulders.

    Was it... guilt that he was feeling? Shame?

    Good.

    "Is your journey finished?" Tycon asked in a quiet voice.

    "...It is not," Wroe muttered.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... "Will you keep your goddess waiting an eternity longer?"

    "I just..." Wroe blinked a new round of tears out of his eyes... "Boss... it''s that... I don''t know... if I will ever... truly be worthy of her."

    Tycon pursed his lips.

    Wroe wished to be worthy of a goddess... of her blessings-- and from the way he spoke... perhaps even her romantic attention.

    It was quite possibly a quest with no end... especially if his goal was thetter.

    "Nevertheless, Brother... is that reason to stop trying?"

    Wroe lifted his gaze.

    "I will *never* stop loving her," He growled through his teeth.

    Then, as if suddenly remembering that he was supposed to wallowing in self-pity, Wroe turned away.

    He shook... as if he were possessed-- which, knowing the man, was quite possible.

    "N... neverrrr," He whispered breathily.

    ...Tycon sighed, but nodded sternly.

    Overall, the man''s conviction was respectable... better proven by his actions rather than his mewling.

    "That will be enough, Mister Wroe. Take a moment topose yourself."

    "A-aye, Boss," Wroe took in a deep breath as he wiped his face, "O-ouch. Th-thank you, Boss..."

    As long as Wroe retained his drive... his potential remained.

    Granted... it was deeply upsetting that, in the time Tycon progressed from Iron to Gold-Rank, Wroe had failed to improve in strength, skill, or magical prowess.

    Even worse... the passive mana output of the previously Bronze-Rank Hexde had fallen to the level of an ordinary, unranked human.

    ...As much as Tycon wished toin or resume inflicting gratuitous violence on a man that was supposed to be his friend... that would lead him nowhere.

    Thus, he immediately began devising a training regimen to rectify Wroe''s strength. They had much to do, when they returned to the living Realm...

    ? System, inquiry: Wroe''s power level. How weak has this fellow be? ?

    ? System response: Tarquin Wroe, Bronze-Rank Daeva Hexde. ?

    Tycon quickly nced up, locking eyes with Wroe. The fellow was getting to his feet, again channeling mana into his eyes to entuate their blue glow.

    "Is... there somethin'' wrong, Boss?" He asked.

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Perhaps."

    ? System, repeatst statement. ?

    ? Tarquin Wroe, Bronze-Rank Daeva Hexde. ?

    ...Odd.

    Tycon pped the angel across the opposite cheek.

    "Ow!" Wroe held his face, betrayal in his eyes, "Oh-- gods... Come onnnn, Boss?!! What was that for??"

    Ignoring the fool''sints, Tycon directed another message to his System.

    ? System, analyze him again. ?

    ? Tarquin Wroe, Iron-Rank Daeva Hexde. ?

    Tycon lifted his hand up, staring at it in wonder.

    It was... the same hand he''d injured on Khalkyd''s stupid face.

    A realization struck him... one with terrifying potential.

    Had... he gained a new ability? A blessing from the heavens?

    ",

 Chapter 877 Power Of A Gold-Rank

    ?Within the scope of minutes, Tarquin Wroe''s mana output had raised from Unranked to Iron... two *entire* steps.

    The phenomenon was unheard of.

    But how?

    Tycondrius clenched his fist.

    He had broken the Laws... by his own power.

    He... had gained a Skill he never realized he wanted-- the ability tomit wanton violence against his trainees AND simultaneously unlock their potential!

    It was perfectly tailored for him as the guild leader of the storied Sol Invictus... as well as a cultured gentleman with a penchant for cruelty and violence.

    ...Tycon cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner.

    It seemed... so... obvious that such a cheat-type ability could be learned by a Warlord like himself. The entire point of the ss was to push his allies into achieving their full potential!

    "Boss..." Wroe murmured hesitantly, "Why... why are you smiling like that?"

    This... was the true power of a Gold-Rank-- not their damage-resistant body, their nigh tireless physique, nor their boundless mana reserves.

    It was their ess to high-level Skills and Circle Spells.

    --which was highly reliant on the aforementioned, but still.

    Tycon carefully eyed the Hexde in front of him, bloodlust boiling in his wide grin, righteous fury burning in his mana-filled eyes.

    His new Skill held great promise... but needed to be tested.

    If there were few or no limitations to its usage... then he had just be the most fearsome Warlord in all the Realms.

    "CLENCH thy teeth, Tarquin Wroe!!" Tycon roared-- "for my next attack holds all the mana I can conjure!! My blood! My very FLESH!! MY BLACK HEART AND MY VENOMOUSSS SSSSSOUL!!!"

    Tycon raised his hand high, prepared to strike down his friend andpanion-- or obliterate his corporeal body.

    "FOR THE GLORY OF SOL INVICTUS!!!"

    "No, Boss, wait! WAAAAIT!!!" Wroe pleaded.

    "Hold still, you!!" Tycon shouted. "That is a DI-RECT order!!"

    "This is the strongest I get!" Wroe sobbed as he hugged Tycon''s ankles, "Please don''t hit me! I''ll-- I''ll die!"

    ...Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    Though his muscles spasmed and a vice-like pain assaulted both sides of his head, he forcibly slowed his mana cirction.

    "...No... is it-- are you..."

    He sighed and put his fist down... "Mana suppression, Mister Wroe?"

    "Yes! That''s right!" Wroe shot back up and bowed at the waist, "I''m-- I''m sorry for hiding it. I was wrong!"

    Yes. Wroe was at fault.

    "Are you sure... it''s not something else?" Tycon asked-- still hopeful-- "something I might possibly forgive you for?"

    "No! I was in the wrong!" Wroe clenched his eyes shut, bowing even lower, "Please forgive me!"

    Tycon struck him in the lower region with his knee.

    "GUOHHH!! BOSS WHY?!"

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    In his frustration, he had... missed his intended target-- the Daeva''s abdomen. If the fellow wasn''t impotent before, he was certainly impotent after that...

    "...I apologize, Mister Wroe. I made a mistake."

    Admittedly... Tycon had found it odd that his System did not inform him of the creation of a new Skill.

    He had ignored it... out of the asinine hope that he had gained something more than a barely-Iron-Rank Hexde who practiced one of the most useless techniques in the Realm.

    "Bah," Tycon spat. "Mana suppression is a stupid ability."<novelnext></novelnext>

    He swallowed his disappointment... though it continued to roil at the base of his gut.

    As much as he wanted to continue beating his disabledpanion... Wroe had already suffered a severe and extensive beating, as well as several fractured bones.

    --also, impalement.

    Further violence would be selfish-- only serving to temporarily lift Tycon''s mood.

    "But... I''m really good at it," Wroe muttered to himself.

    "We''re moving," Tycon pointed to where the ferrywoman was waiting patiently. "To the boat, Mister Wroe."

    Hades jerked his head up in acknowledgment and started back.

    Wroe, however, did not move... and he still wore a pitiful expression.

    He was injured, which made it somewhat permissible... but it was frustrating that he did not attempt to stand.

    "Hey, listen Boss," Wroe whispered in a small voice... "I wanna apologize about all--"

    "Get to the boat, Wroe," Tycon repeated-- unable to hide the annoyance in his tone of voice, "Crawl if you must."

    "I just dunno if... I mean I still need more trai--"

    Tycon knelt down to face Wroe properly and he raised his hand once more.

    While somewhat disrespectful, it seemed appropriate, concerning the circumstances.

    Thankfully, the threat was enough to convince the Daeva to move with a sense of purpose.

    ...

    ? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX. ?

    ? So there I-- ?

    Krysaos lowered his body, arcing the Heart of the Ocean low to the ground.

    "?Cold Slide.?"

    Forming a thinyer of ice over the dungeon tiles, he used his momentum to slide underneath a horizontal, rotating saw-- one of the Water Temple''s traps.

    Of course, he was headed straight for an open pit.

    And, of course-- with how narrow the hallway was, he had zero chance of jumping out of the way.

    He''d be able to do the crazy acrobatics if he was that knife-eared King-guy.

    ...Or maybe if he were the LT, he could''ve just bypassed all the traps by turning into a big-arse snake.

    But nah.

    Krysaos was only human.

    Dropping his chest onto the smooth, frost-covered stone, he reached out his arms and legs to increase his surface area. It slowed his forward momentum... and it was barely-- just f*cking barely enough to stop himself from falling in.

    Aaaaand... not down the throat and gullet of the giant eel lying in wait.

    Krysaos had a new problem, though.

    He was lying prone on an icy precipice... in front of a giant eel.

    "Ugh, why''s it gotta be eels?"

    --or at least it looked like an eel?

    A huge, spiny-toothed, eel(?) had most of its body in the pit-- see-through and glowing a dull white. The thing was easily big enough to bite off one of his arms... or a big chunk of his face.

    So this eel-guy... without any warning whatsoever-- rude as f*ck, it started snapping at Kryasos'' head and arms.

    "F*ck off!! Gimme a break!!" He yelled as he frantically swiped his sword at the bitey bastard-- "or I''ll make you regret it!"

    Then... the big bastard went right for Krysaos'' face-- just as he expected.

 Chapter 878 Dungeon Rules To Live By

    ?The giant, glowing eel(?) got impatient-- going straight for the killing chomp.

    Krysaos felt his heart pounding out of his chest.

    Still, he was as calm as a man could be in his very specific circumstances.

    On the voyage over to the Lake Goddess'' sh*thole of an ind, Lieutenant Tycon taught him a few new Skills.

    Well... they weren''t *Skills* so much as they were different applications of other things he already knew how to do.

    "?Water Sphere,?" Krysaos whispered.

    --He said it as an afterthought.

    He was already making the incantation gesture with his left hand and focusing mana in front of him.

    Tycon called it... a ''perfect block''? It had something to do with summoning a half-ass ?Water Sphere?... but precise? Its shape had to cover the enemy''s attack range... and it only had tost for an instant.

    In theory, it was faster and took way less mana to execute.

    --but he had to do it right.

    It made his head hurt trying to find and pull or cken the right mana threads to do exactly what he wanted.

    ...Still, the LT insisted that Krysaos practice his ?Perfect Water Sphere? until he started calling it ''Middle Completion''-- whatever that meant.

    The eel-thing looked even bigger up close, each of its empty eyes almost as big as Krysaos'' head and filled with hunger.

    It tried to sink its teeth into him-- but a Middle Completion mana shield made that not work out too well.

    And the *reason* Krysaos got that thing to Middle-Completed... was to give him an opportunity for an instant counterattack.

    ...An attack.

    Huh.

    Krysaos shot his palm forward, feeling a boatload of mana circting throughout his body. First, it went through his abdomen... then his chest, and finally, prickly and damn-near-freezing through the length of his arm.

    "?Icy Maw!!?"

    Several rows of icy teeth sank into the eel''s... neck? Eels have necks, right?

    It was... a weird Skill he didn''t know he had until just then.

    And... for whatever reason, it looked a lot like the inside of a Whitesabre Tuna''s mouth.

    The thing went back down in its pit-- not dead though. Its shrill, echoing scream drilled deep into Krysaos'' ears, shaking the insides of his skull and sticking to the back of it.

    "Sorry, boyo," Krysaos stood up, brushing dust and frost off his coat. "A guy''s gotta eat, I know, but... I got some-ce to be."

    Carefully judging the distance, he performed a standing leap over the eel pit.

    He made it.

    ...He''d just f*cked up a big-arse eel. He''d have had a real shite time if he''d just fallen in after it.

    "Sea god''s socks," Krysaos sighed.

    The corridor looked like it stretched for bells... "Anyroad... where was I?"

    ? So there I was... ?

    ? Cold. In the dark. F*cking miserable. ?

    ? Tired. ?

    ? ... ?

    ? Slightly aroused. ?

    ? All the usual shite. ?

    ? ...in a ce where even the gods feared to tread. ?

    ? Tycon called it... the Water Temple, an ancient, brackish-water Dungeon made of stones and bricks and caves even more ancient than the god imprisoned here. ?

    ? That girlie''s just the ends to a means, though. Once we get to her-- ?

    ? Or rather-- once *I* get to her, since I haven''t seen the LT in bells... ?

    ? --we dangle her as bait until the sea god shows his ugly face. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? Then, I put a f*cking bullet through his divine brain-housing. ?

    ? Funny thing. When me and the LT crossed over... that guy was nowhere to be found. ?

    ? ...but a lot of the shite he talked about, they keeping up. ?

    ? The LT was right about a lot of things. That guy-- he''s always right about everything. ?

    ? It''s almost annoying, sometimes. ?

    ? Anyroad, I seen a lot of shite down here the guy drilled into my head... or maybe even shite I just imagined him saying. ?

    ? There were traps, down here. ?

    ? Of f*cking course there were going to be f*cking traps. ?

    ? ...Most of them, I''ve seen before. ?

    ? The Trap Path wasn''t a joke, after all. ?

    ? And anyroad, most traps are the same. ?

    ? There''s almost always a clear and present danger. If there''s not, you gotta find it. ?

    ? Sometimes, there''s a got''cha. Sometimes there''s two. There''s never more than three, though. It''s some kind of rule. ?

    ? Some of the Dungeon''s traps were... weird sh*t. ?

    ? All weird sh*t was just the same as the regr sh*t, though.?

    ? Stay out of sight. ?

    ? Run if necessary-- which was more often than not. ?

    ? Don''t think about the thing that''s chasing you-- not what it looked like, not what it was made of or how it breathed or the logic of its physiology. ?

    ? You don''t even try to discern if that *sound* you heard was supposed to be *breathing.* ?

    ? As long as you think of it like that-- it was just another stupid trap. ?

    ? ...And weeks and weeks of sleepless nights and nightmares...?

    ...Krysaos was worried about that... but he figured he could rely on rum or drugs or furious masturbation to alleviate whatever issues he picked up along the way.

    The most f*cked up shite in the Dungeon, though... wasn''t even the dangerous shite.

    Stories of over a dozen different ages past were etched into the walls.

    There were drawings of people that looked like...mon guys and gals. In them, they were doingmon guy and gal things... swinging swords, slinging sorcery... lootingbyrinths-- uh...ying lizards.

    Then there were scenes of ces and things that... Krysaos wasn''t sure what he was looking at.

    Some people didn''t look like people. They didn''t look like damn near *anything* he knew.

    ...or anything he wanted to know.

    One thing didn''t seem to change, of course.

    It was war. "People" were pitted against other "people."

    Both sides got f*cked.

    A very small subset of the poption made coin off it.

    There was a lot of fire... the people, their homes, their entire nations... turned to ash.

    There were no heroes to save the sun. There weren''t even any viins to curse and scream at... unless you count the gods.

    Things happened-- inevitable things.

    That was just the way it was.

    Krysaos took a deep breath as he trudged onward, only his thoughts and the sound of his boots on the Dungeon tiles keeping himpany.

    A shite thought nagged at him, though... of the stories on the walls.

    Krysaos hoped that... they were records of the past.

    He didn''t want to live in that kind of f*cked up future.

 Chapter 879 Nothing More, Nothing Less

    ?"Sea god''s anal beads," Krysaos cursed. "How many of these gods-damned holes are there?"

    He stood at the edge of a pit trap.

    A pit trap.

    It didn''t matter what was at the bottom-- five fulm long spikes or giant eel-things or a faceless monstrosityprised of more teeth and tentacles than sensible parts.

    After so many bells of Dungeon delving, pit traps were... boring.

    "...Maybe I should just shut up and be thankful? Maybe. Stupid Dungeon..."

    Krysaos took a few steps forward, bounding over with ease.

    Hended.

    ...but hended in a ce devoid of dungeon tile and watery horrors.

    "...Okay," He gulped, "So not a pit trap."

    Dull grey clouds soared overhead, rushing hurriedly... maybe even like they were scared of something.

    Krysaos stood in front of a white picket fence with a solitary stone well beyond-- a ce nestled in the hills.

    He nced behind him. A field of green and purple flowers stretched as far as he could see.

    Thus far in the Water Temple... Krysaos had been to a freezing chamber of iced-over corpses; a deep cavern with eight-fulm tall mushrooms that undted and asionally screamed; and an upside-down hall filled with doors and impossible staircases.

    Flowers?

    Looked like flowers. Smelled like flowers. Could''ve damn well *been* actual flowers, just to f*ck with his head.

    Didn''t matter.

    Krysaos wasn''t going to touch a single one.

    He knew better.

    And then the tiny fence?

    It was a shite fence, really. It was low enough that literally any stray dog or whatever could crawl over it.

    It was low enough that Krysaos could... just step over it if he really wanted to.

    He was absolutely not going to do that.

    He didn''t trust a gods-damned thing in the Dungeon.

    "Magic... magic..."

    Krysaos opened his senses to the world... trying to discern what was and what was not.

    There was magic in the air.

    "Ya don''t say..." He said aloud... talking to no one in particr.

    Of course, there was.

    There was magic in the ground... in the seemingly mundane nt growth and in... what was *supposed* to be a fence.

    By what Krysaos was ''feeling'', it was nothing like that.

    It was a wall... a wall trying very hard to be a fence.

    And it gave him a very distinct feeling... that trying to cross it would prove hazardous to his health.

    --or to his sanity.

    He rolled his eyes as he walked the fence''s perimeter... "Alright, fence... I see your game. So uh... I''m jus'' gonna look around for some kind of... yeah, here we go."

    There was a tiny fence-gate...

    Technically, it was part of the ''wall''... but at the same time, it was not.

    It wasn''t something Krysaos could apply reason to, other than... at face-value.

    The fence was a fence. The gate was a gate.

    That''s all there was to it.

    "Hrmm. How... did it go?" Krysaos pursed his lips, "Ah. Right. ?Lock Tap.?"

    The Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge kicked the ''gate'' right underneath where the ''lock'' should be.

    ...to no effect.

    "Ahem," He cleared his throat. "That was a uh... Skill that opens locked doors and gates."

    As if suddenly waking from its rest, the gate began to quiver... and swung open forcefully.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Its speed didn''t match the force Krysaos had used... but it wasn''t something he wanted toin about-- besides in his head, anyroad.

    It didn''t seem like a good idea to question anything aloud.

    "Thanks," He muttered as he passed through.

    The gate shook lightly... as if it wanted to acknowledge him.

    Thankfully, it did not.

    Gates don''t talk.

    A gate is just a gate.

    It was difficult to breathe in the small, fenced-off section. The air felt heavy and thick.

    Krysaos opened his mana-senses... observing the miasma of water mana hanging over him.

    ...There was a water well-- so the water mana was a must.

    It was... difficult for him to process. So maybe... it wasn''t pure water?

    Krysaos tapped into it... despite the apparent danger of tapping into a foreign mana source.

    Usually, when he found an abundance of water mana, it felt refreshing... like a dip in the cold ocean when the weather was hot-- or a bath after an exhausting sun.

    The mana in the chamber... was nothing like that.

    It felt... stagnant-- water still and untouched for centuries.

    Yet... it *was* pure.

    It had to be.

    A regr pool of water would have turned into a cesspool of muck over time.

    It''s just that... the water was so pure it was almost... poison.

    Krysaos furrowed his brows, focusing on processing the mana in a thin, steady stream... trying to understand it more than trying to absorb it.

    If he tried to take it in, he felt like he''d die, for sure. The stuff was worse than the Guardian Beast.

    ...It begged the question, though.

    The purity... was it in the water itself?

    Or...

    A sudden rush of mana turned Krysaos'' blood freezing cold.

    Something was in the well.

    He didn''t want to look.

    He didn''t want to be in the Water Temple.

    He didn''t even want to kill the sea god any longer-- that''s the kind of feeling that was rolling around in his gut.

    Krysaos furrowed his brows and tried to shake off whatever weird magic was seeping into his brain.

    He flexed his muscles and rubbed his arms, trying to get rid of that icy-inside feeling.

    Sweat was pouring down his forehead... touching upon the recent cuts and bruises on his face from his admittedly short journey.

    It didn''t make sense.

    --not that anything in the gods-damned Water Temple made sense.

    Why would he be afraid of... just *looking*?

    He was in a Dungeon... not a heaven or hell. It''s not like he risked looking at something that shouldn''t be seen.

    Krysaos entered what was probably the most dangerous Dungeon in the entire Realm... with the goal of killing the sea god.

    And to get to that sea god... he had to threaten something of his-- the Lake Goddess under his protection.

    Krysaos slowly drew the Heart of the Ocean from his sheath... gripping the handle tight with two trembling hands.

    "Sh... show me..." He took a breath... swallowing the bile in his throat, "what... is really here."

    Applying mana to the sword''s edge, Krysaos pushed down... slowly cutting into the thick miasma in the air like it was y.

    --or skinless flesh.

    And when it got to a certain point... he felt it give way.

    ",

 Chapter 880 The Girl In The Well (Part One)

    ?The illusion was gone, the curtains pulled back.

    It was the only thing protecting Krysaos from that which did not want to be seen.

    Reality began to crash in from his sides... and from below, like he was on a sinking ship.

    Krysaos held his hand out, conjuring a ?Water Sphere? to protect himself.

    He stood fast... concentrating on the unbroken flow of his mana... watching the world around him change.

    The clouded sky drained to ck, emptying into a small, white, rapidly-shrinking point... as if he was at the bottom of a well, looking up.

    Outside of his protective shield, the water level had risen to his shins... waters filled with thin strands of dark seaweed.

    It looked almost like... a woman''s hair.

    The narrow stream of light from what was no longer a sky shone down upon that woman.

    Sheid with her face in the shallows... unmoving.

    The ck seaweed streamed from her head, stretching infinitely out into the waters... as much of the stuff as there was darkness.

    There was movement in it... yet the icy pool of water didn''t have a single ripple, keeping as still as death.

    Krysaos'' first instinct, however... was not to help the face-down woman.

    Her face might have been pretty-- gods-damned beautiful, even.

    However, judging from her form... no-- judging from literally everything that was going on...

    That girl--

    That... *thing*...

    It... was. a. f*cking, monster.

    Ten or twelve fulms tall, her arms were at least thrice as long as a human''s-- or any gods-fearing creature.

    The bones of her legs were bent into odd, uneasy-looking angles.

    Her skin was pockmarked and discolored-- not quite like a dead girl, but someone afflicted with some kind of contagion.

    And the smell...

    She reeked... not of death, but of a musky, almost-familiar sweat that clung to the insides of his nostrils.

    Krysaos closed his eyes as he sheathed his sword.

    He had seen enough.

    He began to turn away... to leave-- to go anywhere but where he was.

    He... could not.

    His palms were slick with sweat. His mouth was drier than the sea biscuits he had for lunch and he couldn''t... stop... shaking.

    He tried to swallow his saliva... to get at least that tiny bit offort that he was still in control of his own body.

    He could not.

    He couldn''t breathe.

    "G... gughhckkk..."

    A voice pounded between his corbones, trying to surge upwards out of his mouth.

    With tears forming at the corners of his eyes, he choked a sob... and he spoke in a scratchy voice that did not belong to him.

    "Are you here to save me?"

    Krysaos winced... and he shook his head violently to regain control.

    S...save her?

    He was not.

    That was absolutely f*cking incorrect.

    If there *was* a hero chosen to save that... thing-- whatever it was, it would not be him.

    He spotted a gleam in the darkness... two eyes each thrice bigger than his head. That gargantuan ''something'' loomed over him like a Leviathan in the deeps.

    Krysaos knew what he was looking at.

    It didn''t make sense, but he knew.

    Dragon.

    How... f*cking impossible was that?

    "Tch hhhAH!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaosughed out loud, the discordant noise the first to send ripples across the ckwater floor.

    Why would heugh, though? There wasn''t anything remotely funny about his situation.

    It was probably... that thought.

    Dragon.

    Hah.

    "S-sorry, girlie," He whispered.

    There was no response...

    Awkward. Silent.

    The eyes in the darkness had disappeared... so he quickly bowed his head toward the corpse-looking thing, "But uh... yeah. I uh... you''re just somethin'' I''m dreaming up. Yer... yer all... in my head-- that''s all."

    Dragons don''t exist.

    Even the bag of bones that Krysaos knew he''d seen on that undead ind... was nothing more than a relic from a bygone age.

    They don''t exist.

    They. can''t. exist.

    How the Realm was... how mana worked... an entire species of that kind of mana-monstrosity defied logic.

    Krysaos furrowed his brows, remembering all the dangers that the LT were concerned about.

    It''d be a different story... if that Gate from before had taken him to a different Realm.

    Yeah.

    Shite.

    Wherever the hells he was... Krysaos had stayed for too damn long.

    Not thinking much about it, he walked to the heavy wooden door.

    A door? Had there always been a door?

    Suddenly, a tall wave of fatigue washed over him... and he held on tight to the iron door handle to steady himself.

    Something... felt like it was inside of his chest, trying to sy his ribs outward-- to burst him like a rotten, bloated fish.

    He opened his mouth to scream... but all he got was a wracking series of dry heaves.

    Krysaos closed his eyes to concentrate.

    He thought of Mina.

    He thought of her gentle mana.

    He held onto that thought... begging in his heart for just a tiny bit of relief from the pain.

    He sorely felt... how much he needed her by his side.

    He felt... loss. He felt regret.

    He felt... the loneliness of being abandoned to deepest, ckest depths of the hells'' deepestke.

    ? LoNnnnngGG haaAAVve I waaAAaited... ?

    ? forrrRR my PRINNNNCE ?

    ? t O ?

    ? a R R i V e ?

    ? . . . . ?

    ? i S . i T . y O u ? ?

    Krysaos'' head pounded in agony... pressed down from an invisible outward pressure. Not-enough-mana from the inside of it desperately tried to keep his skull in one piece.

    Tears began to drip down his face. They felt... slick down his cheeks-- but with super-tiny fragments of ss or sand irritating his skin and eyes.

    Krysaos hardened his grip... feeling the bones in his hand creaking to their breaking point.

    "I''m... here... for... someone else."

    At first, Krysaos hade for himself-- for his selfish desire of revenge. But that was nowhere near as important as trying to save Mina.

    ...He was going toe eventually. A badass crew deserved a Captain with a good name.

    But Mina... that was the real reason.

 Chapter 881 The Girl In The Well (Part Two)

    ?The pressure disappeared... gone as quick as it came.

    Finally, Krysaos was allowed to breathe. He hungrily sucked in the wet, stagnant air.

    Ugh.

    It made him want to gag...

    But before puking his insides out... he needed to stand.

    Standing sounded like a good idea.

    Krysaos was having a real shite time, though. His head and heart might''ve had the right idea, but his legs didn''t receive orders right.

    He fell-- copsing into the shallows with a ssh.

    On his hands and knees in front of... f*ck if anyone knows who or what the thing was.

    The only thing Krysaos was certain of was... he was having a bad time.

    And then, he made it worse.

    He looked up.

    He saw swords... steaming hot, like they were fresh out of the forge. Tens-- maybe hundreds of white-metal des were emerging from the ck waters. They shone... and glimmered like pearls and gemstones.

    The dark chamber turned brighter than the winter holidays-- against the pitch dark ckness of the empty night.

    ...and each one was taller than his own gods-damned ship.

    Krysaos felt the muscles of his neck twitch and spasm... words scratching and bleeding the insides of his throat.

    "So... you too, human of the sea..." He coughed, "You deny me."

    Krysaos forced his eyes shut. He was too weak... both in body and spirit to stop whatever was happening.

    He was... too human.

    He figured out a solution quick enough, though.

    It hurt less if he just... allowed it to happen.

    ...One of the scariest thoughts he''d ever had.

    But... some things had to be said.

    It... couldn''t be helped. Some things didn''t have their own mouths and lungs to say what needed to be said.

    Feelings... emotions... foreign but not unfamiliar flooded his heart.

    And words that weren''t his came out of his lips.

    "You deny me... just as mother did.

    "Even father acknowledged me... if only to cast me away to hide his shame.

    "And so here I wait...

    "Here I dream...

    "All... I... can do...

    "is to offer my very bones... to warriors. just. and kind.

    "to crusade. in my name.

    "in hopes... that one sun...

    "I. can be. forgiven...

    "...for being born."

    Krysaos shook his head, trying to force away the dizziness.

    The haze clouding his mind... was drifting away. The hot grasp of magic taking hold of his neck began to weaken.

    Krysaos carefully got to his feet and took a deep breath...

    The girl-- the creature in the chamber had just gifted him with... honesty.

    It was... a real shite situation, even if he wasn''t getting all the details.

    But for all that... none of it was his f*cking problem.

    "Yeah, that''s rough, girlie..."

    Krysaos paused as he checked the door handle. It wasn''t locked.

    "A shame, though..." He said without looking back-- "the fact that you don''t f*cking exist."

    Dragon. That was a joke in and of itself.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Ugh. The damned door was wedged in. Krysaos rammed his shoulder into it to force it open.

    The water from the dark chamber spilled into the next room... but it''s not like he was the guy that cleaned up the ce.

    After shutting the door behind him, Krysaos stared at the long, dimly lit Dungeon hallway.

    He recognized the pit trap in the distance. It was the one he''d most recently jumped.

    ...That solved the mystery of where the hells he was.

    Krysaos took off his hat and scratched his head.

    He''d just f*cked up a big-arse eel... He''d have had a real shite time if fell in after it.

    Time...

    How long ago was that?

    It can''t have been more than a few minutes? But... it felt like it had been longer.

    He felt like he was missing something.

    It wasn''t anything important... but he felt like he went somewhere he wasn''t supposed to go-- but that wasn''t where he was currently.

    Furrowing his brows, he unsheathed the Heart of the Ocean.

    He formed an illusion-cutting edge over the de, just as the LT taught him... and he cut at the air.

    ...Nothing.

    "Augh, really? That''s... so f*ckin weeeeeeird..."

    If there wasn''t an illusion... then he was probably fine.

    That left... the problem of being in the hall with the familiar pit trap.

    Krysaos didn''t want to backtrack... but there was only one other obvious way to go.

    --in the chamber he just left, maybe?

    ...That sure beat facing any more giant eels or whatever.

    Spinning on his heel, Krysaos turned to admire the door.

    He ced a hand on the old, waterlogged wood, every warp and bend just as how he remembered.

    ? I knew it well, the inside door to the Captain-al quarters of the Sugar-Titted Siren. I carved the peephole in myself, just so I could tell whoever came to see me to f*ck off by name. ?

    Inside... wasn''t he just outside? No. That didn''t make sense.

    "Sea God''s socks," Krysaos chuckled to himself... "Look... at me.... I''m talkin'' in me own head..."

    Turning back, he checked to verify that he was factually *inside* of the Captain''s quarters.

    He was.

    ...He walked to his footlocker and he kicked it open.

    The thing wasn''t locked-- it wasn''t lockable.

    ncing over its contents, nothing was amiss.

    He always worried that one sun, someone would try to f*ck with his stuff.

    First off, the box was stolen, so... he didn''t actually have a key. And anyroad, no one on the ship had the patience for reading anything longer than the name of a pub or whorehouse.

    Crouching down, also took his old journal, a quill pen, and an inkpot out of the chest... then he walked over to his familiar rope hammock.

    Nostalgia struck him... so thick it made his knees weak.

    It was a real shite hammock, the whole thing frayed and threatening to fall apart.

    ...but it was his.

    He''d cheated it as fair as only an honest thief could.

    Krysaos began to write, "Captain''s log..."

    He furrowed his brows-- "The f*ck''s the date?"

    ...He was never good with remembering the date.

    "Bah, whatever," Krysaos groaned, "Captain''s log, date? ...A bunch of X''s."

    He''d fill in the dateter... if he gave a shite.

    "So there I was..."

 Chapter 882 Captain

    ?Captain Krysaos of the Sugar-Titted Siren smiled as he stared down at the yellowed pages of his journal.

    Writing... taking his quill pen to paper felt right even when nothing else did.

    "So there I was... ''bout to head up to the top deck and rip into whatever unlucky f*ck decided to cross me.

    "But... there''s this feeling I got-- like something''s missing."

    Krysaos adjusted his sitting position. Of course, his hammock was being a right b*tch about it.

    Gettingfortable in it... was a battle he''d never won.

    "Hmm. Thinking about it..." Krysaos hummed, "I haven''t gottenid in awhile? ...Maybe this''ll be the sun I find a hot mermaid chick?"

    Yeah... that sounded real nice.

    "Ady... maybe someone who thinks I''m a hero."

    Krysaos scratched his chin... then let out a deep, exhausted sigh... "As if that''d ever f*ckin'' happen..."

    He wet the tip of his quill pen with his tongue as he looked around the room.

    He continued to write. He continued searching for a satisfactory answer.

    "...It''s only been a couple of years after conning my way into Captain''ing an entire ship... but I picked up my share of nice things along the way."

    Krysaos chuckled softly as he looked at the colors and shapes adorned on his wall.

    "Every g on my wall... I rightfully deserve. Sea god''s suspenders-- some of those idiots even begged me to take them off their hands...

    "I had a rule-- err... Captain Krysaos, scourge of the six (or so) seas had a CoMmAndMeNt.

    "Kill only when it was gods-damned necessary.

    "...It wasn''t a popr rule, for whatever reason.

    "Some call me a coward for it. Then rumors at port... it made it worse."

    Krysaos pursed his lips... "Really, though. It just makes sense to let ''em go-- somethin the crew never understood. Those guys keeping alive meant merchant ships continued to sail. That''s what makes privateering possible in the first ce."

    A weird thought crossed Krysaos'' mind.

    Maybe... just maybe, he wondered if it''d be better to... share his logic with his bilge-drinking crew instead of just calling them all idiots.

    ...Yeah, nah.

    That''d be too much work.

    He wasn''t going to try to fix something that wasn''t broken.

    Everyone already listened to him out of fear.

    "Maybe I''ll just get a good LT... someone s... mart?"

    Krysaos winced, trying to think real hard.

    There was a hole in his memory-- something dark in his brain that he couldn''t reach into.

    It was like... something or... someone took hold of his head and rattled him around. Everything in there was disorganized... with a bunch of stuff just... gone.

    But what... could there have been that he *needed* so badly?

    Krysaos had his stolen ship. He had his looted Captain''s hat. He had his journal-- purchased used and slightly damaged.

    But still...

    --he was missing... something.

    He was missing a few things... important things...

    --like a decent Lieutenant.

    ...and a boatswain who was capable of reading and... and mathematics.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos took another long look around the room, trying to jog his memory.

    ...On his longtable were a series of old, yellowing maps... a scattering of fake gold coins he hadn''t been able to pawn off yet... and a collection of medalsying smack dab in the middle of it all.

    The medals were recently stolen from a Naval Officer from the Sleeping Country. He''d been meaning to clean the blood off of them and wear them as his own.

    Krysaos took a deep breath as he returned pen to paper.

    ".....I always wanted to be a real sailor.

    "I have a privateering contract, sure... but it ain''t the same.

    "Being a guy-- a military guy... it isn''t something you can just pretend to be.

    "It''s more than the way folks in port look at you... there''s some kind of pride in that sort of thing.

    "...Selflessness. Heroism. Real pride-- the kind that means something.

    "...I hear the coin''s decent, too, on top of free food and lodging.

    "Climbing the ranks, though? With my age and ability?

    "No thanks. If I made it past the recruiters, the best I could ask for would be to get washed out along with the bilge."

    Krysaos'' writing hand stopped abruptly as he fell into deep thought.

    He told the crew he was a Metal-Ranker. It was a secret he wouldn''t even entrust to his journal.

    He saw the way his men looked at him... like they were just one bad sun away from mutiny. The threat of their Captain being superhuman was probably thest thing keeping them all in line.

    ...It''s amazing what people will believe.

    He sighed deeply as he continued to write.

    "But anyroad... I figure if I were to enlist anywhere... it''d be in the Royal Navy-- Mom would''ve liked that."

    Krysaos grimaced as he got out of his hammock, cing his effects back in his lockbox.

    That was enough depressing shite for one sun.

    ...A mystery still remained.

    Maybe something wasn''t... *missing.*

    But something was definitely... off.

    Krysaos popped open the nearby porthole. He hoped that a breath of fresh air would somehow clear the doubts clouding his mind.

    A cool breeze kissed his face... reeking of sea salt and rotting fish.

    ...and Krysaos immediately identified the problem.

    The ship wasn''t moving.

    The Sugar-Titted Siren had been moored on unfamiliar ck sand beaches.

    His idiot crew had somehow managed to run aground.

    It was on a battlefield, no less. Half-buried broken weapons and bits of armor were scattered every few yalms, ripe for skewering careless beachgoers.

    ...If those bastards were trying to mutiny, then they better have had the sea god, himself, on their side... else he''d keelhaul the lot of them.

    An old battleground...

    If he didn''t know any better... he''d have guessed by that, sparse vegetation, the dark clouds, and the crimson sky that he was in one of the seven hells.

    Wait-- crimson sky?

    ...Krysaos cursed under his breath. The entire sun was about to pass and he had yet to show his face above deck.

    As much as he loathed the thought of it... he had to at least do that.

 Chapter 883 No Different

    ?With a heavy heart, Krysaos made his way out of his room and through the main hallway, each trudging step slow and slower still.

    Waiting for him above deck... were the hard stares of hardier sailors; snide, passive-aggressivements... and in at least one case, barely-contained hostility.

    If he could, he''d jail orsh or even keelhaul each and every sea-rat on the ship that looked at him funny.

    If he really did, though... there''d be maybe three or four people to run the whole ship... including himself.

    ...That''d be a f*cking pain.

    "Ughhhh," Krysaos groaned loudly as he climbed the stairs, stopping in front of the double doors to the main deck.

    He clenched his fist until it hurt.

    He''d spent enough time feeling sorry for himself... so he began to focus on his anger and discontent.

    Once he went out there... he no longer had the privilege of being Krysaos the human f*cking being.

    Once he stepped through those doors, he had to put on the mask of Captain Krysaos, the guy with the most leviathan wang on the ship... the guy that''d toss half the crew into a single hotbox without hesitation... the Metal-Rank capable of punching straight through a grown man''s chest.

    Rxing his fist, he took a deep breath and rested his hand on his sword hilt.

    --his... sword.

    He drew it slowly out of its sheath... allowing the de to ring against the metal lip.

    It''s-- no...

    *Her* name was... the Heart of the Ocean.

    ...Captain Krysaos of the Neptune''s Revenge narrowed his eyes.

    There was a hole in his memory. In it... there were probably one or three things he could never get back.

    However... whatever magic affecting him couldn''t change his heart... and it couldn''t hide the feelings he kept deep inside.

    He couldn''t exin them... but he trusted those feelings more than anything else.

    Anger.

    Indignation.

    Hatred.

    A violent, burning need for revenge.

    ...against... the gods?

    Krysaos grit his teeth.

    So be it.

    He felt his emotions swell... all those things raging inside his heart like the crashing waves of a storm. Water mana surged around him, coalescing into a heavy rain that flooded the lower decks.

    Krysaos felt his body tremble and shake.

    It was too much mana.

    It was... the divine essence of the cultist''s Guardian Beast.

    The LT said it could kill him if he used it recklessly-- that he''d disintegrate into a burst of light.

    He said... out of every ten humans, nine had bodies that couldn''t withstand that kind of mana. It was the reason why the strongest human Casters-sses in the Realm were limited to Third-Circle.

    It''s just that... Krysaos no longer gave a f*ck.

    "?Iron Tail of the Gods-Damned Whitesaber Tuna!!!?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos spun around like an absolute, f*cking badass, striking the double doors down with his heel. They flew off their hinges and out, heading straight at the lone, bearded figure standing in front of the main mast.

    Just before they hit the cocksucking son of a scrag, the doors exploded into tiny bits and pieces.

    Seven... gods-damned... f*cking hells, that guy was strong.

    The old, musclebound man stood up straight,pletely unaffected.

    "Che. Can''t f*ckin'' believe it..." He groaned, "Can''t even be f*ckin'' entertaining! ...Useless-arse, f*cking mortal."

    Krysaos recognized that voice... the voice of an old sailor, his voice ravaged by drug-smoke.

    He recognized that man... wrinkled and bronze-skinned. His grey, sea-weathered beard fell down to the middle of his naked chest, almost but not quite covering rows of rippling abdominal muscles.

    He looked like all he did was hoist the sails, sun-in and sun-out...

    The bastard also looked like he''d sink like a big, ugly rock.

    Krysaos had met the sea god once before-- his filthy, rotten-toothed sneer unchanged even from all those years and moons ago.

    That man... was the one and only god of the f*cking sea... and the source of his hatred.

    Krysaos smirked.

    Waves upon waves of mana continued coursing through his body, triggered by his hate...

    "It''s you."

    "Yeah, yehh," The geezer opened his arms, flexing his pectorals like amon brainless dickwad... "So we meet again-- an'' in the flesh. So what? You wanna give it a go, shite-for-brains?"

    That guy... despite his words, was the strongest and most dangerous opponent Krysaos had ever faced. If he was a gods-damned waterfall off the tallest mountain in the Realm, then the sea god was the eye of an ind-destroying hurricane.

    But... that didn''t mean he was going to back down.

    "POSEIDON!!!!" Krysaos yelled, "I''m gonna f*cking KILL YOU! And then I''m gonna save my F*CKING GIRL!!!"

    "Krys-A-ohs..." The sea god grunted... "I thought I told you to stay on f*ckingnd."

    "And to that--" Krysaos grinned, "I said... the next time I saw you... I''d f*cking kill you."

    ...The sea god narrowed his eyes. He was not pleased.

    Good.

    The muscr geezer began to circle counterclockwise... each step of his mast-thick legs threatening to break through the deck. A swirl of water mana shot up from behind him, and the sea god grabbed a wicked-looking trident out of it.

    The Spear of Poseidon...

    ...that thing was probably worth a lot of coin.

    The sea god smiled... revealing a row of jagged shark-teeth.

    "It sounds like the biggest coward in the thirteen sees finally had his balls drop," He croaked... "Good for f*ckin'' you, boyo-- but go the f*ck back where you came from and we can forget this ever happened."

    Boyo? Oh. F*ck. That.

    "Heyyy," Krysaos swapped the Heart of the Ocean to his left hand and extended the middle finger of his right, "F*CK you, Poseidon. You stole my f*cking ship."

    "The f*ck?" The sea god stopped circling, furrowing his bushy eyebrows in confusion, "Oh? You mean this piece o'' shite?"

    "Piece o'' shite?!" Krysaos clenched his teeth, his entire body growing hot with indignation... "PIECE O'' SHITE?! I remember that f*cking sun! Every gods-damned second of it! You took EVERYTHING from me!!"

    "Oh, f*ck you, mortal," The old god groaned. "Do you know how many ships I take every sun?

    "Yours, Krysaos... yours was no different."

 Chapter 884 Where The Legend Ends

    ?Krysaos steadied his breathing... his gaze locked with the god he had sworn to kill.

    They circled each other on the deck of the Sugar-Titted Siren.

    Round and round they went-- watching... waiting.

    The grizzled bastard''s eyes... they were serious.

    It was a little disappointing.

    Krysaos was hoping he''d be underestimated.

    He rotated his wrist, taking a small bit offort from the weight of his trusty rapier.

    There was a lot... going on in his body.

    He had a f*ckload of mana and, through the delivery system that was the Heart of the Ocean, enough postage to mail it straight up the sea god''s arse.

    A regr human can''t kill a god-- that much was obvious. So he borrowed some power from something neither human or... regr.

    Krysaos had... *appropriated* it from the cultists'' Divine Guardian.

    ...If his concentrationpsed even for a second, he was pretty sure he''d explode into a thousand pieces.

    But... that was the kind of power that made even a god hesitate to attack.

    --which also meant it was a good time for Krysaos to say whatever the f*ck he wanted.

    "Where the F*CK is my crew, Poseidon?" He shouted, "After I''m done with you, I''m gonna barnacle-grind every single one of those f*cks down to meat!"

    "Toote, boyo," The sea god scoffed. "They''re already at the bottom of the drink... in the bellies of sharks or sea wolves."

    Krysaos grit his teeth.

    It was one less thing he had to do... but the thought of it didn''t make him feel any better.

    "You... really don''t care, do you, you heartless bastard?"

    The old man threw his head back tough, "HAH! And why the f*ck would I give a single flying SH*T about a bunch of mortals dying? I''m a god, Krysaos. I do as I F*CKING PLEASE!!"

    "Oh yeah?" Krysaos cut back, "Why the f*ck are you even HERE, then?"

    ...A nagging, ufortable feeling tugged at the corner of his heart-- "And... what is that... thing I saw?"

    The sea god''s eyes grew dark... "You? ...You saw it?"

    Krysaos narrowed his eyes... and nodded.

    "It''s... a f*cking mistake..." The sea god spat. "It''s something that shouldn''t exist-- and also something that does not concern you. As for the reason I''m here... it''s as a favor to the only elf in the heavens and hells that I won''t kill on sight."

    Ah... so that was his game.

    Was a god really a god if their ws were so... human?

    "So who''s cock''re you suckin'' exactly?" Krysaos sneered.

    "*Her* identity... is none of your f*cking business, mortal," The sea god red.

    "Heh heh hehhh..." Krysaos put on a disgusting smile, "So you''re doin'' someone else''s dirty work, then? All for the chance at a little taste?"

    The old man''s mana started going berserk, his scraggly grey and white beard whipping around like he was underwater.

    "You really think you''re somethin'', don''t you, Krysaos? Do you KNOW what it is you''re holding?"

    Krysaos nced down at the phallic object in his left hand...

    "Quit eyein'' it like that. It''s a sword, not a dick."

    "It''s made from bone, mortal," The sea god screamed-- "from a damned monster who harvests the materials from her own f*cking flesh to seduce mortals with power."

    Krysaos nced down at the Heart of the Ocean-- careful to keep attention to the sea god for a possible attack.

    It... was made of... metal.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Obviously.

    The sea god was more an insufferable arse. He was also f*cking blind.

    Suddenly... the pit of his stomach grew cold... and he... remembered something-- something he''d forgotten.

    ...The memories-- they weren''t taken away by some outside force.

    Krysaos had purposely tried to forget.

    What remained in his memory... was a pitiful attempt at making sense of the impossible.

    Whatever was down there... was not something human senses couldprehend.

    Krysaos had a choice.

    On the forefront of his mind was... despair.

    The true nature of the god he ''saw''... made his blood run cold. It poisoned his mind.

    He couldn''t... exin why he felt the way he did. He couldn''t exin the burning need to kneel, to gouge out his eyes... to sy his ribs and carve out his heart in the name of worship...

    As giving in to his base desires was a shite option, Krysaos chose something else.

    He dug deeper... to embrace just a little bit of the madness.

    The reality he witnessed, he forcibly twisted it into... zeal.

    He wanted... a crusade.

    In *her* name...

    --Krysaos chose deicide.

    "Her bones..." he whispered, "They ''re sharpened into swords... to take out evil, self-serving tyrants that think they''re untouchable."

    "What. the. f*ck?" The old man bared his shark-teeth in a furious snarl, "You... think you''re a gods-damned hero, Krysaos?"

    Krysaos took a breath... and apologized in his heart.

    ? Sorry, LT... I ain''t waiting for backup like I promised. ?

    "...Yer damn right I do," Krysaos grinned... fully aware that he was letting his crazy show, "Go ahead an'' call me Chosen One."

    "Che!" The sea god snapped his chin to the side, "If that''s so, your legend ends right F*CKIN'' HERE!!"

    ? ...So there I was-- ?

    ? An ancient god charging at me on a fuckin'' wave... god-weapon in hand... and all the force and the fury of the sea at his beck and call. ?

    ? Me. ?

    ? Krysaos. ?

    ? ...Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge... the ship Captain with the best crew in all the gods-damned Realms,bined. ?

    ? A hero... not the kind that saves the Realm... but just a guy trying to save one woman-- and maybe himself. ?

    Krysaos let out a battlecry.

    All the mana in his body-- everything he was trying to hold in the tiny vessel that was a human body... he let it go. He let it... do its thing.

    Every touch, every sensation he experienced... even the gods-damned flow of f*cking time... got magnified by ten thousand.

    One hand, he kept on the most badass sword in existence.

    With the other, he reached for the pistol in his holster.

    --all the while... he screamed like a terrified little girl.

    ? But who knows? If I get lucky, I might even win. ?

 Chapter 885 Fear Of Flight

    ?? Moon Crescent Isle. ?

    "me Eternal, keep Coraline safe..."

    Elle had mounted up as soon as she saw the signal in the sky. With thest of her checksplete, Divine Armor Gaheris leapt off the side the Neptune''s Revenge.

    ...Over the past several weeks the fates had thrown the two of them for the wildest loops.

    On the southern ins of the Eastern States, Guild Metal Wolf lost over half its century.

    Good people died... people she worked with... people she saw every sun.

    She didn''t have any rtion to them. Most of them didn''t even like her.

    ...But... it just... felt so surreal.

    Elle would never see those people again.

    There was one Wolf who *did* like her... though the feeling wasn''t mutual.

    She was the first to find his body after he took his own life.

    ...Elle felt horrible for thinking it, but... she wasn''t sorry all those people died.

    They had a contract... just like her. Survival was never guaranteed.

    For Loki, though...

    It was different.

    ...Elle quietly gave thanks to the me... for the blessings she had rather than didn''t.

    In that horrible situation... hundreds of malms away from their home, surrounded by xenophobic hostiles... the me sent a savior.

    Guild Metal Wolf was saved... by one of their own.

    Tychon.

    He was a Duplicarius... a rank near impossible to attain in the Tyrion military.

    And his guild was the pride of Tyrion, Sol Invictus. It was the same guild that inspired Elle and her friends to leave their hometown of Leopardon so long ago.

    Besides being allowed to live-- Elle found something else... something she had never dared to imagine.

    She found love.

    Her.

    Haelvia.

    ...Hagrid.

    The weird, awkward, too-tall girl had managed to find a boyfriend... and that man was pretty much a hero.

    That man risked his life... saved an entirepany... saved her-- like it was... a casual stroll through the market!

    After her darkest sun, the me saw fit to give Haelvia of Leopardon... more than she could ever ask for.

    She got a new job and title-- a job that covered the costs of Gaheris'' daily maintenance.

    She got a loving boyfriend...

    She even got a new best friend!

    ...Since Elle had left home, Coraline was her *only* friend not made of metal.

    She and Gaheris were heading to the beach... first to make sure her bestie was okay.

    But the real mission... was to protect their new lives with their own hands.

    ? Gaheris is operating with near-maximum mana-efficiency. ?

    Elle looked down through her mental link with Gaheris.

    Below, the dark, ungentle waters of the ocean threatened to rise up and consume them both.

    They were... flying.

    ...through the air.

    ...A hunk of metal, fifteen Tyrion feet tall... was actively defying gravity and soaring over the ocean...

    By the me it was terrifying.

    She didn''t even know Gaheris could fly... not until she saw Tychon do it.

    In the battle against Many-Big-Guns, he piloted Talks-With-Fire as if he were an arena acrobat, shooting up in the sky like an arrow... striking down like a hawk.

    Tychon deserved some kind of medal! Or... maybe he could be named as an honorary Hero?

    He was already a Duplicarius... but there had to be some kind of process to get him better noticed.

    ...Maybe if she wrote a letter to the Archbishop?

    Elle opened and closed her hands. They were cold. Her palms were slick with sweat...

    It wasn''t only the flying that made her nervous.

    On the beach... it was very possible... that she''d have to fight again.

    She''d trained to fight. Tychon had taught her.

    It was almost like... when they weren''t sleeping together, they were training.

    Only a couple of weeks prior, she and Gaheris had broken their personal records in speed, strength, and uracy.

    Her mana reserves had easily tripled. She could stay mounted for almost a full sun at a marching pace-- and that was without breaks.

    She was even able to utilize a sword with Gaheris as well as if she was wielding it herself.<novelnext></novelnext>

    But... all that training... tore apart her confidence. It was like... everything she''d learned with Guild Metal Wolf was useless.

    She might have grown to surpass Munifex Loukius in all things Divine Armored... but she was still a trash pilotpared to Tychon.

    If there was an enemy on the beach... Elle felt like it''d be her first *real*bat.

    An enemy...

    Coraline was an Arcanist... belonging to a Witch Guild called the Sapphire Tower.

    She was... so very strong-- easily on par with Gaheris.

    What... could make *her* signal for help?

    Elle shook her head.

    No, she couldn''t think like that.

    Coraline was following protocol. If *anything* happened-- Tychon said... to use the signal.

    It was... a safety measure.

    It was... a ''just in case.''

    Elle squinted her eyes as the beach came into view.

    ? Gaheris, zoom in... there. ?

    There... she saw bodies.

    The Corallidae-- the crew...

    Elle recognized Coraline''s protective detail lying in pieces on the sands.

    ...Even Barrel Boy''s barrelid discarded and empty, stuck in the shallow sands.

    Elle felt her stomach churn with nausea... but more than that, her heart swelled with anxiety.

    There was... a roaring fire on the beach as big as a funeral pyre.

    With its strength of the golden mes... it could only be Coraline and Beatrice.

    Gaherisnded on the beach and held his hand out.

    The enchanted sword, Summer Song, shed into his grip-- erged to match Gaheris'' frame.

    "[Get away from her!!]" Elle shouted.

    The force of her voice, amplified by her partner, washed over the boy standing in front of the me.

    ...It ruffled his pale hair, but didn''t seem to affect him any other way.

    He certainly didn''t seem scared.

    Slowly... that boy turned around, his back to the mes.

    He was... beautiful-- if that word could even describe it.

    His hair was more than pale. It was snow-white... like the tip-tops of the tallest Tyrion mountains-- and it shined and sparkled under the starlight.

    For a moment... Elle thought he might have been an angel descended from the heavens.

    ...She grew legitimately concerned that he''d have wings.

    He wasn''t wearing armor-- just a pair of trousers. However, his white skin was covered with flowing tattoos of power that glowed with mana.

    He... he was definitely a Witch-- but unlike Coraline, he definitely wasn''t one that Elle could suffer to live.

    There was something about the way his eyes looked... glowing with a harsh, silvery light.

    Even though she knew Gaheris would keep her safe, it sent a shivering chill down her spine.

    "Voice of woman?" The pale boy said in ented Common, "But... only Bronze."

    Then... he spread his wings.

    He had... *actual*... white... feathery... wings?

    Elle blinked her eyes. She shook her head. She even pped herself on the cheek-- but the boy was still there.

    He... WAS an angel!

    --which meant... she was about to fight on behalf of her best friend... against the forces of heaven.

    "me take me, this... this is *so* wrong," She whispered...

    Elle clenched her fist, Gaheris''s grip tightening on the ?Erged? Summer Song... and together, they swung their de at the enemy.

    "[I said GET AWAYYYY!!!]"

    The angel sneered as he pointed his palm outward to meet the strike.

    ? ?Power Attack? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    Elle felt a rush of mana surging up to her chest and she screamed so hard her voice cracked.

    "[?POWER ATTAAAACK!!!?]"

    **BANG**

    Gaheris'' entire frame shook as he batted the poor boy away. He flew back into the trees, turning the bases of two into shrapnel, the cascade toppling a half dozen more.

    Elle wiped the sweat from her brow with her wrist... "Gaheris... did... did we--?"

    ",

 Chapter 886 Lesson Learned

    ?? Several weeks prior, on the roads to the Tree God''s Forest. ?

    Elle lied on the grass, gazing up at the cloudless blue sky.

    It was the same sky she and Rena and Justus used to stare at... back when they were children in a small town called Leopardon.

    The heavens seemed... unending.

    --which was exactly how her training felt.

    "Are you going to lie there all sun, my love?"

    Tychon''s voice was deep andfortable. Elle had a feeling that if she closed her eyes, she''d be able to sleep the rest of the sun away...

    She felt a coolness on her face... of her boyfriend blocking the sun for her. His golden eyes were calm and gentle. His dark green hair swayed softly in the breeze.

    For a moment... Elle wondered if she was dreaming. If so, waking up would be a shame.

    "Just.... five more minutes," She mumbled underneath her breath.

    "How cute," Tychon''s mouth twisted into a light smirk as he extended his hand.

    That meant ''not gonna happen.''

    Elle sat herself up, the dull ache in her rear reminding her of recent events.

    "You tripped me..." She pouted, "*again.*"

    "Your center of bnce is higher than mine," Tychon shrugged. "It is a vulnerability that you must learn to ount for."

    He gripped Elle''s wrist tightly... and with perfect bnce, pulled her to her feet.

    Steady and strong, they were traits she always admired in her lover.

    Sometimes, though... those same traits made her feel... inferior to him.

    "I fell for the same trick again for what-- the third time in a row?" Elle sighed.

    "Correct," Tychon winked. "And what have we learned?"

    "That I can''t hope to beat you in a fight?"

    Her boyfriend ced a hand on his chin as he rxed against his quarterstaff.

    "Such a lesson... I hope you learned more recently than just this sun."

    "I... I don''t get it," Elle winced as she bent over to pick up her own staff.

    The aching was sharper than usual.

    She''d put too much weight in herst attack, so when she fell, she *really* fell.

    Even though she couldn''t win, getting a good, solid hit in was... not impossible?

    Elle chose the wrong timing... so she could only me herself for being impatient.

    "Bleiiiiighhhhh..." She groaned.

    It was a sound Coraline liked to make.

    It was cute.

    "Is something wrong, dear?"

    "What''s the point of... staff training?" Elle pouted, "I fight with *Gaheris*-- and against monsters, not people!"

    Tychon opened his mouth to talk, but Elle swiped her hand to cut him off-- "and-- and I know what you''re gonna say! People can be monsters too!"

    "Elle, my love... I am literally a snake."

    "I know!" Elle shouted... then grimaced before continuing with a more apologetic tone... "I mean... I know. I''m sorry. It''s different. But... but all you''ve been doing is bullying me!"

    "I always bully you," Tychon grinned.

    Elle stuck out her tongue in defiance, "But this doesn''t feel good... and it feels like-- like I''m not learning anything."

    Tychon''s golden eyes drifted skyward in thought... "Thus far, in quarterstaff duels, you can consistently best Wonderboy, a physically fit gentleman basically-trained in close-quarterbat."

    "Lover~" Elle grimaced, "Anyone in the crew can beat Wonderboy."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tychon continued to think in silence. A light drop of sweat dripped down his neck, trailing down onto his hard chest.

    That... wasn''t good for Elle. She was trying to stay mad and a different feeling that was not anger was trying to take over her pitifully tiny brain.

    "More than that, Elle. I believe... yourbat prowess isparable to Leading Hand Stickyfingers."

    "Stickyfingers uses a dagger..." Elle frowned, "And he''s got the Rogue ss, doesn''t he? He dodges half my strikes and makes me feel stupid."

    "Hard tactics against soft, soft against hard," Tychonughed.

    Hard. Elle''s gaze drifted downward--

    --then she shook her head violently. She wasn''t in the right mind-- if she was ever.

    "Wh-what''s that supposed to mean?"

    "It''s an archaic goblin adage appropriate for the situation," Tychon exined. "If you''re advantaged in strength, press onward. Otherwise... perhaps you should seek a different approach."

    Elle pondered the words for a moment before breaking into a grin.

    "Like me taking advantage of how you''re the worst Pettaia yer in the Realm?"

    ...Tychon took a deep breath as he turned away, "I suppose that would be urate, yes."

    He was being embarrassed! As cool as collected as her boyfriend tried to be, Elle seemed to be able to dig into him with ease.

    --which opened up an opportunity.

    She swung her quarterstaff low at Tychon''s ankles... just as dirty as he did her!

    **CRACK**

    Elle''s eyes widened. Her attack had been intercepted with a suspicious level of speed and uracy. The base of Tychon''s staff had hammered down the end of hers, enough to dig into the dirt.

    "Y-you used mana!" She shouted, "I would''ve got you!"

    "Indeed," Tychon grinned as he averted his gaze, "Take this as your victory."

    He looked up.

    He smiled.

    Just that was enough to make Elle''s heart thump in her chest.

    "I''m proud of you," He said... "my love."

    Those words... healed her soul. It might have even healed the pain in her rear.

    Elle returned a shy smile... "And what''s my prize?"

    "The satisfaction of a lesson well learned?"

    "I was thinking... something else..."

    ...

    ? Moon Crescent Isle, present time. ?

    Elle grit her teeth, "Gaheris, did we win?"

    ? Gaheris still senses the enemy''s mana signature. Be advised, the opponent is too powerful to face alone. ?

    "Like I have a choice..." She sighed, "How about Coraline? Is she okay?"

    ? ...Coraline''s breathing is stable despite Beatrice''s mes. ?

    That was a relief-- a small one, but still.

    Elle had to think fast...

    It was still dark... but the stars were out. That meant, out of the crew... Gaheris and Coraline had the best night-fighting capabilities.

    But... Coraline had been defeated.

    Even worse, the enemy was an angel-- a literal heavenly being.

    Elle and Gaheris didn''t have a hope of winning against that...

 Chapter 887 The Sick Feeling

    ?Elle didn''t have heaven-defying witch powers like Coraline or Mina. She didn''t have the courage of Captain Krysaos or the guile of Stickyfingers.

    ...She had nowhere near Tychon''s overwhelming strength.

    She had Gaheris.

    Gaheris was awesome.

    The problem... lied in his pilot.

    In a fight, Gaheris was only as good as Elle''s very human reflexes and mana control.

    So how could she--

    ...Ah.

    Elle smacked her palm against her forehead.

    The lesson.

    She finally found the answer... why Tychon was so insistent on training against him, in particr.

    Did he know? No... he must have known.

    Being the girlfriend of a Tyrion hero obviously had itsplications.

    ...It was something she tried not to worry about.

    Tychon was strong. Really strong. Strong enough that she figured she didn''t have to worry.

    As for how strong? ...Stories of the Archbishop and Divine Armor Star-Fury strong.

    --literally able to speak with Ravidius, the Hero of Passage, as an equal strong.

    But... strong people make enemies.

    ...And Elle knew-- somewhere in the back of her mind... that as long as she was with Tychon, her life could be in danger at any moment.

    That was the point of the lesson... that she had to be prepared to fight against an opponent she couldn''t hope to defeat.

    Her goal wasn''t to challenge the fates and secure an impossible victory.

    Her goal was to survive.

    Hope was still out there! Coraline''s signal from the beach could be seen and heard anywhere on the ind.

    The others woulde soon... Petty Officer Bob, Stickyfingers... Ishmael...

    Tychon.

    Elle ced her hand on her beating heart.

    Tychon woulde, for sure.

    A silver star burst out of the dark forest.

    Suddenly, the blur stopped-- the light so bright, Elle had to guard her eyes.

    Ten yalms away, the ghost-white angel levitated in the air as he slowly and ominously pped his wings.

    However, when the light dimmed a little, she saw the state of his body.

    Rows of tree splinters were stuck in his pale skin, drawing tiny rivulets of blood. Feathers were missing from his wings-- some of them floating by his side, tinged red.

    The angel wasn''t invincible.

    ...He bled, just like a regr mortal.

    That... that should havee as a relief!

    But...

    Elle''s throat was dry. Swallowing her saliva caused physical pain.

    Her stomach was cramping... twisting... wringing itself out.

    She wanted to puke. She wanted to kneel down, smash her forehead against the dirt and... and just cry.

    For the most powerful creatures in the Realm... their desire to inflict pain and suffering was enough to affect those around them.

    Shortness of breath.

    Horrible visions.

    A sickness that starts in the mind, but affects the body...

    Tychon had a name for it.

    He called it... killing intent.

    ...When he tried to exin it, Elle just nodded her head. At the time, she didn''t want to talk about hypotheticals. She just wanted to be in love... and to be loved.

    She didn''t want to be scared.

    ...Experiencing that kind of fear for herself... was worse than she could have imagined.<novelnext></novelnext>

    But... it was an illusion.

    She had to concentrate.

    She had to deny it.

    She couldn''t let it control her.

    Giving up was out of the question.

    Running away wasn''t an option. She had to protect Coraline.

    ...Also, she was pretty sure that if she turned her back, she''d be killed in an instant.

    She had to think.

    She had to analyze... like her detective best friend.

    She had to devise a strategy... like her Tactician boyfriend.

    Then... she had to grit her teeth and do what had to be done-- like a certain, foul-mouthed Captain she knew.

    Her opponent''s body was... thin, with hard but well-defined muscles.

    He... wasn''t wearing any defensive equipment.

    Was he a witch like Coraline? That would exin that... and the glowing tattoos on his chest.

    He survived a hit from Gaheris, though... Was it possible he was a bruiser-type enemy? No... he could have used a magical shield.

    "You... are NOT BRONZE!!" The levitating angel shouted, "Your appearance is DECEITFUL, you WHORE!!"

    He shot his hands forward in front of his chest... thin, silvery wires glinting between his fingers.

    Mana... wires?

    Elle had heard stories about Assassins using them to hunt down and kill their targets.

    It was a cruel weapon...

    The angel had a small frame, he moved incredibly fast, and his weapon of choice was a set of mana wires.

    He was a Rogue-- it was the only thing that made sense.

    So maybe... the angel was like Stickyfingers? If that was the case, Elle and Gaheris had the advantage in strength... and they just had to press it until reinforcements could arrive.

    Maybe... just maybe they could even win.

    Elle wanted nothing more than to pay the angel back for what he did to Coraline.

    She nced down to her waist. Tychon had issued her two healing potion bottles, holstered securely onto loops on her belt.

    She could use them to get her best friend back into the fight... with a little bit of luck.

    Elle steeled her gaze and steadied her heart.

    Gaheris flourished Summer Song, ready for battle.

    The sick feeling went away.

    "[It just goes to show... looks aren''t everything, y''know.]"

    "Hmph," The angel turned up his nose. "Your metal shell *looks* tough... I will show you it is not... b*tch."

    Her greatest weakness as a Divine Armor Pilot was her shallow mana reserves... but against allmon knowledge, that had been growing since she met Tychon.

    With the fear gone, the righteous anger took over.

    She had a n... to exercise superior force via the weight, mass, and sheer magical power of Gaheris.

    Her mana was near full capacity. Her mental link with her partner was unshakeable.

    And she''d already gotten the first hit in.

    Tychon would be proud.

    "[You wanna y, you big, dumb toothbird?]" She grinned, "[Let''s y.]"

    Divine Armors were terrifying opponents-- huge artifice marvels with limitless potential.

    Even a Gold-Rank wouldn''t be able to take one lightly.

    The angel''s eyes began to glow with displeasure, "I am no longer in mood."

    "Game on," Elle whispered.

    Gaheris raised his arm to swing Summer Song down-- then quickly changed its direction to a horizontal sh.

    The angel gracefully pivoted his body downward, dodging in a flurry of feathers.

    --just as Elle hoped he would.

 Chapter 888 Final Prayer

    ?Elle grew up on stories of Tyrion Heroes fighting for entire suns against Realm-ending threats.

    The diatorial matches in Caeruleum were full of insults, shy moves, back and forths and upsets.

    Real fights don''tst that long.

    All it took was a single, perfectly-aimed, perfectly-timed attack.

    ...Elle had lost enough matches against her boyfriend to learn that particr lesson.

    Gaheris'' ?Power Attack? did a lot of damage.

    A second one would probably end her opponent rightly.

    Elle had the mana to spare... but the pressure was on.

    She only got the first hit in because her opponent underestimated her.

    With that changed... Elle was betting that he didn''t want to get hit again.

    She had Gaheris feint. Their opponent fell for it.

    ...and the angel was right where she wanted him to be.

    Elle lowered her left arm, allowing her mana to flow into her Saronite Protector... and she channeled as much power as she could into Gaheris'' mana-frame.

    "[ ?Saronite PUNCH!!? ]"

    **BAM**

    Gaheris'' fist made impact.

    Elle''s ears rang.

    Her skin felt numb. Her insides felt like jelly.

    It felt like the world around her was spinning.

    ...She used too much mana and too quickly.

    She opened her eyes-- but that made it worse.

    ...Her stomach whirled. Bile rose to her throat... and tears formed at the corner of her eyes.

    She was hoping to see a broken angel, his wings pulverized, bones sticking out...

    She was hoping to see something sickening... something bloody... a sin against the heavens, but a sign that she and Gaheris and Coraline might make it through the night.

    Instead... through Gaheris'' interface, she saw the angel''s silver stare.

    He didn''t look... scared or... hurt-- or even surprised.

    He looked... bored.

    Sweat and blood trailed down his half-naked body. His once-perfect hair was soaked through, trailing down his face.

    But... the silvery glow of his eyes also sheathed the angel''s entire right arm.

    He stopped Gaheris'' mana-empowered punch... with his bare hand.

    **BANG**

    Elle blinked.

    Gaheris had been hit.

    It felt like her organs tried to leap forward out of her stomach as she and Gaheris flew back from the angel''s strike.

    The weightlessness... felt so surreal... like she was floating through clouds.

    Then, Gaheris struck the beach, sliding on the sand.

    Time seemed... disjointed? Elle furrowed her brows-- it was only for a moment, but she was pretty sure she lost consciousness.

    For all the restraints she was wearing, she was certain all her insides were bloody and bruised after the impact.

    But... she was alive.

    She could still fight.

    Elle didn''t think too hard. In her situation, trying to *think* just wasn''t working.

    Keeping their momentum, Elle flipped backward, Gaheris sshing to the shallows, but stable on one knee.

    "We''re NOT done yet!!" She shouted.

    Elle was almost confused that she did. But... if crazy-fighting-b*tch Elle wasn''t done, then there was no reason for rationally-thinking Elle to stop her.

    Gaheris attacked with Summer Song.

    They needed to make space-- they needed to set up another attack.

    **CRACK**

    The angel kicked out with his right leg, the base of his foot stopping Gaheris'' swing at the wrist.

    "Metal puppet," He spat, "Toys for children-- nothing more."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Elle watched in horror as the angel''s mana wires wrapped around Gaheris wrist.

    They sank deep.

    They cut into the metal.

    Summer Song fell to the sands. Its enchantments faded, returning it to a regr-sized weapon.

    Chunks of metal fell too... parts of Gaheris'' hand-- parts of his arm. Each looked ame in brilliant bursts of silver and blue, leaking mana... losing their form.

    Gaheris swung his other fist. The angel pped it away with his opposite hand.

    It made no sense that the angel could ignore Gaheris'' weight and mass... but he did.

    He... was supposed to be a Rogue-ss.

    It didn''t feel like she was sparring against Stickyfingers. It was more like... she was fighting Petty Officer Bob... an invincible behemoth made of steel bones and rock flesh.

    Elle shot to her feet. She nocked her knee high, then rotated her hips for a kick.

    Her long legs... that was her ''thing''-- her height, the range it gave her.

    Tychon always said he admired them.

    She felt the impact.

    She screamed from the mana-feedback... feeling Gaheris'' leg break at the knee.

    Again, came the weightlessness.

    Again, came the fall.

    Ah.

    She made a mistake.

    She had a high center of bnce.

    ...Tychon warned her about that.

    Elle shook as, once more, Gaheris hit the ground... and she found herself staring up at the clear night sky.

    ? Gaheris is terminating the mental link. ?

    "No..." Elle sniffed.

    Tears were running down her face.

    She had failed.

    "Gaheris... please..."

    The humming and whirring of the Divine Armor''s interface began to power down... leaving her alone in the darkness, unable to see outside.

    The numb pain she was feeling in her muscles and bones... was only a tiny fraction of the pain Gaheris was feeling.

    When the connection terminated... that feeling went away.

    And in its ce... was fear.

    "Gaheris... we still... have to--"

    ? It is standard protocol. The safety of the pilot is paramount. ?

    "Gaheris... don''t do this."

    ? Emergency ejection activating... ?

    "C-cancel process," Elle begged. "I... I''m not leaving."

    ? ...Please evacuate. Divine Armor Gaheris can be restored to full functionality as long as-- ?

    The creak of bending metal threatened to deafen Elle as Gaheris'' chest was violently ripped open by the angel''s mana-threads. The cold beach air rushed in... and a nauseating silver light shone upon her.

    "No more toy to save you, child," The pale boy sneered.

    He reached down, a thin, pale hand wrapping around Elle''s throat... while his other tore apart her safety restraints.

    Elle wed at the angel''s impossibly strong grip, "Let... let go of me!!"

    "As you wish," He shrugged, tossing her aside.

    Ellended on the beach, her side against a rock. She thought she felt something crack. Her whole side was on fire with pain.

    The light beat of wings taunted her from above.

    "Maybe pray to gods?" The angel chuckled, "Inst moments, they always pray. Who is it, then? Titan god? By clothing... Tyrion god, perhaps?"

    Elle leaned over, spitting out the blood that was pooling in her mouth.

    "T... tychon."

    As desperate as her situation... as impossible as it was...

    --she still hoped for that man toe save her.

 Chapter 889 Worth Of A Name

    ?"A new god?" The angel growled.

    Elle felt the impact of a kick on her side. Seizing with pain, bile and blood rushing to her throat, she began to hack and cough.

    The angel ced the bottom of his filthy foot against her cheek, holding her down.

    ...Yet the killing blow did note.

    "No," He said... "There is still hope in your eyes. This... Tychon-- he is a man?"

    ''Tychon...'' Elle begged in her heart, ''Save me...''

    Gaheris was critically damaged. She was about to die... and Coraline was going to be next.

    But the person at the forefront of her mind... was her boyfriend.

    He woulde.

    He had toe.

    He was a hero. He was *her* personal hero.

    What use are heroes if they don''t save people?

    "You are wrong."

    She felt the angel mount her chest-- causing another jolt of pain to travel the length of her body.

    There were rib-bones broken... and a whole slew of other hurts from getting knocked around and torn out of Gaheris.

    She puked onto the sand. The base of her throat burned and the acrid taste clung to the inside of her mouth.

    "There is no hope," The angel dered. "You are alone."

    He leaned in close, his silver eyes wide and watching... "No savior. Only me."

    Elle could barely see through the tears.

    She was no longer in control of her fate.

    She felt like... she was someone else, staring through a looking ss at a different person''s vomitus.

    The angel tore open that person''s tunic, ripping the thick cloth.

    Elle was... somewhere else, far... far away.

    The angel began to roughly massage that person''s breasts.

    Then... he began to scream.

    He began to scream... at the top of his lungs... like *he* was the one dying.

    And... and the heat-- the heat was almost unbearable.

    ...

    Pain.

    No.

    Not pain.

    Humiliation.

    Through sheer force of will, Vyzen closed his screaming mouth.

    He flexed his muscles... clenching his teeth... ignoring the feeling of his flesh boiling and charring.

    The girl... the prize he had fought and earned... she was wrapped in mes-- mes that scourged his flesh yet not hers.

    Vyzen crossed his arms in front of his chest, brimming with malcontent as he watched the protective runes inscribed on his flesh struggle to perform their duty.

    The healing factor... too slow. The magical fire... too strong.

    "?My Hatred Endures...?"

    A surge of mana bristled in the air. The power of the heavens reminded the worldly mes of their ce. In seconds, Vyzen''s burnt, misshapen fingers were restored to their god-crafted perfection.

    ?Fire Shield.?

    It was a simple, protective spell... but impossibly enhanced beyond the scope of its original function.

    Third Circle.

    Gold-Rank.

    Sol Invictus had but a single Gold-Rankbatant on Moon Crescent Isle... a single outlier that gave even the beautiful murderer that was his sister pause.

    His name...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Vyzen finally made the connection.

    He... was the hope on the Tyrion woman''s lips.

    "Tychon," Vyzen grimaced as he mentally tranted his words into the mon'' tongue, "(I am surprised... but this changes nothing.)"

    It was... infuriating that he made such a grave miscalction.

    The woman Vyzen sought to conquer... a woman of... quality-- she was protected.

    All that time he spent... crushing her hopes, ripping and tearing them apart like her flimsy shell... w a s t e d .

    A man stood where none stood before.

    The woman''s eyes, she could not look away. In that gaze, Vyzen saw... relief... a forbidden yearning?

    Her hope was returned to her.

    If it was a different woman... if Tychon, a different man, Vyzen would have sought to take away that hope once again.

    It was not so.

    Vyzen flexed his back, his wings nigh motionless as they held him aloft... and he gazed upon the enemy.

    d in pure white... an armored warrior.

    Not a clumsy, hulking behemoth...*he* was simr in height to himself, a beautiful, unblemished divinity.

    Vyzen sensed it... even if the helmet revealed no face.

    The metal wrapped around him... it moved and shifted almost imperceptibly.

    The material: mana... raw, vtile manamanded by the will of the strong.

    Vyzen narrowed his eyes.

    The name ''Tychon'' was without worth.

    The name ''Sol Invictus,'' the opposite.

    It was an old, old name-- so old that it echoed not only in his memory... but in his very blood.

    Vyzen feared no man. But... in the current age, ''Sol Invictus'' demanded a minimum level of respect.

    If that Tychon belonged to Sol Invictus'' original guild... hisbat experience spanned not only decades of conflict but hundreds of life-and-death skirmishes and battles.

    ...And he was descendent of far greater.

    He wore enchanted armor... like primordial me.

    His gaze... like that of a Sr looking down upon those beneath him.

    Tychon carried no de, save for his aura. His killing intent was honed, not for use against mortal meat and twisted metal, but for courted angels and fledgling gods.

    If he was not one of Tyrion''s Heroes... then the spoils of war won or stolen or piged over the decades rendered him infinitely close.

    Yet... Sol Invictus did not heedlessly charge intobat.

    His hesitation... was correct.

    Vyzen considered his own destructive capabilities. If the White-Armored man had anything near... then his woman would not survive a sh of power.

    Not even a corpse would remain.

    And with that man''s weakness... Vyzen would seize the advantage.

    He shot his palms outward... reaching into the recesses of his bloodline memories to recall forms unused for many years.

    "?Blessing of the Six?, ?Rune of the All-Seeing?, ?Wings of the Cloud Goddess?..."

    Three separate quick-cast incantations... and still Tychon did not act.

    He stood and stared... like all the magic in the Realm meant nothing to him.

    The icy grip of fear clutched onto Vyzen''s heart...

    His advantages were too few. Theing battle... was too evenly matched.

    He wanted nothing more than to hide... to return to his sister''s embrace.

    Fighting a Gold-Rank was... always uncertain.

    The only promise... was pain and suffering.

    If he were to lose, there were fates worse than death and dissolution.

    Even in victory... would the price be too great?

 Chapter 890 Claiming Victory

    ? ?Vyzen had brought offense.

    For that, he could not be forgiven... not by the leader of Sol Invictus.

    ...nor by the gods.

    So be it.

    He would not bow his head. His rebellion would continue.

    He would bring death to Sol Invictus... and take out his frustrations on his sister''s body.

    The White-Armored man moved to acknowledge Vyzen''s resolve.

    He lowered his stance, one arm in front, the other beside his head... hands pointed forward.

    A... magic spell?

    Impossible.

    ording to the Wizard''s files, the only Sol Invictus Caster of worth remained in City Archangel.

    Could it be... a martial art?

    No other possibility remained. Tychon was a Martialist. And in his hands...

    Fiery mana of hate and discontent swelled up around him. They manifested as servants at his feet, dancing with joy, screeching with fury...

    His control was... godlike. There was so much light... so much -- yet trees a dozen yalms away did not ze.

    Vyzen fought the urge to turn away. If not for his bloodline, he''d have been blinded.

    The mes... were a promise.

    The result... was an attack capable of disintegrating an Iron-Rank physique to ash.

    To a Gold-Rank like Vyzen, it would cause death or grave injury.

    Concerning its range and potential... there was no third option.

    But... that made no sense!

    Tychon was Sol Invictus! Sol Invictus was a Guild of diators!

    But this... with this Skill, there would be no battle! There would be no contest of strength or will!

    And... upon the attack''s release, it was impossible for the woman to survive.

    Vyzen''s concentration had waned.

    His body was trembling... grasped tightly by the fear his mind so vehemently denied.

    That white-armored man... was throwing away his humanity-- had he any.

    The woman... Vyzen thought Tychon hade to protect her.

    He was wrong.

    When Sol Invictus arrived... when he saw the woman''s clothes torn, mounted by an familiar man...

    --she... was already dead in his heart.

    Tychon did note to save.

    He came to avenge.

    "NOOOOOO!!!!!" Vyzen pped his wings, speeding forward, "I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!!!"

    A burst of light and sound came from behind.

    A trap? Chantless casting? Vyzen did not have the time to discern the attack''s nature.

    His left wing... he could no longer feel it. He swiveled in the air, adjusting his mana to remain in flight.

    A wall of me blocked his path. He broke through with his fist, with strength bestowed upon him by the heavens.

    His entire body was alight, the protective runes inscribed on his flesh beginning to wear away.

    The pain was immense... profane power searing through immortal flesh.

    He risked everything. To risk less against a Gold-Rank was folly.

    He smashed through a second me barrier. It shattered like ss, cutting into his skin.

    Each shard and fragment was voracious... insatiable... They fed upon his mana-- sucking on the putrefied edges of his soul essence.

    He felt the wetness of blood running down his skin.

    The runes were beginning to crack and fail, bleeding him further... his skin dark and hardened, char-ck.

    Vyzen powered a kick into the third barrier. It swayed and shook, the force dispersed.

    "GRARRRGHHHH!!!!!"

    He pointed his fingers forward and sharpened his mana to pierce through.

    Again, it was useless!

    He mmed both arms against the wall. He kicked with his knee until he felt his bones crumble.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He spun around, his crity blessed by ?Wings of the Cloud Goddess,? and he broke his elbow into the wall.

    Everything... useless!!

    "?Rune of the All-Seeing: RELEASE!!!?"

    rity filled Vyzen''s eyes and mind... illuminating the nature of the barrier spell.

    It was... moreplex than he could have imagined. His skull numbed upon seeing dozens and hundreds of interwoven mana tes... but its secrets were revealed!

    Vyzen sliced through the barrier formation with a swipe of his mana wires... sacrificing the fingers of his right hand to the superheated mes.

    And finally... he faced Sol Invictus.

    The man stared back at him... two unblinking eyes through the white, emotionless helmet.

    Vyzen plunged what was left of his arm through Tychon''s white armor.

    "I... am the VICTOR!!" He screamed.

    ...His body was badly burnt.

    ...His protective runes were all but destroyed.

    A river of blood drained from his injuries... and his life force was all but spent.

    His left wing needed to be restored with magic.

    The damage to his right... was more problematic.

    Vyzen was drastically injured... his constitution, near the levels of a human.

    Another fight... with even a Bronze-Rank could prove fatal for him.

    But... there was no one left. He''d sacrificed his sword arm to plunge it through the heart of Sol Invictus.

    No one else would dare oppose him or his sister.

    The mana in Tychon''s armor began to wane.

    Starting with the head... the helmet wisped away.

    Vyzen''s eyes widened in horror... not at the face of the dying-- but at a young, blonde wearing a ck mask.

    "Who? You''re-- you''re not Tychon ...No, that''s-- but I..."

    That person... they smiled.

    It was a cruel smile.

    Moments ago, Vyzen wore the same.

    And... *she* spoke.

    "You shoulda gone for the head."

    ...

    ? burn? ?

    "Mhmmm," Coraline Heartsong nodded.

    ? ''kay ?

    It shouldn''t have taken more than two seconds for Beatrice to burn that angel loser into ashes and dust.

    She took her time.

    ...She must have been really upset.

    Coraline couldn''t me her. It was almost embarrassing, how bad the two of them got beat up.

    Bleigh.

    With her ''armor'' indisposed, her full attention on overcooking a giant toothbird, Coraline plopped down onto the sand.

    Even though her familiar did all the heavy lifting, she was dead tired.

    She looked down at the hole in her stomach. Her flesh was slowly knitting closed thanks to the scalding-hot magic of Chases-Butterfly''s ebony mask.

    --or rather... *her* mask.

    The process was fascinating... and it was the first time seeing squishy insides belonging to her rather than someone else.

    ...It was a little gross, too. There was so much blood but... on the inside, it looked like there was... less?

    But... the hole just existing meant that it wasn''t a dream.

    The fact that she was alive meant that the enemy wasn''t.

    Coraline had won.

    "...Seven hecks, I''m gonna be so pissed if this leaves a scar."

    ",

 Chapter 891 Burying The Dead

    ?With the help of Beatrice and Ellie... and the Ebon Mask tribe, really-- Coraline had defeated a Gold-Rank opponent.

    Granted, she had literally taken a mortal injury... but she was going to survive it because *ancient magic.*

    That angel person... he thought she was Sir Tycon.

    As weird as it sounded... that made sense. The first time Coraline had met Beatrice properly, she took the humanoid form of the strongest person she knew...

    Once Coraline used the Ebon Mask long enough to heal, Beatrice still insisted on protecting her.

    ...which was really sweet.

    Beatrice turned into... essentially a set of armor-- but set to attack-mode? And the form she took... was the armor Sir Tychon wore back in Whitehearth.

    Scary.

    Coraline was silently thankful that the angel guy was too stupid to hit her spine.

    ...Honestly, the Ebon Mask was probably capable of healing that too.

    If that happened, though, she''d haveined that ''ancient magic'' was way too overpowered.

    ? Granted... the mask, in general, was an absurd cheat.

    ...Beatrice, too. Even though she was essentially a newborn fire elemental, Coraline had the strongest familiar in the Sapphire Tower.

    ...And they never would have met if not for Baron Tycondrius of Charm.

    ...and his sidekick-- Lone Shadowdark... who was also technically still her boyfriend.

    Bleiigghh...

    "C''mon, Beatrice," Coraline stood up, "Let''s check on Ellie."

    The little fire elemental turned from her raging burn-freaking-everything-me back into herpact, four-winged faerie-ball.

    Whenever she got to burn something, she was always super-obedient.

    Twirling her fingers, Coraline dispelled the ?Fire Shield? covering her bestie.

    It looked like the healing potions Ellie brought had shattered... but Coraline had some vials on her person.

    She opened one and brought it close to her best friend''s mouth, "Drink slowly."

    "...Ugh," Ellie winced as she swallowed-- "It''s like... diced strawberries mixed with animal fat... mixed with baby spit."

    Coraline felt her eyebrow twitch. She had added a reagent or three to increase the potency.

    Magic potions weren''t *supposed* to taste good.

    "It... can''t taste *that* bad."

    "Coraline... babe," Elle grimaced, "it''s... it''s horrible."

    The tall woman sat up, crossing her arms to cover her normal-rtive-to-her-height but otherwise massive set of breasts... "I... thanks for saving me... erm... mysterious masked hero."

    "You already said my name once," Coralineughed meekly, "Sorry that I''m not your boyfriend."

    She was too tired to be upset... even at that person.

    "Y...yeah," Ellie sighed, strands of her messy blonde hair covering her eyes... "I just... I really thought... he''de, y''know?"

    "Well..." Coraline grit her teeth, "Let''s kick his butt when he gets back, then."

    "Yeah..."

    ...That sounded like a conversation-ender, if Coraline had ever heard one.

    She looked to the horizon and a beam of deep orange cut its way through the sky.

    Dawn. Everyone was still on the ind, fighting... regardless of how many bells it had been.

    Coraline sighed. The passage of time was cruel.

    "Let''s get you a new shirt, Ellie. Soon everyone''s going to be able to see your ba-donk-a-donk''s in the morning sun."

    "Th-thanks, Coraline..."

    Ellie hugged her knees, her face scarlet.

    Coraline turned and walked off... her eyes scanning the battlefield for a fallen Cultist or Coral Boy with... a reasonably intact under-tunic.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She couldn''t imagine what was going through her best friend''s head. Fear? Uncertainty? Regret?

    Coraline had her own reasons foring to Moon Crescent Isle... rock-solid reasons that she would defy gods for.

    Ellie... had a mercenary contract, sure... and she had an affectionate rtionship with Sir Tycon.

    But... was that enough for her? To stand against angels? Against gods? Against the worst kind of scum to walk the Realm?

    The sound of heavy boots approached, slogging through the mud and wet sand.

    "Hey," Coraline waved, "Seaman Spike, you came."

    A squad of eight Coral Boys held their weapons close, keeping wary of their surroundings. They were still in abat zone, after all.

    Their squad leader, a Coral Boy with notably spikier shoulders than his peers took a step forward.

    "Oy, girlie. We''z came as soon''z we saw da signal."

    Coraline nodded...

    They came quick enough... but the enemy was too strong.

    It was good that they only just arrived. She had no doubt that they would have fought valiantly... just like Barrel Boy and his squad did.

    ...Coraline furrowed her brows.

    Only eight was fine... that was more than enough, but she expected at least someone... higher ranked.

    Petty Officer Bob, Stickyfingers, Catshit, and Doc... where were they?

    The ind perimeter had already been swept clean of enemy patrols...

    Was it possible... that they were all together?

    ...And for what purpose?

    "Seaman Spike... where are the others?"

    "Dey''z said dey got business ta take care of, girlie," Spike answered with an arrogant sneer.

    The lighting out of Beatrice turned from gentle embers to bone-melting white.

    She hadn''t had enough to burn.

    Spike coughed into his big rocky fist, "Ay uh... an'' we''z mean ''at wiv all due respect,ss."

    "Did Tychone with you guys?"

    Coraline raised an eyebrow. She and the Coral Boys turned to see Ellie emerging from the tree line, covering herself with her arms.

    "Da Bosun?" Spike nced to his squad, "''Aven''t seen him. Prolly wiv da Cap''n, yeah?"

    "Yeh, pro''lly."

    "''Aven''t seen him."

    "Da Bosun goes where he pleases."

    Ellie''s face fell...

    She... was really disappointed that Tycon didn''te for her.

    He was on a mission, though... which meant he was probably at the center of Moon Crescent Isle.

    It made absolutely zero sense for him toe back for Ellie. She was the final line of defense... and dozens of Coral Boys and a badass Arcanist to keep her out of trouble.

    And... even though Coraline hadn''t seen Ishmael in a while, he was probably around, protecting them from the shadows.

    "Mizz Elfie," Seaman Spike tilted his chin up, "We''z ain''t seein'' Barrel Boy''s squad."

    "The enemy... has been taken care of..." Coraline sighed, "Spike, I''ll need your help recovering any Coral Boys that can be saved..."

    "Aye," Spike gave azy salute before turning to his squad, "You ''eard her, boyz."

    "And for anyone in your squad that''s good at looting, Ellie needs a new shirt."

    ",

 Chapter 892 Cruel Future

    ?Krysaos stared up at the red sky.

    It didn''t seem to change with the time.

    Maybe, wherever he was... the length of the sun was different.

    Or maybe... it was all fake? Maybe he was having a... dream or nightmare or... an illusion he couldn''t cut.

    If that was the case... he could only me his shite luck.

    "Lemme tell you a secret, boyo..." Krysaos sighed, "I never thought I was good enough."

    He leaned back and let out a light chuckle... The sound carried across the blood-stained deck of the Sugar-Titted Siren.

    "I mean... even back then, I got roped up in Tycon''s ns-- didn''t really have a say. Adventure here. Recover this artifact, there...

    "After what happened... I had a new life, a new crew... I had guys and gals I could rely on.

    "And to keep ''em... I pretended I was someone else."

    Krysaos closed his eyes and breathed in the sea rot.

    "I pretended... I was a good guy. I pretended to be brave... merciful-- just.

    "I guess... I pretended for so long that... this is who I am now."

    ...Krysaos pursed his lips, "And why shouldn''t I? It''s who I wanted to be, so I changed. Whatever shite kind of guy I was before... now, I''m a certified badass."

    He reached over to the side and pulled the Heart of the Ocean out of the sea god''s spine. He wiped the blood off on his coat using the crook of his elbow.

    "After all... I killed you, you piece of shite. I''m a f*cking godyer."

    The sea god didn''t respond. He didn''t move a gods-damned muscle.

    There was a little hole on the front of his forehead and a bigger hole on the back of his head.

    Apparently, that kind of injury was enough to kill a god.

    "So, I''ve been thinkin..." A voice came off the ship''s starboard side. "I wanna do something for our special sun, next moon."

    Krysaos wanted to move... to see who it was? --or to stand up off of the corpse of the sea god? ...or maybe to hide, in case it was an enemy.

    But... he was just so damned tired...

    Thankfully, he heard a second voice... and the person it belonged to was just the guy he needed to hear.

    ...

    "*Special* sun?" Tycondrius red, "what... does that *mean?*"

    "It''s like an anniversary!" Squealed the battered and bruised Tarquin Wroe.

    His voice was incredulous... like *he* could not believe he had to exin himself.

    ...Tycon was fairly certain that ''special sun'' was notmonly understood without context.

    However, Wroe was a friend and ally. Seeking to understand him was... not outside the expectations for such a rtionship.

    "An... anniversary, you say," Tycon pushed his lips to the side, "Then... it is a celebration that urs... annually?"

    "Yeah!" The blue-haired buffoon nodded, "But... no?"

    "Which is it?"

    "It''s more like..." Wroe squeezed his eyes together... trying desperately to squeeze whatever thoughts were in his brain and transform them into human words...

    Tycon took the moment to inspect the hull of the beached ship.

    Some time ago, he''d sensed a familiar mana signature in its general direction.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...And considering the enemies he and Wroe had defeated in the past half-bell, the ship was a logical source.

    "The hull is damaged closer towards the ship''s bow," Tycon muttered. "We''ll climb up on that side."

    "I got it!" Wroe eximed, "It''s... a 4-month interval of an anniversary! A uh... quad... riversary?"

    Tycon gave the daeva a sideways re, "Were you listening?"

    "Yeah, we''re climbing the bow," Wroe grinned. "But concerning our quadriversary?"

    "That is not a real word," Tycon growled.

    "Then what''s the correct--"

    Tycon waved his hand to cut the angelic fellow off, "--I do not have the patience for the topic... nor to discern the correct verbiage."

    The faintest hint of a headache crept into the forefront of Tycon''s skull.

    He massaged the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath, "Tell me, Mister Wroe... this... woman? Are you*known* to her?"

    Tarquin Wroe spoke of... his goddess as if she were a regr mortal, an entity that could be courted-- even taken to Olea Garden... or a fate less cruel.

    The man was in love.

    It was tolerable in the past... as Wroe kept his ''love life'' private.

    "Y-yeah, she knows me," Wroeughed.

    It was an uglyugh... more like a... titter, with its pitch so high.

    Wroe shot his hand forward. Water mana from the hell-ocean circled in a sphere in front of his palm from which he drew his white and bluish ?Hexde?.

    "She... she gave me a sword," Wroe insisted. "See?"

    "The mana-creation," Tycon gently pushed Wroe''s wrist away, "Yes, I''ve seen it before. It''s ostentatious, made of out an odd pearlescent material, and undeniably Elven. What of it?"

    "It''s a sword, though!"

    It was a blunt, vague representation of a sword. If Tycon had not previously seen Wroe utilize it inbat, he would have assumed it was... an overlyplex, decorative vase.

    "Your *sword,*" Tycon frowned, "is borrowed divine power coalesced into a mana-weapon."

    "Yeah! But she gifted it to me personally, Boss!"

    It was... awe-inspiring that the daeva could grin so wide despite his face being so bruised and swollen.

    "Brother..." Tycon lowered his voice, "Are you the only one gifted with such a de?"

    Wroe halted his steps...

    "I uh... well-- I dunno."

    "Was it a gift, Tarquin Wroe?" Tycon whispered... "Or... have you deluded yourself into thinking that?"

    ? He stood still, watching the figurative cogs of thought spinning in Wroe''s eyes.

    ...Had he never once considered the thought?

    Tycon''s rtionship with Wroe was more than employer and subordinate. They were friends and travelingpanions. They were allies with a strong mutual trust, both on and off the field.

    Wroe''s pact with his goddess was... between a worshipper and a greater power.

    It was not a pact of equals.

    If that man sought to dedicate his all and everything to a heartless, silent god...

    --then that future... would be a cruel one.

 Chapter 893 Under Pressure

    ?Sol Invictus member, Tarquin Wroe, had a mortal fiancee.

    Her name was Ophelia, the eldest daughter of House Moonwell. She was a well-respected artificer and a genius in the field of enchantment. She also happened to be Whitehearth''s top expert on all technologies pertaining to Divine Armors and Armaments.

    From what Tycondrius had gathered of his piecemeal memories, the only person in Ophelia''s heart was her husband-to-be.

    This remained true, even after Wroe had left the city... in what was essentially a promise to never return.

    This did not sit well with Tycon, especially since he had found an ideal partner of his own.

    He would not betray Elle''s trust, such was the value he ced in their rtionship.

    Tycon believed his devotion to her led to self-introspection, tolerance, and a newfound level of patience.

    Wroe''s devotion... led him to one of the seven hells-- where Tycon discovered him by pure coincidence.

    Without the intervention of fate, the daeva would have been lost, roaming Letherna until his spirit withered away into nothingness.

    "Grant, Brother-Tarquin," Tycon pursed his lips, "that I do not challenge your faith-- only your perspective."

    "I... I don''t--" Wroe gulped, "Y-you''re right. Of course. But..."

    "The issue isplex. Think over where your loyalties lie," Tycon pped his hand on Wroe''s back, "You''ll be better off for it."

    "Y... yeah," Wroe nodded slowly, "Maybe."

    Wroe''s quest for power was honorable and just. ss-changing into a Hexde was a natural culmination of his effort. Divine power catalyzed his mana, turning him from a mediocre swordsman to a zealous, Iron-Rank murderer.

    However, remaining faithful to his goddess and living by her ts did not mean he had to discard his pre-existing rtionships.

    It was, by no means, necessary to betray Ophelia''s unceasing (if undeserved) faith.

    Ultimately, though... that would be Wroe''s decision to make.

    Tycon''s gaze drifted over the side of the beached ship.

    The name inscribed near the railing was... the obscenely crass Sugar-Titted Siren.

    Leaping up, he carefully gripped onto a handhold... and relying solely on the muscles in his arms and back, he climbed onto the deck.

    "Yo."

    Captain Krysaos opened his palm, wavingzily.

    He was seated on a corpse.

    "Brother-Captain," Tycon acknowledged the man before turning to assist Wroe.

    "Sorry I... urgh-- can''t do much more than wave, LT," Krysaos groaned. "Body... kinda hurts all over."

    Tycon approached the corpse and Captain... as well as the unique-looking trident adjacent.

    "...Is that who I think it is?" He grimaced.

    "Ayep," Krysaos grinned. "Ow..."

    It was... as Tycon feared.

    The sea god''s corpse waspletely bereft of divine power.

    "Krysaos... it baffles me that your body is intact."

    "Well, LT... if I''m bein'' honest... feels like I only got a few minutes before I go boom..."

    Wroe crossed his arms, "Have you tried... turning all that god-energy into a sword?"

    Tycon shut his eyes. That was a foolish suggestion. Krysaos was not a Hexde.

    Wroe''s heart, however, was in the right ce. He assumed that Captain Krysaos was suffering Mana Overload, in which case releasing excess mana would prevent his violent death.

    ? System, analyze. ?

    ? System response: Krysaos, Sky-Rank Aquatic-Human Dread Captain. ?

    Sky-Rank... and from the quality of the man''s mana, he was a half-step away from God-Rank.

    ...and his ss had changed.

    Through however many twists of fate... Krysaos had absorbed the sea god''s divine portfolio.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Thus, he had be... the new sea god.

    ...and his tenure would have been doomed to be short-lived, had Tycon not already a contingency n for the Captain''s stupidity.

    Flicking his wrist, Tycon summoned a spell scroll-- the ink upon it not even fully dried.

    "I''m going to strike you, Krysaos. Please ept it."

    Krysaos bit his upper lip. He looked like he was about to argue... then his gaze drifted to Wroe''s pitiful face.

    "LT...? Can... you go easier on me than on that guy?"

    "Very well."

    Before Krysaos could change his mind, Tycon nted an open palm into Krysaos'' abdomen. Simultaneously, he activated the scroll in his off-hand.

    With a small poof... the paper burst apart and dissipated into mana dust.

    The force knocked Krysaos off of his ''seat'' and onto the deck.

    Slowly, the man opened his eyes... "Was... was that it?"

    "That was it," Tycon answered.

    "Boss, that wasn''t fair," Wroe whined. "Howe you beat me up so bad?"

    "You know *damn* well why, Mister Wroe," Tycon growled under his breath.

    Adjusting his posture, Tycon rendered Krysaos a salute.

    "Lieutenant Tycon, reporting."

    Captain Krysaos stood up to return the salute. His knees buckled slightly, but he no longer appeared to be in great pain.

    The ritual scroll seemed to have worked.

    "Ah, huh... at ease. How... the hells did you fix me, LT?"

    "To answer that..." Tycon took a breath, "this is Mister Tarquin Wroe, another member of Sol Invictus."

    "Hi," The daeva waved.

    "One of Wroe''s... specialties," Tycon groaned... "is the ability to suppress his mana. Using the same concepts and under his guidance... I''ve applied a temporary limiter-seal on your mana core."

    Krysaos blinked, "A... what? To my what?"

    "Brother-Captain..." Tycon sucked in air through his teeth, "Circte your mana... slowly."

    Krysaos looked confused, but nodded. He widened his stance and closed his eyes... concentrating and controlling his breathing, "What am I looking for?"

    "A blockage," Tycon answered. "You''ll find it below your stomach-- a point where the mana moves slower than through the rest of your body."

    "Y... yeah, I see it-- err... I sense it? It feels like... I can--"

    "Do NOT... break that," Tycon scolded. "I say again, the seal is temporary. It will dissolve once your body can process the god-mana naturally-- without *forcing* it through your circuits."

    Krysaos exhaled as he rxed... but shook his head, "It sounds like I''m a walkin'' disaster, waitin'' to explode."

    Tycon gave a nod, "The analogy is apt."

    "No pressure, huh?" Krysaos rolled his eyes.

    That... was probably sarcasm.

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat, "Wroe, this is Captain Krysaos, a privateer contracted to The Kingdom. I am currently serving as his Lieutenant."

    "Makes sense," Wroe saluted.

    "Hold on, hold on," Krysaos waved with his open palms. "Shouldn''t we be-- y''know, more concerned?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "If you cannot control your mana, Captain Krysaos, the three of us will die instantaneously-- without warning and without pain. I can do no more to alleviate your condition, nor can Mister Wroe."

    "So you''re saying..."

    "This..." Tycon shrugged, "is *your* problem-- not ours."

 Chapter 894 Appropriate Results

    ?Tycondrius rested his elbow over his opposite wrist and spun his finger.

    "The fault, Krysaos... is yours.

    "You killed the sea god.

    "And then... you absorbed divine powers you had no business absorbing."

    Tycon shoved his open palms towards the incredulous human.

    "Therefore, you... O'' Captain, my Captain, must suffer the aftermath."

    "Well..." Krysaos sniffed... "I didn''t do it on purpose!!"

    Wroe crouched down by the corpse on the deck.

    "Most gods don''t grow holes in their foreheads on their own-- not including mine, I mean."

    What? Tycon squinted his eyes at his Hexde.

    Krysaos frowned, "Okay, so maybe I *did* kill him on purpose... but c''MON!! That guy was a prick!!"

    "That point," Tycon steepled his fingers, "was *never* in contention. The death of the sea god was the *objective* of our quest here."

    Did he forget? ...It had certainly been an action-packed sun.

    "The sea god didn''t even put up a f*cking FIGHT!!" Krysaos cried.

    He kicked the lifeless corpse in the side-- as if to prove a point.

    Whatever point he was trying to make... was lost on Tycon.

    Regardless... Krysaos was still *wrong.*

    "Earlier..." Tycon crossed his arms, "there was apact hurricane centered on this crassly-named ship. A hurricane, Krysaos-- a natural disaster, its violent winds capable of loss of life on the scale of thousands."

    Wroe stood up, stretching his long arms and legs, "There''s holes in the deck like... someone used some big-beef magic... Fourth Circle? Higher?"

    Tycon syed out his fingers, " F i f t h . "

    "Y-yeah..." Krysaos coughed, "Th-that''s true."

    Not yet finished, Tycon continued.

    "On our way, Wroe and I encountered a moderate amount of resistance," He exined. "Sahuagin forces... elites, based on their Metal-Rank physiques andbat prowess."

    "Their armor and weaponry were nothing special, though," Wroe shrugged. "We expected... well-- something... more god-weapon-y."

    "RIGHT??!" Krysaos'' gaze brightened.

    He looked upon Wroe as if the daeva was his savior.

    Tycon sought to break the illusion. At that point, he did so because he was frustrated-- not because he needed to.

    "I recall..." He tapped his chin, "that Hades, god of death and the dead, along with our Coral Boypanions raided several of the sea god''s armories."

    "...Y-yeah. That happened," Krysaos looked away as he scratched his cheek.

    "Oh, and there were these huge Crystal Golems!" Wroe eximed.

    "There were three," Tycon shifted his weight and rotated his right shoulder. "It was not easy... but the Shatterspike Longsword can cut through at least that much."

    Krysaos took a breath in through his nose, "So you guys took care of the small fry... and there weren''t any... *really* nasty monsters?"

    Did that man not consider a Crystal Golem a... *nasty monster*?

    How ridiculous...

    As calm as he could, Tycon went on through clenched teeth.

    "Various measures were taken towards dismantling the sea god''s regime," He growled. "We, after gaining strength, struck down that which-- by our efforts, was crippled. Is. that. not. enough??"

    "I killed a GOD!!" Krysaos yelped, "And it was EASY!!! I mean-- where was his MIN-I-ONS?!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Boss and I killed like... a hundred of ''em, though?" Wroe pouted.

    "The GOOD ones!!" Krysaos insisted.

    "Already dead!!" Tycon snapped, "The coastal vige of Thorne!! There, you ughtered hundreds of human/sea-creature hybrids-- disgusting monstrosities, in an assault *you* led, Krysaos!"

    "Ah," Krysaos'' gaze drifted upward, "Yeah... I did that."

    "And regardless of the size and strength of the sea god''s forces," Tycon shook his head... "a blithering idiot absorbed the raw mana of a Divine Guardian Beast earlier-- This. Very. Sun."

    "Huh?" Wroe raised his eyebrows, "That sounds pretty dangerous. But... kinda awesome. Ohhh... does that mean Krysaos is Dragon-R--?"

    "Sky-Rank," Tycon stated in a firm voice. "With the limiter seal inscribed on his mana core, Krysaos is an Adamantine-Rank Martial ss. When he reaches God-Rank, the seal will dissolve on its own."

    "Alright! Alright." Krysaos raised his voice, "I get it."

    The man looked far too proud for a party having been disproven.

    ...but Tycon was finished arguing. He would never be a match for the thick-skinned Captain Krysaos.

    Wroe poked at the sea god''s corpse, "So all that Divine Power, Cap''n... and you put it through the sea god''s head?"

    "Well... no," Krysaos bit his upper lip.

    "The Captain *also* had a hextech pistol," Tycon sighed, "a god-artifact gifted from the sea god himself... along with a single god-artifact bullet."

    Wroe stood up, scratching the back of his head, "It sounds like... it would''ve been *more* surprising if you *didn''t* kill the sea god."

    "Y...eah, I see that now," Krysaos sighed... "Well, boys... Uh... missionplete, yeah? I''m just gonna grab the sea god''s spear and let''s head back? I got a girl to save."

    "You''re not touching the spear, Krysaos," Tycon scolded. "You''ll explode. "

    "Aww," The Captain groaned, "Fine. I like my own sword better, anyroad."

    Suddenly, a reverberant peal of thunder shook the ground. The noise rang at the base of Tycon''s skull.

    ...Narrowing his eyes, he turned to Krysaos, "Are you to me for that?"

    "Whoever smelt it dealt it, guy," The Captain shrugged.

    Tycon''s re intensified... but not enough to activate a life-threatening offensive Skill.

    He very much wanted to... but the mana would be a waste. He was fairly certain his ?Vexing Gaze? was ineffective against Sky-Rank recipients.

    Wroe cleared his throat, "Wasn''t me, either, Boss. Actually... I... don''t remember eating *anything* for over a moon!"

    ...Tycon flicked his wrist to activate his spatial ring. Then, he casually tossed the portion of preserved meats to Tarquin Wroe.

    "Take this to a corner of the ship and remain quiet until we leave."

    Wroe caught the package, the smile on his face unbroken, "I feel like I should be insulted-- but that''s... fair."

    Another loud crack of thunder rolled over the beach.

    The smell of metal pervaded the air... while static electricity pulled at the loose threads of Tycon''s military coat.

    Another sh of light hit the nearby sands. Once gone, in its ce was a tform of naturally-formed ss... and a robed orc the size of a small house.

    That one, Tycon recognized.

    Hades, god of death and the dead-- with his assistance, returning to the Realm of the living would take minutes as opposed to suns or weeks.

    However, beside him was another humanoid... aparatively... regr-looking fellow.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin squints.

    For the first time in a long while... he had zero idea of who that person was.

    ",

 Chapter 895 Amongst The Gods

    ?Tycondrius casually eyed the unfamiliar fellow.

    The somewhat-tall, lightly-tanned gentleman boasted long locks of blonde hair.

    He wore a cloth wrap around his loins... a skirt of some kind?

    Tattoos in careful, geometric patterns adorned his skin.

    The style was... reminiscent of the Eastern States'' tribes to the east.

    Were his skin darker and his tattoos in Elven script, Tycon would have assumed he belonged in Imperia''s Spider Crab tribe.

    Without, the man''s attire more closely resembled that of amon whore than a tribal warrior.

    He wore no shirt, yet his muscles were... average?

    Tycon considered thepany he kept... a Gold-Rank Baneer turned Sky-Rank Dread Pirate, a house-sized muscle orc, and a Hexde with forearms the size of a regr person''s calves.

    Then... there was a formerly bronze-skinned human who focused his weight-training on his upper body.

    Even his lover, Elle, had a naturally powerful and athletic build due to her bloodline.

    The blonde man''s presence unnerved Tycon.

    However, it was not because he seemed particrly notable.

    Contrary to that, he didn''t seem notable at all.

    It would be foolish of him to underestimate a potential enemy, yet... he was doing just that.

    "Niiiiice~" The unreasonably tall orc approached, his hands resting on his hips. "You guys took down the barrier!"

    "You look well, brother," Tycon tapped his fist against the Death God''s.

    Hades, god of death and the dead, did not introduce hispanion. The fact led credence to Tycon''s assumption that they weren''t anyone of significance.

    "Just so y''know," The orc hummed, "you missed like-- an entire host of angels! Minions, it looked like-- we took care of it, though."

    He waved hisrge, blood-covered warscythe while making ''whooshing'' sounds with his mouth... as if to demonstrate.

    "Whew, angels, huh?" Krysaos pped his hands together, "So the sea god had *minions!* I was wondering where they''d gone!"

    Ah...

    Tycon had forgotten how frustrating the Captain could be.

    He held his hands in front of his chest and slowly closed his fingers.

    Krysaos was a friend.

    He was an ally.

    He remained *useful* to him and Sol Invictus.

    Killing him would be petty... and immature...

    It would be a waste of Krysaos'' talent... and his recently stolen god-powers.

    Wanton murder was inefficient... and hical.

    Tycon took an extended moment to swallow his feelings before re-assuming a mask of neutral professionalism.

    "Apologies," He bowed politely. "Mister Wroe and I purposely avoided the patrols to arrive at Krysaos'' side in better haste."

    "Ah, yeah," Hades tapped on one of his tusks. "To be honest, I f*cking suck at stealth."

    He... what?

    Tycon furrowed his brows. Some moons ago, Hades and the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge raided the Amphitrite Reef tribe.

    The opposition was reported to be minimal...

    Unless...

    Was it possible... that Hades murdered each and every witness he came across?

    "What... what have you DONE?!?!"

    The shout came to Tycon as a surprise-- as the voice did not belong to him.

    Instead, it came from the... fellow adjacent to the Death God.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The blonde man''s face had turned red, his disgusting expression and demeanor neither neutral nor professional.

    Krysaos casually sat down... once again on the corpse of the sea god.

    He tilted his head up, jutting his chin forward, "And who the f*ck are you?"

    "Who... who the f*ck am I?!?!?"

    The indignation of the lightly-dressed blonde man was so great that the features of his face scrunched together to the point of absurdity.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... and looked to Hades, "Who the f*ck is this?"

    He was being rude... but he was swept up by Krysaos'' audacity.

    A slight bit of unprofessionalism was forgivable, depending on the circumstances.

    "Right, new people," Hades cleared his throat... before widening his orcish grin, "This... f*cking guy is uh... the Thunder God."

    "Death God!" Thunder God pouted, "I am the God of Storm and Lightning!"

    "Storm, lightning..." Hades leaned down... "aaaand thunder."

    The face of the Thunder God fell-- clearly in disappointment... "As you say."

    Tycon shared a nce with Krysaos, who nodded in return.

    As far as Thunder Gods went... the mewling child in theirpany was--

    He was...

    ...peculiar.

    Tycon had bore witness to several god-rank beings... and recently.

    Hades, God of Death, the Dead, and being-the-size-of-a-house, was a high-tiered Abyssal Necromancer. He carried with him a soul-reaping scythe and wasrgely immune to recreational drugs.

    The recently deceased sea god was an obscenely muscr gentleman, grizzled with age. He died with fury still in his eyes and his mouth locked into an eternal scowl.

    Of course, the deceased snake god had a dangerous air about him. He was conniving, scheming, and most of all, incredibly handsome.

    ...Even the lizard goddess, Neerin Neelia, was... passably attractive by human standards. She had both the magical power and resilient physique to win a modicum of Tycon''s respect.

    The... Thunder God was... a young, beardless human... unarmored and...

    "Why do you stare, mortal?" The Thunder God grimaced-- "is there something not to your liking?"

    --and he whined like a petnt child.

    Tycon turned away, "Brother-Hades, the old sea god is dead. Can you take us to the surface Realm?"

    "Huh?" The orc scratched his head, "Oh, yeah, sure thi--"

    "Do not ignore the Sea Go-- argh! I mean-- the Thunder God!"

    "Eh?" Hades tilted his head, "Ohhhh, right. My bad. Were uh... were you two buddies?"

    ...Tycon shared another nce with Krysaos, this one more subtle.

    The good Captain kept his smile and his attention focused on the blonde fellow. His palm, however, rested on the hilt of the Heart of the Ocean.

    Tycon straightened his back, his chest out. He had, in his possession, a god-weapon-- the trident''s sharpened tines assumedly capable of lethal injury.

    The Thunder God took a breath... "We... yed card games on Wednesdays..."

    "...You were still going to those?" Hades frowned, "Even after we started that bowling group?"

    "Bowling?!" The Thunder God reeled back, as if he was hurt-- "I... LOVE bowling! I... Death God?! You never invited me to--"

    "Sorry, man. Team''s already full," Hades dipped his head. "You know how it is."

    Tycon turned away to keep hisposure.

    There was a strange social mechanic at y.

    ...Earlier, Hades hadined on the longboat that his bowling team roster had a single vacancy. Tycon found it highly unlikely that the spot was filled in such a short amount of time.

    For what reason did the god of death and the dead have to lie?

 Chapter 896 Power & Responsibility

    ?"Aaanyroad," The Thunder God groaned.

    He pointed a curiously aggressive palm towards Tycondrius, "The spear is mine, mortal!"

    Tycon''s gazezily drifted to the sea god''s trident in his right hand.

    He briefly considered arguing.

    ...Yet, he was repulsed by the thought of entertaining a fool.

    He briefly considered inquiring honestly. It was, admittedly, a conundrum how a god of thunder and lightning could possiblyy im to a possession of a dead water god.

    However... that seemed to be troublesome.

    Tycon chose to ignore him.

    "Stop ignoring me!" The Thunder God shouted.

    "Hey, we killed the sea god," Krysaos raised his hand. "That means his stuff belongs to us. Ain''t that right, Hades?"

    "That''s wrong!" Bleated the Thunder God.

    "No, that''s... that''s how it goes," Theically oversized orc patted the Thunder God''s back in apology, "It be how it be."

    "And... and--" the Thunder God''s eyes widened in realization, "YOUUU! You ABSORBED THE SEA GOD''S POWER?!?!"

    ...Hades sucked in air through his teeth and crossed his arms.

    Tycon, through his superhuman levels of concentration and will, managed to hide his contempt for the Thunder God''s stupidity.

    Such a fact was... p a i n f u l l y . obvious.

    The sea god''s corpse was bereft of divine power. Even after Krysaos'' power was sealed, he struggled to reign in the aura of a Fourth-Circle caster. Such was well beyond the limits a regr human could withstand.

    Suddenly, the Thunder God prostrated himself, "SEA GOD, PLEASE!! Relinquish thy spear to me!"

    If he were anyone else, Tycon would have been concerned by the crack of his knees upon the deck.

    "What the f--" Krysaos nearly fell off of his seat, "WhhhAT? The sea god is dead! We just--"

    "Long live the Sea God," Tycon shrugged.

    He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was the only way he could hide his disappointment for yet another fool revealing himself.

    He was d he had ordered Wroe to keep to himself. Of course, from the sounds of it, the blue-haired glutton was shoveling food down his throat, magnificently appearing foolish anyroad.

    The Captain''s eyes widened for a moment... then narrowed with understanding, "Oh, f*ck me."

    "A-anything but that!" The Thunder God looked up, his eyes unsteady and uncertain, "Anything else, Sea God! But... but I need that spear!"

    "That''s not what I-- ah, whatever," Krysaos sighed.

    "You sure?" Hades pursed his lips, "Bet you never got sucked off by a god before."

    Tycon began massaging the bridge of his nose.

    "Gentlemen!" His voice was firm,manding the attention of his peers.

    "In the interest of expediting the process, I propose we forego the bartering of sexual favors.

    "You!" He shouted, "Thunder God!!"

    "Hhh-yesssss!!" The blonde fellow squeaked.

    "I advise you..." Tycon took a breath, "to show your sincerity."

    The Thunder God looked troubled... but nodded slowly, "I... cede to your wis--"

    "And you!" Tycon turned, "Sea God!!"

    Krysaos shrank back momentarily, before regaining himself, "W-what''s up, LT?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I''m sure you will not oppose an equivalent exchange for... the magical fork the Thunder God seeks."

    "Y-yeah, that''s... that sounds..." Krysaos furrowed his brows.

    He held out his hand towards the Thunder God, "Hold on... you got a thing stronger than what I got?"

    "I can be the judge of that," Hades grinned. "Whip out your things right now, both of you."

    Tycon mmed the end of the sea god''s trident on the deck. The beached ship shook... the waters rumbling beneath it.

    "Enough," He red. "The Sea God speaks of god-artifacts... not genitalia."

    O'' Tycon, great leader of Sol Invictus. It was he and he alone bearing the weight of maturity amongst the gaggle of god-beings in his midst.

    Such power. Such responsibility.

    It pained him greatly.

    "Yeah. That''s right," Krysaos frowned. "You got uh... a dirty f*ckin'' mind, Death God."

    "Ey, f*ck you," Hadesughed, "So do you!"

    "Psssh, yeah, haha. Yeah, I do."

    "Krysaos," Tycon raised his voice, "you will be using the Heart of the Ocean. I guarantee Mina''s potential will surpass... *this* thing''s usefulness in as little as a few moons."

    It was... admittedly a hypothesis based more on faith than empirical evidence. However, considering the Captain''s nature, it behooved him to remain faithful to Mina as both a weapon and a loyal subordinate.

    Krysaos'' eyes hardened, "Yeah... you''re right."

    "I''m always right," Tycon crossed his arms.

    "Hades," Krysaos pped the orc at the elbow, "Can you take us back?"

    "Yeh," Hades nodded. "Sit tight, boys. One ?Mass Teleport?in'' right up!"

    "H-hey!" Tarquin Wroe forcibly swallowed the rest of his meal before hurrying to enter the Formation Circle, "Don''t forget about me!"

    Tycon steepled his fingers in front of his mouth in thought. He couldn''t be certain how much time had psed on the surface Realm.

    He was concerned about the fate of Mina. It was quite possible that she''d expired in the few bells they''d been fighting.

    Then, it was paramount to confirm the safety of the crew of the Neptune''s Revenge.

    In particr, he wanted to check on Elle and Coraline.

    While the two were not weaker than their peers, any injury to the Elven Arcanist, he had to exin to the Sapphire Tower.

    Concerning Elle... he was entitled to worry for his lover''s wellbeing.

    Though he was confident in the crew''s training, superior firepower, and ability to outmaneuver their opponents... a single Martialist with sufficient strength could inflict an uneptable amount of casualties.

    Tycon and Krysaos had defeated the heroine of the Hidden Lake sect''s younger generation as well as their Divine Guardian Beast... but such sects often had one or more Elders ascended beyond humanity.

    And finally... Tycon needed to find the man once known as Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark... he who called himself King.

    It was uncertain what part he yed in the attack on Mina.

    Tycon hoped... that no more blood needed to be spilled.

    However, he would not shy away from it.

    Krysaos was effectively half-step Sky-Rank... but he needed to rest for his body to process his new power.

    It was up to Tycon, Wroe, and potentially Hades to protect the interests of the crew... and to seek justice, if need be.

    "Oy!" A certain god screamed, "Are you guys still ignoring me!?"

 Chapter 897 Cloud Goddess

    ?? Moon Crescent Isle, a short time earlier-- before dawn-break... ?

    The clouds weren''t going tost for much longer.

    They were almost out of rain.

    Once the rainfall stopped... then maybe everyone on the ind would realize just how many of them had died.

    Tiny little humans. Tiny little elves. All focused on their own thing.

    No one would pay attention to the little goddess hiding in the sky.

    Jerim Jya stretched out her arm, rotating her winged staff in her palm.

    It adjusted the magnification magic in her full helmet.

    One twist cut through the darkness.

    A half-pull cut through lies and deceit.

    Bopping it a little in the right ce saw through the walls built around the hearts of men.

    Jerim swept back a lock of her green hair behind an ear...

    Her mate, Rixen, always asked if he could borrow the helmet.

    ''Just for an hour,'' He''d say.

    Of course, she said no.

    Even if he asked ten hundred times, she''d say no.

    He''d only use it for something stupid and immature-- like peeping.

    It was so dumb.

    Rixen was a grown adult.

    --and a dragon!

    ...Maybe it was some sort of *guy* thing?

    Ugh.

    Men.

    Even the most stand-up and reliable guys had their ws... some more than others.

    Jerim looked down upon the remaining cultivators of the Hidden Lake sect.

    ...There were more clouds than people alive.

    She had given them and their Chosen One an important task... to save the world.

    Honestly, they weren''t doing a very good job.

    ...But anyway--

    The Prophecy was annoyingly cryptic about how exactly the world had to be saved.

    She and the rest of the Draconic Court had a pretty good guess, though. It had something to do with preventing the Elf King from amassing power.

    So... at least slowing him down for a bit was a step in the right direction.

    In that sense, the Sect Elder had the right idea. He went looking for their Sect Ancestor and all together, they tried to meet the elves on the shore.

    Huh.

    ...What was the sect leader''s name? Or their annoyingly young Ancestor''s name?

    Jerim Jya didn''t bothermitting them to memory.

    They weren''t really significant... and she didn''t like thinking about guys that weren''t her mate.

    Suddenly, Jiang Ying Yue came to mind. She was super sweet.

    That little Chosen One went to the wrong side of the ind.

    She died.

    If she was destined to live for a bit longer, they might have even been friends.

    But... the fates were cruel.

    She didn''t even die to the Elf King.

    Really... it was a huge disappointment.

    The annoyed Jerim Jya tapped her cheeks, left and right. Pom pom pom.

    She was really the wrong dragon to go to Moon Crescent Isle.

    Neerin Neelia had the mind for tactics. Rixen was a battle maniac.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...Kyrj Kira''ak was mostly a creepy loser, but he always kept the right spell hidden beneath his wings.

    Instead of her... If any of them were to name a Chosen One out of the Hidden Lake sect... that would''ve been so much better.

    Jerim wasn''t an Oracle or a Tactician. She wasn''t a Battle Dragon or a creepy Mystic.

    She was a Harbinger. She was a glorified messenger.

    Sometimes, she''d sit around and try to work out what the messages meant-- that was just basic courtesy. Often, she''d sit around and watch-- half out of curiosity, half to report to the Court in full.

    That''s what she was used to. It''s what she was good at.

    For ten thousand years or more, Jerim Jya had been a messenger and an outside observer.

    Then... the Dragon God went away.

    Or rather... the Tyrant God was a better name for that guy.

    Some things got worse. Most things got better.

    But anyway... ''went away'' doesn''t mean ''dead.''

    Neerin got the credit for deciphering the Prophecy... but in reality, all she did was talk about what was in the back of everyone''s minds.

    The Tyrant God woulde back. There would be ash. There would be fire.

    Not even dragons could live for very long in that kind of Realm.

    ...A girl needed to eat. She needed other dragons to talk to.

    She needed to y board games and go to culture festivals and watch lesser beings fight wars over which religion was the most right.

    ...Jerim Jya cycled through the settings of her enchanted helmet.

    Down below... the Sect Elder had died.

    All his friends and family-- they''d died.

    Even their sect''s whelpling Ancestor... he fell to the Elf King''s des.

    At least he put up a good fight. Just at a nce, she could tell that the Elf King had spent most of his mana.

    There''s only so much a god can do in a mortal body.

    Men are wed, after all-- mortal men, moreso.

    The Elf King ventured deeper into Moon Crescent Isle... killing his way as he went.

    Every motion, every murder, cost him a tiny fraction of his mind and spirit.

    Nothing could stop him-- or so Jerim thought.

    She was wrong... but in a good way.

    Something came for the Elf King from the wrong side of the ind.

    They were hulking brutes, not quite as little as the others and maybe not as useless.

    They towered over the Elf King, their eyes staring down with the lust for blood.

    If they were to stretch out their arms, they would reach further than the Elf King''s adamantine swords.

    They wore... uniforms-- clothes and armor over their rocky skin.

    Could such bestial creatures understand serving a cause greater than them? And what of the honor that civilized killers seek?

    Rows of pointed teeth filled their hungry grins. Naught but snarls came from their stone lips.

    Four Corallidae came to meet the Elf King... walking tall... unafraid... circling like a pack of hungry drakes.

    A quiet man with pink coral skin, seaweed hair and a cold stare... calcting his odds.

    A madman with sickly green skin, wearing a doctor''s smock... hunched over and giggled.

    A careful man, his skin pale as a ghost, watched impassionately.

    Thergest Corallidus, his skin flecked with copper and gold, rested a massive axe over his shoulder.

    He smiled.

    ording to her magic helmet, his hate was the strongest.

    Jerim Jya steepled her fingers, leaning forward as she burned the images into her memory.

    Was it possible that the Corallidae could do what the entire Hidden Lake Sect could not?

    She hoped so.

    If not... then the Elf King was really a monster.

    ",

 Chapter 898 A Saying In The States

    ?Stickyfingers looked over to Catshit.

    Catshit nodded and looked over to Petty Officer Bob.

    As for Doc... no one looked to that git.

    Doc was never the first to speak.

    Bob snarled like a blue-gill, scrawling up phlegm in his throat to be extra intimidating.

    "We KNOW... wot you DID... knife-ear."

    The elfie was good at fighting. Everyone knew that. However, no one in the crew could dodge the spit that Bob could hack up.

    "Then you''vee to seek rpense?" The elf frowned, "Come and take it."

    OoOooOoh. If he was gonna keep talking like that, Doc was gonna wet himself.

    "YOU''z defending her, ah? Ehehe..." Catshit sneered. "Da Vulkoori b*tch."

    The elf raised his chin... exposing his soft, pink neck.

    If he didn''t y real careful... that was the first thing that was going to get cut.

    "This king defends himself. With the stars above and the stones below as my witness, I had no part in Imperia''s betrayal."

    "M... Miss Mina-- she was poi-soned!" Doc tittered. "W-we couldn''t fix her. Not even da Bosun c-could!!"

    The elf grimaced... "I... said..."

    "YOOO SAAAAID," Bob roared, "''at you F*CKING. LET IT. HAPPEN!!!"

    ...The elf pursed his lips, "And thus the sins of the daughter shall be paid by her heavenly father?"

    His eyes began to glow... weird as hells... yellow like fresh piss in a bucket...

    "Preposterous," He growled... "Thou hast chosen to cast me instead of seeking truth."

    Stickyfingers shut his eyes and sighed. He wanted to hold his tongue... but some things needed to be said.

    "Da troof o'' da mat''ter is... you disappointed da Bosun. You ''urt da Cap''n... an'' by yer actions... an innocent, li''ul girl might not live ta see da mornin'' sun."

    The other three Coral Boys nodded in reverence.

    The elf''s expression hardened, his glowing piss-gaze drifting from boy to boy...

    "Is this thy justice, then, Corallidae? Iron and steel? Art thy lives so immaterial?"

    "''Ow about you draw yer OWN f*ckin'' steel, ya noble CUNT?" Bob snorted. "Now dat... dat''ll be da judge o'' yer GUILT."

    "Guilt?" The elfie didn''t even flinch, "This King is free of guilt. Leave this ce, Marines. My des are drawn to condemn the wicked... not the foolish."

    Petty Officer Bob took in a deep breath, "Dese... are our convictions. Wot say you?"

    ...In a single, smooth motion, the elf known as King finally drew his swords.

    Fast as f*ck, da elfie was.

    "WARRIORS! I hear you... If it is death in battle you seek, then THIS KING will HONOR it."

    King crossed his arms in front of his chest.

    The ground started quaking underneath him. There were cracks in the earth. Little pebbles and clumps of mud started to float.

    The Bosun would say something like... ''That''s real concernin''.''

    "However, know this." The elf said, "In this age, I have fought alongside... and against... no warriors finer."

    ...

    Bizdiil put the Ancient in his crossbow sights... and he pulled the trigger.

    The bolt... did not find its mark.

    His training failed him... which was to be expected.

    Archery of all kinds bored him... and without the tiefling whore''s enchantments, a shot at 100 yalms was impossible for him.

    "Oy, what''s ''is about, ''en?" Thergest of the Corallidae snarled.

    He was loud, his voice gnarled and unpleasant to Bizdiil''s ears.

    That creature''s heavy axe defended the false king, deflecting the poisoned bolt that would have ended him.

    It was an insult that the so-called ''king of the elves'' would throw his lot in with Corallidae.<novelnext></novelnext>

    They were almost as bad as humans.

    "L-l-l-looks like da elfy b-brought reinforcements, ehe~!" Said another of the beasts-- one of the smaller and weaker ones.

    "Nay," The Ancient dered, arrogant and insufferable. "The road this King forever walks, he walks alone."

    "You are NO king of ours!" Bizdiil shouted.

    He stepped out of the foliage, tossing his crossbow to the side.

    With a wave of his hand, dozens of his brothers and sisters emerged from their own hiding spots.

    It was the will of the High Priestess... and she was the will of the Spider Crab tribe.

    And thus, it fell to Bizdiil, the man she trusted most, tomand.

    Krysaos had done well to send his army of monsters to protect the false king.

    But armed and armored as they were, they could not withstand the likes of Elven magics and sword arts.

    The golden-eyed Ancient narrowed his eyes, "You dare."

    "You were given a chance, ''your lordship''..." Bizdiil felt the corners of his lips stretch from his sneer, "yet YOU would not ept our gift-- a highborne Princess, her blood pure and untainted."

    Imperia''s seductive body was her only use. That she failed to win the Ancient over revealed her tant ipetence.

    The Ancient stepped forward, "Imperia is a child, Lieutenant Bizdiil-- a child you were tasked to guide and protect!"

    "Imperia is a tool-- a *leash* offered by the Vulkoori High Priestess, herself," Bizdiil crossed his arms. "Coupling with her was the only way the Confederacy would trust you-- how could we otherwise?"

    The Ancient looked to his monstrous peers.

    It was a useless act.

    Thinking was the privilege of greater beings. For dogs, there was only loyalty or betrayal.

    "...Speak thy meaning, Bizdiil, Royal Protector of House Vulkoori?"

    "You are the prophecy, Ancient," Bizdiil smirked. "As long as you exist, you will bring about the end of all suns. Thus, it falls to us, the noble warriors of the Spider Crab tribe to be the saviors of this--"

    "SILENCE!!" The Ancient shouted. His eyes glowed a harsh gold and his mana made the ground tremble.

    However, the elves and karkinii of the Spider Crab tribe held neither reference nor fear for an irreverent chatan.

    The golden-eyed Ancient may have called himself king...

    ...but he stood against dozens of veteran warriors and casters.

    --one of which was also a dedancer.

    The Ancient threw his head back, roaring with power.

    "I. Am. Thy. HEAVENLY. KING!!" He screamed. "I was reborn in this Realm to SAVE the tribes of elves, men, and dwarves alike! I came down from the HEAVENS for you! ALL OF YOU!!!"

    "Tch," Bizdiil scoffed. "Even if I were to believe such a tale,ing down was a mistake, your ''lordship.'' You should have stayed on your high horse, drinking your god-piss and f*cking your god-whores. This Realm NO LONGER belongs to you or your godkin!"

    The Ancient grit his teeth, "You dare mock the PROGENITOR of your people?!"

    Bizdiil ced his hand on his enchanted de... and he pointed a finger at the man who imed to be King, "We would not dare offend a god. You, however... are but mortal."

    The Ancient shut his eyes... His shoulders dropped as he exhaled.

    He looked... tired... and old-- almost fitting for his supposed age.

    It was weakness... in the face of power.

    "I... alone..." The Ancient whispered, "am king."

    "You must know where we are, Ancient," Bizdiil shrugged his shoulders... "and the bloody history of ournds."

    He shook his head, an assured smile on his face... "We have a saying, here, in the Eastern States..."

    Bizdiil drew his saber and lifted it skyward.

    At his side, two full squads of elves aimed down the sights of their long rifles.

    They wielded guns... modern technology developed by the artificers in Whitehearth and Archangel.

    Even a god had to heed the song of lead and ck powder.

    Bizdiil pointed his saber forward.

    "No more kings."

 Chapter 899 Hard Fight

    ?"Oy," Stickyfingers jammed his elbow into Catshit''s ribcage-area, "Da f*ck you wai''ting on?"

    "Oh, f*ck me," Catshit rolled his head, "OPEN FIIIIIRE! FIRE AT WILL, Y''DUMB F*CKING GITS!! F*CKIN'' SHOOOOT!!!!"

    Stickyfingers leapt out of the way, opposite the others.

    He didn''t want to get shot. Getting shot hurt like all get out.

    Bang bang. Dakka dakka.

    The sound of a hundred or more guns going off was... musical-- beautiful, poetic discord.

    Doc was crying. He''d be fine, though. He was also low-crawling through the mud like a slithering eel.

    Catshit was shouting orders. Real pompous of him, but in all honesty, it was probably for the best.

    Stickyfingers was having the time of his life. He was in his happy ce. Everything was fine and dandy.

    The sweet scent of Orcish sugar filled the air. Danger was every which way.

    Chaos reigned.

    That meant no one could be bothered to pay him any attention.

    "?Crack DA SHELL!!!!?"

    That was P.O. Bob, shouting bloody murder.

    One good swipe cracked one of the giant crab things about in half.

    The elfy on top of the thing was too close to the impact. When his or her ride got shook, so did their insides-- so they fell to the dirt, deader than dead.

    It was absolutely f*cking glorious.

    A lot of the elfies were screaming in panic, getting shot up.

    A little while back-- before Stickyfingers and the boys approached the elf named King, he and Catshit stationed the gunnery squads on a ridge.

    The high ground was always best for things like that. It was basic strategy.

    In a minute or three, the shooty boys would have done their jobs. Then, everyone that wanted a stab or a chop would drop down and get the rest of the job done.

    Sure, they could have arranged for a straight fight. Even ground. A clearing free of trees and cover.

    They''d still win... but it would be a hard fight.

    Stickyfingers hated hard fights.

    It wasn''t enough that the Coral Boys were victorious.

    They were better than that.

    They had to brutally crush their opponents.

    They had to break their formations. They had to make them turn their backs-- to make them run like their lives depended on it.

    Stickyfingers wanted more than a win and a share of the loot.

    He wanted to taste despair.

    There were more than trained marksmen and fighty boys posted in the hills.

    Each and every single one of them was a professionally trained murderer.

    They were the Royal Marines.

    Worse still, they were Sea Wolves, the craziest f*cking Marines in the Royal Navy.

    The leader of the dark elfies-- Bistol or whatever, he was fighting Catshit.

    Catshit wasn''t the best fighter among the Boys. But despite letting his feelings get to him real good, he wouldn''t die so easily.

    He was getting cut up real bad, though. The elfie was quick with the curved sword. His squinty eyes darted around, always checking for danger.

    Catshit f*cked up so bad, he got his wrist shed, and his handaxe fell out of his grip.

    Stickyfingers chuckled to himself. If the Bosun saw that, there was a 50:50 chance Catshit would''ve been put in the hotbox for it.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Regrly, ad couldn''t even hold onto their cock with that kind of injury.

    To the Bosun, that was just a shite excuse.

    Royal Marines are held to a higher standard. Sea Wolves, higher still.

    Still... being the benevolent and selfless Coral Boy that Stickyfingers was, he leapt in the shadows just behind the dark elf.

    It wasn''t too much trouble. Anyroad, he wanted to show off his new knife.

    "?Shadowfang Strike.?"

    It was one of the first things he learned from the Bosun, walking through the shadows quicker than the eye could see. He slid through the dirt, steadied his legs, and rotated his entire body for a good swing.

    The knife sliced right through Bistol''s try at a block.

    The upper end of the de flew up and away. It sparkled in the moonlight like a star before sticking in the dirt.

    The elfie gave him a look of shock and awe, "Th-that dagger."

    "I looted it," Stickyfingers grinned, "from a bloody corpse."

    It was a job well done. Without a weapon, the leader-elf was as good as dead.

    That meant that any of the angrier boys, Catshit or Bob especially, would be able to finish the job.

    While they were doing that, Stickyfingers could take his time, picking and choosing the best bodies to loot.

    "I''m not impressed," Quick as the wind, the elf stabbed forward with what was left of his broken saber.

    Stickyfingers was surprised but he didn''t need to think clearly when it came to murdering.

    He was just as professionally trained as the other Marines... and just as f*cked in the head, too.

    He shot his fist forward, over the elf''s arm. Then, he rotated his de down, his looted knife cutting deep into Bistol''s wrist.

    It was a little bit like what happened to Catshit... except Stickyfingers did it better.

    Catshit got a little cut. The elfie lost his whole hand.

    "ARRRGHHH!" Bistol screamed as he staggered back, "NOT. ENOUGH!! ?WIND BLADE!?"

    With a burst of green, shy bits, a sharp-looking mana weapon appeared out of the elf''s severed wrist.

    That de... it was real fast. And it was headed straight for Stickyfingers'' throat.

    It was a hard fight.

    Stickyfingers hated hard fights.

    Dying didn''t seem like it was all that fun.

    Just at that time, a sound echoed in the back of his head. He was expecting the sound of his neck getting cut and blood shooting out like a waterspout.

    --but it wasn''t that.

    It was the sound of a snap.

    "?Death!!!?" Catshit yelled.

    "DESTRUCTIONNNN!!!" Shouted Bob.

    He had torn off a leg and w of one of the giant spider crabs. With a tremendous swing, he struck down five elves-- the force enough to break bone and smash their guts to paste.

    "Total annihtion."

    The two-sword elfie-- the fellow that liked to be called King, he did some sort of weird wind-blowing thing that dropped a dozen of his knife-earedpatriots to the ground.

    The other Coral Boys saw the opportunity, though... and with axe and dagger, they got to bloody work.

    Someone had activated a Skill-- and it sounded like Catshit.

    ...but from what Stickyfingers knew, only the Bosun could use that Skill?

 Chapter 900 What Is Done

    ?Stickyfingers took a deep breath of annoyance.

    He''d experienced something... almost inexplicable.

    Looking down, his left arm was securely wrapped around Bistol''s head.

    His right hand tightly gripped a crossbow bolt.

    Its point was buried in the bulge of the dark elf''s neck.

    He had no idea when any of that had happened.

    There was some kind of magic in the air... something Stickyfingers found familiar.

    All the crewmembers that served under the Bosun would find it familiar...

    "Cat-f*cking-shit!" Stickyfingers raised his voice... "what... the f*ck... was ''at?"

    Confused... and a little bit pissed off, he snapped Bistol''s neck and threw his corpse to the dirt.

    ...Then he threw his knife down so it stuck in the elf''s spine, "Stupid f*ck..."

    "Ah... hah..." Catshit rubbed the back of his neck, "Sumfin'' da Bosun taught me, I s''pose."

    That... confirmed the only sense Stickyfingers could make of it.

    He heard it. He saw it.

    And as strange as it was... the green-skinned Coral Boy hadn''t done anything wrong.

    Stickyfingers let out another sigh, "It just... it''s-- weird as ''ells if YOU''RE da wun to do it. Did you do it proper?"

    He snapped his fingers. It sounded different. No one could snap like the Bosun.

    Their *skins* were made different.

    "Oy. It got da job done, dinnit?" Catshit groaned in a rough voice, "''At''s proper ''nuff."

    The battlefield had grown quieter. All that was left was groans of pain and the sounds of chopping axes finding out where the groans came from.

    That made it easy to hear the one elf still standing.

    "Warriors!" He yelled, "Nay... Marines!"

    The knife-ear who called himself King stood as tall as he could at the center of the battlefield.

    He had his two swords crossed in front of his chest.

    It was a weird elfy salute that only he did.

    "I... remain," He said.

    Stickyfingers looked to Catshit. Catshit looked to Bob. Doc looked at his left forearm. It looked like a bullet had gone clean through.

    "So YOUUU''Z STILL HEEEERE??!?" Bob approached the elf, glowering down.

    ...That meant he had no bloody clue what to do.

    It was... frustrating.

    Stickyfingers hated being the focus of anything... and there were plenty of words to be said for the time.

    But, at least... with the current situation, the most important thing to do... was what he did best.

    He knelt down next to Bistol''s still-warm corpse... and he looted him.

    "Ihihi..." Doc snickered, "We fink-- maybe we fink Leeeads h''s found sumfin."

    "Well LET''S ''EAR it!" Bob snarled.

    Stickyfingers held up a looted vial. He hadn''t worked a lot with poison-- not really... but if poison had a specific look, he was holding it in his fingers.

    "Poison... Dis was da knife-eared cunt ''at needed murderin''."

    Petty Officer Bob snorted deep, phlegm and chunks sounding like stones rattling down a pipe, "We''z done ''ere, den. Time to execute phase ''free o'' da n..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "And what of me, Petty Officer?" The elf frowned.

    "What about you?" Bob scoffed, "You''z can stay an'' help... but if woz up to me, you''z can f*ck right off."

    "...Very well." The elf sheathed his des... It was real quick, like he was never holding them in the first ce. "Go with honor... Marines of the Neptune''s Revenge."

    ...

    ? Moon Crescent Isle, Inner Sanctum, present time. ?

    Tycondrius steeled his will as he crossed over to the Realm of the living.

    Out of hispany, he worried that he would be the only one strongly affected by the high-level magic.

    Then, he remembered that he was traveling with a second non-god.

    "BWEEEHHHHHHGHHHRRRGGgggggghhh."

    Sol Invictus member Tarquin Wroe began to vomit all over the white tile.

    "HRRRGGHHKKKKKhhrrrrrrgggglll... W-why? Hhhh..."

    ...It made Tycon deeply regret having fed him only recently.

    The Inner Sanctum was a mess, damaged in the fight against the Hidden Lake Sect''s final defense, their Divine Guardian Beast.

    The cracks in the walls betrayed light from above. Dawn had broken.

    "Whew," Hades whistled. "You guys did some WORK here!"

    "Brother-Hades," Tycon turned to the gentle-orc. "How much time has psed?"

    "Feels like the killing start-ehhhd...st night?"

    Only a few bells? Tycon sighed in relief. It felt like he''d lived two lifetimes, first being trapped in Jiang Ying Yue''s Reality Marble and then traveling through the depths of Letherna.

    As various corpses of the Martialists in by him and Krysaos had not yet begun to dpose, Hades'' judgment seemed trustworthy.

    "Yo, Hades," Krysaos raised his hand. "Did you use some sort of... god-sense, just now? --and can you teach me how to use it?"

    "Please do not do that," Tycon sighed as he massaged the back of Tarquin Wroe, Iron-Rank Vomit-de. "The Captain''s divine powers have been sealed to prevent selfbustion capable of wiping out both the mortal and deific poptions of this ind."

    "Yeah, sorry, bud," Hades scratched his cheek. "I don''t think you can learn much about god-things from me. I''ve been able to sense dead folks since I was just a regr Abyssal Warlock."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "None of that is ''regr'', Brother-Hades."

    "Fear not, Friend-Sea-God," A tall, shirtless blonde interrupted, "I, too, grew into my abilities over several decades."

    It was... the Thunder God.

    "Why are you still here, guy?" Krysaos asked.

    "Y-you have my javelin," He muttered. "I''m only lending it to you."

    It was odd, trading the former sea god''s trident for only borrowing the Thunder God''s javelin. It was, however, an equivalent exchange.

    Krysaos returned a generic "huh" before twirling the borrowed throwing weapon around a finger.

    Before Tycon could chase the shirtless degenerate away, a loud booming resonated throughout the sanctum.

    "WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE?!??!"

    Tycon slowly turned to the Thunder God, Krysaos and Hades doing the same.

    The blonde man had crossed his arms, "That was not my voice."

    Though his steps were light and quiet, all present (minus one distressed warlock) turned to observe the voice''s owner.

    It was the elf who called himself--

    "This KING senses the presence of the SEA GOD yet sees NOT HIS VESSEL!!"

    ...And that fellow looked and sounded very, very upset.

 Chapter 901 Unwelcome Development

    ?Tycondrius took a step forward, quietly observing the Elven Ancient''s approach.

    Bronze-skinned and musclebound, he was once known as Sol Invictus member Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark.

    He was once human.

    Back then... he''d have never dared acting so brazenly.

    ...s, he was human no longer. His body was transformed into that of a pointy-eared elf by ancient magics... and with it came the arrogance often attributed to that particr bloodline.

    It was possible that those changes could be reversed.

    The ritual was already designed... but the catalyst Tycon required was not so simple.

    He needed divine resonant energy.

    Krysaos could provide... but only after that fellow''s powers matured.

    Besides that, it required the Elven Ancient''s vessel rtively intact.

    Thus, dealing with him... was often a pain.

    "Ancient..." Tycon smiled politely, "why are you yelling?"

    The elf made a powerful leap forward, crossing over a dozen yalms.

    Uponnding, he broke dozens of tiles... art painstakinglyid some hundred years ago by the past generations of the Hidden Lake sect.

    "I sought an HONORABLE fight," The Ancient screamed, "a fight between this KING and the EVIL, CORRUPT SEA GOD!!"

    "Little bitte, bud," Hades waved. "The Sea God''s standin'' over there-- and he''s a''ight."

    The Ancient''s unrestrained fury was powerful and oppressive... but it was a fraction of his full strength. It seemed he had expended much of his mana elsewhere.

    Tycon had enough mana and willpower to stand and speakfortably.

    Krysaos and Hades stood fast, as well.

    Wroe, however... he struggled to hold himself up with his forearms. His face was strained and his neck bulged... but Tycon surmised that the Hexde did not need to breathe in order to live.

    The shirtless Thunder God also sumbed to the pressure, dropping to his knees.

    "E-e-e-e-elf God?!? Wh-what are you... why? But you?"

    He was trembling... and tears flowed down his cheeks.

    Whether it was from fear or pain, Tycon could not ascertain.

    There was a dull thud.

    Wroe had copsed. Heid t on the tile, his ear and the side of his head against his ejecta.

    "All I desire," The Ancient seethed, "is HONORABLE BATTLE! And thou hast taken it from me-- AS WELL as the prize RIGHTFULLY MINE!!

    "Lazy FOOL of a DEATH GOD!!" "Sup?"

    "Human CHILD, out of THY ELEMENT!!" "The f*ck??"

    "Mewling WHELP of LIGHTNING and RAIN!!" "Eeek!!"

    "Annnd YOUUUU!!!"

    The Ancient directed his furious gaze towards Tycon.

    The hateful intent made his snake blood boil and his senses sharpen.

    By the elf''s words and demeanor, he sought confrontation.

    ...but an altercation would be fruitless.

    Tycon held up his palm and he spoke with measured words and a soft tone. With that, he *hoped* the mewling elf would realize the Realm did not revolve around him.

    "The sea god is dead-- the details, unnecessary.

    "Thus... our mission isplete. The oath we swore together has been fulfilled.

    "I ask... from one noble to another... that thou reign in thy aura."

    Tycon swept his open palm towards his pitiful Hexde. Though it was difficult to tell due to his bruises, his face had reddened and was transitioning to purple.

    ...He did need to breathe, after all.

    "Tch," The Ancient scoffed.

    The pressure disappeared in an instant.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Shirtless God groaned as he sat up, rubbing his knees. Wroe lifted his head, gasping desperately for air.

    Tycon crossed his arms. He would not thank the Ancient. As a noble, oppressing the weak was distasteful.

    "Captain Krysaos, you will relinquish it to me," The elfmanded. "The power you have stolen is not for the likes for mortals to wield."

    "Whoa," Krysaos held his palms up, "Chill."

    "I will not *chill,* The elf spat. "You are *human.* Know. Thy. ce. I COMMAND you to surrender that power TO THIS KING!"

    Krysaos twisted his head, "Who the f*ck do you--"

    "SILENCE!!"

    With a word of power, Krysaos reeled back, his voice caught in his throat.

    "Ancient," Tycon called in a firm voice, "he cannot."

    "You... " The Ancient furrowed his brows, "You dare?"

    His words carried less fury than earlier-- more... confusion.

    Tycon lifted his chin, "Allow me to speak."

    The man known as King crossed his arms. It seemed he still held Tycon''s words in high regard.

    With a nod of acknowledgment, Tycon began to exin.

    "Captain Krysaos''s talent with magic is advanced for a human. However, he has neither the knowledge nor the skill to relinquish his godpower while also keeping his soul intact. The very fact that he lives and breathes, despite, is only due to nigh-impossible providence."

    The elf''s golden eyes glowed with mana, observing the half-god Krysaos.

    The changed look on his face was... most concerning.

    If the Ancient still desired the sea god''s power, he could take it by force.

    But to tap into that vtile energy risked the violent, explosive death of all beings present. In that case, the elf would first have to contend with a Gold-Rank, two God-Ranks, and... perhaps an Iron-Rank.

    Finally, the elf pursed his lips... "I see."

    He took a deep breath and lifted his head, staring up at the ceiling. The light of early morning shone down upon him through the cracks.

    "This... benevolent king had sought to save this Realm with the help of fatedpanions."

    He looked forward, his eyes still aglow but his expression eased... "I ced my faith in you... Maedar Tycondrius... Human Krysaos... noble heroes worthy of the song of which legends are sung."

    While Tycon found the thought of that particr song loathsome...ing from the Ancient, it sounded ominous.

    The elf ced a hand upon his face, covering his eyes, "The essence of the sea god would have been best in my possession... but no matter. I shall wrest fate into my own hands."

    He spun on his heel and began to walk away, "Take heart, mortalpanions. The Realm shall be saved... even without thy assistance."

    "Hey!" Krysaos shouted after him, "Where you goin''?! I still have business with you!!"

    "The architect behind Lady Mina''s attack is dead," The elf responded without turning back. "I witnessed him draw hisst breath."

    He drew his des and with a series of sword shes, carved a spell circle in the broken tile.

    Tycon recognized it as a ?Teleport? formation, ingeniously powered by the still open-gate behind him and hispanions.

    It was... frustrating, but the Ancient could not be stopped. He acted immediately and without hesitation... and for that, he must have analyzed the spell circles as soon as he entered the chamber.

    Tycon was capable of such... so it stood to reason that others could do the same.

    With a loud buzz and a sh of power... the Ancient was gone-- and with him, the ambient mana in the chamber.

    "Y-you..." The blonde man sputtered as he got to his feet-- "You are no ordinary mortal."

    "What gave it away?" Krysaos smirked.

    He spoke as if he was being spoken to... though the Thunder God was clearly looking at Tycon.

    Tycon took no offense.

    Instead, he gave the shirtless gentleman a polite smile, "None among us are ordinary, Thunder God."

    Hades, the oversized Death Orc... and the least ordinary being in the chamber loosed a chamber-shaking yawn.

    "AhhhHHHhhhaa... So, uh... where to, Big T?"

    Tycon took a deep breath and massaged the bridge of his nose...

    "The Ancient''s departure-- and the des of the Forgotten King with him, is an unwee development. For now, let us return to the ship."

 Chapter 902 Dissolution

    ?? Some timeter... ?

    Tycondrius stood upright on a tform of ice as it sailed towards the Neptune''s Revenge.

    The ''vessel'' was a testament to Captain Krysaos'' creativity along with his improved sense of mana-control. His abilities had grown. As such, he could take nearly all the ship tasks previously assigned to Sea Witch Mina, along with his regr duties as Ship Captain.

    Granted,paring a Sea God to a standard sea-faring ss felt... disrespectful.

    Tycon had received a missionpletion report from Petty Officer Bob... andter, a more detailed report from Leading Hand Stickyfingers.

    The second ship, the Sugar-Titted Siren II, had disappeared. Bob implied that the dark elves of the Spider Crab tribe had fled the ind.

    With Stickyfingers'' report, Tycon knew they had not.

    ...Captain Krysaos was particrly curious about the fate of the Vulkoori Princess, Imperia.

    Tycon knew they would not cross again-- not in the living Realm.

    In any case... House Vulkoori would suffer for the maniptions of their daughter.

    Appended to Stickyfingers'' report was a troublesome allegation.

    Sol Invictus and therefore the Neptune''s Revenge were being targeted by a faction led by a creature presumptuously named ''The Wizard.''

    Assumedly a spellcaster of resources and renown, a number of Dark Guilds were hired to act against them.

    One of which was the Iron-Rank Bone Rat gang. After a brief confrontation in Whitehearth, Ishmael took it upon himself to kill several of their key members.

    Another was the Gold-Rank guild, ckrot Wound.

    Coraline Heartsong was gravely injured by one of their two members. However, with the healing artifact gifted by the Ebon Mask tribe and thebined efforts of Beatrice and Haelvia Leopardon, she managed to survive.

    As for Haelvia-- or Elle, rather... though she was defeated and her Divine Armor crippled, she was able to return to guard Mina at her side.

    Tycon wanted to see her... tofort her and tend to her injuries, if needed.

    "I''ll keep it steady, LT," Krysaos gestured towards the ship, "Go ''head."

    "By your leave," Tycon nodded.

    He looked up the hull of the Neptune''s Revenge, gauging the distance.

    Leaping up, he took two rising steps on mana-created footholds before grabbing onto a rope and climbing aboard.

    ncing behind him, Krysaos had conjured a water spout underneath his feet, tall enough to clear the railing.

    It looked effortless. The man had talent... though calling the current Krysaos a mere ''man'' had be woefully inadequate.

    Long-legged, blonde, and beautiful, Elle of Leopardon hurried towards them. The length of her strides was a wondrous thing to admire.

    ...Tycon missed her greatly.

    Last he saw her, his hair was clean cut to military standards. As it was, it fell to the middle of his back. He looked forward to her reaction.

    "Captain. Lieutenant," She saluted. "W-wee back. Y-you... I... I''m so sorry."

    Krysaos''s gaze darkened as he was struck with the implication behind Elle''s words. Without returning his salute, he pushed past her, running towards the Captain''s Quarters.

    Tycon took hold of Elle''s hand, "I''m d to see you well, my love."

    The woman slipped away, crossing her arms defensively.

    "You''d better follow the Captain," She said in a soft voice.

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    Elle refused to meet his gaze.

    That was not the reaction he was hoping for.

    Something was wrong... but as it was likely that Elle watched Mina die, his lover''s cold response was forgivable in the short term.

    Tycon observed her a moment longer before turning to follow Krysaos.

    The door to the Captain''s quarters had swung open. The human-turned-god knelt at the side of his bed.

    And there, he wept.<novelnext></novelnext>

    His loss... was great.

    His tears... were just.

    Naught was left of Mina, save purple flecks of her scales and soaked bed sheets.

    Upon the mermaid''s death, her mana-body had dissolved into bubbles and froth-- a phenomenon Tycon and Krysaos had witnessed once before.

    "We''re... toote," Krysaos eked out in a hoarse voice.

    The chance of Mina having survived so many suns past her initial poisoning was... infinitesimal. Unfortunately, understanding of probability would do nothing for the ship Captain.

    Elle stood right outside the door, still looking away.

    "She... she passed peacefully."

    It was a useless observation.

    As if Krysaos did not hear it, he continued to weep, his face upon the bed.

    Finally, he lifted his head, his teeth clenched.

    "...Can you guys... give me a moment?" He sniffed. "Alone."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "I don''t see why that''s necessary."

    "Tychon!" Elle shouted.

    "Lieutenant Tycon," Krysaos stood up, the color in his eyes icing to blue. "I... loved this woman. It... took me... too gods-damned long to realize it. And... and I know I''m... an absolute piece of shite for-- f*ck... but... but I..."

    He trailed off, his eyes to the deck.

    Despite the potential that the Sea God had in obliterating the ship and all life in a several-malm radius, Tycon did not back down.

    "Brother-Captain," He raised an eyebrow, "I pray... that your feelings remain unchanged regardless of whether or not Lady Mina retains her memories."

    Krysaos furrowed his brows, "LT... wh-what are you saying?"

    Tycon took a deep breath.

    He nced over to Elle.

    Elle gave him patience.

    She turned away, still refusing to look in his eyes.

    Walking over to her, Tycon forcefully grabbed her hand.

    He analyzed her pulse with his System. She was suffering mana fatigue... but other than that, there was nothing wrong with her body.

    Something was terribly wrong... but what, he could not tell.

    "Elle..."

    "Please let go..."

    ...It seemed that he wouldn''t get the answers he wanted anytime soon.

    "We''ll converse in private," Tycon said before releasing his grip.

    It was a difficult situation. Death had a tendency toplicate matters... even for those who should have been ustomed to it.

    Despite her behavior, Elle''s value in Tycon''s heart had not diminished. He cared for her deeply. Thus, he would strive to mend and strengthen his rtionship as best he could.

    ...even if she refused his touch.

    ...even if she refused to do so much as meet his eyes.

    As much as it pained him to do so... he would continue to pursue her until he could no longer.

    Turning back to Krysaos, Tycon forced a professional smile.

    "Brother-Captain, I propose we create a new mana-body for the Heart of the Ocean-- at your earliest convenience. Your assistance with the ritual will be integral to the process."

    ",

 Chapter 903 Arcanite Helmet

    ?? Several bellster... ?

    "Brother-Captain," Tycondrius sighed.

    "WhaaAAAt?!" Snapped a certain, irritable and impatient half-god.

    Tycon chose not to respond to the provocation. He waited patiently for words that at least partially resembled civility.

    Krysaos took a deep breath and slumped his shoulders, "I''m sorry, man, I--"

    "Forgiven," Tycon shrugged, only a modicum of annoyance leaking in his voice.

    The Captain''s verbiage had been more careless than usual.

    It was... grating, but not enough to interrupt Tycon''s work.

    "No, I mean... y''know," Krysaos continued, "There''s all this waiting... and... I feel powerless, y''know? Aren''t I supposed to be a god?"

    ...Tycon knew. In fact, he was painfully aware of Krysaos'' concerns.

    The Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge had apanied Tycon throughout his formation-making progress.

    All the while, he spoke openly, his every thought and emotion.

    Regardless of the half-god''s urging, Mina''s re-summoning was not a process that could be rushed.

    "I get it, though." Krysaos rubbed his face with his hands, "Take your time LT. We... we only got one shot at this, yeah? And... I wanna make it a good one."

    Tycon smiled politely, "Thank you for your patience, Sea God."

    "Just Captain, thanks," The man grimaced.

    After leaning forward to flex his back, Tycon stood up and stretched his arms. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, careful not to let his sweat drip onto thepleted formation.

    "It is done."

    Krysaos'' jaw dropped, "Wait, what?"

    Tycon chuckled to himself, satisfied with the Captain''s reaction. It almost made up for the bells of ignorant babbling.

    "Please. Go ahead."

    "What?" Krysaos furrowed his brows, "Right now?"

    Tycon shook his head, "If you''re not feeling up to it, I''ll have Hades take your ce. However, I''d imagine the results might not be as favorable."

    A massive Death Orc emerged from the ocean. He looked ridiculous in his oversized snorkel and diving half-mask.

    As a tall wave came in, he beached himself, much like an obese walrus.

    "Ey, legit though," Hades grinned, "A Death Mermaid sounds pretty metal. Or maybe uh... Sea Lich?"

    "Don''t touch my formation, Death God," Tycon scowled.

    A certain shirtless Thunder God abandoned his bucket and multi-tiered sand castle, standing tall with his hands on his hips.

    "If needed... I shall offer mine own heavenly power toplete thy noble task."

    Tycon scratched his chin. He had forgotten about that fellow.

    "You''re still here?" Krysaos tilted his head.

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat, "Brother-Captain."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Krysaos gulped audibly before kneeling down at the formation''s edge. He ced his hands at the southernmost spell circle and obediently channeled his mana.

    Tycon had great skill in creating formations, having knowledge beyond that of his peers... and a majority of the Realm''s formation mages. As such, he could create unorthodox spell circles easily activated by those with... considerably less knowledge and experience.

    Behind the Captain''s back coalesced the image of a ghostly Whitesaber Tuna. It had be something of... Krysaos'' symbol.

    Over several seconds, it swelled in size simr to the corvette-ss Neptune''s Revenge.

    Only three beings remained with Tycon on the beach, the gods of Death, Thunder, and Sea. It was likely the strongest protective detail in the Realm.

    Mina was a Lieutenant, loved by her Royal Marine crew... and by her Captain.

    --but as much as the Coral Boys wished to loiter on shore, they were raucous and ident-prone. They remained on the ship, ready to set sail at a moment''s notice.

    Coraline also hoped to watch and learn from Tycon''s formations. ording to her condition, Tycon insisted she convalesce in her quarters with Elle at her side.

    Tycon furrowed his brows. Wroe also wanted to stay, but the Hexde had literally returned to the Realm of the living after several moons. Tycon ordered the troublesome Daeva to stay on the gods-damned ship, lest he suffer another round of strikes to the face.

    Tycon observed his active spell formation, watching for errors and irregrities. Its integrity held, the various runes holding their shape despite the outer protective circles eroding from Krysaos'' god energy.

    All were within Tycon''s calctions.

    He sighed deeply. Compared to nning and executing abat mission,pleting a spell formation to his standards was far easier.

    Krysaos'' Whitesaber Tuna drifted skyward. Just before it could touch the clouds, its scales began to dissolve into a gentle rainfall.

    The water mana converged at the formation''s center... and it slowly began to form into a humanoid body.

    Sea Witch Mina was being reborn.

    Her purple hair sparkled in the afternoon sun... her aesthetically pleasing face solidified, soft and feminine.

    There were, however... changes.

    Instead of a mermaid''s tail, the new Mina had human-like legs. Fin-like appendages appeared on the sides of her calves, reminiscent of her previous summoner, Oracle Antea.

    Unlike the sahuagin-blooded Malenti Priestess, however... it was more appropriate to call the reborn Mina a sea elf.

    Armor began to d her body, refined by the high-quality of Krysaos'' god-mana. First summoned was a smooth, dark-silver breastte, embossed with crashing waves. Woven scale armor covered her arms and legs, the pieces tied by thick mana-threads to ount for her leg-fins.

    Tycon furrowed his brows. The armor-summoning was... iplete.

    Mina had neither boots nor gauntlets... and was missing an integral piece of protective equipment.

    Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning Mina''s tiara from his spatial ring. It was made by Priestess Antea, an artifact made with the Lake Goddess'' favored material, Arcanite.

    He reached into the formation, where the tiara immediately began to transmute amidst the abundant water mana.

    After several seconds, Tycon withdrew it. Its appearance had changed to a sturdy visored helmet, its sides adorned with what appeared to be webbed ws.

    ? Finned Arcanite Helm. Fourth Circle Magical Helmet. Increases effectiveness of water-elemental spells and effects up to Fifth-Circle by one stage. Can only be soulbound to sentients with an Aquatic bloodline. ?

    Tycon rolled his eyes. It was an impossibly powerful item... yet it was appropriate for its wearer-to-be.

    If Mina were to take to the field of battle, a protective helmet was a must.

    Still... since when were powerful artifacts so abundant that they were merely pulled out of the air?

    ",

 Chapter 904 Something Good Happening

    ?Water misted outward from the mana-sphere encasing Mina. Thick puddles remained, suspended in the air, carried by Tycondrius'' formation and the Sea God''s divine power.

    The armored sea elf knelt down in the sand at Krysaos'' feet, her head bowed low.

    ? Mina, Adamantine-Rank Weapon-Spirit Sea Witch. ?

    Tycon sighed internally. Crossing from Gold-Rank to Adamantine was exponentially more difficult than for previous ranks.

    Earthsong Dervish Yanaba had been Chieftain of her Ebon Mask tribe for over 600 years and had only reached half-step Adamantine.

    It took less than a year for the Bronze-Rankers, Mina and Krysaos, to surpass Tycon in raw power.

    That the two had the fortune to do so was... nigh iprehensible.

    The sea elf stood up, her aura full of strength and confidence. She was as tall as Tycon-- yet another vexing change.

    Then, despite her warrior''s attire, she curtsied as a proper youngdy.

    "The Heart of the Ocean greets the Sea God," She said... "I am Mina, daughter of the Lake Goddess..."

    Hearing her voice, Tycon held his breath... almost enchanted by the musicality of her words.

    It calmed his soul... simr to the satisfaction of outmaneuvering an opponent or the consumption of a well-cooked meal.

    Mina was clearly herself... yet the quality of her rebirth was much higher than her previous mortal summoner could manage.

    "I heard thy call for me, lord..." Mina''s voice fell to a whisper.

    Krysaos said nothing. He turned his head, looking to Tycon.

    His eyes held a deep sadness.

    Where Tycon saw a supremely powerful and eternally loyalbatant, Krysaos saw the woman he loved reveal herself to be a stranger.

    It was as expected. Mina had lost her memories.

    Yet, Tycon had a strange suspicion that... some things were not wholly forgotten.

    He stepped forward to the Captain''s side, closing his eyes and opening his other senses.

    Mina''s heart rate was elevated.

    "L-lord..." The sea elf mumbled, her earlier spirit somewhat diminished. "May... may this lowly servant speak?"

    Krysaos turned back, somewhat surprised, "Y-yeah. Go ahead."

    Mina carefully folded her hands in front of her chest.

    What looked like tears were gathered at the corner of her eyes.

    It was difficult to tell with all the water floating about.

    "My heart..." She frowned and pointed at Krysaos, "What... what have you done?!"

    The Captain tilted his head, "Huh?"

    "H-have you tampered with my summoning?! I-I... I-- AaaARGH!"

    The air in the atmosphere chilled to an ufortable and biting low.

    Something moved in Tycon''s upper vision... and when he looked up, Krysaos'' Whitesaber Tuna had dissipated. In its ce, the mana making up its form was repurposed by Mina''s will, transforming into over a dozen ice-crystal swords.

    The des pointed ominously downward.

    Judging from the distance, each was likelyrger than a ship mast.

    Tycon was d he had yet to give Mina her helmet. The spell in the sky was a Fourth-Circle evocation, impossible to escape from and exceedingly difficult to defend against.

    Hades crossed his arms, "It''s cool, guys. If y''all die here, I''ll uh... look the other way."

    ...Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning the Sword of Venom into his hands. He had no ns on dying-- nor bing a broken body, neither alive or dead.

    Mina grabbed onto thepels of the Captain''s coat, shaking him back and forth. She tried but failed to meet his gaze, her eyes falling to his chest.

    Her face had reddened considerably.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Master... why... can''t I look at you... without my heart beating so painfully?" The teary-eyed sea elf cried, "C-confess thy trick!!"

    "Ah... I get it," Kryasos chuckled.

    He gently took his servant''s hands into his.

    "Mina... I never got to ask you properly before... so I''ll ask you now. Will you serve by my side?"

    "Th-this is not appropriate!!" Mina shrieked, "Y-y-you!! I!!! I... have!!!"

    It was... an odd reaction. Even more peculiar was the fact that Mina had yet to pull away from Krysaos'' borderline sexual harassment.

    Tycon raised his eyebrows, then furrowed them together... "Lady Mina, please calm yourself... and, with all due respect, please stop channeling your Fourth-Circle offensive spell."

    Mina ignored him... as young, hysterical women were wont to do.

    "I''m not allowed to fall in love with my master! This!! No! What?! YOU!!! Youuuuu!!"

    Mina snapped her head to the side, staring at Tycon. Her eyes widened, half with recognition, half with madness.

    "Prince Tycondrius! I beg of you! Tell the Sea God that this... this is forbidden! I... I don''t want to be part of the most cliche storyline in history!!"

    With Mina''s eyes directed at him, it was no longer possible for Tycon to kill her before her spellpleted.

    ...He silently cursed himself for not acting earlier.

    However, it seemed that with Krysaos'' part in Mina''s summoning, she was bestowed with greater knowledge from her divine creator.

    It was... slightly concerning that the Sword Goddess of the Lake knew of Tycon by name... but the fact that Mina was aware of his status worked in his favor.

    Tycon folded his hands, pressing the tips of his forefingers against his lips, "Lady Mina, on my honor as the Prince of Charm, I assure you that the Sea God''s affections for you are, in fact, quite appropriate."

    Krysaos smiled, a suspicious sparkle gleaming on his teeth, "What if I told you... that you fell in love with me before you lost your memories?"

    To that, Mina''s expression changed several times... finalizing on nervous eptance.

    She drew closer to Krysaos and... with some hesitation, rested her head on his chest... "Well... that''s obviously different."

    A hundred, ear-piercing cracks exploded overhead.

    ...But instead of a hellstorm of icy shrapnel raining death from above... a gentle flurry of snow drifted down and coated the beach.

    It was a scene out of a children''s tale... the romantic reunification of the Sea God and his servant, with a backdrop of pure, white snow.

    Hades and the Thunder God found it appropriate to render polite apuse.

    Tycon abstained.

    Knowing Krysaos, he''d soon blunder his words and again ce himself and his peers in life-threatening danger.

    Tycon did, however, allow himself a smile. (Of course, he kept his sword ready. If he was going to die, he''d at least kill Krysaos out of spite.)

    Ultimately, both the mission and Mina''s re-summoning were sesses well-earned, thanks to the efforts of Krysaos and his crew.

    Though there was precious little alcohol left, there remained a small keg of whiskey in Tycon''s spatial ring.

    Krysaos would be pleased to be reminded of it.

    "Yo, LT."

    Despite the rtively joyous and peaceful situation, the Captain somehow looked displeased.

    It was baffling. The man had recently killed his mortal enemy and he was holding a lovely, youngdy in his arms.

    From the way he was ring, Tycon sensed... anger? Or perhaps it was... deep suspicion?

    Discarding his extraneous thoughts, he straightened his posture, bowing politely.

    "Yes, Brother-Captain?"

    "Since when the f*ck were you a f*cking PRINCE?!"

    ",

 Chapter 905 Door To Be Opened

    ?? Strategy meeting aboard the Neptune''s Revenge, some timeter... ?

    Mina furrowed her brows, deep in thought. She wore her finned helmet with its visor up. Along with her scale armor, she was a picturesque Champion of the Sea God.

    "The Elf God... It is of utmost importance that he is stopped."

    "I concur, Lady Mina," The Thunder God nodded, "The Elf God poses a dire threat to--"

    "--Ehhhh... The gods can''t intervene directly," Hades shrugged, "not with things are the way they are."

    "Ya don''t saaaay," Krysaos sighed.

    Electric sparks bristled in the Thunder God''s short blonde hair, "Hhhh-what? But the fate of the people of this Realm hangs in the--"

    "The Elf God inhabits a mortal body," Tycon shook his head, "In that sense, the man known as King is an existence simr to Krysaos in his condition."

    His gaze drifted over to Hades. The Death God was forced to sit outside the Captain''s Cabin on ount of his bulk, "Grant that I would be far more confident had I an additional warscythe and..."

    The Thunder God puffed out his chest, "I wield the Storm Axe, a mighty weapon, capable of--"

    "--and axe. Unfortunately, theing potential cataclysm must be averted by mortal hands."

    While the Thunder God pouted, Krysaos leaned over the nning table.

    "LT, we can track that guy down... right? Like we did before?"

    Tycon massaged the bridge of his nose, "Unfortunately, the enchanted, star-shaped leaf I once used to track the Lone Shadowdark is no longer functional."

    "Ya. Don''t. Say," Krysaos red... rather rudely, "And just why is that, Lieutenant?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows, perturbed by Captain''s sudden usatory tone.

    "The enchantment''s was set to have a duration of three moons."

    Krysaos pped his hands upon the table, "So you tryin'' to say you couldn''t afford a permanency spell on that thing?!"

    Tycon nted his elbow on the table, leaning forward to meet the Captain''s gaze, "Such an expense would have been frivolous. By all expectations, this quest should have beenpleted well before the time had psed!"

    He would rather die than spend so much money on something that neither nourished him nor aided him in lethalbat.

    He did not regret his choice... even if the end result brought him to the currentplication.

    Krysaos threw his hands up in annoyance, "So the problem was with you, being a cheap-ass Prince"

    "*Economic* Prince," Tycon corrected-- "a title I bear with pride."

    "*Ivory* Prince," Mina frowned, her voice gentle but firm.

    Tycon nodded quietly, reclining in his seat. He had overreacted.

    "Even his Prince title sounds expensive," Krysaos muttered...

    "Master," Mina turned to the Sea God.

    "Tch," Krysaos leaned back, crossing his arms and looking away.

    "Master," Mina repeated... "You have to behave or... or... I won''t... kiss you."

    Tycon furrowed his brows. Even for Krysaos, he feared that was ackluster threat.

    **POK**

    The sound came from Krysaos''s chair falling backward onto the deck.

    "Ow! F*ck!" Cursed the clumsy Sea God, lying ignobly, his feet still in the air.

    "Master!" Mina raised her voice, "Language!"

    Tycon steepled his fingers. Once again, he was reminded that Krysaos was not a god to be fathomed.

    "Prince," Mina frowned, "is it possible for your tracking item to be re-enchanted?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I''ll requisition a new one," Tycon nodded. "To do so, I n to return to Whitehearth, where the Elven magics were originally applied."

    Hades raised his hand-- or rather, hisrge hand moved a bit, as he was being careful not to knock anyone or anything over.

    "I''m outta teleport juice. The exposed nipple god here can take you."

    The once-pouting and ever-shirtless Thunder God turned at the mention of his... state-of-being.

    "I can what?"

    "Hmph. Very well," Krysaos got to his feet-- "and I''m going with you."

    ...

    Tycondrius examined the de Coraline hadmissioned.

    It was a tool traditionally used by the Bloodmage ss. It wasn''t illegal to own in the Eastern States. It was, however, illegal to utilize for its intended purpose-- drawing the blood of an injured opponent for use in Blood Magic.

    It was a strangew.

    If Tycon could draw divine resonant energy from a godbeing, the essence could be used for Sol Invictus'' purposes... curing the Lone Shadowdark of his possession by the Ancient known as King.

    As his goal was to, once again, find that elf. In doing so, the opportunity to utilize the Bloodmage de would arrive as a certainty.

    Of course, once Tycon did find the Ancient, he nned on removing the fellow''s ability to escape-- eschewing diplomacy to favor violence.

    Arcanist Coraline Heartsong of the Sapphire Tower suffered several grave injuries on Moon Crescent Isle. She escaped death and kept her sanity in part due to her will and primarily due to the Ebon Mask gifted by the Elven tribe of the same name.

    It was... one of many injuries incurred on her quest to save her lover.

    She did not owe him nearly so much.

    That young fool was not worth troubling a woman of Coraline''s caliber.

    Yet... it was not Tycon''s ce to convince her otherwise.

    As Coraline had suffered a broken spine, Tycon did not want to risk bringing her to Whitehearth. He would only consider fielding her after several days of bedrest and verifying the result of the Ebon Mask''s regenerative magic.

    Iron-Rank Hexde Tarquin Wroe approached with some hesitation. He was d in armor stolen from the Amphitrite Reef tribe, wearing a silvery chestte of woven scale and greaves to match.

    It looked... feminine... or, to be more polite, it was remarkably Elven. It would be better aesthetically pleasing, worn by Malenti Priestess Antea.

    Thus, for Wroe and his distinctly Elven mana-de... it was appropriate.

    "Boss... I feel like... I missed something on that ind."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "The past several moons."

    "S-something else..." Wroe shook his head, "Like... does that make any sense?"

    "No."

    "I feel like... I should have been somewhere... but... it''s like the doors were shut before I could get there."

    "An apt analogy for a missed opportunity."

    "Like-- a door that''s not a door, though! I know that doesn''t make much sense..."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes in thought...

    Wroe was being difficult. And repeating himself.

    Still, he was a friend. As his confidence wavered, encouragement was appropriate.

    Tycon forced a polite smile, "Doors... are meant to be opened, old friend. Perhaps we''ll find this door somewhere else. I pray I can support you, then."

    Wroe nodded, though he didn''t seempletely convinced, "Yeah... maybe."

    ",

 Chapter 906 LF1M

    ?Krysaos, Adamantine-Rank Dread Pirate, was intent on apanying Tycondrius to Whitehearth.

    Tarquin Wroe, Iron-Ranked Hexde, was also due to join... but his significance was far less.

    Anyroad...

    Krysaos'' overcoat and hat were mended by Mina''s magic, the golden buttons properly polished, and his face freshly shaven.

    He was a paragon of professionalism that Tycon was proud to call a friend and ally.

    "Captain Krysaos," Tycon saluted.

    The man returned the salute, as was proper, "At ease, LT. How''s the prep?"

    "All is in order, save for final checks on personnel." Tycon pursed his lips before continuing... "Krysaos, I must remind you... you''ve no obligation to apany me back."

    The Captain replied with an ear-grating scoff, "Psh! Y''tryin'' to leave me behind, LT?"

    "Your mission isplete," Tycon exined. "The previous sea god is dead by your own hands. With the difficulty involved, your debt to me is paid. It is my duty that remains... to return the Ancient''s des to Whitehearth."

    "And MY duty," Krysaos yelped, "is t''pay you back."

    "I just--" Tycon took a deep breath.

    He had *literally* just exined why that was not necessary.

    Oftentimes, however, it was difficult for Krysaos to see to conventional reason.

    Tycon nced in Mina''s direction.

    The young sea elf Lieutenant was walking on the far side of the ship, talking affably to the Coral Boys as they went about their duties. It was somewhat odd to see her with legs... but the current her exuded a much more powerful and confident presence than previous.

    Maturity and professionalism, it was refreshing to see.

    "Stay with her, Krysaos," Tycon urged. "Strengthen your bond. With your guidance and perhaps some luck, the crew might keep your beloved ship in one piece."

    "Nah, I ain''t convinced." Krysaos shook his head. "Mina will be fine. She''s a good LT-- great, even. She can handle the boys. And if I *really* need her... I''ll just summon her!"

    He patted the hilt of the rapier on his belt.

    Tycon had almost forgotten that Mina could teleport herself to Krysaos'' side at a moment''s notice. Looking over, the youngdy was waving gracefully towards them.

    She was a kindhearted girl... Tycon waved back.

    Admittedly, he was hoping to pocket Krysaos'' favor, utilizing it only after he transitioned from a half-god to a full one.

    However, Tycon had underestimated him, something that came as a pleasant surprise.

    A so-called ''happily ever after'' with Miss Mina was wholly within the Sea God''s grasp... yet he chose to value their friendship even above that.

    It was... the way that things should be.

    Debts should be paid-- more so if doing so was difficult.

    Tycon took hold of Krysaos'' wrist with a firm grasp, "I will not forget this kindness."

    "CAP''N!!!" Shouted a certain lime-green Wonderboy, "DO YA HAFTA GO?!?!?!?"

    The other members of the crew were of a simr mind.

    ...But if that fool, Wonderboy, hadn''t said anything, they might have kept it quiet.

    "Cap''n! Was it sumfin'' Wonderboy did?!" "Cap''n!! Was it coz Miss Mina grew LEGS?!?" "Cap''n!!" CAP''N!!!"

    Tycon ced his palm on the shoulder of the Coral Boy standing beside him.

    "Take care of the crew, Catshit."

    Every crewmember of the Neptune''s Revenge had grown over the past several moons. Seaman Catshit... was the only Coral Boy to both meet and exceed Tycon''s expectations.

    The ship was in good hands.

    "Aye aye, Bosun," Catshit grinned. "You c''n count on me."

    With Wroe and Krysaos'' apaniment to Whitehearth guaranteed, Tycon was mostly satisfied.

    Still... he wanted one more.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    Elle wrung out the small rag over the bucket before reapplying it onto her best friend''s forehead.

    Coraline generated a lot of body heat... maybe because of Beatrice. Regardless of the reason, though, she said the damp cloth made her feel a little better.

    Elle wished she could do more.

    It wasn''t fun to be stuck in a bed all the time.

    ...It was a little funny, though. As long as Elle had known Coraline, the elf had been in a bed almost as much as out of one.

    "Ellie..." Coraline''s ears twitched, "Your boyfriend''sing to see you."

    Elle felt her heart drop. She''d been avoiding Tychon since he got back.

    She didn''t know what kind of face she wanted to show him.

    She was supposed to be happy. The mission was a sess... and he was safe.

    But... he didn''te to save her as she hoped.

    It wasn''t a real reason to be upset. If she could narrow it down to one thing... it was that her boyfriend wasn''t as perfect as she once thought he was.

    Could anyone be perfect, though?

    Elle almost jumped in surprise when Coraline put her hand on hers.

    "What''s wrong?" She asked.

    "N-nothing... I... haven''t talked to him yet."

    Coraline gently squeezed her hand, "I don''t know what you''re talking about, but... you can trust him, y''know. It''ll be fine."

    Elle swallowed her saliva. That... didn''t sound like the normal Coraline. She was the most vocal person against their rtionship.

    She... *was* against their rtionship, wasn''t she?

    The sound of two knocks made Elle sit up at attention.

    She stared at the doorway in silence.

    Maybe if she kept quiet... he''d go away.

    ...Was that what she wanted, though? What she truly wanted?

    Tycon''s voice, soft but firm, came from behind the door, "Elle, I''d like to speak with you."

    Elle tapped her foot nervously. Her talking with Tychon was... terrifying.

    He was really smart... so he''d definitely noticed that something was wrong.

    He was going to ask about it.

    And... she didn''t really have a good answer.

    Elle was... scared.

    She''d finally got the perfect rtionship she always wanted... one that, as a little girl, she never would have dreamt of.

    But after the events on Moon Crescent Isle... after she and Coraline almost died...

    ...something had changed in the way she thought of Tychon.

    He wasn''t perfect.

    ...No one was.

    ''Perfect'' was impossible.

    And who was she to judge?

    She was nothing more than Hagrid-- a miserable, hideous, giant of a woman who couldn''t even pilot a Divine Armor to save her life.

 Chapter 907 Wishes & Commands

    ?Haelvia of Leopardon slowly stood up. She dragged her reluctant feet to the door and ducked through the doorway.

    The damp smell that filled the underbelly of the ship twisted her stomach worse than it already was.

    "Elle..."

    Tychon looked to her with wide eyes-- like he was surprised she came.

    Then... against all her expectations... he smiled.

    It was a warm, gentle smile that made Elle''s heart thump in her chest.

    "I wanted to see you," He said.

    The way he said it... the honesty in his words-- it made it hard for Elle to respond.

    So... she lied.

    "I... wanted to see you too."

    Lying was so much easier.

    Tychon leaned forward... his golden eyes glowing in themplight, "I''d like to speak privately-- in my quarters."

    That... no.

    Elle couldn''t do that. If she were to go, all of her feelings, all of her misgivings would be gone. She''d forget her heart and only listen to her body.

    All her body wanted was him... his gentle touch... his rough hands... his hot breath on her neck and him inside of her.

    "C-can we talk out here?" Elle turned away, "I... I don''t want to leave Coraline for too long."

    Silence.

    Elle''s eyes drifted back to her lover...

    He was... disappointed. The look he gave her twisted a knot in Elle''s chest.

    She wanted to apologize. She wanted to get down on her knees and beg for his forgiveness.

    Her actions were uneptable. It wasn''t right.

    She didn''t even know why... she wanted to hurt him.

    "I... see," Tychon frowned.

    He took hold of her hands... but not forcefully as she expected. He held them softly... like he was afraid of hurting her.

    Tychon was a Gold-Rank Duplicarius... an impossibly strong hero of Tyrion... but in front of her, he was as gentle as amb.

    "I want you toe with me, Elle," He whispered.

    Elle furrowed her brows, "You... you what? Wh-where?"

    Tychon closed his eyes.

    Something had changed... something in the way Elle saw her boyfriend.

    A few suns ago, she would have immediately said yes.

    Tychon was her employer-- and more than that, he was the savior of her adventuringpany, Guild Metal Wolf.

    To an enlisted mercenary, the superior''s wish was the same as amand.

    So... agreeing to Tychon''s requests was only natural.

    ...It''s not like Elle had a real home. If her lover wanted to go somewhere, then there was no problem going along with it.

    "You... have a choice, of course," Tychon gulped... "I''m taking a small team back to the maind. The journey... will be more dangerous than anything you''ve experienced previous. However, my love... on my honor, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe."

    Everything in his power...

    That was something... Elle didn''t want to believe.

    "So... it''s not a direct order, Sir?"

    Tychon''s gaze darkened, the gold in his eyes... seeming to glow brighter.

    Elle felt the icy cold chill of danger run down her spine.

    For a moment, she was on the battlefield again... looking into the eyes... of an angel.

    Sweat was running down her forehead... and her knees shook.

    Then... she felt Tycon''s hands on her cheeks.

    Again, she was safe.<novelnext></novelnext>

    She was with a man... who tried his best on her behalf.

    She was with a man that she wanted, so desperately, to put her faith in.

    "It is not an order," He sighed... "I... would much rather you remain here... safe with Coraline and the crew. However... it is my sincere hope that you would fight by my side... as an equal... as my partner."

    A partner?

    Elle pulled away, out of Tychon''s grasp, "My partner is Gaheris."

    Tychon furrowed his brows... and he took a step back.

    That look in his eyes... it was more than disappointment.

    He was hurt.

    Of course, those words would hurt him.

    Tychon had be an important part of her life. She''d revealed her heart and soul to him... and he''d done the same for her.

    But... he was different from Gaheris.

    Gaheris literally could not betray her.

    Tychon... he''d tried so hard, though...

    Somewhere deep inside... Elle knew that he was no less important to her than Divine Armor Gaheris...

    But... those were not the words she chose to use.

    It was... better that way, though.

    Elle wasn''t perfect. She wasn''t even that strong.

    She didn''t deserve Tychon''s trust... or anyone''s.

    She was just a stupid little girl who fell in love with a Prince.

    Tychon wasn''t a Prince.

    He was a Baron... which, admittedly, was way more aristocratic than she could have asked for.

    But... The perfect Prince in Elle''s dreams couldn''t possibly exist.

    Elle ran her hand over the Saronite Protector on her forearm, "I... need at least a week to recover. And... I can only repair Gaheris'' frame with the mana-tools and resources on the ship."

    It was... a horrible excuse. It was easy for Tychon to transport the materials needed in his spatial ring.

    But... that should be good enough.

    If he really wanted her toe along... then he''d keep asking.

    How much could she possibly mean to a man like him? After all... his words could make centuries follow him without question... or stand down in deference.

    Tychon nodded... "If... that is your wish, then I will honor it."

    ...He said those words so easily.

    Elle wondered if... the pain and disappointment she saw earlier was all in her imagination.

    Tychon was a cold professional. He was a hero of legend. That kind of person couldn''t have such feelings.

    He wasn''t even human. He was just a snake.

    That hurt feeling in Elle''s heart... had nothing to do with him.

    It was her fault for feeling sad... for giving her heart to a man who couldn''t be bothered to love her the way she wanted.

    After watching Tychon turn and leave, she re-entered her and Coraline''s quarters...

    Coraline, as broken as her spine should have been, was sitting up, crossing her arms.

    Her pointed ears twitched twice as Elle shut the door.

    ...Of course.

    Coraline was an elf.

    She heard everything.

    Elle forced a smile... despite her tears, "H-hey. How are you feeling?"

    "Talk," Coraline demanded. "I want to know the exact reason why you''re f*cking everything up for yourself."

 Chapter 908 Death Sentence (Part One)

    ?? A few bellster. ?

    "Two more orders of themb," Tycondrius tapped his fingers on the table... before turning to the waitress and adding, "Please."

    The curly-haired human girl folded her hands, looking to him and then ncing at the dishes spread out in front of Sol Invictus.

    Several empty tes were already stacked by Tycon''s side-- coin well spent.

    Still, there was nothing apparent to excuse the woman''s uncertainty.

    "Shall... I put it in a container, Sir?" She asked.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "No, that will not be necessary. And bring another pitcher of drink..."

    ording to the quality, he did not choose to remember its name.

    "Y-you''ll be eating them here?" Said the wide-eyed waitress.

    Tycon ced his palm to his forehead.

    Oh, no.

    She was an idiot.

    When food is ordered at a restaurant... it is best consumed at the table.

    ...Was that umon knowledge in the Eastern States?

    In the past, Tycon dined with feral Wolfbangers and fool Gorgons, and even they knew that much...

    "Yes," Tycon answered curtly. "Please. And thank you."

    Though it was a struggle, he reigned in his frustration before waving the waitress away.

    The woman should have been ecstatic. Tycon was a paying customer and the bill would not be small. Yet... as she walked away, she carried a look of what would logically be concern.

    "LT..." Krysaos frowned, "Are you okay, man?"

    "Such is rtive, Krysaos," Tycon scowled. "For now, I will be *okay* once I eat my fill."

    He refilled his own cup and half of the Captain''s with the remains of the final pitcher.

    Tycon downed the mediocre, bubbly drink immediately, closing his eyes to enjoy the nigh-insignificant hint of drunkenness that came with it.

    Krysaos shifted uneasily in his seat, "LT..."

    "If you''ve eaten your own fill, Krysaos, then at least finish your drink."

    ...The half-god hesitated before taking a polite sip from his cup, "We''ve been here for two bells, Tycon. Both Thunder God and I have both eaten two-- almost three full frickin'' meals."

    Ridiculous. If Hades were present, at least the Death Orc could have kept up with Tycon''s consumption.

    A single tear rolled down the cheek of a certain shirtless god, "I... can no longer feel my face."

    "And it would be a blessing if I could no longer see it," Tycon rolled his eyes. "And what, then, of the drink?"

    Krysaos crossed his arms, "Altogether, the four of us have emptied two kegs. And that Tarquin guy..."

    Tycon crushed the wooden cup in his hands. The violent crack was pleasing to his ears.

    Destroying things... though generally wasteful, was mildly effective in lifting his mood.

    "If you find mypany overly tedious, Sea God, then I shall restrain thee no longer," He groaned, "Go. Be free. Gvant about the city. Partake in recreational drugs..."

    Tycon felt his blood growing hot-- "But remain faithful to Mina or, regardless of your status and my safety, I will forcibly insert three fulms of adamantine up your--"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I get it, I get it," Krysaos held up his palms in surrender. "You''re pissed off at somethin'' and taking it out on the food."

    "The grilledmb at this fine establishment," Tycon growled, "is. f*cking. Amazing."

    It was the only thing better than average... but that was enough.

    Krysaos stole a nce at the party''s collection of empty tes, "Y-yeah. No arguing there. But c''mon, LT. If something''s wrong... we can talk about it."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I''d much rather distract myself via pleasures of the flesh."

    "Yeah?" Krysaos leaned forward, "And then what?"

    ...Taking a deep breath, Tycon leaned back in his chair, "Then... I''m going to get a haircut. And then I''ll pay a visit to the Messenger''s Guild."

    The Captain clenched his fist, "Tight. Now we''re getting somewhere. What should we do then, guild leader?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Mockery does not be you, Brother-Captain."

    "Whatever, guy," Krysaos shrugged. "We had an agreement a long while back. I''m in charge of sea shite. Land ops are all yours."

    Fair.

    Tycon raised his hand and began cracking his knuckles.

    "...Mister Wroe, I''ll have you seek an audience with the Arcanite Princess. Have her artifice a new device to track the des of the Forgotten King."

    Hexde Tarquin Wroe crawled out from underneath the table.

    "W-what? Why me?"

    Even at the distance, the miserable Warlock''s rancid breath made Tycon want to slit his throat. However, as Wroe was more useful than a wooden cup, he refrained.

    "Because... Ophelia is a friend to our Sol Invictus, you are her fiancee, and she has romantic feelings, trust, and faith in you. Furthermore, you, Tarquin Wroe, owe her an exnation for your absence and for your emotional infidelity."

    Wroe sat cross-legged on the floor... "But I... but we... it was an arranged marriage, Boss."

    It was a flimsy excuse-- one that would not hold in a court ofw... but Tycon understood the issue. If one partner did not agree to a lifelong bond, forcing itspletion was... distasteful.

    "Then out of respect to Princess Ophelia, make your intentions known to her. Afterward, perhaps she can move on-- regardless of how many decades it will take her. Respond."

    The Hexde dipped his head, "Aye aye, Boss."

    "F*ckin'' cold," Krysaos whispered...

    "Brother-Captain," Tycon steepled his fingers.

    "Go ''head."

    Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning a vial of a waxy, white liquid and cing it on the table.

    "Find the enve where House Vulkoori resides. Kill every man, woman, and child there."

    "Whoa! WHOA!!" Krysaos waved his hands, "What the literal f*ck?!"

    "Whhh-ghhhkk!!" The Thunder God was choking on something.

    Tycon reached over and grabbed the back of the shirtless man''s neck. Pushing the fellow''s head down, he then struck a hammer-fist to the man''s back.

    With a violent cough, a rib bone flew out of his mouth and onto hisp.

    The Thunder God coughed several more times before bowing his head, "I... I cannot condone the ughter of innocents, Maedar."

    ",

 Chapter 909 Death Sentence (Part Two)

    ?Tycondrius sank into thought, considering the refusal.

    ...He had been too hasty. If he were thinking clearly, he would have known not to openly give a task that could be seen as dishonorable.

    He rubbed his temples, frustrated that a woman-- of all things, could make him distraught for so long.

    "Hmph," Tycon grimaced. "Granted. Thunder God, apany the Captain. Spare only the lives of those you find worthy."

    Morality was not a weakness. It could be likened to a shield, protecting the two from the worst injustices the Realm had to offer.

    ...Still, that was no excuse toplete a task halfway.

    He would send Ishmael after them in secret. The Venomous Shadow would do what Krysaos and the Thunder God could not-- and without affecting their pride.

    "My thanks, Maedar," The Thunder God nodded, pleased with the illusion of honor he kept intact, "And, I entreat thee, dear friend: my heavenly name is--"

    "So what''s this for?" Krysaos interrupted. He picked up Tycon''s vial with a napkin, examining it with great care.

    Tycon flicked his wrist once more.

    A nk spell scroll. A pen. An inkpot, its contents conducive to mana-- its cost in coin obscene.

    He began to write... using cutting scrawls that reflected his frustrations.

    "Mina was afflicted by the same injury poison in that vial. It is my solemn wish that the Vulkoori High Priestess is killed in the same manner."

    "Huh," Krysaos raised his eyebrows... but nodded, "Got it."

    "How do we know the dark elf poison... works on dark elves?" Wroe asked.

    "Please stop ignoring me," The Thunder God muttered.

    Tycon pushed the wet-ink scroll forward, "This a Fourth-Circle spell called ?Suffer in Silence?. It will disable the dark elf whore''s magical defenses, render her speechless and immobile, and increase her sensitivity to pain for approximately eight minutes."

    "F-fourth Circle??" Wroe yelped.

    "I thought you said that regr people can''t cast past Third-Circle?" Krysaos narrowed his eyes.

    "Tss. They cannot," Tycon scoffed, "You''re a f*cking god, Krysaos."

    "Such... a cruel spell," The Thunder God mused. "I have never heard of it."

    Tycon responded with a casual shrug, "I named it just now. The script is half-iplete-- but divine mana will be able to fill in the gaps to activate it properly."

    As he could field two literal gods, it would be a waste to give them Second or Third-Circle spell scrolls.

    Krysaos narrowed his eyes to more-fool-than-usual squints, "Yer tellin'' me, LT... you can just make up spells whenever you want?"

    That was a stupid question.

    How else were spells made?

    Ignoring him, Tycon waved his hand, "Ishmael."

    Krysaos, Wroe, and the Thunder God turned at once. They stared at a shadowy humanoid as he stood up from a corner table and walked over.

    Ishmael bowed politely while gingerly offering the bill for his table with both hands.

    ...Tycon saw that the Shadow had ordered the expensive wine.

    ...were he in the mood, he would have chastised him for it.

    "Ishmael, kill the two dozen or so mercenaries waiting for us outside. I suspect they belong to Whitehearth''s Bone Rat Guild."

    The golden-eyed Shadow rendered a clean salute. Then, its form inverted and it phased through the nearby wall.

    "...The Maedar is a terrifying individual," The Thunder God whispered.

    "Let''s... let''s get going," Krysaos grimaced-- "as soon as possible."

    Wroe ced his fingers on his temples, "How long was that shadow guy here?"

    Tycon stretched his arms and sat up properly. From the smells emanating from the kitchen, his food order would be ready soon.

    "Once your missions areplete, check in with me at the inn across the road. Do not fail me, Sol Invictus."<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...

    Ophelia Moonwell meditated quietly in her office.

    Hertest designs were on eliminating the inefficiencies in her Divine Armor Cores, the Mark III series, in particr.

    To that end, she''d filled two chalkboards withyered calctions.

    If she switched her focus or-- stars forbid, if she allowed her fatigue to whisk her off to sleep, not even the heavens would know which equation meant what.

    It was easier to get lost in her research, rather than to appease the various organizations of Whitehearth.

    Numbers and abstractions were cold and unfeeling.

    Ophelia didn''t have to care as much if the applications didn''t work as her theories went.

    With a wave of her hand, the wooden sides of the chalkboard grew vines. The tendrils picked up the board erasers and wiped the tes clean.

    If it was just her work-- just the numbers, she could start anew whenever she wished.

    Ironically, she''d probably be better off, for it...

    As for her other issues... they involved people.

    Those... were far moreplicated.

    People were greedy for coin and connections. People always wanted something to advantage them.

    People never forgot slights against them... never forgot the mistakes of those they deemed unworthy of their position.

    ...Ophelia was the same.

    The fact was something she grew to despise.

    Whenever the pressure to rule or intermediate was too much, she withdrew into her office.

    Whenever she felt... so, so alone, she retreated from the world.

    She closed her eyes.

    She saw him.

    Prince Landris Wyndham.

    Her husband.

    Tall, blue-haired and blue-eyed.

    Handsome.

    Sweet.

    He always knew what to say to make her feel... loved.

    ...to make her feel wanted-- like she mattered.

    He made her feel... not like she was one of the many ves to the system-- but like a person.

    Despite her whims, Ophelia was well aware that she couldn''t abandon her position. The city of Whitehearth would be torn apart if it wasn''t for the glue that was House Moonwell.

    But despite her riches and status... she was a greedy woman, too.

    She wanted her husband back. It wasn''t fair that he left her alone.

    Landris lived free... running off to adventure with Quies Morninglord... or Droghan Ashlord... or Tycondrius Charm.

    Free... maybe so free that he''d found another woman.

    It was possible.

    It would splinter her heart into a thousand fragments... but it was possible.

    ",

 Chapter 910 Thorned

    ?Ophelia wasn''t the most beautiful woman in the Realm...

    She wasn''t soft.

    She wasn''t even cute.

    She was a Princess... but she didn''t give off the aura of a damsel needing to be saved from a winged lizard.

    A typical Princess... one of King Adal''s children, perhaps-- or the inbred nobility of the Sleeping Country... they were fragile flowers, better seen than heard.

    Those Princesses, they were protected... by their suitors and husbands, by their armies of their fathers and brothers...

    Ophelia... should have had her Arcanite Prince by her side.

    She did not.

    For her to survive on her own... she had to grow thorns.

    And so she took on the persona of a self-sufficient Warrior Princess.

    She trained in the de Dance... She developed her own style of magic, rooted in druidic knowledge and the secrets of the winds.

    She allied herself with the wealthy and the strong.

    She enforced thews of Whitehearth and the Eastern States to protect those that could benefit her.

    As a leader... as a noble... she was supposed to protect the people of her City-State.

    Far too often... other priorities took precedence.

    She needed to protect herself before others-- that was her rationalization.

    That... was how she became cruel.

    Once upon a time, her cruelty was part of her mask as a pretender.

    But she''d held onto that image for so long... that she wasn''t sure if she still knew how to be herself.

    ...So many years ago, she was just a little girl that wanted to y with the boys.

    She could have joined Sol Invictus if she wanted to.

    Quies would have weed her with open arms.

    ...That coward, Tycon, wouldn''t dream of rejecting her.

    O'' Sol Invictus... The greatest diator guild in written history.

    ...And the elusive refuge where her husband hid.

    But if she did that... what kind of face would Landris have shown her?

    ...He always looked so sad whenever Ophelia brought up the marriage contract.

    She always figured... it was because it reminded him of his murdered parents.

    Since she was young, she kept a foolish hope... that she could love him in their ce.

    She''d do anything to see him smile...

    But... maybe it was impossible, to begin with.

    Every time Landris looked at her, did he recall those painful memories?

    Was that the reason he left? Because her presence was unbearable?

    Opheliaughed bitterly to herself.

    The thoughts were so depressing that she wanted to cry.

    Crying... was not something the Arcanite Princess was capable of.

    A woman cried in front of Tycondrius of Charm, once... but that was not the Arcanite Princess. It was a lonely Elia Moonwell-- a sad girl whose boyfriend abandoned her, never once looking back.

    ...At the time, they were talking about Landris.

    Ophelia touched the engagement ring on her left hand.

    Engraved on its inside was... [Till Death Do Us Part.]<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was physical proof of their contract.

    Even if Landris was unfaithful... even if he loathed the very sight of her... Ophelia had made an oath.

    With the heavens as her witness, she would love him until the end of suns.

    Elves are a stubborn lot.

    Or rather-- Tycon had corrected her on that.

    Women are a stubborn lot.

    Ophelia turned her attention to the double doors at the end of her office. She had sensed a person''s presence, waiting beyond.

    Furrowing her brows, she looked over to the artifice clock on her desk. It was well past lunchtime... so it was probably Roxaneing to scold her.

    Ophelia sat up, roughly wiping her face. She has a personal rule to never let her subordinates see her cry-- even though Roxane was more like a younger sister than a personal assistant.

    "Come on i--"

    Both doors flew open, mming against the walls with two loud cracks.

    Roxane stood in the doorway, the hallway beyond dimly lit.

    Ophelia always loved Roxane''s hair... short, flowing, and silvery. Her own green hair drew too much attention, vibrant, flowery... and requiring de-thorning, twice a moon.

    Roxane had soft and gentle features, from her chubby cheeks, her bubbly voice, and her kind eyes.

    Ophelia could make children cry with a nce.

    But... the Roxane in front of her had a different look.

    That smile that Ophelia loved so much... it was missing.

    And her eyes, they seemed to be... zed over, looking far away...

    Was something wrong with the fluorescent moss in the hall? From how dark it looked, nearly all of it had been torn down?

    That guards... they hadn''t reported anything peculiar?

    Ophelia stood up, her chair falling to the floor, "Roxy, why is--"

    ...Why was there blood on her face?

    "H... how many years..."

    "Roxane," Ophelia raised her voice. She did not like the look on her dear friend''s face.

    But... the Arcanite Princess was not afraid...

    "Roxy," She said... "Stand. Down... before you do... or say something you regret."

    Roxane sniffed before shaking her head violently.

    "hooOWW... many YEARS have you IGNORED my LOVE, ELIA?!?!"

    Ophelia mmed her palms on her desk, a surge of mana flowing outward. By her own hands, she''d pulverized stacks of both research notes and city documents... but that didn''t matter.

    "(Silence, Sapling!) I have no use for thy feelings *nor* thy insolence. I have a husband."

    "P-prince... L... LandrissSSS is GONE!!" Roxane yelled, "you... you. Have. Me."

    Roxane. Iron-Rank Grappler. She had served by Ophelia''s side faithfully since before Landris left Whitehearth.

    Ophelia never allowed her close to her heart... even though the sapling made it painfully obvious her interest wasn''t entirely professional.

    It was yet another problem Ophelia ignored. She hoped Roxane would move past her one-sided feelings. She hoped the child would grow up.

    Contracts shouldn''t be broken just because they''re inconvenient.

    Roxane shot her left arm forward, brandishing the Khorium Protector attached to her forearm. Activating the artifice, mana-armor d both of her arms, ending in oversized gauntlets sheathing her fists.

    The defensive mana-weapon was something she and Roxane designed together. Its destructive power along with Roxane''s unique fighting style allowed her to fight evenly with a Gold-Rank Martial ss like herself.

    That she activated it in front of Ophelia... was the second greatest betrayal of faith in her life.

    ",

 Chapter 911 Unrecognizable (Part One)

    ?Ophelia''s heart shook. With the rush of blood, her muscles tensed up, and her vision sharpened.

    Roxane... her personal guard... and her best friend...

    --she was emanating... killing intent?

    "I REFUSE TO ACCEPT IT!!" She shouted.

    Her short, silver hair red up with power and she rushed forward, leaving cracks in the tiles.

    mming her mana-d gauntlet into Ophelia''s desk, it cracked in two with an explosion of wooden shrapnel.

    Ophelia flipped backward, slicing both arms across her chest. The vine tendrils from the two chalkboards whipped forward, wrapping several times around Roxane''s arms.

    "HrrrrrRRRGKK!!" The silver-haired girl roared, struggling to break free.

    Ophelia was using a chantless restraint spell-- but she was a full Metal-Rank higher than her opponent. With Roxane''s movement restricted and without ess to leverage, she could only use her Iron-Rank strength to overpower the vines.

    But... what... was going on?

    Roxane wasn''t a violent girl. Even if she was upset, her first and second options would be to appeal to reason.

    Her eyes, though... they were different.

    They held a madness Ophelia had never seen before... not in an elf.

    If she didn''t know any better... it looked like... Domination-type magic.

    --but that was impossible!

    Roxane came from the Dewdrop family. Her Elven bloodline was as pure as the de Dancers of House Highde.

    That she could be affected by any kind of Domination-type spell... was an insult to her entire bloodline!

    Suddenly, Roxane ceased her struggling. Her eyes lit up, filled with mana... and she screamed at the top of her lungs.

    "AAAAAAAARRRGHHH!!!"

    Roxane... had be unrecognizable.

    The Roxane that Ophelia knew controlled her mana like the ebb and rise of the tide. The Roxane that Ophelia knew transitioned between her martial stances as smooth and ceaseless as a coursing river.

    The current Roxane... was summoning every drop of pure mana in her body, heedless of the danger in forcibly widening her mana circuits and the mana-feedback she''d suffer afterward.

    Ophelia watched in horror as her vines withered away, subdued by the tyrannical force of Roxane''s mana-shout.

    Ophelia shot her palms forward, reciting one of her strongest incantations, "Children, sleeping in the earth! Spirits of life and groaning stone, aid me! ?ckthorn Barrier?!!"

    A thick, domineering wall of ck-iron briarthorn grew from the floor, blocking the enraged Roxane''s vision.

    Ophelia quickly turned and dashed to the stand she kept her wargear. She didn''t have enough time to don her armor-- but she could wield...

    A sword...

    Before this, she only wielded her sword in the name of justice.

    With it, she executed criminals and cut down monsters... With it she defended her city against those who would defy itsws.

    She didn''t want to wield it against Roxane. She couldn''t truly imagine the girl she loved as a sister hating her to the point of trying to end her life.

    "ELIA!!!" The wall of thorns and vines split in two, torn apart by Roxane''s armor-d fists. "I... have always--"

    Ophelia jabbed Roxane in the sternum with the tip of her sheathed longsword. cing a hand on the sword''s upper sheath, she smashed it into the side of Roxane''s chin, then backhanded the girl with her fist.

    Roxane flew back, sliding on the floor with a pained grunt.

    Ophelia leapt up with the aid of a wind spirit. Bringing her still-sheathed sword above her head, she activated one of her Skills.

    "?Emerald Crash!!?"

    Dark green mana coalesced over her weapon, enchanting it with the weight and force of a rocky avnche.

    Roxane crossed her arms in front of her chest to block.

    For that, Ophelia was thankful.

    She brought her sword down, the force of the strike shattering her mana-weapons into shining fragments and brilliant dust.<novelnext></novelnext>

    As quick as she struck, Ophelia twirled around, leaping backward... prepared to continue, if necessary.

    Thankfully... after the dust settled, Roxane remained lying where she was.

    "M... mydy..." She coughed.

    It pained Ophelia to see...

    By the immediate bruising, it seemed that both of Roxane''s arms had fractured or broken.

    A trail of blood spilled down Roxane''s mouth. Was it from internal injuries? ...Or was her mana-core destroyed in the attack?

    "Stay down, Roxy," She red. "?Gnarled Prison?"

    Twisted tree roots erupted from the floorboards, trapping Roxane. If she didn''t have broken bones before, then the slower, stronger restraint spell guaranteed it.

    Besides her guardian-sister, there were other things Ophelia needed to see.

    Sheathing her sword, she walks past and into the hallway. Like she''d surmised, the moss had fallen to the floor, but there was still enough dim light for her Elven eyes to see.

    She saw... her guards...

    Her sisters... her brothers... her aunts and uncles...

    And... she saw... blood.

    Sappho lied against the wall, covered in crimson.

    Basilia''s arms were twisted, broken at the elbows.

    Persephone''s sword cut into her neck, both hands still on the hilt.

    She could not be saved.

    In the halls beyond, the only ones not dead were barely breathing.

    "WHO IS IT?!?" Ophelia shouted.

    It wasn''t yet the time to cry. Everyone was dead... and no one would see her tears... but the killer remained.

    Unless...

    Roxane?

    Was there truly a magic so cruel? Was a single elf capable of so much hatred?

    Ophelia tossed her scabbard away, brandishing her longsword against the southern hallway. Not even her Elven eyes could pierce the darkness there...

    The mana-glow from two human eyes caught her attention.

    "You look beautiful when you wield your sword."

    Ophelia''s heart trembled upon hearing that man''s voice.

    ...That person, always smiling... his words always a little coquettish...

    She''d wanted to hear it for so long.

    But... his return was ominous.

    Was it possible... did he have something to do with Roxane''s betrayal?

    Ophelia straightened her back and held on resolutely... "H... husband."

    Prince Landris Wyndham was... the most beautiful man in the Realm, his silky blue hair bobbing as he walked, his subtle smile begging to be kissed.

    He wore a set of beautiful silver armor... Elven mithril, perhaps... blessed by the moon.

    He looked... enchanting.

    He was exactly like she remembered... but more handsome, more mature.

    Humans aged differently from elves and Landris took all their good points.

    It only made her internal struggle more difficult.

 Chapter 912 Unrecognizable (Part Two)

    ?Ophelia of House Moonwell looked up, meeting the gaze of Prince Landris of the royal line of Wyndham.

    --and she fiercely resisted the desire to throw her sword away and run into his embrace.

    Her people were hurt. Some of them were dead.

    The person responsible for arranging their affairs... was her.

    She didn''t want to deal with that on her own...

    It was hard work. It was painful.

    It was... just too much.

    Ophelia didn''t want those responsibilities. She wanted to shut herself in her room and cry.

    She wanted... to be told what to do, like when she was still young, innocent, and stupid... She wanted to go back to those times, spoiled by her parents... doted on by her lover...

    She didn''t want to be the Arcanite Princess anymore...

    "I go by Tarquin, now," Her husband shrugged. "And we were never exactly married, were we?"

    "Wh... what?" Ophelia''s jaw dropped.

    She... couldn''t believe what she was hearing.

    She had longed to meet Landris again... in her waking dreams during the sun, and twice-more when the stars nketed the sky.

    She imagined... what he would say.

    She had hoped to hear... ''I''m back'' or... ''I missed you...''

    Maybe even... ''I love you''... spoken exactly like he said it in the past.

    But after so many years without contact... the first thing he did... was deny their rtionship.

    Landris took a waterskin off his belt and spilled it in front of him. The water did not fall to the floor, however... it floated in front of him, carried aloft by a strange magic.

    Lifting his hand towards it, the water mana swirled together... and formed a pearlescent mana-sword.

    Ophelia''s eyes widened in shock. It was... a Lunar de? Yet it wasn''t pulled from the tide.

    Landris had... conjured it on his own?

    And... it wasn''t Elven magic. It was something else... something forbidden.

    Ophelia struggled to swallow. Her throat had grown dry and painful...

    "That is... the blessing of the Sword Dragon?"

    "You know of her?" Landris chuckled, "I live only to praise her divine name... Erza Aerzin."

    That sword... that beautiful, yet terrible sword... Landris arced it upwards. Mana trailed from the swing, shooting forward... and past her.

    Ophelia snapped her head to the side, following the mana-crescent with her eyes.

    Roxane was standing in the doorway behind her. Blood gushed from the sword wound, running diagonally from her corbone to her abdomen.

    "E... elia..."

    "ROXANE!!!!" Ophelia screamed.

    Immediately, she rushed to her dear friend''s side-- but not fast enough to catch her. Roxane''s breathing was ragged and blood spilled from her mouth.

    "I''m... so... sorr..."

    "No. No, no, no... don''t speak," Ophelia cried. "LANDRIS!! What are you DOING?! Call for a healer!! Roxane''s going to die!!"

    Landris tilted his head sharply to the side, "Of course, she''s going to die. This sword was gifted to me by my goddess. Miss Roxane''s survival... would be sphemy."

    Ophelia took a deep breath. It felt like something inside of her broke.

    She looked up with cold eyes.

    Pale, ghostly arms were stretching down from the ceiling. Their hands brushed the faces of Ophelia''s fallen kin. They took hold of their limbs... and began to pull and tug.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was... a magical ?Domain?... something only an Adamantine-Rank was capable of.

    And its purpose... was to empower the same heretical Dragon Magic he''d disyed earlier.

    Ophelia... could no longer deny the facts in front of her.

    Landris... her husband... had made a pact with a being beyond the ken of both humans and elves.

    He had be a Warlock.

    And his patron... was one of the dragon gods.

    Dragons don''t exist. Worshipping them... was forbidden.

    That Landris enved himself to their kind... was an insult to everything her bloodline stood for.

    Ophelia squeezed tears out of her eyes as she asked the question she did not want answered.

    "Who... are you?"

    "I''m exactly who you think I am," Came the heartless response, "It was a pain being Landris Wyndham. So now... I''m just Tarquin Wroe."

    No... no...

    Ophelia pressed her forehead against Roxane''s bloody chest. The Sapling''s heart had stopped beating.

    What had happened to her sweet, naive husband? What had happened to her childhood friend, sworn to protect her? Where was the boy who loved her with all his heart?

    Was this the true Landris Wyndham? Who was this Tarquin Wroe, so willing to murder her family without remorse... so eager to sing praise to evil gods?

    How many lies had he fed her over the years?

    ...How long did she fool herself into thinking humans could be trusted?

    "No," Ophelia cried... "My fiancee would never do this. He was a student of the sword... he was strong... he was just and heroic."

    And... the Landris she knew would never do anything to hurt her...

    She turned her head up, rage swallowing up her sadness, "You are an ABOMINATION!! Servants of the dragon gods deserve only DEATH!!"

    "Ehhh?" Landris slowly spun his sword in his hand. He was no longer smiling... "So you''re trying to say... that the guy that''s supposed to be your husband... should just kill himself?"

    "You..." Ophelia sniffed... "you are not my husband."

    "Well, whatever," Landris smirked. "I did die... or I guess your husband did. And now that I''ve been reborn, our previous contract no longer applies."

    "I see," Opheliaughed derisively. "My husband is dead. Then... whoever you are, you''re not wee here."

    "That girl was trying to kill you," Landris frowned.

    "Her NAME... was Roxane."

    Ophelia embraced her friend''s body tightly... wishing she had done so more often when she was alive.

    The warmth from Roxane''s body was leaving her too quickly...

    Landris cleared his throat, "The reason I came today--"

    "Please leave..." Ophelia whispered... "unless you''re here to kill me, too."

    "But I didn''t..."

    "Make it quick... I won''t stop you."

    ''I can''t live without you''-- she wanted to say... but those words, she buried deep inside her broken heart.

    Landris grew quiet... then he groaned like he was annoyed.

    The blue mana glow left his eyes. Light returned to the hallway. The ghostly hands disappeared like they were never there.

    Roxane remained dead in Ophelia''s arms.

    "I''m going," Landris spun on his heel and walked away. "Don''t look for me."

 Chapter 913 Tiresome Affairs

    ?Tycondrius made a sharp turn around the corner, resuming his leisurely jogging pace.

    The streets of Whitehearth''s business area were not safe, by any means. The number of merchants and marks, however, made an open attack on him...plex.

    The possibility remained.

    Thus, he kept his vignce... watching the eyes of man and elf for cruel intentions.

    The nces he received from passersby were momentary.

    A sword over his shoulder. A soaked tunic. Ragged breaths.

    It wasn''t strange to see one of Whitehearth''s many adventurers submitting themself to training.

    Tycon hated running.

    Rather... he loathed it.

    On the field, he used his Gold-Rank mana to ease his movement and increase his speed.

    For training... he went without.

    In less than half a bell, Tycon worked up a healthy level of perspiration.

    In the evening, his body would suffer fatigue... perhaps exhaustion, if he were careless.

    The ache in his muscles and the bitter struggle of his fleshy lungs would serve to distract him from his frustrations.

    A team of bricyers was working the road ahead. Tycon skidded in the dirt, turning left down a narrow alleyway.

    It was not the most careful decision... but weighing his safety against his arrogance, thetter won thrice over.

    The stretch of a bowstring echoed against the building walls. When the time came for the arrow''s release, Tycon was fully aware.

    He caught the arrow bare-handed, spinning about with the momentum.

    Inspecting the arrow, he noticed its peculiarity. Its tip was blunted stone-- or hardened y, two ilms long, and lined with elegant runic script.

    ?Sleep?

    It was not an assassination attempt.

    The fact assuaged Tycon''s pride. He thought himself particrly sensitive to killing intent.

    Thus, he chose not to take offense... from that one, at least.

    Was he to be kidnapped? Or was he being treated with a modicum of backward respect?

    Tycon failed to stifle a groan before speaking aloud in Elven, "(This one has no quarrel with Noble House Whisperwind.)"

    Something shook on a nearby roof-- the subtle movement attracting Tycon''s notice.

    It seemed that he was correct in inducing his attacker''s species and affiliation.

    An androgynous fellow leapt down to street level with a graceful and... annoyingly Elven double forward-flip.

    ? Blindfolded Elf, Iron-Rank Scout. ?

    It was a messenger... and a high level one, to perform both archery and acrobatics in respect to their condition.

    "Sir," He or she bowed politely, "May I ask... how long have you sensed my presence?"

    Tycon ignored the question. Flicking his wrist, he summoned a series of sealed missives, bundled in twine.

    "I''m d you''re here. I want these delivered, post-haste."

    While the Messenger Guild was reliable, Tycon would rather enlist the help of a single skilled messenger. His missives would be delivered with priority... and more importantly, he could save no small amount of coin.

    It was a reasonable request. The elf would perform a menial task in exchange for Tycon sparing their life.

    "Wh-what? How... dare you?" The elf responded, thoroughly confused. "Baron Tycondrius, you''ve brazenly sent your forces to attack House Spider Crab. The reason I''m here--"

    Ah. That made sense.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The elves had ears and, as such, could easily identify the affiliations of Krysaos and the Thunder God.

    Tycon patiently allowed the elf to list their grievances... though he paid attention to very little of it.

    In that time, he dispelled the effect on his held stolen arrow.

    The grant (and arrogant) disy silenced the messenger. Whether it was Tycon''s Metal-Rank or his expertise at formation canceling, it should have been obvious he was not to be trifled with.

    Such fearmongering was best not seen... but felt-- understood on an instinctual level.

    Tycon was a predator. His enemies were prey.

    To that extent, he inscribed his own script onto the projectile...

    ?True Strike?

    It was a simple First-Circle spell that typical Circle Mages rarely had a use for. In actualbat, a bolt of me or breath of frost was more ideal.

    Nheless, it was a favorite of martial-minded Mages like himself to memorize as a first or second spell.

    Oncepleted, Tycon casually threw it upward.

    A in-clothes human fell from the rooftops. She was silent, save for the stone arrow''s first crack against her skull... then the second upon the stone street.

    Unlike the elf, that one *did* exude killing intent.

    Whoever she was, Tycon did not care. Her value was in unnerving the Whisperwind in hispany.

    ...After all, the fool girl had squandered far too many chances to escape.

    The elf cleared his throat... "If I may, I am said to be the fastest and most reliable messenger in House Whisperwind."

    Tycon nodded. ording to their status and Metal-Rank, the obeisance was appropriate.

    He handed over the bundle of magic-encrypted messages with a professional smile.

    "House Spider Crab has offended me. I will submit my grievances to Lady Moonwell and subsequently to your superiors when it pleases me."

    "I... will report this to my leadership, then," The blindfolded elf saluted.

    The fellow tucked the package underneath their arms... but instead of leaving immediately, they fiddled with their fingers nervously.

    ...Tycon sighed.

    "(Is there yet a song to sing, Warrior of Noble House Whisperwind?)"

    The elf flinched momentarily butposed themselves quickly enough.

    "(I beg for thy forgiveness, esteemed Sir. This lowly servant was merely curious. Thou must be a great personage to be favored by the houses Highde, Moonwell, and Ebon Mask.)"

    Tycon rolled his eyes. He was being tested.

    It was bothersome. There was merit in keeping low-profile, but with theplex state of his affairs, being discounted could prove fatal.

    "I was friend to demaster Arod Highde before his untimely death. Lady Ophelia Moonwell is a friend and colleague in the school of artifice. And I''ve bested... Nu... Ner... What was his name? Notaku, First Warrior of House Ebon Mask in a duel. He lives--st I checked."

    The elf covered their mouth with their hands, "Th-these things..."

    "And..." Tycon took in a deep breath, "I am the ward of House Morninglord''s young Prince."

    "That person..." The elf gulped, "They have been missing for some time."

    "I speak of that person''s son," Tycon shrugged. "I assume Prince Quies is dead... as should you."

    "This..." The elf hurriedly bowed, "You have my deepest apologies, dear customer. This, too, I will inform to my leadership, with your permission."

    "Granted."

    Speaking with elves... was tiresome.

 Chapter 914 Failure Is Unacceptable

    ?"If I may... Sir," The elf bowed, deeper and more sincere than previous. "House Vulkoori''s roots are deep... waging war against--"

    "You may not," Tycondrius interrupted, speaking quickly in a monotone voice. "I very much do *not* care. Thank you for your sincerity. Our business is concluded. Keep away from House Spider Crab for three suns. P l e a s e . l e a v e . "

    The elf was taken aback, his or her face aghast.

    Tycon''s response was highly inappropriate, considering Elven social customs.

    ording to their reaction, speaking as such was worse than wanton murder.

    "I... I hear you," The elf nodded. "Then... if there''s nothing else."

    Tycon waved them away. Regardless of that person''s status, his was higher.

    The way they shook as they left implied that they would take Tycon''s words to heart.

    Three suns was a gross lower estimate.

    House Vulkoori had sent an agent to implicitly attack Sol Invictus. The hand they used was a woman that Krysaos grew to care for.

    If the sea god did not have the heart to murder every man and elf wearing the Vulkoori crest, then Ishmael would do so before the morning sun.

    Failing that, Tycon would not hesitate to cut any remaining loose ends.

    It was a good quest... and a simple one. If a person or organization revealed themself to be an enemy of Sol Invictus, they should be eliminated immediately and without prejudice.

    It was how things should be.

    Tycon resumed his jog, sprinting out of the alley, and slowing to a brisk pace when could again hide amongst the crowds.

    ...He wondered just when everything grew so difficult.

    As far back as his memories went... he had toplete three quests to free himself from his debts.

    The first was to eliminate a man in the Kingdom. That was done with great violence.

    The second was to eliminate the enemies of a certain woman in the Holy Country. Needless to say, that was also done in a violent manner.

    The third quest... would bepleted in the Free Nation.

    ...Tycon was not in the Free Nation.

    He was in the gods-damned Eastern States trying to retrieve a pair of overvalued knives. And the reason for the difficulty... was that his fool humanpanion failed to keep his hands to himself.

    Barza Keith... the Lone Shadowdark.

    The quest to recover him and the des of the Forgotten King had grown into several quests, each just asplex.

    It started with an earnest request from High Oracle Troia... the Princess of the Holy Country and the sponsor of their Hero.

    --Nevermind that, at the time, Tycon was more interested in proving Archbishop Crucis wrong than running errands for the purple-haired whelpling.

    Ophelia of House Whitehearth was reliant on him, as well... as both a friend and an ambassador of the various Elven-dominated organizations.

    --Nevermind that Tycon was ridden with guilt for her pathetic treatment by the man supposed to be her loving fiancee.

    Then... Lone''s femalepanion, Coraline Heartsong, was potentially the most powerful Circle Mage that Sol Invictus could recruit for at least a decade.

    --Nevermind that he would do anything and everything to avoid the disappointment of the Sapphire Tower''s Archmage.

    Tycon''s quest to recover the des of the Forgotten King could not be ignored... nor could it be abandoned.

    ...And none were qualified to see it to itspletion, save for him.

    He was tired.

    He''d been questing for years... longer than most, not as long as some.

    But... there was a goal.

    And that goal was in view.

    To reach it, he merely had to continue on.

    One foot had to be ced in front of the other. Every obstacle in his way, he''d cut it down. Eventually... the difficulties would end.

    One infuriatinglyplex side-quest.

    One. single. primary quest.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Then, Tycon would be done.

    And what after?

    ...Perhaps he could focus on earning the favor of a young, blonde, Tyrion woman with the intent to marry?

    He could seek out a master of the board game, Pettaia... and learn the ways of its sages.

    ...He could hire a Necromancer to resurrect Quay from the dead, just so he could strangle him for so many faults past.

    There were no ends to asinine and ultimately forgettable quests.

    ? But by then... at the very least... he''d be free.

    ...Yes.

    That sounded nice.

    Tycon took in a slow, full breath, wiping his palms on his face.

    He had to keep heart.

    The quest would beplete. Anything less was uneptable.

    ...

    Tycon opened his eyes, sensing two light raps upon his inn room door.

    He closed his eyes, opening his senses. By the light and airy feeling beyond, someone with the blood of angels hade.

    He hoped it was Wroe. That person wouldn''t be harmed by the defensive formation Tycon ced on the inn room.

    If it was not... the surly Popoto innkeeper would surely bill him for cleaning up the blood and charred remains.

    A silver-armored Daeva quietly entered the room, his head bowed. His eyes were narrowed on ount of his full smile.

    "Evenin'', Boss!" Wroe greeted, "Oh, you got a haircut! Lookin'' good. And it smells nice too?"

    Seeing a professional barber was a must for Tycon.

    Long hair was oft worn by Martialists and Wizards who mistakenly assumed that physical age corrted to skill. As he was neither, the look did not suit him.

    As for the scent of flowers... he''d paid well to visit a bathhouse.

    "Thank you," Tycon returned a polite smile of his own.

    ...He would send Wroe to the same ce within the bell.

    "You uh... get those letters sent, Boss?"

    Wroe continued to smile... a smile almost stifling in its radiance.

    It could not be helped. In this Realm, a man could not choose his bloodline.

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded, "You look well, Tarquin Wroe. Tell me, do you bring good news?"

    "Nope!"

    A sharp pain jolted through the side of Tycon''s head.

    He blinked his eyes several times... but the smile on Wroe''s face did not disappear.

    Tycon wondered...

    ...if perhaps...

    --he had... misheard?

    "Ahem," He cleared his throat. "The... scrying item. Were you able to procure one from Princess Ophelia?"

    "Nnnnope!" Wroe twisted his head to the side, entuating the shamelessness in his failure.

    "Ah..." Tycon pursed his lips... and nodded absentmindedly, "I understand."

    He rotated his wrists, stretching them lightly with his opposite hand.

    Then, flicking his left wrist, he summoned his hand crossbow out of his spatial ring.

 Chapter 915 Refusal To Obey

    ?"Boss... what are you doing with that?"

    Wroe''s voice contained a hint of uncertainty-- perhaps even fear.

    Either or both were perfectly reasonable.

    Tycondrius flipped his palm upward, a sleight of hand that revealed a single crossbow bolt.

    "Um... BossSS?" Wroe''s voice sharply rose in pitch. "If that''s... for me, I can still cast ?Mana Ward?. Hah. It''s... it''s something you made me practice. A lot."

    Ignoring the Warlock''s thering, Tycon began to apply poison to the bolt''s tip. It was the same waxy substance recovered from the dark elves of House Spider Crab.

    He was looking forward to observing its efficacy.

    That is... unless his bolt was stopped by a ?Mana Ward?.

    To circumvent that, Tycon gathered mana into his palm, shaping it to his designs.

    ? And... with the purpose of inspiring fear, he made no attempt to hide the name of his Skill, "?Warlockyer?"

    "BOSS!!"

    It was an impromptu rework of the ?Legionyer? Skill.

    The basics remained. In particr, Tycon kept ?Legionyer?''s mana-shape, rigid with a tapered tip, proven effective at punching through steel te.

    The difference in ?Warlockyer? was in its modified mana-signature. Upon cursory inspection, it appeared identical to Wroe''s shielding, a mixture of water and metal essences and a touch of lunar empowerment.

    If Tycon''s theory was sound, his ''disguised'' bolt would dy the activation of Wroe''s ?Mana Ward?... or perhaps even disrupt his mana circuits and cause a feedback loop.

    With a light smile across his lips, Tycon used a reload tool to draw back the heavy bowstring, slow and smooth.

    Then, he took aim at the warlock''s center of--

    "MISTY STEP!!!" Screamed the cowardly Warlock.

    Whipping his body around, the angel-blooded buffoon leapt into the nearby wall.

    --whereupon his head bounced upon its hard surface. Recoiling from the damage, Wroe stood for only a breath longer before copsing to the floor in an awkward manner.

    Conversely, stood fast, suffering no obvious signs of damage.

    "Tss..." Tycon scoffed, "Fool..."

    He had taken care to fortify his inn room against magic, both inside and out. It was a given that Teleportation-type spells were included.

    ...Tycon *always* fortified his personal quarters against magic, even the temporary ones.

    Unfortunately for Wroe, the oversight ensured his painful, poison-wracked death.

    Wroe woke up from his short bout of unconsciousness, gasping for air.

    "Boss! Y-y-you can''t kill me!" He pleaded, his bloodied nose not helping his case in the least. "We have a contract! Th-think of the magical feedback!!"

    "Tarquin Wroe," Tycon began, his voice monotone, "id est, Landris Wyndham, you have willfully disobeyed awful order. As such, I, your superior Officer, have the right to administer punishment."

    "By KILLING ME?!"

    "Nonsense," Tycon groaned. "I''m merely shooting you. Whether you live or die is up to you."

    "But you''re using a POISONED ARROW!!!"

    "A poisoned *bolt*," Tycon chided. "Fear not. If your ?Mana Ward? is up to par, you wille away from this experience with naught but mild injury and-- perhaps, greater urgency for quests I assign."

    "Boss, you''re aiming at my FAAACE!!"

    "While aiming at your chest is standard practice, at this distance, I--"

    Tycon squeezed the trigger, the satisfying ''chnk'' sound, even more pleasing to the ear than Wroe''s head against the innroom wall.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A bright blue sh of magic lit the room... a side-effect of Wroe activating his ?Mana Ward?. It gave the gentleman enough time to throw himself to the floor... and much to Tycon''s dismay, rtively unharmed.

    The crossbow bolt bounced off the mana-fortified wall, its pointed end, cracked and ruined.

    Tycon lowered his crossbow and clicked his tongue.

    He had been too greedy.

    There was no fault in his ?Warlockyer? Skill... but Wroe narrowly avoided death on ount of his reflexes.

    The thought of a well-ced shot going through the Warlock''s left eye was too tantalizing to not attempt.

    If he had aimed for Wroe''s center of mass, it would have been much more difficult to dodge.

    "You really SHOT AT ME!!" Wroe cried.

    "...You have the strangestints, Mister Wroe."

    A few suns ago, the piteous fool was practically begging for death.

    Suddenly, the door swung open.

    Krysaos and the Thunder God were in mid-conversation but abruptly stopped.

    Their weapons were still drawn, an elegant rapier and a handsome waraxe.

    Blood stained their attire.

    ...Tycon would send them both to the bathhouse-- along with Wroe, provided thetter survived the bell.

    "What... the f*ck is goin'' on?" Asked a wide-eyed Krysaos.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes as he summoned another crossbow bolt to hand, "Do *you* bring good news?"

    "If I say yeah, can you *not* shoot me?"

    "I wouldn''t dare attack you openly, Krysaos," Tycon gave a nomittal shrug, "Even as a half-god, you''re far too powerful."

    "Aha... yeah," Krysaos chuckled-- "Wait, what do you mean ''openly''?"

    "Report, if you would," Tycon smiled politely... as he began applying poison to his new bolt.

    "Job''s done," Krysaos grinned. "Queen B*tch is dead."

    "Justice has been served, Friend-Maedar!" The shirtless god proimed, "T''was a tale for the ages, the noble Sea God spearheading our assault, and I, the great--"

    "Oh, yeah," Krysaos raised his hand. "We ran into Ishmael on our way out. He signed a few things to me-- I don''t know what it meant, exactly, but he''s probablypleted his task, too. With the Bone Rats, right?"

    That was incorrect. Ishmael was tasked to ensure every life in the Vulkoori Enve was extinguished. The fact was something that neither Krysaos nor the Thunder God needed to know.

    "I''m d," Tycon nodded. "I appreciate your reliability... both of you."

    Kryasos leaned his shoulder against the doorway, "If that''s the case, how about you uh... *not* kill that Wroe guy? What he do, anyroad?"

    Tycon spun his crossbow''s reload tool around his hand, "Before that, Brother-Captain, please step inside and shut the door."

    "Oh, nuh uh," Krysaos grimaced, shaking his head. "Can''t do that. If I know you, you always put three or four magic formations in your room. With the door closed, the loops in your spell circles get closed-- which is why, earlier, we didn''t hear anything resembling a Warlock screaming like a li''l b*tch."

    "Slight correction," The blue-haired buffoon perked up. "Compared to Boss, I''m a pretty big b*tch."

    Tycon turned up his nose, "As proud of your stature as you may be, Mister Wroe, it means little if you''re on your knees."

    "Boss," Wroe stood up shakily...

    "Tarquin Wroe has willfully disobeyed awful order," Tycon dered. "As such, he is subject to appropriate punishment."

    "I hear that," Krysaos tilted his chin up, "But... don''t you think you''re being a bit harsh, LT?"

 Chapter 916 Quite The Conundrum

    ?Tycondrius raised an eyebrow. He found Krysaos'' challenge... peculiar.

    ...His gaze drifted from the Captain to the Thunder God. He appeared to be deep in thought.

    As of recent, that one had proved to be somewhat useful. Perhaps... his opinion on the current matter would hold value?

    "This is... quite the conundrum," The shirtless man muttered.

    It was... a weak thought that added nothing to the conversation.

    Tycon was disappointed... yet unsurprised. Comments simr were the reason he ignored that fellow more often than not.

    "Harsh, you say..." He mused, "I recall your former reputation, Brother-Captain... a man known for *keelhauling* his crewmen at first offense."

    "Okay, you f*ckin'' got me," Krysaos shrugged, not repentant in the least. "But still!! Insubordination gets punished with a f*cking WHIP, Tycon-- not a bolt to the f*ckin'' dome!"

    The man was ridiculous. ''Insubordination'' was quite different from ''disobeying awful order.''

    "I once *had* a de-whip, Krysaos," Tycon seethed. "It was my favorite sword. And. you. f*cking. broke it."

    "Ughhh," Krysaos groaned, "I meant, like... a non-lethal whip, guy."

    Tycon took a deep breath through his nose, "I assure you, dear *Captain* that, in my hands, any martial weapon is capable of lethality... in excess."

    "Alright, whateverrrrr," Krysaos groaned.

    He and the Thunder God stepped inside the room, thetter closing the door.

    However, Krysaos stepped forward, standing between Tycon and the party''s pitiful Warlock.

    "Per militaryw-- Wroe gets a rebuttal, yeah?"

    "...You are correct," Said as he unconsciously rolled his eyes.

    Wroe crossed his arms and bit his upper lip... "I''ve got nothing to do with Ophelia, anymore... If she won''t let me talk to her then I shouldn''t have to beg for an audience."

    Tycon took a breath to gather his thoughts... "I would have *preferred* you reconcile with one of Sol Invictus'' more powerful allies. However, that was not your mission. Your *mission*, Mister Wroe, was to retrieve a scrying item for pursuing the Ancient-- or have you forgotten?"

    Krysaos cut his palm down, stopping Tycon from continuing, "No, it makes sense. Y''can''t force a girl to talk to ya. But hey, Wroe... didn''t you have some sort of rtionship with the Whitehearth Princess, before?"

    He did. They were officially engaged.

    To Tycon''s knowledge, that had yet to be annulled.

    News of the broken engagement woulde to public eye. It was inevitable.

    The Arcanite Princess... the highest power in City-State Whitehearth.

    Landris Wyndham... the most pure-blooded descendant of the Wyndham royal line.

    Both woulde under heavy criticism... by the hateful, by the jealous... by those with evil in their hearts and nothing better to do.

    Wroe did not care for his public reputation. He had cast it away when he joined Sol Invictus.

    Thus... Ophelia would suffer alone.

    Despite all her achievements... her enemies would seize the ability to attack her character.

    Her fidelity would be called into question... her fertility... perhaps even her skill at performing whatever society deemed to be ''wifely duties.''

    Tycon could not imagine the full extent of it. There was no limit to the creative cruelty of human society.

    Eventually, the rumors would culminate into a troublesome question:

    ''Can a woman of such character be trusted to run a City-State?''

    Tycon sighed and shook his head.

    Besides the certain downfall of Ophelia''s reputation... a worrisome fact remained.

    She loved her fiancee.

    His... betrayal would be a devastating blow to her psyche and self-confidence.

    For the brief period afterward... Ophelia''s actions held both unpredictability and danger.<novelnext></novelnext>

    However, as her friend, Tycon hoped she would avoid any doing something... regrettable.

    Wroe clenched his fist, "My only love... is Erza Aerzin."

    ...Because the Tarquin Wroe he knew was not worth Ophelia''s troubles.

    "Thy first love," The Thunder God boomed, "should be to your fellow man. And next, to thy sworn duty."

    "Bro," Krysaos frowned. "What kind of..."

    "Please, Thunder God," Tycon loosed a heavy sigh. "Refrain from flirting with your fellow party members."

    The Thunder God''s cheeks turned burning red and he turned away, "I meant-- in general! Humanity and the like should be-- bah! I''m not-- I don''t--"

    "LT," Krysaos coughed. "If Wroe doesn''t wanna talk to the girl, that''s fine. I''ll do it-- or shite, you''re probably better than me, with the kind of birds you talk up."

    "Sea God," The Thunder God interjected, "Disobedience to orders must be punished. As a leader of men, surely you agree."

    Tycon groaned aloud, plopping down into his desk chair. Both gentlemen were correct.

    Admittedly... trying to murder his long-timepanion was an overreaction.

    That man was not worth the effort.

    "Wroe, how do you plead?"

    "Boss... I''m sorr--"

    Tycon held his hand out, cutting off Wroe''s words...

    "Be advised... An apology of any sort is an admission of guilt."

    Wroe audibly gulped down his saliva before nodding quietly...

    "Boss... I told Ophelia that I love someone else. Our rtionship is over. Erza Aerzin is the only one for me."

    Tycon massaged his temples. Wroe''s rtionship wasplicated. Mere words were not enough to break such a contract.

    He recalled Ophelia''s Oath... and the pact engraved on her engagement ring.

    In trusting the wrong man, she had doomed herself to a cruel fate.

    When Tycon opened his eyes, he saw Krysaos standing in front of him, staring patiently.

    "Whaddya say, LT?" He asked, "You got a girl, too."

    Tycon took in a breath.

    He did.

    ...Elle.

    ...He cared for her greatly.

    --it was enough to call it love.

    Recalling thoughts of her, Tycon could easily see a bit of himself in Wroe''s fanaticism... as well as his grant rejection of Ophelia.

    It was... unfortunate.

    Regardless of that girl''s business acumen, her cleverness, and her loyalty... and regardless of the tribtions she would suffer as a result of Wroe''s selfish infidelity... that man loved someone else.

    That fact would not change.

    Tycon sighed in defeat... "In the morning... we shall seek out a proficient Scryer in themercial district. Failing that, I will go to the Moonwell Enve to request an audience... and I''ll speak to Ophelia, myself."

    "Before or after breakfast?" Krysaos asked.

    "How dare you," Tycon red. "Afterwards, of course."

    ",

 Chapter 917 Domination

    ?** Content Warning: Dark and graphic **

    ? Just before dawn... ?

    The paltry defenses of the Moonwell Enve were woefully inadequate against the likes of Konstantin Dunzis.

    Granted, he had a very particr magic skillset-- one difficult to obstruct by conventional means.

    And of course, it was most effective against elves... his preferred prey.

    The descendants of the fae loved topare themselves to humans.

    They prided themselves on their illustrious histories. They cared only for their perverse sense of beauty in what they considered ''natural.''

    They convinced themselves... that their Elven eyes and ears could discern the the secrets of the Realm, without fail.

    That arrogance... was a weakness Konstantin always found amusing.

    Since he was a neophyte, he had an uncanny talent for Illusion Magic.

    It was unthinkable for themon Illusionist,to attempt fooling Elven perceptions.

    However, once a certain level of mastery was achieved, the simple-minded creatures would discard their established perceptions... and fully embrace any reality he deemed fit.

    Only the most talented individuals kept their doubt intact...

    Those... were Konstantin''s favorite.

    For years, he sought a solution... a way to perfectly subdue those rare and clever creatures.

    He had thought amplifying his illusions with Blood Magic to be the answer... but an Archmage is never satisfied with their research.

    Then... he found the answer he sought in an ancient tome.

    It held rare and forbidden magic... created by a breed of monsters that no longer exist.

    Older than men. Older than even the elves.

    The Elven bloodline was notoriously resilient against Domination Spells.

    However... against the Dragon Magic of Kyrj Kira''ak, that was simply untrue.

    Konstantin propped himself up on the pillow and leaned over Ophelia''s sleeping form.

    Her intelligent mind, wondrous... her virginal body, most delectable...

    She deserved her fate... to be conquered... to be made subservient to a man of his greatness.

    The woman suffered a fitful rest, tossing and turning throughout the night, her expression twisted with whatever droll nightmares she submit herself to.

    Konstantin admired the effects of his magic... ?Draconic Domination?.

    It forced Ophelia''s subconscious desires to surface... and with a subtle tough of his illusory magic, she begged him for the pleasures of the flesh.

    But still... somewhere deep in her psyche... Konstantin held the suspicion that she was aware of her maniption.

    Perhaps her nightmaresprised her sins... reliving her experience, again and again.

    Would she remember her tears of pain, losing her purity on her work desk?

    Would she remember how she called out the name of her husband as she grinded her hips atop of his own?

    The thought brought Konstantin no small amount of gratification.

    He had outdone himself.

    He absentmindedly traced his finger along her slim neck and naked breasts.

    Dark bruises marred her fair skin.

    A dark line remained on her inner forearm, from where he drew her Gold-Rank blood.

    However, staring at the back of his mescarred hand eliminated his satisfaction.

    The illusory magic from the previous night had run its duration. No longer was he a handsome half-elf. He was... human-- the flesh of his face, a melted, misshapen grotesque.

    ording to his findings, the Arcanite Princess was a friend to Tycondrius of Charm.

    That hateful man was the reason Konstantin could no longer show his true face to his subordinates.

    That man''s Sol Invictus. Had somehow infiltrated his Magic Tower in the Kingdom. They killed his ve. They left behind an insidious trap that ruined his face and scarred his body.

    And the bastard Baron, himself... he took the virginity of Aur, a woman that rightly belonged to him.

    Konstantin pped Ophelia across the face.

    "Awaken, whore," Hemanded, "Lay witness to your infidelity."

    The elf shot awake, wide-eyed and panicked. Before she could scream, Konstantin tightly grasped her neck and stared into her eyes.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Now, now, Princess... I need you to reflect on it... and ?Quietly?."

    The weak, naked child trembled beside him... reminding him of her convulsions of twisted pleasure, the night previous. However, Konstantin was no longer interested in breaking in her body further.

    She was defiled-- that which he desired, already taken.

    Even the thought of touching her grew revolting.

    Konstantin pushed the filthy creature away, removing himself from her bed. Approaching a standing mirror, he hid his deformities behind his his well-practiced illusions.

    Again, he was no longer Konstantin Dunzis, the monster of the Sleeping Country... but Constantine the Silver, Archmage of the Sapphire Tower.

    The slut Princess coughed violently, rolling out of the bed and crashing to the floor. Standing quickly, she assumed a martial stance.

    She looked pathetic... naked... tearful... and unstable to steady herself.

    "Wh... who are you?" She asked through her rolling tears, "What... have you done with my husband? Answer... me... please..."

    Her legs shook... likely from the pain of her torn vaginal walls.

    It brought Konstantin a sliver of dry amusement... but he''d seen the exact scene dozens of times in the past. All Elven women were the same, regardless of their nobility or status.

    Before he could respond, the elf''s eyes again widened in shock.

    She had noticed the blood on her sheets.

    The source should have been obvious.

    Ophelia copsed onto the cold tile of her bedroom floor, the final vestiges of her mental defenses crushed by despair.

    Elven women were too easy.

    Konstantin yawned and stretched his body... then cursed quietly to himself. Moving so carelessly opened parts of his face and burnt skin. He felt the pus seeping out from the cracks... hidden by his masterful illusions.

    ...Again, the fault belonged to that ursed Baron.

    After the ident, Konstantin could not perform the simplest of tasks without being reminded of his hatred.

    He would not rest until that man''splete and total destruction.

    Not bothering to clothe himself, he walked over to Ophelia to inspect the effects of his magic.

    ording to the dtion of her pupils and her unmoving state, she waspletely enthralled.

    Gold-Rank Folium Cyclone, Ophelia Moonwell... a fearsome foe on the battlefield... but a simple whore in the confines of her bedroom.

    Using his magic, Konstantin tilted Ophelia''s chin up, "Do you understand what you have done?"

    A tiny sh of violence crossed her eyes-- quelled immediately by his tyrannical Domination.

    The tears began to flow, soundlessly as his magic bid her to.

    "Last night... I did not...y with my husband," She said.

    "That much is obvious," Konstantin sneered.

    "I... have betrayed him. My... love... for him... was it all... a lie?"

    "Indeed," Konstantin groaned, "And what are you going to do about it?"

    Ophelia shut her eyes and blood ran down her mouth from biting her lip. She was struggling against his control... but her resistance was futile.

    Finally, she rxed her body... and epted her fate.

    "I... no longer deserve to live," She whispered.

    "That would be appropriate, yes," Konstantin nodded. "I don''t want to be implicated in anything troublesome. Go ?Kill Yourself? somece isted, will you?"

    One of the weaknesses of Domination Magic, even as strong as Konstantin''s, was that suicidal orders were tentative, at best.

    However, Ophelia was already determined to die. As such, in her hypnotized state, Konstantin''s suggestion was enough to push her over the edge.

    Ophelia stood up and walked over to her pile of torn and discarded clothes.

    If she were to be seen, it would cause suspicion... and certainly shame to her and her house.

    Fortunately for her, the sun had yet to rise. Ophelia would die at least keeping that honor intact.

    She did not deserve it... but her quiet disappearance behooved his ns.

    "Have you put thought into your destination?" He asked.

    "The Tree God... has forbidden elves from entering his forest," The elf said in a monotone voice. "I will go... to meet him."

    "That will do," Konstantin smiled, ignoring the pain from the bleeding corners of his lips. "Ah, but before you go, I need you to ?Artifice? a scrying item for me."

    ",

 Chapter 918 Apres La Pluie

    ?? A missive written by Ravidius Orion. ?

    To my dearest friend, Monsieur Tycondrius of Charm,

    I pray this letter finds you well.

    If the fates are kind, by the time you receive this, Megara and I will have left the Realm.

    A personage of your caliber is surely informed of prophecies in recent years.

    The song of madmen and doomseers remains the same, no matter the sun or ce.

    However, my heart trembled upon receiving a message from a long-time ally and a former party member.

    Her name is Alice.

    You may know of her reputation as the current caretaker of the Royal Kingdom''s ck Forest.

    By her words, the Realm is to soon enter an age of peace and prosperity, unparalleled throughout written history.

    Monsieur, I plead with you to disregard her tidings. In the past and without fail, every vision divined by Mademoiselle Alice hase to bear... butpletely opposite her prediction.

    There is one prophecy shared by the people of our Realm that stands out among the rest.

    It is never shared openly but whispered in darkness.

    It reeks of heresy and elicits fear, most primal, in the hearts of men.

    It is called the Song of Ash and Fire.

    It is said to be written by an elusive and oft thought to be a mythical creature called a dragon.

    Make no mistake, my dear friend.

    Dragons do exist.

    They number few... and those among untainted by evil are fewer still.

    Tread carefully.

    It is with my deepest regrets that I was unable to ept your kind offer to vacation on the inds of Charm.

    Should you find yourself in the Eastern States, I invite you to pay a visit to my home.

    I leave to you the full use of my estate as well as our loyal Dungeon Core, na.

    It pains me that Ick the ability to bring her with us.

    Growing up with Megara, na had be an important part of our family.

    However, it is for the best. My daughter and I will be traveling for the foreseeable future and with my meager ability, I am only confident of protecting her and myself.

    Should you survive the oing conflict I invite you to adopt na into your service. I am most certain that her abilities will be of use to you and your adventuringpany.

    Take heart, Prince Tycondrius.

    *Apres pluie, le beau temps.*

    After the fiercest rains, good weather awaits.

    Praise to thy name, Sol Invictus

    And a swift death to thy enemies.

    Forever your loyal friend,

    Ravidius Orion

    Hero of Passage

    ...

    ? After a hearty breakfast... ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Hero Ravidius had left the Realm.

    It was something Tycondrius found unimaginable.

    Free travel between the nes was forbidden under the Gatekeepers'' Laws.

    Of course, that fellow was an existence that could not be controlled by such rules. Even if gods or their greaters demanded Ravidius obey, the result would be the same.

    Ravidius the Lionheart was the most powerful individual in the Realm.

    Yet, he chose to leave everything behind to depart with only his beloved daughter.

    It was enough that Tycon, too, considered seeking out Sasarame to do the same.

    However... Ravidius was concerned that winged lizards would be involved.

    If that came to pass, Tycon would not idly stand by.

    One or more forces of the Realm would surely arise tobat the threat. Tycon would ally to himself with those with the most reasonable chances of suppressing the monstrous beasts.

    And, perhaps after the rains of fire, more would remain besides ash and burnt corpses.

    The members of Tycon''s party not-so-quietly reviewed Ravidius'' missive at the breakfast table. Their faces contorted with either horror or uponing to terms with their inability to read cursive font.

    Along with Hero''s missive, he''d also sent a ring. As Tycon was free, he took the time to inspect it.

    ? Leomund''s Ring. Sixth-Circle Conjuration. Allows the caster to freely manipte a Dungeon under theirmand. ?

    It was a supremely powerful magical artifact. With respect to its level, it was theoretically more powerful than the god-weapons wielded by Krysaos and the Thunder God.

    However, its use to the current Tycon was... conjectural.

    He did not have a Dungeon Core nor did he have the time to return to the Tree God''s forest.

    His Realm-spanning quests were not yet close to beingplete.

    Settling down was a far-off dream.

    Worse still, surviving theing suns and moons had be an uncertainty.

    Still, Tycon would not discard such a sincere gift.

    It wouldn''t have been difficult at all for Ravidius to transport na via his own means.

    Tycon channeled his mana to modify the ring''s appearance. Creation-type items were sensitive to the wielder''s aesthetic whims and Leomund''s Ring was no different.

    He wanted a simple, nondescript gold band, one that would not glean suspicion. Instead, the ring assumed a debossed design, flowing and almost animated upon close inspection. Tycon sighed quietly to himself. The ring''s creator was certainly a master craftsman from Alizeau.

    Tycon thought back to his thoughtful conversations with Ravidius.

    He hoped for a better future... a thought more suitable for a human than a Maedar.

    Perhaps after his adventuring suns were over, he could live in peace as a Dungeon Master.

    ...Granted, he''d have to be alive at that time to enjoy such a luxury-- but that was true of most things.

    Krysaos rolled up Ravidius'' missive as he exhaled deeply... "So how f*cked are we, LT? On a scale of one topletely dry, zero lube?"

    How crass.

    "Yes," Tycon answered.

    "So what say we skip town?" Krysaos grinned. "We''re strong enough to get a group together, yeah? I''m sure you know a guy that knows a guy."

    "I could give it a go," A smiling Wroe offered. "My powers have been growing steadily since leaving Letherna."

    "You cannot speak of this!!" The Shirtless God eximed, "We cannot merely *abandon* the Realm we guard over!"

    Krysaos furrowed his brows... "You''re still here?"

    ",

 Chapter 919 Teeth Inspection

    ?Tycondrius drifted deep into thought as his party began bickered about something asinine.

    Escaping was not a viable option... not for any of them.

    He cleared his throat, which immediately silenced the table.

    "Ahem... The Thunder God is correct. Krysaos, you are bound to this Realm by your past actions... or at least half-bound."

    The newest Sea God of the Realm grit his teeth, "There uh... ain''t no easy way around it, huh?"

    "Nothinges to mind without risking your physical body or your human psyche."

    "F*ck."

    "And for you, Mister Wroe," Tycon leaned forward over the table, "only in our current Realm does your object of affection exist as she is."

    "My love exists everywhere, Boss," Wroe countered. "All worlds are hers... and no one worldys im to her."

    "While that may be true, this Realm offers you a unique image of your goddess. Here, your ability to...municate to her was enough to establish a pact. Elsewhere, these things be uncertain."

    Wroe''s gaze hardened-- as if he were challenged, "My love is eternal."

    "And *my* advice is sound, is it not?" Tycon scolded, "Your rtionship isplicated enough without half of it traveling to a different Realm."

    "...Y''got me there, Boss," Wroe shrugged before slumping back in his chair like an impoverished ruffian.

    "Fix yourself."

    "Sorry, Boss."

    The Thunder God stood up, brimming with energy.

    Could the gods ignore a Realm-spanning cmity?

    If that were true... Tycon doubted that one could.

    Compared to the power the Death God and even the Ancient Elf King were able to muster, the Thunder God was only half-step into godhood-actual.

    "What is our n against this cmity, Maedar?" He asked.

    Tycon shook his head, "The missives I''ve sent the previous sun, I only sent after reading Ravidius'' warnings. I''ve pressured an active response from my contacts. They *will* respond... but that will take time."

    "Hmm," The Thunder God nodded, "And in the meantime, what is our n for City-State Whitehearth?"

    "I propose we split the party," Tycon answered.

    ...

    Wroe was adamant against the idea.

    ...It was admittedly a fair concern for people of their profession.

    However, Tycon''s party was not in a Dungeon filled with traps or the hostile wilds. Within Whitehearth, he would utilize each individual of his group with their strengths in mind.

    He sent Krysaos to buy an airship.

    The Thunder God was adamant against the idea.

    His, however, was entirely selfish and self-centered.

    The shirtless god prided himself in his ?Thunder Teleport?. Unfortunately, while it was useful to return to ces visited previously, a proper airship afforded their group more flexibility.

    Wroe was a useful tool for bartering with both men and women (and useless dealing with Ophelia.) Thus, he was sent along with Krysaos.

    The Thunder God wished to apany Tycon. However, he had no formal attire... going as far as to refuse to don such trappings. He cited ''religious reasons''... as if he was not the sole decider of his religion''s rules.

    He was sent to the other two.

    If possible, Tycon wanted to circumvent needing to meet with the Arcanite Princess. He did not want to go through the hassle of seeing her. He''d have to mentally prepare himself against her scolding and subtle Elven insults.

    She had a busy schedule. He had yet to finish his quest. Wroe was an insufferable prick.

    The topics she could nag about were endless.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Of course, Tycon was unable to find a Scryer capable of tracking the des of the Forgotten King.

    It came as no surprise. Scryer was a rare ss and Ophelia was an unparalleled expert at her favored crafts.

    Thus, after spending no more than a bell in the mage district, Tycon paid a visit to the Moonwell Enve.

    Utilizing his identity as the founder of the East Charm Trading Company, he traded business cards to several merchants to jump forward in the lengthy queue.

    From there, his troubles only began to worsen.

    At the front of the line, Tycon found his reception...cking.

    The two warriors at the gate were both human.

    They looked to be members of the city''s militia-- part-time or provisional workers. Their slovenly attire was... embarrassing. Their armors weren''t near fit to their forms. The way they stood and held their polearms conveyed a grantck of discipline.

    And the way they spoke...

    "Good morning, my guy!" The first guard eximed.

    He was a young, beardless gentleman no more than 19.

    The wide smile across his face, Tycon found... off-putting.

    "...Good morning," He replied coolly.

    The youngling leaned forward, "How ''bout''cha give us a smile, Sir? We''re all friends here at the Moonwell Enve, right?"

    For the first time in Tycon''s life, he wished to have been speaking to an elf, instead.

    ...As could discern no harm in doing so, he forced a superficial smile.

    "Lemme see some TEETH," The guard insisted.

    At that, Tycon noticed the second guard begin eyeing him with suspicion.

    ...He wondered if the situation was resultant of him ignoring one of the Eastern States'' social customs. It was not something he had observed previously, being ostracized for the quality of one''s smile.

    Thus, he bared his teeth-- though he was certain his ''smile'' was one, no longer.

    The second guard took in a breath and exhaled, briefly nodding with his eyes.

    With that, Tycon assumed he had passed whatever asinine test he''d been subjected to.

    "I''m here to meet with Lady Moonwell," He said.

    "You got an appointment?" The second guard asked in a stern voice.

    With the guard''s words, Tycon noticed another peculiarity. The breaths of both guards smelled of garlic.

    Yet... the scent was from two different dishes, highly reducing the likelihood of the two sharing their morning meal.

    Granted, the coincidence wasrgely insignificant. Garlic was a particrly pungent seasoning that enhanced a variety of dishes.

    Tycon tried his best to ignore it... but it had the unfortunate consequence of making him crave roasted-garlic bread-- somethingmon in Tyrion cuisine.

    That... made him think of his lover, Elle.

    --which further worsened his mood and, subsequently, drastically reduced his patience.

    "I do not need an appointment," Tycon assured. "Ophelia *will* meet with me."

    "Well, uh... everyone''s gotta have an appointment."

    Tycon ced both hands on his face.

    If that was the case... for what reason had he gone along with the guardsmen''s farce?

    ",

 Chapter 920 Purification

    ?Tycondrius'' mood had been abysmal since debarking the Neptune''s Revenge. As time went on, maintaining his professional veneer had be... a challenge.

    He spent a breath to recover hisposure. Thankfully, the guard didn''t seem to mind.

    Re-assuming his forced smile, Tycon spoke as calmly as he was able.

    "Noble friend of House Moonwell, I''ve a request. Is it possible... for you to summon Mister Everett of House Leafspring?"

    During hisst visit, Tycon had spoken amicably with the half-elf.

    "Mister Leafspring?" Frowned the second guard.

    "Ah, I ''member that guy!" The first guard eximed. "Looked a bit palest I saw him... You wouldn''t happen to know anything about that, would''ja, Sir?"

    "Shut up, you," The second guard scolded before turning back to Tycon, "Leafspring... he don''t work here no more."

    That was unfortunate... but within expectations. Leafspring''s ability to socialize while observing customs and courtesies was top-notch. His talents were beyond that of his station under Ophelia.

    Still, Tycon had a final (still peaceable) card to reveal.

    "If that''s the case, please summon Miss Roxane of House Dewdrop. She will meet with me."

    Ophelia''s personal guard would recognize him.

    Most likely, she''d be of the usatory sort and call him a snake-- as if that would offend him.

    Then, they''d fight. As a matter of course, he''d dominate her in one-on-onebat. He''d make a public disy of apologizing to Ophelia for breaking so many of her servant''s limbs. And finally, the Arcanite Princess would forgive him, if begrudgingly.

    "Ah, Roxy... she''s... indisposed," The older guard said, his tone softer than earlier.

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    Roxane? Indisposed?

    That was highly unlikely.

    Tycon ced a hand upon his chin, resting his elbow on the opposite arm.

    It was strange.

    There must have been a deeper reason as to why he was being rebuffed.

    ...Did the guards need to be bribed? Was that expected behavior in the Eastern States?

    Tycon didn''t want to spend coin on something so absurd. He''d rather use ckmail or coercion over bribery.

    ...He quietly weighed the benefits and detriments of using violence.

    Regardless of the locale and its social customs, violence was always effective. Its quantity and quality determined the degree of sess.

    ...s, he decided against it.

    Ophelia was an ally of Sol Invictus... and Tycon was personally against crippling and killing Unranked guards.

    Tycon took another deep breath and observed his surroundings. Dozens of merchants and well-dressed personages lined up behind him or milled about on the sidelines. All were equally frustrated by theirck of ess to the Enve.

    So many of them...

    "Is there... an event going on?" Tycon asked.

    Was there a festival of some kind,ing up? A coborative building project? ...A scandal amongst whatever passed as nobility in the States?

    "Nah," The first guard yawned as he picked his nose. "There was a uh... incident the other sun. Terrorist attack or some shite. That''s why--"

    Ah. That was the reason. Tycon had heard enough.

    Calmly reaching forward, he wrapped his palm around the whelpling''s face and gently pushed him aside.

    "Hey!" The second guard yelled, "You can''t go in there!"

    "I advise against trying to stop me," Tycon groaned as he walked past, "You aren''t paid enough to risk your lives."

    He was certain of it. They couldn''t even afford proper haircuts.

    Leaving behind stunned silence, he navigated the Enve-proper. It was a simple task, as he was able to refer to its floor n as painstakingly recorded by his System.

    Pushing open the double doors, he strode into the main hall.

    "Ophelia!!" He shouted, "I''vee to--"

    --sympathize with you, on ount of the impotent buffoon that was your fiancee.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon held his words, observing the state of the hall.

    It was dark... which was neither a problem for him nor its Elven inhabitants. The fluorescent lichen on the ceiling and walls were... far less abundant than he remembered.

    The guards inside the Enve were far different than out.

    They were elves, which came to no surprise... but they did not wear the insignia of House Moonwell.

    Sunset Wolf.

    Four-Wing Pegasus.

    Northern Star.

    From what Tycon knew, they were smaller houses.

    There were two members of House Whisperwind... one of the more influential houses. They inclined their heads upon meeting Tycon''s gaze.

    He nodded lightly in acknowledgment.

    House Shadowstrider was present. An Elven Martialist observed him calmly.

    Tycon allowed it. As a Gold-Rank, he had nothing to fear.

    ...The Martialist, too, inclined their head.

    There were no elves from House Spider Crab. Krysaos and the Thunder God could be trusted to act without supervision.

    All present were gathered around three Iron-Rank Priests (or Priestesses?) from House Winsome Rose.

    They were burning sticks of cedar and chanting in unison. Each carried holy symbols of their patron goddess-- the Innocent Goddess, if Tycon''s memory served.

    It was... a purification rite.

    ...What was urring in the Moonwell Enve was no ordinary event.

    Ordinary events were not closed to the public.

    Ordinary events did not call for the various representatives to be armed in their wargear.

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    What in the seven hells had happened?

    "Please return, dear guest," An Elven woman said as she approached. "If it is a meeting you seek with the Arcanite Princess, that will not be possible this sun."

    ? Stern Elf, Iron-Rank demaster. ?

    She stood in his path, her hand resting on the hilt of one of her two swords.

    The subtle threat was not lost on him.

    He did not respond immediately. That she was first to speak signified that she had some status amongst her peers.

    She wore a thin, metallic shirt underneath her tabard. Despite the weak light, Tycon recognized the material of theprising small rings.

    It was mithril.

    The mere shirt was as resistant to cuts as steel te.

    Two curved des hung from her waist, each emanating colored light-- one blue, the other green.

    A ne rested over her armor, the embellishment in the shape of a shield... a defensive item.

    Two iron bands were sped to her biceps-- those likely enchanted with offensive attributes.

    Most importantly... on her cor was the insignia of two stylized swords.

    She belonged to one of the families of House Highde. By the quality of her equipment, Tycon found it safe to assume she was a Princess of some import.

    s... she was young.

    ording to her facial structure and build, she was scarcely older than Coraline.

    Was she strong-willed, well-spoken, and disciplined for her age?

    ...Or was she the best House Highde could send at short notice?

 Chapter 921 The Moonwell Tragedy

    ?If Tycondrius were a better person, he would have recognized the young Highde''s bravery and respected her wishes.

    ...If he were a better person, he might have considered her words, then made tactful inquiries about whatever troubles hade to pass.

    Unfortunately, Tycon was not that.

    The Highde''s age was a point of weakness.

    He chose to capitalize on it.

    Tycon turned to face the Sapling... and rxed his control over his Gold-Rank aura.

    The Shadowstrider was first to react. They took a step backward and melded into the shadows.

    His or her presence disappearedpletely.

    ...It was not a stealth-type Skill. A momentter, Tycon sensed their aura, faint and... distant.

    They had fled in earnest.

    Tycon took a step towards the Highde, his aura pulsing outward. The surroundings trembled, yet the expensive tile underfoot remained undamaged.

    (If Ophelia was going to scold him for anything, it wouldn''t be property damage.)

    The holy elves ceased their chanting. The martial elves fumbled for their weapons. The wise caster elves looked to and fro, confirming that the exits were unblocked.

    The Highde stood fast.

    Of course, the blood-heat drained from her face, rushing towards her heart and extremities.

    If the Sapling had yet to understand, her body certainly did.

    Tycon added a tinge of mana to his voice to reflect his general displeasure.

    "My name... is Tycondrius of Charm," He said in a low growl. "(The winds whisper my name AND my deeds...) Do. you. know. me? Whelpling?"

    The resolution in the Highde''s eyes faltered for a brief second.

    At the same time, hushed voices began to spread amongst her vignt peers.

    Tycon had to concentrate to catch the Elven words and grasp their meaning... but it seemed that many elves were well aware of his identity.

    ...Had the Shadowstrider remained, it was likely they''d have been the most knowledgeable.

    The Elven demaster narrowed her eyes... and, decisively, she moved her hand away from her weapon.

    Straightening her back, she rendered a polite bow.

    Ridiculous child. As she was armed, a military salute would have been more appropriate.

    "(Please ept this warrior''s humble apologies, Prince Tycondrius. Your servant''s name is Sindal... and it is with a heavy heart that I inform thee of a tragedy, recently befallen to House Moonwell. Due to the confusion--)"

    "Hold," Tycon grit his teeth. "Look me in the eyes, Sapling."

    ...He sucked in air through his teeth and sighed deeply. Twice in as many suns, he was being rude to an elf of status.

    In doing so, he perpetuated the image of savagery and brashness stereotypical of those... not Elven.

    Unfortunately, he had already spoken. Words could not be taken back easily.

    ...Internally, he cursed his earlier wishes for speaking to an elf.

    "My... apologies, Prince." The girl''s expression remained steady, though Tycon''s saw the corner of her mouth twitch. "Thy servant beseeches thee for thy meaning."

    Tycon cleared his threat, "Master Highde, I bid thee to... exin it as if I were human."

    The elf''s eyes narrowed once more. However, she held her bearing and nodded, as befitting of her station.

    "The enve was attackedst night."

    Tycon clenched his eyes shut... "You don''t say..."

    Everywhere he went, he stumbled onto some sort of exigent crisis.

    ...But. WHY. Did. Tarquin. F*CKING. Wroe. Make. NO MENTION. OF SUCH?!?!?

    "I speak true," Sindal tilted her head.

    "Ah, ''twas... an utterance oft spoken by a humanpanion. Please continue."

    Sindal gave a slight nod, as if she understood Tycon''s troubles-- "Neen bodies were recovered, their corpses bereft of blood and mana."

    Tycon grimaced. Such an incident was umon, considering the locale.

    "Have you any suspicions to the perpetrator?"

    "Nothing... concrete," Sindal shook her head. "We first suspected the involvement of the Sleeping Country. However, the magic involved was... dissimr to their military necromancy. I''ve never seen anything like it-- nor have the Warriors and Mages under mymand."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon took a quick nce at the elves around the room. The mages present had achieved Second-Circle, and together, they were a formidable defense against any of the City-State''s would-be attackers. However, Tycon could safely assume that their collective age and experience wereckingpared to his own.

    He was tempted to request a personal inspection of the victims... but his own priorities took precedence.

    "And what of the Arcanite Princess?" He asked.

    Sindal shook her head, "Princess Ophelia is missing."

    "Of course, she is," Tycon muttered.

    "Two unrted witnesses have reported seeing her on horseback, speeding towards the morning sun."

    Tycon ced both hands over his head... "In the direction of the Tree God''s forest?"

    "That is correct," The elf nodded.

    The pit of Tycon''s stomach growled, his hearty breakfast threatening to betray him...

    "Is it... possible... that the Tree God has lifted the ban of elves entering his domain?"

    ...The elf bowed her head, as if in apology, "Naught has changed, as far as we understand."

    Tycon paced the hallway, calcting the speed of a horse and the distance Ophelia would need to travel.

    "Breed of horse?" He asked.

    "Valenari," The elf frowned.

    Of course. Knowing Ophelia''s wealth and status, it should have been obvious that her personal mount was the fastest horse breed in the Realm.

    "Window of time?"

    "ording to the witnesses--"

    "Answer!!" Tycon snapped.

    ...It was unintentional, but he had increased the mana augmenting his voice.

    The demaster flinched, her pupils dted with momentary fear.

    With her mental defenses so disrupted, the Sapling''s knees shook and the corners of her eyes brimmed with tears.

    Tycon grabbed her wrist to prevent her from falling. She had done well tost so long.

    It was one thing to teach a child her ce. Forcing her to her knees, however, was too cruel of a disrespect.

    ...With Ophelia missing, Sindal''s ability to meet eyes with a furious Gold-Rank made her the best leader Whitehearth could afford.

    Concentrating on precision, Tycon began to reign in his aura, "Answer... please."

    After a few seconds, Sindal retracted her hand and whimpered a response.

    "B-between 9 and 10 bells... Prince."

    "Seven... hells..." Tycon moaned in wonder.

    It had been... far... too long.

    Ophelia would soon reach the forest. And once she arrived...

    A re of anger brought Tycon''s voice back to a shout, "HIGHBLADE! What are your ns to recover her?!!"

    Even without the oppressive mana, Sindal shrank under Tycon''s gaze...

    "House Whisperwind has t-taken on the task... By now... the quest-- should have been issued to--"

    "Emptyyy niiiiiiiiiiight!" Tycon groaned as he turned on his heel, "Without the Arcanite Princess, the houses of Whitehearth only amount to this much..."

    The Adventurer''s Guild-- or any mercenary collective still required time to gather before venturing off.

    ...It was likely they hadn''t even started.

    If they were to depart on regr horses, it might not even be worth the trouble.

    Elves were loathe to lend out their prized Valenari horses to those outside their families. Negotiations for those would take far too long...

    Perhaps an airship? Considering the circumstances, it would be possible to expedite the preparation of one.

    That... still took time they did not have.

    Tycon could think of but one viable solution.

    Teleportation... a spell, supremely rare amongst Mages lower than Seventh-f*cking-Circle.

    ...It seemed that, if Tycon wanted Ophelia alive, he needed to act on his own power.

 Chapter 922 Worst Possible Place

    ?? Twenty-three minutester... ?

    "Oy!" A surly dwarf shouted, "If yer tryin'' to cut in line, boy, then you got--"

    Tycondrius dragged the Sword of Venom behind him, allowing its caustic enchantment to leave a sizzling trail in the road.

    "--tta do what''cha gotta do." The dwarf bowed, "Go right on ahead, Sir~"

    "My thanks, Master Dwarf," Tycon responded in a monotone voice.

    Walking past the reasonable gentledwarf, he entered the double doors of the Moonwell Workshop.

    "God of Thunder, Sky, and Storm!" He shouted, "God of Raging Torrents and the Crash of Hateful Waves!! I SUMMON THEE!!"

    Tycon lowered his voice to a feral growl, "He who walks in the shadow of the moon... with des kissed by her silver light... to me. Now."

    The roar of thunder shook the two-story building, sending various artisans ducking for cover in a panic.

    Three subsequent bolts of lightning struck the ground adjacent to Tycon... revealing the Thunder God, Captain Krysaos, and Tarquin Wroe.

    The tall Daeva tilted his head upward, "What''s up, Boss?"

    The grizzled Sea Captain had his arms crossed over his chest, "Yo, LT. I uh... thought we were tryin'' to keep a low profile?"

    "How can we aid you, noble friend?" Said thenky Thunder God.

    Instead of responding right away, Tycon rested his acid-sputtering sword on his shoulder and summoned a Spell scroll from his ring.

    He activated a ?Zone of Silence?, allowing him and hispanions to speak privately, despite their public location.

    ...The scroll was expensive. The waste of coin further fueled Tycon''s rage.

    "Someone is working against us," He snarled. "Ophelia has been taken."

    "Ya don''t... say..." Krysaos sighed, shaking his head. "Well, shite. I got a down payment on an airship... but it''ll still take some time to get it skyworthy."

    "You don''t say," Tycon shrugged. That much was to be expected. "Anyroad, good work, thus far."

    He turned to the Shirtless God. For whatever reason, he found the fellow''s presence less grating than usual.

    "Thunder God, take us there immediately."

    The Thunder God furrowed his thick blonde brows, "Where... is our destination, friend-Maedar?"

    Tycon sighed... "Krysaos, what is the worst possible ce for an Elven Princess to wander off to?"

    Krysaos answered without hesitation, "The Salty Chub Brothel in the lower district."

    "And the second-worst ce?"

    "Easy. The Tree God''s--" ...As realization dawned on the Captain, his face contorted with disgust. "Oh, f*ck me... the Tree God''s f*cking forest? Y''serious?"

    Tycon took a breath in through his nostrils and nodded.

    A pained expression crossed the Thunder God''s face, "Even with thy memories to aid me, I cannot ?Thunder Teleport? into a hostile god''s domain."

    "As close as possible, then," Tycon insisted. "We need to act quickly if we are to keep Ophelia alive."

    "A noble quest," The Thunder God pounded a fist to his chest, "I will do what I can. I need one of you to recall a memorable location-- but outside the Tree God''s sphere of influence."

    Wroe shrugged haphazardly, "Aren''t you overreacting, Boss? My ex can take care of herself."

    ...Tycon closed his eyes.

    He had unconsciously undimmed his vision. If he wanted to again seal his bloodline ability, he would need to calm his emotions.

    ...It was difficult.

    "Mister Wroe... you will aid us in this quest."

    "Me and her, Boss-- we already ended it. Why should I--"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Mister... Wroe..." Tycon repeated, "It... matters not."

    He took a slow... deep breath. Despite his smoldering rage and his quickly ramping need to perform violence, he needed Wroe''s power.

    Tycon was about to delve into an enemy god''s territory and defy their will. It was potentially the most dangerous quest he had undertaken, as of yet.

    "Regardless of your feelings... Ophelia... to Sol Invictus is..."

    ...Tycon paused. No... that wasn''t it.

    "Ophelia," He continued, "is my friend. I would... I *will* risk my life on her behalf... I would expect as much from any of you."

    The words he spoke... conflicted with what he *thought* he believed.

    However... he spoke true.

    Tycon upheld one personal t above all others: to repay his debts.

    He owed Ophelia his loyalty, not for who she was to City-State Whitehearth-- not for who she was to Sol Invictus, but on ount of their personal friendship.

    The smile was gone from Krysaos'' face... and he nodded with gravity, "We''re with you, LT."

    The Thunder God smiled softly before his eyes and blonde hair began to glow with divine power, "This... is how mortals should always act."

    As for Wroe... he bit his lip and bowed his head, "Alright. I''ll do what I can."

    "Not GOOD ENOUGH!!" Tycon mmed his fist against a nearby wall. "I demand nothing less than your absolute BEST, Tarquin Wroe! In Quay''s absence, *I* am Sol Invictus! And I. REFUSE. to leave. ANYONE. BEHIND!!"

    He did not want to lose another.

    Tamaki.

    Maximus.

    ...Rena.

    He had no idea when other people had be more important than himself.

    ...but he could no longer ept failing the people who relied on him.

    "Uh... LT?" Krysaos said with a scrunched face, "Did you uh... make a new magic spell just now?"

    The Captain''s words shook Tycon out of his anger.

    Turning to face the wall he had struck, white light shone faintly through the cracks.

    ...Leomund''s Ring.

    The magical patterns ''engraved'' on its surface danced across it.

    Tycon had inadvertently opened a ?Gate?... in the middle of Whitehearth''s industrial district.

    Its destination was obvious.

    ...If he could stabilize it, it was possible he could transport his party directly to Ravidius'' Dungeon in the Tree God''s Forest.

    Considering the distance, however... the raw, Divine Mana of Krysaos or the Thunder God was suboptimal in linking the two locations.

    He needed... mana of the proper affinity.

    He let out a chuckle of self-derision. Such mana, Ophelia could provide in droves.

    But failing that...

    Tycon ced a hand on his chin.

    It would be possible... with *their* help.

    "Gentlemen... as quickly as we are able, I need to get in contact with Princess Sindal Highde. The Elven houses of Whitehearth wille together to save one of their own."

 Chapter 923 The First

    ?? Heart of the Tree God''s Forest, two bells prior... ?

    The forest was still beautiful... still pure.

    It had yet to be sullied by mortal men who could not know better... or guided by the arrogance of elves that should.

    O'' piteous Saplings...

    They could not know the depth of their foolishness...

    There was but one who truly knew them for what they were.

    He was their King.

    He was the First Champion of their people.

    He... was the First Ranger... the first to dance with wind and storm, iron and steel.

    He was the first... to bestow his gifts upon the Realm... to his children.

    He hoped they would bring together all peoples... to protect and nurture... to rule if they must.

    The First King was chosen to rule as the greatest of his kind.

    However... as a ruler-- and as a father... he was a failure.

    s, he stood alone... as he did those ages past.

    Where all others showed naught but cowardice... the Elven King shouldered the burdens the mortals could not.

    It was... inevitable.

    The Song of the Elven King had but a single hero.

    In that song, he hunted... braving into the enemy''s veryir.

    Monsters. Beasts.

    He felt their murderous gazes in the shadows. He heard the dripping of saliva from their maws... felt their hot breaths on the back of his neck.

    The Elven King hunted an ancient god... older than even he.

    He had not known such danger in ten thousand years.

    Yet he was no coward. He would face his fate.

    He would not lie powerless, constricted by the so-called natural order.

    ...Even if he had to do so alone.

    But what use were allies?

    Those who once walked with him would have much to say of his stubbornness.

    His Brother, the Lord of the Bow... he would treat him coldly-- icier than the northern winds.

    He would call him a fool to hunt what must not be killed! It was better to hunt for fleshmeats for the tribe! ...Or those who covet the tribe''s blessings.

    The Child of Innocence... she would shed the most heartfelt tears.

    ''Why must you call so desperately for blood, my Lord?'' She''d cry...

    ''Are we not all creatures of the same Realm?''

    ''...Is there no other way? One of love and understanding?''

    And-- She of the Moon... Daughter of the Night Skies... Lady of Dreams...

    His wife... the only woman in his heart.

    She who remained loyal for hundreds of centuries...

    --save once.

    What would she say to his quest of glory?

    ....The King of the Elves knew well.

    She would not agree.

    None of them would.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...He did not need the blessings of his kin... nor his wife.

    He did not need the aid of mortals... even the heroes he grew to trust and love.

    The songs sung of dragons had not changed in tens of centuries. They were a great and terrible foe, nigh-undefeatable... a pox upon the creatures of the Realm.

    And the First among them, the Dragon God... was worse still.

    That same Dragon God fought with him when the Realm was still young.

    The same Dragon God gifted him the swords he wielded in hand.

    Those gifts... given then out of love and respect...

    He would return them, just as well... piercing the Dragon God''s breast, bleeding his cruel heart.

    ...But for that chance, the Elven King needed the power of another.

    Old groans and creaks echoed across the dark forest... their source, a being too stubborn to die.

    [I... KNOW... why you... are here... ELFFFF GODDDDDD...]

    The Tree God rose high above his youngest children, standing tall and proud amongst his eldest.

    He was in his home... surrounded by those he loved.

    The man known as King came to take his life-- his Divine Spark.

    The Tree God was not without sin.

    But his death... his sacrifice would be honored for generations toe.

    King raised his chin, "Take heart, Tree God. You share your bed with the Dragon God, no? Rejoice, for after I deal with you, I will send your lover shortly after."

    The Tree God gnashed his rough, wooden teeth together.

    [Fffffool... to the ennnd. You... COURT... DEATTHHHHH!!!]

    "Despite your usations, this King has a wife," The Elf King shrugged. "If you speak of Friend-Hades--"

    [The. Tyrant. God. is... a CALAMITY,] Snarled the molded, decrepit god. [I... will lie down... when the. time.es... but YOUUUUU!!!!!]

    King raised his eyebrows, allowing the force behind the Tree God''s voice to sweep his dark hair back.

    "And what of this King?"

    [YouuRRRR actions... will. HASTEN... the destruction... of this. Realmmm?!]

    "Hah! Hahaha!" The Elf Kingughed heartily, "Nonsense. I will defeat the Dragon God and *save* this Realm. And then, the mortals shall sing my praises... as they have in the past."

    The Tree God took in a deep, crackling breath. Pieces of bark sloughed off his body like leaves off an autumn tree.

    [I... did not... know... thou... has be... a god... of... MADNESS!!!]

    King narrowed his eyes, bristling in anger, "You shall pay for your insolence..."

    He swiped his arm in front of him, pointing an usatory finger, "Know this... in our battle previous, I held back out of respect for your station."

    The Tree God''s heavy, wooden body grew still... then burst apart into mana dust.

    Remaining was a green-skinned humanoid, his height shrunk down to Elven size... though with the rippling muscles of a battle-hardened orc.

    It was the Tree God''s true form.

    "Draw thy des, Elf God. No matter the strength or caliber of thy wind magics, my immortal body shall not be moved."

    A smile slowly stretched across King''s face.

    The amount of Divine mana the Tree God was exuding... meant he was giving his all.

    King could not ask for a better opponent.

    "This King will have to refuse your kind gesture."

    The Tree God crossed his thick, green arms, "Oh? And for what reason?"

    The Elven King held his upraised palm forward, as if to offer the Tree God a gift.

    "A single hand is all this King needs to achieve victory."

 Chapter 924 Worthy Of Song

    ?The Elven King clenched his fist hard enough to draw blood.

    If his concentration were to falter... his still-mortal body would be consumed by his own magic.

    "The fire in my heart bursts forth. It calls for justice to be branded on the face of evil! Feel MY wrath, Tree God, in the ?zing Sunset?!!"

    Ribbons of me swirled around, not just his arms, but his entire body. Three dozens bolts of fire plumed outward, expanding in size and strength.

    The force and fury of thirty-six miniature suns struck his enemy.

    In every direction, the leaves of trees disintegrated, their bark turned into smoldering coal.

    The Tree God screamed, the sound reverberating throughout his forest.

    Engulfed in the mes, the dark silhouette within writhed in agony.

    King shook his head.

    While he would have preferred to battle with his des... utilizing his enemy''s weakness was more certain to bring him victory.

    It was a viable tactic.

    ...The Maedar taught him that.

    Whether it was rousing the Corallidae to battle... or pushing Captain Krysaos to lead... or himself to impart wisdom... the Ivory Prince utilized the talents of his people to best aplish the task at hand.

    If only that mortal could be taught reason, then perhaps... they would still be travelingpanions.

    Doubt slipped into the Elven King''s noble heart.

    Was it truly toote to bring the other gods to his side?

    The threat that faced them all was truly great...

    ...And what of the Tree God? Could they note to an agrement? Did he deserve such pain?

    Deicide amongst the gods... it was truly an unforgivable sin.

    That creature''s scream was terrible to hear.

    Then... it turned... toughter?

    "Your raging mes certainly impressive, Elf God... but... they are... NOT ENOUGH!!"

    "W... what?"

    The silhouette within the ze leapt forward, a ck hand wrapping around the Elf King''s throat.

    It burned.

    His own mes threatened to consume him-- so much that King struggled to reverse his mana-channeling, despite the danger.

    "Im... im-possible!!" He yelled.

    King reached for his swords-- but a fiery fist sank into his abdomen.

    And again, striking his face.

    And again-- the side of his head.

    The Tree God mmed him against the ground. Arms or tendrils emerged from the his back and continued to pummel the Elf King''s body.

    King channeled mana into his leg, striking his shin against the Tree God''s ankle.

    The Tree God stood fast. His charred roots had burrowed into the ashen dirt to support him.

    "Grr-- rAHHHH!!!" King loosed desperate a scream as his ?Mana-Ward? shattered.

    His mind was assaulted with pain from the mana feedback... and tendrils from the Tree God''s hand drew blood from the flesh on his neck.

    King redirected his mana outward, hoping to push the Tree God back... but all it managed to do was extinguish the mes.

    The Tree God''s charcoal-skin split down the middle. With his own ''hands'', he tore off his outer bark like an insect discarding their shell.

    And so, the Tree God was reborn anew...

    That wet, green face stared into his eyes, wearing a mocking smile.

    "Normal fire cannot burn me, Elf God," He said... "even those that burn with such passion... Only two beings exist who can... the Dragon Prince known as Rixen Ra... and his sire, the Dragon God."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "''Tis a shame," King coughed.

    He spat up blood. He could barely see.

    His nose was filled with the cooked scent of his own flesh.

    He could not remember thest time his life had been threatened so...

    The Tree God''s face contorted into a grimace, creaking like hardened leather... "What is thy meaning?"

    "This King... was hoping to spare you the cruelty... of killing you with my bare hands."

    The Elf King smashed his forehead into the Tree God''s, the impact forcing him back.

    Drawing his swords, he cut in an X in front of him, severing the Tree God''s right hand at the elbow.

    Yet, the pressure on the Elf King''s neck did not ease.

    The detached hand still had power!

    King immediately dropped his swords to grasp at the gnarled fingers around his throat.

    But, presented with such an opportunity, the Tree God took action.

    He raised his club fist and swung with a victorious shout, striking the Elf King in the face. He flew back,nding hard on the dirt, and tumbled over rock and through briar for several yalms.

    The Tree God walked slowly towards the Elven King. Every ilm of his divine body brimmed with power.

    "You''ve ignored my warnings for thest time, Elf God.

    "No. ELF. is wee. in MY FOREST!!

    "Now... pay for your transgressions... with YOUR LIFE!!."

    King righted himself upon one knee... and with both hands, he was finally able to pry the Tree God''s hand off his body.

    He could feel trails of blood running down his neck.

    His injuries were not few.

    It was even possible... that he''d be killed.

    The prospect... filled his heart with trepidation.

    "?The Dew Brought by Morning?" He whispered, "soothes my uncertain soul..."

    Though he stood in the Tree God''s forest, wisps of life and light emerged from the dark topsoil.

    The skin burnt by magical mes began to heal.

    The cuts on his body from the Tree God''s jagged bark-- they began to close.

    And most importantly... his wavering will was strengthened anew.

    This... this was the hard-fought battle he sought, one that no creature or god in the Realm had offered him yet.

    Was there any battle more worthy of song?

    "You must forgive this King, Tree God," He grinned, "for my transgressions have only begun!"

    Rushing forward, he attacked the Tree God from above with a sharp axe kick. The strike met one of the Tree God''s arms, the base of it splintering from the force.

    The Tree God spread his stance, first swiping with a w-like appendage, thenunching a flurry of punches at the Elf King.

    Keen to flow the wind, King dodged every blow... watching for an opportunity.

    Finally, he was able to grab hold onto one of the Tree God''s main hands. Twisting it at the wrist, King powered his opposite elbow into it, snapping the arm in twain.

    The Tree God brought together the appendages on his back, mming King downward into the ground.

    However, the limber Elf King rolled away with the momentum, greatly reducing the damage.

    --and just as he nned... he regained his swords.

    ",

 Chapter 925 He Who Dares

    ?The man known as King gripped the handles of his swords.

    He pointed them towards his immortal enemy.

    However... that enemy did not turn and attack.

    Slow... and unharried as the sap flowing through his veins, The Tree God turned his green body to face the Elf King.

    "I am... injured. And not lightly," He sighed, "The will of the younger races... will never cease to amaze me."

    "Ie not for myself nor for my children," King raised his chin, "It is my duty to save all peoples of this Realm."

    The Tree God raised the wet, green appendages on his back,bining them into two new humanoid arms.

    "You risk the livelihood of all beings..." He creaked-- "And for what? For glory you cannot seriously hope to achieve."

    King''s anger began to spill into his voice.

    "I. am. this Realm''s. SAVIOR!!"

    The Tree God remained quiet, keeping as still as his kin. Just the same, not an inkling of emotion crossed his wizened eyes.

    The Elven King swallowed the saliva stuck in his throat, "Yet... should I fail..."

    "Then..." The Tree God continued, "Naught but ash and fire will remain."

    King crossed his des in front of his chest. As he channeled his mana, the light from his eyes began to sparkle and crack.

    "Worry not for the future of thy children, Tree God. My power... is immeasurable! I will be victorious, both here and against the wing-ed evil you worship."

    The Tree God narrowed his eyes, "Thy des may be sharp, Elf God... but you cannot win with thy level of skill."

    "That may be so," King closed his eyes, "But the heavens above shalle to my aid."

    "Pah! A weightless boast..." The Tree God''s face contorted into a sneer, "Regardless of thy name, Elf God, do you truly believe the heavens will move on ount of *you?*"

    ck clouds collected in the sky, casting the already-dark forest into a deeper, ominous ck.

    Observing the changes in the atmosphere, the Tree God lowered his stance.

    He had sensed that something was amiss.

    ...He was starting to believe.

    King uncrossed his des, allowing the metal of one to ring against the other.

    Holding them outward at his sides, they sparked.

    "No..." The Tree God whispered, "Divine... lightning?"

    King inclined his head lightly, "Receive ?Heaven''s Judgment?."

    The Tree God leapt to the side, barely dodging the first lightning strike.

    Pelted by rocks and dirt, hended clumsily on the ground before rolling to his ''feet.''

    The deafening peal of thunder drowned out the Tree God''s cries.

    "--by the Thunder God?! Has thou STOLEN his Divine Power??!"

    "The heavens smile only upon the strong," King dered.

    A second strike of lightning struck the Tree God.

    And after that, the third and fourth.

    The Tree God may have been screaming.

    Kingyered protective mana over his ears to keep from being deafened... and over his eyes to keep from being blinded.

    He muted all of his senses. Without such protections, his half-mortal body would be unable to withstand the divinity of the heavens.

    Finally, the barrage of lightning came to an end.

    However, the furious clouds kept watch. The tornnd seemed to tremble in fear of its continued wrath.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Tree God''s upper torso had split open... his insides ame.

    "Elllf... Godddd..." He groaned-- seemingly more out of frustration than in physical pain, "Ever... insolent. How canst thou use God-Rank magic with thy mortal form??"

    King flourished his des, still blessed by the powers above.

    "Cease thy struggles, Tree God. Know that once this King''s des meet thy bark... thy suffering shall end."

    "NO!!!" The burning Tree God shot his palm forward, a thick wall of ckened thorns blocking the path.

    King ducked and whirled, avoiding the Tree God''sshing vines. In three shes, he cut down the protective barrier.

    Another wall appeared, thicker-- its thorns sharper and secreting a pink sap.

    "This too, I will cut down," King raised his chin, "Wind as my des! ?ughter Cross?! Pride of the Northern Stars!"

    A twin-cross sh and another in reverse made short work of the second barrier.

    But as he prepared to cut the third and final wall... the thorns withdrew at its center.

    King hesitated... for entrapped within the vines... was a young Elven sapling.

    She was... but a child-- one of his descendants...

    The same ancient blood that coursed through his own veins... spilled upon the dirt.

    The Tree God''s thorns dug into her flesh.

    "Tree God!!!" King roared, "You are a COWARD to hide behind my children!!!"

    A line was crossed... one that should have never been.

    Vines wrapped around the Elf King''s wrists and ankles... but after borrowing the power of the heavens, he was greatly weakened.

    The thorns cut into his own flesh, the same pain suffered by the entrapped child.

    The pain was NOTHING to him!

    He kicked and shed at Tree God''s tendrils... but the wall moved, with the Sapling pushed to his forefront.

    "Cut her down, Elf God," The Tree Godughed. "Cut down this descendant of thy *beloved.*"

    King stayed his de. He clenched his teeth to avoid biting his tongue as the Tree God pummeled his body and rent his flesh.

    The Sapling''s eyes were clouded by magic... a magic not unfamiliar to him.

    "Tree God... what... have... you... done?"

    "This Sapling came to me," Said the Tree God... "She came here to die."

    "Her will is NOT HER OWN!!"

    "You hesitate. But art thou certain this Sapling''s bloodline is yours?"

    "Be silent, Tree God," King growled in a low voice... "I shall warn thee but once."

    With a slow groaning creak, a crooked-bark smile threatened to tear the Tree God''s face in half.

    "Few creatures of this Realm practice monogamy. It is natural for the Lady of Dreams to seek another should her husband prove LACKING!!"

    "YOU DARE?!?!?!" The Elf King shouted.

    What little mana he had left, he supnted with rage.

    The roots binding him disintegrated to dust, burning away... yet the damage had been done.

    He no longer had the mana to fight.

    He could no longer defend his still-mortal body...

    ...And he could no longer escape from the Tree God''s wrath.

    "Oh, yes, Elf God... I dare."

 Chapter 926 Demon Lordâ€™s Anus

    ?? Tree God''s Forest Dungeon, former home of Ravidius Orion... nearly an entire bellter... ?

    The blue-eyed, blue-haired buffoon known as Tarquin Wroe was quite open about his misgivings.

    Finding the Moonwell Princess in the Tree God''s Forest wasparable to finding a Gorgon with an intellectual mien...

    --or... a woman willing to share her honest concerns without her gentleman caller turning to coercion or obsequity.

    However, Tycondrius had na.

    The Dungeon Core was ingrained in and attuned to the extensive woonds.

    Therefore, Wroe was wrong.

    And stupid.

    na''s scan of the forest sessfully returned a positive result.

    Tycon assumed that the Dungeon Core''s level allowed her to find Ophelia despite her anti-scrying ne.

    ...Otherwise, it was no longer in her possession.

    Did she discard it on her own? ...Was it taken from her by force? Either possibility implied a new slew of problems... and those would have to wait until the person in question was extricated from danger.

    na detected the mana-signature of not one, but two Gold-Rank elves-- yet another ominous development. Both, however, were in close proximity... so at the very least, the destination of Sol Invictus remained the same.

    As much as Tycon yearned to act... there was some time longer to wait.

    Channeling his mana into Leomund''s Ring, he and hispanions walked the freshly-excavated Dungeon passageways... restlessly awaiting its conclusion.

    "So there I was," Krysaos grumbled... "Me, a Thunder God, an angel, and a Prince... delving deep, deeeep down a Demon Lord''s butthole."

    "Wouldn''t it be *up* the butthole?" Wroe narrowed his eyes into slits. The smirk he wore implied he was offering some sort of enlightenment.

    "We are absolutely *not* traveling through a Demon Lord''s anus, Sea God," The Thunder God retorted-- "Friend-Maedar, I insist you correct the Captain."

    "As a minor correction," Tycon sighed, "Mister Wroe is also a Prince, his station even more illustrious than mine."

    "Ya. Don''t. Say?" Krysaos huffed.

    Silence returned to the party of four... and it continued for some time.

    The minutes and bells before an oing battle frayed the nerves of even veteran soldiers.

    False fatigue tugged at Tycon''s heart, a consequence of trying and failing to keep his adrenaline levels in check.

    Doubts and regrets assaulted his mind, chipping away at his will... which he fortified with righteous fury.

    Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus.

    At the end of na''s path would be a ?Gate?.

    Through that, Sol Invictus would emerge a 600 yalm distance away from... wherever na discerned they needed to be.

    The Dungeon Core was certainly a boon to their quest... and Tycon was eternally grateful to Ravidius for his gift.

    It was somewhat regretful... but Tycon chose to decline his System''s offer of binding na to his soul.

    In the interim, he was only borrowing her power.

    ...Somesun in the future, perhaps, he would return for her.

    Creating a Dungeon and the mundane problems that came with it was the privilege of a retired adventurer with nothing better to do.

    The current Tycon had, not one, but several urgent tasks that needed to be dealt with sooner, rather thanter.

    Sensing the end of their journey drawing near, he broke the silence.

    "Sol Invictus... are you prepared?"

    "Huh. Never thought I''d hear that..." Krysaos mused, "Feels pretty good."

    "Good to go, Boss," Wroe smiled happily. "I''d rather be somewhere else, but eh-- here I am."

    To that, both Krysaos and the Thunder God red at the fellow-- rather unkindly, at that.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Wroe is present and will fight to the best of his ability," Tycon sighed. "Comining is a right-- especially in our professions."

    "I''m good, LT," Krysaos grinned. He was rotating the Thunder God''s javelin in his left hand.

    Theing battle would likely be on a scale sufficient to see its use.

    Suddenly, he stopped-- and he was overtaken byughter. "Hahaha! HAhaHAAA! Yo, LT!! Whaddya think our chances are--ing out and finding we''re on the mother*ckin'' TRAP PATH?"

    Tycon pursed his lips. "Logically, very little... The Trap Path only constitutes a tiny fraction of the Tree God''s Forest."

    "And if we''re thinkin'' not-so-logically?" Krysaos asked.

    Tycon shut his eyes hard, trying not to curse aloud.

    "...It''s almost a certainty we will arrive at a destination disadvantageous to us," He said. "Prepare for the worst."

    "I..." The Thunder God took a deep breath, "I believe I am recovered as best I can."

    "You don''t look so great, blondie," Krysaos said, more amused than concerned. "How many of those little paper things you end up making?"

    The Shirtless God raised his head, his eyes sparking with electricity.

    "Two and thirty," He dered proudly.

    So... thirty-two.

    The Thunder God had enchanted Divine Power into thirty-two paper amulets inscribed with various lightning spells as a base.

    Thirty-two activations of spells ranging from Second-Circle to Fifth... it was enough to decimate the standing army of an entire nation, perhaps even causing them to rout and regroup.

    ...It was admittedly more than Tycon had asked for.

    However, the Thunder God had no friends and desperately sought approval from the few peers he had.

    And Tycon''s approval, he had.

    He epted the bundle of amulets with both hands... "I pray you''re still in good condition to fight?"

    "Of course, friend-Maedar! With your des and mine, let this be the sun that, I--"

    A low thrum emanated from Tycon''s hand, interrupting the Thunder God. The fiery glow of Leomund''s Ring dimmed and its dancing patterns stilled.

    The path had ended.

    Suddenly, a blinding light burst forth from the forward wall. Just as quickly, the earth and rock crumbled away, leaving behind a zing white ?Gate? in the shape of a rectangr door.

    Tycon put on a kind smile.

    ? na, my dear... you''ve done quite well. ?

    ? na bids farewell to the Ivory Prince. She promises to pray for his safe return. ?

    ...The response caught Tycon off guard-- but only for a moment.

    There were more pressing matters at hand.

    He turned to hispanions and waved them forward, "Onward! Into the mouth of the bleeding hells!"

    "eRRahhh!!" Wroe grunted as he tumbled through the white portal.

    Krysaos leapt through next, "Blood and THUNDER!!"

    And the Thunder God... hesitated.

    As for why, Tycon did not have the time to ask.

    He grabbed the Shirtless God by the bicep, "I''ll watch your back. You watch mine. Now go."

    With a brisk nod, the Thunder God stepped through the ?Gate?.

    Spell scroll in hand, Tycon immediately followed suit...

 Chapter 927 Mouth Of The Bleeding Hells (Part One)

    ?Upon entering the ?Gate?, Tycondrius was assaulted by a deep, gargling battlecry.

    "ENEMIES OF THE TREE GODDDDD!!!!!"

    It was loud. It shook the earth, as well as his bones.

    It also sounded terribly cliche and likely held little to no valuable information.

    "HEEEEERE, YOU SHALL MEEEET YOUR--"

    So, Tycon threw out his Spell scroll.

    "?Thousand Strikes of the Storm Eel.?"

    There was much arrogance in shouting while striking a pose. The enemy went as far as channeling mana into their voice... which was mana unavable for a defensive Skill.

    As Tycon''s eyes adjusted to the light of na''s ?Gate? behind him, he observed the yellowed parchment burning away.

    The inked Spell Circle remained, then instantly expanded fivefold. From the rotating satellite arrays at its 8 points, 96 bolts of wiggling lightning surged forward towards the... battlecrier.

    That fellow, Tycon identified to be... a... War Troll.

    The dark green shade of his skin implied an advanced age and suggested the development of one or more bloodline abilities... as well as the intellect to use it.

    His battle-scarred armor, fit to hisrge, inhuman frame, suggested he was a seasoned battle veteran.

    "BWEIIIIGHHHHHH!!!!! BWEEEEEE!!! BWEHHH BWEEEeeeeeeEEEE!!!!"

    His... pig-like screams as the dozens and dozens of lightning bolts struck him without pause... suggested he was in a great deal of pain.

    As trolls were a sentient species, the fellow might have been saying something intelligible.

    Perhaps he was trying to describe the agony he was experiencing.

    Perhaps... he was trying and failing to beg for mercy.

    It was unfortunate for the troll, but the heavy-handed disy of force was as much to damage the enemy''s spirits as it was to defeat a high-profile, Metal-Rank.

    Tycon considered using his mana to reduce its strength to widen its influence, or... lengthen the time between strikes to extend its duration. However, he chose to prioritize mana-forming hearing protection to mute the cracks of thunder emanating from a mere yalm away.

    The empowered Fifth-Circle offensive Spell he had cast was not quiet.

    And... as it had yet to fill its ''thousand strike'' quota, the screaming would continue for some time.

    Oddly enough, as fantastical the Spell and as terrible the screaming, the denizens of the Tree God''s forest did not slow their charge towards their position.

    Angry furred creatures of unusual size. Vicious, oversized avian-creatures. Fae-blooded bipeds and quadrupeds with primitive bows and stone weaponry.

    ...Et cetera.

    All of them appeared to be very upset, snarling, cursing, red-eyed... some frothing at the mouth.

    Was it zeal? Did each individual believe in something greater than themselves... enough to risk their lives with such reckless abandon?

    Did they stand together, oveing their fears with pride in themunity? Or for the promise of glory on the battlefield?

    Tycon was not so optimistic.

    Even a single Third-Circle lightning bolt could give a human century pause.

    And humans were battle-crazed idiots.

    Thus far, Tycon had sent... thirty or so.

    The enemies of the forest were afflicted by a madness-- likely one magically induced.

    So surrounded by tooth, w, and... misceneous appendage, there was no room for diplomacy.

    In order for Tycon to save a single Elven woman, he would ughter all who dared stand in his way.

    "MAEDAR!!" Screamed the Thunder God.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A trio of red-capped gnomes came for the two of them, each with an elongated war-scythe in hand.

    Tycon sheathed his right hand with mana, plunging it through the first gnome''s chest. He kicked the second gnome away and the third, he struck in the neck with the hard-metal sheath of his curved de.

    "Go," Tycon ordered as he flung away his first kill.

    The bits and bone shrapnel from a Second-Circle ?Shocking Corpse Bomb? provided hispanion with the cover he needed.

    "My thanks, friend!" The Thunder God shouted as he took to higher ground.

    Swinging his Storm Axe, he sent a thirty-fulm wide crescent wave of crackling lightning-mana towards a herd of spear-wielding deer-centaur.

    While impressive... his perspiration and heavy breathing made it obvious that he was pushing himself.

    "Conserve your mana, Thunder God-- and let your consistency be your strength. We shall spearhead the offensive... and I may call upon you to finish it."

    "Tch," The Thunder God clicked his tongue. "I hear you, Commander."

    As for the others...

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    Krysaos was swinging on some sort of thick, braided vine. At its end was a weighted rock, wrapped in thorny brambles-- likely poisonous, by the color.

    At the zenith of his momentum, the good Captain cut the vine with his rapier and simultaneously... punched the poison-barbed-rock with his bare fist.

    "?Crashing Wave!!?"

    The sizeable projectile then hurtled towards... the... burnt and ckened War Troll.

    The War Troll was struck in the abdomen, whereupon he fell forward and moved no longer.

    "YEAHH!!" The Captain roared, "I am the gods-damned MASTER of the TRAP PATH!!"

    ...So their location was, indeed, part of the Trap Path.

    Yet... Krysaos was advantaged? It was an amusing thought.

    Tycon lightly jogged over to the fledgling god''s side, activating a ?Seven-Colored Lightning Bolt? scrollyered with an ?Electrified Bullet Curtain? as he went.

    "Brother-Captain," He grimaced, "That was highly unnecessary. Trolls are typically gentle creatures."

    "The f*ck?" Krysaos squinched his eyes, "Well, that''s f*ckin'' richin'' from a mass-f*cking-murderer like you. But go ahead. Tell me how I''m wrong."

    "Trolls, good Captain," Tycon exined-- "only fight back when threatened. Or... hungry, I suppose."

    "Don''t they hunt and eat humans for sport?"

    Tycon hesitated... "I''ll admit that the pte of a typical troll is... abnormal amongst forest-dwelling folk."

    "So they eat humans for pleasure?" Krysaos snorted, "I''m killin'' every f*ckin'' troll we see here."

    "...Carry on, then."

    There was just the one, though.

    Anyroad...

    After sharing a nod with the Captain, the two rushed in opposite directions.

    Unsheathing the Sword of Venom, Tycon cut down an oing quadruped-- a hideous dog-thing with a goblinoid face. Then, he lopped off the head of a water nymph.

    Oh, that one had a familiar face. That was a shame.

    After another three exchanges, Tycon discovered thest member of his party.

    Tarquin Wroe was standing on a tall tree branch, quietly observing. Blood wet his sword and stained his clothing, so he wasn''tzing about... but him not actively participating was a cause for concern.

 Chapter 928 Mouth Of The Bleeding Hells (Part Two)

    ?For Tycondrius to get to Wroe, he needed a suitable distraction.

    ncing away, he identified a group of over 100 in a reasonablypact area.

    For them, he burnt his most powerfulrge-scale Spell scroll.

    "Dark Angel of the Four Winds," Tycon chanted, "Send thy ?Abyssal Rains?."

    "...I beseech thee," He added.

    In response, a loud... ''evil'' voice resounded painfully in Tycon''s head.

    ? HE ?

    ? WHO BEARS ?

    ? THE MARK ?

    ? OF PRIDE? ?

    How, in particr, it sounded evil... he could not exin.

    But it was.

    ? WHO ?

    ? THE FUCK ?

    ? ARE YOU ?

    ? TO SUMMON ?

    ? M E ? ? ! ! ! ? ? ?

    "A friend of Hades," Tycon groaned. "And apparently, the enemy of a god with the domains nature and birth."

    ? OH . . . ?

    ? VERY . . . ?

    ? WELL . . . ?

    And with that, the angry, evil voice was mollified.

    If only Human and Elven interactions were so simple...

    The image of six pairs of wings fluttered above the area of Tycondrius'' designation. There, thirteen interconnected magic circles formed out of violent, blood-red mana. Abyssal script appeared in the sky, each symbol apanied by a rumble of earth and the wet, grisly sound of a bursting sausage.

    Burning rain spilled forth from the temporary ?Gate?, as well as winged, nightmarish insects, eachrger than Tycon''s head.

    And... though slightly dyed, crimson bolts of lightning followed suit.

    Many of Sol Invictus'' enemies died, their flesh melted or rent apart by insect-like mandibles.

    Those more connected to the spiritual nes rather than the material, ghosts and wisps and such-- they suffered a worse fate.

    The Six Wings of Pazrael... magic cast by such existences could not beprehended without ?True Sight?.

    "MAEDARRRR!!!" Screamed the Thunder God, "Did you just summon an ARCHDEVIL??! I did NOT grant you that Spell!!!"

    --but without ?True Sight?, a proper god was able toprehend it well enough.

    Anyroad...

    The Thunder God was only partially responsible for the summoning. He had supplied the mana to activate the basic Spells Tycon scribed... but Tycon had the right to modify those Spells as he saw fit.

    And so, he summoned a Demon Lord. (Which... was not an Archdevil, but the difference was negligible, considering the circumstances.)

    Ignoring the Thunder God and the entire west side of the battlefield, Tycon ughtered his way towards Wroe and his sanctuary tree. Using his ?Shadowfang? movement technique, he swiftly scaled the gnarled bark and arrived at his side.

    "Your n of action, old friend?"

    "Meh," Wroe shrugged as he triple-cast his ?Eldritch Bolt? spell and sent it off. "I''m waiting..."

    Tycon leaned to the side to see where Wroe''s spells had gone. A trio of seven-fulm tall, boar-headed me Ganns were struck.

    They fell to their knees, squealing praise to the heavens. They did so for several seconds before their ribcages syed open, spilling their bubbling insides.

    Without lungs, their praise grew silent... but the creatures-- not-quite-dead, clearly-not-alive, did not cease their frenzied motions.

    Tycon cleared his throat, "Waiting for what, pray tell?"

    Wroe pursed his lips, "Waiting for something I want to..."

    Something caught the Hexde''s attention.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A smile stretched his face taut, his eyes narrowing to thin curves.

    "There she is," He pointed. "She''s... b e a u t i f u l . "

    Tycon leaned to the side once more. Wroe was pointing at a six-legged creature, its rippling muscles threatening to burst out of its dark-blue fur. Its body had two segments, much like an insect... and iling, spined tentacles sprouted from its back.

    ? Cat-thing, Gold-Rank Magical Beast. ?

    "Mister Wroe," Tycon frowned... "No flirting while on the job."

    ...He was fairly certain he''d given the same advice in a previous battle.

    If not, the order should be added to every pre-battle brief in which Wroe was involved.

    The Hexdeughed unabashedly. Tycon could hear a faint jingle of angelic bells in it.

    How brazen...

    "No worries, Boss," Wroe winked. "Me and her are jus'' gonna have a little... *talk.*"

    With a sloppy salute, he stepped backward and off the tree branch-- "?Misty Step.?"

    He disappeared. Where he went, Tycon did not see.

    ...It was somewhat worrisome.

    He had tried to kill Wroe multiple times in the past week, but it would be bothersome if he died on the field.

    Tycon measured the enemy''s strength to be at the peak of Gold-Rank.

    ...That fellow *did* seem quite confident, though...

    ...Tycon took a deep breath and shrugged.

    Wroe was a Hexde-type Warlock of the Lunar Sword Goddess.

    He was not a man to be understood.

    Tycon steepled his fingers in thought.

    His own ss was Iron-Scale Warlord.

    He also had Samurai as a Subss... but due to a Reality Marble mishap, the level of his Subss nearly surpassed that of his Main.

    Also, he had several pieces of parchment paper that temporarily made him a Sixth-Circle Mage.

    ...And if ''patron'' was considered, Tycon was technically blessed by a higher-existence that went by the name, Lucifer of Pride.

    ...Was he always soplicated?

    He had magic power in his eyes... and in his finger-snapping.

    Due to borrowed blood essences, he could materialize his shadow... and breathe water.

    Was he... perhaps... the *monster* in his Sol Invictus?

    ...Tycon allowed several moments to pass before discarding his useless thoughts.

    It wasn''t something to worry about. He knew of several beings that were far stronger.

    ...They were gods and angels, but still.

    With his existential crisis over, Tycon refocused on the task at hand.

    He activated his final 6th-Circle Spell scroll, "?Crown of the Boundless Emperor!?"

    In the distance, he spotted pinkish-red mana auras sheathed hispanions. The mana-image of a golden, many-pointed crown hovered above their heads.

    It was a simple Spell, but quite effective-- boosting the overall attributes of his party twofold.

    Of course... Support Spells were only truly understood and appreciated by... other Support sses.

    The Thunder God was one such simpleton. Each swing of his Storm Axe released noticeably empowered lightning-projectiles.

    Deer-people. Spider Breeders. A Forest Shark. He stood atop a moundprising tens-- maybe hundreds of corpses.

    If anything had changed in his demeanor-- then it was merely that the volume of his shouting had risen.

    Still, it was not enough for the Thunder God to defeat his enemies by ones and threes.

    With Tycon''s assistance, that fellow, too, would be a venerable ughterer of sentient beings.

 Chapter 929 Wooden Chimera

    ?Tycondrius leapt off his tree branch, grabbing the leg of a harpy passerby to slow his descent.

    As his enemies were focused on the shy spell effects of the Thunder God, his actions wentrgely unnoticed.

    Tucking his sword beneath his arm, he snapped his fingers to aid the shirtless, blood-thered fellow below.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    With each fingersnap, each swipe of his axe released mana-waves that knocked down trees and carved deep lines in the earth.

    The Shirtless God had excellent hearing.

    ...But what of the white-and-brown harpy whose wings he''d borrowed?

    "Good afternoon, Hatchling!" Tycon shouted, "From which flight is thy blood??"

    "K-kill... all enemies... of the Tree God~" The harpy sang.

    The response was strange, but more ominously... it was off-key.

    Thus, Tycon assumed the young woman was under the same Domination-Type spell afflicting the the rest of the forest denizens.

    That was unfortunate... for her.

    Tycon reached for what appeared to be a tree vine, swinging on it to keep his forward momentum. Simultaneously, he flung his helpful harpy away from the battle.

    With an unttering (but somewhat endearing) ''gwak,'' she smashed into a cluster of thin branches.

    He did not use his full strength, hoping to leave her with a chance of survival. Most Harpy flights were allies to Charm.

    ...But what of the vine he swung upon?

    "Good afternoon!" He shouted.

    "(Please don''t kill me, Ivory Prince!)" The Tree Snake hissed in response. "(I-- I don''t believe in dragons!!)"

    What?

    ...The response caught Tycon off guard.

    For what reason were those disgusting lizards mentioned in the Tree God''s forest?

    ? Terrified Teenager, Bronze-Rank Darkwood Tree Snake. ?

    "I have questions!" Tycon yelled, "Pull me up."

    The Tree Snake frantically coiled himself around his tree branch, taking Tycon up with him.

    Down below, Krysaos was fighting a fifteen-fulm tall creature wearing the skull of what appeared to be an unusuallyrge moose.

    ? Masked Forest Lord, Adamantine-Rank Fae-Touched Human Earthen Dreamer. ?

    The Earthen Dreamer adopted a martial stance, throwing out a fist as he lunged forward.

    A massive rock-arm exploded from the dirt behind him, speeding towards the significantly smaller human Captain.

    Instead of blocking or dodging, Krysaos raised his rapier to the sky, his red aura doubling in size and strength.

    "?Ban... kai.?"

    Tycon sighed loudly. Krysaos'' skill-naming sense was absurd. What did that even mean?

    Massive blocks of ice formed on the Captain''s back-- immediately shattering to reveal... a Transformation Skill?

    Icy fins jut out of his shoulder des... and an ice-tail grew out of his rear.

    There were spikes jutting out of it... which would have been intimidating if they were arranged like a Manticore''s... or a dinosaur of some sort.

    It was the tail of... a Whitesaber Tuna.

    That tail whipped forward, deflecting the Earthen Dreamer''s attack with impunity.

    ...As Krysaos did not die, Tycon decided to ease his negative judgments.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    Allowing Tycon''s mana to support Krysaos'' next attack, the Captain activated another Skill.

    ''?Tuna Hail Cross,?'' he called it.

    With that, Tycon deliberately stopped paying attention to that fellow.

    It wasn''t worth the headache.

    Vaulting up with one arm, Tycon stabilized himself on the Darkwood Tree Snake''s branch.

    "I need information."

    "(Good afternoon, Ivory Prince)," The snake saluted with the tip of his tail. "(My name is Pretzel, loyal servant of Queen Nyctis.)"

    He had a name and he kept his wits. Both were good signs.

    The vine-looking serpent had seen better suns. He wore a clever disguise of sticky mud and leaves. Underneath, however, he was missing patches of green-brown scale from recent injuries and had grown thin fromck of nourishment.

    It was unfortunate that they were in abat zone. Nyctis'' servant would be unable to rest for a while longer.

    "Very good," Tycon nodded. "Report, Mister Pretzel."

    "(I was sent to monitor the situation,)" Pretzel paused, flicking his tongue thoughtfully... "(Oracle Pas Va has foretold of Winged Lizard Magic in the western forests.)"

    ...That was ominous.

    "Pleaes confirm: are the creatures here all afflicted by Magical Domination?"

    If it was truly Lizard Magic at work... then Ophelia was in far worse trouble than Tycon originally imagined.

    If it was truly Lizard Magic at work, it also exined how the Bronze-Rank Pretzel was unaffected, while the Iron-Rank and greater creatures below had lost their minds.

    A snake service under Nyctis would also be sworn to fight dragonkind wherever they reared their hideous, horned heads.

    Conversely, the mental resistances of elves and humans would fold under the tyrannical lizard magic. Those that had reached Adamantine-Rank would have a chance at resisting... but sess was not guaranteed.

    Tycon had a Skill potentially able to dispel magical Domination.

    It wasn''t as effective as a Spell cast by a Divine ss... but he was not that.

    ?Desire Trigger? could but provide a brief reprieve from the oppressive magic. Whether the Skill''s recipient could use that to regain themself was up to their own mental power.

    The Ophelia Tycon knew had a strong will... but if Wroe''s selfishness had weakened her mental state beyond saving...

    "(It is as you say, Prince,)" Pretzel hissed, "(but... there is worse news.)"

    Tycon followed the Darkwood Snake''s gaze to a dark corner of the battlefield.

    "Mister Pretzel, withdraw your forces and report back to Lady Nyctis forthwith."

    Pretzel bowed his head in deference, "(I... I hear you, Ivory Prince, but what will you--)"

    "You have your mission," Tycon rendered a military salute, "I have mine."

    He kicked off of his tree branch before Nyctis'' servant could dy him further. Jumping between mana-footholds, Tycon headed towards thetest problem.

    At thirty-fulms tall, it wasn''t thergest opponent he''d had faced.

    However, it was an abominable... chimerical creature-- likely with a series of profound abilities.

    It was a creature with skin of hardened bark... which Tycon had no issue with.

    However, it had the head of a... curved-horn lizard, the body of a... quadrupedal drake, and the wings and tail of a... wyvern.

    That... disgusting... form.

    It was one that should not exist.

 Chapter 930 Prince Of The Forest

    ?The wooden lizard knocked its wed fists against its chest and shouted to the heavens.

    "bAKE WAY FOR DIO-bEDiS, PwINCE OF DA FO-wiST!!"

    ...Judging by the ck-jawed quality of its speech, Tycondrius assumed that the creature''s intelligence was not high.

    Less than a scalekin or tree-spirit... perhaps it was more simr to a *gorgon.*

    ? Diomedes, Adamantine-Rank Wooden Chimera. ?

    Diomedes...

    It was a Tyrion name.

    Or had the fellow misspoken?

    Did he... truly mean to say... Dia... beedis?

    Considering Diomedes'' voice and mana contained in his voice, he was an opponent appropriate for a full-sized Gold-Rank guild, at least a century strong... or perhaps a Divine Armor of sufficient strength.

    Tycon had four people, including himself.

    Krysaos, Wroe, and the Thunder God were mired by enemies, their battles no less important for the group''s overall survival.

    And, of course, Tycon had no Divine Armor in his spatial ring-- not that that was an option avable to him.

    He did hope that one particr pilot would be present...

    No matter.

    Tycon decided to engage Prince Diomedes on his own.

    As ?Crown of the Boundless Emperor? remained active, he was confident enough to survive one or two exchanges while testing the extent of the enemy''s abilities.

    "DIIIII-UHHHHH-BEETEEEEEEES!!!!!" Roared the chimera.

    ...So it was Diabetes.

    ? Diabetes, Adamantine-Rank Wooden Chimera. ?

    With a swipe of its massive tree-arms, it flung a series of misshapen, ck fruits-- each the size of a sweetwater melon.

    And, of course, on impact with a surface, they exploded in violent bursts of organic shrapnel.

    Tycon was safe, still leaping from trees and mana-footholds towards his foe. However, one such melon-bomb hurtled perilously towards Captain Krysaos.

    The foolish Sea God was ignorant of the danger to his life.

    As for the reason? His attention focused solely on a hostile were-boar-- or to be more particr, on her many exposed breasts.

    "KRYSAOS!!" Tycon shouted, empowering his voice with mana, "The infidelity of ONE of my people is MORE THAN ENOUGH!!"

    ? ?Jumping Knee Counter? activated. ?

    "What?" Tycon furrowed his brows... "Bah, do as you please, System."

    ? ?Jumping Knee Counter.? Reaction ability. Targeted ally''s physical defenses are improved against a single attack. Target ispelled to make an instantaneous unarmed strike against an enemy with increased uracy. ?

    So affected by the magic, Krysaos leapt directly up... roughly flipping backwards. Cycling his legs, he... kicked Prince Diabetes'' melon-bomb.

    Surprisingly, it did not explode.

    Then... the deflected projectile collided with a certain War Troll, whereupon it *did* explode.

    Tycon had many questions.

    How was what Krysaos did a ?Jumping Knee Counter??

    Why did the melon not explode upon initial impact?

    And... why target the troll?

    Finally reaching Diabetes, Tyconnded on his body. He scaled up his chest and onto his wooden shoulders, all while swinging his Sword of Venom to defeat a flying cadre of owl-faced humanoids.

    "Who... are you?!" The strongest of them asked.

    ? Winged Assaulter, Iron-Rank Tengu Ninja. ?

    "I am Samurai," Tycon answered absentmindedly.

    "IM-POSSI-BURU!!" It yelled back before a ssh of acid melted their face and beak.

    Questions continued to gue Tycon''s mind as he sawed his acid-sword through the hardened bark of Prince Diabetes'' neck.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Why did Diabetes take the form he chose?

    Were there more like him?

    ...Did all of them have stupid names?

    Once Tycon had seeded in cutting the chimera''s neck halfway, he activated another of the Thunder God''s Spell scrolls.

    ?Hurricane Scythe Kick?, a Fourth-Circle lightning-enchanted strike, beheaded the disgusting creaturepletely-- guaranteeing an end to his inane ther.

    ...After the job was done, he found himself wondering as to how he was able to face Diabetes with rtively little resistance.

    As Tycon held fast to the behemoth crashing to the forest floor, he found his answer.

    Six-eyed Ravens... Over a dozen of their burnt and ckened corpses were falling alongside him.

    Tycon turned to the most usible source.

    A certain Shirtless God was smiling at him, his arm outstretched, his thumb pointed up.

    A flock of the toothbirds along with their armor-rending beaks could have swiftly overwhelmed Tycon in his distracted state.

    Thus, Tycon returned the thumbs-up gesture-- if awkwardly.

    Despite his initial judgment, the Thunder God was worth more than his Teleportation ability. He was a strong ally with a noble heart.

    Tycon was proud to fight alongside him.

    He would strongly consider telling him as such if the both of them were to survive.

    ...

    ? So there I was, fighting for my life while moving in the direction opposite of what I''m pretty sure was an open portal to hell. ?

    ? Which hell? Not a clue. ?

    ? ...Whichever had flying roaches that fed on eyeballs, sentient crimson lightning, and blood rain that melted straight through your -- ?

    "Sea God''s SOCKS!!" Krysaos shouted.

    There was a big boom? Diabetes, that son of a b*tch! He must have tripped and fell over something!

    As a nket of dust and debris wasing his way, Krysaos positioned his summoned ice-tail in front of him to block, as best he could.

    ? The crash of the wave, three masts high, threatened to bury me. ?

    ? Buried onnd, of all ces? ?

    ? I wasn''t about to let that happen, so I stood my ground! ?

    Krysaos kept his arms crossed in front of his face... but he shifted his weight, concentrating on hisher regions.

    He was afraid he''d shat himself... but thankfully, all he felt was ball sweat.

    ? The Whitesaber Tuna was an apex predator that absolutely no one could look down on. ?

    Krysaos sighed in relief... which was the first half of a mistake.

    The second half was after. When he tried to breathe in, he sucked in more dirt than air.

    ? After all, I am Krysaos. ?

    ? Captain of the Neptune''s Revenge. ?

    ? Mighty Sea God. ?

    Krysaos was on his knees and blinder than a mole in a tunnel. Though he was a choking, sputtering mess, he spat out more saliva than dirt.

    ? I''m a real piece of f*cking work. ?

    Last he checked, the Thunder God was close by. So, he did what any reasonable Sea God would do.

    "Th-thunder God!!" He cried, "Lightning... the dust... away... or do somethin'' heroic or some shite!!"

    "By that order," Said a deep voice within the dust storm... "?Lesser Wind Column.?"

    Apact tornado-pir appeared in the midst of the dirt cloud, clearing the battlefield fog in an instant. At its center was a green-haired guy in a... suspiciously clean military coat.

    He adjusted his cap and rendered a salute with his sword, "Your hero has arrived."

 Chapter 931 Advances On The Field

    ?Krysaos bent over, hacking and coughing. A glorious glob came out of ihs throat, made of more mud than anything else.

    He spat a few times, but the taste of dirt kept living in his mouth, rent-free.

    "What... the fuuuuck, LT?" He groaned, "You usin'' magic to keep clean or what?"

    His own uniform was covered in cuts and drenched with sweat and seawater. If the LT had some weirdly specific spell to stop that from happening... he wanted to learn that sh*t too!

    "Don''t be absurd, Captain," Tycon frowned. "If I were, would the state of my boots be so miserable?"

    Krysaos nced downward. Blood had sttered on the Lieutenant''s boots... and a liiiiiittle tiny bit on his left trouser leg.

    Whatever.

    "So anyroad... I got bad news, LT," Krysaos sighed. "Once the dust clears, we''re in for more fighting."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... "And?"

    "And the way my Transformation Skill drains my mana, I can go full power for... like... three or four good hits?"

    "Tss..." Tycon scoffed and crossed his arms, "I share your concerns... I''ve run out of Sixth-Circle spells and have but a single Large-Area-Effect Spell in reserve."

    Using his deceptively strong arms, the Thunder God pulled both Tycon and Krysaos in for a touchy-feely embrace.

    "Fear not, dear friends! Know that I excel in close-quarterbat and my Storm Axe still hungers for--"

    Tycon interrupted the guy with a swift knee to the gut.

    "Then why... in the seVEN HELLS," The LT seethed-- "have you WASTED our time merely throwing *lightning bolts?*"

    Oh. Yeah. He did that.

    "Y-you... dare... strike a god..." Muttered the kneeling Thunder God.

    "...My apologies," Tycon groaned. "My actions were inappropriate, considering the circumstances."

    It was the most insincere apology Krysaos had heard in his life.

    ...And he was practically a scum-sucking pirate for the majority of his career.

    Krysaos would haveughed, had he not been so absolutely exhausted.

    "Anyroad, I propose we adopt a new formation," Tycon continued. "The Thunder God shall be our vanguard. I shall support from the rear. You, Krysaos, will shift your priorities as necessary-- along with Mister Wroe, if he is still alive."

    "I''m alive, Boss," Said a disembodied voice.

    "Ah, very well," Tycon nodded. "Wherever you are, regroup with us as soon as possible."

    "Right! Workin'' on it."

    ...Weird kid, that Tarquin Wroe.

    "LT," Krysaos frowned. "It''ll take up most of my remaining mana... but I can bring Mina here. She''s probably stronger than that Heartsong chick-- and we could sure use the firepower."

    "Oh, yes," Tycon groaned. "I would *love* to have more members, Krysaos. It''s not my fault that Coraline''s injured or Mina''s needed for keeping order on the ship or... bah."

    "We get it," Krysaos rolled his eyes. "Elle broke up with you and your life sucks. Can we move on?"

    "The woman of my dreams did *not* break up with me!" Tycon shouted. "We''re... just... oh, f*ck off, Krysaos."

    Women. The things they did f*cked up even the best of folks.

    ...Even other women.

    The Thunder God stood up and ced his hand on Krysaos'' shoulder, "Sea God, we can still use... *that.*"

    "Please abstain from sexual advances on the field ofbat," Tycon grimaced. "Did we not discuss this? This is something we should have discussed."

    The Thunder God shook his head... and when he opened his eyes, they sparked with an ominous light.

    "Sea God," He said... "Take firm hold of my javelin."

    Krysaos coughed into a closed fist and turned away.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "...I have a girlfriend."

    "I speak of my GOD-WEAPON!!" The Thunder God insisted.

    "This neither the time NOR the ce!" Tycon scolded, "I will not allow Krysaos to be seduced by the likes of--"

    Krysaos furrowed his brows, "Oh. Oh, shite. You mean that throwing javelin you gave me back on the ind?"

    "The throwing javelin I *lent* you, Sea God," Said the flustered Thunder God.

    "Am I being ignored?" Tycon frowned, "Carry on and I will grant you both the Mercy you deserve."

    The Thunder God took in a deep breath before revealing a warm smile.

    "Friend-Maedar, Friend-Sea-God... I ask for thy faith."

    "Hmph," Tycon narrowed his eyes. He seemed doubtful...

    Krysaos, though-- he was convinced.

    The Thunder God was risking his life, just as well as everyone else. Trust should''ve been a given.

    ...

    ? After a few moments of preparation... ?

    ? So I''ve never used a god-weapon before. ?

    ? Yes, you f*cking have. ?

    ? Well... Mina doesn''t count. I''ve had Mina for moons. ?

    ? And before you interrupt me again-- Poseidon''s Trident doesn''t count either! ?

    ? I don''t even care anymore. Do as you please. ?

    ? Poseidon was a shite god-- and his stupid fork isn''t nearly as awesome as the Heart of the Ocean, A.K.A. the Master Sword. ?

    ? You''re contradicting yourself, Captain. ?

    Krysaos squinted his eyes, "I thought you said you didn''t care."

    "I agree! The Javelin of the Thunder God," Dered... the Thunder God, "is a *proper* god-weapon!"

    Krysaos pursed his lips, "So... do I just throw this thing or what?"

    "Lift the javelin to throwing position," Tycon exined. "Run at a moderate speed to build linear force. Before the throw, switch to a cross-step jog, and--nding on your back leg, throw while utilizing the force of the rotation."

    "Let the strength of your noble heart guide thy throw!" The Thunder God grinned.

    "...Y''know what? I''m..." Krysaos exhaled out of his nose and shook his head, "I''m just gonna f*ckin'' throw it."

    "...As you wish." "Allow thy spirit to soar!"

    And so, as soon as the dust cleared enough to see a target... Krysaos ran a little bit... did three little cross-steps... and threw the Thunder God''s Javelin as hard as he could.

    ? So this javelin... it turns into a bolt of lightning. ?

    ? I mean... of course, it would. Thates with the basic ''weapon bestowed by the Thunder God'' package. ?

    ? That javelin-- it hits this big-arse wolf, like... bigger than a carriage? No-- this wolf was the size of a fishing boat. ?

    ? It goes right through its mouth, through its heart... blood''s everywhere, smell of burnt fur-- the whole thing was a f*ckin mess. ?

    ? But... ?

    "The... f*ck?" Krysaos furrowed his brows, "Was that it?"

    ",

 Chapter 932 King Eater

    ?"What is it now, Brother-Captain?"

    The cross-armed Lieutenant tilted his head. He wore a serious expression, as usual-- but the way his eyebrow was raised meant he might''ve actually been curious.

    With that guy, you always had to read his micro-expressions to even guess what he was thinking.

    Krysaos pointed his upward palm forward, moving his head back.

    "That..." He sucked in air through his teeth, "That ain''t ALL, is it? ...Nah... Can''t be."

    One wolf! The Thunder God''s Javelin blew up ONE. Single. wolf!

    "Is that... not enough?" The Thunder God pouted.

    "No, it''s not enough!" Krysaos yelled. "We got like... fifty-thousand bad guys still!"

    "A gross overestimation," muttered Tycon.

    "I. was. *approximating,* Lieutenant."

    "And grossly so," Tycon shrugged.

    He was still acting like a spoiled, teenage deckhand.

    ...That guy *really* didn''t like getting called out when he was in the wrong.

    What a f*cking pain...

    The Thunder God held out his open palms, "Just... jus'' give it a minute."

    ? ...So this javelin... it wasn''t done. ?

    ? That was a good sign. It erupts out of the boatload of wolf-parts like a... like a meat volcano. ?

    "Like a *what?*" Tycon grimaced.

    "Not now, LT."

    ? So it shoots up into the sky, flips a b*tch and shoots back down. Then it starts going from horned thing to winged thing to weird-poison-tailed thing. ?

    ? Then, the gods-damned enemy general shows up! He looked strong as f*ck and obviously EVIL-- with two big-ass goat horns and a big, beefy chest with some hair on it! ?

    "I am General Qiv! And I speak for the TREES!!" He shouted, "Leave this forbidden ce, or I''ll break your f*cking--"

    "Ah," Tycon pointed. "It''s the satyr. We know him... and besides that being fur on his chest, there are several things wrong with your description."

    "Yeah, whatever."

    Krysaos channeled his mana, establishing control of the Thunder God''s javelin... and he thrust his palm down towards the ground.

    ? So this javelin, it spears the EVIL ENEMY GENERAL through his stupid f*cking skull. Blood and bits and bones go everywhere. ?

    ? It was nothing short of glorious. ?

    "I told you I''d f*cking kill you," Krysaos grinned... "Y''short piece o'' sh--"

    "Is... is that enough?" The Thunder God asked.

    Krysaos rolled his eyes, "Absolutely f*cking nOT!"

    Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he turned to Tycon.

    "Perhaps your might direct your god-weapon there, Captain," He pointed.

    Following Tycon''s direction, Krysaos saw Wroe locked in battle with an ugly-looking giant.

    Rust-colored skin. Dark hair covering its eyes, streaming down to the middle of its bare chest.

    Big.

    Big as f*ck.

    "That is..." The Thunder God gulped-- "a very...rge... ogre."

    Krysaos smirked as he flicked his wrist, "And he''s next."

    ? So this javelin... ?

    ...

    ? Across the continent... ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Gnaeus Corvinus Agrippa crumpled the tiny piece of paper in his palm.

    The news it held... the risks it implied...

    He had to make a precarious decision...

    Either it could win him the war... or set his faction back centuries.

    "What news, General?" Prince Scipio asked.

    Gnaeus furrowed his brows and let out a deep growl...

    As much as he wanted to break the young ogre''s neck, Scipio was integral to his future ns.

    Droghan Ashlord... The Titanblood War Prince was the enemy of all the ogre tribes in the Free Nation.

    Gnaeus was certain he could trounce the whelpling in singlebat... but the Titanblood could not be fought with military strength alone.

    He was not *just* a man. He was a symbol that the smaller, weaker races cowed to.

    Opposite Droghan, Scipio was the icon for the Ogre Race... a hero for the younger generation. That child was the beacon that the weak would rally to for protection.

    And for those with hearts full of greed... the King Eater Tribe would offer their strength.

    Gnaeus circted his mana... feeling the heat of borrowed power course through his blood. By his will, his fist was covered in a slow and malicious orange me.

    The ogre warriors and mages around the meeting stone were unbothered by the casual disy of Third-Circle demonic magic.

    However, that was not true for the gnoll standing near the tent''s entrance.

    It was ironic... for a people who took demonic power as anathema to be so... mmable.

    The creature yelped in pain, throwing itself onto the dirt to douse its coat.

    ...Admittedly, Gnaeus had forgotten about the tiny messenger''s existence-- and because of the oversight, his tent reeked of urine and burnt fur.

    Ignoring it, he spoke in a firm voice... the voice of a General.

    --no... the voice of a King.

    "Droghan is gathering troops from his allied warbands... and a coven of Rnia''s witches has been invited into Port City Vralkek."

    "ursed... snakes..." Elder Zodurob hacked out a glob of ckened phlegm, "The Charm Faction have many war spells... including Teleportation magics...."

    "How droll," Scipio yawned. "Even if theybined their forces for a concentrated attack, any of our forts can hold until my legion can nk theirs."

    Gnaeus gnashed his teeth.

    What was that bastard Droghan nning?

    Considering the number of mages in the Ogre Legions and the constitution of each individual legionnaire,rge-scale war magic would bergely ineffective.

    With a frontal assault a guaranteed failure, a ?Gate? in or around an ogre fortress would have some sess...

    However, the young Scipio was correct. If Droghan''s forces attempted to hold an ogre fort, they would eventually be surrounded and wiped out.

    Droghan was a great many things... a tyrannical War Prince, a ve to hedonism, a magician of *some* worth...

    And unknown to most... he was a great pretender-- skilled in appearing weak or foolish.

    It was an ability effective against too many smaller tribe War Princes. All who challenged the Titanblood Faction revealed their abilities prematurely. And for their sins, they suffered the bitterest of defeats.

    What... was... that me-haired *bastard*... possibly thinking?

    ...Or was this the work of that conniving snake, Tycondrius?

    Wherever the Titanblood Prince reared his crooked sneer... it was a certainty that the Snake Warlord of Charm hid just beyond sight, ready to sink his venomous fangs into the unwary.

    Gnaeus shook his head.

    It mattered not.

    His warriors would suffer. Their decimation was guaranteed... but Gnaeus was certain of his eventual victory.

    "Send a message to our legions," Hemanded. "Once Vralkek shows weakness, we will burn the city to the ground. And then, we shall turn our swords and clubs against Charm."

    ",

 Chapter 933 Curse Of The Ogre King

    ?Upon Gnaeus'' deration, the various Ogre leaders could not keep their silence.

    "Tch," Scipio scoffed, "We can take Charm at any time. The forces of War Princess Cassiopeia are a joke."

    --"No, Charm must fall before they stand with the Giants!"

    --"We must tread carefully! The allies of Prince Tycondrius number far too many..."

    --"You are all fools! We cannot give the Queen of Stone a reason to take action!"

    Gnaeus bristled with annoyance. He had already spoken, yet his sons and cousins were not of a single mind.

    Elder Zodurob idly preened his beard, "Chaaarm... Yesss... If we were to... *recover* a corpse of one of Rnia''s ilk. Then, we can prove their neutrality broken."

    Gnaeus couldn''t help but loose a chuckle. His uncle''s intelligence had proved, time and again, to be a most valuable asset.

    It was a shame, though. Once Gnaeus dered himself King, the old Wizard would have to be executed to ensure his reign.

    "This discussion is OVER!" He roared-- silencing the war tent.

    "Annnnd... what of the messenger?" Warrior Marrowgut gnawed anxiously on his fingers, "They... smelllll... delicious..."

    "Get rid of him," Gnaeus waved. "They''ve heard too much."

    "My lord!" Yelped the burnt gnoll, "Please spare my life! C-conscript me if you must, but-- but I have a husband and four pups!"

    No ogre spoke to defend the messenger. Instead, they raised their voices to cheer for the oing battle.

    "Kill the GIANTS!!"

    "The Free Nation shall belong to the OGRES!!"

    "Together, brothers and sisters, let us end the legend of Sol Invictus."

    Gnaeus found it somewhat odd... Usually, Scipio would have something to say.

    In modern times, killing a messenger was frowned upon.

    After the boy reached Iron-Rank, he had never been afraid to speak his mind-- to openly state how *he* would act, if *he* were General.

    The youngest ogre slumped to the side, leaning on Gnaeus'' shoulder.

    "Grand...father... I don''t... feel so good."

    Gnaeus resisted the urge to push boy away.

    Scipio''s voice... was almost unfamiliar...

    For the first time in many a year... it was... weak?

    Gnaeus he grabbed his grandson''s shoulders and turned him, looking into his eyes.

    The light in them... was fading.

    "HRKKK!!!"

    Suddenly, the boy jerked forward. His chest was visibly convulsing and he wed at his heart with his gauntleted hands.

    Gnaeus'' eyes widened as a cold sweat assailed his entire body.

    The phantasmal image of a javelin appeared in front of him, pierced through the boy''s breast.

    Magic?

    No... DARK magic!

    ...Only dark magic was capable of cutting through theyered defenses of his war tent.

    Only the most powerful of those magics could cut through the physical and mental resistance of a Second-Circle Demonw Mage.

    "D-defenses!!" Gnaeus screamed, "Reinforce the spell circles!!"

    Nauseous with fear... frozen by the inability toprehend what exactly was killing his people... Gnaeus watched blood spill from Scipio''s eyes, ears, and mouth.

    That same, red, life-giving blood... transformed into fine, ck sand.

    Scipio''s body copsed inward, disintegrating into more of the same.

    One by one... his people fell... struck by the same, wicked javelin.

    His uncle, Zodurob.

    His own son, Cornelius-- the sire of Scipio.

    Marrowgut roared as he tried to strike down the gnoll messenger... but he, too, disappeared... his murder undone.

    The gnoll... the gnoll REMAINED!

    Only Gnaeus'' kin-- only his tribesmen... the descendants of the King Eater were targeted?!

    ...Only the most forbidden of god-magics... could wipe out an entire bloodline.

    No...

    It was impossible.

    The mages of Charm... was this their doing?<novelnext></novelnext>

    A single name surfaced in Gnaeus'' heart... the name of a venomous ivory-scaled serpent.

    Even as he felt his own chest pierce... his mana begin to fade... the blood in his veins slowing its flow and turning to ash... and his skin crumbling to nothingness... he cursed that vile snake.

    "TYYYYY CON DRI USSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!"

    ...

    ? Tree God''s Forest... ?

    Krysaos ced his hand over his eyes, reminiscent of a salute, "Did I get him? --Aw, shite. I shouldn''t say things like that, huh?"

    Tycondrius adjusted his military cap, looking in the same direction... "The javelin struck the ogre, yes."

    "Then where''d he go?"

    The Thunder God copsed, exhausted, "Disintegrated into nothingness. God-magic... You... you would not understand."

    "I''m a god too, y''know," Krysaos frowned.

    Tycon crossed his arms.

    The Ancient Ogre had beenpletely obliterated... but, even at the distance, Tycon could feel its lingering magic.

    It exuded... Death.

    Their felled enemy was an Ancient Ogre... likely the father (or mother?) of countless progeny.

    It was a Sky-Rank creature-- an absolute catastrophe that would take an alliance of the Realm''s strongest mortal guilds to defeat.

    It was struck down by a single God-Rank attack...

    No... perhaps the attack was stronger, still.

    The observed effect, however... was far diminishedpared to what could be reasonably expected.

    Just... where... had the excess mana gone?

    ? Warning. The host has been afflicted by a Fourth-Circle Curse. ?

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    Considering the timing, it was hardly a coincidence.

    "Yo, LT..." Krysaos coughed, "You''re uh... glowing."

    ...Was the Captain flirting with him? No. They''d been over that.

    Tycon tilted his head nonchntly, "Is that so strange, considering we''re on the field of battle?"

    "Well... n0," The Captain frowned. "But uh... you''re glowin'' kinda... dark? Is that a thing? Purple?"

    "Purple is traditionally the color of royalty," Tycon shrugged.

    The seated Thunder God looked up in worry, "Friend-Maedar... I feel... darkness... and evil in that magic?"

    "Pay it no heed."

    Tycon was curious of the caster and their circumstances.

    However, he did not have the means to discern them.

    Thus... he did not care so much.

    Tycon summoned and activated the only defensive amulet he prepared.

    "?Heavenly Cleansing?"

    ? The curse has been removed. ?

    ...That was simple enough.

    A silvery blur of motion appeared in front of Tycon, but thankfully, the bells in Wroe''s softughter saved him from being cut down.

    "Ahh haha~ Good throw, Krysaos!" The angel-blood smiled as he licked at the blood staining his cheek.

    "You did the work, keepin'' that thing busy," The Captain waved... "I was really hoping that javelin would do more before disappearing, though..."

    "Mind your hygiene, Mister Wroe," Tycon scolded.

    "Aye aye, Boss," Wroe smirked.

    Tycon eyed the Hexde with suspicion.

    Perhaps... Tarquin Wroe was the source of the curse?

    Many of his abilities-- his hexes, were functionally identical to curses... and *control* was not his strong suit.

    ...Perhaps the timing of the Ancient Ogre''s death was a coincidence after all.

    "What''cha thinkin'' about, Boss?" Asked the troublesome Daeva.

    "I am thinking about docking your pay."

 Chapter 934 The Sum Of Its Parts

    ?"Ah," Wroe nodded. "Got it, Boss."

    Tycondrius'' gaze drifted upward in thought.

    It would be wise to set some coin aside tomission Hexde-rted ?Decursify? Scrolls. As Wroe was the only Hexde in Sol Invictus, it was natural that he pay for the brunt of it.

    "Wait-- what? You''re docking my PAY?! Boss!??"

    Fourth-Circle Scrolls like ?Heavenly Cleansing? were impossible to craft in bulk without the help of a literal god. However, Tycon was confident in creating a Second-Circle variant, one tailored to dispel Wroe''s abilities.

    "BOSS!! What does-- but why??"

    Company sry was something controlled by his Chief Financial Officer, Sorina Capulet. She would arrive in Whitehearth in the near future. There, they would discuss that matter and other things.

    "Boss! Tycon! PLEASE!!"

    Granted... he still had to survive the onught of the Tree God''s minions to have a future to speak of.

    "Y-you''re my only source of ie!!"

    Tycon was looking forward to seeing Sorina and Korr again. As they were doing business in Archangel, they weren''t terribly far away... but he''d been so busy, as ofte~

    "Heyyy,e onnnn, LT~" Krysaos said in a sing-song voice, "Y''don''t gotta f*ck with a guy''s sry like that. Wroooooe~! Heeee''s... a good guy?"

    Why did he phrase that as a question?

    Tycon pursed his lips and shook his head, "Mister Wroe *was* absent without leave for an extended period of time."

    "It wasn''t a vacation!" Wroe cried, "I was in HELL!!"

    "Yes, I recall," Tycon covered his face with his palm. "There, I witnessed your pathetic sniveling, firsthand.

    "Take heart, Mister Wroe," He continued. "The coin will be better spent elsewhere. Paying the temporary contractpletions of Krysaos and the Thunder Godes to mind."

    "Oh, yeah," Krysaos rolled his eyes, "I almost forgot that you''re a cheap-ass motherf--"

    "--with a sizeable bonus forbat pay," Tycon added.

    The Captain righted his posture and crossed his arms... "Well uh, Wroe... good buddy... it''s like uh... a ''thank you.'' Y''know? We did risk eternal damnation in order to save your bacon, after all."

    "Friend-Maedar," The seated, cross-legged Thunder God lifted his head, "I serve for honor, not for coin."

    Tycon ignored him.

    He did value being economical rather than not. However, all mercenaries contracted to him were paid for their services in coin.

    Those with a love for wealth earned a level of satiety.

    For those with less practical goals, they could make investments towards achieving them.

    The system also worked quite well for those who professed noble and lofty ideals but, in truth, did not.

    As an employer, Tycon was confident in providing his subordinates with mary rewards.

    Other things... not so much.

    Safety? Survival?

    ...Basicforts?

    Even honor, the lovely concept it was, Tycon could not guarantee.

    ...It would be irresponsible of him to unconditionally bind him and his own to the notion-- especially since the various factions of the Realm could nary agree upon its ordinances.

    "Anyroad, Mister Wroe," Tycon swiped his hand forward, "Form up-- you and Krysaos front."

    "Ahaha~ movin''," Wroe sighed as he stepped forward.

    "Psh. Yeah, I hear ya, LT," Said Krysaos with augh.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Suddenly, Wroe turned back, "Oh, Boss. Should we uh-- go digging in ogre meat to look for that javelin?"

    "What?" Tycon furrowed his brows as his mouth twisted in disgust, "No."

    Why did everything that came out of that man''s mouth sound so crass?

    It almost made Tycon think that *he* was the one at fault.

    That would be absurd.

    "Don''t worry about it, Blue Eyes White Daeva," Krysaos waved. "As long''s we stick together, we don''t need a sh*tty javelin, anyroad."

    "It is *not* a sh*tty javelin," The Thunder God insisted... quietly.

    With the Ancient Ogre defeated, Sol Invictus was granted a short reprieve before the remains of their severely reduced enemy would reach their position.

    They had assumed an unorthodox formation, one that Tycon had ordered without forethought.

    However, with a quick analysis, he determined it to be appropriate.

    Earlier battle ns had been spontaneous and... somewhat short-minded.

    He and each of hispanions embodied the spirit of the original Sol Invictus.

    That is... each of them was an icon-- an undeniable force on the battlefield, capable of dismantling entirepanies of rank-and-file troops, as well as standing against specialized elite agents.

    However... that was not their full potential.

    Tarquin Wroe was a Hexde with a retinue mid-to-long range Spells, with his lunar-empowered ?Eldritch Bolt? as his most practiced. Even at close range, his expertise with the Sleeping Country''s sword style meant he was not disadvantaged.

    Krysaos was a Dread Pirate that could summon a powerful Divine Water Spirit. His unorthodox fighting style was cultivated inwless brawls and, at close and mid-ranges, his Ice-type Creation Spells further added to his controlled chaos.

    And, of course, since he became a half-god, his effectiveness on the field was arguably greater than Tycon''s own.

    The Thunder God, with hisrge mana pool and attention-grabbing lightning attacks made him a high-profile target. Further, with his Divine Body, he would not die easily to mortal sword and Spell.

    And Tycon, himself... he was an Iron-Scale Warlord.

    Hispanions were his personal army.

    He could rally their spirits, steel their minds against distractors, and even inspire them to fight through their injuries.

    Resilient Warrior with an ostentatious skillset.

    Two Magic Warriors, one specializing in range and the other in closebat.

    Supporter-- and, in the Realm, likely the most handsome and intelligent of his ss.

    Tycon had... for the first time in a long while... a bnced adventuring party.

    As such, he was confident in pushing them far beyond what ordinary protocol dictated.

    "Sure are a lot o'' these forest f*ckers left," Krysaos muttered.

    Wroe bit his upper lip, "Aaaaaayep."

    "Sol INVICTUS!!" Tycon shouted, "I order you to stand and FIGHT!!

    "Though your bones may BREAK and your flesh RENT APART!!

    "Even if your wills are cRRRushed or your minds trapped for ETERNITY!!

    "Even if you''ve neither blood nor mana left to bleed!!

    "Even if I must use mana-wires to take control of your broken, LIFELESS BODIES, you will not yield here--

    "Not until we bring DEATH to. Every. Enemy. that dares stand in our way."

 Chapter 935 Courage In The Face Of Danger

    ?The Thunder God could not remember a time when he had been so tired.

    He thought back to an age... long ago.

    Back then, he drew his strength from faith.

    The mortal denizens of the Realm... the people...

    All peoples, under the sun and clouds and sky...

    His people.

    For his miracles, they would shower him with endless praise... honest and true, as only their soft, mortal hearts could give.

    It was only after that age had past... that he realized he was not a kind god.

    On his darker whims, he would strike the clouds with his Storm Axe, bringing thunder, lightning, and hail.

    The rumbling roars of the clouds scattered the mortals.

    They built shelters. They banded together in tribes for warmth and safety.

    They died.

    ...Yet some did not.

    He grew fond of those. He sang with them, dancing and stomping his feet.

    The light, summer rains were his gift... watering their crops... rinsing away their fatigue.

    For after every storm... through whatever pains and griefs and uncertainties... they would still remember the soothing rains.

    And that hope was what made them strong.

    But... in the modern age... for the modern peoples...

    --the Thunder God had no miracles left to grant.

    In the Tree God''s Forest... he found the limitations of his Divine Body.

    He was exhausted.

    He felt as if... his existence was held together by a single breath of mana.

    He needed to recover-- and quickly.

    It was something he''d never needed to do before.

    ...He was uncertain how to even begin.

    Yet... he had much to lose if he could not.

    The Thunder God looked to the heavens to aid him.

    There, he saw the sun... the domain of a certain carefree, red-maned god.

    Barely a single bell had passed.

    He had already sent his prayers.

    Hemanded, requested... and eventually pleaded for power.

    And, of course, the heavens kept their silence.

    The other gods did not dare intervene with the cmitous events prophesied by the dragons.

    No god wished to die before their fated end.

    It was an arrogant request... too arrogant.

    The Thunder God would have never dared to make it... if not for hispanions.

    They who fought under the banner of Sol Invictus...

    They... who epted him... sharing with him the honor of their name...

    They who fought... as if they were immortal.

    It was they-- not he, who truly deserved favor from the higher powers.

    The Thunder God began to chuckle to himself.

    How piteous had he be?

    Long ago, he was a leader... but nowhere to the extent of Maedar Tycondrius.

    The Thunder God was a Mage, versed in both steel and spell... yet he had neither the deadly grace nor the creative aptitude of Tarquin Wroe.

    The Thunder God was the most senior amongst them... his reign in the mortal Realm solidified for centuries.

    Yet, Krysaos... a fledgling god only weeks old...

    He fought with no less brazen courage than the Sun God.

    It was... almost inconceivable.

    Sol Invictus fought against the Tree God''s servants... and those servants were marked with Divine Blessings that brought them infinitely close to godhood.

    This, the Thunder God knew... and felt fear.

    The mortals knew not.

    Every step he took deeper into the Tree God''s domain, he risked losing his godhood-- risked an eternity of nothingness.

    But besides fear, he also felt... envy.

    Could it be called valor-- what hispanions had? ...So unaware of the caliber of threat they stood against.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The Maedar, Tycondrius...

    The Ivory Prince...

    The firstborn son of Rnia, Queen of Stone...

    Godyer...

    The Thunder God knew better than to associate with him. The cost of offending him was obvious.

    Yet... when he was presented with the chance to observe him, he could not allow it past.

    What kind of mortal could be driven into killing their god?

    ...And why had no god acted against him?

    Hades... God of Cunning and Murder...

    ...carrying the portfolio of death-- that which no god held power over but he.

    Why would one of the most powerful gods in the Realm choose to stand openly at that mortal''s side?

    Maedar Tycondrius... he who was both loved and feared by the gods.

    Glowing wisps of light came from the canopy of the Tree God''s forest. Not born of the heavens, they came of bright and burning gases and swirling wyld-magics.

    The rumbling sounds of horns heralded their unwavering allegiance to the Tree God.

    Tycondrius called forth a Shadow Lord... an existence anathema to the radiant fae.

    The Shadow did not question his orders.

    Its mere touch proved poison to the light. Those creatures fell... their life-force drained and dead.

    An Undead Forest Witch, her body and magic ancient and terrible, emerged from the marshy soil.

    Tycondrius called forth Tarquin Wroe.

    The blue light of that man''s eyes... held not an onze of hesitation.

    The sword he wielded-- its metal the bones of a cursed dragon god... it melted the hag''s flesh like a zing fire against a house of wax.

    The discordant roar of century-old vinebells caused the ground to quake. Shaped like church bells, boasting maws of flesh-rending teeth... the abyss-born florae were incited only more violent and bloodthirsty after drinking of the Tree God''s curses.

    Tycondrius called forth Krysaos, the Sea God.

    The half-god''s trust in the Maedar... was ceaseless.

    He alone halted the vinebells'' advance, summoning a deluge of icy waves, the temperatures of each icier than the arctic depths.

    Krysaos'' magic... slowed their crushing tentacles and stripped away the divine protections on their ck-and-green flesh.

    The Thunder Godpared his magic to the Sea God''s.

    His heart was filled with shame.

    A hailstorm could ruin fields and viges. Krysaos'' crashing waves could level mountains.

    "Thunder God."

    The Thunder God swallowed his saliva. His mouth was dry. He could hear naught but battle... the screams of the ughtered... and Tycondrius'' call, gentle but irrefutable.

    "S-speak... friend-Maedar."

    He cursed himself for the weakness in his voice... and for how small it sounded.

    So too was his power as a god... ursed... weak.

    So too was his courage...

    The Thunder God felt two warm hands upon his cheeks.

    He felt Tycondrius'' forehead press against his.

    That man''s breath, he felt hot on his face.

    "I will not have you despair in our time of need, Thunder God," Whispered the Godyer. "There is a deadly swarm of insects approaching fast at our 3 o''clock... Lend me your power."

    The Thunder God tried to strengthen the grip on his axe... but his weakness was too great.

    His fear was too great.

    His doubt...

    "Maedar... I..."

    Tycondrius closed his eyes, "I trust you."

    ...The Thunder God... took in a breath.

    His Storm Axe, he held fast. From where he summoned the strength, he did not know.

    "I... shall not betray thy faith, friend-Maedar."

    The end of Tycondrius'' mouth curved upward, "I know."

    The envy in the Thunder God''s heart returned anew.

    After all that had happened... how could Tycondrius still have such trust?

    How could that man... be so certain of his survival and sess?

    How... could any being, god or mortal... be so strong?

 Chapter 936 Comrades Before Hags

    ?"Power... over... WHELMING!!!"

    A stream of crackling lightning shot forward from the Thunder God''s fingertips, obliterating the thick cloud of assumedly flesh-eating insects.

    "Hm," Tycondrius nodded, pursing his lips. The warmth of satisfaction bloomed in his heart.

    The encouragement he gave the Thunder God seemed effective.

    That was good.

    If even a single one of hispanions were to fall, he was fairly certain they would all be killed in the minutes following.

    Tycon caught the Thunder God''s arm. With the way the shirtless fellow''s knees buckled, it was a wonder he was still conscious.

    "You did well. Now, rest," Hemanded.

    In response, the Thunder God managed to eye out an indignant, "I''ll do as you wish."

    As there was a lull inbat, Tycon he popped a piece of pork jerky in his mouth.

    His thoughts drifted to his old friend, Zenon Skyreaper. With that fellow''s talent, if he continued his training for another century, his magical prowess would grow infinitely close to that of the Thunder God.

    Talent and hard work were more than capable of producing miracles.

    He frowned to himself, realizing the futility of his nostalgia.

    It was impossible to garner any additional outside help.

    The situation was so grim, that Tycon unconsciously let out a derisiveugh.

    He was the only reason Sol Invictus dared to meddle in the affairs of a hostile god.

    He had a minimal amount of allies-- and losing a single one was potentially catastrophic.

    He hadn''t the time to prepare supporting allies beforehand. Due to a stroke of luck, he had Dungeon Core na... but he could only afford to rely on her for transportation.

    Tycon expected great resistance in recovering Ophelia... but the caliber of the Tree God''s forces had far exceeded his expectations.

    It would be different if Tyconmanded a dozen centuries.

    It would be different if he had aid from Guild Staghorn or Letalis or Metal Wolf.

    ...It would be different if he had even one more Iron-Rank of at least middling potential.

    In order to merely survive, he and hispanions had to perform well beyond their reasonable expectations.

    Tycon realized he must have looked odd when he noticed the Thunder God''s look of concern.

    "Friend-Maedar?"

    "My apologies," Tycon sighed. "Would you like some pork jerky?"

    "Hm? Oh. I shall abstain for n--" Suddenly, the Thunder God pointed past him, "LOOK OUT!!"

    Tycon whipped his head around and, his eyes sensitive to the movement, identified a golden sphere of magic speeding towards his direction.

    He felt no immediate danger. Considering its course, it would not hit him or hispanion.

    He did, however, find the Spell to be... distasteful.

    It smelled peculiar.

    It tasted... repugnant.

    And its target...

    "Oh, seven f*cking h--"

    The Spell struck na''s ?Gate?, burning brilliantly and sputtering loudly before disappearing with a loud crack. The glowing white portal trembled violently, blinking in and out of existence.

    "?Misty Step?!"

    Wroe stepped out of a silvery cloud of mana dust, using his Hexde to deflect a second golden sphere.

    As it struck a ckened patch of dirt, the magic burst in a sh of white, leaving a smoking crater.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It was an unorthodox fire spell... intrinsically explosive.

    Tycon could not identify it. Was it exceptional and rare? ...Was it unique?

    Did it belong to the Hidden Sects?

    ...Phoenix Fire? Golden Crow mes?

    No... while those spells burnt fantastically hot, they did not explode without some maniption.

    Fire magic was not Tycon''s expertise, but the mana-purity of the enemy mage''s magic marked her as a Realm-defying talent.

    Thinking on it, he felt ufortable tingles on the back of his neck and upper back.

    He snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    Magic took hold of Wroe''s arm and he swung his pearlescent sword with supernatural speed. He struck and deflected a third sphere and, like the first, it burst upon contact with a thick tree trunk.

    Barely any dust and debris remained, so obscene was that Spell''s destructive power.

    "Boss!" Wroe shouted, "What happens if the ?Gate? crashes?!"

    Again Tycon snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    "What do you THINK?!" Krysaos answered, mid-lunge. The Captain intercepted another of the explosive spheres, deflecting it with his ice-tail.

    "If we f*ck this up," He shouted, "we''ll be trapped inside the malms of f*cking forest, swarming in bad guys!"

    Tycon groaned loudly, "The Captain is correct. As we will are unable to hide from the Tree God in his forest, we''d certainly lose a battle of attrition."

    na was not weak. She was a Magic Tool utilized by Adamantine-Rank Hero Ravidius. It was *impossible* for her to be weak.

    Yet, the enemy was clearly capable of destabilizing and destroying na''s creation.

    Tycon''s dilemma was worrisome.

    If he did not assist hispanions, could they ovee the mage and her strange, nausea-inducing magic?

    ...They would have to.

    It wasn''t enough to only defend the ?Gate? from further damage. It would need to be inspected and, if necessary, repaired. The smallest error in a Teleportation Spell could have grave consequences.

    Annoyed, slightly panicked, and moderately hungry, the leader of Sol Invictus began sorting through the battlefield corpses.

    "What... are you doing, Maedar?" Asked the Thunder God.

    "Improving our chances at survival," Tycon growled.

    He wished he could have said ''saving our lives'' but that would have been a sinfully optimistic falsehood.

    Quickly enough, he found a still-warm body of a Green Hag of at least Iron-Rank...

    She would do.

    With two hacks of his Sword of Venom, he severed one of her legs.

    "What are you DOING, Maedar?!" The Thunder God repeated.

    "Same answer! Now, sit quietly and recover your gods-damned mana!!"

    The Thunder God was suffering mana exhaustion. That much was evident from his zed eyes, half-dead pallor, and trembling body.

    Upon entering battle, he hadn''tpletely recovered from amulet-creation. Worse still, he was unused to conserving his energies while fighting against the swarths of enemies they faced.

    And instead of trying to rest, he was using his strength toin!

    However... beating the Shirtless God with a severed appendage could be done back in Whitehearth.

    Tycon had to focus on his task at hand: improvising a never-before-seen series of ritual circles with the intent to repair and stabilize a Fifth-Circle Teleportation Gate.

 Chapter 937 The Sea Godâ€™s Specialty

    ?Tycondrius closed his eyes, emptying his mind of extraneous thoughts. At the same time, he began to mentally review the spell functions most appropriate for the results he wanted.

    A lesser Formation Mage would have certainly balked at the pressure of the situation. If not that, then they would have despaired at the difficulty of adapting old, familiar functions to new, unfamiliar executions.

    Tycon was confident in his skill.

    That wasn''t to say that the possibility of failure was nonexistent. Instead, if he *were* to fail, then the task was impossible to begin with.

    There were no issues with his materials. They were, however, admittedly unorthodox.

    Instead of residuum-based mana-ink, Tycon had the quickly-coagting blood of a Second-Circle Caster.

    Because of the vtile nature of the material, he had to focus the greater half of his attention on his work over the field of battle.

    For the drawing implement, he had a blood-bloated leg, severed below the hip.

    It was a rather efficient ink-delivery system. As such, Tycon was fairly certain he wasn''t the originator of severed-body-part artistry.

    It was a wonder, though, that he hadn''t heard of a precedent.

    The Thunder God coughed pitifully to himself before wiping his mouth... "Maedar... Only viins, most foul, employ the use of Blood Magic."

    Tycon shut his eyes and raised his eyebrows...

    "If I have inconvenienced the recently-departed by using her blood without her *express* approval... on my honor, Thunder God, I will apologize to the offended parties *forthwith.*"

    "Dude," Krysaos held his hand out, "Let the LT do his thing. We''ll talk about war crimes or whatever after."

    "...Fair enough," The Thunder God relented.

    "The ?Gate? must be protected," Tycon groaned. "Thunder God, remain with me."

    "Ho ho hoh. I''ll handle the b*tch," Krysaos dered.

    "Guess I''ll help defend," Wroe shrugged.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, annoyed and moderately resentful, "Must your tone be sockadaisical?"

    "Yeah," Krysaos sneered. "Have a sense of urgency or some shite."

    Wroe turned to the Captain, wearing his thin smile. "I''ll die for you guys... primarily because if I don''t, I''m pretty sure you''ll kill me... or bring my sorry arse back to life so you--"

    "Krys-A-Ossss!" Tycon raised his voice to the still-stationary Captain, "Go!"

    "I''m goin''! I''m going!" Insisted the Captain.

    "Should I go too?" Asked Wroe.

    "No, you twit," Scolded the only logically-minded bipedal sentient in the gods-damned forest.

    The Tree God''s minions appeared to have fled the area, save for one.

    ...That was an ominous sign.

    And upon analysis by Tycon''s System...

    ? Target''s ss and Rank hidden by magical effect. ?

    --the already dire situation had taken a turn for the worse.

    "Be vignt, Captain," Tycon warned. "The enemy is wearing Ophelia''s Amulet of Obscuration."

    "Got it," Krysaos nodded... "So, uh... what''sat mean?"

    "It means: if you let your guard down, you will die."

    ...

    And so the great Captain Krysaos, scourge of several seas, stepped forward to face the enemy.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The assumed source of the destructive golden-sphere magic was a well-dressed young woman, her height matching the Captain''s.

    She wore a ck-fur overcoat, trimmed in red, as well as a furred cap. She belonged to the military forces of Nemaya Strana.

    The Sleeping Country...

    To memory, Tycon had no grievances with persons or institutions of that nation.

    In the same vein, he alsocked connections that could possibly dissuade the mage from conflict.

    The young woman''s upper arms bore the symbol of apany unfamiliar to him. It was the same for the stack of medals pinned to her breast... save for two.

    One was a badge for skilled horsemanship. The other was for expert marksmanship.

    While the former was average for an Officer, Tycon found itudable that the young woman valued the gun (or crossbow.) After all, the current generation romanticized swordsmen and the straight-ded dueling sword.

    "Mmmm," The youngdy shifted her weight, leaning to the side with her hip forward. "Isn''t your sword a little small considering your height, old man?"

    "It ain''t about the size of the boat, girlie," Krysaosughed, irreverently patting the god-weapon hanging on his side, "What matters is the MOTION of the OCEAN!!"

    He then began to gyrate his hips.

    Tycon could only be impressed. If the Captain''s goal was for his opponent to lose all respect for him, he had done so absolutely, sinctly, and in record time.

    "Ugh," The mage groaned. "F*cking gross, old man."

    "OH NOOO!!" Yelled Wroe, "EMOTIONAL DA-MAGE!!"

    "What... the f*ck?" Krysaos furrowed his brows. "I''m not even old, though!"

    "I turn 15ter this year," The mage crossed her arms-- "so even if we''re goin'' by the Fairytale Kingdom''sws, you''re being suuuper creepy right now."

    "Wait! The-- the f*ck?!" Krysaos shouted-- quite distressed.

    Wroe held onto his belly, unable to stifle hisughter, "Ohhh, shite! You KILLED himmmm!!"

    "Ahem," Tycon coughed into his closed fist and spoke in a hushed tone. "Please stop supporting the enemy, Mister Wroe. We''re in a very precarious situation right now."

    "Hah... R-right. Sorry, Boss."

    "Sea God Krysaos," Tycon raised his voice, "Please engage the enemy inbat... and inquire about Ophelia''s whereabouts, if reasonable."

    "Aha... haha..." Krysaos grinned as he walked forward, "Too bad for you, girlie. Getting what I want out of women just so happens to be my specialty."

    "...Did you hear that?" Tycon turned to the Thunder God, "You call *me* a viin for requisitioning assistance from an Archdemon, yet say nothing of that one."

    "...That is *quite* different, Maedar," The Thunder God grumbled.

    Wroe artfully stepped between the two of them, "You''re being a little petty, Boss. And shouldn''t you be... y''know?"

    ...The Hexde was correct. Still, Tycon was in no mood to apologize. Instead, he refocused on his work, his face marked by a scowl.

    The enemy mage began to unbutton her overcoat. As the field had be eerily empty, her actions were akin to a diator preparing for a match.

    Was she trying to entertain whatever gods were observing the fight? Or did she need easier ess to a hidden weapon or three underneath?

    Whatever the reason, it granted Tycon time to review the logic of his Spell Circles...

    "What the fuuuuuuck are you doing, girlie?!" Krysaos shouted.

    The mage''s face contorted as she gagged, "UuuuuUUUghhh!! Stop making this WEEEEird!!"

    Tycon again paused his work.

    Never before had he so difficult a time in scribing a formation... so... bothersome... were the sounds of disrespect produced by a single teenage girl.

    ",

 Chapter 938 Ochre Scales

    ?Auditory Skills weremon in the territory of Charm. The harpy flights mastered and propagated the art. It was even considered vogue amongst the female elite, Medusae, human, and otherwise.

    Thus, it was natural for Charm''s Ivory Prince to have at least moderate resistance against such attacks.

    The shrill vernacr of a disobedient teenage girl roused a desire within Tycondrius. It made him think it only natural to... use a de to gouge out his eardrums... and to... bash his head against the stones until he ceased to breathe.

    Tycon resisted, of course.

    ...Yet such desires could not be wholly erased.

    So in order to survive in the short term, Tycon focused on optimizing his ritual''s moreplex functions... which was also necessary for survival long-term.

    A mirrored redundancyyer... Yes, that sounded nice.

    ...And for redundancy purposes, two additionalyers with concept-equivalence restoration would be more efficient than one or more without.

    In the distance, the enemy mage tossed her cap away, revealing a ponytail of brilliant silver hair.

    The color was... oddlymon of persons of the Sleeping Country, particrly of those belonging to noble lineages.

    "I''m not here because I *wanna* be," She griped. "This... person I know-- someone as EEE-qually creepy as you! He has asked me to take care of you guys... whoever the heck you are~"

    "How does she not know who we are?" Wroe asked quietly, "You think... she''s pretending?"

    Tycon poured some dirt over a section of runes he wanted to re-draw.

    "Snake hatchlings cannot control their venom," He sighed. "In this, teenagers are much the same."

    Wroe nodded in thought, looking back over to Krysaos and his opponent... "She was kind to me when we first met."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow at the remark... but chose not to inquire further. Learning about another of Wroe''s rtionships would certainly be disappointing.

    "Were you curious, Boss?" Asked the disappointment.

    "Please allow me to work in rtive silence," Answered the disappointed.

    Free of her cap and with her thick coat open, the snow-haired girl''s youth grew more discernible.

    Roundness of the face. Overall size of the head-- especially whenpared to her neck. Large-ish eyes.

    It was obvious that--

    "GUYS!!" Krysaos shouted, "She''s a f*cking LIAR!! I mean LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THOSE KNOCKERS!!"

    Tycon took a deep breath to regain his concentration. If he hadn''t, he would have seen the results of a Fifth-Circle Spell Failure. Considering the vtility of the ingredients and theck of safety circles the explosion would have killed him, Wroe, and the Thunder God nigh-instantaneously.

    "Have you never been to the Old Country?" Wroe yelled back, "She''s just a girl, Cap''n! --so more suitable for Boss Tycon''s tastes."

    ...A rare and fleeting regret passed through Tycon''s mind.

    While he would never purposely botch a Spell Formation-- such was his professionalism... he felt regretful that hecked a high-powered sidearm.

    His hand-crossbowcked lethality against an Iron-Rank and utilizing a sword required concentration he could not spare.

    If he had kept one of the hextech pistols previouslymissioned for Guild Letalis he could have executed his Hexde cleanly and without risk to his Spell-Circle work.

    "No..." Krysaos whispered, shaking his head. "I... refuse... to BELIEVE THAT!!"

    To illustrate that disbelief, the Captain swiped his arm in front of him.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "?Fan of Knives!?" He cried.

    It was a lower-level spell but valued it for its versatility.

    Two rows of pointed icicles formed in a half-circle above the man''s head and jetted forward-- a masterful and efficient execution.

    The mage girl whipped her coat in front of her, disrupting the first wave of projectiles. Dashing aside, she she used her sheathed sword against the second barrage, blocking and deflecting as well as she could.

    Her speed was excellent... but her technical skill fell short. Nevertheless, she sustained no major injury.

    The fitted armor she wore was thick-- possibly enchanted.

    In the ces not covered by metal-te, her arms and the upper part of her neck were covered in... ochre-colored scale.

    Just as wondrously, the icy enchantments on the knives did not slow her movements... and she did not flinch away from the frozen debris that should have affected her vision.

    Unease again flooded Tycon''s senses.

    Moderate-to-high physical resistance. Lesser magical resistance at the very least.

    Colored scales...

    Very few scaled creatures had bloodlines capable of casting high-level magic.

    Tycon was fairly certain the girl didn''t belong to the Snake Tribes. However, besides Medusae and the Elemental Snakes, there were also the moreplicated bloodlines of the Naga and Yuan-Ti.

    It was possible... that she was a particrly talented Irvhir? A scale-kin kobold?

    Or... did she perhaps... have gills?

    Paranoia was straining Tycon''s abilities... but he had to keep focus on the task at hand. The ?Gate? had been mostly stabilized but there was no harm in adding protective outeryers--yers with the option of traversability.

    The mage girl unsheathed her long, slightly-curved de. The particr name of its type was... ''shashka''? Nevertheless, its designation was that of a cavalry saber. It was somewhat odd that it was wielded by an unmounted individual.

    Krysaos had excellent swordsmanship fundamentals, schooled in the White Raven sword style, much like Tycon, himself.

    He had proven himself inbat against de-wielding ruffians... butcked experience against duelists that could be considered experts. Tycon and King could best him thoroughly. Petty Officer Bob and Leading Hand Stickyfingers were superior in both strength and skill-- though they were disadvantaged against Krysaos'' magic.

    Despite the snowy-haired mage''s rough and aggressive style, her sword was practiced and skillful... and she was notcking in strength.

    It was clear-- at least to Tycon, that she would be the eventual victor.

    "Boss..." Wroe bit his upper lip, "Which one... is winning?"

    Instead of answering, Tycon tilted his head towards the Thunder God.

    "Obviously, the side of justice," The shirtless fellow answered.

    "--is losing," Tycon huffed.

    He was *trying* to work, but he could not ept such misinformation.

    "Yeah... I kinda got that feeling, too," Wroe nodded.

    Tycon felt a vein on his temple throb. If Wroe already knew, why was he being such a bothersome prick?

    "I beg to differ," The Thunder God frowned. "Krysaos'' opponent is slowly yielding ground. As long as the Sea God''s Transformation Skill--"

 Chapter 939 Kill-Strike

    ?The Thunder God stopped mid-sentence, his mouth twisting into a grimace, "No... the Sea God can *not* lose here."

    "It doesn''t look good," Said Wroe as he sucked in air through his teeth. "Krysaos is constantly reinforcing his Transformation Skill to reduce his damage."

    Tycondrius nodded quietly in agreement.

    The Captain''s ability, (likely named something asinine like... Avatar of the Ultra-cial Whitesaber Tuna)... gave him a sizeable boost to his already formidable physical abilities. However, the mana cost to sustain its effects was clearly exorbitant.

    ...Observing the haggard look on his face, he had grown as exhausted as the Thunder God.

    "Let us watch and wait," The god of shirtlessness suggested... "Perhaps the Sea God can win in the next three exchanges?"

    Judging by that fellow''s tone of voice, he was not at all confident in his words.

    Wroe grit his teeth, "The Lady hasn''t used any Spells besides her exploding balls."

    ...Lady?

    "Mister Wroe," Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is there something you know of the enemy that we do not?"

    "Ehe, you caught me, Boss~" Wroe shrugged. "The only Spell the err-- that she''s revealed is ?Eldritch st?... an Elementary-Rank Warlock Spell."

    It was then that the young ''Lady'' in question shouted to the forest canopy.

    "Hey, Tree God!" She screeched, "Give me your blessing, you stinky old fart!!"

    The Thunder God''s face contorted in... disgust? Scorn? Whatever emotion it it was, it seemed rather unpleasant.

    "The side of justice is faltering, indeed," He said, shaking his head.

    In a simr vein, Wroe looked thoroughly baffled, "That''s... ?Barkskin?? Isn''t that a Druid Spell?"

    ...Tycon wiped the sweat off his brow before observing the field of battle once more.

    Hardened bark had grown over the snowy-haired child''s orange scales.

    One of Krysaos'' strikes slipped past her guard, but the god-weapon bounced off of her body with impunity.

    The enemy mage took that brief window of opportunity, smiting the half-god first with her fist to the side, then with a jumping knee to the opposite shoulder, and finally with the pommel of her curved de to the jaw. Each strike resounded with a thunderous boom, not dissimr those created by her explosive spheres.

    "It seems that the Tree God has intervened on the enemy''s behalf," Tycon sighed. "While unfortunate, such is not entirely unexpected, no?"

    "Who... who the F*CK are you, GIRLIE?!?" Shouted a (shamefully) tearful Sea God as he staggered backward, "And why are we even FIGHTING?!"

    "Valeria Ashenspire," The arrogant mage dered. "And weird perverts like you should just DIE!!"

    "I''m not a pervert!" The half-god shouted, "My name is Krysaos, Captain of the Neptune''s-- oh fff--"

    The ability to speak while simultaneously defending oneself was one of great important. Unfortunately, it was one that the half-godcked.

    In that precarious moment, Krysaos chose to use the Heart of the Ocean not to deflect Valeria''s eruptive ?Eldritch st?, but instead... slice through it.

    Tycon, his shame immeasurable, squinted his eyes as he watched that sphere burst into brilliant light.

    He fully expected Krysaos to be executed summarily-- perhaps with her violent magic leaving his semi-divine body in ruin.

    What happened, however, was not that.

    Valeria took two steps forward and lowered her body. Springing up and with her movement aided by an almost palpable torrent of mana, she shot her right knee forward.

    And so, Krysaos, the immortal god of the sea, suffered a devastating knee-strike to the crotch.

    And so, without words... he fell, his defeat an undeniable truth.

    "KRYSAOS!!" Shouted the Thunder God.

    "Mister Wroe," Tycon waved his hand, "Engage."

    "Got it, Boss."

    As Wroe sped away, Tycon paused his formation work to analyze what he''d witnessed...

    Considering Valeria''s mediocre performance, Krysaos'' testicle-crushing defeat was inconceivable.<novelnext></novelnext>

    But how?

    Did Valeria take advantage of a critical vulnerability?

    Was there something sinister in her magic besides its revolting stench?

    A number of theories came to mind, but one, in particr, stood at the forefront.

    Like all Caster sses of Sol Invictus, Krysaos was trained to ?Mana Ward? as a reflex response.

    Further, a human male has a natural disposition toward defending their crotch-area from harm. Krysaos should have instinctively cast ?Mana Ward? even without specialized training... and even at the risk of explosive feedback or mana exhaustion.

    He did not.

    Not even a partial ward was formed...

    Tycon quietly observed Valeria as she fought against Tarquin Wroe. The blue-haired Hexde seemed advantaged, his aptitude for swordsmanship clearly superior.

    Did that child perhaps... have the rare ?Counterspell? ability?

    ...If so, its benefit would be negligible against Wroe.

    He was the Arcanite Prince. Considering his age and the amount of time he''d spent training in Nemayan martial arts, Valeria was not his opponent.

    He did not need magic in order to kill her.

    ...Nevertheless, anxiety and doubt tormented Tycon''s heart.

    Valeria''s unorthodox magic offended all of his senses. Underestimating her would be a grave mistake...

    Until she was incapacitated or killed, his concerns would remain.

    Reminiscent of a gentle tide, a wave of saltwater washed the face-down Krysaos to the Thunder God''s feet.

    The Shirtless God held his hand out towards him.

    "Sea God..." He whimpered.

    "Don''t... don''t talk to me right now," Came the response in a pathetic falsetto.

    "He will be fine," Tycon shrugged. "I advise you to worry about yourself, Thunder God. Should Wroe be disadvantaged, I may ask you to intervene."

    The Thunder God''s eyes sparked with a surge of magic, "I have recovered enough to assist Hexde Wroe. Say the word, friend-Maedar."

    ? Krysaos flopped over, "Yeah... I''ll go too. Just... auuuUUUgh, who am I f*ckin'' kidding? I''m done, for now. That dumb b*tch''s magic... it''s... I dunno. What kind of mes don''t get doused by water?"

    "It''s been some time, but you may have forgotten," Tycon sighed... "Valeria is not our greatest enemy. Rest, both of you."

    Krysaos crossed his arms, not bothering to stand.

    "You got a lot of faith in a guy you''ve tried to kill so many times in the past few suns."

    Tycon paused his work, closing his eyes in thought.

    It wasn''t a question of faith.

    His resources were dwindling. He wished he had more options... more tools, more magic items, more people. The time-sensitive nature of his quest did not allow him the luxury.

    Valeria defeated Krysaos on ount of her abnormal magic... vtile spheres of fire that could not be quenched by even remarkably pure water mana.

    It was also possible that she had a Skill or Artifact with the ?Counterspell? or ?Nullification? properties...

    However, Wroe''s abilities... of the moon... or metal... or pale hands. If Valeria was an unpredictable opponent, Wroe was inexplicable chaos in mortal flesh.

    Thus, Tycon would trust that Wroe could bring victory by... out-weirding his opponent.

    ...And besides that--

    Tycon sighed and shook his head, "Let us observe, Brother-Captain... the capabilities of the most notorious womanizer in Sol Invictus."

 Chapter 940 Sunshine

    ?"HyahhhhHHHH!!"

    Valeria poured every onze of mana she could into her cavalry de.

    One good hit-- that''s all she needed. As long as the silver knight''s armor wasn''t enchanted with someone insane, her augmented ?Eldritch st? would literally burn his skin off.

    "DIE!!" She screamed.

    Valeria put all her power into her arms... though her legs and sides ached even more than her arms did. But that beady-eyed knight-- he casually deflected the strike-- all while keeping that stupid smile on his face.

    He wasn''t even sweating!

    Who in the seven hells WAS that guy?!

    Who in the eleven heavens were ANY of those guys?!?!?

    Valeria had NEVER heard an adventurer named Krysaos-- but his offensive magic was at the same level as an Adamantine-Rank Leviathan!

    His element-type was water, too... If it wasn''t for her patron empowering her fire magic, she wouldn''t havested five minutes.

    Besides Krysaos and the silver-armored knight, there were two more people...

    There was a weak-looking blonde guy... but, thankfully, he seemed to be low on mana.

    The guy beside him, she couldn''t tell how dangerous *he* was. He looked like he had some skill at Formation Magic...

    ...but the silver knight referred to him as ''Boss.''

    Even though the four of them had beaten up literally hundreds of the Tree God''s minions, the only thing stained on that guy''s military uniform was his boots.

    He was probably stronger than he looked... (and that was despite the fact that even Valeria was taller than he was.)

    One injured, one out of mana, one busy painting lines in the dirt...

    --with that, they were betting that their blue-haired swordsman could beat her.

    Of course, it wouldn''t be that easy.

    When Valeria received the blessings of her patron... that person said that the only people who could challenge her 1-on-1 were god-woken and other god-servants.

    That Krysaos creep... he didn''t die even after suffering a direct hit from her explosive magic. She was so mad, she hit him in the balls instead of stabbing him through the heart.

    He was definitely an immortal of some kind. Valeria had never met a god-woken before, but he was probably one of those.

    And then the silver-armor knight... that... Wroe-person...

    His magic was different-- power borrowed from somewhere else.

    Even if he tried to hide it, his mana resonated with her ?Dragon''s Heart?.

    The twisted magic he weaved into his swordy... was Ancient Magic, simr to hers.

    Valeria reversed the momentum of her saber and put her weight into her swing-- but Wroe parried with another flick of his wrist.

    She tried to step in, but the knight chopped his sword down, forcing her to block-- the impact pushing her back.

    Because of the shape and material of Wroe''s sword, Valeria first thought it was purely decorative... or a mid-level magical focus.

    It wasn''t. It seemed to have simr weight and strength of a typical Nemayan sword.

    That meant... considering all of Valeria''s lifetime experience, it was that type of sword she had the most practice against!

    Yet... for some reason... every move she tried was useless!

    Valeria felt her brows twitch as she realized something.

    What if it wasn''t a sword?

    What if it was... a ?Hexde?!

    Was Wroe the same ss as she was?!

    Was he just like her? Was he also an Exarch? A direct servant of a god?

    If that was the case, then everything made sense!

    --then it wasn''t just Ancient Magic he wielded--

    It was... Dragon Magic.<novelnext></novelnext>

    But that STILL didn''t exin the level of butt-kicking she was experiencing.

    Valeria was the best swordswoman in all of Nemaya Strana-- the best one alive, anyroad.

    But Knight Wroe used odd... maneuvers-- yet ones that seemed natural.

    It was like... his swordsmanship was saying ''this is what a real genius looks like.''

    Valeria used mana to leap backward, dodging Wroe''s downward stroke by a hair''s breadth.

    She impaled her sword in the dirt to slow her momentum before standing up and pointing at him.

    "I''m not done yet! Just because you''re the hottest guy in your group," She scowled," doesn''t mean I''ll go easy on you!"

    "Oh?" Wroe tilted his head, his know-it-all smile MORE infuriating than ever.

    Oh? What did ''oh'' mean?! What she said didn''t mean anything WEIRD!

    Valeria felt her cheeks start to burn-- and she wasn''t even casting magic.

    "?Eldritch Barrage!?"

    Valeria grabbed the hilt of her sword and spun around, cutting the earth around her. The mana spiked up above her head and separated into seven arrows of light before jetting forward.

    She smiled, cing her hands on her hips to watch the disy. Because she was allowed so much set-up time, she was able to cast a Spell that the knight couldn''t escape using pure swordsmanship.

    And... then...

    He... used...

    ...pure... swordsmanship.

    Wroe stepped forward, blocking and deflecting each bolt... even though they were all cast at the same time!

    It was... another of his strange techniques!

    But... but... the movement technique he used didn''t have any magic in it! But-- but someone who radiated only an IRON-RANK AURA should absolutely NOT be capable of that!!!

    Valeria felt her head tilt upward.

    Wroe was holding her chin up with his fingers... and he met her gaze, face-to-face.

    "(Your sword has courage and purpose... its beauty suits you.)"

    "Get a-WAY!!!!!" Valeria pped his hand away. By the time she shed her sword, though, her stupid smiling opponent disappeared in a ssh of silver mist...

    She rubbed at the scales covering her neck... "Don''t you mock me... I know what I look like with these scales..."

    It was... a sacrifice she willingly made in exchange for Adamantine-Rank power.

    Admittedly, she was a lot better off than the Cult of Qotal. Their leadership had to damage their faces to show their faith.

    The Dragon God did not have an Exarch. He gave blessings to many servants... but they were iplete.

    But Valeria was different. She was an Exarch-- a CHOSEN avatar of one of the Dragon God''s direct servants!

    She had scales that swords could not cut and wielded mes that could melt through flesh and bone.

    ...But her opponent was also an Exarch.

    If ANYONE in the ENTIRE Realm could understand her, it was another--

    Valeria narrowed her eyes, "(You speak Nemayan.)"

    The knight tilted his head and smiled, "(Not as well as you, Sunshine.)"

    "You think we''re close enough to use a pet na--"

    ...Oh.

    "Tch," She scoffed, "Y''know... you''re the only one who dares to call me that."

    Valeria didn''t think she''d recognize anyone outside of the Sleeping Country. If she had, she would have realized her opponent''s identity much sooner.

    "(Forgive me for my impertinence, your Highness,)" She whispered softly.

    ",

 Chapter 941 Name Yourself (Part One)

    ?"Forgiven," Landris smiled, "but how about we put away our swords, huh? Catch up for a bit?"

    "No thanks, nerd," Valeria grinned. "?Blood. Hand. DesTRUCTION!?"

    Valeria held her hands out, forming a bubbling, crimson sphere of energy between her palms. ?Blood Hand Destruction? was something her body could only handle once per sun, but with recent developments in mind, it was appropriate.

    Her opponent was none other than the exiled Prince Landris, thest surviving *true* member of the Wyndham royal line.

    Ugh. It was a really bad situation.

    It was all Dunzis'' fault!

    Because of that scumbag and *only* because of that scumbag, Valeria was guilty of attempted regicide!

    If word made it back home... her family would be stripped of their dukedom.

    TherefooOore...

    Landris had to die.

    Therefore, Valeria literally used her most powerful spell.

    But something even worse happened.

    Prince Landris... he didn''t run away... he didn''t even try to block it with his magic sword.

    He just... held his hand out?

    A pale white arm burst out of the ground. It wasn''t a human arm... it was much too long... and thin... and it was twisted and gnarled with bony knots like it had more than one elbow.

    A dozen more arms came too, just... appearing out of thin air. They... grabbed onto the burning sphere of mana.

    The ghostly flesh burned-- melting like wax, but leaving ckened bone behind.

    Those arms... they dragged Valeria''s ?Blood Hand Destruction? into the ck hole in the dirt...

    And then the hole disappeared... like it was never there.

    "(You''ve grown up, Duchess Romanov,)" Said Landris.

    Valeria wanted nothing more than to p that stupid smile off the Prince''s face.

    "Seriously?" Valeria rolled her eyes, "(I''m using a code name for a reason, idiot-- just like you are--) and the hells is a Wroe, HUH?!"

    "(It''s a kind of bird,) I... think."

    "AND what the f*ck was that WEIRD-ASS SPELL just now?"

    "(That was what true love looks like, Sunshine,)" Landris replied.

    For that, Valeria made a promise to herself. She was going to kick the exiled Prince in the nuts even harder than she kicked Krysaos.

    "(How did you know it was me?)" He asked.

    "Oh, I dunno," Valeria groaned. "Maybe the fact that you''re the only sessor to the Zarovich Sword Style? Or that the wordsing out of your mouth make you sound like a (stupid idiot?)"

    "W-well, in my defense..." Landris coughed, "Nemayan isn''t my firstnguage."

    "I was talking about your Common," Valeria sneered.

    Inside her brain, she was groaning to herself. When she was younger, she idolized Prince Landris. In the looks department, the losers in the Imperial Family were nowhere close!

    Landris. Hottest noble in the Eastern Continent. Period.

    Even when Valeria saw him before they fought-- when she thought he was just a no-name knight, she thought there was something special about him...

    ...But it didn''t take long until his presence made her want to puke.

    ...Because Landris had a mouth... and therefore was capable of speaking.

    "And what do you mean tRuE LoVe?!" Valeria snapped, "Are you talking about that DUUUMB elf girl? The one that walked into the No-Elves-Allowed-Forest on her own two feet? Like, what did she think was gonna happen???"

    "Nah, I don''t really care about her," Landris shrugged.

    ...wat?

    Valeria stood up straight, all sense of urgency gone without a trace.

    "Why... are you even here, then? ...Is it because you''re in that boy''s club behind you?"

    "You know," Landris ced his hand on his chin... "I may not be single anymore, but if you''re interested, I could introduce you to my brother-in-arms. He''s a Prince from the Free Nation."

    "I''m not single either, you featherbrained *imbecile*!" Yelled the Formation Mage in the distance.

    ...His deep voice and ent were oddly charming-- but it was safe to assume that person was as dumb as the people he kept around him.

    "Landris!" Valeria shouted, "Fight me, b*tch. Best of three exchanges!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Hm," Landris smiled in a way that his eyes turned into half-moons. "Just like in the Academy, then. Were any of my records still there?"

    "Psh. Your shite records have all been broken," Valeria smiled... "by a certain Duchess."

    "One whose beauty is unparalleled, I''m sure."

    Landris put on the same smile with... different eyes.

    Did... he like her? No way!

    That would be-- ugh, just disgusting!

    Maybe it would have been a little bit attractive it belonged to literally anyone else, though.

    She tried to transfer the fiery feeling in her face into her next words:

    "State thy name and patron..."

    "Sorry, could you say that again?" Landris asked. "My ears are still ringing from the explosions."

    "JUST ACCEPT THE DUEL, B*TCH!!"

    "Oh."

    Landris... or Wroe... whatever he wanted to be called-- he saluted by lifting his sword upright, between his eyes.

    "My name is Landris," He said, "High Prince of House Wyndham... Warrior of Sol Invictus."

    Sol... Invictus? She was fighting against *the* Sol Invictus?

    She recognized the name.

    ...But she learned it from her sword instructors-- and they were so old, they probably used to fight wars with sticks instead of swords.

    "Ehhh? That old guild?" Valeria grimaced, "I SAID... Warlock of Sol Invictus... name. your. *patron.*"

    That wiped the smile off of Landris'' face.

    Valeria felt pretty satisfied with that.

    Landris cleared his throat and nodded.

    "My name is Landris Wyndham... and I serve the Lake Goddess, Erza Aerzin."

    The Lake Goddess? The Dragon Goddess sealed in the Well of Eternity?

    It was no wonder that his magical power wasparable to hers...

    Landris finally put his smile back on, "You''ll name yourself too, won''t you, (Sunshine?)"

    Hmph. That person might have been the Prince of the Realm, but he was also an idiot.

    "Oh ho ho hoh!" Valeriaughed, "Dear Prince, for that... you''ll have to do far better!"

    Valeria shed her sword, forming thirteen sizeable spheres of vtile magic in front of her.

    ...That might have been enough, but she wanted to be sure.

    Twice more, she swung her sword before willing her deadly magic forward.

    But that infuriating Prince!! With every explosion, he shed in and out of existence, seemingly unharmed.

    The only movement technique he should have known was ?Misty Step?... but for some reason, he had no limitations on its usage!

    "Is this good enough for you, Princess Romanov?" Landris quipped.

    "(You MOCK ME?!?!)" Valeria shot back.

    Only a Wyndham could dare take the Duchy of Romanov lightly. However... the Wyndham Empire had fallen a thousand years ago.

    And anyroad-- family names weren''t important in the face of pure power!

    She smashed her sword against her scaled forearm and it shattered, releasing a miasma of raging golden mana.

    That too, she sent at the descendant of Wyndham.

    Landris stepped out of a silvery fog, gentlynding on one foot. He closed his eyes... as if he was shutting out the world.

    A regr person would have probably thought he was giving up...

    Valeria was not convinced.

    Landris was praying to his goddess.

    ...And if he didn''t die soon, that goddess would definitely answer.

 Chapter 942 Name Yourself (Part Two)

    ?The swirling fragments of Valeria''s broken sword rose up, lighting the forest canopy a brilliant gold.

    The pieces snapped together in a cacophony of sparks, forming a great fanged beast with eight spined legs and six jagged wings.

    The level of power in that creation was so obscene that Valeria couldn''t even call it her own Spell.

    It was... terrifying.

    Her will had be an unstoppable force-- destruction incarnate.

    The raw, magical truth of an unforgiving Realm was shaped by divine ws into something inconceivable to her.

    Yet, mere seconds before the whirlwind of power could collide with Landris Wyndham... it stopped.

    The bolts of lightning on the mana-creature''s back stilled-- only half-formed.

    The molten me erupting from its maw slowed to a halt-- frozen in time.

    Ink-ck puddles of darkness again appeared all around Landris... and from those impossibly dark holes came countless pale hands.

    They reached up like slithering snakes... grasping at the golden beast with dirt-ridden nails and swollen fingers.

    It...

    was...

    ...beautiful.

    Unbidden tears wet Valeria''s cheeks...

    The sheer difference in power was undeniable.

    Was it... possible... that the Hex God was somehow... weaker than the Lake Goddess?

    No... That didn''t make sense.

    NOTHING made sense!

    Both gods were children of the Dragon God...

    But if that wasn''t true...

    Did the fault... lie in her?

    Was she mere... talentless trash, only meant to be thrown away?

    The fact that she was chosen... was she just... a cruel joke for the gods'' amusement?

    The Hex God''s kind eyes... his gentle reassurances and his honest praise-- was it the same kind of lies fed to her by her father?

    The golden mana-beast disappeared soundlessly, dragged into the dark abyss by a sea of white, elongated arms.

    And what remained was a single man.

    Landris Wyndham.

    And in his blue eyes... Valeria saw his firm, unwavering faith.

    "Princess Romanov," He said... "You need to calm down."

    "N... nn.... NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

    Valeria let out a scream...

    She could hear her own desperation in her voice.

    --her own weakness.

    So... she ripped it out.

    Valeria Ashenspire grabbed hold of her voice with her hands.

    The mana in it transformed... solidifying into a dark, twisted heap of dark iron closer to a nail-ridden stick than a sword.

    Its name was Curse of the ck Mountain... the one and only sword given by the Hex God.

    It was the only proof Valeria had... that someone believed in her as a person... more than her duty as a knight of the Romanov line... even more than her title as Duchess.

    She raised her ?Hexde? high as she charged Landris Wyndham.

    He stood resolutely... unflinching. He ignored Valeria''s feint and parried the low strike that came after.

    The Curse of the ck Mountain burst into furious ck mes, followed by a sh of golden light.

    At the close range, Valeria was covered in soot. Her head ached, her ears rang, and her eyes clouded with white... but her heart still yearned for blood.

    Nothing had changed.

    Landris still stood.

    He was sheathed in a silvery barrier... mana interwoven much like the dragonscale on Valeria''s own body.

    Prince Landris had left Nemaya Strana to prove himself... to be worthy of his royal blood.

    Somehow... he made it.

    And Valeria... did not.

    No matter how much she trained, no matter who she killed, no matter how much forbidden knowledge she collected... it meant nothing.

    ...not to her people.

    ...not to her royal peers.

    ...not to her father.

    ...not to her childhood friend.

    Valeria swung her sword onest time-- and Landris caught the de with his bare hand. He held it tight, allowing its uneven edges to cut his flesh.

    "Are you finished, (Sunshine)?" He asked with a smile.

    "That spell just now... it was dragon magic... ?Diamond Scales?, wasn''t it?!" Valeria whispered, "How can you..."

    Landris had given his true name...<novelnext></novelnext>

    That put him under the effect of the Hex God''s domain.

    It should... have been... *impossible*... for him to activate his defensive spells.

    Unless... he didn''t do it on purpose?

    The idiot Prince tilted his head... "I had faith that my goddess would protect me, that''s all."

    "Landris..." Valeria narrowed her eyes, "Why... are you going this far? If you''re openly using dragon--"

    "Ah ah," Landris pressed a finger against her lips, "I''ll answer... so don''t talk about things that don''t exist."

    ...What?

    How?

    But...

    Erza Aerzin was a DRAGON GODDESS!!!!!!

    "I have... a dear friend," Landris said with a pained smile. "We''ve been friends for a long time, actually. He doesn''t like that kind of talk."

    The Prince loosed a soft sigh and looked up with a dreamy look in his eyes-- but Valeria was still too stunned to respond.

    "I don''t know why he puts so much faith in a screwup like me," Landris continued, "But... if it''s in my power... I''d like to pay him back for it."

    Valeria narrowed her eyes into tiny squints.

    "Dude..." She shook her head... "You''re so... frickin''... dumb..."

    Landris let out augh, rxing his shoulders and standing straight, "Hah... Yeah. I know."

    Valeria took a deep breath in through her nostrils and took a step backward.

    She reached behind her back and into her dimensional storage pouch.

    From it, she drew her pistol.

    With a firm hold on the pistol grip, she clicked the safety switch off.

    In a smooth, practiced motion, she pointed the barrel at thest Prince of the Wyndham line.

    Slow but certain, she applied pressure on the trigger.

    The mechanism drew the hammer back... and released it. The hammer struck the outer shell of the bullet. The primer within ignited.

    Bang.

    The noisy crack of the first shot rang in Valeria''s ears, but she had neither the mana to protect her hearing nor the luxury to care.

    Landris managed to swing his sword-- maybe deflecting the first shot? But Valeria wasn''t done.

    The second shot hit him in the chest, piercing a hole through his armor.

    Valeria could taste the mist of blood that came forth.

    ...She didn''t know it beforehand, but Landris'' ?Diamond Scales? must have only worked to disperse the force of area-effect magic.

    It was a strangely perfect counter to dragonfire.

    --andpletely useless against modern Nemayan engineering.

    And thanks to the Hex God''s curse, Landris couldn''t even use ?Mana Ward? to defend himself.

    The Prince grit his teeth... his soft eyes no longer calm. He didn''t drop his sword... but he reached forward with his opposite hand.

    Valeria aimed her third and fourth shots at his heart.

    It was strange, though...

    It didn''t seem like Landris was trying to cast a spell.

    What was he trying to do?

    Plead for mercy?

    Did he... really not understand their positions?

    Did he think she wouldn''t shoot?

    Valeria had no choice, in order to survive. He *must* have realized that?

    He had to die... and no one could learn about her involvement in his death.

    She shot Landris in the upper thigh.

    He copsed onto his knees.

    She shot him in the right shoulder.

    He still held tightly onto his sword.

    Valeria took another step backward.

    Aiming carefully, she ced two well-aimed shots through Landris Wyndham''s forehead.

    The Prince copsed backward, one neat hole bored between his eyebrows, and another slightly higher.

    Finally... Valeria lowered her weapon.

    She could not deny... that that man had more faith than she did.

    But what use was that faith?

    Faith in his goddess... faith in whatever friend he was talking about... nothing truly mattered.

    The Realm was going to be reborn soon... and no one was going to be able to stop it.

    Valeria lowered her head and closed her eyes.

    "Forgive me for the offense, Prince Landris," She whispered. "My name... is Valeria of the Romanov Duchy... servant of the Hex God, Kyrj Kira''ak... and... the heir of ash and fire."

 Chapter 943 Still Alive

    ?? Somewhere... far away... maybe? ?

    A handsome grey wolf approached a sparkling pool of water for a drink.

    He stretched his body in view of his reflection, admiring his handsome grey pelt-- which was very much like that of a real wolf.

    Tres Leches was not *technically* a real wolf.

    Real wolves had little to no metal in or outside their bodies.

    If anything, Tres was originally reluctant to think of himself as a *fake* wolf. At that time, he wanted to embrace his dark iron heritage.

    However, he realized how nice it was to have a luxurious pelt...

    --also, how nice baths were.

    Therefore, thoughts of ''real'' and ''fake'' wasn''t so important.

    The benefits of being fluffy and cleanrgely outshone any benefits of being... sharp and edgy?

    --metal-y and polished?

    Tres Leches whet his thirst in the pool. Real wolves drank water because they would die without it.

    He drank water because it was delicious.

    It was a treat-- and one well-deserved.

    Some time ago, he had killed a Dire Warthog from the Dungeon, draped its carcass over the mounted pole, and let the blood drip out.

    His partner, Lone, still had to cut off its tough skin and take out its guts-- the stuff that didn''t taste very good.

    Afterward, breakfast would be tasty.

    It would be a treat.

    Life was all about treats and headpats.

    ...The snake said to always bleed the corpses as much as they could before allowing Lone to cook the meat. He said it tasted better that way.

    Of course, it wasn''t that Tres Leches didn''t trust his human.

    That person tended to... forget things... sometimes.

    "Oh... AwhhHhh."

    Tres Leches'' ears perked up, hearing the rousing yawns of his best friend and partner.

    Lone emerged from his tent, at first farting loudly, then scratching at his testicles-- then breathing in the aroma of his testicle-scratching paw.

    "Huh? You''re already up?" He said.

    "(I don''t sleep,)" Tres replied happily. "(But it''s nice to see you, partner.)"

    "Good morning, Tres Leches," Lone grinned before making a biiiiig stretch... "AhHhh... You ready to attack another sun in Turrim Orientem?"

    Tres thought for a moment before responding.

    "(This is not the real Turrim Orientem, Lone. And it''s not morning. Time does not exist here. When you tried to y with your Elf-sticks, the two of us were sealed in this ce-- an illusionary Dungeon full of fake dirt, fake air, and fake monsters.)"

    Lone raised his eyebrows-- as if he was trying to process everything Tres Leches said.

    ...But in the end--

    "You''re such a good boy, Tres Leches!!" Lone eximed.

    He knelt down for a hug and some head pats.

    "(Thank you.)"

    It wasn''t a bad feeling.

    The snake had a word for Lone to describe how he acted.

    That word was...

    Ipetent.

    Lone was ipetent.<novelnext></novelnext>

    It wasn''t the *best* word to describe him, though. Humannguage had a lot of words, so it was sometimes hard to pick the *very best* one.

    Lone was verypetent! --at many things!

    When it stormed during the rainy season, Lone was very brave. He needed only a little bit of reassurance-- and only when it was particrly bad.

    Out of anyone, ever, Lone had the best head pats.

    --err... out of any human.

    ...best of any male human, without a single doubt!

    Oh, also: food tasted the best when they ate together.

    Tres Leches didn''t even need to eat-- that''s how good meals together were.

    "Y''know what, Tres Leches?" Lone sighed... "I''m not trying to be weird-- but... I really appreciate being able to hang out with you."

    "(Me too, partner,)" Tres Leches replied. His tail was wagging. It was unstoppable.

    No matter what anyone said, Lone was the best partner Tres Leches could ever have.

    "Huh? What''s this?"

    It seemed that Lone had finally noticed the Dire Warthog, ready to be cut-up.

    Tres Leches'' tail-wagging had reached peak speed. Soon, they''d have fire-roasted--

    "Eughh, gross," Lone frowned. "It''s already dead. Should we throw it away?"

    Tres Leches sat back on his haunches, lifted his front paw, and gently bapped his partner on the nose.

    "(Don''t throw it away. That''s your breakfast.)"

    "Ow, what was that for?" Lone frowned...

    The human blinked a few times, looking back from the pig to the unlit firepit (with dried firewood already pre-arranged in a little circle)-- then back to the pig.

    "Now that I think of it..." Lone hummed... "I can cut this thing up and cook it, huh?"

    "(Yes,)" Tres nodded. "(Good human~ I''m so proud of you! You''re sopetent!)"

    "I''ll get started then..."

    It didn''t take Lone long. He had be an expert at preparing fake-dungeon-creatures to be fake-fire-roasted.

    ...They''d been trapped in the fake-dungeon for so long, that the two of them became skilled in very many things.

    Besides cooking, Lone had learned how to identify, track, and beat up every baddie they met. He also learned how to use different kinds of weapons and how to cast all kinds of elemental magics.

    Of course, Tres also became skilled with most of those things. He wasn''t able to do two-legged, two-handed things like the Elf-Stick Dance, of course. However, he could more-or-less fight evenly with his partner using the sharp-stick-in-mouthbat style, supplemented by Augmenting Howls for faster or heavier stick-wielding.

    Lone let out a heavy sigh as he used an Elementary fire Spell to ignite the campfire. Since he could cast three Second-Circle spells in a row even when he was hungry, his sigh was out of the ordinary.

    "How long have we been here, Tres?" He asked in a quiet voice.

    Tres Leches looked over to the nearby Dungeon wall. In the past, whenever he brought back a big monster for Lone to cook, he carved a line in the rock.

    (His Dark Iron ws could cut into pretty much anything.)

    There were so many lines, though... that it was impossible for any living being to count them.

    --And even if either of them could...

    "(With the way time flows in this ce, it''s hard to tell,)" Tres whined.

    Lone furrowed his eyebrows, "It''s been, like... three years, right?"

    Tres Leches sneezed in disbelief-- "(If you''re going to guess, it has to be at least... five as many of that! Five... times... three? That''s... eeeeiiiight? Eight.)"

    Lone shook his head and pouted his lips.

    "Hey, Tres."

    Tres'' ears perked up, "Rrr?"

    "...Is it okay for us to live like this?"

 Chapter 944 Horrific Realization

    ?Tres Leches lied t on the dungeon floor and opened his mouth for a big,zy yawn.

    Life was fleeting.

    Humans are born. They eat in order to live. They make pups.

    Then... they die.

    Tres Leches followed the same rules-- more or less.

    He was a big chunk of dark iron, hammered into shape by nice people with long beards.

    Though he didn''t need to eat to survive, he liked being rewarded with treats.

    Some sun in the future, he hoped to find a female-awakened-chunk-of-metal.

    She''d be very strong-- just like him.

    She''d also smell very nice...

    They''d fall in love. They''d make pups together.

    And just the same... some sun, his consciousness would lull and he''d never wake up again.

    Tres was fine with that.

    At one point in his life, he dered he lived only for meat jerky and head pats.

    His human, Lone, was a little different.

    Was it ''okay'' for him to live how he did?

    The reason he was anxious... was probably because of Pack Leader Tycon.

    He said that there was something more than living for... ''hedonistic desires''-- he called it.

    He called it... potential.

    He said that-- for Lone, realizing his potential was just as important to him as eating to live and eventually making pups.

    Potential.

    It took a long time for Tres Leche to understand what that meant.

    The reason to eat was to grow big and strong. By being big and strong, a wolf could protect his or her pack.

    The reason to make pups was to ensure the pack survives. As long as the pack survives, a wolf was unafraid of death.

    Lone pursuing ''potential'' was to make him the biggest, fastest, strongest, and overall good-est human he could possibly be.

    From how the snake exined it, it would be *irresponsible* for Lone not to do that.

    After the two finished their breakfast, Lone sat with his back to a big rock, cradling his stomach like he was with pups.

    "Y''know, Tres," He said... "I miss Boss."

    Tres Leches nodded in agreement before snuggling with his partner tofort him.

    The snake always knew the tastiest monsters to capture and the best-smelling vegetables and mushrooms to roast. He always had magic herbs or spices to vor the meats, too.

    Being around him always made Tres Leches feel... safe.

    That was the best trait a pack leader could have.

    When Tres became a pack leader, himself, he wanted his pack to have that sort of feeling...

    The snake was gone, though-- or maybe... he was just as lost as they were?

    But even without Tycon... the pack was still out there, somewhere.

    Sol Invictus.

    Lone had to be strong for the pack... so Tres couldn''t let him get fat andzy.

    Lone rolled over onto his side, "Whew. Now that that''s done... I think I''ll go back to sleep."

    "(Nice try, partner,)" Tres used his snout to gently help his human get to his feet, "(Get up. Let''s go back to the Dungeon.)"

    "Uuuughhh. Do we have to?" Loneined, "Wepleted allllll 50 floors a sun ago? And three suns before that!"

    "(Yesterday *was* our break day,)" Tres growled. "(If we go all out, we can finish the Dungeon without resting even once.)"

    Lone began to stretch-- but suddenly, he pumped his arms down.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I just had a great idea!" He said, "Let''s do something new!"

    Something new? Tres felt his tail wagging again.

    "(How about I teach you how to speak Wolf? It''s been long enough, don''t you think?)"

    Lone folded his hands in front of his mouth for a moment... then raised his eyebrows, "How about... another single-element run? I haven''t done wind yet."

    ...That was a little disappointing. But if that was what Lone wanted to do, that was fine.

    "(That sounds fun,)" Tres put his paws forward and stretched his back, "(I''ll be using my new elemental Skills, then... I think ?Shadow w? and ?Drill Run? would be good.)"

    "Wait wait wait," Lone waved his hand...

    There was a strange look in the human''s eyes... and his whole body shook.

    And from the scent he was giving off...

    Lone... was scared?

    Tres picked up on it-- because of course he did! He was Lone''s best friend. He knew everything about his human!

    "Tres..." Lone whispered... "have I ever..."

    "(What is it? What''s wrong, human?)"

    Lone gulped... and his lips trembled lightly... "Since we got here... have... I ever... pooped?"

    Tres Leches blinked... and slowly tilted his head.

    That was odd.

    His partner hadn''t pooped since they arrived in the fake Dungeon.

    But... he was human! This was an emergency!

    ...

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, found a lot of things weird about the ce that was supposed to be Turrim Orientem.

    First off... he was pretty sure he''d already left that ce-- and legally, too!

    But... seeing how every stone, every chain, every pile of bones were exactly how he''d remembered it... the ce was pretty convincing.

    Another thing was... he hadn''t seen a single other person besides himself.

    Logically, other people were aboveground, where the inmate cells were.

    Lone... considered going back up there.

    There was probably mail from his girlfriend.

    ...There was probably *a lot* of mail from his girlfriend-- to the point that he really didn''t want to deal with it.

    Seven hells...

    From what he remembered of the warden... that person really liked to send inmates down to the Dungeon... to their all-but-certain deaths.

    Supposedly, clearing the monster poptions every couple of moons would prevent a Dungeon Break from urring.

    ording to popr opinion, though, the warden was just a heartless bastard.

    Or maybe... that guy got reced with someone else? Someone heart-ful?

    Anyroad, there were more weird things about the ce that was supposed to be ''Turrim Orientem.''

    Lone had his partner with him, Tres Leches. That was cool.

    Even the worst injuries he took in the Dungeon healed over time. That was cool too.

    Whenever he closed his eyes, foreign memories of learning high-level Elf magics seeped into his brain.

    He wasn''t sure how he felt about that.

    But one thing was far too strange to overlook...

    Since the time he woke up in the Turrim Orientem Dungeon with Tres... he hadn''t pooped even once.

    "...Am I going to die?"

    ",

 Chapter 945 Final Push

    ?Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, held out his fist in front of him.

    He clenched it tight... the tightness equal or greater to the clenching of his sphincter.

    He needed to see a doctor!

    R e a l l y . b a d .

    ...But there were no doctors in Turrim Orientem!

    ...Or were there? He''d have to journey to the surface and ask around--

    He wouldn''tst that long, though! Even with all the training he''d done, he couldn''t fight his own body!

    --or could he?

    Tres Leches made a pitiful whining sound. For a tiny fraction of a second, it looked like he was pitying him... but that was ridiculous. His partner wasn''t like that!

    Most likely, he was saying something like, ''you won''t die if you poop immediately!''

    And so, the Lone Shadowdark sprinted as if his life depended on it-- because it did.

    He made it halfway down the hall before realizing something terrible.

    Running in his condition made no sense! His stomach should be hurting like crazy!

    He slid forward while clutching his gut, the crack of his knees echoing on the dungeon tile.

    Was it going toe out?! No! He couldn''t let that happen!

    He. Had. SELF. RESPECT!!!!!!!

    So much self-respect!!

    Lone crawled down the rest of the hallway, thenbat-rolled twice to reach a corner.

    Quickly unbuttoning his trousers, he pulled them down and assumed the squatting position.

    And then he--

    ? HUUUMANNNN!!! ?

    A voice called for him, loud, magical, andpletely unwee.

    Lone had needed to poop so, very badly-- but he was caught off guard by the weird shouting voice in his head.

    ...He was pretty sure ''it'' was half-way out, but ''it'' all went back inside.

    "What... what do you want?" Lone asked. He tried to hold back his tears but failed miserably.

    ? Now is NOT the time to defecate! The FATE of the REALM is at risk! ?

    Lone lifted his head, "You''re wrong. Now can ONLY be the time to def-recate!!"

    A golden, star-shaped leaf appeared in front of him, lighting the corridor.

    As strange as it looked, Lone wasn''t surprised.

    He was used to encountering sentient, speaking monsters in the Dungeon. He''d beat up hundreds, if not thousands of things like that.

    Swiping his hand in front of him, he activated a swirling ?me Cross? Spell. It was something he''d practiced so often, he could cast it without chanting.

    "I''ve urGH-- I''ve earned this," Lone grunted. "You. won''t. TAKE THIS FROM ME!!"

    His magic shot forward, engulfing his target in a violent burst of mes.

    The magic leaf seemed to... wiggle a bit, as if fighting to survive. Still, the leaf burnt away, bit by bit, until it had incineratedpletely.

    Lone kept watching for a few moments more before sighing in relief.

    Finally, he was able to poop in peace.

    "Bork! Bork bork!!!"

    The sudden quick-cking of wolf paws escted Lone''s wariness.

    Tres Leches turned the corner...

    "Bork?"

    "O-oh... It''s just you, Tres," Lone sighed.

    That he could be scared of his own wolf made him feel a little embarrassed.

    Tres Leches was a good dog. He even brought Lone a gift-- something to wipe with.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A... golden leaf?

    ? LONE SHADOWDARK!!! ?

    "What the HELLS DO YOU WANT?!?!?"

    ...

    "(It''s YOUU!!!)" Tres Leches borked.

    He whipped his head around, trying to snap the neck of the enemy he held within his mouth. He even rolled onto his back-- but the enemy still made noises!!

    ? Release me at once, cur! I WILL speak to thy master! ?

    "(Over my DEAD BODY, RAWWRRRRR!!!!)"

    Tres Leches tried to keep his jaws tight, but the magic power was too great. Spitting the poop-leaf out, he dashed over to his partner''s side.

    "(Lone! Listen to me! That thing is our enemy!!! It''s TRAPPED us here for-- for at at least EIGHT!!)"

    It had been a long time. It might have been even longer than eight... but Tres was fairly sure he got his point across to his--

    "Tres, calm down. It''s just a poop-leaf."

    "(We must defeat the enemy here and now, partner!)" Tres insisted. "(We NEED you to get your body back! Let''s split up. I''ll nip at his heels-- then you wave your sword so he gets scared!)"

    ? This Kinges in peace. As proof, my appearance is as such. ?

    "(Once he makes a mistake, Lone, I''ll go in for the kill! I''ll bite his belly! I''ll rip his throat out! Come ON! We practiced this!!!)"

    "Please just let me poop," Lone begged.

    ? Stand down. My business is with thy human. Thou art a mere beast-- with no qualifications to stand against A GOD!! ?

    The raw power that the poop-leaf was emanating was scarier than anything Tres Leches had ever experienced. He immediately transformed back into his dark iron form, but he still found himself shaking with fear.

    He growled, deep and low.

    Though he felt that deep, primal fear in every bit of his essence... as long as Lone was in danger, he wouldn''t sit back and do nothing!

    "(I may have been a coward in the past... and more than once, I might have epted bribes and left my partner to face danger by himself... but I will not back down here.)

    "(I do NOT FEAR YOU, monster! Even if you''re the God of the Hunt, incarnate, I. WILL NOT. BACK DOWN!!!)

    "(Hear my name and know my resolve! My name is MOON-MOON-MOON!! Face me AND YOU FACE DEATH, POOP-LEAF!!!)"

    ...

    Lone closed his eyes.

    He just wanted to poop.

    ...But no matter how much he willed for it, the poop didn''te out.

    He was... a shy-pooper.

    He couldn''t poop when anyone else was near him. Even if he just *thought* someone was watching, it was impossible.

    He swallowed his saliva.

    He was too familiar with the euphoric feeling of desire in his heart... wanting something so, so very bad... and knowing he''d never be able to get it.

    But it wasn''t really impossible.

    He just needed... a push.

    He was an unworked piece of steel when he first met Tycon.

    Then over the suns and moons... he was forged into a vicious weapon.

    Time and time again, he was tested... by crooks and thieves, by metal-ranked monsters and superpowered viins.

    --by 50-level Dungeons...

    He was unstoppable.

    And thus... him pooping... was an inevitability.

    Ready to face his destiny, Lone opened his eyes.

    ...but he was no longer in Turrim Orientem.

 Chapter 946 Authority Of The Elf God

    ?Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, was floating in the air somewhere in the middle of a dark forest. Light spilled through the leaves above. From below, the sweet scent of charcoal wafted up...

    --but it was the coppery stink of blood that stuck to the inside of his nose.

    On the forest floor, he saw... an elf.

    He looked strong.

    The elf''s skin was dark-- about the same shade as his own.

    He wore a simr set of armor too...

    However-- unlike him, he looked like a total loser. He was getting his butt-kicked by some green guy.

    ? It... pains me greatly to say this... ?

    It seemed like poop-leaf was still talking straight to his mind.

    ? but... I cannot win this fight on my own. ?

    Lone wanted to cover his ears with his hands... but it seemed like he was no longer in control of his body.

    ? I... need... your help, Lone Shadowdark. ?

    Lone tried to swallow his saliva-- but he couldn''t even do that. It was like... he didn''t have a body at all-- like he existed just as his consciousness, aware of everything, but unable to do anything about it.

    ...Was he dead?

    No, that didn''t make any sense.

    He didn''t have permission to die.

    Then... if all he could do was listen... he would do just that.

    ? Hear me, Lone Shadowdark... ?

    ? Your entire Realm is in danger. ?

    ? Should the Tree God defeat me, my Divine Essence will fall into his hands... ?

    ? That, if granted to his allies, will hasten the return of the Dragon God. ?

    ? ...and when that sun rises, the world will be naught but ash... and fire. ?

    Lone could almost feel the cogs in his brain turning. He was listening to some pretty heavy stuff...

    ? Barza Keth... the Lone Shadowdark... ?

    ? Thou hast drunk from the wells of my divine knowledge... thou hast defeated the enemies I defeated long ago, a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times... ?

    ? Thou hast be my disciple, though we share not the same blood. ?

    ? ...My only disciple. ?

    ? Yet... my greatest disciple, in this moment and until the end of all suns... ?

    ? Lone Shadowdark, heed my call. ?

    ? Lend my thy aid... and together, we can be heroes to the current generation. ?

    Lone drew in a breath-- well, not really. He was just a stream of consciousness.

    He paused for a moment-- about the same length of time as if he was taking a breath.

    "Yeah, no."

    ? ... ?

    ? ... ?

    ? ...Lone Shadowdark, lend me thy-- ?

    "I heard you the first time," Lone ''shouted,'' "and my answer is still NO! NONE of that is MY problem!"

    ? but-- ?

    "And I DON''T WANT TO! You''re asking me to fight a god! That''s-- that''s scary!"

    ? ...but the Dungeon, you-- ?

    "I don''t care! I''m not gonna help you!"

    ? --but the Realm? ?

    "Where''s my dog, motherf*cker?"

    ? Lone... ?

    "What is it now?!"

    ? A child is in danger. ?

    Even though Lone didn''t have a body, it felt as if something grabbed hold of his heart and squeezed.

    ? She is a child of House Moonwell... a daughter of my wife. ?

    A daughter...

    Lone had a daughter once.

    It felt like it had been over a hundred years since he''d lost her... and going through the Dungeon of Turrim Orientem, he hadn''t really thought about anything each sun except fighting, eating, and sleeping.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ? She will die without your help. ?

    "I..." Lone paused.

    Was he really going to offer his help because of someone else''s kid?

    What would Tycon do?

    ...Lone was at a loss. He had no idea what his boss would do.

    Maybe he''d kill the child, himself? After all, he didn''t really pull punches against Pale or Taree.

    Lone decided to pick someone else as his spirit guide.

    What would... Coraline do?

    She''d... probably... kill him, since he hadn''t responded to her letters in so long.

    Ahhhhh!

    Lone was in trouble.

    He knew, for sure, that agreeing to help was a bad idea!

    It sounded like a big f*cking problem-- something way out of his depth!!

    ? This King came to this Realm... to save it. But even if I cannot do so with my own hands... I will not abandon my people. ?

    ? Barza Keith. ?

    "Wait, I didn''t agree to anything!"

    He tried to wave his hands, but he... still... didn''t have any.

    ? Lone Shadowdark. ?

    "No. Nooo. Don''t you do this to me, poop-leaf."

    ? I am no dragon... I cannot make thee a Draconic Exarch. ?

    "What the hells?! Dragons don''t even exist, guy!"

    ? Nevertheless, thou art my chosen hero. ?

    ? The power of the heavens! The AUTHORITY of the Elf God-- I SHALL GRANT IT TO THEE!! ?

    ...

    "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

    Lone shouted with all the power he had in his lungs before copsing down to one knee.

    His vision was blurry and he rubbed his eyes, trying to adjust.

    He was in the forest he saw earlier... countless vines at his feet... as well as a pool of blood.

    He had his body back!!

    Looking down, though... for some reason... he... waspletely naked.

    "...Nice," He nodded. "I''ve been workin'' out."

    And though it probably wasn''t important anymore, he didn''t feel the need to poop any longer?

    "Once more, Elf God," Said a voice that was definitely not his-- "youmit a sphemy in my presence."

    Lone looked up to see a stunned-looking... person standing in front of him.

    That person was also naked. They were also seven fulms tall and... their skin was green?

    ...He looked familiar.

    "Ahem," Lone cleared his throat. "And uh... what sphemy woulds''t that may be?"

    The green person furrowed his brows, "The use of the ?Reincarnate? Spell... and with it, you''ve transformed from an elf... into... a human? You''ve made a foolish choice."

    "You are wrong," Lone dered proudly.

    The green person''s furrowed their hairless brows, having been put in their ce.

    It wasn''t every sun he met a green-person, though...

    Thest time he saw one...

    ...Oh, snap!

    That-- that was the guy poop-leaf was fighting!!

    He was using vine-crush-- and...

    The pool of blood-- that''s all that was left of him!

    Lone sharpened his gaze and lowered his stance.

    "You killed my poop-leaf, motherf*cker."

    ",

 Chapter 947 Too Much

    ?Poop-leaf was dead.

    To Barza Keith... the Lone Shadowdark, it had be an in-consble, in-conceivable fact.

    He wasn''t even sure if those were real words-- but that was the best way to describe what his heart felt!!

    Only the strongest beings could turn into leaves and pull people outside of their bodies-- obviously.

    Since the naked green guy beat off poop-leaf... that meant they were really, FREAKIN'' strong!

    Lone felt sweat start to drip down from his forehead.

    Because he wasn''t thinking straight, he''d said some really messed-up things!

    It wasn''t toote for him to take it back, though!

    "I mean... I''m not saying you''re wrong, uh... Sir," Lone bowed his head, "I mean to say... you''re incorrect."

    Did that work?

    A slow, embarrassed smile crossed Lone''s face.

    That had to work!

    The green guy didn''t look too happy, though...

    --but maybe he was like Boss Tycon? Maybe underneath that unmoving, eternally-annoyed face, he had... a heart of gold?

    "All that''s left of thy divinity runs red upon the dirt," The green person spat. "And still... you *dare* speak with such irreverence."

    "Psh," Lone rolled his eyes. "And all that''s left of THOU''ST divinity got SWALLOWED by thy MOM!!"

    He chuckled to himself, then looked from side to side.

    But none of his teammates were around, though.

    ...Dragan would have really liked that joke.

    Tres Leches would have at least held his paw out for it.

    The green person held his hand forward... but, since he was far away, he probably wasn''t offering a high-five.

    Lone felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The green guy was probably going to attack.

    Was he a mage? He wasn''t holding a weapon.

    He was probably a mage.

    "Die," He said.

    The vines at Lone''s feet came to life, whipping around and wrapping around his legs and torso.

    "What the-- WHAT! DUDE! YOU CAN''T DO THIS!!"

    "I am the TREE GOD and this is MY FOREST!! There is NOTHING I CANNOT DO!!"

    Lone''s eyes widened.

    He was fighting the TREE GOD?! That sounded really strong!!

    But... it looked like the Tree God wasn''t using his strongest attacks-- which made sense. It would be embarrassing for a god to go all out against a regr human.

    Lone sighed in relief as he realized the thorns on the vines weren''t sharp enough to prick his skin. Thest thing he wanted was to add his own blood to the pool he was standing in.

    Flexing his muscles to create some space, he slipped his arms free and tore the prickly vines apart with pure, MANLY-MAN STRENGTH!

    More veins were bulging out of his forearms than he remembered. It was crazy! At his level, it was super-hard to lose body fat.

    ...He had some questions about how or why he''d changed so much, but he doubted the Tree God could answer them.

    "Y-you... how?" The Tree God muttered, "How could... a mere mortal..."

    "Simple," Lone grinned. "I BE SWOL AS F*CK, YO!!! Take this! ?WindSTORMMM?!!"

    As he crossed his arms in front of him, a st of razor-sharp winds cut the dancing vines into pieces.

    Lone then shot his palms forward, hitting the Tree God with a concentrated wind tunnel.

    "C-cease thy actions AT ONCE, human! Your-- thy PITIFUL mortal frame cannot handle a spell of such caliber!!!"

    "Hah! Yeah, right, I could do this all--"

    Suddenly, lightning bolts of pain traveled up Lone''s arms and electrocuted his chest. Soon, it felt like something evil had burrowed inside all his muscles-- trying to rip and tear everything apart.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone grit his teeth, trying to stay conscious despite the pain. Blood pooled in his throat and started to drip down his mouth.

    ? How many generations has it been, brother and sister? Since when has a human shown such bravery in the face of adversity? ?

    ...Lone thought he heard a girl''s voice.

    She sounded pretty.

    Had he died? Even without permission?

    That... that was f*cked up.

    ...He heard that there were pretty girls in heaven, though.

    ...Not like the angels he fought a couple of years ago-- but *actually* pretty girls.

    The pain stopped... and it felt like... someone was hugging him? A cool,fortable feeling washed over his body.

    "Fear not, Lord Ranger," Someone whispered into his ear... "The Goddess of Love will aid thee in thy plight."

    "C-Coraline?" Lone frowned, "I... I can exin."

    "I''m only temporarily taking the form of your one true love, Mister Shadowdark," Coraline (Not-Coraline?) winked as she let him go. "You still have to apologize to her properly, after this."

    Lone coughed into a closed fist as he turned away.

    Maybe he wasn''t dead, after all. He could clearly feel a burning sensation in his face.

    It was like... he was blushing? But more likely, it was a side-effect of Coraline/Not-Coraline stabilizing his mana.

    Wait, did she say she was a goddess?

    Or... was... his girlfriend actually a goddess in disguise? Was this some kind of prank?

    Lone''s train of thought was cut off when a mana-empowered yell made the earth shake. Branches started to fall and some trees even started to topple.

    "I am the GOD. OF. THIS. FOREST!!"

    A clump of rocks and dirt exploded, revealing the battered form of the Tree God. He was scraped, bruised, and covered in a yellowish liquid... which might''ve been blood?

    It looked gross.

    It looked like ?Windstorm? was super-effective against that guy.

    It also looked it really, really pissed him off.

    "Insignificant ELF SCUM," He snarled. "You... DARE... TRESPASS, HERE?!??!?"

    "What can I say?" Not-Coraline shrugged, "A certain Miss Heartsong has desperately prayed for her lover''s safety every sun. What kind of goddess would turn a blind eye to that level of devotion?"

    ...Lone *really* wanted to ask how mad Real-Coraline was... but he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

    "Now, Lone," Not-Coraline whispered... in a deep... inconceivably sexy voice.

    Lone bit his upper lip, "Y-yeah?"

    She... smelled really, really nice.

    "Go get ''em, Tiger."

    Lone gulped, "Oh. OhH... Okay~"

    He put his arms forward... and used mana to draw... the first few spell-circles that came to mind.

    "Um... ?Hell Soul Augment?? ?Twin Spell?, ?Maximum Velocity?... ?Summon Spirit: ck Death Butterflies?."

    "Wh-whoa," Coraline gasped. "That''s... really cool."

    Lone felt a surge of joy in his heart.

    In Turrim Orientem, he''d practiced magic for what felt like tens of years. It was boring. It was tiresome. Every waking moment, he missed his friends, his girlfriend... and the light of the sun.

    But... hearing Coralinepliment him... made him happier than he ever remembered being.

    "Hah... haha... Oh... oh no," She giggled awkwardly. "That''s too much mana to stabilize-- even for me."

    Lone furrowed his brows.

    "Eh?"

 Chapter 948 God Of The Hunt

    ?The magic lit up Coraline''s face. Her hair flowed in the wind.

    She was... probably the prettiest girl Lone had ever seen.

    ...Was she thest thing he was going to see?

    "Are you so scared of your girlfriend that you''re willing to blow yourself up?" She asked.

    Lone felt tears brimming at the corner of his eyes. That''s not what he wanted! That''s not what he wanted, at all!

    ? The Lone Shadowdark fights to protect those whom he loves. ?

    "He does?" Asked Coraline.

    ? He fears not defeat-- nor does he fear death. ?

    "I don''t?" Asked Lone.

    There was yet *another* woman''s voice echoing in his head.

    "And on this sun, he will find neither," They said-- whoever they were.

    "Big Sister!!" Coraline shouted.

    Big... sister?

    ...Did Coraline have a sister?

    --and was it a younger sister or an older sister?

    Lone carefully turned his head to look where his girlfriend(?) was looking.

    An elf with hair made of moonlight was standing next to him.

    She wore a long, flowing skirt... and a cropped top that showed her arms and stomach.

    But... but those biceps and triceps-- and those forearms! They were so toned!

    And those ABS! OUGGHRGHHHH!!! He could see their lines as clear as if they were chiseled out of stone!

    --but most UNBELIEVABLY... her tits were double-D, AT LEAST!!!

    With a wave of her hand (and a jiggle of her-- yeah,) Lone''s spell circles activated all at once. Thousands of ck Death Butterflies made of silvery mana shot towards the Tree God.

    For several seconds, Lone''s field of vision turned white.

    The Tree God didn''t scream.

    Lone was screaming, though. He was fairly certain he was in a life-or-death situation, so being blind was one of the worst things that could happen to him.

    ...After a short while of him defensively punching and spin-kicking his immediate area, his vision began to return.

    Miraculously, he survived.

    In that short time, thendscape had changed as far as he could see. The ground had turned white. All the trees had turned into stone. All the leaves and bushes had disappeared, too.

    And the Tree God? He was right-about where he was before, standing still and crossing his arms to guard his face. He had turned to stone as well... but there were cracks all over his body.

    Lone looked back to who was probably the Elven goddess of br-- of beauty.

    ...His savior.

    "Good afternoon, Lord Ranger," She waved.

    "Oh. Good... afternoon?"

    "I am... impressed," She smiled. "You''ve have attained the rank of master not only with the de Dance, but with Elven magic!"

    "I have?" Lone blinked.

    Coraline giggled as she hung from his arm, "He''s the first human I''ve ever seen to not just train in the Elven way, but actually seed!"

    "Wh-what did I do?" Lone asked her.

    He... didn''t remember *really* training. All he''d done over the past few years was... hang out with Tres Leches and try not to die.

    But then again...tely, he''d been real shite at remembering things.

    Up until recently, he''d even forgotten to poop.

    "Elves practice best when we''re inspired," Coraline exined-- "but since you''ve been in that Dungeon for over a thousand years, you got great at everything!"

    "I was..." Lone furrowed his brows-- "a thousand... huHhH?"

    The white-haired elf bowed-- graceful-like, like she was a very, very rich merchant''s daughter.

    "I am the Moon Goddess, the Daughter of the Night Skies, and the Lady of Dreams..."

    Lone blinked his eyes a few more times. He *thought* he felt his gaze drifting to the goddess'' perfectly-defined abdominal muscles, but then he *for-sure* felt the back of his head get smacked by Coraline.

    "Mind your manners, babe."

    Ow.

    "My name is Lone," He coughed-- "Lone Shadowdark."

    The Moon Goddess covered her mouth with a silvery fan tough. Where she got that fan and why she felt the need to cover her mouth with it, Lone had no clue.

    "Real smooth, lover-boy," Coraline groaned.

    "Your battle is not yet over, Mister Shadowdark," The Moon Goddess said, "The Tree God''s reinforcements are--"

    ? --immaterial. ?

    A shadowy figure leapt down from one of the petrified trees, his shadowy cape spreading out as hended noiselessly.

    That... was definitely a dude-- so Lone got into a defensive stance. He was in the presence of two goddesses and one of which was incredibly hot. He wasn''t going to back down, no matter who showed up.

    The shadowy elf whipped his hand up, flinging back a side of his cloak to reveal that he was holding a ck recurve bow.

    Lone put his hands in the air, "Don''t shoot."

    The elf narrowed his eyes for a moment, then stood up straight.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He was the tallest elf Lone had ever seen-- which was... incredibly weird. Elves were supposed to be short.

    "Hey, kid. Hunting God, here." He growled. "Area''s clear. You''ll be safe for now. You''re wee."

    Lone raised his hand, "Um... what do you mean by ''for now?''''"

    "So is the battle over?" Coraline asked, "Is Ophelia safe?"

    "D''ahh~?" Lone raised his hand, "Who is O-fillia?"

    "I can sense that my descendent is safe," The Moon Goddess nodded. "But the Tree God still lives."

    The three elves turned at once, their focus on Lone... who still had his hand up.

    "Um... what''s going on? Where am I, even?"

    "Y''got one more fight ahead o'' you, Tiger." "Mister Shadowdark, please fight without restraint." "Tree God wants you six fulms under, kid. You one of my Rangers or are y''just prey?"

    Lone saw a blur in the corner of his eye.

    Even though he had zero understanding of current events, he still had the reflexes to avoid danger.

    The attack was fast... a thick, pale fist moving at a speed capable of cracking his head open if it touched him.

    ...He could feel killing intent faster than his opponent could act.

    Lone realized then... just how long he''d spent trapped in that Dungeon.

    It wasn''t just a few years. He''d been in there for decades... maybe even actual centuries like the elves were saying.

    Lone mmed his knee into his attacker''s gut before grounding his bnce andnding a right straight onto the guy''s jaw.

    That person stumbled backward, allowing Lone to see his attacker''s identity. It was a human-- naked, just like he was... but his skin was white and pale like the magic-scarred earth all around them.

    Lone furrowed his brows... "Tree... God?"

    "Tch," The Tree God spat. "The ?Reincarnate? Spell is not exclusive to only you, mortal."

    So it was...

    The Tree God... didn''t seem to be as strong as the title made him sound. And even though he changed color, that didn''t mean they were any stronger.

    ...Maybe?

    "Eww, grosSs~!" Coraline recoiled in disgust, "Did he just spit out a tooth?"

    "He did," The Hunting God nodded as crossed his arms.

    "Lone, dear," The Moon Goddess cooed. "Shall we recover your weapons for you? My husband''s swords, perhaps?"

    At that, Lone''s eyes lit up. He''d rather wield Tres Leches-- but a sword or two would also be great!

    The Hunting God swiped his arm down, "This is the final hunt, Sister. And don''t forget-- you''re talkin'' to the greatest mortal Ranger in the Realm."

    "Is that... me?" Lone blinked.

    "Yeah. It''s you."

    "Really?"

    "*Don''t*... make me repeat myself, kid."

    Lone bowed his head lightly, "I''d... I''d still like... I think I''d--"

    The Hunting God shook his head, the shadows of his hood wisping with darkness, "Barza Keith... think carefully, kid.

    "The three of us can''t interfere in this fight... so either you win and y''live... or everything we''ve done, everything your friends have done up until now ain''t gonna matter. Think, kid... and think hard."

    The swords. That should have been the answer... In the years of training Lone spent in Turrim Orientem, he had pretty much be a master of using two swords... the Elven way.

    But... was that the answer the Hunting God wanted?

    Lone wanted to ask for his Dark Iron Hammer... Tres Leches was his faithfulpanion. But... he was his own entity. So... if asking for the swords was wrong, then asking for his partner''s help would be wrong too.

    ...Magic?

    Maybe magic was the answer? Lone was pretty sure his Multi-Cast ability was super-strong... and he didn''t have to worry about his body exploding as long as Coraline and the Moon Goddess were around.

    No... that *couldn''t* be it.

    Lone swallowed his saliva as he turned back to his opponent. The Pale God growled as he wiped the blood from his mouth.

    That guy radiated so much killing intent, Lone almost forgot to breathe.

    "Rx, kid~" Said the Hunting God. "I told y''to *think,* not to second-guess y''self. You got injured prey on your hands. He''s hurt-- dyin''. He''s got nothin'' left to lose... but neither do you."

    The tall elf paused... and a small grin showed his eerily white teeth, "You scared?"

    "Psh," Lone shrugged. "I ain''t scared."

    He turned and started walking, "I''ll take care of this. You guys go save that... that other person."

    He had forgotten that that person''s name was, but that fact was too embarrassing to admit.

    "Lone, wait!" Coraline called out, "Y-you didn''t choose a weapon!"

    "No..." The Moon Goddess whispered, "He has."

    Lone stopped five paces away from the Pale God.

    The Pale God had a different look in his eyes... it wasn''t killing intent anymore. It was fear.

    Probably.

    Lone put his fists in front of his face and assumed a boxing stance... and he bared his teeth into a confident grin.

    "Hey, Tree God... put YO HANDS UP!!!!"

    ",

 Chapter 949 Tenacity Of A Monster

    ?? Several minutes earlier. ?

    The young mage that fought against Tarquin Wroe was rather talented.

    Tycondrius did not think highly of her swordsmanship, but she had demonstrated technical mastery in a number of other aspects.

    Her aptitude with augment-type magic and offensive evocations marked her as a young genius.

    Further, her impressive tenacity put her on a simr level as Spear Hero Pale.

    The child was forced well beyond her limits, continuing to fight despite suffering clear and obvious effects from mana *exhaustion.*

    Despite her extraordinarily resilient physique, she had sustained multiple debilitating injuries caused by explosive debris.

    And still... she defeated Tarquin Wroe soundly and sinctly.

    The child-mage was nothing short of monstrous.

    "My name... is Valeria of the Romanov Duchy..."

    Romanov... that was a name Tycon recognized. Hemitted few Nemayan noble names to memory, so she must have been rather important.

    "--servant of the Hex God, Kyrj Kira''ak..."

    Tycon found that name unfamiliar. It did, however, *sound* rather unpleasant.

    "...and the heir of ash and fire."

    Ah.

    Tycon shook his head in disappointment. It was unfortunate. Before she uttered that particrly odious phrase, he had considered the girl a potential recement for his own Hexde.

    If Wroe could not recover from injuries incurred, his adventuring career was over.

    Tycon ced his hand on the spell circle he''d carved into the vehicle he traveled upon... increasing its forward velocity.

    The body of thepacted block of ice was formed by Krysaos and enchanted by the Thunder God: an electrified, 3-tonze airborne projectile.

    Krysaos dubbed it ?Lightning cier?... despite it having neither the qualities of lightning nor those of a proper cier.

    Still, the so-called ''cier'' of ''lightning'' collided with Valeria, and thereafter, slid in the dirt several yalms.

    Tycon hopped off, sighing in exasperation as he turned to look back at hispanions.

    The view through na''s ?Gate? grew noticeably sharper for a brief moment, as if the Spell was struggling to restore itself on its own.

    Then... after Krysaos cursed loud enough for the entire forest to hear, the ?Gate? flickered out of existence.

    Tycon had established a Spell Formation for the Gate''s stabilization. Its functions wereplete and the theory behind it was sound.

    Unfortunately, for a high-level Spell capable of crossing distances in excess of a thousand malms, the utilization of redundancyyers and sophisticated forme was unavoidable.

    It was a formation that only he, as its creator, could sustain with certainty.

    Tycon had abandoned it, in favor of a surprise offensive.

    He tasked Krysaos to do what he could.

    There was... an infinitesimal chance that the Captain wouldprehend concepts that likened the discourse of the Realm''s top percentile of Formation Mages to lodging sticks in their arses and slinging fecal material at passersby.

    That serendipity... escaped the Captain.

    And thus, the incremental damage to the ?Gate? culminated in its dissolution.

    It was... a grim development-- but an expected inevitability.

    With Wroe''s defeat, Tycon''s ns had gone painfully awry.

    His options had be as limited as they were on the first sun he''d awoken in the Realm.

    Without allies and his resources dangerously low... he could only react to situations as they arose.

    "--which is a really shite way to go about doing things," He muttered to himself.

    "SH*T!!" Krysaos shouted, "F*CK! GODS-F*CKING D*MN IT!!! What the f*CK do we DO NOW?!?"

    Tycon cupped his hand to yell, "Drink potions! --one more than you think your body can safely take!"

    Incurring potion sickness came with moderate difort and risk for worse, longsting side effects. However, as long as his allies could keep pace as they traveled, the small percentage of mana recovered would increase their overall probability of survival.

    Of course, the probability was overwhelmingly in favor of them all suffering violent deaths in the Tree God''s Forest.<novelnext></novelnext>

    At the very least, the potions would enable them to die while returning a percentage of that violence.

    It would be an... ''honorable'' end for hispanions-- not that Tycon was at all thrilled with the notion.

    ording to his depressed, reptilian brain, he reasoned that as long as they did not surrender, their impending deaths would be swift and rtively painless.

    With a mana-empowered right kick, Tycon shattered the ?Lightning cier?... and beheld what was left of Valeria Ashenspire.

    She still breathed-- yet another irrefutable testament to her fortitude.

    That breathing, of course, was rightfully shallow and wracked with pain. Her eyes had rolled back. Her body still convulsed, either with death throes or a lingering effect from lightning mana. Both of her legs were rendered useless, the bones crushed into pulp. Her left arm was twisted several times over and scarcely attached.

    She was a perfect example of why Metal-Rankers were treated with awe and respect. A Gold-Rank could survive a direct cannon st to the chest. A woman of Valeria''s caliber had survived a direct strike from a siege projectile enchanted by two literal gods.

    Tycon knelt down beside her and adopted his best, professional smile.

    "Good evening, Duchess. I''m going to kill you now. Judging by your state, I''d imagine this is eptable?"

    He did not ask for permission. The young woman did not have the right to deny him.

    Valeria blinked her eyes several times. Her pupils did not-- or could not focus. Tears streamed down her soot-and-blood-covered face. Her mouth opened and closed as she fought for each breath.

    Tycon remained patient.

    Finally... Valeria managed to form words.

    "What... is... your name?"

    "My name is..."

    It was a simple question... but Tycon hesitated to answer.

    He had... many names.

    Tycon. Tyrael. Boss. Leader.

    Baron. Lieutenant.

    Commander.

    Ivory Prince.

    ...Sol Invictus.

    He was all those things... but, since he was certain of his death in the next few bells, he''d grown detached to the thought of any and all of them.

    "To be quite honest, youngdy..." He confided... "I don''t really know."

    Bowing his head, he whispered in the Holy Country''snguage.

    "*Mihi ignosce, pue.*" He said, "*Mea maximum culpa.*"

    He drew his short sword from its sheath and delivered a final prayer.

    "*Requiescere in pacem.*"

    He grabbed onto Valeria''s hair.

    Light began to fill her eyes and she tried to speak. However, the shadowy hand of Tycon''s ?Venomous Shadow? covered her mouth, interrupting whatever spell she was trying to cast.

    And thus... Tycon severed Valeria''s head from her body.

    The scales on her neck that once rejected the deity-blessed swords of Krysaos and Wroe proved inadequate against Mercy.

    Tycon then chopped open her chest and syed her ribs outward before extracting her heart.

    He found a mana stone inside the palpitating flesh. Tossing it to Ishmael, the shadow crushed it into mana dust.

    Special measures had to be taken against high-level Warlocks to ensure theirplete deaths.

    He was loathe to use hispanions'' mana to incinerate the Duchess'' body... or the time to write yet another Spell Formation to do so himself. But... as fate decreed, her essence had been condensed into a single stone.

    Valeria Ashenspire was not merely a monstrous talent. After throwing in her lot with the lizard god, she had be a monster.

    "As for you," Tycon turned. "Get up, Mister Wroe. Death did not inconvenience you in the past. I don''t see why it would, now..."

    ",

 Chapter 950 Insubordination

    ?Tarquin Wroe lied on the floor, unmoving.

    Dark blood ran from gunshot wounds on his head and body.

    His calves and feet were folded awkwardly beneath his thighs.

    A foolish expression of confusion... or perhaps betrayal had frozen onto his face.

    Tycondrius was quickly losing his patience.

    "If you don''t at least *breathe,* Mister Wroe, then I cannot administer a healing potion in good faith."

    ...Even the yful taunt elicited no reaction from the Hexde.

    It was concerning.

    As time passed, theck of blood flow to the man''s brain had the potential to reduce his intelligence to unprecedented levels of ipetence.

    "Tarquin Wroe... I *order* you to breathe."

    He snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? failed. ?

    With his System''s response, Tycon felt his heart sink.

    He crouched down beside his old friend.

    "...I will not apologize for what I have done to you in recent suns. Regardless of our employer-employee rtionship, we are friends... both before I came to this ce and after."

    For friends of their caliber, verbal apologies were unnecessary.

    Tycon was a man who showed his care by his actions.

    ...by his present actions-- and those he would take in the future.

    Tycon paused to take a breath... and concentrated to prevent his voice from breaking.

    "I... have pushed you to be better... and I have acted with confidence and strength so as to not betray your faith in me.

    "I... need... allies by my side... to do more than survive... but to be great-- to defy the overwhelming odds against us.

    "Tarquin Wroe... My brother... I saw... I see the greatness in you, in Dragan and in Pale, and-- and even in that troublesome strumpet, Kimura Taree.

    "Get up, old friend... even if for one more mission... so together, we can return home-- wherever that may be."

    Still, Wroe refused to breathe.

    "...You selfish... f*cking... bastard," Tycon closed his eyes. "You dare to die before me? And in my presence?"

    No response.

    "...Is that how little respect you have for me?" Tycon muttered, "To defy my orders? Death is far from a reasonable excuse for the likes of you."

    Tycon shut his eyes... feeling the mana in the air... waiting for a resurgence of energy... fully expecting an embarrassed cough or pitiful mewl of pain.

    Yet even after several moments of silence... no response came.

    "I... was hoping... that we would *at least* die together," He sighed... "You''ve left me in a difficult situation. Now I have to die fighting alongside an unshaven pirate and a shirtless halfwit."

    Tycon took hold of the pearlescent sword, still in Wroe''s hand.

    The dead man still held it tightly. Logically, rigor mortis had yet to set into his corpse.

    Perhaps it was Wroe''s training that prevented him from releasing his weapon, even after death.

    Tycon severed the hand with a clean swipe of Mercy and pried open Wroe''s dead fingers to recover the god-weapon.

    When he held the sword in his grip, however, the misshapen de melted away into watery mist and moonlight.

    "No," Tycon growled. "He deserves more than that."

    His anger growing, he plunged his bare fist into Wroe''s chest, squeezing his insides.

    "Yo! YO!!!! What-- what the F*CK ARE YOU DOING, LT!!!" A panicked Krysaos shouted from afar.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon heard the rapid footsteps of the Captain and the Thunder God rushing to his side... but he continued to ignore them. His focus was on crushing the bits of bone and viscera inside of his dead friend''s chest cavity.

    One of hispanions grabbed both of his arms. Another struck him hard across the face.

    ...But only when Tycon found what he was looking for, did he allow himself to be dragged away.

    "The F*CK is wrong with you?!" Krysaos asked.

    "To defile a corpse... of our honoredpanion," The Thunder Godmented. "Exin thyself... Please, Maedar... I beg of you."

    Even the eyeless shadow Ishmael crossed his arms, appearing to ''stare'' in disapproval.

    Tycon raised his hand.

    Within his grasp, he held an ugly rod of metal, thered in blood.

    "What... what is that?" Krysaos frowned.

    "This... is what remains of Wroe''s sword, a hilt perhaps," Tycon shook his fellows off before continuing on. "I suspect his *merciful* goddess transmuted Wroe''s blood and bone... into arcanite-- as her motif goes."

    The Thunder God''s face twisted with revulsion, "That is... infinitely disturbing."

    Tycon wiped blood from his face with his coatsleeve as he nodded.

    "Agreed. Now, that you three are ready, let us depart."

    Krysaos groaned, lolling his head back, "By my f*cking socks, we''re still doin'' this?"

    "Our odds of survival..." The Thunder God muttered, "They are the same, whether we journey deeper in the forest or try to escape it."

    The Captain crossed his arms, grimacing... "What''s na say, LT? Where do we go from here?"

    Tycon raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, "Mister Krysaos, it seems the connection has been cut along with the closing of the ?Gate?."

    "Please do not respond to that, Sea God," The Thunder God softly pleaded.

    "So we''re f*cked, huh?" Krysaos shrugged, "Shite. Mina''s gonna be pissed when she finds out I died.."

    Tycon flicked his wrist, storing the arcanite rod in his spatial ring, "Now... which of the four of us has the best directional sense?"

    Ishmael slowly faded away, from bottom to top.

    "...Which of the three of us, then?" Tycon asked, "No pressure."

    Before any others could respond, the temperature of one of Tycon''s rings began to spike.

    ...but it was not the ring linked to na.

    His spatial ring began to emit a dim, orange light. Tycon lifted his hand, disying it to hispanions.

    "That uh... normal?" Krysaos asked.

    "It is not," Tycon admitted quietly.

    "How curious..." Mused the Thunder God.

    Furrowing his brows, Tycon turned his wrist.

    A dark iron hammer, its head shaped into a wolf, fell onto the forest dirt.

    "Is your storage ring... full?" Krysaos asked.

    "Captain," Tycon gently scolded. "You have personally witnessed the embarrassingly small size of Mister Wroe''s arcanite rod. Please take that thought, think carefully on it, and shove it up your fu--"

    ? AWOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! ?

    A wolf''s howl reverberated in Tycon''s mind. Simultaneously, bright, red-orange light shone from the dark iron hammer... shrouding its transformation.

    After several seconds, a grey-furred wolf stood in their midst... but unlike a regr 3-fulm tall wolf, Tres Leches stood nearly twice as tall.

    "(Help!)" The wolf barked, "(Help! My partner is in danger! I''ll lead you to him!)"

    ",

 Chapter 951 Long Live The King

    ?** Content Warning: Graphic speech and sexual overtones. **

    ? Meanwhile... ?

    "Ding ding ding, moTHER-FFFFFF*CKER!!!"

    Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, ced his foot atop his defeated opponent''s chest.

    He''d just beat up a F*CKING GOD with his F*CKING FISTS!!!

    He threw his arms back and yelled to the sky, "WOOOOO!!!!!"

    His face was severely swollen.

    It hurt... so, so bad...

    His whole body hurt.

    --and it wasn''t just because of the crazy use of mana from all his spellcasting.

    "I''m beat... the F*CK up!!" He cried... before copsing onto his back.

    Every little tiny movement he made hurt. Keeping his eyes open hurt.

    Breathing hurt. (People needed to breathe to live! It didn''t make sense for that to hurt!!)

    But... he was alive.

    He... he won.

    He had earned a rest.

    Maybe... just maybe that was an achievement worth Boss Tycon giving him permission to die?

    "That... that''d be nice..." He coughed.

    ...When he spoke, one of his front teeth wiggled in a bad way.

    Shite.

    Trying his best not to crane his head (because it hurt,) Lone looked left and right as far as his eyes allowed.

    The elves he met had disappeared. They were supposed to be working on saving some little girl, though.

    Since there weren''t any little girls around, Lone felt... pretty sure they did what they said they would.

    He saw a familiar pair of swords in the distance... where the pool of blood was.

    --not that he cared.

    Touching those things put him in Turrim Orientem for a hundred years. He knew better than to pick them up a second time.

    ...So no one was around to help him.

    He was in a really shite situation...

    He was in the middle of what was probably a super-deep forest.

    He was naked.

    ...And he was getting cold. *That* was shriveled up,pletely... and he didn''t have any energy to cover himself.

    "To be honest, I expected a bit more, Elf God."

    A strange voice shocked the Lone Shadowdark fully awake.

    A moment prior, he could have *swore* that he had no energy. Still, he immediately sat up and scooped a pile of white sand onto himself to hide his privates.

    It was cold!!

    A man in a cloak appeared out of thin air, his face covered in bandages.

    "Tut tut," He scolded.

    Who says ''tut''? What was that supposed to mean?!

    The bandaged guy leapt into the air, floating for a second before stepping down within Lone''s DANGER ZONE.

    Who was in danger? He wasn''t sure, but there was definitely danger in the immediate vicinity.

    "I''m rather impressed by your illusion spell," The man said. "If not for the traces of Elven magic in this... rather droll, greyscale part of the forest... I''d think you were *actually* human."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Lone put some ''oomph'' into his voice, speaking deep and authoritative-like.

    "Who be you?" He scowled, "What-- what are dos''t thou wanting?!"

    ...Making that face hurt, so he wasn''t able to do it for long.

    He desperately hoped that whoever it was wasn''t an enemy.

    The way he was dressed, though-- and with his face covered up? And his creepy, high-pitched voice? Everything about him was top-tier viin material...

    Lone scowled again.

    Shiiiiiiiiite.

    "My name is Konstantin Dunzis," The viin said... "And I have been searching for you for quite some time, oh... mighty... *King.*"

    Lone closed his eyes, feeling the area in front of him with his mana sense. (Doing that didn''t hurt nearly as much, so that was nice.)

    He''d known how to use mana-sense shortly after he started Dungeon delving. He was usually able to tell if he could win against certain awakened beasts and monstrous casters.

    That... Konstantinople guy-- he wasn''t *that* strong... but Lone waspletely out of mana!

    In his current state, even a Bronze-Rank could kick the shite out of him.

    He''d just beat off a Tree God-- so he wasn''t ashamed, or anything like that! It was normal to need a rest period after finishing!

    So Lone did the only thing he could...

    "Not interested, guy! Come back tomorrow, alright? I-- I have to poop!"

    He used a shameless excuse, in order to dodge responsibility.

    "Oh, no," Konstantin shook his head. "No, no, no. That will not do. You see... I''vee alllll this way... just to get a *taste* of... divinity."

    rm bells rang at maximum volume inside of Lone''s mind.

    That... the way-- the things that guy were saying... sounded... really... overtly... super sexual.

    But... he was a guy!

    Lone was also a guy!

    They were both guys!

    Guys don''t... really... get super sexual with each other?

    Well... some did! But... most of them didn''t!

    Lone figured that, most likely, he was misunderstanding something. He wasn''t all that smart. He misunderstood things all the time.

    Though his muscles screamed inint and tears of pain drip-dropped out of his eyes, Lone turned his upper body to face away. Unfortunately, his core muscles failed him, so he plopped onto his side, sending up a small cloud of white ash.

    He probably looked... really, really weak.

    --unless he could pretend like he did it on purpose!

    "Sorry, bro! I don''t care what you have to say! Not listening! I''m... I''m goin'' to sleep. Right now. You can go now. Just-- just leave, okay?"

    "What a shapely arse you have... I''m going to enjoy grabbing hold of it and ravaging your tight Elven hole."

    "Dude!" Lone shouted. He grabbed onto his biceps, trying to calm down. He was experiencing the scariest moment in his entire life, "I''m... I''m not gay! I... won''t let you r*pe me! I swear to the gods-- I swear on MY LIFE that I will never rx my butt muscles from this moment on!!!"

    "Hah... haha....hahaha... HAHAHAHA!!"

    Konstantin wasughing... he wasughing hard.

    Lone began to cry-- not caring how he looked. His whole body was shaking in fear. Nothing had happened yet, but he felt... dirty... inside and out.

    He hadn''t remembered doing ANYTHING to deserve getting taken advantage of by another guy!

    "Worry not, Elf God," Konstantin chuckled. "My ?Draconic Domination? Skill can corrupt the mind of ANY elf! ...Even you."

    Lone sniffed in a snot bubble just as he heard... something interesting.

    That was it!

    That fact could save him!

    "Hah! Then you''re toote!" He yelled, "After I died, I INCARNATED!! I''m just HUMAN, now! Really!"

 Chapter 952 The Promise Of Ash & Fire

    ?** Content Warning: Graphic speech and sexual overtones. **

    "Reincarnation?" Konstantin frowned, "Impossible."

    "It is TOO possible!" Lone insisted. "The Tree God did it too! He reincarnated! And-- and then I beat the sh*t out of him! With my hands!"

    The bandaged man shifted his weight ufortably.

    "Are you trying to tell me... you''re the Human God now?"

    "No! I''m-- I''m just a regr human!"

    Konstantin remained unconvinced...

    "You''re serious?" He asked in a monotone voice.

    "I''m very serious!"

    "You''re seriously... *just* human?"

    "That''s-- that''s right!" Lone sniffed, "So f*ck off!! You''re not interested anymore, right?? RIGHT?!"

    "I''d like to inform you that my Mind Control magic works just fine on regr humans."

    "Ah?"

    Lone felt his voice catch in his throat. It became hard to breathe... not just because of the pain, but as if something was blocking his airway.

    "I-- but... you... you want to f*ck an elf? An elf king, right? --which... which I am not?"

    "I did, yes," Konstantin shrugged. "But you''ve ruined my f*cking sun, whoever the hells you are. Therefore, for the next several bells, I''m going to ruin your anal cavity."

    Lone wanted to run. He wanted to walk. Even crawling was eptable-- but his body refused to listen to him. All he could do was cry... and scream at the top of his lungs.

    "DUDE?! SERIOUSLY?!?!? Do... do you even..." Lone gulped, "Do you even... like me?"

    What was he saying? Was this a result of that guy''s magic?

    ...

    ? FIND. THE. SWORDS! ?

    ? Oh, I will, my lord. ?

    Konstantin sighed in exasperation.

    Was any man in the Realm as unlucky as he was?

    He could scarcely remember a time when he *didn''t* have the voice of a god rattling his brain every waking moment of his pitiful life.

    ...He''d spent several suns in City-State Whitehearth, preparing for his moment of glory.

    He had the Arcanite Princess artifice a tracking device for the Swords of the Forgotten King... but such an item had proved unnecessary.

    The deeper he delved into the Tree God''s ursed forest... the closer he neared to his prize, his patron''s incessantints grew in both volume and frequency.

    It almost made him regret choosing to be a direct follower of the Dragon God.

    Granted... the Hex God was little better.

    He pawned off that shadowscale bastard to that Romanov brat and didn''t think twice on it.

    Anyroad, because of the Dragon God''s not-so-subtle urging, Konstantin was able to find the Elf God quickly enough, but...

    ...something had happened.

    Instead of the godly, Elven being he hoped to find, Konstantin instead found... a human.

    Surprisingly, the blubbering buffoon''s naked body *was* somewhat impressive. He was cut like a statue-- a physique scarcely afforded to any mortal in the Realm.

    The bronze-skinned man was unique in that he had a pittance of Divine Resonant Energy... but hecked the almond eyes, elongated ears, and various other assets that made an elf... an elf.

    Konstantin was like a treasure hunter, seeking a trove of legendary proportions.

    ...but instead of finding riches, his efforts for the past several years had culminated with naught but mud and white sand.

    His disappointment was immeasurable-- his frustration, nigh overwhelming.

    Still...

    ...The human that remained in ce of the Elf God would make for an appropriate *ything*-- albeit one that suffered from mediocrity.

    "No," Konstantin admitted... "I don''t particrly *like* you. But it matters not."

    "?Hold Still?.

    "?Be Silent?.

    "...and mentally prepare yourself for what happens next."

    His target, a mere human, was unable to resist Konstantin''s Command Spells.

    He even cast two simultaneously-- and without somatic or materialponents.

    ...While it was highly unlikely that the man had the willpower of a Saint or a rare trait that weakened the effect of Dragon Magic, the ease of Konstantin''s sess only annoyed him.

    In Whitehearth, Konstantin had blood from the Arcanite Princess. The particrly potent life essence, in theory, could augment his Domination Magic by an Entire Rank.

    That blood... was something he had gone well out of his way for-- and it turned out to be useless.

    Konstantin couldn''t even use it for a different project. Blood sharply lost its efficacy as an arcane catalyst as it spoiled. By the time he returned to Archangel, he''d need to discard it *and* the enchanted vials he used to store it.

    Ophelia Moonwell-- how useless was that woman? Whether it was her artifice or her blood or even the pleasure he derived from breaking her body and mind, Konstantin could have gone without and been better off for it.

    Stars and stones...

    He hade to the Tree God''s Forest prepared to force a god into submission.

    Putting down a half-dead human was a simple matter, but doing so almost felt... beneath him.

    The naked humanid on the dirt, covered in sweat and earth.

    His eyes showed no defiance-- only fear.

    That would soon pass... and would be reced by something more amusing.

    The muscles of his lips spasmed, but the magic stifled his screams.

    He would not speak for the rest of his life... as Konstantin nned to kill him as soon as he finished.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Very few humans had any intrinsic value to them.

    ...That one, however... did pose an interesting question.

    He had asked... if Konstantin ''liked'' him.

    It made him wonder... if he *truly* enjoyed thepany of men.

    He supposed he did.

    But... thinking on it, he did not seek out carnal pleasure out of... attraction.

    His actions... were righteous.

    Konstantin was a worldly man-- a just man.

    He did not want for much... but for all to be as it should.

    In the Realm he lived in, only those in power could enact their wills as they saw fit.

    While the strong ruled, those inferior bit their tongues, knelt in prostration-- begged for their pitiful lives to be spared, if need be.

    Konstantin, *himself,* was human.

    Therefore, he knew very well... that humans... were... WEAK!

    As for elves... they were even moreso...

    How DARE they-- how dare those *creatures* propagate themselves as superior to others!

    That wall of arrogance, so carefully built to protect them from the harsh truths of the Realm... Konstantin sought to break it.

    It was only right!

    He liked it when they screamed for help. He liked when the crying stopped and how the tears continued in silence.

    He liked the broken look in the eyes of his victims.

    And the men... so highly did they value their supposed superiority.

    The ''breadwinners''... the ''honorable''... they who wielded their swords of war for their king or their ancestors or in emtion of the heroic lies fed to them by their leatherskinned, flesh-rotted elders...

    The men struggled for longer.

    They fought against the Domination Magic until their muscles burst and their tendons snapped.

    The fire in their eyes would rage and rage... until suddenly... it would extinguish, all at once.

    Seeing that... was beautiful.

    It was... as it should be.

    The Realm would always suffer its injustices... but Konstantin sought to correct that, wherever he saw otherwise.

    ? THE SWORDS, MORTAL!!! ?

    ? With all due respect... ?

    ? My lord has been sleeping for thousands of years. ?

    ? With the Divine Resonant Energy left by the Tree God and the recovery of thy essence in the Swords of the Forgotten King, your revival has been hastened by centuries. ?

    ? With everything going so well... is it necessary to be so impatient? ?

    Konstantin knew he was foolish for trying to convince a god of anything at all.

    --but he had grown so weary.

    ? MY AWAKENING... IS NIGH... ?

    ? HEED... MY COMMAND. ?

    Konstatin sighed aloud.

    ...Conceding to his patron wasn''t so terrible, though.

    He took sce in the fact that, for every moment idle, an age of despair would pass for the unlucky reincarnator under his thrall.

    "Fine..." He muttered. "What onerous chore wouldst thou have me do first, o'' master of mine?"

    ? YOU WILL RELINQUISH THY MORTAL BODY. ?

    ? YOU WILL HAVE THE HONOR OF BEING MY VESSEL. ?

    A cold shock shot up Konstantin''s spine as he realized the magnitude of his patron''s words.

    "M... master?"

    ? I HAVE GRANTED YOU MY VOICE-- TO CORRUPT MORTAL HEARTS INTO SERVING THEIR ONE TRUE GOD. ?

    ? WITH THE TREE GOD''S DIVINE ESSENCE, I SHALL RAISE AN ARMY TO LEAD. ?

    ? I HAVE GRANTED YOU MY AUTHORITY-- TO WARP BLOOD AND FLESH INTO MY GLORIOUS IMAGE. ?

    ? WITH THE ELF GOD''S DIVINE ESSENCE, I SHALL FORGE WINGS ANEW. ?

    ? I HAVE GRANTED YOU MY PATIENCE-- BUT NO LONGER. ?

    ? CLAD IN THY MORTAL FLESH, THIS GOD-- THIS EMPEROR SHALL SOAR THE SKIES OF THIS REALM. ?

    ? I WILL REKINDLE THE FIRES OF WAR WITH MY TERRIBLE BREATH! ?

    ? I WILL CONQUER THOSE PEOPLES WHO HAVE DARED TO LIVE WITHOUT KNOWING MY FIERY WRATH! ?

    ? ALL THAT WAS ONCE MINE, WILL BE MINE AGAIN AND FOREVER MORE. ?

    ? FOR I AM THE PROPHECY. ?

    ? I AM THE PROMISE OF ASH AND FIRE. ?

    ? I AM THE END OF ALL SUNS. ?

    ? I. AM. THE DRAGON GOD. ?

    ? AND YOU, KONSTANTIN DUNZIS, ARE BUT A TOOL IN WHICH I SHALL USE TO EXACT MY IMMORTAL WILL UPON THIS REALM. ?

 Chapter 953 Five Minute Break

    ?? A short distance away... ?

    Meeting an ally in the Tree God''s Forest waspletely unexpected.

    More unexpected still, it was one of Sol Invictus'' own... but better for it.

    ? Tres Leches, Adamantine-Rank Weapon Spirit. ?

    The Dark Iron Wolf''s presence was wee... even if it raised as many concerns as it quelled.

    He had grown substantially in strength since Tyconst saw him.

    As he moved naturally, he exuded a particrly pungent bitterness of metal-type mana.

    Tres Leches had perfected his transformation skill. His flesh and fur were protected by an invisible and borate mana shield, no weaker than his dark iron-ted natural form.

    Even his physical size had grown almost two-fold...

    However, to Tycon''s relief, some things did not change.

    The glutton remained ravenous for one of his specialties: red-and-ck peppercorn venison jerky.

    "(I haven''t had this... in at least *eight*), The wolf said as he trotted alongside Tycon.

    "Eight... what?"

    In response to the question, Tres stared far off into the distance, "(Eight... times.)"

    "...Granted," Tycon shrugged. "Anyroad, wolf. I''d like to receive your--"

    "TYCON!!" Krysaos interrupted-- "Can you guys... slow...THE F*CK!! ...down... HUH??!?"

    The Captain doubled over, gasping for breath, his palms resting on his knees.

    Beside him, the god of sweat and shirtlessness stuck his Storm Axe in a nearby tree, holding onto it for support.

    "Friend-Maedar... we cannot... recover... mana... at this... traveling pace..."

    "(We must hurry, Ivory Prince!)" Tres Leches urged, "(My partner is close!)"

    Ivory Prince? It was an odd time to use proper titles.

    "(The pack is injured,)" Tycon chided, "(Despite Lone''s circumstances, as Pack Leader, I must prioritize safety and certainty.)"

    It was a notion he should have dwelled on before they departed.

    "(Then. tell. them. to. HURRY!!)" Tres growled.

    The sudden outpouring of Adamantine-Rank mana caught Tycon off guard.

    ...But he refused to be daunted by the show of strength, no matter how superior.

    Tycon grabbed the wolf''s snout and held his maw shut, "(If you want to act as Alpha, pup, then you must also *think* as one.)"

    Tres Leches met his eyes.

    The wolf red defiantly for several seconds... but he knew better. Eventually, he turned away, going as far as tucking his tail between his legs.

    Tycon loosed a heavy sigh before checking hispanions'' conditions.

    Despite theirints, they had recovered enough that physical overexertion wouldn''t kill them.

    Of course, if regr mortals were to be in their states, their hearts would have exploded thrice-over. Thankfully, they were not.

    They were badly in need of rest... but that would continue to elude them.

    Such respite would only be afforded once they were dead.

    --once they were *all* dead.

    Krysaos shot up, his back straight, "Yo, LT. Since we... got a hunting wolf, now. How ''bout... we send him to find the girlie, ah?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. The Divine Constitution of a Sea God had transformed Krysaos from struggling-to-breathe to shite-eating-grin in mere minutes.

    "(Girl?)" Tres Leches'' ears perked up, "(What girl? I can find a girl. I''ll find the girl, then she can help us save my partner.)"

    "What?" Tycon frowned, "No. Before that, please report what you kn--"

    "Gimme some jerky too, LT," Demanded Krysaos as hezily copsed onto his rear. "I saw you givin'' some to the oversized doggo."

    "What?" Tycon clenched his teeth, his frustration rising. "No!"

    "Oh COME F*CKING ON, guy!!!" Krysaos shouted.

    "Then at LEAST drink some mescarred WATER before you waste my rations," Tycon shouted back.

    "I... too, would like to request some jerky, dear friend," The Thunder God asked.

    "Ugh..." Tycon groaned loudly, "Very well. Five-minute break-- but no longer!!"

    With a flick of his wrist, he activated his spatial ring to give his knuckle-brainedpanions their shares.

    Death (and therefore some much-needed rest) was near... and had been precariously close in several incidents and exchanges over the past couple of bells.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Admittedly, a ponze of tasteful meats and time enough to breathe were inconsequential requests.

    Tycon merely found the timing off-putting.

    ...And his sour mood likely affected his frustrations.

    However, he was looking forward to Tres Leches'' report. With some more detailed knowledge, he could craft a n to improve Sol Invictus'' odds of survival.

    "(I found the girl!)" Tres Leches barked.

    "You did what?"

    When did he have the time to--

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    Lone''s gods-damned pet had learned a Movement Technique.

    Beside the unreasonably tall wolf stood Ophelia Darkmoon.

    She wore no armor, carried no weapon, and even went without shoes. She did, however, wear what appeared to be a cloak made from quality Elven material in typical Elven style.

    "T-tycon..." Ophelia began... "(I''m begging you... kill me.)"

    "What? **No**," Tycon frowned.

    The primary mission of Sol Invictus in the Tree God''s Forest was to recover the Arcanite Princess. Thus, they would keep her out of harm''s way, irrespective of the low probability of sess.

    ...and irrespective of her wishes.

    "--Thunder God, catch her."

    "Catch who?" Asked the Thunder God-- just as Ophelia copsed.

    Thankfully, the Thunder God caught the woman before she nted her face into the forest dirt.

    "(Now let''s save my partner!)" Tres Leches barked, "(All together, now!)"

    "What?" Tycon red. "No-- err... Bah! I mean to say: wait!"

    "(What are we waiting for?)" Tres Leches whined, "(I''ve already waited eight!)"

    "Eight what?" Krysaos asked.

    "(Eight times!)"

    "Interesting," Mused the Thunder God... "Eight... times..."

    "ENOUGH!!" Tycon shouted-- "And you, secure your hold on the elf."

    ring the Thunder God down, the fellow gingerly repositioned his left arm and posture to better support Ophelia''s weight.

    Was his awkwardness due to her being a mortal?

    "Guy," Krysaos shook his head, "Have you never touched a girl before?"

    "Not now, Sea God..."

    "Tolerate it," Tycon ordered. "You''re keeping her safe and secure, not trying to take advantage of her."

    Ophelia covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

    Ah.

    Tycon felt like it''d been an age since he made a woman cry.

    He had forgotten how easily such was achieved...

    No one paid attention to Ophelia''s crying, soft to the point that it seemed almost polite.

    Still... it was fortunate that the Arcanite Princess was alive and reasonably well.

    With her recovery, Sol Invictus had aplished the first half of their mission. The second half was withdrawing from the Tree God''s Forest...

    It was even feasible that they could do so without any more casualties.

    However... ording to Tres Leches... the Lone Shadowdark yet lived.

    Tycon had concluded it impossible. He had already ordered the man''s death certificate-- though he had yet to submit the paperwork...

    ...Could he submit himself and his friends to a mission even more dangerous than the first?

    Tres Leches was begging for help. The wolf would likely act alone, even without help.

    ...Would anyone me him for choosing to abandon Lone?

    He felt Krysaos nudge him with his elbow.

    "I know what you''re gonna say next, LT."

    "Then, if you would, Brother-Captain," Tycon closed his eyes. "Dissuade me."

 Chapter 954 Friend

    ?Tycondrius massaged the bridge of his nose, attempting to relieve the psychosomatic pressure of his current dilemma.

    The loss of Wroe weighed on his heart... and the thought of losing another clouded his judgment.

    However, he did not fight alone.

    While he sought to keep alive as many of his allies as possible... they were not his weakness. They were his strength.

    And so, he turned to his dear friend, Krysaos-- a man he trusted with his life, for advice.

    "Nnnnevermind!" The Captain dered, "It turns out: I have *no* idea what you were gonna say! So jus'' go ahead and say it!"

    Krysaos'' grincked even a tinge of apology.

    Tycon quietly cursed himself for expecting more.

    Shaking his head, he turned to address his stalwartpanions.

    "Sol Invictus... the mission is not yet over. From here on, we shall recover one of our own: the Lone Shadowdark."

    The fact that Tres Leches had regained his sentience implied that Lone had returned in a reasonably functional capacity.

    Either the butter-brained fool had regained control of his body... or his soul had amassed power strong enough to manifest into the corporeal Realm independent of it.

    It was a grant and *insolent* defiance of reason... and it also presented a chance to recover the Lone Shadowdark.

    There would not be a second.

    "In the likely case that the Tree God will attempt to prevent this," Tycon continued-- "it is imperative that each of you heed mymands..."

    Only 15 minutes prior, he had resigned to him and hispanions dying before the sun fell. However, the situation had changed upon gaining an Adamantine-Rank wolf-- one familiar with coordinating attacks alongside other high-Metal-Rankbatants.

    Tycon was confident in providing support for Tres Leches... and he had great faith in his god-allies to capitalize on the advantages made. Besides that, Tycon could spare the mana to re-summon Ishmael... and, if needed, he could weaponize the Arcanite Rod--

    "(I think the Tree God''s dead,)" Barked Tres Leches.

    "Eh?" "The f*ck?" "Truly?"

    The wolf wagged his tail with a ferocity yet unseen...

    "(I can sense that my partner won!)" He continued, "(But...he''s... he''s still not safe yet...)"

    Tycon held his head, trying to make sense of the newest, dire change in the overall situation.

    "Are you... certain, wolf? Do you... perhaps not know what the Tree God looks like?"

    "(Yes, Pack Leader,)" Tres Leches barked happily, "(I do, Pack Leader!)"

    The Thunder God pushed his chest forward, "Let us have faith in ourpanion''s bloodline memories. He is, most certainly... a good boy."

    "Tres Leches is a sentient bundle of shaped Dark Iron ingots," Tycon groaned.

    "Iron''s got blood, don''t it?" Krysaos said.

    Despite his overwhelming confidence, at least the Captain was grossly mistaken.

    "(Oh!)" Suddenly, Tres Leches lowered his body, "(Wait!! I can feel my partner-- he''s... he''s scared!)"

    "That..." Tycon nodded, "That is not abnormal for the Lone Shadowdark."

    "(Someone... someone is trying to mate with him!)"

    "That..." Tycon frowned, "*is* abnormal for the Lone Shadowdark."

    "That''s pretty cold, LT," Krysaos shook his head, "So do we save him or nah?"

    Tycon clenched his fist, "We save him. Lone can fornicate on his own time."

    Unfortunately, the uncertain voice of the Thunder God stopped Tycon from acting immediately.

    "Friend-Maedar... an issue has arisen."

    Tycon felt a dangerous surge of power in the atmosphere. A disgusting wave of mana washed over him... its taste worrying simr to that of the lizard-ve, Valeria Ashenspire.

    Beneath them, the moist dirt began to turn ash-white. The leaves and foliage began to shrivel and dissipate, revealing a cold, grey sky churning overhead.

    Above, the tallest trees began to bend and curl, creaking loudly in protest.

    Slowly... but certain, as if guided by a higher intelligence, some trees began to twist around each other.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Their shape, together, resembled a many-limbed beast...

    Tycon linked its familiarity... to the form of Prince Diabetes.

    It was possible-- perhaps even likely that the lizard-chimera was birthed of a simr magic. And though Tycon and his allies had defeated Diabetes with ease... at the time, they were well-rested and were boosted by a series of high-powered Spell effects.

    Further... with the strange magic pervading the Tree God''s Forest, it was likely that multiple Diabetes-level threats would arise... and soon.

    "Tres Leches!!" Tycon shouted.

    He wanted the wolf to make a path for them... to safety... to Lone-- anywhere away from where they were. However... where Tres Leches once stood, a dark iron hammer, its head in the shape of a wolf, stuck in the dirt.

    "Sorry, LT," Krysaos sighed... "Our doggo''s gone."

    Tycon lowered his head for a moment.

    Sweeping his hair back, he grinned towards the heavens... "You don''t say?"

    In response, Krysaos snorted with a grin.

    With the window of time they had to save Lone... it was impossible, from the start.

    Tycon was convinced... that the gods were f*cking with him.

    "So..." Krysaos began, "whaddya make of this weird magic all around us, LT?"

    "Summoning/Creation magic," Tycon answered flippantly, matching the Captain''s nonchnce. "If I''m right-- as I often am, soon, the trees are going to adopt nigh-divine forms and attempt to murder us."

    "Aha, ya don''t say~" Krysaos chuckled. "But at least we got the girl, right?"

    "You mean the delirious invalid that''s done nothing but cry and beg for death since we found her? Yes, we have the girl."

    "Eh? That''s what she''s saying?" The Captain frowned... "Wow, that''s f*cked up."

    "Should I have expected more?" Tycon asked.

    "Nnnnope," Krysaos crouched down before dropping onto his back. Lying on the white dirt, he gazed up to the miserable grey sky... "F*ck life. F*ck the gods. It all ends here..."

    "No, dear friends," The Thunder God interjected... "Your paths do not end here."

    Tycon and Krysaos simultaneously looked over to him.

    He was a thin, shirtless blonde man... not so much a regal deity of the heavens, but more alike a traveler lost in the woods.

    The oversized axe he held above his head did not match his size or physique.

    The way he trembled made it look like it wasn''t even his.

    But... there was a certain look in that fellow''s eyes-- one that Tycon did not like.

    He''d seen it before.

    What was it? Pride? Conviction? Something unreasonable for a modern warrior to value.

    Tycon didn''t like it... because he knew, instinctively... that it would be thest time he''d see it.

    The Thunder God turned to him, his gentle smile unafraid.

    "Tycondrius... You thought-- no... You knew the gods would not answer your prayers.

    "Without even once asking for their blessings... you stood at the forefront of the millennia-long war of this Realm against the dragons...

    "You were not tasked to do so. Your selflessness needed no reason... nor your relentlessness... nor your heroism.

    "The great enemy... The Tyrant God is being reborn in this very forest...

    "Yet while even the shadows of his wings cause the younger gods to hide and quake in fear...

    "I know you, of all mortals, will persevere.

    "Hear me, Hero Tycondrius...

    "I stand with you.

    "--not as a god... but as a dear friend."

    ",

 Chapter 955 Forgotten Name

    ?A zing white light took away Tycondrius'' vision.

    ...not that vision-blindness affected him so terribly.

    He loosed a deep sigh-- one saturated with annoyance.

    "You smug bastard," He muttered... "Who prayed for *your* intervention? ...It wasn''t me, that''s for damn certain."

    Quietly... calmly... but with rage barely contained, Tycon checked his personal effects.

    Weaponry. Magic jewelry. Articles of clothing. All was as it should be.

    "Hero... the thought''s as appealing as a steaming pile of shite... as if I''d ept something like that."

    He sensed that the Dark Iron Wolf-Hammer, Tres Leches, was nearby.

    He retrieved it and returned it to his spatial ring.

    "...What fool would ept you as a friend-- and after all that?"

    Ophelia Moonwell lied on the grass. She was unconscious, her expression pained. However, her breathing was steady. The trails of tears outlined in ash had dried.

    They would begin again anew, once she woke... but uncovering the reason for those tears would be something for the future.

    He picked her up and slung her across his back.

    Arcanite Princess, get. Missionplete.

    It was then that the Captain''s voice interrupted his errant thoughts.

    "Yo, LT... You uh... there?"

    Krysaos was blinking like a fool, his body lowered and his palms held outward.

    "Yes," Tycon answered.

    "Are we... dead?"

    "No."

    "Did we make it to heaven, or what?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows. That was a stupid question.

    "Ab-sol-ute-ly not... I *highly* doubt any of the eleven heavens will ept people like us."

    "LT..." Krysaos whispered, "I... I can''t see."

    "Neither can I," Tycon shrugged. "Get over it."

    "A... alright."

    Krysaos righted his posture, trying to feign confidence.

    ...To ay the Captain''s confusion, Tycon decided to share what he knew.

    "?Lightning Teleport.?"

    "H... huh?"

    "It''s the name of the spell cast by our *loyal*panion. You may recall it. At that time, the caster was not under duress."

    "If that''s the case..." Krysaos grit his teeth, "That... that *guy* overtuned the f*ck out of the lightning!"

    "Hm. An interesting opinion."

    Thepletion of a high-leveled, multi-array, lightning-type spell under extreme duress was an extraordinary feat.

    That Krysaos expected two or three frivolousyers for his own personalfort was unreasonable.

    The unreasonable Sea God cleared his throat.

    "So... since we''re alive and I don''t hear any woond creatures trying to f*ck me in the arse... can I assume we made it outta the forest?"

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded-- not that hispanion could see him do so.

    "Alright, at least that..." Krysaos grumbled. "But still-- LT, I''mma need you to guide me towards that guy, so I can kick him in the face."

    ...How difficult.

    "I can''t do that, Captain."

    It was, after all, an impossiblemand.

    "Eh?" Krysaos cranked his head towards Tycon, "And wHYYYyy the f*ck not?"

    The Captain''s argumentative tone was irksome... but Tycon was not in the mood for a verbal spar.

    Carefully bncing Ophelia over his shoulders, he spun on his heel and began to walk away. If they were near Whitehearth, they needed to go uphill.

    "Follow my voice, Krysaos. We''re following this road... to what I hope is toward civilization. Ophelia is stable for now, but she will need--"

    "Heading back? The f*ck we are!" Krysaos griped, "Where''s-- where''s the..."

    The Captain took a few troubled steps before stopping... "Hey... don''t say it, LT."

    Tycon stopped as well.

    "What I have to say, you likely already know," He said in a soft voice. "The Thunder God barely had the mana to walk straight, much less enough to cast a Sixth-Circle Spell without grave repercussions."

    "Then..." Krysaos hesitated... "then where is he now?"

    "I don''t know," Tycon took a breath... "but it isn''t here."

    Tycon steadied himself once more, walking forward... one foot in front of the other.

    Time passed in quietude, Krysaos following along-- almost miraculously, withoutint.

    Eventually, Tycon''s vision began to return.<novelnext></novelnext>

    The sun was beginning its descent in the west. As it continued, it would nestle down into the walls of City-State Whitehearth, visible in the distance.

    "Hey... yo, LT..." Krysaos muttered.

    Tycon did not realize when he had... but he''d stopped to stare at their destination.

    Captain Krysaos stood by his side.

    "We... we didn''t even ask for that guy''s name," He said, his tone almost... reverent.

    Tycon raised his eyebrows.

    "His name was ¡ù¡ù¡ù¡ù¡ù."

    "Huh..." The Captain twisted his mouth to the side... "How''d you know?"

    "Revered in the Eastern States. Thunder. Lightning. Wields a Storm Axe," Devoid of emotion, Tycon listed the traits of one of his most loyal friends... "Only one god applied to the criteria."

    Krysaos stared off towards the sunset.

    "...It''s a stupid name," He concluded.

    "It... does sound awkward ifpared to modern human names," Tycon shrugged. "Nevertheless... that fellow''s legacy lies in more than just that."

    "...Yeah," Krysaos nodded. "He was... a good guy."

    "Indeed," Tycon said... "Indeed..."

    ...

    ? At a mediocre breakfast diner, in the mediocre City-State, Whitehearth... the morning after. ?

    Recent events had affected Tycon to an uneptable degree.

    He had difficulty tasting his breakfast.

    It was... a bitter struggle, him fighting against his psyche.

    It took until the third te for him to regain his senses enough to be satisfied.

    "We uh... we''re not doin'' the 20-te thing likest time, are we?" Krysaos asked.

    "I''ll be content after this," Tycon grimaced.

    Krysaos took a deep breath.

    It seemed like he was hesitating, so Tycon sat back and motioned for him to speak.

    "Sssso," Krysaos began... deliberately stretching out the word, as if he was biding his time... "how is... Ophelia doing?"

    Tycon leaned back to quietly scrutinize his conversational partner.

    Krysaos looked miserable-- more human than god.

    Unlike his usual charming grin, he wore a deep frown.

    Tiredness had sunk into his eyes.

    He looked... old.

    His military coat was neither clean nor pressed-- though had both the magical power and ingenuity to do so.

    He did, however, shave... so Tycon had one less thing to admonish him for.

    --not that he was in the mood to do so.

    "Ophelia Moonwell yet lives," He said. "Sindal''s people will ensure that fact remains constant."

    "That''s... some kind of a win," Said Krysaos with an awkward smile.

    "Something like that."

    As Tycon returned his attention to his fifth te, the Captain went through simr motions.

    There was a certain inelegance to how the man cut his (terribly mediocre) steak.

    ...The scraping of metal against ceramics tried Tycon''s patience.

    But... near everything he was experiencing, as of recent, had annoyed him to some degree.

    "So LT... You uh... you get any sleep?" The Captain asked.

    Tycon shook his head and clicked his tongue, "I don''t deserve such a luxury."

    "So that''s a no, huh?" Krysaos smirked.

    Tycon responded with a slow shrug, "I doubt I could, even if I tried."

    "Well... whatever," Krysaos sighed. "Maybe we should get a cup o'' brew before we go on with our sun, huh?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Does this ce serve alcohol before noon?"

    Krysaos chuckled awkwardly, "I was thinkin'' more like... coffee."

    "...Very well."

    Thus, the man ordered coffee.

    A waitress delivered the hot drinks.

    Her speech was curt; her eyes, ever-shifting; and her brow was marked with a light sheen of perspiration.

    As for the reason?

    The drinks... as one might expect, were poisoned.

    ",

 Chapter 956 Honor The Lost

    ?Tycondrius sipped on the hot coffee, swirling the liquid around in his mouth.

    The poison granted it a distinct vor... but not one that was particrly pleasant.

    "So uh... how... f*cked are we, LT?" Krysaos asked.

    Tycon felt his jaw drop. He was so surprised, he nearly gasped aloud.

    It seemed that Krysaos had realized that the coffee was poisoned. Though mundane poisons were ineffective against gods and Gold-Rank snakes, it was nice to see the improvement in the Captain''s general awareness.

    Or perhaps the man had noticed that everyone in the small diner exuded killing intent towards them?

    While stilludable... the fact was almost insultingly obvious.

    "I mean... overall," Krysaos rified.

    "Overall?" Tycon frowned, "Ah. Concerning recent events in the Tree God''s Forest... we have reached ''end of the Realm as we know it'' levels of... f*cked-- so to speak."

    Krysaos loosed a slow whistle in response...

    Tycon took that as a signal to continue: "Unless my eyes have deceived me, the florae of the Tree God''s Forest are... twisting into winged-lizard chimeras."

    The Captain tore off a piece of his toast... only to stare at it nkly... "But we uh... we don''t know if they''re bad guys, right"

    "ording to Tres Leches, the Tree God has fallen."

    "Isn''t that a good thing?" Krysaos asked-- "that no one''s controlling those things?"

    "That may not be urate," Tycon shook his head, "Recall that almost immediately after, Tres'' connection to the Lone Shadowdark was abruptly severed."

    "Yeah-- definitely not good... but what are you trying to get at, LT?"

    Tycon leaned back in his seat, crossing an arm in front of his chest while cing his hand on his chin.

    "In that gods-forsaken ce are the Divine Resonant Energies of both the Tree God and whatever ancient Elven parasite resided within the Swords of the Forgotten King.

    "We can reasonably assume that a third-party has taken advantage of the situation, thus hastening the lizard god''s rebirth... and partially fulfilling the terms of that stupid lizard prophecy we keep hearing about."

    "The lizard god," Krysaos grit his teeth, "That''s what the Thunder God was talking about before he..."

    Tycon saw the Captain''s hesitation and decided to interject.

    "He sent us away after judging that we would not all survive, otherwise."

    Krysaos blinked several times. The toast he had in hand fell impotently onto the filthy table surface-- butter side down.

    "No way," He said, staring at the table... "LT... are you saying he... No,e on. Haha... What the f*ck, LT?"

    "Think, Krysaos," Tycon ordered in a firm voice. "By what means did we make it to Whitehearth?"

    The Captain lightly recoiled in shock... but immediately adopted a grave expression.

    "Big... beefy magic. It was something... that pro''lly only a god could use."

    Tycon motioned for him to continue, "Go on."

    Krysaos looked away, his gaze losing focus. "But... how? He was out of mana. I mean-- he had to use... to *burn*... something else, just to keep up with our pace?"

    "And that ''something'' was?"

    Krysaos'' eyes widened, "He sacrificed his life force."

    "Life force," Tycon mused, "would be... inurate."

    "His... god-juice," The Captain dered, his face deathly serious.

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded.

    He would have used the term ''God Essence''-- or ''Divine Resonant Energy''... but Krysaos'' chosen verbiage had a charming pragmatism to it.

    Tycon sucked in air through his teeth... "However, as you know... that fellow did not have much... ''god-juice'' to spare."

    Krysaos ced his elbows at the edge of the table, steepling his fingers, "I feel like you''re about to say something really f*cked, LT."

    The Captain always did have a good sense for that.

    "That fellow''s dissolution has begun..." Tycon exined, "Not even a full sun has passed, yet, already, his name begins to elude me."

    "F*ckin'' coral shite!?" Krysaos scowled, "How could you forget something like that?"

    Tycon took another sip of his poisoned coffee, "Tell me what is it, Krysaos."

    "Psh, easy sun," Krysaos scoffed. "It''s..."

    The Captain''s eyes widened... then slowly narrowed as an ufortable realization set in.

    "Son of a... This... this doesn''t make sense. I just... you-- LT, you literally JUST told me his name! We... we made fun of it!?

    The panicked Captain stood out of his chair, his hands clutching the side of his head.

    "Sit down, Krysaos," Tycon waved nonchntly. "You''ll alert the assassins."

    "The what?!"

    Tycon waved to their nervous waitress. Unfortunately, they ignored him, retreating to the rtive safety of the kitchen.

    It seemed their empty coffee pot would not be refilled anytime soon.

    Krysaos sat back down in a fluster.

    Leaning forward, he spoke in a hushed voice, "Are... are you telling me we''ve just been poisoned?"

    "...I sincerely thought you noticed."

    "Am I gonna die?"

    "No."

    "Should we-- y''know? Leave? Like right now?"

    "What?" Tycon was taken aback by the audacity, "Nonsense. I''m not yet finished with my meal."

    "But I just drank like three mugs of poison and... my stomach is starting to rumble?"

    "It''s the caffeine in the coffee," Tycon exined. "It stimtes your intestinal--"

    "Tycon, please. We''re f*cking surrounded."

    Krysaos was... honestly concerned.

    Tycon had forgotten just how quickly the man had amassed power.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "...Worry not, Brother-Captain. I am a Gold-Rankbatant more than capable of challenging higher ranks. You, Krysaos, are a Sky-Rankbatant with a God-Rank physique.

    "There are less than a dozen bipedal sentients in the entire Realm that can threaten our lives... much less in this continent-- much less in this nation-- and even less in this City-State."

    To be more specific, there were two... maybe three-- and none of them were present.

    Krysaos sat back in his seat, "Then... why do we keep getting in life or death situations?"

    How ridiculous. The current situation was a far cry from actual danger.

    "Brother-Captain, you have killed literally hundreds, if not thousands, of sentients in the past few weeks. You and I are forces equivalent to multiple thousand-strongpanies of trained men-- to an entire team of Divine Armors..."

    "--to... a hundred-cannon Juggernaut?" The Captain suggested.

    "A fitting analogy," Tycon chuckled... "People like you and I don''t die easily."

    Krysaos bit his upper lip, "Until they do."

    Tycon closed his eyes and nodded, "Indeed..."

    Krysaospressed his leftover toast and tossed it into his mouth before washing it down with the rest of his poisoned coffee.

    It was a fitting disy of epting one''s fate.

    "...Was that the toast that fell on the table?"

    ''Meh," Krysaos shrugged in response... "So you''re telling me they can wait?"

    "They can wait," Tycon responded with a light chuckle... then he loosed another deep sigh.

    He needed another drink...

    ncing nced over at his empty coffee cup, the feeling of disappointment in his heart grew ever deeper.

    He''d thought it bothersome enough that a majority of the restaurant''s patrons were unable to hide their killing intent. But besides that, the the service was *excruciatingly slow.*

    He did not n on returning.

    "Hey, LT..." Krysaos twisted his lips to the side, "We''re gonna murder all these people, aren''t we?"

    It was a simple question... but the timing of it made it seem like the man had more to say.

    "...Yes."

    "We killed... a lot of people-- like you said. And a lot more folks''re gonna die."

    "...Also, yes."

    "You ever feel... guilty?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "For what reason would I have to feel... *guilty?*"

    "Well..." Krysaos bit his upper lip... "That''s how you''re supposed to feel when someone bites the dust."

    "Tss. Is that so?" Tycon scoffed. "I feel... thirsty. I''m annoyed, frustrated-- something along that line. But guilty, Brother-Captain? The crushing weight of guilt on this sun feels no heavier than the sun prior."

    The Captain waved to their waitress, recently emerged from her hiding spot, "Refill on coffee, please."

    Tycon nodded in thanks before continuing.

    "Under mymand, I lost a literal god. Prior to that, one of my closest friends reincarnated into a metal stick. And, of course, the woman whose life we risked to save had the insides of her head turned to figurative mush by high-level magic...

    "No, Krysaos... I do not feel guilt over these matters. And if I did, it would not help me, in the least."

    It was not guilt that eroded his psyche.

    Disappointment was more appropriate.

    Anger and indignation, too. Compared to guilt, those emotions were far more useful and would serve to creative fuel for his future ns.

    To Tycon, feeling guilt was uneptable-- an emotional state reserved for those who had more to give, yet refused to do so.

    "And how about you, Brother-Captain?" Tycon reclined in his chair, "Do you feel... guilt over what happened?"

    Krysaos shut his eyes... then slowly shook his head.

    "No... No, I don''t.

    "If anything... I feel kinda guilty that... I don''t *feel* anything.

    "Like... when someone dies, you''re supposed to be sad or some shite, right?"

    Krysaos took scratched at his head... "But I... you and me, LT... I guess we''re not normal people."

    Tycon took care not tough at the Captain''s words. Krysaos was the Sea God. It was an understatement to say he wasn''t a normal person.

    "Hmph... *Normalcy* amongst sentients isrgely a lie," Tycon shook his head. "Worry not. Neither you, nor I, are *lesser* beings for ourck of empathy or appearance thereof."

    "Yeah... That''s... a way to look at it," Krysaos admitted.

    "And I suppose it must be stated that death is no stranger to us," Tycon smirked. "We''ve met the god of death. We''ve shared a table-- shared food and drink."

    Krysaos sat and stared, quietly... "Yeah... he''s a good guy."

    The coffee refill finally came.

    Tycon lifted his cup for a somber, if unorthodox, toast.

    "Let us honor the lost by living in their stead."

    The Captain nodded slowly, "Doesn''t this stuff taste weird, though?"

    "Drink the damn coffee, Krysaos."

    "Aye aye," Krysaos sighed, "Lieutenant."

    Tycon downed half of his drink in a single pull. The heat of it scalded his tongue.

    It was still poisoned, of course. But despite the poison concentration being higher, its potency remained the same.

    ...But with the repeated attempt on their lives, not even the waitress would be spared.

    "Brother-Captain," Tycon smiled politely. "First, we kill everyone in the restaurant. Then we deal with the group waiting outside."

    "Aye," Krysaos reached for his rapier, "Blood and thunder?"

    "Aye aye," Tycon nodded. "Victory at sea."

 Chapter 957 End Of The Realm

    ?"Hear ye, hear ye!

    "Open your eyes... to the TRUTH!!"

    Jovanus gnashed his teeth, trying to ignore the incessant droning of the vagrant doomsayer.

    The acid dripping from his tongue offended his senses... as much as his slovenly appearance and the stench of piss dried into the rags he wore.

    "The end of our Realm... is NIGH!!!!

    "OUR end... is NIGH!!

    "--for the gods... they have FORSAKEN US!!"

    The doomsayer spoke of the pagan gods of the Eastern States.

    They were... *human* gods.

    And thus, they were as fallible as their weak-minded worshippers.

    "Our prayers go UNHEARD!! For we-- we are sinners, unworthy of their eyes..."

    Jovanus shook his head.

    Every corner of Whitehearth''s streets was adorned with their so-called gods... likenesses carved in stone, as the names of their streets... in irreverent curses that rolled freely off pagan tongues.

    Whitehearth.

    The City-State of a hundred shrines.

    The so-called ''holy city'' of the eastern peoples.

    It sickened him.

    If he could, he''d tear it all down. The Statesmen around him, he''d put them to the sword-- pluck their eyes out with forceps, burn the bodies in a glorious pyre.

    However... Jovanus was outside his jurisdiction-- a fact that afflicted him with physical aches and pains.

    He was far from his ce of birth... far from the pest-ridden soils of his estate... far from the t ofnd where his parents were buried.

    --and he was on a nonbat mission, of all things.

    If not for the pleading of his brother and cousins, he would still be on the soil of his homnd.

    Every moment he spent away... the more he longed to return.

    Currently, he was in the Eastern States... in City-State Whitehearth.

    And for what...

    He was *not* campaigning for the glory of the Tyrion Empire.

    He was *not* performing his duty, praising the Eternal me and the mercies of Lady Troia, the High Oracle.

    Jovanus'' purpose in the pagan city... was to promote the greed of men.

    His name had been sold for coin.

    His name had worth... moreso than the rest of his living family members.

    It irked him to be associated with champions hailing from the lesser nations.

    ...It was worse in the past.

    Because of his family''s inability to make sound investments, Jovanus had worked with more thieves, criminals, and murderers than he cared to admit. For a time, he''d even thrown his lot in with the Snake Cult before they were ousted as worshippers of literal snakes.

    Jovanus could no longer tolerate such ipetence.

    The dogs of his family should have already received their coin. It was enough to arm and armor their legions-- loyal Tyrion men and women far more deserving of the Eternal me''s graces.

    --of course, Jovanus had a healthy suspicion that even those funds would be... misappropriated.

    It was a problem he would address another sun.

    Before that, Jovanus'' goal was to keep his sword sheathed and his crossbow stowed.

    Being at the center of an international incident would detract a great deal of value from his name.<novelnext></novelnext>

    However, the Decanus he was apanying-- a man by the name of Dario, had no such concerns.

    As the man drew his sword, he cut through the doomsayer''s neck in a smooth, practiced motion.

    "Eugh," Dario groaned... "I was afraid the yapping dung heap would go on, even after I slit his throat."

    He then whipped the de downward, painting a red line onto the cobblestone street.

    "Deus," Jovanus growled, "I''ll have you keep at least three feet away from me."

    "That so?" Dario grinned. "What''s wrong, Inquisitor? Does blood offend your senses?"

    "It is not blood I fear," Jovanus frowned. "I fear your ability to afford my dry cleaning bill, should your recklessness stain my cloak."

    "Tch," Dario scoffed. "Whatever, old man."

    Jovanus watched the ruffian''s back as he walked away.

    Former Centurion Dario. Hailing from the territory of Rixus. Demoted back to Decanus because his peers and subordinates attested to the fact that he was a walking pile of garbage, armored as a man.

    The fact that he and his tent-group were present was an indisputable testament to their corruption.

    He''d avoided crucifixion, thus far, due to his Metal-Rank physique and the achievements of his dead subordinates.

    ...but only the me knew how much longer his fortune wouldst.

    "Jovanus! Jovanus, my friend. You came!"

    Yet again, the Eternal me saw fit to test Jovanus'' patience.

    The confident voice belonged to an Eastern States mercenary wearing darksteel armor and a vibrant red cape.

    His clean-cut and polished appearance made Jovanus ashamed on his Decani''s behalf. How could someone with so filthy a personality look more professional than one of his countrymen?

    "I would prefer to be referred to by my title," Jovanus replied gruffly. "Also... I am not your friend, Mercenary Leader Smith."

    The man''s jovial bearing faltered, but only slightly, "Oh,e now. We''re all friends here, Inquisitor. Call me yton."

    Jovanus narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the men, women, and monsters in the surrounding crowd-- all gathered on Smith''s behalf.

    Dozens of unwashed, unkempt ruffians, collected from various regions of the Realm.

    Two four-legged, metal-bodied golems... ancient abominations, likely plundered from some dead Witch''s tower.

    A coven of Nemayans-- likely fewer of their number with still-beating hearts than not.

    ...and a single squad of whatprised a far cry from Tyrion''s finest.

    "All this for a simple show of force, Mister Smith?" Jovanus slowly narrowed his eyes, "Hmph. You must take me a fool."

    "''Tis not the numbers that are of importance, Inquisitor," The mercenary leader smiled, blissfully unaware of how rank his breath was. "I''ve gathered several notable personages from each of the five great nations. I can introduce you to them, if you''d like."

    "I''ll have to refuse," Replied Jovanus, "with the reason being that I do not care."

    "Fair enough," yton chuckled. "But really, Inquisitor... my confidence is in you, not in your men. Thank you foring-- praise the me."

    The Statesman reached for Jovanus'' arm, patting it in what was might have been a friendly gesture.

    "Praise the me, indeed," Jovanus growled.

    It was true that yton Smith had much to thank the me for-- that a crossbow bolt had yet to adorn his brow, for example... or that his ck heart was not yet pierced by righteous Tyrion steel.

    "Just as I''ve told the others," yton droned on-- "the transaction requests have already been sent to the Banking Guild. Your ounts will receive the promised payment by the end of the business sun."

    Jovanus furrowed his brow in suspicion.

    The man spoke of finalities.

    Besides that, a carriage was waiting nearby, its banners colored the same ostentatious red as his cape.

    "You''re leaving."

    It was not a question. It was an usation derived from obvious truths.

 Chapter 958 Single, Well-Trained Tent Group

    ?"You are correct," the mercenary leader nodded. "I''m a busy man, Inquisitor. I''ve other duties to attend to. But take heart, dear friend. With our ''show of force''-- or whatever you''d like to call it, you have my veritable confidence."

    Without another word-- and thankfully, another breath, yton Smith turned and walked off.

    ...Though Jovanus quietly wished for it, the Statesman''s flowing red cape did *not* get stuck in the carriage door.

    The carriage departed, horses and all. Several dozen pairs of eyes, two tent groups worth, quietly watched them go...

    The mercenary leader''s absence made Jovanus ufortable-- almost more than his attendance.

    "What''s wrong, Inquisitor?" Dario called as he jogged over, "Is there a problem with the payment?"

    Jovanus held out his hand, "Three Imperial feet, Decanus."

    Dario''s face twisted, his indignation clear, but he kept his distance.

    Only when that was clear, did Jovanus continue.

    "ording to Mister yton Smith, you''ll get your coin. However, he trusts the contract to be fulfilled expressly *without* his supervision."

    Dario''s face contorted through a variety of expressions as the implications worked through his thick, concussion-addled brain.

    "Does he think we''re mescarred idiots?!" He yelped. "This is obviously a trap! We''re surrounded by gangsters and pirates and metal beasts-- isn''t it obvious??"

    Jovanus found it odd that the Decanus failed to mention the undead-worshipping heathens.

    However, he was still young. It was likely that he had no prior dealings with Nemayan heretics... and was ignorant to the danger of their witcheries.

    "Leave if you wish," Jovanus waved. "I am not your Commanding Officer, nor do I wish to be."

    There were no good reasons for a me-fearing man to be hundreds of miles away from his home.

    Jovanus was there on behalf of his family.

    It was not a good reason. He didn''t even like his family.

    For a dishonorable cur like Dario of Rixus, his reasons might have been rted to ckmail. Or perhaps he''d fallen prey to pecuniary extortion. Whatever it was, it was likely that if he abandoned his position, a worse fate awaited him when he returned.

    "...me take these scum-sucking Bone Rat bastards," Dario spat. "And me take me for trusting them to do their part. me take it ALL! Inquisitor, I''m taking my tent-group. We''ll find the marks and end them with Tyrion steel!"

    "No need to tell me," Jovanus waved him off, "Do as you please."

    Jovanus was apanying Decanus Dario and his tent-group as a *favor.*

    It might have been *implied* that he was to takemand or im responsibility for ten men and women he''d never met prior... but none of that was in writing.

    The only thing he cared to know about Dario and his ilk, he knew prior to meeting them.

    The lot of them were were fools.

    They had to be, to enve themselves to a contract on such vague terms.

    From what Dario had mentioned in passing, his mission-- the mission assumedly shared by all parties present, pertained to a rogue guild from Alizeau.

    It was a small guild, formed in recent years by a minor noble, albeit a wealthy one.

    ...It''s what they were told. It''s what they believed.

    Some eighty or so other mercenaries were gathered on yton Smith''s behalf.

    Their demeanors varied, but most had seenbat... carrying scars of battle, wearing grisly trophies on belts and bandoliers.

    Some had signs of former incarceration... or their spirits were so rife with barbarism and violence, that they could scarcely contain their bloodlust.

    More than mercenaries, it was better to think of them as a pack of feral dogs, starved for meat.

    However, instead of loosing them on prey in the wild... yton Smith decided it best they ambush their marks within the walls of City-State Whitehearth.

    The sheer audacity would be unthinkable in a Tyrion city-- which was yet another reason Jovanus felt so out-of-ce in this strangend.

    One or more of the marks had entered a small restaurant. A dozen thugs from the local and ill-named ''Bone Rat'' guild followed soon after.

    The enemy numbered ten or less.

    ...Smith''s forcesprised nearly a century.

    Decanus Dario was an Iron-Rank Legionnaire.

    Of the others, Jovanus noted two blue-robed Alizeaun Witches.

    For the undead to move freely, there was at least one Nemayan Necromancer in the area.

    There were two metal golems, certainly capable of savage strength... then, a well-decorated Red Cape Officer apanied his squad-- they were human, as far Jovanus could tell.

    Altogether they had at least four Iron-Rank mercenaries, two usibly Gold-Rank beasts, and a veteran Gold-Rank swordsman.

    How strong, then, were the ten or fewer targeted by yton Smith?

    And what was the identity of the rogue guild''s wealthy benefactor?

    Jovanus was about to berate Dario with facts and logic... but he was not afforded the time.

    The ground beneath him began to shake, deep fissures forming in the road. The restaurant''s windows shattered all at once, and its solid, brick-and-mortar form began to throb and spasm as if it were flesh.

    Jovanus dropped his body, one knee to the cobblestone. He lowered the brim of his buckled hat, guarding his face from a cold st of wind and a shower of rocky debris.

    Deafening cracks of stone and the groan of metal reinforcement drowned out the sounds of hysteria and men dying.

    ...After several too-long moments, it was over.<novelnext></novelnext>

    As the adrenaline waned, Jovanus noticed a hot, throbbing pain emanating from his left hand.

    A cool fragment of ss had pierced through his leather glove, drawing blood.

    --but on further inspection, it was not ss.

    It was... ice?

    The concrete and stone of the unassuming building had transformed dramatically into two, giant, skeletal hands. Dark and powerful magic held those bones together, but the muscles and tendons appeared to be made of flowing water.

    Held aloft by those hands... was a churning blue sphere asrge as the building that birthed it.

    The dead bodies of the Bone Rat guildmembers were somewhere in that watery mass.

    It was also possible Jovanus was observing the cycle of a single man''s severed parts, but he thought that unlikely.

    "Wake up! Wake up, cur!"

    An oddly familiar voice was shouting.

    It took a moment, but Jovanus realized it was him. The recipient of his demands was Decanus Dario, knocked on his arse by magic and in a state of confusion.

    His own thoughts were a mess... but he honed in on something in the back of his mind:

    --a battle litany.

    Jovanus learned it at the academy... ages ago, when he was very young.

    He didn''t know what the ancient words meant... just that the rhythm of the prayer had a certainty to it-- a pulse.

    --an eternal heartbeat.

    His body moved on instinct.

    He kept a low profile, hooking Dario''s arms, and dragging him backward. The muscles in his back and thighs ached, but hisbat training and adrenaline-addled brain bid him rescue at least one of his countrymen.

    "I-inquisitor?!" Dario screamed, "What in the FLAMESCARRED F*CK is THAT!?"

    It was a question Jovanus did not want answered.

    He had borne witness to a giant, whirling sphere of blood, bone, and broken concrete.

    It was dark witchery. It was an affront to human life and all that was good and just.

    It was an illusion.

    If not... then the sphemous magics rivaled the lesser miracles of the High Oracle.

    Jovanus raised his voice, straining his throat to be heard above the panicked cries of lesser men.

    "Loyal servants of the Eternal me, TO ME!! The warriors of the Tyrion Empire will STAND TOGETHER!!!"

    Thankfully, Dario''s dogs did not forsake their training. Without question, they ran, crawled, and dragged theirpanions to Jovanus'' position.

    "MOVE! me TAKE you, slow bastards-- I SAID ''MOVE''!!!!!"

    It was fortunate that they did. As his countrymen lifted their shields, icicles the length of swords began to erupt from the swirling sky sphere.

    Through the shield wall, Jovanus watched a man die, speared through the heart.

    He was Nemayan.

    It was a sobering realization. Before creed and nation, Jovanus'' first thought of that man as a fellow human being.

    The Nemayan was not the first.

    More died.

    Amidst the screaming, the two blue-robed Alizeaun Witches stepped forward to conjure a magical shield around those near them.

    Of the others, Jovanus did not see.

    Refocusing his attention to his countrymen, none appeared to be injured.

    They were safe. The shield wall-- it held.

    Decanus Dario, however, was still stunned silent.

    Was it his first time experiencing witchcraft?

    He was lucky. The worst of the heretics'' dark magics could summon swarths of daemons or transform thend into a hellscape of rusted iron and putrid flesh.

    The magic cast by the enemy witches was unique, yes... but Jovanus was forced to operate under the assumption that its true purpose was to elicit fear.

    It was a reasonable option against a force with superior strength and number.

    Such a tactic could be ovee by a single, well-trained, Tyrion tent-group.

    Jovanus looked around him.

    True Tyrions held their shields strong, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

    Dario and his tent-group-- they cowered behind theirs, their eyes filled with fear and their dders emptied on the street.

    A single, well-trained tent-group... Jovanus wished he had that.

 Chapter 959 Hot Girl

    ?"Munifices, ready the p," Jovanusmanded-- "I do not fear my soul returning to the me-- but when I die, I want to die fat in a bed and on the ancestral grounds of my people!"

    Dario said nothing. He continued to stare through the shield wall, his eyes drawn to the witch sphere in the distance.

    Jovanus loaded his crossbow, locking the bowstring into the firing position as he cursed his fate.

    How did such a weak-minded scoundrel make it past basic f*cking training?

    Suddenly, a shout emerged from that scoundrel''s mescarred mouth, "S-someone''s there!"

    Jovanus looked up, his eyes following a blur of movement.

    A man had leapt out of the water. He dropped some fifty feet,nding in a purposeful crouch.

    "The... the Alizeaun," Dario muttered.

    Jovanus narrowed his eyes, studying the distant enemy.

    He was a young man with a light build-- or perhaps a woman.

    Their hair was a striking green color-- not unheard of, but its brilliance made them stand out from afar.

    They wore a dark uniform coat and trousers, attire typically worn by men in the Magic Kingdom''s Navy-- and judging by the ornamentations on his cap, he was an Officer.

    However... a particr contrast caught Jovanus'' attention.

    The sailor did not wear an Alizeaun weapon on his hip.

    ...He wore a Tyrion sword.

    The boy walked forward.

    He was surrounded by enemies on all sides. The bounty on his head was not in silver, but in gold...

    And the boy showed not an uncia of hesitation.

    Jovanus grit his teeth.

    Green hair.

    Tyrion steel on his waist... and flowing through his veins.

    He recognized that boy.

    "me take me," Jovanus said in a low voice. "Disregard mystmand."

    "Wh-what?!" Dario snarled, "Inquisitor?! Have you lost your mescarred MIND?!"

    "Tch," Jovanus scoffed. "Heed my advice, boy. Mind your words in the presence of an Inquisitor with a *loaded* crossbow."

    Dario clicked his tongue before addressing his tent-group, "By that order. We *will*plete this mission, with or without the Inquisitor''s help. Our forces have at least a dozen Iron-Ranks-- and, rather than me, you''d listen to a Bronze-Rank COWARD???!"

    "Just how *thick* is that skull of yours, you impudent lout?" Jovanus groaned. "Who do you think you are? Maximus of Ezyria? Holy Lancer Athanasius f*cking Mors?"

    The Decanus did not respond.

    He could not. A walking heap of trash had no right topare himself to a hero of the Church.

    "Do not do this, Dario," Jovanus warned. "There is a *stark* difference between your abilities and those of that green-haired soldier."

    ''Stark'' was a gross understatement.

    The young man held the rank of Duplicarius, his deeds judged by Tyrion''s highest council: the High Oracle, herself.

    Under simr council, Dario had also been judged... and was found wanting.

    Also, Duplicarius *outranked* Decanus-- and attacking a superior officer warranted the punishment of crucifixion.

    Before he could *kindly* inform the men and women in his presence, a warcry rang out in the distance.

    "DIIIIIE!!!!"

    Its source... was one of the two blue-robed Witches.

    Their witchcraft protected theirpanions from the earlier icicle barrage. Dropping their barriers in favor of an offensive was... a strange choice.

    Watching that, Jovanus'' countrymen lifted their shields a little higher... interlocked their shields a bit tighter.

    Together, the two witches summoned a misshapen, azure sphere.

    It sparkled and shone like the pearls of a senator''s wife, its size and scale enough to give a normal man pause.

    ...Yet it remained a mere fraction of the blood-filled death ball still overhead.

    With a deep and weighty pop, an icy bluence erupted from the witch-sphere, rapidly speeding toward the green-haired boy.

    It did not reach him.

    The earth shook once more as a ck-armored figure appeared in the magic''s path. With a roar of magic, his enchanted sword lit aze with mes. It easily cut through the attack, ice turning into scalding steam and scattering onto the ground.

    The tall knight held his battle pose, undaunted by the violent, hissing and sputtering puddles at his feet.

    Jovanus stood up straight, saluting with his fist to his chest.

    "Ladies, gentlemen, it has been an honor, but my business in Whitehearth has concluded," He said. "Should you remain-- may the me have mercy on your souls."

    "I-inquisitor?"

    Jovanus spun on his heel, retreating at a brisk pace, despite theints of Dario and his underlings.

    The green-haired boy was trouble enough.

    However, of the knight wearing ck armor with silver trim... the symbol on his shoulder belonged to a Tyrion guild Jovanus knew quite well.

    Letalis Serpentia.

    They were a Gold-Rank guild formed by House Vanzano, the sponsor of Tyrion hero, Athanasius Mors.

    Jovanus'' family could curse him all they wished.

    He *refused* to be seen associating with criminals-- especially by members of a guild backed by the Archbishop, herself.

    ...

    The leader of Sol Invictus briefly checked over his military uniform.

    ? Tycondrius, Gold-Rank Maedar Warlord. ?<novelnext></novelnext>

    Before he''d entered his half-godpanion''s aquatic killing sphere, he expected his clothes to be drenched.

    That was not the case. It seemed that Sea God Krysaos had reached yet another breakthrough in his magical control.

    ? Krysaos, Sky-Rank Godwoken Dread Pirate. ?

    Tycon and the newest member of his guild had justmitted mass murder, killing 14 men and women who radiated clear, hostile intent.

    Then seemingly on a whim, Krysaos conjured a smattering of sharpened icicles. They rained down, killing and disabling another dozen or so rabble in the streets.

    Thankfully, all present seemed to be involved in... whatever coboration was at hand.

    55 other potential hostiles remained in the surrounding area.

    There might have been 56, but a wise and vaguely-familiar Tyrion gentleman chose to vacate the area in haste.

    Admittedly, Tycon was slightly surprised there was only the one.

    Krysaos had conjured up a spherical, blood-filled whirlpool high overhead, corpses spinning inside of it.

    In all likelihood, the remaining 55 were incapable of understanding the absurd power sustaining the magic. A literal god was behind its creation-- a fact absurd in itself.

    --and besides that, a certain long-legged, dark-armored knight singlehandedly shut down an empowered Third-Circle evocation.

    ? Seldin Korr, Gold-Rank Human ming Rage Knight. ?

    *Regr* humans were absolutely not capable of performing such feats.

    The woman was utterly terrifying.

    But though the 55cked the intelligence to piss themselves and flee in abject horror... they at least had themon sense to not approach.

    They waited. They watched.

    Perhaps they held onto a fleeting hope that they had not encountered two Gold-Ranks and a Sky-Rank-- that it was all an borate ruse.

    At any rate, Tycon was in no particr rush. It behooved him to take his time, allowing fear to sink into the psyche of his enemies.

    He turned his attention to his dark-armored ''savior'' and rendered appropriate greetings.

    "Good afternoon, Korr," He said with a polite smile.

    The strongest full-blooded human in Sol Invictus approached him. She then held her arms out to her sides, one open palm forward, the other still holding her me-sheathed weapon.

    Korr was a woman of few words. Her helmet covered her facepletely... not that her expressions were easy to read, even without.

    She stood quiet and motionless.

    ...Clearly, the pressure was on Tycon to react to what was some sort of social clue.

    The way she held her sword did not *seem* to be aggressive.

    That was good.

    Korr''s offensive potential could easily challenge beings one or two ranks higher than her own. Also, she had a primordial fire elemental dormant in her enchanted sword who didn''t particrly care for him.

    Perhaps... she was... surprised to see him?

    Tycon smiled politely, "Thank you foring to my aid. I will not forget this."

    Korr retracted her arms, holding her fists above her heart and... swaying lightly.

    That seemed to be a positive response.

    With an explosive ssh, Krysaos emerged from his water ball. Hended adjacent to Tycon in dramatic fashion, his knee and opposite palm touching the ground.

    Brief introductions were had. Krysaos was surprisingly pleasant.

    ...Though he did mutter something about the ''hot girl'' from the ''five-minute story.''

    But, of course, the matter of the 55 fools in their midst still needed to be addressed.

    "Question," Krysaos raised his hand.

    ...Or perhaps other matters needed to be addressed, first.

    "Go ahead," Tycon waved.

    "Should we be worried about that one guy that left?"

    "No."

    Korr raised her hand.

    Tycon nodded to her... "Yes, go ahead."

    Korr folded her fingers, leaving her pointing finger extended, "[BAD GUYS ON ROOFTOPS.]"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. Had Korr sensed enemies that he hadn''t noticed?

    He recalled how she had arrived to the scene... overhead.

    From what he knew, flying was not one of her abilities... and neither was teleportation.

    Had she arrived... via... jumping?

    ...Was that her preferred method of transportation? And if so, for how long had that been true?

    "Leave them be, youngdy," Tycon waved. "They will not trouble us. We''ll keep our focus on the surrounding enemies, the ones radiating hostile intent. Any more questions?"

    Krysaos raised his hand, "Ah, yeah. Lots o'' guys. You think they''re here for me or for you?"

    "A curious notion," Tycon narrowed his eyes, "However, does it matter?"

    "...No, I guess not," Krysaos shrugged.

    Korr stepped in front of the Sea God, raising her hand, "[LEADER.]"

    Though his patience was being tested, Tycon forced a smile, "Yes, Korr?"

    "[REQUESTING PERMISSION TO KILL EVERYONE HERE.]"

    ",

 Chapter 960 Mana & Boom

    ?"[LEADER,]" Boomed Korr. "[REQUESTING PERMISSION TO KILL EVERYONE HERE.]"

    The enchantments on Korr''s helmet made her sound... far more intimidating than if she was speaking with her regr voice. At the same time, her hateful, sentient sword bristled with light and heat-- anticipating the battle toe.

    Extreme violence was an endeavor in which both Korr and Shahram excelled.

    "Permission denied," Tycon waved.

    It was a good n-- and one he would certainly keep in mind. However...

    "Our position is advantageous," He said. "Let''s see what our... newestpanions have to say."

    Korr slowly tilted her head to the side... but she nodded as if she understood.

    In thest few minutes, she and Krysaos had shown their magical capability as both overwhelming and violent. It was was clear that Tycon''s side was stronger despite the enemy''s numerical advantage.

    Tycon stepped forward, capturing the attention of everyone present.

    "Good morning,dies, gentlemen... et cetera.

    "It hase to my attention that your various factions have grievances with either myself or mypanions...

    "Therefore, I invite you toe forward in an orderly fashion, where we wille to agreement in the manner of your choosing."

    Krysaos stepped forward to whisper in Tycon''s ear, "Whaddya mean, orderly fashion, LT? These guys all showed up with bad intentions."

    Korr approached Tycon''s opposite side.

    She provided no verbal exnation to her actions.

    Perhaps... she just wanted to feel included?

    Tycon nodded to acknowledge her, then turned to his god-wokenpanion.

    "Krysaos, not including the group of corpses still cycling in your... death sphere overhead, the enemy groupprises five easily distinguishable factions. Look to their national origin, their attire, and-- most telling, how they''ve naturally segregated themselves."

    Krysaos still wasn''t satisfied.

    "But won''t it be a problem if they group up and try to focus us down?"

    "They won''t," Tycon assured him.

    The fact that he''d invited the separate factions to approach was intentional.

    The enemies of Sol Invictus hade for him, bound by a contract of sorts.

    It would be tactically sound for them to forego their pride in their individual organizations and unite against amon enemy.

    That they would was unlikely, especially after Tycon''s provocation.

    There was more fear in the crowd than hatred.

    Hatred allowed the snake factions to unite against the sky lizards.

    Human coborations only formed out of greed, for wealth or for power... or something of the like.

    --or so Tycon thought.

    "You''ll PAY for what you''ve done, you scallywag bastards!" Shouted one of the humans.

    Revenge was also a powerful motivator.

    ? Iron-Rank Human Hydromancer. ?

    It was one of the blue-robed mages that attacked him earlier. He and his pair shared many simrities, not just in their attire, but in their mana signature, build, and facial features.

    Tycon wanted to assume they were closely rted... but he was aware that he often had difficulty in telling humans apart.

    "These people came to Saltspray Ind," the fellow went on, "and they showed no mercy! They murdered hundreds, that sun! The men, the women-- even the children!"

    "By my suspenders," Krysaos cursed... "You were the one that wiped out the Saltsprays, LT?"

    "I was reinforcing a Royal Marine Fleet at the time," Tycon replied calmly. "I can''t take all the credit but I yed arge part in the operation."

    One of his many titles was an honorary Lieutenant in the Kingdom''s Navy. The sessful assault on the Saltspray pirates on their ind base was one of his favorite achievements.

    "And did''ja really kill a bunch o'' kids?"

    "Hm. I don''t believe I did... not directly, anyroad."

    "[I WAS NOT THERE,]" Korr added. "[BUT NOT ALL CHILDREN ARE GOOD.]"

    Tycon and Krysaos simultaneously turned to face her.

    Korr... was not wrong, but the timing of such a statement was grossly inappropriate.

    "ENOUGH!!!" The Saltspray gentleman roared. "Dissolve your contracts if you want, yound-loving shites! We''ll get revenge ON OUR OWN!!"

    At that, he and his simrly-dressedpanion-- also an Iron-Rank Hydromancer, began to channel their mana into... a medium-scale spell of surprising power.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    A practiced Iron-Rank Mage could consistently cast Second-Circle Spells with regrity.

    If a series of conditions were met-- one of the methods being synchronized Spellcasting, the execution of a Third-Circle Spell was usible.

    Still... their efforts would bear no fruit. The attack was of the same level as the one earlier-- something that Korr could apparently dispel with her bare hands.<novelnext></novelnext>

    However... Korr made no motion to move.

    Tycon slowly craned his head to his opposite side.

    Krysaos was wearing his iconic grin.

    It was a vulgar, unapologetic smile... as if he were discovered in the process of eating a stolen roast, glistening juices of fat shining on his teeth.

    Tycon sensed two nigh-simultaneous bursts urring to the side.

    The sounds were... most unpleasant: viscous pops; two sacks of mana-saturated flesh forcibly torn apart.

    Turning back to the two Hydromancers... Tycon saw that they had fallen onto the cobblestone road. Blood and water ran freely from their eyes, ears, and mouths.

    They were, quite obviously, dead.

    And, where most would hold a modicum of respect for the fact... none of that respect was to be found in Captain Krysaos.

    "They-- haha! They EXPLODED!! HAHAHA!!" Heughed, leaning over and clutching his belly. "Just-- jus'' a little bit of mana and BOOM!!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    "That, Brother-Captain, is the *expected* result of a Mage absorbing mana two circles higher and with in-parably higher purity than can be expected of their Metal-Rank."

    In as long as Tycon had known Krysaos, the man had done just that on several asions. That he had both survived and grown stronger for it was not a testament to his strength. It was miraculous; a defiance of natural Law; luck so extraordinary and inordinate it felt insulting.

    "The f*ck?" Krysaos grimaced. "Really?"

    "Yes."

    "Oh. Oh... shite. So I could''ve-- that could''ve been..."

    Tycon shook his head. Krysaos was an anomaly whose body could process the mana of a literal god while avoiding spontaneousbustion.

    It seemed that observing the effects of his mana on regr humans allowed him toprehend the insanity of his prior actions.

    "LT," Krysaos groaned, "I... I think I''m gonna be sick."

    "Hold your bearing, Brother," Tycon rolled his eyes. "No one here alive cares for your regrets-- nor your apologies, if any."

    53 enemies remained... and surprisingly, 6 of them began to approach.

    It was a group of five men and one woman, all wearing expensive sets of darkmetal armor and vibrant crimson capes.

    The male in front wore thicker te, the segmented joints of which moved more fluidly than those of hispanions. If it was not enchanted, then the engineering of it implied that much more coin invested in its make.

    ? Gold-Rank Human Knight-Champion. ?

    The six all moved their hands to their waists, causing both Krysaos and Korr to reach for their own weapons.

    Tycon gestured for the two to stop... just as the six knights grabbed their weapon belts and rotated them to the opposite side.

    It was a sign of non-aggression. Weapon belts repositioned to a warrior''s off-hand side were troublesome to draw.

    Tycon was facing the most dangerous faction on the field, a squad of veteranbatants, practiced and professional. Their defensive and offensive equipment were well-maintained and likely lined with enchantment runes. Further, their leader was of a simr Metal-Rank to himself.

    That man''s rank, his squad''s observable coordination, and the series of variables introduced via theirplementary magical equipment posed a respectable threat to Tycon and his own group.

    However, they had also just born witness to two of their moderately-powerful allies falling dead with very little information on how or why that was.

    That allowed Tycon to act with a reasonable amount of arrogance.

    "Are you supposed to be someone of importance?" He asked.

    "No, Sir," The man replied without hesitation.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. The man was clearly an important individual in his organization. That he could remain humble, despite, was... odd.

    If it was due to a good sense of preservation, Tycon could respect that.

    The Knight lifted his gauntleted hand, revealing a leather scroll tube.

    "A delivery from House Whisperwind."

    ...Tycon carefully received the item... scrutinizing both item and item-deliverer for any sign of duplicity.

    He found none.

    "You are... less Elven than I''vee to expect from House Whisperwind''s messengers," Tycon remarked.

    "Yeah-- I''ve been getting that a lot," The man smiled politely. "My wife''s the *actual* messenger-- but she just gave birth to our second child and uh-- my father-inw told me to make myself useful."

    "...Congrattions."

    "Oh, can I get your signature here? Sir?"

    Tycon signed the receipt. He provided a few silver coins for tip-- as was customary for the region. Then, with their business concluded, the gentleman and his squad withdrew from the field.

    Krysaos stared at the capes of the departing group... "That was weird as f*ck."

    "[TRUE LOVE HAS NO BOUNDARIES,]" Korr insisted.

    "No, not that-- just... bah. Whatever..."

 Chapter 961 Gorgons

    ?47 potential enemies remained:

    A remnant from the Saltspray Pirates, hailing from the Magic Kingdom.

    A squad of Holy Country Legionnaires.

    Two squads from the Sleeping Country to the north.

    Andstly... the two potentially from the Free Nation, Tycondrius'' home of origin.

    "Yo, LT..." Krysaos whispered. "Those big... metal bull things-- what are they?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to sharp squints.

    "They''re... Gorgons..."

    He did not like Gorgons.

    Even saying the word aloud instilled a dull ache in the middle and back of his head.

    Gorgons were chimerical abominations crafted in some mad Wizard''sb, centuries prior, remnants of the mad Wizard weapons race of the era.

    Four thick legs supported their metal flesh, the biomagicalposition exceptionally resistant to both physical and magical damage. Bulging, varicose muscles in their torsos and arms allowed them to wield martial weaponry to devastating effect.

    A single Gorgon, taking advantage of their mass and weight, could easily cut through a battle charge, dozens of soldiers trampled underhoof, wholepanies would be decimated.

    A single Gorgon and several seconds-- thebination could turn an intelligently organized defense into a clustered fountain of mistakes.

    Not even superior numbers could guarantee a Gorgon''s defeat. Their long, spear-tipped tailspensated for their forward-facing tendencies, impaling any would-be attackers reflexively and endlessly.

    But the most dangerous attribute of the Gorgon... was that they knew no fear.

    And the reason for that... was that every. single. one of them... without fail... without even a shadow of a doubt... was extra.ordinarily. stupid.

    Within each of their ludicrously oversized, metal-ted, bull-horned heads... was the underdeveloped brain of an imbecile.

    And there were two of them! That was *exponentially* worse than one.

    Theirbined idiocy was a danger Tycon had to circumvent, lest hispanions be at risk of deadly harm.

    "Yo, LT," Krysaos waved, "Why are you making that face?"

    "Pay no heed to those mindless beasts, Brother-Captain," Tycon responded in a low voice. "I will take the task of ending them with great prejudice."

    "(Seven hells! Isn''t that Prince) Tycon?!" Said one Gorgon. They were speaking in the Free Nation''s native tongue.

    "(Yeah? I-- I think it is! Hey, Prince) Tycon! (How''s it goin''?!) Heyyyy!"

    The second Gorgon dropped their hafted battlemace onto the road, its heft creating a spiderweb of cracks. Then, it began to wave its musclebound arms above its head.

    "I think that guy''s waving at you," Krysaos suggested.

    "You''re mistaken," Tycon insisted.

    "They literally just said your name, LT. Twice."

    "(Seven hells,)" The first of the idiots eximed. "(Haven''t seen the Ivory Prince in) EE-POKS!"

    Epochs. He meant epochs.

    "(How long''s it been? Since Kasydon, right?)"

    "(RIGHT! Wow. The Ivory Prince, though... that guy got voted the best War Prince to work for-- for like... almost five years!)"

    "(Yeah. He''s real strong, too-- and I don''t wanna sound weird but don''t you think he''s handsome? In a weird two-legged way, I mean.)"

    Krysaos leaned forward, his brows scrunched together, "They sound like they''re nnin'' something. You gonna go over there, LT, or what?"

    Tycon lowered his head and crossed his arms, "I''ve lost the motivation for it."

    "[REQUESTING PERMISSION TO KILL THEM?]"

    "...Denied."

    Tycon cleared his throat before speaking to the crowd, "Will anyone elsee forward?"

    Most seemed reluctant. There were many reasons for such, all of them good.

    However, it seemed that one man was capable of swallowing his fear.

    "WE! ARE! The Legionnaires of Rixus'' 26th! And WE will step up to the challenge!"

    ? Iron-Rank Human Warrior. ?

    ...The challenge was a proper one.

    The tent-group of 11 from the Holy Country did not step forward. Conversely, the crowd moved away from them, as if they wanted nothing to do with their deration.

    The voice of the speaking Decanus grew softer as they did so... to the point that Tycon had trouble hearing anything else the Decanus had to say.

    --not that it was worth listening to.

    Korr raised her hand.

    "Miss Korr," Tycon chided, "You do *not* have my permission to kill any of our current aggressors."

    The youngdy obediently lowered her hand... though her reluctance was clear.

    Thus far, Krysaos had shown his hand twice, and Korr, once. Tycon felt it was due time for him to act.

    He had great respect for the Tyrion military and their shield wall tactics. However, as with all organizations, the ineptitude of some of their leaders left much to be desired.

    And, though he found it ironic... of the three of them, he was the most capable of leaving his victims alive.

    "Hold onto this," He said as he handed House Whisperwind''s message tube to Krysaos.

    "Huh? Alright. Can I read it?"

    "Go ahead. ?Shadowfang.?"

    Tycon had, long ago, improved his personal movement technique to the level of highpletion.

    Normal humans were unable to follow the speed of a gentleman making a calcted leap via the ne of shadow. The tent-group and theirmanding Decanus were no exception.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Grabbing the edge of a Munifex''s high shield, Tycon pulled it hard enough to snap the leather straps securing its hold... and likely dislocating one or more joints.

    Tycon then swung the shield, introducing its blunt edge to the man''s jaw. The force was enough to knock the man unconscious, potentially killing him outright. The strike dislodged several of the man''s teeth-- some of which cut through his bottom lip.

    Releasing the shield, Tycon immediately grabbed the Decanus by his helmet... and mmed it into the helmeted heads of the two closest Munifices.

    Tycon was doing quite well.

    He briefly considered continuing as he was... but using a man to strike another man was an overall clumsy endeavor. For the remaining Munifices, he delivered a series of well-aimed, open-palm palm strikes and front kicks to their armored chests.

    Considering his strength, each man and woman struck would suffer varying degrees of internal injury, depending on their physique. However, he was certain the disy would be highly persuasive to their peaceable surrender.

    "(Hey! HEYYY! Do you remember meeee?!??!)"

    "(There''s no way the Ivory Prince remembers us!!)"

    A gruff and grating shout assaulted Tycon''s ears. He didn''t have to look to realize that the two Gorgons were stampeding toward him.

    As a Gold-Rankbatant, Tycon was certain he could stop a Gorgon''s charge, even despite the weight difference.

    However, he did not want to.

    It would hurt.

    Being injured by a Gorgon-- even slightly was a notion that Tycon found... offensive.

    Quickly, (though with a modicum of panic,) he crouched down, grabbing the Tyrion Decanus by his lower legs. Then, he rapidly rotated his body, utilizing the centrifugal force to swing his improvised weapon.

    The first charging Gorgon was battered aside.

    That fellow lost his bnce, toppling over. Sliding across the road resulted in a fantastic disy of sparks and broken pieces of cobble.

    Then, in an act of desperation, Tycon hurled the certifiably deceased Decanus at the second Gorgon''s front legs.

    Thankfully, the Eternal me, the god of the Holy Country''s people smiled upon Tycon. The blessed weapon that was the Decanus'' body entangled the Gorgon''s gait.

    The galloping Gorgon stopped abruptly, their face nting deep into the road... which elicited a stifled round of ''ooh''s from the crowd.

    Tycon stood up straight, adjusting the sleeves and cor of his military coat.

    Many of the Munifices he''d defeated were conscious... but they kept as still as they could.

    Tycon epted their nonaggression as their surrender.

    34 potential enemies remained.

    "Now then... is there anyone else?"

    "(I... I ain''t done yet,)" Mumbled the Gorgon with his head stuck in the road.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I wasn''t talking to you."

    Neither Gorgon responded.

    After a moment, the group from the Sleeping Country quietly withdrew.

    None of their peers motioned to stop them.

    That left... a paltry 13 potential enemies.

    Judging by their general attire, most, if not all of them belonged to the Saltspray faction.

    None of them seemed particrly strong.

    The look most evident on their faces was confusion... mixed with what Tycon could assume to be despair. That they remained implied that they had difficult circumstances.

    Nheless, the danger of the situation hadrgely passed.

    Both Korr and Krysaos jogged forward, catching up to Tycon.

    It should have been a momentous asion. Though the feats performed by hispanions were supremely impressive, Tycon''s dismantling of 11 humans and 2 Gorgons within a breath of time was something of a personal record.

    (And though it was of no real importance, he''d only killed one!)

    Krysaos, however, refused to meet his eyes.

    Tycon looked to Korr-- but gained nothing.

    Even if she was without her full helmet, it was impossible for Tycon to read that woman''s emotions.

    The good Captain handed Tycon an unfurled scroll, likely the message contained in the tube.

    No exnation was offered.

    Steeling his expression, Tycon skimmed the contents of the letter.

    ...Then, he read it properly.

    And read it a third time to ensure he understood.

    He folded the paper in half. Then, he folded it into quarters.

    Then, he crushed it within his mana-empowered fist,pressing it into a tight obloid.

    "LT... hey. Hey..." Krysaos cooed softly, "Come on. Let''s... get outta here, guy."

    Korr gently ced her gauntleted hand on Tycon''s arm, tilting her head.

    Tycon took a deep breath.

    Flicking his wrist, he activated his spatial ring, summoning a misshapen metal rod.

    Krysaos'' eyes shot open, stunned by the presence of the dark artifact-- or by its power, iparable even to a half-god.

    Before the Captain could react, Tycon pointed it at the remaining 13.

    "In the name the god of Tarquin Wroe, I order you to ?Die.?"

    ",

 Chapter 962 Calculatorâ€™s Physique

    ?? Twenty minutester... ?

    "You sure can eat, LT," Krysaos said, his tone t. "Where does it all go? You uh-- you ain''t that big of a guy."

    Tycondrius red at the gentleman Captain out of the corner of his eye.

    "Whatever you think you''re doing, Sea God," Tycon groaned. "I don''t appreciate it."

    The Captain pursed his lips and nodded, "Huh? That so? Well, there''s a public trash can. Go ahead. Throw ''em away."

    Tycon looked down. In his hands was a brown, oil-stained bag, likely made of paper. And in that bag were several balls of fried dough, dusted with sweet powder.

    He had noints about the bag''s contents.

    Fried balls of dough were born without sin.

    His majorint was that he was being treated like a child-- distracted by sugary goodness to ay a tantrum.

    "...I''m not going to *waste* food," He muttered-- "Korr, where are you taking us?"

    Korr turned her head, answering over her shoulder, "[MEETING PLACE.]"

    "Ugh," Tycon groaned in annoyance before jamming another fried dough ball in his mouth.

    Sweet... but not *too* sweet.

    "I''m sure you know this, LT," Krysaos started... "but you''ve got a weird habit of getting reeeally frickin'' hungry when you''re in a shite mood."

    Tycon furrowed his brows together, "And on what basis would you make such a *ludicrous* assumption?"

    "We started with ten skewers of meat, two turkey legs, two whole pints of barley soup,-- oh, and the two dozen doughnuts. Out of that, what''s left?"

    "I offered portions to both you and Korr," Tycon frowned. "Both of you have epted and were thus granted one fried dough ball, each. I do not appreciate being used of selfishness, *dear friend.*"

    "That ain''t the point, LT."

    "Then *what* is, Brother-Captain?"

    Tycon jammed thest piece of fried bread in his mouth before discarding its container in a proper receptacle.

    "...You know what?" Krysaos shook his head. "Nevermind."

    Suddenly, Tycon felt his hand being taken.

    Through the leather and metal, Korr''s hand felt warm-- likely something to do with the fact that her ss had a strong affinity to fire mana.

    Warmth. Warmth was nice.

    It was...forting.

    In recent suns, Tycon had been living in a constant state of anxiety.

    That... had probably affected his surrounding rtionships. Thinking on it, Krysaos had been nothing but a loyal and stalwartpanion, throughout.

    It was remiss of him to make light of such strong bonds of friendship-- both that of Krysaos and of Korr.

    Tycon took a deep breath... swallowing his frustrations.

    As Korr was not privy to the missive''s contents, she had no ulterior motive in offering her hand.

    Did she think that he was upset, as Krysaos had suggested?

    He wasn''t. The notion was ridiculous.

    He was negatively affected by emotion-- but to exin it as mere ''anger'' or ''frustration'' was... imprecise.

    Korr sensed... something; her hand was an offer of kindness, a visage of the certainty and safety that often went without.

    Tycon considered Korr a close friend. They''d worked closely together during simpler times, when the greatest of his concerns were instilling martial skills into a pre-pubescent boy and shaming a grown man for soiling himself.

    Ultimately, he appreciated the notions offered. However...

    "Youngdy," He said in a soft voice. "Do you think what you''re doing is appropriate? --and before you answer, deactivate your helmet''s voice enchantment."

    Korr used her opposite hand to reach underneath her full helmet.

    She did not release her hold on Tycon''s hand.

    "Should... .... ...stop?"

    Tycon chuckled softly. The youngdy always seemed to have difficultymunicating with him (and he had difficulty understanding her.)

    However, she was a sweet and kind child.

    It was embarrassing to admit... but in his frustrated state, he had briefly abandoned his professionalism-- and in front of what he considered to be children.

    Granted, Korr was not an actual child. As a veteran mercenary who had previously retired, she was as old as Krysaos looked.

    Still, Tycon quietly cursed himself for acting so willfully.

    "You should let go, mdy," He said. "I''m very handsome, so this might cause some unwanted misunderstandings."

    Korr continued to walk, not releasing her grip in the slightest. However, just when Tycon thought he was being ignored, she lowered her head.

    "He... he won''t mind."

    Krysaos raised his hand, "Who won''t mind?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "...Boyfriend."

    Tycon felt his eyebrow twitch. From the reports he received, Seldin Korr had a steady rtionship with a soldier from Forcen, a City-State to the north and west. Last he read, that fellow had proposed to her.

    The man''s title should not have been ''boyfriend.'' It should have been ''fiancee.''

    He could not be certain of how Korr felt about her rtionship. Romantic rituals between humans were in the top five mostplicated out of all the sentients in the Realm.

    Thankfully, there was a use in her contract to Sol Invictus to alleviate his worries. If she were to pursue a marriage contract, a scribe would be hired to create a document detailing her prenuptial assets and those of her partner. Thus, if the contract were to be voided, the separation of assets would be a simple affair.

    Also, Tycon had forces in the Kingdom''s city of Meryslward-- former rogues and ruffians. Those valiant men (and a surprisingly low amount of women, despite recent recruitment drives) were skilled in tasks generally practiced by Dark Guilds.

    Kidnapping. Extended periods of torture. The lucrative sale of organs (and sometimes whole bodies) to passionate researchers.

    Tycon made a mental note to send their leader, Reynard, a letter of gratitude for his continued efforts. Granted, if that man were to fail him, nothing short of a god could stop Tycon''s wrath.

    --and even then, it depended on the deity...

    That was how Tycon cared for his people.

    No one f*cked with his people.

    Finally, the trio arrived at a moderately-sized mansion. Sorina Capulet, the Chief Financial Officer of Sol Invictus and Tycon''s other holdings, met them at the entrance.

    Her attire, from the knicknacks in her beige hair and her multiyered dress was... gleaming and expensive.

    However, as the previous fiscal year had been kind, Tycon decided not to criticize her appearance.

    "What took you so long, Boss?"

    Tycon removed a gold coin from his spatial ring and tossed it on the floor.

    Without hesitation, a frenzied Sorina dropped down to her hands and knees to retrieve it.

    "...Y''know, if it takes 5 seconds to pick up a gold piece, that''s like making 10.5 million silver in a moon."

    Tycon granted the youngdy his practiced, professional smile.

    "Good morning, Lady Cauplet," He said. "There are a number of logical ws in that statement."

    "Good morning." Sorina grinned happily, "But it doesn''t matter, Boss. I''m the subject matter expert at all things business and business-rted."

    ? Sorina Capulet, Bronze-Rank Human Calctor. ?

    Tycon casually scrutinized his employee''s physique...

    It had been several moons since hest saw her... and it appeared she was just as strong as when they''d initially met.

    If Sorina had undergone physical training each day, as was required by her contract, then she should have at least attained an Iron-Rank physique.

    "You look... stronger, somehow, Boss?"

    The youngdy''s smile held a hint of desperation.

    She knew.

    And she knew *he* knew.

    She was at fault. And for her impotence, she would suffer.

    Tycon turned up his nose, "Your Metal-Rank, child."

    "Y-you don''t have to check it, Boss!" Sorina smiled. "I''m-- I''ve been working on it. I-- I swear!"

    "Lady Korr," Tyconmanded. "Take Miss Capulet to her room. Have hermit to intensive physical training for the next *four bells.*"

    Sorina, again ignoring the delicate nature of her dress, threw herself onto her knees and begged Tycon without shame, "BOSS!! WAIT!!! I''M SORRY!! DON''T DO THIS TO ME!!"

    "Too little..." Korr whispered softly.

    Four bells of training wereughably brief,pared to the standard disciplinary sessions Tycon assigned.

    "It can''t be helped," He shrugged. "I n to find a bed or cushioned couch before I copse from general annoyance. Krysaos, inform the others that the meeting will be held in the evening."

    "Aw," Krysaos frowned. "I was gonna go watch the rich girlie work out."

    "Eh?" Sorina recoiled in disgust, "Gross."

    Tycon pped Krysaos'' shoulder, "Brother-Captain, I have invited four nation-representatives to attend the meeting this evening. I assume they are here. Do not allow them to leave."

    "By my socks," Krysaos scoffed... "This shite''s really happening, ain''t it? ...Why''s there only four nation-reps?"

    "I''m the fifth," Tycon answered simply.

    "Ah, right, right," Krysaos nodded. "Alright. I''ll do it."

    "But that''s not fAirRr!" Sorina cried, "I''m the secretary! I''m the one that gets to tell important people important things!"

    "Krysaos is a literal god," Tycon waved. "Hopefully, those that I''ve called will understand the gravity of the situation upon meeting him."

    "W-wait wait wait," Sorina said, holding out her hands. "*what''s* going on?"

    "Some bastard prophecy is due its fulfillment," Tycon groaned as he walked off... "something about the Realm being reduced to naught but ash and fire."

 Chapter 963 Soft & Luxurious Goal

    ?The owner of the estate seemed to think himself a noble in the style of the Kingdom.

    Tycondrius was being led to his guest room by a maidservant, her attire traditional to that region.

    She refused to meet his gaze, something also dictated by Kingdom tradition.

    She said no more than what was necessary, which he found rather droll. He was able to forgive that, though-- it was consistent with ''tradition.''

    However, when that whelpling offered an overly enthusiastic ''is there anything else, my lord''... Tycon began to doubt.

    --mostly because of the thick, expressly *non-traditional*, cloud of pheremones enshrouding her.

    "Have someone wake me for dinner," Tycon waved dismissively. "Tell me where your master entertains his guests."

    "Of course, my lord," The servant smiled.

    It was a subtle motion, but Tycon noticed the girl straighten her back with pride. Her eyes continued to wander, though-- and, subtle, that was not.

    "Master yton most often uses the trophy room when meeting with the most illustrious of personages."

    "Hm," Tycon nodded. "Very well."

    It seemed the servants were trained to sing endless praises of their owner, no matter how awkward.

    But was that, too, on behalf of tradition?

    ...Or was the whelpling wholly unaware that her master did not deserve such treatment?

    Weeks prior, Ophelia Moonwell had prepared a document detailing several notable personages based in City-State Whitehearth.

    yton Smith, the so-called Mercenary King, was not high on the list... but his entry, in particr, Tyconmitted to memory.

    Mercenaries were rtivelymon in the eastern territories, their employment pivotal in the early formation of many of their City-States. As such, their reputation was seen as both honorable and lucrative.

    The Smith Estate saw that potential early on, purchasing the loyalty of severalpanies over the better part of three decades.

    Thus, it was the Smith Estate that catalyzed the development of the Adventurer''s Guild; the non-profit was a stop-gap measure against a mercenary monopoly.

    Still... yton Smith was a unique existence in the States, able to offer petitively priced'' services torge, mercenary-seeking organizations.

    Those organizations were appeased. The wealth and social power of independent mercenarypanies steadily declined. The Smith Estate flourished.

    The rabble who swore allegiance to their Mercenary King-- they were not paid well, but they grew so dependent on the Smith Estate that they could scarcely refuse their contracts.

    Tycon rested his head on his closed fist.

    The house servant praised her master and his meeting hall, but he could not fault her.

    It was not her job to know or care who her master invited to entertain.

    Greasy merchants who valued saving coin as opposed to trusting in an honorable name? Spineless mercenary leaders willing to enve themselves to a questionable master for a steady trickle of copper coins?

    Tycon found the notionughable.

    "My lord... is something not to your liking?" Asked the servant.

    Tycon curiously tilted his head downward. The child had yet to leave.

    "Forgive me," He said, shaking his head before forcing his usual smile. "I merely found it amusing."

    A deep red bloomed on the servant-girl''s face and she averted her gaze.

    "My lord... you''re... you''re different from the others."

    "Oh?" Tycon smirked, "You noticed."

    "Shall... shall I attend to you while you''re resting?" She asked.

    The young woman was twirling a finger around a strand of hair... and biting her lower lip.

    Thatbined with the flush remaining on her face-- and that he was trying not to gag on her lustful scent, Tycon discerned that he''d formed a positive impression.

    However, he was not in the mood for any sort of ''entertainment.''

    Much was on his mind.

    Soon, he had to deliver grave news to the nation-representatives he''d summoned.

    Besides that, he''d recently suffered another piece of unwee news... and though he''dmitted a series of mood-lifting murders immediately after, Tycon was in the mood for a nap.

    "No. Instruct the kitchens to prepare snacks and refreshments for after-dinner discourse. Also, have the wine watered down for... reasons."

    The girl''s expression faltered considerably, "I... of-- of course, my lord."

    Still, she did not move to leave.

    "If I may, Sir... allow me to assist in removing your--"

    "Go."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, watching the crestfallen child-in-heat depart.

    He shut the door... and ensured the girl''s presence was gone before he loosed a rxed sigh.

    Finally, he began removing his boots, his gloves, his military coat, and the like...

    The room had a garish, full-bodied mirror, the only source of magical spying he sensed in the room.

    He turned its front to face a wall and draped his clothes over it.

    As he was unbuttoning his long-sleeved shirt, he caught the whiff of a delicious scent.

    The guest room held yet another secret.

    ...Out of curiosity, Tycon inspected what was supposed to be a spherical scale model of the Realm. Pressing a concealed button, it utched a mechanism, unveiling a bottle of dark liquor and a single ss.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He removed the cork, which came free with a satisfying pop.

    The bottle held malted-grain whiskey, his favorite libation.

    It was well-aged... guaranteeing a smoother taste than the more ordinary spirits he often purchased.

    His gaze drifted to the bed.

    Tycon''s decision to sleep had be a dilemma.

    He was ustomed to sleeping in miserable conditions... which made the luxury of a well-crafted bed something he held in high regard.

    ...The current him yearned for quality rest over quality booze.

    He had done a great deal of work in the past few suns.

    Manughter was a tiresome endeavor.

    He was exhausted...

    His stomach was filled to a decent level of satiety and he had secured shelter and the rtive safety therein.

    All that was left to crave was sleep... even if only a few bells.

    The troublesome task of... saving the Realm-- or something like it, hung over his head.

    But he would deal with it after he napped.

    Or perhaps... when he woke up, he would decide on something else?

    Tycon returned the lovely bottle of wonders to its hiding ce. Then, he looked to reset the mechanism that locked it away... which was not as obvious as he hoped.

    His scrutiny, however, was interrupted... as he sensed a hostile presence quickly approaching his room.

    The double doors burst open, the perpetrator of the morous disy none other than Natalya Crucis, the Archbishop of the Holy Country.

    "In the name of the Eternal me, and ALL THAT IS HOLY, WHAT IS GOING ON!??!"

    Scarlet red hair. Aesthetically pleasing curves about her body. Radiant mana violently raging all about her.

    She was just as beautiful as the sun hest saw her.

    As exhausted as Tycon was... he still had the mind to observe proper decorum.

    "Lady Crucis," he said with a bow. "You seem upset."

    "And WHAT gave you THAT idea?!" She screamed.

    There were many observable reasons, one of which being her tone of voice.

    --another being her aggressive stance, with the energies sheathing her arms notably shaped into curved des.

    Tycon shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

    "Shut the door, Natalya. The servants can see us."

    Two did, in particr.

    "Oh, is that the Archbishop? So the esteemed Sir already had someone..."

    "Hush yer mouth, child," Another maid scolded. "Master Smith has already--"

    The abrupt mming of the doors shut interrupted their conversation.

    The Archbishop, still rather incensed, went on toyer an ?Arcane Lock? Spell over the physical one, securing the room against magical and non-magical entry.

    Tycon casually walked to Natalya''s side, adding his own touch to her Spell Formation. A ?Silence?yer would prevent any outsiders from sating their curiosity.

    It did not halt the effects of the room''s scrying mirror. However, he had nothing to hide. As long as the spell subsisted, any suspicious observers could be at ease.

    "I did not give you permission to approach me," Natalya scowled.

    "Battle regalia looks good on you, mdy."

    The Archbishop wore a set of functional padded armor, thick enough to deflect a ncing sword blow. The design, however, entuated her ample bosom, thus was more appropriate for ceremony than battle.

    The cloth was dyed a crimson-red, her favorite color, and entuated with gold trim as befitting her station.

    Natalya also wore dark trousers, well-fit to her form, and of a breathable material. It was better for running, jumping, and performing acts of violence than the flowing gowns often worn by the clergy of the Church of the Eternal me.

    Also, a sword adorned her hip. It suited her.

    Her attire as a whole matched her personality.

    Natalya was a woman confident in her role in her Church as well as in her femininity. She did not shy from physical violence-- and would often pose as the aggressor.

    There was nothing surprising about her uninvited visit, even despite the fact that a private visit to his personal quarters had certain implications.

    "You have gawked for long enough, Snake."

    "I disagree," Tycon replied calmly.

    He stared a few moments longer, burning her form into his memory as a cheeky act of defiance. Once content, he turned his back and walked away.

    "What. do you think. you are. doing?" Natalya demanded through clenched teeth.

    "I''m going to bed," Tycon respondedzily.

    Suddenly inspired by a stroke of whimsy, he turned back while motioning toward his soft and luxurious goal.

    "Natalya, would you like to join me?"

 Chapter 964 Blame

    ?"Join *you?*" The Archbishop asked, "in... in bed? That bed?"

    Tycondrius raised an eyebrow, "Yes? That is... my offer?"

    "Pah!" Natalya scoffed. "Not funny, Snake."

    Tycon pursed his lips in thought. Natalya had taken his words as a joke.

    "--and how about you fix your shirt?" She scolded.

    "Hm? I refuse."

    The cool air wasfortable on his bare chest.

    ...and anyroad, he didn''t feel the need for propriety around Natalya.

    "You are in the presence of an Arch. bishop. of the Church. of the Eternal. me."

    Whatever the woman was trying to argue, she had little grounds to stand on.

    "Natalya," Tycon sighed. "My various titles are in no way inferior to yours."

    "You, Sir, are in the presence of a woman," She insisted. "You''re being *inappropriate.*"

    ...Natalya did *not* like being disadvantaged in an argument.

    "If we''re speaking of a sense of propriety, I feel the need to remind you, Natalya, that you are an unmarried woman who has entered the private room of an unmarried man."

    Tycon kept his tone even... and perhaps even polite as he went on, "Should you remain, the nature of the servants'' gossip will... progress."

    Natalya approached him, stomping forward in a huff.

    She did not have his permission to apprach, but that meant nothing.

    "I''m. not. leaving," She said.

    With each word, she pressed her finger against Tycon''s chest.

    Her tone and bodynguage heavily implied that she would not be convinced otherwise.

    What did she want? What could she *possibly* want?

    Whatever it was, it *really* can''t have been important.

    But Tycon didn''t want to argue anymore.

    The Realm was doomed to ash, fire, and the like.

    He took a deep breath and shook his head, "Very well..."

    Fixing his posture, he rendered a courteous bow, his dignity only slightly reduced by his attire (orck thereof.)

    "Lady Crucis, allow me to officially and cordially invite thee to my bed."

    If she wasn''t going to leave, she might as well--

    --spin her body around,unching a rising heel kick aimed at the side of his head.

    Tycon swayed backward to dodge.

    Natalya then attempted to draw her sword, but Tycon held his hand above hers to prevent a full-draw.

    "You got stronger," She said as she red up at him.

    Tycon moved closer, cupping his hand over his mouth to whisper into her ear, "You still need me."

    Natalya grabbed his hand, attempting to... throw him or something. Whatever she tried, she failed fantastically.

    As Tycon thought it to be bad taste, dropping the Archbishop onto the expensive tile, he spun around so Natalya fell onto the bed.

    The woman wrapped her legs around his waist-- which caught him off guard.

    If her goal was to manipte his body or gain an advantageous position to inflict pain, her actions were useless.

    If she were trying to seduce him... did that mean... she no longer had a boyfriend?

    Tycon looked back to the woman in bed.

    She was holding a dagger to his throat.

    "Ah. Hidden dagger. Of course."

    He had been yed for a fool.

    "You think *I* need you, Tycondrius? For *what*?"

    Tycon raised his eyebrow, tilted his head, and nced down at their connected bodies.

    "Wrong answer," Natalya grinned as she pressed her dagger forward.

    It did not draw blood. With Tycon nearing Adamantine-Rank in strength, Natalya needed more than just arm strength to cut him.

    ...If she twisted her body, though, that would be enough.

    Tycon gave her a casual shrug, "I suppose... I can answer any questions you might have."

    Natalya groaned and rolled her eyes.

    "Tell me why you called us all here," She said. "There better be a good mescarred reason for this!! What is it? Huh?? Have the dragons finally returned?!"

    "Yes."

    "--because unless they..."

    Natalya''s voice trailed off as her face contorted several times through an array of expressions.

    It... was... glorious.

    Out of all the observable emotions, Tycon favored two in particr.

    The first was ''terrified confusion,'' which admittedly, had much to do with his predatory bloodline.

    The other was ''bitter defeat.'' He had little exnation as to why-- but he found it satisfying.

    And the emotions crossing Natalya''s face...

    He would have paid moderate-to-decent coin for the moment to be immortalized in a painting.<novelnext></novelnext>

    He would keep it in his spatial ring and show it to all her friends.

    Holy Princess Troia would certainly enjoy it.

    Tycon took Natalya''s dagger and sword belt, cing them respectfully on the bedside table. Then, he gently removed Natalya''s legs from his waist.

    ...He, of course, briefly considered taking advantage of the situation.

    He was no longer in a rtionship, the details of which frustrated him greatly. In the past, Natalya had revealed that she desired him physically. Further, the room was sealed with magic... and no one required either of their presences for several bells.

    However, the satisfaction of sleep was one of the many things superior to physical intimacy.

    Also, it was an activity that could be safely practiced without consideration for social mechanisms.

    Natalya sat up, staring quietly at nothing in particr.

    As much as he liked the sound of her voice, silence suited his mood far better.

    Tycon sat beside her... but as he found sitting to be tiresome, he allowed himself to sink into the mattress.

    He rested with his hands behind his head... and he closed his eyes...

    The quietude was nice. The bed was nice.

    The closeness he shared with a gorgeous woman-- that was lovely.

    Alone in his mind with his thoughts, the anxieties came.

    An avatar of the winged-lizard god had awoken in the Tree God''s Forest.

    Within theing weeks, its existence would bring massive and undeniable changes to the Realm. He had personally witnessed the shaping of a lizard army, scrapped-together monstrosities made from the life essence of the dead Tree God and his twisted tree-spawn.

    Then, depending on the god-power of the lizard-god''s avatar, they would do something... appropriate.

    Some sort of horrible,nd-destroying fire breath would be iconic.

    Unreasonablyrge and scale-covered wings would blot out the sun-- maybe send up towering sea waves to obliterate the finances of any fool who invested in beachfront property.

    If the cursed thing ate anything organic, it would probably form mountains out of its shite.

    A great many people would die... or want to be dead-- more than usual, overall.

    "An age of ash and fire ising," He muttered.

    Tycon didn''t ask to be born into the current age.

    Some years ago, he woke up without his memories, fairly certain he had taken over the body of an unfamiliar man.

    No one questioned it. It wasn''t worth questioning.

    ...No one asks to be born. Even if he had a problem with his reincarnation, no one would care.

    He did wonder if the former-Tycon would do better in the circumstances...

    Of course, the exercise in thought was also a pointless one.

    He knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he was the superior-Tycon.

    He felt Natalya stand up.

    He felt her walk over to the globe.

    He heard her pop open the bottle of whiskey and he smelled the golden concoction being poured into its ss.

    Tycon opened his eyes.

    That was... too much for a single drink.

    He sat up hurriedly, but it was already toote. Natalya had downed the ss in a single pull.

    It was... admittedly impressive. Tycon had never seen Natalya drink so much in so short a time. The alcohol content in the whiskey was far more potent than watered-down dessert wine.

    The scarlet-haired Archbishopzily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

    ...A simr scarlet color reached her cheeks.

    "Sho is that it?" She asked.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... "Is *what* it?"

    "The end of the Realm ising... and... you''re just gonna sleep on it?"

    Tycon was confused. Yes, the Realm was ending-- but what could Natalya possibly want him to do about it?

    He closed his eyes and shook his head.

    "I''m done with trying to *fix* things, Natalya."

    "The Swords of the Forgotten King--"

    "I did as you asked. I brought the swords to Whitehearth," Tycon seethed. "Everything went to shite, afterward... despite my best efforts. On that, I have no regrets."

    He sucked in air through his teeth... then released a heavy sigh.

    "I do not know what the immediate future holds... but, for now... I n to rest."

    Natalya swallowed her saliva, taking time to choose her words.

    "I''m... not ming you, Tycon."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, stunned by the admission.

    If Natalya could cast me on anyone for his mission''s failure, it would be him as the leader of Sol Invictus.

    To grossly exaggerate events, it was Lone Shadowdark, a Ranger that Tycon handpicked, responsible for hastening the lizard god''s return.

    Granted, even if Natalya *did* me him, the notion would neither weigh down his conscience nor disrupt his sleep.

    He had worse nightmares... and new ones to experience, given the recent death of Tarquin Wroe.

    Nheless...

    "Thank you, Natalya," He whispered... "for understanding."

 Chapter 965 Harbinger

    ?Tycondrius found Natalya''s general demeanor somewhat odd.

    --not bad.

    --merely... odd.

    Overall, she had been... softer than he had grown ustomed to?

    She brazenly invaded his private room with a series of demands. That, he could expect, considering her domineering personality.

    Ah.

    What was odd was that Natalya had yet to threaten him with a grisly execution or show her displeasure with an excessive disy of divine mana.

    ...Granted, she did motion to gut him with her sword.

    ...And within the same breath, she had a dagger''s edge pressed against one of his jugr veins.

    Those things, however, were more akin to y and posturing than they were actual threats.

    Tycon found it especially odd that Natalya hadn''t mentioned crucifixion even once-- or affixing him to a rack and having her way with him. Those were her favorite threats...

    "You... can''t give up... stupid... snake."

    He wasn''t certain what Natalya was referring to... but he wanted to do as little as possible until *after* dinner.

    However...

    Unfortunately...

    ...his damned conscience did not allow him to ignore the woman.

    Natalya looked miserable. Shezed on the armrest of the couch, her lips quivering and her eyes unfocused.

    ...Though Tycon *loathed* doing so, he left thefort of the bed to sit beside her.

    When did she remove her padded armor? The scent of sweat and rose oil suffused in her tunic threatened to cloud his senses.

    Natalya looked to him with glistening eyes, "That''s... why you brought us all here, right, Tycon? To mount a resistance?"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed, which made Natalya''s face twist in disappointment.

    In an effort to be considerate of her feelings, he adopted his usual, forced-neutral expression and spoke in an even, thoughtful tone.

    "Due to the implications of recent events... I thought it best to deliver the news in person. Thus informed, you''ll all have ample time to... make peace with your gods or whatever your cultures think appropriate before the inevitable and quickly-approaching mass extinction."

    Tycon was necessary to the meeting not as a Tactician, but as a messenger. A harbinger announcing the end of all suns required a certain level of authority to be believed.

    "But... we''ll all fight together, won''t we?" Natalya asked.

    "Tss. Against an elder god?"

    ...Despite the absurdity of her request, Natalya''s expression bid Tycon to treat it as if she were serious.

    "Do you humans not have... historical warnings or... ancient texts detailing the Tyrant God?"

    "ying the non-human card, Tycon?" Natalya growled, "We do. So what? Why are you being such a coward?"

    Tycon took a deep breath. His nostrils were filled with the whiskey scent in Natalya''s breath.

    "It''s not a question of cowardice, Natalya. Because of my bloodline... I instinctively know the lizard god''s capacity for destruction.

    "Even against its avatar, mortals have no hope against it...

    "It is... akin to an uncontroble force of nature, able to manipte the world in ways beyond the ken of scientific and magical understanding.

    "The only guarantee we have of the elder lizards is that they seek not to oppress or enve... but to destroy."

    The more Tycon spoke, the fiercer the mes in Natalya''s eyes burned.

    "That was-- tens of thousands of years ago! Our technology has grown a hundredfold since then! We have Orkish Sugar! We have Divine Armors! Multiyered Spell scrolls! Hextech siege weaponry!"

    The Archbishop of the Church of the Eternal me readily admitted that they had technology imported from the seven hells.

    ...Tycon decided not to call attention to the fact.

    "Natalya," He said... "What are the Church''s ns... concerning High Order: Exterminatio?"

    The Archbishop''s gaze hardened, her hostility clear, "How did you learn of that?"

    Tycon smirked, "So such a thing *does* exist."

    Exterminatio was reserved for situations where a ''heretical'' mutation or corruption was in danger of spreading to catastrophic proportions. Tycon had seen it before with City-State Caeruleum.

    It was only logical that the Church would have a contingency n if the scope and scale of their beloved Exterminatio was deemed... not enough.

    Also, ording to the Church''s naming system, each ''Order'' naturally had an associated ''High Order.''

    Natalyaid back, crossing her arms, "Sometimes, it''s scary what you know."

    "That," Tycon frowned, "is the level of threat the lizard god''s corruption will bring. Thends around Whitehearth will fall to ruin... then the rest of the Eastern States. Eventually, the continent will be transformed to the lizard god''s will... and so on and so forth."

    "And you''re implying the Church should call for a Realm-Wide Exterminatio... destroy everything so the corruption can''t spread to other Realms beyond ours?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I was analogizing," Tycon smiled politely, "though I would like to be informed should the Church decide to act. Concerning our Realm, I''ve already sent word to the Gatekeepers."

    "You think... the demonbloods will help us?" Said a shocked Natalya.

    "No, that would not serve their agenda," Tycon chuckled. "The Gatekeepers exist to prevent and control internar war. I suspect they''ll close off the Gates for an eternity or so."

    Natalya grew quiet... stewing in what was most likely varying, tumultuous, and conflicting emotions.

    With the woman distracted, Tycon decided to lie back on the opposite end of the couch. There was plenty of room, but he chose not to extend his legs fully to ensure Natalya had space to herself.

    He was fairly certain he looked like a slovenly lout... but, in the privacy of his room, he prioritizedfort over professional appearance.

    Also, it wasn''t his couch.

    Tycon closed his eyes. He''d already epted that proper sleep would elude him in the interim. Thus, he decided to gamble on a five-minute nap and its potential benefits.

    Unfortunately, his hopes were dashed by the scent of whiskey, the bubbling of its container, and the delicious liquid sloshing in the ss.

    "There is no High Order Exterminatio," Natalya said in a low voice. "It''s only a theory... Every attempt to sanctify it has been stifled by the Senate-- even before I became Archbishop."

    There was good reason for that. Tycon was nning on assuaging Natalya''s concerns, but she once again finished her ss in a single pull.

    "I''m going to fight against the dragons, Tycon," She said.

    "Dragons don''t exist," Tycon reminded her, "Well-- besides the one."

    "Troia will fight too!" Natalya continued, "I''m-- ssshurre of it!"

    That was to be reasonably expected.

    Tycon sat up, crossing his legs underneath himself. He took Natalya''s ss away, as well as the whiskey bottle.

    There was more than enough left for him to enjoy-- but that was only a minor relief.

    Natalya had imbibed a substantial amount of alcohol.

    He was concerned for her well-being... but he was also impressed. Despite her shapely legs and generous other-curves, Natalya was not arge woman.

    She didn''t weigh much either... a fact made obvious when she pushed him down and straddled his waist.

    Tycon tried his best to ignore the heat between her loins and the nigh-overwhelming haze of pheromones in her sweat.

    "What are you doing, Natalya?"

    "Mounting... a resistance... it''s... why you came, right?"

    Tycon opened his mouth to retort when Natalya suddenly ced her lips on his.

    It was a clumsy kiss... one too thick with desperation to be satisfying.

    "Oh, I''m sorry," Natalya said as she pulled away, "You haven''t...e just yet... or have you? I know men are supposed to be mindful when ites to... you know... that."

    The sudden shyness... made lights sh in Tycon''s lizard-brain. He did his best to quell his instinctual desire to mate... but what remained was a sense of confusion.

    "Natalya..."

    "I need your help."

    Tycon distinctly remembered the woman''s insistence on *not* needing him, only a few minutes prior.

    What Natalya *needed* was a cleanse-type Spell to dispel her drunkenness.

    Still, the request was an amusing one. One of thest people he expected to ask him for help was doing just that.

    However, she was wrong.

    "You don''t need my help, Natalya-- not for anything. Besides your overwhelming personal strength, the power in your station--"

    The Archbishop leaned down, her scarlet hair falling on the sides of Tycon''s face. If she was trying to kiss him, she failed terrifically.

    She did, however, seed at gnawing lightly on his cheek.

    Suddenly, Tycon felt a twinge of harmful intent as Natalya reared her head back. To defend himself, he quickly grabbed a couch cushion and positioned it in front of his face.

    As expected, he felt Natalya m her forehead into the improvisatory barrier.

    "It has to be you," Said the cushion.

    Tycon felt Natalya slide down his body. She ended up nuzzling into his chest-- or rather, against the linen of his unbuttoned shirt.

    With that, he felt safe enough to move the cushion away (though he made sure to keep it within arm''s reach.)

    "Natalya," he said, "why does it have to be me?"

    "Because... I enjoy yourpany?"

    "Well," Tycon twisted his mouth to the side, "I don''t me you."

    ",

 Chapter 966 Contractual Obligation

    ?"It has to be you," Natalya whined, "you have the Warlord ss... the strongest Tactician-type ss in existence."

    Tycondrius chuckled lightly in response.

    "Oh, Natalya... you would have the greatest human armies in the Realm headed by a snake?" Surely, you see the absurdity in the notion."

    Natalya lifted her head... then headbutted his sr plexus.

    Tycon attempted to stifle a grunt, turning it into an awkward exhale.

    Thankfully, Natalya did not call attention to it.

    "It''sh not what I meant," She muttered.

    "Then... what did you mean?"

    "Stroke my head."

    "...Sorry, I''m not following the logic."

    Natalya lifted her head, meeting his eyes, "Just do it or I''ll have you crucified."

    "...Very well."

    Facing the theoretical threat of painful execution, Tycon did as he was told.

    Also, he poured himself a half-ss of deliciousness, downing its contents. The bottle and ss, he ced on the nearby short-table-- still out of Natalya''s immediate reach, for safety.

    Reclining back in the couch forfort, Tycon continued to gently stroke Natalya''s scarlet hair. His opposite hand moved naturally to rest on the small of her back.

    Natalya curled up on her side,ying her headfortably on his upper abdomen.

    "You betrayed me," She said.

    Tycon did not respond. He needed more information and his silence was the simplest way to achieve that.

    "Apologize," Natalya demanded.

    "I apologize."

    Natalya... wiggled in his embrace. It seemed like a positive response.

    He wondered... if perhaps he was getting better at eliciting positive responses from women.

    However, Natalya began stroking the outside of his thigh-- which was too positive of a response for him to remainfortable.

    "...Good," She sighed. "I mean... I should... should''ve known you weren''t human when I first saw you."

    Tycon said nothing. As he had no idea what the woman was talking about, silence remained his best option.

    "You... you didn''t dim your vision... in the pits," She exined.

    Ah, that was a good hint.

    It seemed that Natalya was referring to many years prior, when the Sol Invictus guild was active in the Ezyrian diatorial Arenas.

    It was a past that Tycon had learned secondhand through visions.

    "The past me... he wore a visored helmet," He offered.

    "The shape of your pupils," Natalya groaned-- "they change when you get mad, snake."

    "...Then I apologize on behalf of my former self for the oversight."

    Natalya''s arms moved... embracing him as best as she could, considering their positions.

    "You always got mad when your friends were insulted..."

    "I wouldn''t quite call them ''friends.''"

    "You were never afraid as youmanded... your people... no matter how crazy... no matter how-- how dangerous your matches were."

    "Most of our guild wore face-coverings, which did well to hide our expressions. Of course, that was for everyone intelligent enough to feel fear, anyroad."

    "The first time I saw you... I think... that was when I fell in love with you."

    "Love, you say?" Tycon furrowed his eyebrows, "How old were you? Twelve?"

    "Ten, actually."

    "...My apologies."

    It felt like Tycon was apologizing more than he had in a lifetime.

    Granted... none of his apologies were particrly sincere.

    "Year after year, I watched your matches," She said. "Then, all of a sudden, you disappeared. But... so many yearster, you came back. And you came back to me..."

    Natalya paused, an dark expression on her face.

    "But..." She whispered... "you betrayed me again. After we met in the Basilica... after you made me fall for you all over again... you... fell in love with someone else."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "I reserve the right to love my daughter with all my--"

    "Oh, shut up, you yellow-eyed trash heap," Natalya snarled. "I wasn''t talking about Sasha. I was talking about your girlfriend!"

    "Ah..." Tycon nodded, a new understanding dawning in his lizard-brain... "You''re drunk, Natalya."

    "And who do you think made me like this?!" Natalya retorted.

    ...To that, Tycon struggled to find words. It was, however, terribly consistent of Natalya to refuse responsibility for something so asinine.

    Natalya growled at him.

    Literally.

    She sounded like... a small, rabid dog.

    "You... you talk too mescarred much, you... you stupid. Whatever. I don''t care. Break up with your girlfriend. I''m... I''m better for you."

    Tycon sighed and shook his head, "She broke up with me."

    Haelvia broke up with him... via missive. He wondered if that was a social faux pas. It felt terribly impersonal.

    The news seemed to literally shock Natalya as she jerked in his embrace.

    "Eh? What? Really?"

    "I''m not in a romantic rtionship, as of current," He said in an even tone. "but this is not a discussion to be had, considering your circumstances. You''re drunk. Andst we spoke, you were rather adamant that you were in a romantic rtionship, yourself."

    "I made it up."

    "Ah?" Tycon blinked, "You... what?"

    Natalya repeated her words in a softer voice... "I said... that I made it up... to make you jealous."

    Him? Jealous? That was preposterous. He was above such a frivolous emotion.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Help me, Tycon..." She whispered. "I''m worth it."

    "Again, Natalya... You don''t need me."

    "But I want you," She said. "You understand me. You...ugh at my dumb jokes. You don''t get mad at me for being a b*tch all the time. You... know how it is... when people don''t like you but you have to pretend that their words don''t hurt you."

    Tycon wanted to argue against all of those points, but he sensed that doing so would lead him to the Archbishop trying to murder him with sincerity.

    "Natalya..."

    The woman struggled free from his embrace and sat up.

    "No, I don''t care anymore. I don''t care what anyone has to say."

    "Um. That''s... good," Tycon smiled politely. "More power to you."

    "And you... you''re going to pay for taking my first kiss!!"

    ...First kiss?

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. The drunkard in front of him had initiated that kiss-- and one could only call it that if they were being overly generous.

    In a surprisingly adept motion, Natalya peeled off her sweat-infused tunic, tossing it away.

    In that brief moment, her lust-addled pheromones overwhelmed Tycon''s senses, stunning him into silence.

    He also suffered physical... more vulgar effects as his eyes locked onto the shapeliness of her figure and her delicate, matching undergarments.

    A dark smile crossed Natalya''s lips filled with equal parts lust and... wickedness.

    "I know you like contracts, Tycon," She grinned. "I''ll enlist your help... and for coteral, I''ll f*ck you right here on this couch!"

    That... that was not how coteral worked!

    It was a potentially disastrous situation.

    Natalya was drunk. Her emotions were running rampant.

    ...And she was intent on a n of action, despite how little logical sense it made.

    Tycon considered smacking the Archbishop with the couch pillow... but the crazed look in her eyes bid him to use a more powerful attack.

    He considered bashing her unconscious with the nearby bottle of whiskey. However, if she were to use magic to shield herself, the bottle would break for certain.

    ...He had a few low-level Spell scrolls in his spatial ring. Failing that, he had, at least... a camping hammer?

    "Ooh... this is quite pretty... for a witch''s artifact," Natalya cooed... as she ced a familiar ring on her finger.

    Stars and stones!

    A sudden sense of regret flooded his heart for allowing his senses to be slowed by alcohol. With his storage ring stolen, he was left with even fewer options.

    It was then that Tycon sensed a wisp of shadow magic.

    That was it! That was a potential solution to his problem!

    One of Tycon''s most powerful skills was ?Venomous Shadow.? Furthermore, it had grown so strong it achieved sentience!

    His name was Ishmael! Ishmael! Noble member of Sol Invictus!

    He was *contractually* obligated to help him!

    Money was involved! And HONOR!

    Logically, at least one of those two reasons would be enough to garner the shadow''s assistance!

    A quiet, but high-pitched crack resounded in the room.

    "Mm? What was that?" Natalya hummed.

    Ishmael had broken the scrying spell on the guest room''s mirror, which subsequently cracked the magical focus, itself.

    Anyone listening in to the conversation between him and Natalya... would thusly be constrained to using their imaginations.

    No good woulde of that.

    The shadow lifted its hazy arm, which ended in a fist with an upraised thumb.

    Ishmael then dissipated into mist... abandoning his creator without apology.

    Tycon covered his face with his palms, "It was... nothing... to be concerned about..."

    He had thought he had a savior... but Ishmael was... expressly *not* that.

    In a wild attempt to extricate himself from the situation, Tycon attempted... to distract the half-naked woman grinding away on his waist.

    "Natalya... when was thest time you slept?"

    The woman ced her hands on his chest, leaning down to look into his eyes.

    "I''m not like your usual whorish fare, you lizard-brained imbecile. You''ll... you''ll be my first."

    The flush of her face was enough to a regr hot-blooded man lose reason.

    It took several seconds for Tycon to regain hisposure.

    "Not. what. I meant," He said in a rebuking tone.

    "Ah? Oh, sod off," Natalya growled. "I''ll sleep when I''m dead."

    When Tycon nced down, the noble Archbishop of the Church of the Eternal me was nibbling on his shirt buttons.

    How drunk was she?

    ...Or was she just hungry?

    "Allow me to tell you a story..."

    "Mm," Came Natalya''s reply.

    Sheid back down after fully unbuttoning Tycon''s shirt, where she nuzzled her hot cheek against his skin.

    "I''ll listen... but right after that, I''m gonna make you my boyfriend."

    Tycon sighed to himself.

    The various notions Natalya entertained in her drunkenness veered toward the absurd.

    Still, it was a shame.

    If the situation were different... he might have been willing to acquiesce.

    ",

 Chapter 967 Responsibility

    ?Once upon a time, there was a handsome snake.

    He knew not his purpose-- not his location... not even his identity.

    All he knew... was that he must kill.

    --for that is what predators do.

    And that... is what a snake is: a preda-tor.

    Anyroad, despite the snake''s excellence as a preda-tor, he discovered that he was responsible for a clutch of hatchlings.

    They relied on him for survival... for food and basic knowledges-- even social enrichment.

    They were useless without him.

    They were useless because they were all stupid.

    Seven hells... the stupidity of some of them was... baffling.

    Ugh.

    Being a predator was not the life of selfishness the snake had hoped for. As a predator, he could easily dominate the food chain and fulfill his hedonistic desires as he pleased.

    However... the snake was a proper adult.

    And as an adult, he had proper responsibilities.

    Thus, he did as was expected of him-- with minimalint.

    The hatchlings, they loved him.

    Of course, they did.

    If they did not, he''d have left them to fend for themselves.

    Exposed to the elements and to predators less kind, they''d all be inevitably and summarily killed.

    --if the fates were just, they would die with great violence inflicted upon them.

    And no one would miss them.

    Hmph.

    There were a number of hatchlings he was responsible for-- more than the snake considered reasonable.

    Some hatchlings knew him as the leader of their pit.

    Some saw him as a Prince.

    Monarchs and chiefs, the Realm over, hailed him as a wise leader-- almost as wise as he was extraordinarily handsome.

    Dealing with all the aforementioned was troublesome, of course-- and at some times ridiculous.

    But... at its core, the snake lived a simple life.

    He tried to keep his hatchlings safe-- within reason.

    He tried to live up to their expectations and of those that relied on him.

    But as time passed... there was an incident where those simple ts became impossible.

    What?

    No, the murdering didn''t ''catch up'' to him. What does that even mean?

    Tss. There was *nothing* wrong in the snake''s ability to murder. He murdered just fine-- and honestly, I''m rather insulted that you''d insinuate otherwise.

    But anyroad-- the expectations on the snake grew heavier with each questpleted.

    And among the hatchlings, there were deaths... unforeseeable, unexpected, and uneptable deaths.

    And soonafter, the predator amongst predators encountered an insurmountable wall.

    --something he could not reasonably murder.

    It wasn''t an idea. He was confident in murdering ideas.

    It was not a god. He''d murdered gods in the past.

    It was... something that did not exist.

    That is to say... it was not merely an improbable existence, but one that grantly ignored thews of nature and all things magic. It spat in the face of constants like causality, time, and space.

    It was entropy... it was chaos... yet not merely the opposite of continuity and order.

    The existence... the concept of what the snake feared-- it was not meant to be understood.

    He could not exin it in words-- nor were words ever designed to exin such.

    Nheless, a word was fabricated.

    They called it... a dragon.

    The snake did not like the term.

    A word... an understoodbination of sounds that represented an idea, could never be enough; it was a gross oversimplification, a woeful inadequacy juxtaposed to its actual meaning.

    And worse still, that which the snake feared were but the wisps of a shadow of something even greater, above and beyond.

    To add to the confusion, there also existed mammoth-sized lizards.

    They often hid in caves buried in the depths or bored into high cliffs. Some had four or six legs. One or more ws. Many had dangerously bad oral hygiene or could drink and expel the equivalent of two of water.

    And the people called *these* dragons.

    As hideous as they were, they were not. They were fakes.

    The snake had murdered these fakes, before-- overgrown lizards with wings, scaled pretenders that infused magic into forceful breaths.

    A fake dragon had a physical form,prehensible by mere mortals. A fake dragon''s blood ran red-- even if it filled rivers andkes, such a beast could be killed.

    But... even the thought of facing a real dragon...

    No.

    Dragons were existences to be avoided, at all costs.

    A dragon was a flood that drowned the world, darkness that swallowed the sky, a winter thatsted ten thousand years... an unrelenting gue ravenous for souls.

    The snake could carve lines into sheer rock with his tail. A dragon''s tail could level mountains.

    The snake''s scales could resist des and arrows. A dragon had naught to fear from siege weaponry andrge-scale magical bombardments.

    The snake couldmand the leaders of the five nations to heed his warnings.

    A dragon could cripple each of their armies with a single breath... bring them to heel with a p of their wings...

    The only thing the snake had that the dragon did not...

    ...was his handsome physical appearance.

    As a whole, dragons were monstrous grotesques, loathsome and wretched.

    Admittedly, though, that is a wildly unfairparison.

    Dragons.

    Imprable defenses against martial and magical attacks. Offensive capabilitiesparable to entire armies or full-scale, offensive-magic formations. Flight. Striking fear and nausea in the hearts of mortals due to their natural looks.

    Worst of all, all that was describing the weakest of the abominations.

    However...<novelnext></novelnext>

    The snake was an adult.

    Thus, responding to the draconic threat was... a responsibility-- and it was one he was uniquely qualified to take.

    Despite the number of hatchlings lost... those that remained continued to trust in him.

    They did not know better.

    Of course, they knew that something had to be done. Someone had to act. If there was any possibility in saving the Realm, it was a reasonable n of action, no matter the risk.

    One hatchling, in particr, seemed rather lost without his guidance.

    Granted, she was certainly pretending. She was a rather strong-willed hatchling with both the strength and experience tomand the situation withpetence.

    That she seemed reluctant to... was a curious notion.

    However... it mattered not.

    On her behalf... that snake... that foolish, weak-willed, and gullible snake... was going to fight against the lizard god.

    Of course, he was doomed to fail... but it was inevitable that he would try.

    Still, he didn''t want to think about it until *after* he got a mescarred nap.

    --something he still did not have.

    What did he get instead?

    He got a fussy hatchling who cried in his arms until that kind, overly patient snake told her a story.

    She even fell asleep halfway through.

    Hah...

    But still... he was d for it.

    She deserved a decent rest.

    And the snake she relied on-- the snake that seemingly everyone relied on would quietly take responsibility.

    ...

    ? A few bellster... ?

    Tycondrius twirled and untwirled a lock of Natalya''s scarlet hair.

    He poked at her full lips.

    ...He booped her on the nose.

    For whatever reason, that was what caused her to stir.

    "Mmm... What... what time is it?" She muttered.

    "Good evening, Lady Crucis. It''s about time for dinner."

    Natalya shook her headzily as she adjusted herself. She embraced Tycon without reservation and began toin into his shoulder.

    "I dun'' feel so great... Can we skip it?"

    "No."

    Tycon hated skipping meals.

    Natalya lifted her head, squeaking out a yawn... "Let''s... skip the meeting, then?"

    The Archbishop''s honesty was refreshing. Meetings were dreadfully boring. The one scheduled would be particrly painful, as the primary discussion would be on stopgap measures against theing cataclysm.

    Unfortunately, such topics warranted an open discussion amongst the powers of the continent.

    "No, Natalya," Tycon chided softly. "We must speak with the others. Together, as one, our options increase dramatically."

    He motioned toward the table, "I wrote something for you while you were asleep. It''s to clear your head."

    Suddenly, Tycon felt Natalya stiffen. Her eyes widened as if affected by a sudden fear.

    "I... wh... what are you doing??!" Said the Archbishop through clenched teeth.

    "...You''ll have to be more specific."

    "Your arms."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. His arms were loosely wrapped around Natalya''s back.

    "Ah. I''ve been preventing you from throwing yourself off the couch for the past few bells."

    "L-let go of me!!"

    Natalya pushed away, struggling out of Tycon''s embrace.

    And, in doing so, she threw herself off of the couch and onto the floor tiles.

    "Ow!"

    "...Are you alright?"

    "Yes, no thanks to you!" Natalya scowled as she rubbed her shoulder...

    She fixed her sitting posture on the floor, then took the Spell scroll off the nearby table. Scanning its contents, she recited the activation line, then closed to eyes to allow the cleansing magic to take effect.

    "Tycon," She said in a soft voice... "You said... that you were gonna help me?"

    "You can help *yourself* with proper hydration," Tycon mused. "And that means water, Natalya, not more alcohol."

    The Archbishop did not appear amused, "What does ''help'' mean, Tycon?"

    "...The spell you just activated-- it''s a basic restorative, modified from a ssical Tyrion design. Thus, you''ll need to eat a decent meal to--"

    "Tycon."

    "...Yes, Natalya?"

    "Did we... did we have s*x?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. What did that have to do anything?

    "Not yet, no," He responded honestly.

    "Then... why?" Natalya asked, wide-eyed. "Why would you help? You don''t have anything to gain?"

    Tycon, of course, had plenty to gain. However, he thought it unseemly to call attention to that fact.

    Thus, he chose to provide the Archbishop with a pleasant half-truth.

    "Because you asked me to."

    His words took effect immediately, a lovely flush spreading on her face, neck, and upper arms.

    "?Aspect of Castiel.?"

    In several shes of divine light, Natalya retrieved her discarded clothes, put them on, and unsealed the magic protecting the room.

    "I''ll see you after dinner," Tycon waved.

    Though he was certain the blur of light that was Natalya had heard him, she did not respond. Once the doors to the guest room sted open with magical force, she sped off, weaving through the hallways of the Smith manor at record speed.

    ...The Archbishop had appeared to use a Third-Circle haste-type Spell. The highest level of Spell that humans had to offer, condensed and localized to dramatically propel a single person to superhuman levels... and Natalya had cast it to escape an awkward situation.

    Tycon shrugged his shoulders.

    With simr resources and if he judged the situation appropriate, he''d have probably done the same.

 Chapter 968 Nation Representatives

    ?? The meeting room, approximately one bellter. ?

    Natalya Crucis had yet to forgive the snake.

    He was a viin-- a heartless and untrustworthy criminal that yed with women''s hearts without an uncia of guilt or remorse.

    She had a mind to have him crucified-- actually crucified!

    --if only the mushroom-brained criminal wasn''t so integral to theing operations...

    Tycondrius of Charm.

    The influence he had amassed throughout his career as a diator and guildsman put him on the same level as leaders of entire nations.

    Powerful people just... gravitated toward that person.

    They''d do anything for him. Some even owed him favors.

    She had no idea why.

    Natalya shook her head as she headed toward the manor''s hallways and corridors. Fatigue slowed her steps, or perhaps she was weighed down by hatred and discontent.

    Those things, she''d never be rid of.

    They were quintessential qualities of a proper Tyrion.

    She slowed to a stop, having had a bothersome realization.

    Her head was strangely clear... as were her memories.

    --yet she clearly remembered drinking an obscene amount of alcohol, only a few bells prior.

    Since leaving Tycon''s room, she had beenpletely sober.

    No...

    Before that, she activated a Spell scroll... one that the snake imed to have scribed, himself.

    It was practically impossible for him to have prepared it beforehand. The Spell was designed specifically for her physique.

    Could... Tycon have known that she would drink herself into a stupor?

    (Or did he think she was so stupid, it was inevitable that she poison herself? The thought of it made Natalya so mad...)

    But if he was telling the truth... it was a problem.

    He called it a Spell.

    --but it didn''t look like a Spell.

    It looked like a transcription of a Battle Litany-- prayers popr among the martial-minded members of the Church. Proper Battle Litanies, though, were both song and prayer devoted to the Eternal me, the divine texts activated by a pure, unyielding spirit speaking them aloud.

    A Spell... was haphazard and erratic, something cast by the Witches of the northern forests or performed by the savages in the western marshes with rotten blood and burnt bones!

    But what Tycon made... most certainly channeled divine magic... granted by the Eternal me.

    Holy magic.

    Tycon had taken HOLY magic! And he turned it into a page of koboldscratch you could find on a street corner for 20 slugs!!

    It just wasn''t possible... and if it was, it took an obscenely powerful Spellcaster to break those kinds of Laws.

    ...Natalya had never even thought of Tycon as a Spellcaster.

    Of course, in the Magic Kingdom, even children were mutated with the heretical ability to cast Elementary-level witchcraft.

    Tycon was a Baron there... but he was born in the Holy Country, so that didn''t even matter!

    --and that STILL didn''t exin how he could create his own Battle Litanies! The sacred prayers were based on strictured texts unchanged for hundreds of years...

    Natalya grit her teeth and continued on, stomping toward the meeting hall''s entrance.

    That man was an anomaly.

    Of course, she still didn''t like him...

    Well, maybe she did-- a little.

    She felt a flush in her cheeks, thinking about the past few bells.

    It wouldn''t be a waste of time if she got a little closer to him.

    Whenever he came up in conversation, Troia always praised him.

    --so much that it was suspicious. But anyroad, it wouldn''t be a problem if Tycon could be convinced to stay with them at the Basilica.

    More time with him would be ideal. That would allow her to find a weakness of his, something she could exploit...

    After all, there was certainly something shady about how he knew so many important people hailing from all across the continent.

    There were five people in the meeting room-- or more urately, two attendants at the entrance, and three persons of import.

    The woman adjacent to the doors was afortably-dressed brte with tired eyes. She rendered a polite bow as Natalya approached.

    "Ahem. Now entering: Archbishop Natalya Crucis of the Holy Country."

    Natalya nodded in satisfaction. The herald did a fine job-- short, simple, and to the point.

    Standing beside the herald was a tall knight in unmarked ck armor.

    It looked like a statue, immobile and intimidating. Natalya wasn''t sure if it was human, but they radiated a... an oddlyfortable sense of warmth.

    She was going to assume it was human.

    From what she understood, statues animated with even rudimentary intelligence were notmon in the Eastern States.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Archbishop Crucis," Said the herald. "Seated at the table from the left to right are--"

    "No need," Natalya waved as she stepped forward.

    She did not know who the others were, but she didn''t care. She knew who they represented and she knew she had to tolerate them. Just as with Tycon, though, she didn''t have to like them in order to use them.

    ...And, if any problems were to arise, she''d make Tycon fix them. He owed her at least that much.

    The first at the table was a purple-haired whore wearing a set of overlyrge spectacles and a dark, conical hat.

    If Natalya had to hazard a guess, the woman was the Witch-Queen of the City of Archangel... or if not a ''Queen,'' then whatever the Eastern States-equivalent title was.

    Her immortal soul was damned for practicing whatever heretical vor of witchcraft she practiced. However... she was powerful-- enough that even other witch-heretic sects feared her and her organization''s twisted brand of justice.

    If the intel was true, no other singr person in the Realm could summon literal dozens of Third-Circle Casters. Criticizing the woman aloud would be political suicide.

    ...The task was a difficult one.

    She probably thought her sses made her look cute.

    They did not.

    If Tycon was attracted to women who wore sses, then *she* would look far better in a set of reading sses than any random cone-hatted heretic.

    Natalyabeled the harlot as ''Witch Whore'' in her head.

    The second was a woman leaning back in her chair. Her military jacket was unbuttoned and her filthy boots were kicked up on the table.

    That was decidedly *not* professional military behavior.

    And what was with the unnecessary amount of fat on her chest?

    Tycon probably liked women like that. That disgusting idiot was just so predictable...

    Who was she supposed to be?

    The uniform was Alizeaun...

    Was she one of King Adal''s daughters? The youngest, perhaps? No... she couldn''t have been the *youngest.*

    A gaudy ship captain''s hat rested on the table near her feet... and on her head of ugly-pink hair was a multi-colored bandana.

    So... a Naval Officer? Or did the Magic Kingdom count corsairs in their ranks?

    Natalya could almost smell the stench of sea salt and fermented fish.

    That woman would be ''Pirate Whore'' in Natalya''s head.

    Then, the third...

    A giant d in metal sat over a foot away from the table. Thick, spiked pauldrons topped his ringmail, everything oveid with furs.

    Conspicuously absent in his attire were the skulls and dark effigiesmon to a heretic knight of Nemaya Strana, the so-called Sleeping Country.

    Was it really supposed to be the Sleeping Country? Or was it the Spiky Pauldron Country?

    The disgusting man nodded to her-- which sent a wave of revulsion through Natalya''s entire body.

    Natalya was seated at a table with a Witch Whore, a Pirate Whore, and... a Fat Necromancer.

    She hated herself for thinking it... but she hoped Tycon would arrive soon.

    The thought of her talking to any of the representatives of the other nations was more loathsome than even that snake.

    "Now entering: yton Smith of the Red Cape Mercenary Company."

    With the herald''s announcement, Natalya felt a dull pain spear through her temples.

    ...Maybe Tycon''s magic wasn''t as good as she''d given him credit for. She found herself d she didn''t thank him.

    "Now, now,dies," Came the voice of yton Smith. "Don''t stand up on my ount."

    No one stood up. No one even made the slightest hint of standing up. The notion of standing for that man was demeaning-- and offensive! It was a thought that everyone at the table intrinsically understood.

    Natalya sighed aloud.

    She did not wee the thought of having to withstand that loathsome fellow''s presence.

    Her gazedzily passed over the Pirate, the Witch, and the Wardrobe-sized knight.

    If she antagonized them all at once, they might be able to kill her before Smith spoke to her... but she was having difficulty thinking of a single phrase to aplish that.

    "Natalya! Natalya, my dear. How have you found your lodgings?"

    The red-caped mercenary took the seat next to her, filling her peripheral vision with his oily mustache and greasier smile.

    Natalya tried to wait it out... but Smith continued to stare at her, intent on receiving an answer.

    She took a deep breath, closed her eyes... and tried to speak with a reasonable measure of decorum.

    "Everything was fine, Mister Smith."

    "Ah, wonderful-- most wonderful!" The mercenary eximed.

    Natalya held back the urge to bang her head against the table until she died.

    A Pirate.

    A Witch.

    A Necromancer.

    ...And an idiot that reeked of desperation.

 Chapter 969 Time To Show Up

    ?Natalya Crucis gathered up all her concentration and willpower, trying her best to murder yton Smith by sincerely wishing it with her mind, heart, and soul.

    s, he did not fall down and die, frothing at the mouth and choking on his own vomit.

    He turned to address the others, the boisterous tone of his words grating at Natalya''s will to live.

    "It is my honor to wee you all to my *humble* abode and to my rrRRrrround table!"

    "Like... it''s a table," Said the Witch Whore, "and it''s... round. What about it?"

    "I am *d* you asked, Lady Sapphira," Smith said as he... licked his lips?

    As Natalya tried to purge the memory of Smith''s disgusting mannerisms, she honed in on the name he mentioned...

    Sapphira.

    Be Sapphira was the name of one of the diatrices of Sol Invictus.

    Was it possible... that the bespectacled Witch seated at the table... was one of her childhood idols without her battle mask?

    "You see,dies and gentle-sir," Smith continued, "a rrRrround table is a table of equals! For you see-- there is no end where the master sits, nor is there an end for a guest of honor!"

    Natalya kept herints quiet, though she had many. From what she understood, yton Smith did not have near the amount of power and influence as the other people at the table. He was a stand-in for Ophelia Moonwell, the representative for City-State Whitehearth.

    Where that woman was, Natalya had no idea.

    From what she''d gathered, there was some kind of internal conflict. Whether the me lied in Whitehearth''s internal factions or one of their rival City-States, she didn''t particrly care.

    It would be unfair to expect a confederacy established only a couple hundred years prior to have a solid, supporting infrastructure.

    A Sol Invictus coordinator by the name of Capulet arranged the Realm meeting at the Smith Estate. Capulet was one of Tycon''s people... so there was probably some kind of logic or reason behind the choice.

    Natalya tried her best to focus on that fact. It was the best coping mechanism she had avable to her...

    "See this, Natalya," Smith said as he knocked on his table. "This is Q''barran darkwood, imported from the far reaches of--"

    "What I''m seeing," Interrupted the Pirate Whore-- "is a rrrrRight ignorant cunt who doesn''t know his ce."

    Slowly, yton Smith straightened his back... "Lady De--"

    "I *resent* that, Mister Smith." The Pirate corrected. "My *title* is High Admiral."

    "Your rank means nothing in the Eastern States, Lady De Croix," Smith growled.

    "Meh," The Witch waved. "I''ll allow it."

    Smith recoiled in shock, "Lady Sapphira! You''d side with this... this troublesome strumpet?"

    Sapphira lolled her head back, rolling her eyes, "Just... calm your tits, or something-- and scoot your chair away from the Archbishop, will you? Mister Bubbles over there looks like he''s about to snap a gasket."

    A booming voice from across the table shook the entire room:

    "A gentleman... respects... all women."

    Natalya had to spend a few seconds regting her breath and heartrate after the... vocal attack.

    It was the armored man who has spoken... and though Natalya still didn''t like him much, she didn''t find him as disagreeable as she did earlier.

    "A grossly sexist remark, Mister Gobbuto... but I suppose I''ll give it a pass," The whore Pirate added.

    "I thought it sounded fine," Sapphira shrugged.

    "No one asked for your opinion, De Croix!" Smith barked, clearly upset, "And if Natalya hasn''t rebuffed my advances, then all is well-- is it not?"

    Natalya clenched her fist tight. Why was she the only one being referred to by her first name?

    "Monsieur Smith," High Admiral De Croix began... "I rmend you sit the f*ck down... unless you want a bullet to find its way to your limp, tiny dick."

    "Pshh... Chkkk kkkk tsss..."

    The threat was so... colorful that Sapphira couldn''t hold inughter.

    Thatughter... was strangely contagious. Natalya let out a small chuckle before catching herself.

    She... could not remember a time when anyone defended her-- not even when she was a low-ranked Priestess. It was partly the reason why she struggled so hard to attain her current rank and status... to dismantle an archaic system, rife with misogyny.

    In Natalya''s profession, kindness... was unnecessary.

    Yet such kindness... was not weakness.

    Lady Sapphira. High Admiral De Croix.

    Even Sir Gobbuto... assuming that was a... real name.

    ...These were the people Tycon brought together... and they belonged to a higher caliber than their peers.

    "Oh, by the way, Smith," De Croix continued. "Archbishop Crucis has been f*cking some guy in one of your guest rooms."

    Natalya held her hand out, "Wait, go back--"

    "HAH! Hahaha!! S-stop it," The Witch Whore begged between gasps for air. "He''s already deaddddd!!"

    "wwHhHHaatTT?!" Desperate Idiot roared, "On whose word??"

    "One of your f*cking maids!" The Pirate Whore shot back.

    "And HOW did you get THAT information?!"

    "Byyyy f*cking the maid in question," Laughed the disease-ridden Pirate Whore. "Five out of five. Would f*ck again."

    Natalya shut her mouth... and shrank in her chair...<novelnext></novelnext>

    Never had she attended a meeting in recent years where everyone talked over her and her opinion didn''t matter.

    Even if she wanted to talk... she couldn''t. She was blushing from her ears to her shoulders and she was struggling just to breathe.

    She made a mistake. Everyone in the manor knew she slept with Tycon-- but they didn''t even do anything!

    But... even if she defended herself...

    If she used mana to force herself to speak-- even if she tried to use extreme magical force to assert her will, it would only make her look more suspicious!

    Also... it was very possible that she wasn''t the strongest person in the room.

    Natalya closed her eyes, trying desperately not to crying out of frustration.

    She didn''t like the thought of relying on Tycon... or on anyone...

    But Natalya wished, from the bottom of her heart, that he''d show up even a second faster.

    ...

    "Let''s get this over with," Tycondrius muttered to himself.

    "W... what was that, Boss?"

    The effects of Korr''s physical training were clear on Sorina Capulet. The merchant-girl''s movements were slow... simr to her rate of speech. She was still dressed consistently-- luxurious and wealthy. However, her eyes were dead.

    She dragged herself to the meeting, to ''herald'' as she wished... but, Tycon sensed that she''d have preferred to be elsewhere.

    It was a feeling that Tycon shared.

    ...Their mutual presence was borne of obligation.

    Tycon nodded to the other woman nking the doorway, the obscenely strong and characteristically silent Seldin Korr.

    She said nothing.

    ...Tycon never knew what that woman was thinking.

    "[Egg burritos after?]" She asked, "[with queso?]"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. What in the seven hells was kay-so?

    "That... would be lovely, my dear."

    Considering the context, it was probably some kind of... daring food item.

    Bur-eeto? Hm. It sounded like a small animal.

    "Now..." He closed his eyes, taking a slow breath to ready himself...

    "Not that I particrly care, because we''re all going to die soon... but... why is there yelling in my meeting hall?"

    The dark-armored Korr shrugged her shoulders before looking over to Sorina.

    "The guy that owns the house was trying to flirt with the Archbishop," The merchant girl exined.

    That would not end well.

    "...Go on," Tycon waved.

    Sorina gave a tired smile.

    "There was a little of this and that-- then the fact came to light that the Archbishop was seen leaving your room."

    "Ah," Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    Despite the exnation, he had learned nothing.

    "Ehehe..." The merchant girl giggled. "I thought you were trying to sleep, Boss, not sleep around?"

    "Natalya was more exhausted than even I," Tycon sighed. "We slept on the couch. Nothing illicit happened-- not that I need to exin myself to you."

    Sorina tilted her head, "That''s really sweet, actually... Is that a service? Can I sign up? You won''t charge me, right?"

    Tycon did not respond. He stared nkly at the child, generally disappointed with her and her values.

    Korr raised her right hand. As to why, Tycon had no idea.

    Sorina crossed her arms, shifting her weight to favor her left leg.

    "So... that''s... a no?" She pouted-- "But is that a no to the sign-up or to the charge? ''Cuz I get that it''s a premium service, but I can''t let you rip me off, even if you are technically my superior."

    "Sorina," Tycon sighed. "Announce my presence."

    Korr was still raising her hand. Tycon ignored her.

    "Oh-- yeah... One sec, Boss."

    Sorina Capulet stepped into the room, resuming her professional mien.

    "Ladies and gentlemen, now entering: Tycon of Charm, current leader of Sol Invictus."

    It was a simple introduction-- one that Tycon appreciated. He had a number of titles, many of them absurd.

    Everyone in the room knew who he was. The mentioning of his guild and his territory was more obligatory than informative.

    "It''s about time you showed up!" Shouted Natalya Crucis.

 Chapter 970 Solving Problems With Silver

    ?The Archbishop had gotten out of her seat and she looked about ready to... charge toward him.

    That she was so... excited(?) to see him was... peculiar.

    Tycondrius put on his practiced smile.

    --though it might have been more sincere than his usual.

    "It''s good to see you too, Natalya."

    "Yo~~~"

    The most powerful Witch in the Realm, Be Sapphira, waved her arm... exerting an almost insultingly low amount of effort. She did get out of her seat, though. That was polite of her-- and more polite than was necessary.

    "Miss Be," Tycon nodded.

    "Huh," Be lifted the brim of her cap and adjusted her sses. "Is... that a new soul, Tycon?"

    "...I believe so. How is it?"

    "Pretty cool. Any tasty side-effects?"

    "None worth mentioning," Tycon shrugged.

    A deep and powerful metal ng resounded throughout the room. Arge armored fellow who... Tycon did not immediately recognize by sight had saluted with his fist to his chest.

    "...Hm," Tycon nodded in response.

    The fellow remained standing. Did the chairs provided not support his weight?

    "And where is my greeting, Monsieur Baron?" Groaned Fleet Admiral Chantal De Croix.

    Tycon, once again, adopted his professional smile and inclined his head, "Good evening, Ma''am."

    "Did you forget how to salute?"

    Tycon smiled politely at what he hoped was a joke, "Royal Marines don''t salute indoors, Ma''am."

    "Hmph. Right... Good evening, Lieutenant."

    Tycon took a moment to look at the motley crew he''d assembled... four of the most powerful and influential people in the Realm.

    Be Sapphira, the most powerful Caster in the Eastern States.

    Natalya Crucis, the one and only Archbishop of the Holy Country.

    Chantal De Croix, the Fleet Commander of the Kingdom''s Royal Navy.

    A respectful giant and a primary agent of the Sleeping Country''s Lich Queen.

    And... a fifth... unreasonably angry, mustachioed man?

    "YOUUUU!!! How are YOU Still ALIVE???!?!?"

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch.

    That was a... vague question-- and deceptively open-ended. Tycon feared that answering directly would lead to criticism.

    Earlier, Sorina had mentioned a... ''guy that owns the house.''

    Carlton Smith? Or was it Schritt?

    Tycon could have used his System to search his memories and confirm the name... but...

    --he didn''t feel like it.

    The man was certainly a Schritt. (He looked like a Schritt.)

    Mercenary King Carlton Schritt.

    It was somewhat of a stretch for what was essentially a middling merchant to be in attendance with the other nation-representatives.

    However... Schritt was also the host; it was appropriate to give him a bit of face.

    ...Anyroad, the Realm was going to end soon. Being offended by standoffish aggression seemed asinine.

    "Good evening, Sir," Tycon bowed politely. "The amodations have been lovely. I particrly enjoyed the whiskey provided."

    Yet in response to Tycon''s honesty, the mustachioed man''s face reddened to the same hue as his cape. Further, his armor rattled as he shook with... emotion.

    He seemed very... affected.

    --by something.

    Maybe he was cold? It was a bit cold in the meeting hall.

    "You... drank... my... super-secret... 15-year... small batch... reserve... WHISKEY????" Schritt seethed.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    It was a wonder that the beverage he and Natalya enjoyed earlier was aged for 15 years. Usually, by that time, the wood vor of the cask began to overpower the taste of the drink.

    It really was lovely, though.

    ...But it did not exin why the man was so upset.

    "Natalya," Tycon leaned over, moving aside a lock of the woman''s scarlet hair before whispering into her ear. "Tell me... is this *not* who I think it is?"

    The Archbishop rolled her eyes, "It is *exactly* who you think it is, my lord. This is yton Smith, leader of the Red Capes."

    Tycon nced back to Schritt and his red cape.

    It was a rather droll name for a mercenarypany.

    Still, only a few bells prior, Tycon had a positive experience with one of their squads-- led by a polite, (if talkative,) Gold-Rank gentleman.

    Tycon wondered if he had misjudged Schritt. As a proper gentleman, he would be remiss to allow prejudice to taint his views.

    He reached forward to offer Schritt a handshake, when--

    "She... SHE LETS you call her NATALYAAAAAA?!?!?!?!?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes... "Lady... Crucis?"

    "Yes. Yes, she does," The Archbishop insisted as she wrapped her arms around Tycon''s left.

    "So it''s true..." Scowled the man named Schritt.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "...What is true?" Tycon asked.

    "You shared an arch-bed with the Archbishop!" Admiral Chantal interjected.

    Was that supposed to be... a joke?

    It was... rather crassing from his superior officer, but not unexpected, considering her personality.

    ...Thinking on it, Chantal had helped him in the past. With that in mind, he decided to force a smile.

    Smiling conveyed gratitude-- and had no cost.

    The heavy-armor Nemayan fellow revealed a thumbs-up in approval.

    "Did you really?" Asked Be-- skeptical, as a proper Witch should be. "I mean... ''grats if you did, I guess."

    "We... did not," Tycon responded in a careful tone... "We did, however, share the couch."

    "I think we all know what that means," Chantalughed.

    The floor shook lightly. Someone had fallen.

    The vibration, however, was too heavy to have been from one of Schritt''s maids.

    Upon ncing back, Tycon saw that... it was Korr who had fainted?

    Did she lock her knees while standing guard? That was a rookie mistake.

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat. "Natalya''s choice of... sleeping apparatus aside...dies and gentlemen, I''ve called you all here this eve to discuss amon enemy."

    "It''s YOU!!!" Schritt shouted, "You''re THE ENEMY!!"

    Ignoring him, Tycon continued, "The dealings of a certain terrorist group are of special interest to a number of personages present. Miss Capulet?"

    Sorina limped forward, bowing politely before speaking.

    "Sir Tycon has been targeted by a group suspiciously called the ''Archmage Organization...'' and, ording to our research, they operate out of City-State Archangel."

    "LIES!!" Schritt barked, "Ssssnder!! As representatives of the Eastern States, Lady Sapphira and I will NOT stand for--"

    "Yyyyeap," Be yawned, leaning aside and resting her cheek against her fist. "My girls looked into it. It''s pretty much true-- like, all of it."

    "But just in case you thought you were paying me too much for doing too little..." Sorina continued, "I went ahead and bought off all the Red Capes working against you, Boss."

    "You did what?" Tycon asked quietly.

    "YOU did WHAAAAT?!??!" Schritt roared-- not quiet at all.

    He was an angry little man.

    Sorina straightened her back, smiling unabashedly, "Praise me, Boss."

    "...Well done, Sorina."

    Tycon''s name and various connections were integral to the development of the East Charm Trading Company. However, it was Sorina Capulet who cultivated it to its current state as a financial powerhouse.

    If the young woman wanted praise, she would have it.

    "So like I was *saying,*" Be raised her voice from where she was sitting, "We found out the ''Archmage'' is a rogue member of my order. Oh, fun fact. From some of the confiscated documents, the scumbag had something to do with the death of a decorated Kingdom Admiral, nearly--"

    "WHAAAT?!"

    Interestingly enough, the sudden interjection came not from Schritt, but from Chantal De Croix.

    "Mademoiselle-Capitaine," Tycon said in a reassuring tone. "This was detailed in the report I sent."

    "What report?" Chantal red.

    "The report I *sent*," Tycon answered calmly. "Did... you receive it?"

    "...Y-yes."

    "Then... with respect, Mademoiselle-Capitaine..." Tycon smiled politely, "did you read it?"

    "...of course I read... some of it," The woman muttered softly.

    If Chantal didn''t read the report, why was she present?

    "...You wrote in the letter that you tricked the new Sea God into bing one of our Officers."

    "Ah," Tycon nodded in understanding. "You should have already met him, but I''ll re-introduce you in the morning."

    He''d done so to protect Krysaos from being keelhauled by the Royal Navy proper for wearing a Captain''s uniform andmanding Royal Navy forces. After the man had be a half-god, it was only natural to be embraced by the system instead of persecuted.

    "N-no..." Chantal muttered, "It... it wasn''t that pervert in the green coat, was it?"

    "Gonna sum up the story, Boss," Be sighed. "I assigned a team of mad Witches to cover you and the Sea God-- at least here in Whitehearth."

    Tycon wanted to ask why Be specifically chose the mad ones... but he was certain he would not like the answer.

    "Hah!" Sorinaughed-- which, despite the circumstances in dealing with an existence that could end her life with a single breath if she misspoke... was consistent with her character. "Hahaha! But of COURSE the baddies would know about Boss Tycon''s link with the Sapphire Tower. THAT''S why I have on good word that the bad guys hired the Order of the Falchion Gunners!"

    "The... Fal-chion Gunners?" Tycon asked.

    "Stupid girl!" Schritt scowled, "Their name is the ORDER of the FALCON gunners!"

    Tycon thought that no better.

    "The Falcon Gunners..." Natalya bit her lower lip, "I know them. They''re a group of elites that even the Church respects. Some of their number have studied at the Basilica."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. Did they still teach Witch-Hunting in the Holy Country? It was a rather archaic practice-- and a potentially offensive one.

    "Welp," Be shrugged, allowing her floppy, oversized hat to lilt over her eyes. "If they die, they die."

    "Or they would... fufufu..." Sorina chuckled, "If I hadn''t hired the Blood Paw Alliance to hunt them down first!!"

    The... Blood Paw Alliance. Those were the Iredar mercenaries that Korr had seen earlier.

    However, if Sorina knew about them...

    "Child," Tycon frowned, "How much silver did you spend?"

    ",

 Chapter 971 Awkward Crowd

    ?"Kobolds?! PAH!" Schritt spat, "And YOU... you REALLY think that some... piecemeal-armored DOGS can be the end-all solution to your problems, GIRL?!"

    The man stopped abruptly... a slow grin stretching the length of his face.

    "I''ll have you know... that I hired the Stonelords to cordon off the area! That''s right! Sol Invictus is done for! DEAD! That''s YOU, bArOnNn tYcONn! And that''s your FILTHY piratepanion, too!!"

    Tycondrius pursed his lips, his gaze absentmindedly drifting away.

    Schritt was absolutely incensed. But... whatever reasons he had, Tycon was sure it had little to do with him.

    His obstinance, however, was chipping away at Tycon''s patience.

    The Realm was ending soon. His death and the death of all people were nigh.

    ...If he were to slice the rude fellow''s throat open, it wouldn''t matter in the grand scheme of Realm events.

    But at the same time, the notion of it was... tiresome.

    Thus, Tycon opted for soft words instead of hard steel.

    "Perhaps we can discuss our issues, Sir?" He offered, "I fear this... aggression of yours may be somewhat misced."

    "STONELORDS!!" Schritt shouted, "Murder this man!!!!"

    A nearby window pane slid open. The elongated and horn-ed head of a stone-skinned grotesque peeked in.

    He was a sizeable fellow-- if his head was a proper gauge for the rest of him. He wasn''t asrge as the silent metal-d giant at the table... but it was implied that he was one of several.

    "(A lovely evening to you finedies and gentlemen,)" It said in the light and airynguage of the Free Nation. "(I see the Ivory Prince has arrived-- and the years have been kind. Greetings and salutations, Sir.)"

    "Ah, good evening," Tycon waved. "(Honor and glory to your n, friend.)"

    "(Aye. And to yours, your lordship.)"

    Several seconds passed-- enough time that it became obvious that Stonelord-based murdering was likely *not* going to ur.

    "What''s the catch this time?" Natalya asked.

    "...Would you like the full exnation, my dear," Tycon offered, "or one neatly summarized?"

    "Something in the middle."

    Tycon sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

    "The Stonelords are a Warband from the Free Nations, led by Caerwyn the Abyssal. Currently, they are part of a coalition led by my sister, War Princess Cass."

    "(Ivory Prince, me and theds have been keeping an eye out for trouble. There''s been nothing-- nothing really. There are two Gorgons, though-- and they say they know you? Said something about Kasydon?)"

    "I refuse to acknowledge knowing any Gorgons," Tycon replied curtly.

    "You... Hah... hahah..."

    Carlton Schritt was crouched over, his hands covering his face, "You''ve bought off my men... you''ve... you''ve defeated my mercenaries... and you-- you''ve TRICKED ME into paying TOP COIN only for me to be BACKSTABBED BY MONSTERS!!!"

    "Ack-shu-uhlllyyyy," Sorina waved from where she stood at the door, "I did most, if not all of that. I''m the monster. Me."

    "You..." Schritt clutched at his chest, snarling like a scared dog, "you''ve taken what I held... most dear."

    Tycon frowned. Was Schritt referring to the whiskey? It was certainly expensive.

    Thus... it was reasonable if he would ask forpensation.

    However, Natalya would have to share some of the me. She drank most of it...

    "I know what you''re thinking, Snake," Natalya frowned. "It''s something stupid. And wrong."

    Tycon tilted his lips to the side, "I was just thinking that this is your fault."

    "I can''t help being the most desirable bachelorette in the Realm."

    Tycon tilted his head. What did that have to do with their current situation?

    "Natalya--"

    "ENOUGH!!!" Schritt roared. He began to gather a thick cloud of oppressive mana as he ced his hand on his sword hilt.

    "I!!! AM!!! STILL!!! A GOLD-RANK--"

    Corpse.

    Schritt was a Gold-Rank Corpse.

    While Tycon was distracted, Korr had recovered from her previously fainted state and... faster than anyone could or cared to react, had murdered Schritt.

    An enchanted ckde had been skewered through the man''s chest. At about the same time, Korr''s gauntleted hand gripped the man''s neck so hard, one of his eyes popped out of its sockets.

    The acrid stench of burnt fabricyered with charred meat filled the meeting hall.

    No one present said a word.

    ...Neither did anyone look particrly surprised.

    "Really, Korr?" Tycon chided.

    "[I did not kill him,]" The youngdy insisted. "[I maimed him.]"

    ...If that was the case, Korr had miscalcted.

    Tycon was close enough to Schritt that he was able to sense the man''s vital functions.

    He was no longer breathing. His heart was beating faster, but its strength waned.

    Soon, it would slow-- then stop entirely.

    ...Ultimately, that disagreeable fellow was not necessary to the meeting.

    "I know I shouldn''t speak ill of the dead," Natalya crossed her arms... "but that guy was really dumb to underestimate you, Tycon, of all people."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon breathed a sigh through his nostrils, "Korr, go with the Stonelords and... dispose of... that."

    The dark-armored woman tilted her head, "[He''s not dead, though.]"

    "Just go."

    Korr grabbed the body by the ankle, then departed via window.

    "Boss," Sorina coughed. "That guy was speaking on behalf of City-State Whitehearth."

    "...Go to House Highde. Inform them that the presence of Princess Sindal is required."

    "Ehhh?" Sorina tilted her head, "Wouldn''t... it be past her bedtime?"

    "...Just go."

    "Got it, Boss."

    The merchant-girl limped away... leaving Tycon with the awkward crowd.

    "(Ivory Prince-- Sir, good Sir... as a hypothetical, if me and theds were to eat--)"

    "Dis-MISSED!!!" Tycon yelled.

    The Stonelord left immediately, shutting the window from whence he came.

    Anyroad...

    Natalya looked upset but concerned. Be looked bored. At least Admiral Chantal looked amused.

    And the armored fellow...

    Hm.

    It was a good sign that he had yet to leave.

    "...Now that that''s out of the way, let us discuss the end of the Realm and what we''re going to do about it."

    ...

    Tycondrius did not particrly care for round meeting tables.

    Regr, rectangr tables had a seating arrangement decided bymon etiquette. It was rather simple to understand, whether importance was dictated by billet and rank or, at least, by age.

    After Tycon took his seat, Archbishop Natalya Crucis peeled herself off of his arm and sat to his immediate left.

    Immediately after, a heavy chair scraped along the tile... a chair that Tycon was not sure existed, before then.

    The armored-fellow seemed insistent on sitting to his right.

    "Hey, switch spots with me, big guy," Chantal said sweetly. "I''d like to sit next to my Lieutenant."

    The suit of armor responded confidently, without meeting her gaze.

    "The honor of Nemaya Strana demands I take my seat by Sol Invictus."

    "Whaaaat?" Chantal crossed her arms. Whether it was intentional or not, she entuated the size of her bust, which was at about the armored fellow''s eye level. "You''re a gentleman, right? You''ll respect the sincere wishes of ady, won''t you?"

    "Really, Chantal?" Be sighed. "Is there a word in Alizeaun for ''double standards?''"

    "My deepest apologies, Admiral," The armored man said. "But I must first respect the wishes of the Frozen Queen."

    "Hm, alright." Chantal shook her head. "Hey, Crucis. Move over."

    Natalya lunged for Tycon''s arm-- which he dodged out of reflex.

    Not to be stopped, however, Natalya then slowly and purposefully reached over, taking hold of his wrist. Then she pulled him close, wrapping both arms around his elbow.

    "I refuse," She said.

    "The Lieutenant works for me, Priestess," Chantal grinned, "I can order him to my side, y''know. I was just tryin'' to be polite-- since he''s your couch-slut, and all."

    "There is a *war* to be had, Princess De Croix," Natalya yelped.

    "--not a Princess, darling," Chantal sang.

    "Whatever you are!!"

    Tycon cleared his throat, "Natalya, Chantal''s rank is Fleet Admi--"

    "Shut up, couch-slut!"

    "V-very well."

    Natalya pointed usingly, "And what can the Magic Kingdom''s military offer, hm? To only send a Naval Officer? Do you even *know* what we''re supposed to be fighting!?"

    "Don''t know, don''t really care," Chantal shrugged. "But it probably bleeds, doesn''t it?"

    "Some of them do, I suppose," Tycon muttered.

    "7. thousand. men and women. loyal to the me!" Natalya said as she mmed her fists on the table, "Loyal to HUMANITY! That''s how many people the Empire of Tyrion willmit to the war effort!"

    She turned to Tycon and winked, "Oh, and I have a new guild you might be interested in. They''re called Guild Letalis-- all elites... and all loyal to yours truly."

    "I''ve heard of them," Tycon nodded.

    He had handpicked the leadership of Guild Letalis Serpentis, himself... but Natalya didn''t need to know that.

    "10,800!" Chantal dered, "And that includes King Adal''s Phantom Knight Corps, the Silverwing Griffon Riders-- oh, and every single Royal Marine chewed up and sh*t out by the training depot at Port San Canis."

    Tycon nodded. It seemed that the wise King Adal saw it prudent to volunteer his best forces.

    ...also, his Phantom Knights and Griffon Riders had excellent reputations.

    ",

 Chapter 972 Icon

    Despite Chantal''s promation, Tycondrius knew that Natalya would have something to respond with, even if it was only bluster.

    "42 Divine Armors," The Archbishop growled. "As many as the Basilica can muster... each of them easily worth another 1,000 trained soldiers."

    That was a brazen im. Was Natalya trying to field the Basilica in its entirety?

    "17 thousand, 5 hundred," Boomed the deep and ented voice of the armored man. "And of that number, nearly 6 thousand soldiers who fear nothing-- who march without food or water... whose sole purpose is the utter annihtion of our enemies."

    Tycon raised his eyebrows in surprise. ording to the military documents he''d studied, those numbers were higher than the Sleeping Country had fielded in any previous war-- both for the living and the undead.

    The armored man ced his gauntleted hands on his helmet... and slowly removed it.

    What should have been a surprise to no one... shocked Natalya into speechlessness.

    The man was not human.

    His gold-green skin contrasted with the tusks jutting out the corners of his mouth, polished white.

    He also had a sharp, military haircut, which Tycon appreciated.

    If he had to partial a guess, he''d assume a Goblin heritage... or perhaps diluted Orcish blood.

    "The Lich Queen sends her regards, Commander," The man said. "Her forces are yours to control. And I will be your instrument of hatred, as my father was, before me."

    Tycon''s eyes widened in realization... "You are... one of Gobsuke''s sons?"

    "One... of his sons?" Natalya babbled. "WAIT, did you say GOBSUKE?!? The legendary SNIPER OF SOL INVICTUS?"

    "Yeah, he had like... thirty kids," Be added.

    "WAIT! ARE YOU BELLA?? SOL INVICTUS'' LEGENDARY MAGE?!?"

    "Natalya," Tycon chided. "Mind your voice, dear. There''s no need to shout."

    "Hey," Be waved. "It''s y''girl, Be Badass."

    The giant goblin man nodded sagely, "Yes. I am Gobbuto, firstborn son of our second mother, the tallest and strongest of my 35 brothers and sisters."

    Gobbuto ced his hands on the table and bowed his head deeply... "My mothers-- along with father, they have told many stories... of the honor and valor of Sol Invictus."

    It was somewhat awkward for Tycon, because they were sitting adjacent to each other... but he bowed lightly, as best as he could.

    "You honor me, son of Gobsuke."

    "It would be my... greatest honor... if I could..."

    "I ept. Wee to Sol Invictus."

    "If I... could... if I could join..."

    "You''re in, friend."

    "Your... your... most honorable guild."

    The boy wasn''t listening. He was sweating profusely and his heart was pounding. If nothing changed, he would soon pass out... but as magical healing was readily avable, Tycon decided to ignore the child.

    Hm. Sol Invictus had gained yet another member that was taller than he was.

    Tycon looked over to the Witch yawning from across the table, "Be?"

    "We have like... probably 12 or 13 thou''?" She groaned, "Though that''s mostly from the Forcen knights and Archangel''s regrs."

    "And what forces will the Sapphire Tower provide?"

    "Hmmmm... Can get maybe a hundred-something of my girls... And... I *think* we have 121 Divine Armors-- but Archangel doesn''t field collosals and superheavies like the ones thate out of Whitehearth and Making."

    Tycon nodded, "After coordinating with War Prince Droghan and War Princess Cass, we can reasonably expect 14 thousand from the Free Nation."

    "What?" Natalya gasped in shock, "How can you have more-- oh. You''re counting the non-humans like in the Nemayan counts aren''t you?"

    Chantal scoffed from her side of the table, "Sea god''s socks, the Nemayan''s sitting *right* there."

    Gobbuto waved, seemingly unaffected by Natalya''s remark.

    "Xenophobic terminology used by the Holy Country is... consistent," He said.

    "...Indeed," Tycon answered. "My sister has the guarantee of a majority of the warbands, including the Stonelords, the tabaxi, the flesh mages, and... from what I understand, the smoids."

    Natalya''s indignation turned to confusion, "The... smoids?"

    "Their inclusion in thetest Free Nation pact has been hotly debated," Tycon shook his head. "But it would be unwise to refuse their assistance."

    "That''s GREAT!!" Natalya said as she noisily stood up. "Now that that''s over with, I think we should choose a leading force for this operation!! And the Holy Country would be *honored* to--"

    "Wait, wait... Just--" Fleet Admiral Chantal De Croix rubbed her temples. "So there''s an uing op that calls for tens of thousands of troops... and over a hundred weapons of mass destruction."

    Tycon pursed his lips... "Yes, that''s correct, Admiral."

    "The f*ck are we fighting?" Chantal frowned, "Dragons?"

    Gobutto tilted hisrge head.

    "Quick question, because I don''t wanna mess this up," Natalya red at Tycon, "but is she part of Sol Invictus, too?"

    "She is not."

    "Tch. Just checking," Natalya scoffed before shaking her head. "Of all the women in the Kingdom, Admiral De Croix... they sent *you*? Literally every major power has this intel, but the Holy Country most of all, can--"

    "We call them lizards, Chantal," Be exined tly. "Dragons don''t exist."

    Chantal''s eyes twitched... "L-lizards?"

    "Ya," Be nodded. "Basically."

    "Can I talk now?" Natalya whined in a quiet voice, "Sh-she gets the point..."

    Tycon gently rubbed the Archbishop''s shoulder. He felt obligated to do so.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Wait... lizards... but... they''re the size of warships?" Chantal shook her head, "And... they''ve got huge f*cking wings? And they FLY??"

    Natalya turned to Tycon, pouting indignantly, "Do people from the Kingdom not have history books?"

    "Do these so-called lizards BREATHE DRAGONFIRE?!?" Chantal screamed, "The kind that OBLITERATES wholepanies of organized troops! A single flyby demolishing-a-FLEET kind of dragonfire?!?!?"

    "Yes-- to all of the aforementioned," Tycon frowned. "Which is why this meeting is rather serious."

    Chantal crossed her arms, her expression darkening into an appropriate, deathly-pale level of seriousness.

    "Lieutenant... I trust you as a gentleman... (You are a schr of war, I have heard of your exploits in battle on bothnd and sea. You are loved by our countrymen. However...) However... I ask you... (and my heart begs you for honesty...) tell me... who... the F*CK... you think YOU are... to wage a war against. LITERAL. dragons?"

    Tycon leaned forward on the table, steepling his fingers.

    Who was he?

    Or-- better question:

    Who the f*ck did he think he was?

    He was the most suitable person to lead a counteroffensive against the enemy.

    Why?

    Because there was no one better.

    ...Granted, he wished it was not so.

    Tycon thought himself a regr man.

    He certainly wasn''t a hero.

    He was a man of principle... and of honor-- when it suited him.

    However, Tycon understood Chantal''s apprehension.

    To lead the Realm into any possible hope of winning against theing catastrophic threat... he needed to be something more.

    Slowly, he turned towards Admiral De Croix... and smiled.

    "My name is Tycondrius of Charm: Dragonyer."

    The mood in the room shifted immediately.

    "Wh-what?" Fleet Admiral De Croix appeared shocked by the deration.

    The giant goblin-man, Gobbuto, bared his pointed teeth in a wide grin. The leather of his gloves whined as he clenched his fists, "And I will follow you to the end."

    Be lifted herrge, conical hat, her expression a mix between amusement and be-musement, "Hm? Cool."

    Natalya didn''t say anything. She nodded in silence-- or perhaps, in reverence.

    --and far too many Stonelords had halted their patrol, thunking their rocky heads against walls and windows to eavesdrop.

    Theirck of professionalism was appalling.

    From the series of gross overreactions... it would have been reasonable for Tycon to feel a bit of embarrassment.

    That was not quite the case.

    Instead, he was... in a state of high alert.

    His sensitivity to danger and dangerous situations was being triggered. The pit of his stomach violently threatened to expel his dinner. His skin, from his outer forearms to the back of his neck, tingled so much it hurt.

    He felt a stinging sensation in his eyes-- and, as swiveled his head to scan the room, the muscles in his neck and face felt strained.

    Also-- most telling of all, his chest swelled with an intense feeling...

    ...of discontent.

    ...of hate.

    Tycon flicked his wrist, activating his enchanted ring.

    From the depths of the spatial dimension it contained, he drew a misshapen, metal rod... and tossed it forward.

    Itnded at an angle in the middle of the round table... but held still as if its perceived point stuck into the wood.

    "me take you, Tycon," Natalya growled as she stood up. "What... dark magic is this?"

    "Really, Boss?" Be sighed. "If you''re trying to put down a Domain, you could''ve just asked me."

    "Leader..." Gobutto said as he again donned his helmet, "What is it?"

    "Uhhh yeaAAah~" Chantal groaned, "How ''bout someone tell me what in the seven HELLS is going--"

    Tycon snapped his fingers, simultaneously pointing at a nearby wall, "There!"

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    As quick as Tycon knew she would, Chantal De Croix drew one of her pistols from her belt and fired as directed.

    "Hah?" She gasped.

    A humanoid blur lowered itself, narrowly avoiding the shot. It sped towards Tycon-- something he also expected.

    What he did not expect was a scarlet blur rushing to his defense.

    Natalya screamed as she sheathed her forearms in holy mes, "Reveal thyself, foul DEMON!!"

    Demon?

    Tycon would have been *profoundly* relieved, if the unwee visitor was a mere demon.

 Chapter 973 Do Dragons Exist?

    With urgency and crity, Tycondrius grabbed onto the Archbishop''s cor, swinging her aside with the momentum.

    Natalya crashed to the ground... ungently.

    A sharp blur sliced through the space where her head would have been.

    Unfortunately, Natalya did not see just how he saved her from severe harm. Afterward, Tycon thought it very likely that she was going to be *very* upset with him.

    Tycon shot his left hand forward, gripping the magically-concealed humanoid''s neck. Shifting his bnce to the side, back, and then forward, he mmed the creature onto the meeting table.

    Delicate green and gold shards of magic shimmered in the air, reminiscent to torn and powdered faerie wings. As the magic dissipated, the hidden attacker pinned to the table was revealed to be a woman.

    The sweet scent of Orkish sugar filled his nostrils as Tycon scrutinized the enemy''s form.

    She wore a winged helmet that hid the top half of her head, from which long streams of pale green hair draped over the table ends. She wore a long-sleeved, off-white wool sweater, weaved withplex, ribbon-like patterns. Underneath, she wore dark shorts of an stic, unrecognizable material.

    Slowly, she raised both arms in mock surrender, "G-good evening, dragonyer."

    "Be silent," Tycon ordered as he pped her across the face.

    Out of his peripheral vision, he eyed the woman''s ''weapon,'' a staff tipped with bird wings. Two snakes were carved into the haft... and handsome ones, at that.

    However, considering the speed it was swung earlier, Natalya could have been seriously injured-- potentially killed.

    Tycon kicked the staff away. Then, he tore the Amulet of Concealment from the woman''s neck, crumpling the metal before tossing it aside.

    Finally, he began to pry the helmet off of her face.

    She struggled to stop him, reinforcing her scrawny arms with mana.

    She screamed. It was a scream of fear and desperation-- though not the type he enjoyed.

    Its shrill sound was like iron ws scraping at the insides of his ears.

    It served to stoke his fury.

    Tycon infused his voice with mana, shouting to be heard.

    "Shut! Your! WHORE!!! MOUTH!!!!!!"

    He drove his fist into her kidney, then raised his arm to deliver a sharp elbow into the pit of her stomach. As the woman gasped for breath, Tycon removed her helmet, smashing it against the hardwood table until he sensed its magic dissipate.

    He tossed the woman away and she rolled on the ground until she struck the wall.

    She curled her body-- a natural response to pain.

    "Ohhh," Said an amused Be. "So you used a Domain as a Dimensional Anchor... but that''s like-- using a bank vault to trap a thief when a piece of rope would do."

    Tycon rolled his eyes in annoyance, "I had a very small window of time in which to act, Miss Sapphira."

    "Oh, I wasn''t knocking it," The Witch shrugged. "I''m actually kinda impressed."

    The green-haired girl sat up, coughing pitifully before wiping her bloodied mouth with her sleeve.

    "Please... let me exin."

    An exnation from the intruder was not a wee thought.

    Tycon crossed the distance with his ?Shadowfang? movement technique before delivering a swift kick to the girl''s side. Without hesitation, he then stomped his boot down on the side of her ankle.

    That it did not snap like a dry branch confirmed Tycon''s suspicion that she was not human.

    "M... mercy," The girl cried as she applied pressure to her injured foot. "Please..."

    Tycon felt a grim smile cross his face as he drew the de on his waist.

    "Mercy is the name of my sword, youngdy... but to receive her blessing, you''ll first have TO BEG!!!"

    Grabbing the girl''s hair, he pulled her to her knees, smashing the pommel of his sword into her face, again and again.

    She put her arms up defensively, though by the time she did, her face was already swollen and covered in bruises.

    Tycon did not stop.

    Soon after, bruises would develop on her arms and in various ces on her torso.

    Guilt began to creep into Tycon''s psyche...

    Though he was certainly in the right, the beating he was administering did not resemble a vignt guard punishing a trespasser. He felt like an adult soldier battering an unarmed, civilian child... an underfed and sickly child.

    Though it was not something to be expected, he sincerely hoped the whelpling would say something arrogant to rekindle his rage.

    "S-stop! You can''t kill me!"

    Ah. Against all odds, it had appeared.

    "Oh, do try to exin, BRAT!" Tycon cackled, "That is-- if you can, before I SUCCEED!!!"

    "A sword made by the likes of men--"

    Tycon mmed the beaten child against the wall before driving his enchanted sword into the stone behind her.

    The de''s edge cut into the girl''s cheek and drew blood.

    Her eyes widened in horror.

    Whoever the girl was... if she was a lizard as Tycon surmised-- no... even if she was a god, Mercy was able to kill her.

    A smile brimming with satisfaction found its way to Tycon''s face.

    "I hope this disy has... *corrected* any misgivings you might have had."

    Stripped of her metal helmet, the girl stared, wide-eyed at Tycon. Her pupils shook-- of which she had three.<novelnext></novelnext>

    One in her left. Two in her right.

    Gold and glowing.

    In traditional cultures, the mutation would mark her as some kind of oracle. The notion reminded Tycon of a particrly distasteful lizard woman he knew...

    However, the thought of his hatred potentially being misced bid him to calm down.

    Only recently, Cauldron Shrimp, a well-dressed man with good taste in whiskey, chose to be hateful-- chose to be rude. He paid for his transgressions with his life.

    Tycon was a better man... and therefore was above such pettiness.

    Also, the spy in his midst has already incurred a severe beating.

    It was reasonable to allow her ast word or two before a summary execution.

    "I''m... I''m sorry," She said.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Does anythinge out of your disgusting mouth that is *not* a lie?"

    "I''m... so sorry..."

    "Yo, Boss," Be Sapphira waved.

    The Witch was sitting on the... broken round table, her legs crossed. Her expression, interested-but-not-quite-surprised, remained consistent.

    "You gonna ask her why she''s here or what?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Before that-- who broke the table?"

    "You did."

    Tycon blinked slowly... "Did anything else happen while..."

    "...while you went hulk-mode?" Be asked, "Long-leggy-scream-a-lot, over there, tried to cast an Area Spell. It, like, half-worked, but uh... well-- how about''cha take a look around the room?"

    ...Tycon remained vignt for sudden movement but otherwise extended his senses.

    The room''s inhabitants appeared to be frozen in time.

    Natalya was trying to rise from where she hit the floor. She was making an absurd face with her cheeks puffed up.

    Chantal''s held pistol was still smoking, albeit very slowly. She was in the midst of angrily shouting-- her ire likely directed at him.

    Gobbuto was... the unnaturallyrge goblin man was reaching underneath his woefully tiny seat.

    Had he hidden a weapon there? That might have been clever of him... but, in contrast, Chantal had no issue open-carrying Orcish Sugar weaponry.

    "Boss," Be tilted her head, "What is that... thing you took out, anyroad?"

    Obviously, any magic that Tycon could forcibly resist, Be could do equally well.

    Behind her overge sses, her eyes seemed to... sparkle? But that might have been a trick, caused by chandelier light.

    Be motioned towards the Arcanite Rod in the center of the room, floating above the shattered center of the broken round table.

    "It''s what''s left of Wroe," Tycon sighed.

    "Tarquin Wroe reincarnated into a stick?" Be said with a pout. "Cool? I guess. But back to the point-- what about the lizard-girl you''ve got there?

    Tycon tightened his grip on the spy''s green hair, eliciting a yelp.

    "You. Tell me... do dragons exist?"

    She refused to meet his gaze.

    "The... Laws require that I answer: no."

    "...Very good. And you''re here, why?"

    The defiant child raised her head.

    "You can''t fight the dragons on your own, Tyrael."

    Tycon''s heart swelled with familiar emotions.

    Hate. Discontent.

    Then... he took a deep breath as he picked apart the woman''s words in his head.

    A man''s first thoughts reflect how he was raised.

    His subsequent thoughts and actions convey who he is.

    "I... agree..." Tycon nodded. "Hence... I chose to convene... with my *allies.*"

    "It won''t be enough..." The battered child spat.

    "I will be with them," Tycon reassured her. "Thus, it *will* be enough."

    "The Heroes..." The girl whined, "the Draconic Prophecy says... the Heroes can save our Realm."

    "Eugh. The Prophecy..." Tycon spat in disgust, "Don''t be daft, girl. Whatever your shite prophecy might say, it does *not* explicitly name which heroes are who, the number of said heroes, or even if CURRENT events corrte to whatever those whelpling runts are *implied* to be needed for!"

    He turned abruptly, "Be! Fact. Check!"

    "Hunnit percent, Boss," Be confirmed.

    "You''ve... trained... one of those heroes," Argued the tearful, petnt child. "You, of all people, know the strength and the *potential* of Pelor of House Morninglord!"

    ",

 Chapter 974 Scion Of House Morninglord

    Pelor, son of Quies.

    He was a good child: patient, kind, and always willing to strive for excellence. With proper guidance, his potential was limitless.

    For him, the great name of Sol Invictus was not a goal. It was a stepping stone towards something even greater.

    Such was his destiny... even before High Oracle Troia selected him as this generation''s Hero.

    ...even before his careless father left him, never to return.

    The boy took his name from a heroic Elven ancestor of House Morninglord.

    Pelor.

    It was a ridiculous name.

    Tycondrius recalled that was why he-- or Dragan or maybe even Wroe began to call him Bucket.

    Though... contemting the names, Bucket was not particrly ttering, either.

    "Pale may be his father''s son," Tycon frowned, "and he may be inconceivably strong for his age... but the fact remains: he is only a child."

    The boy had done many great things under hismand. However, no matter how many times Pale risked life and limb, there was always the failsafe of another Sol Invictus member nearby... or the significant powerhouse that was the High Oracle of the Holy Country.

    Tycon had a metric to measure Pale''s ability: the Realm''s previous Hero, Ravidius the Lionhearted.

    That man was strong enough to shoulder the fate of the entire Realm on his own.

    Yet, he was not strong enough to fight the Tyrant God.

    ...He was, however, strong enough to leave the Realm, taking his daughter with him.

    It was a selfish move, but if Tycon had simr strength and resources, he might have opted to do the same.

    "Listen to me, Tyrael!!" Lettuce-hair yelped.

    "I go by Tycon, now."

    "On the 77th passing of the sun, I need you to go to the Bristlebear Hignds, to--"

    "I. don''t. care," Tycon sighed.

    "--assist the Heroes of legend in their extranar fight."

    Their *what*?

    If Pale and his band of simrly-aged *children* had found trouble, Tycon would absolutely be concerned.

    "...For that, I do care," He admitted-- "but only slightly-- and not because you--"

    "Do we, like-- have that kind of time, though?" Be interjected.

    "We''ll have the time!" The girl insisted.

    Tycon turned to the lizard, still very much annoyed and upset by her presence.

    "Says who?" He asked.

    "Says the prophecy!!"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, steeling his expression...

    "Hmm... It was foolish of me to ask such a question-- having already known your answer."

    "To aid you," The girl continued, "I will elicit the assistance of my mate, Rixen. Together, you must--"

    "Nope!" Tycon dered. He unstuck his sword from the wall, recing it in its sheath. "I have lost interest, never again to be regained!!"

    "Our alliance only serves to benefit your cause!"

    "I refuse to work with YOU! I refuse to work with your ILK!"

    "Tyrael!!" She yelled, "Listen to me!"

    "Same answer! I REFUSE!!"

    "BUT WHY?!"

    "I have a SWORD!" Tycon said, gesturing wildly at Mercy, stowed safely on his hip, "Therefore, I shall do as I please!!"

    "A-gaiNNn," Be interrupted in a sing-song voice, "he goes by TY-con no~"

    "Rixen has the power of the gosh-darned SUN!!" Yelled the grass-haired dolt, "Y''know! The big, dumb, fiery ball of divine power in the sky!!"

    "I know what a sun is!" Tycon yelled back, "And I have on good word that it''s made of superheated gas and sma!"

    "What? Really?"

    "But the bottom line, girl, is: I!! Don''t!! CARE!!"

    "Tyrael," She cried. "I... I won''t let you die... not again. You. are. my. friend. and that fact will NEVER change! Even... if you''ve been reincarnated... even if you don''t remember our names or our mana-signatures... you''ll still remember..."

    Tycon sneered in disgust, "Useless drivel... I need not listen to--"

    "PLEASE!!" The girl screamed... desperation clear in her voice, "I''m begging you! Listen to me! You''ll need Rixen''s help!!"

    "Whoever that... that creature is--" Tycon seethed.

    "The freakin'' sun god!" She insisted, "We''ve been over this!"

    "Gas and sma god," Be quietly corrected.

    "What-EVER they are--" Tycon seethed, "I do NOT need their help! Heed my words, Jerim Jya: I will do what I need to do on my own terms! With MORTAL hands! With mortal weapons and MORTAL PREJUDICE!!!"

    Finally, the sickly-leaf-haired wench shut her mouth-- and kept it shut.

    That was a good sign. Tycon took it to mean she finally understood his logic.

    It also meant she wasing to terms with her inevitable and swiftly approaching demise.

    "I... see..." The girl said in resignation... "Y''know... I never-- I..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Still going, then?" Tycon groaned, "Finish quickly, so I can slit your throat."

    Slit her throat? Would that be too easy?

    He considered driving Mercy into one of her eyes and through the back end of her skull.

    Would that convey a contrary message, driving his sword through her double-pupil eye? It seemed cruel to stab the other.

    "I never got the chance to apologize..."

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes. He did not like the way the woman''s tone had shifted.

    "You''ve *already* apologized-- which I refuse to ept, by the way."

    "Pro''lly should''ve thanked you more, too. I could always rely on you... and I still do."

    "Well, stop that," Tycon growled. "I need no thanks, nor do I care to be tha-- and WHY?? in the seven hells?? are you SMILING????"

    The green-haired girl fixed her standing posture... before tilting her head and baring her teeth unabashedly.

    She was not being... aggressive? She was being soft.

    "I never told you my name."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "I''ve a number in mind, none of them ttering. Your point being?"

    Slowly, the girl covered her eyes with her hands. Was she hiding her tears?

    Those tears... he sensed they were different than the ones she cried earlier.

    ? "But... You... you remembered," She said.

    "What?" Tycon scoffed as he rolled his eyes, "Tss. I absolutely did n--"

    "?Sr re.?"

    Just when he''d dropped his guard, the child hadpleted a series of one-hand gestures, activating a magical explosion of light from her eyes.

    The searing pain was enough to halt any attempt at stopping her from leaping out a nearby window.

    Along with the shattering of ss came a final, mana-empowered warning: "77 suns, Tyrael!!"

    "Stop her!" Tycon shouted-- on reflex.

    It was an unreasonable request; none of the Stonelords were strong or fast enough to stop her.

    ...After pulsing his mana through the immediate area, he found hismand to be even more futile than he thought.

    All nearby patrolling stone-persons were frozen mid-air by Jerim Jya''s Domain magic.

    Tycon sighed as he plopped down on his seat, "Did she escape?"

    "Did who escape? Be teased.

    Tycon shut his eyes, holding his face in his hands. He was so annoyed by recent events that he was feeling physically ill.

    "...Jerim Jya," He muttered.

    "She only jumped out of a window," Be shrugged. "With her physique, she''s probably halfway across Whitehearth, well out of range of Wroe''s magic... or what''s left of it."

    "If... her magic were disrupted, it''s... possible she might have injured herself from the fall?" Tycon suggested.

    "We''re on the ground floor, though?"

    They were? Of course, they were. But why were the Stonelords flying about instead of walking?

    Tycon lifted his body up, out of his chair.

    Fatigue had set in. It was especially tiresome, as the adrenaline was quickly draining out of his body.

    ...Though he did have the decency to pick Natalya off the floor and ce her on a nearby bench.

    "Not taking her with you, Tyrael?" A certain Witch teased.

    "Be."

    "Ehe. Sorry, Boss. Couldn''t resist. You go by Tycon, now."

    "Thank you."

    "You''re leaving, though?"

    "Yes," Tycon sighed.

    He walked over to the snack cart the maids provided and began sucking things into his spatial ring. He hoped consuming themter would improve his mood.

    "Lady Sapphira," He said. "I''m assuming you can handle dispelling whatever cursed lizard magic remains in the air."

    "Of course... but you seem to be implying that the new-you can do it just as well," Be giggled. "Maybe, like... I should step down from my position? Field duty seems like it''s way more interesting. Just like old times?"

    It was an absurd notion. Be was responsible for an entire tower of Witches. That was on an entirely different scale than the few hatchlings Tycon cared for-- and kept allowing to die.

    Tycon stretched his arms to the sky as he headed for the door, "Operations start in two moons. Inform the others."

    Be slid off the table, spinning ostentatiously with a touch of Float-type magic.

    "60 suns and not 77? Alright. And who will be our Commander? I think ''Sleeping Beauty'' on that bench wanted the job."

    "Really, Be?" Tycon chuckled. "Have everyone move on their own. But when I give my orders... they *will* be followed."

    "Fufufu..." Be giggled before saluting with her fist to her chest, "I, Be Sapphira, the Sapphire Witch, hear and obey. Sol Invictus, praise to thy name."

    "Honor and glory," Tycon waved as he left the room, "In this life and the next."

    "Faith and loyalty... in our lives before... and forever after."

    ",

 Chapter 975 Desk Commander

    ? Fifty-nine sunster... in a war tent outside of City-State Forcen. ?

    "Ahhh..."

    Tycondrius ignored the sigh, emitted by the human, Cecil Salt. He continued to review the various missives ced in front of him, ensuring he understood their relevant points.

    Commanding from the higher echelons of abat force involved writing at a desk far more than yelling in a field.

    "Pretty funny, I think..." Mused the suspiciously care-free Sergeant, "Naming the operation: World''s End, that is."

    Tycon closed his eyes, making a checklist in his head. He needed to send at least a dozen more missives before the sun went down-- and, if at all possible, one to his daughter, Sasarame.

    "I mean, with how harsh the training is... some of the troops think that''s *actually* what''s at stake."

    "Sergeant."

    "Yes, Commander?"

    A deep frown cut into Tycon''s face as he looked over the battle-scarred veteran.

    His uniform was eptable-- clean, with creases still sharp. The scent of oil on his holstered service pistol implied that to be in good condition, as well.

    Of hisx demeanor, though, Tycon chose to take offense.

    "Salt," He said... "You used to be terrified of me."

    "Aye. Still am, Sir," The bearded Sergeant nodded. "Oh, I got a letter from m''wife this afternoon. Wanna hear about it?"

    "No."

    "Her son drew a picture for us. Wanna see?"

    "Her... what?" Tycon frowned, "Don''t you mean *your* son?"

    "Aha," Saltughed, scratching his head in embarrassment. "Yeah, I suppose. He''s a good kid-- too young to care. But the picture?"

    "My answer remains the same, Sergeant," Tycon red. "No... But the assumedly positive notion has been received and appreciated."

    "Told the kiddo you were a uh... giant snake with a magic disguise."

    "Oh,e now, Sergeant," Tycon gently chided. "I find it highly improbably that a mere child can capture the majesty of my true form with what? --sticks of colored wax and unbleached wood pulp?"

    "So... you... wanna see?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    "...Leave it on the table."

    "Can''t do that, Commander," Salt pursed his lips and tilted his head. "''Fraid you won''t give it back."

    "Salt, I can have you court-martialed if I so choose. As we are currently at war, you won''t be afforded due process."

    Tycon quietly red at his Sergeant... but only received a slight up-and-down nod.

    "Hauh..."

    "There will be torture," Tycon added.

    "Yer guilt''s showin'', Sir," Salt grinned.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I am above such petty emotions, Sergeant."

    "Is this a bad time, Messieurs?"

    An awkward and long-limbed Wizard had entered the Command Tent, a man which Sergeant Salt seemed ted to see.

    His thoughts were probably along the line of: ''the Commander cannot court-martial us both.''

    His thoughts were wrong.

    Despite his height, Mage-Captain Clemont of Guild Staghorn was a soft-spoken gentleman. If anything, his presence was usually overshadowed by Staghorn''s boisterous guild leader, Sir Emilien Leserre.

    Still... even though the end of the Realm was nigh, Tycon was an idealist.

    "Clemont... how did you score onst week''s physical exam?"

    "Oh?" Clemont jerked in surprise before sucking air through his teeth, "I... I survived-- somehow."

    "Survival..." Tycon shook his head, "is the minimum requirement, Captain. I ask again: how did you score?"

    Clemont loosed a soft sigh before forcing a smile, "ording to our training standards, I received full marks, Sir... I had to train at least that hard to quell my rival Officers''ints."

    Such wasudable. Still, Tycon was in a poor mood.

    "And how are your squat and deadlift PR''s, Mage-Captain?"

    Clemont''s face fell, stripped of his earlier pride.

    "Sir Baron? You''re asking me about... standards our organization does not officially have?"

    "Should the Realm *not* be destroyed in the next few weeks," Tycon smirked. "I want you to out-lift Sergeant Salt by year''s end."

    "Haha. Funny, Sir," Scoffed Salt.

    Clemont was not nearly as amused.

    "Sir, with all due respect, Salt looks like he''s been lifting crates of limes and hardtack since he was 12."

    Salt turned away, his gaze distant.

    "Sometimes... the crew would fill the crates with rocks and sand, just to f*ck with me," He said, his eyes downcast.

    Tycon nced over, "If you need a therapist, Salt, apply for one through the proper channels... or do what the regrs do: find *friends* --a peer group, you can identify with, or somesuch. "<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Sir, I''d like to remind you that, since you promoted me, you''re my only peer in this camp-- and Clemont, I suppose."

    Clever bastard.

    "Then, I suppose we three should share a drink sometime," Tycon said, his smile forced-- "provided we live that long."

    A drink sounded nice. He''d drink share a drink with near anyone.

    Surviving theing conflict, however-- that, would be aplicated ordeal.

    "For now, Sergeant Salt... you''re dismissed."

    After the traumatized former sailor left the tent, Tycon turned his attention to the strongest Wizard in his retinue.

    "Good evening, Captain."

    "Good evening, Commander."

    "I''ll grant you the benefit of the doubt, Monsieur," Tycon smiled. "In all the years I''ve known you, you''ve been a paragon of excellence both as a schr and a gentleman."

    The corner of the Wizard''s mouth twitched, "Permission to speak freely, Sir?"

    "Go ahead."

    "I''m honestly rather terrified of you."

    "Thank you," Tycon nodded, "As you should be."

    Though he''d never admit it to presentpany, his smile had transitioned from forced to honest. "Now then, Clemont... Why in the seven hells are you here?"

    Throughout the past week, Tycon had already met with his leaders, either in-person or via long-distancemunication.

    The Kingdom''s Royal Marines were tasked to raid settlements near the mountainous regions the lizards liked to hold. Considering the powerhouses that were Sea Wolf Sect Leader, High-Captain Lang Hai; and literal god of the sea, High-Captain Krysaos; those operations woulde along swimmingly.

    If not, Tycon nned to kill both of those fools, himself.

    --somehow.

    Centurion Zenon and the Holy Country''s forces would be linking up with Centurion Januarius and Guild Metal Wolf. A small force of less than 10 Divine Armors was given the task to attack a small lizard-controlled fortress in an undisclosed location.

    ...Zenon promised he''d keep Haelvia safe.

    Tycon was confident she could do so on her own. He told Zenon as such... but nheless, was thankful for the notion.

    Athena of House Vanzano, the leader of Guild Letalis Serpentis and the future Matriarch of the Frozen Cairn Sect, chose not to participate in the anti-lizard operations.

    Separate missives were addressed to her husband, Tanamar-- but they went unanswered.

    The Hidden Sects had their own prophecies... However, if Jiang Ying Yue and her Hidden Lake Sect were any indication, the lizards heavily influenced those.

    Tycon was certain he''d meet the husband and wife pair again... and soon.

    As for the other Holy Country forces... the Basilica''s reserves were set to participate in operations near the Eastern States'' southern coast. The fighting there would be minimal to nonexistent.

    Sasarame would still be subject to the horrors of war. Such was necessary despite her age... especially considering her rare ss and high Rank... as well as her father''s profession.

    Her skill at healing and divine magic would make her a hero, of sorts However, the volume of rotated troops would also ensure she experiences failure and its cost.

    But trauma aside, her experiences would allow her to grow into a moreplete, morepassionate youngdy.

    Then before the Realm ended properly, Tycon would take the youngdy and force her off-Realm to ensure her survival. He hadn''t yet nned that far, but he was willing tobat any number of gods or Gatekeepers to do so.

    Tycon''s daughter was... one of the few things remaining in the Realm that brought him joy. The asional letter he received from her did wonders warming his figuratively cold-blooded heart.

    Cecil Salt had reported on the readiness of the sixpanies of Staghorn,prising primarily humans from the Kingdom and the northern part of the Eastern States.

    Theypleted Tycon''s assigned training. After seeing his neatly structured eighth hell, they no longer feared death on the battlefield

    ...Should they survive and eventually retire, their suns training in-garrison would haunt their nightmares.

    And along with Guild Staghorn... several core members of Sol Invictus were set to fly east via airship to the contested border between the Eastern States and the northern, lizard-controlled territories. There, they would take part in a major offensive to retake several industrial lizard-controlled cities.

    Sol Invictus would be participating in that main assault. Should their forces seed, it would be a crippling blow to the lizard god''s human/tree-abomination army, cutting their numbers and seizing consequential military assets.

    However, Tycon would be elsewhere.

    Soon, he''d involve himself with forces hailing from the Free Nation. Sol Invictus members Dragan and Lulu had already confirmed their participation.

    To not alert the lizard leadership to the fact that Tycon was absent... one of Sol Invictus'' newer members, Edge, would be donning Tycon''s dark armor and signature white Commander''s helmet.

    Edge was horrified by his orders-- which was reasonable.

    Tycon felt no guilt over the assignment.

    As an extension of their regr duties, Sorina Capulet and Maeve Leserre handled a majority of Quartermaster duties. The two were uniquely qualified to keep their forces supplied. Moving a proper army required more food and medical supplies than it did courage and drive.

    That army-- the variouspany leaders of which, already had their orders.

    In order for Edge to be an effective ''Commander''... all he had to do was survive.

    Provided he avoid magical scrying and subsequent long-distance artillery strikes, repeated assassination attempts by camouging tree-lizard abominations, and... as long as any enemy casters capable of death-curse magic were so contemptibly stupid that their very existence could be ssified as malice, the boy had nothing to fear.

    After all, dominating the front lines were the likes of ming Rage Knight Korr, High Wizard Clemont, and to a lesser, but still significant extent... the Armored Knight, Emilien Leserre...

    Tycon narrowed his eyes at his Mage-Captain. He had yet to borate on his presence, instead choosing to dart his eyes around the insides of themand tent while fidgeting awkwardly.

    "Clemont..." Tycon frowned.

    "Monsieur Baron?"

    "Where is Knight Leserre?"

 Chapter 976 Clemontâ€™s Request

    "Ah, my partn-- I mean, Emilien," Said Clemont as heughed nervously. "You''re asking about Emilien."

    "...Yes," Tycondrius nodded. "Yes, I am... Monsieur Clemont, I''d be rather disappointed if I were forced to repeat myself."

    "Emilien, he..." Clemont rubbed his hands together, "He suffered a severe hernia two suns prior."

    Tycon twisted his lips to the side. Leserre''s absence would be felt, but with the numbers involved in theing operation, a working recement would be easy to find.

    Still...

    "That''s unfortunate-- both for the war effort and on his behalf," Tycon said with a light frown. "He was looking forward to this campaign."

    "Y-yes, he was," Clemont bowed. "He was... perhaps too excited. He forgot to mind our age."

    "idents happen," Tycon waved. "I trust the relevant paperwork is in order. Get that man some recovery potions-- and has he seen a professional healer?"

    "Aye," The Wizard said, though he shook his head. "I had to use a ?Hold? Spell to detain him. You know how he is..."

    "Indeed..."

    Tycon tapped his finger on the war table... "Clemont."

    "Yes?"

    "You still haven''t told me why you''re here."

    "Commander..."

    Clemont gulped... but straightened his back. He kept his hands to the side, but... they shook terribly.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Mage-Captain..."

    "I''m... here for a request."

    A request?

    What could that be?

    Was Clemont going to... request for Leserre to be healed? There was paperwork for that. Surely, Tycon could expedite the process, but... as that was a reasonable request, it did not exin Clemont''s reluctance.

    A slow grimace crossed Tycon''s face. Perhaps Clemont was going to request for a leave of absence.

    Uneptable.

    Tycon was absolutely going to participate in the various anti-lizard operations-- and he knew more than most that the mission was impossible and there was only a minuscule off-chance that the end of the Realm could be averted.

    If he had to be there, then so would everyone under hismand.

    ...If Clemont outright refused to participate in the operation, Tycon would have him arrested.

    There would be torture.

    However... those were dark thoughts-- and unlikely to be true, considering Clemont''s high social intelligence.

    Was he... perhaps going to ask for a transfer? It had bemon knowledge that the leader of the Sapphire Tower was a member of Sol Invictus.

    It seemed to be a popr notion amongst young male mages, to train with the mostly-female Sapphire Tower.

    But thinking on that... Clemont had never expressed even a passing interest in the opposite gender. There was great value, however, in the arcane knowledge he would rue from the courses Be Sapphira designed, herself.

    "Baron Tycon, I''d like to request your permission... to marry Emilien."

    Tycon tilted his head... "Ah?"

    "Emilien," Clemont repeated... though he naturally began to slouch and shrink, "I''d like... ... ..."

    "Is... marrying a Knight illegal?" Tycon frowned. "No... I refuse to believe the Kingdom is so ssist."

    "It''s... it''s not our ss, Sir," Clemont coughed.

    Tycon pursed his lips, looking his Mage-Captain over. Despite Clemont''s decent wages, he still had an air of poverty around him.

    "Is there a problem with your... socio-economic backgrounds?" He asked.

    "N-no, Sir it''s... it''s our... our union... it''s frowned upon."

    What?

    Tycon leaned forward, trying to make sense of the man''s babbling.

    "You''re concerned with... our fraternizationws?" Tycons suggested, "It''s fine. You and Leserre were acquainted well before we militarized Staghorn''s internal rules; there''s no issue."

    "One... issue remains, my lord," Clemont said, his head bowed.

    Tycon leaned back in his chair, partly curious, but mostly annoyed, "Then please, Clemont, elucidate me."

    The wizard gulped once more... "It''s the fact that we''re both men, Sir Baron."

    Tycon squeezed his eyes together; his curiosity had vanished, and his annoyance had amplified three-fold.

    "Of that," He growled. "I was aware."

    Suddenly, a sense of panic washed over Tycon.

    Clemont was a good man... and from the way he cared for his subordinates and peers... it was reasonable for him to worry about his superior.

    Was the problem... not as simple as it seemed?

    Was Clemont kindly hinting... that something was wrong with Tycon''s recruitment processes?

    What was it? A mixed-genderw? A cultural taboo?

    --was he going to suffer a fine?

    If King Adal was going to fine him, Tycon would openly refuse!

    The end of the Realm wasing in the next few weeks.

    ...It was folly to be upset over something so soon to be immaterial.

    With that in mind, Tycon again found his calm.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Regardless," Tycon waved. "You have my permission. Be mindful that marriage affects how your household is taxed under Kingdomw. Thus, (should we survive) and you submit updated paperwork to our finance department, your pay stub should--"

    "But, Monsieur Baron?"

    "WhAt iS iT, cLeMoNt???" Tycon sang.

    The frustration in his voice was more apparent than he would have liked.

    "Do you not find our rtionship... strange?"

    "Hmph. Actually, yes. I do," Tycon scowled. "Why is it that you''ve *never* approached me with questions concerning magic?"

    "Sir!" Clemont barked, "I mean... my rtionship with Emilien!"

    ...Tycon took in a slow, deep, calming breath.

    "Clemont," he sighed...

    "I have, in my head, decades of experience as a military leader.

    "In that time, I''ve been in direct charge of several *thousand* sentients: men and women with differing creeds and ethnic backgrounds, a variety of species, literal beasts, and a sizeable portion of troops I can only reasonably ssify as ''other.''

    "This is *not* the first time I''ve had this conversation, Clemont...

    "--but it is the first time I''ve met a *human* so concerned about their romantic involvement with *another* human."

    "I... see," Clemont pouted.

    The Wizard stared at his feet for several moments.

    That was good. It meant he wasing to terms with just how asinine his concerns were.

    Tycon shut his eyes. Was the conversation over? It sounded over. He wondered if he''d left any loaves of sourdough in his spatial ring. The frustrating conversation made him feel like--

    "Monsieur Baron?"

    "WhaaAat?" Tycon groaned.

    "Would you... attend the wedding? --if I invited you officially?"

    "By the F... Yes. As your direct superior, I ept the obligation of attending your lifetime milestone ceremony."

    Clemont chewed on his upper lip as he went on, "I''ve heard... you hate those kinds of ceremonies, Sir."

    That much was true. However, there was a rtive certainty of ash and fire in the near future.

    "I''ll at least send a proxy if I am... indisposed," Tycon replied. "And by ''indisposed'', I mean having suffered an exceedingly violent and/or gruesome demise."

    "You..." Clemont frowned, "keep making these grim jokes, Sir."

    "Get out of my Command Tent, Clemont," Tycon waved.

    The tall Wizard let out a sigh before saluting with his fist to his chest, "Aye aye, Commander."

    "--and congrattions on your engagement."

    ...

    ? Two sunster... Early morning, outside the City of Making. ?

    Tycondrius nced over to his side. Underneath an absurdly oversized hat and behind a pair of respectably circr spectacles was a Witch named Be Sapphira.

    To his knowledge, she was also the most powerful Caster in the Realm-- at least on the continent.

    Be was lying astride her floating broom, one of her legs draped down, the tip of her boot brushing the dirt. She kept in perfect bnce-- and made doing so appear effortless.

    Tycon assumed the feat had to do with her magical control. He could do simr, but not at the level Be could exhibit-- not that he would care to do so.

    He was kneeling in the dirt. The mana he expended while doing so was negligible.

    "Like... you *really* don''t trust the lizards, Boss," Be mused.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, mulling over the statement.

    It was true.

    However, he had the bothersome feeling that the woman was asking for more than a simple answer.

    "My distrust... is in my bloodline," Tycon replied.

    Witches were a distrustful lot. Interminable persecution over centuries burned grave scars into their bloodline memories.

    "Hmmm."

    Be emitted a musical hum, slowly rocking her head from side to side.

    Her gaze did not leave him.

    Tycon did not believe she trusted him, nor did he expect her trust.

    As a Witch, she immediately discerned that his soul was not the one she was familiar with. It was a fact he felt should be met with uttermost suspicion.

    Be''s general demeanor suggested she was undaunted by it, but certain questions and certain gazes implied otherwise.

    Tycon turned his attention back to the field. The two were on a hill, overlooking the City of Making.

    Variouspany formations were beginning to take their positions; many were dangerously within range of the city''s wall-mounted defenses.

    Be unreservedly loosed an indolent yawn, "Mmmm. Think they spotted us yet?"

    Tycon shook his head, "If they have, we would have heard or seen something by now."

    Despite their forces moving in broad daylight, the enemy had yet to respond.

    Of course, magic was at y. With so many moving parts, however, it was inevitable that the enemy would notice an unusual magical shimmer or a gap in a concealment Spell.

    "...Y''know, the old you couldn''t see that well," Be remarked.

 Chapter 977 Command

    Be''s question was another test.

    Unfortunately, Tycondriuscked the social intelligence to discern what a ''correct'' answer for that test might be.

    Thus, he determined his best response to be... honesty.

    "My control over my eyes and the magic within are far superior," He said.

    "Oh, really?" The Witch responded in a nd voice.

    Tycon couldn''t be certain, but he had a slight suspicion that he was being disrespected.

    "You see, like, any signs of lizards?" Be asked.

    Tycon furrowed his brows, concentrating... focusing his vision. The magic in his eyes was enough to pierce any magical veils of a simr or lower level.

    He found... no shimmering scale behemoths, no Spells woven in the clouds, nor did he find Formations lined out with rocks and trees.

    "I see... nothing of consequence," Tycon admitted.

    "And what of the rebels?" Be asked in a t voice.

    Tycon exhaled deeply through his nostrils.

    The Witch was referring to the rebel lizards.

    From what he understood, a faction of the abhorrent beasts actively rejected the whims of their god.

    It was strategically beneficial to Tycon''s ns to coordinate with them... despite him despising the notion on a personal level.

    He recalled a particr line from a treatise discussing Tyrion military doctrine-- one that assuaged his concerns.

    ''The enemy of my enemy dies next.''

    "I''ve heard nothing of the rebel lizards since our meeting with Jerim Jya," He said.

    "You trust her?" Be said, something between an usatory statement and a mocking question.

    "Absolutely not," Tycon replied gruffly.

    "Uh huhhh?" Be tilted her head down, raising her eyebrows. "But Master Tactician, how could it be a coincidence that our supply line allows us to easily circle back to Forcen to make your lizard appointment on the 77th?"

    Tycon grit his teeth, unable to find a response.

    "Quay''s kid," Be mused. "Your lizard said he''d show up on that sun."

    "She *implied* it," Tycon waved. "I cannot be certain that is what she meant. However, I can be certain of the beast-woman''s wishes... or, otherwise, the wishes of her faction. On that sun, it behooves them that I am present at that location... or, perhaps, away from other locations."

    "And you''re gonna go," Be grinned, "Like a good little snek?"

    Tycon closed his eyes, "Jerim Jya wishes for me to live. There was... sincerity in at least that."

    "She was trying to appeal to your emotions, Boss," The Witch said.

    Suddenly, her expression twisted-- "Wait, don''t tell me *that''s* why you believe her?"

    Tycon brooded over the thought.

    Jerim Jya was a liar.

    Yet... he wanted to believe she cared.

    Granted, even if that was an indisputable fact, it would not prevent her maniption, ''well-meaning'' as it might be.

    "We share a single motive with the Rebel Lizards," He said quietly-- more to himself than to Be, "it would be preferable to all parties involved that the Realm *not* be destroyed..."

    Tycon loosed out an exasperated sigh, "Jerim Jya said... in the Bristlebear Hignds, I''d be able to assist one or more heroes in... an extranar fight."

    Be''s floating broom righted itself. The Witch stepped forward, crossing her arms while tapping a finger against her cheek.

    "Heroes, she said... could that be talking about someone *other* than the scion of House Morninglord?"

    "In this Realm and in this generation..." Tycon shook his head, "Pale is the only one with the qualifications of Hero."

    "Y''know, Boss... I could go get Coraline. She''s really good at figuring this kind of thing out."

    "No, no," Tycon waved. "I can figure this out, myself."

    "I mean, like-- it''d take me all of like five minutes."

    "Have some faith, Sapphira," Tycon groaned.

    "Oh, I have full faith in you, Tycon... with anything concerning field tactics... with spell formations and parsing, I guess. But, look-- we''re talking about the logic of ten-thousand year old lizards--"

    Tycon raised his chin, "Extranar manifest zones."

    Be twisted her lips to the side, "Wh... at about them?"

    "What''s near the Bristlebear Hignds?"

    "Ugh," Be rolled her eyes, "The hills around City-State Forcen are all infused with earth-type ley energy."

    Tycon smirked, "Mystery solved-- and without asking for Heartsong''s assistance."

    "No," Be insisted. "Mystery *not* solved, Boss. Airships can''t go anywhere near that ce! ALSO, Quay''s kid and his party went missing in Nemaya Strana, which--st I checked, is hundreds of miles and across a sea from Forcen. So without air-travel--"

    "Be," Tycon waved. "It was a mission on behalf of the Church. It is safe to assume the children have ess to extranar travel."

    Far from being assuaged by Tycon''s logic, Be made a mocking ''OoOooh'' sound.

    "Isn''t that, like, ssified information," She teased. "You learn that from your girlfriend?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "My what?"

    "The red-headed, holier-than-thou Archbishop? Or is there, like, a different, high-ranked Holy Country Priestess you''re fooling around with?"

    "Be," Tycon pursed his lips... "Natalya and I... we are not romantically involved."

    "Oh... That''s... Huh."

    Be sat up, crossing her arms and nodding sagely.

    "Tycon."

    "Yes?"

    "You''re an idiot."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "And why would you think that?"

    "If you can''t, like, follow my line of thinking, then you''re hopeless."<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon figured he had made or was making a social blunder. However, he had neither the patience nor the desire to correct himself.

    "This... is undoubtedly an important and illuminating topic, Sapphira," He said... "but now is not the right time."

    "Right," Be sighed. "So like-- the mostmon manifest zones in the Sleeping Country go to the ne of ice."

    "If you are unable to follow my... *like*... line of thinking, Miss Sapphira..."

    "Stop right there," Be tilted her head back, smacking her palm against her forehead. "Your point has been made, Prince Tycondrius."

    "Hm. You should call me that more often."

    "Oh, I''ll circle back to it... that is if you can get to Fourth-Circle."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. Without the aid of magical tools, his physique limited him to spells of First-Circle. And of that fact, Be Sapphira was quite aware.

    "Be..."

    "Tycon-- so, like, about your new soul..."

    ...Tycon tilted his head. The shift in conversation was odd, both in topic and the uncharacteristically serious expression Be was wearing.

    "What... about it?"

    "Still no tasty side-effects?"

    "...None that I can determine."

    Be pursed her lips, "Do... you really think you''re still you?"

    "Be," Tycon frowned, "what is this about? And why are you asking me this only now?"

    The Witch rubbed her chin with a gloved hand before making an exaggerated shrug.

    "Nevermind. I''m goin'' ahead!" She dered as she stepped up, onto her broom, "Oh, and be careful. Tower R&D wants me to try out some of therge-scale theoreticals."

    He watched as her speed away, clutching her oversized hat to keep from losing it.

    ...It was a wonder that she insisted on standing on her broom instead of sitting astride it, as wasmon.

    Perhaps she did so knowing that no one other Witch had the skill to emte her.

    Of course, Tycon could do so... if he *really* wanted to.

    He would not.

    Sitting was far morefortable.

    He could also engineer Spells of Mass Destruction without being Fourth-Circle.

    He just needed... time... effort... and a synchronized host of skilled participants.

    Tycon waved down one of the Sapphire Tower''s Witches. Every able-bodied caster from the Tower had arge conical hat that made them easy to identify, even from a distance.

    "Good morning, youngdy... Ah. Miss Caitlyn, was it?"

    "Oh, you''re the-- Um. Good morning-- uh, Sir? And uh, it''s... Cortlyn, actually."

    "...R-right," Tycon smiled politely. "Please direct me to the rendezvous point for Teleportation."

    "Ohhh... uh... about that," Caitlyn said, puffing up her cheeks. "We... don''t have any of those."

    "...We don''t?"

    The Sapphire Tower was the most powerful collection of human casters in the Realm. Portal Mages were certainly not mon* in the Free Nation, but there were several in his home territory of Charm-- including his mother.

    "Yeah, isn''t Teleport... like a Fifth-Circle Spell?" Caitlyn asked. "And doesn''t establishing a Gate require uber-rare artifacts orbination-rituals that take several years toplete?"

    "...Please forget I said anything," Tycon said, inclining his head.

    "Uh. Yeah. Would it be alright if I like-- sent you to the stables?"

    The stables?

    The notion was absurd... and it irked him that the girl''s responsescked both respect and urgency.

    Tycon took a deep breath to calm himself. In the next few minutes, Be was going to beginrge-scale bombardment on the walls of City-State Making.

    He wanted to see it.

    ...and he nned on taking note of any observable ws to nitpick on ater sun.

    "Direct me to the armory, girl," Tyconmanded.

    The effect was instantaneous. The young woman appeared shocked by the change in tone and demeanor, her mouth hanging agape.

    ...Thus, Tycon gave another order:

    "Answer."

    "We... what for? Sir?" Babbled the panicking child.

    "I *require* some sort of apparatus capable of flight. Then, I suppose I''ll apany one of your formations for efficiency''s sake."

    "There... there aren''t any extra brooms, S... sir--"

    "Commander," Tycon said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My title is Commander. Do you understand?"

    "Cmander??" She gasped, "You''re the-- Oh! I see."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes and leaned in to meet the Witchling''s gaze.

    "R e s p o n d ."

    "Y... yes, Commander," She squeaked.

    Tycon sighed to himself. That level of respect would have to do.

    "Your broom, then," He said.

    "Well, um... okay?" Caitlyn mumbled, "Y-you can ride with me... if you want?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows. That wasn''t... exactly what he wanted.

    However, he judged that to be a reasonablepromise.

    ",

 Chapter 978 Not A Request

    Cortlyn''s mind drifted back to thest six weeks of her life.

    It was like the whole Realm had gone crazy.

    Training.

    Flight time.

    sses and more sses, a neverending cascade of them. Instructors went from talking about multi-casting to wand safety to clearing buildings, room by room.

    There was paperwork. Stars and stones, there was so much paperwork...

    There was also a... psychiatric exam? Cortlyn was *pretty* sure she was clinically depressed... but the docs said she was fine to deploy.

    Oh-- and on top of that... there was-- surprise! More training!

    Someone from Whitehearth gave a ss on basic Divine Armor control.

    Divine Armor control.

    That was a ss for Alpha Squad-- not someone like her!

    But... if there was any benefit at all... it was the eye candy.

    Besides training and... the subtly-different more-training... there was also *joint* training.

    During the past six weeks, the Sapphire Tower had done training exercises with at least a dozen other organizations.

    There were local heroes like the Red Capes, as well as big names from nearby City-States like the Forcen Knights and House Highde. But there were foreigners too! The Pdins from the Holy Country looked like they ate nothing but meat and iron. The Griffon Riders from the Magic Kingdom looked so gentle-- but with just the right amount of *primal* intensity.

    There was a tall and curly-haired Cavalier from Nemaya... and even seeing him from afar with his dark cape and darker expression gave her the chills.

    The training was... tough-- easily the most difficult she''d ever endured in Cortlyn''s 19 years of life.

    But was it worth it?

    ...Probably not.

    But at least her eyes were happy.

    Did appreciating hot guys out in the Realm just-being-hot make her a shallow woman?

    Yeah, probably. But... no one would ever know. No one would EVER know that she had less than pure thoughts about her fellow adventurers! No one would ever, eVeR, EVERRRR know... that every night, she''d fantasize about being *more* than romantically involved with a different--

    "Caitlyn," A man whispered into her ear.

    "Yes, Daddy?"

    Oh no! Her automatic response was horribly wrong!

    Cortlyn felt her cheeks begin to burn hotter than a ?me Sphere?-- and that was despite the fact that she was going well over 50 malms an hour and a couple-hundred fulms in the air.

    "Mind your speed," The Commander warned.

    Cortlyn red back in response, but despite her probably-50mph-heart-rate, she managed to keep her broom skyborne.

    The unreasonably hot Commander of the whole operation had hitched a ride on her broom. And... even though she was slightly regretting it because she was risking her freakin'' life... she had tricked him into holding onto her waist.

    Why was he so hot?

    Weren''t Commanders supposed to be cranky and crotchety old men??

    Two pieces of gossip had spread throughout the Sapphire Tower.

    The first was that the battle Commander was the current leader of Sol Invictus. And the second was that their CEO, Lady Sapphira, had been in close contact with a young, green-haired Mercenary Captain from the Free Nation.

    They were WRONG! ALL them b*tches were wrong!

    The unreasonably attractive green-haired man who had his big, strong arms around her waist was the Commander!

    The coMmanDarRRRRrr!!!

    SoL iNviCtuS'' VERY OWN!! CommaNdarRrrRrrr!!!!!~

    Cortlyn concentrated on keeping control of the broom between her legs... trying not to think about other things between other persons'' legs!!

    Spellbreaker Zashleigh wouldn''t be happy about the Commander''s presence.

    As of recent, the leader of Zeta Squad had been very... vocal about Lady Sapphira''stest choice ofpanion. She had always had a thing against people with Martial sses, though.

    But then again, there was a rumor that Zash also picked on the few guy-Witches in the Tower...

    Putting all the facts together, it probably meant that--

    [Evasive maneuvers!!]

    "Wait, what? What the--"

    ...

    A blue-colored st of force energy broke apart the flight of witches.

    Their fly-leader made the call through their short-range, persistentmunication Spell.

    Unfortunately, it was objectively a few secondste for her flight to react appropriately.

    Tycondrius struggled to care. What did it matter if his entourage plummeted to the ground, the pink contents of their skulls painting the streets of Making?

    He even considered dying along with them...

    It would be a death suffered in battle.

    Even if anyone med him, he wouldn''t be around to hear it.

    But s, several seconds passed... enough for him to grow tired of Caitlyn''s shrill, panicked screeching.

    "Steady yourself, whelpling!!"

    "I-- I can''t!!"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "You will if you FOCUS!!" He shouted.

    Tycon couldn''t understand why the girl''s bravado had mysteriously vanished. Prior to thest attack, she had sessfully maneuvered to evade *several* rounds of magical attacks, including three other instances of lizard-fire.

    "This is CRAZY!! This is SUICIDE!!!" She screamed. "We''re falling a HUNDRED EIGHTEEN MALMS per hour while being SHOT AT by D--"

    "?Desire Trigger,?" Tycon sighed.

    ? ?Desire Trigger?. Support ability. Targeted ally ispelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target''s ability to resist detrimental effects. ?

    Caityln''s flight stabilized immediately... and suspiciously so.

    Her heart rate, however, remained quite high... and... suspiciously so.

    Tycon slowly removed his arm, which was previously wrapped around the girl''s waist. He was no longerfortable holding onto her.

    "Get us closer to your flight leader."

    "Anything for you, Daddy."

    ...Tycon did not appreciate the form of address, but it was neither the time nor ce to correct her.

    He waved to the squad leader, then channeled a thin stream of mana to tap into her squad''smunication-link.

    [You there! Can we return fire??]

    The Witch looked visibly stunned, but after a nce at the rank insignia on Tycon''s cor, she regained herposure quickly enough.

    [N-negative, Sir! Thest attack took out our Sniper!]

    Thest attack...

    One particr girl was caught in its center. Her death was instantaneous, her body vaporized by the vtile magic.

    Tycon had sorely overestimated the level ofmon human-blooded Casters, considering they were hard-pressed to return fire at something distant but still within visual range.

    ncing down and to the side, another beam of harsh blue light was quickly headed in their direction. A direct hit on any of hispanion Witches would ensure further loss of life-- or would at least disrupt their ability to stay airborne.

    [CHANNEL FOR-MA-TION!!!] Tycon ordered, enunciating clearly to trigger memories drilled into the girls since their earliest suns of training.

    [Wait, how did you know about--]

    Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning a magical staff in hand-- one he had acquired rtively recently.

    He was reluctant to use it, due to its unsavory origins. However, he had stolen it properly. It was his. There was nothing wrong with using something that belonged to him.

    He stood up, bncing on Caitlyn''s broom in order to stand (and hating every moment of it.) Then, he made a series of mental calctions with respect to the positions of his surrounding Witches.

    A simple, doubleyered ?Shield? was appropriate for the situation-- and easy for him to execute without much thought.

    [Readyyyy, Channel-- EXECUTE!!!]

    Caitlyn was the first tomit and her actions were quickly followed by her fly-leader and the rest of her flight.

    Tycon directed his winged staff downward, activating the Spell with a burst of light.

    The channeled mana made it an odd pink color-- something he''d never encountered. Functionally, it worked as intended.

    The twoyers worked in tandem, thrumming in power as it absorbed the force of the enemy''s attack. No part of the ?Shield? broke, though it did vibrate rather violently.

    Again using his magical focus, Tycon directed the energies back from whence it came.

    It was not a proper offensive Spell. Essentially, he returned the Witches'' vtile mana along with their attacker''s back toward its source.

    Far below, upon contact with... something, a magical explosion engulfed about one-and-a-half mid-sized structures.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin squints. That was too much mana.

    He looked to the Witches in his entourage.

    They looked miserable. Two of their number had channeled so much of their energies, they struggled to sustain their flight.

    ...Granted, in his haste, he hadn''t set a limiter in his Spell. But to channel so recklessly... what was Be teaching her Witches?

    [What-- what in the SEVEN HELLS was that??!]

    [What happened to that blue dragon? Did we get her?]

    [Forget the dragon; we just took out one of our targets!! Our attack was-- I think it was as strong as one of President Be''s?!?]

    [No way *our* attack was as strong as the Pres. The way I see it, they don''t make protective formations like they used to.]

    [Guys-- I think I''m gonna hurl.]

    Tycon frowned at thest Witch''sment, [Youngdy, please don''t--]

    Unfortunately-- and simr to the flight-leader''s earliermand, he was toote. One Witch projectile vomited off the side of her broom... spilling the contents of her stomach, far below, onto the streets of Making.

    The woman was suffering mana fatigue, closer to mana exhaustion.

    The entire squad was exhibiting simr symptoms, though most, not as severe.

    But conversely... they all had more to give before their mana wells ran dry.

    [Well done,] Tycon smiled. [Once more, dear friends. Then we can return, victorious.]

    Of course, he nned on two more channeled attacks. It was more digestible request, asking for one, then the other.

    [But Sir...]

    The fly-leader seemed reluctant, flying to the side of him and Caitlyn with a look of concern on her face.

    [Our squad as a whole is running low on mana. If we run out of flight time, we''ll have tond in the city.]

    [Have some faith in yourself and your squad, youngdy.] Tycon smiled politely, brandishing his stolen magic staff, [And besides... that was not a request.]

 Chapter 979 Behind Enemy Lines

    Zashleigh Yates stared into her amethyst spyss... trying to make sense of the purple-scaled monstrosity she was looking at.

    The mana it was giving off... it reminded her of the one time she saw one of the Holy Country''s colossals. But... no Divine Armor looked like *that.*

    Four scaled legs. Absurdly long tail. Huge, folded, leathery wings.

    At the end of its serpentine neck was a horned head with a maw of full teeth.

    A sudden noise ended Zash''s observation and she ducked her head down behind the roof parapet. She even took off her Witch hat, pressing the brim against her nose and mouth to muffle the sound of her breathing.

    The creature had sat up, sniffing the air as it looked around.

    But the sound it made... Zash could swear it was like... the creak of an old wooden door.

    Hiding was a stupid precaution. Dessi was channeling ?Stealth Bubble?, which made it impossible for anyone outside it to see or hear them.

    If the dragon''s senses could pierce through that, she and her squad would already be dead.

    Still... she didn''t like the bestial intelligence in the dragon''s eyes.

    They scared her.

    Dragon.

    Their physical forms scared her.

    The purple one was patrolling with a full squad of soldiers-- and it was three times the height of any of them. With its tail included, though, it might have been 40 fulms long or more.

    Their breath weapons terrified her.

    Zash had heard the screams of her fellow sisters as they plummeted out of the sky.

    She''d probably hear them in her nightmares for the rest of her life.

    But the dragons'' magic...

    That made the Zeta squad''s mission...

    Ugh.

    Zash was uniquely qualified for the task ahead of her.

    The City of Making was something like a ''holy city'' for artifice, hextech, technomagic, and all things between.

    And what protected those dinky, greyhaired whitecoats?

    Lots of things, actually.

    Trained soldiers armed with modern, high-tech, and even futuro-experimenty weapons of war.

    Some hundred suits of Divine Armor, each pilot with thousands of bells of flight experience.

    Oh! --and then there was Making''s so-called MMDS, a nigh-imprable, multiyered, magical defense system.

    The whole thing was powered and reinforced by natural leylines deep in the earth below the city. They weren''t centuries-old, mysterious formations made with eroded rocks. Making was the most technologically advanced city in the Realm. That meant even their formations had to be updated to the modern era.

    ...Each one of the hundred arcano-technicians involved was at least as smart as Zash was.

    The knowledge of the best and brightest minds in the Eastern States went into the city''s defenses. Among the works cited included Lady Be Sapphira, President and CEO of Sapphire Tower... as well as Lady Ophelia Moonwell, the leading expert in Arcanite and all things rted to its technology.

    Those two women were basically Zashleigh''s religion; their industry-defining publications were her sacred texts.

    ...So the first problem was that the Sapphire Tower and its allies had to break through the city''s defenses. The outer two magicalyers protecting Making were designed to diminish the efficacy ofrge-scale attacks on the city''s outer walls. Then, the innermost formation protected the city''s heart.

    If that heart was to prove unbreakable... it had the potential to draw out the battle from a single sun to... not that. And then, of course, that invited a myriad of opportunities for the enemy to strike back or get reinforcements or...

    Hrmm.

    --it was just bad news, all around.

    But it wasn''t *just* the massive brains and spiraling creativity of Lady Sapphira and the Arcanite Princess that Zash had to worry about.

    Literal dragons had taken control of the City of Making.

    When a smart woman buys a house, the first thing she does is change all the locks.

    It was the same with Making-- and those facts were backed up by the Tower''s informants. In the few weeks since the dragons'' upation, all their defensive formations became nearly unrecognizable.

    Dragon magic...

    Zash had done her dissertation on the topic-- her magnum opus.

    She called: the Theory Behind Breaking Modern Draconic Seals.

    It was catchy.

    It made her the indisputable subject matter expert on the topic.

    It was just...

    --there was no such thing as a ''modern'' draconic seal.

    She read every printed book that had anything to do with *ancient* seals-- all already broken, of course. She had a plethora of other researchers'' theories on what those seals did. Of course, she had her own opinions, too...

    But all that together... meant that Zash didn''t have much of anything.

    She... and President Be... were hoping... that *if* she could make it to the formations... her research and familiarity with the topic *might* allow her to decipher its workings. And if-- and that is a big if... and if she could get that far, she juuuust might be able to break it.<novelnext></novelnext>

    There were *really* too many ''ifs'' and ''mights'' in all that.

    But she had to.

    She was the only one who could.

    A growl from one of her squad members brought Zash back to reality.

    "Try them again, Heartsong."

    Decemberleigh Gilchrist had puffed up her cheeks and crinkled her button-nose as she glowered down at the newest girl in Zeta Squad. The subject of her discontent was a girl named Heartsong, an Elven Fire Mage representing the School of Evocations.

    "It hasn''t even been five minutes," Heartsong argued. "In an emergency, we want to *conserve* our mana-- not burn it all onms."

    Though Zash didn''t like hearing her squad members bickering like old women, she knew Heartsong was just following protocol.

    The little blonde elf was easy to like.

    Her grades were excellent. She had perfect marks on her physical fitness tests (though when Zash was her age, she did a little better.)

    Heartsong didn''t allow Dessi, her senior Witch, to bully her-- not even a little.

    The elf''s adherence to the Sapphire Tower''s rules and standard protocol, though, was a little odd, considering the rebellious nature of most Witches.

    It was also a trait perfect for a squad leader.

    Heartsong didn''t know it yet, but Zashleigh was absolutely going to fast-track the girl''s promotion.

    ...But they all had to first survive the mission.

    Zash took a deep breath and a slow, calming exhale.

    The imminent threat had passed-- the dragon patrol had moved on. Every member of Zeta Squad was yet alive... but the sun was not yet over.

    "Heartsong," She said in a quiet voice. "Go ahead and make the call."

    The elf frowned, but adjusted her hat and returned a grim nod.

    She brandished the Communications Crystal and charged it with mana.

    [...Zeta-squad to any caller. Any caller, please respond.]

    The magical buzz echoed between Zash''s ears... and she held her breath, waiting for an answer.

    Several seconds passed.

    --and none came.

    The sounds of distant battle along with death and dying, all too close, reverberated in the background.

    It made Zashleigh question her call to ascend to the rooftops for safety.

    Heartsong closed her eyes, her expression hard...

    [Zeta-squad, any caller: we have two injured that are in critical need of medical attention. Our location is...]

    "Hehe. I just... I jus'' thought o'' somethin'' funny."

    The painedugh came from Lane. She had always been a thin, sick-looking girl-- and the fact that she was allergic to most makeup didn''t help. But after a run-in with a cloud of green-and-pink magic sparkles, she looked more dead than alive.

    Coughing up a halfugh instead of more blood was a good sign. Still... she and Barnes both needed to be medically evacuated. There was only so much that field medicine could do for whatever draconic affliction was eating their insides.

    "S... so you know how I used to be in Supply, right?" She said with a scoff, "I w''s... the one that put in the order-- the one for those hideous Ry Crystals at base camp."

    "That''s what they are?" Dessi gasped. "Those things''re huge!"

    "And they''re useless," Zash frowned, "since the enemy''s using some kind of long-range signal silencer."

    "N-nah," Lane said with a suspicious smile. "It''s pro''lly not even the enemy... Have... you met anyone in Comms? Dumb... as rocks..."

    "No way. You think Comms are dumb?" Dessi said, matching her friend''s smile. "Now the girls in Evocs-- most brainless bimbos in the Tower."

    A smile edged onto the corner of Zash''s lips. She and her girls were in the middle of abat zone and everyone was treating it like they were on their lunch break.

    "Miss Gilchrist~" She said. "I feel like I should remind you that... Miss Heartsong is an Evoker."

    "MehHh?" Dessi pouted, "Heartsong doesn''t count."

    "Heartsong," The elf in question replied, "Has saved the skin of her Senior Witch at least twice, this sun."

    "And now the newbie thinks she''s three times better than me," Dessi groaned.

    "Ehehe..." A tiny giggle erupted from Lane, "Y''know, I heard that Heartsong''s got a hot boyfr--"

    "Hey!" A very insecure Dessi shouted back, "Shouldn''t you be busy-- oh, I dunno, *dying*?"

    "Yeah, yeah, sure thing," Lane waved. "Can I get a moment of silence, please?"

    Zash closed her eyes, "If you need Dessi to shut up in order to die, you''re gonna live forever, girl."

    "...I''m like-- offended... but that was also pretty funny," Said Dessi with a wry smile.

    ",

 Chapter 980 Trying To Live Forever

    Zashleigh Yates turned to Junior Witch Heartsong.

    The girl''s eyes were the most striking blue she''d ever seen.

    --and she was the perfect picture of tranquility.

    Zash, herself, was able to keep her nerves on her first mission-- not that it was an easy task.

    There was something haunting about Heartsong''s quiet gaze over the broken city, pockmarked by witchbolts and dragonfire.

    Maybe it was an Elven thing?

    Heartsong gave a gentle shake of her head, "Still, no response-- not from the Command Tent, nor from any other flights"

    Zashleigh nodded quietly... "We''ll try again in 20..."

    "And... then what?" Asked Dessi, her voice oddly quiet.

    ...It was a good question, but not one that Zash wanted to hear.

    She was highly reluctant to leave the area. Their elevated position made it easier to identify potential threats. Also, a rescue team traveling by broom could see them pretty easily.

    For defenses, Heartsong had set up a magical rm system and two of the other girls were keeping watch while tapping into an empowering set of hastily-made formations.

    Zash thought they were done for when the purple dragon''s patrol path neared their location. But, somehow... they weren''t discovered-- something that she thanked the heavens for.

    Ultimately, though... Zeta Squad needed to move.

    What Zash *really* wanted was to withdraw to safety.

    Dragons were involved!

    But... logically... there wasn''t a good reason to do so. Though Lane and Barnes were injured, the rest of the girls were in good condition. All of their wands and staves and potions were practically untouched.

    Then... the enemy had no idea that there was a highly-trained squad of highly motivated individuals aiming to take down their city''s defenses from inside.

    A rescue team to evacuate the casualties would have been ideal... but with Comms cut, Zash had to make a difficult decision.

    What would she do about Lane and Barnes? Take them with? Assign some girls to watch over them? Leave them behind?

    Lane started to cough-- a round of wet, very-concerning coughs. Poor Dessi looked like her heart had broken thrice over, but she reached for her water jug and poured a cup for her friend.

    "Drink. And try to keep it down. It''s not a good idea to drink the local stuff. I heard the water in Making was *spicy*... whatever that means."

    Heartsong helped Lane sit up and the girl epted the cup with a ginger smile.

    "Hey... y''think... it''s true?" Lane asked.

    "Water can''t be spicy." Zash answered.

    Lane rolled her eyes before coughing lightly, "Not that. I mean... what they said before."

    "If you''re trying to live forever," Heartsong answered. "I heard that Senior Gilchrist took Necronomicsst semester."

    "Yeah... about that," Dessi frowned.

    "She failed," Lane giggled. "I was her... study partner."

    Zash furrowed her brows, "How could you fail *Necronomics?*"

    "It was *Advanced Necronomics,*" Dessi argued.

    "That''s not a thing."

    Heartsong wiped Lane''s mouth with a cloth-- disying a gentleness that Zash had not seen before that moment.

    "Thank you... Coraline," Lane whispered. "Your mana... is nice. It''s... warm."

    "My familiar is worried about you. We both want you to survive this," Smiled Heartsong.

    "Funny," Lane smirked. "I feel the-- erghh... the same."

    Heartsong had a familiar? The girl had never mentioned it.

    Zash furrowed her brows, realizing that she didn''t know much, at all, about her squad''s newest member.

    "What were you talking about before?" Heartsong asked, "Is what true?"

    Laneid her head back down on her pack before responding, "The enemy... they said that Sol Invictus was pushed back at Griffonw."

    "That''s just propaganda," Zash growled. "The leader of the current Sol Invictus is someone with the Warlord ss. With as rare as that ss is, the war''s pretty much ours to win."

    Heartsong''s face twisted, deep in thought.

    "It hasn''t even been a week since we started our ops," She said, "And that guy made it all the way to Griffonw? He''s insane...."

    "Really, Heartsong?" Zash scoffed. "You make it sound like you know the Commander personally."

    "Kihihi... Watch it, newbie," Dessiughed. "Zash has, like, the *biggest* crush on Sol Invictus."

    "I *respect* the Commander and his achievements," Zash interjected. "He''s a goal to pursue and surpass-- *not* a schoolgirl crush."

    "The Commander," Said Lane, coughing lightly-- "He... has to be crazy. The rumors say... the dragons have Domination Mages."

    "Propaganda again," Zash rolled her eyes. "I know it seemed weird that Making and a bunch of other ces started flying dragon-gs only recently... but Domination Mages are even rarer than Warlords. Not even the Sapphire Tower has any."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "But if it''s true," Lane frowned, "then tactics don''t matter. How can... you fight a war... if, at any moment, your leadership could get mind-controlled?"

    "Domination Magic has a few more steps than that," Heartsong assured her.

    She pointed at one of her earrings, "And we have the technology to prevent that sort of thing."

    "...Ehhhh?" Lane''s face scrunched up to an ugly pout, "Is that a lie?"

    "WhaaAt? It''s not," Heartsong said with a softugh, "These earrings resist Domination-type Spells. Why would you even question that?"

    "Aha!" Dessi turned to Zash, looking pleased with herself. "Squad leader, I have something to report."

    "Huh?" Zash raised her eyebrows "Alright? Go ahead."

    "I think Lane''s questioning the newbie because she''s a traitorous, mind-controlled wench!"

    "W-wench?" Lane began tough and cough simultaneously-- smiling but in great pain, "Who even says that?"

    Soft chuckles went all around. It was a tiny pocket of happiness, considering that the world continued to burn all around them.

    "I''m... sorry for hiding it from you," Lane said, bowing her head. "The truth... is... I''m transferring to Evocs."

    "We''ll be d to have you," Heartsong said. "We need more Witches that excel at close-quarterbat."

    "Not funny!" Dessi said with an adorably panicked face, "That''s not funny, at all! Don''t you dare leave me, Lane!"

    "Can''t!" Laneughed, "I need a moment of silence, first."

    A sudden rush of cool wind washed over the area. Zash subconsciously reached for her sword... but she soon recognized the familiar mana.

    It was one of her squad members.

    Everyone was still safe.

    They didn''t have to move... not just yet.

    A pale-skinned, dark-haired elf appeared in a swirl of wind and a luminant shower of frost. She took off her hat, cing it over her heart before rendering a bow filled with otherworldly grace.

    "(Greetings, Sisters)" Selvia said in Elven.

    It was a single, beautiful phrase, but it calmed Zashleigh''s heart to no end.

    Sisters.

    Nevermind her blood rtions. Her squad-- her flight... these girls were the family members she chose to love and care for.

    "Um, yeah-- in Common, please?" Dessi said with a pout.

    "She said ''hello,''" Heartsong groaned. "Wait-- do you really not know basic Elven? Elves make up like 50% of the poption in Archangel."

    Dessi seemed to shrink underneath her hat... "Is it... moshi moshi?"

    Selviaughed before wlessly switching to themon tongue.

    "What''re y''all gigglin'' for?" She asked, "The girls guardin'' the front say they''s about bored to death, by the way."

    Selvia Whisperwind was an absolute treasure to work with. Though she wasn''t the tallest girl in the squad-- or even the tallest elf, she had the most presence. Wherever she went there were always hugs,ughter, and lifted spirits.

    "Nevermind that, Selvia," Zash smiled. "Tell me, what have your Elven eyes seen?"

    Selvia was also the best Scout in the Sapphire Tower. That''s how important Zash''s mission was. Everyone knew that... so everyone shut their mouths and leaned in, waiting on what she had to report.

    "Well, I can tell you what my Elven ears''ve heard," Selvia replied. "in, t-out racism."

    "Yeap, mhm," Zash nodded. "And you can report me to the higher-ups *after* we get back. Now what did you get out there?"

    "I got f*cked up-- s''what I got! Bwehh~" Selvia groaned. She sat down cross-legged where she stood, tossing her hat aside. Then, she untied her cloak, revealing a crossbow bolt lodged in her left shoulder, jutting out the back.

    "That''s... that''s impossible," Heartsong eximed. "Was the bolt... enchanted?"

    "That''s what I was thinkin''," Selvia said, gritting her teeth. "Metal-Rank humie. Big, ugly mug... and with him was a big feller I''m just gonna call Purple McPurpleface. Long story short: I high-tailed it out of there, quick as I could."

    "The purple dragon''s patrolling near this area too," Heartsong replied. "Thankfully, Dessi''s ?Stealth Bubble? has been effective."

    "Well, of course," Dessi sneered. "Why wouldn''t it be?"

    "Because," Heartsong sighed, "I''d expect a mythical *dragon* to be able to sense the mana of an overpowered Metal-Rank squad like ours-- but the one we saw did not"

    ...The girl made a good point, but it was something that Zashleigh did not want to think about.

    "Selvia."

    "So, Zash," The elf said... "I''ve got good news and-- well... kinda-bad news."

    "...Lay it on us."

    "The good news is we have a Flight Mage, now. Saw a flight of pointy-hats movin'' independent of their brooms and *not* goin'' st."

    That... was interesting. That potentially improved the survivability of all the flights currently skyborne.

    "And what''s the bad news?" Asked a solemn Heartsong.

 Chapter 981 Dream On

    Zashleigh Yates kept a steady gaze on Selvia.

    She was a proud woman. They didn''t always get along well, because of it.

    But pride had no say in Zeta Squad''s current situation.

    Selvia had returned from even deeper behind enemy lines, bringing back news despite being injured.

    The fact that she chose to run instead of going Super-Selvie meant she had no choice.

    There were some very dangerous individuals in Making... and not all of them were Witches.

    "So I''m pretty sure..." Selvia began, "I found what I''m thinkin'' is one o'' the city''s Shield Rys. It''s up yonder a ways-- east and north."

    "What the--" Dessi frowned, "But that''s good news? That''s our freakin'' mission objective!"

    "Well, it would be," Selvia said with a forced smile-- "that is, if the ce weren''t covered with folks itchin'' fer a good, ol'' fashioned Witch-hunt."

    Zash crossed her arms in thought, "I''m assuming there''s no obvious vantage point where we could post Heartsong and have her rain fire and f*ckery?"

    "Wish there was," Selvia shrugged.

    "And it seems McPurpleface is patrolling out of that area?" Heartsong added with a wry smile.

    "S''what it looks like," Selvia said with a sigh.

    Zash went through the situation in her head.

    If the enemy''s shields were hastily erected, then Heartsong''s fire magic could easily burn through them.

    But... the streets of Making weren''t as wide as the ones in Archangel... and Heartsong''s magic was highly vtile to her surroundings.

    This was a problem because, historically, Witches tended to be highly mmable.

    Prior to the deployment, Heartsong spent weeks training with Barnes, the former suppressing the frantic nature of her mes and thetter, adjusting her barriers to better reject the heat.

    Unfortunately, Barnes was hit by the same dragonfire attack that was killing Lane.

    It was horrible luck that their squad''s Barrier Mage had yet to regain consciousness... but, judging by Lane''s painful seizures and coughing fits, that might have been for the best.

    It was just...

    --without Barnes casting ?Arrow Protection?, traveling through areas without cover had its risk increased tenfold.

    And without ?Heat Resist?... ordering Heartsong to act separately from the squad was suddenly a not-terrible solution.

    Zash squeezed her eyes closed, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her.

    "It''ll be tough... but we still have to capture the point-- even though Barnes and Lane are..."

    Her words stuck in her throat when struck by a sudden realization.

    She couldn''t remember thest time they checked on Barnes.

    Heartsong seemed to notice something first. The elf narrowed her eyes and made a grim expression.

    Selvia''s expression twisted for a brief moment, but then she lowered her head as if she understood.

    "Okay... wh-what''s going on?" Dessi asked, her voice cracking with worry. "You two just did... an elf thing. I saw it. Hello? Moshi moshi? Someone, please... say something?"

    "It''s... Lane," Heartsong whispered.

    "What about her?" Dessi tilted her head. "Did I miss something? Is she talking crap in her sleep again?"

    "I''m sorry, but... she''s no longer breathing."

    Zash felt her eyes growing hot.

    Lane got the moment of silence she wanted.

    "Oh," Dessi gulped... "O... oh..."

    Zash had to look away from Dessi as quiet tears began to stream down the taller woman''s face.

    If she got caught up in her emotions, she''d start crying too.

    Heartsong reached over, closing Lane''s eyes, before pulling her nket up to cover her face.

    "Rest in peace, Samantha Lane. You... you were cool."

    Selvia hurried over to Dessi, embracing her tightly. "Ohhh, everythin''s gonna be alright, little one."

    Despite the obvious height difference between the tiny elf and an above-average-height ''humie'' woman, Dessi epted the hug.

    ...Was it really going to be alright, though?

    "How''s Barnes?" Zash said as she massaged the bridge of her nose.

    Heartsong''s long ears twitched, "She''s breathing, Zash... and her mana''s still stable-- thank the stars."

    "N-no, it''s okay," Dessi said as she pushed Selvia away. "I was ready for this-- I mean... when Laney got hurt... we all knew that we weren''t equipped to fix that kind of injury."

    Heartsong looked away, biting her lip. Was she feeling guilty? Zash wondered if this was the elf''s firstbat, after all.

    "Dessi..." Zash said, "Can you still go on? We need your powers."

    "Y-yeah... I can still fight," She said. "Just... just give me a few minutes. Once I... can ?Stealth Bubble? again... once I... once..."

    Selvia pulled Dessi close once again, "When yer ready to go, child... we stop waitin'' fer the reaper and we start sendin'' folks his way."

    ...

    ? Some timeter... ?

    "Here. Drink this."

    "Oh, how sweet. But no, I''m alright, darlin''."

    "Selvie... please."

    Heartsong''s voice was barely a whisper, but it screamed of sincerity.

    Or was it... desperation?<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Well, shucks. If y''make that kinda face, then I guess I can''t say no, can I?"

    That was Selvia''s voice.

    Zash heard the pop of a bottle cork.

    Then, there was the quiet glug of someone drinking.

    "Mm. I was expectin'' somethin'' warm on ount of yer-- you know."

    "Oh, sorry. I didn''t make this."

    "You didn''t? But isn''t this... a Moonwell recipe? Tastes almost exactly like somethin'' I had when I was younger."

    "It... it is, but--"

    "Well, I don''t wanna sound ungrateful-- but stars and stones, girl. How did you get this?"

    Zashleigh grit her teeth and shook her head. She had gotten distracted. As interesting as the conversation between Selvia and Heartsong was, Zash had a mission.

    It wouldn''t be wrong to say that the entire operation hinged on her sess.

    That is... the entire offensive would be ground to a screeching halt if she couldn''t perform.

    Throughout her adult life-- over a period spanning years, (years that probably should have been the best years of a young woman''s life,) Zash had been preparing to ?Spellbreak? dragon magic.

    She ced her calloused hand at the center of thergest Spell Circle.

    She took a breath... steeling her spirit.

    And sweeping her arm down in a swift motion, she broke--

    ...one of her fingernails.

    Zash smacked her forehead against the wall.

    Selvia found the formation, actual. Like she said, there were enemies patrolling the area.

    Zeta Squad engaged with the soldiers of City-State Making... men and women that were supposed to be theirpatriots.

    Spells were cast. Lives were lost-- thankfully, none of them Witches.

    If all went well, Lane would be the only one...

    The corner of the dragon formation was scrawled on the inside wall of an evacuated pottery shop. The Witches of Zeta Squad secured the windows and exits and Zash was given all the time in the Realm to do what she needed to do...

    It took her over ten minutes to parse even a single function.

    She thought she was better than that.

    It... hurt... so very much that she wasn''t.

    The runes were familiar to her-- with a few exceptions, but none of the lines made any coherent sense.

    ording to Zashleigh''s limited knowledge... the formation she beheld should have been inert. It shouldn''t have worked. It should have been a joke-- the scrawlings of an illiterate manchild.

    Yet... the formation was unmistakably active.

    Thus, she had to make *several* educated assumptions about *multiple* lines of script based on her *rudimentary* understanding of formations at their most *basic* level.

    Thankfully, hertest failure had a silver lining. By a stroke of luck, Zash had attempted to modify a single, inessential sequence.

    --which failed. It failed to the point where she was f*cking bleeding.

    But with that, she was able to discard two of her five assumptions.

    --and from the best of what remained... was the notion of the formation being a redundancy array.

    If she was right, the pottery shop wall served as a non-integral support of Making''s innermost defensiveyer.

    Zash flipped through her notes like a madwoman, reading and re-reading the runes she''d tranted thrice over.

    Five?

    Five.

    The innermostyer was supported by five mirrored arrays... at most.

    In theory, though, those arrays were equidistant from a central terminal. If Zash could get ess to that, she was... at least 30% confident that she could shut down the formation in its entirety.

    The MMDS of City-State Making... the crowning achievement of a hundred or more techno-magically adept geniuses over the course of thest decade...

    --and Zash was about to make it her f*cking B*tch.

    (B*tch with a capital B.)

    And THEN, she''d get some sort of medal-- for sure!

    President Be would give it to her, naturally-- and the Commander would be in attendance.

    The Sol Invictus Commander... the President''s former employer...

    Maybe that person would be impressed? Zash was fairly certain that the current her was equal or better than the Be of the Ezyrian Arena.

    But catching the Commander''s eye was only the beginning. From there, the pressure would only increase as she continued to strive for excellence.

    Then... once enough living legends knew her name... she would be legendary, herself.

    Zash clenched her eyes shut.

    Though she could dream as she liked, it did nothing to change her immediate situation.

    She couldn''t do a damn thing with the glyphs in front of her.

    --but that didn''t mean they were useless.

    The formation had one more secret it was keeping from her... if it was even there, to begin with.

    The Central Terminal...

    If Zash could find that... if she could glean even the tiniest hint on where to find it... that could bring her one step closer to her goal...

 Chapter 982 Wind Whisper

    Moving a human body was a difficult task-- especially without the use of magic... or... some kind of... humie-movie tool.

    Coraline Heartsong decided to take a short break, taking a few deep breaths and rotating her back.

    On a normal sun, Making''smercial district should have been filled with colorful citizens from across the Realm, shopping from equally colorful market stalls selling various things... also... from across the Realm.

    How she saw it, though... every building, from the walled and pired to the quaint and cobblestoned had ben abandoned. The streets were covered in market goods, debris, and detritus, and the whole area was nketed with a thin, orange haze of magical smoke.

    Breathing in too much of that stuff would most definitely cause health problems for her,ter on in life.

    Coraline stared nkly past the building rubble and randomly discarded pieces of clothing.

    ...There was still another half-block to the alleyway. There, she would find a decently hidden ditch where Zeta Squad had been dumping the bodies.

    "Huh, where''d you find that one?"

    Coraline felt her ears twitch. The voice belonged to Decemberleigh Gilchrist, her immediate Senior.

    She put on a smile that probably looked as fake as she felt, "Senior Gilchrist. A little help?"

    "Grhhh," The woman growled as she looked away.

    Coraline almost thought the woman was going to ignore her... but after a moment, she walked up and took hold of the corpse by the knees. Together, they took the body the rest of the way, hiding it properly from the sight of enemy patrols.

    "I found him a block over, already injured," Coraline said. "probably trying to head back to their checkpoint."

    "And why didn''t you burn his face off?" Gilchrist said with a grimace. "And the rest of him too? It would''ve saved us some work."

    Coraline took a deep breath and sighed, "I used ?Mana Bullet? instead of ''Face-Be-Gone,'' because I was trying to be discrete."

    Coraline was most practiced andfortable with fire magic. Not that fire Spells were inherently subtle, but since she contracted with Beatrice...

    ?Face Be Gone?-- not that that was the name of any of her Spells, would most certainly give away her (and her squad''s) position.

    ...Thinking on it, it would probably be worse than she could possibly imagine.

    ? bored ?

    Beatrice was bored.

    Nothing good cane from a fire elemental who was bored.

    ? y? ?

    "Soon enough, little one," Coraline muttered.

    Zeta Squad was upying a point of interest, so morebat-- and spicier than what had already gone down was inevitable.

    Beatrice would get to figuratively stretch her wings soon enough.

    --maybe her literal wings, too? Her preferred form seemed to be a mix of a fire imp and a four-winged pixie?

    "You say something, newbie?" Gilchrist asked. "Sorry, but I''m not really in the mood to fight with you."

    "I didn''t say anything," Coraline lied.

    She directed Gilchrist''s attention toward the body, "Did you see the arrow? Think it could''ve been Selvia?"

    "...Yeah, probably." Gilchrist nodded, "I think that''s the same type of feathers Selvie uses."

    Coraline cursed in her mind.

    Selvia''s injury wouldn''t worsen naturally-- especially after drinking a high-quality healing potion.

    If she was recklessly using her bow, though...

    Gilchrist adjusted her hat, "C''mon, newbie. Let''s head back and tell the others-- they''ll be d to hear an update about the both of you."

    "Yeah... alright," Coraline nodded as she hurried to match Gilchrist''s long-legged pace. "Speaking of updates, how''s Zash?"

    "Hasn''t left the formation room," Gilchrist shrugged. "Probably doesn''t even know that Selvia left."

    "Yeesh," Coraline grimaced. "It''s been-- what, like two bells?"

    "Whatever Selvia''s doing," Gilchrist frowned, "there''s been no signs of the enemy besides the one."

    "Yeah..." Coraline said, staring off into the distance.

    Behind them, lying in an open ditch were 21 bodies, two full patrols and a lone scout. It was safe to assume that the enemy knew something was wrong.

    Selvia volunteered herself to direct the enemy''s attention elsewhere.

    She had the skill to do it-- no one questioned that.

    ...but it was a risk, all the same.

    "I just don''t like that she''s out there, alone," Coraline sighed.

    "No one likes it," Gilchrist said, sharing in the sigh. "It just makes sense, though. Whisperwind has the speed and stealth to do what she does-- and kick ass at the same time. I''d have loved to go with her to provide support, but obviously, I''m more useful here, keeping our little temp base hidden."

    Coraline pursed her lips to the side, "I was surprised-- and still kinda am, actually... Knowing you, I figured you would''ve wanted to back Selvia up, wands zing."

    "Nah. That was more Laney''s thing," Gilchrist shrugged. A half-smile crossed her face.

    It was hard to smile, considering the circumstances.

    "--and Zash would''ve probably had something to say about it," Gilchrist added. "But speaking of our squad leader, how is she not done by now?"

    "What she''s doing takes time," Coraline said in a soft voice. "Did you take Intro to Spellbreaking?"

    "You serious?" Gilchrist said with a pout, "I failed basic Necronomics. I''m too stupid to take Intro to Spellbreaking."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Yeah, well, okay. I''m technically mid-course in it, and--"

    "Ugh. Nice flex, newbie," Gilchrist groaned, rolling her eyes.

    "Right-- so basically the stuff Zash is doing is... crazy difficult," Coraline said... "It''s like... trying to argue with someone in a differentnguage-- except you can''t speak thatnguage and you can barely read the words."

    "Oh, wow," Gilchrist replied. "Your analogy... really sucks."

    "The situation," Coraline said in a t voice, "really sucks."

    "You make it sound like she''s trying to do the impossible," Gilchrist red.

    "What I''m trying to say is that Zash is trying to engineer a miracle," Coraline said with a small frown. "So let''s be--?"

    Patient?

    Coraline didn''t finish her sentence; her left ear twitched, just a tiny bit.

    She''d heard a sound, barely perceptible, even for her.

    "Yo, newbie," Gilchrist frowned. "What''s wrong?"

    "Someone''s here-- in our perimeter."

    "Oh, right," Gilchrist mumbled back, "Elven ears. You heard footsteps?"

    Coraline gave her senior an awkward smile, "I heard... the wind?"

    Gilchrist returned a look of disbelief-- maybe suspicion. But thankfully, that look was soon reced by hopeful curiosity.

    "Maybe you heard it whispering?" She smirked, "Let''s go check."

    "Uh," Coraline pouted, "But won''t we bete for--?"

    "It''s fine~ Quick and careful, Heartsong," Gilchrist waved. "Don''t need to stick to the rules *all* the time."

    Coraline pursed her lips... worried both about the situation and the two women she could basically call friends.

    They were almost back to camp. Their original *intention* was to go back to camp and check in for everyone''s peace of mind.

    But... Coraline judged it best to give in to her senior''s selfishness.

    Gilchrist needed to be distracted-- and it would be best to be distracted by something not mission-rted.

    Senior Witch Gilchrist was the best mour Mage in the Tower, save maybe President Be. But while she could hide an entire squad of girls from literal dragons--

    Ah. No. Not dragons.

    The giant, scaled monsters patrolling the streets of Making were just big, dumb lizards.

    Anyroad, Gilchrist could hide people just fine. But people weren''t made to hide their emotions.

    Her best friend had died only a few bells prior. They were in the middle of hostile territory, performing a mission that was potentially impossible toplete. And, of course, they were cut off from any support.

    Coraline furrowed her brows in thought, all while absentmindedly following her humanpanion''s clumsy footsteps.

    The more she thought about it... the more she realized that *she* should have been a lot more concerned than she was.

    ? is near ?

    ? make safe ?

    ? call name? ?

    A tiny, but appropriately fiery voice in her head babbled away.

    How mysterious~

    Coraline wanted to ask who Beatrice was referring to-- but didn''t want to give Gilchrist anything toin about. ''Girl who talks to herself'' wasn''t a good look.

    "Whisperwind!" Gilchrist called out-- just short of shouting, "Stars and stones, she''s hurt! C''mon, Heartsong."

    Coraline snapped out of her line of thought. She and Gilchrist had reached the edge of the perimeter. They were close enough that Gilchrist''s ?Stealth Bubble? would still do its thing... but if a full squad of bad guys showed up...

    --well... a whole host of bad things could happen.

    Selvia of House Whisperwind came into view, high above, atop a two-story building.

    Suddenly and without warning, she jumped.

    It might have been concerning for... probably anyone but her, but even Gilchrist wasn''t surprised.

    Selvianded soundlessly, in a low crouch... but, oddly enough, did not move from her awkward position.

    "Whisper-- bah! Selvia, what happened!"

    As soon as Gilchrist reached Selvia, she wrapped her arms around her. Elves tend to be on the shorter side, especially whenpared to humans, so despite Selvia''s long legs, the pair looked like a mother and child despite their age difference.

    But... something was off.

    Coraline did have a suspicion, though.

    Selvia, like her family name might have suggested, was loved by the wind. She loved to dance and sing and jump around like a madwoman.

    It was normal for a woman like her to jump off a building.

    ...It was just a bit weird that she did it without even a single aerial cartwheel.

 Chapter 983 Crossbow Injury

    Selvia opened her mouth to speak.

    Eventually... and seemingly with great difficulty, she managed to force out two words.

    "Was... attacked," she said.

    Her voice was so small, Coraline Heartsong almost questioned her identity. That charming East-Stateswoman drawl was unmistakably her, though.

    Illusion-type magic tended to be one-dimensional, usually focusing on vision-- so Coraline ruled that out (mostly.)

    But she still needed more information...

    Gilchrist said Selvia was hurt?

    ...At first nce, she didn''t have any obvious injuries. A scar remained on her exposed shoulder from where she was hit by a magic bolt, even after being magically treated.

    The scar...?

    Coraline furrowed her brows.

    The scar was exposed...

    Earlier that sun, Selvia said the injury was still sore. She bandaged it up, so the pressure would keep the swelling and subsequent pain in check.

    "Who attacked you, Selvia?" Gilchrist said. She knelt down and gently shook the Whisperwind, "Hey, focus on me. I''m here. You''re safe now..."

    Gilchrist was, by all ounts, the better woman. While Coraline was busy looking for ws and inuracies that logically shouldn''t have existed, ''Dessi'' was merely concerned.

    That girl tended to make a mockery out of anything and everything she came across... but in the worst moments, she could only be kind.

    ...Selvia''s eyes were unfocused. She was slouching and both her arms hung limply at her side.

    ...Her voice was quiet.

    Then, there was the fact that... earlier, the footsteps of a wind-blessed elf were almost as loud as Gilchrist''s.

    "Selvie," Coraline whispered.

    Selvia slowly turned towards her, her ssy eyes still unable to focus.

    "C... oraline."

    Coraline quickly walked forward, forcefully grabbing Gilchrist''s arm. The taller and stronger woman stood up and let herself be pulled away-- likely due to the surprise.

    Selvia stayed where she was, sitting on the cobblestones, staring into herp.

    "What the-- Heartsong, what''s going on?" Gilchrist asked.

    She didn''t sound upset, at least. She sounded confused... and tired. So basically, she sounded like Coraline felt-- most all the time.

    Coraline took another step back, pushing her senior behind her.

    "Selvie... where are your earrings?"

    "Oh, you''ve got to be joking," Gilchrist growled. "What''s so special about an earring or two?"

    "Took... ''em off," Selvia muttered.

    Coraline grit her teeth.

    She was mentally prepared for a whole host of things to go wrong in Making... death by Divine Armor, sted by lizard-fire, or even put down by the ssics: sword, shot, or smashy thing.

    But the current situation...

    "Gilchrist," She said. "Withdraw to camp. Tell everyone we''re under attack-- Zash, too."

    "Wait, wait--" Gilchrist said, shaking her head, "What? Why?"

    "Just go!" Coraline shouted.

    "I am *not* leaving you, newbie!" Gilchrist growled back, "Whatever''s going on, it''ll be safer if we stick together."

    That... woman... was the most frustrating woman Coraline had ever met.

    When something obscenely out-of-the-ordinary was going on, getting reinforcements made *sense*!

    Still, Gilchrist wasn''tpletely in the wrong. Standard operating procedure dictated they stick together-- to protect each other.

    --to better ensure at least one of them made it back.

    Coraline took two careful steps to the side, taking care to not let Selvia escape her view-- and making sure she could quick-draw her wand if she needed.

    "Why did you take off the earrings, Selvie?!"

    "Heh... heh... They''s... were humie-made," Selvia sighed. "Ugly... pieces... o'' junk."

    "What''s... wrong with her?" Gilchrist whispered.

    It took until ''creepyugh'' for that woman to figure out there was a problem. Coraline was still upset, but was at least d she and Gilchrist were finally on the same page.

    "Selvie!" Coraline shouted... but, because it was suddenly harder to breathe, she softened her voice to above a whisper...

    "Selvie... you know, don''t you? --that you''re under the effect of a Domination Spell?"

    Selvia''s body trembled, shivering like someone hit her with a bucket of ice water.

    Then... she nodded.

    She was crying-- or at least tears were running down her face. It might have been from the mental strain, her suppressed fighting against the magic controlling her body. It might have been out of regret, for falling into the enemy''s trap.

    ...Or it might have been from fear, knowing that now that the enemy took hold of her mind... they would never give it back.

    "You... you''ve gotta be f*cking kidding me," Gilchrist said.

    Considering Selvia''s state, it was highly possible that the pottery shop had beenpromised. In the worst-case scenario, the enemy also knew the contents of their mission.

    The likelihood of Zeta Squad''s sess and survival was growing slimmer with each passing moment...

    Coraline closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was onest question-- one that she didn''t want to ask, but one she very much needed to.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Selvie... how many areing?"

    A weak, breathless giggle emanated from Selvia''s throat... "All of them."

    Suddenly, a deafening boom rolled across the city streets. The cobblestone road cracked in several ces, as well as various walls of the nearby buildings.

    Though her ears hurt like crazy, Coraline was relieved by the fact that the rest of the squad would be put on high alert because of it.

    People were screaming in the distance.

    They were dying screams-- the sound of men and women burning to death.

    Coraline was d she wasn''t there to witness the activation of her and Beatrice''s ?Fire Pir? Formations. She was confident in the work-- confident enough that she shuddered to think of the efficacy.

    ? trap path? ?

    ? trap path~ ?

    There were only so many traps, though, which were definitely not enough for ''all of them.''

    Coraline would have loved to begin sprinting like crazy back toward camp... if it weren''t for Gilchrist.

    "Why''d you do it?! Spit it out, B*tchwhisper!!!"

    It was... almost surreal. If Selvia hadn''t been mind-controlled... or even if Selvia had allowed the mind-control to influence herpletely, Gilchrist would have been on the ground with one broken limb and two stab wounds, minimum.

    Instead, Coraline watched as the very human Decemberleigh Gilchristnded two solid punches on the sharp cheekbones of a defenseless Elven woman.

    Selvia didn''t even flinch each time she was hit. She stared nkly, though the tears continued to flow.

    Coraline nearly lost her bnce as another series of ground-shaking magical sts rumbled beneath her feet.

    That wasn''t her magic, though.

    Those sounds, the mana wafting through the air, even at a distance- she''d experienced them before, during training. It was the Sapphire Tower''s defensive emcements,

    She had a bad feeling... that those heavy-duty evocation Spells might have been targeting something that no longer deserved to exist.

    Coraline dashed over to Gilchrist, grabbing at her wrist, "We gotta go. Now. Stop it-- or so help me~"

    "Grrr! No! We stay!" Gilchrist shouted as she snatched her wrist back, "We''ll hold the line here."

    "Um, sorry?" Coraline squeaked in ab-so-lute disbelief, "What? Why??!"

    "Think about it," Gilchrist exined-- oddly calm, "Zash needs time. Our defenses will hold alright-- especially if we, the stealth specialist and the girl from Evocs, engage in hit-and-run tactics."

    Coraline rolled her eyes, "You''re making all this up-- right now. Also, this sounds like a Lane n, NNnnot a Gilchrist n!"

    "No, seriously!" Gilchrist argued, "Selvia said *all of them!* That means we should do everything we can to support the others. And *you* work way better as an active defense than a defensive-defense! AND, like I said earlier, my magic can--"

    "It''s a dumb idea!" Coraline barked.

    "You''re a dumb idea!" Gilchrist shot back.

    "Stars and suspenders, Dessi," Coraline screamed, "would you just-- DODGE!!"

    The *thunk* of a crossbow rang out as she pushed Gilchrist away. Coraline had barely seen the glint of chain armor, right before the shot-- it wasn''t enough time.

    "?Fire Bolt: Gamma Pattern?"

    ? righteous fire ?

    Without wasting any *more* time, Coraline grabbed her senior''s wrist and thus began the sprinting.

    There were at least three enemies in the nearby alleyway-- Making''s soldiers, armed and unfortunate.

    The first crossbowman was the target of Coraline''s Spell.

    She could tell it was a man by his screams. And she could tell how effective her Spell was by the volume and perceived level of agony.

    But the reason Coraline had to run her senior so hard and so fast was Gamma Pattern''s secondary effect... signified by a fiery *praufff* sound.

    The explosion was designed to spread out thick fire mana, its consistency like... molten jelly. It stuck to walls and clothing. It burned, real bad.

    If there were more than 3 people in that alleyway... they were no longer a threat to Zeta Squad.

    But there were more alleyways... and, if logic followed, even more enemies.

    Neither Coraline''s ?Fire Bolt? nor the fireteam of men and women quickly burning to death were quiet urrences.

    Those enemies woulde-- and quickly.

    It was then that Coraline heard a piercing shriek cut through the air.

    It was... a low, gutwrenching roar, yet a chilling, high-pitched scream that stuck to the upper-inside of her ears.

    If she didn''t know any better... she would have identified it as... a Dragonroar.

    Coraline thought she saw a sh of purple in the hazy clouds over her squad''s position.

    The first emcement stopped firing.

    They had another one-- but Coraline wasn''t confident in that fact being urate for much longer.

    Coraline turned to her senior Witch, "Dessi, are you hurt?"

    "Y-yeah," She groaned. "It hurts like-- hells."

    Gilchrist was shaken and her face had paled. It wasn''t because of the run-- the woman''s long legs made her one of the better runners in the whole Tower.

    It was then that Coraline realized that Gilchrist had one hand pressed against her ribcage.

    ...and that hand was stained in blood.

    ",

 Chapter 984 Cauterize

    ? "I need to see it," Coraline Heartsong told her senior.

    "And I need to *not* bleed out," Gilchrist said with a whimper.

    "Move your hand," Coraline ordered-- "but carefully."

    "Ergh... Alright."

    There was arge gash in the side of Gilchrist''s coat... but thankfully, the actual injury wasn''t as bad as Coraline feared. The crossbow bolt from earlier had just grazed her.

    "Newbie!" Gilchrist yelled, "G-go ahead and cauterize it!"

    "What?"

    "Do it! I can take it! I have the BALLS!!"

    Coraline pursed her lips, "Yeah, I''m not gonna do that. You''ll be fine."

    Because of Gilchrist''s physique, the wound was already beginning to heal.

    "But it hurts so much!!!" she cried.

    "And so will cauterizing it!" Coraline argued.

    "I am your su-PErior!" Replied the indignant womanchild.

    "And I PASSED NECRONOMICS!!" Coraline countered.

    The ground shook again, interrupting the stupid argument between Coraline and a mour Mage who had, against ALL ODDS, failed the easiest course in the Tower!

    Somethingnded nearby.

    --and that *something*... was very, VeRyrge.

    Coraline quickly led Gilchrist into the closest building for cover-- or, rather, what was left of it.

    Then, she extended her senses toward where the enemy hadnded.

    Even at the distance, it was easy to sense...

    It felt... red... and... dense. And it also... burned... like an open me?

    Coraline was familiar with many types of fire, magical and non-magical. She considered herself a fire connoisseur of sorts.

    Yet... the thing thatnded wasn''t made of any fire that she knew. It was especially nothing like Beatrice-- and her fire-mana was as pure as newly-birthed mes from the ne of Fire, itself.

    And, even worse, while Coraline was trying to figure out the nature of the weird fire-abomination she was looking at... her ears twitched.

    She heard the shuffle of boots, quickly approaching.

    Coraline shut her eyes, cursing her luck underneath her breath.

    Running into another squad of Making troops was bad enough.

    ...But if that huge andrgely unfamiliar blob of mana was what she thought it was... this squad had a dragon.

    "Ho, what smells like cracklin''s? Haha! Check it out, boys! Someone''s smoked our elf."

    A round of viinousughter went off.

    There were at least 6 of them, but the lowugh of humans and elves and whatnot were nowhere near as intimidating as the distorted wheezing of a certain red-scaled behemoth.

    "No good, Sarge," Shouted a different voice. "The girl can barely breathe, much less talk."

    "Weird," The first voice said. "Now, I wanna say that our crispy elf is the b*tch responsible for toasting those other shmucks from ''Rare'' to ''Congrattions...'' But from my understanding, Mages that y with fire know how to *not* get burned."

    Listening to the Sergeant''s logic made Coraline absolutely furious.

    How was it that the enemy had so many smart people in charge?

    "Oi, keep your chin up, Newbie," Gilchrist whispered. "We''ll get through this."

    There were tears pooling at the corners of Coraline''s eyes; her senior didn''t realize that *she* was the reason for her depressive state!

    "EYES!" The enemy Sergeant yelled.

    ""OPEN!!!"" His squad responded.

    "EARS!!!"

    ""OPEN!!!""

    "And mind yer dispersion, y''all!" He ordered, "The enemy''s got AoE potential, so try and be smart about it!"

    "[STAND BACK,]" An echoey voicemanded, cutting through the chatter.

    "You heard ''im, boys and girls! Get some distance! Move, move, move!"

    Coraline clenched her eyes shut, trying to actively suppress her mana signature. ording to the lore and tradition, Dragons were magical beasts with uncannily keen senses. Thus, if the red dragon''s Metal-Rank was within one stage of hers-- or rather, Beatrice''s, then she and Gilchrist were doomed.

    Or if the red dragon was stronger... which, ording to lore and tradition, every dragon *absolutely* was... then the two of them were doomed even harder.

    The sound of a concentrated inferno burning Selvia to ash made Coraline''s stomach turn.

    "...Hey, Heartsong," Gilchrist said in a quiet voice. "I changed my mind."

    "About what?"

    "I don''t want my cut to be cauterized."

    "...Right."

    Gilchrist wiggled in ce, checking her gear before brandishing two wands-- one in each hand.

    "Things are lookin'' pretty bad, huh, Newbie?"

    Coraline nodded before doing simr, wielding her favorite wand in her main hand and a utility knife in her left. (The knife was more for aesthetics than anything else.)

    "Would you believe me if I said I''ve survived worse?"

    "Psh," Gilchrist scoffed. "No. No, I would not. Wanna do it the Laney way?"

    "Hmph, alright," Coraline smirked. "Blood and thunder?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    The phrase brought a frown to Gilchrist''s face, "Who says that?"

    "N-nevermind," Coraline said, bowing her head.

    She stood up, wand pointed forward. Quickly identifying six targets, she made a few manual adjustments to the Spell before running it through her wand.

    "?Fire Bolt: Beta Pattern!?"

    Six spiraling arrows of me sped towards their bewildered, chain and leather-d targets.

    A lizard stood amongst them, four-legged, with crimson outer-scales and a golden belly. It stood about 13 fulms high-- not including its tail, but including its long snake-like neck. Maybe it was a younger lizard... but whatever it was, it seemed just as surprised to see Coraline.

    --or maybe the six dudes taking ?Fire Bolts? to the face were more surprised?

    "What the f*cking F*CK did I say about DISPERSION!?!" A certain Sergeant shouted.

    Some of the crossbowmen aimed down their sights to fire back. Some of the smarter ones were running to find cover.

    "Honor and glory!!" Gilchrist sprinted out of cover, sliding in the rubble before turning and activating her wands, "Eat sh*t and die, you Making bastards!"

    That was not how the Sapphire Tower motto went.

    The warcry did have a certain ring to it, though.

    Gilchrist shot off several ?Mana Bullets? and what Coraline identified as a modified and weaponized version of the ?Leap? Spell. There was one casualty, which was a nice bonus-- but Gilchrist was casting so many Spells in session as a distraction.

    Coraline had quickly carved a Spell Formation in the road as best as she could. If she was at the temp base, she would have had ess to various Spell reagents for stability or power. But because she wasn''t, she was forced to use her wand as the ritual''s primary focus.

    The problem was... her wand had a strong affinity for fire. Its effectiveness would be almost nil on a red-scaled lizard-- a creature with a *notoriously* high affinity to fire. Thus, Coraline had-- in what pathetically limited time she had, reworked a Spell that would st a tunnel of hot air at the creature.

    If sessful, it''d blow the lizard away, while also devastating any humanoids in its path.

    ...But because of the rework''s experimental nature, Coraline gave her and Gilchrist a 30% chance of survival.

    "Hey, you! How ''bout ya DO somethin'', HUHH?!?"

    Instead of aiming down the sights of his crossbow like an idiot, the Making Sergeant gave an... infuriatingly rationalmand to his dragon.

    That was not what Coraline wanted to hear.

    The lizard turned its serpentine neck... and honed in on where Gilchrist was taking cover.

    Coraline... found herself caught in that moment.

    She needed another 7 or 8 seconds toplete her Spell Formation... but could Dessi survive so many seconds of a concentrated Spellst? And from a magical beast as big as a house?

    Thinking logically, though... the lizard was the most powerful unit on the field. Completing the Formation would significantly improve the chances that Zeta Squad would at least survive the next bell.

    Gilchrist-- she''d understand. If she survived, she''d b*tch andin to no end... but she''d probably understand.

    --but by the time Coraline realized that, she had already changed her mind.

    "?Fire Colonnade!!?"

    Three rising pirs of whirling firestorms rose up to block the lizard''s vision.

    Coraline''s fire wand shattered-- which was something she was more than okay with. If she used her own mana circuits as a conduit, the resulting mana feedback might have put her in aa for a week.

    The lizard began to roar in frustration.

    "[YOU STUPID B*TCH! FIRE DOESN''T DO SH*T TO DRAGONS!!]"

    ...Well, yes.

    Coraline agreed with the notion. However, she was kind of offended that the red-scaled monster in front of her was so over-the-top rude.

    It made her not want to call it a dragon.

    It was just a big, dumb lizard.

    "[NOW... LET ME SHOW YOU WHAT REAL FIRE IS!]"

    Ah.

    It was a big, dumb, *angry* lizard.

    It was sudden-- but all of Coraline''s extraneous thoughts cleared out of her mind.

    She watched her hand move. She definitely willed it-- yet she was fascinated by it. It felt like she was watching an expert wlessly execute a practiced sequence of gestures.

    Quick. Clean. Without hesitation. She was casting a Spell that seemed to write itself.

    But it wouldn''t be enough.

    The lizard was mid-inhale.

    If Coraline had a few more seconds of time, a ?Fire Shield? would have been appropriate... but, assuming she was dealing with actual lizardfire, that wouldn''t nearly be enough.

    Beatrice was still focusing on powering the ?Fire Collonade?-- otherwise, she had more than enough magical *oomph* to fend off the beast.

    Coraline noticed she was biting her upper lip. She tasted blood.

    She was going to die.

    --though thinking on it, it wasn''t out of the ordinary for a Fire Mage to die in a ze of her own element.

    It was probably... expected of her.

    Coraline wondered...

    ...if, in the afterlife...

    --she''d see her boyfriend.

    ...So she could smack the sh*t out of him.

    Suddenly, a strong arm wrapped around her shoulders... and the scent of... lemon-herb shampoo filled her nostrils?

    "Brace yourself, Heartsong," said Zashleigh Yates, wearing a hero''s smile. "This is gonna hurt like a b*tch."

    ",

 Chapter 985 Only Human

    Coraline Heartsong had more-or-less epted her death or otherwise state of super-severe maybe-dying-would-be-better injury. But then Zash arrived.

    So... maybe death wasn''t a 100% guarantee?

    The dragon breathed.

    Zash stood fast, holding her shield out. She activated the protective runes engraved on its inside, then stacked two defensiveyers behind it.

    --and that was about the time Coraline realized that Zash had not, in fact, conjured Absorption-Type formations... nor Dispersion-Type ones.

    The magical barriers she quick-cast and reinforced... belonged to the Deflection-Type category.

    Thus, it turned one screaming elf and one unreasonably reckless human into a fast and fiery ball of death, hurtling through space, smashing into this building and that building.

    There was one nice thing that happened, though. Beatrice seemed to realize that they were in trouble, as there was an extrayer of fiery protection on top of Zash''s Spellyers.

    Dispersion-Type-- because she loved her contractor.

    And Coraline loved her even more, for it.

    The Witch-ball''s impact was... surprisingly soft (probably having something to do with Beatrice.) However, as the dust began to settle, Coraline was... fairly certain that they''d destroyed a two-story building carved out of solid stone.

    --one of those buildings that had probably been standing long before Making was a thing.

    "D... ?Dust Clear!?"

    There was wooden and fabric debris everywhere-- but most of it was vaporized either by force or me.

    Still, Coraline was careful to avoid anything sharp as she attempted to crawl out of the impact crater on her hands and knees.

    It might have been her fatigue, it might have been her nerves... or it might have been the journey of several hundred yalms in a scant few seconds. Whatever it was, she found her stomach and adjacent organs all rallying against her in discontent.

    And, though she was the queen of her body, she gave in to the wills of her denizens... projectile-vomiting onto the dirt and broken stone in front of her.

    "Yo... you-- you alive, Heartsong?"

    Zash''s voice came from behind... somewhere. She sounded just as miserable as Coraline felt.

    Coraline rocked back, sitting on her butt.

    The feeling of shock, a throbbing headache-- also, various aches and pains, all covered with a thick nket of sick confirmed that she was alive.

    Zashleigh also began to vomit from wherever she was.

    Somewhere behind, Coraline heard Zashleigh also vomiting.

    The colorful sounds made her gag, but Coraline held her breath to avoid puking again.

    "Still alive, Zash..." She said, taking care not to inhale... "somehow."

    This... was Coraline''s life. This is what it had be.

    Dead boyfriend.

    Middle of a battlefield, being hunted down by a giant lizard.

    Vertigo.

    Nausea, of course.

    Uniform covered in vomit-- which she felt extra guilty about, since it was a new set.

    It was bad... really bad.

    Of course, she *wanted* to cry.

    Coraline would have absolutely loved if she could have sat back, rxed, waited for reinforcements... all while crying a little-- or a lot.

    But... because life absolutely sucked, she did not have the luxury.

    She was the girl from Evocs.

    When ns went to shite... it was up to an Evoker to re-establish the status quo.

    So... she took a breath and wiped her budding tears. She cast a quick ?Cleaning? Spell on herself and another at Zash (while keeping out of projectile-vomit range.)

    And then she started brainstorming for a way they could both survive the next ten minutes...

    ...

    Zashleigh Yates heard a *shwump* sound-- a bit muted, but the unmistakable sound of Dessi''s ?Blink?.

    "What--" Eximed Dessi, "What... kind of DRUGS is the newbie on that she can still be standing after getting hit by DRAGONFIRE?!?"

    "We did *not* get hit by the textbook definition of dragonfire," Heartsong said, unphased.

    "Uh, yeah," Dessi said in a t tone, "So I noticed that you didn''t explicitly deny--"

    "I''m not on any drugs, Gilchrist," Heartsong sighed. "I suspect that Zash did some major Spellbreaking, just now. It saved both our butts."

    That was her cue.

    Zash tried to move her body, to get up from where she''d copsed on a mound of dirt and debris.

    Pain coursed through her every nerve, threatening to rob her consciousness if she continued.

    So... she did not.

    "I... couldn''t Spellbreak the st," She managed to say.

    Talking-- it hurt a bit... but not so much as trying to move. She couldn''t quite understand why that was-- but that was her reality.

    "The dragonfire..." She continued, "It was... too fast... too..."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Furious?" Dessi suggested.

    "No, too... foreign."

    "But... but that''s crazy," Dessi said, her voice trembling with emotion. "So you just... used ayered Mana Shield??? Against a literal DRAGON?!?"

    Zash had no response for that. She was just as surprised that both she and Heartsong had survived. And it was baffling that the elf seemedrgely unaffected.

    "Did you at least use a Dispersion-Typeyer?" Dessi asked innocently.

    Zash did not. She didn''t have the confidence to speedily cast something soplex in such a high-stress situation.

    ...Thinking on it, her and Coraline''s survival was luck that bordered on miraculous. She would need some heavy-level mathematics to urately determine the force involved andpare it to the human/elf st threshold. But judging by how Zash felt, they had gotten precariously close.

    Heartsong cradled her head in thought, "If you didn''t use Spellbreak, then that means... No-- that could mean everything-- no... all I''m left with are more questions~"

    The girl then turned away, muttering to herself.

    Zash had heard rumors before that Heartsong talked to herself sometimes. There was a whole world inside that little girl''s head...

    Granted, talking out loud wasn''t so weird-- many Witches had worse quirks.

    The problem, however... was that Heartsong was *not* a scatterbrained dreamer.

    When taking her age into consideration, she was the smartest and most level-headed in the Tower.

    Whatever she knew... whatever she was hiding...

    --Zash wasn''t sure she wanted to know.

    She felt a hand rest on her forehead, cool-to-the-touch.

    Heartsong was examining her condition. It didn''t feel good as a squad leader to show weakness-- but Zash didn''t have the physical capacity to stop her.

    "Gilchrist, are we bubbled?" The elf girl asked with a stern expression.

    "Y-yeah," Dessi answered. "I made sure to shake up the surroundings, too. We have enough time for a breather, at least."

    Heartsong leaned forward, her voice a low whisper, "Zash, how bad is it?"

    "H-how bad is what?"

    "Don''t y dumb," Heartsong chided. "Not now."

    Zash closed her eyes.

    "I can barely move. The mission--"

    "--can wait," Heartsong said.

    The tone in her voice wasn''t something that could be argued against.

    ...But Zash figured if she could trust anyone in her squad to override hermands, it would be the sharp-eyed Coraline Heartsong.

    The two younger Witches helped Zash consume three vials of the Sapphire Tower''s finest. They did have a fourth, but Zash had to refuse. She could feel the icy bite of potion sickness at the edges of her Mana Heart... and it would only worsen as the sun went on.

    And for all that...

    Zash could sit up with her own power... and, if she really needed to, she was confident in limping or crawling a reasonably short distance.

    "The rest of the squad?" Heartsong asked.

    The question was... indirect, as if the girl feared the worst.

    "Braina was injured when a dragon hit the first emcement," Zash replied, "but everyone else should be fine."

    "So, like... with all due respect," Dessi began, "how could everyone be fine with a dragon involved?"

    Zash bit her upper lip, "After we lost the first, we overcharged the second emcement to shoot the enemy flier down. It was dangerous, but we managed to avoid any more casualties with that."

    "How many lizards are in our area?" Heartsong asked.

    "We... couldn''t confirm the kill," Zash shook her head. "So there still could be two... the red one and--"

    "Purple McPurpleface," Dessi growled. "If I see him, I''m gonna jam an entire Shadow Spear up his--"

    "An encounter with a *single* lizard nearly killed us, Gilchrist," Heartsong scolded.

    "Truuuue," Dessi groaned.

    Heartsong shook her head... "Zash... I think I know the answer already, but... do you have the Comms Crystal?"

    Zash felt a stab of painnce through her heart, "It''s... back at the pottery shop."

    Heartsong''s grimace cut even deeper, but she nodded in understanding, "One of the other girls probably took it, I''m sure... but without the crystal, all three of us need to pay attention for any short-distance Comms."

    "Ah, right. I have a question," Dessi said, pursing her lips. "Now, I''m super grateful to you-- me and the newbie both are, for sure. But Zash... what the flying f*ck is going on inside that skull of yours to LITERALLY. DIVE. INTO. DRAGONFIRE???!!!"

    Zash clenched her eyes shut. On top of the dull, constant physical and emotional pain she was feeling, her ears were literally ringing from Dessi'' shouting.

    "Look, I get that you''re SUUUPER smart!" Dessi yelled, "And your grades and physical tests are SUUUUPER PERFECT, but stars and stones, b*tch, you''re just as human as we are!"

    Heartsong raised her hand, "Senior Gilchrist."

    "YOU know what I mean, moshi moshi B*TCH!" Dessi yelled.

    Ohhh, she was mad~

    Heartsong put her hand down, "D-disregard."

 Chapter 986 Burst Flare

    Zashleigh Yates grit her teeth. She didn''t want to answer.

    However, Dessi continued to re at her intently. It looked like she wasn''t going to let her off so easily.

    "Like... I get it," Dessi said in a softer voice. "Things are pretty bad. We''ve lost some loved ones-- and they''re noting back. But, Zash, we *have* to focus on surviving."

    "I know," Zash said, shaking her head... "I know."

    Dessi was right.

    It was... an odd realization, but Dessi''s personality fit the squad leader role more than Zashleigh''s.

    She genuinely cared for all the girls in Zeta Squad.

    The Sapphire Tower promoted based on test scores. Zashleigh was the best of the best. Heartsong was the best of her generation.

    Based on Dessi''s academic performance, the best she could hope for was a promotion from Senior Witch to Senior Citizen.

    Zash thought, though... that maybe... if everyone survived, the functionality of that system would have to be re-evaluated.

    Zash took a moment to gather her thoughts... during which time, Dessi sat beside her, waiting patiently.

    "I was hoping," Zash began, "that analyzing the dragonfire would give me a clue on that Formation we saw-- y''know? So we couldplete our mission?"

    "And did it?" Asked a very judgmental Decemberleigh.

    Zash did learn something from the ordeal. The glimpse of dragon magic she saw, she was confident in replicating-- and using the same script she saw at the pottery shop.

    That meant the problem wasn''t the encryption... nor was it in her initial analysis.

    The problem remained with her.

    She couldn''t read the script. She couldn''tprehend even a single sequence.

    "I didn''t get shite," Zash admitted.

    "Alright," Dessi frowned. "New n, then."

    She pped her fist against her open palm, "If we can''t do it the sneaky way, let''s do it the Evocs way."

    Zash narrowed her eyes, "''Cast first, ask questionster'' doesn''t work if everyone on the field is a smoking corpse-- including us."

    "Trust me," Dessi grinned, "I''ve seen what the newbie can do. She''s, like, ridiculously strong-- like, if I didn''t know any better, I''d think she was a Veteran Witch."

    Zash felt a shiver go down her spine. ording to her official documentation, Heartsong was young, especially for an elf; she was younger than half of the girls in the squad. Yet... her unppable nature had shown forth throughout the entirety of the mission.

    If it wasn''t *just* an elf thing... what had that girl been through?

    Still, Zash shook her head.

    "No, let''s not."

    "Wh-what? But why?" Dessi argued, "Is it because this sounds like a Lane n?"

    Zash pursed her lips, "It''s because I can barely walk, much less triple-cast a ?Shield? strong enough to stop mythical beastie breath."

    "Then we just have to *dodge* it!" Dessi suggested.

    "You''re on drugs, girl. That''s the stupidest, f*cking--"

    "We can totally do it!" Dessi insisted, "Come on, we''re fighting like-- a baby dragon? Maybe? It''s got some power, yeah-- but its breath weapon doesn''t even burn properly!!"

    Doesn''t even burn properly? What did that *mean*?

    "So what I''m hearing is that you want to burn to death like a *proper* witch?" Zash groaned.

    ? he''s here ?

    What the...?

    Zash narrowed her eyes, having sensed something.

    It was unfamiliar... yet it was also...fortably warm?

    It told her... that something had arrived? Or was present?

    --and that it was a man?

    "W...whoa," Dessi said in a soft voice. "Zash, did you... feel that just now?"

    And Dessi felt it too? That meant Zash didn''t just imagine it.

    But before she could further process that information, a loud explosion rang in her ears-- its source, ufortably close.

    Heartsong?

    Zash spun about to face the elf.

    She was holding her right arm up to the heavens, fingers syed. Above her, a bright beam of light lit pin-pointed their location.

    "B... burst re?" Dessi muttered.

    ?Burst re?? It was a mid-level utility Spell developed for ground teams to signal their location to a rescue flight.

    But... the three of them were still in the middle of an activebat zone. Rescue forces couldn''tnd unless the LZ was clear?

    And... how did she even cast a Third-Circle Spell unaided?

    Zashleigh''s eyes shot open in realization.

    While she was arguing with Dessi, Heartsong had spent her time drawing a series of expansive Spell Circles.

    All that time... Heartsong was engineering their demise!

    Zash staggered over to the elf, grabbing her by the cor of her robes.

    "Girl... what... have you done?"

    Her ?Burst re? nullified any advantage Dessi''s ?Stealth Bubble? had granted. The signal was impossible to miss!

    Even if the rest of Zeta Squad converged on their position, so would *countless* more enemies...<novelnext></novelnext>

    AND.

    THEIR.

    DRA-GONS!

    "Whoa, whoa, whooooaaaa!" Dessi said, waving her hands. "Zash, let''s not go overboard, here!"

    "I sent up an emergency signal," Heartsong answered,pletely serious, "per standard protocol."

    "Yeah, Zash," Dessiughed nervously. "We''re totally in a state of emergency, in case you weren''t aware."

    "An emergency signal?!" Zash heaved, "Why?! Why would you think that was a good idea, when we are ACTIVELY being hunted by the armed forces of the most arcano-technologically advanced city in the Realm!!!"

    Suddenly, several cracks of thunder rang in Zash''s ears. A short distance nearby, several armed and armored humans began emerging from freshly-smoking craters.

    "Alright, aaaalright!!" Their leader eximed, "Party''s over, girls. Put your hands up, will ya? Let''s not make ourselves a scene!"

    He was holding a crossbow loaded with a glowing bolt.

    ...It was the disgusting bastard that injured Selvie.

    "Wait, what the f-- No!" Dessi screamed.

    "Huh?" The enemy squad leader furrowed his brows, "Whaddya mean ''no''?"

    "One does not simply... WALK through my Stealth Bubble!!" Dessi stRoNgly insisted.

    "Actually, yes, they can," Zash groaned. "Because Junior Witch *Heartsong* here just sent out an eMERgency signal!"

    Heartsong shook her head, "Again, Squad Leader, ording to standard operating procedure, our situation qualifies as an emergency."

    Dessi held her palm out, "Wait, hold on. It takes at least a Third-Circle Illumination Spell to counteract the effects of my Stealth Bubble. Are you telling me--"

    "While, yes, that''s true--" Zash countered, "If an intelligent enough squad leader were to spot the signal and were to calcte its--"

    "GIRLS!! Hey!" The man from Making shouted, "I''ve got a lethal f*cking weapon pointed at youse! And the safety''s off! Put your f*cking hands up, for f*ck''s sake!"

    "Oh,e the f*ck on, Squad Leader Yates," Dessi groaned, "Look at that guy. He''s like a f*cking monkey wearing chainmail."

    "The f*ck?" The leader cursed, before turning to one of hisckeys, "Hey. You. Can you hear me? Am I under a Silence Spell or some sh*t?"

    "Uh, I dunno, Sarge. I hear you just fine," They replied.

    "Yeah, s''what I thought," The Sergeant said. "Alright, girls,st chance! Surrender peacefully or we''re gonna--"

    "Oh, shut the hells up!" Zash shouted back. "We''re not f*cking scared of you, you disgusting pig!"

    "Yeah!" Dessi yelled, "F*cking pig! We could turn all you limp-dicked dragon-f*ckers into frogs with a wave of our wands!"

    It was about that time that a giant, all-too-familiar ball of mana descended through the smoky haze.

    It was the red dragon from earlier,nding gracefully behind the enemy squad, but with deep booms in respect to its weight.

    The Sergeant grinned, putting down his crossbow to point at the beast with his thumb.

    "So, tell me, Witch... does your frog magic work on one o'' these bad boys?"

    Zash turned back to Heartsong. She literally trembling with anger, "Do you see that, Newbie!?"

    Heartsong sucked in air through her teeth, "I see it, Squad Leader."

    "*Now* do you see why I''m upset?"

    "I do, Squad Leader."

    "I... really thought you were smarter than this, Heartsong. But, because of YOUR actions, you have summoned a f*cking DRAGON who is now going to KILL US!! Maybe even TWOOO dragons!! RE-SPOND!!!!"

    "I know, Squad Leader."

    "We don''t need a gods-damned rescue team," Zash snarled. "We need an aerial F*CKING BOMBARDMENT!!!"

    ...

    Coraline Heartsong nced up at the dusky, wartorn sky.

    She couldn''t see him, but Beatrice said he was there.

    That meant he was.

    It was weird that Squad Leader Yates didn''t notice the overge offensive magic formation being written against the backdrop of smoke.

    Coraline understood a bit, though-- a lot of crazy things had happened in the past few bells. Then, the deaths of Lane and Whisperwind would be felt long after the sun ended.

    Still, she wouldn''t apologize for casting ?Burst re?.

    She trusted that person.

    Or... she wanted to believe in him, maybe? Or maybe her bias made her spurn rationale for dumb, elf-brain optimism.

    Maybe it was unlike her-- unlike the type of girl she wanted to be to trust a guy who imed to be from Sol Invictus.

    [REA-DY!!!!]

    Coraline felt her ears twitch.

    That was strange. Her body reflexively responded to the mentalmunication, as if the actual sound vibrations existed.

    Herpanions didn''t seem to hear it? --but the message was weak and distorted, likely due to the distance.

    [CHAN-NELLL!!!!!!]

    Coraline dropped to a knee, mming both palms onto the road. The jagged cobblestones cut deep into her skin-- but that wasn''t important. Her ?Bombardment Shell? Formation wasplete and mana-tight, it just needed power.

    [Execute.]

    ",

 Chapter 987 Silver-Rank

    A river of stars, coursing through the dusky sky...

    So brilliantly, did they glow.

    But Coraline knew they were not stars.

    She could almost feel them... not hot and bright like the sun, but as cold as the snowy tide.

    The stars, they fell... to bless the dirt trodden upon by elf and man alike.

    The explosion shook the earth.

    The magic... brought fear.

    Coraline''s ?Bombardment Shell? was rapidly being drained of mana. She was terrified it would fail-- terrified she''d be permanently blinded or deafened or worse...

    Dessi was on her knees, adding her own power to the Formation. It also looked like she was yelling something.

    It might have been ''What''s going on?'' Or maybe it was ''What does this Formation even do?''

    Either phrase probably also came with a lot of expletives.

    Squad Leader Yates-- she just stared at the sky, her mouth wide open.

    The channeled magical overhead struck a cluster of buildings in the distance. Coraline couldn''t be sure where exactly that was... but she had to trust the judgment of the eye in the sky.

    After so many lifetimes in those brief seconds... all became silent once more.

    "No... that''s... insane..."

    The first Making soldier to recover was the human Sergeant. He took off his helmet, revealing a mess of brown hair as he stared into what had be a newly ttened horizon.

    "A single Spell..."

    Yeah. Channel formations were... kinda crazy.

    "With a... single Spell," The Sergeant said in a quiet voice, "you Witches just murdered... literally *thousands* of citizens sheltered in that bunker."

    Coraline sucked in air through her teeth. Even though she wasn''t the one who flicked the wand, hearing the outrageous assessment made her feel queasy.

    "Hey, Red. RED!!" The Sergeant shouted. "Talk to me, big boy! You gonna make it?!"

    A sudden sh of red moved from underneath a pile of rubble. From there, the scaled beast emerged, shaking the dust and rock off its body and serpentine neck.

    "[I''ll manage, Sergeant,]" the lizard replied, "[But it seems my--] GWOAAARRGGHHHH!!!!"

    Coraline''s eyes widened-- it took several seconds for her to realize why the beast was screaming.

    In... an instant, something else had fallen from the sky.

    And it wasn''t a star or a Spell...

    It was... a man.

    And it looked like he had plunged a... spear into the lizard''s back. The creature had been impaled below the neck, centered between its shoulders.

    "It''s *him,*" Zash said, sounding almost... angry?

    Coraline nced back to Squad Leader Yates.

    What was going through that woman''s mind?

    A reasonably-attractive guy with green hair had just fallen from the sky. With a single strike, he crippled a giant, very scary, magical lizard.

    And that man''s name was Tycon.

    Leader of Sol Invictus.

    --her dead boyfriend''s boss...

    --and, also, the Commander of the multi-national offensive warring against the lizards...

    "Isn''t that..." Started Gilchrist-- "the... hot guy? The one that''s always hanging around President Be?"

    That brought a frown to Coraline''s face-- but Decemberleigh Gilchrist was not a woman that could be reasonably expected to know things.

    "Tycon is *not* in a rtionship with President Be," Coraline insisted.

    "Oho? Gilchrist sneered, "you two are on a first-name basis?"

    "No f*cking way," Zash muttered in a high-pitched voice, "that... green-haired guy... is *your* boyfriend, Heartsong?"

    "Stars and stoooones!" Gilchrist eximed, "That makes SO much sense!"

    Coraline was going to correct them. They were both wrong. Inconceivably wrong. Maddeningly wrong!

    However, a deep and low ''pomp'' sound brought her attention back to their green-haired savior.

    Tycon was brandishing a wand, having just activated ?Mana Bullet? to put down one of the enemy soldiers. Then he began casting in rapid session. He burned through the Spells on his first wand, then immediately swapped to a wand of ?Swirling Shards?, and shortly after, he drew a wand of ?Bone Lance?.

    It was an awe-inspiring disy of wand familiarity and technique. Going through different-element wands so quickly, at medium-to-max efficiency, and without *exploding* was a feat that took a dedicated Caster *epochs* of theory and practical application to perform.

    And that guy did it in the field... and made it look *infuriatingly* easy.

    Very few of the remaining soldiers were fighting back. Most of them were just stumbling around, unaware of their surroundings. All of them had blood streaming from their ears.

    Coraline''s eyes drifted back to Tycon... and the lizard.

    That thing looked just about dead. It was lying on its belly with its long neck in an S-shape on the ground, its head partially buried by dirt and sand.

    Tycon leapt off of it,nding on its snout, then stomped on it a second time for emphasis. Then, for whatever reason, He emptied the remaining charges of his ?Bone Lance? wand-- another 6 casts, into the side of the lizard''s golden underbelly.

    That guy... he really didn''t like lizards.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "He... he''s not even saying anything," Gilchrist cooed. "He like-- literally saved us, too."

    Tycon then...unched the lizard away with a kick? Logically, it was probably some sort of mana-strike... or a specialized spell that moved heavy objects. The big hunk of mana and meat-- something upwards of several hundred ponze crashed into a spot that a few soldiers were using as cover.

    Those guys were almost certainly dead because of it.

    "That..." Zash muttered, "That is... so f*cking cool..."

    Coraline''s ear twitched hearing a mix of familiar ''bloop'' sounds, along with hurried footsteps and concerned voices.

    -- "Hey, we came as soon as we saw the signal."

    -- "Thank the heavens, you guys are okay!"

    -- "Seven hecks, who is that?"

    Relief flooded Coraline''s heart. The rest of Zeta Squad hade back, armed and ready for battle-- not that much battling was left to be done.

    And it looked like they entered the ?Bombardment Shell? with the help of a certain Barrier Mage.

    Barnes had regained consciousness and was standing with the help of two other girls.

    "It looks like you didn''t need us," She said with a soft shrug. "But who''s that green-haired Witch fighting by herself? Is she from Alpha Squad?"

    "He''s not a Witch," Zash said, her voice half-part annoyance, half-part disbelief.

    "Wait, that''s a guy?!" Barnes eximed.

    There was a round of ''oohs'', ''aahs'', and girlish squeaks.

    Coraline should have chosen that point in time to rectify the narrative.

    Instead, she stayed quiet and watched the spectacle that was Tycon. He had armed himself with a half-broken sword and a random brick and was in the process of embarrassing two professionally-trained men in mortalbat.

    "Y''all wanna know the best part?" Gilchrist said as she bounced in front of the rest of the squad.

    Of course, that was something none of the girls could refuse.

    "That guy," she pointed, "is none other than Heartsong''s boyfriend!"

    There were squeals-- annoying, uber-girly squeals of excitement... and a bunch of weirdments like, ''stars and stones you''re so lucky'' and ''how far have you guys gotten?''

    After that, Coraline obviously couldn''t vilify Gilchrist. She had already be some sort of weird heroine to the other girls.

    She did, however, absolutely need that line of thinking to stop.

    "Look," Coraline growled. "Our rtionship is-- it''splicated, okay? But Tycon and I--"

    There were more squeals. The squeals of nine different 19 to 20-something-year-olds had long destroyed any urgency Coraline originally felt.

    "We''re not romantically involved, okay!?" She shouted.

    The sound of thunking ss, someone knocking on the ?Bombardment Shell?, bid everyone to look towards its source.

    Tycon stood just on the other side.

    And for SOME REASON, UNDERNEATH HIS COAT, HIS SHIRT WAS UNDONE????

    Barnes... poor sweet Barnes. That girl fainted.

    Actually, since she was in a really bad spot, earlier, she might have literally died.

    A wave-- no, a sea of panic rushed into Coraline''s brain.

    Tycon... Did he... literally *kill* a woman by showing off his abs????

    "Coraline, to me."

    Three words. Tycon said three, very simple words... that really should not have been as provocative as it was.

    There were screams. There were stares of disbelief. Surely-- certainly-- abso-tively, poso-lutely, there were entire, full-on novels being written in the girls'' drama-loving brains.

    The chaos stopped, however, when Zashleigh limped forward.

    She took off her hat, standing almost equal height to Tycon... and she stood her ground.

    "I wanted... to thank you," She began, "Your assistance... couldn''t havee at a better time."

    Coraline narrowed her eyes. The notorious confidence she was used to seeing in Zash was... absent.

    There was a redness in Zash''s face, too. It might have been from her injuries. It might be from the magical haze in the air. But, whatever the case... it looked like Zash was blushing.

    Suddenly, though, Zash tried to reach out but was stopped by the magical barrier.

    "Watch out!!"

    Tycon didn''t flinch.

    Coraline saw the attack. It wasn''t particrly fast-- and Tycon''s reflexes were faster than hers!

    It made no sense! Why didn''t he move!?

    The Sergeant from before, the one with the crossbow, had appeared after activating some kind of magic or movement technique.

    And he was aiming right at the Commander''s head.

    ? "For the DRAGON KING!!!" He cried.

    ",

 Chapter 988 Gross Negligence

    Zash was screaming. Dessi was screaming.

    Coraline was pretty sure that she, herself, was screaming-- all while trying to quickly deactivate a defensive Formation designed with every single failsafe taught in the Sapphire Tower''s curriculum.

    There just wasn''t enough time, though.

    The barrier stayed on.

    The ''thnk'' of the crossbow went off.

    "NO!!!"

    Zash mmed her arms against the weakened ?Bombardment Shell?. The mana-strike shook the magic bubble violently, portions of it shing with hard light.

    Coraline felt sick as she stared helplessly through the glossy magical wall.

    The Sergeant''s enchanted bolt had lodged into Tycon''s skull.

    It was eerie to look at, as only the point went in, so nine-tenths of the shaft stuck out.

    But... Tycon didn''t fall over. He stood perfectly still, his head just slightly tilted to the side.

    The Sergeant lowered his crossbow, then slowly began to back away.

    "What the... what the hells is--"

    "?Spell-BREAK!!?"

    Squad Leader Yates finished her analysis of Coraline''s barrier, dramatically punching through. Countless, ss-like mana shards rained upon the Witches of Zeta Squad.

    Zash shot an open palm towards the Sergeant, grabbing onto her wrist with her other hand.

    "Dark Chains of S--"

    "Hold."

    Coraline furrowed her brow, absolutely certain she just heard Tycon''s voice. She was about to scan the area for magical effects-- but an ear-splitting screech captured her full attention.

    The Making Sergeant.

    It was a grisly sight.

    He had thrown his crossbow away and was iling his arms. He was wearing chainmail armor, but it was... rapidly eroding in parts, dissipating in a hazy smoke? Thin streams of blood dripped down his forehead-- down along his arms, face, and neck; every ce where his skin was exposed.

    He might have been screaming in agony. Sharp, high-pitched whines of super-heated metal searing and cutting flesh scraped the inside of Coraline''s sensitive ears.

    It was... magic she had never seen before.

    Spellbreaker Zashleigh might have; she was the foremost expert in the Tower on identifying major Spells and derivatives.

    Coraline turned to look at her Squad Leader, and... against all reason, Tycon was standing by her side.

    It was... a second Tycon? And this one didn''t have most of a crossbow bolt decorating his dome.

    He had one hand closing Zash''s forward fist and his palm on her stomach, just above her waist.

    Logically... (err, it became logical to Coraline only after, like, a second)-- Tycon had performed a perfect Spell interrupt. Further, the way he sealed her casting hand while simultaneously blocking her mana-flow fully prevented Zash from suffering mana feedback.

    Considering the state of Zash''s body, her charged emotions, *and* the blood drenching her casting hand... her Spell was likely to fail.

    ...and failing a high-level Spellcast would have had dire consequences for her and her mana circuits.

    All that meant... that Tycon was being incredibly considerate of her.

    But their position... was very, VeRy easy to mistake as a bit *more* than basic consideration.

    Coraline narrowed her eyes to thin, angry, little squints. She didn''t know why she felt so annoyed, but she did. She didn''t have a rtionship with Sir Tycon... but because of the circumstances, it looked like he was cheating on her.

    Was this the feeling of being cuckolded?

    Did that term even apply to her situation?

    All the other Witches-- they were gawking silently. Maybe some of them knew that Tycon was just being nice. There was nothing wrong with a guy being nice without any ulterior motive!

    ...But did it even matter?

    -- "Yooooo, didn''t Dessi say that was the newbie''s hot boyfriend?"

    -- "I don''t believe that for a second. Not just *any* guy can hang out with the Pres for so long without getting turned into a reptile of some kind."

    -- "So, like, I thought Zash wasn''t into guys? Was I the only one who thought that?"

    Most of the girls were looking at Coraline with sad expressions.

    They were wrong, though!! She wasn''t being cucked!

    Zash didn''t seem to notice. Her mouth was ajar and her pupils were super-tiny.

    What was her opinion on all this?

    "That... that''s the Hellish Rebuke Spell... a... temporary portal connecting to the Eternal Battlefield?" she said, "I... But he used all those wands... That means he can''t-- but he did?"

    Oh.

    Yeah, obviously, Zash would be thinking about magic. That was basically her entire life.

    "That''s... this guy''s Casting skills are in-SANE!!" Gilchrist eximed, "Newbie! Look! Check it out! The initial ''him'' was just a derivative of the Unseen Servant Spell! But I''ve never met anyone who had such control!"

    Coraline nced over, towards the first ''Tycon''. Its features began to... melt, ck fluid running from its surfaces, very much like ink. The dead Sergeant''s enchanted bolt fell, the shaft shattering upon hitting the ground.

    It wasn''t a testament of Tycon''s magical control. His shadow summon had achieved sentience.

    His name was Ishmael. He was cool.

    Coraline took a deep breath. She realized just how tense her entire body was... so she tried to rx.<novelnext></novelnext>

    --which was a mistake.

    Tears began to pool at the corner of her eyes.

    Tycon''s arrival had changed... everything.

    Because Coraline''s brain was no longer in need-to-survive mode, she was finally able to think about stupid things like why she was feeling jealous for no gods-damned reason and how cool it was to be friends with a sentient shadow-person.

    All the stress mounting like crazy over the course of the sun... started draining out of her eyes.

    But... that was fine.

    Everything... was going to be okay.

    And it was all thanks to him.

    ...

    Tycondrius was pleasantly surprised to find a cadre of surviving Witches.

    He thought it... somewhat odd that they were deep in enemy territory, but... he decided not to question it, epting the small victory for what it was.

    He was also impressed that one of their number had hastily erected a magical Shell-type Spell, defending the Witchling gaggle from the secondary and tertiary effects of arge-scale magical st.

    --and he was fairly certain he knew the sapling responsible.

    Clever girl.

    Tycon had a practical need for more Witches.

    Earlier, he had takenmand of one of the Sapphire Tower''s flights. Despite their mediocrity, he led them in sessfully disabling and destroying several of the city''s key points of interest. However, he''d almostpletely exhausted them of their resources.

    Tycon could demand more.

    ...but doing so risked the ire of their handler.

    Thus far, none of Be''s Witches had lost their lives under his directmand. Granted, some would die within the week fromplications rted to mana-loss. But by then, he could im their horrible, mana-starved deaths on a number of other factors.

    Nheless, he saw value in seeking out more Witches-- ones less inclined to suddenly expire (or explode.)

    Even if Be were to grow incensed from so many of her Witchlings crippled orbusted, Tycon reasoned that if he put *effort* into doing the opposite... then perhaps he could avoid the woman''s nagging and open disapproval.

    (Though, of that, he could not be 100% certain.)

    (It was impossible to predict the actions and reactions of women, regardless of their bloodlines.)

    Tycon looked down. He''d interrupted a Witch''s Spell that, ifpleted, would have overloaded her mana circuits, crippling or killing her-- the two things he was trying to avoid.

    Several moments had passed.

    The woman in his arms continued to stare in the distance, seemingly fascinated by a recent corpse.

    ...It made Tycon wonder if the two shared a history.

    But ultimately, he did not care.

    The man tried to put a crossbow bolt in his head.

    He failed. Then, he died for his transgressions, as only could be expected.

    Tycon took a step back from the ck-jawed woman, adjusted his coat cor, and assumed his practiced, professional smile to address hispany.

    "Good afternoon,dies. My name is Tycon of Charm, Leader of Sol Invictus, and the Commander of this operation. I''d--"

    Tycon was unable to finish, as the gaggle of women began to shout, screech, and otherwise make... shrill sounds of... what he believed to be tion?

    In order to be heard, he reduced his professionalism by a step and raised his voice by the same.

    "Which of you is in charge?"

    The suicidal woman from before suddenly awoke from her stupor.

    "That... that would be me," she said.

    So she was their Senior-most Witch...

    It wasudable for a leader to subject herself to great risk on behalf of the mission''s sess.

    Or conversely, the self-sacrifice might have indicated ack of trust in her squad... or at her squad''s inadequacy.

    Tycon lowered his chin, "Name."

    The Witch touched the brim of her cap, "Zashleigh Yates. Flight Leader of Zeta Squad. Spellbreaker, special ss."

    ...Tycon realized he wasn''t giving the woman his full attention. His negligence was so gross, he misheard her when she stated her name.

    He steeled his expression to hide his embarrassment, "Ah, of course. Squad Leader... Ash-leigh. Ash-lee?"

    "Zashleigh, Sir."

    "...Get some medical attention, Squad Leader. This area is secure, for the time being." Tycon raised his gaze, scanning the rest of Zeta Squad, "Now, which of you is second-most senior?"

    "That''d be me," Said a taller Witchling. "Dessi Gilchrist, at your service, Commander-- and I gotta say, I''m, like, a huuuuge fan."

    "Jessie," Tycon tilted his head, "Short for... Jessica?"

    "Ah, well. It''s uh, Dessi, actually. It''s short for Decemberleigh."

    It seemed the Witches of the Sapphire Tower were fond of-- or rather, were *dedicated* to minor pranks.

    Tycon refused to believe otherwise.

 Chapter 989 From This Sun Forward

    "Um, excuse me."

    The voice came from the first woman-- the careless one.

    Tycondrius was slightly annoyed that the Squad Leader did not refer to him by his rank.

    ...Granted, ''Commander'' was not a rank that naturally existed within the Sapphire Tower.

    He could feel his impatience showing in his expression... and his desire to remain professional began to wane.

    Still, he waved for her to speak, "Squad Leader?"

    "You obviously... like... know a lot of magics," she said.

    Tycon pursed his lips and nodded. That much was obvious.

    He remained silent, waiting for Ashley to continue.

    "Zeta Squad has... a mission," she said.

    Tycon blinked in disbelief. Every squad had a mission, that was... also obvious.

    Was this girl intentionally wasting his time?

    ...If she was, he was nning on killing her.

    Finally... in a voice thatcked both respect *and* volume, Ashley spoke once more.

    "Sir... do you know anything... about dragons?"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Dragons? Dragons don''t exist."

    "I... but... but they... but we-- I''ve... I''ve lost TWO of my girls to those beasts!" she cried. "And-- and I''ve been trying to decipher one of their formations for--"

    Tycon stopped listening.

    The girl went from sad and pathetic to livid and... and tearful.

    He had borne witness to the Sapphire Tower''s leadership.

    And he found it absolutely appalling.

    A Squad Leader-- a Senior Witch inmand of a flight should have been a paragon of professionalism, a confident and knowledgeable Mage serving as a role model and enabler for her subordinates.

    And instead... the woman he knew as Ashley Yates had been reduced to tears over *nothing.*

    Of *course*, there were tears.

    Tycon was born with a cursed ability; women in his presence were oft to cry without warning-- without logic or reason.

    "Compose yourself, Squad Leader," Tycon said, keeping his voice low. "I say again: Dragons. don''t. exist."

    "Then, SIR!!" Ashley roared, "What in the seven hells is THAT??!"

    The girl was pointing past him and upward... at something releasing killing intent in abundance.

    Tycon casually turned to look.

    In the sky, partially hidden by the battlefield haze, was arge, winged, purple creature quickly approaching.

    It was a bitrger than a gorgon, but smaller than a manticore. It was nothing special, though. He''d used something simr as a decorative stand for his Winged Staff.

    -- "Stars and stones, we''re all gonna diiiie!!"

    -- "It''s headed straight for us!"

    -- "Purple McPurpleface!!! You''re a cruel and hateful god!!"

    Tycon crossed his right arm, then rested his face on his opposite palm.

    He wasn''t in the mood to deal with trivialities, despite being surrounded by mass panic.

    "Coraline."

    "Y-yessir?" A certain blonde elf responded-- instantly and obediently. She stood up straight, her posture impable.

    It was a minuscule gesture, a normative response appropriate in any professional setting... but Tycon yearned for such normalcy.

    His fondness for the sapling grew immensely.

    For her dedication, he would ensure she lived through at least the current sun.

    "Please deal with the oing threat," Tyconmanded. "I advise a response of Third-Circle, at least."

    "Uhhhh, excuse me, your hot-ness," Interrupted one of the Witches.

    It was... the woman Tycon liked to think of as ''Jessica.'' She stood in front of Coraline as if she was defending her.

    It was almost insulting that a human woman would even dare to present her weak, mortal flesh as an obstacle to him.

    ...But Tycon remembered that he wanted to keep the Witches alive.

    "Go ahead," He groaned.

    "The newbie''s only *just* made it to Silver-Rank," She said. "If you need a Third-Circle..."

    Tycon rolled his eyes.

    The elf... she was hiding her power level. Likely, there was some sort of social dynamic at y.

    But that wasn''t Tycon''s problem. He was out of disposable wands and scrolls. Thus, the most efficacious course of action to save so-many Witch lives was to garner her assistance.

    Tycon ced his hand on Jessica''s upper arm and gently guided her out of his path.

    "Coraline, Beatrice, which of you two are going to help me?"

    ? y ?

    The fire elemental was first to respond. Beatrice coalesced into physical form, her chosen shape reminiscent of a winged pixie, though her features were masked by dancing mes.

    "HeartSONNNNG??!!" Ashley screamed from behind, "You''re contracted to a GOLD-RANK fire elemental?!?"

    Tycon shook his head inwardly. No matter how skilled Coraline was at hiding her talents, the ignorance of her leadership was a grant mark of their ineptitude.

    "I''ll help!" The troublesome elf squeaked, "Of course, I''ll help. Y-you wrote a letter of rmendation to the President on my behalf, after all."

    "Hmph," Tycon shrugged. "So she told you?"

    "She didn''t," Coraline smirked. "But you just confirmed it."

    Clever girl. Always clever...

    "That *thing* in the sky," Tycon growled. "I want it charred and smoldering on the side of the road."<novelnext></novelnext>

    "I hear you, Commander!" Coraline shot her arms forward, directed at the beast. Hovering near, Beatrice mimicked her contractor''s movements in time.

    However... the enemy teleported.

    Or rather-- it executed some kind of Movement Technique that projected itself forward some forty or fifty yalms.

    "?Shadowfang?."

    Thus, Tycon did the same... springing up from the cobblestone road, through a between-world of shadows, and reappearing in front of the lizard-pretender.

    He punched it in the teeth... not for any particrly advantageous reason, but for the satisfaction of it.

    (After the fact, he realized he had the fortune of interrupting its ?Breath Weapon?. He spotted a revolting glob of vtile mana dripping from the side of its maw.)

    Combined with the eleration, Tycon''s rtively weak strike shattered the creature''s lesser defensive Enchantments, while also halting its forward momentum.

    Yet after all that, Tycon judged that more force was necessary to eliminate the threat.

    As he began to fall, he syed his arms out to the side, twisting his body to face the crowd below.

    And finally... he snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    Some distance away, Coraline and Beatrice released what Tycon identified as a twin-casted Fourth-Circle ?me Strike?.

    Tycon didn''t know much about the Sapphire Tower''s curriculum. However, ?me Strike? was a medium-difficulty Spell appropriate for Fifth-Circle Archmages and simr.

    Coraline''s attack was worth two of them.

    From the current sun, onward, the young elf would have great difficulty acting as a *mere* Iron-Rank Arcanist.

    As Tycon descended, he was surprised to find himself the target of several protective Witch Spells. They were unnecessary, but he appreciated their good intentions.

    Hended amidst great fanfare, covered by ?Resilience?, ?Mage Armor?, ?Featherfall?, and-- oddly enough, a benign application of ?Extend Scent?.

    A short distance away, the lizard-pretender crashed in a burning heap in the middle of the road.

    Close enough.

    -- "Oh my gods, he just punched a dragon in the face!"

    "Not a dragon, youngdy. But yes, I did."

    -- "I can''t believe it! He just-- he just shot it out of the sky!"

    "Miss Coraline cast the Spell. This is *not* debatable. She is among you. You''re in her very presence."

    -- "OhhHhh, he smells so gooOOod!!"

    ...Tycon immediately isted and dispelled his ?Extend Scent? effect.

    Squad Leader Ashley pushed herself to the front of the crowd. She still looked upset-- which was baffling, considering the fact that Tycon saved her squad from two separate threats in the span of less than ten minutes.

    "SIR!! How can you say that THAT is NOT a dragon?!? It''s a magical BEHEMOTH with wings, capable of flight!!"

    Bah.

    Tycon shook his head as he walked towards the charred and smoldering mass.

    "If you won''t believe simple logic, then I''ll show you."

    He didn''t wait for the congregation of mumbling squeaks, but he was fairly certain they followed.

    He sensed Coraline increasing her pace to walk alongside him.

    That was fine.

    With his mood, she was the only woman in Zeta Squad that he could tolerate.

    "Sir Tycon... is... is it dead?" she asked.

    "An odd question," Tycon mused. "The shell lives, as is its nature. The pilot, however..."

    He raised his arm, summoning his Winged Staff. It dislodged itself from its spinal resting ce and found its way to his hand.

    "So that was a staff," Coraline frowned, "It hurts a little, seeing you be so rough with your gear."

    "It''s not mine," Tycon replied.

    He thrust the end of the magic staff between two scales on the purple creature''s belly, then began to pry thepartment open.

    Squad Leader Ashley was the first Witch to react.

    "No... no way," she said.

    ...Her insistence marked her continued and grossly irrational doubt.

    Tycon stared up towards the sunless sky.

    He presented the humans with concrete proof, doing all he could, short of mashing their noses against the still-steaming pile of biomaterial.

    Yet still... it seemed that some of them refused to acknowledge the truth.

    Why did he even try?

    In his frustration, he applied excessive force with his improvised prybar, resulting in the staff snapping in half.

    He didn''t even care-- he tossed the useless artifact onto the deck before tearing off the hatch,pletely, with his bare hands.

    "Tycon," Coraline said in a quiet voice. "This is... horrible. We have to do something. Please do something."

    "Fine," Tycon said as he red at the contents of the broken Divine Armor.

    Inside the shell was what he assumed to be a human pilot. The young man was barely conscious, his one visible limb clearly broken, and with most of his body covered in severe burns.

    He should not have been alive. Yet... so manyyers of physical and magical defenses on his Divine Armor somehow allowed him to continue the agony that was his existence.

    "Behold, Witches of the Sapphire Tower," Tycon announced. "Hidden underneath these scales and beneath the reinforced, biomagical flesh... lies a living, breathing vulnerability."

    "P... please... mercy..." The dying man groaned.

    It was an apt request.

    Tycon drew Mercy from her sheath and swiftly cut the pilot''s throat.

    He then spun on his heels to face the crowd.

    "And with this, Zeta Squad, I have killed yourst *dragon,*" he said, whipping the blood off of his sword. "Remember this moment for the rest of your short, mortal lives... for now-- and from this sun forward, you shall know no fear."

    ",

 Chapter 990 Drake Armor

    ? A short timeter... ?

    Tycondrius dragged Coraline away.

    Squad Leader Ashley seemed distraught. And... though he could not exin why he felt as such, he did not believe that Zeta Squad''s second-inmand, Jessica, would provide any valuable information.

    The intelligent and clever Coraline, however, he knew from prior experiences to be consistently reliable.

    ? Coraline Heartsong, Iron-Rank Elven Arcanist. ?

    ? Beatrice, Gold-Rank Fire Elemental. ?

    But unfortunately, before he could glean anything useful from the whelpling, he first had to... peel her off of him.

    "With... respect, child, I must request that you *release* me."

    Coraline shook her head, securing her embrace.

    "Th-this is important!"

    Two tiny hands were grasping onto a tuft of Tycon''s hair. Due to his physique, Beatrice could not harm him without the intent to do so, but the near-scalding heat remained mildly ufortable.

    ? hurray ?

    Tycon was not in the mood for frivolities. He had summoned Coraline as her Commander, hoping for details on her squad''s mission, not for... whatever was happening.

    "And just how is this important, exactly?"

    "It''s important to me."

    ...With that, Tycon loosed a defeated sigh.

    He... assumed that Coraline and Beatrice''s physical disys stemmed from affection.

    Realistically, the two could have been asserting their dominance-- and if so, he judged it unwise to retaliate, in respect to his current resources...

    --he sought to replenish them, at his earliest convenience.

    Finally, Coraline released her hold while wiping the corners of her eyes.

    "Tycon... you''re here."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "You''re not surprised."

    Coraline pursed her lips and nodded.

    "You have a body double, real or magical, pretending to be you in the east. But that information was released so the enemy would prioritize forces on that front."

    "...Clever, as always," Tycon sighed in resignation. "You figured that out just now?"

    "I had some time," Coraline looked up, her mouth breaking into a grin, "There were rumors that a handsome, green-haired man was spending more time than was appropriate with our CEO."

    "I see," Tycon nodded. "I am, indeed, very handsome."

    "You do, indeed, have green hair," The elf replied... "I''m so d you came."

    "You signalled for assistance," Tycon waved. "I assisted. Well done, Sapling."

    Coraline''s voice dropped as low as her gaze.

    "Tycon," She said...

    "...Yes?"

    "Are you okay?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. He was not part of the group of near-death children onset by a swarth of enemybatants. One of his rescues asking about his wellbeing wasrgely inappropriate.

    "Yes-- reasonably so," He answered gruffly. "You''re injured."

    "I''ll be fine," Coraline said with a pout. "I could''ve used my mask if things got dicey."

    "The ebon mask is ast resort," Tycon said in a stern voice. "You were issued potions--"

    "--special-ordered by you, I know," Coraline groaned...

    Tycon tilted his head down, staring quietly, but intently. He had, early on, identified the young elf as an asset, a notion confirmed by the excellence she disyed at Moon Crescent Ind.

    However, she took grievous injury during that campaign. Thus, he provided her with additional resources to ensure her safety.

    He hoped for the child to survive... until survival was a moot point, anyroad.

    After enough staring, Coraline rendered a sigh of defeat. She reached into one of her side pouches and quaffed one of the aforementioned healing elixirs.

    "Someone died..." she said quietly. "They didn''t have ess to magical healing like I do."

    "...Go on."

    Coraline twisted her lips, "I... feel guilty about it. Like, why should I have these when my squad members don''t?"

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Your guilt is irrational; the sole me belongs to me. I specifically assigned *you* additional potions, Sapling. And they are designed only for persons of your bloodline to dissuade you from sharing with strays you might find on the roadside."

    "Really? Coraline frowned, "I thought it was because you were being cheap."

    "...I will admit that this is also a factor."

    Finally, with no other gratuitous questions, Coraline gave a report on her squad''s situation.

    Tycon learned no useful information.

    Zeta Squad''s mission was simr to that of several others carried out simultaneously, each targeting one of Making''s vulnerabilities.

    Making was not a particrly vulnerable target, especially whenpared to smaller, less-established City-States. However, its defenses relied on people... on mortal and fallible men and women. And thus, ording to itsrge poption, its secrets could scarcely be held.

    "So what are these things called?" Coraline asked.

    Tycon followed the direction her thumb was pointing. She was referring to the smoldering, purple wreck she shot down earlier.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Abominations," he answered.

    "I mean like... what are they in military code?" Coraline asked.

    It was an odd question, as Tycon thought the answer obvious.

    "They are suits of Divine Armor. Thoughcking the divine magics intrinsic to models designed in the Holy Country, the term persists."

    "But... they look different?" Coraline argued, "They should have different names."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "Despite their biomagical shells, their functions are identical. Changing their designation is unnecessary and frivolous."

    "What have we been calling them?"

    "...the flights have been referring to them as Drake Armors."

    "So I get that the Drake Armors we encountered were piloted by humans," Coraline continued. "That was why their senses seemed... so limited. But how do they hold up,pared to other, traditional Divine Armors?"

    "Despite their... eugh... their vile appearances," Tycon said with a grunt of disgust, "the artifice involved is structurally sound. The scales are made of Cenarion Wood-- a material that takes Enchantment magics quite well. And for the mana circuits-- Arcanite, as one might expect."

    Tycon took a moment, considering the strength of the averagebatant from each of the nations he was allied to.

    Bronze-Rank. Many below. Some approaching its peak.

    "Considering this Divine Armor''s size and mana consumption, it''s safe to consider any units simr as a Gold-Rank threat."

    City-State Making was a top-priority target, specifically for their war technologies. Even if Tycon did not have trained pilots to utilize the ''Drake Armors'' himself, denying the enemy''s ess to them allowed the anti-lizard offensive to sustain their momentum.

    Conversely, if they were unable to secure Making, the increased casualties would severely hamper their advances.

    Coraline''s gaze had wandered to the horizon, her arms crossed.

    "How... did they hide these things? Sir Tycon... you know something, don''t you?"

    Tycon shut his eyes, thinking back to what he saw in the Tree God''s forest.

    "These shells," he said, "and the material involved... They''re reminiscent to what Krysaos and I encountered in the Tree God''s Forest."

    "And the Arcanite circuitry?"

    Tycon shook his head, "Installed by mortal hands. The technology is likely a derivation of research done by House Moonwell-- the Arcanite Princess, in particr."

    "So that answers the where," Coraline muttered. "Then... how did they train the pilots?"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "How do you mean?"

    "The pilots," Coraline repeated. "It takes inborn talent on top of hard work to be proficient in these things-- and that means, like, hundreds of bells in flight time."

    "You''re... certain of this?" Tycon asked dubiously.

    "Yes. Yes, I am."

    Tycon found that somewhat odd. He had experience piloting a Divine Armor, but he found controls intuitive.

    However... the suit he piloted was bipedal. Also, it was designed by Ophelia Moonwell, herself, an artificer he knew well.

    He couldn''t imagine how many bells of flight time he''d need to pilot a quadrupedal suit of Divine Armor that made him nauseous each time he looked at it.

    Also, an additionalyer of training would be necessary, as each of the so-called Drake Armors were intrinsically capable of flight.

    ...like cockroaches.

    "Then you''ve raised a valid question," Tycon sighed. "And I pray we find the answer by the end of this sun."

    He took a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

    He wasn''t in the mood to uncover a mystery.

    If it was a reasonable option, he''d have preferred to bombard City-State of Making with several dozenrge-scale destructive Spells.

    He and a small team of Be''s Witches could have designed all the formations in a week-- two weeks if he wanted to impress anyone.

    "...Sir Tycon?"

    "Are you still here?" Tycon frowned. "You''re dismissed. Return to your senior-- what was her name? Jessie?"

    "Dessi," Coraline smirked. "Short for Decemberleigh."

    Tycon slowly crossed his arms.

    "That''s her actual name?"

    "It is."

    "And your Squad Leader?"

    "It''s Zashleigh," Coraline answered.

    Was she serious? She did not appear to be joking.

    Tycon bit his upper lip, suddenly nervous, "Miss Heartsong... what is *your* first name?"

    The elf shed an overtly mischievous grin.

    "If I told you it was Bora-line, can we still be friends?"

    She must have been joking. Tycon decided to treat everything she said prior as a joke.

    "...Yes," he frowned-- "but it would add some difficulty to our friendship."

    It pained him on a personal level to appear so intolerant. However, he found the naming conventions for young people in the Eastern States peculiar and difficult to remember.

    "But really, though..." Coraline said in a soft voice, "Are you okay, Tycon?"

    ",

 Chapter 991 Restricted Area

    The blonde Elven whelpling, once again, inquired Tycondrius about his... okay-ness.

    The notion was beginning to lose its meaning.

    "Yes. I''m... okay?" Tycon answered-- though with less confidence than he would have liked. "Is there a conspicuous indication to me being *not* ''okay''?"

    "You killed that guy," Coraline replied.

    "I kill plenty of guys," Tycon groaned-- "and women! And I''m not above killing children, if the situation is appropriate."

    "Wait, what?"

    "I''m an equal-opportunity murderer," Tycon insisted.

    "That guy you killed," Coraline said with a frown, "He already surrendered."

    "He *asked* to be killed," Tycon argued.

    "He asked for *mercy,*" Coraline chided. "You can''t just assume that means mercy *killing.* Or were you trying to cut costs on the magical healing again?"

    Tycon found himself mildly intimidated by the sapling''s stare... "I named my sword ''Mercy.''"

    Coraline appeared to be struck with awe. Her mouth hung open for several moments before she closed it.

    She corrected her posture before continuing.

    "Tycon... I''m not trying to be mean, but... you have to know that the name of your sword doesn''t make it okay tomit war crimes."

    Hm. The notion was one that Tycon had to contemte.

    "...Your concerns have been... noted."

    "Tycon."

    Tycon was reluctant to continue the conversation-- especially since, for most of it, he was the weaker party.

    Unfortunately, he''d lost his means for magical ?Flight? and was not in the mood to move faster than a walking pace.

    Unable to escape, he gave the sapling a reply.

    "What is it now?"

    "We''re friends, right?" Coraline asked.

    Though Tycon knew the question was prefacing something he certainly did not want to hear, he felt obliged to answer honestly.

    "That... is an eptable term to describe our rtionship."

    "Tycon," Coraline said with a re.

    "Yes, yes," he waved. "We''re friends."

    "Then. I need. You. To take care of yourself."

    Tycon''s face twisted into a scowl.

    "Has anyone told you that your ''cleverness'' can be... *frustrating* to deal with?"

    "It''s implied in just about every conversation I have," Coraline said with a nomittal shrug. "But now that that''s clear, what else do we need to do to take Making?"

    To take Making?

    The notion made Tyconugh aloud.

    City-State Making had already fallen, yet those involved had yet to realize it.

    "The initial series of flights have sessfully aplished their respective missions. The enemy''s chain ofmand is in shambles and they were barely able to field a tenth of their Divine Armors."

    "What about their standing army?" Coraline asked, "I read the reports."

    "One of our predictions was that Making''s leadership would muster a majority of their forces outside of their walls," Tycon exined, "as a show of force; to buy time; to take advantage of their maneuverability, perhaps. Be volunteered to deal with them."

    "President Be did?" Coraline said, tilting her head curiously. "What sort of n did she have?"

    Tycon matched the youngdy''s head tilt, adding a shrug. "A series of medium-scale offensive Spells cast in session."

    The Witch in his memories was not nearly as powerful. Considering her bloodline, her development over so-many-years was extraordinary.

    Ultimately, though, it was Be''s dedication to her craft that allowed her to excel far past so many of her peers.

    --or that''s what he chose to believe.

    Coraline nodded quietly to herself... "So what else needs to be done before we can go home?"

    ? home ?

    Beatrice flitted in a circle around Tycon''s head.

    ? lunch? ?

    Lunch.

    He wasn''t 100% certain what a fire elemental consumed for sustenance. However, taking a break for a meal sounded lovely.

    He recalled Zeta Squad''s mission. Completing it would strike another decisive blow to what remained of Making''s resistance.

    As with any forceful upation, some lizard loyalists would remain-- rebels in his eyes. Tycon would deal with those when the time came.

    "The city''s *acimed* magical defenses," he said.

    "Wh-what about them?"

    "Let''s break them," Tycon smiled. "And afterward, I''d like you and Beatrice to join me for lunch."

    There was a slight twitch of Coraline''s left ear before she turned, wearing a look of confusion.

    "Tycon? Did you *not* eat lunch before the operation?"

    "I did," Tycon admitted. "But the prospect of second-lunch is an appealing one, no?"

    ? juice ?

    "Two-thirds of our party find the notion agreeable," Tycon added.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "A-alright then," Coraline sighed before motioning for Tycon to follow, "Let''s... let''s talk to Zashleigh."

    "Tss. Don''t be absurd, Sapling," Tycon scoffed, "What use is your Squad Leader at identifying and disrupting formations? She can''t even properly identify a Hellish Rebuke Spell. Eternal Battlefield? How asinine."

    "Was that... wrong??"

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Superheated iron des? Dark, almost-green smoky haze? Any initiate Mage should be able to identify the material as native to the Iron City."

    "Well-- whatever! Be nice!" Coraline insisted, her tone mottled with annoyance-- "on ount of our friendship."

    "Tss," Tycon scoffed, averting his gaze. "I''d like to think that most ''friendships'' aren''t so demanding."

    "Sir."

    "Hmph. Very well."

    Returning to Zeta Squad''s defensive camp, Tycon found Ashleigh Yates deep in concentration, staring at a third-rate Spell Circle.

    He called for her.

    He... called for her again, using a different name in the case his first assumption was incorrect.

    Then, for a moment, he removed his Amulet of Obscuration, concerned that its anti-scrying properties hid him from the Squad Leader''s senses.

    Still, the human did not respond.

    "She gets like this sometimes," Coraline exined. "I do too, honestly. But I''m also pretty sure I have clinical depression."

    "Fascinating," Tycon mused. "I''ve never seen someone so immersed in a simple clock."

    "Huhhhh?" Coraline said in exaggerated disbelief, "How do you know it''s a clock?"

    "Because I am familiar with clocks," Tycon answered simply. "It''s a clock. If you''ll shift your attention to that column and row, those symbols are changing, but within a set pattern."

    Finally, the human girl trembled lightly, breaking out of her trance.

    "Huh? Wh-why is... why are *you* here?" She asked-- and rather rudely.

    Tycon turned to his right, facing a magical shadow that coalesced into the form of another Tower Witch.

    Its image was of a young Illusion Mage he remembered as... Jessica.

    "I''ll handle this, Zash," The shadow said. "Hi. Excuse me, Sir."

    "You''re excused," Tycon nodded politely.

    "Can I take you out?" Jessica asked. "Like-- to dinner?"

    Squad Leader Ashleigh cut the shadow apart with a swipe of her left hand.

    It was an impressive disy of technical skill, to so quickly identify and Counterspell Jessica''s illusionary image. It was then that he recalled the woman''s unique ss.

    Spellbreaker.

    Granted, one could still be a Spellbreaker, despite having the intellectual capacity of a--

    "This is a restricted area," Ashleigh said. She stood as tall as her height allowed, speaking with confidence and authority.

    Though, despite her deration, Tycon found... no evidence of any restriction on... any persons present. There were Tower Witches posted around the perimeter, but they did not contest his presence.

    Also, his role as Commander made him at *least* Be''s equal in status and respect deserved.

    Tycon dropped his hand down, resting his palm on the hilt of the lovely sword resting on his waist.

    Unfortunately, Coraline seemed to notice this. Her re made it clear that Mercy was an uneptable course of action.

    Tycon forced a professional smile and rendered a respectful bow.

    "Miss... hm. I couldn''t help but notice you were having issues with your... clock."

    "Zash!" Coraline barked, "We''re-- I brought the Commander here to see if he could help."

    Ashleigh''s face twisted into a number of different expressions... none of which Tycon could identify as positive or negative.

    "Look," She sighed. "I get that you''re a super-skilledbat Mage, Sir. But formations on this scale require years of study in the most esoteric of magics to understand."

    "You are a child and I find the breadth of your knowledge to be grossly inadequate," Tycon said.

    "YOU LOOK SO YOUNG, Zash! I TOTALLY AGREEeeee!!" Coraline screamed, "And there''s-- there''s always more to learn! Always!! Ha! Ha! HA! HA! HA!"

    The elf grabbed onto Tycon''s wrist.

    It was... quite hot. If Coraline applied any more mana, his skin would begin to sizzle.

    "(Dearest Ancient,) She said in Elven, "(I have made a request. You will honor it as assuredly as the stars rise and fall.)"

    Tycon was nning to argue, but, thankfully, Ashleigh loosed a loud sigh.

    "Whatever. My concentration''s broken. You''re already here. And, if anything, I''ve known Heartsong long enough to trust her judgment."

    "I''m really, *really* sorry about this, Zash," Coraline said, bowing her head.

    "It''s, like, fine," Ashleigh admitted. "Honestly, I''ve been having some issues bridging the gap between theory and application."

    The women appeared to be finished speaking their implication-ridden conversation. Tycon didn''t understand what hade to pass... but he was fairly certain it had be socially eptable for him to speak.

    "Wonderful," he smiled. "Coraline. Little one. Please, overcharge the formation."

    ? yes ?

    "Wait," Coraline waved her hands. "No?"

    ? yesss ?

    "NooOO!" The elfined, "Tycon! What do you mean *overcharge* the formation!? How would I be able to find the input circle if I can''t parse a singleyer??"

    Tycon pursed his lips, looking at the formation, then back to the curiously angry blonde.

    "Have you... tried?"

    ",

 Chapter 992 Flight Certified

    "Commander," Ashlynn interrupted. "With all due respect, the Sapphire Tower doesn''t teach advanced runenguages until--"

    Tycon shoved his palm in front of the Witchling''s face.

    "Stop. Talking," he ordered, "Certain things are at stake, Witchling-- and I. Will. Not. be denied."

    Tycon withdrew his hand, raising it aside his head...

    --and he snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    A fiery glow illuminated Coraline''s eyes.

    "I... I can read it?" she cried, "But... why??"

    She smashed her palm against the wall, the smooth stone bricks crumbling away. The lines of the Spell Circle Formation remained in the air, adopting her fiery glow.

    "What''s happening?!" Ashlynn screamed.

    "There are benefits to being contracted to a Primordial Entity," Tycon exined.

    Beatrice was an elemental born in the ne of Fire. As her bond with her contractee, Coraline, developed, they would share aspects of themselves in a greater than figurative sense.

    Coraline became able to read thenguage of fire itself.

    Beatrice developed a love for orange juice.

    (That is, assuming he properly understood the little one''s mental message.)

    Anyroad... if Ashlynn Yates couldn''t figure out the particrs, then there was no hope for her.

    Coraline was an Arcanist with a high affinity for fire. That she wasn''t the leading role in deciphering a me Script formation was an embarrassing oversight.

    With the formation''s active lines illuminated and its logic more easily discernible, Tycon quickly identified and modified several key scripts.

    He didn''t even need to use an arcane focus, so malleable was the mana-ink.

    Coraline''s knowledge andplementary abilities made her not just the de-facto Formation Breaker for fire-runed Spell Circles, but the most effective in the whole of the Sapphire Tower.

    "(I see the skies of smoke and me!)" she shouted, "(My heart knows the words to their evesting song!)"

    "And now for the final touch," Tycon nodded.

    He activated his spatial ring, summoning his curved de to hand.

    As an unwee development, though, the misguided and somewhat stupid Ashlynn Yates began to summon all the mana her exhausted circuits could muster.

    "You''ll need my help!" she incorrectly insisted.

    "Oh,e now," Tycon smirked, "you''ve done enough."

    He reached his hand out, intertwining his fingers with hers. It was the best way to interrupt her gestiction, while simultaneously regting her mana usage.

    The violent explosion of a Tower Witch in close-quarters was a situation he wished to avoid.

    "You feel the need to prove yourself," he said, "but it is wholly unnecessary...

    "I havein witness to thy bravery.

    "I have tested the steel of thy will.

    "You are strong and smart... young, and beautiful.

    "Stand down, Ashlynn Yates.

    "I will not stand by and allow you to sacrifice your life."

    Tycon was not lying. Everything he imed was subjective.

    Thankfully, his motivational talk seemed effective enough. Ashlynn ceased her channeling.

    Her mouth bobbed open, reminiscent to a fish onnd, struggling to breathe.

    --perhaps to better deliver oxygen to her brain.

    But no matter--

    Tycon turned to face the Spell Formation and drew his sword.

    He was looking forward to second-lunch.

    "?Hydra de?."

    ...

    ? Somewhere else... some timeter... ?

    "She''s waking up," a mature voice said.

    "Stars and stones, what is *in* that stuff?" came a bubbly voice, "And can we order more of it?"

    "Hm. I recognize the brand. It''s a product line owned by East Charm."

    "So Supply will justugh in our faces if we ask for it-- got itttt."

    Cortlynn tried to keep her eyes shut tight, but the bright mana-powered lights in the medical tent still glowed through.

    If she was a smarter Witch, she would have done better at pretending to sleep.

    They were in the field, so if she looked even half field-ready, her leadership would almost certainly make her go back to work.

    ...But it sounded like the medical girls already knew she was awake.

    ...And she really needed to pee.

    Slowly opening her eyes, she was greeted by a blue-haired girl about her age, and beside her was a sses-wearing elf with long, dark braids.

    "There we go," Blue-hair said. "Caitlyn, right?"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "It''s... Cortlyn, actually."

    The elf took off her sses, wiping them with a cloth.

    "It is as I surmised," she said, "There is no one named Caitlyn in the Sapphire Tower''s records."

    sses-Elf then turned to her, bowing her head respectfully.

    "I greet you as the stars greet the sea. Are you feeling any difort?"

    "T-toilet?" Cortlyn said sheepishly.

    The toilets were just outside the tent. But after Cortlyn finished her business, she was taken right back to the medical tent for a briefing (annnd questioning...)

    Cortlyn found out that she was the first to awaken in her squad-- out of the ones that came back.

    The sses-wearing elf criticized her Flight Leader for pushing her sisters to mana exhaustion. However, the fact that Iota Squad was responsible for disabling 400% of their target quota was something she reluctantly put into heavy consideration.

    It hadn''t been two bells since, even though it felt like longer. The big news among the camps seemed to be Making''s new Drake Armors. Compared to the Sapphire Tower''s battle constructs, they were individually faster, had greater maneuverability in the sky, and were all-around more dangerous.

    The Drake Armors weren''t invincible, though; the same strategies worked against them.

    An unforgiving shite-storm of ?Lightning Bolts?, ?Fireballs?, and ?Ice Lances? worked on pretty much anything.

    But as far as Divine Armor squads went, only the ace pilots of Alpha Squad came through with little more than casualties.

    With Making''s defenses broken and their secret weapons defeated, the standing army and most of their leadership had pretty much given up.

    Though... not everyone in Making agreed, which was to be expected. They weren''t up against the City of Archangel-- just the Sapphire Tower and a few mercenary groups. Pockets of Making''s resistance still operated in the city, but the Tower had agents searching thebyrinth beneath for where they might be basing.

    "That will be all, then," the elf smiled. "If you''re still feeling the effects of mana fatigue--"

    "Oh, yes," Cortlyn nodded excitedly. "I''m beat. Can barely move. Nausea, vertigo, head-hurt~"

    "Of... of course, Sister," the elf said as she adjusted her sses. "I''ll sign you off on medical bed rest. Will the duration of two suns be sufficient?"

    "I have one more question!" Blue-hair eximed, "What''s your rtionship with the green-haired mercenary?"

    At that moment, an older Witch stepped into the tent, taking off her conical hat.

    "Doc! Do we have any girls with their flight certs?"

    "Mind your volume, Sister," sses-elf scolded. "What''s the situation?"

    The Senior Witch nced about nervously before answering, "It''s a *situation*, alright. The President''s ordered a search for Alpha Squad. They''re escorting a VIP target, but he''s taken them out of Comms range."

    "He?" the elf grimaced, "You must be speaking of the green-haired mercenary known to liaise with Lady Be."

    "That''s technically confidential," the Senior Witch replied. "But I''m not gonna say you''re wrong."

    Cortlyn raised her hand.

    "I... I''m flight certified."

    ...

    ? 45 minutester... ?

    The shock of leaving the City of Making made Cortlyn wonder about the human ability to limatize to just about anything.

    A magical, orangey haze remained over the city. That stuff was filled with bad and worse juju, but it was also designed by women far smarter than she was. Everything outside of the magicky magic, though, remained how it should be: green and peaceful and boring.

    Rolling ins of grass. Tilled and nted farnd. Dirt and rock roads that neatly divided everything into little sections.

    That was what was *supposed* to be normal.

    Another thought popped into Cortlyn''s head as she flew over yet another sea of trees.

    Trees were supposed to be tall, immobile, and covered in leaves.

    They were absolutely not supposed to be shaped like dragons.

    [Iota-One to Promethea, I''m approaching Alpha Squad''sst known location.]

    [Promethea to Iota-One. Roger that. Be advised, that Queen is in that area and should arrive shortly after. How copy?]

    She was? That was a relief.

    Cortlyn wasn''t nning on engaging any enemy capable of threatening either Alpha Squad or the Commander, but she was still skeptical of the situation.

    [Loud and clear, Promethea. I think see something now. Area seems clear.]

    [Roger this, Iota-One. Update us on the situation when you can-- and BE careful.]

    [Understood, Promethea. Iota-One out.]

    Promethea was really concerned.

    Made sense, though. Alpha Squad was easily the Tower''s strongest assault force. If something had happened to them, it''d be a big hit to their overall strength.

    Cortlyn had spotted a fortified base in the woods, walled off by tall, vertical logs. The tracker that she wore on her arm indicated that that was where she needed to be, so she began her controlled descent.

    "Please be no bad guys," she muttered to herself, "Please, please, please be no bad guys."

    Thankfully, at least half of Cortlyn''s hopes were right.

    She saw a coven of Witches and their mana constructs camped right outside a huge central structure.

    It looked like... a temple of some kind? But what was a temple doing so far away from civilization?

    The gs it hung from its high walls didn''t have imagery belonging to any gods she knew.

    But Cortlyn figured it out once she flew near its front.

    There was only one religion that used a winged lizard as an icon.

    ",

 Chapter 993 Lizard Temple

    When people think of a Sapphire Tower Witch, they think of the girl in the posters.

    Teenage girl. Big hat. Flying on a broomstick. Raining down starshine and rainbows.

    That was essentially... Cortlyn''s Iota Squad.

    Lots of other flights fit that model, too.

    But there was only so much a Witch could do by herself.

    Magical constructs as vehicles for wartimebat was not a novel concept.

    The Sapphire Tower put its own magical spin on it, though-- which was not something that wasmon knowledge.

    From training and flight time to construct customization, optimization, and fine-tuning-- not to mention the scores of genius arcano-techs involved with each and every war machine, the finest Divine Armor pilots in the Realm belonged to the Sapphire Tower.

    Or, to be more specific...

    --they were the Ace Pilots of Alpha Squad.

    Cortlyn sighed as she descended toward their camp.

    They also had the reputation of being the most stuck-up group of girls in the whole of the Eastern States.

    It was hard to hide your magical superiority when you could fly like a harpy, punch like a giant, and crap out lightning bolts like a Beithir... all while wearing five tonze of Arcanite.

    Cortlyn didn''tnd amidst a bunch of arrogant, insufferable, warrior women, though...

    "Greetings, Sister," saluted a stocky, silver-skinned Witch. "Junior Witch Meteora Ambersk, Alpha Squad, reporting."

    The first thing that Cortlyn noticed was that Ambersk wasn''t wearing her uniform hat.

    But... the reason for that was probably that her eyes and forehead were tightly bound by strips of leather.

    "H-hello," Cortlyn said as she bowed out of habit. "Cortlyn. Iota Squad. We''re the same rank, so first names should be fine, right? What happened here?"

    There were signs of a battle taking ce in the area, craters and scorch-marks and countless wood-and-metal wreckages.

    There was also a huge freshly dug pile of dirt that Cortlyn didn''t want to think about...

    Thirteen sets of Tower Divine Armors stood or knelt in a half-circle around her and Meteora-- and they all looked to be in good repair.

    Their pilots, however... each of them, aside from Meteora, was sitting around or lying immobile.

    One younger-looking girl was crying, hugging her knees, while two other girls were trying tofort her.

    She was the girl from the poster.

    Meteora was the only Witch that seemed to be in decent condition... though being blinded in both eyes was not a condition anywhere close to decent.

    "Don''t mind me, humie," Meteora waved. "I''m wrapped up because the inside of my head''s banging away like a newly discovered mine. But to answer your question: y''know how the elders always say there''s only so much you can polish pig iron?"

    "Sorry? Can''t rte."

    "..."

    "..."

    "...Anyroad, the Commander''s a piece of work," Meteora grinned unabashedly. "He asked us to do some unbelievable things-- things you''d ask for if we had three times as many of us!"

    "And you did them," Cortlyn said quietly.

    "Meh. I''m not gonna lose any sleep over it," Meteora shrugged. "But me and the rest of Alpha Squad-- we''re all dangerously low on mana."

    Cortlyn nervously chewed on her lips. That *might* have been good news?

    "So the distress signal... *wasn''t* because you guys are in trouble?"

    "I err... I don''t really know why we sent a distress signal," Meteora admitted. "In fact-- the only reason you''re talkin'' to me instead of someone more senior is uh... I''m the only one still standing."

    Cortlyn took another cursory nce around, "I uh... I can see that."

    "Must be nice," Meteora chuckled as she tightened the straps on her leather blindfold.

    "S-sorry."

    "Y''know, even if a wholepany of baddies came along," Meteora added, "I don''t think we''d lose-- not as long as the Commander was with us. And that''s even if the lot of them came wearing lizard suits."

    Cortlyn took a long look at her surroundings, trying to count up just how many Drake Armors there were amongst the wrecks.

    ...She couldn''t get an urate count, but there were definitely more than three times the girls in Alpha Squad.

    "Y-yeah, I know the feeling," Cortlyn said. "I worked with him for a little bit."

    She absentmindedly brought her hand up to her reddening cheeks. She had said some embarrassing things in his presence.

    Meteora turned suddenly, "Eh? Which squad did you say you were from?"

    "Err... Iota s--"

    "Iota Squad!!" Meteoraughed, "That''s RIGHT! Ahhhh! Seeing you guys zoom around at thrice our speed drove my Squad Leader absoLUTELY mad! You should''ve seen how red her stupid, pointy ears got!"

    The shorter Witch crossed her thick arms, nodding in satisfaction, "There''s something about... that guy''s aura, I think. This''ll sound like m''feet are off the ground, but there w''s just something about the way he says things, ''yknow? Like-- it really got me in''chune with my armor like never before."

    "Yeah... I get it," Cortlyn nodded.

    "Ahaha! Great to hear, great to hear~" Meteora nodded, "How''s the rest of yer squad, then? They flyin'' about, still lookin'' around?"

    "It''s... it''s just me, haha," Cortlyn admitted shyly. "Actually... as far as I know, I''m the only one from Iota Squad to have woken up."

    Meteora''sughter stopped abruptly.

    She shifted her weight uneasily, then put her thick hands together... "Sorry, could you say that again? Grew up in the mines... I barely passed m''hearing test."

    Cortlyn folded her hands, cing her fingers in front of her mouth.

    "Look, Meteora, I... dunno how to tell you this--"

    "Quick and concise''ll do it," Meteora suggested.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "R-right. Well... Last I checked, everyone in Iota Squad that came back is... currentlyatose. Mana exhaustion, haha... not including me, anyroad."

    "Oh... Ohhhh~" Meteora said as she ced her hands on her hips, "That... is... horrible news. Say, Cortlyn... I''m not... feeling a lot of movement from the girls behind me?"

    "Yyyyeah..." Cortlyn said, sucking air through her teeth. "Looks like the three... just passed out."

    Meteora made a monotone hum before rubbing the back of her head.

    "Hmmm... Now, I''m no genius, but it sounds like Alpha Squad''s gonna need a medical evac, huh?"

    "President Be should be arriving soon," Cortlyn replied, "I''ll contact callsign Promethea right after this to give ''em an update."

    "That''ll do," Meteora nodded. "I''m off, then, to check on the others-- might pass out too, who knows?"

    "One more thing," Cortlyn said as she held her hand out... which was yet another automatic gesture. "Where''s the Commander?"

    "Oh? He''s been in the temple for over a bell, now-- but don''t go in there."

    "What?" Cortlyn frowned, "Why not?"

    "Eh?" Meteora tilted her head, "I dunno. We were ordered not to follow-- an'' our Squad Leader passed out before she could contest it."

    Cortlyn pursed her lips... "Well... I wasn''t given that order."

    "Hah! That''s true," Meteora chuckled. "Go on in, then-- and try not to die."

    ...

    ? A few minutester... ?

    Tycondrius sensed someone rounding the corner, approaching the main hall.

    Their steps were slow... almost solemn.

    He could hear their frenzied heartbeat, the shortness of their breath.

    The child''s fear was unwarranted.

    No enemies remained in the sphemous temple.

    --none living.

    Tycon recognized the mana signature as one of Be''s Witches.

    That was promising, as he had a need for a Mage with the ?Speak with Dead? Spell.

    However... earlier, he had ordered Alpha Squad not to interfere with the happenings within the lizard temple.

    The Witchling that dared disobey a directmand would see blood for their transgression.

    --not too much blood, though.

    Enough had been spilled throughout the sun.

    "Cmander?" a voice squeaked, "Are... are you th-- AIIEEEEEEEEE!!!!"

    The shrill scream of absolute terror annoyed Tycon to no end.

    However, he did... understand the logic behind it.

    The carnage in the lizard temple''s main hall was the result of justified violence. Without context, though... it appeared as exorbitant butchery.

    The owner of the frantic screams was a Witchling he knew as Caitlyn.

    Tycon quickly re-assumed his human form, (it was more *personable* for human interaction,) and stepped into view.

    "Commander!" Caitlyn screamed.

    She rushed forward, her arms wide.

    Tycon quickly discarded a blood-covered glove and wrapped his palm around the young Witch''s face, keeping her at bay.

    "My apologies, child. My clothes are a mess. You understand."

    "C-can''t bweathe."

    ...Tycon released his grip.

    The Witch took a step back, looking around and blinking several times, "Wh-where was it? I just... I thought I saw..."

    "Miss Caitlyn."

    "Huge... golden... eyes," she cried.

    "Pristine ivory-scaled ridges, sleek and majestic form," Tycon nodded. "I understand your awe and admiration, but Caitlyn... why are you here?"

    "I... I was worried," she muttered. "I thought-- I heard... Alpha Squad, they-- a distress..."

    "Breeeeathe, child."

    Tycon led the young Witch to a stone bench-- the most intact piece of furniture in the main hall. It took her several moments to recover.

    But then she started to cry.

    Tycon tried not to mind it. Women cried in his presence.

    It happened. Often. He could neither prevent it nor put an end to it.

    "You''re bleeding," Caitlyn whispered.

    It also seemed that, slowly, her eyes were growing ustomed to the darkness.

    Tycon pursed his lips. He wanted to guide Caitlyn out of the temple''s main hall sooner, rather thanter.

    What he had done in the lizard temple was not something he wanted the Witchling to see in full.

    ",

 Chapter 994 Gorgon

    "I... I have some bandages," Caitlyn whimpered.

    The lost child fumbled through her pack, her pitiful tears making tiny sshes onto the bloodstained tile.

    Tycondrius ced his palm on top of her trembling hand.

    "It''s not my blood," he assured her.

    "These... people..." Caitlyn started.

    "I will answer your questions, child," Tycon chided, "but we will leave this ce as soon as I have, do you understand?"

    The tearful Witch gave a slow nod in response.

    Tycon sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

    He felt blood.

    There was so much blood everywhere...

    Had he identally brushed his armor? Or did the blood on his helmet drip down onto his face?

    Shaking his head, Tycon began to speak.

    "Making''s leadership tried to hide away one of their Generals," he exined. "I deemed an organized resistance to be bothersome. And thus, I... de-organized them, so to speak."

    "There''s... so many... bodies," Caitlyn said between sobs.

    And those bodies werecking in vital organs.

    "That''s to be expected," Tycon shrugged. "The effectiveness of a General isrgely influenced by the quantity and caliber of their subordinates."

    "Are... they all..."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "I believe Alpha Squad and I have removed all relevant personnel in the immediate area. s, some might have escaped into the woods, but--"

    "Commander," Caitlyn said in serious tone. "Are they all dead?"

    "Why, yes," Tycon nodded.

    "Did... any of them surrender?"

    "Yes..."

    "And you killed them..."

    "...Yes?"

    Confusion and uncertainty crept into Tycon''s understanding.

    There was a certain logic behind the young Witch''s questioning... but he had yet to grasp its implications. However, judging by her demeanor, she was *not* pleased by his answers.

    "Why... didn''t you take any prisoners?"

    "...Because I didn''t want to deal with the hassle," Tycon frowned, "This isn''t a war amongst nobles, child. There is no use in ransoming personages or attempting to turn them to our side. Anyone who chooses to ally themselves to the sky lizards..."

    Tycon did not finish. It was unnecessary to exin his reasoning... and Caitlyn was no longer listening.

    She kept her hands covering her face, weeping quietly.

    "These... people. There''s so many of them. They all had, like... lives... and people they loved and loved them back."

    "...Indeed," Tycon agreed.

    He found it contradictory that Caitlyn was so hyper-focused on the notion. His armor was covered in the blood of, at most, 200 people.

    Earlier in the sun, he, along with Caitlyn and her flight, were responsible for the deaths of several thousand.

    "Do... you not feel anything?" Caitlyn asked, "Like-- I dunno, guilt? Or... sadness?"

    Tycon took a deep breath...

    "I... don''t know how I''m supposed to feel," he admitted. "I suppose if I feel anything... it''s disappointment. I can see the end to my journey. Thus far, everything leading up to it has been-- hm...ckluster."

    "Wh... why would you say something like that?" asked the tearful child.

    "Everything prior to this... this sun, the sun before, the sun afterward-- until our better end, Caitlyn... nothing matters," Tycon replied simply.

    The death of an entire Realm was going to be miserable, violent, and unfair.

    It was also an inevitability.

    Caitlyn had no idea. She and the rest of the anti-lizard offensive were informed that the enemy was simply dangerous. The threat of the Realm ending was used as motivation.

    In truth, no matter how hard their side fought, no matter how many small, insignificant victories they attained, the cmity that was the Tyrant God would not be averted.

    "Sir... are-- are you okay?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows. He did not like that question.

    It implied that something was wrong with him.

    "Yesss!" he replied-- though somewhat forcefully, "Yesssss. I am. o-kay. Why... does EV-eryone... keep *assssking* me that?"

    "Because... you don''t sound like you''re okay," Caitlyn whimpered.

    Tycon took in a deep breath and exhaled deeply.

    He dug through one of his pouches for a handkerchief... but it was too blood-stained to be useful. Flicking his wrist, he summoned a different one from his spatial ring, cleaned it with magic, and dabbed it at Caitlyn''s tearful cheeks.

    "I''ll be fine, child. I''m going through the motions," he said in a soft tone. "I pretend to care because it''s what is expected of me. I solve problems because that is what I do."

    "Can''t you just... do what makes you happy?" Caitlyn asked.

    It was a seemingly innocuous suggestion.

    The notion was ringly obvious... yet it was not something Tycon often thought about.

    His decisions bore great weight-- the lives of his peers, his subordinates... the lives of a hundred thousand sentientsprising civilized society.

    "I''vee to a simr conclusion," he said. "When I think of the future, I see nothing. So I focus on the present.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "And in these moments, in a bastion surrounded by the walls of the enemy..."

    Tycon smashed his fist into a nearby stone pir, eliciting a shriek of surprise from Caitlyn.

    "I. feel. only. hatred," he growled.

    He picked up a fallen chunk of stonerger than his head, the tips of his fingers boring into the rock. Then, he rotated his body, hurling it at the temple''s central altar.

    The altar kept its form, though webs of cracks ruined the lizard script scrawled on its surfaces.

    "I hate this war, Caitlyn," he dered... "And I hate myself for being so weak... so fearful... so simple-minded."

    He turned to face the child.

    She had shrunk in fear or disgust, crossing her arms over her chest.

    The whole of her vulnerable, human form trembled.

    Her eyes had better adjusted to the darkness... and were focused elsewhere.

    She was looking at the bodies... or more particrly, the ughter.

    The crushed. The severed and scattered. The misceneous and unceable viscera of the enemy that, only a bell prior, lived and breathed, hoped and dreamt.

    It was a macabre disy-- an effective tool for demoralizing his mortal enemies.

    And on the contrary, it was not meant to be seen by his mortal allies... such was Caitlyn''s misfortune.

    Hmph.

    Tycon couldn''t help but chuckle to himself.

    Had he not insisted on such efficiency... if he wasn''t so afraid of failure-- then perhaps he could have avoided Caitlyn''s tears.

    "I have be nothing more than a monster," he sighed. "There... is a word for that... in the ancientnguage of the Holy Country.

    "Do you know what that word is, Miss Caitlyn?"

    The Witchling did not respond.

    Continuing to miserably weep was not a proper response.

    Still, Tycon continued on.

    "The word... is Gorgon.

    "A beast. A stupid... monstrous... beast.

    "All I know is war," hemented. "All I know is the battlefield I was born into... and how to effectively utilize everything in my disposal to murder that which I loathe."

    He crouched in front of the Witchling, picking up his handkerchief from earlier.

    Once fallen, it had be too soaked with human fluids to clean with simple magics.

    "I don''t want to think anymore, Caitlyn. I don''t even want to live."

    Tycon felt his face twist into a deep grimace.

    The words came out of his own mouth, but they disgusted him, all the same.

    "But... such notions are troublesome. I have too much intelligence to be *just* a simple beast... and I have far too much pride toy down and die.

    "So, for now... I''ll do as you advise. I''ll do as I wish-- that which brings me joy."

    Tycon grabbed Caitlyn by the wrist, gently but firmly pulling her to her feet.

    Being around the dead wasn''t healthy for a youngling like her.

    "I want... meat-- mutton roasted over softwood coal," he said with a wry smile.

    "I want wine... as red as blood, but thrice as sweet."

    He raised his arms and his voice, proiming his intentions to whatever lizard gods might have been spying on him from afar.

    "I want my enemies, mortals and gods alike, broken and defeated, prostrate at my feet and begging for mercy-- which I may provide at my discretion."

    No enemy mortals yet remained to contest him.

    And the gods-- they did not respond.

    Cowards.

    A satisfied Tycon looked down to gauge Caitlyn''s reaction.

    The young Witch continued to cry, her eyes hidden behind her sleeve.

    "...But it seems I have said too much," Tycon mused. "Anyroad... Caitlyn. Miss Caitlyn. Are you versed with the Spell, ?Speak with Dead??"

    The child did not cease her weeping... though she did shake her head to answer in the negative.

    That was unfortunate-- but Tycon took heart. Surely, one of the ''mad'' Witches in Alpha Squad was familiar with the Spell.

    At any rate, his business was finished in the lizard temple. He kept an intent hold on Caitlyn''s wrist, then began guiding her toward the exit.

    However, he stopped after a mere three paces.

    There was too much light in the hallway beyond.

    Tycon''s ?Venomous Shadow? acted immediately, taking Caitlyn and escaping into magical darkness.

    A mana-illuminated Be Sapphira blinked into view, standing directly in the doorway with her hands resting on her hips.

    Be Sapphira... owner and CEO of the Sapphire Tower... the strongest Witch...

    She lifted her chin, looking down at Tycon with disdain.

    "Tycondrius of Charm. Your actions in Making have condemned over 45 thousand sentients to death."

    ",

 Chapter 995 Then Fall

    40 thousand sentients.

    It was a sizeable amount... so much that Tycondrius knew he couldn''t properly fathom the number.

    Still, he appreciated his grisly work being quantified.

    The Sapphire Tower and their allied mercenarypanies numbered 5000 at the most.

    His forces attained an overwhelming victory despite an eight-fold disadvantage.

    ...He wondered if he was the first Commander in the Realm to im such an achievement.

    However, the expression that Be wore was not one of pride-- it was of steel.

    "May the gods have mercy on your soul."

    Before Tycon could respond, he slipped his head down and left.

    Be hadunched a mana-empowered right straight, which he dodged on instinct.

    She lowered her body, tucking her left fist by her ribcage.

    A ?Thunderous Uppercut??

    Tycon clenched his own fist, hammering it down on Be''s hand to interrupt her Spell.

    The force propelled outward, sttering much of the blood on the floor to the walls and breaking the wooden boards covering the windows.

    "Tycon," Be said, her tone quite serious.

    "Yes?"

    "Did you literally just Spellbreak a highpletion insta-cast Spell?"

    "...That appears to be the case, yes."

    "Are you aware that the Sapphire Tower''s best Spellbreaker is a hundred years too young to do even that?"

    Spellbreaker?

    Was Be referring to... Ashni Yates? Tycon would be impressed if that child could ?Spellbreak? out of her own ?Mana Ward?.

    "Be," Tycon said, "I''m not following your logic."

    Was she upset that he was so skilled? It should have been a good thing. They were allies!

    ...Or maybe she wanted him as a teaching advisor? He thought of himself as an excellent instructor, but... there wasn''t much point to long-term endeavors, considering the current climate of the Realm.

    And trying to teach something to that Yates girl? He had better things to do.

    Be pushed forward with both hands.

    Tycon did not move. He wasrger and heavier than... every Witch he knew, save one.

    Be slid backward, a thin film of frozen blood over the stone flooring. Then, she spun in ce... and as her skirt whirled, six red-ice creations emerged from the floor.

    They took the form of... thick grimoires, bound and buckled?

    Tycon crossed his arms, waiting expectantly-- if somewhat nervous. He did not think he was in the wrong, but if Be was able to use her magic books to cite a Law or obscure rule...

    The grimoires snapped wide-open, dozens and hundreds of icy pages shooting out at him.

    Oh. He was under attack.

    Tycon immediately began jogging backward, then turned to sprint in earnest.

    He activated his ?Tumble? Skill, flipping in the air to change direction. Then, he used a corpse as a bloody, improvised sled before leaping behind a clump of armored bodies, hoping for the best.

    The magical paper trail kept chase.

    Finally, Tycon was forced to summon his curved de from his spatial ring and... swipe away like a madman.

    He took several dozen cuts in the process. And, despite his armor, he suffered a deepceration on his upper right thigh.

    He quickly recovered a shirt from one of the fallen lizard-worshippers, snapping off the shirt-buttons, and tying the cloth around his leg.

    "Interesting," said the corpse-- albeit with Be''s voice.

    Tycon blinked several times.

    The corpse was no longer a corpse, but a faceless doll.

    The temple was no longer of rough wood and unworked stone.

    Instead, Tycon was was inside a Kingdom mansion, the walls covered in floral designs and the hallways illuminated by artificial sunlight.

    Tycon was trapped inside Be''s ?Domain?.

    "You''re strong," the faceless doll said, "Like-- way beyond what I expected."

    Tycon bashed the doll''s face with the hilt of his curved de, roughly decapitating it.

    Several other... beings crossed the herringbone wood tile toward him. Some took the form of leathery dolls, dragging limbs attached by crimson threads. Others were pieces of furniture: broken and twisted reclining chairs and coffee tables.

    They twirled and warped and sshed along to mournful music, yed by a quartet of string instruments.

    The location of those instruments, Tycon could not discern. He was assuming they had no actual form and the piece being yed was a memory Be had refined.

    If so, he appreciated her tastes.

    He would have liked to learn more-- but he had to first survive her mood.

    Tycon kept moving, barely two steps ahead of an angry mob.

    The faceless creatures were quick and their sharpened appendages were reasonably dangerous. However, even despite his leg injury, he was still faster than Be''s constructs (or illusions... or whatever they were.)

    An animated stuffed Gann, still attached to its pedestal, bounded dangerously close. Tycon cut it down.

    A bronze candbra made a desperate lunge to... burn his hair? He grabbed its haft and threw it back, dealing severe structural damage to an ornery dressing table.<novelnext></novelnext>

    A standing clock cast a series of ?Magic Missiles?.

    --thest of which was grossly offset in juxtaposition to the music.

    It annoyed him greatly... but the tactic was sound. If Tycon had allowed himself to be swept up by the rhythm, he would have taken injury.

    He groaned as he erected a ?Mana Ward? to protect himself. Then, he threw his curved de out of exasperation.

    The grand, standing clock met its righteous end.

    With no end to the enemies in sight, Tycon began snaking his way up a support pir.

    "You''re holding back," he muttered.

    "What gave you *that* idea?" said the wooden pir.

    Tycon turned to face the pir he was climbing. At its top, connected to the ceiling, a carved image of Be''s face was ring at him.

    He adjusted himself, steadying himself with the strength of his legs-- which made his injured leg throb hot with pain.

    He would have been more physicallyfortable grabbing onto Be''s ''hair''... but it felt disrespectful to do so.

    "You just cast a First-Circle Spell through a polymorphed avatar, through a Domain, while magically imposing your image on this wooden pir," Tycon exined, "And all this, I assume, you''re doing from the safety of a suit of Divine Armor-- Be, fact check."

    "False," replied Be''s image, "Why''d you do it, Tycon?"

    Tycon looked down. Be''s frenzied monsters waited for him at the pir''s base, making the retrieval of his curved de an unsavory option.

    "Because I... sometimes have my moments of... sheer stupidity," he admitted.

    "45 thousand lives, Tycon," Be said in a stern voice. "And you used *my* Witches to do it."

    Oh.

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    "Speed and efficiency," he said. "That is my reasoning."

    "You weren''t killing dragons, Tycon," the Witch chided, "They were people... 45 thousand, gods-fearing sentients."

    "Yes, I understand that," Tycon pursed his lips. "But separating groups of people into ''save'' or ''imprison'' or ''special-case-scenario'' would be painstakingly slow and cumbersome, no?"

    "We *cannot* fight the literal god of tyranny by being *more* evil and *more* tyrannical!" the wooden pir strongly insisted.

    "You''ve a valid point," Tycon replied, "though, please understand that it is not my intent to appear as... a viin from some *bardic tale.*"

    "You basically are."

    "You are *grossly* oversimplifying the situation."

    "You. are. *better* than this!" Pir-Be screamed.

    Her wooden hair red outward, forming several pointed stakes that stabbed at Tycon''s chest.

    Admittedly, that should not have surprised him as much as it did.

    Thanks to his physique, none of Be''s attacks drew blood, but he still lost his grip and began sliding down.

    Trying to salvage the situation, he released his legs, and his back found... a cushioned sofa?

    Unfortunately, as Tycon wondered at his fortune, Be''s remaining animates fell upon him with their blunted appendages, beating him mercilessly.

    It took him several moments to recover, but finally, after utilizing a severed doll-arm and a table leg as improvised weapons, he emerged from the wooden scrap heap, victorious.

    So Be expected better...

    "I... I agree. This... this isn''t the best I can do," he said, wiping blood from his mouth, "But I reserve the right... to act otherwise."

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions... partially met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    Partial? Bah.

    ? Seven hells, yes, System. Please do so. ?

    ? Activating... ?

    Tycon took several breaths, harsh and deep, allowing his System''s magical healing to wash over him.

    However, Be was keen on allowing him to rest overlong.

    With a gust of wind, a shower of pink petals, and the scent of pan-fried garlic, she appeared before him.

    The Witch wore a flowing purple dress along with her iconic, oversized hat and rounded spectacles. She also kept her expression, a disappointed grimace, though she hid it behind a white paper fan.

    "Why?" she asked.

    Tycon tossed his weapons away. Despite having activated his Healing Skill, his fatigue made him want to copse onto one of the broken pieces of furniture.

    ...But if they were illusory, they were corpses, and it would not befortable.

    --And if Be was wasting an exorbitant amount of mana to animate and transmute the corpses'' forms into the twisted animates they were... he risked suffering a few more nasty scratches.

    Looking around, he spotted the profane (and cracked) lizard altar. Whatever dumb lizard script covered it seemed to exclude it from Be''s transformative ?Domain?.

    --but Tycon refused to sit on something like that.

    "I''m tired, Be," he said-- "tired of this game."

    "This is *not* a game, Tycon."

    "I speak of this... farcical war."

    "We have tens of thousands fighting on our side alone," Be countered, "Those people believe in you-- they believe in Sol Invictus, the Unconquered Sun."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "And you, Be?"

 Chapter 996 Undignified

    Tycondrius held his palm toward Be Sapphira, the strongest Witch.

    "And you, Be? Do you believe in me?"

    Be opened her mouth to speak... but she held her tongue.

    Tycon furrowed his brows, trying to make sense of the situation.

    The Be he knew was a somewhat slothful, carefree Witch-- but that persona was nowhere to be found.

    Instead, the Be in front of him was oddly... caring?

    The anti-lizard offensive was a war in the broadest sense of the term.

    There were two sides. Sol Invictus and their allies fought against the enemy.

    In Tycon''s opinion, however, a crucialponent of a *proper* war was a real and achievable set of conditions for victory.

    "Be, wars are waged with a long-term goal in mind... to secure the future of a people... to reinforce an ideology or for material gain.

    "But... you know, as well as I do: the lizard king has awoken.

    "Your intelligence verified it. My contacts amongst the Shadow Snake tribes have verified it. As direct proof, we''ve been seeing the effects of the enemy''s Domination-Mages!

    "Lizard. Domination. Magics-- even the notion of it sounds... abhorrent.

    "This is not a war, Be-- not when there''s nothing to won and both sides are doomed to annihtion."

    Be folded her fan and shouted with all her might, "Then what''s the point of gathering the nations together? What''s the point of all the training? --of all the logistics?? --of all your stupid, oveplicated ns?!"

    Tycon sucked in air through his teeth.

    "Our *efforts* are akin to... digging through dregs for resources, sacrificing too many lives for not enough reward...

    "We have no power-- not even hopes or prayers, as the gods have forsaken us... but even with nothing, we resist the Tyrant God''s hold to the bitter end.

    "Altogether, all we mortals of this Realm are capable of... are the ilings of a wounded beast-- the pitiable violence of its final death throes."

    Be took a deep breath... though the way she breathed clearlymunicated her ongoing frustrations.

    "Your cynicism does not absolve you of your *literal* war crimes, Tycondrius of Charm."

    "...Very well?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "But to be clear, I have never wished for absolution, Lady Sapphira."

    The Witch pointed her folded fan toward him.

    "You are *nothing* like him," she dered.

    She seemed to be referring to the previous-him. Tycon knew of that person-- partially from memories reyed with magical assistance, but mostly from second-hand ounts.

    He was not impressed.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "You wouldpare the current me to a socially inept coward?"

    Be turned up her nose before again guarding her face via fan, "Hmph. I take it back."

    Tycon crossed his arms, "It has be clear to me that I am not the person you hoped I was. And for that, I apologize."

    The Witch narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

    "Is there anything else to discuss?" Tycon asked.

    He wanted to be freed from Be''s ?Domain?.

    He was confident he could break it on his own, but that would take several minutes of brain-melting calctions. Unlike when his opponent was the deluded, lizard-sycophant, the Snake God, he could expect Be to be somewhat reasonable.

    "You are... not fit to be our Commander," Be mumbled.

    ...And to that, Tyconughed in her face.

    "Hah! Hahahaha! Ohh... Yes. I wholeheartedly agree!" he grinned, "But, if I were to say as much, none would *dare* im to be my superior."

    "There are... others," Be said quietly-- and notably absent of anything remotely resembling confidence.

    "Like who?" Tycon demanded.

    "This Realm... has heroes sworn to defend it."

    "Name one."

    "Pale... of House Mo--"

    "Pale of House Morningstar??" Tycon groaned, "Pale is but a child!"

    "He''s a Hero," Be huffed, adjusting her sses.

    "Hero, indeed. I was present when the Holy Princess selected him at random," Tycon said gruffly. "But I surmise the boy''s Hero-ing won''t be for *this* Realm. Last I saw, his strength had yet to mature... and we haven''t the time to wait for it..."

    "Give it up, Boss," Be said. Her voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper.

    "What? No."

    Be did not reply. Instead, she began to approach him warily, walking in a half-circle.

    If she was trying to unnerve him, as a predator unnerves prey... it was working fantastically well.

    Suddenly, Be ceased her steps and Tycon caught the faint scent of... steamed milk?

    Tycon sensed the creation of aplex array-- four simultaneous Spells, three active casts and an improvised Spell Formation.

    Be was a triple-casting genius.

    The Formation, he was confident in interrupting. It was a low-level, Invisible Force-type Spell, likely meant to unbnce him.

    The resilience of his physique allowed him to ignore it, if he wished.

    The fire and ice Spells Tycon could deal with exact timing. The fire Spell was obscenely more powerful than its mirrored cast, but he could expend moderate effort to exploit their projectile pattern,rgely mitigating the effectiveness of both.

    The errant earth-type Spell was problematic. Be was free-casting it without a focal point-- and its power and area of effect were such that Tycon could not ignore it.

    Be''s attacking style was akin to that of a child''s.

    She rightfully assumed that a single Spell would not be enough. Thus, she decided to use four at once and hope for the best.

    Tycon spent precious milliseconds extending his senses.

    From his mana sensitivity... and corroborated by the light vibrations in the ground, he confirmed that Ishmael was hiding Caitlyn behind the stone lizard altar.<novelnext></novelnext>

    That... was unfortunate, but unsurprising.

    Everything in Be''s ?Domain? was dangerous. Thus, the one inanimate object left untouched was reasonably safe.

    The altar...

    Tycon briefly scanned the sigils on the stone altar.

    They were... defensive in nature.

    Granted, reading the script disgusted him.

    For a very brief, minuscule, infinitesimally fleeting moment, he considered repairing and activating those defensive runes.

    But he realized that he''d rather die.

    Moving from his position risked Caitlyn''s life.

    Not moving risked only his own.

    The Realm was going to shite. Always trying to survive was so tiresome; dying was apletely viable option.

    And thus, Tycon stood fast in front of the stone altar, his hands outstretched to the side.

    (Of course, he still de-activated that out-of-ce kic force empowerment and weakened the twinned Spell.)

    The many Spell Circlespleted, executing their functions, with him as the target.

    The fire burned. The ice... also burned. The pain was excruciating-- enough that his agony went un-screamed.

    A blunted ?Earth Spike? smashed into his side.

    ...That was most certainly going to leave a nasty bruise.

    Another ?Earth Spike? struck him in the crotch, which brought him to his knees.

    He tried to remember a time when he had dignity.

    ...But he could not remember.

    Ishmael had disappeared-- Tycon didn''t have the mana to sustain him. But... by some stroke of miracle, Caitlyn remained alive, though unconscious.

    "Wow..." Be said in a monotone voice, "like-- way to subvert my expectations, Tycon."

    Tycon clenched his eyes shut, trying not to shed tears in front of a woman who was theoretically his long-time ally.

    "I... have a hostage," he said, with much difficulty.

    "Yeah, I can see that."

    "I''m... beginning to believe... that I-- have chosen poorly," Tycon coughed.

    "Cortlyn''s not even conscious."

    "Her name... is... Caitlyn."

    "No. Her name is Cortlyn."

    Tycon looked up. Be was looking down on him, wearing no expression in particr.

    "You... would me me for killing 40 thousand people... yet you... would endanger one of your direct subordinates?"

    Be rolled her eyes, "*45* thousand people, Tycon."

    Tycon furrowed his brows as he flopped around on the floorboards.

    He began to miss the temple''s bloodied tile, as he keenly felt a splinter digging into his cheek.

    "Don''t ignore me, Be," he groaned, "Did you not even-- urgh... did you not even notice the youngling?"

    "Relinquish your rank, Tycon."

    "Oh, sod off...."

    "Otherwise, stand up and fight me," Be said coolly.

    Tycon flipped over to his opposite side, to better face the Witch.

    "I''ve been saving Witches for the better half of the sun!" he roared, "Do you not even care? These girls idolize you!"

    "45--"

    "45 thousand people you don''t even know!" Tycon said as he struggled to stand, "Humans of middling intelligence can handle -- what, 150 rtionships? Even if you consider your bloodline, you can''t be much different."

    "Stand down!" Be screamed, "Or I''ll put you down, Maedar!"

    "Then do it, Witch!" Tycon shouted.

    He raised his hand.

    He had no weapon.

    ...And even if he did, he found himself reluctant to attack.

    He was naturally in a position to strike Be with his open palm. He would not have hesitated if he was facing an illusion or suspected she was fighting via proxy.

    Be had implied that she was actually present...

    Despite their... disagreement, he did not want to injure her.

    As human as Be appeared to be, the original cast of Sol Invictus boasted no humans.

    She did not have the Witch ss, as many of her subordinates had adopted.

    Be was born as an actual Witch.

    It was a powerful bloodline in the way of magic and Spellcasting-- not so much for their resilience.

    However, Tycon was very upset. Also, as his senses were highly charged, he sought to be economic with his actions.

    Therefore, he did strike Be-- or rather, he smacked the overge, iconic Witch hat off of herparably normal-sized head.

    Unfortunately... that was a grave mistake.

 Chapter 997 Power Overwhelming

    The momentum that came with the striking of Be''s hat... came with an unfortunate additional consequence.

    Be''s circr spectacles were dislodged from her face.

    Tycondrius... saw... light.

    His sensory perception of everything... touch, taste, time, bnce, temperature, motion, spiritual *distress* was inundated by light.

    He saw visions of glory.

    He saw the Laws of reality bending to their breaking point.

    He lived through a thousand waking nightmares, everything he''d seen and forgotten in lifetimes prior, the strikingly few instances of crowning achievements counterbnced by the so many pain-wracked, miserable failures.

    Tycon tried to shield his eyes from the mana being released.

    But, of course, the insignificance of his flesh and bone didn''t do a f*cking thing.

    He undimmed his vision, trying to offset the brilliance with the magic of his Ancient Bloodline.

    He felt his life-force burning away? Or perhaps it was his soul?

    He beheld the heavens and the endless stars in the sky. He saw Realms beyond the ken of understanding.

    He saw himself, stripped and scourged of his mask of professionalism. He saw his every impossible fear, every personal inadequacy,pounding and folding over itself until all that remained was the wish to be undone.

    He saw a sad, broken snake, desperately trying and failing at keeping his brittle mind intact.

    ? Be Sapphira, Heaven-Rank Witch. ?

    Her sses...

    They were a limiter.

    And with her powers released in full, Be was a mere half-step away from being a literal god.

    Then suddenly... the invisible pressure eased.

    And once again, he was whole.

    Tycon sped his hands together to prevent them from shaking-- to prevent his entire being from unraveling.

    He focused his mana towards his mouth and neck... his tongue and vocal chords. His lips had parted, yet he lost his voice to speak.

    In the seconds that passed-- seconds that felt like entire suns crossing the skyline, Be had retrieved her sses, donning them once more.

    It was the same for her hat.

    She must have really liked that hat.

    "You get one guess," she said.

    Tycon roughly cleaned his face with his sleeve.

    He swallowed the bile in his throat.

    ...He reaffirmed his existence in the material ne.

    And he made his guess:

    "Goddess..."

    "Of?" Be prompted.

    "Goddess... of Witches."

    Be''s jaw dropped in mock disbelief, "Goddess of Magic, Tycon. How the-- I... Ugh. I am *amazed* by how highly everyone thinks of you, considering you''d probably flunk out of basic Ne-cro-nomics."

    Tycon crossed his arms, though his movements remained haltered and uncertain, "''Goddess of Magic'' was m-my second guess."

    "You''ll never achieve Second-Circle."

    "I d''n wanna ''chieve Second-Circle," Tycon mumbled.

    He was aware that it was practically impossible for him to develop his mana heart to achieve Second-Circle normalcy. However, hearing it directly from the Goddess of Magic was more hurtful than he expected.

    "You were wrong, Tycon," Be dered. "Admit it."

    "I already have," Tycon seethed. "But, I say again: my second guess would have been--"

    "For killing all those people, lizard-brain," the Witch corrected.

    Tycon folded his hands together. It still felt surreal to have been killed and reborn so many times, then immediately after, expected to carry on with meaningful conversation.

    "I''m a little surprised you aren''t dead, by the way," Be remarked.

    "Be..." Tycon said, his face slowly twisting into a scowl... "You don''t... care about the humans."

    The Magic Witch Goddess crossed her arms, generally displeased.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow... "Fact check."

    "...I don''t," Be admitted.

    "Then why... in the seven hells... have you been going on about them?" Tycon groaned.

    Be did not respond.

    "I''d like to know... who *else* has a problem with my actions?" Tycon asked.

    Be took a deep breath, averting her gaze, "Some of the gods remain undecided..."

    Tycon took a deep breath... before waving in exasperation, "The gods cannot directly intervene in this war. You seem to be an exception-- would you kindly sate my curiosity on the matter?"

    "I am... a Sessor," Be sighed. "I''m still growing into my divinity, kinda like Krysaos is. But unlike him, I''m in-the-know."

    Tycon twisted his lips to the side.

    "Then from what I understand... your *vexation* stems from the negative opinions of *other* gods... neutral gods, perhaps? --or, otherwise, gods who have yet to be swayed to support our cause."

    "Oi," Be scowled. "Why are you trying to turn this on me?"

    "I''m not," Tycon said sternly, "I''m trying to understand."

    "...Then-- yeah," Be admitted, "I guess that sums it up."

    The Witch''s anger had diminished somewhat, if her general rxation was a reliable indicator.

    She still looked generally frustrated with him, but the look in her eyes had softened considerably.

    Tycon pursed his lips, weighing his words carefully...<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Be... honestly, can those gods be realistically appeased by someone like me? Or any mortal, for that matter?"

    "Well... y-yeah?" Be offered.

    "They expect a Hero, I assume."

    "You assume correctly."

    "And anything *short* of a Hero?" Tycon prodded, "Would that be eptable?"

    Be kept her mouth shut. She knew the answer.

    But Tycon spoke anyroad. He enjoyed being correct and was counting on his Witchpanion not having a proper response.

    "No matter what I do, Be, I will never be a Hero. My actions, my achievements... and my shorings are immaterial. The gods have already chosen their allegiances."

    Be closed her eyes and bowed her head.

    "And what will you do when the Hero arrives?" She asked.

    "As you might expect," Tycon shrugged. "I''ll tell the boy to leave this gods-forsaken Realm and never return."

    Be kept her stare hard for several more seconds... before realizing it was useless.

    The Witch sighed wistfully.

    "This Realm is really f*cked, isn''t it?" she said.

    "Oh, most definitely," Tycon nodded. "Though, I must admit... I wee any constructive criticism from here-on. I respect you that much."

    "I''m a literal god, Tycon. You have to respect me."

    "Hmph. You have my respect, Be," Tycon smirked, "but not for your divinity."

    Be breathed another sigh, "Whatever. I don''t even care anymore."

    "I''m d that''s settled," Tycon said as he limped away.

    He needed to tend to his burns and his side was aching tremendously.

    "Tycon."

    Unfortunately, it seemed that Be wasn''t finished with him.

    He spun around on his heels to face her, "Yes?"

    "...You were innocent once."

    Tycon looked into Be''s eyes.

    He sensed... unfathomable disappointment.

    Thus, he chose not to respond.

    The previous-him would never return. If Be chose to mourn, that was her right.

    ...

    ? A few minutes and several healing potionster... ?

    "How is a Goddess of Magic not versed with the Speak with Dead Spell?" Tycon groaned.

    Be rolled her eyes.

    "How can a Maedar barely achieve First-Circle after over a century and a half?"

    "Because I count the most powerful casters in the Realm among my allies," Tycon shrugged.

    "I''m still upset with you, Tycon."

    "You''ll get over it after dinner."

    Be crossed her arms as she walked, "And a shoulder massage."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "Are you implying that I would willingly grant you such a favor? You tried to kill me not ten minutes prior."

    Be turned up her nose in arrogance, "But did you die? Get over yourself. You''re the only Gold-Rank Martial ss within malms."

    "...Dragan should arrive by tomorrow, assuming all had gone well on the western front."

    "Dragan doesn''t have a *real* Martial ss," Be said as she squinted her eyes and leaned forward, "You, however, do. You''ll have to make yourself useful."

    Tycon swung about the severed arm he was keeping, gesturing all around him, "I''m responsible for heading this entire operation."

    "Well done~ Want me to bake you a cookie?"

    "If I''m to judge your baking ability by the quality of your alchemists," Tycon sneered, "then I suspect you''re *still* trying to kill me."

    Be ceased her steps. Turning to face Tycon, she ced her hands on her hips and tilted her head.

    "And if was to judge your intelligence by the quality of your wit," she said, "then I''m sorry to tell you, but you''ve suffered brain-death epochs ago."

    "...You don''t sound sorry," Tycon muttered.

    He was too miserable to argue overlong. Be was able to clean and repair his clothes, but after alchemical healing, the blisters left over itched terribly.

    He felt like he was molting.

    -st he checked, humans were *not* supposed to molt.

    "You have questions that need answering, no?" Be mused as she used ?Air Walk? to keep pace. "I''ll help you write a Scrying-type ritual after dinner-- and that massage."

    "Unfortunately, the questions I haveck a certain level of precision," Tycon shook his head, "hence the need for a dialogue with the recently departed..."

    He again gestured to the severed arm he kept in-hand. He didn''t keep the grisly trophy because he enjoyed it.

    Thest remaining Making General and his cronies were fanatical worshippers of the lizard god. Tycon ended them with great prejudice... but the fact that they fought with such zeal gave him cause for concern.

    The enemy had Domination-Mages; that was a valid exnation. Such Spells epted willingly were exponentially effective.

    However, just that was not enough to assuage Tycon''s concerns.

    Making was a City of Secrets, concealing their Divine Armors from the rest of the Eastern States and waging way frombyrinthine underground bases.

    If they had yet more unsecrets to uncover, he would have them annihted.

    ",

 Chapter 998 Shadow Snake Summon

    For Tycondrius to ay his unabating concerns, he sought a caster versed with ?Speak with Dead?...

    It was a simple enough Spell...

    He could improvise a ritual to achieve a simr effect... but he was not confident in forcing a hostile spirit to render obedience.

    Be could also freehand a ritual in her own style.

    --But there was a non-zero chance she''d inadvertently tear open a rift to a ne of death and the dead.

    Such would be doing Hades a grave disservice.

    Shaman... Bone Oracle... they were rtivelymon sses in the Free Nation, but the Sapphire Tower didn''t have any active Witches that fit the criteria.

    They didn''t even have any Priests... or any other sses that could be reasonably affiliated with death.

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    "Dragan..."

    "Ugggh," Be groaned, "Tycon, why are you *so* against a freakin'' shoulder massage? Like, you have no idea, but the knots on my back--"

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "You''ll get your massage, Witch. But I mentioned War Prince Droghan because he might be able to cast the Spell I need."

    "Or he''ll have Gnoll Deathspeakers or Orc Shugenja willing and capable," Be nodded. "But, like, can you wait that long?"

    Tycon closed his eyes and shook his head, "I''d rather not."

    At that moment, Tycon''s lead foot hit a rock.

    --a rock that was wearing a suit of armor.

    "D-don''t mind me, Commander," said the talking rock. "Just uh... whew. Been a long sun, hasn''t it?"

    Be lightly kicked at the rock, "Junior Witch Meteora, what are you doing?"

    "Ahm... doin'' an impression of m''parents," Meteora coughed. "Buried in the dirt. Haven''t moved for awhile. H-how''re you, Madam President?"

    "...Fine, thanks," Be waved.

    "Meteora of n Ambersk," Tycon frowned. "How are you still conscious?"

    Meteora moved-- perhaps trying to get to her feet. She managed to stick her rear upward... and an arm forward.

    Her face remained nted in the dirt.

    ...She did, however, manage to raise the thumb on her forward fist.

    "I''m built different."

    ...It seemed that was enough for her.

    "Ooh, is that a humie''s arm?" she added.

    "It is," Tycon nodded as he absentmindedly waved it. "I still need to speak to its owner."

    "Oh, where''s that Cortlyn girl?" Meteora asked, "And is she the reason you''re walking funny?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. Caitlyn was draped over his opposite shoulder... which would logically exin his measurably altered gait.

    Still, the junior Witch''s dictioncked proper decorum.

    Thus, he transferred the unconscious Caitlyn from his shoulder to Meteora''s back.

    "Oof," Meteora groaned. "Nevermind. Found her."

    "Did you get anything on Comms while we were inside?" Be asked.

    "Um. Yeah. J-junior Witch Meteora, reporting--"

    "Report," Tycon interrupted.

    "There''s movement in the forest to the north and east, Commander," Meteora exined. "Big group marching-- thousands of ''em. Still two bells away, though."

    Be pursed her lips, nodding, "It sounds like Dragan''s finished early. That''s good-- if we can squeeze some ''cinnamon reds'' in the catbs, that should reduce overall casualties."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin squints.

    Dragan was an excellent War Prince-- and it was practically impossible to estimate the upper physical limit of the fire giant bloodline.

    However, Tycon did not want to believe it was his forces arriving.

    He asked for Dragan to take the north and western territories in four suns. To arrive on the first implied something had gone terribly wrong.

    Tycon pursed his lips... "Meteora said north and *east.*"

    Be frowned, "My girls make mistakes, sometimes. Have you met a Witch named Decemberleigh?"

    "Hmph." Tycon frowned, "I don''t believe that''s a real name-- but I digress."

    Looking down, he prodded Meteora with his boot, "Did Promethea send a thought-image of the approaching army''s banners?"

    "Y-yeah, they did," Meteora mumbled.

    The Dwarven girl drew a symbol in the dirt with her fingers.

    "What... Warband is that?" Be frowned.

    "It''s not from the Free Nation," Tycon smiled. "That is the personal banner of Lady Nyctis, Queen of Shadows."

    The tone of Be''s voice rose as she spoke, "That''s... ominous."

    "Nonsense," Tycon waved, absentmindedly scratching the skin on his neck. "Let''s meet with their leadership."

    Surely, the Shadow Snakes would have both the healers and the casters Tycon sought.

    ...

    ? A few minutester... ?

    Be grabbed onto Tycondrius'' wrist just as she canceled the ?Flight? Spell on her riding broom.

    She then silently cast ?Featherfall?, which effected them both.

    As they had been flying just above the tree line, Tycon was sure he would survive the fall without Be''s assistance. But... it was nice to not worry about dropping 100 fulms or so onto uneven ground or while avoiding the prickly branches of the coniferous trees.

    He wondered how much of the Witch''s earlier anger was on behalf of her divine peers and how much was her own.

    Be Sapphira was not a woman open and honest about her emotions.

    Tycon was suddenly reminded of Natalya. Comparatively, the Archbishop was easier to deal with.

    ...Or maybe he just preferred herpany?<novelnext></novelnext>

    [The girl from the Holy Country. She''s good for you.]

    Be''s voice in his head caught Tycon by surprise.

    He red back at her, [I''m wearing an anti-scrying amulet. What kind of witchcraft lets you read my thoughts?]

    [Oh, I noticed.] Be replied. [But it''s not witchcraft. You''re just not as *clever* as you think you are.]

    Tycon shook his head while averting his gaze; he was unable to think of a clever-enough response.

    The notion annoyed him greatly.

    The pair touched grass. The dusky orange skies foretold theing of night.

    --which meant Tycon was going to miss a meal if he dallied too long.

    "What are you nning?" Be asked.

    "Summoning ritual."

    "Would it hurt you to use nonviolent, diplomatic measures?" The Witch sighed, "I know it''s highly likely that the iing force is bad news, but--"

    "Miss Be," Tycon frowned. "We can trust Queen Nyctis and her kin."

    ? Be narrowed her eyes, "Is that some kind of joke?"

    "...No?"

    "Some kind of misdirection? You''re going to say something like ''we can trust them to die like the traitors they are'' while bellyughing like a third-rate viin, right?"

    Tycon pursed his lips... "No? Is... that the type of behavior you expect of me?"

    "Yes," Be replied simply. "Overly violent, domineering, and not clever in the least."

    "I''ve the suspicion you''re still upset," Tycon noted.

    "No. I''m not," Be said, her speech oddly forceful and halting. "Whatso-EVER gave you tHaT iDeA?"

    "You''re speaking... in a sarcastic manner, are you not?"

    "Just... tell me whether or not I''m charging up myser," Be huffed.

    Tycon smiled politely, "I do not believe the charging ofsers to be necessary-- at least for dealing with the den of Shadow Snakes."

    "They get stronger at night," Be frowned.

    "As this area is filled with tall trees, their abilities will be consistent," Tycon corrected.

    "I''ll make fun of you if you die."

    "Worse then,pared to current?"

    "Oh, way worse," Be confirmed.

    Tycon spent several minutes to find a tree that fit his parameters. It towered over the others in the area, over thrice the age of its smaller kin, and underneath it was a hollow profuse with tendrils of moss and gnarled, dead roots.

    It was so thick that, there, no creatures hid.

    The shadows were much too dark.

    Crafting a quick Spell Circle to pull creatures out of magical shadows took about 40 seconds. He and Be worked very well together.

    "Hold this," Tycon said, offering the rebel leader''s severed arm to hispanion.

    "No," Be frowned. "Put it in your ring."

    Tycon shook his head, "I don''t want to subject the arm to so many unknown variables."

    "And you can''t hold it, why?"

    Tycon motioned towards the magical hole.

    ...Be begrudgingly took the severed limb.

    Thus, Tycon dared to reach his arm into the darkest depths... and grabbed hold of that which lied in wait.

    "(PLEASE DON''T EAT ME!!)" the Shadow Snake cried.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. His first try was sessful, rendering a hatchling he recognized.

    Unfortunately, it was a fellowrgely insignificant.

    He kept hold of the boy''s head and met his gaze.

    "Anthemon, where is your handler?"

    "(Eh? You mean Izzy? ARE YOU GONNA EAT IZZY?!?)"

    "Anthemon."

    "(HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!)"

    Tycon folded the Shadow Snake into a ball and dumped him back into the magical hole.

    "What was that about?" Be asked.

    Tycon pursed his lips, "It was a mistake."

    "I thought you didn''t make mistakes, Boss?"

    Suddenly, a second Shadow Snake burst out of the magical hole.

    "(MONTY!!! MONTY DON''T DIE!!!!)"

    It was Azalea, a hatchling simr in age to Anthemon.

    Many years ago, long before Tycon had met either of them, the two hatchlings suffered an unfortunate incident. From that point, onward, they were forced to share a single brain cell between them.

    The hatchling reared up, gasping in surprise.

    "(Oh! It''s you! M-m-m-master?!)"

    "Good evening, Azalea."

    Tycon smiled politely. Azalea was much smarter than herpanion, though, admittedly, not by much.

    However, since she recognized him and, assumedly, his title as Ivory Prince, it would be a simpler matter to glean--

    "(DID YOU EAT MY FRIEND?!?!?)" Izzy cried.

    ",

 Chapter 999 Brain Fog

    "(Spit him out, Master!)" Izzy pleaded, "(Even if you crushed his bones, tore him up into thirteen pieces, and turned him into your breeding ve, I can''t live without my friend!!)"

    "I have done *none* of those things," Tycondrius said as his palm found his face, "How... in the seven hells could you *possibly*e to... any of those conclusions??"

    Be hummed from the sidelines, "Hmm. Seems like you''re more popr in the human courts than the snake dens."

    "Please don''t judge the entirety of my people based on these two," Tycon sighed. "Child, who is in charge of you?"

    "(Eh? It''s Monty.)"

    Azalea was not a liar.

    However, that did not prevent her from being wrong.

    "And... who is in charge of Anthemon?"

    "(Umm. That would be... Lady... Suka?)"

    Azalea spoke of the youngest Shadow Snake Princess. That child was once infatuated with him-- or at least the him who fought in the diator arenas.

    Suka was a kind child-- and quite skilled with creation-type magic, considering her age.

    He recalled she did not have a high standing in Queen Nyctis'' court. Apparently, that had changed, since she wasmanding apany of her kin.

    Tycon waved his hand, "And in charge of her?"

    "(Lady... Ananta is overseeing all our forces?)" hissed the hatchling.

    "That will do," Tycon nodded. "Thank you, Azalea."

    He then folded the child into a ball and dumped her back into the magical hole.

    "Update," Be prompted.

    Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning a leather-wrapped package of venison jerky from his spatial ring.

    "The eldest Princess is inmand," Tycon exined.

    He gently ced the bait into the hole, then waited.

    After several seconds, he sensed movement from the other side. Thus, he reached in, grabbed the back cor of a humanoid''s armor, and swiftly pulled out his prize:

    Ananta the Endless, eldest daughter of the Queen of Shadow.

    ? Ananta, Gold-Rank Shadow Snake Incanter. ?

    "Gotta say, Boss," Be mused... "I had my doubts, but your unorthodox summoning circle is actually pretty effective."

    Tycon decided to ignore the subtle insult.

    He greeted his catch with a light bow.

    "Good evening, Princess. Allow me to introduce you to Miss Be Sapphira of the Sapphire Tower."

    The etiquette observed was peculiar. Acting as the Prince of Charm, it was proper to treat Ananta, a Princess of a simr-ranking family as the superior party.

    Be did not have a hereditary family title, but her position as master of the Sapphire Tower was the Eastern States equivalent of nobility.

    Also, she was a goddess.

    She could have been insulted, having been introduced instead of the contrary.

    ...Thankfully, she did not seem immediately bothered by the notion.

    Ananta was in her human form; human taste buds were more suitable for the consumption of smoked meats. She wore a set of ornate leather armor befitting a humanoid General-- which, admittedly came as a surprise.

    Tycon would have been d if she wore at least a sackcloth.

    However... while the Princess'' attire behooved her station, her dark hair was a poofy disaster, she sat on the dirt with her legs spread, and she was stuffing her face like a malnourished peasant child.

    "She''s not wearing underwear," Be remarked.

    ...Tycon sat the transformed Shadow Snake upright, concealing certain human parts from view.

    The gluttonous Princess paid him no heed.

    Ananta was a woman honest to her base desires. However, Tycon found her behavior somewhat odd.

    She seemed a bit... slower? --more... single-minded.

    Extending his mana senses to examine her condition, he found a potential exnation.

    "Be... do you feel that?"

    "Ugh, I feel disgusted, yeah," Be said. "Take your stupid arm back."

    Tycon did as she asked... "It doesn''t seem right."

    "Carrying around someone else''s severed limb?"

    "Ananta."

    "Who''s Ananta?"

    The pale girl sitting in the dirt raised her hand, "Thissss one isss Anantta."

    She spoke with her mouth full... which, while somewhat off-putting, was consistent. From what he knew, Ananta was unfamiliar withmon human etiquette.

    "What doessn''tttt feel right?" Ananta asked.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "You don''t feel right."

    "Are you ssssure?"

    "I''m sure."

    Tycon felt Be poke him in the side.

    "Tycon," she said. "She doesn''t have a shadow."

    "That''s normal," Tycon exined.

    "But that doesn''t feel right," Be frowned.

    "You''re entitled to your opinion," Tycon groaned, "but it''s still normal."

    "Then what *isn''t* normal?"

    "How she feels," Tycon growled.

    "Excusssssse me," Ananta interjected. "Thissss one feelsss fine."

    "You''re not fine," Tycon insisted.

    Ananta slowly tilted her head to the side, "Then.... hOwW doessss thisss one feel?"

    Tycon''s eyes widened with a sudden realization, "You feel... cursed."

    "She''s made of shadow," Beined. "False positive, dude."

    "No," Tycon shook his head. "The difference is close, but I can discern between the two."

    "Closerrrr," Ananta cooed. "Yessss, thissss one would like thatttt."

    Sometime during the conversation, the Shadow Snake Princess had wrapped her arms around his thigh.

    He hoped the jerky would distract her for longer, but it seemed she''d finished it all.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Too close," he sighed, pushing Ananta away by her forehead. "Be,e here."

    "Why does *sssshe* get to be closer?" Anantained.

    "Because she''s normal."

    "Thissss one? ...Thiss one iss normal..."

    "Not quite..." Tycon pursed his lips, "If you would, Princess, state thy name and business."

    "Princesssss?" Ananta said, tilting her head, "Ah, yess, of courssse... thisss one issss... Ananta. And we are... headedtttt to Making."

    Tycon nced over to Be. They shared a dubious look.

    "Are we...." Ananta swayed her head to the opposite side, "in Making... now? That''ssss where... we''ll find the enemy-- Maybe?"

    Tycon ced a finger underneath the Princess'' chin, tilting her face up so he could gaze into her eyes.

    "Ananta... who am I?"

    "You''re... Thissss one... I... I know you..."

    Ananta grew silent, but did not avert her red-eyed gaze.

    "Some sort of brain fog," Be mused. "You said it''s a curse, but its effects seem like an enchantment Spell?"

    "Simple enchantments are ineffective against the Shadow Snake bloodline," Tycon exined... "Simr to--"

    "--simr to elves," Be finished sharply. "I get it."

    Ananta took Tycon''s hand and held it against her cheek.

    "You and I... did we... have ssex?"

    Be''s expression twisted into one of disgust, "I *really* don''t know what all these women see in you, Boss."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin squints, "We. did. *not.* mate."

    ? "Would you like to?" Ananta offered coyly.

    "Be," Tycon turned. "Do you have Decursify prepared?"

    "I''ve got a wand for it... but if you''re asking only because you want the Princess to jam it up your--"

    "Be."

    "Hmph."

    Be drew one of thepact wands attached to her belt, quickly zapping Ananta with a bolt-like illumination.

    It left behind a scent reminiscent of melted butter.

    Contemporary arcanotech was generally disdained by the older and more traditional. However, Tycon appreciated the modern sensibilities of the Sapphire Tower''s research department.

    "Hmm..." Ananta pouted, "I don''ttt feel any different."

    Tycon twisted his lips to the side, "Who am I?"

    Ananta got to her feet, subtly running her fingers up Ty''s trouser leg, stopping at drawing circles on his left pectoral.

    "Which ansswer would you like?" she asked.

    "Whateveres to mind," Tycon groaned.

    "Shall we discuss the first thing thates up?" the shadow-snake-in-heat teased.

    "Ananta."

    "Tycondriuss... the Ivory Prince... My younger ssister''s very handssome, Ssol Invictusssss infatuation."

    Tycon turned to smirk at his Witchpanion, "This is what women see in me, Be."

    Be responded by emting a gagging noise.

    Crass.

    "O'' sweeeet Pricce~" Ananta cooed. "I''ve been conssssidering joining your harem."

    "My what? I don''t have a--"

    "Tycon!" Be shouted, "No one cares! Start asking the important questions!"

    Tycon cleared his throat, "Ahem... right-- right. Ananta."

    "PrincesSss Ananta?"

    "Yes. Why are you here?"

    Ananta smiled softly, fluttering her long eyshes.

    "The ansswer is ssimple, Ivory Prince. The Queen of Shadowss has ordered me... sshe... sshe ordered..."

    Slowly, the Shadow Snake Princess dipped her head, "It... sssseems I''ve led my armies hundredss of malmss away from our intended desstination."

    "WwoWw," Be interjected, "like tHiS won''t affect our overall ns."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, "What are you talking about? This absolutely *will* affect--"

    "It wass sSsArCasM, ssnek-boyY."

    Hm. Snake-boy. The term was urate but somehow felt demeaning.

    Tycon rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Ananta... what is thest thing you remember?"

    Ananta had yet to raise her head. Suddenly, her knees locked and she began to sway to the side.

    Tycon, of course, supported her before she fell.

    "Ananta?"

    "I think... I remember," she said... "(I met with the emissaries of the lizard god... Queen Nyctis-- she wanted to gauge their strength.)"

    Tycon steeled his gaze, "And what of it?"

    (They... are as powerful as we fear...)"

    "I see..." Tycon sighed and shook his head, "The enemy has one or more Domination Mage. Several yers in high positions have been turned-- not just you."

    "That''ss... impossible," Ananta cried. Her eyes fluttered as if she was fighting to keep conscious. "My bloodline hassss always been able to ressist the control of ssuch Sspells!"

    "Other bloodlines have been targeted in a simr manner," Tycon admitted quietly. "The Domination effects are rtively easy to identify, but elves, in particr, are highly susceptible to the enemy''s control."

    It was basically impossible to determine if an elf was under the effects of an enchantment Spell.

    Not even elves understood other elves.

    "I sssee..." Ananta said as she closed her eyes.

    Her expression twisted as she spent several moments in thought... but finally, she bowed her head.

    "Then... consssidering theircumstances, I shall relinquish mymand to you, Ssssweeeeet Prince. Pleassse... take care of my people."

    "Very well," Tycon said as he lifted Ananta into his arms. Once she said what she needed to say, she fell asleep within seconds... "Sleep sweetly, dear friend. I''ll handle the rest."

 Chapter 1000 Noble Name

    It was rtively easy for Tycondrius to keep Ananta''s forces alive and useful. The Shadow Snakes had their own quartermasters, supplying food and shelter... and the lower-ranked snakes and ves were ustomed to doing as they were told.

    #ve: This is an inuracy, as very was abolished in the Eastern States two generations prior. The lower ranks of the Shadow Snake armyprise mostly of conscripts.

    Be assigned one of her flights to triage, administering treatment as needed.

    Besides Ananta, most of her leadership was affected in some manner by lizard magic...

    The lizard god''s Domination Mages had stark limitations. Their signature Spells were effectually suggestive as opposed to absolute. Still, a skilled Priest or Mage was necessary to cleanse the effects, but those weremon enough amongst the allied forces.

    And, of course, personages belonging to the Shadow Snake bloodline were effectively immune to enchantments and were suffering from lizard curses, instead. Thankfully, the numbers involved were not more than the ?Decursify? wands stocked by the Sapphire Tower.

    Tycon wanted to assume that such wands were created by at least one Tower Witch that was not their leader. Surely, Be wasn''t the only dependable caster in her organization...

    --her and Coraline, anyroad.

    (Or had she changed her name to Bora-line?)

    Anyroad, the anti-lizard offensive had not suffered the worst-case scenario.

    Ananta had not defected to the enemy side... nor were her forces used tomit violence upon their allies.

    The best the lizards could do was send her away.

    ...Though, admittedly, that was troublesome enough.

    Tycon was relying on the Shadow Snakes to support the anti-lizard offensive''s efforts in the east.

    That wasn''t to say that the eastern forces were weak or that theirmanders werecking.

    The bloodline memories of Tycon and his snake kin made them invaluable allies in battles rife with lizard magic and tactics.

    The humans in the eastcked that knowledge.

    Even Natalya''s knowledge was limited, her history books on the topic were vague, cryptic, and more useful for propaganda than military insight.

    ...As a silver lining, however, Queen Nyctis'' Shadow Mages were able to assist in sieging thest few subterranean strongholds in City-State Making.

    It was rather dark, down there. In some ces, it was darker still, as much of the underground were or were still catbs, filled with centuries-old corpses in the thousands.

    Tycon approached the ce where Ananta was convalescing, expecting much of the same.

    The Sapphire Tower had taken over arge, brick-and-mortar building in one of Making''s older quarters, turning that into their main medical bay. ording to the numbers he saw in reports, their losses were quite low, all considered.

    Unfortunately, allied casualties still numbered in the hundreds.

    It was logical for Ananta to be in a ce where the Tower''s medical personnel could monitor her condition.

    However, he would also understand that Ananta, as a high-ranked personage, might not appreciate being housed with so many dead and dying,

    Tycon pushed open the wooden double doors, striding into the building.

    ...But instead of the red y bricks he expected, he found himself surrounded by smooth, cut limestone tile.

    The air was warm, with a cool breeze wafting in through open windows. The outside was green and lush, covered in foliage that implied a tropical climate.

    Ananta was in her human form. She wore a few pieces of gold jewelry on her neck, a green cloth around her waist, and her scraggly hair was tied in a long ponytail. She was also on her knees, picking at what appeared to be weeds growing between cracks in the tiles.

    "Ananta?"

    "(Oh, Sweet Prince!)" the Princess said, hopping to her feet in excitement. "(This one was hoping you would arrive. Is that a gift?)"

    Ananta pointed at the severed arm Tycon was holding.

    "No."

    In his other hand was a satchel containing wild, freshly boiled eggs and crispy strips of cured pork. He gave that to Ananta instead.

    She seemed disappointed, but Tycon did not care.

    "Ananta... where is everyone?"

    "(Do you speak of the injured or of the magical children?)"

    It was an odd realization; there was no word for Witch in Parseltongue.

    "Both," Tycon answered.

    Ananta led him to the far wall, to a circr open window, thrice asrge as the others. With a wave of her hand, the window projected an alternate image, different, but no less beautiful.

    "(ck Opal Valley has dozens of naturally urring hot springs,)" the Princess exined. "(Some are enchanted to heal injuries and ailments. Others are said to strengthen one''s mana circuits or increase their libido-- there is no actual magic in those, though.)"

    Tycon curiously waved his hand in front of the image, the view scrying a different group with each swipe.

    "...You used your ?Dominion? to send everyone on vacation."

    "Thatttt ssssseems to be the cassse," Ananta smiled, "(This is the most effective usage of my Reality Marble. As long as this one still breathes, Sweet Prince, enough time in this ce can nurse them back to perfect health.)"<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Then we should keep *you* breathing, my dear," Tycon replied with a polite smile.

    "(I am strong enough to protect myself, Sweet Prince,)" Ananta said, chuckling quietly. "(You will tell me the location of my sister.)"

    Tycon pursed his lips. It seemed that Ananta''s scrying magic had some limitations.

    He wondered if they also applied to him.

    cing and holding his fingers against the image, he began to scan the magics behind it.

    ? "I... was told Princess Suka was not ovee by exhaustion after she was cleansed," he said absentmindedly.

    "(Suka was afflicted, just as I was,)" Ananta said, her tone suddenly sharp.

    "Hm. Undoubtedly."

    The magics just behind the image''s surface were easy enough for Tycon toprehend. Thus, with another swipe of his hand, he brought the youngest Shadow Snake Princess to view.

    Suka was in a dark ce, walking through twisting corridors, fatigued and covered in grime.

    Thankfully, she had allies with her, watching the sides and rear. She appeared to have arge squad with her; Tycon noted a Witch and two Forcen mercenaries mixed in her Shadow Snake warriors.

    "I''ve been told that Suka has reinforced the front lines since your forces arrived," Tycon exined. "An unknown number of enemy cells remain in Making''s underground catbs... and their beggarly rebellion will continue until we gain ess to the city''s underground leyline."

    Ananta stared nkly, flicking her tongue several times.

    ...Tycon repeated his exnation in Parseltongue. Then, she understood.

    "(You must learn themon tongue,)" Tycon chided. "(My den flourishes because the humans so value our trade.)"

    "(My sister says the same!)" Ananta groaned, rolling her eyes. "(But,id witness by the heavens, the truth is clear. She dreams of your affection; *that* is why she speaks themon tongue. That is why she fights on the front lines of your war.)"

    "(It is not my war,)" Tycon frowned, "(Yet we all fight, as one, and for our dens. This is how it must be.)"

    "(Yet Suka fights for you,)" Ananta insisted.

    Waving both of her hands, the image in the window focused on her sister.

    She swept her dark wavy hair out of her eyes as she scanned her surroundings. Her crimson gaze was not filled with fear or regret, but with determination and an unwavering will.

    ...Tycon respected that.

    --but that did not mean he could ept her feelings.

    "(...The hatchling dreams what she wishes to dream,)" he said as he turned away. "We''ve met but once, Ananta."

    Ananta sidled up to Tycon, rubbing her shoulder against him.

    "(Once was enough,)" she said. "(If not for you, the youngest Princess would have never chosen the sword. She would have remained at home, obedient to all of our divine mother''s whims and wishes.)"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Surely, ''tis a gross exaggeration."

    Ananta motioned towards her sister''s image, "I sssspeak true."

    He recognized the sword on Suka''s waist. It was a replica of the sword he used as a diator in Ezyria.

    Tycon grit his teeth, allowing the guilt to sink into his psyche. When he heard of Suka volunteering, he appreciated the selfless gesture. However, he was busy coordinating with Be and the other war leaders to pay her special attention.

    "I... will need to thank her, personally."

    "Oh, ssssweeet Price... would you conssssider epting her marriage proposal?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows. He felt there was... a deep, uncrossable crevasse between the first topic and the subsequent. How could Ananta bring up the topic ofwful marriage so easily?

    "...Suka has not spoken to me of this."

    "(Then the eldest daughter of Queen Nyctis makes a request,)" Ananta said, bringing her palm to her bosom, "(that the Ivory Prince take Princess Suka as hiswfully wedded wife and shalt adopt his noble name.)"

    Tycon steeled his expression. As his priorities were focused on dismantling the quickly growing lizard regime, he found all discussions that involved his personal life to be tiresome.

    "(You owe my sister a boon, Ivory Prince,)" Ananta added.

    "I refuse," Tycon shook his head, "I will find a different way to repay Suka for her kindness."

    "(Is there another you wish to marry?)" Ananta prodded, "(Does a woman exist, more qualified?)"

    "...Yes."

    Tycon immediately thought of Natalya.

    ...It also made him realize that, concerning certain topics, he would defer to Be''s advices in the future.

    ",

 Chapter 1001 Two Princess...Es

    Tycondrius was Queen Rnia''s eldest and only son. He was the most sessful War Prince in the history of Charm (aside from her) and had found Realmwide acim due to his guild, Sol Invictus.

    If Queen Nyctis sought him as a son-inw, her eldest daughter, Ananta was his only socially suitable pairing.

    If the age gap was a concern, the Queen of Shadow had other daughters...

    Conversely, Suka was the youngest Princess... her bloodline, the least pure, and with the fewest achievements to her name.

    Tycon could have chosen to be offended by Ananta advocating a marriage between him and Suka.

    He was not.

    From what he knew of Ananta, she did not particrly care about status-- neither hers nor her family''s.

    She was a woman who once allied with the fallen Cobra Families, hoping to enlist their aid in the anti-lizard offensive-- and that was well before its formal establishment.

    #Cobra Families: See Chapter 464.

    Tycon could only conclude that Ananta''s support of her sister... stemmed from kindness and familial love.

    "Ssssweeeeet... Prinncce..." Ananta cooed, twirling a strand of her dark hair, "(Are you, perhaps... thinking of me?)"

    "I am," Tycon smirked.

    "Eh? Really?"

    "My apologies, Ananta," Tycon smiled. "On the topic of marriage, I have someone else I''m romantically interested in. She''s fighting on our eastern front."

    "Ehhhh... You''re an iniquitous tease, Ivory Prie..." Ananta said with a resignedugh.

    Tycon lowered his chin, raising an eyebrow.

    "(Is it a human?)" Ananta suddenly asked.

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch.

    "Ahaha~" Ananta giggled, "(Humans tend to be rather fragile, no? Does she know the difficulties of being a denmother? To breed a new generation?)"

    Tycon took in a deep breath, sighing even deeper.

    "The Realm is going to end, Ananta."

    "(Of that, this one is well aware,) Ananta said. "(But I like to pretend otherwise. Else, I''d be tempted to jam a spear down my throat.)"

    Huh?

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Ananta."

    Ananta''s eyes lit up, "Oh! Do you wanttttt the ssex, Ivory Prince?"

    She waved her hand. The window disyed a... crudely imagined intimate scene, between him and her in their human forms.

    And it seemed that, like her sister, Ananta assumed that Tycon had more than one.

    #More than one: In chapter 466, Suka used her sister''s Domain Magic to make a version of Tycon''s human form.

    "No," Tycon shook his head, "Ananta, stop that. You''re being crass."

    "(If you were not aware, once you marry my sister, I would dly be your concubine.)"

    The image changed to disy a theoretical harem. An extravagantly dressed Ananta sat at the center of the crowd, being fanned by a trio of nude, muscr males.

    ...Tycon''s also-nude, anatomically-incorrect approximation wasn''t even adjacent to her. He stood on the harem''s outermost ring.

    --and weren''t harems supposed to be primarily female?

    "Ananta, stop."

    "(I can imagine her face! She''d be so dreadfully upset!)"

    The window disyed a magnified image of Suka''s face, her face reddened by blush, her eyesrge and watery.

    It was... nostalgic. The youngdy had shown Tycon that exact expression, once before.

    "Princess..."

    "(Our children would be so much stronger than hers!) Kahahaha~!"

    The image changed once more to disy several young hatchlings. They were younger and smaller copies of Ananta''s human form, save each with Tycon''s green hair and golden eyes.

    Also, all of them looked vaguely displeased.

    Whatever was being implied, Tycon did not like it.

    "Are you finished?"

    "Hoh?" the Shadow Snake Princess jumped in surprise. "Yessss?"

    Tycon sighed, then swiped down on the window to deactivate the illusion.

    "Ananta," he said... "are you familiar with the ?Speak with Dead? Spell?"

    "Mmmm... (So the Ivory Prince is a man of culture,)" Ananta nodded. "I sssseeeee~"

    "Nn... argh," Tycon grit his teeth, then lifted up the severed arm he''d been holding for the past fifteen minutes, "Ananta, the arm."

    "(Well... alright,") Ananta said with a slight pout. "(But let it be known, my preference is to use something of yours-- something still attached.)"

    "(I don''t care for your preferences, Princess)" Tycon hissed. "(I wish to speak with this person.)"

    "Ssssso what''ss in it for me?" Ananta asked.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Tycon blinked... "I''m sorry?"

    "(You wish to utilize my magics, Ivory Prince,)" Ananta said, holding her hands together and fluttering her eyshes. "(Perhaps you shall grant me a boon in exchange?)"

    "Three suns, Ananta," Tycon frowned. "I kept your people safe for three suns."

    "(You used them to fight in your front lines.)"

    "I am the Commander of ourbined armies," Tycon argued. "It is well within my right to issue basic orders."

    "But thisssss one wantssss a bOoOooon~" Ananta whined, "Pleeeeaaasssse????"

    "Fine!" Tycon snapped. "I''ll grant you a boon. But know that, in all likelihood, whatever you ask for will have to *wait* until my duties end as Commander."

    "Oho?" Ananta giggled, outing her earlier tantrum as a deceptive farce. "(What is it you fear, Ivory Prince?) The Realm isss going to ennnd."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Perhaps you might (pretend otherwise.)"

    Ananta raised her chin, "You will take Ssuka as your wife."

    "Ananta, I cannot--"

    "For my boon, Ssweet Prince, my request isss as ssssuch: You will ssseek out my ssister at firsst opportunity."

    Tycon wanted to argue, but Ananta held out her hand to silence him.

    "You *will* dissscuss the prospect of marriage," she continued, "whatever the resultt may be... I will deal with your *handler* to smooth over anyplicationss. I have sspoken, child of Rnia."

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes to squints. Ananta''s unusually formal diction meant that there was no longer room for debate.

    She was well within her right to speak as such... and her request was reasonable enough to honor. However, the oppressive social maneuver annoyed him greatly.

    "My mother is not my handler," Tycon muttered. "She has no hold over me."

    The Medusa Matriarch of Charm could not be contested anywhere on the western side of the continent. However, Tycon was technically still questing on her behalf... and they were in the Eastern States, far, far away from the Free Nation.

    He wasn''t scared of her.

    Really.

    "Tss," Ananta scoffed as she waved her hand, reactivating her illusion window.

    "I wass sspeaking of your beloved sssister," she hissed.

    There was an olive-skinned girl disyed in the image. If she were human, she''d be a young teenager-- certainly not an adult. She staredzily outside of her pnquin while the twelve ck snakes and a single greenprising her hair looked equally bored.

    Judging by the surrounding trees and foliage, she was somewhere in the Eastern States. However, Tycon could not discern if she was a few suns away from their camp or a few bells.

    Curious.

    Tycon did not know his sister''s opinions on the topic of Suka.

    Unless something had changed over the past few years, Suka was his sister''s closest friend and confidante.

    A cold chill seeped into the back of Tycon''s neck, causing him to shiver.

    If both his mother and sister supported the marriage... it would be troublesome.

    Thankfully, there was a cataclysm on the way. It wasn''t impossible for the Realm to meet its violent end before he had to deal with that and other issues.

    "Very well," Tycon sighed.

    "I knew you''d ssee reasson, hussband," Ananta winked.

    Tycon pursed his lips, not wanting to deign himself to a verbal response. Instead, he pushed the dead man''s arm toward her.

    The Shadow Snake Princess took it and threw it out the window-- or that''s how it appeared. Tycon did not sense the arm hitting the ground outside.

    Ananta then waved her hand, conjuring a new illusory image, "It is done."

    An older human male appeared in the window, like a prisoner in a transparent-walled cell.

    He wore the armor he did in life, though a cut on his chainmail appeared to be mended with a thick thread. Tycon recalled hacking his curved de through the man''s left corbone, down to one of his lower ribs.

    There was also a gruesome scar on his forehead. Tycon recalled kneeling on the man''s chest and driving Mercy through his skull.

    Recalling the satisfaction it gave him at the time brought a smile to his face.

    He gave a nod to Ananta. She had done quite well.

    "It''s YOU!" the human wailed. He tried to move towards Tycon, but his arms and legs were bound to a far wall by thick, shadowy chains.

    "You only dy the inevitable!" the ghost shouted, "When the dragon descends, you''ll get what you DESERVE!!"

    "Naught but ash and fire?" Tycon suggested.

    "Err... yes, actually. Have we had this conversation before?"

    "You might have mentioned it as I was murdering everyone you knew and loved," Tycon admitted... "Anyroad-- good evening."

    "O-oh. Good evening?" the ghost replied, somewhat confused.

    "I have questions," Tycon smiled politely. "Prepare to answer them."

    The notion seemed to enrage the ghost. His form adopted a tinge of greenish-blue and grew nearly a fulm in height. Then he began to scream, his mouth stretching to inhuman proportions.

    "And why would I help YOUUUU?!?!" he shrieked, "You... KILLED ME!! You killed ALL my men! You spared no one-- neither soldier nor civilian! You just-- you just started killing people!!"

 Chapter 1002 Spectacle

    Tycondrius took a deep breath before sighing and shaking his head.

    A few suns prior, he hadmitted several counts of callous manughter, bordering on genocide. At the time, he had done so for the sake of efficiency.

    He had even enjoyed parts of it.

    But... he was beginning to regret the consequences of doing so.

    It was a surprising predicament, though.

    Usually, violence solved his problems, not created more...

    "(Ask your questions, Ivory Prince,)" Ananta waved.

    Tycon wondered if he was perhaps overthinking the situation.

    "Ghost," he addressed the apparition.

    "My name is GENERAL Wiburr JONES... the thirrrrrd!!" said the ghost.

    "Ghost, how do I gain ess to the leyline beneath City-State Making?"

    "There''s a secret entrance in a mausoleum in the western district," the ghost replied. "Turn the adjacent torch to gain ess, but you''ll NEVER FIND IT!!"

    "He''s more forting than his attitude would otherwise suggest," Tycon said in aside.

    "(The dead know better than to cross a Princess of Shadow,)" Ananta reassured him.

    She swiped her hands over the ghost''s image, bringing up a series of memory-pictures. Among them was a map of city proper and several points of reference.

    One particr memory depicted the General turning the torch and watching the hidden staircase reveal itself.

    The engineering that went into the mechanisms involved was remarkable.

    Yet... Tycon felt a slight tinge of disappointment. He felt he would have enjoyed it more, had he witnessed it firsthand.

    Tycon swiped his hand over the window, returning to the image of a shaken and confused Wibur Jones.

    "Mister Jones, what can we expect to find down there?"

    The ghost shook his head, adopting a scowl, "You''ll only find your doom, you green-haired *freak*."

    Ananta waved her hand over the window, top to bottom, causing the ghost''s image to disappear once again.

    Tycon waited patiently, trusting that the woman had her reasons for doing so.

    After another moment passed, Ananta swiped her hand once more on the window, bottom to top.

    The image of General Wibur Jones III returned... except he was devoid of clothes and had lost a great deal of weight. There was a myriad of healed-oversh marks on his arms, chest, and neck... some obviously infected and weeping with pus.

    He stared at Tycon with sunken eye-sockets and a dead gaze.

    "(You''re a cruel woman, Ananta,)" Tycon said quietly.

    Considering the ?Speak with Dead? Spell, the Shadow Snake Princess merely had to reinforce her will on the recipient to render them obedient. On top of doing that, Ananta also expressed her displeasure by... wearing down the man''s soul.

    Ananta said nothing. Her smile, however, hid a sharp edge.

    "Mister Jones," Tycon said in a quiet voice. "The secret passage in the mausoleum... what are your people hiding?"

    "There... is a ?Gate?," The ghost said, his voice hoarse and weak, "I''ts been there since... before the city was built."

    "You will ANSWER!!" Ananta shouted.

    The ghost in the window cowered in the corner of his box-like cell.

    "The ne of Fire, Sir and Madam!" he cried. "It connects... to the ne of Fire..."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, looking to Ananta.

    "(The deeper the den, the darker the secrets,)" she remarked.

    "The ne of Fire contains too many unknown variables," Tycon growled. "For now, let''s evacuate our forces fighting underground. Afterward, I''ll lead apany myself to see what exactly the city has to offer."

    "And I will join you, ssweet Prie," Ananta nodded, "(though, before then, I need to brief my subordinates here in the valley.)"

    She swiped down on the ghost, damning Wibur Jones to whatever hell awaited him in the afterlife.

    However, the window did not disy the jungle greenery of Ananta''s ck Opal Valley.

    "Do not stand in my way, Dwarfling."

    It showed his sister, Cass, standing amidst a ring of defeated Witches, and moments away frommitting violence upon one more.

    "Ananta," Tycon pursed his lips, "I would like you to tell me that the situation in the window is wholly fabricated."

    "Hm... (What should I tell you, if it is otherwise?)"

    "Stay grounded,dy," said the dwarf in the image, "One does not simply *walk* into the Commander. His chiseled abs are guarded by more than just Witches. There is lust here that DOES. NOT. WANE."

    "Are you done?" Cass asked.

    "Alpha Squad stays EVER WATCHFUL!!" Meteora continued, "Silky hair and steady hands... Rippling pecs and perfect butt! The sweat on his skin, a fragrant perfume! Not with ten thousand women could you--"

    Tycon heard a series of magical explosions.

    It was loud; his sister specialized in wind-type Evocations.<novelnext></novelnext>

    What happened, exactly, he did not know. His eyes were clenched shut, as he was massaging the bridge of his nose to ease a quickly-arriving headache.

    "I believe your ssister jusssst killed the Dwarfling," Ananta mused.

    "I''ll have to go and thank her," Tycon sighed. "Good evening, Ananta."

    ...

    "I wonder why they call it a Beithir ster." Zashleigh Yates said aloud-- to no one in particr.

    She tightened the straps on her enchanted shield before picking up the ancient-looking staff. It was lighter than she imagined it to be.

    "Because the woman who designed it was a narcissist with illusions of grandeur," Heartsong answered curtly. "Herst dissertation got her lightning-roasted by her peers as well as by an actual Beithir."

    "Tch," Zashleigh scoffed. "Doesn''t every Witch in Evocs die horribly? And by their own practiced element?"

    "I never said it was surprising," Heartsong shrugged.

    "But why did that Artificer, in particr, name this thing what she did?"

    Zash flicked her fingernail against the wood. It seemed hollow inside.

    Heartsong wrapped her palm around the staff''s headpiece.

    "Because it has many, many, *many*yers of wind-element Spell Circles scribed both inside and outside the wood," she sighed. "I can sense two very secure magical safeties... but let''s not take any chances, Squad Leader."

    Zashleigh nodded slowly, "A-alright."

    It was a bit off-putting to be admonished by her junior Witch, but Heartsong rated to do so.

    She was the subject matter expert on all things Evocs, safety included.

    Zash cupped her right ear, sending a thought-message to the Command Tent.

    [Promethea,e in. This is Zeta-One. What''s the sich?]

    [Zeta-One, this is Promethea. Be quick but cautious, Zeta-One. We have on good word that most of Alpha Squad went down in a single Spell.]

    One of Heartsong''s ears twitched and she furrowed her brows.

    "That sounds... real bad."

    "Yeah... you''re tellin'' *me,*" Zash said through her teeth. "Alpha Squad''s strong... but they''re only the Tower''s strongest for their piloting skills. On an individual basis, the members of Zeta Squad have higherbat stats across the board."

    Heartsong bit her upper lip, "But how often does Alpha Squad get fielded separate from their Divine Armors?"

    "Zash!!" Dessi shouted as she rushed into the tent, "We gotta go! And now!"

    "Where''s the rest of the squad?" Zashleigh asked.

    "Doesn''t matter," Dessi shook her head. "The enemy''s been taking out Witches left and right! You''re the answer, Zash. We need a Spellbreaker."

    "Y''know, I don''t feel, super-confident," Zash rolled her eyes, turning back to Heartsong. "Isn''t the Commander, like, thrice as good at Spellbreaking as I am?"

    "Should I tell you how good he is with fire magic?" Heartsong teased.

    "Or shadow-walking?" Dessi sighed.

    Zash thrust out her hand, still holding onto her staff, "You guys are in-sufferable."

    Heartsong put her palm on the top of Zash''s hand, "I was thinking more... in-spirational."

    "I''ll do you one better," Dessi said as she ced her hands above and below the stack, "I''m thinking--"

    Instantaneous.

    After being teleported via ?Dimension Door?, Zash walked out from behind a dark shadow of a tall tree and into the light.

    Dessi had mentioned a couple of suns back that she''d been strangely attuned to the shadows recently. The difference in her current abilities versus only a few suns prior was... drastic.

    And, of course, Heartsong had very recently revealed that her familiar was a Gold-Rank Fire Fairy.

    Her name was Beyatriche-- a very cute name for burnination incarnate.

    And those two, the strongest Fire and Shadow Mages in the Tower, were walking just behind Zash, one on each side.

    Zashleigh took a deep breath before masking herck of confidence with fiery eyes and a professional smile.

    If she couldn''t be confident in herself, herpanions more than made up for the fact.

    The enemy caster was a single, teenage girl, barely taller than an elf (with Heartsong for scale.)

    She wore an expensive-looking white dress, kept together by a belt of thick, gold bands that contrasted with her olive skin. The handle of a sword stuck out over her right shoulder, as well-- hopefully ornamental in nature.

    Zash found two things extremely worrisome, though.

    The first was that the girl''s mostly-ck hair seemed to be... crawling, albeit very slowly. It could have had something to do with the strong breeze. Or, more likely, the girl had a weird bloodline that Zash had yet to identify.

    The other thing, though...

    "Why are there so many people here?!" she yelled.

    ",

 Chapter 1003 Please Survive

    Well over a hundred on-lookers were crowded around the area.

    There were people of every nationality, and persons of different races and species. It was a demonstration of Guild Invictus'' binding power-- as well as the threat posed to all by the ever-increasing dragon-worshipper empire.

    Zashleigh Yates saw it for the briefest of moments, but she was certain she saw the fluffy blue fur of an Iredar!

    She''d always wanted to meet an Iredar...

    But more important things were at hand.

    The crowd had gathered around the olive-skinned teenager-- the girl that had put down the entirety of Alpha Squad by herself.

    The white-robed girl had her arms crossed, was impatiently tapping a sandaled foot... and was looking right at her.

    "More of you?" she groaned, "How many Witchlings do I have to put down before Sapphira realizes her stupidity?"

    The crowd began to shout and stomp their feet. The haughty, white-robed girl raised her arms, basking in both praise and bawdry mockery.

    "Stars and stones, she''s enjoying this," Heartsong muttered.

    "Hey, Heartsong, do you think I''d look good wearing bracelets like that?" Dessi asked-- "the ones on her hands and feet."

    "Noment," the elf frowned.

    Dessi turned to her-- "Zash?"

    "Don''t take this the wrong way, Dessi," Zash frowned, "but you don''t make enough coin to pull off that look."

    "And how do I *not* take that the wrong way!?" Dessi snapped.

    "None of us make that kind of coin," Heartsong reassured her.

    Zash sensed sudden movement out of her peripheral vision.

    Mana.

    The very air around her was shimmering with mana.

    She raised her physical shield, activating the defensive Formation she scrawled into its back, and evenyered it with her own quickened ?Barrier?.

    Something hit.

    Zash didn''t see what it was, but the impact broke through her magical defense''s outeryer, crashing violently onto the inside.

    She dropped to a knee as the force drove her downward.

    Her shield arm felt numb and her entire body was shaking.

    She felt sick to her stomach-- but she didn''t sense any weird Spell effects.

    It was a Spell, though.

    And its raw strength was what rocked her world.

    Zash shakily got back to her feet, d the dust in the air hid her silhouette.

    When it cleared, the bracelet-girl slowly lowered her casting arm, "Hoh?"

    She was surprised. That was good.

    Zash swallowed the bile in the back of her throat before speaking.

    "You can''t just use force to get what you want," she growled.

    "Congrattions for being the first to block my Wind Bullet," the olive-skinned diva said with a bored voice. "Oh, sorry-- did you say something, just now? I wasn''t listening."

    Zash grit her teeth, "I said... I''m. Still. Standing, BITCH!!"

    It felt good to say.

    The entire crowd, Witches, men and monsters, alike; everyone shut their mouths and paid attention. That was *exactly* the kind of respect Zash deserved.

    Only a few suns back, she was humbled on the field-- but that was a once-in-a-lifetime exception. Zashleigh Yates was NOT a humble woman! She was the baddest b*tch in the Tower, next to Chief Executive Badass Be gods-damned Sapphira.

    She was a Spellbreaker-- one of the rarest sses in the Realm! And that meant--

    "Oi, where are you two going?"

    Decemberleigh and Heartsong were sneaking away.

    "Oh... you know," Dessi said. "It looks like you got the situation handled!"

    Did it, really?! It didn''t feel like it!

    "Is something wrong?" Heartsong said, tilting her head. "You need space if you''re going to fight that person, no?"

    Yes, that was true! But to Zash, it looked and felt like she was being abandoned~!!

    "Looks like your friends are smarter than you are," mocked Bracelet Bitch.

    That was only half true. Heartsong passed Necronomics just fine.

    "Listen up, Princess," Zash began. "Since I''m the highest-rank Witch present, I can probably help you with--"

    "?Wind Bullet?."

    Again! Zash was ready, though-- or so she thought.

    She activated a third defensiveyer, drawn in the sand, and she primed her Beithir ster to allow for a quick counter-attack.

    All three of heryers shattered almost simultaneously.

    Zash tried to stand fast, powering her legs with mana, her stance reinforced with an incredibly situational Spell called ?Rock of the Earth?...

    She ended up tumbling backward like a circus clown, skinning both her knees, as well as her left elbow.

    That... was the power difference between the crazydy''s ?Wind Bullet? with and without a verbalponent.

    And the worst part about it? Zash identified the Spell as essentially an uber-powered First-Circle Spell!

    --wait, a First-Circle Spell?

    Zash rolled backward one more time with the momentum, propping herself up to stand with her staff. It was hard to stifle the grin crossing her face.<novelnext></novelnext>

    Bracelet Bitch was ridiculously powerful... and her casting speed was downright terrifying-- but her magic''s simplicity would be her downfall.

    And the reason?

    Her opponent was a gods-danmed Spellbreaker.

    The olive-skinned woman scowled in disgust, "Ugh, very well. You have earned the right to speak. Your name?"

    Zash swallowed her saliva.

    ...It tasted like copper.

    She had internal bleeding. That was not wee news.

    "As I was saying... my name is Senior Witch Zashleigh Yates."

    "You will take me to the man named Tycondrius, Senior Bitch Yates, wherever that coward is hiding."

    A sharp pain jolted through the side of Zash''s head.

    The spoiled noble brat wanted to see the Commander?

    --and more than that, she called him a coward? That was more than a little annoying...

    "Put her down, Squad Leader!" yelled Dessi, her voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "This is our camp! You can''t let her walk around like she owns the ce!"

    "Shhh!" Heartsong immediately shushed her senior, "Not now, Gilchrist."

    Zash *really* needed to get that elf promoted, as soon as possible.

    And maybe Dessi needed to be hit in the face with a ?Silence? hammer.

    The crowd was huge-- with witnesses in the hundreds; Zash''s actions were absolutely going to be heard all across the Sol Invictus alliance.

    Worse still, the woman with her head up her own ass was definitely not human. And non-humans tended to be highly sensitive about the way humans treated *other* non-humans.

    "With all due respect," Zash started, "may I have your name and rank, so I can properly pass along your message?"

    The olive-skinned woman closed her eyes. She didn''t look pleased... but after she took a deep breath, she groaned and shook her head.

    "War Princess Cassiopeia of Charm," she said. "And as for my message, inform that person that I''m going to tear out his fangs and drive mana spikes throughout the length of his spine."

    Zash narrowed her eyes.

    Though she personally had trouble dealing with the Commander, he was someone she respected-- and that had been the case for a very long time.

    Sir Tycon yed an integral part in Zeta Squad''s mission in Making-- and, on top of that, he''d even saved her life. Zash could *not*, in good conscience, lead a venomous snake to his doorstep.

    [We''re covering you Zash,] Heartsong said through their mental connection, [just give us a signal.]

    Zash crossed her arms and shifted uneasily. She needed to appease the Free Nation Princess, but giving her what she wanted was out of the question.

    [Stay your wand, Heartsong. I''d rather we avoid an international incident. For now, let''s count on my defensive magics.]

    [Hey, Zash,] came Dessi''s voice, [who''s going to take over if you die?]

    A smirk found its way to Zashleigh''s mouth, [Why, you are, dear sister.]

    [Um. Please survive,] Dessi replied.

    Zash snapped her head up.

    The Princess''s eyes were aglow-- and she was furious.

    She shot her hand forward at a speed Zashleigh''s human eyes could barelyprehend.

    ?Wind Bullet?

    It came.

    And another.

    And then a third.

    [Zash!!] Dessi yelled-- mentally, [Zash, we''reing!!]

    [Not yet, Gilchrist!] Coraline warned.

    The crowd had grown quiet again. The sessive casting kicked up a whole lot of dust.

    "How boring," the War Princess said. She nted her feet and turned to face the crowd, "it seems I''ve run out of opposition."

    Zash quaffed her emergency healing potion before swiping her shield to cast a quick ?Dust Clear?.

    "That''s interesting," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, "because I''ve just run out of patience."

    "You... insolent," Cassiopeia snarled in anger, "f*cking--"

    Zash wasn''t about to let her finish. She charged mana into her legs and crossed the distance with ?Shield Charge?.

    Then, she cordially introduced Bracelet Bitch to her Beithir ster.

    The tip of the magical staff was stopped by Cassiopeia''s ?Mana Ward?, but a bolt of lightning and a peal of thunder shattered that into a dozen pieces.

    "You B*TCH!!!!" Cassiopeia shouted, instilling mana into her f*cking voice.

    A basic, unfocused st of manaunched Zash up and away.

    She didn''t want to give the Princess distance, though; Cassiopeia seemed to be the type of mage that preferred to fight at range.

    Zash immediately abandoned her shield, activating a function to briefly stop its movement in mid-air. Then she bounded off of it with her legs and attacked the Princess from above.

    The staff swing met with... Cassiopeia''s magic hair, which had struck out like a bundle of standing snakes.

    That... was a little unexpected.

    [Zash!] Coraline''s voice rang in her head, [Don''t look directly into her eyes!!]

    Oh. Oh, no. The situation was even worse than Zash had imagined.

    ",

 Chapter 1004 Not Out Of Options

    Zashleigh flipped backward, hitting the ground a bit hard with her already bloodied knee, but she wasn''t done yet. Priming Beithir ster, she thrust it forward to cast another ?Lightning Bolt?.

    The Princess deflected the attack with her sword, which was, disappointingly, not ornamental in nature. Jagged tendrils of lightning magic rolled across the ground, splitting the crowd in half as people dove out of the way.

    Zash kept her momentum, grabbing onto her staff with both hands and spinning around to smash its lower end into the Princess'' thigh.

    Princess Cass-whatever-the-f*ck responded with a masculine grunt and a reckless swing of ?Green me de?. Zash was able to block that, though, and she also scored a clean hit on the Princess'' sword-arm.

    Unfortunately, Bracelet Bitch was also a Medusa. Her hair shot forward, so Zash had to bring her staff up to defend.

    AND also, most obviously, the Free Nation Princess was still a f*cking Caster, which was tantly unfair.

    She brought her uninjured arm forward, made four quick hand gestures, and extended her pointer finger.

    "This ends *now,*" she said.

    She fired another ?Wind Bullet?. Considering the intimate distance, an ordinary Witch would have probably died.

    But Zash was not that.

    The Spell barely left the Princess'' hand when Zash caught it with ?Spellbreak?. The force of the miniature explosion sent her Witch hat flying, but more importantly, Cassiopeia''s face went from an arrogant sneer to a look of shock and horror.

    That felt good-- but not as good as immediately after, when Zash punched the stupid b*tch in her stupid f*cking face.

    "My name Zashleigh Yates!" she yelled, "Flight leader of Zeta Squad!! Spellbreaker, SPECIAL CLASS!!"

    "RARRRRGHHH!!!"

    The teenage Princess dropped her royal act, screaming like a feral child-- which admittedly, was absolutely f*cking terrifying.

    She began firing close-distance ?Wind Bullet? after ?Wind Bullet?, but Zashleigh''s analysis of the Princess'' favored Spell had long beenplete. Each cast, she was able to ?Spellbreak? with greater and greater ease.

    Finally, the Princess held her hand out-- but the Spell fizzled out at the tip of her finger. Still in a rage, she charged her sword with magic and swung, but Zash was able to strike her wrist hard enough to make her drop it.

    "Looks like you''re out of ammo, Princess," Zash mocked.

    Shended a solid, immensely satisfying punch to the Princess'' gut, forcing her to stagger backward.

    "I may be out of Spell slots," Cassiopeia spat, "but I''m not out of options!"

    Zash narrowed her eyes.

    ...She wondered just how long the Princess'' eyes had been blue.

    And about the same time, she realized she had royally f*cked up.

    The War Princess was walking toward her-- but Zash felt like her legs had frozen in ce.

    She took an egregiously telegraphed punch to the chin, dazing her. Following that was a second, stronger fist to her left eye.

    Zash couldn''t feel the tips of her fingers-- and the rest of her body didn''t seem to want to move, either.

    Then... she got punched in the boobs, which hurt like a b*tch.

    Zash found her back to the ground, looking up at the sky.

    The Princess stomped onto her stomach, then pressed the bottom of her filthy sandal against her face.

    "You *dare* sssstrike Free Nation royalty?" the snake-girl hissed. "Have. you. no. feaRR??"

    Zash kept her teeth clenched to prevent biting her tongue.

    "Zeta Squad," she growled, "isn''t *allowed* to show fear!"

    Cassiopeia dropped her knee into Zash''s gut, taking the wind out of her.

    Then the War Princess mounted her, grabbing the sides of her face with both hands.

    "Look into my eyes, b*tch. And have fun being turned into stone for the rest of your short, miserable--"

    "Stop there, if you would."

    ...

    Tycondriusmented the unfair nature of the Realm.

    Ashby Yates was a Gold-Rank human Spellbreaker.

    Cass was an Iron-Rank Medusa.

    However, despite the difference, the Witchling was sorely beaten by the time he arrived.

    Tycon secured his grip on his younger sister by the back of her armor''s cor, lifting her up. He then deposited her so he stood between her and the grounded Ashby.

    "B-brother?" Cass eximed, "You''re here!"

    Her voice was high-pitched and... irreverent.

    "Ah, yes," Tycon smiled politely. "That is correct."

    He thought that was rather obvious. But instead of wasting his time reading the situation, he felt the need to stop the quickly-spreading ?Petrification? magic affecting the leader of Zeta Squad.

    Thus, Tycon knelt down... and retrieved the Witch''s staff, stealthily cing it into his spatial ring.

    He thought it shameful that one of Be''s trained professionals had relinquished her weapon inbat. (He would have taken Cass'' sword as well, but she had already recovered it and returned it to its sheath.)

    Tycon then... secured his grip on Ashby by the front of her armor''s cor, lifting her up. He brought her hands up to his mouth, allowing his enchanted breath to wash over her stony fingers.<novelnext></novelnext>

    That light touch of magic would then spread through her magic circuits, cleansing the rest of her body.

    The breath of a Maedar counteracted a female Medusa''s ?Petrification?.

    In ancient times, it was an effective system to prevent meat from spoiling.

    In modern suns, people used ice-boxes and preservation techniques instead-- methods overall superior. A person''s breath carried hints of saliva, and Tycon imagined that Maedar in the past did not value oral hygiene as much as he did.

    "That''s... twice you''ve saved me," Ashby said in a small voice.

    "I try not to keep count," Tycon smirked. "It''s unbing."

    It was the third time.

    "Withdraw," he said in a firm voice.

    "But--"

    "That is an order."

    Ashby frowned, gulping audibly. But she nodded in the affirmative, "Yes, Commander."

    The Witchling scampered way to the safety of her Zeta Squadpanions, Jessica and Coraline. They looked ready to join the fight, one shrouded by a smoky veil, the other literally ame.

    Tycon waved his hand to shoo them away. His sister was a dangerous individual, but he was confident he could handle her.

    "You... dArE turn your back on me, Brother."

    Promptly spinning on his heel, Tycon turned to face War Princess Cassiopeia.

    She was drinking from a familiar bottle, a mana restoration potion produced by the East Charm Trading Company.

    He felt a surge of pride from his sister''s advocation of one of his businesses.

    He was going to thank her-- but he noticed that her eyes were a dark, lustrous blue.

    She had undimmed her vision.

    That was odd. Surely, Cass must have known that he''d be unaffected by her ?Petrifying Gaze?.

    But perhaps... she was just excited to see him?

    "Ah, I''ll take the bottle when you''re finished," Tycon said. "Those are expensive."

    Cass forcefully threw the bottle to the ground, shattering it.

    That was quite rude of her.

    Then she shot off what Tycon identified as a modified ?Mana Bullet?.

    He found that even more rude, as it was aimed directly at him.

    "Hmph," Tycon released his aura, the force of will enough to dissipate the Spell.

    His sister then lifted her arms to the side before pushing her palms forward, locked at the wrist.

    "?Rending CYCLONE!!?"

    Her casting speed was impressive, but thankfully, Tycon was familiar with both the Spell and his sister''s casting style. He was able to cut through the mana-empowered winds with the edge of a knife-hand... though doing so was significantly more taxing than he estimated.

    The bottom half of his hand ached terribly.

    Tycon sincerely hoped that his sister wasn''t going to demonstrate her entire Spell list. Despite her Rank, the speed and strength of her wind magic made her Spells more dangerous than those of a higher-circle Caster.

    ...and if she decided to begin double or twin-casting, he''d quickly be disadvantaged.

    He had already dismissed Be''s Spellbreaker. It would hurt his pride to flee and hide behind a woman he''d rescued only a minute prior.

    Tycon noticed that Cass was crying. Seeing a family member cry introduced a dull ache of guilt in his spirit.

    He made women cry by his mere presence, alone. As often as it happened, though, he felt he''d never grow ustomed to it.

    Thankfully, those tears did not strengthen her magic. She cast another ?Mana Bullet?, slower and weaker than the first. Tycon stopped it with his palm, crushing the projectile into mana dust.

    Cass slowly raised her head. She looked upset-- and the ugly tears did her no favors.

    "The *Witch*... she told me you fought an entirepany by yourself."

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded. " I emerged victorious."

    "But... why?" Cass sniffed, "Why would you risk yourself on *her* behalf?"

    Was that why she was upset? If so, that could be resolved simply enough; it was a misunderstanding. Tycon was afraid his sister''s reasoning was simr to Be''s-- that he''d murdered the lot of them.

    Cass began walking toward him-- which was a worrisome development.

    He had a very small amount of time toprehend the situation. And he knew damn well that his social intelligence was abysmal.

    But... Cass was direct family. He hoped... that... perhaps... physical, familial affection was appropriate?

    And so, Tycon opened his arms, tacitly signaling for an amicable embrace?

    ",

 Chapter 1005 Abject Failure

    As Tycondrius should have rightfully expected, his sister did not reach out to embrace him.

    Cass stopped a half-pace away.

    She nted her feet.

    She raised her left fist to cover her eye.

    She... dropped her right fist beside her waist.

    Then she began to rotate her body, starting with her legs, followed by her torso.

    Tycon realized what was happening, but far toote. He tried to retract his arms, but they were fully extended. He wanted to move away, but he made the amateur mistake of locking his legs.

    His sister''s mana emissions were thick with malice.

    How much mana had she channeled into her tiny fist? Was she an advanced enough Wind Mage to reduce the air-resistance of her strike?

    Tycon began to pity himself, as if he was an outsider watching a stranger. That handsome, green-haired gentleman''s critous analysis was utterly useless without the ability to act upon it.

    And so...

    Tycondrius... War Prince of Charm... legendary Warlord and leader of Sol Invictus... received the full, mana-empowered weight of his younger sister''s right hook, brutally smashing into his side.

    Clenching his teeth, he exhaled forcefully... and steeled his expression. His entire side was numb with shock-- and that was quickly being reced by wracking pain.

    "MmmMM... It''s... good... to see you... dear... sister."

    Tycon spoke through clenched teeth as his mouth began to fill with the unmistakable taste of blood.

    Over the past several weeks, he had submitted himself to systematic and rigorous training, challenging and surpassing his physical and magical limits.

    In doing so, he had reinforced his Gold-Rank physique enough to break through to the next level on a whim. However... it took but a single strike to ovee his resilience-- a single strike that inflicted *severe* internal bleeding.

    He lived his life knowing that, inevitably, his body would be tested.

    He''d done his best, with that moment in mind.

    Yet, after all that work... the result was... *abject* failure!?

    Despair. Self-loathing. Cursing the fates for the cruel joke that was his life.

    "Brother..."

    As he was distracted by the electrical signals in his bodymunicating to his brain that his entire life lived up to that point was a mistake... he did not notice when Cass had embraced him.

    Logically, the notion was... nice.

    He didn''t *feel* nice. In his current state, he found it impossible to feel anything but pain and regret, thrice the amount.

    But... he summoned his willpower... using a bit of mana to clear his head... and moved his arms to emte a reciprocal embrace.

    Be, Ananta, and immediately after, his sister, Cass... all of them lorded physical, magical, or social advantages over him.

    Tycon was tired of being coerced and beaten.

    He had a sudden desire to share thepany of Alpha Squad? Where were they?

    Had his sister killed them all? It was a shame; only Meteora deserved to die.

    "You can''t give up, Brother," Cass mumbled, sobbing into his chest. "I still need you..."

    Tycon raised his eyebrows, surprised... though the feeling of guilt came well shy of the pain.

    His sister had been earnestly worried for his well-being.

    As ofte, he had been reckless, taking undue risks stemming fromziness and apathy rather than efficacy.

    And... he very rarely thought of her.

    Suddenly, Cass whipped her head up to re at him, determination burning in her undimmed eyes.

    "I''ll kill you before you kill yourSELF!!"

    What?

    Tycon responded to the... eerily serious threat by reaching behind Cass'' head and pushing her face back into his chest.

    "Mmmph!! MMMM!!!"

    "Hush, child," Tycon gently urged. "Let''s... let''s not be too-- ergh... hasty in our... decisions."

    She was struggling to move. He would not allow it. If she was trying to breathe, that did not bother him. Considering her Iron-Rank physique, she could hold her breath for minutes at a time.

    He noticed his sister gathering mana in her right hand. That wouldn''t do. He took hold of her wrist and interrupted the mana flow.

    Tycon''s panic grew steadily. Thest time he had a physical altercation with a powerful woman, he received a debilitating ?Earth Spike? to his crotch area.

    "AwWww~ Isn''t thiss love-lyyyy~?"

    Ananta, the eldest Shadow Snake Princess had emerged from a nearby shadow, dressed in dark leathers, more suited to personal utility than conveying her rank.

    "Ananta-- guhhHHH~!"

    Tycon was nning on requesting for help-- perhaps going as far as pleading for it.

    However, his sister had powered her Iron-Rank knee into the one location he desperately wanted to keep safe. He was fairly certain his ?Mana Ward? weakened the blow considerably... but the impact still left him breathless and made his stomach ache.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Oh, Ssweet Prie," Ananta said, "Of coursse~! I''d be mossst honored to join your family hug!"

    Cass pushed away from Tycon; hecked the strength to stop her.

    "It''s youuuu," she growled. "You have no ce in MY family!!"

    "Dearesst Princessss Cassiopeia~" Ananta cooed, "Your handssome brother and I were jussst sspeaking about you."

    Cass nced to Tycon, then back to Ananta. Fury took hold of her and her hair began to animate, physically transforming into a dozen and one hissing vipers.

    They counted twelve ebony and a single emerald green. Tycon wondered if he''d better appreciate the aesthetics if he wasn''t suffering from so much pain.

    "Where did you evene from?!" Cass demanded.

    "Why, the Ivory Prince''s ssshadow, of coursse," Ananta replied. "And do mind your mannerss, Hatchling."

    "Lady... Ananta," Cass growled through her teeth. "I am curiousss... as to whatttt your rtionship iss... with my *dear* brother?"

    Tycon found himself inadvertently flinching at his incensed sister''s mention of him.

    He was Gold-Rank!

    To be more particr, he was half-step Adamantine-Rank!!

    Cass was WEAKER than him!

    But why was he terrified of ALL the women in his life?!?

    "Hmm," Ananta tilted her head, coyly sending a wink at Tycon''s direction, "I wonder~"

    Cass took a deep breath... and she clenched her trembling fists.

    "Lady Ananta... where it conssserns the Ivory Prie, perhapss a more ressspectable disstance would be appropriate?"

    Tycon wanted nothing more than to be a respectable distance away from the both of them.

    Ananta lowered her chin, "And if I refuse?"

    Cass did not respond with words. She responded with a close-range ?Wind Bullet? aimed at Ananta''s face.

    The Shadow Snake Princess turned her head, whipping her inky-ck hair. The shadows it cast enveloped the Spell, nullifying the force it carried.

    If it weren''t for the harsh wind that remained, Tycon might have believed that his sister hadn''t cast anything at all.

    Yet the ease with which Ananta rebuffed Cass'' attack did nothing to dissuade her from further hostility.

    "?Wind Bullet!!?" Cass screamed, "?Wind Bullet?, ?Wind Bullet?, ?WIND BULLLETTT?!!!!!"

    A slow grimace crossed Tycon''s face. There was a significant power increase in Cass'' offensive magic when she returned verbalponents to her quick-casting.

    It was an odd notion, being d to have only taken a knee to the groin, in lieu of a close-range ?Wind Bullet?.

    "?Rending Cyclone!!!? Arrrrghhh!! ?Storm Tor-NADO!!?"

    It seemed likely that Cass was going to demonstrate her entire Spell list.

    Dark shadows were beginning to swell around Ananta, along the ground and even hanging mid-air.

    Some had grown so thick that they became solid in form. Ananta grabbed hold of one, refining its form into a lengthy, ink-ck warscythe. Swinging its de, she gracefully cut through a series of crescent-shaped wind-sts while twirling about in glee.

    Tycon quietly used his movement technique, ?Shadowfang?, to escape into a shadow chosen at random... only exiting the shroud once he found safety amongst the audience.

    The girls hadn''t noticed. Not even the crowd seemed to notice.

    It came as no surprise, though. A duel of Spells between two high-level Mages was a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle.

    ...Thus, as soon as Tycon regted his breathing, he began weaving through the various mercenaries, searching for a ce to sit and watch.

    Some distance away, he found a nice, solid, fallen log, its surface soft with moss. Shortly after, a few others joined him; they gave him nods of acknowledgment before taking their seats.

    Or perhaps they were nods of pity?

    Tycon decided not to be offended.

    Youkai.

    It was the catch-all term for supernatural creatures in the Shadow Snake territories.

    Ananta was a particrly powerful Youkai, abination of gic fortune, innate talent, and centuries of experience.

    As Tycon understood it, the most powerful humanoids on the eastern side of the continent were her, her mother, and the Lich Queen of the Sleeping Country.

    Oh-- and Be.

    Simr to how a full-blooded Medusa was advantaged against a human opponent, Ananta''s bloodline made her an overwhelming adversary for his sister.

    However, Cass had a unique advantage that guaranteed her staying power.

    Besides the voluminous mana reservesmon to females of her bloodline, Cass was also blessed by the wind.

    Her Spells had a highly-efficient mana-to-power ratio... and, due to her personality, she would not yield easily.

    Her battle with Ananta would continue for some time...

    ",

 Chapter 1006 Heroic Potential

    It was a modern, multicultural crowd, a colorful mix of soldiers and mercenaries from across the continent. A regal Forcen Knight in silvered chain sat beside a Nemayan Pistolier with a bear pelt draped over his shoulders. An elf from the Ebon Mask tribe crouched motionless on a high branch of a nearby tree, while a grey-bearded dwarf sat on its roots, smoking a long pipe.

    There was an orc deftly weaving through the lines of people. He was selling fried crickets, his supplies dwindling quickly.

    Tycondrius considered supporting that fellow''s business... but he balked at the price.

    The nearby mercenaries began to shuffle about, moving out of the way of arge gentleman with the giant bloodline-- fire giant, to be more precise.

    He had long red hair, tied back ording to military regtions. His clean-cut beard was a bit lengthy but... forgivable.

    The man''s height, however, Tycon found bothersome.

    He was well over 8 fulms tall, thus was well over regtion height.

    ? Droghan Ashlord, Gold-Rank Titanblood Swordmage. ?

    Hm. Dragan seemed to have reached Gold-Rank with his chosen ss. His aura was stable butcked a certain level of oppression that his personality would have otherwise suggested.

    "Hey, Boss," greeted Dragan. "Just saw Be. She told me about Wroe."

    "Yet," Tycon began with a deep sigh... "you and I still live. Somewhat surprising, no?"

    "F*cking baffling," Dragan shrugged.

    Tycon stood up and the two shook hands, sped at the wrist.

    "Why are you here, War Prince Droghan?"

    "Oh, I see how it is," Drogan sneered, "You want me to f*ck off, is that it?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    Dragan chuckled to himself, "Hehe... Ah... I put the gnoll in charge."

    "Ah, I''ve heard of her," Tycon pursed his lips and nodded. "The Ogre yer?"

    "Murtana Ogreyer," Dragan grinned. "Yeah. She''s alright. Kinda... all over the ce, but if you go killin'' off o''er a hundred ogres in a single sun, that''s enough to rate a leadership position in my book."

    So Dragan had a book. That was clever of him.

    "If the Realm wasn''t ending soon," Tycon mused, "I''d have wanted her indicted into Sol Invictus."

    "Ah, yeah," Dragan sighed, "Gods-damned shame. How''s Lone?"

    "Dead," Tycon answered simply.

    He was tempted to provide the details of the idiotying hands on a pair of cursed Elven artifacts and the events leading up to the quickly approaching cataclysmic event.

    ...but he didn''t want to waste so many words.

    "A damn f*ckin'' shame," Dragan shook his head. " I thought he was alright. Remember that time when he got crabs?"

    Crabs? Tycon decided to ignore the question.

    "The Martialist?" he asked.

    "Finished her training," Dragan waved, "then she went with Pale and the Holy Princess to do hero shite."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "What kind of training did you give her?"

    Long ago, he had advised Dragan to bring Kimura Taree to the hidden vige where the mescarred Martialists were known to reside.

    However, from the missives he''d received over the years, he learned that the Kimura girl apanied Dragan in Port City Vralkek.

    Tycon expressly trusted his Titanblooded friend for the decision.

    However, it was within his right to trust and still request verification.

    "You sent me all sorts of training shite," Dragan shrugged.

    "Brother of mine," Tycon sighed, "you know I don''t like to repeat myself."

    "...She wanted to be strong," Dragan admitted. "So I made her strong."

    "Provide a metric, if you would."

    "...The f*ckin'' brat''s stronger ''an I am," Dragan said in a low voice.

    "Hm... eptable," Tycon nodded proudly, "Are they still in the Realm?"

    Dragan shook his head, "Haven''t heard of ''em, so probably not-- which is a good thing, yeah? On ount o'' the fact that this Realm might not make it..."

    Tycon was 100% certain that the Realm would not make it, but he decided not to inform Dragan of the fact.

    Pale and hispanions were no longer in the Realm. That corroborated the request of the lizard Jerim Jya.

    She asked Tycon to assist the so-called Heroes in their ''extranar fight.''<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...but considering the strength of Pale, Troia, and a Martialist stronger than Dragan, Tycon had difficulty imagining a threat that could oppose them.

    "They need more guys," Dragan mused. "I think it''s just the three. So whaddya say, Boss? I think you and me would do good to round ''em out."

    "I agree that Pale''s party, as we know it, is sorelycking," Tycon replied. "However, best practice dictates that the Hero''spanions have moderate-to-high potential *and* belong to the younger generation..."

    Tycon shook his head, "You and I, old friend, do not fit thetter requirement."

    Dragan''s face began to twist, perhaps trying to verbalize a proper response.

    After a short while, he shut his mouth properly, his expression locking into a grimace.

    "They''ll need a healer... or maybe a caster?" he quietly suggested, "How ''bout that Oracle girl you adopted? In your letters, you said she got training in the Holy Country?"

    Dragan was referring to Tycon''s daughter, Sasarame.

    It was true that a powerful Oracle would behoove Pale''s party...

    Joining the party of a Hero was an opulent dream of many adventurers. However, Tycon loathed the thought of subjecting his daughter to the thankless and demanding position.

    "No," he waved. "I have two others in mind, one of which is in our camp. Do you remember Suka?"

    "Eh?" Dragan scratched his head, "Oh, yeah. Cassi''s friend, right? Shadow Snake... Adept ss. Didn''t think of her as Hero material."

    "Suka recently changed her ss to Incanter, like her sister," Tycon exined. "And considering the upper limits of Princess Ananta... if Suka were to gain even a fraction of that power..."

    Tycon did not finish.

    The implications of that level of magical power, both positive and negative, were manifold.

    He looked over to where Cass and Ananta were... still fighting. Cass was at the eye of a localized tornado, emitting lightning bolts in her fingers. Ananta was hurling a number of ck spheres, each of which spat shadowy arrows, seemingly at random.

    The area of destruction had grown so much that all but the strongest (or most foolish) of mercenaries had remained to spectate. Also, one of the Sapphire Tower''s medical teams had arrived. They were performing triage under the protection of a magical barrier.

    Tycon had a sudden, selfish, and unfair thought... that, on a personal level, he would not like Suka to be as strong as her sister-- or *his* sister, for that matter.

    "Yeah, I''m pickin'' up what you''re puttin'' down," Dragan conceded. "How ''bout the other kid ya mentioned?"

    "I found a Sea Serpent in my travels," Tycon smiled fondly. "Her name is Iyuri. She''s a kind child-- with excellent potential."

    "Yeah-- that might be even better," Dragan nodded. "Water affinity kids take to healing Spells real good."

    "She would still need specialized training," Tyconmented.

    Iyuri''s potential would make her a quick learner... but time was limited.

    In fact, Tycon knew a third child with heroic potential, a young human boy by the name of Rickert. However, he was even younger than Pale. If they had a few years instead of moons and weeks, the child would have served as a perfect support for the Morninglord Scion.

    Still, Suka and Iyuri were suitable candidates. After minimal (but focused) training, either or both of them would be fantastic additions to Pale''s party.

    Once the anti-lizard offensive suffered its inevitable failure... assuming the Realm was still standing, he''d collect those two and send them away off-Realm to join the boy.

    Granted, if Pale and hispanions somehow managed to return before then, he nned to send them away, too.

    "You go back to see Queen Rnia yet?" Dragan suddenly asked.

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "My mother? To memory, she bid me toplete her three tasks before returning."

    Dragan furrowed his brows, "Uh... you mean... *you* decided toplete the three tasks-- tasks she assigned at random."

    "Ah... right," Tycon nodded gingerly.

    Some years ago, he had awoken in an inn without his memories. Certain details of his history prior to that were... lost to him.

    "We killed that noble in the Kingdom," Tycon said, "That was on behalf of Princess Aur."

    "Ah, yeah. King Adal''s youngest," Dragan said, pursing his lips. "Wasn''t she rted to Wroe? Cousins or something?"

    "Yes, I believe so..." Tycon replied. "Then... I was intrinsic in restoring the status of House Vanzano in the Holy Country."

    "Yeah, that was a big thing over there," Dragan grinned. "The uh... husband? He''s a Holy Lancer, right? Think I''d win in a fight?"

    "Hmph," Tycon smirked. "Tanamar is still young. Give him another decade before you challenge him and I daresay the oue would not be so certain."

    "10 years?" Dragan frowned, "I don''t n on living that long. Do you?"

    "Neither do I," Tycon admitted. "And myst task, should my garbage memory serve... was to the Ashlord Warband. Your father''s-- or... yours, now, I suppose."

    "You mean... the first?" Dragan asked.

    Tycon tilted his head, "I was under the impression you had but a single father."

    "I mean the quest, Boss," Dragan said, baring his teeth, "The quest for my dad was the first thing we did when we got the guild back together."

    ",

 Chapter 1007 Lacking

    Tycondrius blinked several times.

    The three quests... that was all he needed to do, in order to return to his birthce and dere himself free of the Medusa Queen''smand.

    And... Dragan was telling him they... were alreadyplete?

    Literal years had passed since hest saw Athena and Tanamar!

    "...We did what?" Tycon asked.

    His voice was higher-pitched than he would have liked...

    "The Ogre Faction was arguably the strongest in the Free Nation," Dragan exined, "that is-- until Sol Invictusunched our anti-ogre offensive. Your op-naming sense is still shite, by the way."

    "Go on," Tycon waved.

    "We spent 3 moons in their territories," Dragan said... "We killed... a whole f*ckin'' lot of the f*cks, Ogre Kings and Oni Mages, especially."

    In the recent past, Tycon had heard news of War Prince Droghan''s forces shing with ogres factions. At the time, he assumed that Dragan held a superior advantage in strategy or troops or resources-- likely abination of several factors.

    Tycon had overlooked the notion that the ogres could have suffered a tremendous loss in overall strength.

    Dragan''s expression grew darker as he continued, "There are still more than a few War Bands with a lot of power, still growin''... the Nakiri-gumi... Onimart... the Chumbuds--"

    "The Chumbuds are *not* a band of ogres," Tycon red.

    "Hm. I guess it was my turn to misremember," Dragan chuckled. "But anyroad, two major things came outta what we did-- what Sol Invictus did.

    "First, the vacuum of power has pretty much turned ogre politics into a clusterf*ck of in-fighting.

    "And second... the Ogre ns f*ckin'' piss themselves whenever anyone even *thinks* your name."

    "Huh," Tycon nodded slowly. "Sounds like I did well."

    From what he had understood, the previous-him was nowhere near as reliable as the current him.

    However... that person had the same high-tier ss as he did: Warlord. That, alone, was enough to guarantee basepetence with strategy and tactics.

    "I thought it was genius, you freeing the elf prisoners as a distraction," Dragan smiled.

    "Elven prisoners, you say..."

    "That''s how we picked up Bucket," Dragan exined. "You insisted on it. Said it was what Quay would''ve wanted."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "I... see."

    "Any more questions, Boss?"

    "Yes, one," Tycon grimaced. "Prince Droghan of House Ashlord, you are easily the most insightful individual I know."

    "Eh," Dragan shrugged before sticking his pinky into his ear, "Don''t go off to tell the whole Realm. So what?"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "So why are you being so forting with this information?

    Dragan leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. He wore a knowing smile that Tycon found difficult to read.

    "You got stronger," he said. "And I trust in strength."

    It wasn''t a direct answer... but Tycon found it eptable. If the gentleman didn''t want to reveal all he knew, that was his prerogative.

    "I didn''t want to get weaker," Tycon smirked. "Anyroad, how have your martial skills progressed?"

    "Kuh," Dragan snorted, "not as much as yours."

    "What are you hiding, you overly modest behemoth?"

    "Hah! Nothin!" Dragan sneered, "Wanna fight, bud?"

    Tycon lifted his chin, "State thy terms."

    "Bare-knuckle boxing."

    "I refuse. Wrestling?"

    "Fuuuuck no. Wand duel?"

    "You can''t be serious," Tycon groaned.

    "And if I am?" Dragan grinned.

    "No. Pie eating contest?"

    "Uh. I... I''m gonna say no to that one," Dragan shook his head. "How about... that board game, Pettaia?"

    Tycon frowned... "I haven''t gotten any better sincest time... but I ept, should we find the time for it. Food and drink?"

    "Hells yeah," Dragan smiled. "Let''s do steaks. I brought along some of dad''s Golden Aurochs, figured you and I could eat a whole one by ourselves."

    "I''ve a barrel of corn whiskey from Forcen," Tycon said, returning the smile.

    "Corn?" Dragan twisted his lips, "These Eastern States guys have weird tastes, but I''ll try anything once."

    "I look forward to it, old friend," Tycon nodded. "Let''s hope we can go a few bells without some devastating emergency requiring our action."

    "Should we uh... stop the two Princesses from fighting?"

    ...Tycon looked over to Cass and Ananta.

    Ananta, herself, had reverted to her true form: an overge, shadowy pit viper. The ink-ck shadows of her Domain had blotted out the sun. Dozens of obsidian pirs littered the field, hundreds of shadow denizens trapped inside the ss of each.

    Cass was flying with gossamer wings on her back. She wielded a stylized axe in both hands, the material a harshly glowing, mana-charged jadeite.

    Ananta was toying with her.

    ...But it was a dangerous game.

    Tycon turned back to Dragan, "Can we stop them if we tried?"

    "You and me, together?"

    "Sure."

    "Then... maybe?"

    Tycon pursed his lips. The prospect of quelling the violence of either or both Princesses was... ultimately too precarious a risk to take.

    He elected to resort to inaction.

    They''d... tire themselves out eventually... or so he hoped.

    Tycon turned to ask hispanion on the whereabouts of his Pettaia board, but unfortunately... the dreaded interruption he feared came to pass.

    He spotted a young Witchling, descending on a broom, adeptly weaving through errant bolts of lightning and obsidian scythe-des.

    Shended, immediately running up to him and Dragan before stopping and resting her arms on her knees.<novelnext></novelnext>

    "Cmand... co... c''mand..."

    "In through the nose and out the mouth, kiddo," Dragan chided. "And stand up straight-- you got lungs and ya gotta let ''em do what they do."

    Caitlynplied.

    Why she had to catch her breath, Tycon had no idea. She''d only used her legs to run a few yalms.

    "Commander," Caitlyn cried, "Sir... um. Junior Witch C--"

    "I know who you are," Tycon interrupted.

    "Who is she?" Dragan asked.

    "Ah, my apologies, War Prince Droghan. This is Miss Caitlyn, a Witch from Be''s Iota Squad. I believe she holds the Sapphire Tower''s record for the swiftestbat flier."

    "Oh, yeah? A natural Flight Mage, huh?" Dragan grinned, "Thanks for the rification, Boss. I thought she was an angel."

    "Actually... it''s... ... ..." Caitlyn mumbled.

    "Eh? What wazzat?" Dragan asked, looming over the trembling Witchling.

    "Nonsense, Brother," Tycon smiled. "Were Miss Caitlyn an angel, I''d have murdered her as she presented herself."

    Caitlyn ''eeped'' at his jest.

    That was a good response.

    Tycon believed himself to be very funny.

    If she were an actual angel, he would have utilized lethal force long before shended.

    "So what''cha doin'' out here, Cait?" Dragan asked, "Assuming you got somethin'' to say."

    "Oh, yes. I... yes," Caitlyn babbled, "Commander!"

    "Go... ahead," Tycon waved.

    "The... the front line has sustained some casualties," she said.

    "Odd," Tycon narrowed his eyes. "It''s been a half-bell, at least, since I ordered a temporary withdrawal."

    "That ain''t enough time tomunicate to an entire front line," Dragan frowned.

    "It''s more than enough for the Sapphire Tower," Tycon exined. "Be''s erected a number of Ry Crystals that facilitate instantmunications to all troops within range."

    "Then... y''think there was a range issue?" The ever-so hopeful Dragan suggested.

    "Each squad operating in Making''s underground, no matter their affiliations, has their own miniature Ry Crystal," Tycon brooded. "It''s fair to assume any squad that chose to remain has willfully ignored mymands."

    "--or they ran into somethin'' that prevents ''em from doin'' so," Dragan red.

    Tycon pursed his lips-- "or has extenuating circumstances. Granted."

    "Cmander?"

    Tycon turned back to Caitlyn, "Ah, my apologies. You''re dismissed, youngdy."

    "Commander, there''s one more thing," said the fidgety Witch... "Do you know... someone named Suka?"

    ...

    ? Making''s Underground Labyrinth ?

    Tycondrius provided suppressive fire for Dragan, discharging several rounds from his Nemayan pistol.

    A stout humanoid, peeked over his cover, a hastily constructed wooden barrier. Its hair and beard wereposed of actively burning mes.

    Yet that did provide protection from bullets. One such struck the fellow in the center of their forehead, killing them instantly.

    Two more firebeards of questionable intelligence abandoned their protective cover, crossbows nocked and ready to fire.

    Tycon shot one in the chest, the other in the side of the head, and the first once more (around the same area.)

    Unfortunately, one of them managed to fire their weapon.

    The bolt struck Dragan on his exposed neck.

    The tip bounced off his mana-reinforced skin.

    Tycon briefly wondered if the Titanblood would even bruise.

    The giant-blooded behemoth didn''t seem to notice. He grabbed the thick arm of an axe-wielding firebeard. The audible snapping of bone was both prefaced and followed by that creature''s screams.

    Dragan then pulled them in, simultaneously powering his heavy knee forward.

    Tycon almost flinched when the strike connected.

    A humanoid''s bony ribs were designed to protect and cage their soft and vulnerable internal organs.

    After receiving the knee strike, however, it appeared that the firebeard was devoid of ribs on the right side of their body.

    An explosion urred near Dragan''s feet, the shrapnel tearing into his trousers and jacket. As with the previous attack, he appeared uninjured.

    Still, he was being careless.

    Tycon activated his ?Shadowfang? Movement Technique, emerging from the shadows at the opposite side of the room.

    He shot the human bomb-thrower in the back of the head, then resumed the search for more enemies...

    He cut another firebeard down with Mercy and his ?Eviscerate? Skill. While they were writhing in pain, he opened their throat with a second sh.

    He discovered a humanoid with bark-like skin. Tycon used his ?Legionyer? Skill to stab them in the heart.

    Tycon marveled at how easily he executed so many high-level Skills in session.

    He was half-step into Adamantine-Rank... which was something he should have been proud of.

    Even though he couldn''tpare with the overwhelming talent and bloodline purity his allies imed... on a logical level, his personal growth was respectable.

    It just... felt... unfortunate-- that despite his strength, hecked the ability-- the foresight-- whatever the hells it was...

    He wascking. That was why Suka took injury.

    Tycon swiped his de in the air, slinging off the blood before recing it in its sheath.

    His sector was clear.

    He needed to rejoin Dragan.

    ",

 Chapter 1008 Self-Deceit

    Tycondrius returned to the area hest saw Dragan.

    The Titanblood had pinned thest firebeard to a wall with his left hand. Held in ce, he smashed his domineering right fist into the creature''s chest, leaving a deep indentation in their hide armor.

    ck blood spewed from the creature''s mouth, shortly followed by the Language of Fire.

    It was begging to be spared.

    ...and it was wasting its final breaths.

    Dragan heavy fist pounded into the creature''s head. The single strike caved in the front of their skull, transforming their face into a grotesque approximation.

    "That appears to be thest of them," Tycon dered.

    "...Yeah," the Titanblood said, no mirth in his voice.

    The way Dragan had fought was different than Tycon remembered. Where he expected extravagant showmanship, he saw only focused efficiency. Brazen mockery and jeering, Dragan had reced with physical brutality bordering on cruelty.

    Perhaps it was because they fought without an audience.

    Or perhaps something had changed during the time they were apart.

    "Don''t look at me like that, Boss," Dragan frowned.

    "This is my face," Tycon red. "This is my natural look."

    Dragan scratched the back of his head, "The Kimura girl... she threw a b*tch fit whenever I didn''t take a fight seriously."

    "Please continue to take your fights seriously," Tycon said in a t voice.

    The shadows grew darker and beside them, so he turned, awaiting the appearance of a messenger.

    A Shadow Snake slithered out, about four fulms in length.

    "I greeettssss you, Commodore," he said as he emerged.

    "Good afternoon," Tycon said, looking down to meet the snake''s gaze, "Mister Pretzel?"

    ? Pretzel, Bronze-Rank Shadow Snake. ?

    "You... honer me, Ifery Printssss."

    "...You may speak in Parseltongue-- or rather, please do so."

    Pretzel nodded before continuing, "(Princess Suka has been found. The warriorsprising herpany are currently undergoing triage and evacuation.)"

    "And Suka''s condition?" Tycon asked.

    His heart began to ache as soon as the words left his mouth.

    "(Complex,)" Pretzel hissed, "(The Princess was discovered in her human form, in thete stages of Petrification, and with an empty bottle in hand.)"

    ?Petrification??

    Tycon found the notion disturbing.

    "Pretzel, I know I''m asking for sensitive information, but please tell me... is there another Maedar amongst the Shadow Snake ns?"

    "(There is none, Ivory Prince,)" Pretzel said, bowing his tiny head, "(Forgive this one for his assumption, but it is my belief that the youngest Princess anticipated your arrival.)"

    "...Report received," Tycon grimaced, "Dragan?"

    "I''m taking two squads to clear the remaining passageways," Dragan waved, "Go."

    ...

    Two adult Shadow Snakes guarded the entrance to Suka''s chamber. Their bodies were coiled, but their heads and necks were raised to about human height as they scanned for danger. They bowed in deference as Tycondrius approached.

    "(Ivory Prince.)"

    "(Blessings to you and your family.)"

    "As to you both," Tycon said in passing, "Stay vignt, dear friends."

    He found Ananta gently coiled around her sister, but as he approached, she extended her shadows and adopted her human form, cradling Suka with great care.

    "Tycondriusss..."

    Tycon gave the Shadow Snake Princess a solemn nod.

    "May I examine her condition?" he asked.

    "Of courssse," Ananta whispered. "Ssssince long ago... I have entrusssted Ssuka to you, Ivory Prie."

    Pretzel said Suka''s condition wasplex... and the other Shadow Snakes he met in the hallways had not been forting in their own diagnoses.

    Tycon was not a healer by profession but was at least confident at basic triage.

    The nostalgic set of armor Suka wore bore a striking resemnce to the diator attire he wore in the Eyrian arenas, including the visored half-helmet.

    It was a handsome look, even despite her and her armor having turned to stone.

    It suited her... and he hoped to see her fight in it, still.

    Tycon took hold of Suka''s stone wrist and he extended his mana senses.

    He did have an advantage the silent healers did not.

    He was intimately familiar with the hatchling''s mana.

    Last they met, he stole a kiss from the young Shadow Snake. It was a deceitful kiss and grossly unfair to her.

    Kiss: See Chapter 467.

    That kiss allowed him to analyze and emte her mana-signature, which he used to take greater control of her magical simcra.

    Suka was instrumental in his ability to thwart the viinous ns of a Yuan-ti royal, at the time.<novelnext></novelnext>

    ...Tycon owed her a boon.

    Though he still had reservations about bing herwful mate, he hoped to find a suitable way to requite her.

    He closed his eyes... searching Suka''s mana circuits for irregrities.

    Again... he was taking advantage of her.

    But, this time, he was doing so for her benefit.

    Something was wrong with her... and he hoped to make it right-- not because of his guilt, but because he sincerely believed that Suka deserved to live.

    Tycon found dark, veiny tendrils... his mana-sense was unable to sense color or light, but he felt the description most apt.

    He followed them... disparaging at the ubiquitous signs of the disease everywhere he searched.

    At least, he discovered a source... a foreign entity, a malicious fragment, broken off from something he had yet to identify.

    It was nted firmly in her mana heart, its invasive roots steadily growing as it fed upon her life force.

    He tried to examine it further but was rebuffed by its nature... fiery and all-consuming.

    ...The ?Petrification? magic did nothing.

    Whatever was killing the youngest Shadow Snake Princess was doing so, in despite of her immutable flesh.

    Suka was going to die.

    The healers amongst the Sapphire Tower, Dragan''s and Cass'' War Bands, and their allies... none of them could alleviate Suka''s condition. More likely, a Healing eleration-type Spell would only serve to kill her faster.

    In order for Suka to survive, she needed Injury Reversal-type magic, something only seen by high-level Divine Healers... ones on the level of Holy Princess Troia or Archbishop Natalya.

    --and Tycon surmised that, even then, a Fourth-Circle ?Restoration? Spell might not be enough.

    If the ?Petrification? magic had worked, they might have been afforded the time to research Suka''s condition, collect and train the relevant Mages, and design a ritual likely equivalent to ?Resurrection? in bothplexity and illegality.

    But... it... did... not...

    Tycon wascking in knowledge. He wascking in personnel and relevant resources.

    And, worst of all... there was scarcely enough time.

    In the few bells it took for him and Ananta to arrive, the hatchling''s cancer had spread throughout her mana circuits.

    Tycon opened his eyes.

    Hairline fractures were clearly visible on Suka''s petrified chest te.

    "Ananta."

    "This one hass decided," Ananta dered... "(Commander, from this moment, onward, I shall render my forces unto you.)"

    Tycon swallowed the saliva in his throat.

    "Ananta..."

    The eldest Shadow Snake Princess cradled her sister in her arms, as a parent would her child.

    "(We will be returning to our mother''s territory,)" she said. "(We willmission the greatest Healers in the Realm, perhaps going as far as requisitioning them from the Holy Country. Yes... should my mother send a formal request, even their Holy Princess would heed the call.)"

    Tycon closed his eyes. Lady Nyctis would do no such thing.

    The youngest Princess did not hold a high position in the Shadow Queen''s heart.

    "Ananta," Tycon whispered.

    "(Once you are finished here, Ivory Prince, you will send this one a missive,)" Ananta smiled.

    ck tears began to stain her cheeks.

    "(I will prepare a ce for you in ck Opal Valley,)" she said, cing false strength in her voice-- "(the real one, not a mere reflection of it. We''ll... have a parade-- a thousand ves dancing and ying music... We''ll... have a magnificent feast... every dish... lined with gold...)"

    Tycon took a deep breath.

    "(Allow me to cleanse Suka''s Petrification,)" he said, "(so you can tell her--)"

    "(I *forbid* you from doing so, Ivory Prince)" Ananta said sharply.

    Tycon felt his knees grow weak. The sclera of the Shadow Snake Princess'' eyes had turned a deep ck, her pupils a painful, piercing white.

    It was the first time he had seen her undim her vision.

    Shortly after he awoke in the Realm, he received Ananta''s blessing.

    With it, he was able to develop two of his strongest assets, ?Shadowfang Strike? and Ishmael, his ?Venomous Shadow?.

    But even with Ananta''s mana essence and his practice and familiarity with shadow magic... he was scarcely able to return her unmitigated gaze.

    Suddenly, the mana pressure disappeared. Tycon was able to breathe again.

    He shook lightly from the aftereffects of her bloodline magic, but he no longer worried about copsing under its oppressive weight.

    He wondered if the experience was simr to what his enemies suffered when afflicted by his own ?Vexing Gaze?.

    "(There wille a time when your abilities will be needed,)" Ananta exined, the emotions on her face unreadable, "(but not until everything finds its ce.)"

    Tycon put careful thought into his words. The eldest Shadow Snake Princess was deceiving herself... and he needed to refute her logic in a way that he didn''t get himself killed prematurely.

    However, amotion at the chamber''s entrance interrupted his thoughts.

    "Get out of my F*CKING way!"

    ",

 Chapter 1009 Like Tomorrow Is Certain (Part One)

    "Get out of my F*CKING way!"

    Tycondrius pursed his lips. That was his sister''s voice at the entrance.

    "(Princess, grant us kindness! Lady Ananta is not to be disturbed!)"

    "(Princess Cass, I beseech you to cease thy actions! Our lives our forfeit, should you continue!)"

    It was a troublesome notion. His dialogue with Ananta was as full of nuance as it was restrained hostility. His sister''s foul tongue and provocative nature were going to break the status quo and potentially get one or both of them killed...

    "Seven hells!" Cass cursed, "Why would I give a shite about a pair of-- ah, F*CK OFF!!"

    The raucous booms of two ?Wind Bullets? reverberated throughout the chamber, a cloud of dust kicking up just outside the entrance.

    War Princess Cassiopeia strode into the room, covered in traces of blood and ash.

    "Princesss," Ananta addressed her, "thisss area is resserved for my family."

    The displeasure of the eldest Shadow Snake Princess was evident in both her voice and expression.

    "Yeah, whatever," Cass replied without decorum, "I am absolutely f*cking family, and you know it, Princess Ananta."

    Ananta''s dark hair began to grow, its length reaching her human height in a few short seconds.

    "I asssked you... to... LeAvE..."

    Her hair then began to twist, the locks and strandsbining and transforming into several dozen red-eyed snakes, hissing as a discordant chorus.

    If the situation were appropriate, Tycon would have wanted to be the one to leave.

    Cass used a Movement Technique to cross the distance of the room, grimacing upon seeing Suka''s condition.

    Surprisingly, Ananta did not strike her down. In fact, her snakes began to slowly unravel, returning to their unenchanted form.

    "I''m here now, little sister," Cass said. "Everything''s gonna be okay."

    Her words sent a jolt of pain through Tycon''s heart. Suka''s condition was visibly deteriorating, the cracks observable even from a cursory nce.

    "What are you w-waiting for, Brother?" Cass asked, her voice uncertain. "Unpetrify her already!"

    "He will do NO such thing," Ananta warned. "I will NOTTTtttt... allow ittt."

    Cass clenched her teeth and balled up her fists. The air, thick with her mana, seemed to ripple like water.

    "Princess Ananta," she said... "both my brother and I are capable of casting magical healing. Surely, if we work together--"

    "No," Ananta said tly.

    "But..."

    "I ssaid... no," Ananta repeated.

    Cassiopeia''s mana began to re with reckless abandon.

    Tycon forcibly grabbed his sister''s arm through her ?Wind Barrier?... shredding his metallic gauntlet into ruin and suffering several superficial cuts on his skin.

    With quick thinking and some luck, he managed to quell his sister''s destructive magics, but that did nothing to stifle her anger.

    "Your sister-- OUR sister is DYING!!" she cried, "We have to do EVERYTHING we can in order to heal her!!"

    "(I will NOT allow the risk!)" Ananta returned, "(I will bring Suka back to our territories-- to our mother! Queen Nyctis has taken a half-step into godhood! Through her Divine blood, Suka will be healed!!)"

    Cass winced at the notion. Even she knew that the Shadow Queen would do no such thing.

    "You are a coward, Ananta," Cass spat.

    Faster than Tycon could blink, the entire chamber was nketed by Ananta''s shadows.

    There was only darkness, infinite, and all-pervasive.

    Tycon was at the edge of a dangerous precipice, without a means of escape.

    And with Ananta''s mere presence... he was forced to take a step.

    Ananta...

    Her name...

    It meant... the endless...

    And so he fell.

    The throbbing pain of his bleeding arm began to fade.

    His thoughts grew hazy...

    He tried to course mana through his circuits, hoping to regain control his functions... but to no avail.

    He could no longer feel his hands or feet. He could no longer feel the vibrations in the air or the flow of mana around him.<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    "(AND I,)" Ananta shrieked, "(have TOLERATED you on my sister''s behalf for LONG ENOUGH!!)"

    And then, he could no longer see or hear...

    ...

    Tycondrius could not open his eyes.

    In trying to confirm his situation... he didn''t have eyes.

    ...nor did he have a body.

    He merely... existed.

    Once he overcame the horror behind the abyss, he found that, in practice, it was actually rather nice.

    He sensed that someone was with him... someone he knew... mostly in passing.

    And... it pained him, but he also sensed... the fragment.

    It was hollow. In extending his senses to further examine it, Tycon found that it resembled the end of an insect''s stinger.

    Or perhaps... a venomous thorn?

    Suka had been stabbed by that thorn... the thorn fragmented... and the quickly-spreading poison was hastening her demise.

    [You came...]

    Tycon had no ears, so he was not hearing Suka''s voice.

    Still, some sense he had identified her clearly.

    [Guess who?]

    Tycon wanted to smile. He had no face but somehow felt that he was able tomunicate his good will.

    "I know you..."

    [Do you, now?]

    "Of course," Tycon replied, "You are Suka, consort of the Ivory Prince."

    He keenly felt Suka''s embarrassment at the remark.

    [I don''t know about that. What use is a consort for a Dragonyer?]

    It was Tycon''s turn to feel ashamed of the cringeworthy title he proimed for himself.

    He was used to controlling the muscles in his face to mask his emotions... butcking both muscles and a face, Suka was able to clearly see the truth.

    Sheughed. He felt her joy. He could clearly imagine her smile.

    She''d grown older since hest saw her. Her face, how he understood it-- had be leaner, less childlike. Her short, wavy hair was neatly tied and fell to her middle-back, contrasting with her sister''s wild, overgrown, and almost feral look.

    However, Suka''s bubbly emotions did notst long. The darkness all around grew deeper, as was suitable, considering her bloodline.

    [Ivory Prince,] she said... [I screwed up... real bad.]

    She did.

    He sent out the withdrawal order.

    He wanted to ask why she ignored it. He wanted to hear a valid reason... that she was waid by enemies or had somehow lost her Ry Crystal.

    The myriad of thoughts swirled in his consciousness. Considering the state of his existence, Suka was surely aware of them all.

    She did not answer.

    She knew... and made no excuses.

    [I had a goal...]

    [I was training... to be the next General.]

    [I mean, my sister is really kind to me. She set me up for sess, y''know?]

    Tycon felt her determination... and not just that, he felt her dedication as well.

    There were weeks and moons of training... of studying texts on past wars, of learning from skilled veteran warriors and ancient mages, ever-studious.

    There were even sses on etiquette.

    [That''s not fair, Tycon. I''m more formal in person!]

    That, he doubted that greatly.

    ",

 Chapter 1010 Like Tomorrow Is Certain (Part Two)

    Tycondrius felt a warmth enveloping him.

    He believed the intent behind it was... Suka emting an embrace.

    [You were my inspiration, Ivory Prince,] she said...

    "I''m... d," Tycon replied. "That is... what I strive to be, yet I often find myself having trouble with the particrs."

    [Yeah, I know,] Suka readily agreed, [When we first met... you came off as a huge prick.]

    "Is that so?"

    [You sat on me.]

    Ah. Yes. That did happen.

    "...and for that, I apologize."

    [It''s supposed to be the other way around.]

    Tycon allowed his displeasure to be conveyed, "I''d like to rescind that particr apology."

    [Oh? Then what''s the other apology you--]

    The other apology...

    Tycon wanted to apologize for stealing a kiss. And, as he recalled the memory, so did his conversational partner.

    [OH! OHHHH!! YEAH! NO! WAT???]

    It was mildly unpleasant for his fewer but different senses to be saturated with the amount and variety of Suka''s thoughts and emotions.

    "Suka."

    Please stop.

    [AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!]

    "Suka, you were there."

    [I-- I didn''t remember it!]

    [At the time-- I just-- the FEELS!]

    [I remember the FEEEEELS!!]

    [But you-- you remember THE TONGUE!!!]

    [DID YOU GRAB MY BUTT?]

    "No. That is entirely in your imagination."

    He had no desire to caress Suka''s buttocks.

    Besides him recognizing and adhering to tacit social boundaries, the curvature of Suka''s behind was toocking to be aesthetically pleasing.

    [Oy. I can hear your thoughts.]

    "I apologize."

    Tycon had a strong aversion toward apologizing-- especially so much in rapid session.

    The circumstances were appropriate, though...

    Slowly, Suka''s risen emotions began to wane... returning to the calm shadows.

    The edges retracted for several moments, then flooded the space in full-- as if a deep breath was taken.

    [Prince Tycon...]

    [I was in love with you, long before I met you.]

    "And then... you did," Tycon mused.

    [Yes... I did.]

    [You came into my dreams.]

    [You mercilessly and cruelly yed with my heart...]

    [But... it was... really fun.]

    [You epted my world-- my weird, dream world without question...]

    [You epted me... for who I was.]

    The notion, Tycon found peculiar. He didn''t feel like he gave Suka special-- or even irregr attention. He recalled teasing her a bit?

    But it was true that he did not mock her for hobbies or her magics.

    Rather, he found her incredibly skilled.

    And thus, he immediately sought to use her.

    Taking advantage of her feelings, he swept her up into his pace and used her abilities to solve his problems.

    ...It wouldn''t be out of ce to say that Suka was the reason he survived that sun.

    [And after I met you... I fell in love with you... even harder.]

    [The reason I wanted to take my sister''s ce... was a selfish one.]

    [I wanted to chase you.]

    [I wanted you to notice me.]

    [I wanted... to be someone... who deserved that kiss...]

    Tycon was... overwhelmed by Suka''s sincerity.

    It served to feed the guilt blossoming in his heart.

    Suka was going to die. That kind, honest child was going to die.

    [You know... Ivory Prince...]

    [How we are, you and I...]

    [We''re... actually kinda alike.]

    Tycon was caught off guard by the deration.

    "In... what respect?"

    He disagreed, and strongly.

    He was a selfish hedonist who, whenever inconvenienced, went through five boxes of fried dough balls, minimum. He was a man who loathed the effort of social maneuvering toplete his tasks, instead opting to murder any individuals who dared oppose him.

    He was a domineering, self-serving narcissist who lived his life only going through the motions of giving a shite.

    [We... only know how to do things for other people.]

    ...That was something Tycon did not want to hear.

    [We don''t know how to be happy without the approval of others.]

    That was something Tycon wanted to hear even less.<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    [So I have a request, as your consort.]

    "You''re not my consort."

    Sukaughed a little at the remark.

    [Ivory Prince...]

    [I want you to live.]

    [I want you to live like tomorrow is certain.]

    That...

    Tycon was willing to grant nearly anything Suka had asked for.

    But... that...

    That... was... too much.

    "It''s not as easy as you''re making it sound."

    [I''ve heard that the Ivory Prince never goes back on his promises.]

    "Well, yes, but--"

    [You owe me a boon.]

    "Suka," Tycon said, guilt and regret and helplessness wrenching his heart... "I can''t."

    [Please... live.]

    [Live as long as you can.]

    [I... love you, Tycon.]

    "But Suka..."

    [I have always loved you.]

    "Suka, please..."

    [And... I will love you... forever and always.]

    "Suka, that''s--"

    ...

    "--not fair..."

    Tycondrius was holding his bleeding arm outward.

    The stinging pain renewed its assault on his senses.

    Suka was gone.

    Ananta wept; she crouched over her sister''s stone form, crumbled into dust.

    Cass was with her, the younger Princess had her arms around the older''s shoulders and was crying into her cor.

    Last he remembered, the two were about to fight. If they were toe to blows, it would be nothing like the spectacle they put on in front of their allies.

    But with the loss of Suka...

    "It''s not fair," Tycon said, his voice quiet enough that only he could hear it.

    His sister, Cass, slowly stood up, unrestrained in her sobbing.

    Moving on instinct, Tycon approached her and pulled her into his embrace.

    She cried.

    The women in his presence were crying by no fault of his own, yet he derived no satisfaction from it.

    Suka was not the first loss in their farcical war, nor would it be thest... but her departure was sorely felt.

    Tycon strengthened his embrace, his mind distraught by Suka''s request.

    She wanted him... to live as if tomorrow was certain.

    She was asking him to live a f*cking lie.

    It was an unfair request... and he was doubtful that he could even do so.

    ...But if he were to refuse... his conscience would copse under the weight of his guilt.

    He cursed the fates. He cursed the eleven heavens and seven hells.

    He was... so... certain... that he was a selfish snake...

    Tyconforted the hatchling in his arms as he made a vow in his heart.

    He would live... but not for the uncertain suns ahead.

    To the best of his ability, he would live for Suka... until he was naught but ash and fire.

    Tycon heard footsteps approaching.

    One set of them carried a heavier weight-- noisy, but deliberate.

    The interruption was unwee.

    He had to grieve. They all had to grieve...

    The voice of Dragan Ashlord boomed from the chamber''s entrance.

    "(You and you, take these two and see them to the medical tents.)"

    --"(I hear you, War Prince.)"

    --"(At once, War Prince.)"

    Tycon silently observed Dragan crouching to get through the door portal. The Titanblood approached until he was a respectable ten or twelve fulms away.

    "War Prince Tycondrius," he said, "We discovered somethin'' that requires your immediate attention."

    Tycon shook his head, "I will not leave this ce, War Prince Droghan. As of current and for at least the rest of this sun, my family is my only priority."

    "But Brother," Cass sniffed, "your duties..."

    Tycon closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to his sister''s, "I''ve made my decision."

    "Brother... you... you''re our Commander..."

    "Others willmand in my stead," Tycon said. "Right now, my ce is here with you."

    He nced back up at Dragan, hoping for tacit agreement.

    Instead, the red-headed Titanblood began signaling a series of letters.

    Q. V. A. I.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    "Cass, take care of Ananta. I need to go."

 Chapter 1011 A Thousand Memories

    ? In another ce, another time... ?

    Pale swiped his left hand to incinerate an oing ?Fragmentation Thorn?.

    Whew. That was too close...

    Thankfully, his activated Whitefire Gauntlet could destroy those thingspletely.

    Even a small part of the ck projectiles could do some serious damage. A few weeks back, he saw an Iron-Rank Devil get barely grazed by one. They amputated her half her arm at her request, but she still suffered ?Mana Drain? until she had nothing left...

    Pale couldn''t let any of his friends get hit by that.

    He nced back to check on Vanya. Her skin had turned icy blue-- a side-effect from the Spell she was channeling?

    Her ?Frozen Atmosphere? acted as a buffer against the overwhelming heat and kept them mostly safe from long-distance attacks. It was inevitable that one or two would get through, though-- that''s why Pale decided to keep close.

    "(Morninglord!)" she cried, "(My powers are waning! I cannot sustain my magics for much longer!)"

    "Vanya, you have to try!" Pale yelled back.

    The ne of Fire was pretty hot usually, but a terrible feeling stuck to his skin like boiling oil. Something was supernaturally heating up the area enough to cook a regr person''s insides.

    If it wasn''t for Vanya''s quick thinking, they''d have all been turned into crispy-crunchy snacks for the Thorn Elves.

    Pale understood the basics of what she was doing. What was normally a mid-scale attack Spell, Vanya modified into a series of independent protective barriers.

    But to keep everything working as intended, her brain was doing a million calctions a minute; she was near her breaking point.

    Pale had never seen the Frost affect her so strongly.

    If they couldn''t get the upper hand--

    --"(Kill the OUTSIDERSSS!!!)"

    --"(The female is the source of the dark magics!!)"

    Uh oh. Enemies had climbed up their hill.

    Pale activated ?Misty Step?, bashing the back end of his spear into a Thorn Elf''s side. The first collided with the second, allowing him to activate ?Spiral Pierce?, drilling a ring of mana-empowered spear-strikes into their bodies.

    "(Young Master,)" Vanya whispered.

    "I''ll protect you, Vanya," Pale smiled.

    "(I''m...)"

    "Yeah?"

    "(I''m supposed to be the one protecting YOU!!)"

    The frosty blue girl couldn''t move her hands, as she had to concentrate channeling power into her defensive Spells. She was, however, able to kick her bare feet at Pale''s shins.

    Thankfully, Vanya was a pure caster; her reflexes were honestly kind of slow, especially whenpared to him and Ree.

    Pale danced away, chuckling to himself.

    Vanya... Ree... Troia...

    He''d protect everyone, somehow.

    He had to.

    He was a Hero.

    The ground started to shake, so Pale stabbed the blunt end of his Lifedrinker Spear into the red rock to keep stable. At the same time, he held onto Vanya''s waist to make sure she wouldn''t lose her bnce.

    "(Y-young Master! I can''t concentrate in this condition!)"

    "You can do this, Vanya," he said confidently. "I believe in you."

    "(Be that as it may,)" Vanya tilted her head down, letting her dark blue hair drape over her face, "(the problem lies elsewhere~)"

    Just before she did, Pale saw that her cheeks had turned a deep bluish-purple. That wasn''t a good sign...

    She just had to hold on a bit longer, though. The ground shaking meant that the big bad evil guy was set to arrive!

    A bulbous creature began to emerge from a huge crack in the ground.

    It had an almost human head and torso, but it was... not pleasant to look at.

    Its skin was mostly green, with bits of orange, much like the Thorn Elves that kept trying to sneak up on them.

    It might have been human before, as its face had what should have been a huge mustache. However, it had transformed into literally a part of his fleshy face, covered in warts, boils, and ck ?Fragmentation Thorns?.

    And the stomach on its torso was extended, so he looked really unhealthy.

    If they were friends, Pale would gently suggest that he watch his diet. Maybe they''d go on brisk walks, together?

    Oh, and the chimera also walked sideways on giant crab legs. And instead of arms, he had what looked like segmented worms, ending in a fiery, red-hot cone.

    Crab-chimera! That thing was definitely the boss!

    "The gods favor Xander TAVOR! AhahHAHA!!!!!" it cackled, "Witness the power of my NEW FOORRRRRRM!!"

    It even sounded like a viin!

    "You look familiaaaaarrrr!!!!" Pale shouted.

    "You brats got me THROWN INTO JAIIIILLLLL!!!!" the crab-chimera screamed, "Xander Tavor will NEVER forgive your INSOLENCE!!!"

    Tavor? Pale grinned as the memories clicked into ce.

    It had been years since he and Ree took down Duke Tavor in the city of Merylsward. He didn''t recall the exact contents of the mission, but Boss Tycon always had a good reason for doing things.

    O'' Sol Invictus...

    He wondered how Boss Tycon was doing.<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    "But what did you DOOOOO?!?!?" Pale yelled back.

    The localized ice storm barrier he had around him was really noisy.

    "Vanya," he said to the side, "we humans make mistakes, sometimes. But if someone has been imprisoned for a crime they did not--"

    "(Young master, I think that''s the enemy.)"

    Pale nced back to Tavor. It looked like he was about to st fire beams out of his worm arms.

    "Oh. Right."

    He took his arm off of Vanya and pointed his hand at the big bad, "?Maximus?"

    Mana surged through Pale''s body, swirling about once in his chest before coursing through his extended arm.

    A Third-Circle bolt of lightning shot from his palm and upon reaching Tavor, it arced all along his weird crab body.

    "BRGRGR hrrHRHR HLRLLR HrrrRRghhhHHHKK!!!"

    Pale felt pretty good about hitting the enemy sessfully. A few years ago, he was really bad at hitting anything with his Spells-- lightning ones, especially.

    Hmm.. He was hoping that hitting a crab monster would actually smell good.

    Unfortunately, the lightning-shocked Tavor smelled just like old, burnt oil.

    --wait! The smell!!

    Tavor was the source of the weird heat!!

    Probably!!!!!

    "Take this, you freaky SPIDER THING!!!"

    Kimura Taree was quick to take advantage of the stunned spider-monster. She sprinted toward it, barreling through the Thorn Elves that tried to get in her way. She even whipped her silver ponytail around, so the adamantine knife tied at the end sliced one of the elves'' throats.

    Pale was a little worried, but it looked like her Stone Body physique kept her safe from harm.

    Ree activated her ?Berserker? Skill too, so she swelled up in size from way-shorter than he was to even bigger than Dragan!

    It was *really* cool how she could do that.

    When she got to Tavor, she started smashing her mega-fists into his crab-leg joints. Spider-legs? Spider-leg joints.

    It looked like the chimera was finally ready to use its ?Fire Beam?, though.

    --if it even had ?Fire Beam?.

    Pale was assuming-- but he was pretty sure that kind of chimera would be able to shoot ?Fire Beams?.

    But, then again... it was more important to neutralize the threat than it was to sate his curiosity.

    "?Maximus?"

    "BRRA GRHGLLL grrrhhaAAAk ST-T-T-OP D-DOING THATTTT!!!"

    ?? Trust Your Back To Me, Sister Kimura. ??

    The bells ringing in his head were from Troia in her Divine Armor, Dawnbringer. He could understand Celestial-- but she usually didn''t speak without Dawnbringer tranting.

    Depending on the person, it made their eardrums explode.

    He''d seen it.

    Troia in her mana-constructed armor dashed in front of a worm-arm strike meant for Ree.

    When Dawnbringer was at full power, it was almost 60 fulms tall. However, to keep mana-efficient, Troia''s armored form was actually a little smaller than Ree in her ?Berserker? form.

    But that also meant that Troia could use ?Divine Barrier? to block the chimera''s attacks all sun!

    Troia... was probably the most amazing girl he''d ever met.

    "I could''ve taken that, Troia!!" Ree shouted.

    ?? I Will Allow No Harm to Befall My Hero''s Allies. ??

    "He''s not *your* hero!" Ree countered.

    ?? The Hero and I Share a Bond That Cannot Be Broken. ??

    Pale felt himself sweating profusely-- and not because Vanya''s ice field was starting to fail.

    The bond that Troia was referring to... it was probably because of *that.*

    "Troia!" he shouted, "That-- that was an ident!"

    "Get over yourself!" Ree yelled, "I kissed him first!"

    Wait, what? When did that happen?

    "(Young Master,)" Vanya whispered, just loud enough for Pale to hear, "(You have not informed our allies about the night we shared in my vige.)"

    Pale felt like his ears were about to melt off of his face.

    "V-vanya, I-- I didn''t know you could get drunk from eating fruits!"

    Vanya swept her dark hair out of her eyes, tucking a lock behind her ear, "(I will forever remember the sweet taste of your kiss, my Hero.)"

    "That''s what I''m saying," Pale rubbed his face nervously, "I don''t-- I don''t even remember it. Should... I apologize?"

    He felt that maybe he needed to apologize to all three of them? For different things?

    "(Worry not, Young Master Pale.)" Vanya gave him a gentle smile, "(Together, let us live a thousand new memories.)"

    ",

 Chapter 1012 Swell Of Emotions

    Pale took Vanya''s words and scribbled them onto his heart.

    He loved his friends, unconditionally.

    Being a Hero was hard... but as long as he was fighting alongside people he loved, he felt like he could ovee any hardships.

    And in order to make a thousand or ten thousand more memories, they all needed to live a very long time.

    "Yeah," he nodded to Vanya. "you, me-- all of us, together!! We''ll win this fight, for sure!"

    "(I could do without the other two,)" Vanya mumbled.

    But to get to that point, Pale and his team still needed to resolve their current predicament.

    He shot another lightning bolt at Tavor.

    "?Maximus??"

    "GRAH GRK GRRHK!! FOR THE LAST TIME, BOY!!!!"

    No good.

    It seemed his long-range magic was losing its effectiveness.

    Everyone was doing everything they could...

    Vanya had gone back to focusing on her channeled Spell.

    Troia was focused on locking down Tavor''s movement and disrupting his attacks.

    Ree was too busy swatting away Thorn Elves to focus on the boss.

    All that... and the situation wasn''t changing for the better.

    Tavor...

    Even though several of his legs were cracked and bleeding, he was still fighting just as hard as when he burst out of the ground.

    ...and the stream of baddies didn''t look like it was going to end anytime soon.

    "Vanya," he said... "I need to head to the front."

    "(Go, my hero,)" Vanya nodded. "?Frost Walk?"

    Pale gave a solemn nod in return.

    He was taking a huge risk in leaving Vanya without a defender... but defeating Tavor was the key to ending the battle.

    Pale used ?Misty Step? to leap into the sky, then, keeping his forward-momentum, he used another ?Misty Step? to pop out at ground-level. With the ?Frost Walk? enchantment, he was able to skate forward at rapid speed, stabbing and shing through enemies with his spear.

    ?? Hero!!!! ??

    Pale smashed his spear into the ground, swinging around the anchor to rapidly change direction. Thanks to Troia''s warning, he narrowly avoided an enemy attack.

    AND it was a ?Fire Beam?!!

    He didn''t see how the chimera shot it-- but it *had* to be from his worm-arms. It only made sense!

    "I have you now, spider-man!!!" Ree yelled.

    "Unhand me, you petnt BRAT!!" Tavor shrieked, "I!! AM A DUKE!!!"

    "And to me, you''re just DOOKIE!!"

    Right as Pale heard her shout, Ree sessfully tore off one of the chimera''s eight crab/spider legs. The wound spewed clear (but smelly) fluids that sizzled where it sshed on the ground.

    Still, Ree''s insult made Pale think about Sir Tycon. He always looked so disappointed when she said things like that.

    Troia took the advantage, grabbing onto both of Tavor''s worm-arms and forcing them downward.

    That was Pale''s chance!

    He leapt up, smashing his foot into a stunned Thorn Elf. He activated the secondary effect of Vanya''s ?Frost Walk?, freezing the enemy into a block of ice. Then, he used his Whitefire Gauntlet to enchant the block with ?Whitefire Burst?.

    Finally, he snapped the fingers of his gauntleted hand.

    Boom.

    The mana-explosion disintegrated the frozen statue andunched Pale at super-speed toward Tavor.

    He lined up his spear... and activated his ultimate Skill.

    "?Magnummm CRASHHHH!!!!?"

    Tavor began to panic, his eyes widening to thrice the size a normal human should have been capable of.

    "Nooo!! NOOOOO!!! This is NOT the LAST you''ve SEEN OF XANDER TA--RARRRRAAAAAUGHHHHHH!!!"

    Sailing over Troia and Ree, Pale smashed into the blobr torso of Xander Tavor. However, ?Magnum Crash? and its base Skill, ?Magnum Break? was a mostly fire element move, so the boss didn''t explode like most baddies did.

    ...So, immediately after, Pale used his spear to stab him in the neck, then through the eye. He wasn''t sure where Tavor''s butthole was (if he had one at all,) so he just used ?Spiral Pierce? to stab him five times in the chest.

    Finally, he grabbed onto Tavor''s face and activated his ?Maximus? Skill with both hands.

    Tavor didn''t scream anymore after that.

    He started to fall, so Pale grabbed onto the chimera''s face blubber to keep stable, leaping off at thest moment and rolling onto the ground.

    Stabilizing himself and checking his surroundings, he saw the few remaining Thorn Elves sound a retreat.

    Without the demon-crab and its weird heat aura, the enemy had lost their biggest advantage.

    Troia and Ree were able to leave Vanya''s protective barriers for higher mobility and a massive increase in offensive potential.

    Vanya started casting long-distance frost Spells from where she was, too.

    Pale breathed a sigh of relief. The battle was pretty much over.

    He still had a lot of mana to spare, but Ree was starting to get sluggish-- and Vanya definitely needed to rest.

    He wondered how Troia was doing. Her mana reserves seemed to run even deeper than his, but their team''s expedition into the ne of Fire had been sun after sun of constantbat...

    After a few more minutes of fighting, Kimura Taree bounded over to Pale, scooping him up into a hug.

    "We did it!" she said.

    Pale returned a grin, "Yeah. Great job, Ree."

    Troia''s Dawnbringer jogged over. The chestpartment opened up, revealing a very pretty, but also very sweaty teenage girl with purple hair.

    She signed [finally] and [safe].

    Pale nodded enthusiastically, before signing back [thanks to you].

    Holy Princess Troia granted him the gift that was her smile.

    Her radiant, literally angelic smile calmed Pale''s heart while also refueling his spirit. He felt ready to march into the Briarthorn Monarch''s fortress and kick everyone''s butt, on his own!

    (--but only if he had to, since that sounded like a really bad idea.)

    Finally, Pale turned back to Vanya. She was kneeling on the edge of the high ground, smiling gently down at him.

    It was thanks to her that they''d been able toe so far.

    They would have never made it safely to the ne of Fire without the help of her and her tribe.

    Just thinking about it made emotions swell in his heart.

    Pride... in his friends, their bond, and the strength of their teamwork.

    Joy... in both the highs and lows of their journey.

    Nostalgia... for his long-missing father, for his friends in Sol Invictus, still in the Surface Realm...

    F... ear?

    Fear... that they would soon forget him. How many years had passed since hest saw them?

    Despair?

    Helplessness. He wasn''t strong enough-- and, it was only through luck that they scraped together a win. If just one thing had gone wrong, everything would have been over.

    Anger.

    Rage.

    It burned hotter than the entire ne of Fire.

    They''d done so much... for so many people. It seemed that everyone needed his help-- but he couldn''t turn a blind eye to their problems! That''s not who he was!

    [ H A T E . ]

    Hate...

    So much hate...

    "Vanya!!" he screamed.

    Pale swore he could hear her, despite her being so far away.

    ''I''m sorry,'' she said.

    "NOOO!!!" Ree screamed.

    Pale heard all his emotions in that scream, the pain, the fear, the helplessness...

    A tall, gaunt humanoid stood on that hill. It wore the skull of a ram, otherworldly fury burning in its amber eyes.

    The mebriar Monarch was on that hill. Its dark body seemed to squirm and writhe like it was made of snakes.

    The mebriar Monarch was lifting Vanya, its ck, wriggling hand wrapped around her throat.

    She was no longer moving.

    That was why she apologized.

    The mebriar Monarch threw her lifeless body off the cliff.

    Troia again sealed herself inside Dawnbringer, sprinting forward.

    She caught Vanya. But Vanya...

    But Vanya...

    Ree was scrambling up the rock wall-- but giant thorny vines burst out of the cracks, wrapping around her arms and legs.

    Pale shot his hand forward. ?Maximus?.

    The methorn Briar took the hit, shrugging it off like it was a gentle breeze.

    Pathetic. His magic was pathetic... but the magic wasn''t to me. The fault lied with the caster.

    [ P A T H E T I C . ]

    No. Pale couldn''t ept it. He was a Hero. He wasn''t *allowed* to ept his failures.

    He used ?Misty Step? to reach Ree, stabbing his spear into the rock wall. He used his gauntlet to w her free from the oppressive Briarthorn Vines, "Ree! Wake up! I need you!!"

    [ U S E L E S S . ]

    "It''s useless," she said. "Soon... the thorns will break through my skin. Soon... I''ll go to the ce where Tamaki is..."

    Her muscles were shrinking-- her ?Berserker? Form was wearing off! But for that to happen--

    Her mind! She was being affected by a mind-altering Spell!

    "Troia!!!" Pale yelled, "TROIIIAAAA!! The magic-- it''s taken hold of Ree!!"

    [ S U R R E N D E R . ]

    ?? Hero... ??

    ?? Vanya Has Taken Injury... ??

    ?? I... ??

    ?? I Cannot Heal Her... ??

    Whatever magic was in the air-- it was affecting everyone!

    "GrraaaaAaaAAAGHHHH!!!!"

    Pale leapt up onto the rocky ne.

    It was there. It was in front of him.

    The mebriar Monarch.

    ?Maximus?

    Pale cast his strongest Spell at the creature.

    ?Maximus?

    He channeled all his hopes into the magic.

    ?Maximus?

    He channeled his pain.

    ?Maximus!!?

    He channeled his love.

    ?MaxiMUSSS!!!!!?

    He channeled HIS HATE!!!!

    ? M A X I M U S ! ! ! ! ! ?

    Nothing worked.

    Nothing...

    The insides of Pale''s skull burned so hot it felt cold and numb. His knees collided painfully with the stone ground.

    "Why..."

    "YOU. KNOW. WHY..."

    The mebriar Monarch''s voice crackled like kindling and burning bone.

    It stood only a few paces away, towering above him.

    Red worms slithered behind its skull-mask. Though it could have been a human from far away, underneath its mossy cape was nothing but slithering vines and ck thorns the size of daggers.

    But...

    --instead of ending Pale''s miserable and worthless life...

    It turned and began to walk away.

    "Come BACK!!!!" Pale yelled. He smashed his forearms against the rocks, begging with all his might, "FINISH ME!!! Kill me!!"

    He swallowed the saliva in his throat... and he watched his tears being swallowed up by the dry earth.

    "Come back... Please..."

    The creature did not cease its steps...

    "I. WILL. BE. WAITING."

    [I will be waiting...]

    [Just... as I told him.]

    ",

 Chapter 1013 Burn It Down

    ? On the Material ne... ?

    "Do you know these creatures, Brother-Dragan?" Tycondrius asked.

    Dragan tapped on the Memory Crystal, pausing its rey function.

    "The short, stocky folks with the ming beards and hair," he exined, "they''re called Azers. They''re essentially dwarves, but--"

    "The other ones," Tycon rified, "their build is reminiscent to an... elf. Yet the green skin and... hm."

    "The weird ck thorns stabbed through their bodies?" Dragan suggested.

    "Their most obvious features, yes," Tycon nodded. "Are they native Outsiders?"

    "I don''t think so," Dragan sighed. "The first time we fought them, I thought they were undead, but that''s not exactly right."

    The first time?

    Tycon wondered if Dragan was withholding information from him... but it seemed unlikely, as the Titanblood had no reason to do so.

    "One of my Gnoll Shamans picked a couple of ''em apart," Dragan continued. "Found out that their bodies are held together by a mixture of fire and wood-mana..."

    "So... mutant abominations," Tycon sighed.

    "Like pineapple on pizza," Dragan suggested.

    "What, dear friend, is a pine-apple?"

    "A highly acidic fruit from the southern tropics," Dragan exined. "They''re expensive."

    "Any topping works on pizza," Tycon chided. "It just needs the proper context."

    "And the context for these things," Dragan said, bringing Tycon''s attention back to the Memory Crystal... "Do you remember Naedrielle?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "If memory serves that was the Kingdom''suded General of the Wind, no? She worked for Aur before she was killed in..."

    Merylsward.

    It was the city in the Kingdom where Invictus suffered the loss of members Kimura Tamaki and Sanctum Parmrius Maximus. Dragan and Lone barely escaped with their lives intact.

    "Yeah. You can see where I''m goin'' with this," Dragan grimaced, "The ol'' wind-hag spected that these... Thorn Elves are native to the Faewyld-- and they belong to an Ancient n called House mebriar."

    "And thus," Tycon continued, "rted to de Dancer Quay."

    He tapped the magic crystal to resume its memory, then tapped it again to halt it several secondster.

    "Yet here... we see our old *friend* in direct opposition to the Thorn Elves-- both sides engaged in clear hostility."

    The blonde, charismatic elf was wearing typical adventurer garb, covered in the hard chitinous shells of creatures native to the outer nes.

    "Understatement of the epoch," Dragan groaned. "Quay wiped the f*ckin'' floor with those scrawny bastards! And, look, he doesn''t even have a f*ckin'' sword!!"

    That wasn''t quite correct. Quay was indeed unarmed, but Dragan glossed over the elf''s physical condition. He was injured. As he fought, his stance was unsteady and his breathing,borious.

    There was no graceful dance of des to be seen. Quay took part in a haphazard brawl, his movements filled with rage and desperation.

    Tycon allowed the memory to continue...

    When Quay''s enemies tried to capitalize on his weakness, the elf avoided their blows with minimal and dangerously precise movement. Having fallen for his deceit, Quay then utilized his spiked armor tes or his w gauntlet to counterattack to great effect.

    "The Memory Crystal," Tycon mused... "has the image been captured directly, or is Scrying-type approximation involved?"

    "Eh?" Dragan twisted his lips to the side, "Direct capture, why?"

    "This is not Quay''s de Dance."

    "...So, what would you call it, then?" Dragan frowned, "the Sugar Plum F*cking Faerie Dance?"

    Tycon was unfamiliar with that particrbat style. However, the context in which it was cited made it easy enough to discern.

    "Regardless of the de Dance variation practiced," Tycon sighed. "these movements are drastically different to what I remember from Quay."

    Quay had changed... he was stronger, faster, and more resilient against injury. He also boasted greater reflexes and had adopted a more technical style of fighting.

    None of those things bade well...

    "And how reliable is that information, huh?" Dragan groaned, "with your memories all scrambled, Ty?"

    "Tycon. I prefer to be called at least that much of my first name... Tycon."

    "...Right. M-my bad."

    Tycon smiled politely while patting Dragan on the arm, "Of course, my concerns may turn out to be immaterial."

    "No..." Dragan shut his eyes, slowly shaking his head, "I get what you''re tryin'' to say... I just don''t like it."

    If Quay was holding back against the Thorn Elves...

    No. No matter how formidable he had be, that did not change his and Dragan''s obligations.

    Tycon sighed once more, turning in his seat to face the table.

    "You said he was still alive..."

    He removed his Nemayan pistol from his spatial ring. He checked the chamber-- loaded. He ejected the magazine, ensuring it was full. He flicked the safety off and on.

    "Yeah," Dragan said in a low voice. "I did."

    "Hm," Tycon nodded as he unfolded the hand crossbow on his belt. He applied a fresh coat of injury poison on the bolt secure in its flight groove.

    Dragan had, with him, his old signature weapon. The vaguely sword-shaped hunk of death-metal he called Dread, rested on his shoulder.

    The Titanblood re-secured the bandolier of alchemical throwables on his chest. Also, he strapped a rather dangerous-looking throwing axe to his belt. It dripped a dark, filthy-looking fluid.

    "Some of my people took him to the medical tents," he said. "They didn''t know who he was."

    Tycon flicked his hand to the side, summoning his curved sword. His ?Venomous Shadow?, Ishmael, caught it, pulling it out of its adamantine scabbard to inspect it. Once satisfied, he returned to standing at the ready.

    Finally, Tycon stood up and drew his short sword, Mercy. He held it offhand, reverse-gripped, and t against his forearm.

    "Understandable," he said. "Anyroad, it''s appropriate that we be the ones to deal with him."

    "I hear that, Boss," Dragan said, sucking air through his teeth. "So... n of attack?"

    "I''ll activate my Lamb to the ughter Skill, then I n on emptying this pistol magazine into the bastard''s chest."

    Tycon wished he had steel shot instead of lead bullets, but even that should prove poisonous to someone with a highly developed fae bloodline.

    "Sounds good," Dragan nodded as he hefted Dread onto his shoulders. "I''ll open with Howling Octave and I''ll Mana Surge into a stback to give us some distance."

    Ishmael held out his hand, forming the image of five shadowy snakes on his palm. Once the fighting started, he would activate ?Taste the Hydra de?, which would hopefully restrain Quay for a scant few seconds...

    Tycon stood up from his seat and rolled his shoulders. Adrenaline was beginning to make its way through his body, heating his blood, and hastening his heart rate.

    His expression had hardened into a deep grimace.

    Keeping distance from a de Dancer would be paramount to their sess.

    ...Elves were not known for having hardy constitutions, so the initial series of attacks could very well decide Quay''s fate.

    --or theirs.

    "Let''s move," Dragan urged.

    The Titanblood rushed out of the Command Tent, ignoring the swarths of personnel saluting him as he passed.

    Tycon quickly followed in his footsteps, keeping silent-- keeping focused.

    He sensed that Ishmael remained as his shadow, wielding his curved de in his main hand, the adamantine scabbard in his left.

    "You have to let me pass! Please!"

    As they approached, they heard an oddly panicked voice from inside one of the medical tents.

    Tycon grit his teeth.

    "It''s him," he said.

    Ishmael raised his offhand. He tapped his middle finger to his forehead, flicking it outward.

    [Smart.]

    "Wait, Boss, he''s right," Dragan said, suddenly uncertain. "It sounds like Quay''s gotten smarter."

    "Even with thrice the brain capacity," Tycon growled, "we''re still killing him."

    "F*ck me and my ancestors," Dragan nodded solemnly, "Burn it down?"

    He thrust his left hand out to the side, his entire arm immediately congrated by Third-Circle mes.

    "Number of personnel?" Tycon whispered.

    "Seven max," he said, "My best and brightest."

    Tycon gulped. The loss of so many skilled healers would be painful.

    "eptable. Do--"

    "BOSS!!!!" Quay yelled, "D-DRAGAN!!!"

    The idiot burst out of the medical tent, covered head to toe in bandages.

    They were filthy, dirtied by blood in several ces on his body.

    Tycon nced to his Titanbloodpanion, "Dragan?"

    Dragan met Tycon''s gaze, "Boss?"

    "It''s me!" Quay cried, "Pale!"

    ""Bucket??"" Tycon and Dragan said simultaneously.

    "J-just a second," the boy muttered.

    He struggled with it, but after a short moment, the mushroom-brained elf managed to remove the bandages covering his head, uncovering his dirty-blonde hair.

    ...and his face.

    His face revealed himself, clearly and unmistakably, as Quay... leader and founder of Guild Invictus.

    Ishmael swung his curved de.

    The former leader of Sol Invictus slipped his head under the swing, barely avoiding decapitation.

    Dragan attempted to power a Third-Circle ?me Pir? into Quay''s chest.

    Quay deftly wrapped his discarded bandages around Dragan''s hands, canceling the Spell before it couldplete.

    Tycon pointed his Nemayan pistol at the elf, clicking the safety off.

    He discharged 18 shots-- the one already loaded in the chamber and the 17 subsequent fed via the magazine.

    Quay swung his arms... blocking... each... and every... one.

    Once Tycon''s pistol was fully unloaded, he saw that the opportunistic lout had snatched Dragan''s throwing axe before the first trigger pull.

    ...and each round was harmlessly deflected to hit the surrounding dirt.

    Severely annoyed, Tycon then ejected his pistol magazine and threw it at the boy.

    Pale caught it between the thumb and forefinger of his offhand, "Boss?"

    "CEASE fire~" Tycon rolled his eyes-- and his entire head, "Cease fire. Everyone stop... It''s the boy... It''s Bucket."

    Dragan scratched at his mop of red hair, "Huh. Bucket~"

    Ishmael sheathed his sword, tucking it underneath his arm.

    [Bucket], he signed.

    "Wait, why did you guys attack me?!" Bucket cried.

    Ishmael formed a Y shape with his hand, bringing it up to his chin.

    [Mistake.]

    "D-did you think I was someone else?" the boy whined, "Why didn''t you ask for an identifier? Boss, I memorized all the identifiers!!"

    "(Hate to say it, but he''s right,)" Dragan muttered in the airynguage of the Free Nation, "(The other one was too stupid to memorize the phrases.)"

    Tycon closed his eyes, breathing deeply to slow his heart rate, "It was an oversight, Mister Pale."

    "Sir!" Pale yelped, "You have to tell the docs to let me go! Ree''s in trouble! After-- after Vanya died, she-- and Troia, she tried to stop her! But--"

    Dragan had stepped forward, lifting the p of the medical tent.

    "Hey, docs," he said. "Anyone in there prep either Sleep or Tranquilize?"

    ",

 Chapter 1014 Growth (Part One)

    ? Making Labyrinth, Vralkek Medical Tents, several bellster... ?

    Tycondrius stood over Pale, asleep in his medical cot.

    The boy''s arms hung off the sides, he had thrown off his nket, and saliva ran down the side of his mouth.

    ...He was also taller than Tycon remembered.

    Curious.

    "Wake up, boy," Tycon said, nudging the snoring child''s head.

    ...He said the words, but in truth, did not want to interrupt the boy''s slumber.

    Like his father, Pale was a young man who valued action.

    It took thebined efforts of two adult men and a shadow clone to restrain him, but the boy fell victim to the first cast of ?Sleep?.

    Elves had a strong resistance to mind-altering Spells.

    How quickly Pale''s body folded at first opportunity was grossly indicative of his exhaustion.

    And besides that, Vralkek''s medical practitioners reported the boy had multiple severe bruises, broken bones, and barely-healedcerations...

    The boy was a Hero... sustaining and surviving injuries that would have fallen any other member of Sol Invictus.

    --with the notable exception of Lulu.

    Tycon did not understand that creature''s physiology.

    Anyroad, the few bells of rest Pale had, Tycon deemed necessary.

    The young man''s bones were set and his open wounds were sealed.

    The healing process had, at least, begun.

    But once Pale awoke... once he resumed his... Hero-ing, the cycle would begin anew.

    Tycon took a deep breath and ced his palm on the boy''s forehead.

    "Why do you even fight, child?"

    ? ?Desire Trigger? activated. ?

    ? ?Desire Trigger?. Support ability. Targeted ally ispelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target''s ability to resist detrimental effects. ?

    Pale twisted his body, lying on his side and hugging his arms.

    "Vanya," he called... "No..."

    Tycon pursed his lips.

    Vanya.

    He did not know a Vanya.

    Perhaps a new member of his team?

    Pale gulped hard, turning to lie on his opposite side.

    "Taree," he said. "I''ll... I''ll save you."

    Ah, the silver-haired whelpling, Kimura Taree. Tycon recognized that one.

    Perhaps that was the ''Ree'' the boy had mentioned earlier?

    If so, that exined why Dragan--

    "I remember," Pale gasped.

    "...Go on," Tycon prompted.

    "I... made a promise... Troia... I haven''t forgotten..."

    Tycon pursed his lips to the side.

    Vanya was a feminine name... which meant that activating ?Desire Trigger? on the boy made him think of, not one, but three separate females?

    The boy''s father had severaludable titles, de Dancer...

    Err...

    Leader of Sol Invictus?

    No. Hm...

    The boy''s father had oneudable title: de Dancer.

    But his other title-- that of ''Serial Womanizer'' was one that Tycon hoped Pale would not inherit.

    The young man lied t on his back. He grit his teeth, as if he was in pain.

    "S... sasha," he whispered.

    Ah. Yes. Sasha.

    Tycon drew Mercy from its scabbard, securing it tightly in a reverse-grip. He raised his sword arm, directing the de downward.

    Hm.

    His conscience bid him pause.

    It was... ethically wrong to kill a Hero.

    Heroes were selected by the fates, tasked to save a Realm. If he were to kill Pale, it was the equivalent of sentencing millions-- perhaps billions of sentients to death or worse.

    Heroes were an important existence, not just to their Realm, but to all Realms...

    Tycon twisted his lips to the side.

    There was an alternate solution.

    Castration.

    A Hero could still do... most all things a Hero could do, even without the capacity to sire offspring.

    Suddenly, Pale shot awake, sitting up in his cot.

    Tycon grabbed the sweat-covered boy by the cor and forced him back down-- out of reflex.

    "B-boss?" Pale said, rubbing his eyes, "Is it... dinnertime?"

    Tycon narrowed his gaze, "Yes. But before that, have you spoken with Sasha recently?"

    "Not since Ist saw you, Sir," Pale sighed. "I was hoping to ask her to join my party again."

    ...Tycon returned Mercy to its sheath, "So you would speak to her for reasons purely professional?"

    "Well... yeah?" Pale said, scratching his head. "You always taught me to be a professional, Sir... So yes, of course."

    "No other reasons?"

    "...No?" Pale frowned, "I can''t think of anything else? I... I''ve grown a lot stronger now-- and more professional thanst time I asked her."

    "You say you''ve grown?" Tycon smiled politely, "From your earlier demonstration, I approve thus far. However, ording to your age, Mister Pale, there is yet more growing to be done."

    He grabbed the wheeled cart, repositioning it aside Pale''s cot.

    "I''m pretty grown up already, Sir," Pale argued weakly.

    Tycon again recalled the boy''s current height; it matched his own.

    Further, his voice had deepened... making him sound much like his father.

    However, Pale would never be confused for Quay by voice alone. It was difficult to exin, but the ''senseless idiot'' quality of that person''s voice was impossible to recreate.

    ...And Tycon supposed that the boy''s half-elven features showed hints of maturity?

    Hmph.

    He needed a haircut.

    --and a proper bath.

    "Have you ''grown up'' so much that you''d reject a meal I cooked myself?" Tycon confidently teased.

    Pale sat in the kneeling before cing his hands together and bowing his head.

    "No, Sir," he said. "I would very much like to eat what you cooked, Sir."

    Tycon chuckled lightly, "Very well."

    He would not reject the boy''s earnest request.

    He was rather proud of histest concoction, a slow-cooked broth derived from the bones of wild fowl, fortified with a medley of vegetables and root tubers. On the side, he prepared a te of thinly sliced mutton. The boy could add it to the soup, if he was feeling up to it.

    Tycon scooped a modest serving into a bowl, offering it to the salivating child.

    Pale reached out his hands to ept it.

    "I''ve really missed your cooking, Boss. You... used to tell me I''d stay short forever if I didn''t eat nutritious things."

    "Not exactly true," Tycon replied. "But still, a nutritious diet is necessary for your physique to achieve its maximum potential."

    "Uh... Boss?"

    "Yes?"

    "Can... you let go of the bowl, please?"

 Chapter 1015 Growth (Part Two)

    Tycondrius looked down at his hand.

    He was subconsciously holding onto Pale''s wooden bowl with a vice-like w-grip.

    He swallowed his saliva and forcibly willed his hand to rx, allowing the boy to take that which was specifically prepared for him.

    Nutrients...

    Tycon selected the ingredients for Pale''s meal, not for him as a convalescent patient, but to behoove a youngling in his growth period.

    "Mmmm..."

    The boy cried as he ate. Undoubtedly, they were tears of joy.

    "I... I really... really missed this," Pale said, his voice filled with emotion, "Thank you, Sir... Thank you so much."

    Tycon turned his back. He keenly felt his own rising emotions marring his expression.

    He felt that perhaps... it was thest time he''d be taller than the boy. Surely, with just a single bowl of fortified soup--

    "Sir, may I have another?"

    "Serve it yourself," Tycon snapped, still looking away.

    --with just a single bowl of soup... the boy was going to physically outgrow him.

    ...Unless?

    "Boss?" Pale called.

    Tycon turned his head back, "Go ahead."

    "Can I have some of this meat?"

    "Of course. Everything on the meal cart is for you-- and drink the juice, as well."

    "Thanks, Boss."

    Tycon turned away, once more, to hide his guilt-- his shame.

    He had actually considered withholding food from the boy! Only a monster would do such a thing. If he were in the young man''s position, he''d havemitted murder for the bare mention of the notion!

    No... he could not do that to Pale.

    He was a valuable ally... and once he proved himself, he would be the next leader of--

    "Sir, when''s the next time I can talk to Sasha?"

    "Finish your gods-damned meal, boy! Another word and I''ll shove the entirety of that boiling pot down your loquacious throat."

    "Y-yessir..."

    After the exchange, Pale finished his meal in rtive quietude.

    He enjoyed himself, nearly finishing the contents of the cast iron pot and emptying the container of fruit-drink.

    "Are you ready to make a report?" Tycon asked.

    "I am!" Pale eximed, "So much has happened, Sir!"

    "Keep it concise, young man," Tycon groaned. "Recall major events, *only.* I''m not in the mood for superfluous details."

    The boy talked.

    He... went on... and on...pletely ignoring Tycon''s wishes.

    After a period of time and several bouts of requesting rification, Tycon understood Pale''s journey as such:

    The Hero Team began their questing in the Sleeping Country, Nemaya Strana-- with the Lich Queen''s blessing, of course.

    There, they uncovered and resolved *several* lizard plots aimed at destabilizing the nation or controlling respectable points of interest. On multiple quests, they even worked in tandem with the Queen''s Royal Protector, General Gobbuto.

    The Nemayan territories werergely free of lizard control. Following the logic, Tycon and the anti-lizard offensive had Pale and hispanions to thank for that.

    From there, the Hero Team followed lizard activity into the Outer nes, beginning with the ne of Ice. There, they recruited a healer, a Genasi with a water-type bloodline.

    That person died.

    Losing a capable individual with a high-tiered Healer ss was a devastating loss.

    Anyroad, the reason Pale had appeared older than he should have been was... simply because he was.

    Time worked differently in the Outer nes. The boy had been gone for over five years instead of the two-and-change since Tycon hadst seen him.

    However, his time amongst the Outsiders granted him some understanding of the stances and ideologies of the four major elemental nes...

    The Realm of Dirt had allied with the lizards, as the age of ash and otherwise was an inevitability.

    The Realm of Air actively opposed the lizards'' draconian ways, ever-contrary to the free-spirited natures of their denizens.

    The Realm of Ice wasrgely neutral, though, before her death, Ice Princess Vanya had rallied significant support to the Hero''s cause.

    The Realm of Fire was functionally neutral, but that was because everything in that ce remainedrgely hostile to all factions involved.

    Most recently, the Heroes had unearthed a lizard plot to upy City-State Forcen.

    Forcen was difficult to attack by bothnd, sea, and sky, due to a ring of mountains and so-many gravity-manipting, earth-type manifest zones. However, if the lizards were to use those manifest zones to mount a siege, Forcen would have little recourse.

    ...Two and a half moons prior, the lizard goddess, Jerim Jya, bid Tycon to travel to the Bristlebear Hignds.

    The threat to Forcen exined the rationale behind that mysteriousmand-- which assumedly stemmed from Neerin Neelia''s predictions.

    Barring special circumstances, Pale and hispanions should have arrived in the Material ne there, in rtive safety, and by the 77th sun...

    However, that dreaded special circumstance came to pass.

    A creature known as the mebriar Monarch ambushed the Hero Team, resulting in the death of the Ice Princess and, subsequently. Kimura Taree''s desertion.

    Pale and Troia, being logical individuals, sought to prevent the mebriar Monarch''s forces from flooding into City-State Making.

    The Kimura whelpling did not agree. Instead, she chose to strike off on her own to hunt down an ancient fae creature in its ancestral homnd.

    She desired vengeance. Naught else mattered to her.

    Taree was undoubtedly the stupidest hatchling Tycon ever cared for...

    "--but despite her decision being infuriatingly ignorant of both the dangers at hand and the unlikelihood of her sess," he sighed... "the girl is at least consistent."

    "That''s why we have to hurry up and defeat the ne of Fire''s invasion," Pale insisted, still sitting on his cot. "Then... then we can go after Ree..."

    The desperation in the boy''s voice conveyed his concern.

    "I''m sorry, Sir," Pale sniffed. "I know... a professional... isn''t supposed to cry."

    "Hah," Tycon chuckled quietly. "As leaders, you and I must keep a brave front in front of our allies and subordinates. For now, in this moment, young man... you and I are brothers."

    Tears did not necessarily indicate weakness.

    Pale was a young man who could rejoice and cheer at the sess of his fellows. It followed naturally, that same young man being stricken with grief by their loss.

    However, grieving for the living was inappropriate.

    "However," Tycon ced a reassuring hand on Pale''s shoulder, "this is not the time for tears, young friend. The fate of Kimura Taree is not yet set. It seems that she needs a Hero... and I will personally see to it that she gets one."

    ",

 Chapter 1016 Getting Armor

    The boy tried to refuse a bath.

    However, he was unaware that Tycondrius had been gifted with the essence of a Sea Serpent.

    Thus, the boy was stripped naked and hosed down for several minutes with ?Bubble Beam?.

    Nopliance was much more difficult when breathing was a greater priority.

    After Pale''s hygiene issues were resolved, the next order of business was to properly equip him for the challenges ahead.

    He knew better than to refuse a second time.

    Pale looked quite dashing in the clean, dark metal, and especially so after his hair was cut to military regtions.

    "Wow!" the boy eximed, "This feels a lot stronger than my Ultima Armor! Thank you, Sir!"

    "It is," Tycon nodded. "And I''m d you find it to your liking."

    Tycon recalled that Pale had emerged from the ?Gate?, wearing a piecemeal armor set of mostly chitinous parts.

    "Hm. Your previous armor set-- had it been destroyed?"

    "Yeah, kinda," Pale said, scratching his head.

    "Don''t do that. And stand up straight."

    "S-sorry," Pale smiled bashfully, "My armor wasn''t technically destroyed. Every time a piece broke, I reced it with materials we found."

    "Ah. Very well," Tycon nodded. "I apud your resourcefulness-- but, as previously stated, this armor is better."

    At the very least, the boy looked the part of a Hero-- suitable for the next leader of Sol Invictus.

    Prior, he looked more like a wandering vagrant.

    He''d grown strong and tall enough to wear a customized set of full te armor, the joints carefully engineered to allow him full range of movement.

    "Sorina recently acquired a mercenary guild called the Red Capes," Tycon exined. "The suit is an Arcanite alloy modification of what their Gold-Ranking members utilize in the field."

    "But I don''t have a cape?" the slightly-deeper-voiced Pale remarked, "And my tunic is... blue?"

    "The Capulet girl insisted that blue was your... motif?" Tycon replied.

    "But my favorite color is green, though?"

    Tycon pursed his lips to the side. His favorite color was also green.

    Yet the boy''s previous armor set was blue...

    Hm. As a potential exnation, that particr blue also matched the favored color of the Holy Country.

    It was an odd oversight, but ultimately not important enough to mind.

    Tycon continued to brief Pale on his armor''s enchantments.

    The half-helmet was enchanted by Vralkek''s Gnoll Deathspeakers to improve his perception and sight beyond sight.

    Charm''s Wind Mages scribed weight-decreasing enchantments on the material and lined the joints with noise-suppression scripts.

    The Shadow Snakes'' enchantment on Pale''s leg guards was designed to boost the magical stability and range of his ?Misty Step? Movement Technique.

    The right armguard had a Witch-designed Spell Formation set to activate upon and improve the efficacy of Pale''s ?Mana Ward?. Because of the boy''s natural affinity for fire magic, the young Coraline Heartsong was able to add some particrly creative optimizations.

    "--wait, Boss, did you say ''Coraline''?" Pale asked.

    "Yes, unless she''s changed her name to spite me."

    Pale''s eyes widened, "Isn''t that the name of Lone''s girlfriend? She''s real? Is she here?"

    "The Lone Shadowdark is dead," Tycon waved, "Now stop interrupting. This is important."

    "Wait, what? He is?"

    The boy''s left gauntlet, an interesting magical artifact called a Whitefire w, was reviewed by a particrly exuberant Orc Shugenja. It was repaired and its arrays were fine-tuned to better match Pale''s mana signature.

    "And finally, responsible for the protective elements on your chestte," Tycon smiled, "you can thank the goddess of magic, herself."

    Be Sapphira, literal god-Witch, dismounted her broom, descending with an application of the ?Featherfall? Spell.

    It was rather extravagant, considering she was only two fulms off the floor.

    The woman radiated a cool, white light, illuminating the otherwise dark and dismal setting of Making''s underground.

    "It''s weird," Be remarked. "He looks just like his dad, but, like... not as punch-able, y''know?"

    Tycon gently nudged Pale forward, "I doubt you two have met before. Lady Sapphira, this is Pale, this generation''s Hero."

    ? Pale, Adamatine-Rank Half-Elven Spear Hero. ?

    "B...be?" Pale gasped, wide-eyed and staring, "of... S-sol Invictus?"

    "Be Badass, in the flesh," the Witch smirked, "Sup?"

    Pale continued to gawk.

    --which Tycon found quite odd.

    "Yo, Boss," Bell said as she adjusted her sses, "has this kid never seen a girl before? I thought all Heroes were womanizing normies."

    "Noment," Tycon waved.

    "Ex... excuse me," Pale mumbled. "Miss Be..."

    "What''s up, kid?"

    "Are... you my mom?"

    Tycon physically recoiled from the notion.

    And Be...

    First, she was stunned into silence.

    Then...

    Then, Be began tough.

    She clutched at her belly and crouched down.

    Sheughed... andughed...

    And with every wheezing breath, Pale''s expression fell more and more... until Tycon was certain the boy was absolutely miserable.

    Admittedly, the young man''s logic was easy to follow.

    There were two females in his father''s Sol Invictus.

    Lulu... was rather inhuman.

    Thus, the boy surmised that Be might have been his mother.

    Unfortunately, that was impossible. Be was a Witch... and despite her human appearance, her bloodline and physique rendered her incapable of bearing children.

    "No... haha," Be said, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, "I''m not your mom. Just... wow... the audacity of this kid--"

    "Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat. "That''s enough, Miss Be."

    "I''m a Witch, kid-- and being a Witches with a certain reputation," Be told Pale with a grin. "We''re known for roasting men over coals or turning them into frogs or cursing their weiners to fall off. No guy would ever dare touch me-- especially your dad."

    "But... Boss is touching you right now?"

    Tycon''s eyes widened in shock.

    Pale only called one person Boss-- and it was him.

    Looking down, he found he''d subconsciously ced his palm on Be''s shoulder-- likely when he was trying to calm her down.

    He immediately closed his eyes to concentrate. In his mind, he began scribing a multiyered ?Mana Ward?. His newest design included three separateyers protecting his crotch area.

    He feared the worst.

    He took sce in the fact that he had ess to both healers from Vralkek and Charm. Perhaps he wouldn''t have to live the rest of his life impotent...

    "That''s because I let him."

    Eh?

    When Tycon opened his eyes, Be was already walking away. The end of her oversized hat flopped about, matching her gait.

    The Witch waved her arm without turning back.

    "Good luck, Hero," she said. "I hope you''re as good as the other gods think you are."

    Tycon bit his lower lip, still wary of the potential for excessive violence upon his person.

    Yet, even after several moments, none came.

    --no near-lethal offensive Spell.

    --not even a biting remark.

    He was... safe?

    "Is she really a goddess?" Pale asked.

    "She most definitely is," Tycon nodded. "Are you ready to go, young man?"

    "Y-yeah, I''m ready," Pale nodded.

    Tycon tilted his head, "Hm?"

    "Yes, Sir!" Pale said, raising his voice. He pounded his fist upon his armored chest in salute. "Pale, First Spear of Sol Invictus, ready and awaiting orders!"

    The young gentleman wore a brilliant grin.

    Tycon generally preferred a staunch and solemn look to signify one being prepared foring tribtions.

    However... he was in thepany of Pale, the son of his father.

    It would do.

    "Most excellent, Master Pale," Tycon nodded in satisfaction.

    "Uhh-- Sir? Question."

    Tycon''s sense of satisfaction quickly abated, "Go ahead?"

    "With... all due respect, are *you* ready?"

    A strange question-- but permissible, considering the circumstances.

    "Err... I am, for the most part. I have one more task to aplish before we depart."

    "Is that task... getting... armor?"

    Tycon absentmindedly looked down, inspecting his attire.

    He wore afortable, yet sturdy, bleached and belted tunic. It was decorated with vertical stripes on his shoulders, detailing some of his titles and achievements.

    His loyal attendant, Atusa, tailored it as a gift-- and that was even before he deactivated her ?ve Brand?.

    Atop his tunic was a dark green sash, lined with runic script in golden thread. Its enchantments would serve to protect him from the extreme temperatures of the Outer nes.

    Also, he wore his favorite sword, Mercy, on his hip; as well as a pair of sandals, the material enchanted both forfort and resilience.

    Tycon looked to Pale, "No? This is what I''ll be wearing for our journey."

    "Shouldn''t you be wearing Arcanite too?" the boy asked, "Where... is your Letalis Armor?"

    "I lent it to Edge. He''s pretending to be me while fighting on the eastern front."

    "Isn''t Mister Edge Iron-Rank? That sounds... kinda dangerous, don''t you think, Boss?"

    "It is," Tycon answered honestly.

    "What about the armor I saw you wearing the other sun?" Pale asked.

    "It''s in my spatial ring," Tycon replied. "Why... do you ask?"

    "You''re... going to be wearing just that, going to the ne of Fire?"

    "...Yes?"

    Pale pursed his lips, "Huh. Okay. What did you need to do, Boss?"

    Tycon was somewhat curious about the boy''s questioning, but ultimately decided it was of little importance.

    "I need to speak to a certain Princess," he said.

    "So let''s go and find her?" Pale suggested.

    "No need," Tycon smirked. "I believe she hase to find us."

 Chapter 1017 War Princess Cassiopeia

    Tycondrius was fairly certain that War Princess Cassiopeia had arrived while he was conversing with Pale.

    He stepped onto the shadow of the boy, provided by the flickering torchlight.

    Tapping into the pervasive mana in the atmosphere, he first willed the darkness still... then forward. The shadow crept along the ground, peeling apart into five points before wrapping around a barely visible haze.

    The serpentine simcra constricted around its prey... Cassiopeia''s ?Invisibility? Spell.

    And so the Ivory Princess appeared in all her glory: designer sandals; golden bracelets; and flowing, white robes reminiscent of a bridal dress.

    The youngdy clicked her tongue and ceased channeling her ?Flight? Spell.

    She twirled mid-air,nding gracefully in front of the young Hero.

    10 points.

    "So this... is the supposedly handsome Hero of the Holy Country," she sneered.

    Was that what Pale was known for? Tycon didn''t quite see it.

    The boy stood up straight, rendering a crisp salute with his fist to the chest.

    "G-good afternoon, Princess. My name is Pale Invictus," he said.

    The volume he used was... eptable-- if barely.

    "Hmph, I know who you are," Cass spat, "the offspring of a de Dancer. Well, let me tell you, brat-- my brother is THREE times more handsome than you are!"

    Oh? That was nice to hear.

    Though, admittedly, that was rather unfair. The young man was still a few adventuring years away from an appropriate level of ''ruggedness'' and ''grit'' that would elevate him to the likes of Tycon''s level.

    "Oh, uh... okay," Pale nodded. "Um, Miss--"

    "I''m older than you!" Cass snapped.

    "Uh-- Ma''am..."

    "Ugh. No. I''m not *that* much older than you."

    "M-mdy?"

    "Yeah... Yeah, I like that. Go ahead."

    "Who''s your brother?"

    Cass was oddly taken aback by the question.

    Unless something had drastically changed in the past few years, she only had one brother. Males in the Medusa bloodline were exceedingly rare.

    War Princess Cassiopeia took a half-step backward and lowered her head.

    "Err... well-- that''s..."

    Tycon absentmindedly nced down.

    He was still standing in Pale''s shadow. Cass hadn''t noticed him, likely thanks to the Shadow Snake essence in his mana circuitsyered with the chamber''s strong affinity to the same.

    Thus, he stepped into the torchlight.

    "Master Pale," he said, "I am her brother."

    "BROTHER!!" Cass shouted, "What the F--"

    Tycon crossed the distance with his ?Shadowfang? Movement Technique before pressing his finger against his sister''s lips.

    "Language... Mdy," he said with a wink. "Good afternoon."

    "Yyyyeah, okay. I can see that," Pale nodded agreeably.

    A red-faced Cass turned away, "YOU can burn in evesting *fire.*"

    "Hm. Appropriate suggestion," Tycon remarked. "Young Master, secure the opposite side of the ?Gate?. I''m assuming you can handle the task on your own?"

    "I... think I can?" Pale answered, "Can I borrow a weapon, Sir? The Lifedrinker Spear you gave me broke when I shoved it up a--"

    "--and mind *your*nguage, Young Master," Tycon interrupted. "We are in the presence of ady."

    Flicking his wrist, he activated his spatial ring, summoning his most recent prize: a gift from Spellbreaker Azki Yates.

    What was it called... the Beithir ster? A lightning-enchanted staff of eptable quality.

    Pale took the Witch-weapon respectably, with both hands.

    Then, he saluted once more, "Orders received. Good afternoon, err-- Mdy and Sir."

    "Sod off!" Cass yelled as Pale sprinted toward the gate.

    The boy didn''t appear to hear it, somersaulting through with particrly Elven ir.

    Tycon turned to his lovely sister, "War Princess Cassiopeia."

    "Eep!"

    "Hm," Tycon frowned, "Incorrect. Try again."

    "Eep, Sir?" Cass groaned.

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch. His sister had rendered a... greeting he was unfamiliar with. But if that was protocol for her War Band, then he could only ept it.

    "Yes. Eep. Cass, I hereby relinquish my Commander duties to you for the period of time I will be away. Serve with honor."

    "What? No f*cking way?"

    Tycon paused, trying to discern what exactly she was trying to say.

    It sounded... negative?

    "Brother, no!" Cass insisted, "Whatever crazy stupid n you have going on in your head, I think it''s crazy-- and stupid! So no!"

    "I''m going into that ?Gate?, (beautiful child,)" Tycon exined. "Dragan''s already gone ahead. Of the Free Nation leaders in the camp, you are the most senior-- along with being the most veteranbatant."

    He looked the youngdy over once more before adding, "You''ve done quite well for yourself."

    "I-- but..." Cass pursed her lips, "You... heard?"

    "At length," Tycon smiled.

    It was difficult not to. The Free Nation''s favorite War Princess was a popr topic, even in the far reaches of the Realm.

    "...Why me?" the hatchling asked.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I have literally just exined that. Do you really want me to list your qualifications?"

    "N-no," Cass pouted. "That would be way too embarrassing..."

    Cassiopeia''s War Band had been figuratively uncontested over the past few years. She''d proved both her leadership ability and her personal strength in dozens of major engagements with other War Bands.

    In doing so, she had garnered the loyalty of a number of War Princes (and Princesses) willing to fight under or alongside her banners.

    Her achievements were myriad-- and he didn''t have the confidence to list everything or the logical implications that came with each.<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    After spending a moment to recover, the youngdy suddenly raised her voice.

    "I mean-- why not Princess A..."

    --and just as quickly, Cass'' voice grew silent.

    The eldest Shadow Snake Princess, Ananta, would have been a more appropriate leader, if not for certain circumstances.

    Unfortunately, Ananta was emotionally distraught after Princess Suka''s death.

    ...and the case was rather severe.

    Last Tycon checked on her, she had stepped down from her role almost entirely. The other Shadow Snake nobles took on the responsibilities of logistics and the like.

    They were somewhatcking... but their armies would continue to function.

    "What... about the Witch?" Cass asked.

    Tycon shook his head. Be might have been a literal goddess, but she was a teacher and a researcher, not a military leader.

    And as a figurehead... the Sapphire Tower did not have a reputation for leading wartime operations.

    The aplished War Princess of Charm, however...

    "It has to be you, Cass," he said. "You''re versed in leading people of different species and creeds... and you''re uniquely qualified to alsomand the respect of Ananta''s forces. You, dear sister, are also a student of war-- a... Princess of War, so to speak."

    "That''s a senseless title that stuck ever since mom started calling herself that a ga-bajillion years ago," Cass whined.

    Ah, right. Both he and his sister were also the children of Rnia, Queen of Stone, a fearsome and well-respected War Princess in her own right.

    "And your brother is the most handsome and efficacious War Prince in the history of the Realm," he added.

    "Only because mom doesn''t have a diddly-doo..."

    Peculiarnguage aside, the youngdy''s resistance seemed to have waned considerably.

    That would do.

    Tycon removed the metal insignias on his cor and began to affix them to the cor of his sister''s robes.

    She kept still and quiet, epting them with grace.

    "I''m not a good War Princess," she said in a soft voice. "I only know how to be a hateful, violent b*tch."

    "Our strategies are simr," Tycon mused, "and we''ve done quite well, you and I."

    "Brother..."

    "Yes, (beautiful child?)"

    "Does this... have something to do with what Suka said to you?"

    Tycon hesitated. He didn''t expect his sister to know about the dialogue he shared with the youngest Shadow Snake Princess... but that she did was unsurprising.

    "It does," he admitted.

    "Suka... she''s gone now," Cass sniffed.

    Ah. She was going to cry.

    Ah... She was crying.

    Of course.

    Cass stepped forward, cing her face against Tycon''s tunic.

    "I told Mom," she said... "before I left-- I said I''d take you home. Forget about your stupid quests... juste back, Brother. I miss you... Mom does too."

    Tycon closed his eyes and sighed, "I made a promise to Suka... and I intend to keep it."

    "Then... then you''ll make a promise to me, too!"

    Cass took a half-step back, looking up.

    Her gaze... was somewhat suspicious.

    He did not like it.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "What would you ask of me?"

    "Promise me you''lle back," Cass said.

    "I''lle back," Tycon replied.

    Cass'' eyes shifted, her pupils elongating vertically and the sshes of blue quickly recing the color of her irises.

    "Give me a time limit."

    If she was trying to intimidate him, the effect wasrgely muted by her tears.

    Still... Tycon took a moment to think. A time limit was fair. There were several of factions in the anti-lizard offensive operating on the guarantee that he was in the chain ofmand.

    There was a great deal of trust in his title as the Tactician of Sol Invictus.

    "Two suns," he dered.

    "Be more specific."

    "...48 bells?"

    "And if you don''te back in two suns?" Cass asked.

    "Wait longer," Tycon answered confidently.

    "Not good enough," Cass growled. "And... and I want a contract."

    What?

    Tycon smiled gingerly, "That seems rather... excessive."

    "I want a magical contract," Cass whined, "or you''re not going!"

    "Cass."

    "Pleeeease? Brotherrrr?"

    Tycon closed his eyes and took a breath, "Fine..."

    Every. single. woman in his life... he could not win against.

    When he opened his eyes, he saw that Cass had hers closed. She had propped herself up on the tips of her toes and... had pursed her lips together for a reason unbeknownst to him.

    As odd as she appeared... Tycon decided not to mind.

    He swept aside his younger sister''s green and ck hair and gently kissed her forehead.

    "I will return from the Outer nes within 48 bells."

 Chapter 1018 Anti-Climactic

    ? On the opposite side. 48 bells remaining... ?

    Tycondrius carefully stepped through the ?Gate?... and onto a slick of oily Outsider blood.

    How annoying...

    He spent a few moments searching for a clear area before summoning his curved de from his spatial ring. Using its adamantine sheath, he carved a Spell Formation into the red rock.

    Once he was finished, he wiped his brow as he looked Pale''s recent handiwork.

    The dark fluid flowed from a still-gushing, Fire Crab-- recently defeated.

    Or... to be more urate, it was a chimera of sorts. It appeared mostly as an oversized crustacean. However, it had the torso and head of an androgynous elf, and the four arms of a...

    ...a four-armed humanoid.

    --"Boss!"

    What had four arms and was crab-like?

    It wasn''t surprising to see those qualities mixed together, but Tycon struggled to name a particr species that matched the criteria.

    --"Sir!? Help! Please?"

    There were the insectoid species... Thri-kreen came to mind.

    They were quite different, though. He wondered if theparison would be considered offensive.

    --"Boss, watch out!"

    Tycon snatched a throwing axe out of the air, hurling it back at its distant source. He didn''t do so with any particr form but was d to see that the de chunked into the forehead of a rather surly firebeard.

    It was a fortunate throw.

    Pale had done well enough. During the several minutes he spent with Cass, the boy had defeated some thirty foes, including a 20 fulm tall chimera and two or three Fire Elementals, Gold-Rank ording to the bulk of their remains.

    Tycon was slightly disappointed, though. There were two squads of firebeards remaining. They had Pale surrounded and kept him engaged with a steady barrage of spear thrusts, axe strikes, and crossbow shots.

    ...But that was the boy''s problem, not his.

    "Young Hero," Tycon called, "I need your power to activate this Spell Formation."

    --"Sir, I''m... I''m kinda busy!!"

    That... was frustrating to hear, but... his frustrations did not change the situation.

    Tycon crossed his arms, waiting patiently. He was on a time limit, but the reason for the slight dy was reasonable.

    Thankfully, his faith in the boy was well-ced. After only two minutes, a bolt of lightning arced toward the ?Gate?, (if dangerously close to his person.)

    With a source of power, the various Spell Circles activated, reinforcing the Law of Fire in the finite space.

    The ?Gate? copsed in on itself, disabling thergest ess point the denizens of the ne had to Making.

    Taking in a breath of satisfaction, Tycon leisurely strode to the edge of a nearby cliff, one overlooking the area.

    Red rock. Rivers of unquenchable me. Molten pools of magma.

    He spotted a few other denizens of fire... busy squabbling against other denizens of fire. The residents of the ne had a reputation of being rather hostile, even to each other.

    Tycon needed to deal with both his enemies and whatever riffraff he encountered...

    Then he had to find and recover the Hero Party, (along with Dragan)... then, he had to return to the material ne.

    And he only had 48 bells to do so...

    --"Sir, I''m still getting my butt kicked!!"

    Tycon knelt over the precipice, deep in thought.

    He needed an army.

    He was a Warlord, a high-tier ss that could take an army of reasonable skill and discipline, transforming that into a nigh-undefeatable force of hate and murder.

    Ah. There.

    He saw something, far in the distance, that had the potential to resolve his issues.

    --"Sirrrr!!!!"

    Tycon groaned at the interruption. He was trying to concentrate, but the boy''s incessant whining grated at his patience.

    He drew his Nemayan pistol, imbuing the weapon with ?Frost Enchant?.

    Taking careful aim, he discharged five icy rounds in the span of four seconds, each unerringly into the back of five firebeard skulls.

    Then, he snapped his fingers.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    Pale took the momentary respite to stab a firebeard in the throat. It seemed he had affixed an elongated crimson soul gem to the top of his staff-- perhaps from one of the defeated fire elementals.

    Then, the boy struck the ground with the base of his staff, engulfing the immediate area in a ?Lightning Field?.

    ...Tycon emptied the rest of his pistol chamber into the stunned, still-standing targets.

    It was calming practice, shooting at immobile targets without fear of reprisal.

    Pale came jogging toward him, spear over his shoulder, "Boss, we did it!"

    "Correct," Tycon frowned. "Well done."

    "I dunno why, but that was... kinda anti-climactic?" Pale said, "Usually, Vanya has to put a bunch of enchants on me, or Ree and I have tobine Skills to make an entirely new Skill, or we have to buy time for Troia to charge up herser?"

    Aser?

    He recalled Be mentioning something simr.<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    It seemed that beam-type Spells had grown in poprity in recent years.

    Suddenly, Pale spun around, his weapon at the ready.

    Tycon wasn''t particrly concerned, but... he was curious. "What is it, boy?"

    "And usually, some kinda really big thing shows up at the end!" Pale replied.

    "Like... that?" said Tycon, pointing to the dead chimera.

    "Well-- yeah. Just like that."

    "Or that? Or... that and that?" said Tycon, pointing at the remains of the fire elementals.

    "Err... yeah, those too."

    The ground began to rumble.

    "There it is!" Pale grinned excitedly, "Boss! I''ll entrust my back to you!"

    A crack in the red earth opened up, big enough for even Dragan to jump into.

    "No need," Tycon waved. The ?Frost Enchant? he''d cast earlier was still active.

    He inserted a new magazine into his pistol. He racked the slide, loading a bullet into the chamber.

    He walked over to the crack.

    He knelt down.

    Then, he began firing at the top of the emerging crab-chimera''s head.

    It took 11 shots-- more than he expected, but there were still more rounds in the magazine if he needed them.

    Anyroad, that thing died.

    The earth ceased its tremors.

    Tycon then summoned a handkerchief from his spatial ring and dabbed it lightly against his forehead. Despite the enchantments on his attire, the ne of Fire was a half-step too warm for his liking.

    Pale lowered his spear... "Sir?"

    Tycon stood up and summoned a box of bullets. It was an appropriate time to reload.

    "Yes? Go ahead."

    "I missed you a lot, Sir," he said with a respectful bow.

    Tycon smiled politely, patting the young man on the shoulder.

    "Once you''ve identified a problem, you needn''t dy before solving it."

    He motioned towards the battlefield, "Once you''ve caught your breath, you and I will begin collecting the weapons and armor of the fallen-- anything remotely useful. We''ll move to our next mission objective, immediately after."

    "Aye aye, Sir," Pale saluted. "Just like old times?"

    "Indeed," Tycon chuckled.

    Just like old times...

    ...

    ? 46 bells and change remaining... ?

    "Um, Sir," Pale said suddenly, "why did we close the ?Gate??"

    Tycon nced over to the boy in confusion. That was an odd question.

    He was tempted to ask for Pale''s views on the topic, to perhaps debate ethics and obligations-- things that were especially important for a developing Hero.

    However... there was only a single reasonable answer.

    "To prevent the denizens of fire from spilling onto the Material ne," Tycon replied. "Why else?"

    "But Sir..." Pale mumbled.

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "If you had questions or identified aplication I had not, it would have been more appropriate to ask *at the time.*"

    "I-instant and willing obedience to orders!" Pale countered.

    "...Very well," Tycon nodded. "I approve. But my point still stands. You''re a leader, young man. Act as Imand but I pray you can discern the reasons behind my actions. And if you don''t, I would have you inquire for my reasoning--"

    "--But that''s what I''m--"

    Tycon bonked the boy on the forehead with a flick of his finger, "Don''t interrupt."

    "Oh. Sorry."

    "Forgiven," Tycon sighed. "Imend you for asking now, even after the moment has passed. Again, well done."

    The boy returned a slow nod, "Well... I guess we closed the ?Gate? because it was the right thing to do. The Gatekeepers have rules for a reason, right?"

    "Indeed," Tycon smiled, pleased that the boy made the connection. "As denizens of our Realm, we have a duty to uphold their Laws."

    Some tens of thousands of years prior, members of all bloodlines swore to adhere to that pact. As the prospect of internar war was a problematic notion, it was sensible that the Gatekeepers'' Laws would be adhered to by all generations after.

    "But couldn''t we have closed the ?Gate? after we got back?"

    "Eh?"

    "The Sapphire Tower and the Shadow Snakes are in Making," Pale exined. "We could have just had them watch the ?Gate?. And after we found Ree and Troia and Sir Dragan, we could have used that ?Gate? to get back within your time limit?"

    Tycon steeled his expression.

    He had made a mistake.

 Chapter 1019 Positive Feedback Loop

    "But since you gave the order," Pale went on, "you probably have a different way already nned to get back."

    As a default, Tycondrius of Charm spoke with an air of unquestionable confidence.

    However, the boy was wrong.

    Tycon did not have a way to return to the material ne.

    A Spell, a Formation, an enchanted artifact-- having a personal means of nar travel was expressly forbidden under the Gatekeeper''s Laws.

    The only loophole was chancing upon a ?Gate?, naturally formed. But in those cases, it was prudent to immediately seal the rift to prevent its abuse.

    Tycon did that with the boy''s help.

    He didn''t even question it-- nor did the boy.

    That... was a sign of his express and absolute faith.

    However... because of it, a new problem had arisen.

    Tycon pped the young Pale''s shoulder with pride. So many years of travel and quest resolution made him an equal when it came to adventuring.

    If the boy used that moment to ask for the leadership of Sol Invictus, Tycon would have granted it to him without the need for a formal duel, as tradition dictated.

    "Yeah. You definitely have a way," Pale nodded.

    Ah. That smile...

    The smile of a Hero carried a burdensome amount of pressure behind it.

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch. He wanted to tell the boy the truth... but the notion of betraying his expectations pained him greatly.

    He closed his eyes as he walked on.

    He''d figure something out...

    "Sir? Can I ask why I''m dragging this buttload of weapons and armor?"

    Tycon nced behind them. The boy was dragging a series of tied ropes, inteced with dark iron mail armor pieces, axes, hammers, and the like.

    After making some mental calctions, he discerned that the weight Pale was responsible for was actually greater than a ''buttload.''

    However, informing him of the fact had no merit.

    "Because you''re physically stronger than I am," Tycon exined simply.

    "I mean... what''s it all for?" Pale rified.

    "Why, it''s for our next mission, young man."

    "Uh... Sir? Can I ask... about what our next mission is?"

    It was slightly bothersome to answer so many inquiries instead of one, single andprehensive. However, the current Tycon did not have the confidence to scold the boy for it.

    "Yes, of course," he smiled. "I''m looking for an army."

    "We... I think we should find Troia, first," Pale said resolutely. "She and Dawnbringer pretty much make up an entire army by themselves."

    "Unnecessary," Tycon waved. "Either she''s gone toward Kimura Taree and Dragan or she''lle to find us. Is that a fair assumption?"

    "Y...yeah," Pale sighed, somewhat defeated. "I''m just a bit worried, I guess."

    Tycon was fairly certain that the Holy Princess would be actively seeking them out (though he asked for rification because of his ever-increasing doubt in himself.)

    Pale had been ced under a limiter-- one that applied to him in the ne of Fire, but was not present on the Material ne.

    The limiter was benign... easily broken if Pale were to face great danger. Tycon considered removing it, but it also served to functionally conceal the boy from cursory detection by anything Sky-Rank and higher.

    And as it was Divine in nature, it was likely a gift from Troia.

    Tycon could sense it easily enough... but he had yet to discern its actual source.

    Was the boy wearing a trinket that the Holy Princess had tampered with beforehand?

    If it was loosely attached to his person, Tycon could localize and dispel it, if the situation required.

    Whatever the case, it stood to reason that, as long as the boy was protected by Troia''s Divine Blessing, his location would be known to her and Dawnbringer.

    It was then that Tycon noticed that the boy was walking with his face staring at the red dirt.

    He knew better than to posture as such while marching... so Tycon naturally assumed the action stemmed not from sloth, but from a different issue.

    "Speak your mind, Mister Pale."

    "Sir... it''s-- because of Vanya," the boy started, but he paused to take a breath...

    "--in the ne of Ice... Vanya''s tribe... they might be able to help us. We need to go back, anyroad... they have a right to know what happened..."

    Pale took another deep breath, "It... hurts, Sir... it hurts a lot. She trusted me and I failed her."

    The boy was suffering from chronic pain-- likely psychosomatic symptoms rted to grief.

    A lesser man would have told the boy to ignore it-- to soldier on, regardless.

    Such a solution wasmon... but not particrly healthy.

    Further, the young man''s concerns were valid.

    Pale was a leader. It was a fate selected for him and one he had chosen to pursue.

    It would not be thest time he would suffer such a loss.<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    ...and the nightmares that would gue him for the rest of his life would only grow more vivid, more damning, as the years would pass.

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded. "Never forget, young man. To do so would be a disservice to the fallen."

    He, himself, would never forget the sacrifice of Princess Suka.

    He''d never forget Wroe and Rena and Tamaki and dozens of others. Each of their names... and the manner of their deaths were painstakingly carved onto his ck heart.

    They would bleed on for the rest of his life-- and perhaps even beyond...

    The young Pale let out a deep sigh, "I... I dunno what I''d be doing if I didn''t find you, Sir..."

    "Life goes on, Brother-Pale. The members of Miss Vanya''s tribe will mourn her loss, as you do, but they will move on. They will return to the mundanities of their individual lives. They have more to live for... as do we."

    For a moment, Tycon wondered if he was talking more to the boy... or out loud, to himself.

    "However," he said... "You and I, young man... we are different. You and I have the ability to seek revenge on Miss Vanya''s behalf."

    He turned to Pale with a somber smile, "That is one of our goals, I''m assuming."

    "Y-yeah," Pale nodded. "It is..."

    He took a deep, haltered breath.

    He was in pain... in mourning. For a moment, Tycon wondered what kind of advice Quay would have given his son.

    As worthless as it would be for a normal person, the two had enough simrities in personality, that it might have actually been helpful.

    It was a shame that person was long dead.

    "Sir?" Pale said... "How... do you do it? How can I find the strength to... keep going?"

    Tycon nced behind them and back at the boy. His walking pace had been steady over the past half-bell.

    "You appear to be doing just fine," he remarked.

    "Uh... Sir?" Pale grimaced, "I get that I''m physically strong... but I don''t have any Skills or anything that make me... mentally strong?"

    "Ah... so you desire mental fortitude," Tycon nodded... "In the Kingdom... they have coined a notion they call ''raison d''etre''... a reason for... existing."

    Pale trudged along quietly.

    As Tycon saw the cogs of thought turning in the boy''s head, he allowed the boy the quietude.

    After several moments the boy turned, "How do I find something like that?"

    "It''s aplex topic," Tycon shrugged. "From what I understand, there is no single correct answer."

    "What... do you do, Sir?"

    Tycon shook his head, "I''ll admit... I, myself, am a simple fool when ites to the matter. I choose to live by relying on other people."

    "But Sir? You-- what? That doesn''t make any sense. We... we all rely on you, though? Everyone in Sol Invictus does."

    Tycon chuckled to himself, "Did you not realize the notion could also be cyclical? I am relied upon, thus I strive to be reliable."

    "The... thew of equivalent exchange," Pale suggested.

    "Not quite," Tycon chuckled. "It''s called a positive feedback loop."

    Or perhaps it would best ssified as a ''Facy of Circr Reasoning.''

    "R-right... Sir?"

    "Yes?"

    "...Is that really enough?" Pale asked honestly.

    Hm...

    Oftentimes, it did feel quitecking.

    "It... is enough for me," Tycon sighed. "I am... a part of many people''s lives. For some, my mere existence provides them no small part of purpose or happiness-- something of the like. And so I live... so I continue to breathe as this life demands... eking by when I can, seizing victory with blood-soaked hands and barbarity if necessary."

    "Can... I live like that too?"

    Tycon unwittingly loosed a light chuckle.

    The young Hero was already doing so. After all, Tycon would not allow the boy to betray his expectations-- only to exceed them.

    "For now, I advise you to ce your faith in myself, in Kimura Taree, and in your Holy Princess, Troia."

    More reasons woulde.

    Pale was a kind child with a good heart. Many more woulde to rely on him... and, if he continued as he was, he would strive to live up to their ideals.

    "For... Sol Invictus," Pale quietly muttered.

    "Your volume iscking," Tycon said, offering his arm.

    Pale sped it at the wrist.

    "For the honor and glory of my house, Sol Invictus," he repeated.

    That... would do.

    "Well done. I''m proud of you, boy."

 Chapter 1020 Quest For Sky

    ? Elsewhere in the ne of Fire... ?

    Dret couldn''t sleep.

    It was his rest period.

    He wasn''t working.

    He was eyes-closed, crouched in a pile of chalky dirt, hugging his bony knees close...

    That was... the best he could do, as far as sleeping conditions went.

    --but he still couldn''t sleep.

    The only light in the tunnel came from Maltwick. Bulbous growths on his back gave off a sickly yellow glow that illuminated the dark tunnels.

    ...the malms and malms of dark, cramped tunnels.

    "We''re almost there," Dret muttered... "I can feel it in my bones."

    There wasn''t much left of him beside bones.

    He hadn''t consumed anything resembling essence in weeks.

    Dret''s bloodline was particr resilient...

    He could survive off of food if he wanted to. He could bask in the dark energies from suffering and sin. He could even be like everyone else on the Eternal Battlefield, living off of the anger and hate rife on the battlefield.

    But in Dret''s case... the thing that kept him going over the past several moons... what kept him existing... was his own gods-damned will.

    "We''re almost there," he said. "We keep digging."

    Dret pushed himself forward, crawling on his hands and knees. Even being careful, he felt his thrice-broken tail scrape the top of the tunnel.

    Another demonpacted his malleable body to let Dret through.

    "Feels like digging''s all there is to life, eh, Dret?"

    Dret shook his head, "It''s better than living in the below-hells as a ve."

    He took his digging position next to Maltwick.

    That guy-- he was really good at digging. He didn''t stop, either.

    Did that guy even sleep?

    If he had to guess, Dret estimated that Maltwick was responsible for half the length of the whole group''s tunnel.

    That meant Maltwick was their best chance at sessfully digging through to the Human Realm.

    "We''re demons," Maltwick said in his quiet, overly calm voice. "We were born to be ves."

    Dret swept at his and Maltwick''s dirt pile, pushing it behind them. The other demons in the tunnel worked in tacit cooperation, pushing all that dirt to wherever the other end of the tunnel had moved to.

    "Maltwick," he said.. "Why do you dig?"

    Maltwick continued to dig, no change in his expression.

    No answer.

    Dret watched and waited a few moments longer... but it seemed that Maltwick wasn''t interested in conversation.

    He was only interested in digging.

    The only things to do were... talk or dig.

    So without talk... Dret went back to doing the other.

    They dug in silence.

    The bells and suns and weeks blended together, in the dark, balmy tunnels between the Seven Hells and the Human Realm.

    "I dig... because you told me to."

    Maltwick''s answer came when Dret had long given up hope for it.

    It was an answer... he should have expected.

    Demons weren''t stupid... but it could be said they gravitated towards singr focuses.

    "I also told you to rest," Dret said. "I also told you to bandage your fingers up so you don''t work yourself to the bone."

    Maltwick didn''t respond.

    Maltwick continued to dig.

    Dret did the same.

    "Maltwick... Aren''t you tired?"

    Maltwick''s digging speed slowed-- a rare sight. More than a few demons halted their movements to look over.

    It was an eerie feeling, a tunnel packed with over two dozen demons stopping so abruptly.

    Lazy bastards.

    "I think... I just like digging," Maltwick said.

    Dret nodded.

    That would do.

    He and all the other demons of the tunnel were of the same mind.

    None of them were willing denizens of the Eternal Battlefield.

    There were lots of reasons for it. And those were reasons enough to leave that shite ce.

    Everyone had their own reason for leaving... and likewise, everyone had different hopes-- all that could be fulfilled in the Human Realm.

    "When we get to the surface... you can keep digging if you want," Dret said in a small, hopeful voice... "H-how does that sound?"

    It didn''t take nearly as long for Maltwick to respond.

    "I think... I''d like that."

    What might have been the shadow of a smile crossed Maltwick''s face.

    It was hard to tell. His back was their only light source, after all.

    Still, what Dret wanted to call the ''morale'' of the tunnel improved with that minuscule change in expression.

    "I... I wanna corrupt some humans," said another digging demon.

    "Yeah," Dret nodded. "I''m sure we''ll find some humans. Unlessmon logic has led us a-f*cked, that''s why they call it the Human Realm."

    "I wanna fight one," growled a horned devil with sharp, jagged teeth, "so bad..."<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    "There''ll be lots of ''em," Dret smirked. "You might even have to fight two or three."

    "Pretty sure I could take three," they muttered.

    "How ''bout you, Catherine?" Dret prompted.

    "GROOHH RARRGFHH GLARRgllRRK KRRHH!!" Catherine answered excitedly, "GRgur GRRRRH!!!"

    --"Yeah, that''s right."

    --"Oh, wow."

    --"That''s bold..."

    Dret nodded slowly. He wondered how long Catherine had been keeping that private.

    The excitement in the tunnel began to grow. Confidence and enthusiasm fueled everyone''s spirit, and it showed in their efforts.

    "I wanna eat one!" said a toothless, jelly demon.

    "You have a dream and the will to achieve it," Dret said, clenching his fist.

    "I want a human boyfriend!" said a tentacle with eyes.

    Dret sucked air through his teeth, "Not gonna lie. Kinda weird, that one."

    "I wanna eat that guy''s boyfriend," shouted a demon in the back.

    "Hey, quit that," Dret chided. "We''re all in this together."

    "Sorry!" they shouted back. "I want a boyfriend too, though~"

    Dret took a deep breath.

    "We''ve been fighting on the Eternal Battlefield for decades in human time... some of us even centuries.

    "But we''re all here because we want something... maybe something different, maybe something more.

    "Once we get to the Human Realm, we can do... whatever we want.

    "We can corrupt the humans. We can form rtionships with them. We can just... dig holes because, f*ck it, that''s fine too.

    "But... what''s important is breaking the cycle. We''re not just demons and devils with one-track minds. We''re--"

    Suddenly, Maltwick thrust his w into the ceiling, breaking through ayer of rock.

    Withdrawing his arm, a stream of golden light spilled through.

    "Out of my f*cking way!" Dret shouted as he shoved Maltwick aside.

    He began digging frantically, going as far as pulverizing the sheetrock with a mana-empowered right fist.

    Finally, Dret punched his way through, pulling himself out onto the red dirt.

    He stretched his back, fluttered his torn wings, flexed his tail, and for the first time in a long time... stood up straight.

    "Haha! HAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" heughed, "Finally! The HUMAN REALM!!!"

    He was ready to be a proper devil! Any humans he would find, he''d corrupt or kill or eat-- or maybe ALL of those things!

    "It''s awfully hot up here."

    "Augh?!" Dret jumped in surprise. Maltwick stood beside him, still hunched over and only as tall as Dret''s waist.

    The other demons and devils were emerging from the tunnel, looking around with mixed expressions.

    The horned devil was brushing dirt off his head, "Maltwick''s got a point, y''know. Is this ce really the Human Realm?"

    "The Human Realm has a thing called ''seasons,'' Dret exined. "Currently, we''re in the hot season-- but that could change at any time! --to the other season!"

    Understanding dawned on Dret''spanions and they responded with ''oh''s and ''yeah''s and nods of agreement.

    "So, uh... where do we get some humans?" asked the eyed tentacle.

    Dret looked around.

    They were in a barren wastnd, covered in cracked red rock... and waterfalls of flowingva.

    And... no humans.

    Admittedly, it looked like he and hispanions had dug from one hell to another one... but... but that-- no.

    No, that was impossible.

    Dret HAD to be in the Human Realm.

    They''d spent literal years digging in those tunnels. But it was worth it! Because they made it! --to the Human Realm! That''s where they were.

    "The Human Realm is a big ce," Dret exined. "In the Eternal Battlefield, there isn''t *battling* everywhere. So naturally, here, there won''t be humans, err... *human-ing* everywhere."

    Dret lifted up a nearby rock, looking underneath it, "So... let''s start lookin''?"

    "Huhhhh," came the breathy whisper of a demon with loose, leathery skin, "Maaaybe they''re jusssst like ussss~"

    "If that''s true," mused a demon with two-fingered ws, "I wouldn''t feel so great about corrupting ''em."

    "Yeah, and we wuz thinkin'' about eatin'' ''em!?" eximed the sharp-toothed devil.

    "If any o'' you guys died, ahaha," the jelly demonughed, "I''d chew you right up. Hah hehe... wouldn''t even hesitate~"

    That was the demon that didn''t have any teeth.

    "GRAH GORO HARHHHH??" Catherine shrieked, "ARA RARA?"

    Dret ced his ws on his head. She was right! Coming to the Human Realm was a TERRIBLE mistake!

    If humans were just like demons and devils, then they might want to EAT THEM TOO!!!

    "(Good afternoon.)"

    That was HUMAN SPEECH!!!!

    "(Ah, we meet again. How have you been?)"

    It was a man with green hair. And... he was dressed in white, just... like an angel.

    He might have actually been one!

    Everyone knew that angels were the most wicked, unjust, and dangerously cruel creatures in existence!

    Yes. Dret was going to die. And he was going to die to the worst, most evil, most ANGELIC man he''d ever met.

    And his name... was Boss.

 Chapter 1021 Gainful Employment

    Dret felt rivers of sweat dripping down his brow.

    He didn''t even know that devils could sweat before then!

    Things looked grim, but... was it really impossible? The angel was outnumbered over twenty to one!

    After all those decades of mind-numbing, w-breaking work-- could they just give up like that???

    If all his allies sacrificed themselves, then maybe-- JUST MAYBE, Dret couldnd a decisive, killing--

    --guh... err... crippling blow!

    Maybe?

    "AIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!"

    Yes yes yes yes YES YESSSS!!

    THAT was the unmistakable battlecry of the sharp-toothed devil!

    Maybe Dret didn''t have to move, after all!

    It sounded like someone ELSE had the fiery will to fight against an all-powerful, nigh-invincible im-MORTAL BEING!!

    That guy-- he was a Legion Devil! He used to fight for an Archduke! He was--

    "(Did that fellow just... pass out?)" Boss asked.

    Eh?

    HuHH?

    WHAAAAT?!?

    But--

    WHY??!!

    --and... HOW??!??!

    After how much that guy talked himself up, HOW could he just FALL un-CONSCIOUS just when his closest friends and family needed him the MOST!!!

    "GRAHH AHHHRGG gLLOOO," Catherine cried.

    "(Ah. Miss Catherine. You look as lovely as ever,)" Boss nodded, surely with evil, extra-angelical intentions in mind. "(Bucket, this is Catherine.)"

    "(Good afternoon, Miss. It''s a pleasure to meet you.)"

    No.

    No, no, no... It couldn''t be...

    But it was.

    Dret slowly cranked his head to the side.

    --and he blinked away the neverending flow of tears from his eyes.

    There was... another human.

    No-- it must have been another angel, like Boss.

    Bucket... that was an angel-name, if he''d ever heard one. It just RADIATED with DIGNITY and HOLY POWER!!

    Two of them!!!

    Two... impossibly strong... heavenly beings.

    Before, Dret was certain he was going to die.

    But since there were two of them... he was certain his death was going to be worse than his darkest, most insidious nightmares.

    "(Demons, Devils, and distinguished guests,)" Boss began...

    ...

    Tycondrius swept his hand outward.

    "I am in need of an army," he dered, "oneprising loyal and capable soldiers."

    Confusion swept into the ranks-- or rather, the dibobted gaggle he was addressing.

    --which was... far from the response he was imagining.

    --"(Is he talking to us?)"

    --"(Not a chance.)"

    --"(He''s looking this way, though?)"

    From the affectations of the crowd, Tycon realized that he''d been... hasty in his choice of words.

    "Um. Excuse me, uh-- Mister Human, Sir?"

    Tycon raised his eyebrows. One of the demons was speaking in themon tongue.

    It was a humanoid demon with red skin, like many of his peers, though his hands only had two digits.

    He didn''t look very strong, but he''d do.

    When Tycon said he needed capable warriors, the term ''capable'' was highly subjective.

    One particr demon was weaving through the crowd, a tall, skin-and-bone devil with torn wings and a tail, broken and healed thrice over.

    It was one of the two he recognized, having subjugated him some years prior.

    With an adept show of speed and skill, that fellow punched the two-wed fellow in the abdomen and kneed him in the crotch.

    "(HIS. NAME. IS. BOSS!!!)" the broken-tail devil screamed, "(Show some respect, demon-lords ASCEND YOU! Or our lives are FORFEIT!!!)"

    Then, that devil grabbed the other''s head, forcing him into a low bow.

    Tycon pursed his lips and nodded, pleased with the disy of deference.

    "Do you see that one, young man? I like that one."

    "Wow," Pale tilted his head. "You''re kinda popr, Boss."

    "It''s due to a fortunate coincidence," Tycon waved. "Some of these hellborne should be familiar to you, as well. We chanced upon them in that Wizard''s Tower with Lulu and Wolfrider."

    "Ahh, wow," Pale nodded. "That was a really long time ago."

    Hmph. Tycon did not consider it that long ago.

    "Anyroad," he thrust his palm out at the crowd, "I''m conscripting the lot of you. You fight for me, now."

    --"Ehh? Uh... (well, alright.)"

    --"(A fight sounds good. I was kinda bored doing all that digging.)"

    --"(Gainful employment, this quick? The Human Realm is AWE-some!!)"

    The broken-tailed fellow immediately copsed, his face hitting the ground much like the horned devil prior.

    That was... highly abnormal. Was there a sickness or gue affecting the troop?

    "What are we fighting?"

    That question came from... what appeared to be a tentacle, separate from a logical body. It also had blinking, functional eyes.

    More disturbingly, it had no mouth discernible at first nce.

    Hm.

    But regardless--

    "Does it... matter?" Tycon asked.

    "D''uh... No, I guess not," the tentacle replied.

    --"(Oh, wow! New perspective achieved!)"

    --"(Yeah! Let''s. fight. EVERYONE!)"<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    --"GRAHGR GRAH BRBBBRBRBBBRRRRR"

    "That''s exactly right!" Pale cheered.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. It sounded like the boy could understand Catherine''s dialect.

    ...It was yet another sign that he was a proper Hero.

    The two-wed demon took a step forward, bowing again, "Excuse me? Boss?"

    The broken-tailed devil''s earlier show of respect had influenced Tycon''s mood.

    Thus, he held out his hand as a noble disy of magnanimity, "You may speak."

    ...

    Dret sat up on his knees.

    Just a moment ago, he''d heard demon-speech so incredibly stupid that something in his brain popped.

    His eyes were leaking-- but he''d get over it.

    Getting back to his feet, he vaguely discerned Two-w''s voice rise out of the crowd.

    "(My lord, Boss,... we left our arms and armor behind, when we left the) Eternal Battlefield."

    Huh. That guy could speak human pretty well.

    Dret had no idea what his point was. Conscripts had to fight with whatever they had on them, with clothes and weapons or even without.

    Suddenly, Dret felt... danger? Not very-dangerous danger, but... moderate? danger?

    It was raining swords.

    And axes.

    And pieces of chain and leather armor?

    "(Decide amongst yourselves your weapons and armor of choice,)" Boss dered. "(If you''re a devilblood or have the intellectual capacity to count to 12, you are to arrange leftover supplies in piles on my left.)"

    The crowd began to work, some mumbling indignantly, some yapping away excitedly. It didn''t take long for fighting to break out-- the sounds of breaking bone and wing into flesh.

    The hellborne were... fighting over equipment?!

    "But... this... ISN''T RIGHT!" Dret screamed over the cacophony.

    --"Yeah, horn-brain. Extra gear goes on our left, don''t it?"

    --"Dret''s right, thought! Boss''s left is different from our left!"

    Which was it?

    Dret passed a pair of boots to a Fury Devil. They were two sizes too small for him. She then used ?Telekinesis? to deposit them the right, where they belonged.

    That ungrateful b*tch didn''t even acknowledge him for it! Urgh. The nerve...

    But, besides the good work in ordering the equipment piles, everyone had been overtaken by GREED!! What happened to the freedom they were searching for!? Weren''t they all trying to get AWAY from the fighting??

    Dret caught the gaze of the horned devil from earlier.

    That guy was wearing dark, studded leather, wielded a wicked ck-metal trident, and was inspecting a leather helmet.

    It would have to be modified to fit his head, though. Having horns was troublesome, sometimes.

    "Really?" Dret asked.

    "Before you start talking shite," the guy growled, "take a good f*ckin'' look at yourself."

    Dret looked down. He was wearing a chain shirt and was carrying a pole-axe in each hand.

    Oh no.

    He let go of the weapons.

    One immediately got snatched away by a three-fulm tall imp, "yasSSS!! MINE!!"

    Dret immediately recovered the other poleaxe, cursing himself for dropping the first.

    He sat on the hard, rocky ground, clutching his weapon close to his chest and staring up at the fiery sky.

    He was going to be enved again. So was everyone else, and they were okay with it.

    They were all returning to the cycle.

    But maybe... the cycle wasn''t meant to be broken.

    Maybe... he didn''t just live in a literal hell, but in a figurative one, too.

    But then Dret noticed a strange movement.

    One demon amongst many... a single demon wasn''t fighting... nor was he rushing to im leftover dregs in one of a dozen physical squabbles.

    Maltwick was tottering forward, his gait slow, but deliberate. He crouched down to dodge a slow swing of a Soggy Devil''s axe. He hopped over an acid puddle, spewed by a Frog Demon.

    Against all odds, he made his way.

    Until finally... he stood at the base of the upraised rock from whence an angel was perched.

    And the Divine Immortal silently judged him with piercing golden eyes.

    ...

    Tycon carefully observed the demon that approached his aptly majestic rock.

    It... didn''t seem particrly hostile-- or threatening.

    He or she stood almost two fulms shorter than him or Pale, but it was crouched over, weighed down by a cluster of glowing orbs on its back.

    "I won''t fight," it said.

    Those words...

    --was it... the... spark of a rebellion?

    Looking around, the other hellborne had ceased or slowed their actions, uncertain gazes watching with great interest.

    Tycon ced his palm on the pommel of his sword.

    The first response he conjured in his mind was... to hack the fellow into several pieces.

    The second idea he had... was to order his Heropanion tomit the violence in his stead.

    Unfortunately, (and despite the entertainment value,) either would be a loss of resources.

    There weren''t so many demons and devils that he feltfortable discarding the riffraff.

    By his usual standards, he''d ss two-thirds of the motley crew as riffraff.

    Tycon needed them all.

    ...he needed every advantage he could get.

    Pale stepped forward, "If you won''t fight, what *do* you wanna do?"

    The back-orb demon returned Pale''s gaze, determination burning in its eyes.

    "I want to dig."

    Pale turned to Tycon, "Can we use that, Boss?"

    Hm.

    Tycon shrugged in response, "I don''t see why not."

    He turned to face the back-orb demon, "I just so happen to need a Digging Leader for our newly made... Digging Squad. Are you up to the task?"

    "The one you liked, Boss," Pale whispered, "it looks like something''s wrong with him?"

    Tycon looked up. The broken-tailed devil had copsed-- again.

    Once the hellborne were properly situated, he needed to check their medical conditions before he continued his ns.

 Chapter 1022 This Is Invictus

    ? Less than 45 bells remaining... ?

    In theory, the hellborne did not need much training to be an effective fighting unit.

    Though, the term ''effective'' was debatable by his usual standards.

    Of course, Tycondrius would have appreciated a few weeks of training. Imparting fighting formations and specific tactics designed for use on the natives would sharpen the sword that was Infernus Invictus.

    But as long as he had the overwhelming numbers that the Eternal Battlefield had to offer, he was confident in taking near any objective in the ne of Fire.

    Unfortunately...

    His hellborne-gathering strategy was not working as quickly as he would have liked.

    With some assistance from another member of the Hero''s party, he hoped his issues could be resolved.

    But... how?

    A tearful, purple-haired High Oracle shared hispany at an improvised tea table, on a cliff high above a simrly-improvised dueling arena.

    [Prince,] she signed. [I missed you a lot.]

    "Drink your tea," Tycon chided. "And eat the spiced dough balls. They won''t stay crisp for long."

    Or maybe they would, considering the rather arid locale?

    Simr to Pale, Troia had grown magnificently. She was taller-- though not as tall as Tycon, (as could reasonably be expected for a Tyrion female.)

    She did need a haircut, though.

    ...Tycon wondered if their camp yet had a Beauty Demon, familiar with cutting women''s hair.

    He knew that hair care for women was different than that for men, but was not privy to the particrs.

    [Prince?] Troia signed.

    Ah. What was he doing?

    Tycon ced the memory crystal back onto the table. He was reviewing the aerial data the Holy Princess had collected, hoping to find a clue on where Kimura Taree''s whereabouts.

    She chanced upon a trail of murder and devastation that left her uncertain-- but Tycon found favorable.

    "If you''re concerned for Miss Kimura," Tycon began, "as I told Pale, her safety can be reasonably guaranteed. Dragan has gone after her."

    [Where is the Hero?] Troia inquired, [I know he''s here.]

    Tycon raised an eyebrow. The notion confirmed his suspicion that the Holy Princess was tracking Pale''s location.

    Or it could have been a logical induction. She was clever enough, for it.

    ...or perhaps it was her intuition as a woman? --yet another reason why women could not be underestimated in his field of work.

    "He''s down below," Tycon answered.

    He directed Troia''s attention to the dueling arena at the base of the cliff.

    It was somewhat surprising that she had yet to take note of it.

    (But, then again, the child had cried in his arms for almost 10 minutes before he forced her to sit, eat, and drink.)

    Young Master Pale was fighting with his bare hands, wearing only his undergarments and thered in a copious amount of hellborne blood.

    It wasn''t... the best look, Tycon realized.

    He tapped his finger anxiously on the table. If the Princess of the Holy Country took issue with his methods--

    [My full trust,] Troia signed, [you have it.]

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "You''re certain?"

    [Certain.]

    "...You must have *some* questions," Tycon frowned.

    There were a few notions he was expecting toe under scrutiny... particrly when taking ount of the Troia''s station.

    Quite in to see was a 50 yalm diameter hole providing a constant stream of hellborne. The line form was administered by former Legion Devils directing new recruits on whichpany to join based on their equipment and military specializations.

    And to attract those new recruits, Tycon had scribed a ?Ritual of Battle? around Pale''s dueling ring.

    Channeling the essence of battle via mortalbat was an excellent way of attracting hellborne from the Eternal Battlefield to conscript into his army.

    And there was no better catalyst of battle than the Hero of the Realm, with his superior reflexes, resilience, and nigh-bottomless mana reserves:

    Pale Invictus.

    However, with his armor on, the boy would be impervious to any injury from the admittedly lowborne demons and devils.

    He wouldn''t be engaging in battle, but a one-sided thrashing.

    Thus, Tycon bid him go without.

    Yet... even without armor, Pale still had the high-tier ss, Spear Hero.

    Thus, for the hellborne to potentially survive the exchanges, Tycon bid the boy to fight without a weapon.

    Then... Pale still had an Adamantine-Rank physique.

    To grant the hellborne the confidence they needed to attack in full force, Tycon put a bullet into each of the boy''s legs.

    --and he wasn''t allowed to use his Skill, ?Healing Sands? unless he deemed it absolutely necessary.

    He wouldn''t. The boy was rather foolhardy-- simr to his father in that regard.

    But all those thingsbined might have appeared... excessive.

    And even put into simpler terms, Tycon was risking a Hero''s life to attract an army of sentients a Hero generally... wanted less of.

    It was reasonable that the Holy Princess would have a negative opinion of his methods.

    Tycon mentally prepared himself for it.

    The Holy Princess... pursed her lips... and gave a soft sigh.

    Then, she signed...

    [Is my Hero safe?]

    ...Tycon tilted his head.

    "Absolutely not," he replied.

    [Is he willing?]

    "Objection: relevance."

    [How can I help?]

    Tycon closed his eyes, caught off-guard by the youngdy''s conviction. None of the inquiries he expected came to pass.

    He was actually hoping to be challenged. The notion of gathering a hellborne army was the first idea he had. He would have appreciated a second opinion or someone to point out the ws of the first.

    Troia, after all, had journeyed with Pale for many years. Since Tycon had discovered the boy''s adventuring acumen, he weed anything hispanions had to say.

    --not including the Kimura girl, of course.<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    In his mind, that woman was guilty of sheer idiocy until proven otherwise.

    He sensed the Holy Princess standing up and walking around the table.

    She signed... [I''m ready,] then raised her arms to the side.

    The... willful gesture... Tycon failed to understand.

    If she was asking for a hug, that was grossly uneptable and he refused toply.

    "And... what are you ready for, exactly?"

    [Shoot me.]

    What?

    "...Why?"

    [Training,] Troia signed, tilting her head. [The Hero is training, yes?]

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch. What Pale was doing was *also* training, but that was not the main goal of the operation.

    ? Troia, Bronze-Rank Human Hallowed Summoner. ?

    The Holy Princess seemed to be suggesting that she undergo the same conditions as Pale.

    --for... training, perhaps?

    However, that... without certain reservations, was simply not viable.

    Troia had grown stronger in the years since theyst met.

    Even still... to state it without reservation-- she was quite weak.

    The youngdy''s field utility was not in her personal abilities but in her skill with piloting Dawnbringer.

    That particr white-and-gold mana construct was parked immobile and adjacent to their tea table. It towered over the two of them at its full height of 60 fulms (give or take a few.)

    --but the fact that the Holy Princess was currently separate from her Divine Armor gave Tycon an interesting idea.

    "Very well," he said... "I''ve thought of just the training for you, my dear."

    Tycon turned to Troia.

    She was... literally beaming with light-- so much that his eyes hurt to gaze directly at her.

    It was bothersome... but also consistent with her character.

    [When can we begin?] she signed excitedly.

    Tycon touched his thumb and forefinger to his spatial ring, physically pulling out a handkerchief.

    "I''ve noticed there is a seal on Young Master Pale''s mana circuits," he said, wrapping the handkerchief around Troia''s fingers. "I''m assuming that''s your doing?"

    The Holy Princess tilted her head curiously, then shook her head to signal the negative.

    So she did not know.

    He found that rather peculiar-- but it was irrelevant to the situation.

    Tycon could not iste Pale''s magical limiter, but he had not prioritized it as it was likely as benign as it was non-intrusive.

    However, the Spell was rtively easy to break.

    Pale merely needed to circte more mana than the enchantment could process.

    "Miss Troia," Tycon smiled politely, "I''m assuming Dawnbringer''s defensive range is... 300 imperial feet or less?"

    The Holy Princess pursed her lips. She nodded, but the motion was slow and uncertain.

    "Oh? Have you lost confidence?" Tycon teased.

    To that, the youngdy willfully shook her head before raising her fists beside her face.

    A boxing stance? Very well.

    "I''m d. I have a mission of great import-- and I have the utmost confidence in your ability toplete it."

    Tycon finished binding Troia''s fingers. Considering her physique, it would be difficult to undo the knots or break the material without time or adept assistance.

    Troia''s eyes were sparkling once more. That was a good sign.

    "I''d like you to heal Pale''s injuries and help him don his armor," Tycon ordered. "However, I''m imposing a 60-minute ban on you summoning Dawnbringer to your aid. Are you ready?"

    The Holy Princess'' eyes grew wide. She began shaking her head furiously.

    Tycon snatched the girl''s chin, stopping her movement.

    "My apologies. I misspoke. What I meant to say was: do you understand the task?"

    The Holy Princess swallowed her saliva.

    She nodded, but once.

    Tycon took a step backward, granting the terrified youngdy a stern nod in return.

    Then he kicked her off the cliff''s edge.

    His sandaled foot connected with a solid ?Mana Ward?, automatically cast by Dawnbringer.

    "Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee!!!"

    Tycon sensed the faint ringing of bells in the air as the Holy Princess screamed.

    --though her reason for screaming left him bewildered.

    She was in no immediate danger. Any defensive spell cast by her Divine Armor would naturally also protect her from a fall, even past Dawnbringer''s casting range. It was a necessary safety feature, considering the Divine Armor''s height.

    Then... Tycon watched the noisy, ?Mana Warded? teenager bouncing along the jagged cliff face.

    ...He had done her a disservice by not kicking her with more force.

    He''d apologizeter, (if he remembered.)

    Nearing the bottom, Pale tried to catch her... but he likely was unused to catching or cushioning the fall of a human-sized orb of mana traveling at terminal velocity.

    The boy received a nasty blow as Troia''s mana-ball ricocheted off of his face. Subsequently, the Hallowed Ball bowled into a gaggle of Infernus Invictus'' best and brightest.

    Ugh.

    If they were wise, they''d take advantage of the Hero''s dazed state to strike a decisive blow or three.

    Hopefully, that would elicit a response from the boy, one enough to break his limiter.

    And if it wasn''t, then protecting both himself and hispanion from a century of hellborne would certainly stretch his resources.

    Once the limiter was broken... it would attract some choice individuals from amongst the locals.

    And, with some luck, it would also stoke the curiosities of the hellborne beyond the ?Gate? in the Eternal Battlefield.

    Then... the next stage of Tycon''s n would begin.

    "All hail, Infernus Invictus."

 Chapter 1023 Uniquely Qualified

    ?

    Tycondrius'' ns did not progress as well as he''d hoped.

    Of course, they didn''t.

    Why would they?

    ? 38 bells, 44 minutes, 17 seconds remaining... ?

    Tycon had put in a great deal of effort over thest few bells.

    He scribed a Spell Formation to cool the inside of hismand tent.

    He recruited a Clock Devil.

    He made lunch for himself, Pale, and the Officers.

    ...He even took a short nap.

    But even after all that... he didn''t have near enough hellborne recruits to give him the confidence to siege an established pocket dimension.

    "Franz," Tycon said, "how many do we have, currently fighting for Infernus Invictus?"

    The ICE DEVIL rubbed his ws together, chittering nervously, "I... I don''t know the exact number, my liege. Around... 3000? At least?"

    "I''d very much like a more urate count," Tycon groaned.

    He shot a re at Franz, the ICE DEVIL.

    Franz, the ICE DEVIL, who came to the PLANE OF FIRE, asking for work.

    That Franz!

    "I... I can go check, if I must, Liege," Franz the iCe dEviL said with a deep, servile bow.

    Franz... who was in a Command Tent...

    --located on the pLaNe of FiRe.

    "I''d imagine it would take longer than several minutes," Tycon growled. "Can you do so without literally melting to death?"

    "N-no, my liege. I don''t believe I can."

    "And I, the same," Tycon sighed wistfully... "Franz. Mix me another ss of sugar tea. And I want it as cold as my previous lover''s heart."

    "Of course, Sir," the (ugh) Ice Devil said as he quickly made his way to the opposite side of the tent, to the full liquor bar.

    "Hey, Boss!" said a Lust Demon as she entered the tent unannounced. "Got reports from the front."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "You''re breaking protocol... on purpose, I''d imagine."

    "Damn straight, I am.."

    ...Tycon groaned in disgust-- yet another instance of breaking his bearing.

    In the ne of Fire, he acted as a Hellborne Noble... and every issue he had to deal with reminded him why the title was something most preferred to avoid.

    "I have no time to punish you," he waved.

    "You have to punish men," the scantily d whelpling insisted with shining eyes, "It''s the LAW!"

    Bah. Demons only cared about thew when they had something to gain.

    "You may self-gete after you report-- and NOT before."

    "A, yisss," the Lust Demon grinned, "you really know how to get me turned--"

    "Kneel," Tyconmanded.

    The Lust Demon knelt immediately, wagging her thin tail as if she were a dog.

    "RE-port," Tycon waved.

    Hm...

    The left nk had incurred heavy losses.

    The Blood Demons led an unsolicited charge against a pride of 30+ me Lions. It might have worked if they had the support of their ranged line... which they would have had if they hadn''t broken formation.

    Also, the Lust Demon also spent an inordinate amount of time describing Blood Demon genitalia.

    ...Anyroad--

    Tycon gave his orders: the left nk was to fortify the center, assuming a diamond formation around the rifle squads.

    The me Lions would break their teeth if they were to mire themselves in the heavy melee at his army''s center.

    Tycon then dismissed the Lust Demon.

    However, he had to forcibly eject her from the tent because she was mitted* to having him observe her self-getion.

    ...

    ? 38 bells, 13 minutes, 39 seconds remaining... ?

    The next visitor was a gentleman with the attire of a military Officer.

    "(Demon Lord, I must have words with-- by the Prophet, why is it so COLD in here?!)"

    Tall. Red skin. Beard and mustache trimmed imperiously precise.

    Expression as if you''d asked him to grant you a wish, but had inadvertently rubbed him the wrong way, prior.

    The man was an Efreet-- and likely royalty, as Efreet leadership tended to be.

    Tycon wavedzily as he rendered a monotone spiel:

    "Good afternoon. My rank is not Lord, it is ''Prince''. My name is irrelevant. I will render basic respect if you do the same. And to answer your question..."

    He pointed to Franz.

    The Efreet gasped, "(Is that... an ICE DEVIL?)"

    "Franz," Tycon calledzily, "Does your bloodline happen to be: Ice Devil?"

    "...Yes, gentle Sirs," Franz bowed. "That... is correct."

    Tycon asked the Efreet if he hade for trade or... something else.

    He wanted to say ''or to seek a swift and merciless death,'' but that would be rude.

    After a short conversation, Tycon determined that particr Efreet had note for trade.

    An ident urred involving a sword, Tycon''s sword-hand, and the rude fellow''s neck.

    The other Efreeti *had*e for trade (and gambling, drink, and delicacies; all funded by the magnanimous East Charm Trading Company.) They chose not to be offended.

    Tycon wondered whether it was out of wisdom or hedonism-- not that it mattered.

    One Efreet was even rted to the recently deceased. However, the tragic, idental murder ced them one step closer to session.

    Tycon and the other denizens of the climate-controlled tent mourned the loss of the dead over a round of chilled corn whiskey.

    Not Franz, though. He didn''t deserve a drink.

    ...

    ? 37 bells, 19 minutes, 52 seconds remaining... ?

    The next visitor was--

    "Pale?" Tycondrius grimaced, "What is it?"

    The Hero of his Realm had arrived.

    His armor was a bit more worn than it was 9 bells prior, but the boy had been fighting for the majority of that time.

    Thus, Tycon decided to forgive the notion.

    "I''m... I''m alive, Sir," Pale said with a polite bow of his head.

    "I can see that," Tycon waved. "Good. I''d rather you alive than not. Why are you here?"

    Was the battle over?<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    No...

    Maybe?

    ? Pale, Adamatine-Rank Half-Elven Spear Hero. ?

    After breaking his limiter, it was entirely usible that Pale had defeated a few thousand fire denizens in the time allotted.

    "Sir, there are uh... Fire Snakes?"

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Are they on our side?"

    "...I don''t think so," Pale answered-- "which is why Troia sent me to get you."

    "Elevennnn heavens," Tycon groaned.

    He stepped outside of the tent, back into the dry, sweltering heat.

    He yelled-- very loudly, projecting his voice with a precise cone of mana.

    He gathered a Cataclysm Hydra and a slither of Fire Snakes and lorded his rank and title over them, before field-promoting the hydra and arming them with an Efreet scimitar.

    ...

    ? 36 bells, 45 minutes, 3 seconds remaining... ?

    Tycon lifted the tent p.

    ...and saw no one there.

    Curious.

    He was fairly certain he sensed someone at the entrance.

    Tycon wondered if they snuck inside.

    He nced back to the group of Efreeti at the card table, a pile of gems and fineries as their wagers. They were fine.

    And the other hellborne?

    The Clock Devil was tending to a braised meat dish over the cookfire. The Sloth Demon was kneading dough in preparation for the next batch of cheese bread.

    Franz...

    Franz was standing by, adjacent to the full liquor bar, sweating profusely and breathing precious air he scarcely deserved.

    They were all ounted for.

    Pale was napping on a lion fur pelt, his head lying on Troia''sp.

    That was reasonable.

    Tycon was about to close the tent p if it weren''t for a noise.

    "Mm."

    Furrowing his brows, Tycon looked down... at a demon with a terrifyingly minuscule presence.

    "Mister Maltwick... has anyone ever told you you''d make an excellent Assassin Demon?"

    "No."

    ...That was Maltwick''s response: a simple, concise answer.

    Tycon respected that.

    "State thy business, noble friend. Should you require more resources, I will see to it that the full might of Infernus Invictus aids you in your endeavors."

    But Maltwick did note to ask for resources. He was not that sort of demon.

    He held out his hands, cradling... what appeared to be a small insect, snug in his palms.

    Tycon took the offered creature with great care.

    "Most excellent, Dig-Captain Maltwick," he nodded. "Any reward you desire for this achievement, I can make it so."

    Maltwick nodded quietly.

    "(I will go back now.)"

    "To dig, Mister Maltwick?"

    "Yes... to dig."

    And so the noble Maltwick departed.

    Tycon rendered that demon a salute, strong and sincere-- understanding well that that fellow neither knew nor cared for the affectation.

    Afterward, Tycon walked to where Pale was resting, "Boy! Your rest period if over!"

    The young Hero startled awake, "Wha-- what? Are we under attack?"

    "Of course we are," Tycon groaned, "We''re in the middle of hostile territory. But that is irrelevant. I have a mission for you, one you are uniquely qualified for."

    [What''s in your hand?] the Holy Princess signed.

    Tycon held his open palm forward toward the two of them.

    "This... is a Demon Bug Queen-- and the solution to ourck of personnel."

    [We have over 3500 soldiers,] Troia signed with a frown.

    "Indeed," Tycon sighed. "I''d hoped for at least thrice that."

    "O-okay," Pale said as he sat up on his knees. "What do you want me to do, Boss?"

    Tycon knelt down in front of Pale.

    "I need you to seduce her."

    Pale ced his hands on hisp.

    He blinked several times.

    "What?"

    Tycon assumed the boy only asked because he had yet to awaken fully.

    "I need you to seduce her," he repeated.

    "...How do I do that?" Pale asked.

    "I... don''t know," Tycon answered honestly.

    [My Hero is NOT,] Troia began... then she waved her palm around her opposite finger, before making a double-pulling motion.

    However, whatever she was trying to say was unimportant.

    Tycon ced the insect--

    ? My Name is J?gerin. ?

    Ah. Very well.

    Tycon ced the agreeable child into the Hero''s outstretched hands.

    "Um, good afternoon... Jaegerin," Pale said, bowing awkwardly.

    ? Good Afternoon, Hero. ?

    ? I Was Born to Serve Sol Invictus, ?

    ? Just As My Father Did, Before Me. ?

    Hm. That was promising.

    --though the notion of Jaegerin''s sire was a mystery to him.

    [Did I just gain a new rival?] signed a pouty Holy Princess.

    "Get acquainted, you three," Tycon ordered. "I aim to deploy in two bells."

 Chapter 1024 Dangerous To Go Alone

    ?

    ? Elsewhere... not in the ne of Fire, nor in the ne of Dirt... ?

    The doors to the Core Room burst open.

    It was an Elven door, so it didn''t have hinges... but if it did, those would have been busted, too!

    The Elf-Captain bounced off the uneven floor, tumbling and rolling and getting all sorts of f*cked up. He left behind a sick trail of blood, as well as bits of his green skin.

    He was still alive.

    His mutant physique and the triple-thick wood mana in the air made him hard to kill.

    But if Kimura Taree knew exactly how to fix that.

    --she just had to kill harder.

    The tough sonuvab*tch struggled to the kneeling. He lifted up his broken sword as if it could save him.

    Ree crossed the distance in a mana-empowered leap.

    Her kick struck the side of his neck.

    His sword didn''t do shite. A shattered ckstone edge wasn''t enough to pierce Ree''s skin.

    She dropped her body, smashing her fist into the green elf''s chest. Cracks spread out in the wooden flooring from where her knee hit the ground.

    It was hard to keep her strength in check, knowing just how close she was to getting revenge.

    "And then," Ree lifted her head, whipping her long ponytail to the side, "there was one."

    Snatching her hand back, blood spurted out of the elf''s chest, adding yet another stain to her robes.

    Hells yeah.

    The blood fountain made her look badass as f*ck.

    The boss room looked it was a hollowed-out underside of a tree-- a bunch of weirdly symmetrical roots sticking out of the ceiling. Those roots crawled down at the edges, lining and broadening into parts of the walls.

    The walls were too thick to punch through, even for her.

    If any reinforcements arrived, they''d have to take one of three entrances. She had to pay careful attention to those...

    The mebriar Monarch sat on his throne at the chamber''s center. Red worms slithered in the empty sockets of the ram skull he wore as a helmet, making it look like he was ring down at her.

    Ree kicked the corpse of hisst defender so it wouldnd at his feet.

    That should''ve made her challenge pretty obvious.

    Kimura Taree of Sol Invictus had arrived.

    And she was about to choke a b*tch for ruining her f*cking life.

    Ree grinned and held her hand out, middle finger extended, "What''cha think about that, f*ck-face? Let''s fight-- just you and me."

    The Monarch''s voice crackled like an ugly firece.

    "The Voice... Does Not. Reach You?"

    "AggGGghhh~" Ree shook herself, flexing all her muscles at once to alleviate the feeling of ice crawling all over her back, "That''s right, b*tch! Drank a vial of liquid agony before I got here-- so I might be just a TINY bit cranky!"

    Right as she finished, Ree immediately lowered her body, ready to attack. However, the Monarch stood up and threw his hand forward.

    Fearing the worst, Taree threw herself to the side. As she rolled on the ground, she tossed out a trio of iron darts to show how happy she was.

    The walls all around her started to rumble and groan. When she checked her surroundings, the chamber''s exits were all sealed by thorn-covered roots.

    Did that mean... the Monarch agreed to a one-on-one duel? Could the bastard that killed Tamaki and Vanya know the meaning of honor?

    Ree turned back to the Monarch, but the throne was empty. The iron spikes capable of turning any fae creature into a withered husk stuck harmlessly in the briarthorn vines.

    "?Folium Cyclone?"

    Ree felt the magic thrumming in the air before she saw its effects.

    Kicking off from her position, she managed to barely avoid a green tornado of wind mana.

    Hah. She wasn''t the smartest Hero in the Realm, but she''d have to be as dumb as rocks to get hit by a nature Spell!

    Spinning about in mid-air, she bounced off one of the walls and headed straight for the Monarch.

    All the arrangements were made to introduce his face to her FIST!!

    "?Iron Tiger Assault?!!!"

    "Useless."

    Ree''s mana-empowered punch connected with the Monarch''s ?Mana Ward?.

    It was her strongest attack, sending a web of cracks all along the defensive Spell''s surface.

    --but it was also the kind of attack she could only execute once at her full strength.

    She growled through her teeth.

    Boss would have definitely scolded her for being impatient-- for not breaking the enemy''s defense beforemitting like she did.

    Shite. Some people could win with strength alone... but she had a long way to go before reaching that level.

    "?Razor Shield?"

    Ten thousand spinning leaves enveloped the Monarch''s form.

    Ree was a half-step too slow in evading. Her left leg and arm suffered a hundred tiny sharp cuts before she sprang away.

    Magic...

    Kimura Taree had a special hatred for Caster sses.

    Even Vanya...

    Pale liked her a lot-- but even still, Ree was never fullyfortable around her.

    "?Choking Grasp?"

    The Monarch cast another Spell. Dozens of briarthorn vines surged toward her, swimming through the wooden floor like hungry river carp. When they got close, theyshed out at her, threatening to wrap her up and stick her with their dagger-long thorns. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    Ree kept her distance, jumping, dodging, pping the vines away or cutting them down with knife-hand swipes.

    Muto Hisato was a Caster.

    Because of his dark magic, her best friend Yoshio would have never turned against her.

    That dickless bastard...

    He was old news.

    Boss Tycon ruined him, breaking his limbs and taking away his ability to cultivate.

    Even Yoshio was dead.

    Boss killed him...

    Boss killed him, but Ree still saw him in her nightmares... ming her for being weak.

    --for being a disgrace to the Ivory Judge Sect.

    --for being a talentless piece of trash, unworthy of the Kimura name.

    She worked so hard, all throughout her life, because she had no talent.

    She couldn''t be a Shugenja like the daughters of the other high families-- or like Mister Wroe.

    She was shite with a bow... unlike her mother-- unlike Tamaki.

    Ree was her father''s daughter... and he wasn''t even that strong-- not like Tycon or Dragan.

    Yet all she had was her strength...

    --and her will.

    And her WILL WAS ROCK AND STONE!!

    Ree slipped through a gap in the ?Choking Grasp? vines. She got close enough to see tiny cracks in the mebriar Monarch''s skull mask.

    "?Nonsexistent Lizard TAIL!!!?"

    Her domineering kick mmed against the Monarch''s ?Mana Ward?.

    It held-- barely.

    But that brief moment was long enough for the vines to catch up to her. They wrapped around her shins and forearms. They tried to pull her down.

    If it was anyone else, they''d have been finished.

    The ck thorns were dangerous, but they couldn''t pierce the Ivory Judge Sect''s ?Stone Body Art?.

    Seven hells... Even though she didn''t have the talent to learn her Sect''s signature Skills, literal years of training still had its advantages.

    The ram-skulled bastard didn''t say anything-- but that only filled Ree with confidence.

    Surprised? Haha. Good.

    "Get f*cked," she grinned. "?Consectuve Stone Punches!?"

    She barely felt the vines holding her back as her fists shattered the Monarch''s ?Mana Ward?.

    She couldn''t feel her hands. Her whole body was wracked by pain.

    Her head felt airy and light. Ah-- she was bleeding all over. Not great.

    But she''d be satisfied if she could get ONE. Solid. Hit. with a ?Dragon Tail? kick.

    Then, the vines suddenly jerked her away.

    They released her after the sudden momentum shift, sending her rolling across the room.

    Tucking her body in, she rolled to her feet... only to realize she was right back where she started.

    She was at the foot of the Monarch''s throne... next to a corpse...

    --and... a sword?

    But... where did ite from?

    Was she really that stupid? To have missed a sword when she entered?

    And why was there a steel sword in a ce filled with spirit elves? Anything with iron in it was poison to anything from the Faewyld.

    And... it wasn''t a Kingdom sword.

    Its shape and hilt-- it was a jian, a sword produced by the Hidden Sects.

    Instinct and familiarity made her reach forward to grab it, but she stopped herself.

    Was it a trap?

    She stood up warily, ignoring the pain present in every extending and contracting muscle.

    The mebriar Monarch... a familiar sword had appeared in his right hand-- another jian... and from where she stood, it looked identical to the first.

    The worms on his body began to recede, revealing dark studded armor under his cloak. Though his face stayed hidden underneath the ram skull, the Monarch''s sword arm became distinctly human.

    "I''ve been waiting... for someone like you."

    Even the Monarch''s voice became familiar to her.

    Ree wanted to think back... on where she''d heard it before-- but it was hard to think clearly about anything other than killing him.

    Pain was a b*tch.

    So maybe the mebriar Monarch was human underneath that mask.

    Maybe there were some sort of weird, f*cked up circumstances that made him that way.

    That was a good sign.

    --but not because someone with a tiny sliver of humanity could be saved.

    It was a fatal w that Ree could exploit for MURDER!

 Chapter 1025 Dance Of Blades (Part One)

    ?

    The Monarch started walking forward, his steps graceful and quiet.

    For the briefest of moments, doubt invaded Ree''s mind.

    She didn''t hear that person''s steps, at all!

    Did that mean the Monarch a Martialist like she was?

    No! He had to be a Caster! Only Pure Casters had the mana circuits to cast forbidden, elf-controlling Domination magics.

    Even if he was a Martial Caster, he wouldn''t have the mana reserves to cast high-level Spells in session.

    Ree pped her face with both palms... then she stood up straight, crossing her arms.

    Magic? Martial arts? It didn''t matter what stood in her way.

    She came to get revenge, not to cower in fear.

    Ree raised her chin, "Come at me, bro."

    The mebriar Monarch stopped ten paces away from her. His height had diminished to only a few ilms taller than her... but his presence screamed a danger that made her hesitate to attack.

    She sensed... somehow... that she could cut through that aura with a sword.

    But... no.

    She couldn''t trust it.

    She couldn''t trust in steel. She couldn''t trust in someone-- or something else.

    Kimura Taree could only trust in her fists.

    The Monarch pointed his sword arm toward her.

    His forefinger was pointed forward, touching the de.

    It was weird. Outsiders didn''t hold swords like that...

    But Ree didn''t want to think anymore. If she were to wait for her mind to clear, she risked clearing the effects of the poison.

    Then, she''d hear the voices of truth. Then, she''d suffer the wakeful nightmares...

    She lowered her body, fists forward.

    So too did the Monarch, leaning back, his weight on his rear leg. He kept his sword pointed forward and down, his other arm back.

    He gazed at her through his ram skull mask with shining eyes.

    They were blue... just like--

    Ree furrowed her eyebrows.

    "P... pale?"

    The Monarch''s sword arm...

    It wavered.

    An opening!

    Ree activated ?Crane Leap?, dashing forward with a front kick. The Monarch blocked that, so she immediately redirected her force, spinning her heel toward her opponent''s skull.

    Then, she found herself falling onto the floor.

    Half-a-second after, she realized what had happened.

    She got hit. The Monarch''s sword had struck her twice, once in the back of the leg, and in her back.

    If she was a normal person, the fight would have been over.

    Ree somersaulted away-- ncing back at the sword.

    That had be a very tempting option.

    "Arrrrgh!!"

    What use was her pride when vengeance was more important?!

    Grabbing the sword, she spun around and charged at the Monarch again.

    She tried an overhead sh followed by a thrust.

    But the Monarch''s footwork... he stepped away, dodging and deflecting with ease.

    Ree renewed her assault... only to fail again and again.

    Twice more, Ree took what should''ve been career-ending strikes: once to her chest and another to the side of her neck.

    It was... useless.

    Even with all her training, all her rage and anger, she couldn''t even cut her opponent''s afterimage.

    Hot tears began to form at the corners of her eyes-- blurring her vision.

    The Monarch stepped forward, shing downward. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    Ree did as her stupid, panicked brain told her to do. She abandoned her sword and grabbed onto the Monarch''s with both hands. Then, she activated her ?Berserk? form, betting everything on the strength that could break apart mountains.

    But again...

    She failed...

    Her strength was not enough. The Monarch''s sword slid forward, in spite of it.

    The end didn''t pierce her chest, but the de cut deep ino her palms.

    Her throat was struck. She didn''t see or sense the attack until after it was made.

    She couldn''t breathe-- and she had unwittingly snatched her bloody hands back.

    Ree raised her arms up to block, but a kick to her thigh broke her fighting stance.

    She felt a pull on her arm and when she fell, the side of her head bounced on the floor.

    She felt the heat of her blood and the cold from the steel jian as it plunged through her abdomen...

    The Monarch''s sword had cut her... even despite her ?Berserk? form... even despite ?Stone Body Art?.

    But just when she was sure she was going to die, she heard a voice.

    "?Whirling Rend.?"

    Her fallen sword suddenly animated with magic, spinning toward the Monarch''s head. He leapt back immediately... but one of his horns was severed cleanly off his ram skull mask.

    "The kid''s done," boomed the voice. "I''ll be taking her ce."

    Ree turned to see Dragan, slowly making his way toward her.

    He was... a giant of a man, walking with a huge ck sword resting on his shoulders. He strode forward, his red hair flowing like the Chosen One from her childhood stories.

    The Monarch didn''t make any hostile moves.

    He stood.

    He stared.

    Maybe he was... afraid? Anyone in the right mind would have been intimidated by a 9-fulm tall man with the Titan bloodline...

    Dragan dropped a bandolier of potions by Ree''s side before removing the sword in her gut with a swift and smooth motion.

    "Drink the reds, kiddo. All of ''em," he ordered. "But stay down. It''s only enough to keep you from seein'' Hades."

    "D... dragan," Ree sobbed. "I''m s-- sorry."

    She was crying.

    She hadn''t cried since she first got separated from Pale.

    She didn''t even cry when Vanya died...

    Ree had lost. She could barely move, much less fight.

    The liquid agony she drank had reached its maximum effectiveness.

    "Seven f*cking hells," Dragan cursed.

    He knelt down to unstopper a potion, lifting Ree''s head and cing the bottle against her lips.

    She continued to cry as she drank.

    She was... so stupid. She was blinded by anger... and because of it, Sol Invictus had toe and save her.

    If she just thought... for just a single f*cking moment, she could have got help or she could have brought someone else.

    --even just Troia.

    If she just had one more advantage... one more person, she could have gotten the revenge she wanted.

    Dragan didn''t say anything.

    ...but his eyes shone with disappointment.

    Ree didn''t even want to think about how Boss would look at her.

    After she finished the first potion, she gave her teacher a quiet nod.

    "D... dra... gan... thank--"

    "Don''t."

    Ree gulped in fear. Dragan had never scolded her before-- not with a voice like that.

    "Shut up," he said firmly. "Drink. Then, there''s yarrow leaves in that pouch. Use that and the waterskin to make a poultice. Do you hear me, Warrior Kimura?"

    Ree winced at his forcefulness before nodding hurriedly, "Y-yes... Sir..."

    In her state... did she even deserve to be called that?

 Chapter 1026 Dance Of Blades (Part Two)

    ?

    Dragan stood up and thrust his hand out, pointing toward the mebriar Monarch.

    "And as for you, you one-horned f*ck," he said, "Only death awaits the enemies of Sol Invictus."

    The Monarch lifted his arm to the side. Grasping vines swam through the floor, retrieving his sword and returning it to his hand.

    Then, he lowered his body and assumed a martial stance.

    All that, and he didn''t say a word.

    "Hmph. So you won''t talk," Dragan frowned. "Guess there ain''t nothin'' to talk about..."

    He released his sword. The weighty de made a splintering crack into the wooden flooring and it stood at a nt, hilt upward.

    "Kiddo," he said without looking back, "You''re ''bout to see some shite. Just know I''m not gonna apologize for a damn thing."

    Ree furrowed her brows.

    Dragan was a man who didn''t apologize for anything-- that was something she knew well.

    But why... would he say something like that?

    Dragan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

    Then he began forming a series of gestures with his hands.

    "?Limit Break?..."

    A dizzying Formation appeared under his feet, centered around his sword. The script inside of it danced and... raged.

    The ground shook beneath him. His hair was flowing, impossible winds swirling around him.

    The air was so thick with power and majesty that Ree had to remind herself to breathe.

    But even still... Dragan wasn''t finished.

    He continued to move his hands, each subsequent hand-seal with more deliberation... and more force.

    The glowing script on the ground formed another circleyer, then branched into eight new, offset circles.

    "?Attack Boost?... ?elerate?... ?Hawkeye?..."

    No...

    Ree shook her head. That was impossible.

    Not Dragan.

    What she was seeing-- she would ept it from anyone but Dragan.

    "?Resilience?... ?Fear Resist?... ?Beryl Shield?..."

    Dragan wasn''t a Martial ss.

    Everyone told her that Dragan was a Swordmage, but that... was an outright lie.

    Dragan was a Pure Caster.

    The many parts of the Spell Formation were rough and ugly. They were kept together, not by harmony and bnce, but because that person willed it to be.

    The War Prince of Vralkek mmed his fists together, sending a shockwave throughout the chamber.

    "?Crown of the Boundless Emperor.?"[1]

    A domineering, red mana aura enveloped Dragan. A hazy golden ring hovered above his head.

    "S-sol Invictus," Ree whispered.

    Dragan had be the avatar of the sun.

    ...Undefeated.

    He picked up his huge, ck sword...

    "?Bull''s Charge.?"

    Dragan''s movement technique brought him face-to-face with the mebriar Monarch.

    Ree could follow his sword, but only because it left an ink-ck trail whenever he swung it.

    He was fast... faster than any warrior she''d ever seen. His sword was dangerous, enchanted with rage and evil and death.

    And each of those strikes contained the will and hateful intent of the raging sun.

    But... the Monarch''s footwork was peerless.

    He evaded each of Dragan''s swings with inhuman agility, even despite him being enchanted with so many offensive Spells.

    The Monarch''s swordy was peerless.

    Dragan suffered a dozen cuts and stabs on his body... even despite theyers andyers of defensive enchantments.

    Ree couldn''t look away. She was captivated by their battle-- a page in a tale about Ancient Sect Masters fighting against demons and gods.

    ?Green me de?. ?Heat Crash?. ?Lightning Spike?.

    Dragan recklessly centered a ?meburst? on himself, but the mebriar Monarch just... danced away, free of injury.

    No matter how hurt Dragan got. No matter how his fury and helplessness grew as the fight went on.

    Ree found it... beautiful. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    It was nothing like a fight. She had been in fights.

    What she was witnessing... was more like a dance.

    With every exchange, the mebriar Monarch defied death.

    Yet, with every exchange, Dragan refused to die.

    And then--

    And... finally... it was over.

    The hand of the mebriar Monarch stabbed through the left side of Dragan''s chest.

    The half-giant copsed to his knees, barely supporting himself with his sword.

    "I. hear. them..." the Monarch''s voice crackled, "I''m sorr--"

    "Shut your F*CKING face!!" Dragan spat.

    Red worms began to burrow out of the Monarch''s human arm.

    The voices... Ree felt chills assault her body even before she heard them.

    Faint whispers were beginning to seep through the corners of her mind.

    Struggling through the pain coursing through all her muscles, she raised her arms.

    She put her hands over her ears. She held her head tight.

    She knew she was risking cracking her own skull open-- but she needed to silence the voices before they could be heard!

    Dragan reached forward, grabbing the Monarch''s cloak.

    "If there''s anything left in that f*cking skull of yours," he growled, "ANYTHING at F*CKING ALL... you''ll LET the kid GO!!!"

    ck blood was spilling out of his mouth like water.

    "It is... not... my. will," the Monarch said firmly.

    One of Dragan''s hands dropped back down to the hilt of his sword.

    "You made her cry," he whispered. "Not even death is good enough for the likes of you."

    "Don''t..." the Monarch warned.

    A scowl crossed Dragan''s mouth, "?Earth Break?."

    With a deafening crack, a series of huge fissures appeared in the wooden floor. Sweltering heat shot up from each one, forcing Ree to shield her face with a hand.

    She heard the sh of swords.

    Something metallic broke.

    A shard of ck flew through the air and stuck into the ground.

    When Ree looked again, Dragan''s sword was broken and his left arm was severed at the middle of his forearm.

    "You cannot. win. against the Tyrant God," the Monarch said. "None. of. us. can."

    Dragan spat in the Monarch''s face, "FFFUCK YOU!"

    The Monarch ran his sword through Dragan''s chest. The steel was covered in red where it pierced through his back.

    He grabbed Dragan by the head, pushing him aside.

    And Dragan... Prince of Vralkek... First Sword of Sol Invictus... toppled into the open pit.

    Ree was already moving before she realized it. Every step sent pangs of agony throughout her body, but she pushed through.

    Ignoring the brilliant, painful light, she peered into the fissure... but all she saw was an ocean of bubblingva.

    Yet...

    Dragan, her invincible teacher...

    Dragan... the strongest in Sol Invictus...

    Dragan... her closest friend... was gone.

    Ree sensed the Monarch looming over her... waiting... watching.

    But she could no longer fight.

    And even if she could, she was no match for the mebriar Monarch.

    Trying her best to ignore the voices...

    Trying her best to ignore the pain...

    Ree curled up, hugging her knees.

    "W... what... are you w-waiting for... f*cktard?" she asked in a tiny voice. "Do it... f*cking... kill me."

    And so... Kimura Taree, the shame of Sol Invictus, closed her eyes.

    ''Brother... I''ming to see you soon...''

    [1] Crown of the Boundless Emperor: See Chapter 928, Mouth of the Bleeding Hells, part two.

 Chapter 1027 Vignette Lock

    ?

    ? 31 bells, 57 minutes, 15 seconds remaining... ?

    Tycondrius ced his hand on the thick bark.

    The magic fortifying the walls had suddenly weakened-- their thrice-damned regeneration, stagnated.

    ...but by what means?

    Tycon''s paranoia suggested it was a trap-- one to lull him and his forces into a false sense of security.

    Or was it an effect of their efforts? The Demon Insects had chewed through enough of the exterior to potentially disrupt its defensive Spell Formations...

    "Orders, Boss?" Pale asked.

    Tycon rolled his eyes. Deliberating wasted time... and that, he did not have the luxury.

    "Franz, touch the boy."

    "With... all due respect, my liege, I''m not that kind of d--"

    Tycon cut him off with a re.

    "If you''re going to disobey my orders, Franz, I''ll have my enchanted sash returned."

    It was a death threat. The runed sash prevented the Ice Devil from literally melting into oblivion.

    Without another word ofint, Franz ced a wed hand on Pale''s shoulder.

    "Pale, break the wall," Tyconmanded as he walked away.

    "Aye aye, Sir!" the boy responded.

    Tycon carefully mounted his noble steed, a Winged Arrow Devil. It was one of J?gerin''s subordinates, a hellborne insect longer than a typical carriage, with bulbous eyes the size of a man''s head.

    It was only vaguely shaped like an arrow.

    ...but it was, at least, more arrow-like than its kin. That would do.

    Pale flourished his spear as he charged his mana. His aura was not of his usual fire and lightning, but one influenced by Franz and his icy nature.

    "?cier CRASH?!!!"

    The boy''s improvised Skill froze a section of wall. Then, after spinning his spear around his body, he struck the wall once more with its base.

    It left a promising web of cracks, pieces of wood falling out in glimmering chunks.

    Tycon lifted his hand over his head, then swiped it down, "Repeat!"

    "AYE AYE!!" Pale shouted.

    Another strike, strong and certain, demolished the wall and sent a crash of icy debris into the chamber.

    "Move!!"

    The Arrow Devil buzzed forward at a dizzying speed. Tycon was barely able to grab onto Pale''s hand, bringing them both into the chamber.

    "DEATH!!" Tycon shouted, "to the ENEMIES OF SOL INVICTUS!!"

    He had yet to observe the room, but he trusted Pale to acquire a target quickly enough.

    ? ?Lamb to the ughter? activated. ?

    The boy dropped down immediately, executing a five-strike ?Spiral Pierce?.

    The exits were sealed.

    There was a single enemy... a swordsman wearing a ram skull.

    --and there was a suspicious, illuminated rift near the chamber''s center.

    It seemed that the whelpling, Kimura Taree, was injured. Thankfully, with the arrival of their demon, devil, and giant-insect army, she could potentially be saved.

    Tycon dismounted the Devil Arrow just as Pale used ?Magnum Break? to force the enemy back.

    Stabilized in the kneeling, he pointed his Nemayan pistol, steadying his breathing and firing a series of quick, urate shots.

    The enemy swordsman was able to deflect one or two rounds with his sword... but, thankfully, that fellow did not have the reflexes of Pale.

    Likely no sentient in the Realms had the boy''s reflexes.

    On the opposite side of the chamber, five dark hydra heads rushed toward the enemy, courtesy of Ishmael.

    The shadowy constructs rushed through the swordsman, who responded by swinging at them in reckless abandon.

    Tycon saw an opportunity. He shot the swordsman in one knee, then the other.

    Both shots hit. Both shots drew blood.

    But it wasn''t enough.

    That person still stood.

    He could still move.

    The crushing maws of the hydra heads could not restrain him-- and they were proving scarcely a challenge.

    As a show of prodigious strength, the swordsman swung one of the shadowy heads away, the force enough to separate it from its smoking neck.

    Tycon grit his teeth, wishing he wasn''t so surprised.

    But thankfully, he made it a point to overprepare.

    He thrust his hand out, reactivating his Skill.

    "And now, the rest of you, OBEY MY WILL!!"

    ? System response: Warning. Activating this Skill beforepletion of its cooldown-- ?

    Tycon felt his eye twitch.

    ? System, force activation. ?

    He needed to finish the battle before it began in earnest.

    ? Activating... ?

    ? ?Lamb to the ughter? activated. ?

    ? Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus. ?

    "Infernus Invictus!! Sons and daughters of the Eternal Battlefield!" Tycon screamed.

    ...He took a breath before continuing.

    "Break him."

    A swarm of hellborne came for the swordsman, demons and devils of a thousand grotesque shapes and sins.

    They stabbed his body with des. cking maws sought to tear apart his armor and flesh.

    "Troia, daughter of Tyrion," Tycon whispered. "Restrain that creature."

    Dawnbringernded behind the swordsman. A reinforced Arcanite hand grabbed onto his head. As she pulled back, the joints of her Divine Armor groaned and creaked.

    But finally, their neck was revealed.

    Tycon drew Mercy from his sheathe and began walking toward the single enemy.

    "Lucifer of Pride," he growled, "to me. Now."

    ...

    The world was bright yet nigh-colorless. A sky of stark white shone upon ck ink, absent of reflection.

    That person was kneeling, the dark water mired up to his thighs. The unmistakable red of his life essence seeped into the ink from the open wounds in his knees and the stab wounds on his arms, legs, and torso. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    From his appearance, the mebriar Monarch was merely an elf hiding behind a one-horned ram skull.

    Perhaps his appearance within Lulu''s ?Domain? differed from his form, outside of it.

    Tycondrius wondered that was the appearance he preferred.

    The so-called Monarch had a Spell Formation carved into his naked chest, riddled with lizard script.

    Tycon did not care to decipher it.

    It changed nothing.

    The magic pulsed, sending invisible ripples across the ck-ink ocean.

    The Formation outlined itself with a dim glow.

    A dull song seeped into the impossible chamber, muted by the far, white walls.

    The Monarch''s-- no... the Tyrant God''s magic was trying to take control, despite the state of its host.

    Tycon would not let that happen.

    "YouUu called, BosSss?"

    The enchanting voice belonged to Lulu, one of the original members of his Sol Invictus.

    The tinum-blonde demon woman was wearing a white robe, twirling a red parasol resting on her shoulder.

    She stood atop the ink on a pair of lifted wooden clogs.

    Of course, she would.

    It was her ?Domain?, after all.

    "What took you so long?" Tycon asked.

    "Had to run away from some very mean people~" Lulu answered with a sly smirk.

    Tycon chose to ignore the statement. He hoped it was hyperbole.

    "Oh!" the demon woman gasped, "Don''t~ be~ jealous, Boss. I came, didn''t I? I love when you make mee."

    ...Right.

    "I''m going to murder that person," Tycon said. "Assist me."

    Lulu ced a dainty hand on her mouth, giggling softly.

    ck chains, spears at their end rose out of the ink. They pierced through the nameless swordsman''s wound-riddled flesh, wrapping around his legs and forearms.

    Tycon walked through the ink, each step making a dull, mournful ssh.

    It felt like it took a long time.

    Something in the atmosphere bid him to slow his gait... and each sessive step seemed to take more effort than thest.

    But... the notion was asinine. A step was a step. And even if the ?Domain? had some kind of unorthodox restriction in ce, its maker was his stalwart ally.

    As Tycon continued, he lost his ability to breathe.

    So, he stopped breathing.

    He found it odd... but bearable.

    He stopped being able to feel. He didn''t mind that.

    He lost his sight and vision-- neither important.

    He lost other senses, too.

    Not ideal.

    --but he had more.

    It felt like it took a bloody epoch, but finally, Tycon stood in front of that person.

    He looked into its eyes... or rather, he emted doing so with what faculties he had remaining.

    [Anyst words?]

    That person opened his mouth... "I... can still... hear it."

    [The song?] Tycon suggested.

    "--of which... legends... are sung."

    That infuriating person dared to smile.

    ...That''s what it felt like, anyroad.

    Tycon hacked Mercy into that creature''s neck.

    It wasn''t enough.

    --which. was. most... peculiar...

    Was it his strength? It might have been his sloppy stance. His senses were shot and his body wasn''t listening to him nearly as well as he would have liked.

    Tycon struck again. He sensed his weapon hacking into some resistance.

    Whether it was fleshy or magical or...imaginary, he could not discern.

    Still, he felt like he was winning. He took sce in the potential self-deception.

    "?Iron Warlord Rend?."

    He used a Skill.

    That felt promising.

    He was physically and mentally exhausted, but more than that, he was annoyed.

    Everything hurt. That was nothing new.

    He wanted to lie down and sleep-- or maybe use his sword on his own throat. None of those feelings were unfamiliar to him.

    He was hungry.

    Literally.

    He was so hungry that even a meal at Olea Garden sounded promising.

    But why did he think of Olea Garden?

    He didn''t even like Olea Garden...

    Against his better judgment, Tycon searched his bloodline memories for a more powerful martial Skill.

    He found one.

    "?Adamant Rend.?"

    He was fairly certain he didn''t have the qualifications to use it.

    He was going to suffer, afterward.

    But... it worked.

    Tycon sessfully severed that person''s head.

    He took hold of it, took a moment to feel proud... then, he threw it on the ground, sending up a wave of ink.

    And finally, he crushed it beneath his sandaled foot, bones and all.

 Chapter 1028 Demon Queen

    ?

    Lulu closed her eyes, shrugging and shaking her head.

    "My, my~ So much *effort* put into killing a guy we--"

    Tycon waved to stop her, "That''s enough, Miss Lulu."

    The demon woman shifted her weight, resting her hand on her hip, "Ohh~hh?"

    Her rising intonation scalded Tycon''s mood.

    ...but it was also terribly consistent of her character.

    "The identity of that person," Tycon said... then shook his head-- "no... That corpse has no rtion to our Sol Invictus."

    Lulu seemed unconvinced. She continued to stare as if Tycon had more to say.

    "Break the body apart," Tycon said, averting his gaze. "Have J?gerin''s troops consume the pieces... and do whatever else you believe appropriate to prevent any possibility of their return."

    Lulu waited another moment before realizing it was useless.

    "Fine, fine~" she waved.

    "A single ''fine'' is enough."

    Tycon breathed a sigh of relief. His senses were returning, though they remained dull andckluster.

    He tried to rx, but all of his muscles seemed numb and almost-painfully tense.

    He was concerned about his state of mind.

    It felt like something was... closed-off.

    It was as if his rational subconscious was withholding key information at bay.

    The fallen Monarch''s chamber was filled with the members of Infernus Invictus.

    There was an area for basic triage.

    A far corner was filled with a logically-arranged pile of corpses.

    A majority of the hellborne were actively taking apart the fortifications, dense wooden tes reinforced with fire and earth-mana.

    It was good material.

    Yet all those going-ons implied that the fighting had passed... and a considerable amount of time had psed.

    Tycon called for the Clock Devil.

    That fellow floated over, saluting as per decorum.

    It should have been a proper salute, but Tycon''s groggy state prevented him from scrutinizing it properly.

    ? 29 bells, 31 minutes, 2 seconds remaining... ?

    He''d spent over two bells in Lulu''s ?Domain?.

    That was... concerning.

    "Seraphine!" he called.

    The Fire Hydra girl bounded up to him obediently.

    She had taken a humanoid form, appearing as an orange-skinned medusa girl with five beautiful golden snakes atop her head.

    She opened her mouth to say something... and Tycon could vaguely tell it was, ''yes, handsome Prince'' or something simr.

    "Secure the area," he ordered. "Afterward, organize a full withdrawal. We''ll establish greater fortifications near our original base."

    The woman began toin. Tycon didn''t care for it, so he spun her around and gently (but firmly) kicked her bottom, so she''d leave.

    "Lulu."

    [YesSss, Boss?]

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. Lulu wasmunicating to him mentally.

    That was odd.

    The contents of their conversation did not require confidentiality. Was someone unsavory listening in? Or was the notion a random whimsy of hers?

    "Once we... leave this ce..."

    [I''ll make sure the Pocket Dimension gets copsed. Don''t wanna get scolded by the big, bad Gatekeeper General, after all.]

    Right. That was precisely what he was going to request.

    "Kimura."

    [Stitched up proper and healed up by the holy hoe.]

    That made sense. It had been so many bells, after all.

    "Dragan."

    [Fell into a pit of spicy water.]

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    "A what?"

    What... the hells was *spicy* water?

    [That Kimura girl cried like a leaky faucet, all ''cos Big Boy fell into theva.]

    [But you can''t swim inva! That just ain''t how it works!]

    [Spicy water, though, you can definitely swim in that stuff.]

    "D... dead?"

    [Maybe. Want me to find him?]

    [Ehh, it''s cool. Don''t answer.]

    [I''ll go find him. Gonna do butt stuff with him. His butt, of course.]

    Tycon tried to wave in annoyance. He didn''t care for the superfluous details.

    [Crazy question, though!]

    [How are you still standing, Boss?]

    Crazy? Not so... The question was asinine.

    Tycon wanted to tell the woman to sod off, but he had trouble opening his mouth.

    More peculiar still...

    [Well, Boss... you did use, like, over a dozen high-level Martial Skills--]

    He did what?

    [--in a row...]

    No...?

    [...to kill a Sky-Rank guy--]

    A whAT?

    [--you also just super-man''d through a...]

    [and--]

    [...]

    [but you--]

    [Boss?]

    [Boss, you good?]

    No.

    No, he was not good.

    ...

    It was Tycon''s turn to tend to the campfire, having reced Droghan a half-bell prior.

    The Titanblood, as expected, didn''t deign himself to a single word of gratitude.

    ''One of these suns,'' Tycon thought... he''d stand up to the scrawny bastard.

    Anyroad, it was always strange, sensing the movement of an elf. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    --especially when a certain, loudmouthed pipsqueak was *trying* to be elf-like, for once.

    It wasn''t something you could hear-- and usually, it wasn''t something you could see.

    "Where you goin'', Leader?" he whispered aloud, "It''s dark as shite out here. Easy to get lost."

    Quay drifted out of the bushes like a ghost.

    And his face was lightly flushed-- like a disloyal whore.

    "You heard me, Ty?"

    That wasn''t quite right. Tycon sensed his footsteps through the ground.

    But Quay didn''t need to know that.

    Tycon pointed at the fire. It danced and crackled a bit more excitedly with Quay''s presence.

    "Ty," Quay whispered... "I need to go."

    "WowWw," Tycon groaned sarcastically. "Never would''ve f*cking guessed."

    "Hey, listen," Quay said.

    The seriousness of his voice cut down Tycon''s wisecracking facade.

    He relied on that.

    Without it, all that was left was nervousness and doubt.

    "What is it?" he frowned.

    "I... have a son," Quay said in a quiet voice. "He''s... a good kid, I think-- smart, too."

    "It doesn''t take much to be smarter than you," Tycon quipped.

    "Hah... that''s true," Quay sighed... "Hey, listen. I''m gonna be gone for a while."

    Tycon wanted to ask how long.

    The heart of Sol Invictus was the only thing binding their group of contrary misfits together.

    But... Quay leaving meant the guild was going to be disbanded for certain.

    So... Tycon didn''t ask.

    The dissolution of Sol Invictus was an inevitability.

    Nothingsted forever. That was doubly true of an arena diator-- and thrice so for an arena troupe.

    Tycon already had a n set for afterward. As someone with the Warlord ss, he could at least do that much...

    Granted, he was hoping that Sol Invictus wouldst a few years longer, but... if Quay had set his idiot brain into doing something, he was going to do it, for sure.

    Quay opened his mouth... but hesitated.

    "Out with it," Tycon waved, "hesitation does--"

    "--does not beget a leader," Quay sighed.

    Tycon grinned, chuckling to himself, "Doesn''t feel so good, does it? Hearing it from someone else?"

    "Ty..."

    "Just f*cking say it, guy."

    "His name..." Quay said before pausing. "Hmm... his name is Pale."

    "Your son''s name is Bucket?" Tycon groaned, "I''m assuming *you* named him."

    "I need you to promise me something, Ty..."

    Tycon kept quiet. He was pretty sure he was about to hear something incredibly stupid.

    Nothing of value came out of Quay''s mouth.

    "Ty," he said... "I want you to take care of my son. Keep him safe."

    Tycon rolled his eyes, "Are you out of your f*cking mind, Leader?"

    He pointed at himself, his rising anger marring his voice.

    "Me? With a kid? I will never, EVERRR--"

    ...

    Tycondrius shot awake, sitting up immediately.

    He was thered in sweat, despite the controlled temperature of his Command Tent.

    He was dreaming...

    He had the feeling that the contents of his dream were relevant.

    --or perhaps it was... extraordinarily relevant?

    But... probably not.

    Tycon was not an Oracle. In the past, his dreams had never been of the remarkable sort.

    Most all of them were nightmares of some kind. They only served to keep him living in the present... and to strive for excellence, hoping to avoid the failures of the past.

    Tycon examined his situation.

    He was on the floor,prising a series of ovepping lion pelts.

    He had a thin, linen nket on-- he threw that off.

    On his right was a sleeping, human-shaped insectoid girl, lying on her side.

    J?gerin.

    ? J?gerin, Sky-Rank Demon Princess. ?

    Despite her young-adult form, she was certainly not of age-- and certainly not a child he wasfortable sharing a bed with.

    "Boss!" Pale cried, "You''re awake!"

    ? Pale, Adamantine-Rank Half-Elven Spear Hero. ?

    Tycon picked up J?gerin by the nape and threw her at the boy.

    Pale caught her, as expected.

    "Mmm..."

    On Tycon''s left was a purple-haired child, wearing an elegant set of pajamas and stirring into wakefulness.

    Holy Princess Troia.

    ? Troia, Bronze-Rank Hallowed Summoner. ?

    She was of age, but still far too young for him to befortable, sharing a bed with her.

    Six transparent and glowing pairs of wings fluttered on her back.

    ? Dawnbringer, Gold-Rank Divine Armor. ?

    Hm. That was new. There were obvious simrities between her wings and those of J?gerin.

    But anyroad...

    Tycon picked Troia up by the back cor of her pajamas and threw her at the boy.

    Pale caught her, as expected.

    "Oya, oyaa~" came the throaty and mildly seductive voice of Lulu.

    ? Lucifer of Pride, Gold-Rank Umbre Meister. ?

    ? System, update entry based on recent observations... and our current location. ?

    ? Understood. Calcting... ?

    ? Lucifer of Pride, Sky-Rank Demon Queen. ?

    Yes, that made more sense.

    Unfortunately, Tyconcked anything appropriate to throw at her.

    Whatever had happened, he surmised that the Demon Queen in his presence was responsible.

 Chapter 1029 Troiaâ€™s Command

    ?

    A traditionally attractive, curly-haired blonde woman stood up from the full liquor bar and walked over with her usual, hip-swaying gait.

    "Good morning, Boss," Lulu said, raising her drink in a toast.

    In her hand was a stylish ss cup filled with a vibrant concoction. Franz was useless for most everything, but he had some skill in a particr modern magic... something he referred to as ''mixology.''

    Perhaps that was why Tycondrius kept him around...

    He steadily got to his feet.

    Last he understood, he was under the effects of mana exhaustion.

    That he was not... was highly suspicious.

    "Report," he growled.

    "It''s all gravy in the ne of mey, Boss," said the demon woman.

    She added a coquettish wink that was probably supposed to be charming.

    The statement (and the physical gesture)... told him absolutely nothing.

    He took a moment to examine his body... then his mana circuits.

    Everything seemed fine.

    It might have even been ''gravy,'' if he correctly understood the term by its context.

    But...

    "How?"

    Lulu shed a dubious smile, "How did you get outta my Domain, Vite Lock, withouting out as a diaper-wearing, mind-addled vegetable-- is that what you''re tryin'' to ask?"

    Tycon brought his hand to the bridge of his nose, "In not so many words, but yes."

    "Mana transfer," the sex demon replied simply.

    Tycon grit his teeth, "Tell me, Lulu... what horrendous, debilitating diseases have I incurred? Do you have a checklist? How many can be cured?"

    "Oh, you got nothin'' from me," Lulu giggled, "Did you forget?"

    She was holding a fan and covering her mouth. From where it had appeared, Tycon had no idea.

    He realized what Lulu was referring to. Demons of her bloodline were well known for their ?Mana Drain? ability. The specialized mana transfer was highly lossless and the... sex magic involved made further increased its efficacy.

    However, the transfer efficacy from her to someone else was a cruel joke.

    Likely, more mana would be wasted than gained...

    But if Lulu wasn''t the one who transferred mana to him...

    The implications were just as upsetting.

    A shy, multi-eyed J?gerin and a still sleepy Troia looked toward him, each of them still in Pale''s arms.

    Wait-- did either of those two have diseases? He doubted he could catch anything from J?gerin, but if Troia was a carrier for some kind of... Divine Affliction--

    "Whatever you''re thinkin'', Boss, probably ain''t the case," Lulu chided.

    "Me... with the children," Tycon grumbled, "I did not ask for this."

    With Lulu in charge of the Mana Transfer ritual, he feared the worst.

    Was he going to be arrested? No. Troia was above the age of consent and there were fewws that governed demons.

    But still-- he had done the unthinkable. He needed to turn himself in for incarceration... but who would even take him?

    With his abilities, Tycon could escape nearly any prison. And he was wealthy enough to pay any fine...

    The Holy Princess didn''t seem to be paying attention. Neither did she care, as shezily rested her head on Pale''s shoulder.

    J?gerin tilted her head, her confusion obvious. That child couldn''t be reasonably expected to understand human social boundaries.

    [Is Boss upset?] she asked, her voice soft and sweet buzz, resonating in Tycon''s mind.

    "No, I''m not upset," Tycon sighed. "Just... disappointed."

    "Hohoho~" Lulu chuckled, "Keep your mind outta the gutter, Boss. We used a Spell Circle. Nothin'' LeWwwWd happened! Honest! But if that''s what tickles yer pickle, then I volunteer as tri--"

    Tycon raised his hand, "Say no more."

    "I''m saying that I''d Eff the ever-loving Ess--"

    "Lulu."

    "As a friend."

    "This conversation is over."

    "There''s like three or six Lust Demons in Infernus Invictus. So, jus'' say the word, Boss! I can call the girls and boys togevva and we all can--"

    "Nope," Tycon said as he turned and walked away.

    He found his enchanted sash, his sword, and sandals, and began to dress.

    Ah.

    He turned abruptly, "The Kimura girl?"

    The tent p flew open, Kimura Taree appearing as if summoned by magic.

    --curse magic, most likely.

    "Boss!!" she screamed.

    The silver-haired youngling charged him... thankfully, without any hostile intent.

    However, Tycon was in no mood for physical affection, especially from the member of Pale''s retinue that he liked the least.

    He held his hand out, grabbing her face to keep her away.

    ? Kimura Taree, Gold-Rank Titan Berserker. ?

    The petnt child pped his hand away at the wrist and embraced him in a full hug.

    "Boss!" she said, "I missed you so much!"

    Bah.

    The youngdy had sustained critical injuries when hest saw her.

    ...She still smelled of yarrow root, a healing herb.

    However, it seemed that she had recovered well enough-- likely with the assistance of Troia''s healing magic.

    That was good.

    She was crying into his chest.

    That was somewhat disheartening-- but that was the effect Tycon had on women.

    "I''m sorry," the whelpling sobbed, "I''m so sorry..."<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    Ah. So that was the reason for her tears.

    What could he say?

    That she was a fool?

    Stating such an obvious, historically-consistent fact was superfluous.

    That she dared to venture alone, challenging something she couldn''t possibly defeat?

    She already knew.

    That her selfishness was the sole reason that Dragan was thrown into a fiery pit of death?

    She knew that, as well.

    "You''re safe now," Tycon said quietly. "Trust in yourpanions... and in Sol Invictus. Promise me that much, youngdy."

    "I... I promise."

    Tycon caught the eye of Princess Troia.

    She was crossing her hands at the wrist, fists inward.

    [Hug her.]

    Tycon pointed his thumb toward himself and lightly shook his head.

    [I refuse.]

    Troia repeated her action in a more exaggerated manner.

    But why?

    Would that even solve his problem?

    A slow grimace crossed Tycon''s lips.

    And-- due to the insistence of a certain Holy Princess... he returned the Kimura-girl''s embrace.

    Still, she continued to cry.

    How useless...

    He knew giving into Troia''s demands had no benefit!

    Hm.

    Thinking on it... he could appreciate that the Kimura child retained a high degree of loyalty to him.

    And... though it was somewhat odd, it seemed that, unlike Pale and Troia, the silver-haired whelpling scarcely grew in height.

    Thus, Tycon patted the miserable child on the back, thrice exactly.

    That... made her cry even harder.

    Tycon looked up, sending a steely re toward Troia. Logically, she held some of the me for the situation.

    Then, he red at Pale.

    It was more appropriate for the noisy whelpling to be crying into *his* shoulder.

    *He* was Kimura''s travelingpanion.

    AND he was a Hero!

    Heroes were (and were not) a great many things.

    However, one thing that Tycon knew for certain, was that Heroes were *not* supposed to pawn off their problems to others!

    [He looks really mad,] J?gerin buzzed wistfully.

    [He''s not,] Troia signed.

    The holy child was confidently incorrect on the matter.

    "I... I thought I might''ve lost you too," mumbled the tearful child in Tycon''s arms.

    "Nonsense," he replied, "If I die, it will be from overeating, heartbreak, or grave disappointment."

    With hisst words, he chose to re at Pale once more.

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? No. ?

    Pale returned an unabashed smile, before turning to smile at either woman in his arms.

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Tempting, but still, the answer is no. ?

    Tycon let out an exhausted sigh.

    He had a rather rude awakening... but it seemed that various issues had been solved. Kimura Taree had been extricated from danger. Pale''s quest for vengeance had beenpleted.

    However, in the process, Dragan had gone missing, lost (or dead)... but he could trust Lulu to find him (or his body.)

    And during the battle, Tycon had pushed himself far beyond his limits.

    Then, in order to fix him, two members of Pale''s retinue had severely exhausted their mana pools...

    He should have been grateful.

    ...but a small part of him wished they, instead, left him to die.

    Still...

    J?gerin and Troia''s Dawnbringer would recover-- and likely faster than he would, on his own.

    He would make it up to them in the future.

    But before that, Tycon needed to resolve his current predicament.

    Thankfully, with Lulu''s presence, he had a way to return to the Material ne and therefore keep his word to his sister.

    "Clock Devil."

    ? 6 bells, 44 minutes, 42 seconds remaining... ?

    Tycon rolled his eyes in annoyance.

    His ns in the ne of Fire had progressed at a rapid rate. However, the way he handled that person resulted in losing all the time he thought he''d gained.

    Tycon was done speaking to the children. He summoned a ripe melon from his spatial ring and told them to quietly talk in a corner of the Command Tent.

    Then, he made his way to the card table, joining his longtimepanion.

    "Lulu, I have need of your magic."

    "Huh?" gasped the dramatic demon woman, "You need my sex magic for something?"

 Chapter 1030 Person Of Interest

    ?

    Tycondrius knew Sol Invictus member Lulu to be a Caster of respectable skill and knowledge.

    She was well-versed in Formations,[1] though not as well as himself.

    On the Material ne, she had expressed offensive magic and summoning capability, with the ken and expertise of a Gold-Rank Battle Mage.

    --though not to the Law-bending extravagance as Be Sapphira.

    Tycon had also witnessed Lulu''s physical abilities, having torn apart an Iron-Rank Magical Beast[2] with naught but her bare hands.

    Granted, her skill with personal enchantment was still second to Dragan.

    And besides all those things, Lulu''s bloodline granted her ess to a unique magic Spell... one that Tycon coveted greatly.

    However...

    "...Lust magic, you say?" Tycon furrowed his brows.

    "Not what I said," Lulu corrected.

    "R-right. I''m hoping to request something different, if at all possible."

    The demoness puckered her lips, "Hmm... "Y''know, Boss-- that''s the only kinda magic I c''n cast."

    The statement took Tycon by surprise... soon reced by disgust-- and quickly reced by horror.

    But... the magic he''d seen prior?

    Unless that, too...

    Hm.

    Tycon shook his head.

    He didn''t want to think about it.

    Deliberation was useless. He''d never receive an answer he could ept as satisfactory-- not from that woman.

    Anyroad--

    "I need to get to the Material ne... preferably within six or so bells."

    The Clock Devil looked annoyed that Tycon had foregone uracy in respect to his time remaining, but he didn''t particrly care.

    "Oh, wow! That''s crazy-specific, Boss," Lulu replied, sipping on her colorful drink. "How''re ya gonna do that?"

    "I was hoping to rely on your Teleport ability," Tycon said quietly.

    It was... an unorthodox application of ?Teleport?, using it to cross from one ne to another. However, if anyone had the knowledge, technical skill, and mana reserves to do so sessfully, it was the woman he was speaking to.

    Tycon was loath to advocate for something in clear vition of the Gatekeeper''s Laws, but he was running low on options.

    --and obviously, he valued his contract with Cass far more than the rules of some ghost organization.

    It was a difficult proposition...

    But... he hoped she would ept it.

    Lulu was always somewhat of a rebellious brat. Most members of Sol Invictus joined in order to avoid the pressures and duties of their noble lineages.

    Besides that, he was fairly certain that he and Lulu had an excellent working rtionship.

    Thus, the question was... which was more important to her?

    Her rtionship with him?

    Or her rtionship with the Gatekeepers?

    Lulu twirled a lock of her curly blonde hair. She wore a soft, yet knowing smile as she quietly watched Tycon squirm in nervousness.

    "Is there a problem?" he prompted.

    "MmM-hmMm~!" Lulu hummed, "There is a very, *very* big problem."

    "...Please," Tycon waved, "elucidate me."

    A problem.

    What kind of issue did a woman of Lulu''s status and strength consider... a ''problem''?

    The youngdy sipped on her tiny straw, slurping away the rest of Franz''s mixed drink.

    It was an unpleasant sound that served to annoy him.

    But... he refrained frommenting. He feared that Lulu would only withhold her answer for longer.

    Also, she was most definitely dying her answer for dramatic effect.

    "Mmm... the Gatekeepers havee to see you."

    Tycon tapped his fingers on the table.

    Wait, what?

    "Sorry... Lulu... I... think I may have misheard you."

    "Nope. Ya didn''t. Gatekeepers. They''z cum for yo asssss~"

    Tycon took a deep breath.

    That was... troublesome news, indeed.

    --and, on a lesser note, the way Lulu spoke about anything, in general, was rather bothersome.

    Tycon had be a person of interest to the Gatekeepers.

    That meant all of his actions were being monitored.

    He had magical defenses against Divine Scrying.

    He had no issues hiding amongst rocks or foliage from aerial reconnaissance.

    Also, he was a rather private person. He never epted interviews, despite his reputation, wealth, and stunningly good looks.

    Unfortunately, the Gatekeepers had the authority of both the heavens and hells.

    Tycon could not avoid the eyes of that kind of organization.

    And thus, it became practically impossible for him to quietly move between the nes.

    The Gatekeepers...

    For the younger bloodlines, the Gatekeepers were something of a cautionary fairytale.

    They were a storied and all-powerful organization watching from afar, ensuring the Laws that governed the Realm were followed without fail.

    It was a terror to some... and afort to others...

    --that the gods (or something simr) actually gave a shite about justice and fairness of the Realm''s inhabitants.

    Granted, the notion was absurd.

    Only recently, Tycon discovered that a majority of the gods had sought to side with the Tyrant God at first opportunity.

    The gods did not care about the people of the Realm. They only cared about themselves. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    The reason the Gatekeepers existed as an organization was... quite simply, directly rted to their namesake.

    They were responsible for watching over nar ?Gates?.

    Any disruptive rifts were to be sealed immediately.

    Any abuse of the system would be punished by incarceration or death.

    And, of course... the reason they did so-- the reason they had so much support from gods and god-organizations across the many Realms...

    ...was the noble charge of preventing internar war.

    And for their qualifications...

    The Gatekeepers were responsible for ending the Blood War, a millennia-long war across dozens of nes, iming demon and devil casualties in the tens of millions (perhaps even billions.)

    Infernus Invictus had ten thousand at the most. It was a meager number of soldiers... but gathering them under his banner could have potentially been viewed as an act of internar terrorism.

    But did that really count? A measly ten thousand troops couldn''t *reasonably* be called an invasion.

    And despite having to march through the ne of Fire, his real goal was the subdimension belonging to the mebriar Monarch!

    (And it wasn''t as if the flora and fauna his armies marched through were irreparably harmed! Those things grow back, ording to the Laws of Nature! Only the strongest and most resilient of creatures were fit to survive and thrive!)

    Hm... but besides that...

    Tycon had also installed a Battle Formation to attract so many legions of hellborne, summoned a Demon Monarch, and elevated another into a Sky-Rank power.

    Even if he could get away with the creation of Infernus Invictus, the other things he did were likely frowned upon by Gatekeeper standards.

    ...After a moment, Tycon realized that Lulu had stood up from her seat.

    While he was brooding, the troublesome strumpet had taken a package of meat jerky from his spatial ring. Also, she was carrying a small cask of whiskey under one arm.

    First, he snatched his ring back. How dare she?

    And second, he asked:

    "Lulu, my dear... where are you going?"

    She looked like she was trying to leave.

    "I''m goin'' diving for hidden treasure," Lulu sang.

    Tycon shook his head, "Are you referring to Dragan or are you referencing something crass and overtly sexual?"

    "Yes."

    Tycon took a deep breath... and lowered his voice.

    "Lulu... what is the likelihood that Dragan is alive?"

    "A hunnit percent, Boss," came the overly casual answer.

    "You''re certain?" Tycon frowned, "I apologize, but considering your propensity for being facetious, the diction of your response has me rather concerned."

    "Nah. You can trust in my ability to shine a d*ck, Boss," Lulu shrugged.

    "That is *not* what I said, youngdy," Tycon sighed. "And that is not my concern."

    "Then what you *should* be concerned about... is how f*cked in the head the big lug''ll be when I find him," Lulu warned with sincerity, "Mind, body, spirit, dictions-- mortals are all so fra~gile~"

    p¦Ánd¦Á---no¦Í?1,§ão§® Tycon returned to his brooding.

    What horrors lied beneath the-- hm... The...

    What did she call it?

    "Spicy water idents can get super serious," Lulu added.

    Tycon wanted to ask for rification, but he recalled that hoping for answers from Lulu was an exercise in futility.

    "It might not be quick," she hummed, "though I don''t mind the asional two-pump chump, getting Dragan back might take a few years."

    "I see," Tycon nodded. "Link up with Hades if need be."

    "Oh, that should cut it down to a few moons, then."

    Tycon pursed his lips, "Is that so? It only took me a few suns to extract Wroe from the depths of Letherna."

    That might have been unfair. In hindsight, it seemed likely that Wroe''s deity had a hand in smoothing the transitioning process.

    "Tarquin Wroe~" Lulu snickered, "Where is Prince of Infidelity, anyroad?"

    "Reincarnated into a stick," Tycon admitted, somewhat whimsically.

    "Ah," Lulu nodded sagely. "It happens."

    ...Does it?

    Tycon stood up, rolling his shoulders and stretching his body.

    Once again, he was headed toward a situation in which he faced death or worse. He had no way off-ne with the Gatekeepers tracking his movements.

    Despite Lulu''s ?Teleport? ability being locked, Tycon hoped to take advantage of her peculiarly high status when he met with the Gatekeeper delegation.

    ...but it seemed she was keen to escape before then.

    Tycon was sure she had her reasons, so he decided not to press her.

    Still, it felt like he was going into theing battle unarmed and unarmored.

    "Let''s get this over with," he said. "You''ll be leaving and I''ll be left to deal with the Gatekeepers. Is that right?"

    "Huh? Oh, yeah," Lulu said with an airyugh. "I almost forgot you lost your memories. Don''t worry about it, Boss! You and General Raelion-- you guys go way back!"

    "...We do?"

    Tycon''s doubts increased in magnitude. That seemed extraordinarily unlikely.

    "Yeah, you do!" Lulu said, nuzzling her posterior on the seated Tycon''s arm. "You guys are best buds! He''s practically Sol Invictus!"

    "Is he, now? Hm..."

    That was... an interesting development.

    It did, however, give him some hope of not being killed or imprisoned in a Realm outside his own.

    "Very well," Tycon said. "I''ll see you off, then I''ll go seek out the Gatekeepers at first opportunity."

    "Nah, it''s fine," Lulu said, shooing Tycon off with a wave. "You go out the front. I''ll be making use of the back exit."

    "Lulu..."

    "--Just the way I like it!"

    Tycon sighed and shook his head, "Innuendos aside... be careful, dear sister-- and thank you."

    [1] #Six-Sealed-Point Array. See Chapter 191.

    [2] The cockatrice had iting. See Chapter 181.

 Chapter 1031 With The Power

    ?

    The Gatekeepers had mustered just outside the Command Tent.

    It was... somewhat shameful, but Tycondrius had not sensed them until he stepped outside.

    His selfishness in dealing with his personal issues had blinded him, and despite him still minutes away from a life or death situation... he felt... very stupid.

    The ne of Fire was a battle zone, and its inhabitants were open to attack at any location, any time.

    His Dungeon-Core-powered Command Tent was by no means a safe haven.

    The defensible walls were nowhere nearplete.

    Hecked anti-siege weaponry or traps or emcements, otherwise.

    He only had a single defensive trench-- and that was due to Maltwick''s solo project, rather than a concentrated effort.

    But even if Tycon had a respectably sized, moderately defensible fort...

    The Gatekeepers had an entire legion standing by, arranged bypanies. Gigantic, armored hellborne behemoths stood alongside mobile hextech machines.

    They were rather high-ss units... and admittedly, Tycon would have loved to see their capabilities.

    And fielded in their defense were rows of not just squads or toons-- but entirepanies of armed soldiers.

    Granted, those soldiers were not organized to march... nor did they seem to particrly care to be present.

    They were milling about in their respective groups,ughing and conversing-- greatly diminishing the overall intimidation factor.

    For a moment, Tycon wondered where *his* legion had gone off to, ten thousand strong.

    But, of course, they were mixed into the Gatekeepers'' legions.

    Likely, it wasn''t a cognizant mutiny. When a trained military force began to arrange in formations, troops tended to form up on their own.

    (Or... they would scatter and flee to avoid the responsibility. But there wasn''t anywhere to go.)

    Tycon spotted Maltwick-- stalwart and noble Maltwick, staring at him from afar.

    He rendered his Dig-Captain a salute.

    Maltwick nodded in return, the movement almost imperceptible.

    Anyroad... the most powerful person among the Gatekeepers was easy for Tycon to discern.

    And, at the same time, that person turned to meet his gaze.

    ? Raelion, Sky-Rank Archdevil Overlord. ?

    ? ...Probably. ?

    Overlord.

    That was ominous.

    Gatekeeper General Raelion (he presumed) was a muscr, humanoid gentleman with reddish-purple skin. A set of sleek, ck horns adorned the top of his head, curved back along with his dark hair. He wore an eyepatch, likely functional as opposed to ornamental.

    He was not the tallest hellborne in hispany, but he was near a head taller than Tycon. More than that, Raelion had a regal pair of folded bat wings behind his back, artificially increasing his height.

    In normal circumstances, Tycon might have been annoyed by the fact.

    However, that person, (supposedly,) was a friend.

    Tycon had dealt with friends of the previous-him, many times in his life. Such meetings always turned out well enough.

    Hm. The first one of which was Dragan.

    He sincerely hoped that fellow was alive and well, somewhere.

    Using a casual ?Shadowfang? to increase the distance traveled by his steps, Tycon arrived in front of the armed and armored Gatekeeper Commander.

    "General Raelion," he said, instilling mirth in his voice. "You look well. Tell me, how have you been?"

    The horned General stared down at him silently. The gaze of his fiery golden eye was rather intense. Tycon wondered for a moment if the fellow actually had an Ocr Technique simr to his.

    ...After an excruciatingly long moment, Raelion exhaled a deep groan.

    "Ughhh... It''s you..." he said, shaking his head. "I am both surprised-- yet not."

    Tycon tilted his head yfully, "The pleasure is mostly mine."

    "Yeah, yeah," Raelion waved. "Tell me. What''s all this?"

    "Ah, yes... This," Tycon forced a smile, sucking air through his teeth. "This is... my Command Tent. Powered by a Dungeon Core. Temperature controlled. Small library. Full liquor bar. It''s quite nice."

    "Uh huh," the General nodded, "I can see that. But I was talking. about. that."

    He pointed.

    Tycon did not need to look; he knew where Raelion was pointing. It was at the gigantic hole in the dirt from whence he summoned the ten thousand hellborne of Infernus Invictus.

    As a matter of politeness, he looked anyroad.

    Then... with his life on the line, Tycon feigned surprise.

    "Ohhh. Oh, by the fates. That appears to be... a naturally formed Gate? How... did thAT get there?"

    "Owing the Gate to fortune? By the fates?" Raelion narrowed his eyes, "That may be a bit... much. It looks like there''s a Spell Formation at the base of it. Say... you wouldn''t happen to know anything about that, would you?"

    "AhHhh... Is there, now?" Tycon said with a chuckle. "Now that I see it, That... does seem to be the case. How... peculiar?"

    "And it looks like someone tried to cover up their work," Raelion mused. "Maybe a... I dunno... a snake?"

    Gods. damn. it all...

    Naturally, Tycon had deactivated his Battle Formation before attacking the mebriar Monarch''s territory. He''d tried to erase it too. Unfortunately, its unnaturally high synchronization to the Gate seemed to sustain it enough for a knowledgeable third party to understand its history.

    Try as he might, he couldn''t escape his fate of being a genius Formation Master!

    Tycon clenched his teeth, having realized that deceit was getting him nowhere.

    "Raelion, my Realm is in danger."

    "Which one?" he asked.

    "The one with humans in it," Tycon rified.

    What was that even a question?

    The sleek-horned gentleman pursed his lips and bobbed his head up and down, "So your answer... was an attempt at starting another gods-damned Blood War?"

    "It was contained!" Tycon argued.

    "I doubt that," Raelion responded in a monotone voice.

    "You know my methods," Tycon said with tempered insistence, "I had my reasons and I took precautionary measures before taking action. You trust my judgment, no?"

    He hoped what he was saying was true.

    Raelion rolled his eyes, "Alright. Fine. What did you do?"

    "Murdered a rogue Fae Prince in a Between-Realm," Tycon answered-- "before copsing it. We saved you the trouble. It was a troubling matter."

    He trusted that Lulu did as he asked. She was more than capable of doing so... but she had a general proclivity towards indolence.

    "Yeesh," Raelion shrugged. "Well done, I''ll give you that much. Though how you managed to track down the mebriar Monarch on top of taking him down... with your body like that..."

    "I had help," Tycon frowned. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    "Did you?"

    Raelion crossed his arms, closing himself off. His stance naturally widened and his gaze was particrly intent.

    Tycon realized he had made a mistake... though, just how it was a mistake yet eluded him.

    "Show me," Raelionmanded.

    "...V-very well."

    Tycon led Raelion back to his Command Tent, away from the General''s Gold and Adamantine-Rankpanions.

    He even did him a service by holding the tent ps open, taking special care to that the devilish gentleman''s wings would remain unimpeded.

    "Eleven heavens," Raelion cursed. "Is that a f*cking Ice Devil?"

    "Franz!" Tycon raised his voice, "Get this good man a drink-- top shelf! The rum, if you would."

    "Of course, my liege," Franz said with a bow.

    "Why do you-- no. Why is he addressing you as--" Raelion let out a low groan. "Ugghhh. I don''t even wanna know."

    "General Raelion," Tycon said, "I''d like to introduce you to my Realm''s Hero-- of the most recent generation. Mister Pale?"

    The sandy-haired teenager propped himself up from the cushion he was seated on.

    "Good afternoon, Sir!!" he said with a crisp salute, magical staff-spear in hand.

    "Ohh. Spear Hero, huh? And blonde..." Raelion mused, stroking his thin beard. "Not that hair color is something to judge heroism by, but I was expecting a redhead."

    "Hm," Tycon frowned. "Odd. I had the same thought."

    The notion seemed to be increasingly rare.

    "The path of a Hero is not an easy one, little brother," Raelion said, saluting with a fist to his chest. "The Gatekeepers can''t intervene in the problems of individual Realms, but... if there''s a big enough problem, I''m your guy."

    "Th-thank you, Sir!" Pale said, bowing deeply.

    Tycon turned to the other members of Pale''s party, "The rest of you, look alive. This is General Raelion of the Gatekepers.

    "Raelion, this is Troia, leader of my Realm''s Holy Country."

    [I''m the Hero''s girlfriend,] signed the young, angel-winged woman.

    ¦Ñ¦Á§ád¦Á---n?¦Ía| §ãom Tycon raised an eyebrow.

    That... was something he needed to ask about-- but under different circumstances.

    "Hallowed Summoner, that''s a rare ss," Raelion pursed his lips, nodding agreeably. "For a moment, I thought you were an angel."

    [...Thank you?]

    Raelion chuckled to himself, "I''m d you''re not. Would''ve had to kill you."

    Tycon wondered about the youngdy''s hesitation... not that it was important. He also wondered at Raelion''s ability to discern a person''s ss. That was an effective ability for anyone in a leadership position.

    But, anyroad...

    "This is Kimura, a random whelp we picked up in an arbitrary forest."

    The silver-haired monster adopted a wide stance, crossing her arms and puffing out her chest.

    "I''m he strong!" she imed.

    She was wrong, of course. But Tycon wasn''t going to mention that in respect to currentpany.

    Raelion turned to him, speaking in a low voice, "So who was it, then? Who killed the mebriar Monarch and copsed his Domain?"

    "All of us, together?" Tycon suggested-- "with... the power of... uh--"

    "Friendship," Pale dered confidently.

    "Badassitude," Kimura dered stupidly.

    [Love?] Troia signed... innocently.

    "You''re joking," Raelion said, a frown crossing his lips, "With just this Hero and his party? I''m surprised you even got through their fortifications. Do you even KNOW how many years that fae bastard has been--"

    [Good afternoon, General.]

    J?gerin''s mental transmission interrupted the General''s whining.

    Raelion seemed entranced as he silently stared.

    Tycon was uncertain as to what caught his attention.

    The young girl''s diaphanous wings fluttered so quickly, they left afterimages. She had perfect flight control, able to hover a fulm in the air, so her eye level kept even with the General''s.

    She handed him his mixed drink.

    The General epted it with a nod.

    Though the short interaction had concluded, Tycon still felt a lingering tension in the air.

    It was after J?gerin returned to Pale''s side that Raelion shut his eyes and took in a series of haltered breaths.

    Several moments passed with the gentleman keeping worryingly still. His breathing steadily grew deeper and more forceful.

    "So..." Tycon began, "Who''s in the mood for lunch?"

    "Wha?" Kimura tilted her head, "We already had lunch, Boss."

    "Then, what about second-lunch?"

    "I could eat," Pale volunteered.

    [Me too!] Troia happily signed.

    [May I join you, Leader?] J?gerin buzzed.

    "Sounds good," Kimura cheered. "Let me help, though! I''m strong at girly stuff, too!"

    Tycon wouldn''t even trust that whelp to melt butter.

    Raelion opened his one eye.

    "Tyrael."

    Oh. Oh, no. That was not what Tycon wanted to hear.

    Lulu had not lied to him.

    She was a Demon, therefore absolutely capable of lying to him.

    That clever wastrel had chosen not to lie... but to deceive him, nheless.

    Raelion was not familiar with Tycondrius. He was familiar with ''Tyrael'', a being familiar only to heavenly beings and thrice-ancient lizards.

    But... Tycon was neither going to argue nor apologize to a Sky-Rank Devil Noble.

    "Y-yes?"

    Of course, he was strongly considering doing so.

    "I need to speak with you. Outside. Right now."

 Chapter 1032 Roots Of The World Tree

    ?

    It had been ages since Tycondrius had been reprimanded so harshly.

    Granting birth to a Demon Princess was a considerable responsibility-- and not one to take lightly.

    Raelion warned that Tycon''s well-being had be second to a simple beastcking sense and the notion of self-preservation.

    Sleep would be a thing of the past... for at least the first few moons.

    And the General also said it would behoove Tycon to find a... partner? Raising a Demon Princess was too taxing for a single person to sustain.

    ...He also mentioned something about a vige.

    Unfortunately, Tycon was only half-listening, so he didn''t quite understand what that meant.

    Anyroad, there were many factors he had to consider as a novice parental figure: care, welfare, physical and moral development...

    Tycon was familiar with a bit of it. He had a hand in the development of Pale and Lone... (and Kimura Taree.)

    He would have loved to argue... but unfortunately, Raelion held the higher moral ground with a stranglehold.

    Raelion had the experience to be respected. And if that were to be challenged, his strength would not be.

    Thus, Tycon could only be patient.

    He stood outside the tent at a militant parade-rest, his palms crossed behind his back, asionally offering an ''I see'' and an ''I understand'' when appropriate.

    Raelion continued at length, circling back to familiar topics and repeating them with subtle variations thrice over.

    ording to the Clock Devil, the scolding only took 37 minutes.

    It could have been worse-- going on for longer.

    (It could have gone better. The various issues could have been covered in 37 seconds.)

    "The Gatekeepers will be conscripting the bug girl for the time being," Raelion sighed. "I''ll exin the situation to that Bucket guy-- eleven heavens, Tyrael. You''re the gods-ascended definition of reckless."

    "With respect, dear friend--"

    "Cut the formalities, you snake-tongued prick," he waved. "At this point, it just sounds like you''re mocking me."

    Tycon smiled unabashedly, "I need to get back to the Human Realm."

    "You..." Raelion growled, "So that''s your angle? That''s why you''re in a mortal''s body? So you could f*ck with the gods-ascended Dragon Prophecy?!? You''re inSANE!!"

    Hm. Tycon learned more about himself with each passing sun.

    "I trust you''ll have no issue allowing us ess to the roots of the World Tree."

    In order to fulfill the conditions required by his contract, Tycon had barely a quarter-sun to return to the Material ne.

    Each of the World Tree''s spiraling roots ended in naturally-formed gates, leading to all manners of Realms.

    At least one of them would bring him home.

    As Raelion said, it was... a reckless n and not at all certain.

    (Also, it was his only n.)

    He''d have to trust his destination to the fickle fates.

    And those fates could be trusted... enough.

    For certain, Tycon could expect to arrive precisely when and where he needed to be.

    Hopefully, that would also be where he *wanted* to be.

    Granted, the process would likely expose him, Pale, and hispanions to great danger--

    In the middle of an active warzone?

    Surrounded by hostile lizards, perhaps?

    ...or by allied Gorgons?

    --or something just as precarious...

    Still... whatever obstacles the fates threw at him, Tycon only had to ovee them.

    Or die.

    ...Life had be rather simple, as ofte. He didn''t hate that.

    However... Tycon wondered if he was overthinking the situation.

    Throughout the history of the heavens and hells, the Gatekeepers have been using the roots of the World Tree to--

    "No," Raelion stated tly.

    "And why the F*CK not?" Tycon snapped.

    Raelion dropped his bearing, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

    "Listen, Tyrael. Even if I allowed it, the Realm of Dirt has been sealed off-- that''s been the case for some time, now."

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    That... had a number of implications.

    "I''ve had to listen to literally *hundreds* of reports andints, just this moon," Raelion growled. "The only way to get there is a Manifest Zone in the Bristlebear Hignds-- and mortals keep wandering in and *falling* the f*ck through!"

    "That''s preposterous," Tycon frowned. "Anyone with even basicmon sense--"

    "Oh, I know!" Raelion cried, "I-- I... absolutely F*CKing know! But you and me-- anyone with a half-a-brain! And in that half-brain, even a f*ckin'' itty bitty thinly-cut pork slice of COMMON SENSE would f*cking know better!"

    Ah.

    Tycon felt foolish for being annoyed. Considering the situation, Raelion was the one worse off.

    Thus... it seemed appropriate that he pat the devil affably on the arm-- a physical sign of understanding and affection.

    He did so. Two firm pats.

    "Sorry to hear that, old friend."<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    "I''m the one that''s sorry, man," Raelion sighed. "Our engineers have been working on the problem, but it obviously ain''t f*ckin'' fixed yet. So it''s sealed up... enough for it to be practically impossible to leave that ce without a coboration of God-Ranks."

    Tycon grimaced in thought.

    That ce, the Bristlebear Hignds, was a trap.

    And Jerim Jya had bid him to fall into it...

    Whenst they spoke, Tycon sensed no deceit from that person.

    She was merely the messenger.

    The source of that message... was likely the Blue Lizard Strategist.

    Neerin Neelia... of the ill-named ''True'' Draconic Court.

    She was the closest thing to a leader their faction had.

    And as much as Tycon disliked her... she... had some... reasonable... intelligence.

    About average.

    Maybe a slight below average.

    Stupid woman.

    It was probably her ss that made her halfway decent at thinking.

    Neerin Neelia knew things. She either had an Oracle onmission or had some Ora-cr abilities. And then, she went out of her way to send Jerim Jya to him...

    At the time, Tycon very nearly killed the green-haired trollop.

    Though the logic was somewhat weak... it seemed that Neerin''s message was worth Jerim Jya risking her life.

    But... why?

    As long as the lizards kept content in not existing, Tycon had no reason to eliminate them.

    Yet still, they were aiming to trap him for an indeterminate amount of time?

    And then... Jerim Jya was rather insistent that she send her mate, Rixen, to travel with him?

    What was that disgusting creature''s role in Neerin Neelia''s deception?

    It *appeared* that she was willing to trap him and that abhorrent being in the ne of Dirt together?

    A horrid fate...

    But that made even *less* sense. It made sense for the Court to see him as an enemy. But Jerim Jya''s mate should have definitely been one of their allies?

    "Arrrrrgh," Raelion groaned. "Alright. F*ck it. How long do you have?"

    Tycon snapped out of his reverie, turning to his Devilpanion in surprise.

    "I''m sorry?"

    "You had a Clock Devil," Raelion groaned. "And she was counting down. How long?"

    Tycon shut his eyes, sighing deeply, "Under six bells."

    "I''ll get you and your party to where you need to be," Raelion nodded. "But after this, we''re even, you an'' me."

    That... sounded like a decentpromise.

    However...

    Tycon steepled his fingers, "I highly doubt your suggestion takes so much effort, General Raelion. I''d like to think that besides being a skilled leader, you are also a gentleman who values *efficiency.*"

    Raelion bristled at the remark. His Sky-Rank aura seeped out with his displeasure, something that made Tycon painfully ufortable.

    It made him wonder if it was toote to apologize for his various deceptions.

    But then again, overstepping his boundaries with an Archdevil would assuredly result in a quick and painless introduction to oblivion.

    --and he wasn''t dead just yet.

    "Go get your shite," Raelion spat. "I''ll open a Gate. I''m giving you five minutes-- and I expect at least a *little* bit of f*cking gratitude."

    Tycon cracked a smile, "And, that, you have in droves, dear friend."

    ...

    It took closer to ten minutes.

    Raelion had to exin to Bucket why both J?gerin and his party was safer if she trained with the Gatekeepers for some time before she was allowed to act independently.

    The boy, of course, agreed.

    There was a sorrowful parting.

    However, Tycon somehow had the sense that the parting granted both Troia and the Titanblood-killing twit, Kimura Taree, a measure of relief.

    But anyroad...

    Despite Raelion''s sordid sense of punctuality, the General was true to his word.

    His ?Gate? brought Tycon, Pale, Troia, and that silver-haired shiteling, Kimura, to a different ne... the ne of Water.

    It was an eptable deviation.

    It took Tycon a bell and some change to navigate the icy depths long enough to find a Manifest Zone capable of returning their group to the Material ne.

    It took some work, of course-- and the recent usage of the natural ?Gate? left his Realm vulnerable to a future invasion by hostile waterborne.

    However, he doubted that would be an issue.

    His Realm was doomed to naught but ash and fire.

    And even if he could close the ?Gate? behind him, Pale and hispany needed a reliable way to escape when it came time to abandon their home Realm.

    But besides creating a vulnerability capable of bringing about a second cataclysm, Tycon sessfully kept his contract with Cass, returning to the Realm with over three bells to spare!

 Chapter 1033 Pool Of Reflection

    ?

    Tycondrius broke the water''s surface, emerging in a cool, humid cave. It was a rather peaceful area, illuminated by light-blue moss and smatterings of green and pink crystal formations.

    However... that peace was likely secured due to Tycon''s form: that of an ivory-white Sea Serpent, longer than a corvette-ss sailing ship.

    A trio of armed sentients with lobster-like qualities hurriedly dove into the waters, swimming down and away.

    One of them might have been crying.

    If Tycon''s supernatural ability remained consistent, he felt it safe to assume that the crying one was a woman.

    But, anyroad, the cave-area was safe from hostile forces.

    Pale emerged next, dramatically sshing at the pool''s edge while dragging a waterlogged Kimura Taree onto the rocks.

    The silver-haired whelpling was sobbing miserably. As soon as her hands and knees touched the cave floor, she began to retch up water.

    It was... disheartening.

    ''Pure'' water from that ce had great value, bottled and sold. Tycon had a half-dozen bottles in his spatial ring... it still irked him to see the waste.

    Pale kept his bearing, though his strain and exhaustion were quite clear. Haggard as he was, he massaged Kimura''s back as she continued to vomit away theoretical coin.

    Neither had anything to say.

    And, admittedly, Tycon appreciated the silence from the usually loquacious Martialist.

    (He mentally added the notion of drowning the child as an effective punishment, should she choose to incite his ire.)

    Hero. Martialist. And... the other?

    For a moment, Tycon wondered where Troia had gone.

    --but that was foolish of him.

    He slithered onto the shore and opened his mouth.

    The rtively-dry Holy Princess gently rolled onto the soft moss.

    Even with Dawnbringer''s assistance, Troia was too mana-exhausted to swim for so many leagues. Thus, Tycon chose to carry her.

    The protections of her Divine Armor allowed her to slow her body''s functions while traveling inside Tycon''s Sea Serpent maw.

    It was an excellent form of transportation, both safe and efficient.

    If Tycon could have jammed Pale and the Kimura-child into magic, protective balls to summon at will, he would have absolutely done so.

    He''d keep the little monsters in his pocket.

    Anyroad--

    The youngdy stirred awake, sitting up as the translucent wings of Dawnbringer fluttered softly behind her back. She swept back her purple hair before rubbing at the dirt in her eyes.

    She seemed rather... radiant. But Tycon dismissed it as a trick of the lightbined with the reflective nature of the crystalline waters.

    [Good morning,] she signed, [Have we arrived?]

    ? System, cancel Sea Serpent Form. ?

    ? Sea Serpent Form Cancelled. Returning to Human-Form. ?

    Tycon went through the troublesome process of smashing all his organs together into a tiny meat and bone cage.

    "We have indeed arrived," he said aloud.

    He then took a moment to check his effects.

    His two most valuable items, his Ring of Holding and Leomund''s Ring, remained on either hand, just where he left them.

    Mercy remained on his hip.

    Hm. Most adventurers had more items to keep track of...

    Everything seemed to be in order.

    Activating his spatial ring, he brought out a series of fuzzy, cloth towels.

    ? Ring of Holding. Third-Circle Conjuration. Opens into a nondimensional space of 10 cubic yalms and up to 250 ponze. ?

    Troia was still somewhat sluggish, so, towel in hand, Tycon pat down the youngdy''s hair, himself.

    ...then he forced her to lie down so he could wrap the towel around her hair properly.

    Wet hair and the cool climate put her at risk of sickness. He couldn''t have that...

    [You''re skilled,] she signed.

    "You''re shivering," Tycon replied.

    He wrapped a second towel around the youngdy''s shoulders.

    That would do for the interim...

    After taking a deep breath, he turned to address the other two.

    "Take your time to recover, children," he said. "But make yourselves presentable. We''ll meet with the others soon."

    The Kimura girl looked to him with a rebellious re.

    She offered no words. However, when she opened her mouth, she... offered more water to the ground.

    That rude child...

    In the past couple of years, Pale had properly grown into a young man. Troia, too, had grown taller and approximately moredylike.

    Kimura... she showed *some* signs of maturity-- mostly in the sharpening of facial features and the toning of her muscture.

    However, her height hadn''t seemed to change. And her expression remained... frustrating to look at.

    With that, Tycon still considered Kimura a child.

    And for a child, best practices dictated he not scold her-- but, instead, guide her with her best interests in mind.

    "We shall set off only when all of us are ready *and* confident," Tycon smiled. "Well done, thus far, everyone. A well-deserved rest awaits us very soon... but for now, I ask for your patience... for there is more to be done."

    Troia nodded her head, a soft smile adorning her lips. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    Then, she tried to hug him. He nearly escaped it using his ?Shadowfang? Movement Technique... but, ultimately, he stopped himself from following his instincts.

    Considering what she''d done for him, he could allow at least a hug...

    Tycon mentally counted to five before prying the child off of him.

    He walked toward Kimura, haphazardly tossing a towel at her forehead before patting her head affectionately.

    "Miss Kimura... I still have need of your strength and courage," he said, "What say you?"

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    "I''m tired, Boss," Kimura groaned.

    "Hmph. Are you trying to rebel?" Tycon teased.

    "Tch. Of course not," said the pouting child. "Sol Invictus, all the way."

    ? Activating... ?

    Tycon turned to the Hero of the Realm, offering his hand, "And you, Master Pale?"

    Pale sped Tycon at the wrist, standing up to match his gaze.

    "I hear and obey, Boss."

    ...

    ? Two and a half bellster... ?

    Tycondrius was at the cusp of reaching Adamantine-Rank.

    He was full of energy-- so much that he feared that apse of concentration would result in a breakthrough.

    The impossible level of progress likely had to do with the recent efforts of Troia and J?gerin. After emerging from Lulu''s ?Domain: Vite Lock?, his mind, body, and mana circuits had essentially been destroyed and rebuilt.

    --and with both divine intent and devilish efficiency.

    Some moons prior, he had chided his good friend, Krysaos, for doing something simr.

    How either of them had survived the process was baffling.

    Anyroad, Tycon and hispanions'' arrival to the Abandoned Forest was not as daunting as in his previous experiences.

    The Tree God was dead, leaving the enchanted woods without its protector and caregiver.

    And because of the high ranks of Pale and Kimura Taree, clearing so many sections of the moderately dangerous Trap Path took hardly any effort.

    ...or perhaps such logic only applied to him.

    He carefully knelt down, allowing the Holy Princess in his left arm to stand on her own power.

    She brought her hand to her lips, then pushed the back of her palm forward.

    [Thank you.]

    Tycon tilted his head back, waving a hand downward.

    [It was nothing.]

    e¦Áglesn?¦Íel Turning back to observe the other two, Tycon steeled his expression to hide his disappointment.

    Pale was hunched over, breathing heavily and supporting himself with his spear. He was drenched in sweat and nursing a dislocated shoulder.

    Kimura was worse off, sprawled on the ground, arms and legs spread like amon whore.

    Also, a series of vines were wrapped around her neck and right bicep...

    The thorns drew no blood, thanks to her ?Stone Body Art?. However, they continued to writhe and constrict, despite having been severed from the Grasping nt''s main body.

    Tycon recalled that it was their first time experiencing the Trap Path.

    But really... their individual reflexes should have not been tested so thoroughly.

    "Get up, you two," hemanded, "we''re nearly--"

    "Hrrkkk... hh--grkk."

    Tycon paused to remove the interrupting vines from Kimura''s person.

    "As I was saying," he continued, "if you want a hot meal and a bath, you''ll need to pull yourselves together."

    "I''m up!!" Pale eximed, standing as straight as an arrow, "I''ll do anything for a hot meal! Even murder!"

    That... was not something appropriate for a Hero to say.

    Tycon wondered if such diction was due to his influence.

    It was somewhat embarrassing, but it couldn''t be helped. Pale was raised amongst mercenaries, not court nobles.

    "Can we have something with A LOTTA PROTEIN??!" Kimura roared.

    Tycon subconsciously evaded to the side, adopting a defensive stance as he faced the child.

    The wild, silver-haired youngling looked like she was about to attack. Her eyes were ame and she was salivating profusely.

    "Right," Tycon answered. "Of course."

    [Can we have vegetables?] Troia signed.

    "I''ll have you eat some meat to aid in your proper recovery," Tycon replied.

    The Holy Princess returned a weak smile but nodded her head.

    With the children properly motivated, Tycon waved his left hand, the one wearing Leomund''s Ring.

    ? Leomund''s Ring. Sixth-Circle Conjuration. Allows the caster to freely manipte a Dungeon under theirmand. ?

    He outlined the shape of a door in the sheer rock wall. The stone faded away, reced by a soft and weing light.

    Then, as per decorum, he ushered hispanions to enter before stepping through, himself.

 Chapter 1034 Heroesâ€™ Return

    ?

    Stepping through the portal, Tycondrius arrived at the foyer of Hero''s Hearth.

    The small Dungeon was the previous home of Hero Ravidius the Lionhearted and was a paragon of modern architecture.

    Each room was kept warm by mana-powered heating circuits underneath the wooden flooring. The walls were fortified by variedyers of defensive enchantments. And the kitchens--

    Oh, how Tycon loved the kitchens...

    The kitchens had dozens of conveniences, from a walk-in icebox to keep food from spoiling, contraptions that could sustain precise roasting temperatures, and even a magic tube that provided purified drinking water on demand.

    But the greatest treasure in the Dungeon was not tools or weapons or marvels of arcano-engineering.

    It was personnel.

    Hero''s Hearth was the heart of the Anti-Lizard Offensive, serving as amunications hub and the source of general orders for their offensive fronts.

    They had three teams on deck. Twoprised Artificers, Archanotechs, and support personnel. The third was made up of Divination-rted sses.

    And their foremost expert, standing in front of her weing staff.

    "Sasarame," Tycon said in a soft voice. "I''ve returned."

    The hatchling had grown since hest saw her-- or rather, she did in her Elven form. She had be taller than Taree (not that the notion was by any means impressive,) but that and her attire gave her the air of a proper professional.

    It was good to see her. They hadmunicated only via missive for some time, but words on paper were no substitute for personal warmth.

    The white-robed dark elf ced her hands together, bowing respectfully. Her long, straight hair, almost glowing-white, drifted downward and entuated her elongated ears.

    "Wee home, Father. We have all been anxiously waiting for your return."

    "Has the Realm ended yet?" Tycon asked casually.

    "No, not yet, Father."

    "Very good," Tycon nodded. "Then, are the kitchens stocked? Our journey has been lengthy and arduous."

    "They are, Father," Sasha answered. "I have taken it upon myself to hire an Iron Chef in preparation of your arrival."

    She bowed again, deeper than before, "Please forgive this one''s presumptuousness."

    Ever-humble. Ever-professional. Tycon was so proud, it was difficult to keep his bearing.

    "Raise thy head, daughter," he said, holding his hand out. "Thy foresight is most excellent."

    Tycon had some questions... but at that moment, none were important to verbalize.

    --but what was an Iron Chef? Was that the name of a ss-- or had Sasha hired someone with the Chef ss who had gone through painstaking efforts to reach Iron-Rank?

    He also wanted to ask just how she predicted his arrival. Granted, Sasha had the Oracle ss. That was a reasonable exnation for most anything she did.

    That, he wouldn''t dare ask in the presence of her peers.

    That would be rude.

    The other Mages in the foyer looked toward her with awe and admiration.

    Among them, Tycon noted Witches from the Sapphire Tower, Medusa girls from Charm, Youkai from ck Opal Valley, a Gnoll and a Titanblood from Vralkek... and...

    --a strangely familiar bespectacled Troll?

    For what reason was that fellow present? Was he a Mage, as well?

    Spotting Tycon''s gaze, the troll waved shyly.

    He silently mouthed the words, ''Greetings, Ivory Prince.''

    ...Tycon nodded in acknowledgment.

    The troll was a polite enough fellow-- and had been a longtime ally.

    Tycon recognized a few others, if not by name.

    It reminded him that Sol Invictus was not alone. There were other like-minded sentients lending their expertise to prevent the Realm''s destruction.

    In their own ways, they were all fighting to save themselves... and on behalf of each other.

    The pressure was on, to work harder still.

    --a positive feedback loop.

    "Father, please head to the dining area," Sasha said. "Once you''ve finished your meal, I will have the servants draw baths for the Hero party."

    Once more, Tycon was pleased with his daughter''s attention to detail.

    "Very good," he nodded. "But at least I can operate the baths here on my own."

    "Nonsense, Father," Sasha said, her voice oddly sharp. "I will draw your bath, myself."

    "Hm. Then I will be in your care."

    ...

    ? A short timeter... ?

    Tycondrius sat in Ravidius'' overge dining room, filled with equal parts noble elegance and adventuring-vagrant crudeness.

    The table appeared to be made of a grey te, sanded even and smooth, but with colorful minerals shining through the cracks.

    The dishware was smooth and ssy, yet resilient-- polished stone from somewhere Off-Realm, perhaps.

    And the cutlery... Tycon was highly suspicious they were worked from refined White Trilium. The rare metal was appropriate for weaponry with up to Third-Circle enchantments.

    The walls, however, told a different story.

    There, severed monster parts were mounted on ques of varying materials. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    Storied, but useless, treasures were disyed in ss cases surrounding the table.

    Over a third of the various items disyed were mildly phallic-- but that was to be expected.

    That was the way things were for adventurers.

    It was something Tycon did not question.

    [Are you upset?] Troia signed from across the table.

    "This is my face, youngdy," Tycon answered curtly.

    [You look upset.]

    "Miss Troia," he said, closing his eyes, "please refrain from speaking with your mouth full."

    The Holy Princess was nibbling on a bread roll while making her hand signals. It wasn''t quite the same as speaking, but it still seemed to broachmon etiquette.

    "Please understand," he sighed. "Natalya would be cross with me if I allowed you to fall into poor habits."

    Troia responded with a wide smile. That was enough to show her forgiveness on the matter.

    Suddenly, Kimura stood up, hopping onto her chair for height.

    "I''ve DECIDED!!" she eximed. "Cheesy garlic bread is MY GOD, and I will worship her from THIS DAY FORWARD!!"

    The youngdy had decided to worship a mundane inanimate as her god.

    The sentiment was... unsurprising. It did not take humans much for them to worship a perceived deity.

    The bread was good, but Tycon found it...cking.

    The amount of garlic and simple seasoning utilized were... eptable.

    The cheese was tasteless-- and perhaps only one type was used. (The melty texture did have merit, of course.)

    Altogether, though, the bread felt like... it was missing something. A simple scattering of bacon or hot peppers required little effort and had the potential to elevate the dish thrice over. A more vorful cheese on top? Perhaps an application of fire magic to achieve a half-melted, half-crisp state?

    Tycon took a deep breath.

    "See this, Princess Troia? It is not enough to be more polite than Kimura Taree. I hold you to a higher standard."

    Troia silently mouthed an ''oh'' and bowed her head in acknowledgment.

    Kimura sat back down, awkwardly cing her hands on herp, "H-hey... I''m technically a Princess, too, y''know."

    "I look forward to the time your actions match your words," Tycon replied in a t voice.

    "Ahem," Pale cleared his throat. "Sir? I request knowledge."

    "And now you''re being overly formal," Tycon allowed himself a slight smile before fixing his bearing. "A good leader leads by example. Ask away, Master Pale."

    Pale nodded with a small grin, "I thought we were going to rejoin the western front? Didn''t you say Lady Cass was waiting for you?"

    "I, indeed, made a promise to my sister to return," Tycon answered. "However, I did not explicitly say I would return to see her. I have entrusted her to lead the western front in my stead. Here, we can get a better understanding of the whole of the Anti-Lizard Offensive''s efforts and act ordingly."

    He had an appointment to hear the details from his daughter,ter in the evening. He was looking forward to it.

    [You''re a snake,] Troia signed with a gleeful smile.

    [That is the truth,] Tycon returned.

    "Anyroad, Boss," Kimura began--

    She fixed her posture and bowed her head, "Young Master Tycon?"

    Tycon forced a brief expression of surprise, followed by a gentle nod, "Speak your mind, Miss Kimura."

    "What are our ns in the short term?" she asked, "I look forward to serving with you again. I hope to demonstrate the growth in my ability to kick SO much ass."

    Tycon felt his mouth twitch.

    He recalled the gentle and proper demeanor of the youngdy''s mother, Kagehisa Yumiko.[1]

    That the child was so different from her mother was simply baffling.

    "I n to rest here in Hero''s Hearth for seven suns, starting from the morrow," Tycon replied thoughtfully, "long enough for some training and for everyone here toprehend our side''s situation. Soon after, I''ll grant you and your party a choice of deployment zones in need of your aid-- areas of conflict in which your abilities are appropriate."

    He turned to Pale, "Of course, I''d like to perform a few tests to properly ascertain your effectiveness as a team."

    "We won''t disappoint you," Pale said.

    The young man was dramatically holding a piece of bread in his hand.

    Tycon was uncertain as to what the gesture symbolized.

    From the context, it was a disy of agreement.

    ...Tycon took a piece of mid-level bread from the mid-level bread basket, touching it to Pale''s as an improvised toast.

    "Avoiding disappointment is not enough, little brother," he smirked. "Rather than that, I look forward to being impressed."

    Troia and Kimura, too, brought pieces of bread forward.

    At first nce, the bread-toast seemed absurd.

    But then again... toasting with alcohol was a regr custom. Most alcohols were basically liquid bread.

    "To Sol Invictus," he dered.

    [1] Yumiko: See Chapter 53.

 Chapter 1035 Iron Chef

    ?

    It was a warm and merry time, dinner with Pale and hispanions.

    The celebration of high spirits and camaraderie had sessfully distracted Tycondrius from the reason he was upset.

    But the inevitable came to pass... and that very reason reared his ugly head.

    "BUH-BUH-BUh-bu-bubu-buh-riSSKETTTT!!!"

    Brisket.

    That ...*thing* meant to say ''brisket''-- beef, from the look and scent of it.

    ? Stephanos, Gold-Rank Gorgon Idiot. ?

    Stephanos, the... self-proimed Fierce Knight entered the dining room, carrying two metal tes as if he they were dumbbells.

    Atop the first te was a hefty cut of beef brisket, the subject of his mediocre singing voice. It was smoked tender and lightly showered with herbs and freshly cracked pepper.

    On the other te was a respectably sized bird, the size of the Gorgon''s head. From the way the meat jiggled as Stephanos walked, that, too, had been smoked low and slow to be soft and delectable.

    The two,bined, almost made up his identity.

    ...He was Sasarame''s ''Iron Chef.''

    The 9-fulm tall, four-legged bull-idiot-centaur wasn''t even made of iron. If anything, theposition of his metal skin was closer to Titanite.

    (Also, it was a troublesome thought, but Tycon was fairly certain that Gorgon meat was 80% simr to regr beef.)

    After cing the first two metal tes down, Stephanos used his tail to reach another tter filled with side dishes.

    His torso and arms were too muscle-d for him to reach behind himself. It was a wonder, though, that he was so dextrous with his scorpion-like tail.

    He dropped the tter.

    Of course, he would.

    Thankfully, and without hesitation, Tycon and Pale, dove simultaneously, both over and under the table.

    It was in moments of great trepidation and uncertainty where the true nature of a Hero came to light.

    In that brief, precarious moment, Tycon and the Hero worked together in tandem to rescue all six bowls and tes of foodstuffs from abject disaster. .

    "I''l... I''ll get the ale," Stephanos offered.

    "Don''t bother," Tycon red. "Sit and eat."

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Hold. Let''s see his response... ?

    "Don''t MIND if I do!!" the durd grinned.

    ? Do not activate. ?

    And so, Stephanos, the Fierce Knight, sat at the end of the table, without a chair. Even after dropping his haunches, he towered over the rest of the table''s recipients.

    Then, he began passing forward dishes before taking a fork and carving knife to the poultry.

    (For personal reasons, Tycon didn''t allow the Gorgon to carve the beef.)

    Pale got the drinks from the kitchen and the bread out of the oven.

    For whatever reason, Kimura insisted that Troia stay at the table.

    --out of politeness, perhaps?

    From what Tycon remembered, the Holy Princess had experience in the kitchen. At the Basilica, she would sometimes cook or bake dishes for Pale.

    Hm. He wondered if that was a sign she was fond of him? He made a mental note to privately remind Pale to treat her well.

    Anyroad... aside from the garlic bread, Tycon had high praise for the rest of the menu.

    [I ate so much sd,] Troia signed. [I can''t eat a single bite!]

    Tycon ced a chicken wing on her te. Children loved chicken wings.

    The dreadfully underweight Holy Princess sat and stared at for a long moment.

    [Thank you,] she signed.

    Her expression didn''t look particrly bright, but Tycon chose to believe in her words. There was no reason to expect duplicity from that youngdy.

    "So..." Stephanos began.

    Tycon took a deep breath. He had *just* recovered his good mood, but Stephanos the... Fierce Knight chose that particr moment to remind Tycon that he yet lived and breathed.

    "Duel, WHEN?!" the Gorgon demanded.

    "I refuse," Tycon waved.

    "Please?"

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    The children''s gazes were bright and curious.

    That made it difficult for Tycon to reject the fool without reason.

    He sighed in resignation... "Perhaps... if you can best the youngest, I''ll take your request into consideration."

    "AwWW YISSSSSS!!!" cheered Stephanos, the Fierce Knight.

    ...

    With the most bothersome topic out of the way, the Gorgon had many questions for the children. And they, too, were excited to talk about their adventures.

    Stephanos was familiar with Pale, the boy having won his respect during the assault on Caeruleum.

    The Gorgon got along suspiciously well with Kimura Taree... as creatures of simr intellect. However, the Martialist was still young. In a few years, her skull and brain would grow and she would gain the capacity formon maths and critical thinking skills.

    That, he sincerely hoped.

    And, of course, Troia was always lovely. It was somewhat surprising that the bull-fellow could understand signnguage, but the notion wasn''t worth questioning.

    All things considered, Tycon was thankful for the gentle-bull''s ability to lift the mood.

    In theing weeks, he was certain that Pale and hispanions were going to face their toughest tribtions, as of yet.

    The lizard war was an impossible battle. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    Despite the small number of enemy Divine Armors, each individual construct posed a significant threat to regr, human forces.

    And if the enemy fielded Ancient Lizards on the level of Jerim Jya and Neerin Neelia, entirepanies risked decimation with even a single strafing run.

    Tycon had embarrassingly few pieces capable of dealing with such threats.

    --which made it all the more important for him to field Pale and the two members of his party with care.

    The boy was arguably his strongest asset.

    Once Troia had reocvered, she had simr strength when factored together with Dawnbringer.

    Kimura Taree would be able to deal with some lesser threats, properly armed with an enchanted Lizardbane Weapon.

    A partyprising all three, Tycon would ssify as half-step Sky-Rank.

    However, the current war had no need for such a consolidation of strength.

    It would be more appropriate to field them separately.

    Each had the strength of spirit and, in theory, the knowledge to lead squads orpanies intobat.

    Pale had undergone Officer training in San Canis as well as specialized training in order to take leadership of Sol Invictus.

    Kimura Taree was the future leader of the Whitescale Sect (or the... Ivory Judge Sect, as it was called by the current generation.)

    Also, Princess Troia was the undisputed leader of the Holy Country.

    If they were to lead their own separate forces, the Anti-Lizard Offensive would have three Gold and Adamantine-Rank assets...

    Yet... Tycon did not look forward to informing them of their party''s dissolution.

    They would disagree.

    Kimura was very likely going to cry.

    But they would also understand that he was right.

    The current Tycon had neither the skill nor the capability to be anything but a brooding cynic.

    Yet... Stephanos... the Fierce Knight was able to fill that gap.

    The inanities of the mushroom-brained bull-scorpion-fish-centaur were able to distract the children.

    He brought out their confidence. He brought them joy.

    Tycon even considered thanking the fellow, personally.

    He did not.

    The other staffmembers of Hero''s Hearth joined Stephanos and the heroes, ying games and singing songs well into the evening.

    Tycon allowed it.

    Their time in Hero''s Hearth wouldst no longer than eight nights and seven suns.

    Afterward, their every waking moment would be devoted to wartime operations.

    --fighting on behalf of the future.

    --and ever-under the threat of ash and fire.

    ...

    The rest of the evening went well enough.

    The children were forced to bathe.

    (And Tycon ensured Pale bathed with soap.)

    Their clothes were collected and enchanted by a series of long-duration hygiene Spells.

    Sasarame had hired a servants from Charm with impable workmanship.

    Besides, the greatest of modern facilities that Hero''s Hearth had to offer were a set of hot springs.

    The water was provided by stonework engineering beyond Tycon''s level of understanding. And the pools were heated and cleaned by a series of clever andprehensive Spell Formations.

    After the children were sent to bed, Tycon was thest to enter the baths.

    He refused the assistance of the hired servants, allowing Sasarame as his only attendant.

    She scrubbed his back as she gave an overview on current events.

    Tycon''s foray in the ne of Fire took less than 48 bells. The magical ?Contract? he made with his sister forced him to expedite many processes in order to aplish it.

    However, those 48 bells Off-Realm equated to over five weeks in the Material ne-- 37 suns, to be exact.

    The notion annoyed him greatly. If he had taken longer, Cass would have been none the wiser.

    --not that he''d vite the contract in that regard. His integrity was invible.

    But ording to the reports, the Commander of the Western Front had performed dutifully and with excellence.

    Cass, the War Princess of Charm, chose not to base in the safety of the captured City of Making. Instead, she kept her forces kept mobile, actively preventing the lizards from taking key points of interest in her jurisdiction.

    In recent weeks, she''d established a stable supply line through the insnds. With that, she managed to pressure the lizard forces in their fringe territories into non-aggression and in two cases, full withdrawal.

    On top of that, the losses incurred to her forces were negligible.

    That girl was a genius. Tycon honestly doubted he could do better, himself.

    With his duties as Commander-in-Chief of the Anti-Lizard Offensive satisfied, Tycon opened a conversation with his daughter on the topic of her schooling.

    Sasarame had also performed admirably.

    She learned as much as the Basilica offered. She kept her identity as a non-human secret. And despite intentionally keeping her grades in the middle of her sses, she was proud to admit a basic mastery in Divination Magics.

    Also, she kept away from the boys.

    Tycon did not recall him ordering her to do so... and, logically, avoiding a groupprising approximately half the poption was somewhat antithetical to her social growth.

    However, he decided that was for the best.

    And for a reason he could not exin... he found the notion favorable.

 Chapter 1036 To Dream

    ?

    Sasarame dismissed herself so Tycondrius could soak for some time, alone in the hot springs.

    He was partly d for her absence, but also not.

    Minutes afterward, Gobbuto, son of Gobsuke, entered the hot springs chamber.

    Sasha had mentioned that the Nemayan General was present somewhere in the base.

    At the time, Tycon glossed over the fact. Gobbuto was a fine gentleman who acted with just as much honor and loyalty as his father before him.

    However, when that Gobbuto arrived in the bath, he was fully nude with the exception of his full-te helmet.

    That massive gentleman offered to wash Tycon''s back (which was already done!) and the voice he used for his request was loud enough to reach every rest chamber in the Dungeon.

    However ''kind'' his intentions might have been, the awkward promation, Tycon was certain had sent the night-shift team into tumultuous fits ofughter.

    Tycon refused Gobbuto in a panic. He dressed himself in a hurry and fled the scene.

    He hadn''t spent nearly enough time soaking his bones...

    However, he took sce in having another five or six chances to do so, throughout the week.

    Tycon returned to Sasha''s quarters, previously the master bedroom of Hero Ravidius.

    He made his way to the bed and slipped the lower half of his body under the silk-smooth covers. However, he remained seated upright, tucking the down pillow behind his lower back.

    In pursuit of efficiency in regard to time, he nned to spend most of the night reading the stack of battle reports he left on the bedside table.

    Sasha sat cross-legged, but floating lightly on her side of therge, luxurious bed.

    Tycon briefly wondered if it was socially appropriate for him to share a room with his daughter, considering her age and status...

    --but ultimately, he decided it was a non-issue.

    There was nothing wrong with a father sharing his daughter''spany.

    Sasha was practicing an Elven meditation technique, circting and refining her mana.

    In theory, as she did so, she could forego sleep.

    ...Though from what Tycon knew, the practice had mostly fallen out of favor.

    Sleep was one of life''s greatest pleasures.

    If given the option, Tycon would resign himself to sleeping and eating. On asion, he''d solve a puzzle box. Once or twice a year, he''d attend a social engagement.

    For him, that was more than enough excitement to live a fulfilling life.

    Tycon took a deep breath, rxing in the near-silence.

    Thevender oil in his daughter''s silk-white hair was something she chose herself. He usually loathed such strong-smelling perfumes, but of course, Sasha''s sense of smell and taste was just as sensitive as his.

    The soft scent challenged his ability to keep awake... but he willed himself to press on. He had many reports to scrutinize and, with morning training fast approaching, painfully little time to do so.

    He also noticed an amusing anomaly.

    His daughter... had fallen asleep, despite her magical floatation. Her head was bowed and her breathing was even, but unrefined.

    Tycon reached for a stack of reports, suddenly motivated.

    The more work he could aplish, the easier his daughter could rest during the rest of the week.

    ...

    "Hm... how odd."

    More than halfway into the stack, a particr report attracted Tycon''s attention.

    The movements detailed within were highly unorthodox-- and the leaders involved were not well-known for... creativity.

    But the results...

    When Tycon reviewed the casualty report, he found the numbers were eptable.

    No... more than that, he found them impressive.

    "It seems our forces have another Tactician," he remarked. "I''ll need to find this person..."

    "They teach strategy in school, Father," Sasha whispered. "It''s not as difficult as some would believe."

    Tycon pursed his lips. He was so engrossed in the reports that he forgot to mind his volume.

    "Ask thy questions, Father," Sasha said, her voice tinged with sleep.

    In that moment, Tycon felt that the proper course of action was to urge his daughter back to bed. However-- and it was shameful of him, his desire to sate his curiosity won out.

    "So this engagement... north of Pitchwall?" he said.

    "Far north of Pitchwall," Sasha replied, "The tree line prevented the effective use of the enemy''s Drake Armors... a cavalry charge routed the infantry."

    Tycon was skeptical, "You mentioned a tree line-- but I can''t imagine cavalry being effective without clear, unobstructed ground."

    "It was Nemayan cavalry," Sasha exined. "Sir Gobbuto assured me that that particr unit was ustomed to icy conditions."

    Tycon closed his eyes, visualizing the battle in his mind. Much of the Sleeping Country was mired in ice and cold tundra. And Pale Riders with their skeletal horses werergely unaffected by the cold.

    Also, they were terrifying for a regr force to encounter.

    Tycon skimmed the next bundle of reports... until, finally, he found another filled with contrary conditions.

    "Wyrmwatch," he said... "Peculiar name. Valuable to the lizard forces for its location near a crossroads... and perhaps for its namesake."

    "D... dwaaa..."

    Sasha let out an indolent yawn before continuing, "DwAAarven... ssssiege weapons. The enemy focused on them, Father... then, the goblin sappers..."

    "Ah haha..." Tycon couldn''t help butugh aloud, "Daughter... I was unaware we had Dwarven allies so far east. And experienced goblin sappers? I wouldn''t even imagine that."

    "Neither did the enemy," Sasha answered curtly.

    As t as her voice was, Tycon could tell she was pleased with herself. The end of her lips had curled up into her smile and, as she remained suspended midair, the subconscious wiggling of her bottom was slightly exaggerated.

    Tycon put down his stack of papers at the bedside table, tapping the topmost report with his fingernail.

    "Now, this one," he said... "Did you advise our forces near Crystal Lake?"

    "I did not, Father," Sasha said with a soft sigh, "but due to a stroke of luck, I was able to coordinate our smoid allies to cut off the enemy''s supply line."

    "Of course," Tycon said with awe. "The smoids... and that afforded them the opportunity for a nking attack."

    "Have I... done well, Father?"<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    "Doing well... is a gross understatement, Hatchling," he remarked. "You''ve performed most admirably, my dear."

    "I''m... d..." she said.

    Then, after a moment, she hissed, "(This one''s heart is full and I am content.)"

    Tycon took a deep breath. He was smiling so much that his cheeks began to hurt.

    That was rare.

    He generally had no use for smiles.

    But... he was alone with his daughter. If he could only smile for one person, it would be for her.

    "You''ve learned so much," he remarked, "my onlyment is that I was not the one to teach you."

    He felt a warm touch on his fingers. Sasha had reached over, gripping his hand tightly.

    Tycon looked up to see his daughter''s shining eyes, staring into his.

    She opened her mouth to speak-- but closed it right away.

    Perhaps she wanted to mention the fact that he was the one who ensured her enrollment in the Holy Country''s colleges.

    Or perhaps she wanted to speak of her inspirations or the pressure of being the daughter of a renowned tactician.

    Or... perhaps there was something else, something not so simple to describe with mere words.

    Whatever she was trying to say... he believed he understood.

    There was trust and love in his daughter''s gaze.

    Tycon''s heart was near-bursting with pride.

    He lifted her small hand, kissing it softly.

    "Well done, (beautiful child)... I''m so very proud of you."

    Sasha willfully shook her head.

    "No... Sasarame is cursed," she said. "You are the one... who saved her."

    Ah. So that was how the hatchling saw it.

    It was somewhat true. If Tycon had not taken her away from Saltspray Isle on that fateful sun, her development would have remained stagnant, even despite her ss.

    "Master..." she whispered, "Don''t leave Sasarame ever again."

    Ah. Ahhh...

    Tycon''s heart began to ache, twisted painfully akin to a thick, hempen rope.

    "Promise me," Sasha begged.

    Tycon squeezed his pitiful daughter''s hand... as he struggled to say the words.

    "I cannot..."

    He wished he could-- desperately so.

    Never in his life was he so tempted to forswear his duty-- his promises.

    The selfishness of his daughter was boundless... but, even still, he forgave her instantly.

    "You''re going to leave Sasha," she whispered-- "send her far away, to another Realm..."

    Hm...

    So she knew.

    "How did you learn of this, Daughter?"

    "It''s... what I do, Father," Sasha replied with a sad smile. "I dream and I know things."

    "That..." Tycon frowned, "is in the worst-case scenario... But I will do everything in my power to prevent it."

    He shook his head, "I... n to live this life as if tomorrow was certain."

    Sasha grew quiet for a moment.

    "Someone told you this," she said... "someone you love very much."

    "Indeed," Tycon nodded, "and I want to save this Realm because I love you too."

    "D-don''t lie to Sasha," the willful child pouted, "If you love her, you''ll stay. So stay."

    Tycon chuckled softly and shook his head.

    That was absurd-- even his daughter should have known that.

    He loved her dearly.

    With his umtion of strength and the development of his bloodline, he was unable to lie.

    Even if he could, he could never lie to her.

    But he could not go to where he would send her.

    There was a Dragon to kill.

    And the Realm had but a single Dragonyer.

    "I think I''ve read enough for tonight," he said. "Let us sleep. (Let us sweetly dream.) Every moment of rest is going to be precious in theing suns."

    Tycon lifted the nket, bidding his daughter to join him.

    She did, without hesitation-- her umon willingness taking him by surprise.

    He felt his heart swell as she nestled into his arm.

    He ced the nket down, ensuring they were both covered, safe, and warm.

    And as she cried herself to sleep, Tycon cursed the fates...

    He cursed the seven hells...

    He cursed the eleven heavens...

    But, most of all, he cursed his own, pathetic self.

 Chapter 1037 Flattery

    ?

    ? The next sun,te morning... ?

    It had been some time since Tycondriusst heard the mournful sobs of Stephanos, the Fierce Knight.

    The previous evening, the Gorgon had challenged him to a duel.

    He didn''t want to bother with it.

    Stephanos'' fighting ability relied on the strength, speed, and resilience of his unique body. Tycon''s physique had developed to the cusp of Adamantine-Rank, thus was stronger, faster, and (theoretically) more resilient.

    A duel with the Gorgon had little value. There was no challenge. It would not improve his acumen as a martial fighter. It would not impress anyone he particrly cared for. Even the notion of breaking half the bones in Stephanos'' body sounded banal.

    And during the bout... the likelihood was high that Tycon would suffer a bruise or... dent a perfectly good weapon.

    And afterward... then the Gorgon would surely pout or whine.

    (It would be different if Tycon purposely threw the fight. But the process to do so and subsequent results would have been equally bothersome.)

    So to solve his problem... Tycon promised the imbecile a duel only if he could first best Kimura Taree.

    The Gorgon, of course, lost miserably.

    His trusty scorpion tail, capable of beheading or critically impaling a regr human in a fraction of a second, was useless against Kimura''s ?Stone Body Art?.

    Stephanos (the Fierce Knight) had chosen to arm himself with a pair of rope-bound wooden clubs. However, the speed of his swings were only enough to catch Kimura''s after-image.

    (Granted, the wooden clubs were heavier and poorly bncedpared to a pair of battle-axes, but Tycon did not want to volunteer such information.)

    Halfway through the fight, Stephanos eschewed his weapons, hoping to challenge the whelpling with brute strength.

    After all, he was an idiot.

    --a Gold-Rank Idiot.

    Tycon did see the logic, though. The Gorgon''s standing height was 9-fulms tall and he was several tonze, Kimura''s superior.

    In response, however, Kimura Taree revealed her ?Berserker? transformation ability. Though, overall, Stephanos still outssed his opponent in size and weight, the youngdy was also intimately familiar with dealing with overge, hulking brutes.

    She lived in Vralkek with Dragan for some time, the city with thergest poption of half-giants in the Realm.

    By the end of their match, Kimura had strong-armed Stephanos into surrender.

    She trounced upon his pride, embarrassing him in front of all of his friends and peers.

    Thus, Kimura Taree became the enemy of both the men and women staffing Hero''s Hearth.

    As a reward, Tycon promised to make her ice cream after dinner. He had the ingredients for it.

    Besides that, morning training went smoothly.

    Troia was still somewhatcking, considering her personal Metal-Rank. However, she ran the distance andpleted the body-weight exercises assigned to her even despite still suffering symptoms of mana fatigue.

    From there, Tycon asked for a demonstration of the Hero Party''s teamwork, fighting against one of Hero Ravidius'' training golems.

    They performed... well enough.

    Tycon identified the vestiges of a few potential issues. Over the next few suns, he nned to iste those perceived ws, make them aware of it, and develop drills to instill proper behavior.

    The mind is weak. The body will remember.[1]

    Anyroad, the younglings were sent to bathe and they had their morning meal together, separate from Tycon and Sasarame.

    Hm...

    Prior to that, Troia expressed her desire to cook. That likely stemmed from her desire to avoid being force-fed an amount of breakfast meats any regr person could stomach.

    Tycon rejected the notion.

    Pale and Kimura rejected the notion strongly.

    It made him wonder if the Holy Princess cooking a meal for herself was a cultural taboo.

    If it was, that was nonsense.

    Cooking was a valuable skill for anyone, regardless of their ss and social status.

    But still-- as long as the Holy Princess was recovering, she would eat meat.

    Ah. The notion made him remember that the other sun, Troia dered herself as Pale''s... girlfriend?

    From what he knew, the term could not be misconstrued as anything else.

    If it was true-- and he had no reason to believe otherwise, Pale and Troia were dating exclusively and in a romantic rtionship.

    As Tycon was essentially Pale''s surrogate father (especially with Dragan missing and Wroe violently killed in action,) he felt obligated to confirm the details.

    Dating within one''s social circle was a hazardous notion, especially for persons so young.

    He''d hate to see one or the other fail atmunicating and irreparably damage their professional rtionship as a result.

    Then there was the issue of contraceptive practices...

    It was a topic that might be ufortable for them to discuss, but it was necessary for their development into well-adjusted adults.

    Hmm...

    He recalled the Kimura girl also being romantically interested in Pale-- unless he was mistaken.

    How did she feel about his rtionship?

    ...and what of the other two members of Pale''s party?

    The young man had only briefly met with J?gerin, but she seemed rather attached to him. Despite her physical appearance, she was still a young child. She would need to be instructed onmonly understood social boundaries.

    And of the recently deceased, Vanya... what was Pale''s rtionship with her?

    ...Then, Tycon remembered Troia''s parental figure. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    Natalya Crucis was the closest thing the Holy Princess had to family. Troia even referred to her as Elder Sister, despite them being unrted by blood.

    How would she feel about the Holy Princess of Tyrion coupling with a young man with non-human blood?

    And if Tycon sought to pursue Natalya romantically-- which he was intent on doing, would that not furtherplicate matters?

    ...As he was deliberating on the matters, he realized he was grasping the hilt of his sword.

    Social rtionships were so frustratingly difficult.

    Fighting was far easier.

    --for him it was, anyroad...

    "What''cha thinkin'' bout, Boss?"

    "Dah!"

    Tycon swung his sword at Pale''s head, his form barely eptable.

    Pale, of course, slipped the horizontal sh-- then he blocked Tycon''s follow-up kick with his shin, leg outward, foot pointed up.

    nting his standing foot, Tyconpleted the movement, using his strength to push Pale away. He then spun his body to face forward.

    "Well done," he said, recing Mercy in its sheath.

    "I''ve gotten pretty good at dodging," Pale said with a grin. "Remember our first few weeks of training? Mosswood,[2] right?"

    "Hah," Tycon smirked. "I still have that halberd. Let''s see how you fare during afternoon training."

    "I dunno," Pale shrugged. "Pretty sure that thing''s slower than your sword, Sir."

    "We shall see," Tycon mused. "Having two hands on a hafted weapon means I can increase the speed of certain swings. You know this, Spear Hero."

    Shortly after, Troia and Kimura arrived.

    The former was dressed in a breastte and a battle skirt, her purple hair tied into a neat ponytail. She was a picturesque example of a veteran Tyrion Officer. Even more impressive was the fact that, despite her condition, she walked confidently and with purpose.

    Also, despite theck of Tyrion military stationed in Hero''s Hearth, Troia received kind greetings of ''Praise the me'' and ''Good morning, Princess,'' wherever she went.

    In juxtaposition to her, Kimura Taree wore a set of clean, ornately-designed robes in the style of her sect, yet in the bright orange colors of her family. She bounced with each step, taking in the sights of adventurer trophies and decor with bright, smiling eyes.

    For each Mage and technician she passed, she waved and greeted them with short, single words.

    Hey. Sup? Mornin''.

    And, without fail, she received an honest smile and greeting in return.

    Both children had their merits.

    Yet Tycon was d that Pale had chosen Troia as his mate-to-be.

    Ah.

    "(Hatchling,) he hissed in Parseltongue, "(you seek the Celestial as your mate, do you not?)"

    "Err, what?" Pale tilted his head... then he responded in Elven, "(It is not so, Ancient. We are branches entwined, each supporting the tree. My heart belongs to the earth and the wind.)"

    "Hm," Tycon nodded, "Very well."

    Unfortunately, he didn''t have an inkling of what the boy meant by that.

    --and his mastery of Elven was a bit weak.

    Judging by the context...

    No. Even with the context, he couldn''t be certain.

    He''d ask him in private, another time.

    Tycon turned to properly address the children.

    "Miss Kimura, Miss Troia, Master Pale, thank you for being punctual," he nodded, "I''d like the three of you to apany me to the War Room. The afternoon will be filled with analyses of current war zones and recent battles. And, if relevant, my bloodline memories will fill any gaps in knowledge we identify."

    He turned to walk, his two excellent students (and one woefully average) following suit.

    "As always, questions are wee," he said. "Some questions will be undoubtedly stupid, but I advise you to ask, anyroad, as one of your peers may have the same line of thought-- and I''m certain you''re all aware, but I enjoy the sound of my own voice."

    Taree raised her hand as she bounced along, "Question!"

    "Wonderful," Tycon sighed. "Go ahead."

    "What''s for lunch?"

    "Iron-pressed sandwiches," Tycon answered, "Bite-size chunks of marinated pork, along with greens and topped with a soft, melted cheese, contained in a small loaf of freshly baked wheat bread-- though the flour in the kitchens is unusually white."

    He nced to the side, "Extra pickles for you, Miss Troia. No onions for the childish pte of Miss Kimura."

    Tycon sensed Pale''s stare upon the back of his head.

    "And extra sauce on the side for Master Pale," he added-- "as well as a te of freshly sliced Q''barran long peppers for those with bravery umon."

    "I missed you so much, Boss!" Kimura cried. "S-sol Invictus, FOREVER!"

    "I know! I feel the same way," Pale sniffed. "Thank you for taking care of us, Sir."

    [Thank you so, so much,] Troia signed. [I''m so happy.]

    "Regardless of ttery," Tycon chuckled, "I won''t be going easy on you for afternoon training, dear friends."

    [1] The body will remember: Tycon first said this in Chapter 158.

    [2] Mosswood: Tycon, Dragan, and Wroe discussed training Pale in Chapter 27. Kimura Taree witnessed Tycon''s training firsthand in Chapter 49.

 Chapter 1038 Noble Father

    ?

    The intense highs and lows of the morning ss sapped away Tycon''s energy.

    The children asked questions.

    Their initial questions had simple answers.

    The number and nature of their enemies. Their equipment. Their formations. Characteristics of Drake Armors ording to their model.

    The questions, subsequent, grew more difficult.

    How many casualties did our forces incur? How many casualties resulted in deaths?

    How much damage can a single ?Fireball? do to a squad of regrs?

    What happens when our shield line fails to copse, leaving a formation of archers exposed?

    How many seconds of concentrated lizard fire can a normal human withstand?

    And from there...

    What is the difference between the death of one single, living, breathing sentient and one thousand?

    How can we ask so many Bronze and Elementary-Rank soldiers to raise their mundane shields against ?Lightning Bolts? and ?Earth Spikes??

    What happens to the soldiers who survive after watching their brothers and sisters in battle burnt to ash or drained into husks or carved into a half-dozen pieces?

    ...Do the regr rank-and-file soldiers believe in dragons?

    Do they hate them?

    Is it right to hate an enemy for their creed or their banner? Without knowing who they are? Without the remote possibility of you ever learning who they are?

    ...What is the difference between them and us?

    Is the Tyrant God our main enemy? Or is it his misguided followers?

    The children had lived a life harsher than those of most, their age.

    Yet, somehow... and against all odds, their innocence remained intact.

    There were... unfortunate truths that Tycon needed to drill into the Hero and hispanions.

    That wasn''t to say kindness and mercy had no ce on the battlefield...

    He recalled advising Athena Vanzano on the matter, earlier in her career.

    Such notions were the right of the victor-- a right granted only to the strong.

    She had much to think about-- as did the other children. think about.

    The Realm that they represented was not naturally a kind and merciful ce, making the minuscule bastions of which a rarity-- something to be cherished and protected.

    Tycon feared answering questions in the future.

    What is the protocol, if one of them were to be killed in action?

    Should their forces be pushed back, where will we hold our final stand?

    What would happen... if the avatar of the Tyrant God decided to leave the walls of Aerie Fortress?

    ...Can anything survive, if the entirety of the Realm was reduced to ash and fire?

    He would answer their questions to the best of his ability.

    That... was Tycon''s role as their instructor.

    He would not lie to them.

    He would try his best to be kind... to be merciful...

    --but despite the cruel nature of the truth... they deserved to know.

    They might not understand. Tycon, himself, could not im to to understand theplexities of morality when it came to war.

    But he was obligated to tell them how he saw the Realm... and how themon people of the Realm understood such things.

    People die. Yet still, we fight.

    It is easier to kill an enemy, should the tribe decide they are less than human.

    Our archers train by shooting at dark, human-shaped targets, so in battle, they don''t realize they are responsible for extinguishing human life.

    The rational mind is riddled with weaknesses.

    The body, drilled sun after sun by the cold, uncaring scrutiny of their instructors...

    The body will remember.

    And also...

    --their Home Realm had no future.

    The Tyrant God was inevitable.

    The song of which legends are sung ends with their entire Realm alight with ever-burning me, all-consuming... bereft of kindness... bereft of mercy.

    The only thing... that kept Tycon going...

    --was his iron-grilled pork sandwich.

    And other than that...

    Perhaps...

    --his second iron-grilled pork sandwich.

    "Father, pass the peppers, please."

    "Ah, of course."

    Tycon slid the bowl of sliced peppers toward Sasarame. She had a low tolerance to the fresh, spicy peppers, but they were a bit more ptable after being roasted.

    Also, their vor profile was moreplex with the light char.

    The heat was ufortable, but the vor was lovely, and it made for a pleasant eating experience-- if eaten in moderation.

    "Father," she said, her tone oddly sharp.

    Tycon ced his sandwich down, returning his full attention to his daughter.

    Besides food, the mere presence of Sasarame lifted his spirits.

    "I''m expecting worrisome news, Father," she said in her usual, quiet voice. "Though I can''t be certain, we haven''t heard from the eastern front in two suns."

    "I see..."

    That was, indeed, cause for concern. Natalya Crucis, Archbishop of the Holy Country was one of the Commanders fighting on the eastern front. As her forces had Colossal-ss Divine Armors like Troia''s Dawnbringer, Natalya operated closest to the lizard armies'' major holdings.

    The main body of Sol Invictus operated in that area, as well, though on a smaller scale.

    Tycon had many personages he cared for, there.

    ming Rage Knight, Seldin Korr...

    Financial Advisor, Sorina Capulet... <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    Sergeant Salt and Lieutenant Clemont...

    Zenon Skyreaper and Haelvia Leopardon...

    Edge, who was dressed in his Guild Letalis armor, posing as the leader of Sol Invictus...

    ...Corporal Horse.

    Or did he rate Sergeant? It had been awhile.

    "Sasha," Tycon said, "You''re certain?"

    "It''s what I do," she said with a shrug.

    ...

    ? The Game Room of Hero''s Hearth, some timeter... ?

    Noble Father did not understand him.

    --would not understand him.

    What use was honor?

    Can you eat it?

    No, you cannot.

    But... honor was fulfillment.

    Noble Father had other matters of concern.

    For him, honor was a matter of course.

    Gobsuke of Sol Invictus forged his life assailed by steel.

    And his answer was the smoking barrel of a hextech rifle.

    His earnings provided for him, his mothers, and his siblings. No man, regardless of their creed or tribe would dare to question the honor that mercenary life brought him.

    Gobbuto, son of Gobsuke, grew up healthy and strong.

    As soon as he was able, he worked to provide for himself and the younger members of his family.

    He had coin. He had valuables. He had love.

    But Gobbuto was a selfish man. He yearned for more.

    The eternal pursuit of honor and the glories that came with it... that was his calling.

    Noble Father was deaf to it.

    For him, joining Sol Invictus was a practicality.

    Yes, he was chosen. Yes, he was worthy.

    But he was insistent that the only reason he associated with Princes and Demon Queens were to qualify for higher-paying mercenary contracts.

    The higher the pay, the longer he could spend with the people he loved and cherished...

    His weapons were not glorified instruments of his will. They were a means for survival.

    Hispanions were his trusted allies in battle... but they were not a recement for his wives and children.

    ...Noble Father asked to be buried, not with gold and gemstones.

    He asked for a simple stone cairn. He asked for a simple wreath of mountainurels.

    He made it known... that it was forbidden to mourn him for more than three suns.

    But Gobbuto was different-- evenpared to his siblings.

    He chose to answer a different call.

    --to live a life, not only for himself and his family... but for others.

    --to war, not on behalf of a single King or Queen... but for a symbol... for a cause.

    But, s... he knew he was still young.

    His mothers still saw him as a child-- and that was despite beingrger than the three of them,bined.

    Theyughed at his dreams, wondering when he would ''grow up.''

    Despite that, he respected them no less.

    Theirughter was kind.

    It was not wrong for a mother to pray for their child to live without steel and bloodshed.

    It was not wrong for a mother to grieve for their husband.

    ...It was not wrong for a child to grieve for his father.

    Throughout his life, Gobbuto had sought recognition... seeking authenticity.

    --seeking honor... and with purpose.

    For his skills and knowledge, he had earned the respect of Queen Arendelle, Monarch of the Old Country.

    For his courage and loyalty, he even found favor with Tycondrius, the Ivory Prince of Charm and the leader of his father''s old adventuringpany.

    And... somehow... he had grown close to Pelor Invictus, the Hero of the Realm.

    "Do... you have... any... three''s?"

    Gobbuto double-checked the value on each of his cards.

    "No," he said as he held his hands forward, card-backs toward him, "You must fish, Elder Brother."

    "Must I?" Pale pursed his lips, dejected.

    "Yeah, okay-- that''s... weird and I don''t like it," Ree huffed.

    [He''s always been like that,] the Holy Princess signed. [I think it''s cute.]

    Cute?

    Him?

    Gobbuto held his cards up to hide his blushing face. He wanted to don his full helmet... but he was afraid the women would tease him.

    "It... is a little weird," Hero Pale said with a grin. "You don''t have to act so formal with me, Gobbuto. You can just call me Pale, like everyone else does."

    That...

    "Yeah!" Ree agreed, "Quit it! Being formal is for hanging out with Boss-- not during our breaks!"

    "I don''t think Boss would like it, if he heard that," Pale frowned.

    It''s not that Gobbuto was reluctant. In fact, he was overjoyed at the level of trust he had earned of hispanions.

    --but he was unable to do that much. Acting so familiar with the Hero of the entire Realm was far too embarrassing.

 Chapter 1039 Look At Me

    ?

    The Holy Princess sighed and shook her head.

    [You are one of our dearest friends,] she signed. [I wish you would be more confident.]

    Out of nervousness, Gobbuto tried to change the topic.

    "If... fishing for cards... not so good... we can use sticks and twine. We go outside. I will give instruction."

    There were few topics in which Gobbuto was confident in teaching Pale... and in those few, he doubted he had much.

    Since the Heroes had returned from the Outer nes, the man once a couple years his junior had be his senior.

    It wounded his pride to be surpassed in a way he never thought possible-- but only slightly.

    Pale was a Hero. He was not bound to themon logic of the Realm. That was an indisputable fact, drilled into his head, from apanying the Hero Party in the wilds of the Old Country.

    [What''s wrong, my Hero?] the Holy Princess signed, looking to Pale.

    "He''s not *yours* Troia," Ree mumbled.

    Pale sat back in his chair, smiling weakly, "Thanks, Gobbuto. I..."

    He sighed again... continuing in a small voice, "We told you about Vanya. I think you would have liked her."

    Gobbuto was uncertain where the Hero''s logic was headed. He was ustomed to coborating with others in the field-- but he''d never *liked* a girl before.

    "She belonged to a tribe of fisher-folk," Pale exined. "She taught me a little bit, fishing in the icekes of Rimefang Ravine."

    Vanya...

    Shortly after Gobbuto left the Hero party, they recruited a Shaman in the ne of Ice.

    The fate of that woman...

    Gobbuto put down his cards and slowly reached over to ce aforting hand on his friend''s shoulder.

    He did not know what to say... or even if Pale wanted to hear it.

    But he felt obligated to assure his old friend... to tell him that he was not fighting his battles alone.

    On the left, Ree grabbed hold of the Hero''s arm in a hug.

    On the right, Holy Princess Troia ced her gentle hand atop that of the Hero''s.

    "I''m okay," Pale said, forcing a smile. "Thank you... Ree... Troia... and thank you, Gobbuto."

    The Hero of the Realm took a deep breath... and his smile became genuine.

    "That just means we can''t ck off during Boss''s training," he dered. "For Vanya... for the people of our Realm-- and even Realms beyond ours."

    As Gobbuto withdrew his arm, he again wanted to don his helmet.

    The Call of the Hero... that was the culmination of all his ideals.

    And hearing those words from the Hero, himself, made his heart swell with both pride and trepidation.

    He felt his lips quiver and the budding of tears at the corner of his eyes.

    ...But Ree had taken his helmet, sticking out her tongue in a teasing manner.

    So... he steeled his expression as best he could.

    "Besides fishing, Gobbuto," Pale said, "I was hoping you could teach me how to shoot?"

    Ah. He could do that. There was a good selection of hextech pistols and rifles in Hero Ravidius'' armory.

    Gobbuto had begged to be instructed in marksmanship from a young age. Noble Father finally taught him the basics when he was 3, albeit reluctantly.

    Back then, Gobbuto did not know the reasoning behind his desperation. But as he grew older, he understood.

    It was the irrational fear of missing out... of losing sight of his goals.

    The younger him wanted to train for war, like the other children in the tribe.

    Thankfully, his persistence and hard work meant that an older, more sessful him finally had something he could impart to his good friend.

    Pride.

    Confidence.

    Honor.

    Knowledge.

    Every gift granted to the Hero, no matter how small, would aid him in hising battles.

    Gobbuto only hoped they would be enough.

    One sun, the Fate of the Realm would be entrusted to his hands.

    And he feared, with the threat of dragonfire on the horizon, that sun woulde within the next few weeks...

    "Oy, big guy," Ree said, making loud knocking bangs on Gobbuto''s helmet-- while she was wearing it. "No good, I think he''s broken."

    [Stop teasing him,] Troia scolded. [It''s cute!]

    Gobbuto shook his head.

    "I... would be honored. Everyone. I will hold a ss."

    "Sounds great," Pale nodded. "I''ll bring it up with Boss when we meet for afternoon training."

    "[UggGGhhhh~]"

    Ree dropped her head onto the card table. Her helmet-- his helmet nged on the hard wood with a resounding thunk.

    "[I haven''t even recovered for morning training,] she groaned.

    Her voice seemed almost cold, echoing within his helmet-- several sizes toorge for the human girl.

    [Boss knows best,] Troia signed. [But I''m not sure I can stand up after sitting for so long.]

    "You''re fine, right, Gobbuto?" Pale asked. "You''re so tall, running must be easy."

    Gobbuto dropped his gaze, "I... am not... ustomed to training in full armor."<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    During training, Tycon told him that moving so much mass put a greater strain on his body. It was almost physically painful to be told of his ws in a blunt, yet unquestionable manner.

    The Holy Princess bowed her head.

    [It''s my fault,] she signed. [If only I could use Divine Healing...]

    That... was difficult. Troia was left greatly weakened after a recent incident in the ne of Fire. Gobbuto did not ask for the details, but he trusted her judgment.

    "[DooOon''t kid yourself,]" Ree responded in a flippant voice. "[Knowing Boss, he wouldnt''ve even allowed it. His favorite training is the BO-ring kind.]"

    "It... kinda makes sense," Pale said, smiling awkwardly. "Really. I know I''m a lot stronger because my fundamentals are pretty good."

    "Noble Father... he only taught me the basics," Gobbuto shrugged.

    "[Hey. Oy. Gobbuto,]" Ree said, turning to him. "[You''re super-talented.]"

    Was he?

    He was sitting in thepany of a Divine Armor pilot, a Martialist with a transformation ability, and a literal Hero. Compared to them, his onlyudable talent was breathing through his nose.

    "Without your guidance, we would have been lost in that Nemayan forest for moons," Pale grinned, "probably eaten by bears!"

    That was an exaggeration. Also, they would have been eaten by wolves.

    [He does not know the meaning of fear,] Troia signed.

    That... that was because it was hard to think when he was nervous! That wasn''t fair!

    "[So surely, you know a healing Spell or two?]" Ree asked.

    "I do not," Gobbuto replied tly.

    "[Then you probably know someone with a good Support ss? One that can heal?]"

    Gobbuto rolled his lips, mindful of his still-growing tusks.

    He did know one.

    But she was also known to the Heroes...

    Thus, he shut his eyes briefly, as she shook his head.

    "[Yeah,]" Ree sighed. "[I figured as much.]"

    [She is the only one,] Troia signed.

    Pale sucked air through his teeth, "I''m confident about a lot of things... but getting Sasha over to our side is definitely not one of them."

    [It is a challenge to be ovee,] Troia signed.

    "I dunno," Pale chuckled. "You''re really thinking too highly of me on this one."

    "[I kinda hate it]," Ree said. "[Boss treats Sasha like my dad treats me.]"

    Gobbuto narrowed his eyes, "My noble father has never once embraced me-- nor any of my 35 siblings."

    "[And that''s why you have daddy issues,]" Ree instantly responded.

    "I''ve... honestly forgotten what my dad looks like," Pale added.

    [Hello and wee,] signed the Holy Princess, [to our guild, named: Daddy Issues.]

    Ree sat back in her chair, crossing her arms... "[You guys suck.]"

    "I don''t know how I can even face her," Pale sighed. "Usually, my honesty seems to win people over... but Sasha hates me so much, she won''t even look at me."

    [You can look at me all you want,] Troia signed.

    "[No!]" Ree shouted, "[Look at me, Pale!]"

    "I... also, am willing," Gobbuto followed. "You may look at me."

    Admittedly, he wasn''t certain the meaning of his words. He did not have a solid mastery of themon tongue.

    But everything seemed well.

    "Thanks, guys," Pale smiled. "At least I feel a little bit better."

    Sasha''s prowess as an Oracle and Divine Healer would provide veritable benefits to the Hero Party as aplex, aggregate unit.

    But... Pale''s concerns were valid.

    Even Gobbuto, as dull as he was, sensed Sasha''s almost palpable dislike of the Hero.

    "[Oy. How about we have Gobbuto ask?]"

    Eh?

    [That! is a wonderful idea!]

    It was?

    "Gobbuto... do you think you could do that for us?"

    No?

    Or... that is what Gobbuto wanted to say.

    But for once... the Hero of the Realm was relying on him.

    "[You''re the only one that can keep up with me in the field,]" Ree added-- "[besides Pale, of course. It''ll be good to have a dedicated healer so we can go crazy.]"

    The Holy Princess stood up in her seat.

    [I''m always so worried about you both!] she signed. [If you can convince her, I''d be so relieved...]

    "I know it''s kinda cowardly of me," Pale said, standing up as well. "But it would be mean a lot to me, if you helped out, Gobbuto-- and like the others said, you''d benefit too."

    ...Huh?

    "How... do I... benefit?" Gobbuto asked.

    Pale tilted his head, "A... aren''t youing with us?"

 Chapter 1040 Hasty Departure

    ?

    "What? N-no?"

    Gobbuto realized his mouth was wide open.

    He quickly fixed himself. A professional gentleman had to keep his bearing at all times.

    "Ahem... I am not worthy of being--"

    "[Sssstop right there, ya big ol'' dork,]" Ree said,zily lying back in her chair. "[You''re worthy. And you''reing with us. It''s already been decided.]"

    "M-my ce is here," Gobbuto countered weakly.

    [We need your strength,] Troia signed, before bowing politely.

    Oh-- oh no.

    Gobbuto quickly bowed in return-- but that wasn''t enough. Knocking back his chair, he dropped to a knee to make sure his head was lower than that of the Holy Princess.

    "P-please... do not bow, H-high Oracle-- not for me."

    "Troia''s right," Pale said. "We need you, Gobbuto. Your strength, your skill, yourpanionship. I''ll talk to Tycon and have you reassigned to our unit... but only if you''re willing."

    "I..."

    "[What''s the big deal?]" Ree groaned, "[You joined us before-- or are you too good for us now?]"

    "That-- that was..."

    [This is your calling,] Troia signed. [Belonging to this generation, you are worthy. You are a Hero! We are all Heroes.]

    Gobbuto swallowed. His hands were cold and trembling. His heart was beating so quickly, he feared for his life.

    He couldn''t even speak.

    He merely nodded his head.

    The Holy Princess-- her face beamed as if illuminated by supernatural light. She grabbed hold of Pale''s arm, jumping in glee.

    "d to have you back," Pale nodded... "Little Brother."

    "[Good job, big boy~]" Ree waved. "[I''m thirsty. Go get me a drink, Little Bro.]"

    Gobbuto felt his eye twitch. When they traveled together before, he had refused Kimura flippant requests, iming his age as a defense.

    It seemed she had remembered.

    However... instead of being annoyed, he felt a warmth in his chest.

    It didn''t feel so bad... to be relied upon.

    Suddenly, the double doors to the game room burst open.

    It was Leader Tycondrius? And he looked like he was in a hurry.

    "Pale!!" Tycon yelled, "Gather yourpanions immediately. Then, head to the armory to prepare for a lengthy excursion."

    Wh-what?

    They had a mission? And so soon?

    Gobbuto was told that the Heroes rated a one week respite...

    Something... terrible must have happened.

    Tycon walked toward them but stopped abruptly... "Hm... Gobbuto?"

    ...Gobbuto waved shyly.

    "Wrong. Do it again-- and with respect."

    Gobbuto straightened his back and rendered a proper salute, "Gobbuto, son of Gobsuke, reporting."

    "Hmph," Tycon nodded, "Still professional in civilian attire, I see. You are your father''s son, Gobbuto-- though your etiquette is far superior. I approve."

    "R-received, Leader!!" Gobbuto responded in a loud voice.

    "Sir Tycon!" Pale saluted, "Requesting that Gobbuto be assigned to our unit!"

    "Consider it done," Tycon replied. "How long do you need to rally? As of current, the passage of time is not our ally."

    Pale grabbed his spear, resting against his chair. Then he spun it around before mming its base into the floor.

    "This is all of us, Sir," he said with a smile, "Requesting a bell to gear up."

    Gobbuto summoned his courage to speak-- "L-leader! We have... paper..."

    "(Speak freely, son of Gobsuke,)" Tycon said in ented Nemayan.

    He did not look pleased, but nevertheless, Gobbuto was eternally grateful for the kindness.

    "(We have prepared packing lists for emergency departure,)" he said. "(We can be ready to leave in 20 minutes, at most.)"

    Sasarame had seen to it that preparations were made in the case of Hero''s Hearth being overrun. Or perhaps she had predicted the current scenario?

    "I want you in the briefing room in one bell," Tyconmanded-- "not fifteen minutes prior, one bell exactly."

    Switching back to Nemayan, he added, "(Your journey may be a year or longer. Destination: unknown. Conditions: unknown. Do you understand?)"

    Gobbuto mmed his fist against his chest in a salute.

    "(Glory to) Sol Invictus!"

    Not just Leader, but the entire guild was relying on him.

    It was... his calling.

    War raged across the Realm, fighting against the shadows of dragons.

    And he-- as one of many, would stand against them.

    In that... he was content. He knew his ce. He knew what had to be done.

    --but he was not blind.

    The time hade for the current generation to fight against tyranny.

    The dragons sought to ughter those who fought and enve their children.

    But... even against impossible odds, he and a hundred thousand others would fight and die to prevent that future.

    And the symbol of those hundred thousand... was a man in his midst.

    Pelor... Hero of Sol Invictus.

    That man turned to their Leader...

    "Brother-Tycon?"

    "Young Master Pale," Tycon scowled. "Why the f*ck are you still here?"

    "What''s at stake?" Pale asked, the mes of justice burning hot in his eyes.

    "Everything I still give a shite about," Tycon responded, the coldest steel in his voice.

    "Are... youing too?"

    Pale showed his concern as he nced back to the Holy Princess.

    Troia... was in no condition to deploy. That fact was obvious even to Gobbuto, a man unfamiliar with the Divine sses of the Holy Country.

    "This is a journey you must undertake without me," Tycon said.

    "And... Sasha?"

    Tycon grit his teeth, suddenly reluctant.

    "I... will ce her under your care... Heed my words, young man... if anything happens to her..."

    The Ivory Prince did not finish the statement.

    No words were enough to convey his meaning...

    But his intent was something even a simple beast would understand.

    "I''ll keep her safe," Pale nodded. "Believe in me, Sir."

    Tycon''s face twisted as if he were in the presence of Stephanos, the Fierce Knight.

    "You are the future leader of Sol Invictus," he said. "And, as such, you are defined not by your words, but by your actions."

    Pale grinned in response, "Troia, Ree, Gobbuto. Let''s move."

    "[I''m fired up!]" Ree eximed. <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    Troia balled up her fists, her spirits high.

    "Everyone, please," Gobbuto said, reiming his helmet from Kimura, "Follow me to Armory."

    "But before that--" the voice of a young girl interrupted, "how about you exin the situation, Father?"

    ...

    Tycondrius was baffled by Sasarame''s presence.

    Still dressed in her white, Tyrion robes, she always excelled in showing the proper etiquette and grace of House Charm.

    That kind and sweet child had never shown him such disobedience.

    Exnations were unnecessary.

    They were also counterintuitive to his ns.

    Pale stepped forward, "I trust you, Sir Tycon. If you''re hiding something, you must have a good reason."

    Tycon grit his teeth. He was d for the boy''s faith. However, he was not acting with honor, as Pale might have expected.

    He was motivated by cowardice.

    And, as his daughter had implied, deceit was involved.

    It was for the best that they all heeded hismands.

    "Instant and willing obedience to orders," said a determined Pale.

    [I am willing,] Troia signed.

    Gobbuto inclined his head, "I hear and I obey."

    "Yup, what they said," Kimura added.

    Tycon closed his eyes and crossed his arms, concentrating on his breathing.

    They would keenly remember the events of the sun.

    They would remember it as the sun their leader betrayed them.

    "Tell them, Father," Sasha urged.

    He could not.

    Any exnation he''d try to provide would be vague and full of holes.

    Any more duplicity and he risked losing the children''s faith...

    It was... for the best.

    "Father!!" Sasha shouted, "Tell them how you''re sending us away!"

    "Daughter!!" Tycon yelled, instilling mana into his voice to suppress hers, "that is *enough!*"

    A brief silence reigned over the room.

    Sasha kept standing... her determination to rebel, unwavering.

    There was a sadness in her eyes that Tycon knew would gue his nightmares for the rest of his suns.

    "Oy..." Kimura grimaced, "What''s she trying to say, Boss?"

    She lowered her head, "It can''t be... a dragon, right?"

    Pale corrected her immediately, "Dragons don''t exist, Ree."

    "One does," Sasha dered.

    "Boss!" Kimura eximed, "even if it''s something that doesn''t exist, we-- we can help!"

    "Be silent, daughter of House Kimura," Tycon growled, "or I will *break* you."

    With that, the youngdy paled in fear, shutting her mouth as she took a step back.

    Troia, the Holy Princess, stood in front of her as if to protect her.

    She opened her mouth... and spoke in thenguage of the Celestials.

    "(ivory prince...)

    "(your heart cries out...)

    "(in fear...)

    "(in pain.)"

    Fear? Pain? Nonsense.

    His heart was filled only with rage.

    "(Heed my words, Daughter of me!!)" he demanded. "(I hold RANK over thee!)"

    --in... Celestial.

    He did not know he could speak thatnguage until that moment.

    He knew it was Celestial because both Kimura Taree and Gobbuto immediately fell to their knees, bowing their heads to touch the floor.

    Troia was also in danger of falling but Pale kept her steady.

    That young man... ever-brave... ever resolute... his gaze remained steady and unbroken.

    Ah.

    Troia spoke true.

    As Tycon looked upon the boy, his heart ached.

    As he looked upon the son of his dear friend, he feared the boy''s next utterance.

    Would he ask a question that Tycon could not escape?

    Would he show his disapproval for a man unworthy of leading his father''s guild?

    Was he, too, hurt and afraid?

    That boy trusted him. That was undeniable.

    Yet... Pale shifted his gaze, looking past him.

    "We''re going, Sasha," he said. "We need you, too. So let''s all calm down and..."

    "STUPID!!!" Sasha cried, "Stupid, stupid, STUPID PALE!!"

    She stomped her way toward him and despite having to look up to his height, Pale shrunk back, his eyes wide.

    "How can you be like this?" Sasha demanded, "Father is sending us AWAY!! Off-Realm!! That is AWAY from OUR Realm! NEVER to return!"

    Tycon held out his hand, "Daughter..."

    "Don''t TOUCH me, Father!" Sasha cried, pping away his hand. "If you''re so insistent, then just ?FORGET? about me!!!"

    Ah.

    Very well.

    Tycon looked up at the nondescript cavernous ceiling.

    His daughter had be rebellious.

    He apologized to Suka in his heart.

    His life was no longer worth living-- or that''s how it felt, anyroad.

    "Tycon," Pale said, his voice low but firm, "is this true?"

    Tycon lowered his head, meeting Pale''s gaze.

    The strength of his bloodline had made it so he was unable to lie without grave physical and magical repercussions.

    Granted... he could not lie to Palet, even if he had the option.

    --not when he looked at him like that.

    Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning a missive he had prepared beforehand.

    "I want you to seek out Hero Ravidius," he said as he handed it to Pale. "When you find him, give him this. He will provide you a semnce of safety and shelter. Then, he will assist you in finding a new Realm to champion."

 Chapter 1041 Myriad Futures (Part One)

    ?

    Pale took the sealed missive with both hands.

    He stared down at it in thought, slowlyprehending Tycon''s order and all the implications it carried.

    "But... we''re supposed to be the champions of this Realm," he said.

    Tycon shook his head, "As a Hero, you are champion to all Realms. And considering the circumstances of ours, your efforts would only be wasted here."

    "...I don''t understand," Pale said. "I... I can''t..."

    The young man ced his left palm over his mouth.

    It seemed he was still shocked.

    --though, it really shouldn''t have been such a surprise.

    Despite Pale''s appearance as a half-Elven adult, he was still a child.

    All of them-- they were all children.

    Proper children were supposed to be frolicking in fields, training to join the army, or learning borate dances in order to attract a mate.

    --perhaps even all three, at once.

    Tycon had never understood why the fates tended to choose young persons as Heroes.

    If children were to be relied upon to save entire Realms... then it was the adults that failed them.

    After a few more years of experience and hardships... of allies more numerous and greater in strength than they had in their old Realm... then Pale would be ready.

    The children had yet more to grow... more to learn... more strength to rue.

    "Pale, son of Quay, I will not ask for thy forgiveness."

    Tycondrius of Charm spun on his heels.

    "Once you depart from this Realm," he said... "I will take thy mantle... the mantle of Hero."

    He began walking toward the exit.

    "Sasha--"

    "Father, no... Please..."

    Tycon halted his steps.

    He did not turn to see her. If he were to bear witness to his daughter''s crying face, he would yield, a thousand times over.

    "Sasha, take Pale and the others to the ne of Water. Find a way from there..."

    He apologized in his heart for being unable to provide more direction.

    He... did not know what they would do, where they would go, other than to search for their Realm''s previous Hero.

    "Use the active Spell Formation in the Pool of Reflection... and disregard my earlier time demands. Prepare as best you can. Depart before the sun falls."

    Finally, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

    "I know... (I cannot ask for thy pardon enough, Beautiful Child,)" he said, switching to Parseltongue. "(Will you heed thisst request?)"

    A child was crying-- a hatchling he had raised, personally.

    Seven hells, all his hatchlings were crying...

    Yet, still, Tycon refused to turn.

    He wished to remember each of them, strong and resolute... unafraid of the future.

    --Heroes, one and all...

    "(Sasarame... is not a beautiful child,)" a tiny hiss returned, ''(She is... a cursed child. The... Ivory Prince knows naught of her.)"

    Those words... he remembered well.[1]

    They were spoken when they had first met.

    Even then, after so many years, he did not understand their meaning.

    However... his answer had not changed.

    No child deserved to live in fear.

    On his daughter''s behalf, he was willing to demand obeisance from the flights of the highest heavens and the legions of the deepest hells.

    He continued to walk off, stopping briefly at the doors.

    "I will send word for you... when I return victorious."

    "(Then... Sasarame... will trust thee,)" the youngdy hissed. "Goodbye... Father."

    ...

    ? The Pool of Reflection, three bellster... ? <novelsnext></novelsnext>

    [Sister!] Troia signed, [Wee back. Be mindful of your steps.]

    Sasarame stifled an annoyed groan before remembering her ce.

    "Good evening, High Oracle," she said, rendering a polite bow.

    Troia''s warnings were appropriate but unnecessary. No one in Hero''s Hearth knew the Dungeon as well as she did-- each of its trap-filled passages, each disjointed magical room...

    She wasn''t dumb enough to fall on the slippery moss in front of her inferiors.

    "The... the sun is soon to set," Gobbuto mumbled.

    "Obviously," Sasha red.

    "J-just a reminder," the big man offered, looking away.

    "He''s right," Pale sighed as he got to his feet. "We should get going soon."

    "Shut up," Sasha countered. "You''re stupid. Your face is stupid. Every word thates out of your mouth is stupid-- every thought in your thick skull, also stupid!"

    "So," Ree hopped off of a huge glowing mushroom she was using as a chair, "What''d y''find?"

    Sasha gnashed her teeth, a hundred ways crossing her mind of how she could verbally destroy her father''s greatest disappointment.

    But... she realized her anger was misced.

    As she rxed and let out a deep sigh, she also realized just how tense she was.

    "It''s no use," she said. "Father gave strict orders to the Dungeon Core before he left. All exits beside this one are sealed-- and the restrictions are hard-coded to our individual mana signatures."

    "Okay, so I get that this is gonna sound really dumb," Ree began.

    "Then keep it to yourself," Sasha scowled.

    "Can we break out?" Ree asked. "We''re four of the strongest people in the Realm, aren''t we?"

    "Three... of the strongest," Gobbuto corrected. "I am... not."

    [Have confidence,] Troia reminded him.

    Sasha let out another groan, drenched in her frustrations.

    "Arrrgh... not possible, Miss Kimura. All exits are designed to forcibly shut upon failure-- not open."

    "So what I''m hearing," Pale said, "is that the only thing we can do is follow Tycon''s instructions?"

    "Is that what you want?" Sasha snapped.

    "Well-- no, "Pale quickly backtracked. He even held up his palms in surrender like the coward he was. "This is hard for me too. I mean... we''ve trained so hard."

    "Is that ALL?" Sasha roared, "Just-- you''re sad about a waste of training? And the rest of you? You''re all willing to blindly follow Father''smands?!"

    Troia lifted her hand to speak, but quickly curled up her fingers.

    "Situation is... difficult," Gobbuto offered.

    "(Say what you mean,)" Sasha red, "(whore.)"

    "(Comrade Sasha,)" he said... "(Besides not being given much choice, the Commander has his reasons.)"

    "And his reasons are STUPID!!" Sasha shot back.

    "(The war against the Dragon is deeper than one woman''s petty emotions,)" Gobbuto replied.

    Sasha gnashed her teeth once more.

    "Oh, you did not just say that, you sexist, good-for-nothing--"

    "What he say?" Ree said, bouncing up and down and raising her fists, "Can I hit him? I''m gonna hit him."

    [Please don''t, Sister,] Troia said, loosing an exhausted sigh. [I''m still weak. I can''t fix him.]

    Sasha felt her whole body trembling with anger.

    Her father had the uncanny ability to take even a force of humans and turn them into an invincible fighting force.

    She should have been able to do the same!

    But... the people surrounding her...

    An injured Priestess. A weak-willed knight. A rock-brained boxer. And a boy with a title he didn''t deserve.

    They... were all she had.

    They were all people her father had raised to the best of his ability...

    And they were all people so important to him... that he had done everything in his power to keep them safe.

    And all of them... without question... were willing to leave him to die alone.

    [1] Famr words: See Chapter 153.

 Chapter 1042 Myriad Futures (Part Two)

    ?

    Sasarame clenched her fists and pointed her thumb at herself.

    "My father--"

    "--is the strongest person I know," Pale interrupted. "If he says to trust in him, then that''s what we''ll do."

    "Yeah," Ree said, suddenly deted, "He says to jump. We jump before even asking how high."

    "And after training," Gobbuto shook his head, "We somehow jump to moon."

    Even the Holy Princess lent a hand of assurance, resting it on Sasha''s heretical, xeno arm.

    "Y-you don''t understand," Sasha said with a whimper. "I... can''t believe you... You... All of you know what he''s like..."

    Troia took hold of her shoulders.

    Sasha wished she hadn''t.

    Lady Troia was the only person she could not easily reject.

    That kind and gentle touch... that tiny bit of warmth and hope made Sasha''s tears begin to flow like rain.

    [Make us understand, Sister,] Troia signed.

    Sasha wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

    "E... every sun... he''s out there," she said.

    "He''s fighting," Pale nodded.

    Gobbuto ced a fist upon his chest, "For honor... and glory."

    "One. hundred. percent. badass as f*ck," said Ree.

    Sasha sniffed, raising her chin.

    "But... it''s always... on behalf of someone else," she said. "Besides... y''know, stuffing his face, there''s not a trace of selfishness anywhere in his body."

    Ree tilted her head, "Yeah... Boss is kinda weird about food."

    "Miss Kimura. I was told you shed tears at dinner table," Gobbuto remarked, "first night you arrived?"

    "Oy. I''m gonna hit you for real."

    [Continue, Sister,] Troia signed. [Please.]

    "My father..." Sasha whispered, "If you leave him alone... he''ll sacrifice himself."

    "N-no way," Pale said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Boss-- Sir Tycon is... a Tactician. He knows when tomit and he knows when to retreat. And it''s always better to live to fight again-- there''s just no way he''d--"

    "He''d do it for you," Sasha said, clenching her teeth hard. "He''d do it for me. He''d do it for any of us-- and he doesn''t even like Kimura!"

    "Wait, not even a little?" Ree asked.

    [He''d never admit to it,] Troia signed.

    "I-- I don''t like him either," Ree lied.

    "So?" Sasha prompted, "Say something, *Hero.*"

    Pale didn''t dare respond.

    He couldn''t.

    He just stood there, his bottom lip quivering like the spoiled, idiot-boy he was.

    [Dear Sister,] Troia signed... [You''ve seen it, haven''t you? In your dreams?]

    Sasha opened her mouth to respond-- but she choked on her tears and began to cough.

    Kimura began massaging her back... allowing her to recover enough to look back at the High Oracle.

    cing her middle finger on her cheek, Sasha slid it up, before flicking her hand away.

    [I''ve seen it.]

    Then, she turned to the so-called Hero.

    ...and forced herself to speak.

    "P... pale," she said... "My father-- h-he can''t win... not... without... Sol Invictus.

    "That''s why... I''m asking you."

    It hurt so much for her to say. She hated Pale-- loathed him with a passion.

    He was a disgusting, flippant, unserious boy that took everything for granted.

    Yet... he was the one that needed to be convinced to help her.

    Sasha got onto her knees.

    She bowed her head down, touching it to the cold, moss-covered stones.

    "Don''t... let my father die," she begged.

    Pale knelt down by her side, "Sasha, don''t do this. I''ll help-- just..."

    "Get A-WAY from me!!" Sasha screamed, pushing the boy away.

    She was absolutely furious. Did Pale think everything was going to be okay with a soft touch and a submissive whisper??

    "I''m not interested in your empty lies, Pelor of Invictus!" she roared, "I know who you are! I''ve seen a hundred of your futures!

    As soon as she began... she could not stop.

    "I''ve seen you abandon entire REALMS!

    "I''ve seen your body and will BROKEN, thousands of yourpanions dead and forgotten!!"

    It hurt.<novelsnext></novelsnext>

    No one but an Oracle was supposed to hear about their myriad futures.

    It was forbidden by an Ancient Law she was never told, but instinctually understood.

    Sasha''s mana began to rage, tearing up the insides of her body-- but she didn''t care.

    "I''ve seen you be a GOD!! I''ve seen you fall BEYOND the deepest pits of the seven hells!!

    "And your EVERY incarnation, god or devil, man or beast-- you were nothing more than a COWARD!!"

    A choir of ss bells reverberated throughout the cave as Troia spoke.

    "(hold her,)" she said.

    Sasha''s left arm was grabbed onto by Gobbuto; hisrge hands held her tight with a crushing grip.

    Her right arm was wrapped up in Kimura''s hold. It felt like it would break if she moved it back even one more ilm.

    Troia ced her palms on Sasha''s chest. She began whispering a litany filled with Divine Power... forcing the rampaging mana to slow.

    Sasha was fairly certain she was dying-- or rather... if it wasn''t for the High Oracle''s quick thinking, she would be dead.

    Her insides hurt. Blood had welled up in her throat.

    Her tears hurt-- she might have been crying blood, too.

    But despite her condition, she wasn''t finished speaking.

    She spat out the blood in her mouth.

    "Hear me... Brother..." she said, "You will not abandon... our... father in this timeline.

    "--or I swear... even it takes me... a thousand lifetimes... I''ll make you pay."

    Pale closed his eyes.

    And he lowered his head.

    Did he understand?

    *Could* he understand?

    The Pale of the current timeline was different enough from the others...

    ...but he was still Pale.

    Chosen by the fates.

    The Undeserving Hero.

    ...the single strongest source of entropy in their timeline.

    That boy could change the future...

    But... were words enough to convince him to do the right thing, for once?

    Sasha closed her eyes.

    She... really was cursed.

    The silence was broken by a low, frustrated grunt.

    "Grrrgh... It is decided, then," Gobbuto growled, "but what... is next move?"

    [We find a way,] Troia signed...

    "No matter what it takes," added Ree.

    With her taskplete, Sasha''s adrenaline began to wane. She copsed onto the stones, barely any strength left in her body.

    She felt the squish of a mushroom beneath her head-- likely the quick work of Ree.

    Seriously...

    Heroes, huh?

    Maybe there was hope, after all...

    Maybe... her dreams were wrong, for once.

    Suddenly, something broke the water''s surface.

    And... something crawled out of the Pool of Reflection.

    It was... a web-footed sahuagin?

    A half-dozen others slipped smoothly out of the water-- so perhaps a forward scout? But it seemed they had note for war.

    Only a single sahuagin had a weapon... Their leader, perhaps?

    "HELLO!" that person said, "Nice to... meet you!!"

    "Eh?" Ree said, tilting her head. "Who the f*ck are you guys?"

    "Yes, yes. I am well-- also! My. human name... is Becky!"[1]

    Ree looked around, but seeing as no one else was saying anything, she took it upon herself.

    "O... kay. Why are you here? Becky?"

    "Oh! We-- we take you-- bring to Sea God!"

    "On... whose orders?" Pale asked quietly.

    Becky shed a full smile, filled with two rows of spiny teeth.

    "A Dragon!"

    [1] Becky: See Chapter 629, Best Girl!

 Chapter 1043 Man Of Many Titles

    ?

    Tycondrius opened his eyes.

    After so many trials endured against odds ever-nearing the impossible... he yet lived.

    Too often, as of recent, the desire for that constant to remain as such had been... tentative.

    Yet, there was always one more task to aplish before meeting his probable violent and extravagant demise...

    --one more quest to see to fruition.

    Only then would he be satisfied.

    ...or that was the erroneous logic he chose to follow, anyroad.

    Tycon broke the surface of the water, gazing upon the vastness of the night ocean and her gentle waves.

    He closed his eyes, then in turn, began closing off his other, extraneous senses. And finally, with his mind clear, he made an inquiry to his System.

    ? System: How far are we to Port Town Jad? ?

    ? System response: 37.2 malms to the coast. ?

    It was a practical boon, one useful for any profession that required keepingplex magical forme to memory or performing tedious, but functionally simple calctions.

    And, from the tiny lights on the distant horizon... Tycon''s System determined he was two bells away, at most.

    To be more precise, those two bells would be filled with moderate physical exertion.

    Tycon wasn''t looking forward to it.

    It wouldn''t be so terrible if the journey wasn''t fraught with danger.

    --though, as certain as the fates were cruel, danger would be actively seeking him out with great prejudice.

    It wouldn''t be so terrible if the Sea God was watching over him.

    --though that fellow wasn''t particrly reliable when it came to things outside of his immediate purview.

    Ugh.

    Seven hells...

    And so, Tycon began the journey...

    Swimming...

    ...his great displeasure revealed only by the cursing in his mind.

    Before Tycon left City-State Whitehearth, he had established a ?Travel Gate? in one of its municipal buildings.

    If it was working properly, he would have been there.

    Dry. Warm. Fed.

    ...He would have liked that very much.

    However, the ?Travel Gate? was sealed on the opposite side.

    Logically-- hopefully... Whitehearth was in a state of emergency.

    One of the Oracles stationed at Hero''s Hearth had foreseen that the city woulde under attack.

    --a direct assault.

    --a tyrannical maneuver, ordered by a Commander certain of their abilities.

    ...It was a foolish and haphazard endeavor, suicide for any Realmborne leader leading Realmborne forces.

    Unfortunately, the enemy was not of their Realm.

    In theory, the enemy didn''t even f*cking exist.

    Tycon abruptly changed direction, crashing into the waves and diving deep below.

    ''Danger'' hade for him-- its form, loathsome and hideous.

    A long neck and an aquadynamic silhouette, its wings tucked close to its body. A pale horn on its snout, two horns on its crown, swept back.

    Tycon''s evasive movement kept him safe from the creature''s jagged and misshapen teeth.

    He twisted his own serpentine body, whipping his tail forward.

    The creature raised its scaled arms, blocking the strike with impunity. It raised its rear legs, wing at him like the beast it was.

    Tycon ignored it, surging forth, extending his jaws, and sinking his fangs into the creature''s belly.

    Unfortunately, the form he was using was not one he was practiced with.

    But at the very least, as a Sea Serpent, he didn''t have to worry about his arms or legs.

    Taking confidence in the notion, Tycon tried to wrap his body around the lizard.

    The bastard responded by beating at him with reckless abandon-- with its arms and legs.

    It hurt, of course. And as Tycon''s head was struck, he was left dazed.

    There was blood in the water all around him. Some might have been his, but he had faith that more was not.

    He renewed the strength in his jaws, biting down harder-- his teeth secure in its resilient flesh. He crept his tail around the lizard, and once it was in ce, began to whip the creature''s sides and back.

    Tycon''s opponent wasrger than he''d initially estimated.

    Winged Lizards grew in size and strength as they aged. Locked into closebat as he was, he came to realize his opponent was the most powerful he''d faced yet... a mature beast, upwards of 400 years old.

    Yet, it would die, all the same.

    The lizard jammed a desperate w into Tycon''s mouth, a painful act that resulted in the breaking and dislodging of several teeth.

    It was rather unpleasant to willfully take injury, but the choice was tactically sound.

    With the lizard''s focus elsewhere, Tycon sessfully wrapped his body around its wings and torso.

    And he gazed into its eyes.

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Activate. A slow and painful death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    The climax of the fight was over. And he was the victor.

    ? Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    ? ?Vexing Gaze?. Ocr ability. Target takes damage from an illusory poison, affecting both target''s mind and body. If sessful, target bes distracted and may go into anaphctic shock. ?

    The poison took hold of the lizard. Its movement grew noticeably sluggish, then suddenly its chest began to convulse. It began to cough violently. It moved its body erratically in its agony.

    Its organs were being ravaged by both Tycon''s Ocr Skill and his steadily strengthening crush-grip.

    But, still, the unsightly monster refused to die.

    ? System, cancel Sea Serpent Form. ?

    ? Sea Serpent Form Cancelled. Returning to Human Form. ?

    As soon as his hands were returned to him, Tycon thrust his left into one of the lizard''s open wounds, securing his grip on a broken scale. Drawing the short sword on his hip, he plunged it into the gaping hole.

    The act was too quick for the lizard to respond. Or perhaps it was stunned or too wracked by pain.

    Whatever it was, Tycon twisted and turned the de into the creature''s flesh.

    The nature of its newest wound would greatly hamper its regenerative abilities, if it had any.

    However, the purpose of Tycon''s cruelty was not a tactical one.

    He derived joy from inflicting suffering.

    It was unprofessional of him... but as it had already been done, he brushed away the tinge of guilt in his psyche.

    Activating a Weapon Skill, Tycon drove his de deeper through the creature''s flesh and into its heart.

    ? ?Wyrmbreaker? Weapon ability: A sharpened triangle of radiant mana gathers at the tip of the weapon, for use in prating heavy armor, scales, thick fur or flesh. ?

    ? What... ?

    ? Manner... ?

    ? Of Creature... ?

    ? -- Are You? ?

    Pathetic.

    They had joined in a life-or-death battle without even the courtesy of an introduction. And yet, in his opponent''s final moments, they dared to ask a question.

    But s...

    Tycon was a professional.

    He looked up. He met the dying lizard''s gaze.

    And he mouthed the words:

    ''My name is Tycondrius of Charm: Dragonyer.''

    Before the lizard could process the notion, Tycon activated his strongest Physical Skill, ?Adamant Rend.?

    The channeled burst of chaotic mana in the lizard''s insides made a gory mess out of its vital organs.

    ...and it allowed him to retrieve his weapon from the macabre work of art with satisfying ease.

    Though the process left him slightly fatigued, he was pleased with his work.

    Tycon swam upward, breaking the surface and taking a well-deserved breath of air.

    He was a man of many titles...

    Leader of Sol Invictus.

    Ivory Prince of Charm.

    Only son of the Medusa Queen.

    ...Amateur Sea Serpent.

    Commander.

    But no title was of more importance to the battles ahead than that which he openly dered.

    Dragonyer.

    Dragons... did not exist.

    --not as the people of the Realm liked to think, anyroad.

    There was... but one.

    The brainless lizard that attacked him was no dragon. It was but a pale imitation of the original.

    The Dragon God.

    That was Tycon''s goal... to kill a divine being, thrice-ancient since the known Realm was in its infancy.

    --to... y it, as it were.

    It was a monumental, nigh-impossible task.

    And he was absolutely clueless as to how he would aplish it.

    But, ording to intelligence reports, both magical and mundane, the chance to do so was quickly approaching.

    ? System, re-activate Sea Serpent Form. ?

    Tycon had many problems.

    And in preparation to deal with them, he had amassed a respectable amount of resources.

    He would need them-- and, of course, he would use them.

    In all likelihood, there were many more lizards to kill besides the errant beast he encountered at random.

    Though, some bells prior, he suffered a loss... one that stemmed from an emotional decision.

    Tycon made the choice to dismiss a quartet of his strongest allies.

    The Hero of the Realm had the ability to aid him.

    Properly coordinating with hispanions allowed the Hero Party to face enemies well above their individual Metal-Ranks.

    Yet Tycon sent that Hero and hispanions away.

    ...and he did not regret doing so.

    The probability of defeating the Tyrant God... was infinitesimal.

    A Hero-- a sentient selected by the Fates to adopt the Hero ss was not limited to championing their Realm.

    There were a hundred thousand Realms, all across the cosmos.

    Their Home Realm was forfeit.

    Those young heroes were best put to work elsewhere, saving sentients they could actually save.

    In theory, Tycon could have chosen to apany them.

    At the time, he hadn''t even considered it.

    ...Perhaps because of a promise he made to a dead girl.

    ''--to live as if tomorrow were certain.''

    ...But that *really* wasn''t a good reason.

    If anything, the most urate reason was because he was stupid.

    However... he didn''t believe he was as foolish as the pale silhouette rapidly approaching him, just under the water''s surface.

 Chapter 1044 Troublesome Escort

    ?

    That silhouette...

    It was... quite fast.

    So much that Tycondrius was beginning to feel somewhat intimidated.

    His heart was afflicted by a burgeoning concern.

    If the enemy dyed him for--

    "RawrrrrR!!!!"

    Oh.

    Oh, no.

    It wasn''t an enemy.

    It was an idiot.

    That was... potentially worse.

    Tycon shifted his travel direction 45 degrees, hoping to slip away unnoticed. He''d correct his course sometimeter.

    "Come back, Mister!" shouted the idiot, "I wanna look at''chu!"

    "That won''t be necessary!" Tycon yelled back, flipping his tail and paddling his tiny Sea Serpent fins. His fatigue had left him, reced by desperation.

    However, Iyuri was several times faster than he was.

    The notion was absurd.

    His ability to adopt a Sea Serpent''s form was thanks to Iyuri having granted him a drop of her essence.

    It was understandable that he''d only have a fraction of her physical abilities.

    --but it really should have been a higher fraction...

    "Wait!" Iyuri gasped, "I know that voice!!"

    "Perhaps your memory is wed!?"

    Tycon was unable to lie because of his bloodline... but he could be deceitful.

    Granted, he... didn''t consider himself very good at deceit.

    "Baby,e BACK!" Iyuri sang, "Any kinda fool COULD SEE~!!"

    Tycon stopped paddling, turning in confusion.

    "What?"

    The shimmering blue Sea Serpent caught up easily, "I... I was wrong! --and I just can''t live without you!"

    "We don''t have that kind of rtionship, Princess Iyuri."

    Tycon frowned to express his disapproval.

    --or... he was fairly certain he was frowning.

    He wasn''t as versed at controlling his Sea Serpent form''s facial muscles inparison to his human form.

    "Wow~ your True Form is soooo handsome, Mister Tycon!"

    "Refer to me *Prince* Tycon," he corrected-- "or just Tycon. We''ve been over this."

    Other than that, it was true. His Sea Serpent form was an approximation of Iyuri''s crossed with his white, armor-scaled natural form.

    It was a matter of course that he was handsome.

    "But why are you so smol?"

    "This was *also* discussed prior," Tycon growled.

    Female Sea Serpents wererger than their male counterparts. Their respective sizes were perfectly normal.

    "Queen Nyctis fed me a lot! So I got fat!" Iyuri hissed, "But you still love me, right???"

    Tycon narrowed his eyes. Iyuri was quite wrong. She had grown in size since hest saw her... and was faster than any waterborne creature he was familiar with.

    --but she was not fat.

    "IyaaaAa~ Don''t look!"

    A troublesome noise emanated from a troublesome Princess.

    Tycon (gently) whapped the back of her head with his tail, "Stop that."

    "Ihihi~ I got scolded."

    "Dear Princess," Tycon sighed... "is our meeting coincidental?"

    "It''s a fateful meeting," Iyuri said seriously. "Our stars have aligned!"

    "Do you even know what that means? Either of those things?"

    "I do not," Iyuri admitted confidently. "Elder Sister Ananta taught me to say it! Ehe~ and Elder Sister Suka got mad."

    Ah. That was troublesome.

    The youngest daughter of Queen Nyctis, Suka, had been killed in battle.

    At the time, her eldest daughter, Princess Ananta, was stricken by grief.

    It seemed... that Iyuri was not made aware of the news.

    Despite her tant stupidity, she retained a certain childish innocence.

    Thus, Tycon was loath to be the one to--

    "I''m still mad about it, honestly," Iyuri said.

    Ah.

    The implication of her words... painted her situation as quite unfortunate.

    "Iyuri..."

    "No one told me... so I had to find out on my own. And... I cried a lot-- not that anyone cared."

    "I did," Tycon admitted softly. "I still do."

    Iyuri wrapped her body around his.

    Tycon''s body seized up in panic-- but sensing no ulterior motive, he was able to rx and... approximately return the child''s embrace.

    "You suck at hugging, Tycon."

    "I''m trying my best, Hatchling."

    "...You''re hurt."

    Was he?

    A sharp jolt of pain immediately alerted Tycon to his injuries, inflicted earlier by lizard-w.

    His anger and, soon after, his panicked desperation had held back the pain at bay until that moment.

    "This... is not the best I can do."

    ? ?Inspirational Surge? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Please do so. ?

    ? Activating. ?

    Tycon''s personal healing Skill enhanced his natural regeneration at a rapid rate. His open wounds began to seal, burning hot.

    And... it made him hungry.

    But that, he would rectify, as soon as he reached shore.

    Iyuri unwrapped herself at a dizzying speed Tycon could barelyprehend.

    --which was a baffling experience.

    He really didn''t understand the movement of a Sea Serpent-- even being one, himself.

    "The Sea God''s waiting to see you," Iyuri said. "I would''vee sooner, but I had to deal with like-- three dragons on the way! Oh, wait-- they''re lizards. My bad."

    "Iyuri... this Realm," Tycon began-- "I have a way for you to escape."

    The Tyrant God was fast approaching.

    However, Iyuri was a powerful individual-- and one belonging to the younger generation.

    If he could convince her to go, she could meet up with the Hero Party, and--

    "We don''t have that kind of rtionship, Prince Tycondrius."

    That... was not something Tycon expected,ing out of Iyuri''s mouth.

    "And besides," she sighed, "I have a bloodline obligation to stay and fight. I don''t think I could swim away, even if I tried."

    Iyuri turned to leave, "Let''s get going, Ivory Prince. You have a Dragon God to kill."

    Without anything left to say, Tycon obediently followed in her wake.

    That child...

    He was hoping she would be able to keep her immaturity for a bit longer.

    Suddenly, Tycon furrowed his brows.

    For how long had Iyuri been toying with him?!

    That petnt brat!

    ...

    "Fog''s rollin'' in, Little Boss."

    High-Captain Lang Hai gnashed his teeth before putting down his spyss.

    "Yeah-- I''ve got eyes, too, numbskull," he said.

    The entire gods-damned bay was about to be covered thicker than shite chowder.

    Half-a-bell? Maybe not even that long.

    Thankfully, the Sea Wolves operated better below the drink than above it.

    Nheless, the mysterious fog was not a wee urrence.

    Since time immemorial, Marines and Sailors have been a superstitious lot.

    "And quit callin'' me that," Hai added with a low growl of annoyance. "Call me Captain-- which is my f*ck-ING rank, ass-hat! I swear on the Sea God''s balls if you f*ck me in front of Chantal, I''ll mount you on the mast."

    The dark-skinned Royal Marine returned a careless shrug.

    "Yeahhhh, I''ll mind my P''s and Q''s in front o'' the Admiral. But, talkin'' bout the Sea God, Cap''n-- "

    "On the F*CKING MAST, Garret!" Hai reiterated.

    "Shite, alright, sorry," apologized the idiot-Sergeant, raising his hands up defensively.

    "Sea God''s socks," Hai groaned... "And the Sea God''s an officer too, you f*ck."

    "Y-yeah," Garret coughed awkwardly. "Lieutenant Sea God... He... seems like an alright guy, though-- for a Sir."

    Hai shook his head as he copsed and re-extended his spyss.

    The Sea God *was* a pretty alright guy, especially for a junior Officer. But that just put more pressure on him as his senior.

    If his Marines werecking--

    Err... well, they were-- the whole f*cking lot of ''em.

    BUT if HIS Marines chose to shite all over proper decorum, Captain Lang Hai of the Elizabeth Dare would break all their limbs, tear open their bellies, and make them swim all the way back to Port San Canis!!

    There were a lot of eyes Hai had to worry about, even off the coast of Jad-- and even with the thick-as-shite fog rolling in like the evening tide.

    It was a joint force operation, but the Kingdom''s Navy did their part. They had two-thirds of the Royal Fleet, more than enough to have the other shite navies outssed and outgunned.

    Fleet Admiral Chantal was the belle of the evening ball.

    ...and with the whole Realm watching, anyone that f*ckied it all up would be chopped in two, head to tail.

    Hai once again brought his spyss to his face.

    Besides the judgmental gaze of his allies, he also had to keep an eye out for the Kingdom''s enemies.

    There''d been more than a few incidents over the past few suns... and with increasing regrity.

    Sea monsters-- like the ones in the old tales.

    And they weren''t like the abyssal beasts that Chantal kept as pets in the depths of Darktide Bay.

    The newest monsters had scales sturdier than steel and wings rated for fly-time.

    ...They were things the previous generations had to f*ck with.

    ...Probably shite his old bastard of a father had to fight.

    Looked like gods-damned dragons, those things.

    --which was the dumbest thought Hai had ever f*cking thought.

    Dragons don''t exist.

    It was a Law followed both by the immortals of the heavens and the hells... and the mortals of the waking world and the hidden forests.

    But whatever they were fighting...

    Lieutenant Eilean had been running double-shift belowdecks, using her weird Sea Witch magic to keep the ship hidden.

    It was safer that way.

    So it was up to Hai and his Marines to patrol the waters, just in case somethin''--

    ...wandered their way.

 Chapter 1045 Black Powder Welcome

    ?

    An honest grin and a hearty chuckle found their way to Hai''s mouth.

    "Eh heh he he... what... do we... have here?"

    Garret peered over the railing, "Sea God''s socks, there''s two of ''em now."

    Hai put down his spyss and waved to the Marines on deck.

    "Look alive, you lot!" he shouted, "Oversized Eel Princess headin'' this way!"

    "Ohf*ck, ohf*ck, ohf*ck!" Garret shouted as he sprinted off.

    Every Marine on deck moved with a purpose, grabbing weapons, posting up, or finding cover.

    --but... damn, that girl moved fast.

    The big blue b*tch snaked her way aboard Sailing Ship Elizabeth Dare.

    --whereupon she immediately snatched up Sergeant Garret and... in a swift and smooth motion, lifted her head up, dropping the poor bastard down her f*cking gullet.

    AND!!!!!

    AAAAANNNNDDDDD! she! BROKE! the F*CKING! railing!

    Of f*cking COURSE, she''d break the f*cking railing!!

    Why *wouldn''t* Iyuri board the ship in a ce where the railing was al-READY broken be-FORE-hand?!

    The shooting began, filling the air with the sweet scent of Orcish Sugar.

    "You CRAZY B*TCH!!" Hai shouted, throwing his spyss at the second-dumbest sea creature in the Realm, "Stop. BREAKING. MY. SHIP!!!!"

    WHY did she even need to board, at all?!?!

    Oh, son of a-- that spyss was F*CKING EXPENSIVE!!

    Hai fell to his knees, mming his arms on the deck. Because of Iyuri, his one and only f*cking spyss was broken and unusable...

    It would have made him feel a little better if she at least died.

    However, concentrated gunfire didn''t do shite. That infuriating Princess didn''t even flinch.

    "Ehe~ that tickles."

    "Cease-F*CKING-fire!" Hai cried, "We can''t afford to waste ammo, you idiots!!"

    There wasn''t any money in the budget for more ammo.

    ...or another spyss.

    The Sea Wolf fleet couldn''t even afford gods-damned forks and spoons.

    "Hi, Mister Hai!" Iyuri said, bowing her head. "I ate your friend."

    "That''s CAPTAIN Hai, ya fat f*ckin'' Sea Worm!!"

    "Huh?" Iyuri tilted her head, "Captain hello?"

    "His name is High-Captain Langhai," a deep voice interrupted. "Be polite, Princess."

    Well... that was a voice Hai hadn''t heard in too damned long.

    He shot up immediately and spun around on his heel.

    And Hai took in the sight of his favorite green-haired f*cktard:

    Marine Lieutenant Tycondrius Charm.

    Leader of legendary guild Sol Invictus.

    Commander of the Wyrmyer Alliance.

    He was also and-holding Baron-- with servants and everything.

    --and so gods-damned rich and arrogant, he might as well have been a Duke.

    --"Son of a scrag, it''s motherF*CK-ing Tycon!"

    --"Lieutenant! Wee back!"

    --"What the *hells* is he wearing?"

    Hai shook his head.

    That guy had left a deep impression on both him and his crew.

    He was strong. And he had a magic about him that could whip a force of three hundred Sea Wolves into something more like three thousand.

    Captain Lang Hai was still stronger, of course.

    But... considering Tycon''s Commander billet, the fact that he was made of gold coins, and that his own crew got along with him better than their own f*cking Captain-- Hai needed to hold onto at least that.

    Tycon looked the same as when hest saw him.

    Haircut? Fresh.

    Face? Clean-shaven. The guy could pass for a girl if it wasn''t for his voice.

    Arms? Sword on his hip-- Tyrion-make.

    U...niform?

    "Lieutenant, are you wearing a f*cking dress?"

    "Ah?" Tycon looked down at his short, white, one-piece dress, "This is traditional Tyrion attire."

    "Let me guess," Hai sneered, "Your mother made it for you?"

    "Hand-spun by my personal servant, actually," Tycon corrected.

    Bleighhh.

    Rich, handsome bastard...

    Hai turned in time to see, hear, (and almost f*cking taste) that idiot, Garret puked onto the deck.

    "That''s no good, Yu-Yu," chided a baby-faced blonde woman. "We need Mister Garret to swab the poop closet."

    Yeah. And that he''d do for allowing himself to get eaten.

    Dumbass.

    Rico was holding the massive Sea Serpent''s jaws open. The size difference made her look absolutely ridiculous-- like a baby casually manhandling a Whitesaber Tuna.

    But even in her human form, she didn''t lose out in strength in the fleet to anyone except maybe him.

    --definitely him.

    Hai was strong as f*ck.

    "You should''ve let him die," he grumbled.

    Rico let go of Iyuri''s mouth and it snapped shut with enough force to break a ship in half.

    "Ehe~ my boyfriend scolded me," she said with a grin.

    "Boyfriend?"

    Tycon stepped forward, standing at his side, "an interesting development."

    "Well-- yeah, long story, Tycon," Hai sighed. "So since when could you turn into a Water Worm?"

    The man was a snake-- a literal snake. But he was the only snake in the entire f*cking Realm he trusted to be a gods-damned professional at any given moment.

    The green-haired nerd chuckled at that.

    "With respect, Captain, that... is also a long story."

    Hai lowered his tricorne hat.

    ...The ss and charm the scoundrel exuded pissed him off to no end.

    But still...

    It was good to see him.

    He offered his hand, which Tycon immediately sped at the wrist.

    "Wee back aboard the Elizabeth Dare," Hai nodded. "Blood and f*ckin'' thunder."

    "Victory at sea," Tycon replied. "It''s good to be back amongst the Beaurte[1] Marines. How goes the fight, Brother-Hai?"

    "Ah, the fight goes pretty--"

    "Mister TYCON!!!"

    Hai was interrupted by Rico''s sudden shout-- and a mad sprint across the deck.

    Tycon was a pretty smart guy, so he took a step back and reached for his sword.

    "Good morning, Rico."

    Thankfully, Rico stopped herself from tackling the dress-wearing nerd to the deck.

    --which was good, because a sword wasn''t enough to stop her.

    "Oh. I want to hug you, but Little Boss doesn''t like when I hug random guys-- I dunno why."

    "Jealousy, I''d imagine," Tycon replied before turning back at him. "PFC Rico, learning. Fascinating."

    "It''s... actually Corporal Rico, now," Hai sighed. "Don''t ask me how."

    "This Realm is doomed," Tycon said with a wry smile.

    "My thoughts, exactly."

    Hai took a breath before addressing the worst troublemaker in the fleet.

    "This-- this isn''t some random guy, Rico," he scolded. "And. his. title. is Commander!"

    "So can I hug him?" Rico asked with shining eyes, "I''m gonna hug him."

    ""No,"" he and Tycon said at the same time.

    A round of gasps came from the crew, all around.

    Hai barely had the time to turn before a strange blue woman sailed over his head, crashing into Tycon.

    "You can''t hug Mister Tycon, Ri-Ri! He''s mine!"

    Eh?

    Tycon was trying and failing to hold back a woman Hai had never seen before. Her hair was put up into twin-ponytails, ck with ribbon streaks of sea-blue. And her flowing clothes-- she had on an expensive-looking robe, like something a velord would wear to show off.

    Hai clenched his fists and took in a deep breath.

    Seven hells! Lieutenant Eilean, Rico-- why did women even like that guy??!

    Wait-- did Admiral Chantal like him too?

    No, way! Chantal wasn''t a *real* woman-- she was a heartless monster wearing giant boobs!

    And Tycon was REALLY just--

    Eh?

    Hai raised his head and sniffed at the misty air.

    The new girl... she smelled just like--

    "This is-- *highly* inappropriate, Iyuri!" Tycon growled, pushing the woman away by the forehead.

    A wave of whispers and mumbling washed over the crew.

    --"Wait, that''s Iyuri? She can transform?!!??"

    Why was *that* a surprise? Half the crew could transform! That was one of the milestones of training the ?Sea Wolf Body Art?.

    --"Look at the badonkadonks on her!!"

    Yeah! What the hells was with that??

    Iyuri had even bigger boobs than the Fleet Admiral!!

    N-not that he was interested in boobs.

    --"I want her to swallow me next."

    Lang Hai narrowed his eyes.

    He drew his pistol, turned, and shot that one.

    Huh? It was Loretta.

    Had she joined the other team?

    But that was unimportant-- Hai was talking to Tycon about something...

    Oh, right-- the nerd wanted a sit-rep.[2]

    Turning back, Hai found Tycon staring at the dark sky, looking absolutely miserable.

    On his right, Iyuri had her arms slung around his neck, rubbing her face onto the guy''s shoulder.

    And on his left, Hai''s. f*cking. GIRLFRIEND had one leg wrapped around his waist, squeezing his arm, which was nestled in between--

    Hai put his first gun away, drew his second and shot Rico in the side of the head.

    She dropped to the deck like a sack of stolen eating utensils.

    "My thanks, Brother-Captain," Tycon nodded.

    With one arm free, he was able to swing his other arm, tossing Iyuri off the side of the ship.

    The high-pitched scream and the following ker-splunk were probably the most satisfying things Hai had ever heard.

    Hm.

    Tycon...

    That guy got stronger.

    Made sense. That kind of guy wouldn''t get weaker over time.

    Hai furrowed his brows, wondering if he could toss away a Sea Serpent away just as easily in his human form.

    --but even if he couldn''t, Hai would definitely be stronger if he assumed his final form!

    "I can''t help but wonder if such a violent measure was necessary," Tycon remarked.

    It was... but Hai somehow felt that if he admitted that, he would be losing as a man.

    But, anyroad--

    "Oh, no," Hai groaned. "Lieutenant! There''s blood on your clothes. I gUeSs you have to go change~"

    "In the future," Tycon shook his head, "Perhaps it would be best to keep Rico''s brain matter inside her skull rather than on my tunic?"

    Suddenly, Rico twisted her body to lie on her side.

    "OwwWww!" She cried, "Ergh. I fell on my pinky!"

    "She''s fine" Hai grinned, "Just as stupid as when we found her. Now, get in uniform, you. That''s an order."

    Tycon tilted his head, grinning slyly, "An order, you say? Captain Lang, you are aware that I currently outrank you, yes?"

    "Hah," Haiughed, sticking out his chin. "Not on my ship, Invictus."

    [1] Beaurte: Beaurte is a territory in the northern part of Alizeau.

    [2] Sit-rep: Situation Report.

 Chapter 1046 Forbidden Flesh

    ?

    The dress uniform of a Royal Marine Officer was one Tycondrius was proud to wear.

    The dark coat was trimmed with red. The blue trousers had a simr red stripe running along the sides. His belt was a pristine white, held by a shining, gold-ted buckle. And finally, a set of achievement ribbons were pinned to his breast, held securely in ce by a minor enchantment.

    Though despite his handsome appearance, a ''dress uniform'' seemed somewhat out of ce, considering theing tribtions.

    City-State Whitehearth was to be sieged by the armies of the Tyrant God, a mass of winged beasts, apanied by an unknown amount of their assumedly flightless servants.

    Military-grade armor seemed appropriate-- some sort of defense apposite to sword and bolt.

    A shield would be nice.

    However, there wasn''t much avable offering protection against one or more concentrated sts of lizard-fire.

    Thus, Tycon decided to wear whatever he wished.

    And a suitablest wish... was to look professional.

    He had a light meal to sate his hunger.

    He listened to Rico talk about herst outing in Jad, apanying her boyfriend.

    And after entertaining the child for about half-a-bell, it was appropriate time for him to seek out Langhai.

    Tycon climbed the faulty stairs (avoiding the troublesome spots, ording to memory.) And as he walked onto the deck, he donned his saucer-shaped Officer''s Cap, white with a ck rim.

    Upon meeting with Langhai, the boyish High-Captain dared to inspect his uniform for errors.

    --as if Tycon would be so careless.

    After everything was seen to be in order, Hai exined the situation.

    The coast near Port Town Jad was best defended area in the whole of the Eastern States.

    The three most powerful Sea Witches in the Realm made up a triangle formation designed both to detect seafaring enemies and stifle the enemy''s ability to detect their allies.

    Lieutenant Eiliean of the Sea Wolf Fleet.

    Priestess Antea, formerly of the Amphitrite Reef Tribe.

    Lieutenant Mina-- rtionship to the Sea God, unclear, but they were quite close.

    Unfortunately for Tycon, a majority of the fighting was prophesied to take ce in City-State Whitehearth, some distance ind.

    The city wasn''t particrly significant in strategic value-- not for its resources nor its location.

    It wasn''t the most populous City-State-- that was Archangel. It wasn''t the most technologically advanced-- that was Making. It didn''t have the strongest military force-- that title was contested between Forcen and ck Opal Valley.

    However, due to its central location, Whitehearth was the easiest City-State to reinforce.

    Perhaps that was the reason it was targeted...

    With the Tyrant God''s decree, the mortals that strove to protect the Realm would gather. They would stand together (within reason) against the tyranny of an overpowerful deity.

    And there, they would burn... until naught was left but ash and fire.

    Even if, against all odds, the Tyrant God''s forces would be repelled... it was likely that the casualties inflicted would cripple the resistance, preventing any further, meaningful rebellion.

    Tycon was fairly certain he would die in Whitehearth.

    And soon after, his allies would join him in the afterlife as the Tyrant God attacked the cities and territories they hailed from.

    Rico had no clue. Though, even if she did, Tycon doubted it would affect her sunny disposition.

    Langhai? He might have known. Besides being a Royal Marine Officer, he was also the Leader of the Sea Wolf Sect. He would know what the other Hidden Sects knew.

    The reason that Tycon was privy to to such information was someone he was very close to.

    She was an Oracle... a very rare ss.

    --and Tycon sorely felt that person''s absence.

    However, they were Off-Realm, along with the Hero.

    They were safe.

    ...or were they?

    Tycon furrowed his brows, recalling the tail-end of his conversation with Iyuri.

    She said... that her bloodlinepelled her to stay and fight against the Tyrant God.

    The same was true for him-- though it wasn''t something he chose to consciously acknowledge.

    But for the child he sent Off-Realm... he wondered which was stronger: a bloodlinepulsion or their father''s sincere plea?

    A pair of loud sshes from off-deck interrupted his thoughts.

    Two old friends boarded the ship, the first of which possessing a boisterous voice that threatened to wake whatever hid beneath the misty ck waters.

    "Mornin''dies and gents! Permission toe aboard?!"

    "You''ve already boarded, Lieutenant Ran," Captain Hai growled. "The green-haired nerd didn''t even ask."

    Ah. That was unprofessional of him. Tycon made a mental note to apologizeter.

    Tycon and Hai shook hands with the two Lieutenants, Shao Ran and Eleven-of-Seven.

    Ran was a gold-haired human Martialist formerly belonging to the Golden Crow Hidden Sect. The other was a sentient rock in metal armor.

    Both, Tycon trusted with his life on the battlefield.

    Neither, however, would he trust with the safety of a delicate item or vulnerable loved one.

    Ran went on to gossip about the Hidden Sects, notably Tycon''s work with the matriarch of the Frozen Cairn sect. It was interesting to hear about that world.

    The Hidden Sects had their own speakers and prophecies. Tycon wondered if he''d see some of their people in theing battle.

    Eleven-of-Seven thanked Tycon for taking care of his children.

    The six-fulm tall coral sentients were had taken up the mantle of Royal Marine, like their father. They served under themand of the Sea God, Captain Krysaos.

    Apparently, their four-fulm tall sire had met with them and found them worthy.

    However, the presence of Ran and Eleven-of-Seven begged a certain question.

    "Captain Hai," Tycon said... "What of the Marines and Sailors patrolling the Kingdom''s coast?"

    "F*ck if I know, guy," Hai said with a shrug. "Chantal gave the order. Over half the fleet''s here-- including most of our guys."

    What?

    Tycon furrowed his brows. He had informed his allies of the draconic threat a few moons prior, Chantal included. However, he but fully expected the various nations to keep reserve forces within their respective borders.

    But with the scale of naval forces mobilized, Tycon surmised that the Kingdom was fully aware of the threat the Tyrant God posed to their Realm.

    ...or perhaps they had their own Oracles?

    It shouldn''t have been a surprise... but he felt slightly sore that his Oracle''s insider information wasn''t as unique to him as he first thought.

    "Why''d ya ask?" Hai asked, suddenly suspicious, "There something going down we should know about?"

    Tycon thought back to the lizard he encountered a few bells prior.

    "It''s rted... to the creatures in the depths. I wonder if you''ve encountered any."

    "Meh," Hai shrugged, "There''s some weird shite down there. What we''ve been seein'' as ofte ain''t that much worse than usual."

    Tycon tilted his head... "You''re not concerned?"

    Most people in the Realm would have been... at least *moderately* concerned upon encountering something reminiscent of a mythical ''dragon.''

    Hai pursed his lips, "I follow my orders. I get paid twice a moon."

    "...Very well," Tycon nodded quietly to himself.

    For a moment, he wondered if the Sea Wolf Captain was merely putting up a confident facade.

    While it was certainly reasonable for the young gentleman''s character... Tycon came to the conclusion that Hai simply didn''t care.

    High-Captain Langhai was certainly a leader of men... but Fleet Admiral Chantal was directing the Marines as an entire force.

    Hai only had to worry about the enemies he encountered-- killing them with great prejudice while perhaps keeping his own Marines safe.

    No matter how powerful the enemy was, his situation remained unchanged.

    Emerge victorious or die.

    While it was a grim outlook, it was so woefully simple, Tycon found it rather heartening.

    Suddenly, Hai let out a... chuckle with an ugly snort.

    "You keep making that face, LT, you''re gonna turn into a Sea Scrag."

    "This is how I look," Tycon replied, "And I turn into other snakes, not... whatever a Scrag is."

    "Don''t think about shite too hard, guy," Hai grinned.

    He tossed his hand aside, "Whateveres our way, our Sea Wolves will crunch their bones to dust and gobble the rest down!"

    "Do *not* do that," Tycon scowled. "Lizard-flesh is difficult to prepare for safe consumption. Doing so devoid of that preparation carries certain... risks."

    "Eh?" Hai scratched at his head, "I-- I ain''t scared o'' no *risks.* But uh... just outta curiosity''s sake... what uh... kinda risks''r ''we talkin'' about?"

    "Debilitating sickness," Tycon crossed his arms. "Disease, particrly mana-destructive-- with its lethality corrting to the carrier''s Metal-Rank."

    Lieutenant Shao Ran ced a hand on his abdomen, "I... think I''ll be okay. My Golden Crow Body Art--"

    Recently-promoted Lieutenant Eleven-of-Seven hopped up, grabbing onto the back of Ran''s neck. Then he stuck one of his three fingers deep into the young man''s mouth.

    "Comply," the metal-man demanded.

    Ran immediately vomited the contents of his stomach onto the deck.

    "Lieutenant Ran!" Hai shouted, "Vomit OFF the f*cking ship! The railing''s RIGHT f*cking there!"

    Was it? Considering the state of the Elizabeth Dare''s railing, it was easier to pretend a proper railing didn''t exist.

    But that was unimportant.

    Tycon knelt down, scrutinizing Ran''s most recent meal. As he feared, he found evidence of lizardflesh present in the vomitus, barely chewed.

    "How many members of the crew?" he asked aloud.

    "F*ckin'' all of ''em," Hai said in a grim voice.

    "How long ago?"

    Eleven-of-Seven banged his metal fists together, "We must act immediately."

    "O-orders, Cap''n?" Shao Ran said before spitting off the side of the ship.

    "Why the f*ck are you all still here?" Hai groaned, "F*cking GO!"

    It was... very likely the stupidest mission Tycon had ever epted.

    Ran and Eleven dove off the side of the Elizabeth Dare, assumedly to return to their own respective ships.

    Hai descended the stairs toward the hold and sleeping quarters.

    And thus, Tycon was tacitly tasked with dealing with the Marines on the deck.

 Chapter 1047 The Purge

    ?

    Tycondrius strode across the rotting-wood deck of the Elizabeth Dare, illuminated by the grace of the pale moon. He took in a deep breath of sea-salted fog, savoring the sensation... and he mentally prepared himself tomit violence upon his allies.

    An unfamiliar Marine stood at the edge of the deck, smoking a tobo stick.

    He looked out onto the ck waters, leaning on a precarious portion of railing that, against all odds, remained intact.

    The gentleman seemed upied with the view, showing no reaction even when Tycon stood by his side.

    "What''s on your mind, Marine?" Tycon asked.

    The lonesome Marine took a long draw of his drug-stick, then an equally long exhale...

    Baring his teeth, he red into the dark fog as he spoke.

    "Been a f*ckin'' *while* since I''ve had a full belly... and we had to get chow our gods-damned selves."

    That, he was going to regret very soon.

    However, the younger Marine was not yet finished with hisints, "Sea god''s socks... I d''nno what the boatswain''s been doing, but it ain''t been his f*ckin'' job."

    That was disappointing to hear. Tycon was the boatswain when he was working for Langhai and performed his billet withoutplications. Unfortunately, it seemed his recement was not as proficient.

    "Duly noted," Tycon replied. "Concerning the matter, I''ll speak to the Captain, personally."

    "Eh? Huh?"

    The Marine turned his head. And, gazing upon Tycon''s handsome visage... he finally discovered that he was speaking (and cursing) casually to a superior officer.

    The panicked Marine finally figured out that a superior officer was speaking to him. He hurriedly discarded his drug-stick, then brought his hand up to salute-- as was proper.

    "G-good morning, Lieutenant."

    Tycon returned the salute, "Good morning. Now... tell me more about your trivial concerns."

    Whatever those concerns were, they were left unsaid. As soon as the young Marine opened his mouth, Tycon struck.

    He forced the fingers of the young Marine''s saluting hand down their own throat. Before the fellow could vomit, Tycon grabbed the back of his cor, directing the expulsion of vomitus off the starboard side.

    "W-why?" sputtered the pathetic Marine.

    "Captain''s orders," Tycon replied. "You understand."

    Ah.

    "And mind where you discard your trash," he added. "It''s unprofessional."

    Before the Marine could reply, Tycon shoved him over the railing.

    "Come back only after retrieving it."

    There were no rules against smoking tobo in the fleet. However, littering was a loathsome behavior.

    Two other Marines saw the act.

    They drew their weapons, one a rapier, and the other an arming sword.

    "What''s going on, Marines?" Tycon asked. "Did you perhaps want to apany your junior?"

    "Captain''s orders or not," the first mumbled, "y-you can''t do this to us, S-sir!"

    "The whole crew''s gone up two or three levels since Saltspray Ind, Lieutenant," the second shouted. "You can''t put us all down!"

    A smirk crept into the corner of Tycon''s mouth as he crept forward.

    "Then why... do the two of you... reek. of. *FeAr?*

    The Marine with the arming sword-- her weapon was conveniently shaped for Tycon''s purposes.

    She was the first to attack, feinting low butmitted to an overhead swing.

    It was an excellent disy of speed and skill, leading with the de, and wasting little to no movement.

    Unfortunately for her, Tycon had also improved since the Saltspray campaign.

    He caught the de between the palms of his hands, then wrenched the weapon out of the young woman''s grip. Undeterred, she lowered her body, leaning forward for another offensive movement.

    Tycon was curious to her follow-up, but sensing danger, he took a step back and aside to avoid the Marine Sergeant''s rapier.

    That left Tycon bnced and his opponent at his mercy.

    A swift front kick to the pit of the Marine''s stomach had him crouching over in pain. A second kick, slower but more forceful, rolled him across the deck.

    The woman was forced to dodge to the side to avoid her Sergeant-- but in the direction that Tycon predicted.

    With a single bound forward, Tycon was able to grab hold of her hair. (He secured her hat so she wouldn''t lose it.) Then, he dragged her to the edge of the deck and jammed her sword''s hilt into her mouth.

    She vomited properly.

    "W-whyyyy?~" she cried. "That... that was the first good meal I''ve had in like a moon~"

    "I''m *trying* to help you, Marine," Tycon scolded. "You should know better than to eat random garbage dredged up from the abyss."

    "S-shut up. I''m... I''m gonna dive back in and eat everything I--"

    Tycon squeezed the woman''s shoulder until he felt and heard a resonating crack.

    She passed out immediately.

    Whatever she was trying to say, he didn''t want to hear it.

    By that time, the other Marine had recovered to his feet.

    After meeting Tycon''s gaze, the fellow immediately nced behind him.

    "Don''t run, Sergeant Jacque," Tycon warned as he stood up. "It''ll be worse if you run."

    "This-- this is pretty bad already, Sir."

    "Are youing to me or do you value your teeth?"

    The Marine Sergeant steadied his stance.

    Tycon saw an almost palpable flow of mana as Jacque''s Sea Wolf blood ran hot.

    The muscles in his arms and legs bulged, though not to the extent of his Captain''s true form. His eyes grew hazy and his teeth grew long and sharp. Then, with supernaturally enhanced speed, he sprinted forward with his rapier.

    The Sea Wolves were fast-- faster and stronger than most of Tycon''s human allies. It was wonderful seeing them in action-- seeing the development of theirbat prowess over two, well-trained years.

    He was d he fought alongside them rather than against them.

    --overall, anyroad.

    Tycon stepped to the side, narrowly dodging the de before grabbing the front half of the snarling Sergeant''s neck.

    Sensing a shift in Jacque''s weight, Tycon lifted his shin to check a kick.

    It hurt.

    The unconscious woman wasn''t exaggerating. If the other fleet Marines had grown-- in speed simr to hers and strength simr to Jacque''s, Langhai had prepared them well for theing war.

    "LT," Jacque whispered... "I never got the chance to thank you properly for your help on Saltspray Isle."

    Thus unbnced, Tycon repositioned his grip to the back of the Sergeant''s shoulder. Then, he dropped the gentleman down, driving his stomach into his knee.

    Sergeant Jacque promptly vomited onto the deck.

    "No thanks are necessary, Marine," Tycon whispered. "Blood and thunder."

    "V-victory at sea," the Sergeant coughed.

    Tycon gently lowered Jacque, allowing him to kneel on the deck and contemte his life choices.

    ...Tycon also granted him two reconciliatory pats on the back.

    Despite the numbness he felt in his left shin, his feelings of respect outweighed his feelings of annoyance.

    Jacque had fought well.

    "Ahaha... who the f*ck''s gotten ''emselves SEA-sick this time o'' night?"

    A woman''s voice came from around the corner, its owner arriving shortly after.

    It was Miss Loretta, whom he had worked with before. And apanying her was a Marine carrying a heavy shield.

    Their faces immediately paled.

    Whether it was for the unconscious junior Marine, her face frozen in agony; or the fallen Sergeant on his knees, face to a pool of his own ejecta, rear to the starry sky; Tycon did not know.

    Their appearances might have been rather pitiful... but they''d live.

    That was the goal of Tycon''s mission, after all:

    --to save as many Marines as he could.

    Tycon stood up and began walking toward twotest recipients of his mercy and good will.

    "Good morning, Marines," he said with a smile.

    "M-mornin'', Sir." "Good... morning, Lieutenant," came their uncertain responses.

    cing a hand on his chin, Tycon wondered if he could get the two to jam their fingers down each other''s throats.

    ...

    ? 45 minutester... ?

    All of the Sea Wolves that had gone on patrol (and some that had not) were forced to purge.

    The most difficult of which... as Tycon somewhat expected, was the Sea Wolf High-Captain, Lang Hai, himself.

    ? Lang Hai, Iron-Rank Human Dread Captain. ?

    The rebellious boy-Captain even used his ?Abyssal Sea Wolf Transformation?, likely assuming he could brute-force himself exempt from his own orders.

    The transformation was a troublesome one, greatly reducing the free space on the top deck-- especially as they both wanted to avoid unreasonable damage to the Elizabeth Dare.

    ...Hm. That wasn''t exactly right.

    The damage to the Elizabeth Dare was already beyond reasonable.

    Thankfully, Tycon did not have to be the one to embarrass the High Captain in front of his crew-- his friends, peers, and longtime allies.

    For that, Tycon chose to rely on Langhai''s romantic partner.

    ? Rico, Gold-Rank Cmity Beast. ?

    At his behest, the ever-lovely Corporal Rico crammed her entire arm down her Captain''s throat with zero hesitation.

    Hai promptly expelled his dinner onto the deck. And all over his girlfriend.

    Subsequently, and as expected, she suffered a simr reaction.

    It was... not the *most* embarrassing scene Tycon had witnessed.

    But the entire ordeal was certainly... distasteful.

    And soon after, Tycondrius of Charm was ordered off of the Elizabeth Dare.

    He was d to meet with the Marines of Beaurte.

    It gave him confidence.

    If the rest of his allies had even half their training, they might all survive the swarths of the Lizard God''sckeys.

    And when their leader reared its disgusting, scaled face... Tycon could leave his allies to their own devices while he struck off on his own to aplish the impossible.

    However... the Sea Wolves were but a single faction amongst the anti-lizard offensive.

    He wanted to see the others.

    Though it was far toote to rectify their situations... Tycon held a minuscule hope that he''d find something that would lift his spirits.

 Chapter 1048 To Arms

    <h4>Chapter 1048 To Arms</h4>

    Before Tycondrius debarked the Elizabeth Dare, Langhai suggested he pay the Fleet Admiral a visit.

    Those two had a colorful history. They knew each other from a young age, as their fathers were close.

    Then, Langhai''s adoptive father was used of murdering Fleet Admiral Guime De Croix.

    It was a false usation, the result of a rtively simple political plot.

    Despite that, Tycon believed theirpatibility to be good.

    But it seemed the fates had different ns for the strongest Sea Wolf, considering his loyalty to Corporal Rico.

    Anyroad...

    Tycon felt obligated to see Chantal, with or without Hai''s urging.

    Though his current billet was Commander, he was still technically a reserve officer serving under her Royal Navy.

    As he swam towards the gship, he sensed the gaze of something immense watching him from deep below.

    --immense and... sentient.

    It was unnerving... but Tycon kept his bearing.

    There were rumors attached to Chantal De Croix, ultimately amounting to the fact that she was ''protected.''

    Logically, Tycon could consider her protector (or protect-ors) as tentative allies.

    If the truth was otherwise, he would die quickly enough.

    ...That particr notion had urred with rming regrity, over the past few suns.

    Tycon reverted back into his human form and scaled the side of the juggernaut-ss ship, the Kida Thatch. Then, he pulled himself up to stand just outside of the intact wooden railing.

    He adjusted his officer''s cap, stood up straight, and rendered a salute.

    "Marine Lieutenant Tycon, requesting permission to board!"

    The magenta-haired Chantal De Croix stood five paces away, crossing her arms andzily wearing her coat as if were a makeshift cape.

    Tycon was tempted to correct her. However, that was inappropriate, considering their respective statuses-- and that a dozen and one of her sailors nked her, standing at the ready with swords and pistols drawn.

    "So the Commander of the Wyrmyer Alliance has decided to deign his superior officer with his presence," Chantal said with a grin. "Permission granted, Dragonyer."

    ? Chantal De Croix, Iron-Rank Human Beast Contractor. ?

    Tycon vaulted the rails, approaching the Kingdom''s Fleet Admiral as she dismissed her subordinates.

    "Good morning, Grand-Capitaine," he said. "Wyrmyer Alliance, you say?"

    "Your old name was stupid," Chantal waved-- "and good morning."

    Was it? He liked the ''Anti-Lizard Offensive'' as it was sinct and urate. Wyrms and dragons didn''t exist-- not besides the one he was aiming to y, anyroad.

    Nheless, the coalition would function well-enough, regardless of its name.

    "Grand Capitaine," Tycon said. "A majority of our fleet hadin anchor in foreign waters. Might I inquire if this was by yourmand?"

    "Oui," she answered in the Kingdom''s old tongue, "(Do you have a problem with my orders, Mister Lieutenant?)"

    "Not at all," Tycon replied. "It was a decision, most astute. However, I did wonder... was the heart of Grand Capitaine Chantal De Croix always so easy to move?"

    "Ah, (I understand your concerns,)" Chantal nodded. "Zhe Alliance has moved upon the advisory of a certain, illustrious personage. I was told you were... familiar with her."

    "A-admiral De Croix!" shouted a female voice, pitched high in panic.

    Tycon turned to watch a young Tyrion acolyte running toward them. Her short, childish pigtails bobbed up and down as she ran.

    And, as he expected, the youngdy lost her footing on the slippery deck, kissed by the morning mist.

    In a smooth and unhurried motion, Chantal caught the youngdy before she incurred injury.

    "Be careful, (my little cabbage,)" she cooed, "or you''ll fall."

    "I... I think it''s toote, Ma''am."

    Tycon rolled his eyes. That was obvious.

    --or was it?

    Was there a hidden meaning he was missing? He often had difficulty understanding conversations doused with subtlety.

    The youngdy''s name was Croesa,[1] a low-level administrator he had met briefly in the Holy Country''s capital.

    It was odd to see her aboard the Kingdom''s gship-- but considering her great agitation, extraneous inquiry would have to wait.

    The Fleet Admiral stood the scarlet-faced youngdy up.

    "Please, Mademoiselle," she waved, "report."

    "Th-there''s an attack headed this way!" Croesa yelped.

    "Calm yourself, Miss Croesa," Tycon said in a soft, non-threatening v--

    "AiiiieeEEEeee!!!"

    Tycon crossed his arms. The child''s sheer terror at the sight of him should have been annoying considering the circumstances. However, as a predator, he found it somewhat satisfying.

    It was a shame, though, that it was socially frowned upon to show pride in the fact.

    Chantal put herself between him and the screeching brat.

    "Breathe, ma petite," she said. "Tell us what you know."

    Croesa nodded shyly, "a-- a strike force has broken through the western blockade. They''re ignoring the other ships and are heading straight for us!"

    As a wave of panic washed through the sailors on deck, Tycon crossed his arms in thought.

    Was there a w in the Three-Point Concealment Formation? No... he sensed it was still functioning.

    --"What? How is that possible!?"

    --"Shite shite shite! We''re doomed!"

    --"The Sea God has turned his back on us!"

    --"I knew we couldn''t trust that bastard''s gods-damned smile!"

    Chantal fired a pistol in the air, instantly silencing her sailors'' panicked mewling.

    "Sacred GODS!" she roared, "Stay calm, you idiots! Thanks to Lieutenant Mina, ze enemy cannot pierce ze veil with zheir dragonne magics! ''Owever, zhey can use their EYES to see ze biggest F*CKING ship in ze BAY!!"

    Tycon hade to the same conclusion.

    Mina''s formation remained intact, stifling the enemy''s Divination spells.

    And as long as the Sea Wolves patrolled the bay, the enemy

    However, it was impossible to hide the fact that Chantal''s ship was... worthy of note.

    But to strike so deep into enemy waters... the targeted attack was a suicide mission-- and, even then, its strategic value was trifling.

    Chantal had already given her orders. Morale issues aside, if she were injured or killed, her subordinates would takemand. Tycon doubted anyone would even notice, as each High-Captain was a veteran officer, versed inmanding multiple fleets.

    Likely, the enemy was hoping that the Kida Thatch held one of the corner formations that protected the naval forces of the Wyrmyer Alliance.

    They were incorrect... but that did not change the circumstances.

    The dogs of the Tyrant God were quickly approaching.

    "To arms, Darktide!" Chantal yelled.

    She turned to Tycon, "And you, Lieutenant, make yourself useful."

    "I really must be going, Ma''am," Tycon said politely. "I should be expected at--"

    Out of reflex, he caught something Chantal threw to him.

    --or rather, threw *at* him.

    It was her sword.

    That was both her answer and ultimatum.

    "(A little puppy,) she said... (he once told me...) You serve ze Kingdom. As a Marine,[2] you are sworn to duty and bound by honor."

    She gnashed her teeth.

    Chantal''s pride was hurt. And she was furious.

    "He told me... that if ze enemies of the Kingdom dared to touch a single hair on my head... he''d charge in the deepest depths of the Abyss to rescue me."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    He was dubious as to whether or not Chantal actually needed his help. However, considering that the enemy was approaching underwater, her senses were superior to his.

    And considering that a self-sufficient woman such as herself felt it necessary to enlist his aid...

    --he would not reject her earnest request.

    "On the honor of the Sea Wolf fleet," Tycon said, "I obey."

    "Tch," Chantal clicked her tongue. "F*cking Marines..."

    Her words did not match her expression.

    The Admiral of the Royal Navy wore a wide grin in anticipation of theing violence.

    She took a deep breath...

    And she began tough.

    Wielding two pistols in either hand, she whipped her head back as she cackled to the night sky.

    "(To the first deaths of a VERY long sun!!) she shouted, "Darktide Pirates! NO QUARTER!!"

    Her crew responded as one.

    """NO QUARTER!!"""

    Pirates? She meant ''sailors.''

    Surely, she meant ''sailors''...

    "No quarter," Tycon repeated as he walked to the ship''s portside.

    All across the ship, shots began to ring-- as well as the screams of terror from the throats of mortal men.

    The fighting had begun.

    A smoky haze and the sweet scent of Orcish Sugar began to fill the air, nostalgic, but ominous.

    Something grabbed hold of Tycon''s leg, a webbed hand attached to a humanoid arm covered in loose scales. It had moderate strength, in both its grip and its pull, but Tycon held fast.

    He reached over the railing, pierced the fish-eyed creature''s skull with a stab, then severed its arm at the wrist.

    Tyconzily inspected his sword after.

    If it was enchanted, its level was far too low to be appropriate for Chantal''s position. If he didn''t amplify his attacks with mana, it would have been difficult to cut through bone.

    Nheless, it wasn''t Tycon''s weapon or his form that was particrlycking. The servants of the Tyrant God attacking the ship were extraordinarily resilient.

    Tycon grimaced upon realizing an unsavory notion.

    If the caliber of Chantal''s sword was ineffective against the invaders... then what of the equipment used by her subordinates?

    [1] Croesa: First introduced in Chater 618!

    [2] You are a Marine: See Chapter 133! She remembered!

 Chapter 1049 Hope for the Kida Thatch

    <h4>Chapter 1049 Hope for the Kida Thatch</h4>

    Something overge was thrashing about in the deep-- likely the massive sentience that Tycondrius sensed earlier.

    The notion made him wish he hadn''t looked down into the abyss.

    It was a disheartening experience, having something look back.

    Nheless, Tycon steeled his resolve, willfully ignoring that which he did not know in favor of that which he did:

    Murdering creatures he did not like.

    The unwee invaders were humanoid, fish-eyed sentients. They continued to board the ship, wielding primitive weapons like broken-shell spears and coral-d clubs.

    Tycon had encountered the creatures before... in a small coastal vige called Thorne. The hatcheries were destroyed at that ce, but obviously, there were others.

    And thebat effectiveness of those creatures overall... was unfortunately high.

    Unlike Lang Hai''s Sea Wolves, Chantal''s very human subordinates werergely disadvantaged by the enemy''s physiques. The fish-mens'' size and strengthbined with their resilient skins resulted in over two dozen casualties in only a few minutes.

    And, worse still, a marked trait of the Tyrant God''s armies was a blind and unwavering zeal. The enemy fought on, regardless of their injuries... simr but not quite to the same efficacy as the undead attachments of the Sleeping Country.

    That in mind, undead soldiers could only be fielded alongside the coordinated efforts of their military Necromancers.

    The enemy had a different stiption.

    There was a malodorous stink of lizard magic in the air.

    It reeked of a Domination Spell called ?Unrelenting Zeal?, something applicable to only the most devoted of fanatics.

    It was not an enchantment, nor was it a curse. It was a Divine Blessing and, to Tycon''s knowledge, could not be cleansed.

    If it was as he feared, the suicide squad could not be bargained with... nor could they be spared and rehabilitated.

    As the battle raged, those affected would only descend deeper into madness.

    Their only end would be death-- as was appropriate for the enemies of Sol Invictus.

    Wielding Chantal''s nameless word, Tycon scanned the deck for where he could best be of assistance. As strong as he was, personally, the Warlord ss'' most powerful options provided powerful support to his allies.

    He spotted a muscr, sea-weathered sailor holding his own, if barely. Two of the enemyid at his feet, but his clothes were shredded by their ws, his blood spilling freely onto the deck.

    The strong man''s sword arm did not waver.

    He would do.

    "Fight on, Darktide!" Tycon said with a smirk.

    Looking forward to see the ughter that would follow, he snapped his fingers.

    The older sailor spun his head around to face him.

    "Don''t you F*CKing snap at me, assh*le!!"

    W... what?

    Tycon had activated a Skill-- one highly beneficial to his allies.

    ? Conditions not met for ?Commander''s Strike?. ?

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? failed. ?

    Before Tycon could fully understand the implications of the System message, he watched a thrown spear impale the sailor through his back.

    Momentster, a group of webfoots descended upon him, their ws finding his throat.

    Frustration and disappointment swelled in Tycon''s heart as he made his way to the dying man. He cut down the three that felled him.

    But only after he gained a moment to think did he realize his fervor was useless.

    He was nning on using his healing Skill, ?Inspirational Surge?, to resuscitate the injured sailor. However, the prerequisite to do so sessfully was the same as ?Commander''s Strike?:

    Trust.

    If his targeted ally refused to ept his assistance, even subconsciously, the Skill might activate with severely reduced effects-- or not activate, at all.

    It was a rare issue in the context of an adventuring party, squad, or small guild. Tycon had even led multiple flights of the Sapphire Tower''s Witches, using his billet as Commander.

    However, Chantal''s sailors were different. Perhaps their judgment was clouded by fear. Perhaps the sailors stubbornly refused to acknowledge a Marine, despite them all belonging to the same, gods-damned Royal Navy.

    Tycon was tempted to force the matter-- to use his will to overwhelm the sailor''s meager mental resistance.

    --but considering the amplified mana cost, the mental strain, the uncertain side-effects... and the fact that there were hundreds more sailors on the Kida Thatch...

    Tycon did nothing.

    Tycon did nothing but stare into the sailor''s eyes, watching his blood drain onto the deck. Frothy pink bubbles of helplessness escaped from his torn windpipe as he pleaded for a boon none would grant.

    He prided himself in his abilities, inspiring his allies, inciting their battle lust, and pushing their abilities to their uppermost limits.

    But he could not do the impossible. He could not rekindle their hopes if there was none to begin with.

    It did not, however, mean he would stop trying.

    Sprinting across the deck, he leapt into a melee amidst a group of five of Chantal''s senior sailors. He integrated himself naturally, likening the situation to a legionnaire taking his ce in a shield wall. He stabbed at his front. He fended off attacks in defense of his left and right.

    And he hoped to trust his battle brothers and sisters beside him with the same.

    "DARKTIDE!!" he screamed, "You MUST have FAITH!! We can win this!"

    A bloodfilled scream erupted at his back.

    The woman on his right died with her face in terror, her dying breath gone unscreamed.

    The rest, too-- they fell.

    ? Conditions not met for ?Darktide Defense Formation?. ?

    ? ?Darktide Defense Formation? failed. ?

    Tycon grit his teeth and vaulted over a pile of bodies before shing the napes of two more webfoots.

    "You there!" he shouted, "Dodge!!"

    There was a sailor with a rifle. She had honed in on a target, her eye aligned to the ironsights.

    Did she not hear him?

    ? Conditions not met for ?Jumping Knee Counter?. ?

    ? ?Jumping Knee Counter? failed... ?

    The de of a coral hatchet cut deep into the barrel of her rifle.

    The webfoot grabbed hold of the woman and sank its teeth into her neck.

    There was no ?Silence? Spell-- no Formation inhibiting his voice... Even if there was, Tycon could have found a way to activate his Skills.

    Tycon clenched his fist.

    The Tyrant God...

    This was that creature''s doing.

    Tycon was surrounded by fear and despair.

    But its source was not magic.

    The pure, unadulterated miasma of emotion... was borne from the hearts of mortal men.

    Tycon was confident in the water when he swam alongside Princess Iyuri.

    He was confident on the deck of the Elizabeth Dare, with the members of the Sea Wolf Sect.

    But... the crew of the Kida Thatchprised regr human beings.

    --as was arge majority of the Wyrmyer Alliance.

    And Tycon was witnessing the result of a battle between humans and the Tyrant God''s servants.

    The enemy was outnumbered. They were armored in scraps and armed with unrefined weapons, dredged up from the sea floor.

    The enemy... was not immune to fear.

    But with the abhorrent gifts of their abominable god... they had naught to fear from the men and women of the Realm.

    And thus, those fearful mortals faltered.

    And... for just that unforgieable sin, they died en masse.

    "Chantal!" he shouted across the deck, "You orders!?"

    "I am NOT one of your women, Tycondrius!" Chantal returned.

    The brazen woman pulled a repeating pistol from her holster, fired a round into a webfoot''s crotch, and subsequently jammed the weapon barrel down its mouth before firing twice more.

    She then shot Tycon a furious re, "You will REFER to me by my RANK!"

    That... was fair.

    A stunned Croesa stared at the blood spatter on her white robes before btedly letting out a shriek.

    She was... not a fortunate child.

    Anyroad...

    Chantal, despite her high-ranked ss, did not have Tycon''s half-step Adamantine physique.

    She was human, much like her crew.

    Yet... she showed valor umon to her bloodline.

    The battle was not progressing favorably...

    --but on his honor, Tycon would at least ensure her life... even if he had to break all her limbs in order to whisk her away.

    The end of the Realm notwithstanding, his pride would be greatly diminished if he could not raise his head in the presence of his friend, Langhai.

    Tycon threw the woman''s sword with some force. Its point managed to pierce the abdomen of one of Chantal''s assaulters.

    "My apologies, Grand-Capitaine!" he shouted-- though mere words could not convey how deep his regret ran.

    There was no hope for her ship... and even less for her crew.

    But if even the smallset chance appeared... he would take it.

    The Fleet Admiral clicked her tongue, holstered one of her pistols, and reimed her sword.

    Tycon took a haltered breath.

    ...and he snapped his fingers.

    ? Conditions... ?

    "GRAND-CAPITAINE!!!" he shouted, "BLOOD!! AND!!!!! THUNDERRRR!!!!!"

    ? Conditions met. ?

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    The burst of mana granted Chantal a superhuman burst of speed. Swinging her sword arm, she cleanly decapitated an enemy trying to nk her.

    She kicked her leg nearly straight up, swiftly bringing it down onto the shoulder of another webfoot. The domineering axe kick shattered its corbone, dropping them to the deck.

    Finally free of the pressure, Chantal wordlessly unloaded a barrage of pistolfire into a swarth of five more oers.

    As the Fleet Admiral began to reload her repeating pistols, she shot Tycon an annoyed re.

    And as her lips parted, she mouthed something he did not expect.

    ''Victory at sea.''

    ...It seemed that hope was not yet lost for the Kida Thatch.

 Chapter 1050 Repeat

    <h4>Chapter 1050 Repeat</h4>

    "?Ruptis LUCIS!!?"

    A certain woman''s voice alerted Tycondrius to a magical attack.

    A waist-high ring of golden light began to expand at a rapid pace from elsewhere on the ship.

    Despite his absolute trust in the owner of that voice, he ducked and rolled to avoid it-- just in case.

    It passed through the wood of the ship mast without resistance.

    However, against the living, breathing minions of the lizard god: each struck was brought to their knees, clutching their midsections in pain.

    Not bad.

    Getting back to his feet, Tycon turned to the Spellcaster, having recently emerged from the lower decks.

    Natalya Crucis stood tall, channeling another Spell through her enchanted staff.

    Tycon wondered if perhaps she was the one to influence the Fleet Admiral''s orders. The lesser Oracles under themand of the Holy Country''s Archbishop had a certain reputation, after all.

    Natalya was dressed in a set of enchanted battle regalia, mostly in red. It was her favorite color-- and matched her scarlet hair, beautifully spilling upon the gold trim of her cor.

    And, of course, her attire was topped with a tall, domineering hat. Such was customary for high-ranking personages from the Holy Country.

    ? Natalya Crucis, Gold-Rank Human Hallowed Summoner. ?

    She was perfect.

    --that is, she was the perfect recipient for Tycon''s various support abilities.

    Tycon grabbed hold of a webfoot attacker''s spear, drove its point through the side of another, then hacked his sword into the neck of the first.

    As that one fell to its knees, Tycon stepped up onto its shoulder, leaping forward as he activated his ?Tumble? Movement Technique.

    Sharpening his senses and magically boosting his reflexes, he was able to, then, kick off one of the masts, swing off a disced rigging rope, andnd on a webfooted enemy while stabbing his sword between its neck and shoulder.

    He looked very dashing-- and it took a great deal of effort and a small bit of luck to do so in front of Natalya. And he was fairly certain his efforts would be appreciated.

    "Is that all?" she asked.

    --or not.

    She didn''t even look at him.

    ...but as she was currently focusing on another devastating area-effect Spell, he decided not to mind it.

    Tycon pumped his arm down, circting his mana, instilling within it his oppressive will.

    "?Hydra.?"

    And with a sweep of his hand, he summoned a shadowy snake, its head asrge as any of the enemy webfoots stood tall. It swirled about him and the Archbishop, passing through a half-dozen enemies, greedily swallowing up their corrupted essence.

    They fell as one, drained of their life force-- their bodies dessicated into dry, lifeless husks.

    The scarlet-haired woman turned her head away, "What took you so long, Snake?"

    An immacte professional, Natalya had no issues criticizing him while maintaining her Channeled Spell.

    It was quite the feat, considering itsplexity. (And it was no less impressive than his show of physical agility-- which was *very* impressive.)

    Tycon nced to the side, meeting the eyes of a slyly approaching webfoot. The fellow likely believed he was being clever.

    ? ?Vexing Gaze? conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ?

    ? Please. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    ? Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ?

    The fellow immediately ceased his steps-- which was understandable.

    He dropped his spear.

    Poor form. Verrrry poor form.

    He clutched at his throat as he began to choke.

    Blood began to spill from his mouth and eyes... and from what Tycon assumed were gills on his neck.

    The webfoot fell to the deck, their body and limbs twitching and writhing in pain.

    Tycon stepped past her and kicked the body away.

    "Good morning, Natalya," he said with a smile. "I say, you look absolutely lovely."

    "Shut up~" Natalya replied, shutting her eyes and frowning deeply. "If you break my concentration, I will *murder* you."

    Interesting. She failed to mention crucifixion, her favorite threat.

    "Would you prefer if I *hadn''t* arrived?" Tycon teased.

    "If you didn''t show up, I''d have murdered you even worse."

    Hah.

    It was mentally taxing to cast such a lengthy andplex spell in the middle of abat zone.

    That she could do so was impressive-- and to do so while holding a basic conversation was a feat possible for only a handful of people in the Realm.

    Granted, Natalya''s responsescked a certain level of wit he was ustomed to.

    But that was forgivable.

    Tycon was *tempted* to tease her more.

    However, the *proper* thing for a gentleman to do... was to avoid taking advantage of his lovelypanion''s precarious state.

    (Anyroad, he was satisfied having said as much.)

    He waved his hand once more, silently activating his ?Hydra? Skill and calling forth another shadowy serpent head. Though it was far more taxing on his mana reserves than using his Nemayan pistol, the level of attack was far more reliable for disabling the oing enemies.

    As Natalya continued to channel, the Spell Circles glowing on the deck began to split and branch: with script longer and moreplex and withyers thrice as deep.

    Natalya had minimized her awareness andpletely dropped her defenses. And besides being vulnerable to attack, she would suffer lethal or near-lethal mana-feedback if her channeling was interrupted.

    Tycon began to activate and control his ?Hydra? Skill with both hands, increasing the rate of his murdering to match the enemy''s invigorated and more desperate response.

    They knew that the effect of Natalya''s channeled Spell had the potential to turn the tide of battle.

    However...

    Over 100 seconds passed, the Spell not yetplete.

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    There were two people in the Realm that Natalya trusted.

    One was the High Oracle-- currently Off-Realm with the Hero.

    And the other... was himself.

    Tycon drew his pistol, firing at the enemy while continuing to direct the five shadow hydras with his left hand.

    She knew he was there.

    She knew he would defend him.

    A short distance away, Chantal''s position was dangerously close to being overrun.

    --yet Natalya must have known that he would choose her over his Fleet Admiral.

    He hadn''t seen the woman in over two moons. And prior to that, their rtionship was uncertain.

    His lips cracked into a twisted grin.

    Her words were harsh, but her actions conveyed a sincere level of trust.

    He had been a fool to disappoint her in the past.

    "Natalya, I''ll never let you go again."

    "I. told. you. to... SHUT! THE F*CK!! UP!!!!!!"

    She mmed the base of her staff into the deck so hard, it cracked the wooden floorboards.

    "?Ruptis F*CKING LUCIS!!!!!?"

    Eh?

    A massive ring of gold enveloped Natalya-- shooting outward nigh instantaneously.

    The Spell was too fast for anyone on deck to dodge... but it harmlessly washed over the sailors of the Kida Thatch, while dropping the Tyrant God''s minions where they stood.

    They struggled to move-- or rolled their heavy bodies on the deck, loosing feral screams.

    Tycon observed the effects of the Natalya''s Spell on the closest (non-dried) webfoot-- and was left awestruck.

    Her first cast of ?Ruptis Lucis? only seemed to inflict nausea-- minor internal bleeding at best.

    But the enemy...

    --their bones...

    --they were crushed, as if they were squeezed from two or three sides by divine force.

    The effect was most obvious in the arms, legs, and ribcage.

    The worst off had copsed to the deck as grotesque meat puppets, their bones pulverized to dust... their unsupported flesh weighing upon their sensitive organs.

    Even those that remained standing, however, suffered some kind of internal injury, judging by the blood spilling from their mouths and gills.

    Tycon found himself, head to toe, drenched in sweat.

    That Spell... he sensed it would have affected him as well-- but the immediate area around Natalya was a dead zone.

    "Do the snapping thing," Natalya growled.

    Huh?

    "Well?" she snapped.

    "A-a-aye-- yes, Ma''am," Tycon managed to mumble.

    ? ?Commander''s Strike? activated. ?

    He snapped his fingers.

    Tycon did not like what was happening.

    The Skill activated almost a half-second before hepleted the gesture.

    He was terrified.

    He couldn''t remember thest time he''d been *nearly* as terrified.

    Natalya released her hand from her staff, still stuck in the deck, and she raised it skyward.

    "?Holy Shock Aura?."

    A dozen tendrils of lightning struck down through a series of dark, magically formed clouds.

    "Repeat," Natalyamanded.

    Tycon obediently snapped his fingers.

    The first ?Commander''s Strike? took a moderate amount of mana to activate. A consecutive activation sent ance of pain through the side of his head-- and a deep ache seeping into his muscles.

    Though he''d recently undergone aplete reconstruction of his mana circuits and physique, it was still difficult to keep pace with Natalya''s demands.

    Lightning struck again-- in different ces. Each bolt unerringly found one of the downed enemies on board.

    Natalya put her hands on her hips, "And what were you saying just now, Snake?"

    "Natalya..."

    "And-- the snapping thing, did I tell you to stop?"

    Tycon sniffed, trying to hold back tears of pain and humiliation.

    And he snapped his fingers once more.

 Chapter 1051 Dragonhawk Invitation

    ?

    ? A half-bellter... ?

    Tycondriusid face down on a couch in Chantal''s personal quarters.

    He was familiar with the Fleet Admiral''s sense of style, having once visited her office in the Darktide Fortress.

    It was hideous-- replete with... knick-knacks, storied items looted from treasure troves, and chunks of wood with ques undoubtedly taken from ships Chantal personally damned to the deep abyss.

    There was really no logical sense to most of it. The longer he looked, the more intense a numb sensation at the forefront of his brain.

    But thankfully, serendipity struck, and Tycon realized he just had to close his eyes.

    --and then it actually became quite nice.

    The various smells in the room calmed his nerves... gentle... and old.

    A faint incense clinging to the fabric of the couch.

    A swash of a strong spirit to hide the stale mildew scent on an old oaken armoire.

    The sweet, musty scent of a personal library...

    Hm.

    Tycon wondered if Chantal even read those books.

    Two moons prior, he discovered she neglected to read the reports he sent her.

    ...She *must* have known how to read. She was a High Officer, after all.

    --the Highest Officer~

    "And what do you think you''re doing, couch-slut?"

    The voice belonged to Natalya.

    It lifted his mood for a half-second.

    After that, he recalled that she was the reason for him suffering from mana fatigue.

    "I''m trying to recover my mana," Tycon muttered, unwilling to remove his face from the couch cushion.

    "You look stupid," Natalya scolded. "Sit up and fix your posture. Meditate *properly.*"

    "I d''n wanna," Tycon grumbled.

    "Tycondrius."

    Tycon turned his head to the side, "I''m recovering well enough in my current position. But I *appreciate* thy concern."

    "And just *how* long are you going to lie around?" Natalya frowned, "We''ve a war to win."

    Tycon shifted his body to the side and pped his palms toward her.

    "F-five more minutes," he pleaded.

    That... that''d be enough.

    --just that much...

    "Hey."

    Tycon didn''t notice when, but Natalya had quietly knelt beside him. She was leaning over, her face dangerously close.

    "Y... yes?" Tycon pouted.

    Natalya''s gaze left him feeling particrly vulnerable.

    He wasn''t in the mood to be mocked. He just wanted to recover in quietude, regathering mana and perhaps a few shattered pieces of pride he somehow lost along the way.

    --if he could find them.

    He felt Natalya''s soft hand brushing his hair.

    ...and he mentally prepared himself for the worst.

    "You were kinda cool out there."

    ...Tycon narrowed his eyes, finally sitting up properly. He ran the words thrice over in his head, searching for a sign of duplicity or deceit.

    Natalya sighed and shook her head, "I''m being grateful, you durd."

    Oh.

    That statement, he trusted more readily than the first.

    Natalya stood up and sat beside him-- right beside him. Then, in a rather forward manner, sheid her head to the side, resting it upon his shoulder.

    The scent of her hair... was sweet, and reminiscent of cherries.

    Was she...

    Bah.

    Tycon didn''t understand social etiquette amongst humans.

    And, considering his condition, trying to feel out the current situation was too much of a bother.

    He reached his arm up, draping it over Natalya''s opposite shoulder. Then, he pulled her in closer, gently nuzzling his nose into the side of her neck.

    Her scent... was healing.

    With as much mana as Natalya had and with his reserves a stark deficit, her presence was a substantial catalyst to his mana recovery.

    "Tycon..." Natalya whispered, "do you need..."

    "No," he said. "This... is more than enough."

    As close as he was, he could *hear* Natalya''s quickening heart rate with his human ears.

    She turned her head to look away-- a poor attempt at hiding the flush in her cheeks.

    Tycon-- or rather... an overly-optimistic Tycon surmised that Natalya was going to suggest a ?Mana Transfer Ritual?.

    If she understood just how much mana he''d expended in thest battle... and saw value in him as a Half-Step Adamantinebatant on the front lines, that might have been appropriate.

    --especially considering his vulnerable state and the charged emotions in the room...

    Tycon... wanted to kiss her.

    And, considering that the Realm was going to end...

    --he wanted to do more.

    He did not want to acknowledge argely ignored fear of regret...

    ...to convey his feelings for the woman in his embrace with a show of physical intimacy.

    --a sacred contract.

    "Tycon," she whispered... "It''s fine if it''s you."

    Tycon brushed aside a lock of Natalya''s scarlet hair and nibbled on her ear.

    "This is enough," he whispered... "But after I''ve killed a Dragon God, I''ll take everything I want and more."

    "...Yeah," Natalya responded softly. "I''ll hold you to that."

    Suddenly, the door swung open and Tycon was overwhelmed with the strong scent of mediocre rum and Orcish Sugar.

    "Oy, Lieutenant," Chantal began.

    Then she stopped.

    Tycon sensed her shift her weight, taking a moment to take in the scene.

    "Oh, my~" she said, her voice a tinge deeper than earlier. "How bold of you, Monsieur Couch-slut."

    Natalya immediately tried to escape. Unfortunately for her, Tycon was much stronger than she was.

    Despite her embarrassment, he selfishly did not want to let her go.

    Tycon took a punch to the nose. It had strength and intent, but it didn''t have the weight of rotational force.

    Even if it did, he was confident that his physique would have allowed him to withstand the strike without flinching.

    "OwW," she whined. "Is your face made of f*cking iron? L-let me go, you dolt."

    Tycon kissed Natalya on the cheek before he released her.

    "You should have known better," he teased.

    Natalya hurriedly stood up and crossed her arms, "Sh-shut up."

    "A, (you two make a perfect couple~)" Chantal sang. "(Magnificent!~)

    She leaned forward, "But why did you not tell ze Madame zat her clothes look better on ze floor zan on her person?"

    At that, Natalya dropped her gaze to the deck. She hurriedly-- but clumsily tried to fix her hair and smooth her disheveled robes.

    Tycon found it amusing.

    Her face was just as red.

    "Please, Grande-Capitaine," Tycon said as he got to his feet. "My woman is unused to ourmon vernacr."

    Chantal tapped a finger to her lips, "Ah, my apologies, Madame De Croix. I mean no offense."

    "I... I''m fine," Natalya said, pouting miserably. "I''ll be fine."

    Was that so?

    Tycon doubted that greatly.

    He stepped forward to properly face his superior Officer.

    "Admiral."

    "Chantal," she replied.

    The Admiral took off her hat and bandana, allowing her magenta hair to spill free.

    The scent of her sweat dazed Tycon momentarily, but he was keen enough to not let it show in his expression.

    He had the suspicion that Natalya would not appreciate a visible emotional response to anything Chantal did or said.

    "No need for rank in my personal quarters, Monsieur," Chantal exined. "And besides-- wis ze Madame present, I no longer fear for my chastity."

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    There was one or more implications in the statement that he had difficulty understanding.

    First of which... was that he did not take Fleet Admiral Chantal for a... chaste woman.

    "(Whatever is swimming in your head, Lieutenant, keep it to yourself,)" Chantal warned.

    Hm. Very well.

    Still, Tycon appreciated her sincerity.

    Considering her position, she did not need to extend it as far as she had.

    It was the duty of a Royal Marine to protect the ship and crew of the Royal Navy.

    Tycon took a deep breath.

    "Chantal... how are our casualties?"

    The Admiral''s eyes narrowed, "(I''ve be a religious woman, as of this sun.)"

    ...If that was an answer to his question-- and he feared it was, then the casualty count was... unsettling.

    And worse... the pyrrhic victory aboard the Kida Thatch spoke of a core, underlying issue.

    The armies of the Wyrmyer Alliance werecking.

    And the reason they werecking was because they were human.

    That... could have been alleviated.

    There were many ways he could have done so: time, training, resources...

    Merely being human was not a weakness in itself.

    Yet... that was the summation of the problem, as short-sighted as it seemed.

    Arrogance alone was not enough for mortal men to stand against figurative dragons.

    ...But the current state of events could not be slowed or stopped. Time and training... they had little to spare.

    The denizens of the Realm had reached the climax of their preparations. The sun of reckoning was close at hand-- perhaps even being the quickly approaching break of dawn.

    And as ill-prepared as they were, they could only choose to stand fast against the enemy...

    --or die.

    Hm. And as Chantal implied... they could also pray.

    Though the gods had been grossly unreliable, as ofte... he''d certainly appreciate a miracle or three.

    Tycon walked to over to the side wall, recovering his coat from a clothing hook. He fixed his buttons and re-buckled his belt in front of a body-length mirror, a great luxury that spoke leagues of Chantal''s attention to personal detail.

    "Mademoiselle Capitaine, was there something else?"

    "Oui," Chantal nodded. "Ze Royal Dragonhawks havee from ze capital to take you to port."

    Tycon rolled his eyes.

    Dragonhawks were not rted to dragons. They were named as such some centuries prior because the people of the Realm were stupid and glorified the disgusting beasts.

    The beasts of flight were almost exclusively bred in the Kingdom.

    Then, considering the respect in Chantal''s voice, it was likely the dragonhawks she spoke of (and assumedly, their riders,) were sent by wise King Adal, himself.

    As an Officer in his Royal Navy, Tycon could scarcely refuse.

    "Lieutenant~" Chantal hummed, "Where is your answer? Are you going to refuse a gift from ze youngest Princess?"

    Oh. Or they could have been from Aur.

    "Oy!" Natalya interrupted, "You still talk to her?"

    "N-no?" Tycon answered.

    Natalya turned her head, crossing her arms, "Hmph. Send them away."

    What?

    She turned back, her eyes alight, "I will take my husband, myself."

    Tycon and Chantal turned as one, "Huh?" "Oho~"

    "Wh-what? Y-y-y-y-you called me your woman! That means I''m your wife now! Chantal called me Madame! I heard it!"

 Chapter 1052 Seating Arrangement

    <h4>Chapter 1052 Seating Arrangement</h4>

    ? On board Divine Armor Starfury. ?

    "You trust that woman?" Natalya asked, "De KwAhhH~?''"

    Her pronunciation was correct, but her tone was... a bit off.

    "I don''t trust anyone," Tycondrius replied.

    Trust was a broad, overly sweeping term.

    He trusted certain people with certain tasks. He could trust a Sea Wolf to swim, but not to fly.

    "Well, *I* don''t trust her!" Natalya pouted.

    "...Very well."

    Tycon wasn''t sure what to do with that information. It didn''t seem to affect him, at all.

    "Then why," Natalya began, "did you give her that disgusting artifact?"

    The artifact?

    Ah.

    The artifact.

    When Sol Invictus member Tarquin Wroe fell in battle, Tycon retrieved a mysterious metal rod from his corpse.

    From what he understood, Wroe had a blessing or three from the Sword Goddess.

    The rod of ckened Arcanite had something to do with his deity (despite its appearance somewhat ironic to the fact.)

    As it radiated divine power, it was an artifact, as Natalya said.

    However, Tycon had difficulty associating the term ''artifact'' with the most curseden object he''d evere across.

    He had activated the rod''s curse-magic once, in the past.

    At the time, he needed a ?Dimensional Anchor?... but using the cursed artifact in lieu of a prepared Spell scroll was the equivalent of using a keg of Orcish Sugar as a seat while building a fire.

    It worked, but in hindsight, it was needlessly dangerous to do so.

    Even after the event, Tycon could not discern the Arcanite Rod''s true usage. He even made a request to the Witch-Goddess, Be Sapphira, to examine it, but even she was left perplexed.

    Since the god-artifact was useless to him, he decided to give it to someone who could potentially use it.

    "It was appropriate," Tycon exined. "Chantal''s contracted beast has a simr affinity."

    Natalya looked back to face Tycon, "And what manner of creature is her contracted beast?"

    "That is..."

    Tycon chose to withhold a proper answer.

    Chantal was contracted to something Ancient even by Ancient Elven standards. It was an existence wholly uneptable to persons indoctrinated in the Holy Country.

    And, that, Natalya was.

    The Archbishop sitting in hisp shook her head, clicking her tongue.

    "Keeping secrets from your wife?" she sighed, "Are you not afraid of the death penalty?"

    Eh?

    "That... is not a punishable Tyrion offense."

    --or that was what he hoped. It sounded ridiculous.

    "Did you forget?" Natalyaughed, "My name is synonymous with Tyrionw."

    That was tantly untrue. The Holy Country was a Republic. Itsws were made by their Senate.

    Tycon very much wanted to disagree.

    However... an argument with Natalya was not in his best interests.

    His presence was expected in Port Town Jad.

    But in order to avoid riding a lizardhawk, Natalya was taking him as a passenger aboard her Divine Armor.

    Starfury''s piloting chamber was illuminated in a warm, golden light.

    Its direct control panel, all its delicate, little levers and mysterious gauges and fat, colorful buttons-- most everything was lined with expensive (and highly mana-conductive) Arcanite.

    The Ancient Divine Armors of the Holy Country...

    For centuries, other nations developed their arcanotech hoping to emte the Tyrion mana constructs.

    None came close... save perhaps Whitehearth''s Arcanite Princess, Ophelia Moonwell.

    Despite their Divine Armors being 10 to 20% smaller on average, Ophelia still managed to create maneuverable war machines, twice the size of a typical human dwelling.

    But glorious advancements of the human race aside, Tycon found Starfury''s piloting chamber... somewhat inconvenient.

    Natalya insisted that transporting him would have no issues.

    However... there was only one seat.

    This was logically sound, as a Divine Armor only needed a single pilot.

    He piloted[1] a Divine Armor before-- and that only had one seat.

    But... by the time Tycon realized there were potential seating issues, the lizardhawk riders had already departed.

    Thus...

    Tycon volunteered to stand behind the single seat.

    That notion, Natalya seemed to find offensive.

    She insisted that he take a seat on herp.

    ...He gave that a try.

    It did not work.

    In that position, Natalya had great difficulty reaching the controls.

    Finally, Tycon took Natalya''s ce, sitting her in hisp.

    She tried toin but had nothing meaningful to say.

    The third arrangement was best, considering Natalya''s vehement rejection of the first.

    And from that point onward, Tycon attempted to assuage her concerns.

    He reassured the woman that her weight was not a hindrance.

    That turned out to be a mistake.

    An argument ensued.

    But thankfully... and after Tycon apologized for several minutes for half-a-dozen things that had nothing to do with him... Natalya seemed to forget herints.

    --and Tycon had the rare wisdom to not question his fortune.

    The 60-fulm tall Divine Armor had flight capabilities simr to its maker''s previous model, the Dawnbringer. It sped over the waters of the bay at an excellent pace.

    It was both faster and safer than riding a lizardhawk... as long as Nat was paying attention.

    From what Tycon understood, the main Command Station of the Wyrmyer Alliance was located somewhere in Jad.

    Despite the death and destruction of everyone he knew and cared for being rtively imminent... it behooved him to check the reports detailing his forces. From there, he could make anyst-minute arrangements, as he saw fit.

    "Snake."

    Natalya didn''t turn around as she called to him.

    Tycon found it odd that she was acting so cold.

    He wondered for a moment if she made it a practice to sit in theps of other men?

    He cleared his throat, "Ahem. Did you mean... husband, perhaps?"

    "AgainnNnn with ''husband,''" Natalya groaned, "Tycon, must you mock my every word?"

    "Perhaps I was serious," Tycon said, wrapping his arms around the Archbishop''s waist. "Natalya, will you marry me?"

    Tycon immediately regretted the question as Starfury tilted sharply to the side.

    They were falling-- rapidly losing altitude, yet it felt like gravity had pulled his heart into the pit of his stomach.

    This woman-- did she hate the thought of their marriage so much?!

    [1] Pilot: Tycon joins the battle with Divine Armor Talks-with-Fire in Chapter 734.

 Chapter 1053 Seating Arrangements (Part Two)

    <h4>Chapter 1053 Seating Arrangements (Part Two)</h4>

    After nearly two entire seconds of sheer, abject terror, Tycon regained his bearing, firmly ced his hands over Natalya''s, and corrected the rotation of Starfury''s front-to-back axis.

    "I-- I''m not answering!" Natalya yelped.

    It took Tycon several more seconds for him to remember the conversation from moments prior.

    That woman... she had a strong heart.

    Or, otherwise, she did not fear a painful and violent death.

    "Besides," she said-- "I can''t abandon Troia to pursue happiness on my own..."

    Ah. That made sense. Natalya and the High Oracle were as close as blood-rted sisters.

    A slow smile crossed Tycon''s lips... as he decided to tempt death once more.

    "Natalya," he said... "if Troia was to give her blessing, would you ept my marriage proposal?"

    "S-stop testing me, Snake," came the soft, quavering response.

    Tycon swept a lock of the Archbishop''s scarlet hair behind her ear. Then, he leaned forward and whispered softly.

    "Natalya," he said... "My name... I want you to say it."

    Her face radiated with heat.

    That seemed to be a positive response.

    "T... ty..."

    Hmmm. Natalya was trying. But it seemed that, in her affected mental state, she had forgotten his name?

    Tycon was very much enjoying himself. Admittedly, though... it was rather rude of him. He was eliciting a fear-like response.

    Why Natalya was nervous or fearful, he didn''t quite understand... but he was a predator.

    He liked to see his prey squirm.

    "I... I can''t do it!" Natalya whined-- "n-not onmand! What am I, your dog?"

    Tycon grabbed hold of the woman''s hands, preventing any attempt at veering Starfury off course or plummeting into the Sea God''s neglected domain.

    "And *you* don''t know if she''ll agree!" Natalya argued, "Does she even like you? Would she even like someone *like* you??"

    Those were... odd usations. Tycon was no stranger to the hero party and its members, Troia included.

    And considering his rtionship with the Holy Princess, he felt... an unfathomable level of trust and goodwill toward him.

    Honestly, he deserved neither from the young woman-- especially not to the extent she conveyed.

    Tycon was suspicious that she had romantic feelings for Pale.

    There might have been a connection with that? Perhaps Troia, in wanting to seem agreeable to the boy, sought to match his faith toward Sol Invictus and its handsome leader.

    But... that was... quite a stretch in logic. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed.

    Still...

    Thinking on it, Tycon found that he was more fond of her than he realized.

    "Tycon..." Natalya said, her tone probing... "Where is the High Oracle right now?"

    That... was a dangerous question.

    --especially considering how Natalya''s emotional stability had a direct corrtion to his in-flight safety.

    "Dear wife..."

    "*Dear* husband," Natalya said in a low voice... "I''m only going to ask once."

    "Err... before I answer... you understand that... my mission as... as dragonyer-- it has a very small chance of seeding."

    "But you will," Natalya said sternly.

    "Eh?" Tycon pursed his lips.

    "You''ll seed," she said.

    She was serious.

    Confident.

    Doubtless.

    Tycon was almost envious that she could be so certain of another person.

    He wasn''t even certain when his next meal would be.

    "...Thank you, Natalya," he whispered.

    "I wouldn''t seriously consider a marriage proposal from a failure," she mumbled.

    "But you''d consider it from a snake?" Tycon teased.

    "By the me, I will *turn* this Divine Armor around--"

    "My apologies!" Tycon said in a firm voice, "I misspoke."

    "Right... and Troia-- her location is...?"

    "I sent her away," Tycon answered honestly.

    Slowly, Natalya turned her head to look at him.

    "You... sEnT... HeR... a-*wHaT*?"

    Uh...

    "Away?"

    "I *heard* you, Snake. Exin thy meaning."

    "We... took a Gate from the ne of Fire--"

    "The ne of FIRE?!" Natalya screeched.

    "Natalya," Tycon chided. "Please... allow me to speak."

    "Hmph."

    And so, Tycon continued:

    "After arriving at Hero''s Hearth and receiving news of theing cataclysm... I sent Troia and herpanions Off-Realm."

    "Off. F*ck-ing. Realm?!" Natalya said, strongly emphasizing each syble... "You mean a-WAY from our Realm??"

    "Y-yes... That is what Off-Realm means."

    "Whyyy?!" the Archbishop demanded, "We can keep Troia *safe* as long as she''s in THIS Realm! Ours! The one WE. are. ON!"

    Tycon squinted his eyes, "Arguable. I deemed the safety of the Holy Princess more certain in the presence of the Hero."

    The young man was stronger than both him and Natalya... and his strength would grow in the years toe.

    "The. He-ro?" Natalya groaned.

    Tycon shook his head. At that point in the conversation, he had doubted that the woman was even listening.

    "Yes, the Hero," he said in a monotone voice. "You were there when he was selected. The boy. Pale."

    Natalya''s ire grew steadily with every word.

    "You... abandoned... my sister," she growled... "the leader... of the Holy Country... in the care... of a bOy... NaMeD... BUCKETTT??!"

    ...When she said it like that, it sounded like he made a rather poor decision.

    Tycon kept a keen guard of Starfury''s control panel.

    Natalya was applying a great deal of force and effort in trying to kill them both... but thankfully, he was... physically capable of stopping her.

    It was odd...

    Considering Natalya''s surprise, it was entirely possible that she was unaware of Troia''s movements over the past two years. Since the Hero Party''s formation, the Holy Princess had been by Bucket''s side.

    And while only two years passed in the mortal Realm, they spent more than twice that amount of time in the Outer-nes.

    Troia had even grown taller than Natalya (though thetter''s predilection for lifted shoes and boots would counterbnce the fact.)

    "I was *told* that Troia was on a diplomatic mission to see the Nemayan Queen," the Archbishop exined.

    "It seems Pale found her from there. Things happened. ne of Ice. Snow Princess. ne of Fire. Hellborne Army. Subne of Fire and Dirt. Met the Gatekeepers."

    "Hellborne ARMY?!" Natalya gasped, "And really? The f*cking Gatekeepers? I thought they were a myth!"

    "I uh... it... wasn''t my fault?" Tycon suggested.

    "That... f*cking boy," Natalya growled, gnashing her teeth. "When I see him again..."

    Tycon quietly took a breath, somewhat relieved.

    He had sessfully redirected Natalya''s anger toward Pale.

    That was the best-case scenario. Pale was Off-Realm and therefore safe from Natalya and Starfury... the instrument of her... fury.

    Hm.

    "Snake," Natalya began.

    "Husband, you mean." Tycon corrected.

    "Husband," Natalya seethed... "I have... a lot... of f*cking questions right now... and YOU are going to answer ALL OF THEM!"

    "Natalya? The controls? N-natalya?"

 Chapter 1054 Solo Act

    <h4>Chapter 1054 Solo Act</h4>

    ? One life-or-death situation and a round of questionster... ?

    Tycondrius sat in front of his fiancee, back-straight, scanning Starfury''s visual interface for anomalies.

    As the notion of him sitting on herp came with some peculiar issues, Natalya had her legs syed out to amodate him.

    It was one-part awkward, another-part intimate... but the seating arrangement served Tycon''s purposes well.

    It prevented Natalya from easily reaching Starfury''s controls.

    --and, obviously, he was the one to pilot the ancient war weapon known as Divine Armor Starfury.

    It wasn''t as difficult as Tyrion propaganda implied it to be.

    "So... what you''re telling me," Natalya said, before taking a breath... "is that the Wyrmyer Alliance has to face the Dragon God without the help of our Realm''s Heroes?"

    "Yes," Tycon answered. "And no amount of physical violencemitted to my person is going to change that."

    Immediately after finishing his statement, he clenched his teeth and mentally braced himself to receive violence.

    However, Natalya merelyid her head against Tycon''s back.

    --and she did so in a surprisingly non-violent manner.

    "You me-taken fool," she mumbled into his coat... "We can''t win this war without them."

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    That conclusion was somewhat contrary to her earlier sentiments.

    ...and he was slightly hurt for it.

    Nheless, he did not agree.

    High logic and probability suggested the war against the Tyrant God was unwinnable, heroic intervention or not.

    Still... a sliver of doubt and a decadent portion of idealistic optimism bid him to inquire further.

    "Natalya, on what basis would you make such a im?"

    "Oh, a few tHouSand years of written history," she replied.

    She seemed somewhat irritated-- or perhaps insulted that he had the *gall* to ask.

    She was quite proud of her few thousand years of human history.

    --despite the history of the elves being several dozen times that.

    ...ording to his bloodline memories, even ancient medusae inhabited the Realm when the humans were in their infancy.

    "And what do your *history books* say?" Tycon asked.

    Natalya did not answer.

    Nothing of value was written in those books.

    It was an odd weakness of written script (and predating practices.)

    History was written by the victors of their time.

    Thus, ''historical'' ounts were saturated with biases and propaganda.

    Concerning old wars won and cmities ovee, there might have been passing mention on a few deciding factors: terrain, natural obstacles, troop vulnerabilities...

    However, that was the most that could be expected.

    The information that Tycon found useful was of a different nature.

    How were the armies fed and healed? How was their training and equipment?

    How was their morale? Their conditions?

    What other issues came about? How were they solved?

    But s... lorekeepers do not pander to Generals.

    They serve the people.

    ...and to win their hearts, they sing... of *heroes.*

    The lorekeepers were capable of lengthy regalements, wondrous tales of heroic trials and humanizing trivialities.

    Yet they could not answer Tycon''s questions.

    Had those *mystical beings*e of age when they came into heroism?

    Were they foretold in a simr manner as they were in modern suns?

    What role did they y for their respective factions?

    ...Were they even necessary in the battles they took part in?

    What worth were they, really?

    A ''peerless warrior'' from a thousand years prior could very well have ten thousand peers in the present.

    And the same was true of supposedly silver-tongued negotiators, innovative strategists, and perfectly organized supply managers.

    Then... which heroes had talent only in propaganda? --their role in historical ounts only as figureheads of their ''righteous'' cause.

    The old storiescked specifics.

    Their value was to entertain the drunken masses, bardsong found in taverns and festival squares across the Realm.

    --to instill in the people a sense of pride and righteousness, for a king to ay rebellion for just one more sun.

    ....and to frighten young children into behaving... with talk of ''dragons.''

    Tycon had no need for those old stories... those pithy morality ys...

    --those songs of which legends are sung.

    What he sought were documented signatures as proof-of-training, so he could gauge the capabilities of his various units.

    What he wanted were reports on how fast supplies were dwindling and the presence of sickness, so he could reallocate strength as necessary.

    What he needed... was face-to-face meetings with the royals and elected officials which he called his allies.

    --to be certain he could demand their obedience, should the situation require.

    Tycon had to do the best with what he had.

    Maximize gains.

    Minimize losses.

    To push his advantages, Tycondrius met with the leaders of the Realm. He bid them to coordinate their forces. He granted them the knowledge and confidence to fight against a god and its armies.

    And... on cutting his losses...

    Tycon *forbid* the hatchlings in his care from defending their home and ce of birth.

    "Husband," Natalya said softly, "they''re Heroes. They were chosen."

    "As was I, Natalya," Tycon grimaced. "The children *chose* to ce their faith in me-- in my foresight *and* in my orders."

    ...Tycon took a moment to breathe, trying to calm himself before continuing.

    "They are but children," he said. "And as their guardian, I will *not* allow the cruelty of the fates to take them away before their time."

    Natalya let out a long sigh... and she quietly wrapped her arms around Tycon''s waist.

    "...So you''ve decided to act alone," she whispered.

    "Hmph," Tycon chuckled. "Was that the issue? Really?"

    "How *dare* youugh at me, Snake," Natalya scolded. "What''s so funny?"

    "I won''t be alone as long as I have you."

    ...

    ? Captain''s Log, Date XXXX. ?

    ? You don''t underestimate the ocean.? ?

    ? Every Marine and sailor out on the ckwater knows as much. ?

    ? You don''t f*ck with things you can''t control. ?

    ? You respect it.? ?

    ? If you want to be in the profession, you grow some hair on your testicles and try to take advantage of it. ?

    ? But you don''t let your guard down. ?

    ? You don''t take risks if you can help it. ?

    ? Rough waters, spoiled supplies-- that shite, you can n for. ?

    ? Lightning storms and whirlpools and giant, toothy f*ckeroos that get off on breaking apart corvette ss ships? Yeah. F*ck those things. ?

    ? And what do you do when something nasty finds you f*cking off in the cabin of your little jury-rigged fishing boat? ?

    ? You ept that you''re f*cked. ?

    ? Or, I guess... you pray. ?

    ? But the Sea God doesn''t f*ck with prayers. ?

    ? The old Sea God sure as f*ck didn''t. Selfish prick... ?

    ? That old bastard did his damnedest to put me down. ?

    ? A regr sailor can''t go against the waves. A regr guy can''t go against the gods. ?

    ? But I didn''t want to be that guy. ?

    ? So I killed the Sea God. ?

    ? And I don''t regret that one f*cking bit. ?

    ? Well... ?

    ? Maybe there was one thing. ?

    ? When the chips are down and nothing looks like it''s going to go good... ?

    ? ...who the f*ck does a god pray to? ?

    ? ... ?

    ? F*cking shite... ?

    ? So, there I was... ?

    ? On the docks of Port Town Jad. ?

    ? Alone. ?

    ? I stared out at the night ckness of the cruel, unforgiving sea. ?

    ? And that''s when I remembered... ?

    ? --that I was the schmuck responsible for it. ?

    ? All of it. ?

    ? F*ck. ?

    ? But looking at lines formed by the waves in the middle of the night wasn''t usually how I liked spending my time.? ?

    ? Sure, there was a whole lot going on underneath, but on top it was basically a whole lot of nothing... ?

    ? And then there was light. ?

    ? A red light. ?

    "What the *hells* is that?" Krysaos asked aloud.

    --to himself.

    --because he was alone on those docks.

    ...After looking at the red light for a few more seconds, he determined it was going to fly over the docks instead of into them.

    It probably wasn''t important.

    ...Probably.

    Jad had been mostly evacuated... which unfortunately included the fun parts, too. In fact, all the pimps and whores had made their way to Whitehearth.

    The fine men and women of the Wyrmyer Alliance were preparing for war in and around the Arcanite City, so... that''s where the money was.

    Hosts, escorts, courtesans... that vor of folk didn''t care much about whether the Realm went on for another sun or not. What they did care about was where there was coin to be had. And there was a lot of it in Whitehearth, especially from the boots and belt-buckles that wanted to live it up-- to have that one unforgettable night.

    It beat praying, that was for sure.

    ''Sea God''s socks,'' Krysaos cursed to himself.

    After saying it, he, once again, remembered that *he* was the Sea God.

    He was cursing his own socks.

    Krysaos had gone wrong somewhere... but ''where'', he wasn''t sure.

    Why was he not in Whitehearth, thriving alongside his favorite kinds of people?

    Why in the seven hells was he in Jad, hobnobbing with Admirals, Princesses, and Ancient Legends?

    And that begged an even better question:

    Why in the seven hells was he on the front lines, at all?

 Chapter 1055 Red Light (Part One)

    <h4>Chapter 1055 Red Light (Part One)</h4>

    ? The tiny red light in the sky grew brighter... ?

    ? --and bigger. ?

    For a moment, Krysaos wondered if his initial judgment was wrong.

    Maybe the gods hadn''t forsaken the Realm after all?

    Maybe they were sending down a bona fide hero of legend to one-shot the final boss?

    Or... maybe it was the creation of some mind-meltinglyplex 10th Circle Spell that would put him and everyone else out of their misery.

    ? But... it turned out to be nothing. ?

    ? It was... just an impossiblyrge, blood-red hunk of military-grade metal, flying through the sky like some sort of f*cked-up bird. ?

    It was called the Star-Fury.

    He''d seen the Divine Armor plenty of times in the past couple of weeks, but never moving.

    ...and never in flight.

    Its pilot was an Archbishop of the Holy Country-- Natasha or something.

    Krysaos had seen her exactly once.

    Liked the color red. Looked young for her age.

    She had some pretty good ''assets'', but she also looked like a total prude-- and like she was mad about it.

    The giant thing flew past.

    Even as high up as it was, it kicked up a thousand waves of water and pebbly sand-- sending a whole lot of watery beasties into a panic.

    Krysaos could hear them pray.

    --or something approximate to that.

    It was almost funny how the thoughtless actions of some random redhead made a couple of basses and bluefish think it was the end of the Realm.

    As thew of the ocean went, there was always a bigger fish to worry about.

    That was the reason he and so many other two-legged folk were stationed in and around City-State Whitehearth.

    There was some kind of big-arse fish, out there... with wings and fire breath.

    They called it a ''Dragon.''

    There was even a song about it-- a song of prophecy and death and the destruction of all things.

    Something, something... ash and fire.

    But thankfully, not everything was f*cked, just yet.

    Because, on the lonely docks of that small, fishrot-stinking port town... a Dragonyer had arrived.

    ...Krysaos cursed himself for getting so distracted earlier. He had no clue how Tycon got to the beach-- or how long the guy had been waiting.

    So Krysaos tried to act natural.

    He nted his feet on the concrete dock, stood up straight, and crossed his arms while the guy steadily approached.

    It was really hard to hide his excitement, though. Since Mina had been busy and he kept his mouth shut around his higher-ups, his only option for mental engagement was to talk to his crewmembers.

    ...And that meant over a week had passed since he''d been in thepany of someone who could count past 20.

    ? Anyroad, I''d been waiting for my old Lieutenant to arrive for the better half of a bell. ?

    ? Tycon. ?

    ? Dragonyer. ?

    ? Commander. ?

    ? They might have worn the same uniform, but the guy''s billet and title put him in an entirely different ss of badass. ?

    ? It was easy to spot him from a good distance away from the shade of his hair-- like swaying seaweed off the Crystal Coast.? ?

    ? You couldn''t tell the guy''s age-- he might as well have been an immortal bastard, from the way he acted. From his face, alone, you couldn''t tell if he was a man or a woman. ?

    Ironically, that was something that women seemed to be drawn to? Krysaos had no idea why that was.

    ? You could never tell what he was thinking. ?

    ? His expression was stuck at ''vaguely-annoyed,'' matching pretty well with his tone of voice: ''absolutely-annoyed.'' ?

    ? He always knew more than he let on-- so much that it was best to assume he knew gods-damned everything. ?

    It hurt to admit, but sometimes, Krysaos felt like he had the brain of a starfish in that guy''s presence.

    That didn''t mean much when Krysaos was basically a con-man, just trying to get by... but the current him had be a lot more sensitive to matters of pride and good repute.

    ? Then... there was something about the way he stared... ?

    ? Maybe it was the glowing gold color of his eyes. ?

    ? Maybe there was some kind of magic in them, too... something that could make your blood run cold and your skin crawl. ?

    Tycon was the sort of guy you wanted as your ally... simply because he was an unfathomable nightmare as an enemy.

    That also made him a little unpleasant to deal with in any sort of official capacity.

    They might have been friends, but it felt like... their identities as Royal Marines took precedence.

    Krysaos had two shiny insignias on his cor, denoting his rank. He had a few freshly-earned ribbons pinned to his breast. And he''d even gone out of his way to get a haircut less than six bells back.

    So... he took a breath, stered the biggest, filthiest grin on his face he could manage...

    --and he greeted the Commander of the Wyrmyer Alliance.

    "d you made it, Tycon!" he said-- just short of a yell. "We got some *serious* shite to talk about, my guy."

    ? We shook hands. And I got this huge mix of emotions in my chest. ?

    ? Terrifying golden eyes aside.... ?

    ? The guy''s gigantic ass-hat nature aside... ?

    ? Tycon was a good f*cking guy. ?

    ? I''d go to my watery grave for him... ?

    ? ...and with the way shite had been going down, that was a very real possibility. ?

    "Good evening, Krysaos," Tycon replied, rendering a quick salute. "First: when is thest time you shaved?"

    Krysaos was surprised by his long-time ally''s unfriendly tone.

    ...but not *too* surprised.

    That guy always had a stick up his arse when it came to professional appearance.

    Krysaos returned the salute-- a bit less enthused than he was a few minutes prior.

    "I shaved after lunch," he said. "Gimme a break, LT. You know how fast my beard grows."

    "It''s past midnight," Tycon frowned. "You know better."

    ? You know what? Nevermind. F*ck this guy. ?

    "Second," Tycon continued, "*Why* are you alone?"

    Krysaos winced at the obvious observation.

    "Well-- that''s..."

 Chapter 1056 Red Light (Part Two)

    <h4>Chapter 1056 Red Light (Part Two)</h4>

    Krysaos racked his brain, looking for an excuse that wouldn''t make him look *more* pathetic.

    Tycon must have thought he looked like a loser!

    That hurt even more than getting embarrassed for forgetting to f*cking shave.

    But Krysaos had good reasons! Mina was busy with her weird Sea Witch formation-- and he couldn''t really trust any of the crew to not break anything in Jad.

    ...or to not steal anything.

    --or to... not fornicate-with anything.

    It was just a really bad idea, giving them liberty in Jad.

    "Krysaos," Tycon said sternly... "Are you being *hazed?*"

    "Wh-what?" Krysaos said, stunned, "Why would you-- but besides that, why do *you* smell like a WOMAN?!"

    It wasn''t a real insult. Krysaos would have loved to have a *real* insult, prepared or otherwise. He was just stating a weird observation.

    "I recently shared thepany of a woman," Tycon exined. "If we survive this, I might even marry her."

    Oh. Yeah, that made sense.

    "Grats, man."

    "Thank you."

    That was actually really good news. Krysaos had witnessed the guy''sst b*tch of a girlfriend end their rtionship through a gods-damned written letter.

    He got thrice f*cked up over that. He deserved better-- really. (And no one deserved a break-up like *that.*)

    "...Wait, that-- that woman doesn''t have anything to do with the Star-Fury, does it?"

    Though he hesitated for a moment, Tycon went on to exin anyroad.

    "...Natalya is Star-Fury''s pilot."

    "...Oh."

    The guy was on a first-name basis with one of the biggest hats in the Holy Country.

    Krysaos wasn''t jealous.

    ...Well, maybe he was a *little* jealous.

    --but mostly, he was happy for the guy.

    Tycon turned to the side, rubbing his chin with his hand.

    "I am aware of the... *unsavory* tradition of hazing in our Marine Corps," he said. "New Marines are the primary targets-- but usually only those with *weaker* personalities than yours... and regr *enlisted* as opposed to officers?"

    Krysaos felt his jaw drop so low it felt like it would unhinge.

    Who the F*CK would dare haze HIM of all people? He was a godyer! He killed the Sea God. He stole the bastard''s still-warm, divine pants. And then, he became the new Sea God!

    ...but the unexpected usation-- not to mention the credible source, made Krysaos second-guess himself.

    *Was* he being hazed?

    Would he even *know* if he was being hazed?

    "And who in the seven hells would dare haze *you* of all people?" Tycon groaned, "I was told that both Admiral De Croix and Captain Langhai oversaw your promotion ceremony."

    Those were the two biggest hats in the Royal Navy and the Royal Marines, respectively. It was a big deal, at the time.

    He even got a letter of recognition from King Adal.[1] Mina insisted they frame it and hang it up in their private quarters.

    But even better than the rank and recognition, Krysaos'' favorite part about bing official was the amount of backpay when his Captain billet got grandfathered in.

    He was probably going to have to marry Mina to keep the peace, but he was pretty sure he could afford a mistress.

    "By the way, I''m also a god," Krysaos muttered-- "I dunno if you forgot or not."

    Do gods get hazed? He couldn''t imagine a god getting hazed.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Oh, I most certainly did not. I was there for that spat of foolishness you, against all odds, somehow managed to survive."

    Krysaos wanted to be offended.

    Granted, Tycon was right. The bastard was always right.

    But with all the doom and gloom in the atmosphere Krysaos was feeling over the past few weeks or moons, he had other things to worry about.

    "Speaking of surviving--"

    "Are you being hazed or not?"

    "I''m not!" Krysaos cried, "Come on, guy! You know I''m smarter than that."

    "Are you?" Tycon frowned.

    Krysaos scowled at the in insult. It looked like the piss-eyed noble wasn''t in the best of moods.

    But that didn''t mean he could talk to him like that!

    Krysaos was more confident in his own abilities than he''d ever been in his short, miserable life.

    In the past few weeks, he got himself two magic teachers-- both willing to bring out the best in him.

    The first was Lieutenant Eilean of the Sea Wolf Fleet. When she got going, Krysaos could barely understand a word she said... but he gained a lot of watery technical know-how that he didn''t have before.

    And the second... was Be Sapphira, the Master Witch of the Sapphire Tower. She taught Krysaos how to tap into his immortal soul to use as a power source.

    --or that''s what it should''ve been like for a normal person. Since he was a half-god of sorts, the technique allowed him to tap into a keg full of an infinite amount of god juice!

    Krysaos grit his teeth and took a step forward, "I''m stronger than I was before, Tycon."

    Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Mm? Ah. So you are. Excellent news."

    He then pped a hand on Krysaos'' shoulder, "You have earned my trust in the thick of battle on multiple asions, Brother-Captain. I would trust no one more, man or god, than you, to guard the coast while I venture ind. Leave the Tyrant God to me."

    "I will guard this garbage-arse coast with as many lives as it takes, mine included," Krysaos dered.

    Wait-- that wasn''t what he was trying to say.

    "Ahem. But before that," he said, "let''s have a little talk, LT."

    Tycon shook his head, "It was good to see you, Krysaos. However, I must first see to my duties."

    Aha. Honor and duty. That was pretty consistent for Tycon. He was a good guy all-around-- probably exactly what a Royal Marine was supposed to be like.

    But Krysaos had been expecting that.

    "I''ve got two crates of fresh oysters and a pot of that scallop stew you like."

    For a tiny couple of milliseconds, the LT''s eyes opened up like curious ms before he fixed himself. He went back to his usual look, stern and mildly disappointed-- but there was a sparkle in his eyes that changed his entire demeanor.

    "It... has been a while since west shared a meal, hasn''t it?"

    Yeah. Tycon was a different beast when it came to food.

    [1] King Adal: The current king of Alizeau, the Magic Kingdom.

 Chapter 1057 Krysaos the Diplomat

    <h4>Chapter 1057 Krysaos the Diplomat</h4>

    Krysaos led Tycon to a few rickety rotwood tables outside of a small eatery. It was right on the docks, so they didn''t have to go far and, obviously, the owner wasn''t around toin.

    He''d spent some time earlier dressing up the most-intact table with the least-filthiest tablecloth he could find. He also managed to scrounge up a pair of wooden bowls, an oyster-shucking knife, and a couple of other things he thought appropriate for the ''Grand Commander'' of the Wyrmyer Alliance.

    Personally, he was hoping Tycon wouldment on the decor.

    --or rather, Krysaos hoped he''d avoidmenting on the fishrot stenchmon to every dock in the Realm.

    And the first words Tycon said were:

    "Krysaos, you must try the oysters with this sauce."

    Because, of course, that''s where his priorities lied. The LT might have been the perfect guy to save the Realm, but he was probably only doing it because the Realm had decent chow.

    As soon as Tycon had sat down, he started summoning food-rted stuff out of his spatial ring at random.

    A knife. An oddly small chopping board. Fresh herbs. lemons and peppers. y jars filled with sloshing liquids.

    A suspicious paper square that contained some kind of paste...

    Everything Tycon took out had a use... and eventually made their way into four tiny bowls.

    --one of which, he pushed forward for Krysaos to try.

    ...It also looked like it was made of the cheapest stuff.

    "What''s in it?" Krysaos asked.

    "Finely minced Tyrion shallots, freshly cracked ck pepper imported from the Tempest Isles; and a crisp, white vinegar made at my mother''s estate in Charm."

    Nevermind. It was not cheap. It was not cheap, at all.

    "...I''ll try it."

    Krysaos had seen the guy murder dozens of people without as much as batting his unfairly long eyshes. But when it came to food... he was like some kind of pervert.

    Not even ten minutes into the meal, Tycon had gone through half the stew pot and most of an oyster crate.

    It made Krysaos wish he got three crates instead of two.

    --or maybe even four.

    The Tyrion sauce, among the others, was pretty good. Krysaos wasn''t sure if he liked it more than just in lemon and chili-pepper sauce-- but even that was more extravagant than he was used to.

    --but ANYroad!

    Krysaos grabbed the edges of the table and leaned over.

    "Alright, LT. We gotta talk."

    Tycon drained another bowl of m stew before taking his handkerchief to the corners of his mouth, "Yes, go ahead, Krysaos. Hesitation does not behoove a leader."

    Krysaos sat back down, clenching his fists in hisp. It was easy to say something like that... but the things he needed to discuss...

    "I''ve... been thinking about ways we could survive this," he said.

    The arrival of the Tyrant God.

    The Dragon War.

    The Cataclysm.

    Krysaos had stolen the divinity of a god, so he basically felt what was going on in his blood and bones.

    The Realm was about to get cata-clyzed... and he didn''t like just *how* certain he felt about that.

    Tycon was wearing that subtle, all-knowing smile of his-- the one he had when he was in a really good mood.

    He must have really liked the oysters.

    "I''m open to ideas, Sea God," he said, "especially any constructive criticism, if you''ve any to offer."

    Tycon then opened the second crate of oysters using just his fingers.

    Seven hells. The guy wasn''t that strong,st they traveled together.

    "So hear me out, Tycon," Krysaos leaned in close, like he was about to share a deep dark secret, "You and me, LT, we''re probably the two most persuasive fe''s in the Realm."

    "...Go on."

    Was that interest? That sounded like interest! With their wits, his own natural charm, and Tycon''s beauty and average to above-average luck, Krysaos was confident in the two of them weaseling their way out of the whole war!

    "I''m willing to bet, knowing who you are, that you know who''s who... So tell me: who do we gotta talk to?"

    Tycon lightly inclined his head, "Talk, Krysaos?"

    Ah. That didn''t look good. Worried that he was losing the Commander''s interest, Krysaos picked up the pace, spitting out all his ideas before Tycon could get up and leave.

    "Here''s the n!" he said, "We cede one or two of the enemy''s demands. We show some domineering power to show we can''t be f*cked with-- maybe we even beat up a f*cktard or three. But all that''ll be just a show-- because *then,* we''ll put a ceasefire on the table! Then, we make a deal. And THEN we all go home at the end of the sun!"

    Tycon took in a deep breath. It was a shite sign if Krysaos had ever seen one.

    That made him remember-- or maybe something divine or deific reminded him, that Tycon had this weird, medusa-bloodline.

    That guy.

    He really, really, *really* did not like dragons.

    "The enemy," Tycon started.

    "Look, guy-- I get it," Krysaos waved, "Bloodline prejudice, right? I get that. But let''s look at the big picture, guy. There''s a whole lotta regr people that''re gonna take the field. No one wants so many folks to be offed like that? So the best solution is to find apromise!"

    Krysaos shed a cunning and (hopefully persuasive) smile.

    "I know it won''t be easy, but the odds have always been against us. Let''s do this-- you and me against the world."

    He knew he was being overly optimistic. He didn''t *really* know how to negotiate in the world of high politics. But he did know how to make deals with drunks, thieves, and pirates.

    It couldn''t have been all that different, really.

    "...Us against the world, indeed," Tycon said, shaking his head. "Krysaos, were you aware that the lizards have Domination Mages in their employ?"

    ...Krysaos squinted his eyes, real small.

    "Ce again?"

    Tycon took in a slow breath before sighing almost dismissively.

    "Notwithstanding the divine strength and will the Tyrant God bestows on itsckeys... the lizards are a particrly loathsome foe on ount of their Domnation Magics. Their effectiveness is especially potent on those resistant to high-tier mental attacks, notably the elven bloodlines and... winged lizard descendants."

    Krysaos felt his heart drop to the pit of his gut. He had a feeling Tycon wasn''t trying to make him feel like shite, but that''s how it ended up.

    A controversial order he''d heard earlier in the sun had suddenly made a lot more sense. There were a lot of elves in Whitehearth, including most all of its leadership. But there was a hugemotion when all the elves were removed from the front lines and relegated to support roles in the rear echelons.

    "Tycon," Krysaos frowned... "Can the enemy''s Domination Mages... take whole armies?"

    "Technically, yes," Tycon said, pursing his lips. "The enemy''s standard forcesprise regr, sensible troops. However, from intelligence reports and after personal f*cking experience, I have determined the enemy''s entire chain ofmand to be predisposed to pleasuring lizard genitalia-- and if not by force of magic, then by their own f*cking, selfish wills."

    Still, Krysaos was undeterred.

    "...You sure, guy?"

    "Is that a real question?" Tycon scowled.

    Whoops. It *was* a question, but it was a pretty stupid one. Tycon had a pretty nasty temper. He must have been having it especially bad, because not even food kept him appeased to a normal level.

    "Sounds like you''re sure," Krysaos said, sucking air through his teeth, "But listen... the world''s about to end, LT. Is there something we haven''t thought of? A different way than a head-on battle?"

    Tycon steepled his fingers, thinking real hard on whatever he was thinking.

    "...As long as the Tyrant God lives," he said, "it will continue to impart its Divine Fervor to its followers. We can assume that the enemy leadership and their Drake Armor pilots cannot be bargained with. They''ll fight with neither fear nor hesitation as their godmands."

    Krysaos inaudibly cursed his socks. The Drake Armors were easily the most devastating war weapons the enemies had. Their side had more than a few Divine Armors from Tyrion, but the enemy surely had between five and ten times the amount.

    "And if all those guys are willing to fight to the death, that severely limits our options," Krysaos growled... "Then... what are our chances of... killing the lizard god? It''s not like it''s the *actual* lizard god."

    They weren''t fighting a true god on their divine homeground. With how strong that thing was, the Laws made it so the best it could do was send down an avatar of itself to the mortal Realm. So, following the logic, it probably had mortal-Realm-type weaknesses!

    Nothingsted forever. All things came to an end. That was a Divine Law!

    "Our chances are infinitesimal," Tycon shrugged. "But we must. So we will."

    "...F*ck," Krysaos cursed. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

    "My sentiments, exactly," Tycon remarked. He had just finished thest of the m stew.

    Krysaos felt his eye twitch. He had failed to pour himself a bowl, mistakenly thinking he would''ve had more time.

    But... there was no point whining about something that was gone.

    What was important was the present and their actions from that point onward.

    "...But if I know you, LT," Krysaos said, "In the case things get outta hand... I''m willing to bet you''ve got some kind of secret weapon or contingency n perfect for turning the tide."

 Chapter 1058 Eternal Mercy

    <h4>Chapter 1058 Eternal Mercy</h4>

    Krysaos fully believed in Tycon''s ability to turn a shite situation into something survivable.

    He believed in that man more than he believed in gods.

    "Well... I appreciate your high opinion of me," Tycon said, inclining his head.

    Yes! That was it! Tycon was *definitely* holding out on him.

    "So? Tell me what''cha got LT!"

    "I... really don''t know what you''re expecting, Krysaos."

    Krysaos threw his hands up in frustration, "F*ck, guy. Quit it with this suspenseful shite! I wanna live!"

    "An admirable goal," Tycon nodded-- "especially considering the circumstances."

    Krysaos held out one hand, the other hand stroking his stubbled chin.

    "Let me guess-- the mcguffin you''re hiding is in your spatial ring?"

    "My spatial ring contains food, basic adventuring supplies, and ritual materials," Tycon exined-- in the most boring manner possible. "Oh, and I might have a few First and Second-Circle wands left over from myst campaign."

    "Is there-- I dunno, ance that one-hit-kills anything with lizard blood in there?"

    "No such miracle weapon exists," Tycon raised an eyebrow, "but if it did, I''d like to order a thousand."

    "Then you gotta have... some... kinda... uber-powerful, forgotten artifact? --something scrounged up from the bottom of a dungeon? --something ANCIENT that works a DOZEN times better than anything we have now!"

    "We have no such thing," Tycon sighed. "And that''s not how technology works. Ancient Tyrion Divine Armors may be exceptional for their size and resilience-- but they''re armed with modern weaponry and their insides are fitted with modern arcanotech.

    "Then... what *do* we have?" Krysaos asked.

    "We have the armies of several nations banded together under the figurative g of the Wyrmyer Alliance," Tycon answered sinctly.

    "No artifacts, at all?" Krysaos smiled gingerly.

    "...We have that cursed stick I retrieved from Wroe''s dead corpse. I gave it to Chantal."

    Oh.

    That disgusting, wrong-feeling thing.

    Even thinking about it put tingles down his spine.

    Krysaos did not envy that woman.

    "Alright... but if you didn''t bring any special weapons with you," he said... "You at least recruited some super-strong followers, right?"

    "You."

    "I mean, besides me."

    Tycon slowly tilted his head, "Then you''re referring to... the rest of Sol Invictus? The main body has fallen in with our eastern forces. They should be arriving soon if they haven''t already."

    "No," Krysaos waved... "Not what I meant... I was talkin'' about..."

    His words got caught in his throat.

    Krysaos was about to say something obvious-- but it was so obvious that he wasn''t sure it was safe to talk about.

    "Hesitation, Krysaos?" Tycon frowned.

    "D''ahhh? Let me finish, guy," Krysaos replied, "You''re... the Commander, Tycon. Where are *your* people? Your-- y''know *retinue*?"

    He considered asking the guy if *he* was the one being hazed.

    "...You were expecting Iyuri, perhaps?" Tycon suggested.

    The Sea Serpent girl that talked like a baby and was too stupid to have a human form? No, Krysaos did not want to see her.

    "N-no," he said quietly... "But I dunno... Tycon, didn''t you have... a Hero or three?"

    "...And where did you get that information?"

    "Uh..."

    That was the reason Krysaos was hesitating.

    There was something weird about Tycon''s eyes-- something magical. Whenever he got *really* upset, his eyes took on this unblinking intensity that Krysaos really, *really* did not like.

    As cliche as it sounded... it felt... predatory.

    It made him, a literal god, ufortable.

    "I heard it... somewhere," he said, averting his gaze.

    ...Tycon loosed another deep sigh, "Very well. Keep your secrets. I''ve no reason to doubt you, old friend."

    "Y-yeah," Krysaos muttered. "That''s right."

    "Never mind the heroes, Brother-Captain. The stories of the past may remain, unchanging. But in theing suns, we shall be the masters of our own fates."

    "Ahhh... hm..."

    Maybe he really was just overthinking everything.

    Having god-senses was really screwing up his judgment.

    Krysaos let out a deep, rxing sigh-- and he felt better, almost immediately.

    "You''re right, LT."

    "I''m always right."

    "Man-- f*ck all this prophecy shite!" Krysaos groaned, "At the end of the sun, I ain''t never gonna run away from somethin'' that don''t exist."

    "...I''d like you to restate that for rification, if you would."

    Krysaos shook his head... and though he still had mixed feelings, he put on the best smile he could manage.

    "You and me against the world, LT?" he said, holding out his hand.

    Tycon didn''t hesitate.

    He sped Krysaos'' outstretched arm at the wrist.

    "Us against the world, dear friend."

    That was nice.

    The whole thing-- it was nice.

    Then a series of sshes came out of the water, f*cking up the moment.

    "The f*ck is that?" Krysaos cursed aloud.

    Tycon didn''t turn around-- not immediately. His face soured even worse than usual, though.

    "It''se out of the sea," he said, "Isn''t that your purview?"

    "F*ckin-- ugh. It''s... man, shut up."

    Krysaos didn''t need to look to see what it was. He felt it.

    He realized, then, that it was kind of weird to... *feel* the presence of a bunch of religious folks.

    It was a group of sahuagins, web-footed sentients with scales and fins.

    There were eleven of them... and...

    And...

    Bah.

    And unfortunately, Krysaos recognized one of them.

    In fact, he was the one who gave her a human name.

    And her name was--

    "SEA GOD!!" the female sahuagin shouted, "Becky[1] hase for PILGRIMAGE!!!"

    "That''s a rather high-level word in themon tongue," Tycon mused. "Pilgrimage."

    "(OH SEA GOD!!)" Becky screamed, "(Grant us your eternally wet blessings!)"

    At that, Becky and her sahuaginpanions got down on their knees and ced their foreheads on the sand.

    "I believe my understanding of Aquan iscking," Tycon said.

    Krysaos had a very simr line of thinking.

    "It''s, uh... it''s probably not ascking as you think," Krysaos said, shaking his head.

    The situation called for him as the Sea God to... do something.

    Still... he was new, so he wasn''t 100% sure what that something was supposed to be.

    Krysaos took a step forward... and he waved his arm-- like, thrice as slow as a regr wave.

    It was... a godly wave.

    "Good job, everyone. I, as your benevolent Sea God... grant you... whatever it is you seek. Now uh... get outta here. Go on."

    "WE COME FOR FOREVER MERCY!!" Becky insisted.

    She insisted so loud that her voice cracked. She was like the reverse of a siren.

    "Maybe they mean blessing?" Tycon suggested, "The trantion is close enough."

    "Do you guys mean... blessing?" Krysaos asked.

    "No no no no no...." the sahuagin said, raising her head. "Becky... speaking... is genius!"

    That wasn''t what he was asking, though?

    ...Tycon shared a dubious look with Krysaos.

    "Genius speaking!" Becky insisted, "Becky speaking is... very... very very powerful speaking!"

    "Very well," Tycon nodded.

    "By my socks," Krysaos cursed under his breath.

    He crossed his arms and lifted his chin, "Alright. And... are you guys asking for a general, all-purpose ''mercy''? Like a gift for showing up to the party?"

    He turned to Tycon in an aside, "Kinda rude, don''tcha think? --to ask for a mercy without giving anything in return?"

    "Sea God, I feel the need to remind you that the selfishness of the gods is why we''re in this current predicament."

    "...Fair."

    Becky gave a full-on, kinda creepy grin. There were a whole lot of sharp, spiny teeth in that sahuagin mouth.

    Krysaos wondered for a second what it''d be like with her in bed.

    --but ONLY for a second.

    No more than a second.

    "We... bring... the HEROES OF LIGHT!!" Becky eximed.

    Krysaos tilted his head, "Did you?"

    "You... did... what?" Tycon asked.

    He was grinding his teeth... and there was a furious vein bulging in his forehead-- both of which were super unsettling.

    The guy only reacted strongly when it came to two things: food and dragons. But it seemed like talking about the heroes was a new third?

    But the heroes?

    Krysaos turned back to Becky, "So... where are they?"

    Becky turned around, gazing out at the waters.

    "(Where''d they go?)" she asked aloud, "(Weren''t they just behind us?)"

    Krysaos pursed his lips and nodded.

    It was dumb of him to be disappointed, knowing who Becky was.

    He sensed a few life forces in the water; that was probably them.

    Waving his hands (in his Sea Godly way,) he formed a huge, swirling whirlpool in the bay... and after a short moment, a trio of water spheres rose out of the sea.

    The people-balls sped towards the beach as if they were shot out of ship cannons. And upon hitting the sands, they opened like eggs, revealing three intact and uninjured humans.

    "LOOK!" Becky screamed, "Happy birthsun!!"

    "Oh, for the love of--"

    Krysaos took a breath. If Tycon had no problems being stone-faced and professional all the time, he could do the same.

    "Becky, it''s not my birthsun."

    No one was listening to him, though. The other sahuagins got swept along Becky''s excitement and they were all shouting and hollering about their hopes and dreams.

    Birthsun wishes, probably?

    --"May we all live a long life!"

    --"I want to fall in love!"

    --"May our harvests be ever bountiful!"

    Harvests? Did the sahuagin grow crops underwater?

    But anyroad... Krysaos immediately recognized the trio that washed up on the beach.

    He''d read their details in military documents, their histories in bard songs, and their deeds in tavern tales.

    He was looking forward to meeting them.

    --the gods-damned heroes of the Realm.

    [1] Becky: Best Girl Becky was first introduced in Chapter 629.

 Chapter 1059 Mythril General

    <h4>Chapter 1059 Mythril General</h4>

    Gathered in front of Krysaos were the noble members of the hero party, the young guys and gals that''d be the final line of defense against the end of the Realm as everyone knew it.

    A girl with a long, silver ponytail crawled onto the beach, her face filthy with sand.

    Her thin, orange robes werepletely drenched.

    So, naturally, they clung to...

    Uh.

    --nothing to write home about.

    That should have been Kimura Taree, a Martialist from the White Scale sect.

    At any rate, she was too young for him.

    Beside her was a purple-haired girl in a neat, white set of te armor. Soft waves continued to crash onto her lower back, but she looked too exhausted to care.

    But along with the flowing seawater, the girlie was dripping with divine aura-- god-juice, Krysaos liked to call it. There was so much of it that it almost hurt to look at her directly.

    That must have been Troia, the Princess of the Holy Country.

    She was an incredibly important person to the Eternal me-- one of, like... two gods that Krysaos actually respected. (Or maybe three?)

    --but at any rate... she was too young for him.

    Andstly, there was a boy-- a half-elf, judging by the shape of his ears.

    He looked pretty badass, walking out of the water on his own two legs, water streaming freely down his brown-or-blonde hair.

    By process of elimination, that was Pale, the gods-damned Hero of the Realm.

    Tycon had talked about him before.

    He was a good, honest kid-- and a strong Martial fighter and a capable Spellcaster, to boot.

    He had the height of a man, but his face still had the green of a boy. In a year or two, though, he''d probably be able to hold his own, ying the game.

    Suddenly, the guy stopped.

    He met Krysaos'' eyes... and he lifted his chin.

    Krysaos mirrored the action involuntarily.

    That kid...

    That was... acknowledgment.

    --from badass to badass.

    Then, Pale copsed onto his knees and began to vomit seawater.

    All of them... all three of them were in various states of choking and sputtering out seawater.

    Whatever method Becky used to get the heroes from point A to point B, it was not a gentle one.

    Krysaos turned back to Tycon. His expression had changed back to one of his usuals: general disgust.

    He wasn''t sure if that was a good development or not, though.

    "Krysaos, there''s one more," Tycon said.

    ...Was there?

    Krysaos closed his eyes, feeling out all the things in the water-- what was there, what was supposed to be there, and...

    "Oh, there *is* one more-- just like you said."

    He waved his hand once more and a fourth water sphere shot out of the ocean. For a moment, it took its ce among the stars in the sky. Then, after the moment was gone, it fell back down, plopping onto the beach.

    And revealed within was the tall, armored form of...

    "Who the f*ck is that?" Krysaos asked aloud.

    The guy was wearing dark armor covered with skull motifs and literal spikes. He was also weighed down by waterlogged furs on his waist and shoulders... and a military lockbox he clutched to his chest.

    A guy from the Sleeping Country? Krysaos didn''t remember *him* being in the reports.

    He was alive; he was coughing and expelling sea water like the others.

    Considering the box he carried... maybe he was a porter?

    And since he was traveling with the heroes, he must have been a high-level porter.

    That was good.

    The whole thing-- the heroes showing up, that was good! The more help they could get when the dragons came, the better.

    And besides that--

    "What''cha think, LT?" Krysaos grinned. "Did you see how quick I got that fourth guy out? I''ve gotten pretty good at this mana sense thing. Remember before? I used to suck real--"

    "Krysaos," Tycon interrupted, "There should be one more besides that one."

    "Huh? Alright. On it." Krysaos said.

    He closed his eyes and extended his senses.

    And...

    "No," he shook his head. "It''s... just the four, guy. How many''s there supposed to be?"

    "Four?" Tycon frowned, "but there should *definitely* be..."

    He shook his head... "Four. It seems I... misspoke? There''s just the four..."

    Weird.

    The guy looked disoriented.

    ...But, then again, he did eat two entire crates of raw oysters, practically by himself.

    Krysaos didn''t have an ?Appraise? Skill or anything like that, so it was entirely possible that there were magic oysters or maybe even cursed oysters mixed into the bunch he gave him.

    Magic oysters?

    ...Cursed oysters?

    "You okay, guy?" Krysaos asked, "Should we head to the docs and get some medicine?"

    Or a ?Cleanse? Spell?

    ...?Decursify??

    Tycon did a weird predatory thing.

    He moved.

    He moved in such a way that Krysaos couldn''t follow it-- not until Tycon had his fingers on his left shoulder.

    --and it wasn''t a reassuring pat-pat-pat.

    Krysaos felt the pressure of Tycon''s fingertips wrapping around his shoulderbone, gripping harder than what a friendly pat-pat-pat called for.

    "H-hey, Tycon... wh-what''s up, guy? Hah... haha?"

    Krysaos put on a smile. A nice... calm--

    "Ow! OwW! What the shite, bro?!"

    Tycon started squeezing Krysaos''? shoulder. He didn''t know how much strength exactly was needed to break a man''s shoulder, but he was pretty f*cking sure Tycon had it.

    "Exin the situation, Sea God Krysaos," Tycon growled through his teeth. "Why are the Heroes here? In. This. ce?"

    "Ow, f*ck-- I dunno, LT!" Krysaos yelped, "They-- they swam, maybe??"

    Tycon increased the pressure. Was it ''swum''?! Was garbage grammar going to be the reason he was going to get his arm torn off?!

    "They emerged from *your* ocean, Krysaos," Tycon sneered, "Hero''s Hearth is several suns away and that''s by *ship.* How, then, did they get from *there* to *here*?"

    "I--e on, LT! That f*cking hurts, guy! How did YOU get here?!"

    "In a way that could not be replicated," Tycon replied sternly, "Tell me, Sea God, is this *your* doing?"

    "Tycon!"

    "Answer."

    "I-- I don''t f*cking know!"

    "That''s not good enough."

    Krysaos raised his opposite arm. He wasn''t really in a state to think, so he summoned up all the mana he could muster. He was operating under the unfortunately often practiced principle of ''do something quick or f*cking die.''

    A glowing blue sphere of god-magic swirled in his palm. It had enough god-juice in it to wipe out an entire frigate-ss ship along with its crew-- that''s what he felt.

    But then Tycon grabbed his wrist with his other hand.

    And Krysaos'' wrist-- it f*cking snapped.

    He heard it before he felt it.

    Of course, Krysaos'' blue death ball imploded on itself with a sad, sorry ''whump'' sound.

    He started wondering why all this was happening to him.

    He thought... that he and Tycon were friends?

    But then he remembered... they absolutely were.

    He remembered how Tycon raised the morale of his allies aboard the Neptune''s Revenge.

    He remembered how Tycon ordered the deaths of the elves of House Vulkoori.

    The only fate that awaited the enemies of Sol Invictus was a cruel and violent death.

    Krysaos knew that they were friends because he was still alive.

    And he knew he was alive...

    --because his wrist REALLY, REALLY, F*CKING HURT!!

    "DUDE!!" Krysaos shouted, "That''s not F*CKING FAIR!! F*CK! F******CKKK!!!"

    Oh, it hurt. Ohhhh, it really f*cking hurt.

    Tycon raised his chin, "I *will* have an answer, Krysaos."

    ? And, on my honor, you will have thy answers. ?

    Big! Boomy! Voice!

    In Krysaos'' f*cking head!

    It was so loud, it almost drowned out the pain.

    A big group of adventurers and soldiers was hurrying toward them... and in their lead was a girl wearing a set of blue, shimmery scale mail.

    The booming head-voice-- it belonged to her.

    She was Neerin Neelia, the Wyrmyer Alliance''s leader of operations in Jad.

    And that girl... she really, really, really should have been his savior.

    But, because Krysaos knew her identity... he wasn''t sure just what was going to happen.

    "See to the Heroes," she ordered, waving her hand before approaching Tycon.

    "Good morning, Commander Tycondrius."

    Tycon released his grip, allowing Krysaos to fall on his arse like a chump.

    But that was fine. He was a god. His body (and his pride) would heal in a short time.

    But the storm that was the Wyrmyer Commander had not yet passed.

    Tycon drew his f*cking sword as he turned to face Neerin Neelia.

    Everyone stopped and stared-- one of the girlies gasped in horror.

    The tip of the Commander''s sword was pressed against Neerin''s neck.

    "That''s far enough," he said.

    It was nothing short of amazing how that woman could stand there, head slightly raised, a thin line of blood running down from Tycon''s swordpoint... and somehow, keep totally andpletely calm.

    "Tycondrius," Neerin said. "I''d like to speak with you-- in private."

    "And why," growled the dragonyer... "the f*ck... would I give a single shite... about anything your *kind* has to say?"

 Chapter 1060 Restraint

    <h4>Chapter 1060 Restraint</h4>

    ? Port Town Jad, Restful Hen Inn, some timeter... ?

    Tycondrius was tempted to kill them all.

    Doing so would alleviate his mood.

    ...But wanton murder tended to have bothersome consequences.

    The current-him... had great *difficulty* recognizing those consequences.

    --which was a convincing reason to avoid making a rash decision.

    The woman''s name was Neerin Neelia.

    ? Neerin Neelia, Sky-Rank Blue Dragon. Heavenly Strategist. ?

    She was wearing a respectable set of enchanted battle regalia,prising hundreds of mithril scales. Her posture was impable and her short, light brown hair was tied into a neat ponytail, as per general military regtions.

    Tycon found no fault in her professional mien... nor in her bearing or in the nature of hermands.

    She carried a curved de on her side-- a sword type he was deeply familiar with. The fact should have been a means to identify with her.

    And her ss, Heavenly Strategist was on a simr or higher level than his own ss, Warlord. With that, they should have had somemon ground between them.

    However... Tycon did not like her.

    He didn''t care for her.

    --No, the feeling he had for her was infinitely closer to *hate* than apathy.

    He wanted to hurt her.

    He wanted to tear her apart-- her name, her achievements, anything that she showed interest, love, or admiration in.

    He wanted to end her miserable life, stabbing her own sword through her abdomen and violently twisting it about.

    He wanted to desecrate her sorry corpse, impale it onto a wooden post, and parade it in front of men and gods alike.

    Only then, might he be satisfied...

    Neerin Neelia had garnered the respect of the soldiers of the Wyrmyer Alliance in Jad.

    Tycon could tell by the way they looked to her for guidance...

    --by their voices when they reported and the crity inpleting their assignments.

    The Command Room was a cheap, legacy inn. Adjacent to the burning fire pit was an open sleeping area, lined with furs as bedding, still stinking of unwashed adventurers.

    He sensed no *honor* there... no pride, no... righteousness of a cause.

    Tycon clenched his eyes shut, trying to regte his breathing... slow his heart rate... unclench his fists and teeth.

    His logical mind was fighting-- struggling to resist the incessantpulsion tomit violence.

    --to kill that woman''sckeys.

    --to utilize repeated blunt force trauma on anything that dared to tolerate that which he did not.

    --to turn a ce of rest into a nightmarish ughterhouse.

    As for Neerin, herself... Tycon would have loved nothing more than to dere her as one. of. *them.*

    ...to approach that woman with a smile.

    ...to wrap his hands around her throat.

    --to ruin her unblemished, symmetrical face with repeated strikes from the pommel of his sword.

    To shatter her teeth. To twist her appendages beyond their breaking points.

    He wanted to cause that woman pain-- excruciating, physical pain.

    --enough that she''d lose consciousness.

    Then, he''d revive her. And then the process would begin anew...

    ...until she stopped breathing.

    Everyone had left the Command Tent, save for her and Krysaos.

    Thus, Tycon tried to regain his senses-- to see through the bloodlust clouding his judgment.

    Why *shouldn''t* he kill that woman?

    He''d have to kill Krysaos, as well.

    ...He remembered liking Krysaos.

    Recently, the Sea God had bought him a meal.

    He liked that.

    ...Tycon held onto that feeling. A good meal was more important than his murderous impulses.

    "You have my gratitude, most sincere, foring so agreeably," said the disgusting woman. "To be honest, I expected otherwise... But thankfully, without tensions in the room so high-strung, perhaps we can have an actual conversation."

    Tycon continued to stare listlessly at the wall of the inn, covered with trophies appropriate for the location. A rtivelyrge m shell, purported to be from an Iron-Rank monster. An old fishing trident on a wooden que with a name inscribed into the wood.

    They were far more interesting than anything that woman had to say.

    None of her observations were worth a response, verbal or otherwise.

    "He uh... he''s like this sometimes," came the voice of Sea God Krysaos. "But other than that, he''s a really good guy. I''ll vouch for him."

    His tone.

    It sounded apologetic.

    That bristled Tycon''s ire.

    "He and I... we were... no, nevermind," Neerin shook her head. "I know many a bad sung of Sol Invictus and its leader. Tycondrius is a man of honor and great deeds... and I trust his judgment, all things considered."

    "Yeah, he''s worth your trust, for sure," Krysaos said. "But uh... our boy, Tycon... he''s a different guy when he''s angry."

    "That is... Sea God, did you realize that, just now, he broke both bones in your forearm? And the bones in your shoulder-- if you were an ordinary human, you''d have been crippled past the point of magical healing."

    "He did? By my socks... Whew, no wonder it hurt so bad... Well, thanks for putting me back together, girlie."

    Krysaos was speaking affably to the enemy-- as if they were old lovers.

    Tycon did not like that.

    No...

    "If my meager abilities can be of any assistance, then it is my honor to lend aid. Prince Tycondrius chooses his friends well, so I trust your character to be trustworthy."

    "Is that so? Haha! Yeah. That sounds about right!"

    Krysaos.

    Yes.

    Tycon decided to kill Krysaos, as well.

    He had killed a god before. He could feasibly do so again. A fledgling half-god like Krysaos had many vulnerabilities he could exploit.

    "Prince?"

    ...There was only one Prince in the room.

    It was him.

    That ursed beast dared to address him?

    No. Tycon would not deign himself to answer.

    "Prince Tycondrius," the creature said, "I was informed that you met with the Court''s messenger."

    Tycon removed a small package of egg wafers from his spatial ring.

    They were somewhat stale-- he had neglected them in favor of meat and fruit-based snacks.

    However, they suited his mood.

    "Why didn''t you listen to Jerim Jya''s message?"[1]

    He used just the right amount of sugar when he was preparing them.

    After they were baked, the results were sweet, but not *too* sweet.

    "Commander Tycondrius, I... I''m begging you for a conversation."

    Tycon took a long, deep sigh.

    It was an irritating situation.

    It was an irritating situation that could potentially be solved by murder-- but ording to his state of mind, on that, he couldn''t be certain.

    "Krysaos," he said, "tell that person that I had no wish to be trapped in the ne of Dirt for an indeterminate amount of time."

    "Huh? Are you serious, guy?" asked the worthless Sea God.

    "Tycon, it was for your own good!" yelped a miserable sack of scales.

    Pah.

    His own good?

    Unlikely.

    Several moons prior, Tycon had received a message from Jerim Jya, advising him to travel to the Bristlebear Hignds to assist the Hero Party.

    He sessfully convened with the Hero Party-- but purposely avoided that ce.

    Some timeter, he was informed by Gatekeeper General Raelion that the ne of Dirt was sealed and inescapable.

    Neerin Neelia wanted him Off-Realm.

    Tycon did not appreciate that.

    "Fine. Whatever," seethed the blue-scaled whore, "I can see you can''t be convinced otherwise..."

    "I suppose she needed another gods-damned prophecy to determine that?" Tycon said to Krysaos in an aside.

    "You''re... really doin'' this," returned Krysaos.

    "No, I just had the one," Neerin said tly, "which brings me to the main point. Tycondrius, allow the Heroes to take the field. We need them if we want to have any hopes of defeating the Tyrant God!"

    "Hmph. Heroes," Tycon scoffed. "If our alliance *had* a Hero or three, of course we''d field them."

    "Ugggh," Neerin groaned. "You know what I mean, Tycon. I''m referring to Pale and his adventuring party."

    Once more, Tycon turned to Krysaos.

    "Tell that person that Pale and hispanions are unprepared for a battle of this scope and scale. Also, they are children."

    "Dude, Tycon, tell her yourself."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I cannot be certain as to whom you are referring to."

    Krysaos turned to that person, "Neerin, can you do something about this?"

    "I was hoping that you''d be able to do something, Sea God," said that person with a sigh.

    "Y''know what? I don''t f*cking get it," Krysaos said, "Whatever''s going on-- whatever... *this* is, it ain''t me. So whatever you''re doing, you can do it by yourselves."

    And with that, the Sea God stood up and... walked out of the room on his two, mortal legs.

    Most gods would leave in a more ostentatious manner.

    His mundanity corrted to his uselessness.

    But nevertheless...

    Krysaos'' departure meant Tycon had to murder one less entity to alleviate his mood.

    Tycon drew Mercy from its sheath. The enchanted Tyrion sword was able to injure Jerim Jya without issue. It would work just as well on Neerin Neelia.

    The arrogant creature stuck her chin out, seemingly unperturbed.

    "Interesting. If you''re so intent on fighting me, doesn''t that mean you''re acknowledging my existence?"

    Tycon steeled his expression, "Worry not, whore. I shall rectify the situation forthwith."

    [1] Message: See Chapter 974!

 Chapter 1061 Third-Tier Class

    ?

    Though Tycondrius found the Neerin Neelia''s presence barely tolerable, he did enjoy seeing her face twist with disbelief and indignation.

    "You... can''t be serious? Am I talking to a brick wall?"

    "I''m done talking," Tycon replied.

    He nted his feet and swung his sword.

    Neerin sheathed her forearm with mana, blocking the attack with an infuriating level of ease.

    "You''re being really f*cking childish right now."

    Tycon drew back, then made a careful forward-step, aiming Mercy at her throat. Neerin stepped to the side, countering with a punch.

    The mana-strike had an extended range of effect, so Tycon received a blow to the chest and was forced backward.

    "If you''re trying to persuade me of something," he growled, "attacking my character is argely ineffective tactic."

    "Tycon! The fate of the Realm is at stake!"

    As Neerin attempted her superfluous plea, she opened her arms wide.

    It was a mocking, open stance that invited attack.

    Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning his Nemayan pistol in hand.

    "I''ll deal with the children in my own way," he said, pointing his weapon at the lizard woman''s center of mass. "But whether or not I allow them to fight has nothing to do with you."

    Neerin put her hands together as if she were begging.

    But Tycon sensed no sincerity in the spurious motion.

    "Please, Tycon. The Court and I have been on your side since the beginning."

    Tycon scoffed at that, "I *beg* to differ. The Wyrmyer Alliance was formed because of the impotence of you and the other useless gods."

    "The True Court[1] has been doing everything we can!" Neerin insisted.

    "Would you at least proffer lies that have a *semnce* of authenticity," Tycon rolled his eyes. "And if whatever you''ve done is on the level of sending me Jerim Jya, then I''m ming you lot as the reason this Realm is doomed."

    "Our side has been removing loyalist cells across the Realm as well as participating in various key battles in secret-- and we''ve been doing so for *years*," Neerin cried. "AND who do you think sent the Heroes to the Sleeping Country in the first ce?"

    "The Holy Country," Tycon frowned.

    "Wrong!" Neerin shouted, "Jerim Jya made the prediction! And I was the one who flew out to corroborate with Queen Arendelle."

    The troublesome strumpet arrogantly flipped her short hair back, "The Laws may prevent our direct involvement, but we can at least do that much."

    "Your services are no longer needed," Tycon replied.

    "Tycondrius, I can help you," Neerin offered.

    "Indeed," Tycon smirked. "You can start by lowering your magic defenses so I can kill you quickly. But, honestly, I''d prefer if you resisted with all your might."

    The lizard woman''s eyes began to glow a subtle blue, sparking with the vestiges of lightning mana, "I''ll take a third choice, asshole."

    Tycon clicked the safety off his pistol, "It seems like you''ve chosen the second."

    "You''ve reached the bottleneck in your Metal-Rank, haven''t you?"

    "Nonsense," Tycon said, waving with his opposite hand, "I can break through any time I wish."

    "But you haven''t," Neerin said, wearing a frustrating smirk.

    So Tycon shot her.

    She staggered backward from two shots in the chest, so he sent several more shots toward her face, aiming at her eyes.

    He was certain his shots were urate...

    He emptied his magazine... watched and heard the bullets he fired fall ineffectually to the floor.

    However, no blood was drawn.

    After Neerin put her arms down, she seemed merely inconvenienced, casually rubbing at her reddened eyes.

    A daughter of the Tyrant God was disgustingly difficult to kill.

    "Are you ready to talk now?" she asked.

    Tycon did not respond. Instead, he ejected his pistol magazine and summoned a box of bullets.

    It was something he immediately regretted for as soon as he began to reload, the woman saw it as permission to speak.

    "Warlord is only a Second-Tier ss," she said.

    *Only,* she said.

    ording to contemporary knowledge, Warlord was considered a ''High-Tier ss.'' A tier above Warlord would be the likes of ''Hero'' and ''Saintess''... but those were so rare, they didn''t have their own categorization for them.

    "It will be enough," Tycon shrugged.

    "I can offer you a new one."

    Eh?

    That offer... made him hesitate.

    Attaining a new ss was an exceedingly rare opportunity. In the past, Tycon had guided hispanion Lone to a new ss... but from the low-potential, First-Tier ss of Ruffian to a specialized Second-Tier ss, a Ranger.

    It took a great deal of time... and a great deal of effort. And the results were admittedly mediocre.

    For as long as Tycon could remember, he''d been a Second-Tier ss. And for that, he could thank his excellent luck and overwhelming level of talent.

    ...But he epted Second-Tier as his limit.

    If he were to gain a Third-Tier ss, he''d gain a much-wee boost in strength and ability.

    But... no.

    Tycon shook his head.

    What ss could the spawn of the Tyrant God possibly offer him?

    Neerin lifted her chin, "Prince Tycondrius of Charm, heed my call... a call shared by the fates, the seven heavens, and the eleven hells... and ept the mantle we deem you most worthy."

    Her gaze sharpened, sparking with mana, "I will give you the power to protect this world."

    Tycon felt a surge of that power, an anxious swelling in his chest... a burning need to go to war and reap the lives of the tens of thousands that dared to stand in his way.

    And a familiar voice in his head spoke to him...

    ? User is being offered a ss Change. ?

    ? ept ss Change to Dragon Chosen? Y/N? ?

    What... The... F*ck?

    Tycon threw his pistol at Neerin''s face.

    The troublesome woman caught it in hand, though she still appeared to be hurt.

    "Isn''t this sort of thing expensive?" she said, before gingerly setting it down on a desk counter.

    "I REFUSE, you. ignorant. B*TCH!!!" Tycon screamed through clenched teeth, "How. f*cking. DARE you!!"

    ? ss Change Rejected. ?

    Neerin held out her hands, "Tycon, that was the most powerful ss I--"

    "I don''t care!!" Tycon roared, " That you''d even offer *that* is an INSULT to the highest degree!!"

    "Calm down, Ty, I have--"

    "DON''T CALL ME THAT!!"

    "Right, I''m sorry. Look, here''s another one..."

    ? User is being offered a ss Change. ?

    Tycon once again sensed the voice of his System.

    It calmed him down... but only slightly.

    His System was meless. His frustrations stemmed from the woman in his presence.

    ? ept ss Change to Drake-Scaled Ravende? Y/N? ?

    "I tire of this farce," Tycon said, shaking his head. "Draw your sword, you. Let''s fight."

    He gestured toward the sword stowed in a sash tied to Neerin''s waist. As Tycon was trained in the de by Garock of the Screaming Silence sect, he was looking forward to seeing how his skills matched up against another skilled opponent.

    "And just WHAT is wrong with Drake-Scaled Ravende?" the lizard-woman growled.

    "I have no wish to wear *your* scales," Tycon groaned.

    "What the hell does that even mean?? You''re literally a snake. You have scales too!!"

    "And Ravende?" Tycon scoffed, "Why would I take the mantle of my natural predator?"

    "Your name of sword style, in which *sword* is another word for *de*, is the. White. Raven. What is your f*cking problem, dude?"

    "I don''t care for your *logic,* lizard. I refuse!"

    ? ss Change Rejected. ?

    "You... you..."

    Neerin raised her fist. It looked like she was about to attack, so Tycon readied himself.

    Unfortunately, Neerin allowed her hand to drop to the side... and she lowered her head.

    ...Perhaps she believed she couldn''t win.

    --which was fair.

    "You really get on my nerves, sometimes," she whispered.

    ? User is being offered a ss Change. ?

    What?

    ? ept ss Change to Draconian Commander? Y/N? ?

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    That was...

    ...actually not bad.

    Draconian.

    That... wasn''t inherently lizardish.

    That was just a... descriptive adjective.

    --it had nothing to do with lizards!

    "So?" Neerin prompted, "How is it?"

    "Shut up. Hearing your ugly voice reminds me of your hideous appearance."

    Seeing Neerin''s wounded expression gave Tycon no small amount of vindictive contentment.

    Ah.

    But what would hurt more...

    After a moment, he met Neerin''s gaze... and for a brief moment, hope glimmered in her eyes.

    "I refuse," Tycon said with a sincere smile.

    ? ss Change Rejected. ?

    She was as fast as a lightning bolt.

    And the strong stench of it apanied her strike.

    Neerin had drawn her sword, crossing the inn room floor in a single stride... but the attack... felt empty.

    As he was actively goading her, he had opened his senses, analyzing the minutiae in the mana and emotions in the tavern hall.

    And though Neerin swung her sword, it only had the appearance of an attack.

    Itcked the intent to kill.

    --it evencked any intent of causing *injury.*

    Tycon didn''t feel the need to draw his own sword-- he intercepted the false swipe with two outstretched fingers.

    --and doing even that annoyed him further.

    "Your single-edge sword has... a reverse edge?" he asked, "What are you, stupid?"

    [1] True Court: Neerin Neelia''s faction refers to themselves as the True Court, referring to the Dragon God''s faction as the Imperial Court.

 Chapter 1062 Sincerity (Part One)

    <h4>Chapter 1062 Sincerity (Part One)</h4>

    Neerin''s pacifist stance, her imbecilic offer of gifts, and even the sword she carried-- everything corroborated her impotence.

    --and it all served to further stoke Tycondrius'' ire.

    "The True Court is not your enemy," preached the lizard woman, "ept our help."

    She swung her ridiculous sword thrice more. Tycon blocked the first two and stepped in. He took an iplete third strike while simultaneously kicking the side of Neerin''s heel.

    The woman fell, but rolled backward and away.

    The creature had a surprising level of body-control, considering she wasn''t in her natural form.

    "I don''t want your help," Tycon said flippantly.

    Suddenly, Neerin stood up straight, resting her de on her shoulder.

    "And *you* don''t want to fight me."

    "I *beg* your pardon?" Tycon said, indignant by the usation.

    "You haven''t used a Skill even once," Neerin said. "You don''t really want to kill me. You''re under the influence of your bloodline hatred, that''s all."

    "That neither excuses my current actions nor my actions going forward!" Tycon growled.

    "I-- what? Tycon, what!?" Neerin yelped, "Are you apologizing?"

    "No."

    "But you just said--"

    "I''m not"

    Neerin bit her upper lip, somehow managing to look stupider than usual.

    "...Tycon, you can change! You can ovee this-- maybe even together?"

    "I don''t want to."

    Her expression suddenly changed, "The heroes-- I know you care about them! Aren''t you supposed to be their role model??"

    "''Best practices'' dictate I discourage prejudice in a teaching setting," Tycon exined. "But, on a *personal* level, I willfully and purposely choose to be hateful and prejudiced against you and all your *ilk.*"

    "But WHY?!"

    "Because I don''t like you."

    Neerin pulled her sword in, the t of the de between her eyes.

    She looked like she was going to activate a Skill-- a grave and potentially deadly mistake.

    "Tycon... tell me... what can I do to prove my sincerity?"

    "You can die."

    "I mean-- besides that, asshole."

    "Tss, right," Tycon sneered. "Lay down your de."

    As soon as he ordered it, Neerin sheathed her de. Going above and beyond, she removed the scabbard from her sash andid it down on the wooden floorboards.

    "There. I did it. What else?"

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    Finally, the lizard woman was showing her weakness.

    He walked over toward her and gazed into her eyes...

    They still raged with confidence-- but from whence that confidence came, he could not be certain.

    He kicked her sword away, sending it ttering across the dining hall floor.

    She winced at the noise.

    He slowly lifted his left hand... brushing Neerin Neelia''s lips with his fingers before wrapping them around her surprisingly soft and supple throat.

    Her flesh... felt identical to that of a human''s.

    She trembled, but once-- as if an electric shock ran the course of her body.

    The pace of her breathing was quickening... speeding the cirction of blood and mana, even if unconsciously.

    Even without her sword, their intimate range allowed her a devastating strike if he were to be caught unaware.

    But the same was true for Tycon. He had his other hand on the hilt of Mercy, ready to cut her down at the slightest sign of aggression.

    He was almost *hoping* for it.

    Neerin swallowed her saliva.

    Then, hesitantly... she opened her mouth.

    "Can we... lock the--"

    Tycon tightened his grip, cutting off her words.

    "You are not in a position to make requests," he said.

    He released her throat, allowing her to cough.

    Sheposed herself quickly enough, once more daring to meet his gaze with resolution in her eyes.

    His fingertips had left marks on her neck.

    Tyconid his palm against Neerin''s cheek.

    ...She leaned into it.

    A strange, uncertain feeling burgeoned in his chest-- not the bloodlust the rest of his senses were mired in... nor even the feral lust that should have emerged from being a man in an intimate setting, alone with a woman.

    That feeling... was... guilt.

    Tycon took his hand away.

    Guilt.

    That... feeling...

    ...Guilt?

    The incredulous notion returned him his anger.

    He struck her on the cheek.

    Neerin fell with a surprised yelp, falling onto one of the rugs.

    Tears welled at the corner of her eyes as she rubbed at her knees.

    Her bottom lip had split open.

    Bullets from a pistol did almost nothing to her, yet she was injured by an open-handed p.

    Either Neerin had purposely let down her defenses or Tycon, in his mental condition, had failed to control his strength.

    --not that it mattered to him, either way.

    Tycon sat down at the edge of the hearth andid his sword upon hisp. The firepit was lifted slightly above the public bedding area, perfect for him to look down upon Neerin''s fallen form.

    His mood had lifted immensely, basking in both the heat from the fire and the suffering of a woman he despised.

    "This form of yours," he said... "have you chosen it?"

    Neerin sat up, her eyes downcast. She lifted her hand up toward her face.

    "Stop," Tycon ordered, "I did not grant you permission to wipe off the blood."

    She stopped obediently and bowed her head, "I''m sorry."

    "Now... answer."

    Neerin frowned, the expression causing a drop of blood to trickle down her chin.

    "Y-yes, I chose a human form... just like you."

    "I don''t care for the unnecessary details, whore. Is that human form of yours a Unique Polymorph?"

    Being able to adopt a specific appearance at-will was due to a bloodline ability, extraordinary talent, or decades of concentrated practice.

    Most bloodlines that gained a Polymorph-type skill were limited to a single alternate form.

    Tycon considered himself to have an average level of skill in ?Transformation? techniques. However, the extent of his abilities were in making minor modifications to his natural form: gills and flippers, shadow-scales, or ice-crystal horns.

    His alternate form was that of a human-- and he was the same human, no matter how many times he activated the Skill.

    Thus, Tycon took great pride in his human body. It was as much his own as his original, snake form.

    "Yes," Neerin nodded... "It is."

    Tycon lifted the woman''s chin, "Be clear."

    "Th... this is my only humanoid form."

    "You use it far more than your natural form," Tycon used. "And you''ve built a life around it."

    Neerin swallowed again. It seemed she had discerned the trajectory of his logic.

    "That''s right..."

    Tycon narrowed his eyes.

    "...Both statements are true," Neerin confirmed.

    It was the same for him. His humanoid form took less mana to maintain, allowed him to easily mingle with other sentient species, and had a moreplex and enjoyable pte.

    "Hm. Very well," Tycon mused. "Kneel."

    "Tyrael..."

    "No, no, no," he sang. "You shut your gods-damned mouth. You only have permission to speak when spoken to. Do you understand?"

    Her pupils dted slightly... and they quavered, almost imperceptibly.

    "Nod your head if you understand," Tycon cooed.

    Neerin shut her eyes.

    And she nodded her head.

    Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Now, kneel."

    And thus, she got to her knees, as was proper for their rtionship and status.

    That was a good start, but...

    "So this is the extent of your sincerity?" he yawned. "I''m not moved in the slightest."

 Chapter 1063 Sincerity (Part Two)

    <h4>Chapter 1063 Sincerity (Part Two)</h4>

    Neerin Neelia''s expression fell further into grief-- further improving Tycondrius'' mood.

    The filth-blooded whore leaned forward, prostrating fully with her forehead to the floor.

    "What. a. sight!" Tycon grinned, "The... mighty... dragon race... lying prostrate before a mere mortal. Have you no shame, Neerin Neelia?"

    He was pleased.

    But...

    --that was not enough.

    "Does your shamelessness stop there?" Tycon teased.

    Neerin lifted her head-- but only enough to strike her forehead against the stones.

    Again and again, enough to draw blood.

    "Tyrael, please..." she sobbed, choking on her tears, "I''m sorry... It''s all my fault."

    Yes. Whatever she was referring to, that was probably true.

    But still, nothing would be enough.

    "We''re done here," Tycon waved.

    The miserable wretch sat up.

    She removed her gauntlets and began untying her armguards.

    Odd.

    Tycon was nning to leave, but his curiosity bid him to stay and watch for at least a short while longer.

    She reached behind her back, releasing the straps on her chestte.

    Stretching her long legs forward, she removed her boots, her shin guards, and the rest of her outer armor.

    In a smooth motion, she lifted her chain shirt, up and over her head. That too, she folded and ced neatly beside her.

    Her tears had be silent, but they did not stop. They mixed in with the blood trailing down her forehead.

    For one of her kind... Ancient and ever-respected throughout the history of the Realm, shame was a far worse punishment than death.

    Finally, down to just her tunic, Neerin held her hand in front of her chest as she took in a deep, quavering breath.

    After that brief moment of hesitation, she began to undo the buttons.

    Folded with care, her tunic went atop her chainmail to the side.

    Out of all the women in his life, Tycon did not expect to see the scarcely clothed form of Neerin Neelia... and granted so willingly.

    He found no pleasure in the sight... but droll amusement. She had a human body and feminine form-- and it was likely she appealed to human standards.

    But that was all.

    She was still a lizard.

    Even a human wouldn''t be able to deny the fact. A series of unsightly blue scales lined the back of her neck and spine.

    And then Neerin reached her arm behind her back-- behind her brassiere.

    "Hold, there," Tycon narrowed his eyes, "What the hells do you think you''re doing?"

    Neerin closed her eyes, squeezing yet another pair of tears to fall down her cheeks.

    "Answer," Tycon demanded.

    "I''m... showing my sincerity."

    "That''s enough. You know I won''t change my mind."

    "Then... it''s not enough."

    "Stop this, at once."

    Yet, she did not stop.

    The woman stripped off her undergarments, then returned to the kneeling.

    Annoyed at her disobedience, Tycon looked away.

    Her natural feminine scent was intoxicating, especially at the intimate distance. Nheless, his pride neither allowed him to retreat nor give in to his base desires.

    Thankfully, his disgust for her kind allowed him to safely ignore his lust.

    "...I recognize thy conviction, girl. You may dress."

    "It''s still not enough... not for me."

    Tycon furrowed his brows, turning back with an incredulous re.

    That may have been his thoughts throughout the conversation, but it was... unexpected to hear it from Neerin''s mouth.

    "Lie with me, Tyrael. I''ll receive your everything-- your rage, your hatred... your guilt and regrets."

    Tycon grit his teeth. The woman had stripped down to her barest form, yet it still felt like he was the one being mocked.

    "You can''t be serious."

    "You... are well aware of the mana reserves of my bloodline," Neerin said, bowing her head. "I''ll... give you my mana. It''s the least I can do."

    She was even offering a ?Mana Transfer? ritual? And judging by her seriousness, doing so would disadvantage her to a significant degree.

    Tycon lifted the woman''s chin.

    He stared into the woman''s eyes...

    And, unfortunately, he could not find the duplicity he so desperately searched for.

    Neerin broke her gaze.

    How insolent.

    "No," Tycon frowned, "Don''t look away."

    cing his thumb on her chin, he gently guided her to meet his gaze once more.

    She shivered again, but she finally met his eyes.

    "I''m the only one here," he said. "Don''t look at the walls. Look at me."

    The hue of her eyes had shifted to blue... the color of her disgusting scales.

    "Ugh."

    Tycon removed his handkerchief from his pocket, wiping off Neerin''s tears, then at the drying blood on her forehead.

    She closed her eyes, kept still, and received the cleaning withoutment... allowing him to do as he wished.

    Tycon was confused... by Neerin''s trust... and by the strangelypelling feelings of guilt and sympathy mixing in with the omnipresent hatreds.

    "Neerin Neelia..."

    He needed to ask...

    ''Who was I to you?''

    The question was smoldering cold in his chest.

    He felt that a simple vocalization of the words would extinguish his difort immediately. However, he was struggling with a myriad of other emotions, most all of them insisting that any form of intercourse with the *enemy* was dangerous, foolhardy; and, above all, anathema.

    "Tyrael," she whispered.

    Perhaps that was answer enough to Tycon''s question left unsaid.

    Neerin asked for Tyrael.

    She had insisted he was-- or *once* was that Tyrael.

    ...But that ''Tyrael'' was not the current him.

    Thus, he was not the true recipient of the favors Neerin sought to grant.

    Still... those offers could potentially grant him significant benefits.

    He would not be in the wrong to ept them.

    Further, epting them would be granting Neerin a service... granting her some sort of closure-- or perhaps forgiveness from whatever asinine slights she performed in the past.

    But. just. why. would he grant. that. Abomination. even. that?

    "I refuse," Tycon said, "You know why."

    He cared not for her past, even if it might have, at one point, intersected with his.

    Her problems were her own and if she needed his participation to heal her traumas, then she''d die broken-- and hopefully alone.

    Neerin lowered her head, whimpering quietly, but otherwise saying nothing.

    Tycon stood up and headed for the door.

    ...But as he reached for its handle, he stopped.

    "...Neerin," he called, without turning back.

    "Y-yes?" came her soft, defeated voice.

    "Fix your attire. Compose yourself. This conversation never happened. Do you understand?"

    "Yeah," she said... "I do."

    Her voice was filled with an emotion Tycon could not discern.

    ...but he''d already decided not to pry.

    He''d already decided not to care.

    He and Neerin did not have that kind of rtionship... even if that was different in the past.

    Tycon stood at the door quietly for a few more minutes.

    ...Against his better judgment, he retrieved a high-quality healing potion from his spatial ring and left it on the counter.

    As soon as he sensed that woman put her tunic back on, he opened the door and left, heedless of her gaze on his back.

 Chapter 1064 Unlawful Order

    <h4>Chapter 1064 Uwful Order</h4>

    ? Outside the Restful Hen Inn, some time earlier... ?

    "I don''t get why this hurts so baaaad~!" Ree whined.

    Pale raised his eyebrows and let out a long, deep breath, allowing his cheeks to puff up as he did.

    Ree''s honesty made him lose his concentration.

    That made it hurt again.

    He and the members of the Hero Party were waiting outside the inn while Boss Tycon talked to Lady Neerin...

    --all while sitting on both knees and holding their weapons up toward the sky.

    His spear, Beithir ster--

    His spear was histest, closest, most reliable friend.

    It was, at most, 4 ponze.

    Resting on his upraised palms... it still felt like 4 ponze.

    --but the muscles of his arms felt like weak, wobbly jelly constructs.

    Pale wanted to close his fists-- to tighten his shaky grip...

    --but that was definitely not allowed.

    Anything that would make the punishment easier wasn''t allowed.

    Ree wasn''t carrying anything. Her most lethal weapons were her fists, anyroad.

    --or maybe her feet? (Why wasn''t she raising those?)

    Nevertheless, she was having just as much trouble as everyone else.

    "Is it because I''m so swol?" she asked.

    She was looking over to him, so he returned a light shrug.

    "Or maybe," Ree said with a lower tone of voice, "it''s ''cos I got them gains?"

    Gobbuto suddenly snorted. That was a rare sounding from him.

    He knelt the furthest away from themplight, the shade of his armor blending into the darkness of thete evening/early morning.

    Also, he wasn''t carrying his weapon. He was was holding a lockbox above his head filled with gear and traveling supplies taken from the armory at Hero''s Hearth.

    Gobbuto was easily the most badass member of the Hero Party.

    "Your body is like stick, Kimura," he said, "when and IF you gain weight, maybe you look real like woman."

    That was weird to hear... ''Kimura'' and ''real woman'' in the same sentence.

    --which wasn''t to say that he forgot Ree was a girl.

    It just seemed like amon fact? --like how water was wet and thenguage of the gods made people''s heads explode.

    But, then again... Pale remembered meeting some of Gobbuto''s sisters and nieces in Nemaya Strana (and the rest of his family, too.)

    Before that sun, he always thought of goblins'' heights as averaging four fulms tall and under-- and that Gobbuto was a unique exception.

    He was wrong-- embarrassingly wrong.

    A very unhappy Kimura Taree lifted her head up, pointing her chin toward Gobbuto.

    "Oy. Has our youngest forgotten his ce? Apologize to my boobs, right now!"

    Pale had at least one question in mind.

    --but he didn''t know how to ask it without sounding impolite.

    "I will apologize when they arrive," Gobbuto replied with a chuckle.

    He turned to Pale with a tusked grin, but Pale pursed his lips and looked away.

    He couldn''t take sides-- not between those two.

    Ree propped up on her toes, still keeping her knees forward. Then, she began to tiptoe her way closer to the armored goblin.

    "K-kimura? Err-- Lady Kimura?"

    "Our youngest sure knows how to talk, doesn''t he?!"

    It was... amazing, how Ree could use her knees to hit Gobbuto, all while keeping her arms raised and not losing her bnce.

    Her entire family practiced martial arts, though. Or maybe everyone from her vige just had monstrous body control?

    Pale shared a look thest of his party members-- or to be more urate, the first.

    High Oracle Troia of the Holy Country had performed the ritual that changed his ss to Spear Hero. And beside that, she''d been his first travelingpanion ever since he first detached from the Sol Invictus main body.

    Troia had her eyes closed and was trying not to show a hurt expression, even though she was suffering along with everyone else.

    Pale had a weird thought.

    It seemed like an ordinary situation, him sitting next to Troia, her sword over her head and his spear over his.

    He took in the sea-salted scent wafting from her purple hair and the subtle curve of her lips as she forced herself to smile through the pain...

    Pale felt like... everything altogether he was experiencing would be something he''d remember for the rest of his life.

    Was that really appropriate, though? He and his closest allies sharing corporal punishment under Tycon''smand wasn''t exactly a happy moment.

    Still... it felt like-- or he hoped that some sun, far in the future, they''d all be able to look back at those memories with a smile.

    The soft ringing of ss bells reverberated in Pale''s ear.

    "(do you think he''ll forgive us?)"

    Because of some weird enchantment or something with Troia''s bloodline, she couldn''t speak in themon tongue. She said it was a ''taboo''?

    Troia spoke a dialect of Celestial, the exploding-headnguage.

    Understanding it wasn''t an issue. Celestial was one of those weirdnguages that even animals could easily understand without knowing the words.

    The problem with Celestial, though, was that she couldn''t Troia speak it carelessly. If there was anyone around low Iron-Rank, amon side effect was leaking fluid from their eyes and ears.

    --sometimes that fluid was bloodstained, sometimes not.

    Pale had seen it before.

    It was... a little scary.

    Of course, he was able to listen to Troia just fine. Even talking to her for bells on end, he never got as much as a headache.

    --but maybe that was because he loved listening to her talk?

    Still... she never spoke louder than a whisper, just to be on the safe side.

    And he... actually kind of liked it that way.

    He thought it was cute.

    "(hero?)"

    Oh, right. Troia was waiting for an answer. It was embarrassingly easy for him to get distracted when it was just the two of them.

    "He''ll forgive you, for sure," Pale grinned. "Did you notice that when Boss Tycon was assigning punishment, he only pointed at me, Ree, and Gobbuto?"

    Troia let out a weird sigh that made Pale''s heart jump a little bit.

    "(i did. but we''re a family. we fight together,)"

    Ah, that was weird. The intent he felt when Troia described their party was a little unclear.

    He was fairly sure she meant ''family.''

    But... it also seemed a bit like he and Troia were husband and wife?

    Then... would Ree and Gobbuto be their kids? They fought like he imagined a real brother and sister would.

    And him as the father-figure was about right.

    He was the leader of the Hero Party, after all...

    And he was the one that led them into their current predicament.

    He made a decision.

    That decision was open to discussion and dissent.

    --but that notion didn''t really matter.

    Troia supported him in just about everything he did. Ree liked to whine andin, but she was always the first to rush to his aid. Gobbuto, too-- he was always motivated toplete every task to the best of his abilities.

    Pale knew all that, beforehand.

    So, in truth, the fault lied in him alone. He was the one that manipted his friends into disobeying their orders.

    Boss Tycon--

    Prince Tycondrius was the leader of Sol Invictus as well as the Commander of the Wyrmyer Alliance.

    He gave them a direct order to evacuate the Realm... an order to champion another Realm, somewhere across the cosmos.

    ...but Pale didn''t want to abandon the Realm he grew up in... the Realm his father was born in... the Realm that Tycon was willing to risk his life to save.

    So... Pale disobeyed it-- he disobeyed a direct order.

    That was the reason they were being punished.

    They''d been holding up their weapons for almost half-a-bell.

    The pain was... not an enjoyable experience.

    It wasn''t a super-bad punishment, though,pared to the alternatives.

    The Wyrmyer Alliance was a military organization, so, in theory, they could have been court-martialed. That meant... imprisonment, meals of bread and water, and a reduction of pay.

    Also, there was currently a war going on. They could have been executed. That''d be a real bad logistics problem, too, since they''d need to recall a peak Gold-Rank executioner to be able to execute them all.

    --unless Tycon were to volunteered to do it, himself.

    Even though Pale felt he was close to his father''s best friend, Tycon was the type of person to uphold militaryw over friendship.

    And before the swift and merciless execution, he''d say something wise and mysterious like: ''rules are made for a reason, boy'' or ''rules are written in blood.''

    However, Pale had a case to argue.

    Abandoning the Realm... was a really weird order.

    Every soldier in every army, ever (or so he hoped) was allowed to disobey uwful orders.

    And more than that, Pale felt every soldier had a right to defend their home Realm to the best of their ability.

    And besides that...

    Pale had... an incessant, nagging feeling in the pit of his chest... saying that he couldn''t follow Tycon''s order.

    It was a strange and ominous feeling...

    Like... he was on the cusp of making a mistake he''d regret for a lifetime and more...

    He felt like... if he didn''t do everything he could, he''d lose something or someone very important to him.

    But inexplicable gut feelings weren''t good reasons-- not against someone who liked to push their emotions aside and focus on cold, hard logic.

    And at the end of the sun, the fact was:

    Sol Invictus was fighting for the survival of the Realm.

    Tycon needed all the help he could get.

 Chapter 1065 Difficult Week

    <h4>Chapter 1065 Difficult Week</h4>

    Pale considered himself to have lived a sheltered life.

    He might have lost his father at a young age, but he was well-fed (most of the time) and was surrounded by people and horses and the one Demon Queen that he could look up to.

    And... he might havee home with bruises and bite marks every other day-- or suffered starvation, second-degree burns, or broken bones every week or so... but at least he had a bed to sleep in.

    But despite him growing taller, increasing his strength and magic power, and being taught how to file his taxes in the Holy Country... Pale felt like he was only pretending to be grown up.

    It still felt like all the *real* adults had everything figured out. They had real, adult goals, while Pale was still focused on the past.

    A long time ago... he remembered confessing something to Tycon that still embarrassed him to that sun.

    He... admitted he was afraid of being left behind.

    Everyone else in Sol Invictus had gone on to pursue their goals. Dragan was leading his troops in Vralkek, Miss Be taught magic in the Sapphire Tower, Lulu was somewhere in one of the hells... doing... NSFW things.

    Compared to them, it felt like all Pale was doing was chasing shadows.

    --the fleeting shadow of his missing father, thest true scion of House Morninglord.

    --the huge, looming shadow of the legendary Arena Guild, Sol Invictus.

    ...and then, to a lesser extent, (even though it should''ve probably been a greater extent,) the shadows cast by Heroes of ages long past.

    After Tycon heard his worries...

    ...Pale got sent away.

    He wasn''t allowed to refuse his orders. He thought... it might have been some kind of punishment-- an unironic and cruel affirmation of a child''s worst fears.

    In hindsight, Pale should have had more faith in Tycon''s orders.

    Getting sent to the field at the time turned out to be what he needed most.

    From that point on, he began toplete quests alongside his forever-party-members... his own mini-version of Sol Invictus.

    He and hispanions battled against crazy, strange creatures and in even crazier, strange locales.

    They witnessed cruelties and horrors.

    They were wronged-- but they righted as many wrongs as they could find.

    ...They suffered losses that could never be regained.

    Blood was spilled, sometimes righteous and too often regrettable.

    But, eventually, the Hero and his party became strong.

    That Hero was even confident he could almost beat Tycon in a match.

    (The match had to have set rules, though. It''d have to be one-on-one, one weapon only, no items, and limited to a predefined area.)

    (But, anyroad...)

    The Hero Partyprised the most powerful individuals in the Realm-- definitely the absolute-strongest, only counting people under the age of 20.

    The Hero Party was a boon to the Wyrmyer Alliance.

    Neerin Neelia insisted that they were *necessary* for the dragon threat to be ovee.

    Pale wasn''t sure how much he could trust a daughter of the Tyrant God... but he was at least confident that the Hero Party wouldn''t be a burden.

    The Hero Party might have disobeyed Tycon''s direct orders...

    He had a right to be mad-- furious, even.

    But when he sat down and looked at all the facts, he couldn''t *stay* mad.

    Pale was a Hero, chosen by the fates to deal with extraordinary external threats to their Realm.

    And that was exactly what was happening.

    In choosing to stay, Pale was fulfilling his obligation as a Hero-- an obligation that was honorable, just, and selfless.

    When it came to convincing Tycon, that''s what Pale had to focus on:

    A heart, unyielding, when it came to training.

    A mind, quick and adaptable, when it came to the mission.

    And conviction, with adamantine resolve, when it came to their reason to fight.

    ...that''s what Tycon--

    --that''s what Sol Invictus was all about.

    Pale was certain that as long as he stuck by his decision, 100% determined to fight by his side, Tycon would ept him.

    However... if he dared to show any weakness-- wavered for even a tenth of a second, Tycon would never forgive him. He might even do something drastic, because of it.

    Worst-case scenario, they''d be forcibly sent Off-Realm, even despite Lady Neerin''s insistence.

    A Sky-Rank dragon woman was certainly strong, but Pale had a feeling that Tycon could somehow win if they ever got into a fight.

    But still...

    All in all, Pale wasn''t afraid or worried.

    He was excited.

    He was excited because he had a rare chance.

    Fighting in the Dragon War would show Tycon his determination!

    All of Tycon''s concerns, he''d prove them immaterial!

    Pale wanted nothing more than for Tycon to believe in him.

    --like *really* believe in him.

    And... maybe...

    --just maybe... the sun that Pale would be worthy enough to lead Sol Invictus might be soon.

    Pale snapped his head toward the door to the inn.

    The mana making up the ?Privacy Seal? enchantment began to disperse... and the door swung open.

    --though it was slow and arduous, not at all loud and violent like he was expecting.

    Tycondrius of Charm, leader of Sol Invictus, trudged out of the Restful Hen inn-- looking like he was, but was not actually dragging his feet.

    His dark-blue Royal Marine uniform was crisp and clean as expected... but not everything was quite right.

    A few strands of his green hair had sloppily drifted down onto his face. His back was hunched over and his gait waszy and without purpose.

    And the thing that Pale could almost not believe...

    Tycon had his left hand buried deep in his pocket.

    Tycon. *never.* put his hands. in his pockets.

    That fact alone made him doubt whether or not the Tycon in front of him was the same person he knew-- and had seen only a half-bell prior.

    The Tycon in front of him-- his eyes were dead.

    They showed a level of exhaustion Pale had never seen before. Even when he was dying from mana drain Off-Realm, he wasmitted to finishing the mission and tying up all the loose ends.

    For the first time, ever... Pale thought that Tycon looked... old?

    He was, though. He was as old as his father was... older than Lone-- he was even older than Dragan.

    Age had never been a factor in anything that had to do with Sol Invictus, just time-in-service. When they were training, Pale and Lone got simr treatment despite their age gap of a few years. And Pale would never disrespect Corporal Horse, despite being older.

    But older people... they were more jaded... more broken by the trials they''ve ovee or are still struggling against.

    And Tycon... he looked like he had given up.

    The leader of Sol Invictus tossed his sheathed sword against the building, then with one hand, he snatched away the chest of gear Gobbuto was lifting up.

    He let it fall to the dirt, dust billowing up where it fell. He plopped down onto the chest and, with his back to the building, he leaned back, staring nkly into the night sky.

    He took in a slow, steady breath...

    ...and finally, he spoke.

    "Good evening, children. You may put your arms down."

    Pale steadily and warily lowered his arms.

    A few moments prior, he was ready to plead his case... to throw as much information as he could at Tycon, hoping for his sincerity to be epted.

    He figured... if he said the right words, he could even segue that into asking Tycon for the leadership of the guild! --as a reward for missionpletion, maybe?

    But, instead... the situation had be strange.

    "Boss?"

    Without being prompted, Ree knelt down in front of Tycon, peering up with curious eyes.

    "What''s wrong?" she asked.

    Boss Tycon peered down at Ree... and strong concern welled up in Pale''s heart.

    Tycon was always critical of her. He figured it was because she had a lot of potential. She was also really rude sometimes and had a lot of misced energy.

    --and early in their mercenary career, Tycon alwaysined that her sect trained her wrong.

    Ree was really strong, both in body and mind... but with the recent loss of Dragan, Pale knew that her heart was weaker than it usually was.

    Boss Tycon reached out his arm.

    It was... a slow and dull movement-- not at all like one of his sharp, punishing jabs for cking off during training.

    And Tycon... patted Ree on the head, lightly ruffling her hair.

    "Of all my hatchlings," he said... "you, Kimura Taree, were thest I expected to console me."

    "You look like shite, Boss."

    Pale closed his eyes.

    At about that time, Ree was going to get hit. It was inevitable.

    "Do I?" Tycon replied, "I suppose it''s been a difficult week."

    He pursed his lips, deliberating on his next few words.

    "As of recent... it''s been quite difficult, for you and I, both."

    "...Yeah. It really has been," Ree said in a low voice.

    Pale stood up, gulping down his saliva.

    He still had to exin.

    Even if Tycon wasn''t upset anymore, Pale wanted to dispel the guilt welling up in his heart.

    "Boss," he said. "There''s a reason..."

    But Tycon held up an open palm... and he shook his head.

    And Pale didn''t have the courage to continue.

    "Gather round, young friends," Tycon said, his voice weak and devoid of energy... "and listen to what I have to say."

 Chapter 1066 First Task of Many

    <h4>Chapter 1066 First Task of Many</h4>

    Tycondrius adjusted himself asfortably as he could on his improvised seat.

    The hatchlings had gathered.

    He wished they hadn''t... but since they arrived, he could not leave them be.

    ...Tycon cared for the hatchlings.

    He wanted good things to happen to them.

    They were kind and hard-working; their efforts deserved to be rewarded.

    They were loyal, impressionable travelingpanions.

    ...and that loyalty of theirs was thrice strong as battle-ready subordinates.

    If hemanded them to hold the line and die... they would do so without fail.

    --of that, he had no doubt.

    Yet... he would not forgive himself for wasting their lives for... negligible returns.

    ...It was an extreme act of selfishness, him sending them away.

    Tycon had one impossible mission.

    Each task of which wasyered, demanding in resources, and carried with it a high probability of failure.

    --save for one.

    It was the one task he thought he saw topletion.

    It was the one he felt most confident in-- where if he failed were to fail every single other task, he would still be able to smile and boast:

    ''But at least I saved the children.''

    A new wave of fatigue and despondency washed over his person, afflicting his body with soreness and infirmity.

    The first task he took on-- the start of the myriad tasks toplete, each starting very soon...

    --and he''d already failed.

    The hatchlings had gathered.

    Despite their obvious rebellion, they had be well-mannered in his presence.

    They patiently waited for his words-- of wisdom or rebuke, they had no idea.

    But they waited, nheless.

    Tycon ced his hands on his knees and bowed his head.

    "I... must apologize to you all."

    "Boss!" Ree yelped, "What''s going on?"

    "Leader! You must not!" Gobbuto whined.

    The bulky goblin-boy made an awkward attempt at lowering his head, as well. However, even without wearing his restricting helmet, his te armor had a built-in chin-guard that made doing so difficult.

    The purple-haired one was waving her hands erratically. Were they hand-signs too jumbled for Tycon to understand or was it all just gibberish?

    ...Anyroad.

    It was bothersome to be interrupted.

    However, they meant well.

    Tycon assumed they meant well. He was too exhausted to examine their actions, searching for ill intent.

    He waved his hand to calm the unruly children before continuing.

    "I... have failed you," he said.

    "But HOW?!" Pale screeched.

    Tycon''s body moved automatically, kicking the boy in the chest.

    There was only so much insubordination he could tolerate in one sitting.

    The boy rolled backward, then sat up on his knees in a daze, his head covered in sand.

    Then, after a moment, he bowed his head.

    "S-sorry, Boss," he said. "Please continue."

    "...Right, then," Tycon sighed. "As I was saying... our current predicament is a result of my neglect of your training as Heroes of our Realm."

    "That doesn''t make any sense," Kimura argued.

    "It does make sense," Tycon corrected.

    "...Very well," Kimura said.

    It was not an answer he expected, but it seemed her maturity and wisdom had grown.

    Gobbuto raised his hand, "Leader."

    "Go ahead."

    Gobbuto, son of Gobsuke, stood up on shaky knees. He rendered a nervous bow (and was, once again, stifled by his chin-guard.)

    "It is... my humble opinion... *our* opinion... notice of attack came too fast. There was... no time."

    The boy kept his eyes focused on the dirt.

    It seemed he was feeling Tycon''s shame vicariously.

    ...But it was not Tycon''s goal to guilt his hatchlings.

    The fault did not lie with them.

    "I misjudged the time we were allowed," Tycon exined. "Pale, I sent you with Troia as a calcted gamble. You were to see our Realm and others... gain wisdom and judgment that would temper your future actions..."

    Tycon sighed and shook his head. He was mid-sentence and had nearly forgotten his point.

    "You were to... figure things out," he shrugged, "like finding shelter in inhospitable locales and dealing with the locals not expressly human."

    "I just starved!" Kimura dered proudly.

    "Kimura performed as surprisingly good diplomat," Gobbuto offered.

    Pale rubbed at the back of his head, "Troia got into a lot of fights back then."

    [My patience has grown,] the High Oracle signed, [I''m an adult now!]

    Tycon furrowed his brows.

    Ignoring Troia''s remark of being an ''adult'', he had expected something of the opposite from the two girls. It reinforced the notion that he had failed to watch over and guide them.

    "But we''ve gotten a lot stronger because of it," Pale said, his eyes shining with confidence.

    But not enough.

    A traditional Hero Partyprised a front-line defender, a front-line damage dealer, a dedicated healer, and a back-line damage dealer.

    Tycon told them as such.

    Their youngest, Gobbuto might have qualified as a back-line dealer.

    However...

    Gobbuto was afraid.

    Because ofck of confidence or feelings of inadequacy, he failed to apany the other Heroes to the ne of Ice.

    Prior to that, he did not seek out his father''s guild, Sol Invictus, for the same reason.

    He remained in his homnd and only met with Tycon because the Lich Queen of the Sleeping Country hated the thought of Gobbuto wasting his potential.

    ? Gobbuto, Iron-Rank Heavy Gunner. ?

    Iron-Rank was by no means weak... and he must have suffered greatly to attain his level without assistance, especially considering his age.

    Yet... if only Gobbuto had met him earlier...

    Tycon told him as such. And the boy could not meet his eyes.

    Then, Troia... the Holy Princess of Tyrion.

    So blessed by the Fates, she had ess to the most powerful Divine Healing abilities in the Realm as well as a huge mana reserve, rivaling that of a Hero. However, her near-divine existence was only possible because the heavens imposed on her a series of heavenly restrictions.

    They took away her voice and memories of her past. Her potential lifespan was severely reduced-- even to below that of a regr human.

    And those were only the things Tycon noticed. There were certainly many more things he was not privy to.

    Yet... she did not choose to be the most powerful Cleric or Saintess ss of her generation.

    ? Troia, Bronze-Rank Human Hallowed Summoner. ?

    She became a Divine Armor pilot... following in the footsteps of Archbishop Crucis, whom she saw as her closest family member.

    And because of it, she was not a healer who met the standards required of the Hero Party.

    Her goddess supplied her with Divine Power, allowing her to pilot Divine Armor: Dawnbringer to devastating effect.

    However, her Bronze-Rank physique could not withstand the highest tiers of healing magic without agonizing repercussions.

    She could not have known, then... that Tycon would have be so grievously wounded in the ne of Fire.

    She could not have known, then... that bringing him back from the brink of death would leave her drastically weakened during the time of the Tyrant God''s descent.

    Considering her physique, if she performed the mana-transfer ritual without the stabilizing assistance of J?gerin or the high-efficiency circle scribed by Lulu, she might have lost her life that sun.[1]

    If only Troia had met with him earlier...

    Tycon told her as such. And the youngdy could not meet his eyes.

    Then...

    Taree, daughter of House Kimura.

    ? Kimura Taree, Gold-Rank Titan Berserker. ?

    Inbat, she utilized her ?Berserk? form, an ostentatious skill that made her body swell to a height and size evenrger than Gobbuto.

    It was a humorous notion. Her family specialized in Stone Body Defensive Arts, which Tycon found unsuitable for her. Yet, after Kimura struck off on her own, she ignored Tycon''s advices and developed a transformation skillplementary to her family''s defensive style.

    It was audable notion to focus on physical strength... but what she had developed still did not perfectly suit her personality and talents. She merely made a different approach to adhering to her family''s defensive martial arts.

    She stubbornly chose to wield fists of rock and stone instead of hungering mes, cutting winds, or piercing cold.

    And because of it... her mentor, Dragan was lost.

    Yet... if only he had guided her better...

    This... Tycon could not tell her.

    But, she already knew. The youngdy could not meet his eyes.

    If he had five years...

    No... two years--

    If Tycon had three moons of focused training with a few weeks for recovery, he was confident in significantly alleviating all of those issues.

    There was, however, one issue for which training was not a solution.

    Tycon focused his attention on Pale... scion of House Morninglord...

    ...son of his good-natured, honest-to-a-faultpanion, Quay.

    As long as Tycon had known the boy, he was a kind and polite child. He was resolute in his morals and his curiosity had no end.

    Hepleted his training without fail-- and with littleint.

    Every task he was assigned, he performed with minimal goading.

    Everything-- most everything about the boy was perfect.

    He quickly gained proficiency in all matters of war. He achieved basic mastery in elementary magics, as well as military tactics, customs, and etiquette.

    Despite his achievements, he remained humble and he was well-liked, everywhere he went.

    It was no surprise that he was chosen as the Hero of the current generation.

    The fates had determined it. His bloodline was appropriate for it. His mentors were more than qualified.

    Yet...

    ? Pale, Gold-Rank Half-Elven Spear Lord. ?

    Upon his return to the Realm... the fates deemed him unfit for the title of Hero.

    [1] That sun: See the events of Chapters 1028 & 1029.

 Chapter 1067 Spear Lord

    <h4>Chapter 1067 Spear Lord</h4>

    When Tycondriusst left Pale, the boy had the ss of Spear Hero.

    At the time, he''d also achieved Adamantine-Rank, though Tycon surmised he''d even taken a half-step into Sky-Rank...

    However, the boy he found on the beach of Port Town Jad was bereft of Divine Power.

    There were historical precedents of Heroes losing their ss. ording to Tycon''s faulty memory, it was a consequence of wanton murder of innocents, rejection of authority figures; and, in one particr case, an abuse of power to fulfill a dramatically selfish, self-serving desire.

    Thus... Pale, of all people, losing his Hero-ship-- besides beingmentable, it was... utterly baffling.

    Knowing Krysaos'' personality, the Sea God would be spreading the word that the Hero-proper had arrived. And that troublesome wastrel, Neerin Neelia likely ''cryptically hinted'' to her many subordinates of the same.

    The Wyrmyer Alliance thought they had a Hero.

    But they were only partially correct.

    The boy would be nothing more than a figurehead... which was, admittedly, useful on its own.

    It supported a tform of circr logic: ''We cannot lose as long as the Hero stands with us.''

    Of course, that was f*cking false-- but reinforcing the morale of their troops had great, untold benefits.

    As for the boy''s potential as abat unit...

    Pale''s prodigious strength and ability had been reduced to Gold-Rank.

    It was a significant reduction in power, but Gold-Rank remained a monumental achievement.

    If he were to fight alone, as a singlebatant, Pale had even morebat potential than Tycon, himself.

    Spear Lord, was a rare, High-Tier ss--

    ...Third-Tier ss.

    And as a Third-Tier ss, it was limited to once a generation, in the same vein as the Hero ss.

    Yet... the situation... remained... in-*credibly* frustrating.

    The current Pale, Tycon would only trust with fighting one or two Drake Armors at a time.

    That... would be enough for most all of the Wyrmyer Alliance to be dazzled and amazed.

    Still... the previous Pale, Tycon could have instructed to use an offensive movement Skill to put on his figurative murder-boots, violently deposit himself into the enemy''s back line, and physically inform them of his handsome Commander''s hateful will.

    Thus...

    ...Tycon decided to mentally file that away.

    He''d deal with the issueter.

    He still had to rebuke one more hatchling-- the one for whom he felt the greatest guilt.

    Tycon turned to face the fifth and final member of the Hero Party.

    ...and he furrowed his brows in confusion, realizing they had disappeared.

    "Sir, are you looking for something?" Pale asked.

    "Yes... and they''re..."

    --very important to me.

    Tycon counted the hatchlings in his midst.

    Boy. Large boy. Purple-haired human. Silver-haired halfwit.

    "Four."

    There were only four.

    Tycon blinked his eyes.

    "Um, it''s just us four, Boss?" Kimura offered.

    "...Right."

    Of course, there were four.

    Tycon vaguely remembered making the same mistake in the recent past.

    ...Something was affecting his mind.

    Tycon had a domineering enchantment inscribed onto his soul that prevented mind-altering effects up to Fourth-Circle.

    Thus, his first assumption was to me his mental state.

    It... wasn''t the best.

    Tycon leaned over, resting his face in his palms.

    Something was wrong.

    He had to think.

    There was a reasonably short time within which Pale *had* and had *lost* his ss.

    In that time... he disobeyed Tycon''s order to leave the Realm.

    But if the was the reason was so trivial--

    Tycon loathed the logic, but it was, nheless, a solid foundation to argue.

    The Fates had predicted Tycon sending Pale off.

    ...He had the ss of Hero, because his role *should* have been as a Champion for a different Realm.

    That prompted two ominous questions.

    The first:

    The first question was... a difficult one. And the answer had grave implications for the lizard war. However, he was certain Troia would be able to answer it.

    The second question-- and still one of great concern, was:

    How did Pale stray from a path even the Fates had determined?

    Was his sense of righteousness really so great?

    ...or was he manipted by a power beyond the Fates'' purview?

    Tycon was very much hoping it was the stress rather than something more sinister.

    "Whose idea was it?" he frowned.

    "It wasn''t mine!!" Kimura cried.

    Besides that one, the other children averted their gazes. The Holy Princess went as far as to hide her hands behind her back.

    It looked rather awkward, the youngdy in the kneeling position, hands behind her back. If anyone were to witness it, they might use Tycon of hazing her. That would undoubtedly lead to aint or three...

    "You''re not in trouble," Tycon assured, "but a proper answer would ay a particr concern."

    "It was mine," Pale dered. "I take full responsibility, so if anyone should be punished--"

    "I *just* said you''re not in trouble," Tycon insisted.

    [It wasn''t him,] Troia signed.

    Tycon pursed his lips, examining the High Oracle''s expression.

    She always seemed to know a bit more than she let on. Oracles did dream, after all. However, it was the nature of oracle-type sses to be horribly vague, in themon case that they were horribly incorrect.

    "It. was. the. YOUNGEST!" Ree proimed.

    "No!" Gobbuto roared, "I am loyal to orders!"

    "If that was entirely true," Tycon sighed, "we would not be having this conversation."

    "Err... Leader-- that is..."

    "Oho! I remember something!" Kimura said.

    She crossed her arms, jutting out her chin with great arrogance, "I remember Gobbuto saying ''gRawrr, it is DeCiDeD thEnn!! He was *all* about it!"

    "I do not *gRaWr!!*" Gobbuto insisted-- rather indignantly, "and a MAN must not be slow in his decisions!"

    Though Tycon could not be certain, it did sound like the boy ''grawr''ed. It sounded like he ''grawr''ed quite often.

    [Slow down,] Troia signed to Kimura, [Our youngest? Who was he speaking to?]

    "Durrr, I d''nno," the dimwitted Martialist replied, adding a nomittal shrug to entuate her generalck of thought.

    [Do you truly think he is at fault?] the Holy Princess signed.

    She appeared to be pouting in what Tycon assumed was mild disapproval.

    "Well... no," Kimura admitted. "Gobbuto''s favorite thing is to follow orders. I''m pretty sure he''dmit sudoku before choosing to go against them."

    Tycon didn''t know what that meant, but he could read into the context easily enough.

    But besides that...

    He found two discrepancies in the conversation to be cause for concern.

    Not once did the children shift the me to Becky or Neerin Neelia, the two most obvious culprits.

    And unless they had somehow be excellent at conspiracy and deceit, they had no idea who convinced them to return.

    ...or, as a group, their collective intelligence had been reduced to barely-above the level of a Gorgon.

    ...But he hoped that one of them, in particr, kept her rational mind.

    "Troia," Ty waved. "You know something."

    The Holy Princess bared her teeth, then tilted her head.

    [...Something is wrong,] she signed. [Something is different. I don''t know...]

    "I see..."

    Though it was still possible that Tycon was overwhelmed by stress and fatigue... he found it far more likely that a third-party had interfered with recent events.

    Memory maniption. That was the lowest-level Spell effect that could exin the phenomena he and the Hero Party were experiencing.

    But to alter the memories of Troia and Pale? A Saintess Candidate and a former Hero?

    --and himself? The seal that protected his mind from memory-alteration effects was scribed by a literal Demon Queen.

    But... if the culprit was *not* memory maniption... if it was *beyond* that...

    Entire events.

    --a length of time.

    Spanning bells or suns? Years or lifetimes?

    It was possible if a high-level Mage casted ?Time Travel? or a simr effect.

    Or... had a ?Regression? Spell activated somewhere?

    ...Whatever was happening at that moment, it was a God-Rank effect or the equivalent.

    It was a troublesome notion. Tycon only had the strength and resources to deal with a single God-Rank... and inflicting minor forgetfulness was not in ordance with the modus operandi of the Tyrant God.

    Thus, he chose to ignore it.

    He had to.

    And even after that... one final, ominous question remained.

    Tycon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he leaned forward on his seat, looking down at the Holy Princess with a dark expression.

    "Lady Troia," he said... "Where is the Hero right now?"

    "Wait, what?" Ree tilted her head.

    "Leader?" Gobbuto grimaced.

    "I''m... right here, though?" Pale said, a nervous quaver in his voice.

    [My Hero is right here,] Troia signed resolutely.

    Tycon found it peculiar that she seemed so... defensive about the topic.

    "No... no way."

    Pale''s surprised voice bid Tycon to shift his attention.

    The boy was circting his mana, staring nkly at his open palm.

    "I... I can''t use my holy power?"

    So he was just figuring it out.

    Tycon was not surprised, though.

    Pale''s mana reserves had been significantly reduced... but from infinite and overwhelming to simply monstrous and unfair.

    "Wait, what does that mean?!" Ree cried. "Pale''s no longer a Hero?"

    "It means nothing," Gobbuto growled. "Our reasons are good and just. We will fight even if the heavens themselves forsake us."

    Tycon nodded in approval at the young man''s loyalty. He had the same opinion, more or less. And though he was fairly certain Gobbuto was speaking hyperbole, most of the gods had indeed forsaken the mortal races.

    Still...

    "Lady Troia," he said... "Where is the Hero of *this* Realm?"

    Troia hesitated, a pained or forlorn expression on her face.

    Pale seemed to notice this. He reached his hand out toward the hand of the Holy Princess. However, before they touched, Troia finally answered.

    [...He will arrive soon,] she signed. [But with his arrival... is Fury... and Death.]

    The other hatchlings took the news with grave silence.

    And Pale, in his impotence, put his hand down.

    But... as everything in the past few weeks spoke of such things, Tycon was rtively unaffected.

    "Hmph. Very well. That will be all, children. Get some rest and prepare to follow my orders when we battle begins."

    "Boss..."

    Pale-- the boy had lost a great deal of confidence. He stood with his gaze locked on Tycon''s, tears pooling at the corner of his eyes.

    It was curiously unusual how he was surrounded by his three closest friends, yet still look so alone.

    Pale had the height and frame of a grown adult man... but he still acted like a child at times.

    "That goes for you too, boy," Tycon waved. "Whether Imand you to fight, flee, or sacrifice yourself for mission sess, you will do so. Or I will literally kill you-- no second chances."

    "But... I''m no longer a Hero?"

    ...That boy was annoyingly simple.

    "I have never cared whether or not you had the Hero ss," Tycon frowned. "Nor have I ever treated you differently because of it."

    "But..."

    "Nothing changes, boy," Tycon groaned. "Kimura''s been by your side since before you were selected. Gobbuto and I are your extended family through Sol Invictus. Then, the Holy Princess has been romantically attracted to you, practically since you were first summoned. You''re still fighting tomorrow-- no excuses!!"

    "(wait, what?)" said Troia.

    "Respond!" Tycon ordered.

    "Y-yes sir!!" Pale returned.

    "Hmph... eptable," Tycon nodded. "Now... gather your things and start moving. Depart for Whitehearth and report to me by dawn, at the verytest."

    He leaned back in his seat and rendered azy wave, "The five of you are dismissed."

    "...Sir," Gobbuto said nervously, "We are only four."

    "Dis-missed," Tycon red.

 Chapter 1068 Eastwall

    <h4>Chapter 1068 Eastwall</h4>

    ? Outside the outer walls of City-State Whitehearth, eastern staging area, dawnbreak. ?

    Despite Domhnall''s[1] dulled senses, he felt the oing morning to be surprisingly warm.

    It wasn''t a good sign.

    It was potentially a very minor harbinger of ash and fire.

    Domhnall was not a superstitious man.

    And that was despite being born and raised in Port City Vralkek, a city of sailors and the collective superstitions of a hundred seaborne cultures.

    So, it was a droll coincidence that, a mere three bells prior...

    --his left hand stopped working.

    It was an expensive, artificial hand, designed and produced in Whitehearth.

    ...He couldn''t get it repaired, though; the entire city had been evacuated.

    The artifice was special-ordered from the Arcanite Princess, so it had a unique, Elven aesthetic.

    ...Which also meant that, without reverse-engineering, only the elves of House Moonwell would have the schematics for it.

    --and every city-elf had been long relegated to the rearmost echelons...

    Domhnall''s left hand was non-functional and would remain as such.

    That worsened his situation considerably, as his remaining right hand had been lopped off over a decade prior.

    He stared down at the stumps of his forearms. The prostheses attached to both ended in fighting des.

    Made for fighting.

    Great for fighting.

    Not so much for anything else.

    Around the same time his left hand began to lose responsiveness, Domhnall noticed another peculiar coincidence.

    The band of his ''lucky'' bracelet had frayed and, soonafter, came undone.

    While wearing it, he had not experienced any quantifiable changes in his fortune, nor did he expect such an urrence.

    That would make him superstitious-- which he was not.

    The bracelet had no real value. It was not enchanted and its workmanship was mediocre at best. It was a bundle of polished, ssy beads, strung together on a knotted leather string.

    However... Domhnall''s first instinct when it broke was to chase the scattered beads as they rolled off.

    And with his only artificial hand broken, hecked the maniptive digits to recover them with any reasonable measure of efficacy.

    Thus... he gathered the beads together by kicking them about. And then, when no one was looking, he got down to his knees and elbows, recovering the beads by cing them in his mouth.

    And since then, in his mouth, they have remained.

    He was going to need assistance to safely stow his ''lucky'' beads for eventual repair while also keeping his dignity intact.

    ...He believed his best option would be to find a Nemayan Strider.

    The regrs of the Sleeping Country could be trusted to keep a secret-- or at least the dead ones, did.

    There were just... far more living and breathing people in the muster camps than not.

    Requesting assistance from an undead Nemayan regr was far preferential to seeking out ady, gentleman, or distinguished warrior from a different nation...

    --the reason for that being...

    Domhnall was dead.

    That is... he died six years prior.

    That... was a less memorable sun than the very next, upon which he made a deeply regrettable mistake.

    He went back to work.

    Word traveled quickly to the King.

    The King consulted with Prince Droghan[2] and the royal advisors.

    The Prince presented Domhnall with a decision.

    ''Work at the Free Nation embassy in Nemaya Strana,'' he said.

    ...It wasn''t really a choice between that and something else. Refusing a direct order from a War Prince was grounds for punishment ording to militaryw.

    And so... Domhnall did as he was told.

    The undead held a respected status in the Sleeping Country, quite contrary to anywhere else in the Realm. It had been tradition over the past two hundred years or so that the top percentile of Nemayan soldiers were raised after death.

    Supposedly, the honor was restricted to those with a clean background and only after a basic psychological test and written consent. (Though it must be said that Nemayan policies in the past were not as strict as the contemporary standards.)

    Naturally-urring, sentient undead were increasingly rare-- but so much so that Nemayan culture did not differentiate between them.

    Sentient undead were promoted to Officer-rank, a standard established when Queen Arendelle took the throne.

    Thus, Domhnall had a peculiar status in the nation. While he wasn''t a Nemayan native, he was treated in a simr manner to a low-level officer.

    (But, then again... a well-dressed fellow in a steady line of work wouldmand a decent level of respect, anywhere he went.)

    It was actually very nice, working at the Nemayan embassy.

    Domhnall received courtesy invites to military-rted social gatherings and would attend one or three, each year.

    He received special pay in addition to his base rate for taking residence so far away from home.

    He didn''t spend much coin either, as he didn''t have a family to support...

    Also, he didn''t need to eat.

    He didn''t miss that as much as he thought he would.

    Still...

    It was the very principle, he found upsetting: being sent away from home and forced to adhere to his contract despite *extraordinary* conditions.

    When most people died, they were ''let go'' from their careers.

    Domhnall had served for another six years.

    ...In another eight months, he''d have the option to renew his contract... butst he checked, his office had *yet* to make a request for his recement!

    Throughout the ursed Realm, *every* office in *eVery* branch of *eVeRy* governmentprised nothing butzy bastards!

    Domhnall shook his head in annoyance.

    People didn''t want to work anymore.

    "Donny boy! Hey! I see you, ya little twerp!!"

    And the biggest example of which had arrived.

    For the first time in a very long time, Domhnall wished he had eyelids-- just so he could shut his eyes in exasperation.

    The volume of the minor insult carried across the eastern camp. Likely, the northern camp heard it, too.

    Domhnall didn''t believe in luck. That would make him superstitious-- which he wasn''t.

    But, if he did... he''d have reason to believe he was a rather unlucky individual.

    That voice... belonged to the King of Vralkek, his former superior.

    The thunderous steps of Merchant King Guorthigirn[3] shook the very ground... greatly annoying and inconveniencing the various soldiers resting nearby.

    He was a massive gentleman, not merely in height but in the intimidating size of his chest and arms, fully d in heavy, dark-colored te armor. He walked without his helmet, allowing his vibrant red hair and beard to flow in the wind as if they were dancing mes.

    (It was not a good luck. He needed a haircut.)

    Domhnall rendered a light bow as the fiery King approached.

    A deeper bow would have been appropriate, considering the Giant-King''s royal status. But... as King Guorthigirn was 12 fulms tall, (and that was in his magically reduced form,) bowing felt stupid.

    "[I greet you, Lord,]" Domhnall said.

    He had no problems speaking despite the beads in his mouth. He could use mana to talk-- and he liked the intimidating texture of his rough, gravelly mana-voice.

    --not that it could intimidate Guorthigirn.

    "Oho. You''re looking a little *pale,* Donny boy!"

    It was the King''s humor, among other things, that made him often difficult to deal with.

    Every two weeks, King Guorthigirn sent a missive to the embassy in Nemaya filled with relevant news.

    At surface level, he was going above and beyond his duties, keeping his subordinates informed of the difficulties and achievements of the other offices.

    However, without fail, Guorthigirn appended the bi-monthly missive with a banal y-on-words or a pedestrian anecdote on a mundanity that urred in one of the western offices.

    "[I appreciate the... concern, my Lord,]" Domhnall replied.

    "Oho, so you can talk without moving your lips," Guorthigirn eximed, somehow impressed by Elementary-Rank magic. "Neat trick! Would''ve been real useful for the times my wife told me to shut my mouth!"

    "[Lord, I feel obligated to remind you that it''s a crime to defame the former Queen.]"

    "Says who?"

    "[You, lord.]"

    "...Oh, yeah," Guorthigirn frowned. "I uh... I did say that."

    "[ And the crime is punishable by death.]"

    "But if I execute my-*self,*" the King said with a grin, "then you''d lose your ce as the most qualified dead guy on the team!"

    "[Speaking of qualifications, please find a recement so I can retire.]"

    "How ''bout you send a request through the proper channels?"

    "[You''re a proper channel.]"

    "YOU''RE a... hm. Huh. You''re right," Gurtohigirn admitted with a chuckle. "I''ll take care of it when I get some free time, Donny Boy. It''s been real busy! World''s about to end, y''know."

    "[''Tis my final wish, Lord.]"

    "Maybe your final wish should be to get a wife."

    "[I''m not interested in women.]"

    "A husband, then."

    King Guorthigirn was a very difficult person to deal with.

    [Too. LOUD.]

    A voice-- or rather, a mental transmission on the level of an offensive attack rattled around Domhnall''s brain housing group.

    It left a dull pain. All pain Domhnall felt was rather dull. But he took sce in that Giant-King Guorthigirn had a ratherrge brain rattling about in a muchrger and much fuller skull.

    He was likely in a great *deal* of pain.

    "Ow, that... that smarts," Guorthigirn whined.

    A sudden gust of wind brought about a whirl of summer leaves.

    The dancing golds and oranges whirled around and about, finding their ce atop an old and ttened tree stump.

    The leaves stopped abruptly, floating in ce for a half-second before quickly falling in... and piecing together a four-fulm tall gnome.

    He was the master of the embassy in the Magic Kingdom, a venerable, old gnome. He was old when even Guorthigirn, the oldest Titanblood in Vralkek, had yet to cross over into the Realm.

    While his true name had been long forgotten, the generations before him called him... Leafstrangle.

    [1] Domhnall: A Free Nation named pronounced ''dah-noll.''

    [2] Droghan: A certain Sol Invictus member. His name is pronounced ''dro-wayn.''

    [3] Guorthigirn: A Free Nation name pronounced ''vor-tih-grn.''

 Chapter 1069 Count-Off (Part One)

    <h4>Chapter 1069 Count-Off (Part One)</h4>

    Gnomes were a somewhat sinister species.

    They were a diminutive people-- standing below half the height to amon human.

    A people born from the recesses of the earth, their eyes had no pupils, only a dark sclera.

    And their teeth were sharp and pointed. Their conical shape suggested that gnomes of old hunted prey by grasping and holding, rather than biting and chewing.

    From Master Leafstrangle''s facial features, he might have appeared to be a young gnome.

    His head was covered with vibrant green hair with nt life seeming to grow within, and whatever was growing out of his chin didn''t look like hair.

    But Master Leafstrangle''s face...

    --it didn''t look quite right.

    While it was absent of wrinkles, Domhnall thought it seemed... too far taut-- stretched and overly smooth.

    --waxy white, not dissimr to a putrefying corpse.

    Domhnall found it slightly unnerving.

    ...and he was a dead person.

    "I wish to know why Vortimer''s dis-GUSTING voice has awoken me," the gnome spat.

    He waved an old tree branch at the Giant-King in a threatening manner.

    Domhnall took a healthy step backward-- just in case.

    "That''s uh... that''s not my name," said the King of Vralkek, scratching at his fiery beard.

    The gnome sent an angry re up from where he stood.

    As King Guorthigirn was more than thrice Leafstrangle''s size, the gesture appeared ridiculous.

    But... even though Domhnall was closer to the bothersome king''s height than to the old gnome''s... he was d he hadn''t made himself a target.

    Though Leafstrangle''s walking stick didn''t look like much, Domhnall sensed mana in it enough to break him in two. And for King Guorthigirn... it could at least leave a nasty ankle sprain.

    "I wish to know *just* who you think you''re talking to, boy?!" Leafstrangle growled.

    "Um. Ah... haha... Good morning, Master Leafstrangle," the King said with an uneasy smile.

    Ignoring him, Leafstrangle doddered forward with an aged, uneven gait... stopping in front of Domhnall.

    "...The dead boy. Pun~ctu~al~."

    The Ancient savored the word in his mouth, spreading it out over an awkward four sybles. His pointed tongue ran over his tiny, sharpened teeth.

    Domhnall was a dead man. No longer fearing death, he had very little to be afraid of.

    Nheless... the unfathomable mind of the gnome at his feet was a source of great distress.

    "Domhnall, was it?" Leafstrangle growled.

    The directness of his rough, scratchy voice made Domhnall check his posture before answering. (It was perfect.)

    "[That is correct. Good morning, Master Leafstrangle.]"

    "Indeed," the gnome replied. "A good morning to die."

    "My ancestors would sing a simr song, Master Leafstrangle," said an unfamiliar woman. "They sought to amuse the fates with their courage, openly courting death on the eve of glorious battle."

    It was a strong voice, yet one that was inherently musical.

    Another flurry of leaves whirled on the tree stump behind the gnome... and in its wake remained a... harpy.

    Harpies were hybrid creatures, with theirrgest flights hailing from the Tyrion region. Their heads and torsos were of young women, but they had powerful wings instead of arms, and sharp talons instead of feet.

    And, concerning the woman that appeared, Domhnall found her dark, almost blue, plumage to be rather fascinating.

    The color of a harpy''s plumage corrted with their age and, thus, the woman''s deep, lustrous blue signified...

    --Domhnall wasn''t exactly certain what it signified, but the beauteous harpy-woman was 100% that.

    Guorthigirn respectfully lowered his big body.

    "Don''t worry about Master Leafstrangle, littledy," he said, "he''s too old and stubborn to die."

    "Bah, shut up, you bRAT-- you don''t know anything, so shut up," the gnome groaned, "nO one wiLL forGettTtt you are capable of spEECH should youUuu reserve the right..."

    "I believe my point has been made," the King nodded, "Lady Darkfeather."

    "Master Vralkek," the harpy nodded.

    Darkfeather.

    That seemed to be her name.

    ...Or was it a pet name?

    Domhnall also realized it was so simple, the name might have been coined then and there.

    "I have seen my death," Leafstrangle said.

    An awkward silence ensued from the ominous words.

    The gnome opened his mouth wide in an indolent yawn. He didn''t seem to realize the gravity his words had induced.

    Guorthigirn''s jaw had dropped but in disbelief.

    Lady Darkfeather was covering her mouth with her wing.

    Domhnall...

    Domhnall felt pressured.

    ...As a gentleman and one whose status was lower than his King''s, the responsibility of breaking the awkwardness fell to him.

    "[It appears the, uh... weather temperature has been increasing as ofte.]"

    Perfect.

    "Y-yeah," King Guorthgirn agreed, forcing augh. "If anything''ll kill ya, Master Leafstrangle, it''ll be the heat!"

    "What nonsense are you thering about, now..." Leafstrangle growled.

    "If I may, Ancient One," Darkfeather said with a bow.

    The old gnome narrowed his ck sclera eyes, but gestured for her to continue.

    "From what this servant understands," she said, "the younger races still approach the prospect of death with trepidation. It is disheartening to hear even the possibility of loss-- especially of an esteemed individual such as thyself."

    "Ahahaha! What nonsense!" the gnome cackled. "What an *aBsuRd* fancy, little hatchling-- but it is your right to be young and foolish."

    Despite his outcry, Master Leafstrangle did not seem to be upset.

    "DEATH! Bah!" he waved, "Death is e~ver~y~where! Death is in these two gnarled hands. Death is in tHyYy talons, dearest Virgilia. There is death is in the fiery battlecry of the Golden King of Vralkek! And DEATH..."

    Leafstrangle paused for a moment, eyeing Domhnall carefully.

    The long stare prompted him to, once again, examine his posture. (Still perfect.)

    "Virgilia," the gnome said.

    "I heed thy call, Master Leafstrangle," the harpy replied.

    "When the fighting begins in earnest, remain by this boy''s side."

    "I... I will heed thy words," Virgilia said, albeit with some hesitation. "I shall be in your care, Master Domhnall."

    "[Uh, likewise,]" Domhnall nodded.

    It wasn''t an order he could refuse, considering that even King Guorthigirn acted with subservience to Leafstrangle''s wishes.

    He didn''t particrly hate the notion. He was, however, rather curious as to the reasoning behind it.

    The old gnome stroked his scraggly beard, reminiscent to the thin tendrils of an uprooted rosebush.

    "Vortimer."

    "Yessir," King Guorthigirn bowed, not even bothering to correct the old gnome.

    "Perhaps I will not die this sun."

    The good king''s mouth split into a quiet smile, "I''ll watch your back, old man."

    ''Yet if it is not this uncertain sun, there would be too great a certainty in the morrow...''

    Domhnall thought he could hear the wind whisper the old gnome''s words. However, the senses of his physical body were not something he could ce his trust in.

    The flutter of Lady Virgilia''s wings interrupted Domhnall''s train of thought. She vacated the tree stump, taking her ce by his side, just as a third whirl of summer leaves took her ce.

    "[That''s some kind of teleporter, isn''t it?]"

    "That''s correct, Lord Domhnall," Virgilia said with a polite bow.

    Her voice, Domhnall realized was even more pleasant, hearing it up close.

    "Are these the representatives?" said the column of spinning leaves.

    A surprisingly muscr elf stepped off of the tree stump. They presented as a male, if the depth of their voice was any indication.

    "Everyone is present, Lord of Dawn," Leafstrangle bowed.

    The atmosphere grew strangely tense.

    Even frivolous King Guorthigirn had straightened his back in the presence of that man.

    "Mind your words, Leafstrangle," the elf said. "The youngest Morninglord, Master Pelor, hase of age. I am the Lord of Dawn, no longer-- merely Tethrin of Highde."

    "Ah, yes," Leafstrangle frowned. "Forgive me-- my memories have grown dull with age."

    Tethrin of Highde. Domhnall knew the name. He was the youngest scion to achieve the title of demaster in House Morninglord-- though his current age made him older than both him and his King. Then, Tethrin married into a wealthier, more influential house: House Highde.

    It was a big deal a couple of decades prior. House Highde was the most renowned Elven House of the century, their schrs and warriors making contributions to societies across the Realm.

    A century was a respectable length of time for most cultures, Domhnall''s own included.

    However, House Morninglord was a name known by all peoples throughout written history. Their incredible deeds were omnipresent in the legends of every culture on every continent.

    But... Domhnall hadn''t heard of the contemporary Morninglords for many years.

    Pelor.

    He wondered if that Pelor was present on the field. The end of the Realm was nigh, after all.

    The Highde sharply turned his head toward Virgilia and the youngdy stood up straight, as best as her bird-like form allowed.

    "Holy Country of Tyrion," Tethrin said, "render your count."

    "8,200 humans, present and ounted for" Virgilia stated, "as well as 41 god-machines, including god-yer Starfury...."

    That was more than in the reports... but from what Domhnall knew, logistics personnel made up arge percentage of the Holy Country''s forces.

    --not that it was a bad thing, but both the Free Nation and the Sleeping Country took a peculiar amount of pride in theirrger warrior count.

    "This one begs for forgiveness," Virgilia added with a deep, mournful bow, "but god-yer Dawnbringer is not ounted for."

 Chapter 1070 Count-Off (Part Two)

    ?

    Domhnall took a half-step forward but stopped himself before doing anything rash.

    He was about to step in between Virgilia and Tethrin of Highde-- which would have been incredibly rude.

    ...He didn''t quite know why he had the urge to do so.

    --but it was concerning.

    Tethrin''s glowing gaze passed over him, returning to the reporting harpy.

    "Fret not, Hatchling," he said. "The Holy Princess is ounted for and will be present for the battle."

    After a brief pause, he added, "Ah, and the Commander has arrived, as well."

    Virgilia revealed a full smile upon hearing the news.

    "I hear you, Lord Highde."

    Considering her form, her status, and... that suspicious smile, Domhnall wondered if Virgilia had a close rtionship with the Commander.

    The notion pricked at Domhnall''s senses. The Commander of the Wyrmyer Alliance had a reputation for being handsome and well-respected. Thus, it was a matter of course that he''d also be well-liked.

    Also, the Commander was also alive, a subject that Domhnall could notpete in.

    "Nemaya Strana, the Country of Sleeping Forests," Tethrin boomed.

    "20,142 warriors, present and ounted for," answered Domhnall, "of which, 1,611 are Guides and 7,855 are Striders."

    "And the Nemayan Siege Weaponry?" Tethrin prompted.

    "43 Greater Frostwyrms, 110 lesser-- and for the siege weapons..."

    Domhnall listed off the counts of the Nemayan Forces hemitted to memory.

    Everyone in the Wyrmyer Alliance seemed to think of their Greater Frostwyrms and their Pale Skyriders as a direct counter to the Drake Armor fleet.

    However, that wasn''t exactly true.

    The magical bone constructs were enchanted to fly and the contemporary weapons installed had great destructive potential. Unfortunately, they were slow and cumbersome, especially whenpared to the fast and agile (and likely, more numerous) dragon look-a-likes.

    For that purpose, much of Nemaya Strana''sbat power was concentrated in their maneuverable emcements.

    Giganticunchers, each manned by a practiced team of two. Single-manned repeating cannon emcements, each enchanted round rated to a stupendous caliber. Complicated, four-man-carry magic crystals that shot concentrated beams of freezing magical cold.

    Usually, Nemayan Striders were fielded separately from their living counterparts. However, the Nemayan artillery line, under the guidance of Queen Arendelle, had incorporated them into integral and cohesive units.

    The tireless were responsible for the equipment''s transport, set-up, and protection. The breathing were tasked to kill the enemy.

    Tethrin nodded sagely, the faint glow in his eyes seeming to imply that he knew all that and more.

    --and though Domhnall didn''t believe he was xenophobic, he thought of the action as particrly... Elven.

    "The Magic Kingdom of Alizeau," Tethrin said, gesturing to Master Leafstrangle,

    "11,000 troops," Leafstrangle waved. "2panies of Griffonriders, 1pany of those ursed dragon-birds."

    "They''re called dragonhawks,"[1] King Guorthigirn mumbled, "we have those too."

    That might have been true, but the notion was akin toparing a pack of mangy and underfed dogs to a pack of Nemayan winter wolves.

    Suddenly, Tethrin reached out his hand, grasping at the air in front of him.

    Guorthigirn let out a breathy gasp... and was unable to make any sound out of his mouth other than breathy gasps.

    It was a simple and effective ?Silence? Spell.

    The disy of magical prowess instilled Domhnall with a great deal of vindictive pleasure.

    "--and some 2,000 Iron-Rank Wizards or higher," Leafstrangle said, shaking his head, "but in my estimation, only about 600 of those runts have spellbooks worth more than shhhhIT-PaPer."

    "Your concern is *noted,* Sapling," Tethrin red.

    "Sir," Leafstrangle bowed.

    ...Tethrin of Highde referred to Leafstrangle as a sapling.

    While Domhnall was aware of the age difference, it was astounding to hear it stated aloud.

    And the fact that Leafstrangle let it pass was a chilling notion.

    "The Free Nation of Brel," Tethrin said.

    He turned to Guorthigirn and made a cutting motion with his hand, canceling the ?Silence? Spell and allowing him to speak once more.

    (Tethrin had used an insta-cast and chantless disrupt-type Spell to afford him only several seconds of quiet. It was the most Elven thing he''d ever witnessed.)

    Then, after an overly dramatic show of coughing and clearing his throat, the firebearded King began detailing the troops the Free Nation had sent.

    ...The numbers were vague and because the King kept repeating himself, it became somewhat confusing.

    The Free Nation''s numbers *looked* respectable enough-- but,cking a coherent report, he could only judge that with his eyes.

    They had the greatest variance in troops, with orcs, Titanbloods, and trolls mixed in with gnolls, humans, and beastkin. When the battle began, they''d normally split off into their cliques and attack as separate forces. However, the Commander, the former War Prince of Charm, was known for intermixing his troops to great effect.

    There was one clear point in King Guorthigirn''s report-- and it wasn''t a good one. There was a sizeable Free Nation force ounted for, but not yet present.

    The War Princess of Charm was leading a force of several thousand. And of that number were several elite forces: the Royal Guard of ck Opal Valley, the Witches of the Sapphire Tower, the Arena Fighters of the recently reformed Sol Invictus... and all that was on top of the Medusa Covens of Charm.

    But there was one among them with a reputation above all others.

    The Ogreyer.[2]

    Murtana Ogreyer was the name of an Adamantine-Rank gnoll warrior who ughtered the ogres of the King Eater tribe for daring to threaten her mate and cubs. Though reportedly, she tried to deny the achievement, several War Nobles attested to her deeds.

    She was one of only a handful of Adamantine-Rank warriors in the entire Realm. And to, by herself, ruthlessly obliterate the King Eaters-- sparing not even the children or elderly... her strength was constantlypared to that of Ravidius the Lionhearted, the Hero of the previous generation.[3]

    The current generation''s Hero and the Ogreyer were the most oft-talked-about champions of the Wyrmyer Alliance.

    (Also, the Wyrmyer.)

    "I look forward to the Ogreyer''s arrival," Tethrin nodded, the faintest traces of a smile at the corner of his lips. "Even with the myriad countermeasures we have prepared, our superiority isrgely uncertain."

    The androgynous elf took a breath before nodding once more.

    "As for the Eastern States, we have 12,000 heroes prepared to give their lives to save our Realm. And of those heroes, I was able to train 52 to the standards of Wyrmhunter Archer."

    Domhnall found that... an odd notion, but a wee one.

    Despite the Highdes'' reputation as impossibly-skilled swordmasters, they were also masters in all aspects of war, including offensive magic and weapons of all kinds. If Tethrin of Highde guaranteed that 52 of his archers rated the title of Dragonyer-- or... Wyrmhunter, as he said, then that''s what they were.

    "Regrettably," Tethrin continued, "but as advised, we have 2,500 more relegated to nonbat positions in the rear echelons."

    Fates be damned, 2,500?!

    For what *possible* reason could a force of that *magnitude* be wholly absent from the front lines?

    "Prince of the Dawn," Virgilia interrupted. She bowed her head while putting her wings forward, the tips of her longest feathers touching. "This lowly servant humbly begs thee for knowledge."

    For a moment, Domhnall was suspicious that Virgilia witnessed his confusion and spoke on his behalf.

    --but that wasn''t possible.

    His emotions had dulled over the years and of what little was left, they had no control over the muscles on his face. In fact, if he wanted to smile or appear to talk, it took him a great deal of effort and willpower.

    The way Virgilia had turned her head and winked at him, however... made him doubt his senses-- and greatly.

    "And I shall not deny you this knowledge, Daughter of the Four Winds," Tethrin frowned, "The 2,500prise elves over 100 years of age and other species known for a strong resistance against Domination magics... Among them, there are many powerful dovahkiin andouched worthy of song-- but their presence on the front lines is a risk far too perilous to take."

    That... Domhnall already knew-- he just wasn''t aware of the reasoning.

    Still, under those stiptions, that meant that Tethrin, too, would not be joining them.

    For whatever reason, the Elevn demaster was staring at him in silence.

    Domhnall nodded warily-- though he felt a bit slow, "[Understood... Sir.]"

    "Nemayan Representative, attend to the Daughter of Wind in theing battle."

    Uh, sure.

    "[Why does everyone keep saying that?]"

    Domhnall had mistakenly internalized the loud-part, speaking the quiet-part aloud.

    "A fortunate wind flows at thy back," Tethrin exined.

    --and that was all he said.

    Highde tossed out a couple more empty, somewhat motivation titudes, then gave the dismissal order.

    King Guorthigirn left right away, perhaps stifled overlong by those he viewed as superior.

    The elf and gnome went off, as well, stepping onto the magic tree stump and disappearing in two separate whirls of leaves.

    Domhnall stood in one spot, unable to let go of Tethrin''s words.

    He said he was blessed by a ''fortunate wind.''

    ...Piecing together what he knew, it was possible that Virgilia being a ''daughter of the four winds'' implied the two of them made aplementary team.

    How exactly that was, he had no clue.

    Domhnall did not consider himself a very lucky person-- especially for a man grounded in logic and rejecting superstitions of all kinds.

    And he wasn''t interested in women... but he didn''t find Virgilia as repulsive as a typical human or Titanblood woman.

    If he did, he would have strongly considered rejecting the advices of Masters Leafstrangle and Highde.

    Virgilia-- she seemed equally perplexed by their unorthodox pairing:

    An elegant bird-woman the size of a human teenager and a lumbering zombie, twice her height and a dozen times her weight.

    Or was she staring for a different reason?

    "[Lady Virgilia?]"

    "Oh, my most humble apologies, Master Domhnall," the harpy bowed.

    "[S-speakfortably. Please.]"

    It seemed that was how she spoke... but it was troublesome to the recipient of such formal speech.

    The youngdy''s lips cracked into a shy smile, "You don''t have any hands."

    Neither did she.

    Domhnall lifted up his forearms, showing off the enchanted des secured to them, "[Hands are overrated.]"

    They were having a conversation. That was good, as they were going to be partners in theing battle.

    As Virgilia had rendered him apliment, in order to continue the conversation, it was proper for Domhnall topliment her in return.

    "You''re the most beautiful creature I''ve ever seen."

    Virgilia''s eyes widened in surprise-- and Domhnall realized he had spoken with his actual voice as opposed to his mana-voice.

    It was... not an attractive voice by human standards.

    ...but the faint red on Virgilia''s cheeks made Domhnall somehow doubt she was repulsed by it.

    "Shall... we return to the Nemayan troops, Master Domhnall?"

    [1] #Dragonhawk: See Chapter 1050!

    [2] Ogreyer: See the events starting in Chapter 931 and ending in 933, Curse of the Ogre King!

    [3] Ravidius was first introduced (by his daughter, Megara,) in Chapter 798.

    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and

    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!